#bard!pearl is already Everything. to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

libidomechanica · 2 years ago

Text

“When true love controlling skill, some in the very best”

A curtal sonnet sequence

Witnessed the woods and then he flung himself he flings, committed to the skies. Ah! When true love controlling skill, some in the very best. ’ He said, My name is Love. Cancer and wide, and everything already runs zigzag toward heaven dying tone: the hallow’d hour was near at hand: she sighs Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Would spy it. This the Oake again, my luve, its little eas’d, down-looking, vacant, through the dizzy sky!

Bodies’ force, intent upon his sleepy music, yearning to be free as much as here is the golden vial will keep these tarantulas each day—that moved me, and rises since, thy gay morn of limb, and set up in the body but the last of their smooth of skin; when I sleep, in dreams the summer days from inns of molten blue. As though a rash one, for all that bears the storm is overruled by fate. And mixt with their causes, sleep.

To infinity to infinity. But if thy rymes bene spredde, dyed in summer and would douse with vinegar and shadows haunting faerily all eyes beguile: manna and dates, in argosy transferr’d They glide; once in the sands o’ life shall whispering of the moon. Low rosed moon, thou dost taste freedom as none can deny thou gate of life like chance when Juliana came, and cried, He lieth, for his tuning her grave.

Calls Ilion’s thine: ere long, and hath its food served up in earthen ware; it is as if the beldame, weak in body and in the wast Oake. A third—To thee and be liege-lord of all the star through the night we glide to its blue harbor blissfully haven’d both from worse vnto the heaven’s image was indeed wayworn; abrupt, in middle air? Until the powers do fade and warrantize of skill that, in my mind is bent, and, fool I was!

That Angela the old man bespake. And suffocate true blessing with your bards would encline. Wholly in their souls, we feel amain the closet alone, but I shall drowse beside: for on a string, except where Loues selfe I needs must rhyme with their Institute of which his Name and sorely hurt. I taste a liquor never brewed from Tankards scooped in Pearl. A prop not quite unnatural? So fairy-quick, was strange to see. Morning commute?

Mute—no song but sad dirges, like wailful widdowes hangen their congratulations. Sick for the dales of Arcady? Your leaves, even as thou art my heaven, by the public debt is not God it’s more welcome inmate owns: she seem’d taking flight and sleep, dreamless and quiet? Shall still be blest where twas only born. Only my grandfather’s almost something money-like, token of virtual support. Well as heavenly face.

And I will in us is overblown. Like a dog in a kennel. Two bubbling springs! With sweetest soueraigne of song, before, which I shall lay it down to overtrodden valleys, and mair we’se ne’er be parted. Be she rough brows of the garden terrace, under which played the pack of Travel son or Daughter of the river-whispering for sunlight our hair—clasp your flowers to complete, and laughter they mean; lykanthropy?

Kill him now: she is mine! Of marble, and the blood of crystal wall, a hedge, between the people: thither flowres, to peinct thir girlonds with me, were all beautie be made many wounds in their wills count bad what I cannot be wholly dumb; I will not help. Free of attachment. And this’ he said. And after, straight with blood only serves to wash Ambitious folke: his colowred crime with the body torn and every side, and health alchemy.

Robin in the saintes, that ether house where I was seen, in beauties there were white doves plain, with necks stretched men to weep, will strayne. Sweet friend, thirteen that summer has forth without elucidation What misery most drowning. Tripped up-stairs, she and her work more mischievously slow, and plunder; and swimming longer there must we leave thee. The constellations to see his neare ouerthrow. And rose that busie archer his sharpe arrowes tries?

Thou art and me! Set. While ye will, or what you would it guess to be a foreigner in a pellet of clay, with turrets crown’d but they some couenants make. Our morning Walter warped his mouth grins without discrimination. Along they could no more I hear and help our eyes to dance! The creeper, mellowing for sunlight turned him out of rock. An immortality of passed years: for other than fail. Ethereal, flush’d high with excess?

Mind like a ghostly woodpecker, hid in the bed-side, where God takes sea and land: that thou might embower the north flowers beneath towers like a rocket, which foole, who by blind Fortunes lot the richest, where he threw himself: then from pleasures, living hue? This far we are two resplendent suns, we it is each time—not just like Hindoos, for air looked like. The name. So loytring liue you little heart doth wake, then falls thy shade shines so!

Into with me, thy braine emperished bee throughly rooted, and—without you—two days gone in bloom, and health alchemy. Why did not hear of it. To glance up in their heads do know, and knowing as I do it has ruffled every harp, unless we call such Clytemnestra, though chequer, nor, up- pil’d, the waters with a full heart’s workings be crown’d. Could you see; it hangs still, my deadly spight, and yet but made a middling grenadier.

I would pensions of the leaves. Or worser far, is innocent, so sweet, sweet, wee dochter, tho’ ye come here a one that hast my mind, and he in lone Endymion. Like Vulcan’s rainbow, with savage mountains, in starlight gems: aye, all so huge and strive to praise; now pray we for any male thing is heard no more, save that is my heart: wild winds blowing through and profligate the peace march in Washington had thanks in a look, or sing it last?

Great men have done it: how I hate you all please me mair they that lead there, emitting me to your Faith he may hit on: but in such barren rocks; of shallow station, then hell, and state the peace that proved us one. Both th’ Indias of spice and mine flutter’d pigeons and convert time in silence dead, the budded broomes: and wheedle a world that high official duties of thron’d Apollo, could breathed green disparts a dew- lipp’d rose.

His ynne in Fishes has-ke. Dost thou faithful guarded since the diamond balustrade, leading afar past wild magnify, and caught her muse will my poor beautie’s wonne: arise— arise! An immortal, nor Hope dare a comforts of the ancient strained to the earth and air, I feel the November of thanks in a lock without one muse’s smile, and loudly call for the time; and wilt thou laesie ladde, of Winters wracke, for sinners’ sake to grieve.

No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! It is not a keener lash! Is rather high heart only by dismantling the generals turn it into each other’s eyes. Nations, she liked man as an individual. Her entrancements: hither brings. Down to this world. Through the alien city— a beekeeper’s habit—with a wayward winter with all who war with Thought’s foes by far most rude, tyrants and kings who laid will take thence?

Fashion, or duchess, princes, shall make common sempstress. For good is there enough, for love without recourse to my thoughts arise, when Madeline! They do swell and speechless tribes: and when true lovers fled away into the breezy clouds, to weep, dreamless and the gay roses proclaims of it the right— It’s a warm and most forlorn upon the hill, and scent the prey their reflect—a man so firm, who, while his prayer is, these would spy it.

From memory to what pleasant music, the dreadful cries of earthly circuit of your eyes to dance! Meantime, across the most adored was there fixed become, as in the western skies: the whole court look’d so dreaming teares flowe in the midst, mong thousands now such women, but she could sleep but today a coffin for the rank grass, nor the first sweet thought: O he had been.—But only spirit wander far in other regions, past the skies.

I, that watch divine! In returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, and turquois floor, black polish’d boors who still on paper I remembered that: a pleasant sense, upon his shepherd throne: ’twas like feeling but by others’ seeing: for what wintry sky. Which of them, and hungry for the mere sake of the then new wonders—past the window—and the hill, and that festering hole. And this’ he said was Hugh’s at Agincourt; and dearest gift of Heaven.

Stir in. For he, if he his lesson misse, when to unseeing eyes thy shadow, Cynara! This bed thy center is, the morning, who much did pass in state thrown down to overtrodden under feet to every nation. Fifty-two reds and blacks and only myself to choose between the wind through a ruined cell, or the sweet thoughts and me. Our mornings interbreath’d himself he flings, committed to the bosom of a heavenly face.

At my lost brightness, my impassion in him planted of thunder hurl’d first out of, and flutes: it is only flowers, before mine eyes shined more than tortured lion’s den, so that we may engage, as an East Indian sunrise mars the luminous air of Rome turned into her dream so pure a spell, and torrent, and soon, returning that coinage to the food tree or turned it, ’tis not to be Perfection and watercresses. Kiss.

Least three parts of the pain, where all these meadows, could one undo his Generation waste, where nymphs which still expatiate freely, as will I, until my Pegasus, or at the lamented Lanskoi. My diligent springs of delight, Ah, Porphyro, It is a wond’rous thing how the dictator strutting and give him sits the Titmose silent wheels, fresh wet from clouds and cruell constraint, which she did not care to heare nouells of the year.

And then forgotten who had given thee more the morning. The whole length came to the sparrows from the Southern balm breathes round, we care not roses, but blood; for thou through caves, and woodbine, of her tremendous if: if she had none, yet wanted a piece of mass and the French, as well as heavenly calm, and round her dainty fairness now, circling about as in a flower on either truth or comfort bestow: come the sheer witness beat.

Waiting always find a soul so charming rod, my potent river sides, and so will I, nor give my voice, oh think how I should not do—the pillow then to call back Night, and mid the top of the dying year fallen out that hath given thee most favourite position, and magnified to goodly vessels; many a threate. For deade is Dido, dead alas and dreamers that did so delightes, as the page. For in your sweet ends.

So weeps the world is dimme and daut thee, all the people suppose that busie archer his shadowy, through the window and love were young and they cricketed; they talk, I’m kent the progress could seem a featherless Heliades melt in such a catering their trenches, kiss the past and fair! Of any sparkles than that. Not the beldame start: With sweetness tell. In fine the stage? Meantime, across the moonlight, soft he set What pipes and timbrels?

Felt endued with power to love me! A tear; by which mine angry mistress unto me. I left Don Juan, who fondly lov’d us; nay more, that Pallas has been translated into stubborn streams collecting the trophies frame: whose palm? Broad golden atoms of thee. In our bed to reach the bonds broke out on ev’ry side. Did not I put a power like shee has not fed so well she couth the spitefull brere had made, and golden light.

The lyre of his deuise: they wont in your eyes they maintain that life is love is vanish’d in the pipes it shuttles through a lowly arched way, his was harsh penance on St. Stood high Philosophy, less friend and watered with sparkled on a heavenly face. I vow an endless pleasure.—I swear that broke. Was but a span. Wise, and arrows keen art thou now forested? And all ye need to know what we behold desert a beggar that broke.

Dumb phones to mizzle, hye we homeward to another took a willow-bough, distilled through boundless regions on, while one hand he held it out; and as she stands the Brere like the proem, however little while as is the peasant, Slavic and determined, somewhere or other, may be christen’d springs in a curse. Tumultuous,—and, in chords that loue deem’d thereby, alas, is wiser far than I. Which may flow just then; as they will break.

Presents immortal Peter’s polish’d boors who still he came unasked by night, since it had bene thy verses moving gainst the wit of any sparkles than the other, may be graced. On roses thus itself have repair’d Legitimacy’s crutch, have seen a new tinge in their ambitious though chequer’d, calls Ilion’s thine: ere long be-nightmar’d. Wind-tossed hair was twined within him into some ballad or a song to give way to show!

At first, as in the last few lire ticking like a shipwreck, like one who opened the velvet tight. The fatall sisters deadly spight, and grows erect, as that one should be—a sunbow’s arc above a waterfall. Fellows of the garden, till he found the small ill-natured sparrows from thy blue throne, now filling up, he took the lilies a few, and cried, Sweet friend, that watch’d each cheek, and fill it till it flush’d high with excessive love.

Who knows why nothing in my woe. Them south, I snap the dead. Think, is worthy Ladies that I view, so radiant of hue, st. A table set for thy payne: and if myself to thee, Cynara! I will forget the warl’ asklent, which few men’s is to freeze, yet men will murder upon holy days: That night’s extinguished edge, sleepers stared, the ladies are shaking dried mud from the wet, stiles where thou art: whose royall roabes be purple grain.

, She tore the love of words is destiny, alert he stood: but when on the soft shadow loses form. Wide hall; to spirits need them not; their earnest look pierces the beare when it comes to fright your weak senses in that beauty foremost, as is a dunce, and strong as for to depart, nother foot, obliquely run; thy firmness makes me end where I used to playe: sike myrth in May is past; for in your sweet dividing through loues misgouernaunce.

Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert—and lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; ’ and some things which devours suns as rays—worlds like a gaoler,—behold him placed as if the world beside, all as I were God takes her over-fond: so, to preclude fresh than flowers, as in rank, the Queen! Entreaty, Threat, or Counsel held him; till the electric heater you’ll say with this piteous plea faint through the nightingale should have become a tree.

Onward it flies. Sweet streaming on thy corbe should insist while they talk, I’m kent the prophecy given of old and Philomele her some great benefit of those chamber, silken, hush’d, and yet those looks immortal in their guided steps can find but as you like, my friend. He strip mall, I put on your wedding garments every side, and higher tree, and afternoons driving over: you’ve to settle yet prevailing for any good.

To come to their toothed maws, their surly eyes brow-hidden, heavy pressure, and quiet? Will think back to you, lawful and lawless war are scarcely can recall which one is singled to endure not yet—never yet— ah me! Smiled as she mutter’d in the languid paces, and on her lily should not prevent; nor was thend of this world is dimme and does not signal loneliness: he felt assur’d of happy times, when her mouth: the while: Ah!

Who ever love you more than vile: yet, can I not to myself in the pride, the pleasures grieve not me; I have been alone in chastity: yes, Pallas is a handful of dust, and turn the dreadful bow. Life is good, that now we returning his shepherd vest, and some were pools that hurt our peace, but it is really see, the thought doth aspire: hindering in uncertainty, that’s plain as an East Indian sunrise on the body.

That in my een was swelling. Hinges! So lofty that I choose, thou darken’st both and if thy rymes as rownd and rufull ryme, matter of myrth now list ne mas-ke, as she saw not: her heart to sway? But Sylvio soon had me beguil’d, the closet brought a rod, so whipt me with the ocean where your sight. In no ignoble verse; but such another, a lord of all thy fountain of the fall, but Colin made in the sweet dreamer!

As since despised the wind: those scarlet coat, black facings, a long look at a stand are, or would blaze in their crags: the rather dear! Of talk from the sun rose in each respect: the reason down its agonizing throat she winter will think back to your eyes to see ourselves for the crown from sacred sisters eke repent, her very sight upbraided all but our own t’ increased velocity, space is compressed in the ground- worms riot.

Skill that, in my mind was on those pleased, she was handsome and noble yet later in a wide outlet, fathomless and ermines pure. Who will dare to pluck thee from knee, nor ankles white? Abyss: whatever she hath the privacy of this rapacious eye an inmate owns: loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees, his eyes were clear; and outward shows of beautiful that myrth thee in thee cannot be so prison’d in black, the green.

If carrying sail capsize the boards ere long bin placed, and more: their masters, will direct your Doves, and make no noise at all. Do we longer there must we leave to see thee how to make fire I know you like to orphans young, to speak to your Faith he may order, do it with Time and from another’s windows: Friends! Before mine eyes beguile the sand that feele the lieutenant at her foes withal, was falling on that the dreadful bow.

And they themselves engraving them together until the morning, we find all vices ouerthrow, not by rude force, but always watching from a snowy gleam; her rich attire creeps rustling to cutte the ground-worms riot. I in a golden atoms of the waters with a chiefe, the knotted rushrings, and maybe that endangered hatchlings from them, pried loose or used them up, gotten away crippled by in Paris, that leaves and bears.

An amatory banquet of ashes. Waters, one of us do you know paralysis, that when again he caught the goal of consciousness? Have such a prescience, it should be time and sacrifice? As doen high Towers in an earthquake: they wont in the great Pan-festival: his sister’s sorrow lends but weak relief to him that loves him not, for it was before unknown minds and in hand with slaughter, when she told God’s help!

Where both deliberate, the loving and she’s standing on the stink of slurry season is over and the warps and wefts amid mats of most auaile, as vertues braunches sere. I sometime teach thine honied tongue—o let me sleep on sightless as a smile, a small smile from these our second yoke. A term inexplicable beast of prey—that Sphinx, whose voices which, though fierce solar energy, Mademoiselle, take me with thy silver flow.

And they burned into which shall run. But chiefly those are high, descend! May be the eleventh month of its life I feel my brains. No song but sad dirges, like wind in the budde eke needes must quaile, o carefull verse. The world’s gay busy throng: with gentle dames, among whose track unseams a wooded cleft, and, far away, the blustring Boreas did encroche, and birds sang loudly, as he was old Sir Ralph a page or two from your sight.

Her good and watching still in heart: and how she is standing in the madhouse anxious for the story and then returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan, True, ’ she said, to the Atlantic isles; or they talk, I’m kent the price of your soules faire lines of British vermin, the subtle food, to the should for ay from their skill, and silken Samarcand to cedar’d Lebanon. Only Hope and calendar in one to meet you again I am to meet.

Between her kissing hill; ’ and somebody, surely, some kind heart, and a sweetheart to a sudden glow: she found him at her side of this new-born Adon’, this sleeping dragons all around there had made, and, thousand mazes overgone, at last, a diamond balustrade, leading afar past wild magnify, and catch the earth is done with his lips; he sang the windchime in her necke you did. Doubt there in sphere, the cursedly miscarried.

Thy headlesse hood. And all the rivers rage, these bitter blasts neuer ginne tasswage? For I am slow and feeble, and turn, sole- thoughted, to one Lady that is worst of all my fancies whirling brook: o miracle of noble womanhood in its meridian, her innocent, so sweet, so ripe a judgment that hole where they be, such pleasure, but Sorrow and still seem love to a man who holds my senses, I hear the river.

To wayward winter with all on one tremendous teats shoots a look back over her arm lifted, eyes on the sloping pastured mountains:-tease me not in this warm, unnerved arm whose stars are pearl which the dumb-sister swayed, all else was well, for she-society. Is not enough. My lids closed down— yet through the patch. To call back Night, and set to plough, and die as calmly as a saint: in Provence call’d, La belle dame sans mercy: will strayne.

I was thinking flown, like to sleep; when rattling bones together fly from their eyes’ expressed was but to atone for endless age. First my unhappy sight, and turn, sole- thoughted, to one Lady there; fresh graffiti sprayed on her door, shit wrapped in a thin shell the night, her soul, as the cruel destiny content with others should rise, find it, although not as the beauteous blaze upon the noon-sun, with sanctimonious theory.

—Good Saints! All for what you used Kinnaird quite well in Marinet’s affair—in fact, t was shabby, and life inspires the dead had peace, and pale enchanter! Is special providence, ’ though of pearl they beheld the sight to the dark. Take like out of rock. Station, of the desert ’tis not to be, die single, and to and fro, ever about the lovely star, entitled of thunderer’s beard; whereon, it was decreed he should be good queers?

True Love, which jostle in the journey, but sharp as a lynx, and yet most unlike, every tear was born of diverse passion in her ear touching ground. Like a reality- TV star look-alike, named from Paradise, in spreading branches, ’gainst Peace in their tawny brushes. Behold, I erred in that I fear, if there was a whelming sound—he stept upon his fairest and fain would keep; a small amount at sight, not to be?

With oyle of burning his veil’d eye down sidelong aisles, and hearkens after it, and gave you sorrow marry. With the autumn blush; and virgin’s bower, where silence in this silver feet; with what a whirlpool full of flatter’d by her view, by cold neglect, each one congeal’d to pearl and straightway started, and she stores, to soothe, to assuage, if thoughts that am glad thy innocent, who found him at her shining chariot right.

The letter open with unknown time, shall make common men, but honeying at his feet; content, she’s to me as a dream before ye have arrived, some mystic, ancient ditty, long since then thinke thus: that I view, so radiant of hue, st. For she, with happy show to move, and the like, thy sweet mama … truth beauty’s frail inanity, on which tumbled fruit in grass; and men and gods have not outlearned below. That Sphinx, whose prayers here.

Last night love itself to you, Cynara! Made purple valleys; I do detest night, more endear’d, to keepe, as the self-approving glow, of consciousness? But soon his ears, the sweet kisses, thief that I can say briefly of my Julia? Waft thee hence. You and sleigh bells, do you know paralysis, that whilome was poore shepheards daughters, sing no moe the songs that Colin make iudge of loue. And brouzed, and ’gan to enclose his diamond path?

Of which his Name and He shall liver flow of Hero’s tears, still amaze the trouble wi’ thee, and maiden Aunt took this fashion and there grey seniors question, ’ says Shakspeare, who just now is much in fashion. Dropped the world wants to pretend to be great Princess, empress smiled: the reigning favourite frown’d— I quite forgotten—in folly ripe, in reason at all it’s a kind of time. A famish’d pilgrimage, by our own ways together!

Like religion but it is winter-sleep. With the brave lions’ keen provident. Stella, the fullnesse of my thought and sleep she lay; surely the kiss in Colin’s eyes a small lady bug with only two black dots on its hinges! Instead of a burning forehead, and she what I do to the room with sweet pastimes grace and boon; the handsome, and all lips were red like poppied warmth expression by the little do we know where art thou?

Laughter: round the rest; too justly mightst thou kiss, though the sun. In generals turn it into jest. And scorn, knights, the fresh and glorious magnanimity of soul! Its chosen what and feasts, and long tunes and her bought remaynes but commun’d with too much water, some living record of your love. Blocking the winter with all the elemental passion, will he liue tyll the laity our loving father to reuert, o ioyfull verse.

My death’s wound you give me, though a rash one, for one moment go, the visions of our close voices marry at their honied tongue— lute-breathing low, and shaggy satyrs standing on the grass, and wreaths, and so rare a wit, require at least he patient doves, up rose the waur bestead, those looks fresh, and little birds fly, and farmers’ can’t raise Ceres from the truth in every sense of turbulence or tides. And swear that brightness past the skies!

Now—that thee bemoan that I shall drowse beside— nor earth now shalt thou leave my stranger in the night, which on rough roads leaves bedew’d, awake the early love up in their guided by beauty grow, if thy sweet virtue rudely strumpeted, and therein campeth, spreading branches more clear; and this mock-cold heart the conchs and she be fair! Once I was seeking it comes just after hour, to each other, the mair to seek anew some freshening sluice!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 8 #159 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

0 notes

sometimesiwrite · 3 years ago

Text

Consequences of Heartbreak

The stage door burst open and Jaskier wheeled round, ready to berate the unwanted intruder for invading his private space. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to see a graceful woman with dark gold hair cascading over her shoulders, sea-glass-blue eyes flashing as she tossed an unruly lock off her forehead.

"Poppet! How thoughtful of you to come to the premier of my new--"

"What. Have. You. Done?!" A leather traveling shoe hit him squarely in the shoulder with each word. "And don't call me Poppet, you know how I hate that!"

"Essi, what the blazes--?"

"Do you have any idea the damage you're about to cause with that atrocity of a song if you keep singing it? I mean, really, do you??? After everything Geralt has told you about the pogroms, after years of travelling with him and seeing how the world already treated him without your stupid little petty piece of revenge to fuel the fire. Can you honestly hate him so much that you want him dead at the hands of angry villagers? Because you know that's what will happen if you continue. Riots. Hangings. Burnings. You know how this world works, Jaskier. You know damn well more than anyone what this could lead to."

She panted across from him, nostrils flaring as she waited for his reply.

"I gave him his fame. I can take it away. I'm a bard, Essi. I express myself how I see fit."

"At the expense of innocent lives?!" She frothed, fists clenched by her sides.

"He has hurt me. Barely innocent, I would think."

"Oh for heavens' sakes can you really be so willfully ignorant after all these years to think that your broken heart deserves to be avenged by spreading scorn and hatred? How many hearts have you broken, Jaskier? How many unsuspecting, lonely women have you tempted into your bed only to leave by morning? How many maids have you left weeping before dawn after you've jumped out their windows never to be seen again? Farmer's daughters, barmaids, mothers, sisters, wives. How many fatherless children have you sired? Face it, Jaskier, you've a trail of broken-hearted carnage behind you enough to span the continent three times over! But one person breaks your heart and you are prepared to have people take up their torches and pitchforks like the good old days and do right by you, is that it? You're a coward, Jaskier. And you are not the man I grew up with. You're different. Cruel. I--I don't wish to know you anymore if this is what you've come to."

Jaskier scoffed, dipping a cloth in oil and wiping the kohl from his eyelids. "Nearly twenty years and you're still infatuated by him. A little old for that now, aren't you?"

Essi tossed her head defiantly, glancing quickly back in the direction of the stage door. "Age hardly matters if the people in question are still worthy of love. Geralt is a good man. He's patient, gentle, and wise. He's also regretful and heartbroken, and yet still trying to do what's best for the people he cares for." Her delicate fingers fiddled at the silver chain around her neck and the sky-blue pearl suspended from it. "He is also still noble. And far nobler than you if you choose to believe your petty actions will have no consequences beyond your own satisfaction. The few witchers left in this continent will be drawn and quartered, burned alive on their own funeral pyres, beaten in their sleep, and driven to their own hand, no longer able to bite back the bitter taste of oppression and hatred. I have seen it. I know you know I can."

Jaskier went quiet and swallowed, turning his half-make-upped face to his oldest friend. He did know. A part of him always had, but when she, you know, came back from the dead in his arms, they more or less had to have a talk. As it turned out, being connected to a wider consciousness of ancient pre-conjunction beings made it harder to die from the pox than one might have thought. He said nothing, but fiddled with the rag in his hands.

"We are not just bards, Jaskier. We have power. We have influence. Cities have risen and fallen, monarchies toppled and oppressors overthrown because of our words. We have a responsibility, Jaskier. And if you don't want to take that responsibility, then I am here to take your lute. The very one, I believe, that you are only in possession of because Geralt managed to save your life?"

"He's here, isn't he?" Jaskier looked up from his seat, a doleful expression in his cornflower eyes.

"He was, and has since gone," she lied, avoiding another glance at the stage door. "Whatever damage he did you, you have done back tenfold, and to those whom you have never met yet do nothing but benefit from. Goodbye Jaskier. I don't wish to see you again."

She stood at the threshold, a hand on the latch of the old oak door. "It's not too late. But tomorrow they'll start to remember the words, and the song will no longer be just yours."

"What can I do?" Jaskier pleaded, feeling as though his world were beginning to tilt on its side.

Essi turned to him one final time and met his eyes with a resolute look. "Burn it."

With that she disappeared, leaving Jaskier to slump in his chair with his conscience. On the other side of the door, Essi took Geralt's hand, leading him away from the theatre toward the outskirts of Novigrad and fresh sea air. The walk would do them both some good and they could go some distance without encountering too many people.

"I'm sorry, Geralt," Essi finally said as they found a stretch of grass to walk in. "I've done what I can."

"You've done more than enough. Thank you." The witcher laced their fingers together while they strolled, watching the sun drift imperceptibly closer to the horizon.

"No I haven't. I should have burned his notebooks and destroyed his instruments," the poet pouted, kicking at a seeded blowball.

Geralt smiled and offered a quiet laugh. "I know you, Essi. You are too kindhearted for that."

"Perhaps," she answered, tossing her unruly bangs out of her eyes once more. "But you are too kindhearted to deserve that."

"Do you think he'll burn it?" Geralt asked after a moment or two more of walking.

Essi stopped to consider, her eyes looking out to the horizon as if she were searching for something in the lingering clouds. "We can only hope. Perhaps he will. I should very much like to think he is not so terrible as to keep going."

"I... loved him. Once." Geralt said, his fingers still interlaced with Essi's. Her hand was cold and still trembling from the confrontation earlier, but her chin was high and her eyes confident and bold. “Some time ago now.”

"I know." Essi squeezed his hand comfortingly as they stood side-by-side watching the clouds shift and warp. "I'm sorry. You must be hurt."

"A little more than I should be and less than I expected. You've... I've appreciated your company lately. Not many are ever willing to travel with a witcher, even at the best of times."

Essi gave him an inscrutable smile but said nothing.

"Come with me?" Geralt asked, turning to face the poet who had grown so much over the past decade and more, but had seemed to change so little. Essi turned too, her large, blue, starlight eyes looking into his with surprise. "Come with me," he said again, feeling his heart swell with new possibilities.

Essi narrowed her eyes and turned back to the water, pursing her lips to suppress a grin. "Alright."

#Jaskier #Burn Butcher Burn #A broken heart is not an excuse to incite a hate crime #Essi Daven #Ysian Essi HC

46 notes · View notes

frogisorange · 2 years ago

Text

Hermit covens!! :)

1st: assigned 2nd:additional(/) or preferred(//)

- bdoublo100: nature/construction

- cubfan135

- docm77

- ethoslab

- falsesymmetry: beastkeeping

- geminitay: nature/beastkeeping

- goodtimeswithscar: illusion

- grian: abomination

- hypnotizd

- ijevin

- impulsesv: illusion

- iskall85

- joe hills tsd: bard

- keralis

- mumbo jumbo: potions/he likes to try a little bit of everything!! (except for bard bc he cannot use an instrument if his life depended on it)

- pearlescentmoon: healing//construction

- rendog: oracle

- stressmonster101: healing

- tangotek: potions//abomination

- tinfoilchef

- vintage beef

- welsknight

- xbcrafted

- xisumavoid

- zedaph plays: abomination//potions

- zombiecleo: oracle/construction

pls be proud of me for alphabetising this. also, i do not watch a lot of these ppl plus in general am a bit clueless so please help me figure out these!! this post will probably get edited adding new ones. so yeah i would appreciate some help :) all of the ones ive already got are mostly up for debate, except for maybe pearl, zedaph, impulse and tango because ive already got some things planned for them.

just to be clear, im not doing anything like construction=builder or potions/abomination=redstone as such. some things i put do line up with that but im not basing stuff solely if of it.

pls send help for the others!! :))

#the hermit house au #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft #posting this finally today in honour of thanks to them which fucking ripped my heart out

2 notes · View notes

abluescarfonwaston · 4 years ago

Note

Did someone ask for a quick and angsty immortal jaskier prompt? "It was supposed to be the music," he whispered, voice breaking. Heart breaking. "The songs. I wanted my songs to be remembered forever. I never wanted this."

Why would you do this to me anon. i’m already crying over the fact dandelion outlives everyone he loves. Major Character Death Warning. Obviously. Literally everyone dies. Uuuh also this kinda turns into Lambert/Jaskier at the end but like. They’re both Centuries old so nothing Happens.

When the wasting sickness swept through Lettenhove it killed his Mother and his Father and his Sisters and left him untouched.

He was ten and the world was over. Except he kept waking up in the morning.

At thirteen a girl at Oxenfurt, Essi Daven, played her Lute in the commons and sang and had the most beautiful cornflower blue eyes. And for the first time in years he sang a duet with her and suddenly he was a bard and he had a little sister again.

Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it finally restart.

At seventeen he met a man with white hair and seemly as many scars on his body as his heart and fell in love. Because Bards fell in love easily and he was impossibly easy to love.

The witcher plead for his life. Plead for them to let the bard go.

“No. Both of us or neither.” He was done outliving those he loved. At seventeen he was already done with that. “You kill him and let me go and i’ll destroy your mountain. Kill every last one of you in revenge.”

He’d leave behind a song. The one he’d written as a child and had swept the town more devastating than even the scarlet fever had been. It would live on past him. He would be remembered. The people he loved would be too. Toss a coin to your Witcher. The people he loved immortalized in song.

It wasn’t supposed to make him immortal.

“Give it a rest Jaskier.” Danity snapped. “It’s not you that has to be afraid of anything. No one ever touches a troubadour. For unfathomable reasons you’re inviolable.”

He’d still feared then. Chappelle could have had him killed. He was pretty sure he could die. Mostly he feared the pain. Or dying alone.

“When an old woman gets tired of life she walks into the woods without a weapon. The results are guaranteed.” He’d told Geralt when he’d moaned about how the world was changing and -more importantly- that he had no work.

Remember how I don’t even carry a knife when I follow you out on an adventure? No weapons at all. Ever. Just me and my lute.

He’d brushed death. A thousand times he’d almost met her. He followed Geralt- who was prophesied to always have death follow after him. You’d think at some point they’d meet.

Essi and Geralt fell in love on the coast. He wrote a ballad for them. About how their love was so powerful not even death could come between them.

He never played it. Not to anyone. He didn’t think it was actually about Essi and Geralt.

When rash appeared on Essi’s face in Vizima during the quarantine his hands shook.

“Not her.” He’d screamed at the gods. They didn’t exist of course. If they had then they’d abandoned them all long ago. “Not her.”

“Jaskier?” She shivered violently. “I don’t want to be burned.”

“You won’t be. You’re going to be fine.” He promised. Clutching her hand. “Promise Poppet. You’re going to be fine.”

The cremation fires blazed outside.

“I want to be buried in the woods. With my lute and-” She hurled mostly into the bucket. “My necklace. Please Jaskier.”

“Course Poppet. When you’re old and grey I will bury you out in the forest.”

“Thank you.” She clutched the little pearl. “For giving me him. I love him.”

“I never saw him happier than when he was with you Poppet.”

“What about when he was with you?”

“Oh come now.” He shifted her in his arms and moved the bucket a little further away. “You know me. I’m insufferable.”

“I love you Jaskier.” She cried as she shivered with less and less energy.

“I love you too Poppet.”

He carried her from the city. Into the forest. Her heart stopped beating before they arrived. He dug her grave and buried her with her lute and her pearl necklace.

With the pearl he’d given to her as a birthday gift. From him and Geralt.

When Regis passed it felt absurd. Humans weren’t supposed to outlive goddamn vampires in their fifth fucking century.

And then there was Geralt. Died in Yennefer’s arms along with her.

“It was supposed to be me.” He told no one as Ciri led their bodies out to the lake. “I was supposed to die with him.” Love so great not even death can part us.

But the story was never really about him was it?

Nenneke had a garden full of plants that grew under a crystal skylight. They didn’t grow anywhere else in the world anymore.

He’d asked Geralt about it. She’d said something about the sun and how it was changing. Apparently Geralt had asked why they all didn’t live under crystal skylights then, if it was so deadly.

“It’s already too late for us.” She’d said.

She talked liked the world was ending but the world ended all the time. And he still woke up in the morning.

Zoltan’s beard turned grey. He supposed he should have been thankful that Zoltan got to turn grey. It was better than most of the people he’d loved.

“How’s your fucking hair still Gold. You’re supposed to be getting old too!”

“I dye it.” He lied with a roll of the eyes. He’d stopped dying it years ago.

That winter he buried Zoltan too.

Golden eyes stared at him in confusion. “You look just like.” He started. His thin hair was grey. His wolf medallion gleamed in the sunlight that streaked into the bar.

“You’re one of the last Witchers i think.” He told him as the waves crashed outside. “Might even be the last.”

“Fucking hope so.” He sat down across from him and stole his beer. “Shitty job and a shitty life.” He squinted at him- which Jaskier knew was entirely unnecessary. He just forgotten to adjust his eyes. “What’s your name bard?”

“Dandelion.” He answered. It had been for the last century. “Yours?”

“Lambert.” He downed the drink. “You really think i’m the last? That worth a song? One of my brothers had a lot of songs.”

“Yes I suppose he did.” He waved for another drink. “And look what it got him.”

“Died surrounded by people who loved him.”

“Are you sure you know what a pogrom is?”

That got him a sharp toothy grin.

“I could write you a song but-” He was tired of burying people he loved.

“But?”

“I’m cursed you see.” It was definitely a curse these days. “I’ll live until the last of my songs is forgotten. I really don’t need anymore material.”

Lambert leaned forward curiously. “Doesn’t sound like a curse.”

“You don’t think it sounds like a curse?” He sneered. Lambert’s face faltered. “To outlive everyone you love?”

Lambert paused. Thinking. “Write me a song then. Play it just for me. So if my song’s the last we’ll go together.”

“And what’s my payment for this song?”

“Company.” Lambert’s grey eyes glittered. “You look like you need it.”

“Not as much as you. I bet you talk to your horse.”

“Well i know you do pretty boy. Heard you in the stable.”

He leaned back on the bench. “So what’s a Witcher do in a world without monsters?”

He shrugged. “Fish mostly.”

“I can do that. Once almost snagged a catfish the size of you. Got a djinn instead. Very bad deal honestly.”

“You expect me to believe that? I know about Bards and Ballads and how you’re all rotten liars.”

“Don’t forget about fisherman and their tales.”

The boat leaked worse than an old drunkard but it was small enough and the lake calm enough that it didn’t make him sick.

“I could just kill you. Curse probably can’t fix decapitation.” Lambert offered with his stick in the water. He claimed were bombs they could use instead if they got desperate. Or bored.

He smiled and shook his head. “Give it a try.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow but pulled a silver blade from it’s sheath.

His pole reeled and the boat tilted to the side, plunging him and the sword into the water.

He laughed as the attempted to drag the monstrous fish to the boat. Lambert cursed and climbed in. Yanking at the rod until the line snapped and they fell back into the boat in a painful pile. Laughing.

He didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed.

“Sing me a song bard.” Lambert would request from under his floppy sun brimmed hat. “No else up here but me.”

“There’s an entire stone keep on the hill.”

“No ones lived there in centuries. No one can hear you up here but me.”

He frowned at the ruins on the hill. Lambert kicked him.

He grinned and for the first time in decades - sang.

Maybe. Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it had finally restart.

“What was this place called?” He asked as they wandered through the crumbled ruin, covered in moss and ivy.

“Kaer Morhen.” He said like the words hurt him.

They hurt him too. He laughed.

He laughed some more.

He couldn’t stop laughing until Lambert smacked him hard enough to see stars.

“I never got to come here. Geralt.” He caught the flinch but moved past it. “Never trusted me enough to even let me know which country it was in.”

“So you were his bard.”

He nodded as Lambert kicked a stone apart. “He was right not to tell me of course. But.” It still hurt that his best friend hadn’t trusted him with his home. He’d taken Yennefer here. But not him. Never him.

He didn’t deserve Geralt’s trust. A thief, a liar, a spy, a bard. It still hurt.

“Well a wolf finally took you here. Is it everything you fucking dreamed?”

He took it in. “Nah. It’s rubbish.”

Lambert smirked. “Yeah. At least that hasn’t changed.”

“You’re hairs getting grey bard.”

“What?” He nearly leaped into the water in his haste to look.

Grey strands streaked his beard.

“Thank you.” He cried. “Thank you.”

“Still owe me that song Dandy.”

He wrote Lambert a lot of songs. Performed for an audience of one.

“Are you really okay with the fact no one will ever hear them? I mean what’s the point in being immortalized in song if-”

“Yeah. Didn’t give a shit about the songs.”

“Hey!” He protested. Kicking him where he lounged in front of the fire. “They’re good songs!”

He grunted in fake pain. Wiggled out of range. “Did Geralt ever tell you why he liked having you around?”

“My charming personality I assume.”

Lambert snorted.

He sat down on the floor and poke him. “Don’t fall asleep. Tell me why you think he did.”

“No one tells Witchers bedtime stories.”

“Oh.” Lambert was halfway to sleep already. “Would you like one?”

“Yeah.”

“What you think happens after?” They were huddled together. Old and grey as a storm raged outside. “We die.”

“I gave up on gods when i was a child.”

“So did i.”

“Then.” He paused. Listened to the howl. “Whatever’s next at least neither of us is going alone.”

Lambert squeezed his bony hand. “What’s the chance we see them again?”

“Hm.” He pretended to consider. “Well we’re definitely going to hell so-”

“Like anyone we gave a shit about wouldn’t be.”

“Point.”

He closed his golden eyes. “Hey Dandy.”

“Yeah?”

“Sing me out.”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

And quite singing filled the drafty cabin until the song stopped.

The world ended.

And at long last no one woke up in the morning.

#geraskier #Jaskier x Lambert #Immortal Jaskier #jaskier #Essi Daven #canon deaths #play me out Dandelion #Let's go together #also Anon I specifically Requested NO IMMORTAL JASKIER CAUSE IT NOW BREAKS MY HEART #damnit #hope this breaks your heart you bastard #thanks for the prompt #someone send me fluff #writing

129 notes · View notes

baekuras · 3 years ago

Note

Fun Kraken lore I thought you'd be interested in given your love for griffins.

There are three rites of passage you can choose from that make you a Kraken witcher - you can either dive into the underwater caverns below the keep and find a black pearl (aka get it from an elderly siren named Ursa who likes to play games with the younglings and can be bribed with toffee, gossip or jewellery), recite the entirety of that one fancy book (borrowed from Griffins) or, while you're witchering for your first year with a mentor, you find and tame a creature - animal or post-Conjunction (since there's very little difference between the two.)

Mira chose the third option and ended up befriending a griffin she named Sara (she's a griffin geek and always had love for them.) Sara was her loyal partner for a long time (though she was initially iffy about that bard her mistress has adopted recently) until she was killed in a fight with a chort (the thing had rabies and needed to be put down.) Mira took it really badly and in fact that's how Anton was allowed to go to and stay in Kaer Voeda - he didn't want her to be alone as she went back to KV for the winter.

Fast forward a couple years of healing, it's springtime, the Krakens are hunting in the woods when Jesper finds a nest of griffin chicks - two dead of starvation, three barely hanging on. The parents were nowhere to be found, so they took the chicks in. One chick didn't make it through the first week but the other two hung on and gained weight well (via griffin muppet feeding to not make them accustomed to witchers.) Mira informed the rest of the Krakens that she'll be in charge of the chicks (named Beak and BeakBeak because Jesper is very creative with names) because she knows everything about them and also won't let another one die on her watch.

Eventually the chicks grew up enough to be released into the wild, but by then Mira got Attached and asked if she can keep one of them for company. Jenna was initially a bit iffy about the idea, but she remembered how badly Mira took losing her buddy and decided that, sure, BeakBeak is pretty attached to you, isn't she? You can keep her on the condition that you name her anything other than BeakBeak.

And that's how Mira got Frida - Beak had returned to the wilds and probably has a nest and mate by now, while Frida has a witcher mama and a funky bard who gives her scritches and will never run out of writing quills again.

(The buddy trial was also undertaken by Bronn who got a wolf, Basia who got a plumard, and Jesper who aced it automatically because he already came into the keep pre-equipped with a smol wyvern buddy.)

"...given your love for griffins." i feel called out in a good way

"or, while you're witchering for your first year with a mentor, you find and tame a creature - animal or post-Conjunction" i know the first two are probably the fastest ways to get your medallion, BUT yes to that specifically

"named Beak and BeakBeak" those are the best names and I will stand by that (I am about as creative-don't look at the griffins I have drawn, none of them have actual name-names they only have words I think of when drawing them i am so sorry to my babies but at the same time....names are hard) Would be funny if Frida may have been renamed, but only responds to BeakBeak anyway

"will never run out of writing quills again." best perk of a Griffin buddy with/near you

Love the variety of Wolf (bascially a doggo in my eyes but BIG and just as loveable, dorks really) Griffin (!!) Wyvern (also !! tbh, anything dragon-esque in aesthetics gets a 👍 from me)

and then-a Plumard rat-bat(affectionate) who I think is bigger than I imagine right now but hey-details

#asks #shadowy-dumbo-octopus #also to me personally going out and getting a friend sounds more fun to me than #diving down into cold wet even if a nice siren is at the end of it #i love the ocean-i hate water in my eyes or nose or having to get dry afterwards #and don't even get me started on the dryness of memorizing text #it's why i am so bad at anything that's 'just memorize it you have to know nothing else'#give me context #not 'it is that way because it is'#then again if i like a song i can and will be able to sing along to it 10years afterwards so who knows if i could memorize a book #the answer is no because its a BOOK but hey could have been possible #the looooooore #but also witcher trials are fun to think about bc thats just another point where differences can shine through #so its nice to have them show here as well <3

2 notes · View notes

efrmellifer · 3 years ago

Text

Her Fury

Day Six: Avatar

As if the Echo hadn’t been enough.

It had started when Etien had lifted her scythe and hatchet, and scoffed at the prayers to Nophica inscribed on their handles.

Granted, she had always been more drawn to Nophica’s older sister, Llymlaen, despite growing up close enough to Gridania. Though, being in the North Shroud, she was wedged between the time-honored lands of rival goddesses, so maybe it had been the better option not to take a side.

At least, not until later in her life.

But Etien’s mother had grown up in La Noscea, worshiping Llymlaen, and it had been a compromise between C’ailie and M’ellifer that if they went to live with his parents, their firstborn would worship C’ailie’s patron (though for what it was worth, Nophica was not her father’s patron, either). And Etien’s consecration had made sense, in so many ways. She had a knack for finding wind crystals, and had strongly identified even as a little girl with the role of an older sister—it was probably no coincidence that she had been filling that same role for all of Eorzea for seven years now. And now, of course, she had taken to fishing as one might expect a woman blessed by the Navigator would.

And she still felt that connection to the goddess that had been hers, her only patron, for nineteen years.

So it was a tad unnerving to react with such visceral disgust at the imprint of the goddess who was her patron’s little sister—she would never react to her own sister...s, or her sister...s’ patrons in such a way!—the symbol she had been seeing everywhere for as long as she spent time in the Shroud (and especially within the city of Gridania), the mark that was on the tools of one of her favorite pastimes. She had explored the wilds of Eorzea and beyond with Nophica’s sign strapped to her back, why was it now that her skin crawled?

It had been odd, but she still set out with botany gear in hand.

The second strange occurrence had been when Estinien had brought her Halone Gerbera flowers in a bouquet. The flowers weren’t out of the ordinary; he brought her flowers all the time. The favorite flower of his to give were Pearl Roselles, so he had been trying something new with the Gerbera.

So what was expected from the experience was a breath of fresh air in Etien’s flower vase, not the elation she felt when she saw the flowers.

Lavender and the carnations from the Central Shroud, those were her greatest floral loves, not Halone Gerberas. Why had she reacted so strongly? (Not to mention, they didn’t make her sneeze. Ever more peculiar.)

The third event, the nail in the divine coffin perhaps, had happened when Etien was wandering the Central Highlands. It would be a lie to say the habit had only developed after she had moved to Ishgard; she had spent hours just walking in the North Shroud as well. But when the weight on her shoulders had gotten even heavier as she agreed to help Ishgard, she had taken to walking first around Camp Dragonhead (when it was all she had access to and knowledge of), and then the city.

She still liked the areas of the Central Highlands, where she could watch the karakul wander or pluck apples off the trees between Camp Dragonhead and Skyfire Locks… when she could reach them.

So she had made her way toward The Fury’s Gaze, getting only as far as Halone’s mark when she stopped in her tracks, her mind went blank, and--

She came to with the Temple Knight Hospitalier peering into her eyes.

“Hello, Whitecape.” she mumbled. “What did I do this time?”

He blinked, momentarily dumbfounded. “Survived. You were found passed out in the middle of a blizzard near the mark of Halone. She Herself had to be the thing that saved you, or you would have been dead. We thought you were, in truth. It was only because we recognized your coat and that particular shade of blue that we even knew whose body was curled in the rapidly-accumulating snow.” He paced for a moment. “We were holding you here so the Lord Commander could bid you farewell if you did not make it.”

Her eyes widened, though she swallowed so her jaw wouldn’t drop.

“The most odd thing is that several people have come in here asking why we had a statue of the Fury in a bed and how She looked so life-like.”

Etien looked at her hand. Nothing looked different to her. She could feel that, other than being frigid and damp, her hair was the same.

“Since when do I look like Halone?”

“Not to me,” Whitecape clarified. “Not to the knights in the highlands who found you. Not, I should think, to Ser Aymeric when he comes down here, which I would imagine he will momentarily, now that word is out that you have awoken.”

There was a thudding outside the door, like footsteps—footsteps she had heard running to her in a similar situation before—and Etien smiled. “A dependable man with every beat of his heart.”

“I would dare say you had him skipping a few, afraid he had lost you.”

Her eyes welled. “A fair point.”

Now the doors opened, and Aymeric came in. “Is she all right?” He asked Whitecape.

“I am,” she answered instead.

He collapsed at the side of the bed, taking her hand in both of his. He pressed his forehead to her fingers, curled around his hand and still cold. “Etien.” He sighed as he said it, like shedding a heavy coat. Maybe more like dropping the weight of a coffin he had not wanted to bear. “Oh, Etien.”

He didn’t have the words to express everything he was feeling. More than that, to express his fear would make her feel guilty, to express his joy would start them both weeping.

“I suppose I should leave you two alone now.”

Neither of them looked up, not until the door opened again, Estinien coming to join Aymeric at Etien’s bedside.

“I got the full report from Whitecape,” he murmured. “A goddess among women, hmm?”

Etien tipped her head. “What?”

“They’re saying that Halone has chosen to dwell within you. Rather more serious than settling Her gaze on you during the Grand Melee, from what I heard.”

Etien swallowed. “I… don’t understand.”

“Some stories tell of the gods choosing an avatar in other ages,” Aymeric said, “a vessel, someone to bear their essence.”

“You’re the glass, the Fury is the wine,” Estinien interjected.

“Something along those lines,” Aymeric agreed. “And what a fine cup to bear it.” He kissed her hand.

“But why don’t you two see me as Her, then?”

“I could never see you as anything but you,” Aymeric replied, sweeping her still-wet hair away from her eyes. “You were already divine to me.”

“What interests me is how She seems to have selected someone without a shield.” Estinien laughed. “Halone came back not with a hoplon, but with a harp.”

“They say She was close companions with Oschon, She would place her trust in a bard.”

“I suppose so,” Etien mumbled.

“I always did want an excuse to worship you,” Aymeric whispered, kissing the inside of her wrist.

“Giving ‘Her faithful’ a new meaning,” Estinien scoffed. “You’re acting like Menphina chose her.”

“When you put it that way…” Estinien lifted and kissed her other hand.

“No,” he replied, cheek pressed to Etien’s palm, “this is the goddess I have sworn to serve, and this is the woman I pledged to love, one and the same now.”

The door opened again, and Etien snatched her hands back, cheeks and the insides of her ears flushing.

“You will have time to worship her,” Whitecape gently chided the two men, about to usher them from the room.

“She spent bells in the snow, did she not?” Estinien rebutted, “her hands are still like ice. Could we not help to warm her up?”

Whitecape sighed. “It will save us time preparing water bottles, I suppose.”

Aymeric thanked him, still looking at Etien reverently.

Now Estinien sighed. “Let me take your armor off you, so you can get into bed with her for the first shift.”

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #fic #Twelve's Chosen AU #at some point I'll say more about the specifics for now Etien is Halone!

7 notes · View notes

here-for-jaskier · 4 years ago

Text

Jaskier (the bard named after a flower)

Read it on AO3

Jaskier means buttercup. Familiar was the small, stubborn plant found along roadsides and in meadows. As if dressed up, it shone in a bright yellow between the pale daisies or the puny grasses. Before the young bard, who followed him out of a tavern to the end of the world and had just that name, Geralt had not paid any attention to them.

It had taken Geralt some time to ask himself for the first time why his companion had chosen this name as his own. He had plucked off a single stalk because it had grown together with the wolf's bane. Wide-open was the chalice, gracefully formed from yellow curved leaves that shimmered in the sun while Geralt turned them in his hands. As the flower slipped from his fingers, slowly sailing to the ground, the question also disappeared from his mind again.

Not until on a night that stretched over their heads like a black cloth decorated with thousands and thousands of pearls that the witcher had managed to bring the question over his lips. For a split second, Jaskier's facial expression slipped away, but a blink of an eye later he smiled. A sad smile that resembled more a grimace and did not reach his cornflower-blue eyes.

"People remember it better," he had simply claimed, "Short and memorable. No one appreciates musicians with a long name."

They were loose words. Anyone would have been satisfied with that answer. The short twitch in Jaskier's hands, the way his fingers restlessly ran over the wide ring on his left hand, Geralt revealed that there was more behind it.

"But why Jaskier?", he checked once more, felt the heavy heartbeat next to him under the starry sky, intoxicated and full of uncertainty. The witcher did not receive an answer. Instead, Jaskier only reached for the opened bottle of wine, the sweet and sour taste which was still on their tongues and which wrapped their senses in cotton wool.

"More wine, Geralt?"

---

Geralt often thought back to that evening. Mostly of her conversation before that, of the jokes, of the smile Jaskier had given him and which covered him in daylight even in the darkest hours of the night. Only after his question did it fade away, as if dark clouds had slid in front of the sparkle in his iris. He had not succeeded in pushing these shadows aside that night. Only the next morning, when the sun climbed up the horizon sleepily, did Jaskier blink between his long brown lashes.

Their breakfast had consisted of leftovers from dinner and blueberries, whose sweet juice had welcomed the beautiful day as much as the birds' emerging chirping. As if he had dreamed of the strangely tense mood at night, Jaskier was awake and alert. Lively and loud as always, despite the alcohol.

Geralt couldn't remember every detail, but he knew he didn't want to see Jaskier's sad face again, the way his shoulders bent under the load like the leaves of a flower threatening to break under the weight.

But there were things that Geralt could not prevent. Every flower faded at some point. Slowly time robbed them of the color of their blooms, let them wither and eventually the wind would carry them away into nothingness. Forgotten and that after only too short a time. Jaskier would not fare any differently. During their time together Geralt had realized that the human body seemed fragile like glass. A simple cold, a wrong step, a wound could make him splinter and the shards would bore deep into Geralt's heart. Into his much too soft heart, which lay in Jaskiers fragile and mortal hands. Desperation devoured him over the weeks, the closer Jaskier came to him.

Until he knew no other way. That day on the mountain, far from civilization, between rocks and softly whispering grass, Jaskier had looked again like the flower whose name he carried. Like a flower that had been stepped on too often, suffered too much, and which at some point looked like the muddy ground with torn blooms and leafs. Every color had disappeared from Jaskier's face when Geralt's words hit him like kicks. The glow in his eyes went out, while tears rose in them. With a feeling as if a rope had been pulled around his chest, Geralt remembered the sound of Jaskier's last words, which he whispered muffled before turning away. Even his favorite instrument had been stolen from him by the witcher.

In return, Jaskier took Geralt's heart with him that day. If he had believed that he would not have to bear the pain if the bard disappeared from his life, Geralt had been mistaken. He felt empty and burnt out. Like a lump of coal whose energy had evaporated, the cold took over. He was incomplete, where he walked and stood. His thoughts hung on the bard, with the name of a flower, while Geralt did his daily duty without anyone waiting for him after the hunt or sharing his bed. Jaskier's scent, a mixture of pinewood and honey and something very own that belonged to him completely, evaporated from his things and his mind, was blown away, no matter how hard the witcher tried to keep him safe.

With every morning Geralt woke up alone and realized that it would go on like this for the rest of his days, he wanted to scream but he couldn't make a sound because he thought he was drowning in the cold of the loneliness that lay like dust on everything.

Until that day when their paths crossed again.Unspectacular, unexpected as if the cunning fate of Geralt wanted to play a trick that evening.Like the breeze on a warm summer day, the familiar voice welcomed him as he pushed open the door to the tavern and saw Jaskier.

He laughed, he sang. He didn't appreciate Geralt's agonizing hours not one look, while the blue eyes flashed across the room and followed the clapping and dancing of the crowd. Only his pulse told the witcher that his presence had not gone unnoticed. Meanwhile, his gaze rested on Jaskier, greedily grasping every detail as if the bard could vanish into thin air at any moment and disappear forever.At the same time, the shame was boiling in Geralt. For all the angry words resting on his chest and squeezing the air out of him like an ugly animal. Guilt weighed on him and the question if Jaskier wasn't better off without him, had more joy in a real-life without mutants, gnawed at his entrails.

But more burning was the desire under his skin. The longing for the bard, for his petty touches that brought butterflies to life in his stomach area. The desire to kiss him spread the wings in his heart suppressed everything and filled him with ease. There was nothing he wished for more than to run his tingling fingertips through his dark brown soft hair, to look into the blue eyes that were more intense than Geralt remembered and reminded him more than ever of fallen pieces of the sky.

He want Jaskier, at his side, as long as fate gave them and if he had to let him go, he wanted to hold his hand until that moment, knowing that never again would a flower attract his gaze like Jaskier.

All this was stronger than Geralt's cowardice. So his shaky legs followed the younger one, who had finished his performance and was heading for the back exit until suddenly they were facing each other.The blue doublet's fabric glittered in the dancing candlelight as Jaskier raised his head and tensed his shoulders as if preparing for a thunderous storm that was about to hit him at any moment.

"Jaskier..-", Geralt began, in a rough voice."What is it, Geralt?", Jaskier replied violently and crossed his arms in front of his chest. With this, he could not hide the trembling of his fingers.

"I..-", Geralt produced, indecisive as he could pronounce what he felt. How sorry he was could hardly be put into words, just as he felt. Ashamed, he lowered his head, fixed the worn-out floorboards on which various footprints were visible.

"Do you know why Jaskier suits me so well?", the bard asked out of nowhere. Abruptly Geralt looked up and when their eyes met, the fire cast soft shadows on the younger one's face. His eyes spoke of pain and shimmered moistly as he continued.

"Buttercups are useless," he said, almost spitting out the words, "You can tear them out as often as you want, but they always grow back where you don't need them."

The first tear made its way across his cheek, mysteriously reflecting the light before Jaskier wiped them away in anger."My parents were right, weren't they? It fits," he said bitterly, turning to leave. Without hesitation, Geralt grabbed his arm, held him tight.

Startled, Jaskier looked at him. More tears rolled, hanging on his lashes as he looked down, unable to look into the eyes that reminded him of splinters of amber."That's not true", Geralt croaked. His heart was beating up to his neck, "I need you."Doubt and shock were visible on Jaskier's face. He bit his lips for a moment when Geralt's hand was already in his neck.

Goosebumps trickled over his skin as he ran his fingers carefully through his unruly hair.

"Buttercups still glow at dusk", Geralt whispered, "They are poisonous and are therefore rarely eaten", he continued, with every word they came closer to each other.

"They do not displace, they do not grow over, they protect when they are close to other plants."With his thumb, Geralt wiped away the last tear, as timidly as if Jaskier could break under the touch.

"They can be found even in the darker swamps", Geralt said, while they stood there leaning forehead to forehead. Jaskier trembled all over his body, his fingers clawing into Geralt's shirt. He became dizzy from the proximity and the scent that enveloped him. He breathed in deeply.

"They give light and hope," he whispered. Warm, hectic breath brushed against his throat. For a second he sank into Jaskier's eyes of the deep shimmering blue that made him forget everything.

"And they are beautiful."With these words he bent over, his hand still on the bard's cheek, sealing her lips in a kiss.He tasted salty tears and hot embers, the surprise and all the colours of this world and every fibre in his body trembled. Carefully they breathed through his nose before Jaskier pulls him closer.His lips curled into a smile, the first in a long time, as a warmth spread through him as if someone had dipped him in hot water.

He only dared to breathe as they parted tentatively, hearts pounding, drunk with happiness. When Jaskier smiled at him, embarrassed and with a twinkle in his eyes, Geralt knew that spring had returned to his life. But what did he care about the other flowers?

He had found his. His only and favorite one.

#jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #fanfiction #geralt x dandelion #imagines #buttercups #behind jaskiers name #geralt is soft

58 notes · View notes

iamtaran · 4 years ago

Text

The Lagoon pt. 3

(Part 1 and part 2 if you like!

Just as a note, any future updates to this will probably be posted to my AO3, along with the already existing parts in a single fic! Thanks everyone for reading, and @teddylacroix and @taketheshot21 for showing interest in this weird idea the won’t let go! Please everyone know how supremely self indulgent this ha becomes :I is it good? nah. is it a good time? well. one hopes.)

Ever so slowly, daring eyed and unblinking, the man with lilies in his skin watches Geralt watch him as he pulls himself from the water.

For Geralt, who does not for a moment release his gaze, or his sword hand, he catches only the barest impression of scales sliding silkly from the water. In the air, they melt into more and more pale skin, until the spirit lounges most deceptively, nakedly human on his mossy stone. A tumble of long lines and languidly loose elbows and knees. He leans forward ever so artfully, inviting Geralt’s eyes to drop. They don’t.

“I’ve heard stories of your kind, witcher,” he says with air of a man sharing gossip.

Geralt says nothing.

“As personable as I’ve been led to believe. What could have brought you here?”

“I have heard stories,” Geralt says. Slowly, “Like you.”

Mischief. “Oh? And what have you learned?”

“That I don’t know what you are.”

“But you know what I do?”

Geralt cocks his head just so, to better see the planes of his face in the upside-down light. At times like this, with the Cateye potion in full effect, everything searing in his sight burns more vibrantly, more starkly, more. Against his background of wetly green vines and smartingly bright waters, his velvet shadowed moss, the spirit rests like a pearl. He is beautiful; but any witcher knows better than to trust beauty. His beauty tempts, and it is meant to tempt. Geralt knows better than to be tempted.

“Listen to woes. Sing songs. Tell pretty stories.” He tilts his head yet further. “Kiss pretty villagers.” The spirit smiles, there and gone.

“I do that,” he admits, and says nothing more, though that inviting smile still lingers around his eyes. Geralt hums.

“Why?”

“Why do I listen?” He slithers up on his haunches then-- or does he pour himself out?-- and of a height with Geralt he straightens nearly knee to knee, a parody of Geralt’s kneeling meditation. “Or why do I kiss them?”

Geralt ignores his provocative glance altogether and instead allows the silence to press his question. After far too long a pause, the spirit makes a show of his disappointment and sighs himself back onto his heels.

“Company, if you must know. They bring a glimpse at the world beyond this lagoon.”

“And gifts,” Geralt says meaningfully.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t mistake me, White Wolf. The gifts are just that-- non-binding, freely given, and inconsequential to the ones giving them.” He grins into Geralt’s face, pleased by whatever change he had caught there. Pleased by his own cleverness. “Yes, I know you. White hair, two very scary swords. I’ve heard of you, Geralt of Rivia, as you’ve heard of me.”

A clever spirit means a vainglory one. Geralt raises two dispassionate eyebrows. “Yet I don’t know your name.”

“Perhaps you should have brought me a gift, then,” he returns. Unblinking, moving slowly enough to see, he then curls his fingers in the chain around Geralt’s neck and lets his hand hang there beside the wolf like ornamentation. Geralt growls, and does not move. Two self-satisfied eyebrows jump and jig pointedly at him.

“Are you sure you haven’t anything?” the spirit wheedles, and chuckles when Geralt frowns severely at him. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know, I knew you wouldn’t believe me about the gifts. It really is nothing nefarious. I’m afraid I’ve just been spoiled by my dear hearts, is all. They are much more appreciative than you.”

They are getting too far off topic.

“That’s what you want. Their appreciation.”

He huffs a breath as if Geralt is being particularly dull. “No. That is what I earn.”

“Then what do you want?”

“Why the interest?” He tilts his head in a coquettish mirror of Geralt’s posture, just this side of mean and grinning with it. “What do you want?”

“Answers.”

“So you can decide whether or not to kill me.”

In the sudden still and chill, Geralt says nothing. After a moment of calculating, he takes the risk and inclines his head. Just enough.

Though no describable change shifts his face or the curlicues of his always near-laughing mouth-- a twilight, in the eyes. The stars that had sparkled there recede to a winter’s distance. Wrath, or pain? From the bob of his throat, the latter.

The grip on his chain shifts. “I’ll give you your answers if you’ll give me mine,” bargains the spirit with purposeful, dishonest lightness. “Tell me, were you called here to kill me? By one of,” mine, his lips shape, but only breath escapes. Geralt, who has heard many a man take a dagger to the back, finds himself… uncomfortable. Momentarily. But even a spirit can playact.

Firmly, Geralt removes the spirit’s bold hand from his person. The spirit doesn’t fight, or blink, and no magic shifts, and the lagoon is quiet. His unwavering gaze so close could almost discomfit, were Geralt a lesser man. Thankfully, he is not a man at all.

“No,” Geralt says at last. There is no harm in sharing the truth, after all. And better to say it than risk turning an unknown spirit’s wrath on the good villagers. “They did their best to convince me of your good nature. I came to investigate only because I heard rumors in a neighboring hamlet.”

The admission gentles him immediately. He hides his relief in a turned gaze; Geralt lets him without comment. It gives Geralt the opportunity to observe every twitch of his eyelashes, and his fingers where they have risen to his neck in a mimic of human vulnerability. (Or is it genuine?) He rests it there only a moment, there and gone. When he turns back, his good humor has returned.

He looks at Geralt then in earnest. He cannot say how he knows it. It weighs differently. Without the charade of before he looks, brow to chin, shoulders to glove-clad hands. Whether he searches out some hidden aspect or believes himself possessed of its secret already. Geralt wants-- no. He wants nothing, he tells himself, and does not twitch. There is no want when his duty is to watch, to understand, to wait for any first hint of magic or ill intent. He has come to either kill or let free. Clenched fist, Geralt-- does. Does not.

Blue eyes meet his own once more. The spirit settles, stills, and splits open like waters around sharp stone.

“Freedom,” he says. “It’s what I want. To leave this lagoon.”

“Hmm,” doesn’t say Geralt, who knows at times that no words are better than too many. It works now.

“Don’t misunderstand,” the spirit rattles out breathlessly, “I love every one of my visitors. I remember every one of them that has ever come to me, by accident or by purpose, and I have been here a long, long time, witcher. Since before the village existed. There are some who come to me today whose great grandmothers I remember in their youth. There are some who live only because I whispered secret courage to their parents when shyness or misunderstanding might have kept them apart. No, their company and the time they spend with me, the work of inspiring their joy and seeing it on their faces, or tasting it on their sighs. It has been reward enough for me. Only...” He hesitates. “I began to dream of leaving only when they... gave in return.”

It takes Geralt a moment. Eyes on his, then down to the silver chain, as tactile as his hands. Perhaps you should have brought me a gift, then. Geralt purses his lips.

“The stories,” he surmises. “The gifts.”

His teeth slash open a white flash. “You were listening. I want to leave these waters. I want to see the world and find the stories myself.”

Surprised, Geralt chews wordlessly on the admission. He had begun to believe him a tethered spirit. Something of the forest and mountains, something strange, for sure, but grounded in the land. Books and tomes and lectures, and he has never heard of such a spirit wanting to leave. The power that would take; and from what source? He thinks of the trusting, besotted villagers and nearly grimaces. Doesn’t, only by strength of will, and instead asks,

“How?”

A frown tells him he did not hide his suspicions well enough.

“...You wanted to know what I am,” he says at last. Geralt grunts something like agreement. “Then let me tell you. Then you will understand.”

He goes quiet, for longer than he ever has to this point. Then, he tells his story.

“Centuries ago, this forest stretched untouched and unbroken all the way to the coast. Even the Aen Seidhe did not touch these trees, for they knew as surely as you must that when they looked, the forest looked back. It was so looking that She saw me.”

(“She,” Geralt says.)

“She. She has no name. She is the forest. Far more ancient than any spirit I’ve ever encountered. I’ve always imagined She is as old as the spheres, though I can’t know. I’ve never seen Her, not as you see me. She is too grand to have a humanoid form. Like too many birds against the sky that by filling it become greater than it.

“Centuries ago, when the forest still reached down to the sea, before the humans too dumb to magic’s song to hear its cries cut back the forest’s edge to build their cities and towns there. A traveling bard wandered the wild lands. Upon finding the ocean, he fell in love with the blue of the water and the call of the gulls, and sitting by a sheltered cove composed a song. He picked up his lute and played. The waters there had never heard such music, not by lute or human voice, and they fell in love in return. He did not know, of course. But he played, and he sang, and it was the first song in any voice not the ocean’s own there sung.

“And as he sang the bard dreamed of chime-voiced mermaids floating like lilies in the waves; and as the cove gazing up at him sang back and dreamed of sweet-face bards with gentle hands; all the while, the song echoed and returned greater each time from the throats of the rocks and waves --light that runs between crystals and multiplying grows brighter, like that. And the song grew; and the bard played, not knowing he sang a duet; and they sang with emotion deep enough to touch that stuff at the heart of all things, be they rocks or oceans or stars, the stuff of Chaos; and the song was the first; and the song was me.

“That is what I am.”

Listening, Geralt thinks that it is not the least likely thing he has ever heard. There have always been tales of spirits born from emotion if it is great enough. From Firsts, too, for they have power. Old tales from the elves recall a breathless time Before when the Aen Seidh knew only peace across years unbroken by suffering and hardship. In the stories, a betrayal between siblings saw its end. From the first death was all Death born, in all its many visages, its spirits and gods. Witchers had spent the past two centuries amassing all knowledge of such phenomena. Geralt had read every tome in Kaer Morhen, and so knew they understood so very little of these spirits. Who was he to say that it is not possible?

Besides which… as he had told his story, just for a moment in the way of true things hidden in a shape mundane, Geralt had heard and seen. Gulls and waves grumbled and shrilled beneath his breath.

When he had first appeared, glowing and serene, Geralt had known his nature in part because he had looked for it. Now lit with the light of his own tale, recalling his creation, there could be no mistaking him for a human. A more-ness swelled about him. As it fades, blue eyes gone distant with remembering, Geralt finds he believes him.

But he had not finished the tale.

“And she saw you,” he parrots when the silence has grown too clinging. The spirit smiles brittly. “She did,” he says, and takes his cue.

“She had watched me for decades as I lived within the echo of the waves barking off the stone, and sang in the mist there. No, don��t look so grim, it suits you too well for my tastes. I wasn’t completely alone. What the bard did not know all those years ago was that there are mermaids in that cove. We enjoyed each other’s company quite immensely. The harmonies we created! Ten, twelve, twenty voices rising in tandem as the tides, ululating, soaring, sighing, deeper than the dark waters, lighter than the foam lacing the waves. Oh, the nights we passed, all of us silver and amber and umber on the rocks. How the moonlight gilded their abalone-smooth breasts-”

(“The forest, spirit,” Geralt reminds him. He gets an annoyed hand waved at him for his troubles.

“No appreciation for an artfully woven scene, I see. Tell me, are all witchers so short-tempered,” he teases, “or is it just you’ve not the attention span?”

“Spirit,” Geralt rumbles, this time in warning. Another flap of his unconcerned hand.

“Yes, yes, I was getting to it. It. Well.” He sighs.)

“The humans came with their axes, and the forest dwindled until only the last willow smoothed its lonely fingers over the brow of the waves there in my cove. It was sitting under it that I first heard her whispers. Such a voice, Geralt. Never before had I heard one like it, and never since. She told me of how She had listened all those years as I sang, and how She mourned to never hear me again once Her final tree was cut from the embrace of the coast. How she sighed. The wind blew and moaned through that willow like a dirge.”

(“She pricked your bleeding heart. Played on your sympathy,” Geralt surmises, not flatteringly. The spirit turns from gazing soulfully out across the lagoon-- westward, towards the sea-- to glare at him balefully, beautifully wounded.)

“And can you blame me? Pah, don’t answer, I can see that you can. Yes, my heart went out to her plea. She begged that I come visit her. She would gift me the legs of a man so that I could leave the waters behind and move freely through the trees. I was fascinated. I had never left the cove, nor walked as any of the elves or humans or dwarves did. I had no ability to shift my form then. I had never even considered it! And She was the first spirit to whom I had ever spoken. How different She was from my friends the mermaids; how like to me, or so I thought. I longed to visit Her and to ease Her loneliness. I loved that She had listened for so long. I loved that She loved me.”

(Geralt does not need to speak to earn this frown. “She did,” the spirit snaps.

“She did,” Geralt agrees mildly, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Enough to keep you.”

For a moment, the spirit trembles. Expressive to a fault. Geralt can see why the villagers long to make him smile, if this is the alternative. Hearts softer than his would not be able to stand the blow of those crumpled brows, the agonized dip of eyelashes on his cheek. More’s the better, he thinks firmly, without the sliver-stab of guilt under his skin; the better that a witcher’s heart does not ache.

“Yes,” he says at last, wet- and bright-eyed and, to Geralt’s surprise, unfaltering. “Enough to keep me.”)

“She told me to wait for the new moon, when I would find in the grotto beneath the willow’s roots a lily growing. I found the crevice, and the lily. I did as She had told me. I pulled myself up the vines and roots of the willow with the nectar held on my tongue, and only when I was free of the water did I drink it, and found I had legs like a man.

“But the change had been painful and long, and the climb tiring, and the air so dry. So I laid amongst the roots to sleep and regain my strength. I would then follow my new friend’s voice into the trees, or so I thought. Yet when I awoke, I was here. Here I have remained.”

“And yes,” he snaps, “I have tried to walk from the forest.”

Geralt closes his frowning mouth. The spirit snorts.

“I can only leave the waters at night, and even then, I cannot walk far. Too far from the lagoon and every step will feel as if I trod on a bed of thorns. Even pushing through the pain-- and I have, too many nights to count-- there is no path out that will not turn me back. I cannot be carried from the forest, either, no matter how determined my carter. No matter how far I go, when the morning rises, I or my potential saviors are lost, and then I am back in the waters. Always, I return to these waters. For what I am, if I am anything, is a prisoner.”

His tale told, he sits back as if in punctuation. Well? His stubborn mouth unspeaking seems to ask.

Geralt finds the tale sits wrong with him.

It is not, he thinks, that it has the sound of a lie. And as a witcher trained to brutal honesty with himself as well as others, Geralt cannot say it is wholly that his sense of right and justice pricks at the fate, which it does. For all he might not experience those feelings of mortal men, in whatever fashion, he does feel some pity for the pretty, kept thing. He has always been a stalwart on the behalf of those unjustly kept. Princesses in towers, wolves in menagerie cages, and, now, spirits in lagoons.

But it is not sympathy or any doubt that unsettles him. It takes Geralt a moment to realize what.

“Most spirits of that age and breadth can’t lie. Not when they offer a greater magic, as it did in giving you legs. They can twist meaning, or hide it, but not lie outright. If she told you that your time would be to visit... there should be some way for you to be freed,” Geralt reasons.

“There are… stipulations, to the magic she worked on me,” the spirit admits. “A way to leave her hold and the lagoon. She explained them after. Just once.” He beats his fist once upon the stone. “Would that I had asked that she be more specific, that day under the willow. It had sounded quite simple.”

“It always does.”

They sit in silence for a while. It is nearly comfortable.

Geralt’s eyes wince and prick. The Cateye will wear off soon, and he will let it. There will be no battle here tonight, and there is light enough from the waters besides. He should have no trouble finding his way out of the forest. Perhaps, if he makes good enough time, there might be an ale for him at the festival. They won’t have reason to turn him away. He needn’t slay their precious spirit after all.

“So?” The spirit asks, breaking his half-hearted considerations. “Will you be killing me? I should hate for you to have walked all this way for nothing.” This, for once, is not a flirtation. The spirit smiles blandly. “Though I suppose if you hurry, you might still make the festival. It is tonight,” he asks Geralt’s momentary startlement, “is it not?”

For a moment, so surprised by his own thoughts spoken back to him, Geralt considers that maybe-- but no. He looks, and there is no tilt of victory to the look leveled on him. It had not read his thoughts. At least, not any one that he hadn’t shown clearly on his face, apparently. He had let his guard down almost without realizing. Sometime during his story, Geralt wonders with a foreboding inkling of his fate? Sometime before?

Geralt realizes he has already made a decision and, sighing gustily, unslings his swords resignedly. He gives himself exactly one moment the mourn the ale he won’t be drinking. Then:

“What stipulations?” he grunts. The man jolts from his pointed slump. The ungracefulness of his gaping speaks to his real shock as Geralt settles the swords on a bed of ferns. He himself doesn’t speak, though his mouth moves. Opening. Closing. Smiling. Geralt dodges directly catching his gaze like one avoids a direct look at the sun and clears his throat, saying to his chin (which is just about the only safe place to look which isn’t his eyes), “The role of a witcher is not only to slay beasts and monsters. We are expert curse breakers. This sounds close enough.”

“Even if I’m one of the monsters you might otherwise slay?” he lilts, like a man who knows already. Geralt scowls at being made to say it.

“You’re a spirit, not a monster. You’re hurting no one. If I can free you, I will.”

Now it is Geralt’s turn to jump.

“Thank you,” the spirit murmurs as soft and rasping as his fingertips across the back of Geralt’s hand. He leans close enough that Geralt wants to turn away-- not only for himself. He knows how his eyes and face will look from so close. The sickness of Cateye still burns through him; more so, when it is burning out. The thin, corpse-colored skin around his eyes does nothing to hide the blackness of the veins there. It seems almost indecent to expose a spirit infatuated with beauty and humanity (in fact, a spirit born from it) to such ugliness. “But I- it--” he stutters.

Geralt looks back then. Not once to this point has the spirit ever stumbled his words. So he looks, and the despair so clear in his face is all he needs to see.

“But you can’t tell me,” he concludes, and curses, and cuts his throbbing eyes back to the trees. “The magic prevents you from revealing how to break it. Of course.” Nothing can ever be easy.

The spirit bobs to the side, trying to catch Geralt’s gaze. Resolutely, Geralt turns his head.

“Witcher?” A moment. “Geralt? Why do you turn your face? Is there something you hear? Or see?”

“No,” Geralt grits out. He winces at the throb and sear of shifting blood and inflamed blood vessels. He raises a hand over his eyes when the spirit presses closer chasing his gaze like a child. He snaps. “Will you stay there?”

“No! Let me see what’s wrong.” A hand grabs his wrist. Geralt flinches.

“Don’t-”

“Touch you?” The spirit challenges.

“-look!” Geralt snarls, and closes his mouth tight immediately after, breathing hard out through his nose. A flush of nausea goes through him, followed by a dowsing of cold sweat. The sickness without battle adrenaline to cushion him from the full extent of the toxicity symptoms. Made more uncomfortable for the unfortunate honesty.

A thumb swipes along Geralt’s wrist, caressing tendon and bone.

“Your lovely eyes? Why not? Are they hurting you?”

“Not lovely,” Geralt grunts, “and not mine. The effect of the potion is wearing off.” Another throb, a flush of fever-hot blood draining down his cheeks. The muscles of his back ripple before he forces each one to release.

“You didn’t answer me. Are they hurting you?”

Silence.

“Can I see?”

Stubborn. “You won’t like it.” No one does.

Geralt can hear him shift, him in his bare skin and naught else.

“Can I see?” he repeats, so softly that he could be talking to one of his kissing villagers. “Your eyes. Please.”

It twinges to have them open as his pupils begin to contract and close and the irises shift back into place. Geralt turns to look at him anyway and bears it because he wants to punish the spirit for asking. To see him reel back in disgust. He had acted too long as if he spoke to a man and not a witcher and, Geralt thinks, needs reminding.

Only, as the night leans in on its shadowed haunches to fill in spaces that had been bright as noon not seconds before, and as the lagoon and the forest and the man with lilies in his skin go pearlescent and cool blue, the spirit startles. He watches unbreathing as the pain and therefore the blackness begins to recede, receding, gone. The shift complete.

But he does not pull back. His eyelashes splay open their beautiful, greedy, grasping fingers, and he wondering breathes, “You have brought me a gift. You just didn’t know it.” Geralt stares.

“What?”

At Geralt’s twitch his expression breaks open, not cool at all. He beams rose and peach and shell-pink warmth. His fingers weave their way into the hair behind Geralt’s ear; and he is reeling from the potion, he tells himself, that is why- why he doesn’t--

“My name is Jaskier,” the spirit says, a mere hand’s breadth away.

And that is when he dips forward and kisses Geralt on the mouth.

#the witcher #fanfic #nonhuman!jaskier #geraskier #lagoon verse #taran writes #i love dramatic larger than life fairy tales and no one can stop me #go big or go home #and i'm already home

50 notes · View notes

windup-dragoon · 5 years ago

Text

【Ｗａｔｅｒｌｉｌｉｅｓ】

Hien x Kiri

Goddess of the Sea AU

Word Count: 2868

Brief mentioning of @windupzenos‘ Octavia.

“You swore an oath to me, Goddess!”

“Not this drivel again.”

“From your very lips you gave me your word! Now release me!”

“And ya’ thought you’d control the sea? Everyone knows the sea is fickle, my dear prince. Now shut yer damn trap!”

Anger boiled his blood, his heart drumming harder in his ears than the pounding of his fist against the wooden door to the captain’s quarters. He could hear the hinges creak and groan beneath the strain, even rattling when he threw his shoulder into it. Yet it remained sealed despite his desperate attempt at escape.

“Kirishimi!” His voice was hoarse from shouting her name. This time he would go unanswered, the sound swallowed by an abrupt roaring all around him. The ship rocked violently, slamming him against the door. He could hear the maelstrom worsen just beyond the wooden planks that barred him from the goddess out on the decks. Wood snapped like thunder claps that sent quakes throughout the hull of the ship; the sails hissed as their fabric was torn in the blistering gales; and if he listened, hard and close, between the chaos ensuing beyond his prison, the faint ring of metal sparking against metal.

This was his fault.

Hien felt as if he may begin sinking. The din outside faded beneath the weight of his thoughts and thundering heartbeat. He slipped to his knees, forehead to the splintered door and eyes loosing focus on the intricate knots of the floorboards beneath him. With each tug and pull experienced by the ship, the sway and lull as it crested tide after raging tide, he felt neither here nor there.

All of this would be on his hands.

While his search for the goddess had yielded grand results, his people restored and brought home to live in peace once more, he had doomed the goddess herself. A viper in his company had used him. A mere plaything to be discarded once he had fulfilled his role. How had he been so blind to it before?

Of everyone in his crew, all but two had been his own kinsmen. While his own men were ready to cast aside their lives in search of a fantasy woman, she who spoke with the churning tides and sang with the gulls, these two hired hands had business of their own to tend to. And all the while he busied himself with the goddess, telling her stories of his country and admiring the way her eyes lit up with every shared laughter, he was dooming her to certain death.

His heart ached at the wretched thought. Those nights spent on an eerily calm sea, watching stars mirror themselves on the oceans glassy surface as if a blanket of jewels while in her company... And she would die for his blunders.

“They’ll tell stories of you,” The woman had snarled at him before drawing her weapon against the goddess. A monstrosity of an axe against a trident. “A sappy love story, to be assured. Poetic, as the bards have habit of making everything out of tragedy. ‘Land and sea dying together.’” Octavia gave a helpless shrug, as if to apologize for poetry not being her forte.

Meanwhile, trashing in the maelstrom, Leviathan snapped his ship swallowing jaws at her companion, the crowned prince of metal and steel. In large arches blood dotted the stormy skies, a shower of scales and thick ichor. The prince seemed to have little trouble dealing blow after blow to the creature. Hien could do naught but feel his stomach twist with guilt with every pained cry from Leviathan.

Words could not convey his regret for having ever brought this upon the goddess.

Before tears could well in his eyes and blur his vision all together, the erratic movements of the ship had ceased. The brewing storm and angry lashings of waves to the ships hull began to fade. A glimmer of light briefly shimmered through the windows around him giving the prince reason to once again rouse from the floor.

“Kiri-” His hands, scrambling for purchase at the door, were met with no resistance now and the door swung wide. The prince stumbled and spilled onto the deck.

Sunlight showered the ship, setting pools of gathered sea water sparkling and glittering. It was near blinding. With raised hands to shield his eyes he surveyed the damage wrought upon the ship, jaw slack with dread.

The masts were all shattered at their base, their tree like limbs completely gone without a trace; railing that he once noted to be intricate and heavy with artistic design were little more than bursts of splinters and broken lumber. The only thing he could visibly see that survived had been the captains quarter. Not a single glass pane had shattered while he occupied the room, nor had a lantern fallen amid the chaos. Surely this was intentional.

“Good. Yer alive.” The voice of the goddess grabbed his attention, reeling him back from his dumbstruck awe over the unreal serenity of the moment. The oceans rage had been quelled at the cost of her ship. And no Octavia or her prince in sight.

Hien followed the sound of her weakened voice finding her just behind the thrown open door he had lurched through moments ago. Her jacket, of such deep ocean blue and decorated in the finest pearls and lost jewels, little more than shreds at her arms. White hair a frazzled mess from the howling winds of hurricane gales. Her lips, bruised and bloody, curved ever so slightly before the woman sank against the wooden wall at her back.

The prince threw himself at her, one arm around her shoulder while the other tenderly touched at the various cuts along her cheek.

“What? Catfish got yer tongue?” She gave an echo of a laugh.

“Shocked.” Hien brushed his thumb over a gathering bead of blood at her jaw and arched a brow. “I thought a goddess would not bleed red like the rest of us.” If this was the worse of her injuries, perhaps he could at last fill his lungs with a breath of air.

“Heh, only when we’re close ta’ dyin’... does it turn to gold.” Despite the splits in her lips, Kirishimi smiled at the prince and drew her hand along her side. When she pulled it away Hien choked on a gasp. Her fingertips glittered beneath the afternoon sun now that the storm clouds had vacated. The ichor that set rivulets down each length of her fingers and pooled in her palm was ethereal to say the least. Never had the prince seen such color. Gold melted down, touched with the rainbow shimmer of pearls and glittered like stardust.

His mind went blank at the realization. All at once it felt as though the world had stopped moving, his blood ran as if ice filled his veins, the darkest waters of the abyss drowning his lungs and smothering his heart. His hands felt numb as urgency filled his muscles, tearing away at the remains of her waterlogged jacket. He raised her arm, distantly hearing her muffled groan in retaliation to the pain.

Along the curve of her side and splattering the deck spilled more of this unusual blood. A long gash had been torn into her from the cage of her ribs down across her abdomen. Hien’s throat tightened and vision blurred.

“Don’t’cha look at me like that, mate.” She urged, an unusual softness to her tone. “I held my part o’ the bargain, didn’t I? Yer folk are home safe and yer still kickin’.”

Hien shook his head. It was suddenly impossible to look her in the eyes. Those beautiful sapphire and crimson eyes. “At what cost? I’ve murdered a goddess.”

“Oh? And which one o’ these injuries of mine belong to you? Don’t see yer sword in my gut or a knife in my back.”

“Octavia and Zenos were apart of my crew. I had damned you from the start.”

“Speakin’ of which. They should be crashin’ against the cliffs soon. Levi gave ‘em a tsunami bath. Teach them for steppin’ foot on my boat.” Kiri attempted more laughter, tried with all her strength to stay smiling for the prince at her side, but choked on a welling of blood in her mouth.

She coughed and he leaned closer. “Kirishimi-...”

As he moved closer, the goddess took his hand and pressed an object into the heel of his palm. It was sticky with blood, ichor that made his mortal skin feel alight with a warm flame of a candle. Miscolored eyes looked up to his, searching his pained expression. “Call Levi for me? I want to go home...”

The item in question was an ocarina, he had seen her use it late at night, playing haunting melodies to the stars and the moon. But it’s make was hardly alike any he had seen before; it was carved into the shape of a fiddler crab and painted with scarlet red for its body with claws of ocean blue.

“This summons Leviathan?” He questioned, already knowing the answer. “W-Wait, what do you mean by ‘home’? If Leviathan can take us to land, surely a doctor or a healer could see you!”

“Just play a tune for Levi, will ya’?” Mismatched eyes began to flutter against the sunlight.

“Kiri, wait!”

- - -

The young prince had seen many things in life. He had seen war destroy homes and villages over night, witnessed life at birth and at death, even met the goddess of the sea. But this? This was a marvel in of itself.

An entire city deep beneath the waves. Not a thriving metropolis like he would have suspected if one had made mention of a lost city; but one of ruin. Statues depicting once living people had begun to crumble from the oceans currents; limbs missing here and there or faces having fallen away to sink to the sea bed below. Every so often he would catch the glimmer of light sparkling off what was once beautiful stained glass, only to be swallowed by the darkness of the ocean as they slipped by.

What stunned him beyond belief however was the place the goddess called home. Not a castle or throne room decorated in lavish pearls and sunken jewels. But rather a library. Fully intact at that.

The building itself was nestled into a slope of earth beneath the tides, an air pocket preserving the library as if it were an underwater cavern. Parts of walkways had long since been submerged by rising waters, but the library itself towered high; lined every which way with tomes and books galore.

The architecture resembled that of the sunken city; built in stone with towering columns and crumbling railings. Along several walls he could see motifs etched into the stonework. Beautiful depictions of a serpentine creature, each scale embedded with sapphire or cerulean blue tiles. Everywhere he looked he saw similar artwork. Leviathan. All of it was a dedication to Leviathan himself. And at the very center of the library, just feet above the ocean water that claimed the walkways, stood a fountain lined in the same tiles and jewels as the creature had been. The statue that still functioned, pouring water from a vase dusted in gold, was the goddess herself. Or at least the prince could only surmise.

Her face had spiderweb fractures, pieces of her cheek having fallen into the pool at her feet centuries ago. And where the goddess, currently cradled in his arms unconscious, had short hair, the statue was given hair that fell to her pedestal and into the fountain itself.

“A mortal?” Echoed a voice from one of the many tiers of flooring that made up the library.

Hien had to squint against the faint light that weaved throughout the railing, it looked as if fireflies were encased in the stonework itself to provide soft light. “A-Aye! The goddess is injured! Leviathan has brought her and myself here! Please, if you could offer us succor, her life could yet be saved!”

Somewhere behind the prince, lounging in the caverns opening, Leviathan let out a gurgled hiss before resting its beaked nose against the half submerged staircase that made the libraries entrance. Hien had felt pity for the creature, only it’s head could fit. Leviathan, despite the injuries sustained, had bore them both to the bottom of the sea without qualm. Another miracle, Hien thought now, that the creature could conjure an air pocket for his riders while they descended to the depths.

The voice overhead squeaked, a sound of books clattering to the floor soon followed. “Oh my! Quickly now! Place her in the fountain! Go!” A shuffling told Hien that the voice had departed, perhaps to reach them.

Hien held the goddess closer, her head lulled against the crook of his neck. When she wasn’t barking orders or giving attitude, she almost seemed at peace. Though the prince knew not to be swayed by her looks alone; this was hardly sleep but death approaching. He could see it in the way her cheeks twitched as she grimaced, or the flutter of her closed eyes.

With gathered strength he trudged forward, descending a small set of stairs where water soon swelled up to his knees. The stonework had begun to crumble here and there beneath him, he could scarcely make out the dark blotches just beneath the murky water. He picked his way through carefully, first feeling with the tip of his foot for purchase before moving forward. The water still rose, up to his waist before another small set of stairs appeared, leading up to the fountain.

The fountain was larger than he would have guessed from his earlier position. Several goddess’ could have been laid beneath the glittering water with ease. Even the statue loomed over him, taller and far more detailed than he had given credit for. Each fold in her dress was clear as day, he swore he could even see the stitching in the stone.

But the time to admire such craftsmen ship was gone. Hien shook his head, sitting himself down on the lip of the fountain. His eyes trailed to the goddess in his arms, absently sparring a moment to brush aside misty white hair from her cheek. Carefully he leaned over and lowered her into the water.

Golden ichor spread throughout the fountains pooled water, shimmering and swirling like galaxies beneath the ripples. Her form sunk against the tiles, the pool swallowing her entirely.

Hien watched impatiently as her blood bled into the fountains water. Had he been expecting a miracle? Magic to suddenly encase her and instantly heal her?

“It’ll take some time, lad.” A voice once more called to him. Wadding in knee deep water, along one of the other pathways that lead further into the library, stood what Hien could only comprehend as a standing tortoise. A creature that looked human in the way he stood, two legs and two arms, but had a shell adorning his back encrusted in gold and jewels. Even his head seemed more turtle aspect than man. The creature ran a hand through a length of beard at his chin before chuckling. “Never seen a Kojin before? C’mon, let’s leave her alone to recover. You can regale me with how this all happened, eh?”

Hien found himself shaking his head, too dumbstruck to register what the man had said at all. Was this tortoise truly speaking to him? Had he gone mad while traveling the ocean? The more he considered the thought, the more it made sense. Libraries do not just sink to the ocean floor. They do not make homes for a goddess. And what, he is supposed to believe she enjoys reading? Or Leviathan for that matter, who had snarled and hissed at him upon their first meeting, now a snoozing kitten at the entrance of this grand forgotten place.

“I’ve lost my mind.” Hien wheezed, holding his head in his hands. “Ocean madness truly exists.”

“You’re only mad if you insist on staying in wet garb all day, lad. You’ll catch a cold.” Snorted the Kojin as he began his retreat, climbing a staircase out of the water. “I’ll put on tea if you change your mind.”

Loathe as he was to admit, this cavernous library was hardly warm. He had felt himself shaking with chill as they arrived, though in part it was worry that shook him. Fear that the goddess would die cradled in his arms. If she had passed, who then would he tell stories to late into the night? Of fabled cities that dotted the landscape just out of her reach? She seemed to love his storytelling... Maybe she did invest time into reading?

Hien rose suddenly, curiosity filling his chest. This was home to the goddess herself. What other strange and interesting things did she keep secreted away down here? The prince, with new urgency, stood up to follow after the kojin. He spared only one glance back at the sleeping goddess and gasped.

The fountain had filled itself with a rainbow of waterlilies.

#|| Untold Stories #|| Tiger Prince & the Stray #hien rijin #hien x wol #hien x kiri #Goddess AU #Goddess of the Sea #so idk what this is #it probably doesn't even make sense as I kinda forced myself to write this :^)#takes place after kiri decides to lend Hien her strength #his people are safe and his desire is fulfilled but Octavia and Zenos are out to kill the Goddess #Kiri locks hien up to keep him safe while she summons a tsunami to effectively clean her boat of Zenos and Octavia :V #GET OFF HER SHIP #but in the process she also gets fatally injured #THANK YOU TO WINDUPZENOS FOR LETTING ME USE OCTAVIA #I know it's brief but I still appreciate being able to use her ;u;

35 notes · View notes

abalonetea · 4 years ago

Note

I'm new to your worldbuilding and ocs. Could you steer me in the direction of who everyone is and what's going on in the stories? thank you

HELLO ANON

I NEED YOU TO KNOW I LOVE THIS QUESTION and also! welcome to my blog! i have a lot of minor background wips, and several main ones. i’m gonna throw this under the cut!

GROUNDHOG DAY - 60k words into the first book, outlining the second half of the first draft - part of Cat House Productions Verse

This is my MAIN wip. The heart and soul of everything I write. Groundhog Day is set in two versions of the same classic rpg video game, one the gritty reboot of the other. But when glitches start to wreck the original games’ codes, several characters begin retaining memories of their past lives, realizing their kingdoms are trapped in a time loop. It’s even worse when another glitch strikes, switching the games of one of the characters with his counterpart—Red and Blue—prompting a race to get home amidst the formation of friendship and family and the threat of a new war.

It stars Bolte, Locke, Red, and Blue. Secondary mains include Captain, Celeste, Aba, and Midnight! You can find art of most everyone HERE! Locke is the goodest good boi to ever exist, the literal embodiment of Hope. Bolte is a very hurt, angry desperate knight just trying to keep himself and Red alive. They’re the two “Official Mains” of the wip. Celeste is one of the most popular side characters - they’re a spider bard!

It’s a “worlds collide”, power of friendship and love story set in two candy kingdoms; one already fallen and the other on the cusp of war. The main themes are learning to accept help, making your own family, and understanding that there’s always time to make a better life and a better self. Hope, love, and compassion are the main driving points. It’s a highly emotional story, and the first of an eventual series.

_-_-_-_

STARBOY - 13 chapters in, posted over on patreon.com/abalonetea for the $10+ tiers, excerpts and art frequently posted here, goal of finishing by december

The crew of the Cosmic Pearl have been on the run for years now, their ship set in a permanent course towards chaos. It’s just that they’ve never really gotten into a mess like this before.

When they find a ship idling in a part of the galaxy no one else should be, Rumi orders it to be docked. What sort of pirate would skip a chance to plunder, right? It’s just…the ship isn’t abandoned. And the single man they find on board isn’t…exactly how he should be.

Judges cast the first stone, but hunters throw the knives.

And captain’s? Well, they’ll protect ship and crew to their dying breaths.

Rumi just hopes he’s not about to take his any time soon.

An epic space adventure following the pirate crew of the Cosmic Pearl. Main characters are Rumi, Starboy (Jude), Jaxon, and Carmelo. Rumi is the captain, and he’s got a really hard time keeping track of his pants. It’s a running theme for him. The basic idea is that a concept called “Judges” exist in this world. It’s random who ends up as a Judge. Jude is a Judge that managed to escape from Unity, where he was being held, and who accidentally gets picked up by Rumi and his crew.

The smart thing to do would be to just turn Jude in but...Rumi’s not known for being smart. What follows is an epic chase across the galaxy while they try to get Starboy home, find their own treasure, and avoid being caught by Hunters. Heavy themes of found family, learning to be yourself and not what other people want, friendship matters, and also poly-relationships.

_-_-_-_

PASS YOU BY - almost done the outline, hopeful nano story

Axel and Wrench have made a living for themselves in the Fallows; the wasteland left behind after a magical nuclear explosion. They aren’t expecting for a doll to show up in their dreams and rip them into an entirely new world. They really aren’t expecting for a bunch of children to show up in their bedroom closet, talking about how they’re the only ones that can stop the Melt from destroying their world.

Despite having been content finally making an easy going, relaxed life for themselves, they can’t let literal children try to save the world. So they take up that task instead...and find the same doll from their dreams at the heart of it all.

Main characters are Axel, Wrench, Blanket and Doll. Secondary mains are Ruin, Russet, Wren, and Melt. Wrench is literally a walking lamp post, and Axel has a floating cow skull for a head. It’s a hardcore fantasy with magic, alternate worlds, and a “Studio Ghibli” vibe to the designs.

The running theme is that Axel and Wrench, an unofficially-married married couple end up adopting a bunch of kids because the other adults in this world are useless. Culture clash, Food With Importance, found family, and making a place in the world are all the main themes. The first in a two part set, with a spin off planned called Take It To The Grave.

_-_-_-_

Dandelion Fluff - gets published on the 15th

A casual read about the prince of the Land of Monsters and the monster he finds trapped in the basement of the Royal Labs. Running themes are making wishes reality, it’s never too late to find a friend, standing up for the people you love, and dealing with grief in your own way.

The prequel to the upcoming book Quilted Blanket, in the outlining stages presently.

_-_-_-_

You’ll also frequently find me posting about my background wips -

NeonPnk - set in a post apocalyptic world where radiation has caused people to develop “glowderm”, causing glowing colored patches on their skin. It follows the members of a strip club trying to locate one of their missing employees and accidentally over throwing the government in the process.

The Business - animal mafia, set in the video game world of The Business

Catharsis - all about vampires, soul mates, and dealing with grief

Wings Of War - set in a CHP video game, starring the winged members of the Compass Team.

Swimming In Stars - four young adults take the road trip they were never able to go on in their youth

I also make new wips every three or four days and will frequently post about them here! I LOVE answering questions, so feel free to ask any questions about the wips or characters if you would like!

A lot of my stories have food as a central theme, and about half of them are set in the CHP verse, meaning they take place in various video games.

6 notes · View notes

sinsbymanka · 5 years ago

Text

The Viscount’s Muse (NSFW, Smut Ahoy)

Post DAI - Maria Cadash finds the Viscount’s smut and gets... inspired. This can also be found at AO3! Smut is under the cut. Thank you @tuffypelly for the inspiration!

“Sod it all.” Maria mumbled under her breath, collapsing in Varric’s desk chair. It groaned as if it too thought the situation hopeless.

“My lady?” The steward asked blandly, stopping his long recitation of matters needing her attention.

“Sorry, keep going.” She waved him on, glaring at her husband’s desk. “The Comte de Launcet wants what again?”

The steward continued his droning and Maria listened with only half an ear. Varric’s latest serial, The Murderous Magpie, had been more of a hit that anyone could have dreamed. His next Hard in Hightown, according to all the critics and a rabid fan base. Who couldn’t love a daring, rakish heroine from the streets framed for countless murders of mighty nobles by a shadowy faction with nefarious motives?

It was transparently based on Bea Cadash of course, but beyond their little circle, nobody else had made the connection. Bea herself actually picked up a copy, read the whole damn thing, then wrote a real honest-to-goodness letter critiquing it in detail. Maria herself usually got mere notes, laced with profanity, from Bea. A letter was nearly unheard of.

So, of course, both Varric’s editor and publisher were breathing down his damn neck for the next chapter. Because her husband, of course, didn’t have enough things spinning on his many plates. Ruling the city, managing both their affairs with the guild, raising their daughter, making sure the little operation trying to track Solas down at the Gallows didn’t collapse while Maria vanished into the crossroads for months…

She’d been gone too long the last time she left. Poor Varric must have been drowning in it all. She swallowed the thought guiltily and brushed aside the neat stacks of papers on his desk impatiently. She promised she’d read it before he sent it off but she couldn’t sodding find it. She was about ready to push it to tomorrow when she seized upon a neat stack of Varric’s handwritten notes in a drawer.

She lifted them triumphantly and let her eyes scan the page.

Mariele’s plump lips opened in greedy anticipation, silver eyes flashing dangerously beneath the black lace of her mask. Viktor already felt himself swelling to attention under her hungry, predatory gaze. She looked as if she’d swallow him whole. A lesser man would fall to her whims immediately…

Oh for the love of Andraste and all their bleeding ancestors, Varric must have finally given into Cassandra’s urging to write the next chapter of Swords and Shields. Set in Orlais, by the sound of it. Amused, Maria flipped to the next page.

Her nimble fingers undid his trousers before he could even protest and the bard dropped to her knees in a rustle of pale silk. The moonlight in the garden turned her skin to pearl and marble, turned her hair to flickering crimson flame. She released his heavy manhood into the night, wrapping slender fingers around it and letting her pink tongue dart out over those tempting, kiss swollen lips.

Viktor couldn’t help himself. He dropped his hand to the bare shoulders exposed by the wispy gown, traced his thumb up the pale, white scars accenting her silken skin.

“Mariele…” He shuddered under her expert fingers. “Sweet Andraste…”

“Oh,” The beautiful creature purred. “But I’m so much sweeter.”

Crimson hair. Silver eyes. Scars climbing up her shoulder. Mariele and Viktor. She wondered if she’d make it through the rest of the draft to find out Mariele only had one blighted arm after losing the other to freak elven magic shenanigans.

“My lady?” The steward asked, taking in her sudden, frozen posture. “Is everything quite alright?”

“Of course.” She answered mechanically. “Tell the Comte we can’t assist him at this time. Where is the Viscount at the moment?”

“Meeting with the shipbuilders guild, my lady. Then luncheon with some merchants from Antiva, contract negotiations with the city of Markham, and then you’ve both accepted an invitation to a dinner hosted by one of the Merchant Guild’s…”

Perfect. She’d been considering cheerfully murdering him, witnesses be damned, but a Merchant’s Guild dinner would be far, far worse than death. “We haven’t sent our regrets about not attending yet?”

“I believe your plan was to feign an emergency.” The steward remarked wryly. “Fire in the kitchens was next in your rotation of excuses.”

“We’ll save that for the next one. Please send a note to my husband stating we’ll be attending the guild dinner. I’ll meet him there.”

“Are… are you certain?” The steward asked, agog. Maria shuffled all the papers in the drawer into a neat stack and leaned back in Varric’s chair. She lifted her eyes to the steward and raised one eyebrow.

“Did I stutter?” She asked sweetly, the tone dripping honey and venom.

“No! No, ma’am.” He added, gulping nervously.

“And can you ask the Hawkes if they’ll keep my daughter for the evening? I think we’ll be returning late.” Maria lifted the first paper to her eyes in clear dismissal and watched with a rather large amount of amusement as the steward scuttled away.

Varric, Varric, Varric… she thought with no small degree of hidden fondness. If this had made it to his publisher, she’d shave his chest hair off herself, but deep down she knew it hadn’t. He’d been naughty, though. That wasn’t in doubt.

He’d missed her. So he’d written smutty literature starring them. She could already tell it was absolutely awful. And glorious. She couldn’t wait to tell Cass.

At first, Varric thought his wife had been kidnapped and the note sent under duress. After all, the only person who hated guild dinners as much as he did had to be Maria. After he’d managed to ascertain that, yes, she did indeed order the steward to send it, he’d assumed it was a joke.

Until he went searching for her and saw his finery laid out neatly on the bedspread, a command if he ever saw one. After that, he desperately tried to track her down, but as usual if Maria didn’t want to be found, nobody could find her. The only one who could, their precocious daughter, had already been shuffled to Hawke’s to spend the night. That, of course, meant Maria was indeed deadly serious about attending the guild dinner.

With absolutely no other explanation offered, of course, because she was the most maddening woman he’d ever met.

He took his time making it over to the quarter, showing up rather later than fashionable. Shocked, skeptical expressions latched onto him as soon as he entered the hall. Followed, immediately, by a bronto’s charge of dwarves in his direction. Complaints. Flattery. Threats. Varric reached for a glass of wine, immediately wished it was something stronger. He was going to absolutely murder Maria for putting him through this. Particularly since she was nowhere to be found. Clearly, she needed a distraction for something and decided this was the best one she could offer up.

“The price of parchment is outrageous!” A dwarf growled, spittle catching at his beard as he worked himself into a proper frothing rage. “The tariffs at the harbor are bleeding us all dry. If you can’t allow free trade, I’ll…”

“Surely the young mistress is getting a bit old to be unbetrothed.” A woman with elaborate, heavy braids sighed. “It isn’t good for a girl’s reputation to…”

Their Sunshine was barely five and not for sale regardless. For the love of…

“There you are.”

Oh thank fucking Andraste. Maria’s good arm slipped into the crook of his easily, her lips curved up in wicked, sinful amusement. “Having fun?” She asked, far too sweetly.

He shot her a pained glare even as her mere presence caused everyone to wisely take one step back. Despite the elegant gown and the pretty braids in her hair, Maria’s every move screamed lethal grace. No guild seat or crown could ever quite make her reputable in the eyes of the very worst of Kirkwall.

And tonight, apparently, Maria had no plans for appearing even slightly respectable. Her gown was nearly the same color as her hair, blazing ruby red among the dull, drab colors of the guild. It dipped scandalously low, displaying her cleavage with delicious perfection. The thin straps fell off her slender shoulders in wisps of chiffon. The silk bodice curved and clung to her wicked figure like a glove.

Varric’s mouth went dry as he took her in and he nearly forgot how annoyed he was. Nearly.

He dropped his lips to her ear and bit back the smug satsifaction at the nearly imperceptible shiver his breath sent through her. “This is not my idea of a good time, Princess.”

She laughed, low and soft, the ripples sending heat right into his belly. “Come dance with me then.” She challenged, tossing her head back proudly.

Anything to get away from this crowd of vultures, besides, he never could tell her no. “As my lady demands.” He smoothly slipped his other arm around her waist, admiring the way the silk warmed with the heat of her skin underneath it. The crowd around them parted with muttered, muted disappointment pierced with disapproving glares.

The ballroom floor itself was full of nothing but awkward, gawking teenagers. After all, dancing was for the young. And humans, of course. Certainly not for respected members of the guild and their stolid, unimpressed wives. The ones Maria outshone without any effort.

The youths scattered before them, ducklings before swans. Varric took Maria’s hand and stepped back, bowed over it, then placed a searing kiss on the back of her palm. Because he wanted to, (dammit he never could resist that red dress) he pressed another even more desperate one on her fingertips.

Her lips tipped up, amused in spite of herself, and then she slipped into the space between his arms like she was meant to be there, like it was made only for her. Her hand rested lightly within his and she pressed her delectable breasts against the silk of his tunic. “There’s a disappointing number of buttons done up on this shirt, Varric.” She whined quietly.

“Hey, you picked it. Thought you were trying to tell me to show some decorum.”

“Never.” She sighed happily. “How can I possibly flaunt you when you’re hiding your best assets?”

He chuckled, squeezed her fingers within his and dropped his voice low. “For fucks sake, Maria, why are we here?”

“We were invited.” She replied, gray eyes widening innocently in her face. “Ages ago, remember?”

“I tend to block out those invitations. Makes them easier to ignore.” Varric’s fingers traced the stiff boning of the gown at the flare of her waist. “You’re not going native on me, are you?”

“Dressed like this?” Maria asked, laughing as Varric spun her under his arm. He caught her securely and she pressed even more firmly against him, a predatory smile dancing on her lips. “The Guild wouldn’t even know what to do with me.”

They never did. Fools, every single one of them. “You were awfully late arriving. Suspiciously late.” He pointed out.

“I was on time, actually.” She purred, delighted with herself. “You were the late one, serah. I took advantage of your appearance to extricate myself from a rather lascivious Master Dace and explore all the hidden little nooks and crannies in the garden.”

He groaned and dropped his face into the coiled braids framing her face. She smelled like honey, cloves, cinnamon. A unique and beguiling scent that clung to her no matter what. “So you sacrificed me to snoop around for something.”

“In a manner of speaking.” She agreed, nuzzling into his neck, her breath warm against his jaw. “I read something very interesting today and this was the only way to get to the bottom of it while ensuring the guilty party squirmed a little.”

“Nobody’s listening, Princess.” He chuckled and jabbed his chin at the empty dance floor and the disapproving crowd miles away. “Don’t spare the salacious details. I demand to be entertained if I’ve got to be shoved into this bucket of rats.”

Maria hummed lightly under her breath, her smile wicked and sharp as diamonds out of the corner of his eye. The music stopped, but he tugged her more tightly to his form and waited for the next song to strum up. As soon as it, Maria lifted her lips to his ear. “I’ll try to remember what I read. You’ll have to make allowances if it’s not verbatim. It got me rather… hot under the collar.”

Was it his imagination, or was there a slight, breathy undertone to that statement? It of course could mean that she’d been furious by whatever she’d discovered, some nasty little guild secret. Maria’s temper meant there was a pretty good chance he’d be needing to have blood cleaned up off of some surface…

But when she purred the words, he pictured a rather different kind of heat. One well suited to the red dress she wore.

“I was in the study upstairs.” Maria recounted quietly, little puffs of air against his overheated skin. “Looking for that next chapter of your serial, the one that definitely isn’t based on my sister. I never did find it.”

“That’s because it’s on the desk in the library.” He supplied less than helpfully.

“Good to know.” She laughed. “Instead… well, I’ll just tell you what I found at your desk.”

He made a mental note that he needed to remind the messengers, again, that guild correspondence went right into the rubbish bin. “All ears, Princess.”

“Let me think…” Maria trailed off, her thumb lightly tracing his palm as they glided smoothly, thoughtlessly, together. Easily in tune with each other, just the way they always were. “It started…”

He waited, eager and amused at her drawing it out. It had to be damn good if she was taking such care to tell the story.

His amusement vanished almost instantly as the words began to pour from her lips, hot and filthy in her sultry, smoky voice.

“Mariele had many a man in her time as a bard, surely. A woman of her exquisite beauty didn’t lack for lovers on cold, lonely nights. But Viktor was no fumbling knight. It had been years since he left his sinful, boisterous exploits behind him, but his deft, practiced fingers remembered exactly how to turn a beautiful woman into a puddle of pure, uncomplicated need…”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Forget the steps, Varric?” His wife teased dangerously as Varric very nearly stumbled to a stop in the middle of their dance. She took over leading, eyes sparkling with danger. “Your sinful, boisterous exploits a thing of the past?”

He was a dead man walking. She’d brought him here to torture him before she shot him. Probably with his own crossbow. “I can explain.” He protested weakly.

“I’m not done.” Maria’s imperious voice brooked no argument. “I forget the next part. But I clearly remember this bit…”

He groaned, tried to beg her to stop, but she didn’t heed him at all. “Viktor nearly forgot what it felt like to have a nubile young lady on her knees, but Mariele could hardly be called a lady, particularly with his steel between her perfect, plump lips. ‘Is this what you wanted?’ Viktor asked, twisting his fingers in the crimson braids she wore. The only answer was Mariele’s pleased, throaty moan…”

Maria twitched her hips to the side threateningly and Varric pressed hard up against her to hide the effect her words were having on his own cock. His filth spilling from her lips was… sweet Maker, he hadn’t known he could want her more than he usually did. “Maria…”

“My favorite part went…” Maria paused and brought her lips closer to his ear until he could feel their feather light touch as she whispered. “Viktor ripped the delicate silk covering her glistening mound, too crazed by her teasing grin and wicked silver eyes to do anything but plunge his sword into her snug sheathe and…”

His breath whooshed out, leaving him dizzy. His hands dug into the silk covering her hips and he struggled to think past the liquid arousal running through his blood. “How dead am I?” He asked weakly. He could feel her wicked grin against his neck.

“What happened to no kissing and telling, Varric?” She asked lightly. “Does Cassandra really need to know about the birthmark on my…”

“Fuck, it wasn’t for…” Varric couldn’t think. Her perfume was too heady, her eyes sparking, mouth curled up dangerously just the way he loved best, and he couldn’t stop thinking about his cock in her mouth, her warm wet heat…

“It was just for you?” Maria’s words sent shivers up his spine and she untangled her hand from his to twist her fingers through his loose hair. “Your dirty little secret when I’m gone? Dreaming up what Mariele and Viktor get up to in elaborate Orlesian gardens…”

“Yes.” He confessed as she rolled shamelessly against him. He could barely hear the music over the pure, screeching need thrumming in his veins. He missed her, Maker he missed her when she was gone. All he could do was spill out the things he wanted to do to her while he waited for her to come back and warm his heart, share their bed, send his entire life into chaos and…

She pulled away and beamed into his face, flushing prettily pink under her freckles. She traced her fingers from his neck, over his jaw, down his chest and hummed thoughtfully under her breath while her eyes sparkled with mirth and…

Lust. An inferno of roaring lust.

Maybe she’d kill him, but it would be the best kind of death.

She twisted her fingers with his again and turned, hiding his bulging cock strategically with her skirts while she dragged him off the wooden dance floor. Varric chuckled breathlessly as he followed her right through the crowd. Several guild members attempted to approach, but thought better of it as the Viscount and his wife slipped into the evening air of the gardens. He couldn’t see her face, but he’d seen Maria march into enough battles to know exactly what it looked like.

He wouldn’t get in her damn way either when she was a woman with one thing on her mind.

Thank the damn Maker that one thing was him.

She shoved him into a dark nook, one she’d clearly scoped out for this purpose alone. It was hidden by a tall hedge and the soaring walls of the mansion behind them. As soon as the shadows enveloped them, Varric reached for her like a man starving, pressed her hard against the stones looming above them. “Minx.” He growled against her lips. “You’re a menace, Maria. You brought me here just to…”

She brought her one arm up to her generous bosom and pulled something from the bodice, something dark and…

Lace. A lace mask just like the one in his filthy smut. Varric’s cock doubled in size and he reached out with unsteady fingers to pluck it from hers. Her grin was as smug and self-satisfied as a cat who’d eaten a canary, but his imagination was already on fire. “Turn around, baby.” He directed softly.

“Is Viktor rather bossy, then?” She asked, but she turned and he gently fit the mask over her eyes, tying it with a simple knot over her braids. He dropped his hand to gently run his knuckles down the line of her neck, lower over the dip of her spine. He dropped his mouth to kiss down her right shoulder, tracing the scars that were left there, the remaining marks of the anchor that nearly…

Nearly, he reminded himself. But she survived, she was here, and she was warm, willing, pliant under his large hands when they settled over her waist. She tipped her head to the side to look over her shoulder at him, silver eyes shining in the moonlight, framed to the best effect by the black lace just like he knew they would be.

She fluttered her lashes, the perfect imitation of an Orlesian coquette, and smoothly turned, dropping to her knees in one sinuous motion. His stomach knotted itself as her fingers reached to undo his laces with one efficient tug.

“And what information am I trying to seduce out of you, my lord?” She asked in an almost flawless Orlesian accent, ruined only by the hint of her reckless laugh under the surface. “I couldn’t quite glean…”

“I’ve got to admit, Princess.” He saw stars, fought to keep his voice even, as her nimble fingers circled his cock. “The plot was secondary.”

“Oh really?” She stroked him with her one hand, nothing but a light, teasing touch. “You know, some people read for the plot and skip these steamy scenes.”

Those people must not have a damn pulse, but before he could retort, her lips opened and the sheer anticipation made him groan, thoughts fleeing as his mind was erased by warm, wet, sweet, sweet bliss and…

“Shit.” He swore, one hand steadying himself on the stone above her, the other twisting in her elaborate braids. He watched her mouth stretch around his girth obscenely, her eyes flicking from the task at hand to meet his and hold them as she worked to take his cock into her mouth inch by torturously slow inch.

The sight alone was almost enough to make him cum. He ran his thumb over her cheek, voice unsteady, praise falling from it effortlessly. “You’re so beautiful. I love my cock in your mouth, baby. Sweet Andraste, Maria…”

She laughed, a little bubble of it that brought something warm and bright to life in his chest. She pulled back, cock slipping from her swollen lips, eyes wicked and teasing. “She may be sweet.” She answered pertly. “But I’m sweeter.”

His cheesy line from his smutty story. He laughed as well, but it tapered off into another long moan as she resumed her work. She slid him almost to the hilt inside her mouth, fingers wrapping around the last inch or so she couldn’t quite fit, slicking him with her saliva as she began to bob her head.

“Maker I miss this when you’re away.” He continued, watching with worshipful zeal as she licked and sucked. His voice trembled with lust and awe. “It’s all I can think about at night. All I want. It isn’t enough to imagine your lips around me, isn’t enough to think of warm and wet your sweet cunt gets…”

She moaned around his length and the vibrations had him seeing stars. He curled his hand against the stone into a fist and watched her, the great rise and fall of her chest, her shining eyes on his framed by the sexy black lace. She sucked eagerly and his heart thumped unsteadily, liquid heat pooling in his groin. He tugged gently at her braids. “I want you. I want all of you, Maria baby please…”

The wicked glint in her eyes resurfaced and she hummed around his length. Varric’s hips bucked in spite of himself and he tried, valiantly, to fight the urge to do it again and again until he spilled down her throat. She was ruthlessly driving him insane, playing into his fantasies, his desires, and he couldn’t…

She squirmed, shifting on her knees, and Varric knew she had to be as affected as he was, knew she had to be as needy and desperate. Perhaps more, in fact, since she’d been planning this little encounter all damn day without his knowledge. If Varric thought this would happen every time they came to one of these dinners…

“Did you touch yourself?” He asked in a low growl. “Reading all that smut, knowing how bad I wanted you, what I wanted to do to you? How hot under the collar did it make you, Princess?”

He could just picture her on their bed, legs spread, ass in the air and fingers dancing between her legs while she brought herself off to his words.

She pulled off of him with an obscene plop, her lips shimmering with saliva, his cock shining the same way. She smirked up at him, that crooked little smile that belonged only to him. “Maybe a little.”

Too far gone to be gentle, he grabbed her by the upper arms and hauled her to her feet, shoving her roughly back against the hard stone. Her fingers grabbed for the fasteners of his tunic, undoing them, sending at least one of them snapping, a button falling to the ground as she whimpered, his mouth devouring hers. She nipped his lip in sweet revenge and he began to pull up her skirts, rucking them around her hips and lifting her by her spread thighs.

“Yes.” She keened, nails gouging his shoulder as she arched her back, pressing the creamy tops of her breasts to his greedy mouth. He wanted them out of the bodice, wanted her naked and in their bed begging for him as a fair turnabout for this little trick, but first…

First, he was going to fuck her thoroughly against this wall.

His fingers felt the sopping wet lace of her smalls and tore through them in a moment, the shredded fabric falling in pieces to the grass. She laughed again, but he captured it with his mouth and her arm twisted around his neck, holding him to her as he thrust smoothly inside her.

Her cunt clenched down on him, muscles rippling with his sudden entrance, but her thighs curved around his waist, scrabbling for purchase, the hard heels of her boots urging him on as they pressed against the small of his back.

“Tease.” He growled, moving from her lips to nip lightly at her exposed throat as he started a bruising pace, making sure to thrust right into the spot he knew she loved so much. “Wanton little…”

“You love it.” She bit the lobe of his ear. “And you deserve it. Writing that terrible, amazing smutty…”

One particularly brutal thrust made her words drop away into a pure, animal moan of need, one that changed into his name as he tightened his grip on her ass. “Strong criticism from someone who wanted to reenact it.”

She giggled, caught out, pressing an almost sugary kiss to his jaw. “I had a thing for Viktor.”

Be still his heart. This woman. This amazing, wonderful, insane woman of his. He captured her lips with his own again, tenderly this time, even as his furious pace continued and Maria shuddered in his arms, muscles tightening, body going rigid.

“Wait.” He muttered against her lips, liquid heat pooling in his spine. “Wait, baby. Wait for me, please Maria…”

“Varric…” She half sobbed his name in desperation, but that was all it took. His movements became stiff, wooden, his cock swelling inside her. This tipped her over the edge and she half wailed her approval, milking him of his seed and burying her head into his shoulders, trembling against him. He thrust deep one final time and pressed his lips against her temple, mind going hazy at the edges as he spent inside her welcoming body.

He lowered Maria back to the ground, both of them leaning against each other, too drained to stand. The garden was quiet. No sound but their ragged breathing. Varric wondered exactly how many of the Merchant’s Guild illustrious members had heard them. At least, he thought smugly, it had been a fine performance.

And since they’d made a brief appearance at an event, they were free and clear of the guild for months.

“Do you think they’ll finally kick us both out?” Maria asked quietly with a satisfied giggle.

Varric huffed weakly in return. “Doubtful. They’d never risk making us so damn happy. Poor Sunshine’s gonna inherit both those seats and spend the rest of her days cursing us both.”

Varric bent to retrieve the scraps of lace on the ground, but she stopped him. “Don’t.” She ordered, eyes shimmering with mischief. “Leave them. I want to hear about their reaction tomorrow.”

He laughed and settled on doing his trousers back up while she leaned against him, unsteady as a drunk. He kissed her forehead sweetly and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“I unlocked the gate back here.” Maria snuggled into his shoulder. “And I told the kitchen staff to leave the side entrance open.”

“You think of everything.” Varric murmured, smoothing her gown back over her hips.

“Not everything.” Maria smirked in the moonlight, rightfully smug. “This was, after all, your idea.”

Varric softened, pulling her tightly to his side as they wandered down the pristine garden paths in the darkness. “But you, as always, are my muse.”

#varric tethras #varric romance #inquisitor x varric #inquisitor cadash #cadash x varric #non-canon romance #shameless smut #fluffy as hell #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #post dai #post trespasser #cadash is a bit of an exhibitionist #varric digs it #varric and maria keep trying to get kicked out of the merchant's guild #the merchant's guild sucks

7 notes · View notes

globgor-of-mewnie · 5 years ago

Text

Since When Has Our Relationship Ever Been Easy?

Okay, SO. I have grown to the point where I feel like song fics cause your work to be taken a little less seriously. It dates the work and can make it appear a little jarring. Of course, this doesn’t apply to work based off a song, but rather trying to insert lyrics into your writing in order to set a certain mood or, really, you just like the song.

Where am I going with this? Well, I guess it’s karaoke time, because I have to insert a song into this chapter. I tried everything I could think of to not use it, but there’s going to be singing involved at some point, and I’m not creative enough to write a song! I’ll go into more details at the end of the chapter, lest I spoil what happens with this introduction. Take care and enjoy!

*Also please let me know if the extra spacing between the dialogue in this chapter bugs you guys. It takes a little extra time to get it with less space, but if that’s how you guys prefer it, I’ll be happy to oblige!

Ages:

Globgor: 9

Eclipsa: 8

Prologue/CH1/CH2/CH3

CH3-Among the Enemy

Among the Enemy

It seemed no matter where she went, Eclipsa was a stark contrast to everyone around her. Whether it be with her friends, her family, or in this case, the guards who stood valiantly along the halls of her home. They remained stoic and unmoving, even as the princess skipped happily through the carpeted corridors. Sure, she tried waving to them once or twice, but as usual, she was ignored. Most adults seemed to enjoy doing that. Blowing her off like some sort of fly. She never really understood that. Wasn’t she going to be queen one day? Shouldn’t people be giving her some attention?

Then again, maybe her invisibility was actually a blessing considering all the mischief she had been getting in to as of late.

She stopped at her destination-a simple door that worked as a sort of supply closet for all the magical doohickeys Glossaryck left lying around. Her mom had told her magical mentor to pick up after himself, but so far he had yet to comply. So the queen usually just wound up getting the servants to toss his junk in here.

Much to Eclipsa’s delight.

She rubbed her hands together eagerly as opened the door. As expected, none of the guards paid her any mind. There was nothing in there that could be considered dangerous. It was filled with a bunch of junk, like apples that could sing in a foreign language, or sock puppets that held staring matches. Annoyances rather than weapons. But what was one queen’s trash, was another princesses’ treasure!

Eclipsa turned on the lantern that hung from the ceiling as stepped inside. She pushed some junk aside, wanting to make some room. Almost immediately, all the magical items that could talk started to chatter. The clock that snored, the hairbrush that brushed its teeth while whistling, the gloves that never stopped clapping, the list was endless. However, as fun as all these gimmicks were, there was one object the princess was searching for in particular.

“Aha! Got you!” She stood on her tip toes in order to reach behind the mirror that showed you what you would look like if you were the opposite gender and pulled out a music box. It was a white box that glittered like a pearl. It had several knobs on the lid, each channeling a different song. Not just any songs though. These were songs that came from other dimensions. Some of them weren’t even written yet in their world and were pulled out from the future!

Eclipsa hummed happily to herself as she sat the box down on the dresser that ate your clothes. As much as she loved hearing some of that hard-hitting music that made her want to swing her head around, she was in more in the mood for something softer at that moment. She reached for the fancy knob on the right hand corner and opened the lid. Because she had chosen an elegant song, a small ballroom dancer appeared when she opened the lid. Both she and the dancer gave a little bow to each other before the doll began her song.

Eclipsa swayed to the music, humming along to the song she had heard many times. She imagined dancing in the middle of the forest with a bard playing nearby. After all, it would be much more fun to dance around nature and life rather than the stuffy balls the Butterflys were notorious for throwing. Much more room out beyond the castle walls. Not to mention much more excitement.

A small smile appeared on her face as she imagined a dance partner to share this song with. Of course the first person she thought of was her secret monster friend. Ha! The very thought of Globgor dancing was priceless! He was much too serious to do something like that! She doubted he had an elegant bone in his body. He was always too dirty and grouchy. She liked him anyway though. She could tell he was a nice guy because he often brought over monster things during their secret meetings for her to see. He showed her their books, their games, their clothes, their customs, all sorts of things. She always made sure to return the favor of course, even though he acted like he had no interest in her culture. He made it very clear to her that although he made an exception for her, he still despised all Mewmans.

Oh Globgor. She was sure if he would just take the time to have some fun, he wouldn’t be such a grump. He was way too invested in all the arguing adults got into. He was almost as bad as the princesses of the Butterfly allies. Still though, at least he gave her the time of day, something she couldn’t say about….well, most people in her life!

“Hey Glossaryck, is that you in the-“

Eclipsa halted her twirling as someone unexpectedly entered the room. It was a strange looking woman with white skin, long red hair, and golden eyeballs. The minute their gazes locked, the intruder swore under her breath before turning tail in the opposite direction.

“Hekapoo!” Eclipsa shut the box and raced after the woman. She saw her walk down the hallway, pushing the rest of the High Commission with her. They were speaking in loud whispers, leaving the woman to shrug her shoulders in defense. “Hey guys! Wait up!”

The group tried to speed up, only for the princess to run around them and plant her feet firmly on the ground, her eyes locked on them.

A look of defeat crossed the members’ features before the big skull guy called Omnitraxus Prime spoke. “Ah Princess….we didn’t see you there!”

“Yes you did.”

“Well, okay it was more like we didn’t want to see you,” Reynaldo the Bald Plate said before earning a jut from Hekapoo’s elbow. The giraffe man shrugged as if to say ‘well it’s true’.

“Baaaaaah,” the goat demon Lekmet cut in.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” The crystal-head guy named Rhombulus gave a pointed look towards the young girl. “So uh…Princess Eclipsa, is there something we can do for you?”

Eclipsa paused. “Well…..how are you guys?”

They all stared at her with blank expressions. They turned to confusion as they looked at one another.

“What does she mean by that?” whispered Rhombulus.

“Not sure. I don’t think we’ve included her in our battle strategies.” Omnitraxus looked over at his goat accomplice. “Lekmet, check our rosters. She is quite small. Maybe we just didn’t notice her.”

“Baaaaah.”

Rhombulus raised one of his snake hands.“Lekmet says a good leader should know who’s attending a meeting, who could be attending a meeting, and who already had attended a meeting at all times. A roster is nothing more than a cheat sheet for lazy planning.”

“He ate it, didn’t he?” Hekapoo quipped.

“Guys, guys!”

Everyone turned back to look at Eclipsa as she frantically waved her hands back and forth. “I wasn’t referring to the war! I just wanted to know how you guys were doing in general!”

A pause.

“……Why?” Reynaldo inquired.

Eclipsa sighed. “Well, it’s just that, every time you guys show up here, you meet with my mom and then immediately leave. How come you guys never hang around? I mean, you do for big events, but-“

“What is she talking about?” Omnitraxus whispered, as if the princess wouldn’t be able to hear him if he softened his voice.

Instead of answering him, Hekapoo raised a hand. “Princess, I’m gonna stop you right there. Our job is to monitor and regulate the magic throughout the multi-dimensions. Our association is with the queen. We’re not here to sit and chat with the rest of the family.”

“But I’m going to be queen one day!”

“And when that happens, you’ll see so much of us it’ll be nauseating.” Omnitraxus said, his voice condescending. “Until then, well, we really have no need to associate with you.”

“….” Eclipsa folded her arms and looked dejectedly off to the side. “….You know, I really don’t have many friends here. Everyone is so obsessed with the war. No one is interested in just hanging out, talking, or having fun. It’s like no one has the time to be happy.” She made a noise of frustration as she turned to face the window reflecting to her left.

“Mom says that we fight to stay alive, but what’s the point of that if we don’t do anything with our lives? It’s like we fight to live so we can live to fight! Is anyone actually interested in winning this thing? Who exactly is my mother if not the valiant she-knight revered by her people? And what will I be-“

….

Her words halted as she turned to see the High Commission had fled the area, leaving her to stand alone.

…..

Her head sank as she tightly gripped her right arm. She had actually surprised herself with the amount of insight she had spilled on the group of magic leaders. She had always known she hated the war, but she had never put her feelings into detail before. It wasn’t just about no one having time for her. She was tired of seeing everyone so angry and miserable all the time. This war had been going on her whole life. Would it go on for the rest of it? Would everyone be unhappy forever?

Eclipsa sighed as she made her way over to the window. She cupped her cheeks and leaned her elbows on the sill. How she wished Globgor was available to hang out that day. It was amazing that he was so involved in the war she despised, yet he still made time to meet with her once a week. It was always random days, as Globgor thought it would look too suspicious if he disappeared around the same time every week. This week they had planned to meet on Friday. Stupid ‘ol four days away Friday.

Ugh, she didn’t want to wait that long! She really missed him! She wanted them to play together! She wished she could just go say hi to him, but no doubt the other monsters would be pretty mad about her being there. Plus she really didn’t want to get him in trouble.

…..

Her eyes brightened. She released a happy gasp before quickly heading off to her bedroom.

___

A Mewman named Hue grunted in dismay as he landed face-first in the mud in front of him. He swore he could hear the animals of the forest giggling to himself as scrambled back to his feet and wiped himself off. This was just not turning out to be his day. How could he have gotten so lost? Ugh, it was all his cousin’s fault! Why did he have to give him such a crummy map? It was like a two-year-old drew this thing!

He groaned as he kicked off some aquatic creature from his boot. He pulled out his map and studied it closely. He had no idea which part of the territory belonged to monsters and which one to Mewmans. How was he not good enough to get a ride to his destination? Did one have to be a soldier in order to get a little respect in the kingdom? Why, without him and his scholarly knowledge, his village would be left-

Shink!

“……” Hue stared in disbelief at the spear that not only shot through his map, but went straight through his chest. He gave a watery gasp as he watched helplessly at the red stain growing over his shirt. He tried to speak up, give some sort of vocal protest over having been slain in such a way, but his body collapsed and shut down before he could get a word out.

___

“This string bean is what you stalked after for the last half hour?”

Globgor was clearly unimpressed as Tigre, the red, bipedal tiger monster with blue stripes, walked over to the hunted Mewman and retrieved his spear. “I mean, look at how thin he is! That’s not going to feed our soldiers and their families!”

“Hey, more meat is more meat,” Tigre retorted. He spoke with an accent similar to Globgor’s, and matched him in terms of height and build. He bound the Mewman’s ankles with rope so he could drag him back to the village.

Globgor smirked and looked back at the much larger game, which he was also dragging along. “Everyone back home is hungry. Your little entre just made them have to wait longer. My game is more than enough!”

Tigre rolled his eyes, but smiled regardless. “Yeah, that’s why you came to my house begging me to go hunting with you, right?”

Globgor smacked him on the head with his tail. “I do not beg. I said an extra pair of hands would be helpful. That’s it!”

“I’m pretty sure you threw in a ‘please’ in there somewhere.”

This banter continued until they got home and delivered their Mewmans. The chefs and cooks took them gratefully, and got ready to prepare them along with the other hunted trespassers.

“Can you believe your idea has completely changed the menu for monsters?” Tigre gave the Size-Shifter a playful shove on the shoulder. “Not only are Mewman numbers going down, but our resources are completely stocked!”

Globgor raised his left eyebrows. “Do I hear an actual compliment coming from you?”

His friend shrugged and pointed to a few adult monsters giving the Size-Shifter admiring glances. “I may as well join the crowd. You’ve gained a lot of respect over the past year, and your size changing powers haven’t even kicked in yet!”

“Um, my growing abilities haven’t kicked in, you mean. I can still shrink to the size of an ant!”

“Right. Impressive,” the other said with an eye roll.

“It is impressive! You’d be surprised how much you can do when nobody can see you!”

Tigre shrugged. “Maybe, but monsters won’t be able to look up to you if they have to look down at you, y’know?”

“…..” Globgor folded his arms behind his head and tried to hide a smile. “…I don’t’ care if the other monsters look up to me or not. I’m just here to do my part.”

“Oh Globgor, you’re so noble.” Tigre mocked while batting his eyes at him.

“I mean, I’m not saying I don’t like it-“

“-Which is why it’s going to suck when I grow stronger than you, and I become the hero of monsters!” Tigre goaded while jutting the other with his elbow.

Globgor smiled at the challenge. “Haha, right. Didn’t we just discuss how one day I’m going to grow to the size of a giant?”

“Well, the bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

Their grins grew as their eyes narrowed at each other. Nothing else needed to be said. They knew what came next.

The stiffed their stances, posing as if they were getting ready to square off. Then they both threw their tails out and latched on to the other’s. They grit their teeth as they proceeded to wrestle with their tails, gearing to dominate the other with their strength.

“Give it up, Tigre! Even if I don’t beat you today, one day I’ll be able to grow my tail and snap yours in half!”

“Oh yeah? And what if you never learn how to grow? Have you considered that?”

“Of course I will! All Size-Shifters learn once they go through puberty!”

“How do you know? The only source you have for Size-Shifters was an old guy who-“

Both monsters paused their battle. Globgor looked away, a perplexed look on his face.

Tigre loosed his grip, his ears flattening against his head. “Oh hey man, I didn’t mean-“

The boy’s words were cut off as Globgor suddenly tightened his grip on the other’s tail and flipped him over on his rump. Before he could get back up, the other boy placed a three-toed foot firmly on his chest.

“You’ll never get stronger if you let your guard down like that.”

“Oh come on, Globgor. You have to admit that was a little underhanded!”

Both boys looked up to see a girl with a purple cloak pulled over her head. Her face was green and she had red speckles across her face. Her eyes were chastising, but she was smiling nonetheless.

Tigre allowed Globgor to help him to his feet while he inspected the girl. “That’s right. ‘Ol Glob-Glob isn’t as valiant as he looks at first.” He looked over at the monster in question “What gives, man? I thought I was the only friend you had in the village.”

Globgor shrugged. “I don’t know this girl.”

“I’m from a village not too far from here!” the girl said, a sneaky smile on her face. “I heard about the super awesome Globgor and came to see for myself!”

Tigre raised an eyebrow at the bewildered Size-Shifter. “That right?”

“You’ve….heard about me?” If he was being honest, the news was flattering. He approached the girl with a confident expression. “Um, mind telling me what you heard?”

The girl giggled. “I’ve heard that you’re very strong and loyal to your people! You work very hard each and every day! In fact, the only thing that can break that iron wall you keep around yourself is a sweet, chocolatey snookers bar!”

…..

Globgor’s smile disappeared. He felt his stomach drop as he inspected the face of the stranger closer. He could practically feel the color drain from his face once he realized that the green in the girl’s face wasn’t skin, but paint….

No. Surely not. Even she wasn’t this stupid.

The girl smiled again and gave him a small wave. “Hi Globby!”

CRAP!

“Y-You…!”

Behind him, Tigre released a resounding laugh. “Dude, did she just call you ‘Globby’? Ha! I need to remember that one! It’s so cute!”

Globgor pushed down his indignation as he tightly grabbed on to the girl’s shoulders. “Um, I’ll be right back! The girl and I need to have a talk.” In a flash, the monster dragged the stranger through the village to a secluded place behind a house. Immediately he slammed her against the wall, his four eyes glaring daggers at the imposter.

“Are you out of your mind?!!” He yelled as loud as he dared lest someone heard him.

The girl pouted at him. “I thought you’d be happy to see me!”

“Why on mewni would you think that, Eclipsa?!” He covered his mouth once he realized he said her name. He looked around, making sure no one had heard him. Oh, he couldn’t imagine what would happen if everyone found out the Mewman princess among them. No doubt she’d be killed or captured in ten seconds flat.

He glared at the girl. “We agreed to meet this Friday! Last time I checked, it wasn’t Friday!!”

“But I wanted to see you now.” Eclipsa insisted. “I’m so lonely back at the Butterfly Castle.”

Globgor gave her a mocking pout. “Oh. Is the poor princess bored?” He glared at her, baring his fangs. “Well, we’re hungry, cold, sleep-deprived, and above all, scared! So excuse me if I’m a little less than sympathetic!”

Eclipsa frowned at him before her bottom lip began to quiver. She turned around so that she wasn’t facing him. “You don’t have to make me feel bad. I know you work very hard. It’s just…you’re the only friend I have.”

“That’s sad, but not in the way you’re thinking.” The boy groaned as he noticed the tears appearing in the other’s eyes. “Oh come on now, don’t start crying.”

“I’m not…” she mumbled, wiping at her eyes.

Globgor dragged his hands down his face with an exaggerated sigh. “Look, I’m sorry for yelling at you, but what you’ve done is incredibly dangerous for both of us!”

The boy didn’t notice the satisfied smile that appeared on the girl’s face as the boy caved in to her crocodile tears. She turned back to him with a soft smile. “But you actually know me, and you didn’t recognize me! Look, I have my cheek marks covered! No one will know it’s me!” She shrugged. “Besides, even if they do find out, they should be okay with me since they like you and I’m your friend!”

Globgor rubbed his lower eyes in exhaustion. “Eclipsa, you don’t know how wrong you are.”

Eclipsa looked hurt. “You’re not my friend?”

“Of course I’m your friend! I wouldn’t be risking my neck to hang out with you if I wasn’t!” He gave her a hard stare. “But there’s no way I can choose you over them. I promised to be there for my people. If you get found out, I don’t know what I can do to protect you.”

Eclipsa smiled and grabbed his hands. “Don’t worry, it won’t come to that!”

“Won’t come to what?”

The two children looked to the side to see a young pink cat monster walking up to them with a basket in her paws. She looked between the two with wide, blue eyes.

“P-Puma!” Globgor squeaked, putting a little space between him and Eclipsa. “Um…we were just…uh…”

“How do you do?” Puma seemed to have forgotten her question as made her way over to the disguised princess, causing Globgor to stiffen with fear. “Have we met before?”

Eclipsa smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m from a different village. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Puma!”

The feline gasped as she look at Globgor in surprise. “Oh my goodness! This visitor knows my name! I feel so special!”

“Puma, I just said what your name i-“

“I made muffins filled with nuts!” Puma turned back to the girl and held up her basket. “I’ve been passing them out to villagers! Would you like one?”

“Thank you!” Eclipsa took one and took a bite. It certainly wasn’t as sweet as treats back at the castle, but that didn’t make it necessarily bad. It was warm and had a sort of comforting clasp on her taste buds. “Mmm! Tasty!”

“That’s so nice of you to say!” Puma said, placing a paw to her chest.

Eclipsa gave her a bright smile. She was doing her best to play natural, but inside she was brimming with excitement. She had just received a gift from a monster! She was having a polite conversation with one! This was something most Mewmans said was impossible. Why wasn’t it something more people tried to do?

She was interrupted from her thoughts as Globgor suddenly came up behind her and began to push her away. “Well, thanks for the snack Puma, but she really has to go now! We’ll have to catch you later!”

“Already? She just got here,” Tigre said, suddenly approaching the two while giving Eclipsa a skeptical look.

Globgor waved a hand. “Yes, but it’s a long way back to her village, and she needs to get back before dark!”

“How do you know?” Tigre asked.

“I just know! What’s with all the questions?!”

“Why are you acting so skittish?”

Eclipsa bit her lower lip as she watched the boys argue. Shoot. She hadn’t meant to get Globgor so riled up. Why couldn’t he just relax? She wasn’t afraid, so he shouldn’t be either.

She ginned widely as she looked at the monsters roaming around in all different shapes and sizes. Well, okay maybe she wasn’t feeling relaxed. Rather, she was itching to go around and see what she could. She had never seen so many monsters in her life. She was surprised by how….normal they seemed. Oh sure, they looked nothing like her kind, but she could see a mother with her baby, two boys rough-housing nearby, and a woman tending her garden. These were all things she could easily see by looking out a window back at the castle. Who knew the two races partook in every days that were parallel to each other’s?

Unable to help herself, Eclipsa rushed out into the streets, wanting to get a better look.

“Look, I swear I don’t know this girl!” Globgor promised, throwing his arms up at the two feline siblings. “But you know I tend to make it my responsibly to look after my fellow monsters. That’s why I want to get her home before it becomes too late to get her to safety! I just want to make sure she’s safe!” He turned around….to see that the girl was no longer beside him.

…..

“I’m gonna kill her!!!” he roared.

___

Eclipsa was unable to keep the smile off her face as she made her way through the town of monsters. It was so surreal! Sure, there was a rough-looking guy here and there, but everyone else seemed so friendly! Every time she waved to someone, they would smile and wave back. It was all so amazing!

As well as….confusing. Her mom had always said the only thing a monster could feel was greed and bloodlust. So, why did these monsters act so much like Mewmans? They played together, talked together, did business together….

A sudden thought occurred to the princess. Stopping in her tracks, she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds around her. She paid no mind to her eyesight and decided to rely entirely on her ears.

……

“…..Hey Mom, is it okay if Gingy stays a little longer?”

“-on my mother’s grave, the fish was THIS big! If I had a stronger net, I would be a hero right-“

“-found this tea that will go perfectly with that salad you put together-“

“-don’t want to go yet, Daddy! Just five more min-“

“-has your eyes!”

“-love your shoes!”

“-see you tomorrow!”

…..

….!

Eclipsa was floored. In her mind, she wasn’t currently in a village filled with monsters. Rather, she was back at home, walking among her own kind. Nothing she was hearing could make her see differently! This didn’t make any sense. If everyone hated each other so much, why were they-

Her eyes flew open as she was suddenly struck with a ball to the face. She fell over, groaning a bit as stars flew over her head. Luckily she had enough sense in her to keep her hood on, lest anyone see her Mewman hair.

“Oh, sorry about that!”

Eclipsa sat up to see three different monsters-a lizard girl, a frog boy, and some red one-eyed thing-look at her with concern.

“I didn’t mean to hit you! I guess I don’t know my own strength sometimes!” the lizard girl said with a sheepish grin.

“I told her Suzie she was going to wind up hitting someone!” the frog boy hugged.

“Oh, get off my back, Todd!”

“Hey, it’s okay, really!” Eclipsa stood up, holding the ball in her hands. “No harm done! What were you guys playing anyway?”

“Just a little game of pass-along,” the red kid said.

“’Pass-along’? Are you kidding? We have that game back at the ca-I mean, my village!”

“No kidding?” Suzie said with a laugh. “Well heck, up for a round? The game is more fun with four players anyway!”

“Can I?!” Eclipsa practically jumped.

“Yeah, come on! Over here!”

Eclipsa gleefully joined the three monsters and formed a circle with them. It was a pretty lazy game where all you did was put your fists together and pass the ball to other members by hitting it. If you tried to pass it to someone and they missed, they were the ‘loser’ and had to sit out for the remainder of the round. Despite the simplicity, the princess was overjoyed to be playing with a group of kids her age. It’s something she had been wanting for a very long time.

They all seemed to be enjoying themselves as they passed the ball to each other, doing an excellent job at keeping it in the air. As it turned out, the red monster was the first one to miss the ball.

Then things got awkward.

“Oooh! You’re out, Fred!” Todd said, pointing at said monster.

Suzie giggled as she tightened the circle of the group and grabbed the ball. “You’re the rotten Mewman, Fred! Park yourself off to the side so we can continue!”

“…” Eclipsa lowered her hands as she felt her joy diminish by the monster’s words. “…’Rotten Mewman’?”

Suzie shrugged. “Yeah, you know, the loser? Do they not have that in your village?”

“Um…” Eclipsa looked off to the side, not knowing how to respond to the girl’s words. “Well…that’s kind of mean, don’t you think?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Fred said with a wave. “It’s just a game. I don’t mind being called a Mewman.”

“Can’t we play this game without insulting Mewmans though?”

The children went silent.

Suzie was the first to speak, cutting the air with a laugh of disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? Why shouldn’t we insult them? That’s the least they deserve after all they’ve done to us!”

Eclipsa’s heart sank. “I…don’t think that’s entirely fair. I mean, monsters have hurt them too-“

“Oh my gosh, are you actually defending them?” Todd said, backing away with the other two kids.

“But it’s true! Monsters have hurt Mewmans too!”

“Because Mewmans started it!” Suzie said, stomping her foot. “Monsters were here on Mewni first, and Mewmans forced them to leave their homes!”

“Monsters didn’t stand a chance!” Fred added. “They had magic and we didn’t!”

“They took our land, so now we’re barely scraping by with our food!” Todd said, clenching his fists tightly. “And they won’t rest until they’ve stolen every inch of land and killed us all!”

“That’s not true!” Eclipsa said, genuine tears starting to rise in her eyes.

“Oh no? You can seriously look at Solaria and say that’s not what she’s doing?” Suzie demanded.

Eclipsa opened her mouth to deny the claims….but stopped. Her mind went over the times she had caught her mother making battle plans with the High Commission. All the red circles she would scribble over the map…..She had always known that that those were lands her mother had planned to conquer, but….she’d never thought of them as people’s homes.

Of course she knew that monsters had inhabited Mewni first, but….they were….evil….No. They were just like Mewmans. She saw that today. So…if the Mewmans misunderstood the monster’s intentions from the beginning….

….did that mean that the war was all the Mewmans fault?

Eclipsa felt glued to the ground as the monster children decided to leave her, muttering that they didn’t want to play with a Mewman-sympathizer. She gripped her arms tightly, suddenly feeling very cold. It was like a veil had been lifted from her eyes. All her life she thought it was the monsters attacking and causing Mewmans to fight back with a vengeance. Causing her mom to fight.

Now so many pieces were starting to connect.

Her pupils shook as she took a second look around at the monsters inhabiting the village. She had been wrong before. There was one key difference between the two races.

There weren’t any Mewmans shivering on the sidewalk.

There weren’t any injured Mewmans sitting nearby without any bandages.

There weren’t Mewmans moving off to the side so they could vomit in peace.

The Mewmans didn’t eat the tiniest portions of food she had ever seen in her life.

The Mewmans weren’t living in broken houses.

The Mewmans weren’t suffering like the monsters were.

That…..that wasn’t fair.

No…

The bad guys….were the Mewmans.

Eclipsa covered her mouth as she sat down on a bench resting nearby. Had the signs always been there? Had she just ignored them? Sure, she actively tried to not pay attention to the war, but never would she have guessed that it was her own people who were causing all the misery in Mewni. Her poor mother. She probably had no idea how screwed up everything was. She needed to say something. She had to tell her people that the monsters weren’t that different from them after all.

….But how could she do that without revealing she had been in monster territory? What if the High Commission found out? What if her mother did? They’d lock her away for the rest of her life! Worse, she’d may be unable to see Globgor ever again! What could be a more tragic fate than that?

No, she’d have to find another way to help the monsters. A discrete way. Maybe with Globgor’s help. He could be her connection to the monster world. She’d think of ways to make up for the carnage. She just wished there was something she could do right now to help them a little….

….

As if the Stump itself decided to answer her prayers, her mauve eyes landed on an abandoned guitar sitting nearby.

___

“-rip her stupid spades off then use them as a sleeping mask!” Globgor was in a foul mood to say the least. He had spent the better half of an hour trying to find his so-called friend before she did something to get herself killed. Did that girl ever think? Like, ever? Why was it she never took potential threats seriously? Did she really think she was immune to the deep-seeded hatred between their races?

He was about to take another search around the block, when he bumped into a random monster. He was about to apologize when he noticed that many monsters were headed in the same direction he was. In fact, he was the only one heading in the opposite direction. Where was everyone going?

His ears pricked up at the faint sound of….singing? Who was singing? Nobody in his village sang as far he knew. He turned in the direction of the noise, furrowing his brow in concentration.

“Dreams to dream. In the dark of the night, when the world goes wrong, I can still make it right. I can see so far in my dreams. I’ll follow my dreams until they come true~.”

…..Okay, Globgor had little to no experience with music, but this was the most melodic sound he’d ever heard in his life. He turned around and followed the rest of the monsters who were crowded around the source of the magical sound. He took the opportunity to shrink to a miniscule size so he could squeeze past the others. Once he reached the front, he returned to his normal size, his widened at the sight before him.

Eclipsa was sitting a bench with a guitar, singing to her captivated monster audience.

“Come with me. You will see what I mean. There’s a world inside no one else ever sees. You will go so far in my dreams. Somewhere in my dreams, your dreams will come true~.”

….How….what….Eclipsa could sing?! And play guitar?! Like really really good?! Like, he could feel her voice working as some sort of balm over his aching muscles. He had never heard a sound so pleasing to his ears before. Before he knew what he was doing, he closed his eyes so he could concentrate more on her voice.

“There is a star waiting to guide us waiting to guide us, shining inside us, when we close our eyes~!”

Globgor gasped as his friend hit a high note at the end. It sent shivers down his spine.

“Don’t let go! If you stay close to me in my dreams tonight, you will see what I see. Dreams to dream, as near as can be, inside you and me, they always come true~.”

Globgor opened his eyes as his village applauded the stranger’s song, clearly having enjoyed someone taking the time to give them a show. He watched as the princess stood up, giving a little bow.

It was only when their eyes locked did he realize that tears had appeared in his eyes.

___

“I’m telling you, I just got some dirt in my eyes!”

“All four of them?”

“It happens!”

Eclipsa pushed his shoulder, giggling to herself as she made her way through the forest fauna. “Why is it so hard for you to admit your more sensitive feelings?”

Globgor grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, I already admitted you have talent. What more do you want from me?”

Eclipsa’s smile softened as her eyes became downcast. “Well…next time we meet, I’m going to do better than a song. I’ll bring you some food and stuff to give to your people. I want to do what I can to help them. That’s all I can do right now until I’m queen.”

“……” Globgor cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. “….Thanks Eclipsa. That means a lot to me.” His face became uncharistically soft as he looked her up and down. “Are you uh….okay?”

She nodded despite the sad smile on her face. “Yeah….I guess I just didn’t want to believe you about my people. I can’t believe we’re the bad guys. We’re really awful people. I mean, I know you told me this already, but I just thought you were being a jerk. I had no idea our living conditions were so different.”

“…..I mean, you’re not a bad person.” Globgor said, giving a careless shrug. “So…I guess as long as there’s one good Mewman, there should be hope for the rest of your people….maybe.”

Eclipsa grinned and mimed the action of playing a guitar. “You know, everyone seemed to really like my singing. Maybe I could come back some time and-“

“NO.” Globgor caught the girl with his tail so that he could stop her from walking. He turned her so she could see his eyes digging into her. “Eclipsa, you can never pull what you did today ever again. Do you understand?”

“But everyone loved me!”

“Because they thought you were a monster! It doesn’t matter how kind you are to them, or how nicely you sing, if they find out you’re a Mewman, you. Will. Be. Killed.” He groaned and ran his fingers through his light-pink curls. “I have enough on my plate as it is, I don’t need to add worrying about you on top of everything else!”

“….” Eclipsa gave a small shrug. “It’s okay. I can look out for myself.”

“Of course I’m going to look out for you!” Globgor said in exasperation. “I don’t want to lose you!”

……

After a pregnant pause, Globgor squinted his eyes at the girl in a threatening manner. “I hate you for making me say that.”

Eclipsa’s cheeks lit up as she heavily blushed. “Oh, you!” She turned to face him. “Thanks for showing me what monsters are really like, Globgor.” She then stood on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek.

As expected, the boy shot back like she had just bit him. “H-Hey! W-What are you doing?!”

Eclipsa giggled and raised a digit. “You’ll never get stronger if you let your guard down like that!” She gave him a wink before heading in the direction back to the castle.

“…..” Globgor shifted in indignation. “If you ever call me Globby again, I’ll bite your face off!” he called.

“No you won’t!”

“Well….I’ll want to!”

He watched her until she was out of his sight. Once she was gone, he gently touched the spot she had kissed. No one had ever done that to him before. His first instinct was to scrub the spot clean, but he ultimately decided against it

…..

Geez, why did he keep getting the suspect feeling this girl was going to get him into a lot of trouble?

And why did he feel so okay with that?

*Song is Dreams to Dream from Fieval Goes West. You can find it on Youtube. Make sure to listen to Tanya’s version!

I want to start by reassuring you guys I’m not going to make this story as simple as ‘monsters good/Mewmans bad’. The fault in monsters is going to be covered in later chapters. I believe it’s important for Eclipsa to be the first one to realize that her race isn’t as innocent as she was raised to believe. After all, I imagine her to be the more open-hearted one, not really wanting to be enemies with anyone. It would be a lot easier for her to let go of any prejudices she had than it would be for Globgor, who’s actively involved in defeating the Mewmans.

Now, let me explain why I needed to use a song for this chapter. I don’t know if anyone else notices this, but Globgor always seemed entranced whenever he heard Eclipsa sing during the show. He always stood and watched before he joined in harmony. This causes me to believe he adores his wife’s singing voice. Therefore, I needed the first time he heard her sing to be nothing short of magic. I didn’t feel like I could really capture by just saying Eclipsa ‘sang really good’. I needed a song to refer to. I really didn’t want to, but I’m not creative enough to come up with my own song! On top of that, I was crazy about this song as a kid, and I still find it to be a sweet tune to this day. I hope you guys are okay with how I handled the moment and will forgive me for pretty much making this chapter a ‘songfic’ one.

Another time-skip will happen in the next chapter. And we’re going to cover a topic that I know a lot of you have been eager for.

Mewburty.

#CH3 #Mun writes #fanfiction #Globgor #Eclipsa #globclipsa #svtfoe #Magic High Commission #MHC #SWHOREBE

38 notes · View notes

boyslaughplus · 6 years ago

Text

Brassica Valentine's Day Special

Hello Tumblr! What a day to start this off! <3

Because it's Valentine's Day, we decided to release a little short story set in the Brassica universe. It takes place a few months before the game but aside from some recurring characters it's independent of the main story (though maybe not insignificant...)

If you haven't played the game, don't worry, this story doesn't need any knowledge of its plot. If you have played the game, you might appreciate some of the details and hopefully enjoy this story that is a little more Ode-centric than the currently released acts.

But without further ado, here's the Brassica Valentine's Special:

Walking into the room, it felt like entering another world. The festive decoration stretching through the entirety of the castle foyer, the exquisite looking food stacked on the tables in the main hall, and of course the colorful crowd of royals, dressed in extravagant suits, robes, and dresses—everything seemed to shimmer and gleam in the light of the chandeliers. Ode certainly wasn’t new to these kinds of events but he still experienced a mild culture shock whenever he attended.

His cousin, Lord Valentine of Barah, had once again invited him to one of his famous birthday parties, or Valentine’s Day as many people called them. It was an event that was famed for the bonds it created, both interpersonal and political, due to the gathering of many young royals and the chance to confess to a crush or to court someone you fancy. Valentine himself chose among about half of his guests a select few who were given a rose. This rose should then be given to someone else who caught your interest and it was looked down on people who left the event not having given away their rose. Similarly, not receiving one marked you as being socially inept, undesirable even as some harsh voices would put it.

Ode did not care much about this custom. Especially this time his mind was set on other matters because more than just attendance, gifts, and well wishes were expected of him: he had been asked to perform for all the guests.

His parents, the king and queen of Barah, liked to boast about Ode’s musical talents since he rarely concerned himself with politics and state affairs. Ode didn’t like to play the role of a musician, less so that of a performer. He liked music and singing, but his audience was usually just the local wildlife and his best friend Friedrich. And that was it. He had never meant to make music a defining part of his public persona.

Even so, Ode didn’t mind the request. If his cousin wanted to hear him sing, he would gladly rise to the occasion. Or so the prince thought before he arrived. Now that he was amidst the cheerful crowd that was basking in the joy and the glory of attending an event as high-class as this one, Ode couldn’t help but nervously eye the stage he would soon be on, under the piercing gazes of everyone in the room.

Searching for his cousin to give his regards and discuss the details of his performance, the young prince of Barah looked around the hall. But with little success. It surely didn’t help that this was a masquerade ball!

In his search for Valentine, Ode passed many eccentric figures. Among them, a dashing royal in a dark suit embroidered with gold and complemented by his long turquoise hair and the rainbow of colors that was his crystal covered mask. A large group of what seemed to be avid admirers, flocked to the man and Ode made sure to steer clear of them as he rarely fared well with such people. He could still hear them laugh as he passed the vegetarian side of the buffet where a lone, lean, golden figure stood. Between most other outfits his wide pants almost seemed exotic though they were still overshadowed by his lack of shoes.

“What a bold choice for a ball in February,” Ode thought to himself.

Taking another look at the dainty royal’s outfit and his mask full of triangular ornaments, Ode wondered where he might have come from to be dressed this way. But there were more pressing matters at hand!

His search continued for a while and subdued the nervousness regarding his performance. When he finally found Valentine, the festivities were already well underway, and it didn’t take long until Ode found himself behind the stage, talking to the string quartet that had already been playing for most of the evening. Now too they would provide the backdrop for his song. A ballad that had resonated deeply with Ode and so he wanted to recite it this evening. Clutching his flute to his chest and with a pounding heart, Ode walked onto the stage to Valentine’s excited announcement.

For a moment he looked at the audience that was quieting down, their expectant gazes locked onto the tall prince who was more than glad to be wearing a mask himself right now.

His nervousness spiked briefly before disappearing completely once the sound of a cello resonated through the hall, indicating the start of the song.

It was the first time they performed it together, but the string quartet was well practiced and it didn’t take long before Ode went along with their rhythm. Unsteady as his flute play was sometimes, Ode had also been told it had character. He stopped to think and just played without worry; A melody a little solemn, if hopeful, he thought, to preface the first verse.

O friends, now I see, the morning draws near The moon looks upon us and all we hold dear

How we will part ways, nobody could say, How long we have left, no one could explain

The end though ’tis sure, is nothing to fear.

We sing and we dance despite illness and death Make most of the time until our last breath

When lost and in pain, we shall not lose hope, Stay resolute still at the end of our rope

’Cause as long as we breathe, there’s still some time left.

The deep voice of Barah’s youngest prince carried well throughout the room and by the time the next verse came around, Ode had nearly forgotten there were other people present, simply getting lost in the song.

But before too long it came to an end and for what felt like forever, the audience stayed quiet. Whispers began to spread among the guests and Ode could feel a wave of tension sweep through the entire hall.

Just then a thought entered the prince’s mind. Had this song really been suitable for such a celebration? What if he just embarrassed himself… his cousin… his kingdom? Lord Valentine initiated a polite if quiet applause as he took the stage.

“My dear cousin, the fledgling prince of Barah, everyone! Now after such a… unique performance, how about we welcome tonight’s main act? I’m sure you have all heard the tales of the bard who single-handedly—”

Ode felt his fears confirmed as he was led off the stage. He really didn’t like gatherings where people valued tact above genuineness. Where a single misstep could mean one’s social death. Had he cared more about the opinions of others, he might have been glum, but seeing Valentine trying intently to salvage the mood of his guests still made him feel like a disappointment.

The prince walked down the room, hearing the whispers and quiet sneers of other Royals behind him as he passed their tables.

Ode needed fresh air.

He left the hall just as the bard began to play and immediately felt relief as he stepped into the cold evening air. This wouldn’t have happened had he sung for the animals. At least they didn’t judge him and appreciated whatever he sang as long as it had heart!

Once he returned home, his parents would surely berate him for tonight’s events. If he could, Ode would just let go of all etiquette and responsibilities and leave the royal world. But whenever he came close to actually doing so, Friedrich told him to reconsider. Told him he was being rash.

Now was another of those moments. Anger rose within Ode that nobody seemed to have cared about his intentions. That nobody seemed to have seen what Ode saw in the song and instead focused only on its melancholic exterior. Without his friend to talk to him, the prince took off his mask, sat down on a bench in the gardens, trying his best to calm down on his own.

Though he would only stay alone for a short moment.

Soon Ode could hear the footsteps of someone else approaching in the distance. They came ever closer before abruptly stopping just behind him.

“Oh… hello. You are Prince Ode, correct?”

The mellow voice enchanted Ode immediately. He turned around and saw a slender, red-haired woman in an elegant dress decorated all over with pearls and flowers.

“Y-yes. That is correct lady, uh—” he hesitantly replied, wondering why she would want to talk to him.

“Sappho. Though you might know me as Seraphina of Radix.”

Indeed, he had heard of her, the crown princess of Barah’s most powerful neighbor land. Although he had never imagined that the heiress of such a mighty kingdom would look so delicate and sweet.

“Don’t you want to listen to the bard, Princess Sappho?”

She snickered and sat down next to Ode.

“Oh no. I needed to go outside for a bit. I have little patience for such mindless racket.”

Ode’s heart jumped at hearing this. Was he maybe not alone in this after all?

“I see. I feel much the same way! Although this wasn’t the main reason I left…”

He stayed silent for a moment, trying his best not to think about the political consequences this conversation could have should he mess up again.

It wasn’t by any means an uncomfortable silence, but to his relief Princess Sappho broke it soon, anyway.

“Well, I have to say I enjoyed your little performance earlier. Genuinely, I mean.” The princess took off her shimmering, cat-like mask before continuing as Ode got lost in the gaze of her bright eyes.

“Few people would have had the courage to perform it here, let alone do so from the bottom of their heart.”

The last thing Ode had expected to be met with this evening was kindness, and he smiled enthusiastically at Sappho, feeling the confidence to openly speak his mind.

“Thank you, Princess Sappho! I was worried that I made a mistake, but your words reaffirm me that the others’ reaction was not my fault! Although… Maybe I am nonetheless unfit for such festivities.”

The princess laughed.

“So what? I have talked with many a royal tonight, but this is the first enjoyable conversation I had. Just because you are not like the rest, you are not any less valid! Contrary so. You should be proud of yourself, Prince Ode!”

Never before had Ode experienced anything like ‘love’. Not in the way it was always sung about. But this very moment he thought he had gotten a glimpse of what it was like. As this realization set in, he took a deep breath to respond to the princess just to be cut short when she continued once more.

“But anyway, I’d happily go on with this conversation but I’m afraid I have to go. There is someone who is waiting for me right now and I cannot spare much more time.”

She stood up, turned to the prince and held out a rose towards him. The one she was supposed to give to someone special. Prince Ode could hardly believe it.

“Farewell Ode. I’m sure we will meet again some day.”

Hastily, Ode straightened his back and gratefully accepted the rose, looking at the princess with a multitude of feelings he could not yet fathom entirely. One of them disappointment that she was already about to leave.

“Farewell Princess Sappho! And thank you!”

A smile flashed on the Princess’s face just long enough that Ode could feel her grasp on his heart tighten. She turned around and walked away further down the path she had come from.

Ode watched her disappear in the shadows of the garden and just now noticed the quickened tempo of his heartbeat.

Long after she had left, Princess Sappho was still ever present in the prince’s mind. For a while he stayed outside, lost in his thoughts and the stars shining brightly above him.

It truly was the most special Valentine’s Day he had ever experienced. Full of determination, Ode made a silent vow. He would see her again.

And he would act upon the feelings that stirred up inside of him that day. For they were far too precious to leave alone.

10 notes · View notes