#but dealing with children and seeing that its like. Not Hard to at least pretend. is so crazy. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vixen525noms · 1 year ago

Text

Defying Certain Death Part 18

Copied from my DeviantArt account, a non-sexual G/T vore story featuring adults along the lines of the lion and the thorn fable. There will be tons of hurt/comfort aspects, lots of safe vore. That is the primary focus in this.

Barrett is an adult giant standing 85ft tall and Hope is an adult human at 5ft 6. Barrett does not eat children at any point.

Warnings: Unwilling Prey; Fatal Mention; Characters in Distress

Future: While this part is relatively tame, future and previous parts include fatal vore and violence. Barrett, the giant, is not a good guy, so will be doing some occasional bad things.

Editor: @vore-scientist

Picture | First | Previous

-----

Barrett sat with Hope on his chest, his hand over her. He was glad he got a tent and cot while staying here... but going back to the Syor town to his house for more money was going to be a necessity soon. They would not treat Hope well. First assumption would be that she was a minion, one who helps trick small folks into the waiting jaws of hungry Syor. But Hope did not have the personality of one, and he didn’t think she could pretend to be one. She would be too nervous. But he couldn’t leave her here. She’d be too vulnerable. Thinking of how to deal with this was hard. Maybe he’d think better if there was something in his belly.

“Mmm... you felt really good in my belly when I was freed from the rocks. And the protection spell did work when I used it.” He felt the human resting on his chest jolt slightly. His ear flicked. “As I’ve said before, I’d never hurt you. You saved my life and were very nice to me. You have no reason to be afraid. I would only swallow you with protection magic.” He heard her say something, but it was very soft. Barrett picked her up from his chest, holding her near his face, “I didn’t hear that. Speak up.” Hope shuddered, but spoke a bit louder, “I... saw you kill my father... that same way... it is... terrifying. Can’t I just lay on your chest again? That’s not nearly as scary...” “Protection spell means you are safe and don’t need to be scared. I’ll even say the spell first.” He speaks the protection spell, grinning as he feels a bit of his own magic weave into her. “There!” And he immediately puts her in his mouth.

Barrett purred as she squirmed on his tongue, enjoying the feel and taste. She tasted a little different from most humans he encountered... He had seen her growing plants, was it because of that? Maybe he would have to see if he could catch farming humans at some point to compare the taste. Whatever it was, he liked it. He savored her flavor, even when she stopped squirming and curled up. It was unfortunate she stopped squirming so quickly. He enjoyed a bit of struggle. With another deep purr he swallowed the little morsel, resting a hand over his belly, “You are tasty, little one. I’m so glad I know that spell to keep you nice and safe in there... Hey! That gives me an idea! In there you are safe! Which means if I went to the Syor town for more of my money, none of them could touch you!”

-----

Hope gave up trying to get him to open his mouth pretty quickly. What was the point? She was helpless whether in his grasp, in his jaws, or even left at the campsite. Regardless, she had no energy too. Perhaps she was putting too much into maintaining some of those rarer plants she was desperately trying to keep alive. She suspected her hope of someday establishing at least a small garden again was foolish. Perhaps it should be just the tree she maintained. She almost felt like crying when she thought of it. Her pride and joy, reduced from its previous massive size to a mere sapling so she could safely take it with her. Her eyes felt warm, puffy... had she shed tears, or was she just fighting them? How could she even pretend she could restore it... surely it would be impossible so long as she remained prisoner to this terrifying giant.

Oh gosh that loud noise beneath her never stopped. She had heard him growl at times, but this wasn’t quite the same... But what else could it be? This line of thinking was distracting her from where she was so her mind latched onto it in a desperate bid to forget what was currently happening.

What did she know about giants... Before a couple months ago, she had never even seen a Syor before, only Syorian, friendly giants, the ones who regularly visited her farm back when it still existed. They paid well to get her quality potions. As with anyone, she was aware of Syor, no human, nemeran, or other small folk that she knew of hadn’t heard of their existence; everyone knew the stories of the terrible man-eating monsters. However, she lived far enough into the country of Naterhu, what many call the human country, that Syor never reached that area. At times they felt like a bedtime story meant to keep kids from venturing too far. She never expected things to go so wrong! And now it felt like she was being punished for believing no living thing should suffer such a miserable end as being trapped to slowly starve.

Hope tensed as the tongue moved beneath her, toying with her as the giant savored her taste. She curled up tight, trying to ignore the feel of the warm, wet tongue rolling over her. She needed to focus on something else. Plants. Think about her plants. Think about her tree. That was a nice thought. The only plant mage to successfully raise one away from the arctic... She wanted to hear it speak to her. It would be so much more comforting. She reached out with her magic... but nothing. It was still too weak while in this restricted form. But in her desperation she tried again, and again.

Oh no no no no.... she can’t ignore it. She can’t focus on better thoughts. The giant licking and tasting her. The monster is savoring her like one of those honey candies she made for local kids...

That rumble still seemed to vibrate through her very bones... it never ceased! At least it seemed to die down some when she stopped moving. Then... A change... A different movement. Fuck! She had been so focused on what was happening she hadn’t thought about what comes next! But... What was the point of protesting? Of resisting? She knew she was helpless. Completely helpless. And she closed her eyes as the muscles pulled her down to the same place that had no doubt killed many others. That HAD killed her father.

Hitting the bottom was soft, and she felt no pain or discomfort from it or the fluids. Yet it was still so terrifying. For a long while she didn’t even move. Try as she might she could not shut out the deep rumble of that sound. It was all around her. She could hear that loud, terrifying voice. Between that and the deep rumble... as well as own stress she could only make out occasional words. She was sure she heard him say the word ‘tasty’, which she more or less expected... and something about an idea... that couldn’t be good. Most of his ideas seemed to be about hunting.

Maybe she should pay closer attention... but as she thought that, all the noises paused.... and he started moving. Oh no... Would she end up watching a deer bitten in half slowly dissolve? What if he wanted to just keep her in here indefinitely? That would be even worse! Surely the spell wouldn’t last forever! What if he fell asleep and it wore off? What if he kept renewing the spell until she died of dehydration or starvation? Wait, he’s talking again... She needed to listen... but that rumbling sound was so loud! She couldn’t understand! Something about... clothes? Had he seen a trader he was going to kill to get her more supplies from? That would be so much worse than a deer. She wished she had some idea what was going on... but she was alone with her thoughts and barely understandable speech from the great monster keeping her prisoner.

Picture | First | Previous

#dcd #defying certain death #syor #barrett #terrasyor #barrett the giant #soft vore #gt vore #size difference #giant tiny #my stories #my writing #my stuff #barrett and hope #hope and barrett #unwilling prey #g/t #g/t vore

18 notes · View notes

keicordelle · 2 years ago

Text

The Daily Inconveniences of an Au Ra: Recognizability

Being an Au Ra in Eorzea meant that, by definition, he had no anonymity. Oh, people feigned not recognizing him sometimes, offering him half-hearted comments like, "You don't look like you're from around here," or "Do you happen to know anyone who might be strong enough to...". But, as he'd encountered only a handful of other Au Ra in his time in Eorzea, and most of them living as discretely as possible, he really doubted that anyone on the continent hadn't heard his description. "Seven fulms tall with horns and a tail" was rather hard to miss, he judged, no matter the polite games strangers played.

Sometimes it worked to his advantage. He hadn't had to pay for an ale in many moons, and he was pretty well guaranteed work any time he needed it just by showing up somewhere. But most of the time... Most of the time his uniqueness was a burden.

Most problematic as an adventurer was that it made espionage and subtlety absolutely impossible. He couldn't blend in with a crowd if his life depended on it - and occasionally it did. Any enemies could pick him out a mile away, and forget trying to surreptitiously inquire about anything. No one was likely to forget that a giant lizard had come to ask about their boss's comings and goings, and it wasn't like he could pretend to be an inhabitant of any city on this continent. He could maybe have gotten away with it back in Othard, where at least Au Ra were relatively common, so long as no one thought too hard about the fact that his horns were black, not white.

At least it let him pretend that people were afraid of his reputation and not his alien appearance when they shrank from him at first meeting. The wide-eyed stares and pointing fingers of children in the streets were obviously because he was a great adventurer and not just because he was big and pointy and scaled. No matter that after years of relative isolation on the Steppe, several of the other races were equally unusual to him (what even was the deal with Miqo'te? Why did their tails have fur, but nowhere else on their bodies seemed to? And Viera, who had the ears of a rabbit but no other shared traits that he could see. Did they have little cottontails tucked into their pants?). At the very least, it made him far more willing to work with the so-called 'beast tribes' than any Eorzean he'd ever met. So what if they looked and acted a little different? Everything over here was bizarre anyway, and most would say the same about him. The main difference between Xaela and Amalj'aa that he could see what's the number of scales on their bodies - and that the latter had an even worse time blending in than he did. At least his stature was still within the realm of reasonability in a land where Roegadyn also flourished.

"Keshet?"

The sound of his name in the middle of a bustling street in Ul'dah should not have surprised him, but he still jumped. Sighing, he tugged off the hood that he'd pulled down over his face in an attempt to achieve anonymity and twisted to face the white haired Elezen who'd called out to him. "Hello Alphinaud."

The boy took in the cloak that covered his usual outfit and the tail Keshet had tucked under its folds and winced apologetically. "My apologies, were you attempting to disguise yourself?"

"Attempting and failing, it would seem," he responded wryly.

Alphinaud offered him a sympathetic smile. "Your horns leave quite an imprint against the hood, and the base of your tail juts out against the fabric. And I'm sorry to say that even without any of that, your gait will always give you away to those who are familiar with you." He cocked his head. "Why were you trying to hide your identity anyway?"

Cheeks heating, Keshet looked away. "I didn't want to be recognized while standing in line for the release of the new Wind-Up Scions toys," he mumbled. "I'm still missing Urianger."

Alphinaud coughed to cover the bark of laughter the admission elicited. "You- Ah. That is. Understandable. However, I think your disguise unlikely to succeed."

Taking a deep breath, Keshet rolled his shoulders and stripped off the cloak. "Then if I cannot hide, I shall simply have to be so unabashedly confident that none would think to question my presence." Ah well. In truth, hiding and subterfuge never became him anyway. And maybe his reputation would be enough to let him skip the line and finish off his collection.

Read the rest of the series on Ao3!

FIRST | PREV | NEXT

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #au ra #wol #alphinaud leveilleur #my writing #daily inconveniences #keshet dotharl #~K

19 notes · View notes

starsbegantofall · 1 year ago

Text

I see complaints that Barbie wasn't a great feminist movie and they're right. Barbie is instead a movie about a doll's relation to the meaning of being human. To go into the movie expecting a call to action for feminism meant you did not watch the trailers. Or the movie lol

This is actually my tweet (or... xeet), but I kinda wanted to expand on it here instead of on... xitter...

The reason being, Barbie is imperfect as a feminist movie. Its female empowerment message is brief, not very clear or logical or offering any real solutions that could work in the real world, and treating a serious subject so lightheartedly isn't effective or sensitive. What Barbie is about, from the trailer and from the very first scene, is a doll that represents to girls all of the exciting possibilities of their future.

Feminism follows behind Barbie, because Barbie is marketed to be an independent adult and not a baby to be taken care of, and Ken is an afterthought, and Barbie doesn't have kids, although she does take care of her sisters and other kids. But feminism isn't what Barbie is solely about and definitely not what the movie is solely about.

Cut below for vague spoilers

Barbie the movie is about how a doll experiences the sorrows and joys of humanity for the first time and how they deal with the question of identity, and to a lesser extent, how humans are able to rediscover themselves through the world of dolls and play pretend. Barbie represents imagination and dreams and possibilities to a girl (child), but once a girl (child) grows up and has a job and family and relationships and responsibilities, what happens to those dreams? Can dreams and reality coexist? Barbie doesn't want to change or become human, but she decides to enter reality anyway because the dream world isn't enough to contain the humanity she gained; is that what adolescence is about? Ken and CEO Will Ferrell represent the patriarchy's toxicity to uhh America Ferrera's character and her daughter, but even there, there is more to Ken and the humans- finding out what they really want to do in life, defining their relationship to others, forging a new identity, learning from past mistakes, being honest with their feelings and expressing them.

As a movie about a toy, an unwilling Pinocchio, a combination of Woody and Buzz Lightyear, that movie about androids, it's a very relatable story that speaks to girls and women much more than Pinocchio or Woody or Buzz Lightyear or creepy android children could. There are real questions and dilemmas within the humor and parody, and the conclusion is as honest and uncertain as real life is. As any other type of movie... it would require like another hour of exposition to hold up to scrutiny, and my bladder is not that strong. That's what I meant when I said the bad parts of the movie come back around as good. The silliness of the characters' actions, doll and human, the self-awareness that the writers have that this is a very nonsense plot, somehow makes the movie more relatable, at least to me. I think if they tried to overexplain or make the moral of the story extra clear and super serious, it would feel try-hard and preachy and take away from the production and acting and the essence of Barbie.

11 notes · View notes

lewdestconcubine · 2 years ago

Text

The Szayel Compendium (Part 7 - Relationships)

RELATIONSHIPS.

FAMILY: [Who, if anyone, does the character consider their family? Are these blood relatives? And do they have a good relationship with their family?]

Szayel has one fraternal twin brother, Yylfordt, who as a hollow, he has a complicated relationship with. He very much loves him, but he resents that he spends his time with someone else, and that he’s essentially the physical manifestation of all of the ‘weaknesses’ and ‘impurities’ that he pulled out of himself. He’s not sure what to do about it sometimes, and after Yyl’s death, sometimes things get complicated. Verse dependent he sometimes will have a partner/boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife and/or children. Those relationships are things that sustain him when they happen.

FRIENDSHIPS: [Do they have lots of friends, or just one or two close friends? What do they look for in a friend?] Szayel has lots of acquaintances. There are a couple of hollows he considers his friends, and of course in RP, he has plenty of verses where he counts different muses as friends. But canonically he suffers deeply from isolation and loneliness and does rather desperate things to change that fact, through much of it doesn’t work and isolates him further.

FRIENDS IN NEED: [How do they help a friend who is going through hard times? Do they offer advice and support, or do they feel uncomfortable, not knowing what to say?] It’s best to explain things in a way that Szayel can ‘solve’. If he can invent something. give you a medicine or a treatment, share his knowledge, etc., he is more than willing to help a friend. If you need to vent, its best to tell him so, and he’ll listen and support, and if it would make his friend more comfortable, or if they want a distraction, he’s more than happy to share himself physically, whether just by giving affection or by doing something sexual/sensual. But sometimes, he just doesn’t really get what’s needed from him, so if you don’t spell things out and just expect him to be sensitive to your problems…you may end up not liking what he does. It’s best to explain to Szayel how he can help, otherwise there may be some wild misunderstandings.

NEEDING A FRIEND: [Do they tend to go to friends when they need help and support? Or do they deal with their problems on their own? Do their friends ever worry about them?] Canonically Szayel will generally withdraw and become more paranoid or hostile. But, in different verses, if you connect with him well enough, he’ll come by for reassurance, whether its nice words, a hug, some good food, or just being acknowledged. If you’re the type of ‘friend’ he tends to prefer, if you can fuck him well enough that he forgets feeling terrible, it’s a bonus, and you will likely see him often. He is not at all subtle about this, smh.

ANNOYANCES: [How do they deal with arguments and disagreements with friends or partner?] He tends to fall apart. Finding a companion is something he stresses over. If there’s a rift forming for any reason, he doesn’t take it well, will isolate, and just continue down an unhealthy path until he’s either asked to stop, or forced to. Szayel is rather fragile at heart, even if he pretends that this isn’t so.

ROMANCE: [If applicable: how do they woo a potential partner? What do they look for in a potential partner?] Szayel is demiromantic, and thus really only develops romantic desires towards friends that he has, that he’s also already pursued a sexual relationship with to some degree, or at least has been able to feel physical chemistry with as far as things like..you smell good to him, your touch is comforting to him, and your presence is settling. He looks for those who can handle his mood lability and who have a complimentary type of strength both physically and/or mentally. As he’s essentially pan, this could be a person of any gender.

MARITAL PROBLEMS: [How do they deal with problems in their love life? Do they talk it through with their partner? Or do they bury their head in the sand?] Szayel tends to ignore problems in his relationships when he feels that everything for the most part is going well. He’d rather swallow his own issues or secretly try and fix himself. He’s conflict avoidant when it comes to things in his private life. He’s terrified of being alone and will actually take very large amounts of abuse for the sake of not losing a partner. Unless his partner can pick up on the fact that he’s unhappy and change their approaches to the problems without saying anything…you’re going to have to back Szayel into a corner to even acknowledge that there’s something wrong I the first place. He tends to self harm and disassociate rather than tell a partner that there’s a problem, as he figures that just as anything that’s mind over matter, if he continuously works to accept a lie, eventually it will be true.

ADVERSARIES: [What would turn them off a friendship or romance?] Being ignored. Trying to force other ideologies on him. Treating him as something below you, when it’s not consensual degradation.

ENEMIES: [What would make them hate someone enough to call them an enemy?] Actively working to undermine him and his accomplishments. Otherwise, an ‘enemy’ is just the person on the other side of the fight he’s been made to fight because he’s in an army.

STRANGERS: [Do they tend to be respectful to strangers, or are they careless towards anyone who they don’t consider a friend?] Szayel tries to be courteous to those he first meets as he’d rather make a good first impression. But he will not lie about the fact that he won’t necessarily stick his neck out for you unless you’ve shown him that you can be trusted to have his support.

FUN STUFF: [What kind of things do they like doing with a friend?] Szayel’s very much adventure and pleasure minded. He likes experiencing fine things like art and music and good food. He likes dressing people up and making things for them. He enjoys traveling to unfamiliar places with a familiar person by his side. And of course anything of a uhhh..physical nature. Szayel loves getting to know someone in the biblical sense...as merger of mind, soul, and body is deeply intertwined with the alchemical symbolism tied up in his character.

DATING: [What kind of things to they like doing with a romantic partner?] Everything listed above. His friendships often don’t look al that different from his romances. Sometimes there’s just as much sex. XD But in romance you can actually get him to more or less commit to you, and he’s unafraid to plan a future life. Szayel has a weird purity of connection to him that makes it kind of hard to split hairs between friendship and romance, and often he’ll put a label on it to make the other person feel better. But that’s not to say that it’s less passionate. It just means that you have the right to tell him what makes you comfortable in his behaviors, like if you don’t approve of him being openly sexual towards good friends. He’ll never stop dropping innuendos or flirting however, he’s not really capable of it. Just tell him where boundaries lie.

BEST FRIEND: [If applicable - who do they consider their best friend?] This is very verse dependent. Canonically, he’s not really shown to have very close bonds with people.

LOVE: [If applicable - who do they consider to be the love of their life?] This too is very verse dependent. He clearly lusts over others, but that’s not the same thing. But he does form ships easily if approached the right way.

WORST ENEMY: [If applicable - who do they consider to be their worst enemy?] Canoically, he considers shinigami as the enemy, who are essentially carrying out genocide. He also sometimes has conflicts with Aizen and with the other Espada. He fights with Renji and Uryuu, and of course dies by Mayuri’s hand…but they’re more or less opponents, rather than enemies, if that makes sense. After all, he’s a soldier in a war. He doesn’t really get how certain characters were introduced to him, so depending on different AU concepts…I feel that he may be incredibly open to meeting some characters, given that they have things in common, but were forced to be on different sides because of the world they live in, rather than any conscious choice.

RESPECT: [Do they respect their enemies, even if they don’t like them? Is there anyone they disrespect? Why?] Sometimes? I mean, for Szayel, he views it as a great honor for him to be interested in you enough to study you, experiment on you, fight you, or command his attention in any way. To flat out ignore someone is to disrespect them, as he feels deeply disrespected when ignored. So, take this as you will. He’s not exactly normal, nor was his canonical ultimate opponent.

#The Szayel Compendium #tsp activity check #szayelaporro granz #hc tag

7 notes · View notes

hungerun · 1 year ago

Text

under the cut is my hc abt the maw (plus, six’s backstory bc its kinda intertwined), the signal tower, and how both of them function. along with what kinda world would create both of them in the first place.

(the maw, ft six’s backstory)

>six’s mother was the lady of the maw, and her father was a visitor who had been just ‘passing through’, but ended up staying a lot longer then intended. what he didn’t realize, was the fate he doomed his daughter with that decision. >there was a familial curse that clung to the fujioka bloodline, the side effects of a deal taken god knows how many years ago. an exchange of power, for sustenance. the lady got powerful dark magic, and the entity that was now attached to her acted much like a parasite, being passed from host to host.

>the maw was, originally, created with good intentions. it’s hard to believe now, but. once upon a time, it was supposed to be a sort of safehouse, protecting people from the confusing world outside, among other things. >but, even it eventually succumbed to greed, and fell into the state of disrepair we know it to be today, cannibalism and death now rampant. >problem children and attempted runaways are turned to nomes by the lady’s dark magic, and are then left to try and keep the dying ship running. >the lady of the maw’s first born child with always fall ill soon after birth, the most concerning of the symptoms? a growing hunger. it’ll start out subtle, and then become uncomfortable, but bearable. it only gets worse from there. eventually, it’ll be so overwhelming, the child has no choice but to lunge out!– >they then become the next ruler of the maw, taking their parents place, and the cycle continues. the beast is settled for now, but it’ll want to feed again, eventually.

>the visitor was kept in the dark of this inevitably, of course. that is, until he heard the strangely dark lullaby his new wife lulled their child to sleep with from the next room. it was a bit too detailed, a bit too… real, maybe? soon, he came to wish that wasn’t the case. >though the visitor was to quick to placate his wife, soothing her fears of him ‘getting in the way of fate’. he, of course, was already making a plan to get himself, and their kid, out of the situation. though he still loved the lady, or loved at least what he thought he knew, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, put his daughter through all of that.

>on the same day, every year, the maw resurfaces for a short period, boats from near and far come bellowing with the hungry chants of the guests eager to get aboard. the visitor simply kept his head down, blending into the noisy sea of flesh, he managed to slip onto one of the visiting ships, and hitches a ride back to the mainlands, with his now almost year old daughter in tow. >he settled down, finding himself a job as a lighthouse keeper. when running from something that stalks the seas, most people would assume the smartest course of action would be to move somewhere inland. runaway as far as possible, forget the smell of the ocean breeze all together, but… >he just thought that maybe, maybe, with the lighthouse, he could see fate when it came for them. that wasn’t the case, unfortunately.

(the mainlands/the tower)

>the tower’s general purpose is to keep it’s citizens in a happy, totally unaware state, allowing the ‘worldly horrors’, (the north wind, the man in the mirror, etc etc), to feed off their hope. which in turn, makes them leave the quote unquote, 'more important people’ alone. (these being people like the pretender, the hunter, the teacher, the doctor, etc etc.)

>the signal itself is powered by children’s dreams, hence it’s effect, as it plays off adult’s nostalgia and ache for their past. simpler times, y'know? to get these dreams, normal children are kidnapped from their homes, being replaced with a doll-child. their parents are usually so out of it, they can’t tell the difference. >these doll-children are created and educated at the schoolhouse by it’s strict teacher. it was a normal school at some point, but that’s not the case anymore. >once the children have been captured, they are brought to the tower, and put to sleep. any dreams they have are stolen from them, which leaves them with only a enteral nightmare. they don’t age once asleep, some of those kids have been trapped for many, many, many years. >the only person able to free them and wake them from their slumber is mono/the thinman himself, bc he’s able to see the what’s left behind of those kids, the static phantoms that silently haunt the airwaves.

>there’s an even more unfortune side effect to all this. the signal is made up of mostly good dreams, of course, but. those nightmares? they affect it too, albeit more subtly, and slow. they’ve been leaking into reality itself, distorting the world and its inhabitants, more and more. adults tower over children with horrifying faces, terrible things lurk in the dark and under the bed, and they’re left to defend for themselves. and, the 'important people’ either aren’t paying attention, or. if they do see it, but they just don’t care. >as for the thinman himself, he acts as a sort of 'ghost in the machine’, simply pulling the strings from behind the scenes. he’s apart of the signal itself, that is, until someone with a similar gift, can reach and free him, like mono unknowingly does in-game. this cycle is similar to the lady’s, as once defeated, the child is destined to become the new thin-man, so forth so on.

#* && OOC #* && SELF /// MIRROR ( SIX . )#cannibalism tw #child abuse tw #long post tw

1 note · View note

hungerun-a · 2 years ago

Text

(the maw, ft six’s backstory)

>the lady of the maw’s first born child with always fall ill soon after birth, the most concerning of the symptoms? a growing hunger. it’ll start out subtle, and then become uncomfortable, but bearable. it only gets worse from there. eventually, it’ll be so overwhelming, the child has no choice but to lunge out, and!– >they then become the next ruler of the maw, taking their parents place, and the cycle continues. the beast is settled for now, but it’ll want to feed again, eventually.

(the mainlands/the tower)

>once the children have been captured, they are brought to the tower, and put to sleep. any dreams they have are stolen from them, which leaves them with only a enteral nightmare. they don’t age once asleep, some of those kids have been trapped for many, many, many years. >the only person able to free them and wake them from their slumber is dolly/the thinman himself, bc he’s able to see the what’s left behind of those kids, the static phantoms that silently haunt the airwaves.

>as for the thinman himself, he acts as a sort of 'ghost in the machine’, simply pulling the strings from behind the scenes. he’s apart of the signal itself, that is, until someone with a similar gift, can reach and free him, like dolly unknowingly does in-game. this cycle is similar to the lady’s, as once defeated, the child is destined to become the new thin-man, so forth so on.

#* && OOC #* && SELF /// MIRROR ( SIX . )#cannibalism tw #child abuse tw #long post tw

2 notes · View notes

tcapc · 6 months ago

Text

Understanding The Psychological Impact Of Trauma

For a long time, trauma and its psychological impact on human behavior were pushed aside. Most of us found it hard to believe that the negative incidents we had experienced at certain times in our lives, and brushed them aside, could find their way back to disrupt our progress. You would say, ‘Yes, I was called Twinkle Toe as a university freshman, but it does not mean anything,’ yet, you would rather sulk in your pajamas than walk barefoot on the beach with friends.

We all process trauma differently, but to heal, we have to understand its roots, how, and why it has affected us.

Reflecting on the Past: Understanding the Emotional Impact of Trauma (tCaPC)

What is trauma?

Trauma is a dominant and consistent emotional response to a painful or negative event. It is not just about the shock immediately after the event. If not properly dealt with or managed, the effects can influence our behavior for years, even if the event does not happen again. The most paraded forms of trauma like wars, sexual assault, and natural disasters can not be over-emphasized, however, we can also have traumatic experiences in our relationships, with our health, and even in our social interactions. For Ethan, it was his relationship.

The Genesis

Ethan was a sweet boy. He loved his mum and dad together, or at least he loved what they showed him when they were together. He always thought his parents loved each other. They slept in the same house and they put on a great show in front of him. So, he assumed that they were in a great space. One day, Ethan came back from school and his mom was not at home. He got to the kitchen, served himself some freshly cooked food, and waited for his mum. Some hours later, his dad walked into the house. The sky was dark already and Ethan was yet to see his mum. So he asks his dad about her.

Sighing, his Dad sat him down and told him his mum would no longer be living with them. She had moved to Ohio, but he could visit anytime he wanted. No, Ethan screamed. Why did she go? His dad explained to him that they were getting a divorce as they were not doing well together. Ethan wanted his mum and dad together. He wondered why they would pretend that they were good when nothing was going right. He reminisced the smiles on their faces when they talked to him and he could instantly see the facade. He was hurt, broken, and confused, and he ran into his room.

While divorce can take a huge toll on children, Ethan took it pretty hard. He began to wonder if everyone was living a facade like his parents. He was in shock and denial. Sometimes, he would come home from school, expecting to meet his mum, but he would not meet anybody. It was an overwhelming situation. Ethan's dad did not know how to help his son, however, he assumed Ethan would get over it after some time.

Childhood Trauma: The Silent Struggle (tCaPC).

The Long-term effects

Ethan went through loads of transitions during this period. He went from being a sweet happy boy to a sad and angry teenager. After about 18 months, Ethan began to accept that his dad and mum, two people who claimed to be in love, may never be together again. So, he moved on, but did he move on?

Deep into his teenage years, Ethan began to notice something. If he made plans with his friends and they did not come at the exact time, he would get anxious. He was overwhelmed with fear and was obsessively time-conscious. When his friends come, they end up arguing and everyone goes back home angry.

While he tried everything possible to satisfy his feelings, he fell in love with his beautiful project partner, Maria, in high school. However, Ethan could not shake the feeling that she would one day walk straight out of his life and never love him again. Maria loved him but hated that he could not trust her. When Ethan was alone, he could not help but wonder if his mum ever loved him, or if Maria hated that they were together. He was dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder and was almost always in a bad mood.

Maria knew about Ethan's parents' divorce, but she also knew about how it affected him. However, she also wanted to be happy and Ethan was not giving her that. She decided to talk to him.

READ MORE: https://www.tcapc.ca/blog/understanding-the-psychological-impact-of-trauma

#positive mental attitude #self help #success

1 note · View note

thedyingtimelady · 1 year ago

Text

A Crush on someone isnt that simple

Prolog 2/2 Hogwarts (1880-1887)

After the work was done, they walked in his little "Apartment", next to the Barns and he gave her a cup of tea.

"Take some biscuits too Ms. Stone. You worked really hard. That must be rewarded.", he told her, drinking his own tea.

For a while, they sat in silents.

But then, Violet got up and looked Mr. Moon in his eyes.

"Please marry me!", she shouted out loud.

Mr. Moon spit his tea, coughs and let go of his cup, what broke on the floor.

"Oh.", Violet made a sound, taking her wand and said. "Reparo."

The cup was whole again and Mr Moon picked it up.

"What?", he was confused.

"Please Marry me! Right after I finished school! I want to be your wife! Lets get engaged!", she said again, blushing deeply.

"Never!" , he shouted at her, getting up himself, looking furious at her.

But as her heart sank, he kept talking: "You are way too young! Did you lost your mind? I am 31!! You are 16! A minor!",

"But Peri Bluefeather is already engagent to a man, who is 10 years older than her! And thats okay! Its normal!", she said.

"ITS NOT NORMAL TO MARRY A CHILD!", he screamed. Her eyes widen and she stepped back.

She wasnt a child... She was almost a woman. Everyone told her, she became a woman as she had her first period.

"But.... my...", she stopped. She couldnt talk with him about her period! How scandelous!

"I dont care what everyone says! Until you are 18 years old, you are still a child! And even 18 is way too young to marry! At least be 20! This sick world lets grown men marry children! Disguisting!", he growl, putting the dishes away.

As he turned again to her, he froze.

Violet was crying in silent. "But... I love you...", she whispers.

He sigh, walking up to her.

"You are not loving me. You having a crush, what is weird for me, because I am a caretaker. I mean... didnt you see any handsome, young man walking around in your school? Or at least... I dont know... Professor Sharp? He is younger than me! At least have a crush on him!", he tried to make her laugh, but it wasnt working.

"But I want you... my heart wants you."

He gently put his hands on her shoulder.

"You are very young Ms. Stone. You dont know anything, what is going on in this world. I wont push you away now. We just pretend, this never happened. You still can help me out, visit me, drink a tea with me, talk to me, alright? You are a very kind person and I like having you around. You not killing all my nerves like the other students do."

Now she giggles a bit.

He gave her his handkerchief and she cleaned her face with it.

"Keep it. So you have something from me. And when you are realizing, you dont love me anymore, you can give it back to me. Deal?", he asked.

She nod.

Two years Later

Violet Stone gratuated at the age of 18, in the year 1887. As a Slytherin, she made her house proud with all the work she had done.

Before leaving her beloved school forever, she went to Mr. Moon, who was preparing something for the next school year.

Violet held tight on his handkerchief he gave her two years ago.

"Hello Mr. Moon. I wanted to see you, before I leave the school forever.", she said, with a sad tone in her voice.

Mr. Moon looked at her, seeing the handkerchief in her hands.

He gave her a light smile.

"Now the time came, hm? I will miss you and your kindness towards me. But I am happy, that your heart moved on.

He stretched out his hand to get the handkerchief.

She shook her head and put the handkerchief away, taking out another one. It was stitched with her name on.

"No. I will keep it, because my heart still loves you dearly. Please take this gift. I will get it back, when I return.", she start to smile bright, her grey eyes shimmer in the sunlight.

Mr. Moon stared at her.

"What? Your Return?"

"Yes! I will return! Give me 5 years! Than I will be a mature adult and we can marry. And I will work here as your assistent, until we get married!", she grin brighter, giggling.

Mr. Moon shook his head.

She was a very pretty girl, he admit. And she was charming and kind to him. And her grey eyes made his heart sometimes easier. She just had to smile at him and all the frustration in his mind was gone. But it was wrong to think like this. He was true to his words.

„You will be 23 when we meet again?“, he asked.

„Yes! So you have more time to prepare and I will be a bit older, so we can marry without you worrying about anything!“, she said determaned.

She hands him her handkerchief. He took it with a smile.

„Thank you my dear. I dont think, you will rememeber me, when the years away from Hogwarts will start, but I think it is a lovely thought, that your love with stay strong, until you return to me.“

She came closer. His heart skipped a beat. „Please give me a kiss. Please. I want you to have a lovely memory of me. Maybe your feelings will grow with the years.“, she asked him gently.

She closed her eyes, waiting for him.

Now he became nervous. Gladwin Moon was looking around. Someone could see them! What will they think of him?

But he couldnt let her stay like this… right?

He put the handkerchief in his Pocket and gently took her face in his hands.

He gave her a small kiss on the forehead and then stepped back.

Violet open her eyes in surprise, but smiled at him.

„I love you Mr. Moon! Until we meet again, my Darling!“, she shouted in happiness and ran off.

He chuckled, while looking after her.

He stayed in his home, hearing the train drive off.

Now he will never see her again.

He took at her Handkerchief and open a drawer.

Gladwin stand there for a while, looking at it.

Then he sigh, closing the drawer and putting it in his Pocket.

He laughs silently.

„Until we meet again, you wonderful kind soul.“

#hogwarts legacy fanficion #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts oc #gladwin moon #character with no fandom #i know he is weird #but kind of cute

0 notes

dreamofbecoming · 2 years ago

Text

bitten lips and broken hands

the incomparable @wren-of-the-woods tagged me in a totally innocuous wip ask game, and although i had no current wips, this apparently triggered my latent gifted child programming and i ended up staying up all night to write this

so thank you wren from the bottom of my heart, and i hope all y’all enjoy whatever the fuck this is

geraskier/implied pre-geraskefer

rating: t

wc: 6500

ao3

Geralt is drunk. Properly drunk, too, not just the lights are all brighter and the jokes all funnier drunk. Perhaps not quite oh dear, is that the floor? How did it get all the way up he- drunk, but certainly in the vicinity of I might not remember deciding to homestead in this ditch on the side of the road, but surely it was a good decision and I stand by it drunk.

In his defense, he’s quite sure he’s earned it. They all have, after everything. So many of his brothers dead, blood soaking into the stone floor again, throwing him back to the Sacking...he snatches the bottle from Lambert and downs another swig of White Gull to cut off that line of thinking. That’s why they’re getting drunk, to stop thinking about it. Getting maudlin, while on brand, defeats the whole purpose. Ciri is safe, gone to bed hours ago, and he got Yen settled into an empty room (near Vesemir’s, who promised to keep an ear out in case she tried anything unsavory) after supper before heading back down to get pissed with his brothers, so there’s nothing keeping him from what he’s definitely earned.

Vartok and Tolbert are already passed out, drooling on the floor in front of the fire, but Geralt and Eskel and Lambert have at least another bottle to get through.

“So whas- wash- what’s the deal with your bard, anyway? The fuck’d you bring him here for?”

“Lam, don’ be a fuckin’ prick, hey? Bard’s nice enough. Likes Lil Bleater! ‘s good people!”

“’as how I know he’s mad! Nobob- boby- nobody likes that bloody monster! Fuckin’ menace she is.”

“Don’ fuckin’ insult my damn goat, you ass! Yer jus’ cross she got into your room las’ year. ‘s yer own fault! Told you! Shut the door! Pass the damn Gull, Wolf, quit hoggin’ it.”

“Those were bran’ new boots! Fuckin’ beast! You still owe me new ones, ya prick. The fuck was I talking about anyway?”

Geralt is only half listening to the familiar bickering, so Eskel has to stop guzzling from the rapidly emptying bottle to answer. “Bard,” he nods decisively, going back to the bottle.

“Right! Bard! The fuck were you thinking, Pretty Boy? Fancy type like that, all, all frilly and shit, what good is he in a wisher- witcher keep? Tossing rocks about in the middle of fights? ‘ sides, dunno why he’s still hangin’ around you anyway, din’ you chase him off? Don’ belong here, that one.”

“I know,” Geralt laments. He does know. It’s why he never invited Jaskier here to winter with him, despite the many and myriad hints he pretended not to pick up on over the years. He knew from the moment he met Jaskier that this place, with its ghosts and bloodstains and drafty corridors and broken edges and broken witchers, was no place for someone like his the bard. Someone bright and vibrant and joyful. Kaer Morhen was none of those things. Even whole and full of life, it had been a cruel and a hard place. A place of dead children and frightened youths and cold men. No, he had never wanted to see Jaskier in these halls if he could help it.

“Din’ have much of a choice, y’know. Yen ‘s all-” He waves his hand vaguely about in an approximation of the chaos that was the days following the mess at Nenneke’s. “Hadta get Ciri back. Wouldn’ta brought him here otherwise.”

In hindsight, he’ll probably blame the drink for the fact that he didn’t register the familiar scent of sweat and parchment and almond oil, but the truth is, he’s so lost in thoughts of Jaskier already that he assumes it’s only in his head.

It is not. Eskel whaps him on the shoulder in alarm, trying to cut him off, but it’s too late. Jaskier stands motionless in the doorway for a moment before he whirls on his heel and vanishes into the hall, the tray of food he had obviously very thoughtfully prepared for them clattering to the ground behind him.

Geralt abruptly feels very sober. Jaskier’s face, eyes huge and brimming with tears, expression utterly crushed, is going to haunt him, he knows. It’s like the mountain all over again.

“...whoops?” Lambert tries, though he does look genuinely contrite, for Lambert values of contrite, anyway. Granted, he’s already out of his seat and gathering up the scattered food onto the discarded platter, shoveling a roll into his mouth straight off the floor, so Geralt takes his remorse with several grains of salt.

“G’wan, you hafta fix it! Go talk to him!” Eskel shoves him off the couch, gesturing frantically at the doorway where Jaskier disappeared from.

Geralt’s reflexes are slow, and his brain hasn’t quite caught up with the situation, but as the shock starts to wear off, hot shame followed by cold dread settles into his limbs, sending him stumbling down the hall towards the bedrooms. The molten pit of shame in his gut writhes even harder when he realizes he doesn’t know which room Jaskier has been staying in, hasn’t even gone to see him once since arriving, not even to check on him after the battle. Gods, he’s an awful friend.

Shoving down feelings that will do him no good right now, he tries to shake off some of the lingering alcohol haze not burned off by adrenaline and focus on Jaskier’s scent as it leads him through the winding corridors of the keep, tainted as it is by the scent of saltwater tears and moldy grief.

He finds him on one of the lower levels, in a cramped little room off a side hallway without even a hearth. There are no torches lit, but a magelight Yen must have cast sometime before supper glows over the desk, though why she would use her freshly-restored, still-regenerating power on something like that, Geralt isn’t sure.

What’s worse, Jaskier is packing.

To be fair, there isn’t much to be packed, but he’s carefully stacking notebooks into a satchel Geralt recognizes as dwarven design, which he assumes Yarpen and his people gave to him on the way across the Continent.

“Jas-”

“I hope one more night won’t be too much of an imposition,” he interrupts. “Yen’s already asleep, I checked, and after what she went through today, it seemed unchivalrous to wake her just to ask her for a portal off the mountain. You have my word I’ll be-” Jaskier’s voice, already thin and warbling from tears, breaks for a moment before he recovers, “I’ll be off your hands just as soon as possible. I never intended to intrude on a place I...I don’t belong.”

His back is to the witcher, and Geralt can see the quiver in his shoulders as he grips the desk with white knuckles, the strain of holding himself together causing him to shake where he stands. His choice of phrasing does not go unnoticed, hitting its mark like Geralt is sure it was meant to. It twists in his belly like poisoned dagger, burning and tugging.

“Jas that wasn’t- I didn’t- fuck. Fuck! I’m too fucking drunk for this.” He finds himself all at once overwhelmed, the grief and the shock and the guilt and the fear and the fucking White Gull and now the thought of the inevitable loss of Jaskier all running into each other and piling up and taking his legs out from under him. He sits down hard on the bed, his face in his hands.

There’s a long pause, then a rustling and a clinking sound he barely registers, before Jaskier’s voice, much close than before, says, “Here.”

When he looks up, the bard is standing before him, eyes red and cheeks tear-tracked, expression hard. He’s holding out a vial. Geralt takes it on instinct, body not needing input from his brain to trust that anything Jaskier gives him is safe to consume.

“It’s White Honey, not Wives’ Tears, but it should still help.”

“Where- why? How?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Guess I never got out of the habit of carrying the basics. Vesemir let me nick a few from the stores here, since all my things in Oxenfurt have probably been picked off by now.”

Bewildered, Geralt drinks the potion down. It isn’t as instantaneous as Tears would be, but alcohol is close enough to toxicity that he still feels his head start to clear. There’s so much he wants to address about everything Jaskier just said, but he has no idea where to start.

“Didn’t mean it like that, y’know. I swear. I didn’t.”

“Forgive me if that doesn’t make me feel better, Geralt. How the fuck did you mean it, then? How exactly am I meant to take hearing that I don’t belong here, and you wouldn’t have brought me if you had another choice?”

Fuck. That does sound really bad out loud. Geralt never meant for him to hear any of that, but that’s no excuse.

“’s not- ugh. It’s not that you don’t- it’s here, Jas, not you. Here doesn’t belong with...fuck. I hate this. You know I’m no good at this!”

Jaskier continues to lean against the desk, arms crossed. He raises one eyebrow, and Geralt knows no help is coming. He isn’t being let off the hook this time. He puts his face back in his hands with a groan. He almost wishes he hadn’t taken the Honey, maybe alcohol would loosen his tongue enough to help explain to Jaskier why he should want to get off this mountain as fast as possible, why belonging here was the last thing Geralt wants for him, wants for anyone he loves.

(He balks a little at the word, but inside his own mind, at least for now, it’s easy enough to ignore. And it’s not like he hasn’t know its true for years; its just one of the many things he decided a long time ago to pretend weren’t happening to him. The Child Surprise and the djinn wish came back to bite him in the ass, but surely it can’t hurt to ignore this lesson one more time, right?)

“You don’t belong in this place, just like- just like you don’t belong with me, ok?”

The moldy, rotten scent of grief and hurt swells so quickly Geralt almost sneezes. He looks up in alarm to see Jaskier staggering back towards the wall, away from Geralt, a look on his face like the witcher had just carved up his sister in front of him. He looks gutted. Fuck, that hadn’t come out right either, had it?

“Well, witcher, that certainly does clear things up. I suppose I should thank you for refraining from screaming my faults in my face this time. I apologize for having inflicted my presence on you for so long, then. Message received.” Geralt winces at the epithet, always before so soft in Jaskier’s mouth, so full of affection and admiration, now sharp and bloody on his lips.

“Wait, no, fuck, that isn’t what I meant!”

“No need to explain any further. You can go back to your brothers now, I’m sure they’re missing you. I can finish packing on my own. I’ll be gone in the morning, you won’t have to suffer me any further.”

“Jaskier, would you fucking listen to me? I don’t mean I don’t want you here! Of course I want you here! I always want you here!” Geralt is shouting now, desperation flooding him with adrenaline that feels remarkably like familiar, comfortable anger, and he leans into it.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You just told me I don’t belong here in your home, I don’t belong by your side, you only allowed me here because you had no choice, your brother called me useless and you flat-out agreed with him, how fucking dare you tell me you want me here! It’s cruel to toy with me like this, Geralt! You’re many things, but I’ve never known you to be cruel before, so please just go and let me take myself off your fucking hands in peace!”

Geralt feels frantic, out of control. Jaskier is slipping through his fingers and he doesn’t know which words to pick to stop it from happening. The thought that just an hour ago, he was planning out the best way to take the bard down the mountain as soon as the snow cleared, to send him back to a better, safer, happier life, a life without Geralt in it, doesn’t occur to him. Everything is blanked out by terror, leaving only the singular thought that he has to make Jaskier stop looking like that, stop smelling like that, has to fix what he keeps breaking.

“You don’t belong with me because you belong somewhere better, you fucking moron!”

Hm. Not quite the tone he was going for, but closer than before, at least.

Jaskier has stopped moving altogether, and is staring at him in something like shocked incredulity. At least he’s stopped shoving potions into his satchel, which is something.

Geralt can see Jaskier trying to formulate a response, emotions shifting rapidly across his face as his scent fluctuates wildly, pingponging from rage to hope to hurt and back again. Eventually he seems to settle on flat indignation.

“I’m going to need you to elaborate on that, Geralt. I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” Based on the expression on his face, Geralt doubts that, but apparently being forced to articulate himself is his punishment for being an ass.

“You don’t- you aren’t- ugh. You’re good, Jaskier! You’re light and laughter and softness. You’re pretty silks and rich foods and shiny jewelry. You play for kings and queens, you have Oxenfurt panting after you every year to teach more classes, you’ve had half the pretty people on the Continent in your bed, and every one of them has begged you not to leave! I’ve known it since we met, Jaskier, you don’t belong on the Path. You don’t belong in the damp and the muck and the blood and the shit. You don’t belong with a fucking Butcher! I tried so hard, Jaskier, for so long, to make you leave. To make you see that you deserve more. Deserve better. I don’t know why the fuck you kept coming back, but I thought after the mountain I had finally done it, I had finally made you see. But I was weak and when Yen fucked me over I got scared, I came to you because you’re the only person I know who would keep coming back, who I could trust with Ciri because you kept picking me for all those years when I didn’t deserve it. But you were supposed to be gone! You were supposed to be safe! You should have been happy in Oxenfurt without me, and instead I dragged you back into this nightmare and almost got you killed and now you’re stuck in this horrible keep full of the ghosts of dead witchers and my idiot dickhead brothers and I can’t even get my shit together enough to be nice to you! Why the fuck are you here, Jaskier? Why the fuck do you want to belong here? It’s fucking terrible here! You should be somewhere better!”

Geralt collapses back onto the side of the bed, having gotten up to pace at some point during that monologue, most of which was less conscious speech and more “ripped straight out of his ribcage by some unseen force.” Fuck, he’s actually winded. He hasn’t shouted that much without stopping since the Trials, he doesn’t think.

Jaskier is staring again, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline and his mouth hanging open. Geralt very carefully does not think about Jaskier’s open mouth, in much the same way he has carefully not thought about Jaskier’s mouth for the last 15 years or so.

It takes a moment for Jaskier to gather his thoughts, and Geralt thinks it might be the longest moment of his life thus far. He fights the urge to fidget with his hands, a nervous habit he didn’t realize he had picked up from the bard until after the mountain, and thereafter made a deliberate effort to squash.

Finally Jaskier seems to come to some internal decision, and he nods to himself before meeting Geralt’s eyes squarely. “I have a number of questions, Geralt, but the first and most consequential is this: who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Wh- huh?” Apparently Geralt has spent all of the words he had available, which isn’t terribly surprising given the circumstances. That isn’t where he expected Jaskier’s reaction to go, though.

“I said, witcher, who the fuck do you think you are, to decide for me the company I should keep and the kind of life I should lead?”

Well, shit. “That’s not- I wasn’t-”

“Because the last person to try that was the Count de fucking Lettenhove, darling, and I assure you, it didn’t work for him, either.”

Geralt blinks. His brain latches onto the pet name, which seems like it must be an improvement over witcher spat with such vitriol, even if it still sounds distinctly like an insult in that tone. He fights to regain some of his footing in this conversation, which is rapidly changing directions to somewhere he did not expect and is not prepared for, to no avail. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Jaskier isn’t done.

“Do you really think me so shallow? So soft? That I’m nothing but silks and sex and a pretty face? Do you think the university wants me to teach because I’m- what was it Lambert called me? Frilly? Do you know what I was doing in Oxenfurt before you found me? Because I assure you, dear heart, I wasn’t fucking lounging about on featherbeds drinking Toussainti wine!”

Geralt’s brow furrows in confusion, which seems to stoke the bard’s ire from embers to a conflagration.

“You fucker, that is what you fucking thought! You never even fucking asked, you utter ass! I was bloody tortured for you and you want to send me back because, what, you think whenever I’m not with you I’m fulfilling my life’s fucking purpose as a vapid, foppish little brat? You don’t fucking know me at all, do you? I can’t fucking believe you right now!” Jaskier’s face is flushed with anger, teeth bared and scent spiking burnt and bitter.

Geralt’s thoughts have all screeched to a grinding halt, the room fading out around him as his focus narrows completely to the man before him.

“Tortured?” His voice quavers in a way that would probably embarrass him if he could think about anything but Jaskier’s voice on a loop in his head, tortured tortured tortured. He’s had this nightmare before, a dozen times and more.

Jaskier seems to bring himself up short, confusion flashing briefly across his face. “I- yes? Yen said she told you...I thought that’s why you came for me?”

“She said. She. She said you were “in some trouble.” The guard outside the jail said you were locked up for peeping. I just assumed…”

Jaskier’s face has gone flat and blank again, and the rotten smell of hurt is swirling in the air again, mixing unpleasantly with the burnt anger smell and turning Geralt’s stomach.

“You just thought I had done something stupid and selfish and probably involving my dick, and never thought to question it or ask me if I was alright.”

“I- yes. I mean no, I- I should have- I- Jaskier, please, what happened?” He isn’t proud of the pleading note in his voice, but the longer he waits for answers the stronger the urge gets to throw himself off the tallest tower the keep has, or grab Jaskier around the middle and wrap him in blankets and never let him out of his sight, neither of which he thinks would go over well with the other residents.

A note of uncertainty creeps into Jaskier voice and demeanor, which Geralt finds somehow more painful than the anger. “I- there was a mage. He was looking for you. Well, I think ultimately he was looking for Ciri, but he knew he needed to find you first. And I guess I’ve done quite a good job tying our reputations together over the years, and I wasn’t exactly hard to track down, so I guess…”

A mage…“Firefucker.”

Jaskier huffs a laugh, a bitter, unhappy thing. “An appropriate moniker. I see you ran into him eventually.” He looks up in sudden alarm. “I didn’t- Geralt, I didn’t tell him anything. I swear I didn’t. I mean, I said you told me of a witcher keep, but I told him that the fortress in the mountains was a story I made up, and even if he took that and ran with it, I never even said which mountains! I promise, Geralt, I’d have died before I let him hurt you, or Ciri, I swear it.”

Geralt isn’t sure how many times his heart can break in a single day, in a single conversation. Surely it can’t be many more after this, can it?

“I...I’m not worried about that, Jaskier. In fact, if anything like that ever happens in the future, you tell them everything. Whatever they want to know. You tell them everything you know, before you let them hurt you, Jaskier, please, promise me you’ll tell them.”

Jaskier’s eyes seem older than Geralt has ever seen them, full of a boundless sadness he never wants his bard to have to feel ever again. “You know I can’t promise that, my dear. If I had to do it over, I’d do it all again. I’d suffer him burning my fingers clean off before I let him anywhere near you.”

Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s hand automatically, only realizing at the last moment that he might not welcome the touch. He withdraws his hand reluctantly, trying to subtly angle his head instead to see Jaskier’s fingers where they’re tucked under his crossed arms.

“Are you- did they- how-” Luckily Jaskier seems to have retained his fluency in Geraltese, and holds out his right hand for inspection. The skin is shiny and red, obviously burned, but definitely in the later stages of healing. There are no open sores or blisters, and he winces in discomfort but not pain when he stretches the mottled skin by splaying his fingers out.

“Yennefer was kind enough to take a look at them earlier, once we were sure none of you were being stoic idiots and hiding injuries. They’ll be alright eventually, she thinks. And it isn’t like I have a lute to play at the moment, anyway, so it’s no great hardship to rest them while they heal. I had some trouble writing earlier, but I didn’t put all that effort in school into being able to write with either hand for nothing. You needn’t worry about me, Geralt. I’m fine, I promise.”

Geralt is quite sure he isn’t fine at all. None of this is fine. Every part of this is setting off a screaming klaxon in his head of wrongWrongWRONG and he has no idea how to fix any of it. The choice of room suddenly makes a great deal more sense, though, as does the magelight. Geralt feels a sudden, fierce rush of gratitude for Yen. Even though he’s still furious with her, and it’ll be a long time before he trusts her the way he once did, she’s obviously been taking care of Jaskier where he has failed utterly in doing so, and he’s desperately thankful that at least his inattention hasn’t left Jaskier completely alone. He isn’t sure when the two of them got as close as they clearly are, but upon reflection, he finds no jealousy, only gratefulness and a hint of chagrin that he has so clearly failed where the two of them have succeeded in making each other happy.

Jaskier is still holding his injured hand out between them. Geralt moves slowly, waiting for any sign that Jaskier doesn’t want him near, reaching out to grasp it gently, careful of the inflamed skin. Jaskier lets him, sitting down beside him on the edge of the mattress.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m sorry I sent you away, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you from this. I’m sorry you were hurt because of me. This is the opposite of what I wanted. I hoped you would be safer without me. Happier. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“There you go again, martyring yourself on the altar of other people’s choices. When will you learn, Geralt? You’re so desperate to push away anyone who gets close, because you think you’re some kind of curse on our lives. That’s bollocks. We stay because we want to. We sacrifice because we want to. We risk danger because we want to. Because being around you is worth it. We’re not asking for protection, or saving, or glitz and glamor. We’re only asking to stay. Because we want to. Because you’re worth it, you unbelievable moron. Stop trying to make everyone else’s choices for them, for once.”

He isn’t sure he can wrap his head around that right now, so he doesn’t try, but he does tuck it close to his heart for safekeeping, to turn it over in his hands later like a precious stone. He’s still holding Jaskier’s hand, and he squeezes gently for lack of a better response.

“I am sorry, you know. For what I said in Caingorn. It wasn’t true. None of it. I shouldn’t have lashed out when you were just trying to help.”

“You know it was never about what you said, right?”

Geralt makes a questioning noise, and Jaskier rolls his eyes.

“I’ve known you for 25 years, shithead, you don’t think I know how you get when you’re angry? You don’t think I can tell when you’re pissed at yourself and taking it out on whatever’s nearby? You think I haven’t heard worse insults from you than a bunch of blatant falsehoods and a melodramatic declaration of never wanting to see me again? Please, I got more cutting rebukes from my kid cousins growing up. Yes, it was shitty, and yes, it stung in the moment, but I never took it to heart.”

Fearing to know, but needing the answer all the same, Geralt asks, “What, then? I heard the song, you know.” The sharp intake of breath tells him Jaskier knows which song he means. “In Aedirn, in some backwater town. There was some nobody bard there, but even if he performed it terribly, I could tell it was yours. I had thought about looking for you once I got Ciri settled, but when I heard that song...I knew there was no fixing it. I knew you hated me properly, after that. So if it wasn’t what I said, what was it?”

Geralt hears the hitch in Jaskier’s breath and smells the salt of his tears, but he can’t bring himself to look up for this. He can’t bear to be looking into those blue eyes he loves so dearly as Jaskier explains how Geralt managed to destroy the best thing in his long, wretched life. He does hold his hand a little tighter, and hopes it’s enough to keep him here.

“I’m sorry for that. I needed to write it, but I should never have played it for anyone. I never meant to, really. You never should have heard it, and I’m sorry you had to. I was angry when I wrote it, and bitter, and...well. Heartbroken, I suppose. It’s no excuse, though.”

Geralt has a lot of questions about that, actually, but he still needs an answer to the one he already asked. “Why did you write it, then? If it wasn’t...what was it, Jaskier? What did I do?”

“You didn’t come back.”

He does look up then, confused, searching Jaskier’s face for clarity. He looks haunted, and desperately sad. He apparently reads Geralt’s need for clarification on his face, and continues.

“It was hardly the first time you got angry and took it out on me because I was the closest target. Not that that’s a great pattern in itself,” Geralt winces in agreement and apology, “but it wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to. I knew the routine- you get mad, you lash out, you cool off, you give me the biggest portion of supper or a sweetbun from the market or swing towards a town sooner than we have to instead of apologizing out loud, I forgive you, we move on.

“I figured I would head back to the camp, let you cool off for a few hours, and then try again. Of course, then I talked to Borch and got the bones of what had happened, and I realized it was bigger than I’d thought, and you might need longer to calm down, so when I realized you weren’t coming back right away, I managed to tag along with the dwarves on the way down. I grabbed the essentials out of Roach’s packs and set up at the inn at the foot of the mountain. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I left nearly all our coin with you. I only took enough for a night’s room and supper, since I was too tired to play after the hike down.

“I waited for you, Geralt. I stayed posted up there for three weeks. When you never came, I thought maybe you had just needed even more time alone, so once I’d overstayed my welcome there I started making my way towards Oxenfurt- the long way, mind, I swung all the way inland to Ard Carriagh, hoping to catch you on your way home for the winter. I made sure to be as loud and ostentatious as I could, so you’d be able to track me down when you were ready. Months I waited, Geralt. Months.

“I didn’t accept that you weren’t coming back for me until spring. That’s when I gave up.” Geralt’s heart cracks for what must be the dozenth time tonight, but he doesn’t dare interrupt. “I ended up at the Seat Of Friendship, looking for some kind of community, of purpose, to fill the space you left. That’s when I wrote- well. That’s when I wrote that song. And it was good, there. I missed you, I was hurt, but I felt safe, and appreciated, and understood. It was like being a student again, surrounded by other artists, all feeding off each other’s creative energy. And then…” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and clutches Geralt’s hand tight enough to hurt anyone who wasn’t a witcher.

“It was a massacre, Geralt. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I didn’t- I couldn’t-” He breaks off again, choking on a sob. Unable to stand it any longer, Geralt tucks an arm around his shoulders, pulling him tentatively closer. Jaskier crumples, collapsing into Geralt’s chest and clutching at his tunic as he sobs into his neck. Geralt rubs soothing circles into Jaskier’s back, like he used to sometimes when they shared a bedroll and Jaskier would wake them both with nightmares of a childhood he refused to discuss.

Long minutes later, Jaskier’s weeping slows, cries quieting to whimpers. He draws back from Geralt’s shoulder enough to swipe the sleeve of his doublet over his face, blotchy and red and tear-stained as it is. Geralt is reluctant to move his arm from around Jaskier’s shoulders, but luckily Jaskier only settles more comfortably into his side, still sniffling. Geralt savors the solid warmth of him against his side as he waits for him to be ready to continue.

“There was nothing I could do to save them. I barely made it out alive myself. I’ve never felt so fucking helpless, Geralt. So useless. I had to do something. I’d have gone mad if I didn’t. So, I took some of the coin from my father’s coffers, and bought a tavern in Oxenfurt, right on the pier. I managed to leverage my spywork to coax some more coin out of the Redanian Crown, and used that to set up a smuggling network with some old connections from my school days and a handful of likeminded survivors of Bleobheris, and I became the Sandpiper.

“The song was never meant to be public, truly. Right after I bought the pub, before the network was fully set up, I was...struggling. Owning a bar means pretty much unlimited access to alcohol and I...well. I don’t remember a lot of those first few weeks, really. I woke up one particular morning with no memory of the night before, until I was playing my set that night and people started requesting Burn, Butcher, Burn. Apparently I’d been feeling especially maudlin the night before and I played it while I was blackout drunk. There was a witcher in town, as I recall. Something about a monster in the sewers under the university, I was trying not to pay a lot of attention. He was a Bear, if the rumors were correct, but still close enough to set off unwanted memories, and send me to the bottom of several bottles.”

Guilt and resentment war for dominance in Geralt’s gut, churning violently. He wants to stop Jaskier, doesn’t want to hear any more, but he can’t, and he knows he shouldn’t.

“It was never meant to get out. My life’s work has been erasing the Butcher of Blaviken from history entirely. I was angry, Geralt, I am angry, but I never wanted to use that name against you. Never that. I am truly sorry for that.”

Geralt can hardly believe that after everything Jaskier has just explained, all the anguish Geralt had caused with his selfish, childish actions, that Jaskier is still apologizing to him. Sure, he hates that fucking song, but it isn’t like he hasn’t earned the name, both times apparently.

“You don’t- I’m not- You don’t owe me an apology, Jaskier. I would deserve it just for wounding you, now doubly so for not realizing just how deeply I had. I can’t...I don’t know how to fix it, Jaskier. I don’t know how to make it up to you. How can I fix it?”

Jaskier sits back, drawing his leg up onto the bed between them to better face Geralt head on. Geralt mourns the loss of contact, but holds Jaskier’s clear blue gaze with his own, hoping against hope that he’ll get to keep at least this, if nothing else.

“Are you going to send me away again?”

Geralt grimaces, but concedes it’s a fair question. “I thought it was the best thing for you, Jaskier. The safest thing. I only wanted you to be where you would be happiest.”

“That’s not your fucking call to make, witcher, and it’s not what I asked. Are you going to send me away again, yes or no?”

“No. Part of me still feels like I should, but I don’t think I could if I tried, anymore. I had been planning to, but when I came in here and you were packing, I...I’ve only felt fear like that when Yen took Ciri. Maybe it’s weak, but I don’t want to lose you again, Jaskier. I don’t want to be without you.”

Jaskier’s eyes are swimming with tears again, but his scent is full of cautious hope, telling Geralt he finally said something right.

“You’re a bastard and an idiot, and I want to stab you a little bit for that answer, but I’m going to focus on the positives because I’m fucking exhausted. We can deal with the rest tomorrow.” He pauses, uncharacteristically self-conscious. “Will you...will you stay with me tonight? I just- the nightmares used to be easier with you there, on the Path, and I thought, if you were alright with it, we could-”

Geralt takes pity and cuts him off. “I’ll stay. Do you...would you come to my room instead? The bed is bigger, there. There’s a hearth, but I can put it out if you need. It should be warm enough with an extra fur or two, with two of us in the bed.”

The sour smell of embarrassment fills the air as a blush creeps up Jaskier’s neck. “That obvious, huh?”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jaskier. You were hurt with fire, fear is a normal reaction. It should fade eventually, and I’ll help you in the meantime. We all will. You already have Yen wrapped around your finger, if she’s conjuring you magelights.”

The attempt at levity works, drawing a chuckle from the bard as he looks up at the light hanging above their heads. Geralt notes with vague interest that it apparently followed Jaskier across the room when he moved to sit by Geralt, meaning it will probably also follow him up to Geralt’s room, eliminating the need to make Jaskier anxious with torches. Geralt will have to track Yen down tomorrow and thank her, anger or not. She really has come through for Jaskier, and that’s a debt Geralt can never repay.

The newfound camaraderie between the bard and the witch raises some interesting possibilities for the shape of his relationships with both of them eventually, but that’s a thought for far, far in the future. He has bridges to construct and trust to rebuild with both of them before that’s worth thinking about, and Ciri will have to be all of their first priorities for a while yet, but it’s nice to have something to look forward to. Geralt had almost forgotten what being hopeful for the future felt like, he’s spent so long running from it or assuming he didn’t have one. It’s nice, he thinks. Strange, but nice.

But that’s for later. For now, he has a bed waiting for him, and a bard to fill it with him, and the promise of at least one more day without that bard fleeing Geralt’s brutish ways down the mountain. He has a daughter to train in the morning, and brothers to tease for their inevitable hangovers, and a father to thank for looking out for his bard while he couldn’t, and a witch to start to reconcile with.

It’s enough, for now. It’s enough.

#the witcher #twn #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #eskel #lambert #the witcher fanfiction #my writing #i’m sorry they talk so much #i always start out with such grand ideals of being funny and poignant #and then it’s just two dumbasses spouting exposition at each other for 3k words #if i could make them stop i would #snaksofhdbkaksjd i just! realized i forgot about coen!!!#he’s uhhhhh asleep already whoops #my brain has so thoroughly classified him as Not A Wolf that i fully forgot he should be there at the start of this ahhhhh i’m so sorry coe

151 notes · View notes