#i never want to get into the specifics of anyone's lifespan angst

[alas--pringles]

hm. someone screenshotted my tags and added them to the post. that’s a first. idk how i feel about that.

[dwarfdaddy]

so, i’m not going to get mad at anyone for not knowing this, but actually dwarfs were blessed by Durin so that their lifespans would link to their One so that they would never have to live in a world without them...

like i don’t want to be That Guy but it’s just inaccurate to be writing all of this angst? Gimli and Legolas are linked, Bilbo and Thorin are linked. like. it’s that simple? and actually Tolkien specifically stated that it worked both ways so both partners would take on the longer lifespan of the two so like. Gimli is effectively immortal and Bilbo canonically lived for several more centuries at Thorin’s side...   

[britcision]

Hey I’m back to just throw this out here because the way it’s done in Marcille’s case especially is super clever and interesting

Spoilers below

So Marcille is a half elf, and this is a spoiler which is actually specifically the interesting thing; on the surface, this should be pretty straight forward

It’s a stock fantasy thing, half elf means you get prejudice from both sides, grow up with people who don’t understand you, classic edgy character backstory

But because of the way half elves work in Dungeon Meshi, it really highlights where the stock models fall down

Half elves don’t age in a linear fashion; Marcille could talk almost immediately, but couldn’t walk for years, and took 20 years to lose all her baby teeth. She wasn’t on the same developmental level as anyone else her age anywhere in the world except maybe, potentially another half elf, and even that could not continue

And it’s actually important to the story later on; we learn Marcille’s closest playmates to her own age where short lived adults like her father, that she couldn’t hang out with children in towns because they were growing so drastically differently

She’s also going to live twice as long as the elves, which you’d think would shake their superiority of “we live the longest” a little, but it’s not based in logic so that’s fine

Marcille is 50; most half elves definitely don’t reach 1000 because of sickness or injury (now quick apply that to the rest of your friends cuz you literally might die tomorrow Marcille I have seen your self preservation skills)

But conceivably, by lifespan angst math, for 450 years Marcille will outlive every single person who isn’t also a half elf, in the entire world. No question, every baby born will die before her for the next 450 years, and then those elves are gonna be pushing it

That’s 23 generations of humans/tallmen (a generation being every 20 years; it’s about 40 generations of halffoots like Chilchuck)

Marcille is othered in a literal, physical sense which is completely undeniable in two ways; her extended lifespan and inconsistent physical growth, and her infertility, with every single elf she meets assuming she wants to use the dungeon’s power to become a full elf, or be able to have kids

And that’s the actual real interesting thing about Marcille and the racism in Dungeon Meshi; we don’t even know she’s a half elf until Thistle brings it up

Marcille never bothers to mention it, and no one else can tell apparently (even Pattadol didn’t notice, so it’s not that every single elf ever has immediately clocked her… although it is only Pattadol that didn’t notice)

Marcille never mentions a single desire to become a full anything, or to have children, and doesn’t consider it worth bringing up to her party

The two major claims that are immediately whipped out at her every time the party run into elves (Thistle and then the Canaries) have so little to do with anything Marcille actually cares about that they come right out of left field

(I could be wrong, but I don’t think the demon ever bothers offering to give Marcille the ability to have kids. I don’t think Marcille ever mentions it herself except to confirm to Laios and Chilchuck “yeah Thistle was right that I can’t”)

And Marcille rebukes both claims every single time (and shoulda one-shotted Thistle with that “ugh elves are so embarrassing” if he wasn’t even more of an angsty teen)

She not only doesn’t think an extended lifespan makes her better than anyone else, she fully calls it embarrassing that anyone would ever think it could, but the only people who can identify her as a half elf all have extremely limited ideas about what she might want based on that information alone, and it explicitly fucks them over every time

Because she promptly dismisses them and gets irritated and untrusting, which Goes Great

And this is interesting because we’ve seen some explicit examples of racism already with Namari’s backstory and the dwarves on the island, and with the Canaries both in abstract and in person when they come sailing in to scoop the big scary dungeon away from all these short-lived babies

We’ve seen a bias against elves, because elves are biased against everyone else and people did not take kindly to that

There’s clearly a bias against half elves at least from the elven side, although apparently it’s hard enough to tell that most people throughout the story just assume she’s an elf

But none of the bullshit she immediately gets from said elves surprises Marcille

She responds with familiarity and contempt; we the reader have just been given brand new information about her literal species, and instantly shown a bias we have never even seen a hint of, and it is old news to Marcille

Because… yeah. You don’t recognise micro aggressions until you’re told what to look out for, but it being new to you doesn’t make it new to people who’ve been living with it their whole lives

(Laios and co promptly are good noodles and agree it’s ridiculous and support their friend that yeah, it doesn’t matter that it never came up before because it doesn’t change anything about their friendship, because again they are good noodles)

We started out with a pretty diverse party already (one dwarf, one elf, one halffoot, one tallman - and having an elf is rare enough to be identifying) and then we learn that Marcille is actually a second secret even smaller minority with Extra Bigotry, and y’know the very best part?

It’s fucking irrelevant

How Marcille grew up out of step with everyone else only comes up because they’re trying to get a doppleganger to tell them what kind of food she liked as a kid

Her Terrible Tragic Past As A Half Elf Who No One Can Understand adds an extra degree of poignancy to her goals, but they made sense without it

We didn’t question Marcille wanting to extend everyones’ lives when she was just an elf who’d live 500 years, because it’s still so much longer than her friends

It’s a gut punch, and oh the scene where she explains her mom told her she runs at a different pace from everyone else and will watch a lot of people fucking die is a kicker

(There’s a reason she has no siblings I’m just saying)

The half elf reveal adds spice, and depth, and tragedy to the story we already knew about Marcille, but it isn’t the most important or the only important thing about her

She’s a magical prodigy who decided that the world would be a better place if everyone got the same amount of time to live in it, and then set about making it happen

Antagonists can try and reduce her to “just another half elf, bet you want half elf things like Not Being A Half Elf and Babies”, but what she actually wants and who she actually is is so much more complex than that

Being in such a drastic minority is part of Marcille’s story, and it shapes her, but it isn’t all she is and that’s deadass proven in the text because we are not told she is one until we’re reaching the climax

Ryoko Kui isn’t just addressing and including racism in her world in incredible and well thought out ways, she directly challenged it in the core cast and it’s just incredible

(Oh and also that late stage reveal where we learned Chilchuck started his union because PEOPLE WERE USING HALFFOOTS AS MONSTER BAIT and he just Never Bothered To Mention This??????)

its a shame how ryoko kui managed to make a series with such a realistic portrayal of sistemic and internalized racism only for people to have it fly over their heads and go 'x character is racist!! how dare you like them!!!' when like. literally every single character has said something racist. your blorbo is racist. my blorbo is racist.

marcille hates orcs. kabru has dehumanized kobolds. mithrun said a slur. laios and falin treat mountain people like savages. analyse these traits meaningfully or perish

[windblooms]

heyy ^_^ so I saw your requests were open and I hope this isn’t too specific or anything but what if you did the fake dating trope with the genshin girls? we don’t have enough content for genshin girls HSSKEHDJ /hj

genshin girls × reader; reader's gender isn't specified.

blurbs of beidou, eula, hu tao, and rosaria in a fake/pretend relationship.

warnings for light angst.

✧ ⁠— beidou's presence is anything but subtle by your side. the fleeting glances you steal are snatched without a second wasted, trophied in her palm, and flaunted for all to witness. she's good at this, really – this pretense of boasting, of showing off her significant other as if the two of you together is the most natural occurrence in the world. her ease prompts you to wonder if she gets any joy out of this: of strolling down the shore with her arm linked through yours but never lingering, eating dinner by your side yet never conversing, or even wishing you a good morning. a "good morning" in routine, devoid of deeper caring, and regrettably hollow. beidou holds your name like a bouquet of flowers on the precipice of wilting. she's thankful for the display of affection – but the gratitude is cursory, with attachments short-lived, just as the remaining lifespan of the blossoms.

✧ ⁠— eula has her own methods that you dare not question, lest you suffer from her vengeance. she treats you just as she treats anyone else, albeit with the promise of company that extends past the required favonius hours and into the shared home. you have to look the part, she briskly elaborates. after all, no one will believe that a descendant of the lawrence clan would settle for mediocrity or modesty. her logic is sound enough; you eat your meals together, accompany one another to your offices for the day, and speak with the utmost pride about your union. there is nothing to hide, except for the reality of what is transpiring between the two of you: the prettiest dance, with all of the enchanted fabrics and humble curtsies one can display. eula is awe-inspiring, just as the northern breeze that carries dandelion seeds afar. but no more, she can't be any more than that to you, unless you want to be swept away for good.

✧ ⁠— hu tao never relents with her scheming. if you hadn't known better, then you'd probably believe that her meddling travels too far, too insensitively. but there's a charm about her: she enjoys every breathing moment, every day, and all that it holds. and that includes you, even if you're also apart of one of her . . . wilder pranks. but live it, she pats you on the shoulder, peaking her head from around you. so you do, welcoming each hand-squeeze she requests, each tangled hug in the presence of onlookers. she's absolutely burning, an inferno that's barely contained in your arms. it's a fire that you admit to her, one day, that you've grown attached to. your limbs are light, submerged in a stream of giddiness; and she swims with you, still alight, still bright. hold out a bit longer, she punches your cheeks, a smile of all teeth on her visage. a big surprise is coming up. you need to enjoy it, too!

✧ ⁠— rosaria treats you like you're a lost puppy. a very cute, lost puppy. one with big, pleading eyes, and an open heart to a fault. while she grumbles and mumbles and complains under her breath, she'd never outwardly admit that she's fond of your company. if her companionship to you severs the . . . other's attachment towards you, keeps you safe from their unwanted attention, then she's more than willing to ward them off – despite, of course, her curt verbiage and monotonous glances in response to whatever you tell her about your day. she listens to you – as if you're a melody that isn't imposed upon her by the church, one that solace nests in with a gentle sigh. although her keen intellect shudders at the thought of anything further than basic associates, rosaira doesn't mind the idea of you being an exception. this is her fondness: swathed in scarves and blankets, tucked safely inside, and never to be exposed to the outside. she thinks that, even if you don't consciously notice, you're somewhat aware of her sentiments . . . even if they are the most roundabout in the land.

[kenjikutie]

summary: you and kageyama had made many promises to one another, but, perhaps the king doesn’t need a princess after all word count: 2k warnings: none! just a lot of angst pairing: kageyama tobio x fem!reader

you would always remember your first day of middle school. that was the day that you decided your older brother would forever be the bane of your existence. not only had he left you at home without waking you up but, he had also begun his walk without you, leaving you to navigate your way through the bustling streets of japan

with every step you took, you swore that your lungs were about to give out. you still had no idea how tooru did this every day and stayed after school for volleyball practice. maybe you could put shaving cream in his pillow or hide his sports sneakers as revenge for leaving you all alone, but, he had gotten you the coveted manager position for his team, so, that was something he could hold over your head for months to come

so lost in your thoughts of revenge, you didn’t notice that you had slowed down to a nearly crawling speed, causing the person behind you to knock right into your back, sending you flying to the concrete, papers and books scattering all around, getting trampled by the passerby

“i- i’m sorry!”, a small voice cried out, reaching down to lift you off of the ground and awkwardly dust off your shoulder

you giggled and ran a hand through your hair, holding up your hands, “no, it’s okay! i promise.”

judging by his uniform, he was also a first year in middle school and you were certain you had never seen someone look so nervous. maybe he was lost like you were. there was a pale blush on his face, one which only grew deeper when you walked up to him, curiously leaning inward

“what’s your name?”, you hadn’t even noticed how close the two of you were 

you had always been a bubbly person, just like your elder brother. personal space had never been a phrase in your vocabulary and it had been fine that way in elementary school, but you supposed it was time for you to mature a little bit. after all, curiosity did kill the cat

backing up, you held out your hand for him to shake, “i’m oikawa y/n! im a first year, too!”

still, the boy said nothing, clearly too frazzled to open his mouth. with a soft laugh, you picked up the books and papers you had dropped, not minding that he didn’t help. when you came back up from the ground, you noticed that he hadn’t moved at all

taking his hand in yours, you began to run in the direction of your middle school, ignoring his surprised gasp and quiet protests. eventually, he relaxed in your grip and ran beside you, instead of letting you drag him around like a ragdoll

quietly, kageyama snuck a glance at your face, feeling the godforsaken blush from earlier creep it’s way back up his neck. you had to have been the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his short lifespan. no, scratch that- you were the prettiest girl anyone could ever see-

he was almost sad when the two of you reached the gate of kitagawa first. your hand quickly untangled itself from his and you turned to him with a wide grin. kageyama swore his heart had never beaten so fast

“i’ll see you later! thanks for running with me.”, before you could turn around, he clutched onto your jacket, effectively stopping you

“k-kageyama tobio.”, he let out a shaky sigh, “that’s my name.”

after that encounter, you became what kageyama tobio would consider to be his closest friend. each day, there would be a pouch of yogurt or a carton of strawberry milk sitting on your desk, a desk specifically chosen by you due to it’s location-right behind kageyama’s head-

you loved to annoy him during class by poking him with your pencil or slipping notes into the hood of his jacket for him to find later. kageyama would never tell you that he kept them all in a small box on his dresser

during his first year, kageyama knew that you were the only reason he stayed on the volleyball team. anytime your brother teased him, you were jumping on his case, pulling his hair and whining for him to not bully your best friend. oikawa would just ruffle your hair and begin to tease you about having a little crush

kageyama didn’t like that. he didn’t like the idea of you having feelings or even a close friendship wth someone that wasn’t him. you were the only person he felt he could go to when he was overwhelmed, the only that would lay with him and watch clouds on the weekends and the only one who would stay in the gym with him until the late hours of the night to toss volleyballs

“hey, yn? you’re still gonna be my best friend in high school, right?”, kageyama had asked as the two of you sat on the gym steps, quietly sipping from your waterbottles

you quirked a brow, wondering where that question had come from, ��of course i am, tobio! do you really think i would leave you all alone?”

kageyama went quiet and you worried that you had said something wrong. without thinking, you reached over and grabbed his hand, feeling him tense under your hold. you could have sworn that his cheeks turned bright red as soon as your fingers grazed one another

so, you sat there underneath the moonlight, feeling your heart begin to beat a little bit faster when your best friend intertwined his fingers with yours, slightly squeezing

but, that connection all changed one quiet, fall day in third year. that was the first time a pouch of yogurt didn’t show up on your desk. you had matured a lot since the first day you met kageyama. you weren’t as curious as before and certainly not as naive

you knew that kageyama and you had lost touch and that things weren’t the same as before. after you quit managing for the volleyball team, late night meetings stopped and hanging out together for lunch was pushed aside for extra practice. it was beginning to drive you crazy

to fill the void left by kageyama, you started to hang out more with the other third years, such as kunimi and kindaichi. but after a while, kunimi began to see the lost look in your eyes whenever you glanced towards kageyama’s locker, only to find him missing

but, the lazy boy didn’t have the heart to tell you what had happened to your old best friend. he couldn’t let you know how kageyama screamed at them, how he slammed balls on the court out of frustration, how he had become the king

kunimi knew it was only a matter of time until you found out, though. you had always been smarter than anyone he knew. so, it didn’t surprise him when you arrived at their final game of the season, cheeks painted in their school colors and your old manager jacket on your shoulders

standing at the top of the bleachers, you admired the way kageyama looked in his uniform. he was more mature now from the looks of him but you could tell he still drank his milk and yogurt cartons before every game, judging from the amount of them in the trash can

your heart nearly lept out of your chest when he turned to look up at you, your eyes connecting with his blue ones. you weren’t sure what kageyama was thinking about or if he was even happy to see you there but you were sure his eyes widened just a little bit

after about an hour, the game was in full force and you had been exposed to a side of kageyama you had never seen before. your heart beat faster form the crazed, furious look in his eyes anytime he glanced at his teammates and you couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the boy who was lost on your first day of school

but, the worst was yet to come. when kageyama reaches backward for a set, preparing to score the final point, no one came to receive it. the entire arena was silent, as if everyone was afraid to move and you saw kageyama crack like marble

the game ended after that with a final loss for kitagawa first. you exchanged glances with kunimi, noting the lack of expression in his eyes. you assumed that putting kageyama in his place was enough for him to feel satisfied with how their final season ended

kageyama shoved past his teammates, knocking their shoulders so hard you thought they might fall over. quickly gathering your things, you sprinted down the stairs of the bleachers and towards where you had seen him leave

you skid to a stop when you saw his back, frozen where he stood, fists clenched so tightly he may burst blood vessels. your eyes softened at how tense his shoulders were and you so badly wanted to reach out and help him, but that wasn’t your place anymore

as you took one step forward, kageyama turned to face you, a glaring look in his eyes that made you shiver, “what the hell are you doing here?”

the phrase was a snarl

“i...i wanted to check on you, because-“

“because you feel sorry for me? i don’t need your pity and i don’t want it either!”

running a hand through your hair, you shook your head and glanced up at him, “i don’t pity you. i just wanted to help you...”

kageyama rolled his eyes and chucked the volleyball in his hand at the wall, not even flinching as the sound echoed through the hall. you, however, jolted at the action and took a step back

“what happened to you?”, your voice was barely a whisper

his eyes flared as he turned to face you, “what happened to me? are you serious? what about you, huh? quitting the manager job even though you loved it! you changed everything about who you are!”

you were starting to get angrier; you could feel it in your gut, “i grew up, kageyama! maybe you should try it and stop acting like an arrogant brat!”

kageyama nearly pouted when he heard you call him by his surname. you hadn’t used it for the whole time he knew you. maybe he really had messed everything up this time, but it was too late for apologies now

“i don’t need to explain anything to you! i never even cared about you in the first place! you were always annoying. clinging to my sleeve like some child.”

your eyes were beginning to fill with tears and kageyama felt like he had been punched in the gut when a few rolled down your cheeks. stop it, he told himself. you’re screwing it all up! don’t lost her like this! but he wouldn’t listen, not even to himself

wiping at your eyes with your sleeve, you sniffled then flares up at the boy you used to call your favorite person in the world

“you know what? you’re the king now, great job! you’re the greatest player on the team. but, you’re also the worst human being i’ve met! you care abut no one but yourself and only think about your own future, disregarding everyone else who tries to help you!”

kageyama had never seen you this angry and it terrified him. perhaps, some part of him always thought you would come back to him, sit with him on the gym steps again and count the stars in the sky as he rested his head on your shoulder but that was all gone now

“so im done, kageyama. stay away from me, got it?”

as soon as you turned around, he reached out for you, pulling his arm back as soon as it left his side. why had it had to happen like this? why was he so selfish? if only he had accepted your help, then he still would have had you by his side

maybe he would get another chance one day. if the world allowed him, he would reincarnate as someone who could love you the way you deserved. someone who didn’t push you away, and just maybe... you could love one another again

“hi, im kageyama tobio. it’s nice to meet you.”

“im oikawa yn! it’s nice to meet you too!”

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Oops, I made a plot…

Anyways. Epithet Erased

I love the idea that the Egg was created by someone with the Epithet of Consume. Now an interesting idea I had is that the owner of Consume originally had possession of the Arsene Amulet after Copycat died. The owner of Consume created the Egg and then started using the Amulet to feed Epithets to the Egg. In return, the Egg was able to use these Epithets and temporarily bestow their powers onto those who followed it, hence the whole bloodline wanting to protect it kinda thing. When the original owner of Consume started to reach the end of their lifespan they fed themselves to the Egg in hopes that it would eventually be fed something like Immortal or Rebirth and it could bring back its former master. This is why it’s an Egg, eventually it’s going to hatch into the original owner of Consume if it’s fed the right Epithet

The reason those following the Egg want the amulet is because they want to get back to work again. Everyone else is varying degrees of aware in terms of the Egg group’s plan. The Egg Group also has a process that new members of the Egg Cult go through where they offer up their Epithet to the Egg by being “Consumed” by it and held inside the Egg for a couple days. At which point the Egg leeches out their Epithet as an extra way to force its followers to be loyal. Sure you can still use your powers, and a ton of other Epithets as well, as long as you’re linked up with the Egg. But the moment you become disloyal and break off your Epithet is gone. It belongs to the Egg, you were only renting it.

Of course this takes a lot of time so it hasn’t happened to anyone in the DSMP by the time the actual plot starts except for Skeppy who’s the bartering chip that the Egg uses to make Bad be loyal to it. Bad doesn’t belong to the bloodline that’s been taking care of the Egg, he’s just a victim of circumstance. Techno is part of the family, but he’s a member of an offshoot branch that distanced itself from the Egg. He’s Billiam’s great (however many greats) nephew, but that isn’t a strong enough link, he’s the actual great (however many greats) grandson of the Sheriff which is why the Egg has less of a hold over him than it would a typical member of the bloodline.

Mundies are actually the best people for the job when it comes to fighting the Egg since its mind control powers only work on those who have an Epithet or offered up their Epithet to the Egg. Those who lost their Epithet specifically to the amulet against their wills are also immune. The Egg has the same powers seen in canon because one of the first Epithets it ever ate was Control.

There is a trade off to the Egg taking powers however, since the Epithets can’t “mature” while inside the Egg. Meaning they stay at the same proficiency level their former owner possessed making it advantageous for the Egg to allow Epithets to “mature”. The Egg might even offer an Epithet to a Mundie to let them mature it before harvesting it at a later date. It’s worth noting also there is a difference between getting trapped on top of the Egg and getting trapped inside the Egg like Skeppy, only the latter will get your Epithet snatched while Tubbo and Ranboo who are victims of the former just get their heads scrambled.

Team Pro Omelet eventually learns of the Egg’s abilities and plans and at that point it’s a race against the clock to ensure they 1. Don’t get the Amulet and 2. Aren’t able to shove anyone powerful inside the egg (cough cough Tubbo/Ranboo cough cough). While we could have Tubbo angst with his powers getting yoinked, I don’t think it would mean as much as the angst that would come from him just being normally controlled by the Egg and having his Epithet taken against his will would partially break him out of its control. He might not actually care as much about his Epithet, but him hurting Tommy by accident while being controlled? That would break him, mentally and emotionally.

While I was thinking about the plot, I mentioned with my last post I think that Tommy’s Epithet should have been taken or lost. We’ve had a connection made between Tommy loosing his power to Ranboo causing him to forget which I really like, but what if, and hear me out, he loses it to the Amulet? The last caretaker yoinks it with the intention of giving it to the get, probably at some point a good ways before the plot starts. However, because the former caretaker loses the Amulet before depositing it, Tommy’s Epithet stays pretty much trapped inside the Amulet. Partially because I really like the idea of Antihero Dream having to 180 why he wants to Amulet when Tommy eventually admits what happened. It adds a nice dynamic of character wants.

Originally I purposed Hero as Tommy’s Epithet which is good, but I think I can outdo myself. Meaning I have two other options.

Earlier I mentioned the Egg really really wanting someone with Immortal/Rebirth. Well, it’s a running gag that I keep making Tommy a phoenix in every AU I touch because he never damn well dies. So you could give one of those two words, or heck, even the word Phoenix itself to Tommy and it’d not only be a really good Epithet but it’d be an Epithet currently inside the Amulet, giving even more of a dire air to the story as a whole. If the Egg Squad is able to get that Epithet inside of the Egg, you bet it’s gonna hatch and the results will not be pretty. It also plays well with the fact that Tommy just never seems to die. Even when he doesn’t have his Epithet it’s such an engrained character detail that people comment on it whenever he joins an SMP.

I think it could be an interesting dynamic and it gives Tommy an array of interesting powers from wings to fire to being able to bring himself back to life. Additionally, we can give Immortal or Rebirth to Foolish since he’s a sentient Totem of Undying in canon and it would work well.

Alternatively, and this is admittedly the idea I personally favor, we pull a parallel between Tommy and Tubbo by giving him a seemingly stupid Epithet that’s deceptively strong. And trust me, I spent a lot of time thinking about what this Epithet might be and how it could be misinterpreted. The idea I ultimately settled on was Archetype. Now, this idea is near and dear to my heart because it fits Tommy as much as everything I’ve posted prior and arguably even more so than Hero. Tommy throughout the entire canon DSMP has had role after role forced on him. Being called the Hero or the Villain when really he just wants to be Tommy. I like the poetic irony of his Epithet literally being Archetype when everyone around him seems so desperate to assign him one. Plus, it’s one of those things that requires not just creativity but a certain level of classical or psychological background information to use properly, leading most people to being unable to use it (Egg included if it actually managed to get the Amulet.) So people just kind of brush it off and it lends itself well to the whole do you wanna be a hero thing since Hero is an Archetype.

For this power we’d basically be able to pull some really strong parallels between Tommy and Tubbo. Both have Epithets that are strongest when they temporarily become a different Epithet. Maybe Tommy can not only use Archetype, but he can temporarily transform it into literally any societally recognized Archetype and use that as if it was his Epithet. So he could still technically use the same powers one could come up with for Hero, it would just be while he’s using an Archetype Swap ability. Not only that but he’d be able to change other people’s personalities or Archetypes. He could even imbue others with traits of a new Archetype (i.e. giving a Mundie the powers associated with a Hero Archetype, aka literal actual honest to god plot armor) to act as support, but you wouldn’t think to do that typically. You’d just assume that Archetype is a one trick kind of pony at best. But maybe if we wanna go Tommy and Tubbo childhood friends route as kids they specifically spent hours practicing alone when they figured out their Epithets. Specifically coming up with overpower combo moves, thinking up powers that interacted well with one another to make themselves an actually terrifying menace to society.

Tommy and Tubbo childhood friends also is near and dear to my heart because everyone remembers the scene where Tommy told Tubbo that he’d been the hero and Tommy was the one who was the side kick. Having Tommy’s Epithet be Archetype and the majority of his childhood used to find ways to support Tubbo’s Epithet using his own adds another layer to this. Tommy literally made Tubbo the hero, gave him the powers and assigned him the Archetype. It’s just that they’re the only ones who know that. Plus plus we get a really good queen and knight dynamic between the two when they’re going all out which I just die for.

Also if SBI is canon, it makes sense why Tommy would have learned the word Archetype as a child, he’s related to Techno, what else would you expect? Part of Tommy being stupidly good at his power is probably from Techno reading him mythology as a child and linking up characters to their Archetypes, giving Tommy even more stupidly overpowered ideas for how to use his Epithet. Unfortunately it got yoinked at some point, either because someone saw how powerful it was or maybe Tommy just got unlucky. I think out of the ideas I’ve listed Archetype is my favorite if we go the yoinked route. It also works well with Techno and Dream since, again, Tommy could play a support role to make these already terrifying Mundies even more terrifying. Plus it would be like Tommy to keep having an Epithet secret because Techno is a Mundie and then later accidentally getting it stolen or we can go double angst and have Tommy both forget he has an Epithet and get it stolen.

Obviously Archetype being the Epithet and the plot would still work with Tommy just forgetting what his Epithet was, but also I really personally just like the aching pain of Tommy being forced to describe what it’s like having your Epithet stolen. How much the gap doesn’t hurt physically but emotionally and mentally almost daily, a phantom pain that never goes away. Sweet angst my beloved.

----------------------------

Tubbo🤝Tommy

Having stupidly overpowered Epithets

Anyways. Holy shit. This is brilliant. The plot is brilliant and oh god. This could open up so much now. The Arsene Amulet is still relevant in a way.

Oh man, the Egg just consuming Epithets as well? Man. That’s great.

[utilitycaster]

35 and 41 for the campaign 2 ask meme!

35. Vilya, both because I actually picked up on that one and like, I don't think endings should be uniformly sunshine and rainbows but Keyleth deserves that win. Also it just fit together so well with Vokodo and the leadup to the Somnovem/Astral Plane and what we knew about Vilya and it managed to make her still alive yet missing for so long without it seeming force; it was very, very satisfying and intricate storytelling and also Vilya was a great NPC.

41. oh god, first bless you for this and second, so many things but I think I'll elaborate on the one from this morning about lifespan angst because as we all know driving for 7+ hours through the Great Northeastern Megalopolis on the first major beach weekend is very fun and definitely improves your mood, and also because I think I can shoehorn in most other rants into this.

I very much love grief narratives and I think actual play is uniquely suited to explore death and grief precisely because of its randomness; I've made some vague posts about this in the past regarding Molly's death, which absolutely was abrupt and sudden and felt unfair (not mechanically, I should note, just like...the way death sometimes does in life, where you understand what happened and even kind of why and yet that doesn't actually help). I actually felt CR handled that death so thoughtfully and well both initially and over the course of the campaign that I was actively very nervous about the events of episode 140 and how that aftermath may play out. (I was then very pleasantly surprised with Taliesin's choices in 141).

The thing is, I've found I need to sort of pull away from fandom when it comes to death tropes specifically, because a lot of people are understandably uncomfortable with death. My attitude is like "hello I love this in fiction, and I get you don't like it but stop trying to make it okay or happy or even more overwrought or a blame game, just let it happen and be messy. Every day I read the TAZ quote and the Richard Siken quote and every day I'm like it would be cool if anyone actually processed what those mean".

This isn't limited to CR, I should note, nor lifespan angst within CR as indicated above; the only time Dimension 20 discourse has ever irritated me (usually it is both minimal and delightful) is in A Crown of Candy surrounding one character's death in particular. But that's another rant. I have multitudes.

Actually speaking of Keyleth above, that's maybe one of the only cases where lifespan angst actually was really good, because it was indicated to be very important to the character (and notably the character who is living a very long time), said character really did have a ridiculous lifespan, and also she was hesitant about Vax when she thought they'd "only" have 150 years together, and then they had two, and I think she deserves to feel all kinds of ways about that.

But for Campaign 2, which was very specifically left quite open, it just feels off? It's a little less off for Caleb in that Liam did bring it up, but also Essek's the one who will experience it, and he didn't seem to take issue (and I would imagine the Dynasty, and a person from a race that generally lives quite long compared to many others would probably take a different view).

And as for Fjord and Beau having shorter life expectations than Jester or Yasha, I mean...yeah, they do but also, and I know people might not love to hear this, the idea of someone outliving their partner by 20-30 years, vs. over 500, happens every day. Sometimes they remarry. Sometimes they never do. It doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, but this is just such a fundamental part of life that it isn't even fun to angst about for me because like...one of my grandmothers did outlive my grandfather by over 20 years. It feels really fucking weird to bring up a Mitch Hedberg line, that was using to justify drinking a shitload of red wine, in response to an ask meme I wrote that I'm now using to talk about the inevitability of death but he made the joke of "why eat an apple? eventually it will become a core". He also said "the first and the middle parts are amazing!"

I don't want to full-on armchair psychologize but I kind of am, which is I think people are mourning the campaign but talking about character death instead, even though the ending was very much "these people are still out here and have much to do, they have just parted ways with each other and with us, the audience, but they live on". And like, do what you need in your mourning process, but as this is pretty impossible to filter out from the tags, I am going to be grumbling on my own gotdamn blog.

Oh also if you think all of the Mighty Nein are going to get buried in the Blooming Grove, or that Caduceus and the Clays would in fact want that specifically over them instead having thoughtful and personalized plans for their funerals, you were not paying attention to the episode in which the Clays got unpetrified.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

thinking about my one true love mc

tw: death and human mortality, discussion of what might happen after you die in the obey me! universe - these are all my own headcanons, and in no way am i saying that this is canon or that you should think this too! spoilers for lesson 37? 38? i can't remember which it is but iykyk

(these are pure hcs, a bit angsty but there is a happy ending here)

so, when it comes to the om! universe and mc's eventual fate, there are a few questions here - how will obey me end?

(by that, i mean what will happen to the om! cast after the events of the game end? because unfortunately the game can't go on forever)

all of the other characters we meet (including thirteen) are effectively immortal and unchanging - they will basically remain the way we know them to be indefinitely, so those dynamics between them, and the world of om! in general, will for all intents and purposes never disappear.

this means that mc's mortality is the limiting factor here - mc, as a normal (ish) human, will visibly grow older, age, and die at some point, in a way that the rest of the cast will not.

personally, i have a number of ways to get around that pesky issue of mortality - mostly because i am young, and in love with the idea of being young and in love forever (even though irl i know it doesn't work like that, and i have issues with the idea of immortality anyway).

so how can i make that happen?

(in order of how much i like them)

1. mc's pacts artificially slow down their aging process, either to the point that they age really slowly, or they don't age at all and are effectively immortal

2. the ring of light does the same thing as above

3. mc dies and becomes a demon afterwards (more on this in an upcoming study session!)

4. mc is transformed from a human into a demon, with the associated longevity and durability

5. mc's connection with lillith, strengthened/awakened by their pacts, extends their lifespan in some way

(digging nice and deep into angst potential here, but mc's mortality is such an excellent way to drive that sort of all-consuming, almost unhinged devotion that is so, so terrible in real life but so appetising in fic... the idea that this person loves you so incredibly, incomprehensibly much that the thought of you being gone is terrifying, that they will do absolutely anything to save/protect/keep you, and have to power to genuinely do so)

(not sure i want to know what this says about me)

i really really like the first idea of mc's pacts allowing them to stay with the cast for as long as they like - something poetic about the mutual love and trust between mc and their pact mates that gives them the chance to have the life and love they want

the second thing about the ring of light also appeals to me for much the same reason, although i think that's because i romanticise marriage and there are very obvious wedding ring parallels going on, also lucifer <3

the lillith thing is a bit of a stretch but i felt i had to include it because you could make a very good argument for it??

i'm not an enormous fan of leaning on mc's angel heritage for plot explanation, probably because i have quite strong opinions on the whole "it was inside you all along, not because you yourself changed, or were stronger or braver than you realised, but because something/someone else made you special - anyone could have achieved this if they had your luck, no matter what, because the power to do so didn't have anything to do with you specifically"

idk where i was going with this, maybe i'll edit this later or delete it entirely?

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

primeboys angst hc….?

You mean, apart from the exile ones I already did? Sure. It’s more fucked up than angsty but it is both.

Tommy was pretty much doomed the second he joined the server, but to be more specific Dream's obsession with Tommy started just before the disc wars, during the conflict between Ponk and Sapnap.

The entire disc war was an excuse for Dream to “play” with Tommy, but to Tommy it was when he learnt he couldn’t trust anyone and anything. Throughout his desperate attempts to hide his discs, Dream would do some convoluted scheme to steal them, it literally taking many deaths and a hard thought enderchest to secure his discs (and he knew even then it wouldn’t end there).

Around this time, Dream made one of his hidden bases full of supplies, but instead of supplies it was slowly but surely filled completely with things related to Tommy. It started off as a few pictures, writings of plans to restart the war, and slowly grew over the years- the bloodstained coat from his death in the L'Manburg war, some of the identical hoodies he kept in bulk, pictures dating back to before Tommy even joined the SMP. It was last added to just before Dreams arrest.

Much like the disc war, to Dream the L'Manburg independence war was an excuse to “play” with Tommy, though he let his friends believe it was out of fear of the new nation. Killing Tommy twice is something Dream would consider some of his happiest memories.

After L'Manburg gained freedom, Dream continued to egg on Tommy about the discs now that he had, making absolutely sure there was no way Tommy would ever forget. After all, be it negative or positive, he wanted to make sure he was always in Tommy's mind.

After Dream learnt Tommy was a devout follower of Church Prime, he immediately not only got the idea of building a church in the server for Tommy, but masquerading himself as his brother DreamXD, the god of the religion of Church Prime. After all, would Tommy disobey his own god?

Apparently the answer was yes. It was entertaining enough, though, so Dream didn’t really care.

After Tommy and Wilbur were exiled, it was only natural that Dream would help his favourite little mortal. After all, Schlatt was boring and a useless pawn. Even Wilbur was far more entertaining, but of course he was in it for Tommy, handing him all the supplies he thought he’d need and a letter he’d let himself be somewhat truthful in just for him.

It was this time where the seeds of Tommy's third exile were planted in Dream's head. Tommy's look of fear, the anger and betrayal and loneliness he had when he was first exiled and even when he was in Pogtopia were priceless. If he could just engineer a situation where it was just Tommy, and Dream could watch and play all he wanted, well that would be perfection.

Unfortunately, of course, Schlatt had the better deal- a book that allowed DreamXD to use some of his limited power in the mortal realm.

The first thing Dream wished for was Tommy himself. This bound his and Tommy's fates together for eternity (and possibly even past that). No matter how far one of them ran, the other would always be able to find them, even in death.

The first thing Dream got to work on after the Pogtopia war was working on getting his exile plan through, griefing buildings and framing Tommy for it. He’d intended to be more subtle, have someone on the cabinet discover Tommy’s “crimes,” push for exile inside the board rooms no one else would hear, and when Tommy found himself all alone be his “saviour.”, but he didn’t mind the direct route.

Again, I’ve already done exile headcanons, they’re linked above!

Once Dream found the tower in the ruins of Logstedshire, he honestly panicked. The idea of a world without Tommy would be unpalatable, a world without any sort of fun. He tried to revive Tommy immediately but that didn’t work because obviously Tommy wasn’t dead.

Dream didn’t know Logstedshire was close to Techno's home when he built it, but he supposes it must be part of the guarantee he and Tommy were bound together now.

After leaving Dream, Tommy still carried many of the traits he'd learnt to avoid pain in exile on, no one but him and Dream knowing of the origins. I mentioned how he seeks affection by shoving his head into people’s hands so they’ll ruffle his hair in the exile post, but it’s not just that. It’s how he always plans an apology at every situation, it’s how quickly he'll deny ever feeling like he wants to hurt himself, it’s how he’ll go along with almost anything as long as it would only hurt himself.

Doomsday to Dream was a form of punishment for Tommy daring trying to leave him. He didn’t give a fuck about who lived or died, he didn’t even care about removing a political rival. He just wanted to make sure Tommy knew how badly he’d fucked up, and that there would be nowhere for him to run.

Tommy knew he wasn’t going to die at the disc finale. He’d hoped it, because he knew what awaited him if he lost was worse than Death.

Still, sometimes he has dreams where it’s just him and Dream alone and Dream ruffles his hair and everything’s alright and so much simpler and for a second he regrets not listening, just for a second.

Tommy's lockdown in Pandora's Vault was volatile. Sometimes it almost was like exile, Tommy scared and subservient, other times he tried his best to fuck with Dream. Dream alternated between barely provoked fits of violence or desperate unrestrained affection.

Dream didn’t plan to kill Tommy, he was just so, so, frustrated, and he didn’t think ahead. After he realised what he’d done, he spent the next few days alternating between manic laughter and crying, refusing to let go of the body and speaking to it as if he were alive.

Meanwhile, in the afterlife, Tommy basically spent the whole first month/day in absolute shock. Oh, he knew Dream was a bastard. He fucking hated him. But still, the idea of Dream killing him seemed like a sick joke. That was the one thing he trusted Dream would never do, the one piece of trust left in him.

Dream's excited demeanour after Tommy was revived wasn’t at all an act. He was overjoyed that he wouldn’t be without Tommy any longer.

Dream's offer of immortality is honestly less an offer and more a threat. Dream doesn’t age, so that gives him plenty of time to find a way to cure the issue of canon dying, and whether Tommy ages weird due to being a test subject and undead or not, there’s definitely ways of prolonging a lifespan. When he finds a way to give himself infinite canon lives, he'll do it to Tommy too. And then the fun can really begin.

[cat-soda]

in indigo

every time near brings someone back to life, his own lifespan is cut in half.

Pairings: one-sided meronia, implied mellodramattic

Word count: 1187

Warnings for: angst, hurt/comfort (mostly hurt lbr), major character death

Part 1 [2] [3] [4]

[AO3 Link]

Near hadn‘t let himself think about it, at first. There was still Kira to be dealt with, then reports to put on file, and housekeeping duties that needed to be done before they left Japan. But then, the day before their flight back to England arrived, and Near—

their bodies. He still had to do something about their bodies.

And he considered it. Delaying the move, pushing off the visit until he stopped getting dizzy at the thought of seeing either of them... like that.

But.

Corpses rot.

So he went. Identified them, quietly had Rester make arrangements for them to be sent home, and wondered how cruel it was to bury Mello at the place he’d hated so much. (Then again, maybe it hadn’t been the House he’d hated. Perhaps it’d just been Near.)

He almost doesn’t check the small apartment they’d been renting until Lidner asks him to accompany her. “There’re some things that Mello left behind for you, Near,” she says, soft-voiced. “You should probably take a look.”

Which was how he found himself blinking in the middle of their flat, staring at all the wires snaking all over the floor, the mattress shoved against the far-end wall, the Christmas decorations that they hadn’t even started to put away. Matt’s old GameBoy was charging next to a section of wall where it seemed he and Mello had started a playful argument in sticky notes. He steps forward and sends an old bottle of drugstore nail polish skidding across the room. Remnants of life covered in a fine layer of dust.

“Lidner.” His throat feels tight, and he clears it before trying again. “Lidner, please try not to disturb any of these objects. I’d like to preserve things as they were, as closely as possible.”

“Yessir.”

She hands him a folder, then a laptop. “This is it.” A note on the folder’s front says, For that shithead, Near, and Near studies Mello’s looping handwriting closely before hugging the two items close to his chest.

“Let’s go.”

---

Mihael Keehl.

Near repeats the name to himself over and over again, rolls it over his tongue, tries to imagine how it’d sound leaving Mello’s lips. My name is Mihael.

A pit’s growing in his stomach. He feels as though he’s already having trouble remembering what Mello sounds like. Of course, this isn’t really the case. Near’s memory is impeccable, and he’s especially always had a particular gift when it comes to remembering the specific undertones to one’s speech patterns and mimicking what it is he hears. He wouldn't forget a voice so easily.

Especially not Mello’s.

And yet,

My name is Mihael.

How would he have said it?

(Church bells are ringing in his ears.)

---

It had rained on the day A died.

Or maybe it was during her funeral.

Near couldn’t quite recall which it was. The days from that time had all seemed to melt together into a gray conglomerate of tears and heartache, and for Near, who had been very small, the church bells rang with enough ferocity to shake him to his very core.

Mello wasn’t very nice back then —had never been ‘very nice,’ really— but he’d stood in front of the doorway and blocked out the light as Matt sat besides Near’s curled up form and spoke in soft and gentle tones, helped him unfurl his fists from his hair, slowly, joint by little joint, then held his trembling hands. None of them had been old enough to attend her funeral, but they all knew grief, in their own ways. They’d all heard Beyond’s howling when he found her.

Probably, it’s when she died that the rain started, incessant and cold. It’s logical. What Near remembers in startling clarity, however, is that when B went away, he took the rain with him.

And the church bells came to a stop.

---

“Yo.”

Near blinks.

In the dark of L’s —now his— bedroom, Near was building himself a barrier out of Legos blocks. Its purpose wasn’t so much to keep anyone out, as it was to keep his predecessor’s things out of sight. Old folders and clothing on hangers alongside some knick-knacks the other children had sent L over the years. Near was surprised he kept them— he could even see some of Linda’s most ambitious paintings from when she was young hanging up on the wall. Above a chocolate fountain.

It wasn’t being used at the moment.

After reading the documents that Mello had left him, Near curled up on the floor beside L’s bed, staring at the empty space beneath. ‘The best dresser that died like a dog’... you were always so dramatic, Mello. He had been wondering, though. About what happened to B. About Naomi Misora. About L.

About Mello.

This was his voice, wasn’t it?

Then, Near’s stomach started churning, so he opened a large tub and started snapping Lego blocks together, and this was how Ryuk found him, several hours later.

“Yo,” he says again, like he was worried that Near hadn’t heard him the first time. “Damn, kid, you look like shit.”

“Thank you, Mr Shinigami,” Near replies, “for your astute observation.” Ryuk cackles as he continues putting blocks together. “Was there something you needed? I’m afraid that I’ve already burned the notebooks in Mr Mikami and Mr Aizawa’s possessions, so I can’t return them to you.”

“Nah, that’s not it.” Ryuk does a handstand and wiggles his feet in the air. “I still have mine, so that’s not a problem. And anyways, even if the King does have anything to say about the incident, Armonia Justin owes me a favor.” Without looking over, Near lifts his eyebrows, which Ryuk seems to take as curiosity, as he immediately follows with, “You know what sex is, don’t ya?”

He suddenly wishes that he does not. “Why are you here?”

“Just wondering.” Ryuk cackles again. He goes silent, watching with glowing red eyes as Near, wearing a puppet on each finger, arranges and rearranges painted Lego figures atop the highest points of his barrier. A blonde one stands directly in front of him, looking outwards and standing guard. That one, he doesn’t touch. “Say, kid,” says the shinigami. “Do you miss them?”

Near’s hands pause. He doesn’t answer.

“I was thinking: you don’t really look like you're cut out for this. I mean, look at you. You’re shaking.” The shinigami creeps closer. “But I can help you bring them back. You could bring them all back. If you want it bad enough, that is.” Near’s gaze shifts up from the floor and over to meet his. “What do ya think?”

A finger comes up to curl around white hair. “‘Once dead, humans can never come back to life.’ Is that not what the rules of the Death Note said?”

“Rules, Nate River,” snickers Ryuk, pulling out a white notebook from underneath his belt, “are meant to be broken.” He holds it out to Near, just under his nose. And there, right on the cover, read the words Life Note. “I think it’s about time you learned to be a rule-breaker.”

-----

a/n: *wheeze* i almost posted this onto ao3 without any tags.

i just wanna say whoever came up with the idea of a life note first... i'm going to fight you with my bare hands.

hope you guys enjoyed this fic! title is from deep indigo (although hitchcock is definitely more of a near song)

[brokenmoonsongs]

Companion!Bard AU Part Three

Summary (wip): Jaskier is a Master of all known and unknown Arts offered at Oxenfurt University. It’s the unknown one that sometimes gets him into trouble, but mostly, allows him to explore the world, fall in love multiple times, and find his purpose in protecting those who protect the world.

Jaskier Centric. Geraskier Main Pairing (slow slow burning), Jaskier/Witchers, Jaskier/Others.

Prologue - Part One - Part Two - Wordcount: ~6.5k (of JASKIER ANGST/Whump) CW For this Part: Dubcon, Bad BDSM practices, caning/whipping, physical abuse, witnessing abuse, gender stereotypes, alcoholism (lightish??) Notes: The CW is for this chapter specifically, and has to do with Jaskier/OMC and other sex workers. I don't go into detailed scenes, but if I need to add other warnings, feel free to let me know.

There's only a little Geraskier interaction at the beginning, and at the end, alas! But they're good scenes. Also, the bulk of this part is when Jaskier's about twenty years old. If the CW is too much for you, you can get a gist of it and the important Geraskier final scene starting at the words "The moment Jaskier", plus this first section under the cut.

I think after this part we'll be fast forwarding to more important events and missions. If anyone wants to see a particular scenario, feel free to message me! (I already know what I'm doing for Eskel, Lambert, and Aiden, and their first meetings with Jaskier, but everyone else is fair game!) Actually, more than likely next part will be a lot of Geraskier moments and then Eskel will show up for some Jaskel!

~ ~ ~

After a few more towns and gory contracts, Jaskier and Geralt's luck run out for a bit where they're very much not welcomed in a farming village. Despite the fact that Geralt took care of their noon wraithe problem or Jaskier proclaiming his various expertise in entertaining a crowd. Nor did his silver tongue help in Geralt getting a fair price, but at least they were paid somewhat.

So they find themselves in the woods, Jaskier doing his best to keep turning the roasting meat evenly so that they don't burn and char as Geralt finishes cleaning his hunting gear. The bard's in the middle of an inspired rant slash tavern song based on the village's attitude when Geralt interrupts with a loud grunt.

It's one of the few grunts that Jaskier has actually learned how to interpret, as this particular one comes some rarely. He slows down the turning and looks towards Geralt, raising an eyebrow.

"What's that? Do you have an opinion on my lyric choices? Or do you think I should go into a trifecta of melodies?" He doesn't have to see Geralt through the firelight to know the Witcher simply rolls his eyes.

"I wonder sometimes, bard, how much of what you boast is actually truth," Geralt says instead.

"Why, everything I say has a modicum of truth! Sometimes even fully! Is there something, beyond of course the ballads I write of you where I am allowed some artistic creativity mind you, that you think I claim falsely?" He asks, not accusingly of course, but genuinely curious to Geralt's opinions. Oh, he certainly stretches the truth a lot, and he knows he has quite a big ego, but short of trying to save his own life from a pissed off husband, he's not much into actually lying.

"You're very quick to mention, and often, being a master of all arts at Oxenfurt. You're what, seventeen?"

"Nineteen and a half, actually! Plus, you should never ask a bard his age," Jaskier says, turning fully towards Geralt and forgetting about the food.

Geralt gives a huff of a laugh. "Humans," he mutters, standing to put away his gear. "Seems unlikely one as young as yourself would have mastered all the Arts."

Jaskier blushes at that implication. Did Witchers even know about the secret Art? It might make sense, since they have much longer lifespans, and Jaskier wasn't sure how long Geralt's been around. He's also more scholarly than one would think, though Jaskier learned quickly that he didn't have a musical ear.

"I'll take that as a no. So how many did you actually master?"

"No, I did! I mastered all of them like you said, I mean like I've been saying." Jaskier jumps up, still flushed but ready to defend himself. He gets halfway through listing the different Arts and disciplines and what he specialized in each when Geralt comments that the meat's burning.

"Shit!" Jaskier manages to save the food, only one side of the hares having a crispy edge to them. He hears Geralt chuckle again, and is glad the man seems to be in such good spirits for whatever reason. At least he doesn't get yelled at for ruining the food.

"Shall I go on?" Jaskier asks as he divides the food into the plates, adding some roughage they had from the previous city. It's not much, but it'll be decently tasty and filling.

Geralt shakes his head. "No, I believe you. Impressive."

Jaskier feels warm at the rare compliment. He hands Geralt his plate and sits across the fire from him. 'Well, the cat's out of the bag. Geralt knows,' he thinks, studying the Witcher as they eat. 'He doesn't seem bothered by my extra services... I wonder...'

"You know, Geralt, if you ever need anything of me, I'm very happy to provide," he says, glad that the firelight covers his intense blush at the idea. It certainly wouldn't be a hardship. "I wouldn't even charge a dime!"

Geralt snorts, tossing a few of the bones into the fire. "What if I paid you to not sing for a few days? Would you do that?"

Jaskier has no idea if Geralt is teasing or complaining, but either way he gasps dramatically, putting a hand to his heart. "You'd dare ask a bard to not do the one thing they live for?"

"Worth a shot," Geralt says into his water skin.

Jaskier, being the young little shit he was, quickly finishes his food so he can "serenade" Geralt all through the night. Or at least until he's threatened to stop.

It never occurs to Jaskier that perhaps, Geralt didn't know of the Eighth hidden Art, having never stayed around nobles longer than he needed to or they tolerated him, and never interested in such gossip.

* * *

That first year, Jaskier didn't take on very many official contracts while he was on the path with Geralt. Most would have had him stay behind and he rather be mucking it up in the wilderness than confined to a boudoir. He did take as many unofficial ones as possible, only charging enough to not offend or accepting whatever they had to barter. They weren't all "first times" ones, some just wanted teachings to improve their skills, or talking through their feelings, or experiment. Still, a lot were secretive and that usually meant having to leave first thing, so Jaskier never dissuaded Geralt of the notion that he was rather promiscuous and bedded many of a half of a married couple.

While he was positive that Geralt knew of his side profession and didn't care, Jaskier didn't really want to push it, flaunting all these "behind closed bedroom" deals when Geralt still preferred his chances at brothels. Plus, technically, Redania didn't approve of unofficial contracts, as it would sully the exclusivity and finery that was an official Companion Consort.

Jaskier was also lucky that he only had to serve one mission for Dijikstra, and it was quite easy and minor. Spreading rumors through a string of small towns was easy for a bard of his talents.

When winter came, Jaskier felt a little uneasy leaving Geralt. They still had a rough companionship, and Jaskier knew that Geralt was only barely maintaining his patience for him. While Geralt didn't promise they'd meet up in the new year, he did wish Jaskier safe travels, so that was something.

Jaskier made the mistake of not returning to Oxenfurt, thinking he'd be stuck doing petty spy shit. So he traveled quickly South to warmer climates and more welcoming courts. He felt like his "Toss a Coin" song could have been a fluke in its popularity, and wanted to keep chasing that high. It wouldn't make sense to retreat for the Winter like Geralt, and see no one. Besides, Jaskier could always compose and write on the road, and felt he was better with that extra challenge than lazying about in one place.

The mistake was this. With no official Courtly Contract that would tie him for the season, Jaskier was one of the few Court Companions who was technically a free agent. Apparently most like him would have secured something half a year in advance. Jaskier didn't want to be tied down, but it meant that Dijikstra would have greater need for him during a time when most of the Upper continent battened down for the season.

He hadn't expected to go down as far as Ebbing, but that's where the Spymaster sent him, to somewhere in Tonnere. There was a Margrave there that had specific proclivities, and was very paranoid. Even to the region's politics the man never divulged his military plans or intentions in court. But he always succeeded in what he did and for the betterment of Nilfgaard, so he was given the freedom to do what he wanted. Jaskier wasn't surprised that Dijikstra was interested or Redania itself, as they've always been wary of Nilfgaard.

He had to at least give it to the spy master, the man was very good at sending the most information in the least amount of words as possible. It wasn't hard to interpret that Jaskier would earn his lumps in this one. Even with all the details, it was plain to see when Jaskier arrived how outdated the intel was.

Jaskier again was grateful that despite being in a wholly different empire, there were some alliances and promises that were never broken or double-crossed. While there was a Nilfgaardian equivalent to what Jaskier was, apparently they were even more rare and only served the upper echelon of nobility. So any Redanian Court Companion willing to take a contract this far South was well regarded.

He'd stay until the week after the new year, and no longer. Another benefit to the magical brand that Jaskier wore, was that it protected him from most grievous injuries while he was under contract. Of course there could also be added stipulations to protect the person wanting the contract, and this Margrave ensured that he was protected from assassinations.

Jaskier stared as his brand glowed and the contract was sealed, still marveling at the innerworkings of such magic. Margrave Kelas Blamore grunted and gave a pointed look at his manservant. "I expect him in under an hour."

"Understood."

The manservant had introduced himself earlier as Alda Fryee, and had a severe kind of look, that reminded Jaskier much like the old tutors he had who more often then not watched over him than educated him. But his voice was much kinder than his appearance.

Alda waited until they were the only two in the room before speaking up.

"Dandelion, correct?"

Jaskier nodded, smiling.

"If you follow my instructions, then you should survive the season mostly unscathed," he began, looking at Jaskier's attire. "At least you were smart enough not to wear Redanian colors, but the Margrave did not request a bard for any sort of entertainment outside of his bedroom."

"Well, that was understood with the contract my good man, and while my musicality is one of my strongest skills, it is of course not my only one," Jaskier said, surprising himself at keeping his nervousness out of his voice. "I assure you I am one of the best suited Companions for the task."

The older man raised an eyebrow at that before giving Jaskier an almost pitying look. "We'll see about that." He turned and started walking to a side door, expecting Jaskier to follow, which he did. "None of your flourishment here, bard. It will be wasted and used against you. You are here because you're trained, and you're pretty."

It was the first time Jaskier was ever called pretty in such a negative light. He frowned but decided to hold his tongue, needing to learn what was expected of him after all. The intel made it seem he'd be stuck to the personal chambers acting like a proper bed mate in secrecy. Jaskier did take note of the route and casually glanced out the few windows, noting where the guards were patrolling.

"You do have the advantage of singing talent, and while I doubt you know any our empire's songs—"

"I do, actually! Maybe nothing recent or what's considered popular down here but I would never come to a country without doing a bit of my—"

Jaskier stopped when Alda turned around and got into his personal space. He held his breath.

"He will not like you speaking out of turn. It will do you no good to talk more than necessary, especially of yourself," Alda responded, voice low as if a warning to him. Jaskier nodded, gulping a bit.

"The Margrave enjoys hearing the more militaristic ballads and soldier songs, especially when the person is indisposed."

They reach a door and to Jaskier's surprise, it opens to a rather lavish looking bathing room. Much more fanciful than the rest of the decor on the estate.

"Clean yourself thoroughly, your new attire will be on the warming bench there. Your original clothes will be handed back to you at the end of your contract. Behind the partition over there are where you'll find any needed healing items."

Jaskier nodded, stepping in and wasting no time to undress. He did jump when he heard a soft groan coming from behind the partition.

"She's resting," Alda explained. "It's rare that you'll be here alone, as there's always a few servants taking their rest or bathing. Don't let them distract you, nor them. Margrave is very strict on punctuality."

Jaskier bit the inside of his lip, his curiosity and concern over the mysterious woman nearly superseding his want to keep on obeying. 'Maybe there'll be time later,' he thought.

"Is there anything else I should know? I appreciate your guidance so far, Alda," Jaskier said, giving a friendly smile to the other man, hoping that he could somehow befriend him. He figured no one would be as difficult as Geralt into getting on someone's good side. Even if it was still debatable whether or not he was on Geralt's good side.

"Margrave Blamore cares not for incompetency. And he does not like repeating himself. I also rather not have to send out more messengers for a replacement Companion."

He turned away from the manservant and frowned, feeling a weight in the pit of his stomach. He got into the baths, hissing in pleasure at the warmth of the water, wishing he could luxuriate here for the entirety of winter. Only taking a moment to relax, Jaskier did get on to cleaning himself head to toe, having been on the road the past week to get here.

He could feel Alda's eyes on him, but again it was more of an assessing kind of look. The man waited a few minutes before continuing.

"Margrave Blamore prefers women, and interested in their... responses. What he enjoys from men is how well they can endure. He will make you watch and sing, and he'll touch you as he pleases. However, he will mostly be testing your mettle, how well you can handle pain physically, mentally and spiritually. He will embarrass you publicly. But as per your King's regulations, you will be masked whenever you are outside of the Margrave's personal wing, to keep your identity secure."

'What in hell have I gotten myself into?' Jaskier can feel the rising panic. How plainly Alda speaks of what's to come does not make Jaskier feel better. He scrubs at his face, wondering how he's to get any sort of intel this way. 'Is this another twisted test?'

"Do your best not to react and only obey. If you can avoid saying your limit word, you will please him more, and he will compensate you in the end, provided you don't wrack up enough punishments before then."

"Is there, ah, any leeway, probationary period? I must confess, as well-trained and experienced I am, I still am but a few decades old."

"Considering that you are a foreigner, yes. You have a few days. You may still get punished but they won't be counted against you in the end." Alda's stoic expression breaks for a moment, looking towards the partition. "Just a boy, really," he whispers.

Jaskier gets out of the bath and quickly dries himself. He hesitates at seeing the shelves of oils and rather be overprepared than under, considering what he's learning of Blamore. Alda continues to not look as Jaskier readies himself.

"When you're dismissed, the chambers to the right of here are for your use. Your lute and other belongings will be locked in a chest there. You are not to wander beyond this wing without instruction or other permission."

Jaskier grunted. There were a few more minutes of silence as he tried to keep simply running as far the fuck away from here as possible, despite being fully naked. He took a few calming breaths and dressed in what seemed to be a sheer peasant dress. It's plain white with grey stays and a short laced hem. The shoes are at least men's shoes and in Jaskier's size.

'Embarrassment indeed,' he thinks. It's not that he hadn't dressed up in feminine clothes before, for theater and drunken fun, and he knows he's young enough to pull it off well. But it's different when the effect is supposed to humiliate. At least it's not garishly done to look like a porcelain doll outfit, but Jaskier's gotten the feeling that Blamore is of simple and wretched tastes.

Alda turns and walks out, again expecting Jaskier to follow. Jaskier only hesitates, as he looks over at the partition again.

"I wish you a full recovery and rest, my dear," he says, softly enough so Alda doesn't hear but hoping it carries over.

Just before he gets to the door, he swears he hears a whisper of thanks and good luck.

* * *

The first night was tolerable. Jaskier was subjected to critiques on his looks and general disdain of being Redanian and a male Companion. The only critiques that irritated him was when he was asked to sing his knowledge of Nilgaardian songs and how he kept missing the mark. Jaskier highly doubted it, but at the same time, he'd never sung these to anyone outside of classes before.

He was pinched and prodded and found wanting, only making a surprised yelp when Blamore grabbed his balls and yanked, wondering aloud if Jaskier's voice would ever sound like a 'man's man.' He was fingered and was commanded to masturbate to completion so that Blamore could assess his virility.

Lastly, he had to be present, not watching, as the Margrave roughly fucked one of his servant women. It wasn't until Blamore passed out that Jaskier relaxed, slumping to a crouch as he continued to keep his panic attack away.

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and he bit his tongue from startling loudly. It was the servant woman, he'd later would know her name as Mellisette, and she gave him a tired smile. "We're dismissed," she whispered, slipping on the wrap around dress and tying it loosely.

He nodded and followed her out, soon finding them both back into the bathing room. Only then he managed to find his words again.

"A-are you okay? Is there anything I can do? I've tended to bruises and cuts before, or maybe—"

She put a finger onto his lips, the tired smile still there. "I appreciate the sentiment, but being spoiled when it wasn't so bad tonight, would be too much of a luxury. And you are only here for a short time."

Jaskier frowned, wanting to protest, his thoughts going back to whenever Geralt balked at any service or good that wasn't necessary.

"Come, let us wash and then I'll show you which bed is yours and sleep. I fear the Margrave has taking a liking to you."

"How could you tell?" Jaskier snorted, again following her, disrobing and entering the baths.

"He didn't whip you."

'Melitele, help me,' Jaskier prayed, hoping for strength in the coming months.

* * *

Jaskier never thought he'd thank his childhood upbringing for helping him now. It truly was against Jaskier's nature to not talk, not speak out when terrible things were going on, to not snark or stand up against authority, even supposedly good ones. He'd gone to temple school and had been punished a plenty, and backhanded by the Lettenhove staff that was more loyal to his father than anyone else. He had learned even before Oxenfurt, to get through terrible lessons by going into his head a bit and coming up with music and lyrics and wild scenarios. He knew now how tame it was all compared to being under Margrave Kelas Blamore's rule.

But he managed it, barely, so he could be continued to be the favored plaything of the Margrave, so that he could bring back useful intel to Dijikstra and curry some favor and buffer for his sisters. The worst of it, was watching the servant women receive much worse treatment than him, having to pretend it wasn't going on, to sing over their pain.

He could live with the lascivious touches cruel remarks, would prefer if Blamore paid more attention to his body than theirs. Oh, Jaskier did get marked up, from being caned on the ass and back of his thighs, again thanks to temple he had a high tolerance, or whips across his back. They were never horrible enough to warrant a proper healer to visit, but the pain lingered of course.

It took a few weeks before this whole, wild gambit finally paid off, made it moderately worth it. Jaskier was invited more and more to the Margrave's private meetings and political agendas. Again it was to be humiliated, how someone from the North was reduced to being a plaything, a piece of decoration. No one but the Margrave touched him, but they looked and sneered and made their own comments.

He sang on command, barked on command, and crawled to the Margrave's lap on command. Jaskier could easily school his expression into floating away, to not be present, which amused Blamore. It also meant that no one suspected Jaskier to be paying attention to everything that was being said.

Jaskier was no strategist, didn't care for military politics, but he grew up with a father who did. He was sure it was another reason why he was chosen for this contract. Because even if he couldn't fully comprehend what they were talking about, he could remember, and contextualize and understand enough. Most importantly, he could work it into code.

Part of his contract was a check-in halfway through his stay. A letter would be checked over and then portaled through to his contact. Jaskier wrote about being treated well, and of course laying on praise to his host and country. He also included inspired musical ballads, complete with reference notations about servant love, and Southern delicacies, and general folk lore. All but the first page was in code, made up by Jaskier and a few of his fellow Spy Companions before they left Oxenfurt. Only masters in all eight Arts could decipher it.

He couldn't of course give everything in that update, but whatever he thought was more timely and important, and hoped, despite not having a head for any of the discussions, he chose correctly. It was only when he was writing up the songs that would never be sung, did he have enough presence of mind and energy to wonder about Geralt. He didn't know anything about where the Witcher would spend his Winter, only that Jaskier wasn't allowed to follow, which, fair. He hoped Geralt was getting much needed rest and relaxation. He also hoped that maybe Geralt would've spared a stray thought about him. Jaskier doubted it, but it was nice to day dream.

* * *

Despite how everyone was used to the treatment and lifestyle of Margrave Blamore, Jaskier did manage by the end of his contract to make friends and allies. And not just among the ones he entertained with, either. But some of the cook staff, the cleaning staff, and even a few guards. The guards were difficult, having to go through a bit of hazing ritual, them thinking him too soft. He was, truly, but he also could never step down from a challenge.

It was through them that Jaskier managed to keep from losing himself. A smile here, a laugh there, a comforting embrace or teasing peck on the cheek. He created silly limericks to raise their spirits, and regaled others with stories of monsters and curses. Since he was known as Dandelion here, he was sure to keep any songs or stories known by Jaskier from coming out.

While Jaskier had been doing a brilliant job of spying, of almost never leaving Margrave's side, he couldn't quite keep up the façade constantly. Or be on alert all the time. One of the guards took a liking to him, and was soft with him, and Jaskier leached onto that softness almost immediately. He'd forgotten like in his childhood home, a servant's loyalty or friendship was never guaranteed.

The Margrave found out a week before Jaskier was to leave. The guard, Tomne, was ordered to whip Jaskier's back until Jaskier admitted that he was taken advantage of. Of course, Jaskier couldn't do that, couldn't condemn Tomne to exile or worse.

When Jaskier woke up after passing out, he was surprised that it was Alda tending to his back. He made a small pained noise.

"Shh, it'll be okay, my boy, the pain will pass," Alda murmured, using his free hand to gently stroke Jaskier's hair as he finished securing the bandages with the other. "I'm afraid a mark or two may be left, but the healer's already seen to you. I wanted to be the one to finish, in case you did wake up."

Jaskier whined, still a fog of pain and tiredness and confusion. He didn't mind having a scar, minor or not, since he had a few very faint ones from temple. But the whole punishment was more intense than he'd ever had before.

"T-Tomne?" Jaskier asked, voice hoarse.

"He had his own whipping, but he's been seen to, also, and he will only be demoted until he can earn the Margrave's trust again."

There was a hardness in Alda's voice at that, but Jaskier simply focused on the gentle hands. "You did well, Dandelion."

"I was stupid," Jaskier muttered, shifting to sit up once Alda finished. But the older man tutted at him and gently pressed his shoulder down. Jaskier didn't have it in him to protest, so he stayed on his stomach on the bed.

"Yes, you were. But no one could fault you for it. You actually lasted through your contract, dear boy, and only received one punishment. And kept your wits."

"I know certain people would say I have no wits to have stayed," Jaskier mumbled.

Alda made a noise that seemed to be in agreement. "Nonetheless, you are stronger than you look, and while you are as foolish as your age, I believe you will be paid greatly in your life."

Jaskier looked up at Alda, and again the man was surprising him, giving him such a tender look. He didn't know what it meant, not even when Alda kissed him kindly on the forehead before getting up.

"Rest now, food and water will be brought to you in a few hours time. Tomorrow, you'll be portaled back to Oxenfurt."

"But I still have—"

Alda shook his head. "I convinced the Margrave to end your contract early. Do not worry, you will be highly praised for your service."

That didn't leave Jaskier with a pleasant feeling.

* * *

The moment Jaskier entered back into his temporary rooms in Oxenfurt after giving a thorough report to Dijikstra, he crumpled to the floor. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, crying and cursing to all the living and unliving gods he knew.

All he could think about was leaving the rest of the servants there, his friends, to the cruelty of the Margrave. Dijkstra didn't care, of course, since it wasn't "Redanian citizens", never mind that Jaskier was and still suffered through the abuse.

He truly felt in over his head. He didn't want to do this anymore, didn't want to do it in the first place! Mastering the last Art was a lark! It was supposed to be some fun little merit. Maybe this is why they had that thorough test before graduating. Maybe he shouldn't have cheated it. He should have listened to Essi.

It was much later when he picked himself up from the floor and got himself cleaned, disposing of the clothes he traveled to and from Tonnere with. He wanted no more reminder, even as he felt guilt in that want.

Jaskier stayed only a week in Oxenfurt, not in any mind to mingle with old comrades and friends, or former lovers. He did see Essi, once, before he left, to assuage her that he was fine. She knew he wasn't but she didn't push. He knew the next time he'd see her he'd tell her. Some variation of it, as he feared for her safety if she knew any more beyond the contract. But not now, not when it was still too fresh, too raw.

The few songs and poems he had the energy to write while in Tonnere stayed tucked away in his notebooks. It was the only reminders he had left, but his musical nature ensured he wouldn't toss them away. While he didn't use those experiences or notes to create a new song, he did write one based on the feeling of despair at not getting out from under.

It doesn't become a hit, but it is a song that is sometimes requested on dreary days or remembrances of battles lost. That's more than enough for him.

Jaskier knows his love for alcohol comes from his father. It was a worry that his mother had, the servants too. Jaskier wasn't like his father though in the aspects he never became horrible as a drunk. No, he gained the impeccable tolerance for it, and a strong desire for it.

It's mainly why he prefers quality wines when he partakes, since they're rarer and more expensive to obtain. It helps settle him.

But from the edge quarters of Oxenfurt and out into the world again, all there is is piss poor drinks that pack more punch than flavor.

Jaskier doesn't realize how many weeks have gone by, or how dependent he's on drinks to get him to sleep or through a performance, when Geralt finally encounters him.

He'd just finished a short set at the tavern, to a total of five audience members. It was decent enough he wasn't booed off the stage or pelted with food. But the bartender still gave him a displeased look when he plunked down at the bar immediately and spent all of his earned coin on some of the stronger stuff.

Despite his alcohol fueled stupor, and not quite drunk exactly, but a near thing, Jaskier senses the big bulking bulk that sits next to him, smelling again of onion and destiny. He hears a grunt that somehow the bartender interpreted as "your worst ale please" as that's what's presented to the Witcher moments later.

"Did they refuse to let you play, bard?" Geralt asked, and if Jaskier was a little more sober, he would've been able to tell it was a playful jest.

"Worse," the bartender replies instead.

Jaskier scowls at the man. "Oi, they all stayed, innit?"

He feels Geralt's heavy and strong hand on his shoulder, practically interpreting the next "hmm" as "calm down, Jaskier." It nearly has the opposite effect, but with Jaskier's mercurial mood, he sighs instead and slumps down.

"I hope you had a good winter, Witcher?" Jaskier asks, hoping to deflect the topic from himself.

"Hmm, noisier than normal," Geralt responds. When Jaskier turns to look at him, he can see the faint curl of his lips.

"Whassat mean?"

Geralt takes a sip of his ale instead, temporarily making a face at the terribleness of it. "Someday, maybe, I'll tell you."

Jaskier's too into his head again to take the bait, instead resting his forehead on his crossed arms on the bar. Even though Geralt's presence and company should have had him soaring to the skies, it doesn't quite have that effect. Though Jaskier is grateful the other man didn't decide to leave straight away once he saw Jaskier.

There were a few minutes of silence, Jaskier assuming Geralt was still attempting to drink down the swill as he was attempting to keep from panicking anew again.

His thoughts were swirling around the fact that Geralt would've done something. Wouldn't have let the cruel games the Margrave did to go on. Would've saved the girls, risked his life. For all of the short time Jaskier had known Geralt, lesser than he'd even known Essi, Jaskier knew a few things that were ironclad. Witchers had feelings, Geralt cannot not help an innocent when its in his power to, and that Geralt indeed could hurt.

"Do you know if they still have available rooms?" Geralt's voice rumbles as Jaskier hears him stand up.

"I uh, got the last one. They're having the spring festival in a day or two," Jaskier responds, slowly pushing away from the bar. "Lucky you, it's a double."

He stands and turns to head towards the stairs, but he's drunk enough to not be stable, and it takes a quick reflex from Geralt to not fall on his face when he stumbles against a pulled up floorboard.

Jaskier curses while Geralt leads him to the rooms, surprisingly being patient enough with Jaskier to wait until he mumbles "that one".

Immediately, Jaskier goes to the bed by the window and flops down on it, groaning loudly. He can hear Geralt settle on the other side of the room, unpacking his gear and unloading his armor.

Halfway through, Geralt finally asks what's wrong.

Jaskier rolls onto his back to stare at the dilapidated ceiling. It's been near a month now and thousands of miles from Tonnere. It's still eating away at him, but maybe if he can talk to Geralt, and if it means the end of their whatever this is, then at least it would be for a good reason.

"I took a contract... In um, Nilfgaard."

"Hmm...."

"Indeed."

Jaskier both wants to tell him everything in detail, just to get it off his chest, but that was unfair to the Witcher. It wasn't like they were actually friends, and Jaskier knows he's still young and very stupid and naïve to the ways of the world. Maybe it's more common than he thinks, though gods, he very much hopes not.

"I uh... I witnessed some things in the court of this minor noble. His form of entertainment was very gauche. My duty was to just play, a musical background to his activities..."

There was a slowness now in Geralt putting his armor away. He made a slight noise, which Jaskier decided to interpret as "go on".

He gulped and took a few steadying breaths. "They were in pain, Geralt. Constantly in pain, by his hand or others. And I.. I did nothing. I couldn't do anything, otherwise..." He had to be good, it was the only way to get the intel. The fresh marks on his lower back burned a little as he thought about the only thing he did that was to protect another. "It would've been bad, I mean, I was a foreigner after all. But gods, I should've done something, shouldn'tve I? I was a coward, instead."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Jaskier shot up, looking horrified and feeling much more sober. "H-how could you even think—"

"Just answer honestly," Geralt replied, looking at Jaskier. His face was stoic, uninterpretable, and his voice even.

"No. I didn't enjoy a single minute of it."

"Would you have possibly lost your life?"

"N-no, but my livelihood was in danger," Jaskier said, rubbing his wrists, the bruises long gone.

Geralt grunted.

"And you didn't partake at all in their suffering... Nor do you know how to defend yourself or others?"

"You know I didn't, wouldn't, and you know I don't," Jaskier said. It was definitely a point of contention their first year, Jaskier's refusal to learn how to use a weapon for when Geralt wasn't around. He still wasn't sure what this line of questioning was about, and in fact it was making him angry for Geralt to—

"Then you are not at fault, you never were, Jaskier, but there is no reason to blame yourself."

Jaskier stared at Geralt, at a loss for words. Instead he twitched his eyes, silently asking for Geralt to explain himself.

Geralt sighed, setting down the last bit of his armor, clasping his hands together. "You are a bard. A human. A young one at that, don't protest. You are not a trained warrior or even an untrained criminal. You were in a foreign land under a noble's rule. You could have left, broken your contract, but it was winter and you would've been stuck in foreign lands. You did what you could."

While Jaskier did take in everything Geralt said, he was also amazed at how much Geralt actually said to him. That he did so to try and comfort him and relieve him of his guilt. Jaskier wanted to add that he did help a little, by singing to the women and servants after, helping tend to their ailments in the bathing rooms. He has no idea whether what he spied on would do any actual good for Redania, so he didn't count that in the good column.

"So you don't hate me? For being a coward and letting it happen?"

Jaskier couldn't interpret the face Geralt made there, but the Witcher shook his head.

"Hate you for that? No. For causing my brothers to sing 'Toss a Coin' every fucking day during winter? Yes."

Jaskier stared at Geralt, and then started guffawing, bending over. Tears were spilling, both from the relief of Geralt's earlier words, and the ridiculous idea of Geralt being tormented by his song.

"See? I'm a hit! Even your brothers love my singing!"

He feels much lighter now, almost like he felt before being given that damn mission. He silently thanks Geralt for the distraction, and the absolution. It may not be earned, but it's enough.

"Hmm, just proves they're more tone-deaf than your fans."

Jaskier sputters at that and throws the threadbare pillow at Geralt, who catches it without even looking.

"If you're done being dramatic, I have a friend at The Swift Sail so we can get a decent meal."

Geralt stands and walks to the door, pausing for a moment. "You're a good kid, Jaskier. Annoying. But good."

Jaskier stands, only feeling the barest of the alcohol now, feeling indignant again. "Oi, Witcher, and you're the picture perfect example of a good friend?"

"Never said we're friends," Geralt says, opening the door and not waiting this time as he heads on out.

Jaskier mocks the line to himself, before realizing he was left behind. And thinking about the name of the pub.

"Wait, why is it called the The Swift Sail? Geralt? We're nowhere near the ocean! Geralt!" Jaskier calls out, closing the door behind him as he tries to catch up to the surprisingly swift, hulking Witcher.

While Tonnere is never far from his mind, he's able to stop drinking to excess and appreciate himself again, walking the path with Geralt for another year.

[jjk-biased]

kim taehyung x reader

genre: angst, hanahaki disease au

words: 1.8k words of bigger sad than belle vie. enjoy!

warnings: mentions of sickness, a few hinting at blood, character death

synopsis: taehyung has always been your red carnation, your one true love but he never viewed you the same way. 

a/n: *this fic is part of the special prompts for my milestone event. had fun writing this one (yes i’m happier when i write angsts lmfao) hope  you guys enjoy!! was listening to how can i love the heartbreak, you’re the one i love by akmu while writing!!

masterlist | events masterlist

Ever since, Taehyung never understood why people value flowers so much. They were simply budding pinks and yellows, violets and whites, and other plethora of colors that sprouted from the soils. They were meaningless tokens that were impermanent, that would soon wither, and would soon return back to the soils from which they came from. 

While he wasn’t onboard with the masses’ opinion on these flowers, he really didn’t exactly hate it. Often would he receive a bouquet in his locker from one of those girls that deemed themselves his fans. He wouldn’t mind receiving such, but he’d never really see himself wasting as much money as the girls did for a measly flower with a lifespan shorter than his friend’s height.

You, on the other hand, were much more knowledgeable on botany. You were a natural and would be able to identify flowers, their meanings, and even their significance. 

You and him were nothing alike, yet you found solace in each others’ presence. Taehyung stuck with you and only you, finding comfort in the fact that you weren’t like the girls in your school - that you weren’t a girl who’d fling herself at him. 

Your fate was sealed as his best friend. 

As much as you loved your flowers, you always voiced the opposite. Taehyung never understood why you’d go on and on about how much you hated carnations when you did in fact love such once you received one from him. He never got to ask why you’d act like they were the bane of your existence when you two hang out in school. 

He never understood you as much as he never understood flowers. 

You hated them. Every speck of vibrance, every bundle of red, every petal that made one a whole.

You hated flowers.

They were too romanticized, too overpriced, too overhyped. People associated so much meaning to something so impermanent. Heck, people themselves grow too attached to these easily-withering measly things. 

You hated them so much. How each took its time to grow in beauty, how each carried a specific symbol, how each added a little bit more of color to the room.

You hated how much they reminded you of him. 

Every blossom you’d see on the road would always lead your mind back to Taehyung. He was like a song that would always be on repeat- always in the back of your mind. You didn’t want him in your head yet he was annoyingly unforgettable. 

You hated how much flowers symbolized you and your growing love for your best friend.

Strikingly similar to that of a growing bud, the florescence of your feelings for said best friend alarmed you greatly. While it did take its painstakingly long time to develop, somehow you didn’t even notice it, your feelings towards Kim Taehyung blossomed into love.

Love. Fucking love. Why love of all things?

Why your best friend?

The idiot was an airhead at heart who took things too lightly. Kim Taehyung was always indifferent to everything that occurred in life. So why him? The Kim Taehyung who never knew what flowers meant. The Kim Taehyung who always received bouquets and baskets of expensive reds. The Kim Taehyung who only confided in with you.

Why him?

Why did it have to be the airhead you grew up with? Why did it have to be with the sole being that knew you did in fact love carnations?

You didn’t know.

But one thing was clear.

You hated flowers so much.

“I don’t get why you try to deny your love for them, sunflower,” Taehyung snorted as you two gazed at yet another basket given to him. This time it was roses- I love you. 

“I don’t love them. I hate them,” You grumbled, yet ever so gentle when you handled the abomination on Taehyung’s desk.

Taehyung only hummed to disagree, observing the way you handled the expensive bunch given to him by some seniors he didn’t bother to know. He spotted a small bouquet of carnations beside the rose basket.

Carnations. Didn’t you like them the most?

“Sunflower, look! Aren’t these your favorite?” He grinned, the smile on his face seeming more coy than it looks. 

“Don’t call me that and carnations? I hate them the most,” Your eyes twitched as you reached for the bundle. 

Taehyung noted the way you’ve become much more gentle as you held the bouquet. He chuckled. You seemed like a tsundere even if it’s towards flowers. 

“What do they mean?”

“A lot of things, mostly connected to love. Fascination. Admiration. Rejection. Innocence,” You listed all that came to mind.

All except one - they remind me of you.

For someone who claimed to hate carnations so much, you sure have a lot of knowledge about it. Taehyung didn’t point it out though, he kept that thought to himself. 

Yet again, as you two look over the gifts that Taehyung’s fans gave him, you are reminded of your predicament. Your fate was sealed as his best friend. Really, can you blame anyone?

You never acted on your small crush for Taehyung because you were too scared to do something; that if you took it a step further, the bond you two had would disappear, break, and wilt.

Once again, you are reminded of flowers. Maybe everything in your life was like flowers. Your best friend were carnations, your love was a rose, your friendship was lilies. While all did bring beauty to your life, they were still impermanent. Soon they will wither and die. Soon they will leave you.

You hated flowers so much. And that hatred grew the day Kim Taehyung asked you for advice. 

“What should I buy if I wanted to court someone?”

That phrase was on repeat in your head like a broken record. Over and over again, all you could hear was him consulting you on what to give someone he liked. Someone he liked that definitely wasn’t you.

Ironically enough, you blurted out carnations - red carnations for admiration and white carnations for pure love. It was an answer given on a whim because you were too shocked to comprehend that Taehyung is pursuing someone else. 

You hated flowers but you hated yourself so much more. You shouldn’t have given him that answer because soon, he’ll gift whoever this lucky person was with carnations - your favorite flower. 

It hurt so much to think that your carnation liked someone else.

It hurt so much that flowers began to bloom in your lungs.

Hanahaki, they said. A phenomenon in which a victim of unrequited love vomits petals and flowers from a blooming plant in their lungs. Soon said flowers would fill your lungs, ensuring an impending death.

How cruel life was. Your fate was sealed as his best friend. Only his best friend.

Despite the inevitable death promised by the damn disease, you told no one. Not even your carnation, the love of your life, and your best friend. God.. If Taehyung found out, you were sure you’d rather choose death than his rejection. So instead, you silently wished he would notice your turmoil. That he would miraculously choose you over his current fling. 

You guess it never happened. Never had, never will.

The red-painted petals that covered your bathroom weren’t recognizable at first. You’d only cough out reds and whites and pinks and yellows, but you haven’t been able to discern which exact flower bloomed in your lungs.

That is until one day, when Taehyung relayed that he had been successful in his romantic pursuits. You blanched just as he finished his story. You can feel it coming out of you. So you rushed to the nearest bathroom and vomited out the damn bunch of petals.

Except it wasn’t a petal. It was a whole flower. 

A yellow carnation. Disappointment. Rejection. “I don’t like you”

How ironic. The flowers that grew inside of you were your favorite. Another reminder that you’d never be able to experience being on the receiving end of Taehyung’s affections. 

You hated flowers so much. 

Since then, you began to distance from your best friend. As much as your love for him grew, said love was killing you. Sad to say, Taehyung never really noticed. 

From a single flower vomit to ten to… you stopped counting. Red-smeared yellows covered your bathroom floor. You stopped caring about the mess. After all, since your fate had been sealed as Taehyung’s best friend, your life would soon wither.  He wouldn’t notice anyway.

He never did. 

Taehyung never got to hear from you again since the day he shared his success with his crush. It hurt, knowing that he lost his best friend in the process of pursuing the one he thought he loved. Three weeks, yes it took him three weeks, later, he decided to finally get his best friend back.

But he was too late.

He literally lost his best friend.

The day he visited you was the day you had your worst fit. You couldn’t breathe, you knew it was time. This is it. This is how everything will end. Another bunch of yellow carnation was coughed out. You couldn’t stop the tears. It hurt so much.

It hurt so much.

I’m sorry, Taehyung. I never got to say that I-

There he stood at the door of your bathroom, speechless to see that you’ve been suffering. Clumsy steps as he hurried towards you, he discarded everything in his hand to cradle your head on his lap.

You couldn’t make out what he was saying. Too hurt to comprehend anything but the burning sensation in your lungs. He couldn’t exactly give out straight sentences either, he was choked up to see you were dying.

You died that night, among the red-painted yellow carnations, on the lap of your best friend who never loved you back.

Taehyung was miserable. He never even got to say what he found out from his three weeks of lamenting. He finally figured out why that fling of his didn’t matter, why he was so much hung up on your sudden avoidance.

He finally realized that he liked you.

But as he cradled your unconscious, blood-covered, body, it was already too late. 

His sunflower was slowly withering in front of him but he never noticed until it was too late.

Kim Taehyung was your carnation, your red and white, and while you thought he saw you as a measly yellow bud of carnations, you thought wrong.

The flower that Taehyung coughed out that night was enough proof. 

Sunflower.

A sunflower covered with blood but still a sunflower nonetheless.

You were always his sunflower. 

permanent taglist: @luvinseokjinnie​ @97faerie  @amoreguk​ @bbyjoonies​  @borednia​  @tanumiki​  @taescake​

[cle1024]

drunk in love | hjs

member: han jisung 

genre: angst 

summary: jisung is a lightweight; no matter what kind of alcohol he ingests, he somehow manages to become completely obliterated in minutes. as his best friend, you tend to take on the duty of taking care of him during his inebriated moments, even if it hurts you in the process.  friends to lovers!au, college!au 

warnings: swearing, alcoholism, brief mention of drug use 

a/n: credit to @str9ykids​ for the gif <3 this is kind of friends to lovers, kind of complicated

Han Jisung was a great guy; he was talented, creative, intelligent, passionate, charismatic, entertaining. There was a genuine care held within his eyes that most orbs missed, even in moments of honesty and loyalty, an underlying message whenever he spoke with someone about their hardships. He always seemed to understand and sympathise with people who ranted to him as a form of therapy, always willing to listen to whatever was on their mind regardless of how minute the issue. The only downfall you’d found in your time knowing him was his inability to know his limits. There had been numerous occasions of overworking himself, as well as breakdowns after trying to bottle up all his problems and emotions until he cracked under the immense pressure. Of course you were always there to pick up the pieces, that’s what friends do, and he was always there to thank you in the long run. Though, there was one particular limit of Jisung’s that even he was conscious of: his inability to hold any form of alcohol. Despite being strong in both mental and physical ways, the boy was an undeniable lightweight. Every morning after a night of drinking he’d wake with a splitting headache, downing a glass of water and painkillers you’d left for him, but he never changed his ways. At first, you’d brushed it off as a bad habit, perhaps an early and worrying sign of alcohol addiction. Over time you’d started to wonder if there was an underlying reason he allowed himself to become absolutely obliterated, his mind seemingly detached from his body as he stumbled around whatever party or club he’d found himself in. 

Even if he was mentally strong, he had his moments of weakness―it’s human nature, after all. Those moments where his walls crumbled and he shed tears of stress, anger, raw and unrelenting sadness. You couldn’t help but wonder what kind of secrets lied beneath his emotional shield, only reaching the surface in those rare moments of giving out under immense pressure. As much as you wanted to pry, Jisung was just too damn good at keeping secrets. Everything was brushed off with a laugh and joke about how you’re going soft on him, but he was always thankful for your concern nonetheless. Nothing ever erased your concern; Jisung continued his destructive drinking habits and secretive behaviour. Even when you saw the occasional slip-ups and heard the drunken babbles of “I wish I could tell you the truth” before he knocked out, Jisung was far too good at lying about his feelings to have you take it as anything other than a bad day. So, you moved on from the questions about his emotions and just took on the duty of taking care of him when he was wasted beyond belief. Things would be easier that way, wouldn’t they? You’d put him to bed, stay the night, leave water and painkillers before leaving his dorm. Then you’d see him in one of your classes looking like he crawled from the depths of Hell and tell him all the embarrassing things he did in his drunken state. That’s how things were supposed to go, but some slip-ups just can’t go unacknowledged. 

Jisung didn’t think he had a drinking problem, but he also didn’t know how to deal with his problems. Drinking until he was numb and venturing another realm always seemed like a good choice until he made more mistakes in his drunken and gave himself new reasons to abuse his liver. Some mistakes were worse than others; deciding to wear a white shirt when he knew he couldn’t keep a steady hand after drinking, listening to the encouragement of his friends―almost as drunk―and attempting to jump from one side of someone’s pool to the other, as well as other injury-inducing actions. Though one of his worst mistakes was one that came about during a sober mindset. It wasn’t a decision, necessarily, so does it really count as a mistake? Regardless, Jisung found himself tangled up in emotions he shouldn’t be feeling. He shouldn’t want to kiss you, his best friend―that’s all you were, after all, a friend. Yet the urge withstood his relentless berating, his drunken kisses with other people who’d never given him a name to call them by, its persistence drove him to the brink of desperation. Knowing that you would never feel the same way ― or, rather, assuming you would never reciprocate such feelings ― pushed him over the edge, and he found himself tumbling down a dark hole of irreversible mistakes, fabricated feelings and verbal mishaps. Though, in the end, it didn’t matter what Jisung did to forget about his feelings or have them blossom for someone else, it was something he could never get out of his head. He drank to forget but he always remembered, and now he was falling far beyond return. 

“Hey, baby,” you rolled your eyes at your friend’s words. That was another habit Jisung had, aside from excessive drinking, he often said things he didn’t mean. He played with words, took their meaning and stripped them down to platonic nouns and adjectives. It bothered you to no end, mainly because you could never figure out when he was being serious and when he was teasing, it all blended into one neutral speech. You hummed in response, eyes remaining focused on the bright screen of the laptop in front of you. A huff escaped Jisung’s lips, slightly unimpressed with your lack of interest, “good to see you too,” he deadpanned. There was always something about you that drew Jisung in. Perhaps your appearance, personality, thought patterns, interests, passion―it was evidently more than one thing. Your presence was a soothing hug in the midst of a ferocious storm, easing worries with a simple smile or comment about the weather, a habit he’d always found endearing. Now that he thought about it, he can’t remember the first time he noticed it. Frankly, he couldn’t even remember the first time he noticed you, but he was always grateful his brown orbs caught sight of you and not someone else. You were the kind of friend anyone would yearn for, loyal, understanding, helpful, appreciative. There was a lot he could praise you for, but there simply isn’t enough time within the average human lifespan. There were many other things Jisung couldn’t remember about you: when did you become his sober caretaker on drunken nights, his closest friend, his favourite design major, his first true love? Many things had happened in Jisung’s life that had simply slipped his memory, he liked to blame it on his over-drinking habit and found it to be bothersome, but nothing ever changed. He still chugged such liquids like the sun wouldn’t rise above the horizon the following day; he knew that one day it wouldn’t. Though, he also knew that one day the alcohol excuse would stop working. At some point he’d have to face the damage he’d done, internally and externally, and the mistakes he’d made under the ‘influence’ of alcohol. Someday it would all come crashing down and he hadn’t a clue how to deal with it. He shook off the depressing thought, it was something he could worry about in time, when that day inevitably comes. That day is not today. 

“Plans for tonight?” He questioned eagerly, leaning on his crossed arms as you tapped your keyboard in thought. Your nose scrunched slightly as you pondered the question, a soft smile appearing on Jisung’s pink lips as you did so. 

“Study, but I’m assuming that’s going to change to taking care of your drunk ass?” An amused smile graced your features as Jisung narrowed his eyes in your direction. 

“I mean, yeah, but what’s wrong with that?” the boy sounded thoroughly insulted, “best friends take care of each other!” 

“Yes, but I wasn’t aware they also vomit on each other’s carpet. You’re so lucky I got that out or your ass would be grass, Han,” he held up his hands in surrender with wide eyes. Of course you weren’t holding a grudge against him―not anymore, at least―but you always got a kick out of bringing up one of Jisung’s most embarrassing moments, “where are you headed?” 

“Hyunjin’s, his frat is throwing a party at nine,” as per usual. You had nothing against Hyunjin or the frat he was in, in fact you found both to be tolerable and quite welcoming in comparison to cinematic portrayals, but the parties they threw were another story. Loud, rowdy, chaotic, illegal. You weren’t sure how no one had called with noise complaints, or how no one had been carted off to a holding cell for doing cocaine off someone’s ass, but there were some questions you didn’t really want answers to. Another reason you hated their parties specifically was the alcohol. There was so much of it, a never ending fountain of mind-numbing concoctions to go around, and of course that meant dealing with a very, very, wasted Han Jisung. 

You huffed slightly, “just don’t drink too much. For once.” 

“I won’t, I promise!” Jisung slaps a hand against the table in excitement before picking up his backpack and bidding goodbye, rushing off to his next class. That was another thing that irritated you about Jisung, he was a damn liar. 

The bass thumped throughout the house, strobe lights blinding you and energetic partygoers blocking your path. Jisung was amongst them you assumed―you arrived at the party two hours after it started, purely because you were dreading the crowded environment. In all honesty, you weren’t in the mood for a party tonight, but you were here for Jisung’s sake. You found yourself in the midst of drunken parties for said reason quite often. Jisung was a drunken mess, borderline alcoholic, and most of his friends lacked the sobriety or responsibility to take care of him in such a state. Thus, you took on the role of Jisung’s ‘caretaker’, as Seungmin once put it. Your thoughts were broken by a drunk Jisung stumbling in your direction, eyes rolling slightly at the sight. Here we go. 

“Y/N!” He cheered, dragging out the last letter of your name before hiccuping slightly. You opened your mouth to respond, only to be shut down by Jisung’s hand around your wrist and voice in your ear, “come on! Let’s dance!” 

He attempted to tug on your wrist, weakened by the alcohol in his body. You saw Changbin approaching from the corner of your eye, the male smiling sympathetically and gesturing to Jisung, “he’s already so far gone, party only started an hour ago.” 

“Go figure.” 

Changbin chuckled lightly, “yeah, he seemed to want to get his mind off something,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “he should probably be getting home. I’ve had a few, will you be alright to get him home?” 

You nodded stiffly. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but a feeling in your gut warned you something was going to happen if you did. Something bad―but perhaps that was just the stench of alcohol churning your stomach. 

When did Jisung become so damn heavy? Perhaps it was when he stopped using his legs to help you drag him into your apartment. You would’ve taken him back to his apartment―you should have taken him back to his apartment―but his roommate wasn’t exactly the most empathetic when the boy was absolutely obliterated, or painfully hungover. Besides, his apartment block had so many stairs. A breath of relief passed your lips as you dropped Jisung on your bed, moving his legs so his full body was laid out comfortably. 

“Sleep on your side, I’ll go get you a bucket,” you advised as Jisung hummed groggily and shifted his position. Your footsteps were gentle along the dark floorboards as you crept towards the cupboard, scavenging for the blue bucket you often used when mopping the floors. After placing the bucket next to the bed, you shuffled towards the kitchen to retrieve a cold glass of water and a headache tablet―Jisung always managed to give himself a sore head before he even reached the hangover stage, you’d give him another in the morning for the inevitable and monstrous hangover. Jisung breathed gently with half-lidded eyes, brown orbs following you as you pulled the blankets up to his chin. The warmth flooded his exhausted body, ensuring his warmth throughout the note. As you shifted the blanket to cover him fully, the words just came spilling out. His voice was soft, almost a murmur when he spoke. 

“I love you, Y/N.” 

Your body went frigid at the words. Of course he meant it in a platonic sense, he must have meant it in a platonic sense, but he’d never said those three words before―not to you, nor to one of his ex-partners, as far as you knew. Han Jisung wasn’t the type to throw such a word around so flippantly. His brown eyes stared into yours, causing you to shift your gaze intentionally, “y-yeah, love you too, ‘Sung.” 

The boy shook his head dramatically, “no, no, no. I love you as more than a friend,” he exclaimed with an emphasis on the ‘more’. A heavy silence fell in the air as you stayed silent. All words escaped you in that moment; what could you say? Was it untruthful, drunken slurs or a genuine confession? Jisung’s borderline whisper sliced through the silence, “I know you don’t feel the same.” 

Pushing the hair off his forehead, you offered a small smile, “we can talk about this when you’re sober. Goodnight, Jisung.” 

With those words, you flicked the lamp off and exited the room, gently shutting the door behind you. Jisung shifted his legs in search of comfort, eyes lowering as he mulled over your words. Even in his drunken state he could feel his heart tear at the realisation that you didn’t, and would likely never, reciprocate his romantic feelings. By the time morning had come, both of you had decided to pretend the words were never spoken. 

Saying that things between you and Jisung had been… off after that night was the epitome of an understatement. For two people who were almost attached at the hip, considered one another family and had an unfathomable amount of loyalty and trust within one another, awkward glances and avoidance were weird. It was as if an unspoken agreement had been made between the two of you ― smile if you have to, then fucking leg it. Don’t talk to one another, don’t make an effort to see one another, and certainly don’t talk about the drunken words that spewed from Jisung’s mouth. To distract yourself from the absence in your life, and heart, you threw yourself into your studies, though that only seemed to be a temporary fix as you swiftly burnt out. The two of you had a mutual friend, Somi, who you’d confided in after it was clear things with Jisung could never go back to normal. She’d helped as much as she could, took you out of your familiar bedroom to cozy cafes and blooming parks in the middle of town you’d somehow never seen. When she suggested a night out, another frat party of a friend’s-friend, a part of you cried in resistance. Everytime you’d gone to a college you ended up hauling Jisung’s wasted ass into a car and sobering him up before he slept, what were you to do now? You didn’t want to see him either, and it seemed to be inevitable considering how Jisung spent his nights―perhaps he would spend that upcoming night at the party, drinking to forget the friction between him and his best friend. You certainly were. 

There was a part of you that understood why Jisung allowed himself to be thrown into a night of nonsensical drunken thoughts and gravitationally difficulties. At this point, you weren’t certain how long you had been within the frat house, each pulse of the bass and change in coloured lighting seemed to blur together in an almost nauseating succession. In all honesty, you weren’t even certain if Somi was still on the dance floor or if she had, as did you, found a stray wall to lean against as she recomposed herself and figured out how to stand without wobbling. You hadn’t seen Jisung, but you had seen Changbin, so you assumed the younger was there too―the two had some sort of tradition of getting shitfaced together, probably because they shared the same stress over music production and assignments put aside for far too long. There was a ruckus sounding in the room you stood in ― it wasn’t the main room, where everyone danced far too close for comfort and shared sweat, but it was a mainly empty space near the stairs that gave you a clear view of the partygoers. It sounded as if a drunken scuffle had started on the second floor, probably inebriated douchebags with low anger tolerance and a great sense of entitlement―the kind of people who have the immediate instinct to jump on a foldable table after two drinks. Though as you turned your head, you were met with the sight of people who you knew were far from that―though, they had their moments. Changbin and Jisung, stood near the head of the stairs, in the midst of an apprehensive affray of glares and seething words. They looked tense, yet Changbin still stumbled back when Jisung gave him a harsh shove, and then another, and another. You weren’t in the right sober frame of mind to stick to acknowledge the unspoken deal to not interact with Jisung. Instead, you were tipsy and figured Jisung was too far gone ― you’d never known him to be angry or violent, maybe he truly had been drowning himself in booze to forget his words to you. Maybe that’s why they were arguing, Changbin wanted him to stop drinking. Pushing yourself from the wall with a newly gained sense of sobriety, you made your way to the second floor to intervene before things could blow out of proportion. 

“Knock it off, ‘Sung,” you'd spoken, standing in front of Changbin and gently pushing Jisung away. 

“It’s no use, Y/N, he’ll never change,” Changbin snided. Jisung scoffed. 

“Changbin, stop.” 

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. How far has your advice gotten me, Changbin? Look how fucked up everything got!” What was going on? Your eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. Jisung’s dark eyes, glossed over with either tears or a drunken haze, trailed from Changbin to you, a bitter smile on his face. “And you, I don’t need you to constantly hover around. God, you act like my mother or something, it’s suffocating!” Words couldn’t pass your lips as you struggled to wrap your head around the situation at hand, “you know- you know how often I drink without you babying me? In fact, tonight was going perfectly fine until this fuckwit,” he gestured at Changbin angrily, the older scowling, “came along. It’s not the alcohol you need to keep me away from, it’s you!” 

It felt as if everything paused in that moment. The music no longer vibrated in your chest,  you couldn’t hear the cars moving around outside as people joined and left the party. All you could hear was Jisung’s words echoing in your ears, and all you could see was every time you had taken him home from a party, every painkiller and glass of water you set out for him. You had wasted so much time on a boy who couldn’t give a shit about you, and for what? Were you even friends? There was a lot you wanted to say, but what was the point? He wouldn’t listen, he’d continue to yell at you for trying to tell him otherwise, trying to talk him into something he’s not. As tears glossed your eyes, you turned away from Jisung and rapidly made your way down the stairs. The two males remained in their spots, the regret settling in Jisung’s chest as the gap between the two of you extended. An even heavier weight tugged on his already cracked heart―as if it had dropped from his chest to his stomach. It was a stupid plan, one he hadn’t thought through in the slightest, and a small part of him hoped that would play in his favour. Everything he spat was a damn lie, everything he pretended to feel was a fabrication. Everything was an excuse to stop himself from being in love with his best friend―you knew him better than anyone else, you knew what he was like when he was drunk and yet it still worked. That overwhelming sensation that came over him when tears glazed your eyes, one that made him want to give up the stupid plan, tell you “hey, it was a stupid dare! I’m sober!” But he couldn’t put this stupidity on anyone else. He won’t have to see you again after causing you so much pain, right? Please God, let him be right. 

It was often in the inebriated moments of his life that Jisung worried about whether he was being too candid with what he was saying, consequently saying the wrong thing. And yet, in the most sober mindset in a while, he’d managed to find the perfect words to do exactly that. He couldn’t quelm the guilt in his chest―what a stupid fucking plan. 

Somehow, much to his horror, Jisung had managed to tangle himself in an even more intricate web of lies, starting as soon as he caved on his plan of ‘hating you’. Rather than allowing the distance to grow, watch you fizzle into an imperceptible face in the crowd as his heart finally unravelled from around you, his slim body had stood in front of your dorm to pretend he couldn’t remember anything. You believed him with hesitance, as far as he knew, and Jisung spent another night drinking his guilt away. The following week, Jisung started to embrace his unravelling life―it felt as if Yeah Right by Joji was constantly playing as he lived deceptively. His plans to get over you had gone from spouting absolute bull shit in your face to spouting absolute bull shit to someone else; namely, Gaeun. Truthfully, he knew nothing about her beyond her partying habits ― he met her at one of many parties, let her dance all over him as she stared at some other guy who was clearly uninterested, and agreed to have the title of her boyfriend. He had told himself it was under the guise of getting over you, pretending she was the true recipient of the immense love that bloomed for your taking. Though, he still wasn’t sure if he believed that. He didn’t like Gaeun―not in the way a boyfriend would, at least―but it was better than being alone. Jisung was getting sick of being alone, and, for once in his life, no drink could quelm the dissatisfaction of being quite distressingly destitute. 

When Jisung had told you of his relationship with Gaeun, you were taken aback. He talked about her with an admiration that you were almost unfamiliar with, one you would never expect to hear from Jisung. Especially considering he’d never mentioned her before, yet seemed to be so desperately infatuated. She shone like the sun, as far as he was concerned, the best thing since sliced bread. You knew of Gaeun―she was nice, that was it. There was an essence of certainty in your soul that she was a lovely person, but something about her and Jisung was just… off. It was a match that would seemingly make sense on paper ― two fun-loving, regular partygoers in a spontaneous and exuberant relationship ― but it was so wrong in person. It wasn’t something you’d been exposed to up close, just in passing and at the occasional get-together Somi had convinced you to attend on a mopey Friday night. There was that part of you that entirely denied the relationship altogether―it was a lie, just like everything else had been telling you recently, right? First he tells you he loves you, then he hates you, then he’s in a relationship with some unmentioned girl he’s been pining after for months? It was off. But people act bizarre when they’re drunk, don’t they? You weren’t so sure anymore. 

It wasn’t the break up that surprised you, it was Jisung’s reaction. He’d stumbled over to your place, alcohol wafting off his breath as he slurred something along the lines of “she’s left me, she’s joined them” before making his way into the living room. As far as you could coax from him, between the begs for him to stop drinking and dumping empty bottles in your lounge room, Gaeun had approached Jisung with a revenge plot. When all was said and done, when she had finally got what she wanted, she blurted the plan to Jisung with a promise that it was ‘nothing personal’. Gaeun never truly liked him, sure he was cute, but she just wanted someone to pay attention to her. Someone to fill that void her ex-boyfriend―that guy she always stared at while with Jisung, the one who never seemed interested―had left, before he fell victim to her plot and came back to her. Then everything would be back to normal, right? Jisung didn’t care about that, he was doing the same in a way. They were in ‘love’ for the wrong reasons, and he was almost certain Gaeun knew that when Jisung agreed to date her―he didn’t have to say it, but the way he radiated around you was almost obnoxiously clear. Maybe that’s why she chose him, she knew he wouldn’t take it personal. Jisung didn’t care about her reasoning, honestly, that wasn’t what had him downing alcohol to conceal his stress and sorrows. Instead, it was the crushing feeling he felt from the universe, the one that screamed “now you have to tell the truth” that was haunting him. It left him shit faced on your couch, vision blurring as tears welled up in his eyes. Somehow, despite everything he had done, Jisung knew the worst was yet to come. 

“She never loved me, did she?” he chuckled bitterly from his spot on the couch. Uncertain of how to respond, you stared at him pitifully. His soft brown eyes, glistening under the reflection of the flickering lamp rose to meet your own, “do you love me, Y/N?” 

“W-what?” 

Jisung stumbled to his feet. He had thought this was the right thing to do, to tell the truth, but instead it just made him feel even worse about deceiving you for so damn long, “have you ever loved me?” 

“Of course I do, Ji. You’re my best friend.” 

“I-I mean as more than that,” a thick silence clouded the air, “please,” he uttered in a broken voice. A sigh was caught in your throat as your lungs constricted; you felt a sense of déjà vu, everything was happening again―everything was going to end up as shitty as last time. 

“Jisung, you’re drunk, you’re not thinking straight.” 

Gosh, Jisung had never spoken with such anguish in his life, “when you’re drunk you think honestly.” 

“No you don’t!” you burst, startling the boy as a cluster of tears covered your eyes, “the last time you were drunk you told me to stay away from you, that I suffocated you. So what the fuck is it, Jisung?” The considerable silence hung heavily in the air, laying against your chest in a way that had you almost struggling to breathe, gasping for breath as you attempted to hold onto some grip of reality. You sniffled gently, “I can’t keep running in circles with you. I can’t keep doing this.” 

The two of you had argued before, you’d been friends for a notable period after all, but it had never left you this way. Neither of you had ever been stunned into silence by the stinging reality of the other’s words, nor had you pleaded for the other’s understanding with a sense of almost embarrassing desperation. But your minor squabbles and bickering never had earth-shattering revelations; there were never any consequences until now. That was the difference. 

“I love you, Y/N. You know that, don’t you?” he blubbered, almost pleading that you confirm his beliefs. 

“No,” it came out softly, uttered with hesitance, “I don’t.” 

There was more you needed to say, more about the unrelenting love you had held for such a long time, but you no longer knew how to word it. It felt as if none of it even mattered anymore, as if you waited until you were an adult to fix a toy you had broken as a child―what was the point? 

“I love you, Jisung,” there was something in his eyes that changed, almost lit up at the revelation that you truly did feel the same. Yet, at the same time, it seemed as if something shifted in his head. It felt as if he knew there was no salvaging this relationship, he had tugged you beyond the brink of extinction. You struggled to keep looking in his eyes―that look, that bright and almost hopeful look, god it killed you, “but I can’t be with you if you can’t let yourself feel the same.” 

If Han Jisung was still pursuing the plan to push you away, he had succeeded. No, he certainly wasn’t over you―truthfully, he never thought he could be―but you had faded significantly. You were a slightly blurred face in some of his best memories, the hesitant suppression of a smile if eyes ever met. You were no longer the one he was in love with, his best friend, the person to take care of him when he was drunk―and Changbin still refused to uphold that position. Instead, you were a has-been. Once, you were his best friend. Once, you were constantly left to take care of him in his inebriated state. Once―no, still―you were the one he fell tempestuously in love with. Now, you faded from him as if you were a reverse polaroid picture. That defectless, perfect image of you by his side with a smile of genuine happiness, radiating with the potential to bloom into something even more beautiful. Even so, the contingency withered. It crumbled at his fingertips, slipping from his grasps as he continued to spiral deeper into his feelings. 

When he thought of love prior to his experience, Jisung believed it was something almost indescribable―that belief he continues to maintain―and the heartbreak that often followed was just as puzzling. Questions of what went wrong, what should have been said sooner, why did it end up this way―he didn’t question it one bit. He knew the answers, they lied in his questionable and remorseful actions, the ones he regretted as soon as he formulated a plan to execute them. He was confident he could minimise it to less words than necessary, exclude the pivotal details and self-judgement of every time he overtly fucked up―he knew exactly what went wrong. By the time he felt compelled to re-offer the truth, he had so inexplicably failed to acknowledge the consequences. 

As he brought the glass bottle to his lips, the male graciously allowed the alcohol to burn his throat, as if it would override his emotional pain he felt from the aftermath of his bitter-tasting decisions. Han Jisung was just too late. 

[definitely-not-gremlins]

hi for that ask thing ,, 1. critical role / 2. shadowgast / 3. caleb & essek respectively

Hell you’re just going right for the jugular. 

001 | Critical Role:

Favorite character: Caleb Widogast but all of the M9 are absolute wonderful, vital and irreplaceable and I would murder for all of them. From c1 it would be Percy but again the whole dynamics in-between characters  in both the M9 and VM are what really makes the show great.

Least Favorite character: I want to say Trent Ikithon because I mean. Duh. But I find him interesting and I want to know what his angle is on several things. I have a seething hatred for Ripley, though.

5 Favorite ships (no order):

Shadowgast 

Widomauk

Beauyasha

Percahlia 

Scanlan/Pike (i dont know their ship name and im too lazy to look)

Character I find most attractive: Beau, Caleb, Percy

Character I would marry: hhhhh idk

Character I would be best friends with: Frumpkin. 

a random thought: I will never get over how cute Pike & Grogs friendship was it always makes me smile.

An unpopular opinion: Discourse! You can’t really compare Caleb’s & Essek’s guilt with the info we have. Or you can but not draw a definite conclusion.

My Canon OTP: Percahlia

My Non-canon OTP: I guess Shadowgast but like I’m cool if it never becomes canon and stuff.

Most Badass Character: All of them have moments of badassery so I don’t wanna pick one.

Most Epic Villain: The Briarwoods. 

Pairing I am not a fan of: Hhhh I dunno.

Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): None. Helps that for each main character there’s someone responsible just for them. :D Though Molly got really screwed over tbf. Haha.

Favourite Friendship: NO I CAN’T PICK JUST ONE AND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME. 

Character I most identify with: Oof. I don’t really know, to be honest. 

Character I wish I could be: None of ‘em have you looked at their backstories? 

002 | Shadowgast:

When I started shipping them: Episode 91. YEAH I HELD OUT LONG.

My thoughts: Though I see the probability for them becoming canon to be very low as of right now, I’m very curious to see where it will go. Even as a platonic relationship their dynamic is just super fucking interesting and I can’t wait to see what happens with it. Just kinda hope they don’t kill Essek off before it can go anywhere.

What makes me happy about them: The whole ‘kindred spirits’, common ground vibe

What makes me sad about them: Aside from the canon problems, I always get sad when I remember their different lifespans. I know that with consecution and Transmogrification there are ways to make it better but still.

Things done in fanfic that annoys me: Those are all more Caleb-specific than ship specific. I can’t think of any specifically for this ship though there’s probably some.

Things I look for in fanfic: Oh I’m not that picky, I think. And it changes with the time of day. I just like seeing interpretations of them in general. Oh wait I forgot. Angst. So much Angst. 

My wishlist: For the M9 to find a way to deal with Essek that doesn’t end up in his death.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Essek I would find absolutely weird with anyone else to be quite honest. As for Caleb, as long as it grows organically I’m fine with most anyone. Yes, Jester, too.

My happily ever after for them: Essek resigns and leaves his Den and the Dynasty. When the Nein are done adventuring and Caleb survived all of this they settle down somewhere and do research forever and put their joint names on many a spell. Caleb becomes a teacher. Essek can be one too. I haven’t given this a lot of thought but their Happily Ever After is SOFT okay.

003 | Caleb:

How I feel about this character: I love him, find him interesting and love to see his journey and his backstory.

Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: Primarily Essek, recently also Molly (sads) and a little bit of Jester

My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: Here’s the thing. Caleb has great platonic relationships with everyone in the M9 and with Essek. So. Hm. Maybe Empire Kids.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I really don’t like it in fanfic when people retcon his backstory relationship to have been with Eodwulf instead of Astrid for absolutely no reason.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: That Jester-Insight Check, man. That should have FAILED. Other than that I really can’t wait for more brushes of him with Trent in some way.

Favorite friendship for this character: See above for ‘non-romantic relationship’

My crossover ship: Not a fan of crossovers.

003 | Essek:

How I feel about this character: Love him even just as a fascinating character. Hope he will see that he did a bad and try to do good but he really needs to not be indifferent to the consequences of his actions. We’ll see!

Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: Caleb. 

My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: ... Caleb. And the M9 as a unit.

My unpopular opinion about this character: See above in 001 “Unpopular opinion” i think it counts.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish Beau hadn’t tagged along to walk him home. No hate on her it was top tier sibling energy but still. In the future, hope he keeps his head on his shoulders for a while.

Favorite friendship for this character: See above for ‘non-romantic relationship’

My crossover ship: Not a fan of crossovers.²

THANKS FOR THE ASK SORRY THIS GOT SO LONG.

[our-smooty]

Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 6

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags:  Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

My Ko-Fi

They ended up calling Anathema. She took it pretty well, and Crowley had the suspicion that she’d expected it in that weird witchy way of hers. She instructed Aziraphale to get Crowley into bed with some crackers and water, and for him to nibble on those until he was feeling better. Crowley complained that he almost never ate anything, being an immortal demon, but decided to try it out anyway, if only because being sick was a new and frankly frightening experience he wanted to be over and done with as soon as possible. And to his chagrin, I actually did help. 

Aziraphale hovered around anxiously, asking over and over again if there was anything Crowley needed, and fluffing the pillows, and fussing with the comforters. Crowley let him do it because who didn’t like to be pampered once and a while? Charlotte and Annabella had crawled into bed too with a few of their dolls and were currently reenacting the scene from the kitchen in great detail. It was honestly so domestic he wanted to throw up all over again, or maybe that was just the morning sickness coming back. 

“Comfortable?” Aziraphale asked, once again re-fluffing the pillow behind Crowley’s back. “Do you need anything else. More water? Tea? A different type of crackers? I can go down to the shop and--”

Crowley leaned over--carefully so he wouldn’t upset the delicate balance in his stomach--and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. “I’m alright, but I’d be better if you joined us.” He gave Azirpahale a crooked, slightly fragile smile. To tell the truth, he was feeling pretty overwhelmed and more than a little nervous, having all this come crashing down when they were supposed to be enjoying a fun day at the park. Crowley glanced over at the girls playing at the foot of the bed. He needed to keep it together for them if nothing else. 

“Oh well if you insist.”Aziraphale sat on the edge of the bed, then folded himself carefully into the space between Crowley and the kids. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

Crowley shrugged. “Happens to humans all the time when they’re expecting, you heard Anathema. Guess I’ll have to get used to it.” He was trying not to think about it too hard. They’d been going at it like rabbits for the past month with the express purpose of this but now that it was happening Crowley was honestly freaking out a little bit. “You know, I think I did something to my back while I was hunched over that sink, you think you could…?”

“Of course my dear. Scoot up a bit then.” Crowley did, and Aziraphale began the massage. He hadn’t actually done anything to his back, but he knew his angel needed something to do with his hands and this sounded like the most mutually beneficial activity they could get up to with the poppets around. And Crowley had gone nearly 6000 years with minimal contact from well... anyone so this wasn’t exactly a hardship. Not the exciting day out at the park he’d planned but also not the worst day (though he’d live through the apocalypse and thinking Aziraphale was dead so his standards might have been warped).

“That’s nice angel, maybe a little further down, near the wings? Ah, yeah,” Crowley moaned happily, twitching said appendages in the not-quite-there space they resided in. “I always forget how good you are at this.”

“Wings?” Lottie asked, consequently losing interest in her doll and crawling over the bedspread to sit in Crowley’s lap. “You have wings Uncle Crowley?”

“Uhh.” They hadn’t exactly hidden the fact they were supernatural in front of the girls. Normally there would have been concerns about them telling other humans about them, but they were children who often said strange things. The few times Bella had said something of that sort to another human they usually wrote it off as the excited ramblings of a three-year-old. And Lottie was getting to the age where she was beginning to catch on that her uncles were a bit different and actually enjoyed keeping the secret. But neither being had shown the girls their more… ethereal bits so far because honestly how do you explain giant wings to humans who were only just out of babyhood? 

“Does Uncle Azi have wings?” Bella asked, stealing her sister’s doll and hiding it under a nearby pillow for later use. “Show me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. It would get rather crowded in here,” Aziraphale explained while simultaneously turning Crowley into a pile of mush with firm circular motions to the base of his spine. 

“Aw Hell angel, it can’t hurt to show them,” he said, smiling down at Lottie. Aziraphale sighed but Crowley knew he’d won; the angel was just as weak as he was when it came to the requests of their goddaughters. 

“Language, dear,” he chided before letting his own wings out with a woosh. Crowley followed, careful not to knock Aziraphale off the bed. The room was filled with the distinctly dusty-magic smell of wings brought into the physical plane and both Lottie and Bella gasped. 

“Magic!” Annabella cried, forgetting her dolls and scampering over to grab a fistful of Crowley’s feathers. He winced and pulled back reflexively, which made her little face fall. Slowly Aziraphale took her hand in his and placed it gently on the demon’s wing, showing her how to be gentle. 

“Carefully, like that dearest. Like petting a puppy.” Bella nodded, using the utmost care while playing with his primaries. Lottie joined in as well, enjoying picking through the layers and finding the tiny, downy feathers hidden beneath. Crowley couldn’t hold back a tiny laugh as their hands tickled and prodded.

“Oh sure angel, keep yours out of the way while they muss up mine,” he joked, spreading his wings out more so the girls could see the iridescence of the secondaries and tertiaries. Aziraphale went back to massaging, really getting into the muscles where his wings met his back. 

“I’ll sort them for you later if you want. Besides, I think we’re both overdue for a little preening as it is,” Aziraphale chuckled, grabbing one of his own tertiary feathers that had fallen onto the bedspread and handing it to Lottie. “We’re both moulting all over the place.”

“Are you a bird?” Lottie asked, spinning the snow-white feather in her fingers. 

“Daddy says birds are for watching and not for scaring,” Bella added sheepishly, tossing some of the loose down into the air. 

“Well for once your dad is right, what a shocker,” Crowley drawled, earning a light pinch from Aziraphale. 

“Be nice to Newton Crowley. He’s a lovely young man, if you’d made the effort to get to know him.” Crowley rolled his eyes again but didn’t reply. He honestly didn’t mind Newt and Anathema. They were alright, as far as humans went, and he’d probably miss them when their short lifespans came to an end. But that wasn’t something he liked to think about too often--or when he was sober--so he made the executive decision to change the subject. 

“Are we still going to the park?” The girls both looked up hopefully. Not even the magical reality of wings could compare to the thrill of their local children's park (the one that had been put in suspiciously close to when Charlotte had been born. Crowley had the suspicion Aziraphale had had more than a little bit to do with it). 

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, love,” Aziraphale answered. Crowley groaned and tossed his hair back dramatically. “Oh don’t be like that you were literally passed out in our kitchen not two hours ago.”

‘I’m fine now,” he pouted. Was this how the entire 9 (or however many months demon/angel babies needed to gestate), was going to be? Aziraphale being overprotective and Crowley forced to lay in bed doing nothing? “I don’t feel sick anymore and I ate all the crackers.”

“Please Uncle Azi?” Bella begged, turning her big, dark eyes on the angel and pulling off a pout so manipulative it made Crowley proud. He’d seen Anathema use the exact same look on Newt when she wanted a refill of her drink at the baby shower. 

Aziraphale’s resolve lasted all of three seconds before he nodded and withdrew his wings. “Fine. But only for an hour and only if Uncle Crowley agrees to spend most of the time sitting.”

The girls cheered, accidentally tugging at Crowley’s wings in the process. He discreetly disappeared them back into their pocket dimension and made a mental not to give them a once over that night. Monthly wing groomings were one of his favourite part of moving in together. Back before the Apocalypse Crowley had sometimes gone decades without a proper groom because demons did not--in any capacity--groom each other. Only when he’d seen Aziraphale and they’d been in the position to act friendly had he gotten a good groom in, and he cherished many of those memories. 

“I promise to take it easy angel.” He leaned back and rested his head on Aziraphale’s chest. “Girls why don’t you go get dressed while we get ready?”

Charlotte and Annabella ran off, though not before collecting the majority of the loose feathers from the blankets. Crowley watched them go with a smile before rolling over and spreading himself over his Aziraphale’s chest and shoulder. “Mmm, thanks for the back rub, angel. Really hit the spot.”

“It’s the least I can do, dear boy,” Aziraphale answered, pressing kisses to the demon’s forehead and cheeks. “You’re very cuddly, aren’t you?”

Normally Crowley would deny that fact until he was blue in the face, but right now in the bed, the sound of their goddaughters making a complete mess of their bedroom vibrating through the walls, he felt content. “Feels nice. Kinda surreal but, nice.”

“Nice is a four-letter word starlight,” Aziraphale pointed out, planting one final kiss on Crowley’s lips. “Are you sue you’re feeling alright?”

“Shut up and get me my shoes,” Crowley laughed, kissing back with fervour. “Give a demon a break I’m carrying some sort of Angelic parasite inside me and it’s turning me soft.” There it was easier to talk about if he made it into a joke. Baby steps. 

“Don’t call our child a parasite,” Aziraphale admonished with a gasp. “I suppose it’s too early to pick names, but what about a nickname?” The angel began mumbling to himself as he got ready, purposefully not going near Crowley’s shoes. 

“Ngk,” Crowley choked, blushing scarlet. “Too early, y-yeah.”

Aziraphale smiled slyly. He was enjoying this, the bastard. ‘We’ll have to think about it, won’t we? Well, get a move on dearest, the girls won’t wait forever. Do you need a hand?”

“No,” Crowley growled in what he hoped was a menacing way. Not that it worked on Aziraphale. Crowley watched him practically flounce from the room, entirely too pleased with himself. He never had handed Crowley his shoes.

After changing out of his comfortable clothes and into something more appropriately suited for playing in the park, his third skinniest pair of jeans, shiny leather shoes, and a spiffy blazer covering a deep purple t-shirt, Crowley stomped down the stairs to wait in the entry, completely ignoring the commotion from upstairs. 

“No, Annabella you may not go out in your underthings--and Charlotte what did I say about those scarves? One is plenty--! Oh bugg-blast! Don’t pull your sister’s hair!” It sounded like the girls were giving Aziraphale a run for his money. Crowley considered going back up to give him a hand, but the effort of getting dressed and down the stairs had left him a little lightheaded, so he decided to stay put. If he fainted again Aziraphale would make a big deal and probably refuse to let him leave the house for the next nine months. There was only so much he could do around the cottage grounds and he didn’t want to go completely mad. 

Upstairs things seemed to be calming down anyway. Crowley smiled as he heard one of the girls giggling, then Azirpahale’s answering chuckle. Somebody, he loved that man so much it almost made him want to be sick again, but in a good way. Feelings were confusing. Even 6000 years of experience didn’t give him any advantages. Or maybe Crowley was just a mess; that was also a distinct possibility.

“All good angel?” he asked as Aziraphale descended the steps, Bella on his hip and Lottie trailing behind him. The angel looked frazzled, but fond.

“We got there in the end, didn’t we girls?” he answered, jostling Bella and making her laugh. 

With both of them there it wasn’t as much of a struggle to get everyone’s shoes on and out the door. Crowley took Charlotte’s hand while Aziraphale walked with Bella. The park was only a few minutes walk and once they arrived both girls sped off ahead to clamber over the equipment.

“No monkey bars! Can’t have you nearly busting your heads open again!” Crowley called after them, locating a bench and sitting heavily. OK, so maybe he should have stayed in bed a little longer. His gaze shifted over to Aziraphale as the angel took a seat beside him and debated saying something.

“I have to say I’m glad we decided to come out after all. Best to enjoy these last few days of summer.” Nevermind then. Crowley wasn't going to make a fuss about nothing if the angel was enjoying himself. 

“Before everything turns all grey and slushy you mean?” Crowley hated winter. He wasn’t cold-blooded per-say, but he did usually run at a few degrees colder than most. Which made the winter particularly unpleasant. 

“We aren’t in London anymore Crowley, you know the winters here are beautiful,” Aziraphale remarked, procuring breadcrumbs from one of his pockets and scattering them for the birds. This area hadn’t had many pidgeons before they moved in, but because Aziraphale expected parks to have birds to feed (and there was no body of water large enough for ducks) there were now several groups of birds who visited daily. 

“Freezing. Wet. Full of unbearable holiday cheer. Sounds lovely,” Crowley drawled, conjuring up his own, larger chunks of bread to huck at the birds. 

“I know Christmas really isn’t your thing darling. Oh!” Aziraphale wiggled slightly. He brushed the crumbs from his hand and began running his fingers over his lips in excitement. “Next year, we’ll have a little one to celebrate with. Won’t that be exciting?”

Crowley grimaced to hide the strange way his face wanted to crumple up. “Guess so. You’re not going to make me do the whole “Santa” thing with them are you?” Crowley would never, ever admit it out loud, but the idea was… not terrible? He liked to give Aziraphale presents at Christmas, but that was because giving his angel gifts was practically ingrained in him now. And Christmas gave Crowley the excuse to go all-out more often than not. Would it be the same with the kid; would he want to dote on them as much as he did on Aziraphale? Maybe more?

“But that’s half the fun!”

“Sure, sure. Telling kids a great big man in a sweaty red suit breaks into the house and leaves them things is all well and good angel--quite demonic really--but what about what you have to tell them he’s not real?” He’d been saved that ordeal by Warlock’s parents, or more specifically his mother, who decided that six was a perfectly acceptable age to rid her child of that sort or silliness. She hadn’t intended to be mean, but Crowley had still spent the entire night with an armful of sobbing little boy.

“Hm, I guess that is a little bit of a problem. But that’s years away and humans seem to grow up fine believing in him,” Aziraphale countered, letting his fingers travel up to twirl around one of his curls. A few feet away Lottie and Bella had started making flower crowns. “Girls, what do you think about Santa Clause?”

Lottie barely looked up. “Santa Claus is a tool used by the capitalist government to force people into participating in the endless cycle of purchase and debt,” she answered automatically. “Daddy says not to tell other kids though.”

Crowley burst out laughing, knee-slapping and all. “Oh, that has Book Girl written all over it. And your face, angle!”

Aziraphale sputtered indignantly for a bit before sighing and giving a small smile. “I guess that’s one way to deal with it. Though Saint Nicholas himself wasn’t too bad. Had ale with him a few times in Greece.”

Within a few seconds Crowley had gathered himself enough to sit back up, now leaning heavily towards Aziraphale in companionable closeness. “Sure sure. Of course, you’ve shared drinks with literal Santa Claus.”

“Charlotte stop putting grass in your sister's hair please!” Aziraphale scolded, making like he was going to get up if she didn’t stop. Of course, she listened immediately, knowing that any further misbehaviour would mean the end of their park trip, but Crowley also saw her steal a few flowers from Bella’s pile during the distraction. He’d have to keep an eye on her at this rate. “That’s the sort of thing we’ll need to decide on, isn’t it. To tell them about Santa, or what to do about school bullies…”

Crowley groaned. “Do we have to talk about this now? For somebody's sake I’ve barely been...you know… for six weeks going by what Anathema said. Can’t we talk about all that later?” Not to mention he’d only known for a few hours and was still adjusting to that particular piece of information. 

Every once and a while since this morning Crowley found himself resting his hand on his stomach, subconsciously looking for a bump that wouldn’t be there for weeks, if not months. The idea that there was actually something growing inside him was as weird as it was exciting and for once, Aziraphale was the one moving too fast. Crowley needed time to process all of this but between the angel and the girls, he didn’t think he was going to get much.

“We can stop, if you like. But I do hope you’re up to having this discussion soon. I have to admit, I’m very excited, if a little nervy about the whole business.” Nervy was one way of putting what Crowley was feeling. A right state, too. He just wanted some peace and quiet on this nice park bench while he sorted through some stuff, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to ask for that without sounding like a massive arsehole.

“Nervy, yeah. We can talk about it in a bit?” There that wasn’t too bad right? About as non-committal and non-confrontational as possible. And if it was really a problem and Aziraphale needed to talk well then Crowley would just have to deal with it somehow because there was no way he giving Aziraphale a reason to be cross with him and force himself to go through this alone. “The little monsters will be gone in what, 2 weeks, 3 tops? We can talk then.”

Aziraphale looked like he was going to complain, but stopped himself. He met Crowley’s eyes through the lenses of his sunglasses and Crowley must have been giving off enough signals of stress that the angel picked up on them. “I’ve been pushing again, haven’t I?”

“A bit,” Crowley said with the best casual affect he could muster while simultaneously thanking Someone that Aziraphale remembered from their last argument that he could be a bit pushy when he got excited. And that Crowley was not his usual cool, “water off a duck’s back” self when it came to this issue. 

“Sorry again love. I got a little carried away, what with just finding out and then you getting sick it’s been a rather big day.” Crowley’s head bobbed in sympathy then ducked towards Aziraphale again. This time he went all the way past casual leaning to resting his head on the angel’s shoulder. Luckily, his smell was either being blown away by the wind, or whatever sort of episode Crowley had been experiencing was finished. Which was good because he really, really wanted to sneak a cuddle in. 

“S’OK, I should’ve said something.”

Aziraphale hummed against Crowley’s hair. “At least this discussion didn’t end in you leaving in a huff.”

“Or you running off to get lost in your books.” Lottie had wandered away from Bella towards the swings, though Crowley was sure she wouldn’t be alone for long. She was too social for that, not to mention her sister was a bit of a clinger. 

“That too. How are you feeling now? Not too hot out for you is it?” Crowley resisted the urge to roll his eyes, all too aware that they had only just avoided another fight.

“Stop your fussing, I’m fine. Told you how many times now?” It was mostly the truth. Since the slight dizzy spell after the stairs he’d been feeling fine. He knew enough about human pregnancy to know that morning sickness was a common enough thing. The angel was making a huge deal out of nothing. 

Aziraphale tutted, but still squeezed Crowley around the shoulders where his arm lay. “Yes, yes, I know. You cannot fault me for worrying, I love you so.”

“Ngk,” Crowley answered, watching as Lottie helped her little sister, who had, in fact, followed her promptly, onto a swing. “Love you too, even when you bother me.”

They spent the rest of the early afternoon in the park. Eventually Crowley got up to help Lottie try out the monkey bars safely while Aziraphale took Bella home for a nap. Or for “storytime”, since telling a three-year-old to take a nap was just about the worst thing you could do. Crowley had agreed they wouldn’t stay longer than half-an-hour and that he would call the second he felt off. But nausea didn’t come back, and Charlotte managed to get half-way across by herself without Crowley having to intervene and everything was good.

[shinneth]

Gem Ascension Tropes (Peridot-specific: D - E)

Reference:

Primary Peri Post ▼ Primary General Post ▼ Full Article

Dark and Troubled Past: GA gives Peridot quite the backstory in both aspects. Her living conditions were awful, but Peridot herself was morally corrupt, cunning, and ambitious. The way Homeworld society operates only enabled Peridot to become a sociopathic Manipulative Bastard, but her fateful first meeting with Jasper Broke the Haughty in a wide variety of ways. That made her more of a Jerkass Woobie, and thankfully it wasn’t long before she was captured by the Crystal Gems and Took a Level in Kindness. Still, Peridot repressed the majority of her Homeworld memories to cope after her Heel-Face Turn and was forced to remember them upon returning to Homeworld to rescue her friends. The amount of guilt weighing down on Peridot after this is immense, and even though Steven taught Peridot how to forgive herself by the end of GA, Peridot’s still going to have to be constantly reminded of her past transgressions by the refugees she’s tasked with acclimating to Earth.

Deadpan Snarker: Very much so, per canon. Especially with Lapis, and it’s actually fully justified since the two aren’t afforded time in the story to truly talk about the terrible way Lapis treated her and her friends (outside of the Video Will she made for Lapis). Up to Eleven in Act III with White Diamond, taking advantage of being a valuable Hostage MacGuffin to Trash Talk her literally any chance she gets.

Death is a Sad Thing: Peridot never had to suffer the loss of a loved one until Pumpkin succumbed to her mortal wounds in Chapter 8 of Act III. Once that happens… Peridot’s sorrow nearly kills an entire planet.

Death Wail: She does not take it well when Pumpkin dies right before her eyes. Induces Brown Note levels of damage across what’s left of Homeworld.

Defiant Captive: Very much this while she is White Diamond’s prisoner during the early chapters of Act III. Deliberately invoked as Peridot’s Genre-Savvy enough to understand her value as a Hostage MacGuffin makes her (relatively) untouchable and doesn’t hesitate to disrespect White Diamond in ways no other gem could.

Delirious Misidentification: When even the (illusionary) threat of Peridot’s own limbs being severed to keep a blade from slicing her neck isn’t enough to make the Determinator give in to White Diamond, the latter responds by conjuring a very convincing hologram of Steven who even sounds exactly like the real deal. After nearly a week of this torture she had to endure alone, Peridot is fooled into thinking Steven actually came to save her… and sparing even one second to look in his direction allowed White Diamond to finally overpower her and force Peridot into submission.

Derailed Train of Thought: Peridot is prone to this a lot. The early chapters of Act I especially show Peridot falling into this when she’s trying to lead her team. This trope is how she ends up confessing her love for Steven in every single Video Will she makes to her friends. Peridot herself acknowledges this flaw of hers, but it’s a very hard habit for her to break.

Desperately Craves Affection: Praise, more specifically. Affection is also wanted, but Peridot’s been addicted to receiving praise even since her days as a Jerkass Homeworld gem. In Peridot’s Video Will to Pearl, she acknowledges this and wonders if this was something ingrained into her very being as a worker gem at the bottom of the caste system. With no hope of upward movement for the Peridot kind and often overlooked and underappreciated (and largely disrespected by every gem above them), the best they can ever hope for is being praised for doing their job well.

Determinator: The defining aspect of Peridot’s character in GA; turned Up to Eleven in Act III.

Devoted to You: It cannot be overstated how Steven means everything to Peridot. She will do and say things she’d normally never go through with for this boy if she must. She’s so devoted, Peridot inadvertently makes sure everyone knows Steven means everything to her via her Video Wills in Act II.

Digging Yourself Deeper: Once Peridot’s propensity for running her mouth lands her in hot water, or she says something out loud she didn’t mean for anyone to actually hear, she’s under some delusion that going out of her way to make elaborate excuses or justifications will fix everything… and it never does. It always leads to this. Steven himself tells 5XF in This is Who I Am Chapter 2 that this is just a fatal flaw of Peridot’s she inexplicably can’t overcome.

Disability-Negating Superpower: Ascending to a hybrid Diamond whose power is charged by sheer will enables Peridot to bypass most limitations she had as an Era 2 gem, though there is a cap on her potential when using said powers in her Peridot form. This makes her the only Era 2 gem who can shapeshift.

Disorganized Outline Speech: While Peridot tries to make it out like she was kidding, she struggled with this trope while trying to find a way how to do her introduction for her Video Will to Amethyst in Chapter 3 of Act II.

Double Consciousness: A genuine and understandable concern of Peridot’s when she ascends and gains a Superpowered Alter Ego in Chartreuse Diamond. Although there hasn’t been much room for distinction between the two, Peridot knows in her heart there are at least a few exclusive factors to their natures. And she will need to make use of her Chartreuse alias in the Post-GA era, so while Peridot did learn to accept that Chartreuse is legitimately just another part of her, she’s a long way from embracing her Diamond persona and is wary about staying in that form for long.

Draw Aggro: Proposed by Peridot when an alligator ambush occurs in Chapter 2 of This is Who I Am, but ultimately averted as 5XF is quick to question this strategy, which results in the two bickering in a corner until Steven comes in to save the day.

The Dreaded: Was notoriously this to her fellow Peridots before her promotion and assignment to monitor Earth. The combination of her ambition, stoic and sociopathic nature, and overall being a cunning Manipulative Bastard made her fellow kind either avoid her out of fear or revere her in hopes of sharing in her success… though that never happened. Peridot saw all of her coworkers as expendable pawns, and if she was ever cordial with them, it was always an act that played into a greater scheme down the road that would only benefit her in the end. The few Peridots who were bold enough to attempt to get 5XG in trouble always met a gruesome end after failing to prove her of any wrongdoing. 3UI learned that the hard way, and Peridot gave the rest of her coworkers a speech that pretty much underlines why exactly she embodied this trope for most of her short lifespan, punctuated with crushing up 3UI’s remains for all to see.

Peridot: “I know this hasn’t been the first time I made an example out of an envious Peridot, but let this be a refresher course to remind everyone what will become of you if you even entertain the notion of snitching on me. Mind your own business, and you’ll live a long, fulfilling life for our Diamond…”

Dressing as the Enemy: Downplayed; Peridot obtains a new set of limb enhancers in Chapter 4 of Act I. While she can traverse Homeworld without them, it does draw a little attention (as Era 2 Peridots are very seldom seen without them), and they’re required for Peridot to “report to work” at her old station. In order to get the Skeleton Key she’s aiming for to optimize navigation of Homeworld to find her captured friends, Peridot needs to find a way to get close to Yellow Pearl; this scenario is the only way she can pull it off.

Earn Your Happy Ending: Hard to argue this. Peridot did work herself nearly to death to coordinate the rescue mission, only to get tortured for six consecutive days after being the only one to get left behind, then having her own identity compromised along with the shock of learning about being an Unwitting Test Subject, having to live with Chartreuse Diamond as her Alter Ego for the rest of her life, being forced to fight her friends… Then after a brief reprieve when she rejoins her friends, carries heavy angst over not being able to fuse with Steven, which ends up being what makes her vulnerable and receptive to a forced fusion with White Diamond, is helplessly trapped within Celadon Diamond and is only able to break free when Pumpkin is killed, which causes Peridot to have the ultimate Heroic BSoD that doubles as an Angst Nuke on an already-crumbling planet. Only after all that does life finally work in Peridot’s favor. She is not kidding when she says she needs a lengthy vacation at the end of GA. Thankfully, she’s granted one in Plans Change.

Egocentric Team Naming: In Chapter 6 of Act II, Peridot refers to GA’s initial team of herself, Lapis, Bismuth, and Greg as the “Peridot Patrol”; most likely in jest as she hasn’t referred to her division as such ever since. However, given Peridot’s circumstances by Act II, her teammates quickly make it their official Squad Nickname, though they opt to shorten it to simply call themselves the “Peri Patrol”.

Emotional Maturity is Physical Maturity: Per canon with any gem, but Peridot undergoes an unusual case that is strikingly similar to Steven’s Plot-Relevant Age-Up despite that trope not being possible for a full gem. When she first resumes her natural form after ascending to become Chartreuse Diamond, Peridot appears to have a bit of a growth spurt. It’s not extreme, but noticeable in that she outgrows Amethyst and has a more pronounced hourglass figure. Post-GA stories (It’s a Birthday, Yes It Is, most notably) theorize this is a result of Peridot’s final inquiry prior to ascension, which was whether or not becoming a Diamond would give her a mature body so that she wouldn’t have the appearance of a scrawny brat anymore. Given the nature of Peridot’s power in particular, it’s safe to say she willed her Chartreuse Diamond form to have a much more mature and developed appearance and subconsciously willed her own base form to reflect this – but in a subtle manner that still made her recognizable. Another factor may be the Relationship Upgrade with Steven making Peridot even more self-conscious of her appearance.

The Engineer: The Support Engineer.

Erotic Dream: In Chapter 8 of Act II, Peridot (via her prerecorded Video Will) confesses to having this happen to her… in a dream with an otherwise innocuous setup where she and Steven are Happily Married with loads of kids, with Peridot herself as a stereotypical housewife; Steven’s portrayed as an average breadwinner of the family, but after revealing he doesn’t have work today, he seductively asks his wife if she wants to “make another one” before carrying her off to the bedroom.

Extra-ore-dinary: Her ferrokinesis, per canon. They’re later revealed to be merely a branch of her true potential that was awakened via a Despair Event Horizon (something similar happens to Steven in Chapter 4 of Act III), but even post-ascension, Peridot uses her metal powers more often than her vast array of new abilities… possibly with the exception of her utilizing Hammerspace and teleportation.

Extreme Doormat: A trope discovered in hindsight regarding how Peridot acted around Lapis when they were roommates during This is Who I Am Chapter 3, as it’s revealed Lapis (inadvertently) played a huge role in preserving some degree of Peridot’s sanity when they met. Her mere presence is why Peridot’s Near-Rape Experience with Jasper didn’t go any further than that. Since Peridot was already on the brink of completely breaking down and losing her identity from what Jasper already put her through, it’s safe to assume Peridot would have never become the gem she currently is had Lapis not repeatedly taken the bullet for her.