#or even if i should go the funny route and have him be a bard who casts spell and inspiration using puns

[teecupangel]

Just came to me even though I saw the D&D movie ages ago (along with a few re-watches) and- Ezio would either love or hate D&D bards so much. They're bards- something he hates; but they also have the spell Vicious Mockery which he really, really loves/wants. Killing his enemies by just trash-talking them? Might be the only redeemable thing about these newfangled magical bards.

Oh god, yes, Ezio would have complicated feelings for bards soooo much because he hates minstrels in canon.

But also: (me vibrating at finally being able to talk about my AC D&D ideas)

I have been thinking of how Desmond and his ancestors would play D&D and, really, when you think about it, these guys would be multiclassing different kinds of Rogues.

So my idea is:

Altaïr:

Main class: Rogue, focus on stealth, intimidation and loves sneak attacks.

Secondary class: either Soulknife or Artificer as a reference to the power of the Apple and his legacy of creating tools and devices beyond what should be available during his time. Go Soulknife route if you want him to be more on the side of hidden death, go artificer for more utility.

I did think of making him an Arcane Trickster but the spells of an Arcane Trickster are more about deceiving targets and Altaïr is less of a deceiver and more of a stealth-based assassin. (Unless you play him as more on the side of ‘fuck stealth, let’s chase our targets!’)

Ezio:

Since he wasn’t trained to be an Assassin since birth in canon, we can make a case of Ezio having a different main class with Rogue being his subclass. It would be funny if we make Bard his main class OR Ezio could be one of those d&d players who decide to multiclass… a lot of classes. It’s a risky move but definitely something teenage Ezio could do (ah, the hubris of a rich noble youth).

Hell, he could have decided to be a bard to get Cristina’s attention XD

I didn’t see Edgin’s stat block (because I don’t wanna sign up for D&D beyond) but my headcanon is Edgin leans heavily to Charisma and Ezio would be the same.

Definitely the party’s main healer XD

Ratonhnhaké:ton:

Main class: Druid for Wild Shape as reference to the DLC and his natural affinity to nature.

Possible Druid Circle choices: Circle of the Land would be the safest choice as it works well with Ratonhnhaké:ton’s connection to his land (Grasslands has Pass Without Trace which is super good for stealth checks) BUT Circle of the Moon focuses on Wild Shape combat which would make Ratonhnhaké:ton more formidable in any of his Wild Shape forms.

Secondary Class: Rogue (or maybe Ranger or Fighter? Barbarian is also possible but Fighter gets freaking Extra Attacks). But, as a Rogue, he focuses more on investigation. Definitely the "I look for traps" type of player.

He’s definitely their main attacker AND he can transform into a bear OR an owlbear.

Desmond:

For Desmond, it would be fun if he did start off as a Rogue as a reference to how he was raised on the Farm but immediately focused on his secondary class as soon as it was available.

Possible secondary class: Arcane Trickster with Warlock because of the whole ‘spells to deceive targets’ kinda vibes with his whole ‘deceiving everyone that I’m just a normal dude’. I picked Warlock because now he has to have a patron that will grant him magic and it could be an Isu (Minerva is the most common choice but… Juno is also there XD). He can also be an Oathbreaker Paladin multiclass I guess? It doesn’t really work all that well since Oathbreakers are usually seen as ‘evil’ for breaking their oath to their god but if Desmond’s god is Juno, he has all the reason to be an Oathbreaker.

If you want Desmond to be a DM, his character will be a high-level DMPC and more like Xenk who helps out the players for a brief period and pops in and out. Oh, oh, oh! His DMPC could be the tavern owner who works as kinda like a secretary to the party and keeps all the quest requests they get because they always return to his tavern after every adventure to drink and relax. The hint that he’s a high-leveled DMPC could be that an 18+ roll to persuade him to give them drinks for free did not work.

Possible DMs:

Of course, depending on who their DM (if it's not Desmond) would be, the restriction of certain spells could be lifted so, for example, Ratonhnhaké:ton could be a Circle of the Moon Druid but have been allowed to have ‘Pass without Trace’.

I honestly think Clay would be a good ‘I’ll allow it’ kind of DM who thrives in chaos and improvisation, letting them go off track.

Shaun would also be a flexible DM but he tends to railroad them when he’s excited because he thought of a good plot.

Rebecca feels more like she prefers to be a player than a DM tbh.

Lucy would be a rules-lawyer type of DM. Always asking if they have the ingredients they need for spells and such but doesn’t like to KO players.

Malik would also side with the rules more often than not but it’s more to keep his side organized and he let them get away with a lot of things if he thinks it’s particularly an interesting idea.

Leonardo would be the type of DM who would remember all the rules but only cherry-pick whichever rules he wants to implement. Might also be the type of DM to level them up by milestone instead of EXP.

It would be funny if Kadar is the one who has a habit of TPKO-ing not because he’s being mean but because he overestimates everyone’s characters (especially Altaïr’s)

Possible Races:

I really, really like the idea that they’re all Kenkus because the bird motif is right there! But instead of being corvids birds, they’re different kinds of eagles.

Maybe Ratonhnhaké:ton is half-Kenku instead with Haytham being a Kenku while Kaniehtí:io is another race (Wood Elf would be the most common chance but Eladrin or Owlin are also good choices imho). Of course, this would mean Half-Kenku would have to be homebrewed.

If you don’t want Kenku and don’t want them to be one of the more common races (humans, elves, etc), Aarakocra (birdfolk) would be good as well (which has a +2 on Dex is rogues need to excel in and can fly). Kenkus also have +2 on Dex too btw and they can't fly (it's part of their backstory, wishing they could fly again).

Altaïr can also be a Genasi as the whole ‘descendant of djinns’ background of a Genasi would be a reference to his birthplace in canon. Personality-wise, Altaïr would probably be a Fire Genasi, especially if his personality is based on the beginning parts of AC1.

Alright, for Desmond, if you don’t want him to be a Kenku, human might be a good idea as a jack-of-all-trades kind of thing (+1 to all). BUT if you want to lean into his connection to the Isus, Aasimar would be your best choice with Protector Aasimar having Radiant Soul at level 3 which will give Desmond wings (and glowing eyes) for 1 minute in combat. Or, if you want a reference to how Desmond burned, Scourge Aasimar’s Radiant Consumption is more or less a burst of divine energy that erupts from the Aasimar, with the description including “threaten to char you”. If you want to go down the “William Miles tried to make him a soldier” route, Desmond could be a ‘failed’ Warforged which would make him a bulky (and most probably the tank) rogue. Also… ‘absolutely normal NPC tavern owner’ turns out to be an Aasimar or a Warforged would be a funny plot twist.

Other Notes:

Edward is a swashbuckler rogue. Even if he's already a grandpa, he would definitely play with them.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's character's father could be based on his real father OR could be based on his father's own D&D character (if he plays)

Bill plays D&D too but Desmond absolutely does not invite him. Ever. His books and dice did come from Bill though.

Ezio has the most expensive dice. They’re super pretty.

Ratonhnhaké:ton prefers to buy dice made by small-time creators. Would definitely join Kickstarter projects for dice that look cool or are nature-themed.

Altaïr would probably have metallic dice.

They have a banned 20d. It ‘always’ gives nat 1 during critical times and give nat 20 for the most mundane insignificant rolls.

(whispers) if you like TTRPG, I made starting character sheets for a Blades in the Dark AU.

[love-fireflysong]

Ohh, can we hear about "Can I Roll for Marriage?"?

fic folder over here buckos!

Yes you certainly can! Because oh my god, the fact that this one has an actual fucking TITLE from the get go means I got plans for this one! Plans where no one* dies and their is absolutely no angst at all!

Okay, first off, despite the title being what it is, there is absolutely no marriage or engagement or anything happening in this fic. In fact, Chris and Ashley here are firmly in their 'head-over-heels-pining-so-fucking-hard-for-their-best-friend-that-they're-too-fucking-dense-to-see-that-the-other-is-just-as-in-love-with-them' phase of their life. It's awful and we (okay fine I) love it.

And, obviously, we all know that these dorks totally play some form of ttrpgs in their downtime like come on. They totally nerd out while playing D&D whenever they get the chance let's just admit it.

Which brings me to the next point, that Chris and Ashley have absolutely , 100% been using this campaign they've been playing in for months to blatantly flirt with the other player... I mean the other player's character. It's just been this whole thing and Josh wants to strangle them every time he brings it up but they just deflect by pointing out that its their characters that are flirting and not them omg.

And deciding to lean into it, it's the second last game of this campaign before the have to fight the big bad next session and Josh has the perfect spell he wants to apply. He would like to cast ceremony, specifically wedding, on their characters to give them a +2 bonus to their AC for the upcoming battle. The only caveat? He wants to hear some weddings vows from Chris and Ashley's characters. Vows of love and devotion that are starting to seem less aimed at the other's character and more at each other as they go on.

*except Taylor and Brad who are absolutely dying of second-hand embarrassment the whole time

[sparrow-stunned]

Sooner or later at this point platonic Zhongli is going to snap he already lost guizhong and now his beloved precious daughter is living in either a cave or ruins of mondstadt he's probably having a break down at mama guizhongs grave trying to see where he went wrong without her help raising their baby I wouldn't be surprised if he goes all mother gothel or story book dragon(but better because Zhongli) to try and keep his child "where they belong" because the poor old dragon doesn't won't to let his child leave the nest especially with Venti

He's probably talking to cloud retainer to like

Zhongli: my baby left the abode for some no good no money no home bard

Cloud retainer: one remembers when little ganyu left to the harbor and now one has shenhe who hasn't left there's still a chance my lord

Zhongli: you're right I can either dispose of that no good dirty bard that is barbatos or just keep my little one in liyue

Cloud retainer: I mean sure my lord but shenhe just stays in order to not start a massacre and I want her to at least leave from time to time

Ooh now we're getting into less funny overprotective dad and more scary territory with a snapped zhongli. (I’m not gonna go the very very dark route because that’s a little too close to not funny things, so.) but yes, every time he looks at venti, it’s just… guizhong died for this?? piece of shit???? to touch my child????

i can just imagine zhongli standing in guili plains or sitting on that stone table near cloud retainer’s abode, eyes distant as he reminiscences over the past. Something something osmanthus wine, but then he gets so angry thinking about the marriage/little dragon leaving the nest that he just. crushes a cup into splinters accidentally without even realizing, until cloud retainer scolds him it.

for zhongli, I think it’d be hard to look at his child and realize, oh. they're not a child anymore. he doesn’t have to act so paternal all the time. I mean, if we look at canon, he only just recently gave up his role as geo archon. the man has a problem with letting things go.

but before he realizes—if he does, it’ll take decades, if not centuries—I think he would definitely try some “let’s isolate my little one… they’re just not thinking straight. some time out, and they would realize what an awful decision it would be to leave liyue.” while I think he usually wouldn’t be this, em, severe—he’s pretty levelheaded, being god of contracts and all—he doesn’t realize that he’s kind of latching onto darling as some kind of tie to the past. It’s always the nostalgia that gets you.

as for venti, I think zhongli genuinely does trust venti—but not with his child. zhongli barely trusts himself with them, how can he just let his little one wander into what he considers to be a lawless land (when compared to liyue’s legal code).

I love, love that conversation between cloud retainer and zhongli. really lets you see the difference in their thinking— adaptable vs rigidness. for all of cloud retainer’s haughtiness, she’s actually pretty lenient with her wards. she’s considerate about what’s the best for them, whereas zhongli is just all, ‘how can i return to what our relationship was like in the past?’

can you just imagine zhongli writing in a little book of all the ways to… put venti out of action, to put it politely.

zhongli: okay, so let’s start brainstorming some ideas. i think it’d be pretty hard even for the anemo archon to escape being crushed by a million spears. or we can keep him from seeing my little one by making sure they never leave liyue.

cloud retainer: that’s a bit… too forward thinking.

zhongli: okay you’re right, instead of a million spears, let’s say a thousand. that should be a good number to start with. we can always add more if we need to.

cloud retainer: I feel like we’re not on the same wavelength….

(bonus for venti rifling through zhongli’s stuff to try and impress his spouse’s parent and finds just a book, full of very detailed, graphic ways of disemboweling someone that looks oddly like him. descriptions of a person also has two braids, and green eyes, and��holy shit, he says to darling, I think your dad is trying to kill me. like actually planning to do it.

don't be ridiculous, darling says, rolling their eyes. if he really wanted it, you wouldn’t be alive to find out about it.)

[thearvariblues]

Too Much of Damn Peace

“I just want some damn peace!”

“Well here’s your peace!”

The bottle smashes on the ground and Geralt growls. Jaskier is almost about to apologize – he really shouldn’t have broken the bloody thing, he didn’t even want to, he was just angry and Geralt was shouting…

But then the wind rises and Jaskier feels an invisible force close around his throat, a horrible pressure…

He doubles over and clutches his throat.

“Geralt!” he hears himself croak, instinctively reaching for the Witcher.

It hurts, it hurts so fucking much…

And then something snaps. The pain goes away, but something is missing. Something is wrong. Horribly, terrifyingly wrong.

“Jaskier?”

He doesn’t know what is wrong until he opens his mouth and tries to say something… and nothing comes out.

His eyes go wide and he gestures at his throat, opening and closing his mouth a few times, hoping that Geralt will understand. And he does.

“Oh,” the Witcher mutters. “Fuck.”

Yes, Jaskier thinks. That sums it up quite nicely.

*

They find a healer, and with his help, they find a mage, Yennefer. She is currently holding an orgy when they do, and if the circumstances were different, Jaskier would absolutely join in, but he’s not in the mood tonight. Maybe when she heals him, though…

“There’s nothing I can do,” the mage says. “His voice is gone.”

Jaskier’s lips are halfway through “excuse me?!” when his brain catches up. He shuts his mouth and looks at Geralt.

“What do you mean nothing?” Geralt frowns.

“I mean,” the mage sighs, “that even though his injury is magical in its nature, there is no magical way to remove it. Well, except for the force that inflicted it in the first place.”

“The djinn,” Geralt nods. “Yes, that could…”

Jaskier points at his throat and shakes his head.

“But he can’t make his last wish if he can’t speak,” Geralt says.

“That’s the problem, yes,” Yennefer says, unconcerned.

“So what should we do?”

“I don’t know. Try the true love’s kiss?” she smirks.

Jaskier snorts.

“I don’t think so,” Geralt mutters. “Well, thank you, I suppose. We’ll be on our way.”

“Wait. Maybe I could… think of something,” she says, smiling a little. “If you stayed for the night. Give me some time and I–”

“I don’t think so,” Geralt shakes his head. “Come on, Jaskier. We’ll find a tavern to sleep in.”

*

It’s not hard for Jaskier to come to terms with losing his voice. The reason is simple – he doesn’t believe he lost it for good. Not for one second. He trusts his friend, he just knows Geralt will find a way to make Jaskier able speak again, no matter the cost. This whole affair is just a tiny bump on the road, a minor inconvenience that will go away within a few days.

Or weeks.

Maybe… Maybe months.

As the days pass, it becomes harder and harder not to stop believing, but Jaskier is an eternal optimist and he’d rather die than lose hope. He clings to it, just as much as he clings to the Witcher himself. He doesn’t have much of a choice, really. A mute bard can hardly take care of himself, can he?

“It’s my fault,” the Witcher mutters one evening, weeks after the incident, as they sit by the fire in their camp. “I should have… protected you.”

Jaskier reaches for his notebook, scribbles a single word in it and shows it to Geralt.

“Bollocks,” Geralt reads out loud and smirks. “As you wish. But you know it’s true.”

Jaskier turns the notebook back to himself and scribbles another word.

“Bollocks,” Geralt says. “But the letters are bigger.”

Jaskier shrugs.

“We really need to find a better way to communicate,” Geralt mutters. “It takes you too damn long to write what you want to say, and then you get all impatient and your writing becomes illegible.”

Jaskier opens his mouth, clutches his chest and gasps, clearly offended.

“You know, there’s a… sign language the deaf people use, right?” Geralt asks, biting his lower lip.

Jaskier nods.

“I just thought… I know we’re both hoping we can somehow bring your voice back, but until then…”

Jaskier sighs and starts writing.

“I know a guy,” Geralt reads. “Did you sleep with his sister, though? Mother?”

Jaskier shakes his head, writes a single word and shows his notebook to Geralt.

“Him. Oh,” Geralt blinks. “And you think he would be… willing to help?”

Jaskier nods.

“Right. Where can we find him?”

*

They go to Jaskier’s ex-lover. They learn a few things about sign language, Jaskier fucks the guy and they leave in a bit of a hurry with a stack of books that are technically not quite theirs.

Geralt tries to pretend to be mad, but Jaskier sees right through him. As he always does.

They hide in a small town for a few days and Geralt takes a few easy contracts while Jaskier buries himself in the borrowed (well, stolen) books.

“Did you learn anything new today?” Geralt smiles as he enters their shared room, already tugging at the straps of his bloody armor to take it off.

Jaskier beams and lifts his hands.

“Something that isn’t swearing or asking for sex,” Geralt specifies.

Jaskier frowns and lets his hands fall down.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Geralt chuckles. “You should really try to learn something useful, Jask.”

Jaskier makes a brief gesture.

“Okay, I understood this one. And it’s not a nice thing to say, you know?”

This time, there is a whole series of gestures.

“That’s just more swearing, isn’t it?”

Jaskier nods.

“Would you… Would you like to learn… together?” Geralt offers.

Jaskier blinks before nodding again, more slowly this time.

“Fine. Pass me a fucking book that does not contain new swearwords…”

*

The weeks, as Jaskier was afraid, turn to months, and his voice still doesn’t come back. He desperately tries to hold onto his hope, but he’s starting to feel like he’s grasping at straws. If there was anything to be done, surely Geralt would have done it already?

Maybe… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try the true love’s kiss route ��� the only problem is, it would also require Geralt’s assistance. And Jaskier isn’t ready to try and explain that.

And perhaps it’s for the best, he concludes. Because Geralt seems much better off without Jaskier’s voice bothering him all the time. He’s been smiling more lately. And talking more. Almost as if he tries to compensate for the silence left by Jaskier’s muteness. He tells Jaskier stories about his adventures before the two of them met, his childhood at Kaer Morhen, his brothers. It’s more than he’s ever told the bard, more than Jaskier could ever ask for.

And Jaskier finds that he would be willing to listen the Witcher’s deep voice for the rest of his life.

“You’re coming with me to Kaer Morhen this winter,” Geralt announces one day, as winter draws closer and closer.

Jaskier raises his eyebrows and makes a gesture.

“Because I can’t leave you alone when you’re like this,” Geralt says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole world. “You can’t earn money singing in taverns, you can’t even teach at Oxenfurt as you usually do during winters.”

Jaskier signs furiously.

“I’m not saying you’re useless,” Geralt sighs. “I’m just saying… It’s gonna be hard for you to make a living this winter without your fucking voice.”

Jaskier signs again.

“Don’t be stupid, you’re not gonna freeze to death in Kaer Morhen. Lose a few toes, perhaps…”

Jaskier’s eyes go wide and he makes a few more gestures.

“No, of course it’s not funny,” Geralt chuckles. “Well. Maybe a little…”

*

Nevertheless, Jaskier joins Geralt on his way to Kaer Morhen before the winter comes. Not because Geralt was right and Jaskier is finished as a lecturer and a bard, just because he’s been waiting for years for this invitation and he’s not going to ruin his chance by being offended. He just wants to spend a few contractless months with Geralt and meet his famous brothers – and if he needs to sacrifice his toes to do that, then so be it.

And maybe, just maybe, he will be able to convince Geralt to cuddle with him a little… Just to warm him up, of course. Nothing more.

He would never dare asking for more…

*

“It’s just typical, isn’t it?” Geralt’s brother Lambert snorts one evening and stuffs a piece of meat into his mouth. “You keep promising to bring the bard for the winter… And when you finally do, he’s fucking mute.”

“Lambert,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier smirks and makes a sign that’s pretty understandable even for the younger Witcher.

“Honestly,” Eskel shrugs, “I was also looking forward to hearing the songs you’ve kept praising for years.”

Jaskier blinks and signs at Geralt.

“Yeah,” Geralt mutters and his cheeks absolutely don’t go slightly pink. “Praising. Don’t make too much of it.”

Jaskier gestures.

“Well… Yes, I guess you could still at least play.”

Jaskier grins, jumps to his feet and promptly disappears. When he comes back, he’s holding his lute and Geralt can’t hide his smile.

Jaskier sits down, impossibly close, winks at Geralt and starts to play a song that the Witcher knows almost too well, because it’s been following him ever since he met Jaskier all those years ago. That’s why he finds himself quietly humming the melody. And that’s probably why, as the chorus comes, he starts to sing.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of Plenty…”

He opens his eyes to see Jaskier smiling wider than Geralt’s ever seen him, and he can almost feel his heart melt. Jaskier looks so beautiful like this, and Geralt wants…

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, almost inaudibly over the sound of the lute, and then he reaches out, grabs the back of Jaskier’s neck and kisses him, long and deep. He hears Vesemir’s sigh, Eskel’s laugh and Lambert’s disgusted groan, but he doesn’t care. He’s wanted to do this for so, so long…

When he pulls away, Jaskier is staring at him with his blue eyes wide with shock. He opens his mouth, realizes it’s futile and closes it again.

And Geralt… Geralt just can’t take it. He jumps to his feet. He runs away from the room.

He hears the footsteps that immediately start to follow him, of course, but he just cannot face Jaskier right now.

But then a hand closes around his arm and yanks him around, much stronger than he would ever expect.

This time, there’s pure fury in Jaskier’s gaze as the bard starts to gesture wildly.

“Gods, will you just slow down?” Geralt groans. “I don’t understand half the things you’re trying to say!”

Jaskier huffs and starts again, more slowly this time.

“No. Wait. No,” Geralt says a few moments later. “I don’t think you’re not enough.”

Jaskier frowns and his hands start moving again.

“I… You don’t get it, do you? I feel like it’s my fault. This… Injury of yours.”

A simple gesture.

“Why? Why? Because you were with me when it happened and I couldn’t stop it. Because I can’t find a way to cure it. Because I know I wanted some damn peace but this is… Too much of damn peace.”

Jaskier shrugs and signs a single sentence.

“What do I want?” he blinks. “I… I just want you to have your voice back.”

A sudden gust of wind billows their clothes and hair and Jaskier, to Geralt’s horror, clutches his throat and gasps for breath.

“No,” Geralt mutters and grabs the bard’s arms to support him. “No, no, no, please, not again…”

The wind stops just as abruptly as it started and Jaskier meets the Witcher’s gaze. His lower lip is trembling.

“Geralt,” he croaks weakly.

“Jaskier?” Geralt whispers, unable to believe what’s happening. “What…”

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier says. “What the everloving fuck… So it was your fault, you asshole!”

“W-what?” Geralt blinks.

“You were the one with the wishes, you dick! You wished for some peace, and you got it! You wished I had my voice back, and you got it! It means that it was never me, it was you! And it means you could have brought my voice back months ago! And it means… Fuck, it means Valdo Marx is still alive, isn’t he? Damn it. But oh, it feels so good to be able to talk again. It feels awesome. Oh, dear. I’m never shutting up again, ever. I’m gonna talk and sing and… Yes, sing! Toss a coin to your Witcher, O’ Valley of–”

But he does shut up when Geralt presses a kiss against his lips.

*

Geralt hums quietly against Jaskier’s skin, burying his face into the bard’s shoulder.

“Jaskier,” he sighs, but there is no reply. He lifts his head and looks at the bard. “Jaskier?”

“Mhm?” Jaskier smiles. “Oh, sorry, dear. I got lost in my own head, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all right,” Geralt mutters, letting his head fall back down. “I guess it’s gonna take a while before I stop getting nervous when you suddenly go silent.”

“Understandable, I guess,” Jaskier chuckles. “You do realize that you’ve wasted two wishes on me, right?”

“If this is where it got me, I don’t care.”

“Also understandable.”

“Asshole.”

“I know, I know,” Jaskier laughs. “So… What’s your last wish gonna be?”

Geralt closes his eyes and breathes in Jaskier’s scent.

“I wish you were as immortal as me,” he whispers and braces himself against another gust of wind… Which doesn’t come.

“Hm,” Jaskier hums. “Oh, right. Remember two months ago when we got lost in the woods and we didn’t have anything to eat and you said I wish I had a few apples for Roach at least and then I, a humble bard, suddenly saw a fucking apple tree that you, the mighty Witcher, somehow completely and totally missed?”

“So… Your voice was my last wish,” Geralt sighs. “Well, at least it wasn’t wasted.”

“It’s a shame, though. I’d really, really like to spend the rest of your life with you, darling.”

Geralt smiles and places a kiss right next to Jaskier’s nipple.

“I guess we’re just gonna have to enjoy the time we have left, right?”

“Oh?” Jaskier laughs. “You have anything in mind?”

“I might have an idea or two…”

Their lips meet.

Somewhere above them, a djinn takes something similar to a deep breath… And grants the Witcher his fourth wish.

[cherryjuicegf]

congrats on 400 followers 😊😊🤗 I would love to read geraskier + #1 from the cliché prompts. Idk if you did it already at some point but I'm a sucker for that trope 😁

thank you so much dear and thanks for the prompt too!! admittedly i haven't written this trope before although i have read it a hundred times so you can imagine my excitement! hope you enjoy 💞

1. There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close

"Idiot. Fucking idiot."

Geralt's words came out of his mouth surprisingly calm. That was, considering the fact they had been running for four minutes without stop in an attempt to escape what Geralt was pretty sure were the five brothers and father of the charming young maid Jaskier was wooing in the tavern last night. He realised, a bit late, that it had been more than wooing eventually.

Now Jaskier was running beside him, his feet moving faster than his mind managed to order, breath short. "It's the tenth fucking time you say it, Geralt!" He was panting, voice barely heard. "The tenth fucking time and I have fully grasped the fact that I'm an idiot by now."

"Shut up," Geralt grunted, less because he wanted him to shut up and more because he knew that if Jaskier kept talking, he wouldn't be able to run for much longer. And, alas, it would be nice to reach the forest where they could at least hide easily. But no. It had to be Novigrad. It fucking had.

He didn't have time to even get Roach from the stables.

He huffed, starting to feel drained of breath and desperately looked around in hopes to see something more than people looking at them as if they were dragons. And, thank the gods, he saw what he hoped for.

"Here!" He grasped Jaskier's hand and basically dragged him, as the bard's feet stopped functioning the moment they changed their route. Geralt shoved him forwards into an alley and pulled a cart on the front, stepping back to find himself chest to chest with a dishevelled and flushed Jaskier. And realized.

The alley was too narrow. Of course it was.

Jaskier leaned on him in an attempt to catch his breath, lips upturned to a heady smile that after some seconds became a breathy laugh, and Geralt shook his head. "Very funny, well done. Now silence until they go away."

After all, he should be the one to remain logical in that case. However, Jaskier's hands on his chest, his hair tingling his nose, smelling of lavender and sweat, his eyes looking at him with a drunk glint although he'd been perfectly sober before, were most definitely not contibuting to his hopeless attempts. Jaskier snorted and raised an eyebrow. "They'd better take their time."

Even if Geralt was just a bit collected before, now it was gone. With no intention to come back soon. He was so close to Jaskier that their noses were almost brushing and Jaskier didn't seem quite eager to maintain the distance. He was warm. Of course he was, they had been running, the problem was not exactly that. It was the light pressure he felt in his pants and the way Jaskier's eyebrows furrowed for a moment, just to raise all the same, yet the smirk Geralt saw playing on his lips didn't eventually form. At least, he was discreet.

But he saw it. He saw every little detail of Jaskier's lips and oh, they were too close, too close, and Jaskier was looking at him with eyes wide and questioning, still, he couldn't avert his look from his lips and the tongue that had just wet them. He swallowed. Shifted a bit in his place, only to feel the press in his pants harder and snorted, glancing at the street in hope that their pursuers had left, trying to remain calm. The pressure would go away. It had to. He felt Jaskier's chest rising against his own. "Geralt."

He had to turn his head. He knew what would happen if he did. He did it all the same.

Jaskier's eyes were shining blue in the shade of the alley and a smile was on his lips, faint but soft and Geralt thought, it can't be, that look flooding with love, it can't just be him. But what if it was?

Jaskier tilted his head, whispered. "Am I reading this wrong?"

Geralt would answer. He really would, and the answer would be carved right on Jaskier's lips. But then they heard a voice. "They're gone, lads."

They turned at the man calling them, and if Geralt discerned a shade of disappointment in the bard's eyes, he tried not to think of it.

Later, when they were walking out of the city, barely having exchanged a word, Geralt looked at him. Strumming his lute, murmuring as if afraid to be louder. He sighed silently. "Jaskier."

Jaskier turned at him and Geralt found himself unable to utter more words. He just stood there, gazing at him, lips parted in a failed attempt to speak.

Yet whatever Jaskier saw in his eyes at that moment, it made him smile and take his hand. And Geralt knew he was not reading this wrong either.

400 followers celebration prompts✨

[ikeromantic]

Horns

Day 24 of Ikemektober!

I chose Shakespeare - I’ve no idea what happens in his route. This is entirely my brain (caffeinated), the prompt, and deciding The Bard had to get his own story. It’s spicy fluff. Approx 1800 words.

Will picked up the costumes for his next production - a new play, inspired by his patron. They were fanciful pieces, with bat wings and goat horns and hooves. There was even a serpent-skin coat in the lot. Perfect for the story of a devilish king and his court of impish jesters. 

The play was equal parts suffering and passion. He hoped Comte would come to see it, or that rumors of it would reach his ears at least. Taunting the old vampire was a dangerous sport, but for William, that only made it a more alluring pursuit.

If he had eternity, or close to it, to make his plays, there was no subject that was taboo. He would push his art to its limit - and his life with it, as his plays were so enmeshed with experience that sometimes he had trouble separating one from the other.

“Will? Will, is that you?” The voice caught him mid-thought. His arms were so full of costumerie that he couldn’t see who was speaking, but he knew anyhow. 

“What fair maid calls mine name so sweetly? Could it be my newest friend?”

She laughed in reply, a bright sound. Unburdened. “I don’t know why you always speak in poetry, Will.” 

He felt her hand touch his arm, the lightest brush of her fingertips like a touch of fire. “Do you need help carrying those in?”

“Fear not, I’ve strength enough to finish - but if you could - the door?” Shakespeare heard her open the door to his home. He walked in and set the costumes on the nearest table. 

The girl followed him in, her eyes darting about in curious fashion - as if she wanted to see everything before he stopped her looking. 

Will smiled. It was strange to see her here, alone. He wondered if the Comte’s imps knew she’d come. He somehow doubted it. “To what do I owe this unforeseen pleasure? I hope tis nothing untoward.”

“Oh, no. I was just going to market to pick up a few things and I saw you getting out of the carriage.” She shrugged, the gesture gentle and indefinable feminine. “I thought maybe you’d like to have a coffee with me - or a tea. We didn’t get to talk much last time I saw you.”

“No, indeed we did not. You are always most welcome here, whither you’ve only passed by or come to visit with intent.” He motioned to his parlor. “Please, go in and sit down. I’ll put on some tea.”

Her bright smile returned. “Good! I was hoping you weren’t busy right now, but when I saw you with all those - clothes?” She glanced at the pile with wide eyes, “I thought maybe you were in the middle of something.”

“I am never to busy to see you, fair one.” He found his own mouth curling upward with genteel pleasure. The sensation made him vaguely uneasy, as if this was dangerous ground he tread. She always did this - setting him on edge with her cheery disposition. He wondered if something dark lay beneath it, something that, with prying, he could uncover. If so, it lay deep.

Will left to put on a pot of tea. When he came back, she was still in the entry hall, picking at the pile of costumes. 

“What are you doing?”

She jumped back, dropping her hands to her sides. “I - sorry! They just looked so interesting. I wanted to see if I could figure out the play from the clothing.” Her hands grasped her skirt, a nervous gesture. 

Shakespeare closed the distance between them in a few quick steps. He knew how unnerving his heterochromatic gaze was, especially on silly little girls. “And? Did you find me out?”

“M-midsummer Night’s Dream?” She guessed, voice full of hope. 

“No.” Will leaned down until his nose almost touched hers. “I am afraid you’ve now been rude on two accounts. Searching through what belongs to another, and assuming a dramatist is bound by their older work.” The irritation he felt around her lent heat to his words, a sharpness despite his soft voice. 

She looked down. “I’m so sorry, Will. I didn’t mean to be rude.” She sounded almost at the edge of tears, far more upset at his reprimand than he expected. 

Will drew a line with his finger at the edge of her jaw and tipped her face up to his. “I shall forgive you this once, if you consent to a single favor. What say you, fair maid?”

“A favor?” She was trembling, her pulse racing. Excitement or fear? Will wasn’t certain.

“Indeed. I’ve need to check each costume you’ve handily sorted through in that pile. I can try on the gents’ clothing but the ladies’ outfits I must use a mannequin for. Today, you will be my mannequin.”

Her face brightened, though he could still feel her galloping heartbeat. “I could - could do that. It sounds exciting!” She bit her bottom lip, suddenly thoughtful. “Would you tell me what the play is about?”

“Perchance, if I am pleased.” Shakespeare stepped away from her, relieved and disappointed by the distance between them.

She immediately headed back to the pile of costumes, picking at them until she’d found a woman’s costume. “What is this one supposed to be?” She held up the oddly cut dress. It was all long, straight lines and harsh edges. Dark colors.

“It is clothing from the future.” He couldn’t help the wicked smile that lit up his thin face. 

“Oh! Neat!” Her innocent enthusiasm missed the point entirely. She took a step toward the parlor, uncertain where she should go to change.

“Yes, you may undress in safety there. I shall refrain from opening the door.”

The tea kettle summoned him with its high pitched whistle. He went to pour the tea, and brought back a tray to set out for them both once the costume-modeling was done.

For himself, he chose the horned outfit. It was Faustian, at a glance. The jacket was black-furred, and the boot cover was made of hoof. The horns themselves were from a goat, but polished to obsidian black. The knobby twists seemed to capture the afternoon sun, reflecting nothing back. 

Shakespeare stepped into this study to change. It felt odd to slide on the heavy jacket. The pants were a little big on him, but solidly made and adjustable with the addition of a belt or suspenders. He slid the headpiece on last, savoring the weight of the horns.

The mirror showed him what a monster he’d become with just the change in wardrobe. He looked wild now, like a faun or a devil, out to hunt virgins in sacred groves. Will shook his hair loose to further the effect. In this, he was the divine hunter. The gentleman demon. It was funny how a costume could often bring out secrets closely held.

He stepped back into the entry hall. The girl was still shuffling around in the parlor. He could hear her. 

“Are you in need of assistance, fair one?”

“I- uh - the buttons are, they’re kind of hard to reach.” 

“Then rescue you, I shall. For what troubles lie under the sun that cannot be bested by two hearts in concert?” He pushed open the door.

Sunlight came through the curtains, painting the room in sunset hue. The girl was standing straight, trying in vain to hold the gown up with one hand, the other reaching for buttons ill-placed. Her cheeks were stained pink, eyes wide.

“Tis no matter, fair maid. I’ve seen many a pretty half in, and half-out of costume. You’ve no need to fear my eye, nor my helping hands.” Will tried to reassure her, though he found her discomfort amusing. He had, in fact, seen many beautiful actresses in all stages of undress, but none quite like her. 

Her face didn’t have the diamond hardness of the determined beauty. She lacked the edge of feminine weaponry, as if ignorant of her body’s charms. It only made him more away of her bare shoulders, the curve of her breast at the side. The naked line of her back as she turned to present him with the impossible buttons.

“You look amazing,” she babbled. “Like a faun! It’s called a faun, right? But . . . more cultured?” She inhaled sharply as Will brushed a finger down her spine. 

“More of a devil, I’m afraid.” Her shiver provoked in him a need to touch her. He resisted it. He was the writer of passions - a witness. Not a participant. The director did not star in his dramas. He buttoned the dress and stepped away from her.

The girl turned to face him, brushing a hand down the front of the dress to smooth it. The dark blue was perfect for her. And the way it clung to her curves - indecent. Will did not think he’d see a clearer map of her body even if she stood nude before him. Best was the slit up the side of the skirt, as if made for a dancer. Her skin tantalized in glimpses, drawing the eye.

“You’re staring. Is it - is it bad?”

“No.” Shakespeare shook himself. “It is a perfect costume for the victim of a demon.” He gave a wicked sharp smile. “Do you feel like a victim, fair one?”

She started to laugh, but stopped at his forbidding expression. “You kind of scare me sometimes, Will.”

“And fear me you should. For I am a wicked creature.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest. She smelled sweet, like perfume. 

“Will,” she gasped, trying to pull away.

“It is too late for you, fair maid. To my lair you came, and now you shall never leave.” He lowered his head to her neck, letting her feel the slightest prick of his fangs.

“Th-this isn’t funny. Let me go,” she whimpered. 

Shakespeare realized his own heart was beating as wildly as hers, his breath as ragged. He pushed her away. “I am - am only acting my part. The horned devil.”

“Then you’re a pretty good actor.” She stared at him, wary. “I think I should probably go.” 

Will reached up, touching the cold, sharp tip of one of the horns. “Yes, perhaps you should. Send the dress - no, better, keep the dress. It fits not the character of my new script, but I think it sits perfectly upon you.”

She blushed. “Ah, alright. If you’re sure.” Though she took a few steps toward the exit, it seemed she would hesitate, now uncertain if he posed a danger to her. 

Shakespeare stepped closer to her, widening his thin, sharp smile. “Unless, fair maid, you’d like to stay and allow me to remove the garment from your skin . . . with my teeth.” 

“Nope! No thank you!” She practically ran away, comical in her haste. 

Will stood there in the sun-drenched parlor, still smelling her light perfume. It felt so much emptier with her gone. And though he’d hoped for peace in her absence, he felt only turmoil. 

“Perhaps I truly am bedeviled,” he mused. The blackened horns atop his head bobbed in silent agreement.

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

All Is Found:Anastasia!AU

Part V – In The Dark Of The Night

Fandom: The Witcher Word Count: 2,509 Rating: T Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak​ @whatevermonkey​ @jill-makes-art​ @mynamesoundslikesherlock​ @kemmastan​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​ @writingstudent​ @mlleecrivaine​ @coffee-and-stories​ @amirahiddleston​ @ultracolorfulnerdcollection​ @astouract​ @your-not-invisible-to-me​ @mycat-is-mylove​  a/n: A retelling of Don Bluth’s Anastasia (1997)

{prologue}{part i}{part ii}{part iii}{part iv}

The plan was fairly easy, all things considered. After several successful border crossings Geralt and Jaskier had established a streamlined process. When they returned to the little house Geralt and Jaskier shared, which was more of an abandoned building than an actual home, you were told to try and rest as you would be traveling all night to get out of Old Nilfgaard. Jaskier had gallantly fluffed the pillow for you and you’d lain on the straw mattress bed and stared at the ceiling for some time. You tossed and turned until Jaskier finally came to check on you.

“What’s going on in there?” he asked.

“I can’t sleep,” you answered.

“Oh, thank the gods. I thought you were wrestling with a particularly tenacious rat,” he quipped.

“Very funny,” you murmured. Jaskier smiled kindly and moved a bit closer, crouching down by the bed so his face was level with yours.

“It’s normal to be nervous,” he said.

“I’m not nervous,” you lied. He cocked an eyebrow in disbelief but you kept your face placid as you gazed back, the sky-blue eyes nearly silver in the beams of sunlight that streamed through little slats in the wall.

“Well if you were nervous, I’d assure you that we have done this several times and there have never been any casualties,” Jaskier said.

“And if I wasn’t nervous what would you say?” you asked, stubbornly refusing to admit you were scared but trying to keep him by your side talking. Even if he frustrated you at times, you didn’t want to be alone. You’d spent too much of your life alone already.

“I’d tell you to stop thrashing around or you’ll wake the bats in the attic,” he answered glibly. You made an annoyed harrumphing sound and flipped back over, unsure if the squeak you heard was a trick of your mind or one of the aforementioned bats. Jaskier walked back into the little living space where Geralt sat sharpening one of his swords. It had been unsettling to watch the first few times but now it was as commonplace as seeing him wash a dish or grunt impassively.

“Is she alright?” he asked, glancing up at Jaskier as he plopped heavily into a chair that wobbled dangerously under his weight.

“She’s nervous but she won’t admit it,” Jaskier replied, “She’s certainly stubborn enough to be a queen.”

“Stubborn can be good. Stubborn keeps people focus on a goal,” Geralt replied, sheathing the sword.

“Perhaps, but it makes for difficult conversation,” Jaskier grumbled.

“Jaskier, don’t tell me you of all people are having a hard time making conversation. I thought it was one of your foremost skills. You’ve certainly practiced long enough,” Geralt muttered.

“It’s hard to get anywhere with someone who won’t be open with you,” the bard argued.

“And how open have you been with her?” Geralt asked. Jaskier scoffed and sputtered as he tried to think of a good answer.

“That is.. entirely different,” he snorted.

“Indeed.”

“Yes!”

“How?”

“It just is,” Jaskier snapped. Geralt leaned closer, fixing his amber eyes on Jaskier’s blue ones intently.

“You both have histories. But you’ve had someone to talk with, she hasn’t. If our lives in this godsforsaken country has made us cautious, imagine what it’s like for someone whose family was slaughtered and who just found out who they truly are?”

Jaskier squirmed uncomfortably under Geralt’s words, unable to deny the truth in them.

“I suppose I can be more accommodating,” Jaskier mumbled. Geralt smiled at him proudly and they both turned to look as the door to the bedroom creaked open. You stood in the threshold and fixed them both with a cautious but determined expression.

“I can’t sleep so I’d rather help prepare,” you said. Jaskier and Geralt exchanged a brief glance and then Geralt nodded. Jaskier turned to look back at you, a smile playing about his lips.

“Are you handy with any weapons?” he asked. You thought hard for a moment, not wanting to say no but not wanting to lie and look like an ass or endanger them in a critical moment.

“I used to throw knives. For a little bit. Till the Headmistress found out,” you said.

“That’s a start! What about archery? Ever held a bow?” he asked.

“No, but I have pretty good upper arm strength! I was always giving the girls spins,” you answered proudly.

“Sorry, giving them what?”

“Spins! It’s when you pick a child up under their arms and you spin them around in a circle,” you hoisted your arms up, pantomiming the action as you moved in a circle until you stumbled into a nearby chair.

“Let’s try the knives,” Geralt said with an encouraging smile. He rose from his chair and reached into a bag, pulling out three ornate, lightweight daggers and gestured for you to follow him outside.

-----

The blades glistened in the candlelight, nearly dry though the mages could still see the shimmer of poison that had yet to fully be absorbed.

“If any part of the blade so much as grazes her flesh, the poison will ensure her death within a minute. It should go without saying that you need to avoid touching it yourself,” Stregobor announced. The three mages he’d chosen for the mission nodded in unison.

“There are few routes they could be taking but the witcher will choose the mountain. I have seen it,” he said, looking down at the flames that were mirrored in the blades like a seer gazing into a crystal ball.

“You will bring her body to me,” he instructed.

“What of the witcher and the bard?” one of the mages asked. Stregobor’s eyes glanced up at them as he considered the question and then gave an impassive shrug.

“You can do with those what you wish. There are some who would be eager for the chance to examine a witcher’s corpse. The bard is of no consequence. The only one I care about is the girl,” he answered.

“What happens if…” the mage who had begun to speak thought twice and quickly closed their mouths but Stregobor’s sharp eyes were on him, hawk like and predatory.

“If?” Stregobor prodded. The mage glanced up into his eyes and then away again. There were a few tense moments of silence and then Stregobor pulled himself up to his full height, crossing his hands behind his back as he looked down at the trio in front of him who looked everywhere but towards him.

“Allow me to be very clear with you all,” he said in a calm, composed voice, “You either bring her body to me, or you do not come back at all. You have been chosen to complete a task. Failure will not be accepted, no matter the circumstance. Does that answer any lingering questions you may have?”

The three nodded in unison again, eyes on the ground, and Stregobor nodded as well, satisfied that they were sufficiently motivated.

“They will leave at dusk. I will portal you now so you can be waiting for them. Do not fail me,” he said. He picked up the daggers and handed them carefully over, one to each mage.

-----

They left under the cover of night and they would go through a cave path in the mountains that the pair alone knew. It would take them into Sodden where they would be safe to travel openly through the other countries until they reached Cidaris. Geralt took the lead with you in the middle, Jaskier ostensibly in the back but he had decided a good use of time walking would be providing a history lesson so he spent more time by your side than behind you.

“Repeat back to me, your grandmother...”

“Marie,” you answered confidently.

“From House…,” Jaskier trailed off, looking at you expectantly.

“House… Tussel?”

“Thyssen,” Jaskier corrected.

“Question, would I really have known that or paid attention as a child? I mean as a seven year old did you know your grandmother’s maiden name?” you argued. Jaskier ran a hand through his chestnut hair.

“I am not a prince, Y/N, nobody cares who my grandparents are or where they’re from. It matters for you and it would have as soon as you understood words and symbols,” Jaskier insisted.

“Tell me something meaningful about them,” you asked, “Just… something besides dates and houses.”

“What do you consider meaningful?” he asked.

“Well… why is she in Cidaris? Why not stay in Toussaint?”

“House Thyssen is a Cidarian dynasty, she returned when there began to be word of unrest in the country,” he explained, “Word was that you were supposed to join her but never got the chance.”

“Speaking of that,” you said quickly before he could ask another question, “How did she get out? And me? And how did I not stay with her?”

Jaskier considered your question for a moment, a silence lapsing between you as he considered his answer. When he opened his mouth to answer Geralt held up a hand, halting you both. You instinctively reached for the knife Geralt had given you for protection and you saw Jaskier’s hand go towards something as well. You stayed like that for a few minutes as Geralt listened and waited. You were within sight of the bushes that obscured the cave entrance, so close to freedom that you felt the itch to run for it but you knew better than to take that risk. After five minutes had passed you opened your mouth to speak but Jaskier saw and quickly took your hand. When you looked over at him he shook his head. Geralt spun around, pulling something from his pocket and sending it flying just where your head had been seconds before Jaskier pulled you to the ground, cushioning your fall with his body. You heard a shriek and turned to see someone drop from a nearby tree. Geralt reached for another one and you heard an ungodly scream from the right. You jumped up, hands fumbling for the dagger as someone in a robe came running towards you from the trees, something in their hand glinting in the moonlight. Jaskier rose up before you could get a good grasp on the knife handle and thrust one of his own. It landed in the assailant’s shoulder and they fell backward with a cry of pain. Jaskier seized your hand and pulled him behind you. Geralt looked around the perimeter, yellow eyes scanning the trees carefully. For a moment the only sound was of your breathing, shaky and anxious, and the crunch of leaves underfoot. Jaskier’s hand squeezed yours hard, the only sign of his own nervousness, and you squeeze back just as hard. Geralt turned again to look into the trees and you felt something grasp your ankle. You kicked instinctively and by the time you looked down the third assailant held a hand over their eye, blindly swiping at you with a dagger that missed you by inches. You kicked again and the dagger went flying. Before Jaskier could do anything you were on top of the assailant who struggled but couldn’t shake you as you held them down, your legs wrapped around their waist and your hands keeping their shoulders pinned to the earth.

‘Who are you?” you demanded. The hood had fallen back and you were surprised to find what looked like an ordinary young man.

“It doesn’t matter,” the man spat, “I’m dead.”

“Not necessarily,” you said, “If you answer some questions…”

Before you could continue the man reached for the blade that was just beyond his outstretched fingers but Jaskier stepped on it, pulling it further away as Geralt moved in to pull you off of the man. He didn’t try to run, he just looked up into the witcher’s golden eyes defiantly.

“Do it,” he snapped.

“Who sent you?” Geralt asked. The man scoffed and shook his head. You noticed him begin to move his hand in a strange pattern but before you could point it out the man made an odd wheezing noise. Geralt moved closer and then stepped back quickly as he spat up blood, body convulsing until it stopped. His head fell to the side, eyes empty and a stream of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“Gods…” you whispered. Geralt scowled at the body and then at the other two around you.

“What do we do with the bodies?” Jaskier asked, far calmer than you felt but you heard the slight crack in his voice as he spoke. Again you were grateful for the glimpse of vulnerability that helped you feel less alone in your fear. It was also good that this wasn’t a normal occurrence. For the bard, anyway. Geralt was unaffected, mostly seeming confused and ponderous rather than shaken by the near death experience, much less the actual deaths witnessed.

“We leave them. We don’t have time to dig graves. With luck the animals will get to them before any guards find them,” Geralt answered. Jaskier nodded and then moved his boot, reaching down to pick up the dagger he’d moved aside.

“Don’t touch that!” Geralt snapped just before Jaskier’s fingers brushed against the flat of the blade.

“I was just going to look at it!” Jaskier cried, stepping back as Geralt ran towards it. He picked it up with a gloved hand and you moved closer to look. You could see that the blade was colored in an odd way, tinged with something opaque.

“Poison,” Geralt said. His eyes found yours before he spoke again, “Someone knows you’re alive.”

Your heart leapt to your throat and you focused on trying to regulate your breathing as Geralt moved some paces away and buried the dagger. Jaskier walked over to you and his hand found yours again, the warmth of his hand helping to soothe the trembling from your fingers.

“You saved my life,” you said, focusing on the soft blue of his eyes and trying to lose yourself in their depths, far, far away from the carnage around you and your attempted murder.

“I told you to trust us,” he said with a smile, “You were brilliant, too.”

“I didn’t say you were brilliant.”

“I said it for you,” he teased, a smirk playing about his lips for a moment before he grew serious again, “Truly, though. You held your head. Hell, you held them down!”

“I told you,” you said with a smug nod, “Spinning. I have the upper arm strength of an ox.”

“Do oxen have especially strong upper arms?” Jaskier asked. You opened your mouth to reply but Geralt walked up to you and you turned your attention to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked. You nodded and he glanced to Jaskier who nodded as well.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, “Quickly.”

The rest of the walk was spent in silence and when Jaskier helped you up onto the rocky ledge into the mountain tunnel he kept your hand in his, a silent reassurance that you weren’t alone.  

[squidbatts]

your funny mouth to the clouds

Or: Fabian stresses, confesses, and gets some kisses in

((The last couple of Fantasy High episodes have been Buckwild but IN THIS HOUSE we ignore current canon happenings to write about fabian wanting to kiss ragh and then getting to kiss ragh!!! because i crave ragh/fabian content even if i have to Do Everything Myself))

{ao3}

Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster, knows he’s hot; it’s kind of his whole thing, being a charming, roguish pirate, as dangerous as he is dashing. So, obviously, it makes complete sense that he and Gorgug would be Ragh’s dream makeout partners. They’re all hot athletes and they spend a decent amount of time together, he gets it.

It shouldn’t even be a thing.

Except that Fabian can’t stop thinking about it. When Ragh lances a demon through the eye and then turns to grin at Fabian, manic, muscles straining his letterman jacket, he thinks about it; when Fabian’s trying to teach the party literally anything about the sea and Ragh slides in right next to him, body a point of warmth on Fabian’s left side as he points at completely the wrong part of the map, he thinks about it; when Ragh tears off his shirt and leaps into the water with Fabian, throws a glistening and sea-wet arm over Fabian’s bare shoulders, tugs Fabian into his sculpted chest as he laughs-

The point is, Fabian keeps thinking about it.

Which is why he thinks he should be excused for asking Kristen for advice; she is, after all, their “token gay friend"; the rest of his close friends are straight, so she’s really the only one he can ask.

“Kristen,“ Fabian starts one afternoon when it’s just the two of them on the roof, “You know about gay stuff, right?“

Kristen lights up. “I don’t know if you know this-“

“I do, you say it all the time-“

“-but I’m gay!“ Kristen finishes like she doesn’t come out over breakfast every morning. “So yeah, I do.“

“Awesome, great, listen, I have a question. Have you ever- hm.“ Fabian cuts himself off with a hum as he attempts to word it correctly. He decides to try another route. “Do you think Ragh is attracted to me?“

“Oh, for sure,“ Kristen says and, even though he already knew that, Fabian chokes on air in surprise at her surety. “He’s really into the whole ’straight boy jock’ thing and, I’m a lesbian, but even I know that you’re objectively the hottest person in our party. You and Fig are the hot ones.“

“Obviously,“ Fabian replies, kneejerk.

“Yeah, so, duh. Why do you ask?“ Kristen asks, and Fabian-

Fabian falters because, obviously, he wants to get to the bottom of why he can’t just forget about Ragh’s proposition like Gorgug has, but the idea of talking about it, of telling Kristen makes his stomach twist. Something about it makes him feel weird, the same way he feels weird whenever he thinks about Ragh wanting to kiss him.

“He just said something and I-“ Fabian waves a hand dismissively. “Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.“

Kristen’s eyebrows furrow and she places a hand on Fabian’s arm, firm but still kind. “If you’re uncomfortable with a gay man simply being attracted to you, you’re the asshole here. But listen, Jawbone has some pamphlets about it and we can totally work this out-“

“I’m not uncomfortable, I just wanted to know if he had said anything to you,“ Fabian says, the words quick and awkward in his mouth. Maybe I am uncomfortable, He considers. Maybe the twisting how of his gut and the heating of his face are merely symptoms of his discomfort. He’s always been fine with Kristen and Tracker, he was fine with Ragh when he told them about Dane, but maybe he just thought he wasn’t homophobic until it directly affected him.

Kristen stares at him silently for a second, tilting her head as her eyebrows raise. “Huh. Never would’ve guessed that.“ She says, then, “Well, actually, I maybe would’ve because you’re like, supernaturally obsessed with your appearance, but stereotyping is bad and all that.“

“What are you talking about?“ Fabian snaps, irritated with her vagueness. He realizes that he should’ve just gone to Adaine for help, she reads books and knows about a great many things, not to mention that it certainly would’ve been less of a tax on his patience than dealing with Kristen at her��� Kristen-est.

“I think… I think you should talk to Ragh,“ Kristen says, and then continues on quickly before Fabian can get the horrified Absolutely not out of his mouth. “No, listen, this is really something that would go best if you just, like, talked to Ragh about it, I think. And like, I rolled a seventeen on persuasion, so you kind of have to.”

Fabian, not blessed in wisdom, fails his saving throw and has to admit that Kristen’s point is pretty compelling. Still, “I don’t even know where Ragh is right now.”

Kristen gives him a look that clearly says We all live in the same vanboat, you have to know that he’s less than three minutes away. She leans away from Fabian and, still holding eye contact, yells into the van, "Hey, Ragh, Fabian wants to talk to you!"

"Kristen, no," Fabian hisses. Kristen just grins back at him.

"Kristen, yes!" She says, "You will so thank me for this."

Fabian is still cursing Kristen's name when Ragh climbs up to join them on the roof. He's wearing his normal jeans but has elected to leave his letterman jacket in the van. Probably a good idea, Fabian thinks, eyes involuntarily drawn to the sheen of sweat over Ragh's biceps as Ragh stretches before he sits. It's been hot all day, but Fabian would bet gold that it's gotten hotter in the past five minutes. He certainly feels rather feverish, suddenly.

"What's the problem, bro?" Ragh asks when he settles down. Kristen makes a face at him from behind Ragh's back and mouths Take my advice!!!! When he pretends not to notice and instead stares pointedly at the sea, she huffs loudly.

"Well, I'm going to go back into the van, I'm real tired," She says, obnoxiously obvious. Fabian makes a face back at her when Ragh turns towards her. "I'll, uh,see you guys later. Don't even worry about everyone else, I'll keep 'em down there."

Fabian tries to infuse enough That is absolutely not what I want! and Don't leave us alone! into a single glare to make her stay, but she just winks at him, like she's a bard or something, which of course makes Ragh turns back to Fabian, puzzled.

"What was all that about?"

"It's nothing, really," Fabian says, forcing lightness into his voice as he waves a hand, as though all this awkwardness could be as easily dispelled as Fig's cigarette smoke. "Kristen is just being dramatic."

Ragh frowns, his dark eyes are stormily serious. Fabian's heart skips a beat. "We're bros. And bros don't have to lie about their feelings, right?"

"... Right."

"Dude." Ragh says as he punches Fabian's arm, clearly about to get started on the Jawbone taught me emotional vulnerability and now I think everyone should do it spiel. Fabian's already heard it at least one time apiece from Kristen and Adaine, and he still thinks he's good on the emotions front, thank you very much. Still, his stomach flips even now with nerves, and he thinks of how Kristen thought that talking with Ragh would sort him out. As truly awful as he imagines it will be, he wonders if Kristen has a point, just this once.

"Alright, alright!" He concedes, "I suppose we can talk about my feelings."

"Awesome!" Ragh grins lopsidedly, shifting to sit lotus style, his full attention on Fabian. "Now, what's up?"

A feeling rises in Fabian's chest, like his ribcage is stuck in a vice, and he feels nearly sick with guilt. Here Ragh is, so kindly and sincerely devoting his attention to Fabian, and Fabian's body can't even relax enough to appreciate it.

"I think I owe you an apology," Fabian says, and before Ragh can respond, he rushes on with, "I think I might be homophobic, but I'm going to work on it and be a better friend for you and Kristen, and I'm very sorry."

Ragh's opens and closes his mouth wordlessly a few times, tusks catching on his upper lip. "I- what?"

Fabian sighs huffily and explains, how he's felt weird and off-kilter since Ragh's proposition and Kristen's offered explanation. Ragh listens thoughtfully, brow furrowed and a hand on his chin. He's still frowning as Fabian finishes his tale and Fabian fights the urge to fidget under the scrutiny.

"I don't think you're homophobic, dude," Ragh says, eventually. He sounds like he's choosing his words carefully, like he's walking on eggshells, and Fabian aches to think that he's made Ragh think that he has to do that.

"Of course I am, what else could it be?" Fabian asks, and Ragh screws up half of his face. "See! I made you uncomfortable with my- weirdness. I'm sorry."

"No, no, I'm not uncomfortable, I'm just trying to… Reconcile some things. Sort stuff out in the old noggin." Fabian tries not to look too doubtful but Ragh must've aced his insight check because he sighs and continues, "Listen, this has got to be weird for you too, I mean, obviously it is if you think you're a homophobe, but I think there's a pretty easy way to figure out what your discomfort means."

"And what would that be?" Fabian asks snipily, turning away. He doesn't like apologizing in the first place, much less when the other person won't just accept it.

"Feel free to say no, but I figured you could just try kissing me." Ragh says, and Fabian’s head whips back to him. Ragh lifts up his hands defensively. “Full disclosure, I think you’re super hot so I'm definitely getting something out of this, but if you can't stop thinking about it… It couldn't hurt, could it?"

Ragh shrugs as he lays his offer down and Fabian-

Fabian's heart pounds like he's in the middle of a Bloodrush play as heat pools in his face and his stomach. He hadn't ever considered actually kissing Ragh, but now that it's on the table, something deep within him twists with want.

"One kiss?" Fabian asks, trying to will away his blush, "I wouldn't be… Opposed."

"Uh-uh, none of that. I need a definite yes or no, bro," Ragh says, "I don't want to pressure you into this."

Fabian feels his flush flare hotter and squeezes his eyes shut. The deep buried part of him has rapidly expanded and spread throughout his body, leaving his fingers twitching towards Ragh and his lips tingling with anticipation. He can't imagine saying no, but to say yes also seems almost insurmountable. He opens his eyes, sees how softly Ragh smiles and the patience in his eyes, and it feels like someone's reached into Fabian's chest and twisted. Fabian nods, excessively, embarrassingly, then says, "Yes, yes, I'd like to try it-" before Ragh is upon him like the tide on a beach.

It's different from kissing Aelwyn; there's no bitter taste of alcohol or sticky-sweet lipgloss, no, Ragh's lips are chapped and he tastes of salt from days at sea, but it's still so much. Ragh cups Fabian's head, gentle, but presses his mouth insistently forward, easily leading Fabian through the sweeping movements of a makeout. Fabian's heartbeat still thuds in his ears, but he can also hear Ragh's slow and steady breaths, feel how he nips Fabian's lips and smiles against Fabian's mouth. When it's over, when Ragh pulls back and Fabian embarrassingly chases after him for half a second, Fabian is breathing like he's been near-drowned.

"Still think you're homophobic?" Ragh asks, teeth flashing in the ocean sunlight, lips slick from Fabian. Fabian burns brightly.

"I have," Fabian clears his throat awkwardly. "A few other theories now."

Ragh laughs, full and perfect, throwing his head back. Fabian looks at the vast muscled expanse of his neck, realizes that the twist of his gut just means that he wants to press a kiss to the juncture of Ragh's jawline and neck, and thinks, Huh.

"Well, that was super fun," Ragh says, clapping Fabian on the back, "Always down to help a fellow Owlbear with a sexuality crisis, dude, just let me know if you wanna do that again."

Ragh heads back into the vanboat, whistling cheerfully, and Fabian waits until he's absolutely out of sight to raise a shaking hand to his lips. He feels a smile giddily crawling over his face and he buries his face in his hands rather than risk someone seeing him like that. He wonders, in a corner of his mind that's not fully busy simply rejoicing over getting his kisses in, if having a boyfriend is much different than having a girlfriend.

[purplefairywriter]

Hyung Line BTS as RPG Classes

This idea has been wandering around in my head for a while so I finally decided to release it into the wild world. This is based on D&D for the most part but I opted not to go into details about their races, so this is just going to be a run down of their classes and alignments. If you don’t know what classes are alignments are, I’ll explain it as I go through the members of BTS. Alignments are only meant to be kind of a guide to your characters and not a blanket statement for how characters will act. SPOILER ALERT: most of them are on the good spectrum alignment wise. Here’s the maknae line one for you guys!

JIN

Blurb Jin walked into the dimly lit tavern. There were a variety of fair and buxom maidens there, all of whom turned to stare at him as he strutted in. Carrying his lucky red rose and his special lute, he went to the first maid who caught his eye. He gave her the rose before taking his lute and playing a single, beautiful chord. Then he leaned in and said "Hello, beautiful. I'm Mr. Worldwide Handsome. Are you gonna tell me your name or are you gonna let me just call you beautiful?" Class “The bard is a master of song, speech, and the magic they contain... Only rarely do bards settle in one place for long... Bards thrive on stories, whether those stories are true or not.” BARD. He’s a bard, 110% a bard. I mean... His personality screams it. There’s a reason I call this man the “good guy version of Gaston”. He has a charm to go along with his “Worldwide Handsome” title. That and the fact he was literally studying to be an actor before he go recruited by BigHit makes me believe he’d be a great addition to any party who is trying to do undercover/spy missions. Need a cocky nobleman? Jin’s got you covered. Need a down on his luck pig farmer? Jin’s got you covered. In my opinion, he’d have one of the higher charismas of a BTS party, which would help with the bard life. Alignment Probably chaotic good, so a rebel. He values personal freedom while at the same time upholding what is good. He probably comes off as an asshole/playboy when in reality he cares a lot about his friends/loved ones.

J-HOPE

Blurb J-Hope sat in the open field, admiring the sun. It was the sun that brought life to everything and everyone he knew. His best friend sat next to him, reading their favorite book. When a gruff voice shouted a slur towards his friend, J-Hope jumped up. "Hey! Try that on someone your own size, buddy!" He proclaimed without even sizing his enemy up. It turned out to be one of the local members of the warrior's guild, one of the toughest fighters out of the bunch. J-Hope held his ground, though. Their words escalated until a duel was unavoidable. J-Hope's friend tried to dissuade him from fighting. "I'll never let some idiot hurt my friends, physically or no! I'll teach this bully a lesson!" After the duel was over and the bully was simpering in defeat, J-Hope reminded his friend that he, like the sun, would never fail his friend. Class I’m feeling warrior type. You could go with either fighter or paladin with him. Either way, he wouldn’t be able to stay in the back and watch his friends get hurt without raising a ruckus. He wouldn’t be quiet or sneaky enough for a rogue and being a spell caster might not be up his alley. He’d want to have a hands-on approach in helping his friends, he would want to be in the front lines kicking butt. Why don’t you just pick one class? aka Why are you lumping paladin in there? Well, because J-Hope, as well all know, has a high charisma. Paladins need a high charisma as well as strength versus just strength alone. Paladins are basically more determined warriors and/or defenders/protectors of others, as they have a religious cause to be fighting for rather than just fighting because why not. Plus I have to admit, I think it would be funny to have J-Hope as a paladin because he’d be a bad paladin. As in he wouldn’t be screaming from the mountaintops about his god, he’d save someone and then go “oh yeah by the way I gotta tell you about my god real quick”. I’d imagine if he was in a paladin group everyone would make fun of him for helping people without preaching to them. He would stick to his guns (or should I say swords, this is a D&D post after all) about things, though. It’d be hard to sway him against doing a thing, which probably makes for a great paladin in some ways. If he was a paladin, he’d choose a sun or a mischievous god that fell under good. (In my world if he was a paladin, he’d be one for a crow/raven god that is mostly good but mischievous at times.) Alignment Chaotic Good, so the same as Jin. Although if you go the paladin route, he may end up being Lawful Good, which means he would have a strict sense of honor while at the same time putting down the freedom of others (even though I personally don’t see J-Hope being that way, but I can see him acting that way if he felt like he had no other option, really.)

SUGA

TW: slight verbal abuse (Not Suga giving it), violence Blurb Suga sat in the alleyway. He watched some pickpockets go by, just enjoying the sparse quietness that the night brought him. The sound of a knife unsheathing some distance away made him leap unto his feet. He looked over to see a grown man aiming the knife at a cowering child. "I'll pay you back, I promise!" The child cried. "You lousy brat, you haven't been able to steal anything for two weeks now! What did I ever hire you for?" The man asked, his words slurring. Suga walked over to the pair and tapped the man on the shoulder. The man turned around with a growl. "What are you doing talking to my son like that?" Suga asked, his hand on his knife's handle. The man looked at the kid then back at Suga. “Then why are you lettin’ him roam the streets and work for me? Some moron idiot father you are.” The man asked. The boy looked up at Suga, visibly frightened. Suga had never seen the boy before in his life. But Suga knew what it was like to deal with angry, cutthroat criminal scum like the man standing in front of him as a child. “Leave the boy alone. How much does he owe you?” Suga asked. He kept his hand on his knife, ready to draw in case the criminal lashed out. “50 gold.” The man grumbled. Suga pulled out his coin purse and nearly handed it to the man. “It’s between me and the brat. I don’t want your blood money.” The man said. The man turned back to the boy, his anger growing. “I could’ve made twice as much profit this week if I didn’t have to feed you. I should’ve let you rot!” The man raised one hand, tightly gripping a knife over his head as the child screamed. Suga stabbed the man in the shoulder, which reduced the man to a crumpled heap of pain on the alleyway path. Suga grabbed the child’s arm and dragged him out of the alleyway and towards safety. [The boy isn’t Suga’s child, obviously. Suga is probably going to feed the kid and find him a safe place to stay at least.] Class

“Rogues devote as much effort to mastering the use of a variety of skills as they do to perfecting their combat abilities, giving them a broad expertise that few other characters can match. When it comes to combat, rogues prioritize cunning over brute strength. A rogue would rather make one precise strike... As adventurers, rogues fall on both sides of the law.” I know some of you guys may be like “no wait Suga can’t be a rogue, he isn’t evil!”. I feel like Suga would make a good rogue, I do, I just have that feeling. He seems like the type of guy who devotes time to developing his skills, as well as a guy who speaks only  when something needs to be said. He comes off as a big tough guy when in reality he cares. “Why isn’t he a bard?” I feel like for Suga, music in an RPG setting would be secondary. Given that in real life he grew up with a family who was didn’t support his ideas of his music career, I could see him having to resort to rogue-ry things in order to support himself and survive (he would never break laws for fun, he’d do it in order to survive) with the idea of becoming a musician someday. If he dual-classed, bard would be his second class. Alignment Chaotic Good. But like I said earlier, he may come off as more neutral at first. He may put his own needs first before readily accepting that he does care for other people in a way.

RM

Blurb RM stood in a secluded glade. Crickets chirped nearby, the only sound keeping the world around him from silence. His companion was frightened, desperately trying to start a fire in the dark of the forest. "Are you sure this'll work? It seems strange, being out here so late at night..." The companion’s voice was deeply concerned. RM sighed as he stared up at the stars for a moment. "It's alright. If there's one thing I know about magic, it's that you have to trust yourself in order for it to work. Don't be afraid, I've got your back. Okay?" The companion nodded, his words bringing some comfort to them. They finally got the fire lit. The companion sighed in relief at the light the fire offered. RM spent the next few minutes casting protection spells before he sat down. "I know that darkness is scary, and the thing that dwell in it are even more frightening. One day you'll be able to face the darkness without any fear." RM said as he got comfortable. "How do you do it? How do you not be afraid?" His companion's question made him chuckle. "It took me many years to get to this point. Like there was this one time..." RM told his companion stories until they fell asleep. He'd do this until the companion felt safe, until his companion was as strong as he was when it came to facing the dark. Class I’m thinking either druid or wizard for RM. Wizards require high intelligence (which RM has!) while druids require high wisdom (which RM also has!). I can imagine him as either the wizard who’s spent much of his life reading every magic book and trying every magic spell he can or as the druid who enjoys spending time being at one with nature. For a staff, I’d be inclined to give him one that looks like a thyrsus totally not because I’ve watched Dionysus too many times or anything crazy like that because it’d be a cool reference to BTS. Alignment I could see RM being Chaotic Good or Lawful Good. It just depends on the situation, really. He’d probably want to be a good example for other people and look after them in a way. That’s it for now! I may do some actual character sheets (as in a full-on character build with races, stats, the whole 9 yards maybe) or even write the whole situation regarding the blurbs (kinda gave Suga’s away though, I knew I couldn’t leave you guys hanging like that) eventually so... Thanks for reading! Here’s the maknae line with Jimin, V, and Jungkook!

[tabletopresources]

So I’m currently playing as a CG bard in a homebrew campaign, and I just made the questionable decision of becoming a paladin of a LE god. This act requires me to lie in character more than I’m used to, and as a person I am a reeeaalllly bad liar. In terms of role play, do you have any tips on role playing as something that you aren’t good at? My character has a good deception modifier, but I can’t lie to save my life which makes everything so much more difficult. I’m a little lost! 😅

Thanks for submitting your question, pachelbels-passacaglia! I’ve fallen behind on my Q&A and this is a fantastic way to jump back in.

As I read the question, I’m thinking it’s really asking two things.

What can I do to better roleplay a character who is not like me?

How can I play as a character who is capable of something that I am not?

The first question can be answered with tips and tricks to try and roleplay that character. To get better at it until finally you can do in-character exactly what you personally can’t yet do well.

I’m choosing to answer the second questionwith a bit of an assumption - you’ve practiced, you’ve tried, but this character is simply not something that’s coming easy to you.

Let’s tackle each in turn now.

What can I do to better roleplay a character who is not like me?

Take it slow. Instead of trying to make a character with a personality far-removed from your own, try playing a character with just a few notable differences. In your example, choosing that this character is skilled in lying while you are not is a great place to start.

Like thinking about character histories when you’re getting into your characters’ heads? It can help! Imagine a character whose background is somewhat similar to your own (albeit in the campaign’s setting), except with differences that would naturally give rise to this trait. In your example, you may be a bad liar because you see more value in honesty. It’s likely that has worked for you, or at least that lying has not. Imagine a scenario where that wasn’t the case - where honesty has only brought ruin or injury, whereas lying has brought reward and safety. How would your value system change, your experience, your motivations and defenses? Apply that to your character.

Research. Look at characters from literature, movies and tv shows, or even real life, who have exhibited the trait. In your example, first to mind is the character Petyr Baelish or “Little Finger” from the Game of Thrones TV series and the A Song of Ice and Fire books it’s based on. He’s a well-known character who’s been identified as deceptive, a master manipulator. If you’re looking for someone who’s able to “shape the truth” but is more widely regarded as a well-intentioned liar, try Tyrion Lannisterfrom the same tv and book sources. I choose these well-known characters because their popularity has yielded a massive library of character analysis resources, like this one, which actually break down HOW the character achieves this. I’d suggest looking into Petyr and Tyrion both, and more - you’ll find bits and pieces you like and will imagine something that you’re curious to pursue.  

How can I play as a character who is capable of something that I am not?

Communicate this to the other players.The effort put into communication in groups, roleplaying or not, is a topic that comes up in my answers more often than anything else. Even something as simple as an ask for character-player separation can do wonders: “I really want to play a character who can X, though to be honest I’m not great at it myself. It would be great if we, as a group, could try and remove what I say and do from what my character does. Sound fair?” Doing this, your group should be okay with you blundering through a lie, even if it’s an important one in a pivotal moment for your character. You as the player/actor can make a mistake as you roleplay that isn’t automatically identically applied to your character. Even so, I’d also recommend welcoming a bit of fun - we all mess up, but in the best groups it can be funny without damaging your experience. 

Let a roll represent your role. This goes hand-in-hand with the suggestion above. Your character probably has an ability or skill on his sheet with a modifier that determines their likelihood of success or failure, and a roll indicates the nature of the performance. A group that can distance what you’re good at from your character sheet will often be fine with “letting the dice do the talking”. Now some players may frown at this - it IS a roleplaying game after all, and in truth I myself always prefer when my players add a little flavor to anything they roll. But there’s a great balance that can be achieved, and to demonstrate I have two examples.

 I once saw a DM apply a neat trick when the group was fighting a dumb, brutish monster. On the monster’s turn in combat, the DM would think of the best move the monster could take to get the better of us. He’d then roll on a 20-sides die. If the result was an 8 or lower (the monster’s intelligence) then the DM would take the optimal action he’d planned. But if the roll was higher, he’d ask us to make a choice in what the monster would do. Now he kept us reasonable (no, it won’t jump off a cliff and commit suicide). But it felt right when, for example, we got to choose which of us it would attack, and was a lot of fun. This was an example of a die roll bringing the roleplay directly into game mechanics.

I have a shy player in my group (she’s REALLY opened up since starting to play with us, but that’s a topic for another post!). In one session she got stuck as party “spokesperson” when another player character was out of the scene and the group realized she had the highest skill in Diplomacy. Knowing she’d struggle a little with confidently roleplaying out a convincing argument, she took a different route. It was some time ago, but in effect she said, “Ok, so I look at this guy and my face is like... etched with desperation. But when I talk, though it’s shaky, I try to keep it strong and resolute. I tell him what we just fought through. I tell him (for brevity, insert heroic things the others have done here). And I know he has a family, and I know he’s as desperate as we are for all this to be over, so I appeal to that side of him as I make a case for us. I give it my all to convince him we need those gates open, even if just until nightfall.” Notice how she avoided having to work through the exact wording, and yet managed to make it very much about the characters and the situation. And she had a die in her hand the entire time she talked, let it go when she ended, and rolled. Now it doesn’t matter if she succeeded or not - regardless of the result of that die, we KNEW what flavor was ready and waiting to be applied to her success or her failure. Trust me, she left that night with the group singing her praises for top-notch roleplay.

Ohhhkay. Looking back I see this getting wordy (as usual) so I’m going to call it there. Hopefully I’ve shared something that could be helpful to you, @pachelbels-passacaglia.

I’m going to cease my response here and hand it over to our ever creative and supportive community.

Do you have a trick you’ve used? A suggestion you’ve come across? Please share!

And while you’re pondering, it would be great if you’d check out Tabletop Gaming Resources for more art, tips and tools for your game!

[rapuvdayear]

2000: “Ghetto Qu’ran (Forgive Me)” 50 Cent (Trackmaster Ent./Columbia)

It’s been over a year since I teased the idea of doing a post about my favorite 50 Cent tracks, so I guess now is as good a time as ever to get around to it! 

With the exception of maybe Kanye, I can’t think of another rapper with more raw talent whose career has been more disappointing. Obviously both Ye and Fiddy have been monstrously successful, but IMO they either burned brightly before descending into white supremacy apologia (Kanye) or never achieved their best possible trajectory (50). It’s not an accident to put them together in this way, either; just 12 years ago next month they faced off in what turned out to be a very underwhelming battle over whose album would sell better (this was back when album sales, not streaming numbers, still meant something). In many ways, it was a crossroads for each artist: Kanye dropped what I believe was his magnum opus, then followed it up with his fourth-best album, third-best album, and second-best album, before dropping off a cliff, while 50′s release basically removed him from the conversation about who was relevant in rap (“My Gun Go Off” and “I Get Money” are honorable mentions for the list below, but otherwise Curtis is entirely forgettable). 

These days, 50 has gone the Ice Cube route and is probably more recognizable as an actor than as a rapper. So, it’s hard to remember that once upon a time he was the savior of gangsta rap and (co-)author of one of the 25 greatest albums of all time. He beat the odds to survive a shooting, link up with the two heaviest hitters (at the time) in the rap game, and even be included on some GOAT lists. He also essentially established the “flood the streets with mixtapes before your album drops” strategy of self-promotion that Gucci, Weezy, and even Drake would follow in the days before Soundcloud was the go-to resource for building a rep. He singlehandedly destroyed a rival’s career, launched a clothing line, video game, and music label, and made a halfway-decent biopic. And then... he just sort of petered out. 

But! 50 is also responsible for some of my all-time favorite raps, which is why it’s so frustrating to me that he never lived up to the buzz surrounding him back in 2003. These are my five favorites, listed chronologically, with some commentary:

1) “Ghetto Qu’ran (Forgive Me)” (2000) Before the G-Unit days and before Eminem and Dre helped launch him to superstardom, Curtis Jackson was an up and coming rapper from Queens who had attracted the attention of another rap legend, Run-DMC’s Jam Master Jay. A mutual friend introduced 19 year-old 50 to Jay back in 1996, and the veteran producer/DJ gave him a crash course in how to write songs and signed him to his fledgling label. The business relationship didn’t work out, but it helped lead 50 to Columbia Records’ Trackmasters imprint where he recorded Power of the Dollar in 1999. However, this debut album would never see the light of day after 50 was shot nine times while sitting in a friend’s car and subsequently dropped by Columbia. In the wake of the shooting--and then later, after 50 blew the fuck up in 2003--it became a sort of “lost cult classic” among rap fans. “How To Rob” got the most attention at the time, a funny-yet-vicious song demonstrating 50′s hunger through fantasies about sticking up famous rappers and R&B stars (the song was also clearly an homage to Biggie’s unreleased “Dreams,” and provoked an oblique diss from Ghostface). But “Ghetto Qu’ran” has had a more lasting impact, primarily because of how it was rumored to be the source of 50′s shooting, Jam Master Jay’s murder, and the Ja Rule/Murder Inc. beef. While all of that intrigue is important to rap lore, it distracts from the fact that it’s a near perfect rap song from a technical perspective: a catchy hook, a fantastic beat and sample, an effortless flow, and a well-crafted story that is equal parts celebration of the Queens underworld and subtle shots at street legends. Seriously, this is akin to what traveling bards used to do in medieval Europe, what poets in Ancient Greece wrote, what west African griots did/do, and what narcocorrido artists do now. If you want to learn about the Supreme Team, Pappy Mason, the Corley Family, and the Rich Porter/Alpo crew in Harlem, then this is a good place to start; as 50 puts it, “consider this the first chapter of the ghetto’s Qu’ran.” The secondary title to this track--“Forgive Me”--has a double meaning now. It was initially a plea to forgive 50 for the pain he caused in his criminal life but in retrospect an appeal to the figures whose names he drops. Also, it’s interesting to listen to this first and then compare 50′s voice with the next four tracks: this was recorded before the shooting, which left a bullet fragment lodged in his tongue that affected his speech and gave him his now-distinctive flow.    

2) “Heat” (2003) There are several standouts on Get Rich or Die Tryin’ (“Many Men,” “Back Down,” “What Up Gangsta,” “Patiently Waiting,” and “Poor Lil’ Rich” spring to mind, and I will always love “21 Questions” for the “I love you like a fat kid loves cake” line alone) but this one has always been my fave. It’s a perfect distillation of the image that 50 was trying to project when he burst onto the scene: a hood-hardened gangster who wouldn’t hesitate to do his enemies harm. And given his recent history, you could believe him, too! There’s really nothing about this song that should be praised in any way, but I’ve been thinking about the gravity of the following line a lot in the past month or so: “The summertime is a killing season/ It’s hot out this bitch, that’s a good enough reason.” Also, 50′s boast “the DA can play this motherfucking tape in court” *has* to be one of the inspirations behind this great Key & Peele sketch, right? 

3) “A Baltimore Love Thing” (2005) The Massacre was incredibly disappointing on the whole. I can remember clearly sitting around with my friends in a dorm room at the Shoreland listening to it all the way through the day that it dropped, wanting to love it but slowly realizing that it wasn’t going to live up to our expectations. “Ski Mask Way” could be an honorable mention on this list, and “Piggy Bank” is kind of funny, but otherwise it’s a steaming pile of shit. “Baltimore Love Thing,” though, is a masterpiece. It’s incredibly dark, rapped from the perspective of heroin itself (sort of like what Nas’s “I Gave You Power” does for guns) in order to detail the destruction that addiction--and, by extension, drug trafficking--leaves in its wake. Even more fucked up, 50-as-heroin voices an abusive partner addressing a woman, threatening her should she ever try to leave him. For my money, “You broke my heart, you dirty bitch, I won’t forget what you did/ If you give birth, I’ll already be in love with your kids” is one of the coldest lines in the annals of rap, full stop. In the second verse, he switches to the flip side of an abuser’s mindset: “I never steer you wrong, if you hyper I make you calm/ I’ll be your incentive, your reason for you to move forward.” All in all, it’s a great concept song that shows off 50′s range as a rapper... and is a testament to what he could have been.

4) “Hustler’s Ambition” (2005) Goddamn, I fucking love everything about this song! The beat is fantastic (great sample, btw), prefiguring the sound on a future great mixtape from the G-Unit crew. 50′s flow here is flawless, arguably the best, smoothest he’s ever been. This was basically the “theme” for 2005′s Get Rich or Die Tryin’ film, and tells the story of his come up in the drug game (or, at least, 50′s version of his carefully constructed hagiography). The lyrics are the true gems here, so I’ll just let a few of the standouts speak for themselves:

“Check my logic: fiends don’t like seeds in they weed, shit/ Send me them seeds, I’ll grow ‘em what they need”

“I sell anything, I’m a hustler, I know how to grind/ Step on grapes, put it in water, and tell you it’s wine”

“I made plans to make it, a prisoner of the state/ Now I can invite your ass out to my estate”

“Pour Cristal in the blender, make a protein shake”

and finally

“The feds watch me, icy, they can’t stop me/ Racists pointing at me, ‘Look at *****race’: Hello!”   

5) “Ghetto Like A Motherfucker” (2011) I remember first encountering this track on a Tumblr compilation (I think?) called Don’t Fuck This Up, Curtis! and allowing myself to get excited that the old 50 was back! As the compilation’s name implies, around that time 50 had been releasing a string of online-only singles that were better than anything he’d put out in five or so years, and so there was some hope that he’d soon be making a triumphant return to the rap game. Sadly, this was not to be. But I still bang this track every month or so. The idea here was that 50 had written something, set it to a very sparse, stripped-down beat, and posted it online as an invitation for DIY rap producers to play with it and layer their own compositions on top of it. In that sense, it represented a melange of rap’s earliest roots--dudes spitting over vinyl cuts in basements and parks, just fucking around and having fun--and the possibilities afforded by the digital age and rap’s embrace of online platforms for mixing and remixing material (on a side note, I like to think of this as part of 21st century rap’s “punk rock” aesthetic, and would argue that this genre has done it better than any other). As with “Hustler’s Ambition,” “Baltimore Love Thing,” and “Ghetto Qu’ran,” this track gives 50 a chance to really showcase his talents as a writer and a rapper. The lyrics are as grimy as the beat, painting a picture of urban poverty and pre-fame 50, and 50 switches up his flow at multiple points throughout. Here are some of my favorite lines:

“Slim chance I’ma go back to killing roaches/ Be quiet, you can hear the rats in the wall/ Make you wanna pump crack ‘til you stack racks”

“Dice game, shake ‘em up, praying’ for a 6/ The wolves out there hungry, they lookin’ for a lick”

“****** pissed on the staircase, in the elevator/ Now I’m pissed cuz I’m starting to smell like piss, player”

and

“All a ***** need is a block and a connect/ And a box of 9 MMs to load in the TEC.”

50′s last two studio albums--Before I Self Destruct and Animal Ambition--honestly weren’t half-bad; I would venture so far as to say that they were both better than The Massacre and Curtis. But for 50 it was too little, too late, really. Too many rappers had come along since then doing what he did, only better and fresher. This is a Migos world now; we’re just living in it. And so, I’m left to ponder what could have been.