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grailfinders · 4 years ago

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Fate and Phantasms #158

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making the best blue dog in Chaldea since Cu Chulainn (And also the guy riding him) Avenger of Shinjuku! (If we really want to avoid spoilers, should we be calling them the Rider of Shinjuku?) As always with these servants, it’s hard to go into detail about who they are without spoiling stuff, so keep that in mind before going further.

Check out their build breakdown below the cut, or their character sheet over here!

Next up: Funny amogus reference!

Hessian Lobo are mostly a Shadow Sorcerer to summon a big scary dog and other magical nonsense we need stuffed into this spirit origin, but they also get a couple levels of Fighter, because the endgame levels of Sorcerer are bad, and you do hit things with a sharp stick from time to time.

Race and Background: You’re a Human, but you’re also a ghost that haunts a stretch of road, killing all you come across, so that makes you a Revenant as well. (I will tell you now, a lot of headaches would be solved if you just went with Halfling Revenant instead, but human’s still the most in-character.) This gives you +1 Strength, +1 Charisma, and +1 Constitution, as well as a Relentless Nature. This means you gain 1 HP each round if you’re bloodied, you can’t die permanently, and you always know the direction of your DM assigned goal. Once that goal is complete, you die instantly. Bit of a downside, but tbh D&D games take forever, you’ll barely notice.

In life you were a Soldier, and while that doesn’t fit the background of both members of your party, the Athletics and Intimidation training will come in handy.

Ability Scores: Make sure your Charisma is as high as possible, you are terrifying, and you know it. Strength is a close second, because heads are notoriously difficult to separate. After that is Constitution, not only are ghosts hard to kill, but you’re also invisible half the time, which makes things even harder Your Wisdom isn’t bad- you can tell where people are when it’s time to take heads, but you still don’t really have eyes. You don’t really get off your horse that much, so your Dexterity is pretty low, but we’re dumping Intelligence. One of you is literally brainless, and the other is an animal. You won’t be solving Sudokus any time soon.

Class Levels:

1. Fighter 1: Starting as a fighter nets you plenty of goodies, including extra HP and weapon proficiencies so you can use a real scythe. You also get proficiency with Strength and Constitution saves, as well as Animal Handling to keep the king of Currumpaw under control and Perception. You can see without eyes, that’s pretty skillful.

You also get a Fighting Style, and if you really want to play D&D without a head the Blind Fighting style is a must, giving you blindsense in a 10′ radius around you.

You also get a Second Wind once per short rest as a bonus action which’ll heal you a bit. I guess that’s your oblivion correction.

2. Fighter 2: Second level fighters get an Action Surge, letting you take an extra action in a turn once per short rest. I hope you like it, because this is the only way you’ll be able to attack twice per turn for ages.

3. Sorcerer 1: While I wouldn’t call you a wizard, you do some wacky tricks that you can only really do in D&D with magic. Since these come from your being dead/unethical spirit origin mad science, I’d say a Shadow sorcerer is the closest thing in the rules books.

First level shadow sorcerers get Eyes of the Dark, giving you 120 feet of darkvision, which is really impressive for someone without eyes. You also get the Strength of the Grave, letting you make a Charisma save when you drop to 0 HP once per long rest. If you succeed, you drop to 1 HP instead. This doesn’t work on radiant damage or critical hits, but all that makes you more ghostly, so that’s probably fine.

You also get Spells that you can cast using your Charisma. Friends will help you work with your slobbery partner more easily, while True Strike and Sword Burst add a bit of flair to your weapon attacks. You also get the cantrip Mind Sliver to track down your prey.

For first level spells, Mage Armor will help out with riding around in a suit, and Expeditious Retreat makes you a bit harder to escape from. Both these spells can also be pretty useful for Lobo once he shows up.

4. Sorcerer 2: Second level sorcerers are a Font of Magic, which lets you turn spell slots into Sorcery Points and vice versa. You can only have a number of sorcery points equal to your sorcerer level at most, and they refill on long rests.

You also learn the Jump spell to help the King of Currumpaw get around the crowded streets of Shinjuku.

5. Sorcerer 3: At third level you get two Metamagic options to alter your spells. Subtle Spell lets you cast magic without somatic or verbal components- very useful when you don’t have a mouth. Twinned Spell will let you cast spells on two targets instead of one, which is great for making both you and your ride invisible.

Enlarge/Reduce might not seem that useful, but trust me you’ll love it in a bit.

6. Sorcerer 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump your Strength up a bit for stronger melee attacks.

The cantrip Message will help you get around that whole “no mouth” thing to talk to your party members, and your first bit of Invisibility will make sneaking up on your target a breeze.

7. Sorcerer 5: Fifth level sorcerers get Magical Guidance, using your sorcery points to re-roll failed ability checks. I’m not saying the Hessian is magically glued to his saddle or anything, but you never see him fall off, do you?

You also get third level spells, like Hold Person, which makes taking peoples’ heads off so much easier.

8. Sorcerer 6: As a sixth level sorcerer, you finally get your Hound of Ill Omen. Using three sorcery points, you can summon a hound as a bonus action, targeting a creature within 120 feet of you. It’s mostly a Dire Wolf, with a few changes:

It’s medium, not large, and a monstrosity, not a beast.

It gets temporary HP equal to half your sorcerer level.

It can move through solid objects as if it was difficult terrain, taking 5 force damage if it ends a turn in something.

The hound automatically knows the location of the target at the start of each turn.

On top of all that, it can only move towards the target, and can only use its action to attack the target. Also, the target gets disadvantage on saves against your spell while within melee range of the hound. The hound disappears after it or the target hits 0 HP, or after 5 minutes.

The big problem here is the size; you’ll either have to use Enlarge/Reduce to ride it, or just Be a Halfling.

Either way, you can also use Haste to double a creature’s movement speed, give them an extra action each turn, and boost their AC and dexterity saves. The creature also has to take a turn to rest after the spell ends, but that’s probably fine.

9. Sorcerer 7: Seventh level sorcerers get fourth level spells, like Dominate Beast. I know I just said Lobo technically isn’t a beast, but it’s the thought that counts.

10. Sorcerer 8: Now that you have a mount, we can get Mounted Combatant, giving you advantage on attacks against creatures smaller than your mount, and they get evasion. You can also force attacks that hit them to you instead. Don’t do that though, you’re a sorcerer, and Lobo can be rebuilt on a bonus action.

You can also Charm Monster this level, which comes with the added benefit of actually working on your wolf.

11. Sorcerer 9: Ninth level sorcerers get fourth level spells, like Greater Invisibility, which lets one target become invisible for the duration regardless of how many heads they take off.

12. Sorcerer 10: Tenth level sorcerers get another Metamagic option, like Extended Spell. A lot of your spells are buffs, and it would be awkward for that invisibility to drop when you’re halfway through a hunt.

You also learn Minor Illusion, because I couldn’t really come up with a sixth cantrip to give you but now you can make your cape look cooler, and Hold Monster. Just ask Sanson, a disappointingly small number of the things you fight are actually human.

13. Sorcerer 11: For your fifth level spell, Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise both makes you scarier and makes you a stronger fighter, making you immune to Fire and Poison damage as well as the poisoned condition. You also get +2 to your AC, gain a flying speed, and you can attack with your weapon twice per action, using your charisma instead of strength, and it counts as magical damage.

14. Sorcerer 12: Speaking of, let’s bump your Charisma up a bit for stronger Strength of the Grave saves and better magic.

15. Sorcerer 13: Lobo is now so fast you can Teleport as an action, moving you and up to eight willing creatures to a destination on your plane of existence. There’s a slight chance for failure that goes up the less familiar you are with the destination, but that’s probably fine.

16. Sorcerer 14: At fourteenth level, shadow sorcerers can Shadow Walk, letting you teleport between areas of dim light or darkness within 120 feet of each other as a bonus action.

17. Sorcerer 15: Your seventh level spell, Dominate Monster, finally lets you put Lobo fully under your control. He might not like it, but he’s only alive for five minutes at a time anyway.

18. Sorcerer 16: Use your last ASI to max out your Charisma for the toughest saves, strongest spells, and strongest attacks while using your Otherworldly Guise.

19. Sorcerer 17: Speaking of strong spells, you can now use your Blade of Disaster to cause disaster for anyone banking on an intact neck. You can create a magical blade that deals two attacks per bonus action, dealing 4d12 force damage on an attack. On a critical hit, the damage is tripled instead of doubled, and it crits on 18s or higher. Also, it can pass through anything, including a Wall of Force.

To make that even scarier, you can cast it as an Empowered Spell, letting you reroll up to five damage dice each attack.

20. Sorcerer 18: Your capstone level gives you an Umbral Form, letting you use a bonus action to become a shadow that can move through physical objects and has resistance on all damage besides force and radiant for a minute. You take 5 force damage if you end a turn inside an object.

This is especially useful given the fact that you have a ride that can only go forward, and already moves through objects itself.

Pros:

Once you lock onto a target, it’s really hard to shake you. With a hasted dire wolf, you can go 100 feet per round, you’ll always take the shortest route possible, and they literally can’t hide from you.

Two levels of fighter on any sort of caster is very useful, thanks to your action surge giving you an even better version of Quickened Casting.

Mounted Combatant is a nice enough feat, but it doesn’t do too much to help out here since a lot of your spells aren’t really attacks. That is until you realize Blade of Disaster makes melee attacks, and Mounted Combatant doesn’t specify it only works on weapon attacks. This means you can make all those attacks with advantage, further increasing your odds of getting enormous crits with each swing.

Cons:

The reason that great combo above doesn’t quite work is simple, though: You need your concentration focused on keeping your mount around at all, since without Enlarge/Reduce you’re stuck with a medium sized wolf. That also means you can’t haste the wolf and ride it. Or turn it invisible. Or even charm it.

The biggest problem here is Flavor. You can either do all the cool things Hessian Lobo does, or you can ride the wolf. These are mutually exclusive, unless you A) are a halfling, B) have a cool DM, or C) just invest in a horse.

Despite being a frontline fighter, all those levels of sorcerer make you incredibly Squishy. With a low AC and low HP, you’ll have a hard time sticking around without your invisibility. Normally this would be made up for thanks to your mount keeping you out of trouble, but your wolf only knows how to run even further into danger.

#FGO #Fate Grand Order #D&D 5e #DND #Avenger of Shinjuku #Fighter #Sorcerer

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wisteria-lodge · 3 years ago

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exploded bird + lion secondary (badger model)

Good afternoon Wisteria! I was hoping for your input with my sorting. This MAY become a novel, and i apologize ahead of time for that. Hopefully its interesting, if nothing else.

I am having trouble with both my primary and secondary. Ive thought i had it figured out so many times and then i would reanalyze myself and get confused. So i guess ill start with primaries. I can tell you for sure that i am not a snake primary. I just cant love another person quite like that. I grew up in a very snake primary environment and never felt i really fit in. I really appreciate snakes and i understand them, but i dont think i am one. I also very much pride myself on my individuality and dont bond to groups so i believe that may rule out badger. I think ive narrowed it down to exploded bird or really confused lion.

Interesting. So far so good. Let’s hear what you’ve got.

Right now in life, with all the information coming at me, all the data, all of the twists and turns, media bias, conspiracy theories, rabbit holes and objective realities, i cant figure out the truth.

… sounds like an Exploded Bird to me.

I think all theories are worth investigating and rabbit holes are fun. But i hate hypocrisy. And its everywhere.

I mean, everyone hates hypocrisy… but I think Birds find it *unforgivable.*

I cant organize all of this information.

Exploded Bird.

Dude. Whats gonna happen if deep fake becomes the norm?

eh, Photoshop has been the norm for a long time and we do okay. Some fakes have always been better than others, and there have always been fakes.

I feel like the safest thing to do is to fully understand myself. Then i can analyze and understand the world.

I would agree with that.

I would say that hands down i was an exploded bird, but i feel very strongly about things right away. But then i learn about them more and if my feelings were wrong, ok. Whatever.

This is still Bird. It’s not that Birds can’t feel strongly about things right away. They do, they just don’t feel safe TRUSTING those feelings. Instead they do… exactly what you’re describing here. Learn more, and then if it turns out their initial feelings were wrong… that’s fine, actually. The feelings are of secondary importance.

BUT i also WANT black and white. I want right and wrong. Grey, though necessary and true, bugs me.

… there’s a reason why I call young Birds Black-and-White Birds.

Deep down i crave to just understand something as it is. But one persons truth is not anothers. I get that. But it still bothers me in my bones.

That’s a very Bird primary angst. Birds can have this *fantasy* that if only everyone had all the information and thought it though properly, that everyone would come to the same (correct) conclusion. And then have to grapple with the fallout when they realize things don’t work that way. As a Lion… I’ve never had to fight that particular monster.

I can also seem like i make snap decisions based on feelings to others, but i just know what i want. If something sounds good, i want to do it. At that moment. No hesitation… i think im meshing into secondary territory here

I agree. Improvisational secondary, sounds like.

so ill just go with it. So my bedroom walls are lilac purple and my kitchen is BRIGHT yellow, because those colors sounded interesting. At that moment. I tend to jump into a project having no idea what im doing. I just thought it sounded like fun.

Comfortable making decisions on a whim, just jumping in. Very improvisational.

But thats not really a way to problem solve. When i start said project and then run into a problem, usually ill read about it, or ask someone who knows more than me. The “i know a guy” bird kind of applies here. I know how to make connections within my community and i plan for that. I think about who would be useful to know, based on my goals.

You know, this could be Bird. But I’m kind of skewing more Badger because of the emphasis on community and asking for help. And keeping an eye on ‘who is powerful, who is useful to know’ is a pretty common Badger secondary model manifestation.

But i dont think i build tools like a bird. In fact, binge watching videos on how to do something annoys me. Takes all the fun out of it.

I still think you’re an Improvisational secondary - and a Badger secondary model is *more* likely than a Bird secondary model.

I am always honest with people and i like that about me, but its not out of some need to stay true to myself. Its just because i have learned that honesty works the best most of the time.

So not Lion *primary* then. This is all about method. You don’t lie, because you don’t find it to be a very practical problem-solving method. Being very direct does work, so at this point… Lion is more likely than snake.

Now, dont get me wrong, i am an excellent liar. But only if its on the fly.

Hmm. Maybe a Snake who’s in neutral all the time?

This conflicts big time with my primary, however, so i rarely ever do.

Interesting. Lying conflicts with your (hypocrisy hating) Bird primary, so you don’t do it. Instead you are very direct, and that works well for you. You *can* lie (on the fly) but you generally don’t. Neutral Snake? Snake secondary model? Depending on how you define lying, could even be Courtier Badger. (I am ruling out constructed Actor Bird.)

I feel like ive gone all over the place in a highly disorganized way, so i will state that now i am going to give some anecdotal data. One time, as an adult, i was hanging out with a bunch of kids on a hayride. A little boy killed a butterfly. I was outraged. I called him out. I told him that he just took away the only life that creature would ever have and that was cruel.

Very loud Idealist primary.

This somehow turned into a question and answer school session about human biology, mammals and why on earth is water in a cup clear, but when you dive into the ocean, its blue?

Some kind of social secondary… and I know the obvious thing is to say 'trotting out a lot of facts, that’s bird.’ But I’m seeing you defuse a situation by leveraging your immediate community (Q&A session)? Badger.

I like being the person that gets the scary bugs out of the house because i feel brave when i do.

Sounds pretty Lion secondary.

When in an emergency situation i completely disconnect and become a calm, knowledgeable person.

This is actually a pretty common just, human thing. When things get bad enough, your lizard brain takes over, and everything is very calm and dreamlike.

I suddenly magically know what needs to be done and work with my environment.

Improvisational secondary.

Im also very aware of how everyone else is doing in that situation and i have an innate need to make people feel better so im usually the first to lighten the mood. Ill focus on others before myself if im hurt. Im more aware of how they are doing than how i am doing and i will make an effort to help them first.

Ah yes, the 'tend and befriend’ threat response. Very familiar. And yeah, going from this description I’m going to say very social badger.

In video games… skyrim is best here i think. I want to be a sneaky mage thief. But when something attacks me, without thinking i run right up to it and hit it with my fists without armor.

lol lion. (The classic Badger secondary strategy is BUFF ARMOR. I always play tanks.)

But i get really sad if its an animal.Those wolf whimpers get to me every time.

No one likes the wolf whimpers.

Ok. Ok. Ive rambled enough. Thank you for reading! Any input is greatly appreciated! Thank you!

Exploded Bird, easy. And probably a Lion secondary with a very social Badger secondary model that’s working well for you.

#sortinghatchats #bird lion #birdpri #lionsec #badger secondary model #courtier badger #sortme #wisteria sorts #exploded bird

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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when the wolves come out

(everyone loves a little fluffy h/c and bonding, right? also yes that’s a 1D reference. no I will not apologize for it)

I’m not doing a tag list cause I honestly don’t have the energy for that but if you follow the ‘geraskier beauty and the beast au’ tag you’ll see every one of these. I’m also gonna add a masterlist to my pinned post

also please please comment. that’s the stuff that keeps me writing. please.

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“Get away from him!” Geralt roared. He clutched the hilt of his silver sword with both hands and charged forward. Several dark and horrible-smelling masses of fur had Jaskier backed up and trembling fiercely against the trunk of an ancient oak. Wolves. They’d surrounded him while he was taking a walk and now the young human knew his time had come to an end.

Geralt could pick out the bitter aroma of Jaskier’s potent and all-consuming fear even over the scent of the wolf pack and he noted that the boy’s blue eyes were wide and unblinking. Jaskier was utterly terrified; paralyzed in place by the threat of certain death.

“Jaskier!” the Beast called, drawing the attention of several wolves away from their current prey. “I’m coming, Jaskier! Don’t move!”

“Geralt, no! Don’t come any closer! You could be killed! Stay back!”

The trained monster-slayer nearly stopped in his tracks. Nearly.

No one had ever been concerned for his safety before. Usually they were too busy panicking to care who got hurt and who didn’t; they just didn’t want to die. Jaskier had told Geralt to stay back. Jaskier had begun to care for him and his wellbeing.

The Beast finally grew close enough to do some kind of damage. He raised his sword and brought it down on the first wolf. The creature dropped to the ground and its packmate leapt, already opening its wide maw to bite at Geralt wherever it could reach. There hadn’t been time to put any armor on and the white-haired Witcher grunted in pain as the wolf’s sharp teeth sunk into the meat of his shoulder.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried. The young man ran forward, brandishing a pointed tree branch at the other wolves. He swung it in wide circles, batting the animals away as well as he could in an effort to reach Geralt’s side. “Fight back, my Beast! Please!”

Geralt obeyed. He cut down the wolf whose pointed teeth had torn his shoulder before taking on another two starving and half-crazed canines. The last handful of wolves, seeing their comrades bleeding out in a snowdrift, raced back into the forest with their tails between their legs. When he was sure it was safe, Jaskier reached out and wrapped his arm around Geralt’s waist. “Let’s get you inside so I can take a look at that wound.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine when I say you’ll be fine,” Jaskier admonished. The acrid, burnt-coffee scent of fear was gone from the boy completely. Now there was only the soft, gently invasive scent of worry, like mint and chamomile. Comforting. He cares very deeply, Geralt realized as he was half-carried back to the door of the keep and bundled into a comfortable armchair before the sitting room fire. Jaskier cares about me and wants me to live. He’s worried about my health. He...he...

“Jaskier, really, it’ll be okay.”

“Hush,” the human frowned. Geralt saw tears gathering in the corner of Jaskier’s eyes and he wiped one away with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t move please, Geralt. I need to get bandages. And warm water.”

“Just get the warm water. The bandages won’t be necessary.”

“How else will I keep you from bleeding all over your clothes?”

“I’m already halfway healed, see?” Geralt smiled, glancing down at holes in his shoulder where the wolf’s teeth tore through. They were already growing smaller and closing up. “Witcher magic.”

Jaskier was shocked. “You’re...you’re a Witcher?”

“Did you really think I was some kind of cursed Prince like the stories say?”

Jaskier stood and moved to the doorway, “I don’t care what you are, Geralt.”

Then he disappeared around the corner.

---

Geralt lay with his head on Jaskier’s outstretched legs. The young man paused his reading, his eyebrows crinkling together. “Beast,” he whispered, “Why did you ask for a consort?”

“Kaer Morhen is so lonely in the winters,” Geralt sighed. He glanced up, meeting Jaskier’s curious gaze, “People are scared of Witchers but since there are so few of us left...I thought they would ask for a willing volunteer. I thought I would have someone waiting with luggage for me to court them. I could have dealt with someone who was slightly frightened but totally willing. I’m sorry that they stole you away and offered you up to me like that, little bird.”

“If you think about it in the right light,” Jaskier mused. “It was almost romantic. You could have been the big, scary monster everyone warned me about. You could have eaten me alive or left me there for the wolves. Instead you gave me your cloak and carried me all the way home.”

Geralt’s heart stuttered in his chest. Home? “Do you consider Kaer Morhen your home?”

“I do now, my Beast. My Geralt. It was frightening at first but the village elders could not have made me happier in their stupidity. I am very content to be here with you; to be courted by you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt blushed lightly and nuzzled his way back into the crease of Jaskier’s hip. The accidental consort of Kaer Morhen had quickly discovered that his betrothed loved nothing more than being petted and caressed. The Beast would lay his head on Jaskier’s lap and nose his way into the crook between Jaskier’s hip and thigh and stay there for hours. His consort would play with his hair, sing to him, and read to him from any book he fancied. It was heaven. “Sing for me, little bird?”

“Am I to be your caged lark, now?”

“Never,” Geralt growled. “You can always leave if you’d like.”

“I’d rather stay,” Jaskier smiled, placing a reassuring hand on the back of his Beast’s warm neck. “I would rather stay and be wooed and courted by my gentle Beast.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier began to run his hands through Geralt’s soft white hair, braiding it and picking it apart as he sang:

“I'll sell my rod, I'll sell my reel, I'll sell my only spinning wheel, To buy my love a sword of steel; Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan.

“I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red, And 'round the world I'll beg my bread, Until my parents shall wish me dead; Is go dte tu mo mhuirnin slan.”

“I could listen to you sing forever, little bird,” Geralt murmured. He was purring again, a sound that Jaskier loved and adored. “I love hearing your voice.”

“And so you shall,” the younger man smiled, and leaned down to press a brief kiss against Geralt’s temple. “For as long as you wish.”

#soft geraskier #geraskier beauty and the beast au #geraskier batb au #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #beast geralt #belle jaskier #geraskier h/c #hurt/comfort #soft geralt #shy geralt #soft jaskier #protective geralt #wolf attack #witcher healing #geraskier bonding

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legendsoffodlan · 4 years ago

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Guest Teacher: Part 1

Professor Tharja

*The Black Eagles shuffle into their classroom, only to find it darkened, all the windows covered, and the only light provided by almost a hundred candles. The Eagles nervously file in to their seats, and only once they are all seated does their Professor emerge from the shadows, like a wraith.*

Tharja: I see you are to be my pupils... I must say I am unimpressed.

Edelgard: I, uh, take it that you are our new Professor for the month? W-well, let me welcome you on behalf of-

Tharja: *waves her hand, silencing Edelgard* I have been brought here to bring you all up to par with your magic. Thus far, you have been learning it the way a parrot learns Shakespeare. A safe, sanitized, version your church approves of. I shall teach you magic as it was meant to be learned. With all the pain and terror that the arcane arts demand.

Hubert: I’m going to enjoy this class.

Tharja, recognizing a fellow Goth: Excellent, I think you shall shine in my lessons.

Bernadetta, hiding under the table: I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingto-

Tharja, poking her head bellow the desk: You. Out. Now.

Bernadetta: AAIIIEEE! SCARY DEMON LADY! Please don’t kill me and eat my flesh! I’m all stringy! I’D TASTE TERRIBLE!

Tharja, her face softening just a little: Hmm... you remind me of my daughter.

Bernadetta: I- wha- what?

Tharja: My daughter, Noire. Like you, she is meek and cowardly. *she fishes out Noire’s Talisman* Take this. It will remove all your fear and doubt as it did her.

Bernadetta: R-really?

Tharja: Really.

*Bernadetta hesitantly takes the Talisman. Instantly a change comes over her. A wide and maniacal grin comes over her face and a demonic light shines in her eyes*

Ferdinand: B-Bernie?

Bernadetta: BERNIE IS DEAD! I am the Avatar of Destruction! Repent sinners, for there shall be no salvation from me! MUAHAHAHAHA!

Linhardt, coming up to Tharja: Impressive magic Professor.

Tharja: Actually it’s not magic at all.

Linhardt: Ah. A psycho-semantic device to trick her into ignoring her fear and doubt?

Tharja: Excellently done. I think you shall excel as well

Professor Cordelia

*The Blue Lions are having class out in the training field. They are met by Cordelia in full armor beside her Pegasus*

Cordelia: Lions, I shall not mince words. I have reviewed your progress and I am disappointed. You all act like disjointed fools rather than future royalty and warriors. It is disgraceful!

Annette: B-but Professor, we have been making- *Cordelia brandishes her Training Spear at her*

Cordelia: I did not give you permission to speak soldier!

Annette: Y-yes ma’am!

Cordelia: My training will not be easy. It will not be fun. You will either make it or you will not. And, right off the bat, I would like to establish some ground rules. *she points at Sylvain* There will be no skirt chasing. *Sylvain winces and gulps nervously*

Sylvain: Y-yes ma’am!

Cordelia, pointing her spear at Ingrid: There will be NO treating your allies as lesser because of their race.

Ingrid, blushing in shame: Yes ma’am.

Cordelia, leveling her spear at Felix: And there will be no, I repeat NO, “Lone Wolf” shit that endangers yourself and your comrades. Am I understood soldier?!

Felix, glaring, meeting her challenge: Yes ma’am.

Professor “The Vaike”

*The Golden Deer are lounging about in their classroom, waiting for their Professor*

Lorenz: Hmmph. Our instructor is officially twenty minutes late.

Raphael: Doesn’t that mean we can legally leave?

Claude: Eh, I’m sure he’ll show up soon. Apparently Teach recommended him personally and-

*the doors suddenly explode open*

Vaike: WHAT’S UP BITCHES!?

Claude, leaning back in his seat: This is gonna be good.

Vaike, walking up the aisle: Greetings NERDS! I’m your Professor, Vaike. But you will address me as THE VAIKE!

Marianne: Uh, Professor? How is-

Vaike: Now, now pretty one, we’ll get to questions later! Right now is time for the Vaike to speak! Right now your hot archbishop lady wants me to turn you pansies into REAL WARRIORS! That means this is gonna be some NEXT LEVEL SHIT! You pansies got that?!

Leonie: Hell yeah!

Vaike: That’s the spirit! Now give me an “oorah”!

Leonie, Raphael and Claude: OORAH!

Lorenz: Please Goddess, take me now.

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elisaphoenix13 · 3 years ago

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Dandelion In A Storm

Alright, I know this isn't my usual work (not even in the same fandom), but I decided to dip my toe into it and test the waters. I really enjoy the chemistry between these two and am now an official geraskier shipper. For anyone that enjoys this ship as well, hope you enjoy

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

He flicked away the gore in disgust that was overly caked on his armor and sheathed his silver sword before whistling for his horse. As loyal as ever, Roach came to his call and stood still as Geralt hefted the kikimore up and draped its body across her back, and then he grabbed her reins to lead her back to town. Being covered in monster guts and blood was nothing new to him but it still left him in a foul mood and needing a bath. There wasn't much else that would lighten his mood besides the bath and maybe some food and ale.

Maybe now that he killed the kikimore that had been terrorizing the town, they would be more hospitable. More often than not, that wasn't the case, or they would do it with weariness in their eyes...or spit at his feet. He was used to it. He learned to ignore them, only staying in a town long enough to help with a monster for some extra coin and maybe get some food before heading for the next town. Normally he would only go back to town to drop off the body of the kikimore, collecting his reward, and heading on his way, but he had his travel companion waiting for him back at the tavern.

One of the few people that saw past his tough exterior, his standoffishness, and treated him like anyone else. Gods it had been something for him to get used to. If there really was such a thing as destiny, it sought fit to send that person his way to accompany him in his travels. And while he would probably never admit it, it was annoyingly pleasurable. He wasn't expected to talk, as his companion talked enough for the both of them, but what threw Geralt even more?

They genuinely cared about his well being.

So if he went straight for the town's alderman to drop off proof of his kill and collect his coin so he could head straight for the tavern, no one could really blame him. The disgusted expression on the alderman's face when he dropped the kikimore's body on his front step was one of the few delights Geralt allowed himself before he led Roach to the stables by the tavern. His coin purse was freshly heavy, and after making sure his horse had plenty of hay and water, he made quick work of getting Roach clean.

He could hear the uproar in the tavern but anyone passing by could easily tell it was joyous and full of song. Geralt didn't expect anything less really. While he wasn't one for festivities of any kind, this was a time when most villagers paid him little mind. Even better? If they were in a good mood, there was more of a chance that he would be given a hot meal without a fuss.

It was proven moments later when Geralt finally went inside and not a single person even looked in his direction. Except for one of course. His travel companion played a jaunty tune with a smile on his face and, with his talent, was able to look over at him without a misstep in his performance and...flash an even brighter smile that was reserved just for the Witcher. It effectively lifted his mood and Geralt felt his slow beating heart skip a beat. That was a recent development. Perhaps in the last couple of months, but even he knew what it was despite the bard's claim that he was emotionally constipated. It had terrified him. He led a dangerous lifestyle and the thought of the bard getting hurt during their travels was a constant fear.

But Jaskier was nothing if not persistent and stubborn.

The bard finished his song and took a bow with a flourish before he finally walked over to Geralt and immediately scrunched his nose in distaste. "You need a bath."

"We need a room first." Geralt grumbles and Jaskier smiles.

"Already taken care of! Everyone was in such high spirits because of yours truly that I was able to procure a room and even dinner." The bard ushers him toward the stairs. "Go on. You smell like the ass end of whatever the selkiemore covered you with last time."

"Hmm." The Witcher narrows his eyes at the bard before heading to the room Jaskier directs him to.

To his surprise, a hot bath was already waiting for him and it made Geralt wonder as he undressed if Jaskier had been traveling with him for so long that he knew when to expect him back. The bard seemed to pay attention to small details like that but--admittedly--it made his life a little easier. In fact, Jaskier made quite a few things easier for him when it came to staying in towns. It was his job to entertain the villagers with his music but maybe because the younger man was consistently found alongside Geralt, the Witcher didn't seem so scary to the villagers.

Damn it. The bard was ruining his image.

Geralt growls when water is dumped over his head once he settles in the tub, and he wipes the water out of his eyes to glare at Jaskier. As usual, the bard was completely unperturbed and turned his attention to a wound on Geralt's shoulder. Something he didn't realize he had until Jaskier started tending to it with his typical chatter. Another small detail. The bard always helped with his wounds when he was capable and when Geralt was covered head to toe in some foul thing or another, he helped with the Witcher's hair.

Geralt always growled a little bit but it was only to hide the fact that he actually enjoyed feeling Jaskier's finger in his hair and massaging his scalp. He had the suspicion that Jaskier saw right through him but the bard hadn't said a word about it. At least not yet.

"I think when I don't join you on your little hunts or when I do but I'm not looking, you roll around in the sludge--"

"Don't compare me to a dog, bard." Geralt growls and Jaskier refills the pitcher to dump over the Witcher's head to rinse his hair.

"Well it only happens when I'm not around." Jaskier quips and Geralt turns to look at him as the bard sifts through a bag with his potions. "Ah! I think this is your last one." He says as he pulls out a small vial with black liquid within. Swallow potion.

Geralt remembered the first time Jaskier retrieved it for him. A griffin had dug its talons into him and left him painfully torn up and the bard didn't hesitate to retrieve it when he asked for it. Watching him make the motion to pull the cork with his teeth made Geralt's heart jump to his throat and he had to yell at the bard to stop him.

"Jaskier, don't!"

"You just said--"

"That's a Witcher potion. It could potentially kill you."

Fortunately Jaskier just handed it over and that had been the end of it. The bard was careful about what potions he helped open for Geralt, and even after an annoying amount of insistence, helped make them after asking him to show him how. Jaskier really was a helpful companion despite the amount of trouble he got into in the first place. Geralt figured it was worth the trouble, especially since the bard was genuine when he asked Geralt if he was alright.

The first time Jaskier saw Geralt with his ashen face and black eyes, the Witcher was sure the bard would flee and never return. He really should have taken into consideration that Jaskier was not like everyone else, because he did the complete opposite. He watched Geralt carefully when he turned to look at Jaskier, and came to the conclusion that he wasn't as feral as he looked and approached him once the initial danger of the actual monster had passed. Geralt thought there was nothing else Jaskier could do to surprise him but that moment was enough to prove him wrong. He supposed that was when his feelings for the bard started to change from friendship to something more.

Geralt was the epitome of a raging storm that destroyed everything he touched, but Jaskier...he was a brightly colored dandelion that stubbornly endured and survived everything Geralt threw at him. A bright ray of sunshine breaking through his fog.

"Oren for your thoughts?" Jaskier says as he crouches by the tub.

"You'd like that." Geralt says and motions for the towel nearby and the bard grabs it for him.

"I would. Else I wouldn't have asked. Contrary to what you might believe, I do care about you Geralt." Jaskier says softly as Geralt stands and steps out of the tub before wrapping the towel around his waist.

"Hmm."

If it were anyone but Jaskier, they might have thought that Geralt was brushing them off. But this was the bard. And Jaskier's eye roll was indication enough that Geralt was only informing him that he was aware...in his own way. Another thing he grew to like about Jaskier. His ability to interpret his grunts and groans and even his facial expressions. He just hoped his real feelings for the bard weren't as obvious.

"You get dressed while I go to inquire about dinner. Don't fall asleep yet." Jaskier points at him as he walks backwards towards the door.

"I don't need to sleep."

"I think that's bullshit and you should give it a try tonight. Even the mighty White Wolf needs some shut eye on the rare occasion." The bard says and then disappears out the door.

Geralt knew now that his life wouldn't be the same if Jaskier wasn't in it. He'd grown accustomed to the bard filling the void of silence with either his chatter or songs he composed on the road. The plucking of the strings on his lute as he tuned them when they rested for the night whether it be by a campfire or in a room. His ability to see past the Witcher and treat him like anyone else...and...Geralt had even grown accustomed to the light that shone in Jaskier's clear blue eyes and the smile he showed just for Geralt.

The Witcher was determined to keep his dandelion.

Whatever it takes.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ficlet

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years ago

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The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 11 | Of Delusions and Grandeur

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 8,500

*Warning* Our angry bean having some serious PTSD flashbacks, also death, quite a bit of death.

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Oh boy did this one take a reallllllyyyy long time for me to write. I hope it’s worth it! Also, I apologize for any mistakes, I probably didn’t proofread as many times as I should’ve 🤍

When she was a little girl, Visenya was called into Lord Stark's study nearly every day. She'd shuffle into the room, hiding a coy smirk and mischievous giggles behind a straight face, unable to look him in the eyes as she fumbled through unconvincing lies. At the time she thought herself the finest liar in the Seven Kingdoms, ego growing larger with each doe-eyed look, and words of denial laced with feigned innocence. And each time she stepped out of the room, she'd miss the small smile pulling on Lord Stark's mouth, eyes glittering with amusement as melancholy consumed him, reminding him of times when he was much smaller and the world much bigger.

With age, each step into that study grew less intimidating, the walls growing shorter as she grew longer. At some point between six and ten it changed, instead of swiping pastries from the kitchens, she was hiding away with Jon, waving around a training sword that's too large and too sharp; and inevitably, one morning a large cut blossomed on her face. She went into the study sobbing like an infant while holding a medical cloth to her wound, fears of getting in trouble making her anxiety soar high into the cloudy sky. But instead of sour eyes and trembling lips, she left with a beaming smile on her face and orders to begin training with Ser Rodrik. Immediately she was ushered to Maester Luwin and put on bed rest for the day - Theon called her a stupid girl trying to act like a man, whilst Jon brought her wildflowers from a field. She made sure to hit Theon extra hard during their sparring sessions.

Then there was the time she tackled Theon and beat him bloody when she was a girl of ten and two after he insulted her father; wailing like a banshee, screaming into the universe that Theon and his family were cowards. Her small fists beat into him with as much tact and technique as a wild animal. Everything he ate for a week straight had a metallic aftertaste, while Visenya wore her smugness like a crown. Lord Stark gave her a stern lecture about not hitting people just because they make you angry, yet she couldn't help but preen like a bird when noticing the glint of amusement in his icy eyes. Robb would laugh every time he saw Theon for a full month, meanwhile, Theon's glares didn't disappear until his final scar did. Only then did he begin to acknowledge Visenya's presence again. He never brought up her family again, and she returned the favor.

Of course, she could never forget the time she was brought in - shivering like a leaf, looking as if she'd slept in the deepest ocean - two guards at her side as they escorted her. Lord Stark dismissed them immediately, waiting with patient eyes and a kind smile for Visenya to explain where she'd run off to. The dam broke and she began sobbing, blubbering nonsense that not even she understood. But Lord Stark didn't yell at her, demanding she speak clearly. Instead, he stood up, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and carefully approached Visenya. Kneeling to be eye level with her smaller form, he just hugged her, encompassing her with the fatherly warmth she couldn't remember ever getting from Rhaegar Targaryen. Maybe he did hug her when she was a child and the world wasn't crumbling around them, but if he did, she couldn't remember. So she just hugged Lord Stark so tightly she wouldn't be surprised if he had red marks where her arms were.

Then only four years later, she was called in again, only this time Lady Stark stood beside him, strained smiles and stony eyes greeting her, and held tightly in Lord Stark's hand was a letter, the parchment nearly ripping in half from his grip. It was nearly identical to the one she sent off three days prior, with Essos it's destination and Targaryen the receiver, signed with a desperation to connect with blood. Lord Stark gently explained to her that the King may see it as treason if she was found to be contacting the only other remaining Targaryen's, finding the reason to do what he's been itching to do since the rebellion. And Visenya couldn't bring herself to tear apart her family by selfish actions, not after everything they've done for her. That day she didn't walk out triumphant or ecstatic, instead, she burned with rage and shame; rage at the world and shame at herself for caring so much. She never tried to contact Daenerys again.

The final time she ever walked into that study was a week before Robert Baratheon was set to arrive at Winterfell. Lady Stark wasn't there, in fact, no one else was anywhere near the vicinity. He told her to sit down, not willing to delve into the reason that she was there until she complied. Ned Stark was never one to beat around the bush, finding it more practical to just say what needs to be said and move on. That was the first time Visenya ever saw him fumble over his words. Finally, he managed to tell her what exactly the King had demanded when he was in Winterfell. He wanted Visenya married off and out of Winterfell. She was a statue at that moment, having a million things she wanted to say, but simply nodded, turned, and left the room without another word. A day after the King arrived, so did her potential suitors. The King insisted he should be the one to choose her husband, completely crushing the dwindling hope that her future husband wouldn't be so terrible. The decision ended up being between a child of ten and two and a boy only a year older than that, both from two minor houses in the South; until Robb interrupted - respectfully of course - and declared that he would marry Visenya. She couldn't decide what was worse, the prospect of marrying someone she sees as a brother or watching Jon's crestfallen face. Jon wouldn't look at her until the night before he left for the Night's Watch, and she couldn't look Robb in the eyes until he did.

This time, standing in front of the door that leads into the room Jaskier and Geralt reside in, with damp hair and clothes sticking to wet skin, she is a storm. A flurry of emotions raging in her mind; anger, sadness, melancholy, and fear melting together until she can't feel anything, the sensory overload leaving her numb. She eyes the empty hall like an animal stuck in a cage, her heart pounding, seconds away from bolting out of the inn and never returning, living in the forest as far from people as possible. But then the sound of Jaskier talking and Geralt's angry mumbling filters into Visenya's ears. Her anxiety increases, but the storm softens as she straightens her back, all thoughts of running suddenly gone.

'The blood of the dragon must not be afraid.'

Visenya sends a prayer to the Warrior for courage and the Crone to give her the wisdom to not let her anger control her, not wanting to lash out again. She reaches a hand up, pausing it midair for a second. With one last silent prayer, she grasps the handle in hand and pushes open the door.

"--quit your complaining, you look great! Scary and dashing, what more could a Witcher want?" Jaskier says to Geralt, waving his hands wildly. Geralt stands in the room, wearing clothes suited for minor nobility, a stark difference from his usual armor, a scowl chiseled into his beautiful face.

He's in shades of blue: a Stark blue cotton jacket hugging his biceps, a stone grey shirt tucked into his leather pants that hug his toned legs in the most flattering way, wolf pendant hanging from his neck. His white hair is tied back in its usual fashion but appears to have been brushed, clearly the doing of Jaskier. Despite his obvious discomfort, he's like a piece of art, looking like the subject of a painting that hangs in a noble lady's room.

As the door clicks behind her, Geralt and Jaskier look at her. Jaskier's eyes immediately flicker away, face draining of all color as he takes a small step backward. It's small, the change in his demeanor, but it's enough to break Visenya's heart that she thought had been encapsulated by stone and ice. A million words nearly fall from her mouth, at the very tip of her tongue, but she finds herself losing the ability to speak. So instead she turns her attention to Geralt, feigning the smirk that usually naturally falls on her face.

"You clean up nicely. If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't think you were just covered from head to toe in monster guts," she teases, willing her voice to sound as light as air, not at all weighed down by the anxiety in her heart. Geralt narrows his eyes, seeing through her façade the second she places it on, but he says nothing. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and grunts, turning back to Jaskier.

"See, I told you it's fine. Now Jane, be a dear and put on that dress in the corner." Jaskier moves through the room like water, stepping behind Geralt and pushing him towards the exit, making Visenya step further into the room, flattening against the wall to allow them to slip past her. Geralt's shoulder brushes against her, and it feels like electricity. Not that she'd ever tell him that. Meanwhile, Jaskier is looking anywhere and everywhere, as long as he doesn't have to look at her.

The door clicks behind them, the shuffling of feet gone, leaving Visenya alone with her thoughts, again. She shuffles over to the other side of the room, seeing a bundle of dark fabric that must be her dress. She closes the distance, holding the fabric between her fingers. It's a deep purple and almost softer than anything she's ever touched. Sighing, she begins to pull her clothes off of her body, haphazardly throwing them onto the ground. She holds up the dress, the ends touching the floor; it's beautiful, with a silver belt cinching in the waist and a slit up the leg, allowing free range of movement. And for a moment she thinks Jaskier chose these colors on purpose, purple for the eyes she used to recognize, and silver for the hair that used to flow freely, but that's impossible. How could he know the importance of those colors when he doesn't even know her real name?

So she pushes those thoughts away and begins the process of stepping into the dress and pulling it on. The fabric drapes loosely off the shoulder, the back flowing into a sort of cloak style. It's light as air, moving in perfect sync with her, ideal for looking pretty but also loose enough to allow her to fight if necessary; nothing like the heavy and restricting dresses of the North. She clasps the belt, adding some shape to her body so it no longer looks like she's drowning in excess fabric. She holds Renfri's broach, the emeralds, and rubies shining and bright compared to her dress. She pins it in the place it always is, over her left breast.

She puts both hands under her hair, starting to pull it out from under the dress when there's a knock at the door. She starts to turn, the dress moving around her feet like a soft breeze, when the door clicks, creaking as it opens.

"Jaskier wanted me to bring you--" Geralt says, trailing off as Visenya turns to face him, the dress fully on display. A smile pulls on her previously dour face, as the last of her damp hair falls over her shoulders. In his hands are a pair of velvet black boots, the heels higher than her usual travel shoes, with a silver buckle adorning them, not as fine as what high royalty would wear, but certainly nicer than her everyday ones. His gold eyes rake up and down her body, mouth slightly agape.

"My shoes? Thank you, I was hoping I wouldn't have to go to this feast barefoot." She saunters over to him, making sure to take her time with every step. She stops right in front of him, tilting her head up to look at his face, Geralt's large form looming over her. His eyes follow her, tilting his head down as well.

She grabs onto the shoes, pulling until Geralt grip on them slacks. Without moving her eyes from his, she slips each shoe on, the inside lined with a soft fabric, making them hug her feet comfortably. Geralt breaths out a laugh, but says nothing else.

"You look nice." he finally says, his voice rougher and lower than usual, causing Visenya's eyes to light up as he struggles to swallow for a moment.

"You don't look too bad either." She raises a single brow, slowly raising herself to stand on the tips of her toes, inching closer to Geralt's face.

"Hmm." He just grunts, leaning down to close the distance between them. And when their lips are seconds away from touching she veers to the left, placing a ghost of a kiss on the corner of his lips.

"See you out there." She leaves the room, closing the door behind her, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

o0o0o0o

"--keep your head down and pretend to be a mute, can't have anyone figuring out who you are," Jaskier mutters to Geralt as soon as they step into the Great Hall. Most of tonight's guests have already arrived, standing in small clusters that are interspersed throughout the large room. They're rowdy, much more like the Northerners that Visenya's accustomed to, tankards of Cintran Ale in the hands of every person. They're dressed in a wide variety of colors, most of the women wearing dresses made from velvet and much warmer fabrics than the chiffon that languidly hangs off Visenya. A season of jewel tones surround them: reds, greens, and purples as far as the eye can see.

"Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher!" a voice exclaims, a slew of loud drunken shouts from the nearby crowds following the proclamation. A man in forest green finery that looks slippery to the touch begins to approach them. Well dressed, but certainly not the most expensive-looking man in the room. His shoulder-length thick black hair is pushed away from his face, a matching thick beard covering his chin. Light reflects off of the greying hairs that pepper it, betraying how old he is. His eyes, that are as green as his tunic, scan the three of them, lingering on Visenya but ultimately he focuses on Geralt.

"Oh shit," Jaskier mutters, glancing around the room, smiling and waving awkwardly at everyone looking at them.

"I haven't seen you since the plague," he says, silver tankard in hand as he draws closer, an easy smile on his face.

"Good times, Mousesack," Geralt says, his tone and posture rigid and uncomfortable; never one for crowds it would seem. The man doesn't seem put off by Geralt's dour demeanor, instead, he breathes out a laugh, pointing at Geralt with his tankard.

"I have missed your sour complexion. I feared this would be a dull affair, but now that the White Wolf is here, perhaps all is not lost." he closes the distance, grabbing ahold of both of his shoulders, the smile on his face falling just an inch. "Why are you dressed like a sad silk trader?"

Geralt turns to Jaskier, his signature scowl on his face. Jaskier just turns to look at them, playing with his fingers, eyes wide and nervous, but ultimately silent.

"And who might this be," the man says, moving his attention from Geralt to Visenya. She grants him a smile, much closer to Geralt's stiff one than his easy-going smile. He holds out a hand and she shakes it, trying to match his firm grip.

"Jane."

"Mousesack, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He's charming, with a wide grin on his face and bright eyes. There's also a spark when he makes contact with her. Not the kind that plagues sappy romance novels, but a literal spark of...something that leaves the hair on her arms standing and her spine-tingling.

"Mousesack is a druid." Geralt answers her unspoken question, looking between the two of them with a blank expression.

"I see, and you and Geralt are friends I presume?" Visenya asks, slipping her hand from his tight grasp.

"Old friends, it's been what...50 years?" Mousesack says, glancing at Geralt for confirmation.

"Something like that." Geralt says, scanning the crowd. Visenya turns to him, eyes widening a fraction.

"How old are you exactly?" She asks, eyes narrowing. It never occurred to her that a Witcher would age differently. The passage of time here never occurs to her much. She goes to sleep at night and wakes up at dawn, spending the day traveling, sitting in inns, or looking threatening and mean to potential aggressors, only to start the cycle over again. How much time has passed since she first arrived? Everything seems to pass in a blur, she never bothers to think about it.

"Over 100," he gruffly responds, glancing over at her before returning his eyes elsewhere.

"You don't keep track?" Visenya asks mind short-circuiting momentarily. How is that even possible, to be over 100 years old, yet not look a day over 30? It has to be a side effect of being a Witcher, it's the only logical explanation.

"Why would I?"

"I guess when you're that old it doesn't matter," she says, brows furrowing as her eyes narrow.

"I never thought I'd see the day that someone matched your dour attitude. Come, walk with me," Mousesack merrily exclaims, words slurring together. He flashes Visenya another smile as he begins to effortlessly move through the crowd of people. Geralt follows beside him, Visenya keeping pace with him.

"I've been advising the Skelligen crown for years. A tad rough around the edges, but they're of the earth. Like me," Mousesack says, people, cheering and holding up drinks towards him as he passes.

"Old and crusty," Geralt says. "How long before this horse-trading is done? I find royalty best taken in... small doses."

Visenya snorts as she observes the room around her, trying to memorize every tiny detail. There's a high table at the very end of the hall, with a large throne in the center, like a shining prized jewel. It's nothing near as magnificent as how she imagines the Iron Throne to be, but it's large none-the-less. Sitting by the empty throne is a girl, closer to Visenya's age than not if her appearance is anything to go by. With pale skin that glows in the dim candlelight, her golden-silvery hair compliments her beautifully. It's in an ornate braid on the back of her head, falling over her shoulder, a gold ribbon weaving in and out of it. Her emerald green dress is adorned with a large gold necklace, the small emerald jewels in it dancing in the candlelight, a delicate gold circlet resting on her head. Their eyes lock, and Visenya finds herself entranced by her bright blue eyes, unable to force herself to be aware of her current surroundings.

"I wouldn't count on leaving before dawn. These suitors will vie all night for Princess Pavetta's hand. Marrying into this monarchy is a mighty prize. Who wouldn't want to be king of the most powerful force in the land?" Mousesack says, his only acknowledgment of Geralt's first comment is the small smirk on his lips.

"Hm. So, which one of these little shits is your coin on?"

"Come with me, there's much for you to see. It's not a fair bet. That red-headed scanderlout over there, Crach An Craite, will marry Pavetta. The Lioness has already arranged it with the boy's uncle, Eist Tuirseach." Mousesack says, pointing towards a large man with fiery hair and a matching beard that stands with a large crowd of people, easily one of the loudest people in the room.

Princess Pavetta's fair face wears a frown, similar to her own, but not at all with the fire Visenya holds. Instead, she looks more like a scared girl than a defiant dragon. Not at all unlike herself all those years ago, when she sat at the High Table beside Lord Stark in Winterfell, with weaves of traditional Northern braids in her hair as Robert Baratheon auctioned her off to the highest bidder, like a prized broodmare. But that's the life of a princess, exiled or not, your love is sold off for political and monetary gain. Marriage is never about love for royalty. Yet Visenya's heart aches for the girl who looks like a scared doe, rather than the daughter of the Lioness of Cintra, who fought and won her first battle at only fourteen years of age.

"She doesn't seem too happy about it," Visenya mutters, glancing back at Mousesack. He meets her stern gaze, bright expression dimming just a hair.

"No, I'm afraid not. Princess Pavetta is much softer than her mother."

"They almost always are," Visenya says, eyes moving back to Pavetta, feeling as if she's entranced. Something weeps inside her, shaking so fervently her body almost vibrates. If things were different, that would've been, no, should've been Visenya. But could've, would've, and should've been is nothing when destiny dictates that your world be nothing but ash and ruin. So she snaps her gaze away, unwilling to look at the image of what is always just out of reach.

Mousesack and Geralt continue speaking in low voices, Visenya following them like a ghost, lost in her head. A few minutes in, Geralt moves away, leaving her alone with Mousesack.

"You seem quite focused on the Princess tonight," he muses, pulling Visenya from her chaos.

"She's the most exciting thing in the room right now," Visenya says, raising a single brow at Mousesack, shoving away the sinking feeling that something horrible is going to happen.

"Moving past that insult to my character--" Visenya snorts. "I feel as though it is something more. I can see it in your eyes, you feel for the girl."

"It's hard not to. A man no matter how well-traveled and wise he is will never understand what it feels like to have your whole life laid out for you by someone else. Being sold into a marriage with someone not a good match for you only hurts worse when it's your own mother."

"Personal experience?" Mousesack raises a brow, mouth in a straight line.

"Nonsense, my mother died when I was a child," Visenya says, moving her attention away from him and towards the crowd.

His eyebrows raise causing small lines to form on his forehead, slight shock painting his features. He purses his lips, opening his mouth, only to close it again.

"The life of nobility." he finally says, letting out a sigh as he shakes his head.

"The life of a woman, no matter their status," Visenya corrects him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"All rise for Her Majesty, The Lioness: Queen Calanthe, of Cintra!" a man near the Main Hall entrance cries out, silencing any of the noise in the room.

"Luckily for the girl, horrible husbands tend to disappear rather quickly when you're royalty." With that last comment, Visenya disappears into the crowd, gliding past noble ladies and lords as she maneuvers towards the secluded corner Geralt claimed as his own.

Chairs scrape as everyone scrambles to stand and Jaskier quickly runs over to where the other minstrels are, lute in hand. Nearly in perfect synch, the entire room turns towards the entrance. Shortly after, a middle-aged woman strides through the parted crowd, a smirk on her blood-stained lips. She wears gold armor that's dull from the dark red blood that's splattered over it, fresh from a recent battle. Her dark brown hair is braided away from her face, but not as neatly as expected for an occasion like this, instead, it's wild and pulled apart, in knots and gnarls with dry blood. She holds a helmet in hand that she quickly tosses to one of the many people in the procession following behind her.

"Beer!" she exclaims, grabbing a tankard from the hands of a pompous noble as she passes him, taking a swig from it immediately. "Apologies, noble sers. A few upstart townships in the South had to be reminded of who was Queen," she says, voice oozing with confidence and a tinge of arrogance. This causes an uproar of cheering from the nobles around Visenya, waving their tankards in her direction as golden ale spills onto the floor.

"Fighting is good for one's blood and humor. Ready your suitor's tales of glory, good lords. My daughter is eager to have this over--" she says, taking another drink from her mug and turning towards the high table. "--as am I." She mutters. "Bard, music!" she yells, waving a finger in the air, towards Jaskier's general direction, stomping up the marble stairs. Jaskier starts the first note of a song, his sweet and delicate singing voice ringing through the room before the Queen swiftly cuts him off.

"No, no, no; a jig! You can save your bloody maudlin nonsense for my funeral!" she exclaims, rolling her eyes and continuing up the steps. Jaskier sighs, before counting down from three, beginning a much more upbeat song that swiftly blends into the background as the room's noise levels grow. People begin to fill the gap they'd created for the Queen, forming small rowdy groups.

Finally, she closes the distance between her and Geralt, grabbing a tankard of ale from a table as she does. She stands beside him, posture as stiff and straight as his, taking a drink from the cup, eyeing the party. She watches the Queen as she leans down to speak with her daughter, hands resting on the table, her words too quiet for Visenya to discern. Suddenly a man slams his tankard of ale on the table

"You lying little shite!" the man that Mousesack labeled as Crach An Craite yells. He stands to his full height, towering over a scrawnier man he's arguing with. "You never faced so much as a bad meal in your life, nevermind a manticore!"

"I've had manticores thrice as fat and ugly as the likes of you perish under my steel," the second man spits back, unfettered by Crach's intimidating aura.

"Under your bullshit, more like. How many stingers has it got?"

"Two."

"Ha. Go away and shite, it's got five. I know, I've actually killed one." Crach An Craite spits at him. He scoffs and turns away from the other noble, as the crowd around them grows more excited as the argument begins to escalate.

The smaller man rushes forward, grabbing onto Crach An Craite's tunic, the small crowd around them rushes in as well, eager for an excuse to fight.

"Enough!" the Queen exclaims, stopping everyone in their tracks. "We have a renowned guest tonight. Perhaps he can declare which esteemed lord is telling the truth" she says, walking down the steps. In unison, nearly every turns to look at Geralt, and in turn, Visenya as well.

"Neither." Geralt says, not bothering to meet anyone's gaze.

"Are you calling me a liar, old man?" Crach An Craite mutters, face nearly identical in color to his hair.

"The Butcher of Blaviken bleeds utter nonsense," the smaller one says, dismissively waving his hand in Geralt's direction as he leans against a nearby chair. Geralt glances towards Jaskier, who is frantically shaking his head, with puppy dog eyes and a slight pout his only weapon. Geralt sighs, moving his attention back to the impatient nobles.

"Perhaps the lords encountered a rare subspecies of manticore."

The room is completely silent after that, the tension in the room quickly dropping. Visenya breathes out, clenched fist relaxing at her side. The Queen breaks the silence, loud laughter leaving her mouth, gaze solely on Geralt.

"Perhaps our esteemed guest would like to entertain us with how he slayed the elves at the edge of the world?" The room immediately breaks out into cheers. Fists pound on tables, tankards waving in the air, and nobles yelling so loudly their lungs might collapse. Visenya raises her brow, glancing at Jaskier with a disapproving gaze. That stupid song is nothing but embellished falsehoods, so wrong it's nearly infuriating every time Visenya hears it.

"There was no slaying. I had my ass kicked by a ragged band of elves. I was about to have my throat cut, when Filavandrel let me go." Geralt speaks up, silencing the room instantly.

Instead, their cheers are replaced with boos and loud groans, nobles shaking their heads at Geralt.

"But what about the song?" the shorter man exclaims.

"At least when Filavandrel's blade kissed my throat, I didn't shit myself. Which is all I can hope for you good Lords, at your final breath, a shitless death." Geralt exclaims, bringing his tankard to his mouth, "--but I doubt it," he mutters, his words once again riling up the crowd. And if she didn't know any better, Visenya thinks Geralt just might like the fanfare, even if he won't admit it.

"It would've been your blade at Filavandrel's throat if you'd been there your majesty. Not that any elven bastard would crawl from their lair to meet you on the field." Lord Eist speaks up, a smug smirk on his face as he looks at the Queen. She looks at him, preening under all the attention with a smug look on her face. The movements cause the dried blood to crack and crumble onto the floor.

"Any man willing to paint himself in the shadow of his failures will make for far more interesting conversation this night. Come, Witcher, take a seat by my side while I change."

Geralt simply grunts, rolling his eyes as the Queen turns away, moving up the stairs and disappearing through a side door, a handmaiden following dutifully behind her.

"Come on," Geralt grabs onto Visenya's hand, dragging her behind him.

"She didn't invite me."

"Well she invited me, and I'm not going through anymore suffering alone." Geralt says in between clenched teeth.

"How polite, throwing me straight into the lion's den just so you won't have to face it alone. I never knew you to be so thoughtful Geralt."

He simply grunts in response, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He moves up the set of stairs, boots pounding under the stone ground. One of the men that came in with the Queen directs Geralt to a chair beside the throne. Silently, he pulls out his chair, glaring at the finely dressed nobleman that is sitting in the chair by him. The man meets his gaze, and to his credit, manages to remain expressionless. However, he still stands, his legs wobbling just the slightest, and moves to the other side of the throne, sitting by the Princess. Geralt nods his head towards the now vacant chair. A smirk forms on Visenya's lips as she moves behind him and into her new seat.

"You get to deal with the Queen if she's unhappy with my presence."

o0o0o0o

The feast is even duller from the High Table. It hasn't even been a full hour, and yet all that's happened is a few arguments, suitors vying for the hand of the princess, and the Queen speaking with Geralt. Visenya sits in silence, scanning the crowd and listening in on the conversations around her. There's still that sinking feeling in her stomach, a dreadful fear she's unable to escape telling her this is all going to end horribly. Crach An Craite stands up from his seat, when suddenly the door is slammed open, a man in full plate armor barreling through, swiftly taking out the two guards by him. Like an unruly bull, he stomps to the center of the room, lowering himself into a kneel. The room is completely still, as Visenya leans forward, grip tightening on the knife in her left hand.

"Forgive my late intrusion, Your Majesty, and for the misunderstanding with your guards. Please! I come in peace. I need but one moment of your time. I am Lord Urcheon of Erlenwald and I have come to claim your daughter's hand in marriage," he says, bowing his helmet-covered head.

The room is filled with gasps of shock, women all around covering their mouths in horror. The Queen becomes as stiff as a rock, veins faintly protruding from her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, Visenya sees Pavetta go completely still, yet her face doesn't convey the same horror it has with every suitor before.

"A knight... of no renown... from a backwater hamlet... who dares to enter my court without revealing his face?" Queen Calanthe spits out, shaking in rage as her words burn like acid.

"I apologize, Your Majesty. A knight's oath prevents me from revealing my face until the sounding of the twelfth bell." Urcheon says, not sounding shaken by the threatening aura swimming around Queen Calanthe.

"Bollocks to that," Lord Eist exclaims, moving forward and knocking the helmet off Urcheon's head. The metal clatters against the ground, echoing in the room, as the knight is revealed to be a...hedgehog man. Visenya leans further out of her seat, nearly laying on the table. Gold eyes wide in shock as she examines each and every needle that protrudes from his face, tracing his animal-like nose and beady black eyes. He looks around the room, very much looking like a cornered animal.

"Witcher--" the Queen hisses, "kill it."

"No," Geralt says, intently watching Urcheon.

"Whatever the price," she continues.

"This is no monster."

"I order you," she continues, the same patience she previously possessed slipping away.

"This knight has been cursed." Geralt says, unable to be swayed by her words that hide serious threats.

"You're as useless as the rest of them," she seethes. "Slay this beast!" she exclaims to the rest of the room.

Two guards immediately move towards Urcheon, weapons in hand. With swift and highly skilled movements, he disarms the guards, knocking them to the ground.

"Lioness of Cintra, I come to claim what is rightfully mine! Pavetta. By the Law of Surprise." he yells, pointing towards the Princess. More guards approach, and to his credit, he attempts to fight back but is quickly outnumbered. He's thrown to the ground, blood pouring out of his...snout. One of the guards lifts their halberd, seconds away from slicing into them. Geralt quickly jumps from his chair, moving past Visenya and down the steps at the speed of light.

"No!" Princess Pavetta exclaims.

At that moment time slowed down. Geralt reaches the scene when the halberd is mid-swing, pulling out his sword and cutting the weapon in half. The top piece slams on the ground and Urcheon catches the bladed part.

It's silent until the Queen breaks it.

"Kill them both!" she yells, pointing at Geralt and Urcheon.

o0o0o0o

Swords ringing, bodies crashing to the ground, and screams ricocheting off the walls into Visenya's ears. It's all familiar. A horror so intrusive and fresh in her mind that feels like only hours ago her whole world crumbled, leaving her vulnerable in a new reality. So different with its magic and dragons, but the same in the way its tragedy claws at her throat, phantom tears following her like the deaths of everyone she ever loved. Like an inescapable curse that continues to stalk her no matter how far or fast she runs. And maybe that's because none of this is real, a delusion she's created in the darkest recesses of her mind, happy enough to grant hope of a better life, yet enough devastation cloaking it to be believable.

She watches in a daze as Geralt moves through the room, dancing with his blade like a master. The porcupine man roars as he charges the oncoming guards, cutting into their flesh with less fluidity than Geralt, yet deadly all the same. Invigoration surging through his body from the White Wolf joining his side, more than happy to slice through anyone who confronts him, whether his foes wield sword or fist. The lords in their fine garb beat, stab, and strangle each other; using the chaos as an opportunity to take down their adversaries. A small group of nobles huddle in the far recesses of the room, cowering and whimpering in fear as the slaughter escalates. Women cry and the minstrels quiver, yet the queen and princess remain at their high table, unmoving. Princess Pavetta watches with glistening blues eyes while the Queen is clenching her jaw so tightly, her face is painted white.

Visenya's hand ghosts over where her blade should be, the empty spot where its sheathe would rest feeling uncomfortably light. A lord drunk on the adrenaline in his veins rushes Visenya, wild like an animal. She knows all too well how this will go if he gets his way: with her bloody and praying for the release of death. But she's not that little girl of five hiding in a crawl space as she listens to her mother's screams of agony. Now she breathes flames each time she talks, eyes like a city turned to ash.

She holds her arm up towards him with an open palm, the movements rigid and not her own, as if an otherworldly creature possesses her. Moments later he slams into her, the width of his neck perfectly fitting in her palm. Automatically her finger closes around him, tightening with each second as she locks him in place. She's emboldened with strength she shouldn't possess, as she raises her arm upwards, his legs dangling in the air, helpless. Gold eyes illuminate, embers of fire she's smothered igniting in that instant, festering pain bursting to the surface. Heat builds, the smell of burning flesh rising in the air, the crackle of skin against fire. He screams, a blood-curdling one that makes Visenya's insides turn. Yet she doesn't release him but holds tighter and tighter until his screams turn to choking, and then silence. With a dull thud, his body drops to the floor, unmoving.

A sharp pain pierces her left side, leaving her staggering forward with an unsteady footing. Howling like a wounded animal, Visenya turns to face her adversary, a heavily armored guard. He jabs towards her, but she manages to move out of the way just in time. She sneers, blood dripping from her mouth. He goes to stab again, but in full plate, he's too slow for her nimble movements. She ducks behind him, grabbing a shard of broken glass from the ground as she does. And before he can comprehend where she is, she stabs the glass into the side of his neck, watching the thick red liquid coat it. He coughs, choking on the blood pouring out of his neck. The guard wobbles, slowly losing his balance as he claws at the air for something to hold onto, then scratching his throat, attempting to save himself. Visenya watches, eyes cold and unfeeling. She lifts her leg and kicks him onto the ground before stepping over his body.

Each footstep thunders in her mind as she presses forward, every face nothing but a blur, and instead of tabards with three proud lions, she sees two blue towers united by a bridge. Every guard and noble that falls is a Northern soldier, with surprise and agony painting their face, while every attacker is a Frey. Sneers carved into their features; screams turning into shouts of glee as they cut through anyone in their way. In a flurry of blood lust, eager to drown her sorrows in the pain of others, she throws punches at everyone within reach, kicking bodies on the floor as they writhe in pain. It's intoxicating, living out her darkest fantasies without a care in the world.

It'll fade, the comedown far worse than the high, but at the moment, it's worth every second of loathing it'll inevitably create. A grunt follows a swift punch to the gut before Visenya grabs a hold of a chair, smashing the wood against the charging noble. His face morphs, no longer a nameless lord, instead, he's one of Walder Frey's sons who sunk his blade in her flesh as his friends shot her down from a distance. The chair breaks into a million pieces as he falls to the ground, unconscious. She roars as the adrenaline pumps higher and higher, the blood running in her veins faster and faster. Geralt appears in the corner of her vision, at some point they move towards each other like magnets, twirling around each other as if they've practiced it a million times. And just as soon as he's there, he disappears into the chaos as Visenya loses herself to the beast inside her.

Another soldier approaches her, a flurry of sword swings and spittle his greeting to her. She dodges out of the way of each of them, moving as if she's the water, her dress fluidly flowing with her. She steps to the side, taking advantage of his blind spot, due to his helmet that obscures part of his vision. She grabs a hold of his sword arm, managing to pull it back far enough to hear a gnarly crack, a loud clang following it, as his sword falls to the marble floor. He sneers at her, but she returns the favor. Yet before she can do anything, another burst of pain shoots through her, and her eyes flit down to the source, a dagger sticking out of her abdomen. She looks up at him as he twists it, before letting go and pushing her away, but instead of falling to the floor to bleed out, she pulls out the blade. Using his surprise to her advantage, she smoothly grabs his sword from the ground, using a maneuver she learned all those years ago in Winterfell to knock his helmet off his head from the back. And as it clangs to the ground, she drives the dagger into his throat.

She stumbles forward, hand clenching her new wound as blood pours out of it. She whirls around, determined to find safety, but a glimpse of auburn curls and Tully blue eyes with a direwolf coat of arms fighting a noble in rich blues captures her attention.

Robb.

Numb to the pain pulsing in her body and the wounds that are dripping with blood, she runs. But it's like walking through thick molasses, feet not moving as fast as they should, no matter how hard she tries to push forward. Desperation rips her apart from the inside out as she tries to stop what's inevitably going to happen, the very same thing she sees in every one of her nightmares. And when she's only a step away, the noble slashes low, throwing Robb off balance, and with one swift plunge of a dagger, he falls limp.

She's too late, again.

Her legs are never quite fast enough, reaction time a second too slow, and no matter how hard she tries to do it, she never manages to save Robb.

An ear-piercing screams tears through her throat, or maybe it doesn't, it's hard to hear anything above the ringing in her ears.

The noise is a culmination of a lifetime of sadness, but it's also a battle cry, promising nothing but fire and fury. And as Robb collapses, armor clanging against the ground, she reaches out and grabs the hair of the noble, pulling until there's a distinct crack and a shout of pain, a large chunk of brunette locks her prize. With the snarl of a wolf and tight tension on his head, she wraps her other arm around his neck, and a simple flick of her wrist is all it takes as his neck snaps, body crashing onto the ground.

And Visenya falls too, crumbling into nothing but a shaking form, sobbing so hard she nearly throws up all the contents in her stomach, trapped between the dead bodies of Robb and his killer. Tears mix with blood, staining the floor with her misery.

"Robb!" she cries out, but her voice is nothing more than a croak, getting swept away into the chaos of the fight. "Robb!"

A shaky hand reaches out, moving to brush his hair out of his face, but there's nothing there. And as her tears pour down her cheeks, Robb distorts, wild curls becoming a bald head and Tully blue replaced with bleak brown. She removes her hand as if it burnt her, and scrambles to getaway.

Bodies rush past, moving around her as if she's nothing more than a figment of their imagination. Everything slows down in the room, as salty tears slip into her mouth, dark spots covering her vision.

She blinks; once and then twice. Everything is blurry until it's not.

A sea of dead bodies, suffocating her. She throws a hand up, desperately clawing to escape, But each movement only traps her further under them. She screams, the sound muffled yet clear as day in her mind.

"Jane. Jane!" Someone's holding onto her, pressing onto her cheeks, the warmth of soft hands cupping her cheek. "Jane, are you alright?" The voice is distant, yet familiar all the same.

She blinks again, and once more.

Another scream rips through her throat, tearing apart her vocal cords. She continues to claw, fighting harder against the dead weight that presses heavily against her. Gold meets gold as the light shines in her eyes. The first rays of day hit the side of her face, illuminating the cast of dry blood caked with mud on her face. Eyes flicker from the left to the right, seeing, yet not, at the same time. It doesn't register in her mind, the ocean of death she finds herself swimming in, all she sees is daylight, while everything else is blurry.

"Please bring me water or wine, just bring me something!" The familiar voice echoes in Visenya's head, footsteps rapidly tapping against a marble floor following.

A glint in the light captures her attention, something piercing through her hazy vision. It blends into its environment at first, but with a keener glance, she sees it. With new vigor, she wiggles out of the pit, crawling on all fours, eyes on the prize. Six beats, that's all it takes until she closes in on her fixation. A person, a dead person.

The body doesn't have a head, but she already knows its face, the same one she sees every night in her worst night terrors. Unsteady hands reach out, tracing the cloak clasp, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat inside her. Hot fingertips trace over two direwolves meeting in the center. Then she forms a fist around it, holding so tightly small cuts form on the palm of her hand. No tears pour down her face, spilling onto the fine garb Robb donned for his own funeral, there's nothing left to cry. Her eyes are dry like a Dornish desert, she's cried too much to have any left. A second scream tears out of her mouth, sending any scavenger birds flying away with haste, slicing through the silence of the field that is drenched in dawn. It's harsh and coarse, leaving the ground beneath her quaking in its wake.

"What's wrong with her?" A timid woman's voice asks.

"I don't know. Let me see that." There's rustling, ice-cold water hitting her face moments later. "Gods Jane, you're bleeding!"

She blinks one more time.

The field disappears, a ballroom wrought with chaos replacing it. She's flat on the ground with Jaskier kneeling beside her, face hovering over hers. His eyes are wide with distress, gaze solely focusing on her. She attempts to stand, but the weight of her head is too much, so instead, it just bangs against the hard floor. Swords clanging and people shouting filters into her ears again, replacing the devastating silence that once resided in her mind.

"Jaskier."

"I'm here, I just need you to stay awake for me. Can you do that?" he asks, holding her hand so tightly his knuckles turn white.

"A sheep can't command the dragon," she mutters, eyes fluttering shut, only to snap open when something cold and wet splashes over her face, again.

"Well the next time we meet a dragon, I'll let them know." She glances over, seeing the weak smile pulling at his lips. His pale face is stark white, the flush of red usually in his face completely gone, with dark and deep bags under his tired and dull eyes.

"You already have, I am the daughter of dragons," she mutters, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

She opens them again, blinking a few times and finding herself back in the open field and kneeling over Robb's body. She stands with unsteady legs and a weary body. Visenya turns around, staring at Walder Frey's keep, eyes solid ice with a stony expression. One step, two steps, and another, and then another, staggering towards the keep. The anger simmers, burning so hot it's cold now. Fire dances on the tips of the fingers, the flames licking up her arms with each step she takes.

"Can you do something? She's been injured?" Jaskier's voice echoes in Visenya's mind.

"Possibly, step aside and I will do my best to heal her," another familiar male voice rings in her ears.

A comforting feeling fills her body, smothering her pain in all things that are warm and homely.

She blinks, opening her eyes and finding herself back in Cintra with Jaskier and Mousesack hovering over her. She's delusional, she has to be. The only problem is, she can't decipher which reality is true and which one is a hallucination.

"Are you alright?" Mousesack asks, grabbing Visenya's hand in his own. Between Jaskier and him, they manage to help Visenya sit up just in time to see Queen Calanthe meet Geralt in battle. She holds her sword up to his neck and Geralt meets her blade with his own.

"Stop!" the Queen yells.

o0o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you. Also I’m not 100% sure if most of y’all still want to be tagged, since it’s been so long since I posted a new chapter, so feel free to message me if you no longer want to be!

#geralt imagine #geralt x reader #the witcher imagine #the witcher fanfiction #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia #the last dragon #the witcher #the witcher crossover #game of thrones #game of thrones crossover #geralt of rivia x reader #Geralt #Jaskier #calanthe of cintra #targaryen!reader #targaryen!oc

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skullboysfinale · 4 years ago

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Jejunum

I really wish I could draw this man; the mask might be creepy but it’s somehow expressive, so it changes depending on his mood. His eyes are actually icy blue, and those ‘disappear’ only when he’s mad. He’s literally made of intestines, with a special body armor that keeps him in place, and he conceals weapons like drills and blades under those intestines he uses as tendrils as well... Said tendrils also happen to be full of acid.

He sounds like a scary person, but the twist is he’s one of the kindest characters, is a papa wolf, would risk his life for the children he adopted, and has a soft spot for all things cute.

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incorrectsmashbrosquotes · 5 years ago

Note

I've been waiting to ask this for a long time. What if some of the Shepherds were asked to teach the Garreg Mach houses? Specifically, Tharja to the Black Eagles, Cordelia to the Blue Lions, and the OG Teach Vaike to the Golden Deer?

Professor Tharja

Tharja: I see you are to be my pupils... I must say I am unimpressed.

Edelgard: I, uh, take it that you are our new Professor for the month? W-well, let me welcome you on behalf of-

Hubert: I’m going to enjoy this class.

Tharja, recognizing a fellow Goth: Excellent, I think you shall shine in my lessons.

Bernadetta, hiding under the table: I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingtodie, I’mgoingto-

Tharja, poking her head bellow the desk: You. Out. Now.

Bernadetta: AAIIIEEE! SCARY DEMON LADY! Please don’t kill me and eat my flesh! I’m all stringy! I’D TASTE TERRIBLE!

Tharja, her face softening just a little: Hmm... you remind me of my daughter.

Bernadetta: I- wha- what?

Tharja: My daughter, Noire. Like you, she is meek and cowardly. *she fishes out Noire’s Talisman* Take this. It will remove all your fear and doubt as it did her.

Bernadetta: R-really?

Tharja: Really.

*Bernadetta hesitantly takes the Talisman. Instantly a change comes over her. A wide and maniacal grin comes over her face and a demonic light shines in her eyes*

Ferdinand: B-Bernie?

Bernadetta: BERNIE IS DEAD! I am the Avatar of Destruction! Repent sinners, for there shall be no salvation from me! MUAHAHAHAHA!

Lindhart, coming up to Tharja: Impressive magic Professor.

Tharja: Actually it’s not magic at all.

Lindhart: Ah. A psycho-semantic device to trick her into ignoring her fear and doubt?

Tharja: Excellently done. I think you shall excel as well

Professor Cordelia

*The Blue Lions are having class out in the training field. They are met by Cordelia in full armor beside her Pegasus*

Cordelia: Lions, I shall not mince words. I have reviewed your progress and I am disappointed. You all act like disjointed fools rather than future royalty and warriors. It is disgraceful!

Annette: B-but Professor, we have been making- *Cordelia brandishes her Training Spear at her*

Cordelia: I did not give you permission to speak soldier!

Annette: Y-yes ma’am!

Sylvain: Y-yes ma’am!

Cordelia, pointing her spear at Ingrid: There will be NO treating your allies as lesser because of their race.

Ingrid, blushing in shame: Yes ma’am.

Cordelia, leveling her spear at Felix: And there will be no, I repeat NO, “Lone Wolf” shit that endangers yourself and your comrades. Am I understood soldier?!

Felix, glaring, meeting her challenge: Yes ma’am.

Professor “The Vaike”

*The Golden Deer are lounging about in their classroom, waiting for their Professor*

Lorenz: Hmmph. Our instructor is officially twenty minutes late.

Raphael: Doesn’t that mean we can legally leave?

Claude: Eh, I’m sure he’ll show up soon. Apparently Teach recommended him personally and-

*the doors suddenly explode open*

Vaike: WHAT’S UP BITCHES!?

Claude, leaning back in his seat: This is gonna be good.

Vaike, walking up the aisle: Greetings NERDS! I’m your Professor, Vaike. But you will address me as THE VAIKE!

Marianne: Uh, Professor? How is-

Leonie: Hell yeah!

Vaike: That’s the spirt! Now give me an “oorah”!

Leonie, Raphael and Claude: OORAH!

Lorenz: Please Goddess, take me now.

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moonlightheretic · 4 years ago

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Chapter still unknown FULL (or is it?) WIP NSFW (it gets dark ya’ll)

“Where are we?” I struggled to find my bearings in this dark tunnel. The ground seemed unstable, pebbles shifting underfoot. My hands reached out in a blind haste for something solid to guide me through the dark. The walls practically disintegrated at my touch and nearly caved inwards. I did not feel safe. This place was one wrong step away from total collapse. I stumbled, my feet slipping into the rock ridden path, his hand caught my arm.

“You do not need to know.” He answered simply, pulling me to my feet.

It was becoming his go-to reply for everything I asked. I wasn’t satisfied with it. He watched my struggle and called flame to his hand, the hollowed cave’s secrets scattered into the shadows cast by the wiggling ignition. “You have stripped me of my weapons and most of my dignity. Do you mean to strip me of basic information as well? Am I so scary to you, Dread Wolf?” I challenged. Bitterness chewing through my words.

“They elected you as Inquisitor, not for your skill in battle alone. You are formidable. In any case, there is no benefit in informing you, it will make little difference. You will activate this one, as done previously.” His voice dipped into the octaves of an order.

“Where are we?” I pressed. “I want to know what you will destroy.” I stood firm, shoulders squared, refusing to tread further. He turned to face me, the blaze in his hand distorting the shadows across the planes of his face.

“When has any truth of my plans comforted you? Or perhaps, any truth at all? You live, stuck in a halcyon that never existed and you yearn for its return.”

“And who painted that pretty picture for me? This impressive hiraeth? A lie built on lies, a tower, and then brick by brick, a rotunda, and finally, a castle! What a beautiful empire you raised. Such an artist as you perhaps, should have erected that on Skyhold’s walls.”

We dove into a thick silence, neither of us giving in. I could almost see him biting his tongue, any remark quelled by fledgling self-control. He took a breath and smiled.

“You evade blame almost as skillfully as you evaded me, ah, but then again, where are you now?” He tilted his head, his left brow raised. “I wonder, what more dances have you that I not discovered yet?”

“I believe it was you who taught me to dance, Solas. I cannot take credit for my skills, when I have the master in front of me.” I gestured to him.

A muscle in his neck twitched and the fire cradled in his fingers strengthened significantly, staining his skin red.

“There is work to be done. Enough.” Even though the fire was causing us both to sweat in this enclosed space, his words were of pure ice.

We advanced upon this hovel, a crumbling crooked crevice of rock and stalagmites, dripping with Maker knows what. His steps were full of confidence and prior knowledge, muscle attuned with memory. He maneuvered past the tight angles with experience. He had been here before, perhaps?

“Whose bright idea was to locate an artifact in this dreadful place?” I snapped, as I was compelled to duck when a bat screeched by my head. Ah, but if a bat made its home here, surely there was an additional entrance to this hollowed nightmare.

He answered me with a chuckle and then reassured, “It isn’t far. Have patience, Inquisitor.” Ah, so he was no longer angered by my words, or had he folded the displeasure up and saved it for later?

I grabbed his illuminated jaw and snapped his head towards me. “Patience? I waited for you! With each year passing no more than a decade of drought! I have been patient, Solas.” I wasn’t expecting a simple comment to provoke such raw emotion into my words, but there I was, fingers digging into the flesh of his jaw.

Solas’s eyes crept over my face, tracing every detail with his heavy gaze. “And so you have me.” He remarked gruffly and shrugged me off. A small draft tingled against my skin, the blooming flame flickered and listed, perhaps a vein in this stone body led to freedom, after all. But, I could only see what his flaming palm afforded me.

I felt it before I saw it. The anchor reacted, fizzling, smoke-like, and churning the air around it a greenish hue. My first reaction was to recoil and hide it within my cloak. Solas’s armored arm slithered into the fold of my cloak, the fabric hissing against his metal arm guards. He held onto my throbbing hand, pulling it from its hiding place, cool fingers calming my shivering ones, he presented it to the artifact before us. Mist entrapped light uncoiled around the artifact, as if we had woken it from a long slumber, its light stretched and billowed in flight, like a flag caught in the wind and it rippled and convulsed, as if it was rejoicing. A warm welcome, indeed. A statue loomed behind, a winged and headless figure of a woman. Mythal. She was immured in this foul place, a feeling of sorrow washed over me.

“We are within the Vimmark Mountains.” He informed, sullen and remorseful, his eyes lingering on the statue.

A mountain chain, opportunity screamed into my mind. Then we could be in the vicinity of Kirkwall or even Ostwick, or rather, it was also possible we were somewhere in between. What mattered the most was the very fact that we were under a mountain.

“Surely, this place has significance.” I argued, playing along, with my eyes following his.

“Indeed.” He whispered.

Solas closed his palm and in doing so, snuffed out his flame. We were bathed in a greenish and golden light, I stole a glance, his mouth set in a hard line, eyes devoid of emotion, and in doing so, he gave me nothing. Unreadable. He was skilled not only in magic, but also, in masking his intentions. He was undeniably powerful, but so was I.

My heart hammered in my chest, possibly my only chance at stopping the Dread Wolf lay within these simple and faulty rock walls, carved out by water. Maybe, I did not need my little dagger, for it, could not compare with a mountain.

The next set of actions were to be done without instruction, as they were no different than the times prior. But this time, everything would be different. Hesitation would no longer best me.

I neared the artifact, Solas stepped behind me and observed. I lifted my hand and waited, the artifact pulsated with green waves of light surging upwards, and revealing thousands of tiny eyes glaring back at us in this aphotic sanctuary. Fucking bats.

I felt my release and I moved closer to it, the lights brightened in response, and I wondered, could I not only activate the artifact with the anchor, but also destroy it? Hell, I could bring this entire cave down and trap him in, weaponize our very surroundings…and so I did. I had only used the anchor’s power as much as I required of it, in the past, I was too careful to abuse it. That some calamity might befall myself and others if I used it for anything but its intended purpose, but what I needed most was in fact, calamity, itself.

I opened a rift right into the very center of the artifact. In less than a blink of an eye, it exploded into a shower of glass and stone, its ancient powers reveling in the new found freedom. In an instant, the small pocket of this mountain, shuddered and began to collapse, as the rift twisted it into its own shape, pulling and knotting, then thrusting and flailing. The bats flew to an escape as dust, stalagmites and murky water rained down, then chunks of rock plummeted downwards until the very ceiling threatened to fold in like a deck of cards. I tried to avoid the falling debris as the area shook, thunderous and vengeful. I could hear the bats, screeching in terror and I made my way to follow them.

“Moon’Hwa!” Solas roared. Eyes lit, his hands invoked a barrier, though as the mountain piled high, he was struggling to hold it. He gritted his teeth and grunted under the weight, too preoccupied to stop me, for if he let go, we would surely be buried. So this was his limit. I crawled along the ground, my back was pelted with rocks and earth. I covered my head with one hand and dug through debris with the other. He fell to his knee behind me, his gaze burning a hole in my back. The consequences of my actions stopped ricocheting from my body, I peered upwards to realize that his barrier was stretching, enveloping me within its safety.

My heart clenched and I dared to look back at his face. The barrier wavered and he gasped, rocks shimmied through, bouncing off of his pauldrons. His eyes squinting, and I thought I saw the shimmer of tears catching on his lashes, the veins under the skin of his neck and face enlarged as he strained to keep the barrier solid. A stalagmite jabbed into his cheek, drawing a bloody trail down his face. I comforted myself as guilt pulled at my sleeve. I needed to be ruthless, the world depended on it. He saw me as an asset. An important one, if not for the anchor, would he not let me drown in stone and earth? I steeled myself within this resolve. Thus, I needed to get the anchor as far away from him as possible. I pushed onwards and the barrier flickered as it followed me, or rather, it kept one step ahead, an encouragement to go further. Guilt sent its timely reminder and I bit into my lip to keep from turning back. You are leaving him to die. An enormous section of rock slammed into the barrier, it blocked where the humble draft of air whistled through. That meant, the only way out was the Eluvian. I gulped hard, facing disappointment. It would have to do. Dal’nim will lose her father.

“Be quiet!” I seethed, shaking my head in an attempt to be rid of its voice.

It was becoming hard to breathe, the same air I breathed before filtered into my lungs and I quickened to the eluvian, a beacon in this turbulent darkness. Bats dropped to the barrier, sliding around me in a freefalling current of death. I inched closer, my fingers breaching its fluid reflection, the barrier wavered and as I pulled myself in, the tiny collapsing cavern was blasted with blinding blue light. The noise was…indescribable. My ears rang and ached as I was pushed into the eluvian by the blast, flying head first into the sanctum. I was followed by pieces of rubble, stalagmites, and a multitude of dead bats. The eluvian grumbled and screeched against the green tile as it too was shoved forward, denting it in the process.

I scrambled to stand, collecting my wobbly legs and propelling them to move, I clutched onto the eluvian, and with all my strength I heaved my weight into it, I screamed as the heavy golden oculus resisted my nefarious machinations. With one last heave, I pushed it into the bat littered floor and it shattered as if it were glass. The pieces flung everywhere, slicing my face and hands, the twinkling shards then seemed to dissolve, pooling into a clear and shimmering liquid at my feet. I did not wait around to discover what would happen next. My feet pummeled against the same elaborate green tile, I did not know where I was going, and I only knew that in this matter, distance was a friend. It was blur of gold and green, this place, I threw myself into eluvian after eluvian, until I could find something with the semblance of familiarity. I needed to find Dal’nim. She and I could be free of this place. I could contact Iron Bull, we could go to Rivain. The anchor will kill you. A sobering reminder. All hope gained, was lost in an instant. I…could cut it off, but, my eyes glow with its power, its infection could be septic? Oh, what was I going to do? There was so little I knew. My left fizzled and sparked emerald, free of Solas’s control.

I picked eluvians randomly, changing directions at will, his agents stopped and stared, I charged into them, not caring who I knocked over. It seemed that they simply did not know what to do with me. Perhaps, I had even been veiled as a secret from them. In any case their reaction time was cut short, because once I was within eyesight, I was already gone. I stopped to catch my breath, my chest heaving. This labyrinth was endless, eternal even. My palms stuck to my knees as sweat dripped from my face, not only sweat, no, but tears. They poured from my eyes, a deep mournful cry belted from my stomach. My fists clenched into the fabric of my trousers. I had more than likely killed him. No! I couldn’t stop to grieve. I had to leave! I needed to find Dal’nim! Priority reminded me. I stood straight and stepped forward, I nearly tripped as my foot caught the edge of sunken tile.

The tile beneath my feet waned, breaking off and splintering into the damp soil. A large gust nearly wiped me from my feet and howled in my ears, I held on to the fragment of a statue to my right for dear life and my hands slipped against its wet surface. Cool droplets coated my face and hair and I turned to see what commanded such a force. A siege of water surfed upon the wind, upwards, over the edge of the cliff side before me, like a waterfall in reverse. A perpetual haze clung to the air, broken pillars and archways framed this place, half shrouded by the mist. This area felt wrong, like I wasn’t supposed to be here, let alone know of it. Old Oaks careened off the cliff, hanging by their roots, as if they, themselves, wished to be elsewhere. Otherwise, this space was devoid of life, but it did not feel empty. This island in the sky, a mere token of a once larger chain, wasn’t particularly large, its counterparts were scattered elsewhere, dipping into the horizon as black dots. Perhaps it was meant to be forgotten? My eyes completed a wide sweep of the island. There was no other eluvian than the one I emerged from. Was this a dead end? My only hope was in the distance, an area still mysterious, as it was outstanding in comparison to everything else this place offered.

A crypt nearly swallowed by erosion and mist, dwelled behind archways and pillars. My steps were chosen carefully, and I swapped from pillar to pillar leading into it, hanging on with all my might when the windy tsunami blew into me. Perhaps there was an eluvian lurking inside? I looked behind me before entering into this forbidden dwelling of the dead, a chill slithered into my bones, every muscle screaming I turn around, flee from this miserable place. But my desire to escape compelled me to ignore those sensations. Torches blazed upon my entry and I nearly jumped out of my skin, bravery almost forgotten. The braziers illuminated the stairway that descended into the depths of the unknown. My only companions were the buoyant echoes that bounced from my steps. My palms sliding flat along the golden walls, a steady reminder of what surrounded me, solid and strong, I could lean my weight into them without worry.

The braziers ignited as I passed by, this place was slowly drawn back to life. With each step taken, a noise loudened just a bit more, a wailing. Though, it did not originate as the result of the wind that labored against the crypt’s exterior. Odd. The landing of the stairs opened into a single room, it was unremarkable, except for the eluvian placed in the center and an exquisite golden recurve bow and full quiver leaning against it. But this reflection, this swirling picture it painted was not of me, nor was it of the room that sheltered it. I approached it, curiosity luring me in no different than a moth to flame. My fingers brushed its liquid like appearance, causing it to ripple, its image stayed the same. A thrashing figure, whom appeared to be female was tied to a massive tree, yet her head was…distorted. As if she wore some type of gargantuan crown that all but consumed her head. Her screams reached me and a gasp erupted from my throat when realization slammed into me.

Those were arrows. Countless arrows driven into her skull. She seemed to be trapped in unfathomable agony. I could not even see her face, for there were so many. How she managed to still live was …disturbing more than it was remarkable. She was a living pin cushion. She squirmed, her legs twisting in the grass, her head rolled from side to side, searching for a release from the pain and she wailed into the void, a haunting noise that echoed throughout the room. She should die. She deserves to die. It was like watching my mother all over again. I felt sick, what was this horrifying depiction? I was entranced, empathy surging like a rapid. I pulled my dagger from my boot and stepped in, gooseflesh punctuated my skin and my hair stood tall. Wait—

Blue light engulfed the humble room, and the taste of blood pricked at my tongue. I was thrown, a force splitting me from the suffering sight before me and I landed in a heap, limbs locked in place, I was physically held to the floor by an unseen force. The air knocked from my lungs, I found it challenging to breathe, and I stained against the invisible chokehold. The anchor’s light vanished as it was sealed.

“S-Solas!” I winced, air pushing out of my lips with a wheeze.

“Inquisitor, I must thank you.” His voice rang overly cheerful, pulsing with falsehood, his expression read differently. Eyes alit, sharp and unashamedly bright, the blue light trailed him as he turned to face me.

“You were most forthcoming with your intentions for me. I gave you the floor and your performance was…inspiring.” He shook his head, his face embellished with drying blood and dirt. “If my hands weren’t preoccupied with saving you, I would have clapped. A pity that your plan ultimately failed.” His words ending with the cold tone of finality.

I faced my defeat with a retort and growled despite my predicament, “How did it feel to have a mountain fall on you, Solas?” My emotions swirling in an unending whirlpool of despair for my failure and…relief, shameful relief.

“How did it feel? Ask the mountain. Although, you would face a difficult time finding it. I believe as of now, it stands below sea level.” He smirked and faced the eluvian.

He picked up the ostentatious bow and a single arrow from the quiver ruled in shadow, there was a slight shake to his hands, besides his haggard dirt/blood stained face and rock pelted armor, it was the only evidence that hinted at the event that befell him earlier.

“You left me to die when Corypheus besieged Haven! I was YOUR scapegoat! You are nothing but a coward.” The memory, along with rage found me, my mind fumbling with excuses.

“You’ve sacrificed more for the greater good of your cause, have you not? Your rage is misplaced, Vhenan. At one time, you were gladly complicit!" Solas argued, "As I am sure you are starting to remember." "Yes, at one time, I was gladly stupid." I retorted. "I thrived off of your praise alone, the Inquisition taught me I didn't need it."

“Yes, the same Inquisition that now terrorizes Ferelden and the Free Marches, searching for you. How wonderful of a teacher.”

“As were you, if my memory serves me right.” I seethed. “Though, I cannot claim to know what is real anymore.”

His left arm held the bow aloft and he seemed to ignore me, the light from his eyes illuminating its exquisite carvings and jeweled features, I had honestly never seen a bow so beautiful. It looked like it didn’t belong here, like it didn’t belong to this time. Solas nocked an arrow onto it, then to my horror, he took aim at the tortured woman, his right eye closing as he concentrated. He pulled back, deliberate and graceful. The arrow took flight, into the eluvian. I gasped when I heard the impact, I wished I could have covered my ears when her cries of agony hit me. I couldn’t understand how the poor female had any available space left on her head.

“Inquisitor, I must warn you not to wander in this place, for there are areas you may not return from, much like these arrows." He instructed.

“Who is she? What did she do?” I asked panicking, dismissing his warning.

“She numbers among they who killed Mythal. A crime for which an eternity of torment is the only fitting punishment.” He reached for another arrow. “They? Have you more prisoners? Why not kill them?” I reasoned.

“The first of my people do not die so easily, as you can see.” Another arrow flew coupled with another cry of agony. He navigated around my question, I knew not to ask more on the subject. This man had more walls than a gated palace.

“I assume that applies to you as well.” I pried, agitation digging in.

His smirk returned for the briefest of moments, before a deep melancholy was ushered in by his dipped brows and frown. He observed the bow in his hand, his fingers gripping it until his knuckles nearly turned white. “Andruil killed her with this bow. A fine gift, bestowed upon her by Mythal, herself. Yet, it ended in an act of greed, further sullied by lust for blood and power.” His head shook gently and he set the bow down, leaning it against the eluvian.

“When the veil is torn down…wont the Old Gods be freed?” Panic rose in my throat like bile.

“I have plans.” He pulled his hands behind his back and watched the suffering Andruil before him, eyes glassy and reflecting the writhing figure in his view.

“I-I didn’t think you were…I never thought you were capable of-“ I stuttered, the weight of his words plunging me into a deep ocean of fear. Did he imprison the other Old Gods in their own chambers of agony? Just who was Fen’Harel?

Andruils anguished cries bled through the eluvian, and staring into it was a God in the figure of a man whose eyes were gleaming with pride.

Last line credit goes to my friend AYSIA

Yeah I realize its not done. Like there needs to be a flashback for the opening yada yada.

#solas dragon age #solas romance #solas x lavellan #solavellan #dragon age fanfic #solas fanfic #angst #solas angst #torture #moon'hwa lavellan #the heretic #post trespasser

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jaskierskisses · 5 years ago

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So imagine something like in supernatural 5x12 happens to Geralt and jaskier! Geralt has to sing and actually composes a ballad, and Jaskier does the witchery thing!!

Hi @jawnlockwinchester !! Yay!!! Okay... You know what? I just wrote this one shot for you. Because your ask is tremendously funny! So enjoy! And thank you for coming to my inbox with this delightful prompt!

Solve It With A Kiss

Geraskier One Shot

Link to AO3

"And you just killed the evil witch?" Jaskier's voice sounded loud. Only that, it wasn't Jaskier's voice but Geralt's voice… because Jaskier was in Geralt's body and Geralt was in Jaskier's…

"She creeped me out." Geralt was sitting on one big rock in the middle of the forest, his blue eyes fixed over an invisible point on the ground.

"I… I…" Geralt's body looked funny putting his hands on his hips dramatically, with his mouth opened in awe, it was unmistakable… he was Jaskier after all. "I can't believe this! She creeped you out. You! The most scary Witcher that ever walked these lands?!"

Jaskier, I mean, Geralt side eyed him pressing his lips, and hummed.

"Oh, no, Witcher, you won't give me that! Because this?" The bard pointed at the white wolf and then at himself, several times, his hand was on fire because the speed of the movement, "This is because of her! Because her spell! How are we gonna solve this? Tell me?"

"Three weeks…" murmured the Witcher.

"What!?"

"She said there weeks or..." Repeated Geralt, standing up, and then he bubbled something incomprehensible, while he was grabbing his swords.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes and leaned a little towards him, "What?"

"What?"

"What did you just said, I didn't understand."

"Nothing."

"Yes you said something."

"I didn't," The Witcher was walking away slowly.

"You said 'three weeks or…' or what?" And because Geralt wasn't paying attention, Jaskier grabbed his shoulder and wheeled him around in a row to face him, "Yes, I'm bigger now, answer."

Geralt opened his blue eyes in awe, "Or… one kiss," the Witcher bowed his head and he was babbling again.

Jaskier was searching for his gaze, "A what? Speak louder!"

"A kiss! A kiss okay?! She said we kiss or we wait three weeks and the spell will end!" Geralt seemed flustered, breathing rough.

"Mmmh," Jaskier crossed his arms and tilted his head like a scientist watching an experiment with attention, "Interesting, then we kiss."

"No!" Shouted the Witcher, horrorized, "How!? what are you…!? no way!" Geralt gave two steps backwards.

"You're being too dramatic Geralt… okay, We won't kiss," the bard waved his hand dismissively, and then he pointed at him mischievously, "But I have a performance tonight in that tavern, so, you need to write a nice song for that."

Geralt flinched, his face turned pale, "What?! I won't do that, no way!"

"I can't do that neither like this? What will they gonna think about a huge, muscled Witcher singing poems?" Jaskier asked this, with irony in his voice. Geralt looked angry, really angry. He took away the lute from Jaskier, and walked away cursing, "Be nice with my lute! Treat her like a sweet lady!" The troubadour laughed amused.

Hours had passed when Geralt saw Jaskier entering in his room, wearing a light blue armor, with fancy details all over.

He tightened his grip on the feather he was using to write a song, which, he was not even near to write the first word, "What is that?" His jaw clenched, and Jaskier could count each vein on his forehead.

"Oh, I thought maybe some color would do… I will use this body for three weeks so," Jaskier turned around like a model to show him the other details from the back, like shining little pearls, "a little of fashion won't kill you, what do you think?"

Geralt's head dropped between his shoulders, he was shivering in anger. Jaskier smirked, "You… can't… show my body… with that." Red, mad eyes, were now on Jaskier.

"Why not?" the bard answered, trying to repress a laugh.

Geralt stood up in a row, and he walked heavily towards him, "You can't wear that and I can't write and sing," he murmured, Jaskier scowled because the Witcher was too close to him.

And then, Geralt pressed his lips on Jaskier, all of the sudden. The bard closed his eyes and surrounded his neck with his huge arms.

The Witcher thought it didn't feel that bad… in fact… it felt too good.

They pulled apart and they were back on their own bodies.

Geralt swallowed enraptured, "That was weird… like kissing myself but…"

"You're right, let's make it in the normal way now," whispered the bard, kissing the Witcher with passion.

Geralt closed his eyes and pulled Jaskier against his body. Thinking that maybe, this was the best solution to a spell he'd ever made.

/////////

Hope you enjoyed!

Tagging @agusvedder @mrsaquaman187 @spnsmile @mylastwish

#geraskier #the witcher netflix #the witcher fic #geraskier fic #geraskier prompt #geralt the rivia #jaskier the bard #jaskier and geralt #geralt x jaskier #my prompts #prompt me!

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lostadrianda · 5 years ago

Text

The house of wolves

Part I

*версия на русском языке по ссылке:

https://ficbook.net/readfic/8551009

There are dark times. I thought that the death of my parents was the worst thing I would ever see in my life. But now it's so bad… I have to admit that it's worse.

Smoke from the fire rises into the sky, twisting and dragging sparks with it. An axe clatters, and a tree falls with a crunch, breaking neighboring branches. I have almost no life left in me. Almost nothing is inside. People are scurrying around. The camp is growing in front of our eyes, turning from a temporary to our permanent campsite. I look at it, trying to figure out what’s going on. I'm not used to being in camps. The detachments held out successfully for four years in the Dominiana, where we took over the houses, and everything went well. But recently we were forced out of those lands, and the Sly Fox moved all of us to the Islands. It seems to be logical decision. But on the Islands we are not welcome. We could have gone to the south to sparsely populated areas and stayed there. However, we did not do this. But why?

I was the only one who seemed to be asking questions. I don't know. I didn't have much contact with anyone from the camp. I glance at the people sitting next to me. Their faces are dry and earthy. Only the reddish glare of the fire is on them. And their eyes are fixed. You always had to keep in mind that those were wolves around you, not people. They look alike, they even show humanity from time to time. It's all a lie. And if there is any kindness in someone, it will soon be beaten out of them. It's the only way around here. I am among the enemy, I am in their ranks. I help put up new tents. But I have a feeling that I will soon be finished with. It's about time. But the Sly Fox keeps stalling. I think he understands how much this torments me. That's why he keeps me close to him. He's not stupid, no. Therefore, his decisions are not discussed.

It's funny that the Fox has committed so many crimes, but if somebody asks to show the main bastard, everyone will point the finger at me. I betrayed my family. Not native, adopted. Yes, they are all dead now, too. I guess my life didn't work out. But I didn't betray anyone. When the door was kicked in and twenty men entered with the Fox at their head, it was all over. There was nothing I could do about it, no matter how much I think about it. I pretended that I always hated my new parents. And I joined the side of the enemy. I should have given my sister time to escape. I didn't expect much more. I didn't think about anything. I didn't think I'd have to break into houses like this with the others. That now I will always hear the sound of those black boots wherever I go. I didn't think I'd have to run around in the woods. I didn’t know I'd be stuck with them for five years. I thought they would kill me that night, in the same house, as soon as they realized what I had done. But they did not understand or pretended not to understand. They still look askance. And I'm not allowed to be absolutely free. The Sly Fox sometimes calls me, asks questions, and I answer, but I keep waiting for the punishment to come. And he lets me go. During all this time, not a single suspicion was expressed. And he's smart. And there is nothing left for me, I am in his hands, always in his sight, even if he is watching me with a hundred other people's eyes, wolf eyes. He is always somewhere above me, behind me. All the time my life is suspended, and I know it.

My only hope is that my sister will return. I have nothing else left. Everything is so empty. And I’m doing something wrong. I close my eyes so that I don't see anything, so that I don't understand what is happening to me. Because as soon as I start thinking, it turns me inside out. When I forget myself, I gather wood for a fire, go with others and scout the area around the camp, draw some maps. And everything seems to be as it should be. I make an obedient and silent employee, everyone is happy, I do not interfere with anyone. The whole body shakes, as if with a strong chill, and no fire warms. So something inside is resisting. It remembers, and remembers well, that the Sly Fox is the enemy. That he killed a lot of people. But he's good, he's built everything right. He's got an army of about three thousand men, and they all look at him and catch every word. Only one person I've ever known, only one person in my entire life, could stand up to him. And this is my sister. Isn’t it funny, huh? As I remember her, thin, fragile, as I look at the Fox… I can't believe it. But that’s true. Her playful dark eyes flashed with such power sometimes that I was willing to believe that she would overcome anyone. And every time I look at the Fox, I always look at the scar on his cheek. My sister left this for him as a souvenir.

But I haven't heard from her in five years. It's too long to wait, you know? A person waits, waits for a week, a month, maybe a year… And then begins to live, throwing a veil of oblivion over the past. Only I never started again. The air balloon ends sooner or later, you know? And I'm still trying to grab the mask and breathe, breathe. Nothing is inside. In the camp, when people talk about her, all they say is that she must have been dead for a long time. I wished they say something else, even nonsense. Nooo. There are no other options in anyone's mind. Only my brains resist. Things can't be that bad. No matter how much life beats me, I won't believe it. It can't be that bad.

Smoke from the fire gets in my nose. It's getting colder, the earth is blowing in autumn, and the leaves are not the same as before. I rub my flushed hands together. The Islands don't like us. We are like an ulcer on their body. We tried to move deeper into the mountains and fortify ourselves. Fifty of our men were killed in two days. A couple of detachments remained in the dense forests at the foot of the mountain, while the rest were scattered along the coasts hiding. We choose places so that we are not found for as long as possible. And it’s strange that the Fox ordered us to fortify ourselves here. But let hell be with it.

The sky has been cloudy all the time we've been here. Today, for the first time, I see the sun shining. Even now you can't see the sky — it's all white, with darker clouds floating across it. The horizon is dark-blue, grim, colliding with an even darker, colder sea. I look into the distance and for the first time I think that my sister must be dead. It scares so much. It's like I'm no longer a human being and I'm becoming a wolf, like all those people around me. That’s really scary. For some reason everything turns to be meaningless. No, I won't give them my soul. They took everything from me, but they won't get it. I will believe till the end. I will resist until I lose my mind. Why am I sitting now here with them, as if I really took their side?

It makes me feel sick. I kept hiding in their ranks and waiting for my sister to break out. Five years have passed. Time flies quickly, terribly, the further away, the more ghostly. I forget how it all happened, I forget why it happened, I forget what a mistake we made. I still think that I did everything right. I acted as I should. As well as I could. But for some reason, it all turned out to be really bad.

If I am the only one left here, who is still fighting, who still remembers that there were better, brighter times, if my sister is dead, and no one is fighting without her, isn't it time for me to get up? Isn't it time to remember who I was and how I was brought up, and what was on my mind before I got bogged down in this mire? I'm biting my lip nervously, they are already looking at me with suspicion.

What a coward I have become! Just thinking makes my temples sweat. I’m used to waiting for a miracle, but as soon as I imagined that I had to act myself, I shrank from fear and wanted to hide away. If only they didn't touch me, if only, if only... I did not to experience new horrors. You don't like me, do you? Despise? Look at me, all that is left of me is my skin, hanging on my bones! These wolves, damn them, have broken me so badly that none of my old friends would recognize me. But what good are these friends: they're either dead or they're first in line to take my head off.

I stand up from the log I've been sitting on all this time and feel my legs go numb. They are frozen to the bones. I stand still to stretch them a little. The two men sitting next to me look at me lazily.

— Where are you going? – Their cracked lips move, yellow teeth appear in between them. Those men probably don't like camp life either. And how long this will continue, no one knows.

— I'll go up to the river. There's one place I don't understand, I want to look at it.

— Don't run into anyone. We don't need you to bring the villagers here.

I nod. I don't get into fights, I don't get involved. Everything I have inside, I keep inside, and it’s a habit that has covered me like armor. I walk past the tents, from campfire to campfire, and turn onto the path that leads higher. I climb up and look back. Lights, trampled paths, people. I'm sick to death of such views. The further away from them, the better it is. I know I'll be back anyway. It's sickening. But the closer I get to them, the more I can learn about the outside world. I'm still waiting for news. At least one piece of news about my sister would be great. No one else will tell me. Only sitting by the fire I learn something new. Everyone in the outside world that I strive for hates me so much that they won't hesitate when they see me. They’ll kill me instantly. Here in the squads, I'm just one of hundreds. To the outside world, I stand in one line with the Fox. And he is happy for this — to keep a traitorous son and show everyone that even I recognized his power.

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