#silky the bard

[hellsilke]

Some of my BG3 doodles now that I'm finally getting back into drawing again 💋❤️

[hellsilke]

You make the finest memes my queen

My rotten soldiers fighting the good fight against the ghosts in the machine for our horny brother-in-arms

[charrcoalart]

Seven Silk Owls ♥

[ashanimus]

servant of the raven and the leopard seal

[findingavoiceif]

Intro post:

Step into the shadows as an Elyn, a creature feared and hunted for your dark, mysterious origins. After narrowly escaping the brutal grasp of your former master, you find yourself in a world that views your kind—Elyndras—as beings of nightmare: demons with unsettling, untapped powers.

But in this land where terror and superstition reign, your journey is just beginning. Thrust into an unpredictable adventure of treachery, harrowing dangers, unexpected sorrows, and moments of tender love, your path twists in ways you never imagined.

Forge bonds with one of four unique companions, each with their own secrets, desires, and hidden wounds.

Tell me, creature of the night... Will you reclaim your power, your voice, your freedom?

Features:

Choose your name,gender and parts of your appearance.(Some of the mc's features are locked to fit their heritage)

Romance one of four companions or maybe...5?

Trigger warnings-

Finding A Voice is rated 16+ for violence,self-harm,hunting of an entire species,assault,language and fade-to black scenes.

Love interests:

Quill Riviera – The Charming Bard

Quill’s got that effortlessly cool vibe—shoulder-length auburn hair streaked with dark highlights, usually tied half up, half down like he didn’t try but somehow nailed the look. His light brown eyes glimmer with mischief, though his right eye is a little clouded from an old injury, and his full lips always seem to be curled into a teasing grin. Freckles dust his nose, and he’s got a small gap between his front teeth, giving his smile a touch of imperfection that just adds to his charm.

Underneath his confident exterior is something darker, though he keeps it hidden well behind sarcastic jokes and playful arrogance. His tan skin, slender hands, and lean frame are decorated with piercings—hoops and studs running up his pointy ears, an eyebrow piercing above his sharp, teasing gaze. You’ll catch a glimpse of a burn mark on his left hip if he ever lets his guard down. Despite the mystery and flirtation, Quill’s a bard at heart, working part-time at the inn, always ready to spin a story or play a song. But don’t let his facade fool you; there’s more beneath the surface.

Pierre Blanchet – The Cold Commander

Pierre cuts an intimidating figure—a tall, athletic knight with flawless bronze skin, dark red eyes that he’s always been self-conscious about, even though they burn with a fire few can match. His curly blonde hair is cut short and shaved at the sides, making him look every bit the battle-hardened warrior he is. A small mole beneath his nose and a permanent shadow of stubble give him a rough, no-nonsense appearance.

Despite his role as Knight Commander, Pierre’s introverted nature and quiet insecurity make him seem distant, even rude at times. He doesn’t let people in easily, but those who get past his defenses see the man beneath the armor—stubborn, loyal, and fighting his own inner battles. His large hands grip a sword with ease, but they fumble when it comes to opening up to others. If you can break through his walls, though, you’ll find a heart worth fighting for.

Celeste Dupont – The Witch of Warmth

Celeste is the type of person who draws people in with her warmth, even though her pale skin and sharp grey eyes might make her seem icy at first glance. She keeps her silky black hair tied up in a messy bun, and no matter how chaotic it looks, it only adds to her effortless elegance. Her lips are always painted a cherry red, and a small scar on her bottom lip hints at the fact that there’s more to her story.

As a baker and healer, she’s as likely to serve you a fresh loaf of bread as she is to patch you up after a tough battle. A rune tattoo graces her palm, a subtle sign of her Valdranna heritage—an immortal witch with powers as ancient as they are mysterious. With her hourglass figure, dark eyeliner, and a nose ring that looks like a simple dot, Celeste balances the mystical with the everyday. She’s your boss, your best friend, and maybe something more if you’re lucky enough to win her heart.

Ash Valdaryn – The Sickly Royal

Ash is the reason this whole adventure started, their deep violet skin standing out against the pale world around them. Their lavender hair, soft and wavy, falls just past their shoulders, and they dress in flowing, feminine clothing that complements their elegant, yet slightly fragile build. White eyes gaze out from beneath small, curling horns on their forehead, giving them an otherworldly look that is as captivating as it is delicate.

Ash’s health is failing, which is why the journey began in the first place—to find a cure for the illness that threatens to take them away. Despite their condition, they insisted on coming along, determined to be part of the adventure. They may look fragile, but there’s a quiet strength beneath the surface—a will to live, to fight, to hold on. And though they may be royalty, with all the expectations that come with it, Ash’s soft voice and gentle demeanor make them someone you’ll want to protect... even though they’d never ask for it.

[underdark-dreams]

A gift fic for @catsharky featuring their beautiful bard Tav, Ember! Fueled by catsharky's mind and by the amazing art of Ember & blushy Rolan trapped in a closet 😳

Pent Up

"How long has it been?" As the new Master of Ramazith's Tower, Rolan finds himself short on personal time. Then he finds himself trapped up against the bard.

Tags: Trapped in a Closet, Tails, Touch-Starved, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count: 4,383 [Read on AO3]

For all its wonders, Ramazith’s Tower offered a staggering lack of privacy. 

Perhaps few wizards had families; Rolan couldn’t think of another good reason why such a palace would have only one decent bedroom within its walls.

It hadn’t seemed like a hindrance the first days Cal and Lia moved in. They’d managed to find their alone time on the road from Elturel where privacy was nonexistent, hadn’t they?

After four weeks of Cal’s snoring and Lia’s constant tossing and turning in their beds beside his, Rolan felt like a bowstring ready to snap. Between the shared quarters and all of the newly inherited duties of managing Sorcerous Sundries, let alone cataloging the Tower itself, Rolan found himself…well. Out of time for his own needs. 

More bluntly, if Rolan didn’t get himself off in the next tenday, he feared he might actually burn down a wing of his brand new library from sheer sexual frustration. The thought didn’t even embarrass him at this point—that’s how absolutely desperate he’d grown.

And of course the dreams weren’t helping.

That made Rolan’s focus falter for a moment, and the books he was levitating to the floor above slammed into their shelf with far too much force. He cursed under his breath and concentrated fresh on the next stack of tomes beside him.

Of all the people for his subconscious to latch onto, why, why did it have to be Ember? He respected her and valued her friendship more than just about anyone’s. He looked forward to every moment he got to spend in her company, in fact. 

Yet lately, Rolan’s sleeping mind conjured up scenarios where he took her in every position on every surface imaginable.

Pressed into silky sheets—bent in half over his desk—on her hands and knees on the carpet, the wood floor, his own bed, Ember’s fists gripping the bedding beneath her as he—

“Hope you’ve got a good spot to hide up here!”

Rolan heard the jingle of bells behind him before he’d even turned from his work. Her voice sent a pang of mortification through him, as if she too might have glimpsed those images flashing through his mind’s eye.

Ember was dashing toward him from the Tower portal, still dressed in one of her stage costumes. She was barefoot save for a ring of little bells around each ankle, and her tail swung wildly behind her for balance as she ran into the room.

“What in the hells—” Rolan began, this time failing the final gesture of his spell. The tomes that he was carefully guiding upward lurched and crashed against the polished wood, toppling back down several floors. Rolan ducked aside just in time as they landed with a sharp thump at his feet.

“Explain,” he demanded curtly, knowing whatever story the bard had would be outlandish.

“That Aradin, remember?” Ember pulled up in front of him, clutching a stitch in her side. “Stupid bounty hunter? His crew’s downstairs. They seem very put out that he’s dead,” she added, letting out a breathless laugh. 

Rolan failed to see the humor. “You mean you led them here? From wherever you were doing your—” 

He tried and failed to find the right word, instead waving a hand around her figure. Ember’s attire revealed a strip of bare skin from her neck to her navel, and that sight had scattered Rolan’s thoughts around his skull like marbles.

“The Elfsong,” Ember supplied, not acknowledging his sudden fluster. “They didn’t recognize my stage disguise, but I overheard them planning to come here and shake you down for what’s owed them. You’re welcome for the head start,” she added, propping a fist on her hip.

Rolan tried to ignore the attitude as he bent to pick up his damaged books in a huff. “They do know Lorroakan’s dead too, correct? Whatever contract they had with him was never any of my business.”

Ember spread her arms wide in impatience. “I know that, Rolan, but they’re fucking idiots!”

“Let’s just call Aylin to stomp them to death,” Rolan muttered savagely, not altogether joking. 

Rolan had fended off Aradin’s rude threats for his entire apprenticeship, and now that he was Master of the Tower himself, he was in no mood for more of that lot barging in and demanding things. After watching the aasimar dispatch Lorroakan, Rolan suspected that Dame Aylin would share the feeling.

“Nice idea,” Ember allowed, “but unless you’d like blood on your new carpets, I suggest we make ourselves scarce. Like now. You know you’ve still got a portal down there practically labeled ‘Real Nightsong Hunters This Way’?” 

This brought Rolan up short with a curse; Ember had a terribly good point there. He could kick himself for not having the sense to fix that glaring security risk before now. 

Considering the slew of Gazette articles speculating wildly about how Ramazith’s Tower had fallen into his hands, perhaps it was wise not to add any other deaths to his first month as Master.

When he straightened, Ember was already casting around the cavernous interior for a suitable hiding spot. “There,” she pointed up suddenly. 

Apparently done trying to urge him on with words, Ember’s fingers clasped over his, and the next thing Rolan knew she was dragging him bodily up the staircase. The books under his arm tumbled again to the floor. 

Through his surprise, Rolan felt something wet between their palms. He glanced to find that her hand was spattered with blood.

“Did they hurt you?” Suddenly furious, Rolan nearly stumbled on a stair behind her. A handful of defensive spells sprang white-hot into his mind.

“Oh, no—” Ember dismissed the idea. “It’s not mine.”

That only raised more questions, but there was no chance to form them as she yanked him onto the open landing. When Ember made a beeline toward the narrow door between two ornate shelves, Rolan tried to object. “That’s only a—”

Ember threw the door open and practically shoved him inside. 

“—closet,” Rolan finished deadpan, even as the bard jostled in behind him, swinging the door to its latch behind her. The space was comically small with two people.

Or it would have been comical with someone else.

Instead, Rolan found himself suddenly pressed up far closer to Ember than he ever had been outside his own mind. Standing chest-to-chest, he was painfully aware of every spot where their limbs brushed together—especially when her hand accidentally swung against the robes at his thigh.

It finally made her pick up on the tension radiating around him. Ember cleared her throat, although her eyes were sparkling with amusement. “Unless you’ve got a better idea?” 

“No,” was all Rolan had time to say before the whirling sound of the portal below traveled up to their ears. The two of them froze still. Ember's eyes on his face went wide, as if it might help her hear behind her better.

Over Ember’s shoulder, Rolan could only see a thin vertical sliver of the lower dais through the crack in the closet door, but it was just enough. 

Into the room shuffled two men, one dark and one fair. Rolan indeed thought he recognized them from Aradin’s crew back at the Grove. They moved warily across the central floor with hands near their weapons, as if expecting an ambush. When the blonde-haired man turned slightly, Rolan glimpsed two fresh streaks of blood running from his nostrils. 

Almost as if someone with quick reflexes had jammed the heel of their hand against his nose in a defensive move, bloodying their palm in the process.

“I see,” Rolan whispered, partly to himself. “Any chance you instigated this whole thing?”

“He deserved it,” Ember whispered back with vehemence. “He called you a—” 

Their eyes met for a second, and just as Rolan’s heart began to pound at how close her face was, she glanced away.

“Let’s just say he had Aradin’s vocabulary,” Ember finished.

So she had bloodied a man’s nose to defend his honor? He should find it absurd, but at this moment, all Rolan could think was how pretty Ember looked with her jaw set in righteous indignation like that.

“I’m flattered,” Rolan told her, only half-joking. He glanced back through the crack in the door, partly to distract himself from her again. 

The two thugs had quickly given up any pretense of stealth in favor of searching the premises. Their unguarded footsteps were enough to track them, and after a short verbal exchange those heavy treads spread out to explore the floor below—far from Rolan and Ember’s hiding place.

“What if they steal something?” Ember whispered suddenly.

Of all Rolan’s concerns right now, that was by far the least pressing. “The stuff they’re looking for is all down in the vault. But I’d love to see them try, this place has enough defensive enchantments to flatten a troll, some my own magic. They’ll get knocked out if they so much as crack open a book. Though I doubt they can read,” Rolan added.

That made Ember laugh, a breathy and quiet sound—Rolan felt it against his cheek and hoped she wouldn’t notice the way he swallowed hard at the sensation. 

With the two intruders blundering about so loudly, it suddenly seemed like an unnecessary risk to keep the door cracked open to watch them. In one move Rolan reached around Ember’s arm for the doorknob, pulled it shut, and muttered a quick incantation. The lock glowed blue-white with a series of clicks, now magically secured from the inside.

It was a slight change, but it somehow made the cramped space feel far more intimate. The light streaming under the door was just enough for him to make out Ember’s face a mere foot from his own. 

Shelves packed with broken baubles of unidentified usefulness lined the walls around them, muffling the sound in the small space, everything but their breathing. Ember was close enough that Rolan felt her every exhale tickle his cheek.

“Now I guess we wait,” she said. 

Rolan nodded, then remembered she might not be able to see. “I suppose. Hopefully those idiots lose interest fast.”

“What about Cal and Lia?”

“They’re both at Alfira’s,” Rolan answered. Worry ran through him for a moment, but they wouldn’t be back for at least an hour. By any luck Aradin’s old crew would be long gone by then. Good gods, please. Rolan didn’t think he’d survive an hour in a confined space with Ember’s body brushing up against him without doing something immensely embarrassing.

There was another muffled pause as they both shifted on their feet. One of Ember’s bells gave a tiny jingle.

“So…what’s new with you?” Ember’s quiet voice shook with mirth. This whole situation was apparently all good fun for her.

Rolan found himself enjoying it for his own reasons, but not any he remotely wanted to admit. The slashing neckline in Ember’s shirt offered a very generous view of her chest from this angle, and it took most of his concentration not to stare. He shifted again in an effort to put more space between them—with little success.

“Nothing but the usual,” he told her, grasping at the distraction. “Organizing Lorroakan’s hoard of magical artifacts, putting the library in proper order. Preparing the Tower’s defenses for the army marching down on the city any day now.”

“Sounds stressful.” Ember frowned at him a bit. “Don’t you take any time for yourself? Have a little fun?”

“When exactly would I have a chance to do that,” Rolan laughed mirthlessly.

And that was precisely the problem, wasn’t it? 

As though Rolan’s subconscious hadn’t taken over after enough inaction on his part. As though exactly four nights ago he hadn’t experienced a dream shockingly similar to their current scenario, one where dream-Ember had instead dropped to her knees with lovely lips parted to take him.

As though Rolan hadn’t jolted awake at midnight, sweaty and tangled in his bedsheets, hard cock in his own grip—

That alarming line of thought was interrupted when one of Aradin’s men called to the other. This time, the voice came from just a few meters outside the door. 

Both of them froze at the sound. Rolan’s mind was actually distracted by the threat of a confrontation, though only for a moment.

Whether from nerves or something else, Ember’s frame shifted in closer against his. He thought he could almost feel the heavy beat of her heart through the muffled and dim space.

The motion notched their bodies together in a new way. With his next smallest of movements, Rolan felt one of her thighs nudging in between his legs.

No—no no no, not now—

Yet blood was already rushing south of his waist in a primal reaction to the contact. Rolan clamped down with all his mental training, willing his body not to do anything so humiliating while she was trapped up against him like this with potential danger just outside. He conjured up thoughts of death, and pain, and anything that might distract his touch-starved body from the destination it was already barrelling towards headlong. His tail tip flicked eagerly behind him, and he coiled it around his calf to hide his tell.

But she was so firm and warm against his groin, and despite his best efforts, Rolan felt himself stiffening against her under his robes. 

Ember’s eyebrows rose silently. Rolan felt the hottest blush blooming all over his face in response.

“Ignore that,” Rolan whispered curtly. Looking at any part of her only made his face burn even more, but it was hard to find anywhere else to look in their close quarters.

Ember bit and released her lower lip. “That’s going to be hard,” she whispered back. 

Her choice of words made him wish the floorboards would open up and swallow him. Gods, this was humiliating. 

“Do you always get this excited from the thrill of danger?” Ember continued in a teasing whisper.

“Now’s not the time,” Rolan hissed at her, trying to ignore the way she had angled herself slightly against his side. 

“Or maybe it’s the close quarters—”

“Hush—” Rolan was genuinely trying to listen, unsure whether the intruder had moved away or was close enough to hear their whispered exchange. He was in no state to concentrate on spellcasting at the moment.

As he strained his ears, one of his arms nervously bumped against Ember and actually grazed the soft curve of her breast. Her breath hitched against his ear.

Fucking hells. Rolan thought every bit of him could melt on the spot—all but the length between his legs, which was now hard as a rock against the side of Ember’s hip. Rolan tried to shrink back further against the shelving behind him, but there was nowhere left to go. 

Ember certainly made no move to give him space. “Didn’t know you had it in you,” she whispered coyly. “Honestly, I’m flattered.”

“This isn’t because—” Of you, Rolan wanted to tell her. But that seemed rather insulting, not to mention a bald-faced lie. He let out a shaky breath. “I’ve…not had much time to myself lately, that’s all.”

“Oh,” she replied. Rolan could practically feel Ember’s eyes on the side of his face. “Oh.”

A pause followed in which Rolan stared up at the dark closet ceiling and wished to disappear. Outside, there was a more distant crash and a yelp—one of the idiots triggering an arcane trap, no doubt. He felt a twinge of satisfaction. They were the whole reason he was stuck in this predicament.

“How long has it been?”

Rolan glanced down at Ember, whose face was tilted toward him sincerely.

“A few weeks,” he mumbled, then looked away again. “Almost four.”

“Damn,” Ember whispered.

“Yes,” Rolan said stiffly, continuing to avoid her gaze as prickling heat climbed up his neck. “So if we could just—wait here quietly.” 

Ember let out a low, thoughtful hum. Something about the sound made Rolan’s palms sweat where they hung at his sides. 

“How quiet can you be?” She asked him.

It took Rolan several moments to catch her meaning. He blinked at her in shock, certain she must be trying to tease him again. “What do you—”

“Because we’re alone right now,” she interrupted. She spread her palms to each side, as far as the cramped walls allowed. “And you've got nowhere else to be at the moment, right?”

She was so close Rolan’s eyes had to flick back and forth between hers. “That’s insane,” Rolan said hoarsely.

“Is it?” Ember sounded quite serious, though she kept her tone to a whisper. “Listen, Rolan, you’re not subtle. I’ve noticed, everyone who cares about you has. You’ve been impatient, and snippy, and Lia said you keep forgetting projects in the middle to start new ones.”

“When did you talk to—”

She didn’t slow for his question, and Rolan felt her hand actually curl up over his shoulder. His skin glowed with heat under her touch.

“For your own sanity, you need to get off,” Ember finished.

“I’m not going to—while you’re standing right here,” Rolan choked out. His mouth refused to repeat the phrase.

Ember was so close that he actually saw the color travel up her cheeks. “Rolan, seriously…you’ve been staring down my shirt every ten seconds. And you’re practically impaling me with that thing in your pants.”

All Rolan could do was squeeze his eyes shut with a small groan of humiliation. “I’m sorry.”

“You don't need to be sorry,” she told him, and with his eyes closed, he heard a new note in her voice. “I’m telling you I can help.” 

As she spoke, a soft hand closed across Rolan’s mouth. 

His eyes flew open in shock to find hers. Ember’s luminous blue-gold gaze looked at him from under her lashes, sending a wave of heat rippling and licking across the skin under his robes.

With heart pounding in his chest, Rolan connected the dots. She could help. She could keep him quiet.

As his breath panted faster under her hand, Ember tilted her body slightly against his. Before he could think, she moved her free arm as if to reach between his legs.

Rolan shook his head frantically. If she touched him there, this would all be over. Not to mention…some small part of his mind admitted…he wanted to feel Ember’s hands there for the first time under different circumstances. Some night when he could take his time with her on even footing.

She had withdrawn her hand immediately at his indication, resting it gently around on his back instead. It was almost a sweet gesture—until she used the leverage of her pressed palm to roll her hips very slightly over his trapped thigh.

The small motion slid his hardness against her side through layers of clothing, and the simple friction made him throb. Rolan moaned at the back of his throat and felt the vibration stopped up by her hand. His tail had uncurled from his leg to shudder and flick in excitement again, nearly knocking something glass off the shelf behind him. Desperate to keep quiet, Rolan wound his tail up Ember’s leg with the tip brushing against her thigh. 

She bit one side of her lip in response. At that sight, had her fingers not been clasped firmly over his mouth, Rolan would have closed the distance to kiss her.

While he panted and wished, Ember’s hand trailed down the back of his robes with no particular goal in mind. But when her fingers met with bare skin at the base of his tail, Rolan jerked involuntarily as a strangled groan rose from his chest. 

The fingers of her other hand clenched tighter over his mouth. Ember stared at him, eyes wide with surprise and something like delight. 

The last working bit of Rolan’s brain recalled her upbringing among non-Tieflings. Was it possible—could she not realize what a very sensitive area that was?

She appeared to be getting the picture either way. Without moving her hand from his lips, she curled four fingers ever so lightly to cup around the base of his tail.

“Wait,” Rolan managed to gasp out against Ember’s hand, and she slid it down to his chin. His length throbbed painfully against his trousers, pressing obscenely into her thigh, yet she made no move to adjust positions.

But Ember did hesitate as she watched him. “Does that hurt?”

“No, hells—” Rolan shook his head in a daze. “Far…far from it.”

Ember looked over his face with almost curiosity, and then her lovely fingers squeezed slightly around him.

“Wait!” Rolan repeated, and his tone shot up to a quiet whine. He was past trying to control his reactions, trembling and heated with weeks of pent-up desperation, but it felt vital to salvage what shreds of his dignity remained before she tipped him over the edge. And she had him very, very close.

“This isn't how I wanted—with you—but it’s been a gods damned month between everything, and Cal and Lia—and I’m master of the Tower now, and there’s the Absolute—”

Whether or not Rolan’s whispered and disjointed rambling made any sense, Ember had the grace to watch him from under her lashes until he sputtered out. In the next moment, she uttered the sultriest thing he’d ever heard. 

“Honestly, Rolan, I just want to watch you come all over your robes.” 

With that, her grip tugged firmly at the spot where his tail met his ass. 

If not for her other hand clamping over his mouth again in the same motion, Rolan would have let out the most humiliating whimper of pure relief. Instead the noise was a muffled strangle of sound as his body gave her exactly what she wanted.

With a full-body shudder, Rolan twitched and spilled inside his trousers. His fingers clutched and dug at Ember’s hips with a mind of their own, pulling her forward shamelessly, allowing him to finally grind against her thigh in earnest as he came.

The wave of long-awaited release shot all the way up his spine with an intensity that made his knees buckle. Ember pressed his hips back against the shelves with her own just enough to catch him, sending the precarious tinkle of metal and glass around the small space—but her hand pumped a few more times over his tail to tease every last wave of pleasure from between his legs.

Rolan’s limbs trembled and shook from the force of the most satisfying climax he’d had in years. As white stars behind his eyelids popped and cleared, hot, sticky spend pooled in the fabric between his legs…then rapidly turned cold and mortifying. All Rolan could do was hang his head over Ember’s shoulder and pant against her hand.

At this moment, he’d give half his tower to know a good Banishment hex.

But if Ember was put off by his loss of control, she certainly didn't show it. Instead she let out a sound like a satisfied purr; she finally released his twitching, oversensitive tail to wrap both arms around his neck.

Rolan felt drunk in his afterglow, too spent to do anything but loop his arms around Ember’s waist and bury his flushed face into her shoulder. He realized through the haze that he'd heard the portal activate a while ago, though it hadn't registered then. They'd been alone in the tower for some time.

“Feel better?” Ember asked, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

It was difficult to answer. On the one hand, he could sob from the relief. On the other, Rolan had just done the most unimpressive thing against the leg of the very woman he wanted to impress most.

But Ember hadn't pushed him away in disgust. She was even closer than before, the length of her body pressed up comfortably against his as she hugged him. If not for the cold wet stain soaking from his clothes into hers, the position would be quite nice.

Rolan cast a simple spell as his energy returned, and the fabric between them was instantly warm and dry again.

“I've felt worse,” Rolan admitted as he reluctantly drew her away. Ember had begun to feel a little too nice pressed up against him; he wasn't taking any chances on a repeat.

“Good.” Ember looked down to brush herself off a little, and Rolan wondered whether he was imagining the darker color in her cheeks.

Without another word, Ember wheeled to open the door and accidentally thumped up against the unyielding wood. “Ouch—”

“Sorry,” Rolan said hastily, releasing the arcane lock with another quick spell and a flash of light. The door swung open.

They both stumbled slightly on the way out, blinded by the daylight streaming through the highly arched windows after so long in a dark enclosed space.

Ember walked ahead first with a hand shielding her eyes. “Well, looks all right out here…they didn’t try to trash the place, at least.” 

Rolan glanced at her to respond, then stopped short.

He gaped open-mouthed at the back of her. From between the seams of her costume, Ember’s tail looped up in a perky and exaggerated S-curve. The sight was utterly adorable and incredibly tantalizing all at once. It also offered a very nice view of the curves of her hips, and Rolan could only blink and swallow hard as his mind whirred through several possibilities to land on the obvious one.

Had she enjoyed that?

Apparently unaware that her tail was curling and swaying at him in a come-hither motion, Ember turned back to him with a bright, unsuspecting smile. Rolan rushed to compose his face.

“You should come to my show this week,” she told him. “It’ll be fun. Bring Cal and Lia, relax a little. You’ve gotten all pent up in here,” Ember added, waving an arm around the cavernous tower.

He would say she had no idea, but in fact, Ember now knew intimately well. 

Thanks to the electrifying realization that she had some feelings of her own about the matter, Rolan was able to manage a shaky laugh. 

“I might just chance it.”

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

HIS SONGBIRD

Warning: english is not my first language, aemond is obsessed, mention of masturbation

Kings landing was always bustling, whether it was merchants offering their wares or whores luring passers-by into the house of pleasure. There were thousands of voices in the city, but recently there was one more that was louder and kinder than the others. A voice that used to sing for money, food, or a place to sleep. A voice that every innkeeper wished to have with him, because his sound attracted customers even from the outskirts of the city. Lately, the owner of the voice has been seen in very crowded marketplaces singing songs encouraging the common people to support the rightful Queen Rheanyra. These meetings were always ended by golden cloaks that began to make their way through the crowd, but the girl always miraculously evaporated in the adjacent alleys.

Aemond left the brothel in the early hours of the morning. He was tired, stayed up all night and told his woes to the madam in the brothel. He felt a little better, but he was still bothered by the fact that without the coin, the madam wouldn't even look at him. All he longed for was his soft bed with its silky, cool sheets. When he saw a female figure dancing and tapping a tambourine to the beat of a song. Her voice left him mesmerized, he was used to bards from the court, or the songs of dragons as they soared into the sky. Her voice felt like cold water after days of thirst, he listened to her voice so much that he didn't even realize the words of the song.

In the shadow of the palace, the people cry,

Underneath the gilded rooftops, where the hungry die.

Golden crowns and silver spoons, but empty plates,

While the children of the kingdom face their cruel fate.

From the throne, they preach of grace and charity,

But in the streets, there’s only pain and disparity.

Hey, King, can’t you see?

Your people starve while you feast.

Hey, Dowager Queen, hear our plea,

In your kingdom of the beast.

No more, no more, we won’t bow

We’re rising up, we’re shouting now.

These words, although not directed at him, angered him. How could this street rat say this about the royal family and how people seemed to agree with her.

And you know what they say don't make a dragon angry.,, Hey you, stop now.” he yelled at her. Her face immediately realized that silver hair meant trouble for her. Before he could blink, her dark blue skirt was already disappearing around the corner. He immediately ran after her, pushing several people out of his way. He couldn't even see her properly for several streets, he always caught a glimpse of her hair, or the edge of her purple scarf tied around her hips. In one street he thought he had lost her for good, when he heard the faint strumming of a tambourine coming from under the cloak of a veiled figure walking hand in hand with a little girl. He slowly followed them, the tall figure didn't turn, but the little girl periodically turned and watched him. When the figure, which turned out to be an unknown singer, finally approached them within two steps, she pushed the little girl into the next alley. “Run Jenny.” she called to her and ran into another alley that turned out to be a dead end.,, Now what about songbird, looks like you're trapped.” he taunted. "Don't worry, prince, I won't be in it for long," she snapped back at him. He didn't even realize it, but they were standing in an alley that housed a woodworking shop. A log was leaning against the wall that blocked the end of the street. Like a wild cat, the woman leaped onto that log and climbed onto the roof of the wall and kicked the log down so he couldn't climb up to her.,, Goodbye one eyed prince I hope you enjoyed my performance.” she taunted him.,, Once I will catch you and then your treacherous head will be exposed for all to see.” he cursed at her. "That sounds very good, you're very interesting Targaryen prince, maybe I'll write my next song about you." But before the girl could disappear, her scarf got caught on a piece of chipped wall, unfortunately the woman was already jumping to the other side of the wall, so her scarf remained gets stuck in the wall.

The next day, a new song about the one-eyed Targaryen was heard throughout the city.

Hey, Aemond, how’s it feel to be so bold? With all your fire, yet your heart is cold. Hey, Aemond, playing the warrior prince, We all laugh at your pretense. In the shadow of your brother, you try to stand tall, But you're just a puppet at the grandest ball. Scheming and plotting, with your dragon's might, But when it comes to bravery, you’re out of sight. You talk of honor, of strength and pride, But without your dragon, where do you hide?

Although the song offended him, something inside him warmed his heart. He made such an impression on her that she wrote a song about him. He could only smile and listen to her voice waft through the city as he pulled her scarf to his nose and breathed in her scent. It was a mix of herbs and smoke, the combination made his cock harden again, and his red head was already leaking some of his spending onto his stomach.

Oh, the next time he sees you won't run away from him, he'll keep you as his own little bird just for his pleasure, he'll put you in a golden cage so you'll never fly away from him again.

Pt.2????

If anyone have request i would be happy to write it for you.

And only best for you. kisses

[plumadot]

it is me I have arrived

woe upon thee

-

“Thank you, thank you! Folks, isn’t it wonderful to be here tonight?” The bard spread his arms wide, a massive grin on his face. Grian noted vaguely that there were scars lining his skin, the most visible one being a slit across his nose. Had this bard been getting into fights? 

“Now, I would be a terrible entertainer if I didn't introduce myself.” He continued. “My name is Scar Thymes, from the forests near Dogwarts. I won't be so bold as to ask you to toss a coin just yet, seeing as I've only sung you one song. So how about another?”

The patrons whooped and cheered and grabbed more beer, and the music kicking back into full force as they launched into the next song. Grian narrowly avoided an elbow to the face as the patrons began to jostle each other and bounce up and down. He bit back a retort, reminding himself of his mission. He did snatch their money purse as retaliation though.

It was easy, he just had to follow their movements, twisting with them and slipping his fingers under their belt. He lifted it ever so slightly, and the pouch fell from its hold around it, straight into his outstretched hand. He caught it nimbly, careful not to jostle it more than necessary so that the coins within wouldn’t rattle. He couldn’t have his target notice that their purse was gone now, could he?

He collected a few more purses as he moved through the crowd, tucking them under his robe as the bard sang song after song and the patrons grew drunker and drunker. It was as he was grabbing his last bag of the night that he happened to have up and see the bard staring directly at him. He was still mid chorus, the crowd singing rambunctiously along with them, but there was a gleam in his eyes that told Grian that he knew exactly what he was doing. 

Grian met his gaze defiantly, pocketing the pouch while not breaking eye contact. He wasn't scared of some random bard in a tavern, and he wasn't going to show any fear. So he caught him stealing, what was he going to do about it? End his song early and call him out? He still hadn’t gotten paid more than a few small coins for his songs. The grin on the bard’s face grew ever so slightly as they locked eyes,  and there was a newly animated air to his movements as he pushed forward into the next verse of his song.

The atmosphere in the tavern seemed to shimmer as the music slowed down slightly, and the bard’s singing became slightly more lyrical. Grian felt the magical compulsion immediately, and he dug his nails into his palm to keep himself from falling under it as the bard seemed to glow radiantly in the dim lantern light of the tavern. His hair, long and pulled back in a ponytail, seemed impossible soft and silky, his cheekbones and jaw were perfectly shaped, his eyes practically glowed green. His song floated over the crowd, his voice smooth and soft and full of emotion. Every eye was on him now, and for good reason. He was beautiful.

Grian’s nails cut his palms, and he shook his head aggressively, shaking off the compulsion to stop and stare, to devote all of his attention to him and him alone. The bard raised an eyebrow at him, a perfectly arched eyebrow that balanced with the rest of his features to make him look closer to a god than anything else. He glared back. The eye contact seemed to make the spell stronger, far stronger than Grian would have thought possible from an ordinary bard, and anxiety clawed at his throat as he began to wonder if he had made an enemy in this tavern. 

Then the spell snapped, the music rushed forward into a fast pace again, and the crowd broke into raucous applause that contrasted with the bard’s singing only moments before. The bard winked at him, as if they had shared some kind of secret between the two of them, then broke their eye contact to cheer alongside the crowd. Grian breathed out a long sigh, then turned away from the bar. He paused at the door to look back at the bard, and he felt his feathers rise as he saw him looking directly at him. He didn’t waste any more time, and with a flash, he slipped outside and into the night. 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA FIRST MEETINGS FIRST MEETINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

strangers to enemies gkjfkdgj i love it i love it. a little bit of a charm person spell hmm hmm you don't need that, scar, you're already magical!!!!!!!!!! even the bird knows it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and ahhh grian is just the right amount of rogue/warlock hehehe perfect

this is so cute i love it so much gkfjdkg thank you for this gift!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3 <3 <3

[faerishv]

Diluc drabble cause ‘m procrastinating on my requests heh . . ! ς꒰ ˊ˘ ˁ ⑅ ꒱ა

Imagine a completely worn out Diluc , coming home to his wifey while he could barely keep his eyes open. He had just finished a long day working at the Angel Share , his head was simply about to explode , having to hear about non senses from the Bard and Kaeya didn’t do any good to him.

All he needed right now was just laying down on your shared bed , close his eyes and get tons of sleep. . and imagine his surprise when instead , you offered to make your lap his pillow and play with his long , silky hair ; you didn’t have to say it twice , before you found your husband making himself comfortable on your legs , hands caressing your thighs slowly and you swore you could feel him melt on you when you started massaging his head. He let’s out a long and desperate sigh as his hands grip your thighs tighter. . oh he surely was the happiest man alive in that moment.

It didn’t take much time for him to fall in a peaceful slumber , between his darling’s legs ; but be careful , if he slightly senses your hand leaving his hair , he will wake up letting out a small whine , before looking up with his puppy eyes and telling you “ just 5 more minutes dear , please. . ” turning those 5 minutes into a session of 2 hours.

God im such a loser for Diluc . . will work on my requests during easter’s break !

[hellsilke]

my jester bard durge

[kalindraancunin]

A Love Dream 

OK GUYS. I HAD TO DO IT. i am not a writer per se (although I am loving it I admit), not a native speaker, nothing, but I HAD to get this idea out, and I sincerely hope you enjoy! ALSO: if anyone wants to continue this story with the much needed smut after, FEEL FREE! Let this be a group Project!

fluffy fluff, feelings, music, classical lore, anticipation for smut (but not there yet), love, desire and philosophical astarion :D

Lúthien is my female moon druid tav with a very rough childhood, one which she tries to heal herself from, with the help of her creative passions, specially music. Honestly if one didn’t knew and disregarded her occasional transformation into animal form, she would easily be mistaken for a full on bard. 

She and Astarion engage in ongoing, very heavy flirting and already slept together two times (before and after the tiefling party), but never talked about feelings involved and struggle deeply to not be the first one revealing themselves to the other 

(Basically two traumatized dumbasses in love).

She lets him feed nearly every night, trying to not show too much of her deep affection and lust for him. He obviously notices, but other than some heavy teasing he didn’t go further in his advances, simply because he, so he tells himself, already got what he wanted: her on his side, fighting for his cause for freedom.

The Piano piece they are playing is Franz Liszt Liebestraum No.3 (or A Love Dream) in Ab flat major ;-)  I found it quite fitting both in melody and storywise!

....

As the sun begins to settle between the trees at the rosymorn monastery, camp shenanigans slowly settled down as well. This was the time where everyone retreated to their own tents, except for one or two left at the camp fire, sipping on wine and telling stories (more so often Gale). Like the night before, Lúthien sat behind the very old grand piano which revealed itself after an unpleasant encounter with some giant eagles two days ago. While their usual loot strolls after the fight, Lúthien almost couldn’t  contain herself when she spotted the harsh contrast of the piano keyboard between piles of dried grass which the eagles used to built their nests.

She insisted they make camp here, as they were too exhausted after the two fights (they encountered some death sheppards before) and asked Karlach to help her set up the grand piano near her tent. „ Ok Soldier, am quite excited which tunes you come up with, I love when you play for us!“ The fiery Barbarian shouted while she grabbed the monstrosity by the keyboard like it was made out of cardboard and swunged it over her shoulders to carry it to Lúthien. She herself laughed, never getting over the impossible strength the tiefling woman provided while also embodying such an easy and happy personality.

„Careful, a grand piano as old as this specimen is most likely very delicate, specially the keyboard!“ Astarion suddenly made an appearance behind the two women, arms crossed, head shaking in disapproval.

„You may be right“ Lúthien admitted, placing her fingers on some of the keys, testing the sound. „ You sound like you sat on one of those before?“ She looks at his face, recognizing his eyes shying away from her gaze, eyebrows frowned as he was caught by surprise.

„ I.. Well, .. I don’t know, really. After all, it must have been 200 years ago.“ His usually silky voice took on an absent, sad tone.

„ Sorry, I didn’t mean to..“ Lúthien felt like her question stirred some uncomfortable thoughts the beautiful man across from her most certainly wanted to avoid. „No, no, darling, it’s alright,“ he quickly responded, his ruby eyes fixated again on her. „If you don’t mind not practicing too loud? I have some interesting literature which I intended  to indulge in peace and quiet this evening.“ He scoffed at her with a little smirk and walked away back to his tent, just before Lúthien could return his teasing with a witty remark she already prepared inside her head.

Something along the lines of …. I could only imagine which „literature“ you are referring too.. never mind. 

As her mind travels back to the present moment, Lúthien shooked her head, trying to get rid of that white haired-seductive grinning-crimson eyed- vampire- elf- man- image in her mind and focussed on the keys before her. This evening, she wanted to focus herself on a particular captivating piano piece she always wanted to perfect, but never managed to. Originally in ab major, Lúthien struggled to remember the correct tonality as she let her fingers sway over the keyboard, only pressing faintly where she thought the tone was right.

„Unsure, darling?“

Lúthien gasped in shock as she suddenly felt the presence of Astarion behind her. „Could you stop sneaking up on me?!“ She turns around, obviously taken aback and met him with a piercing glance, „sorry if I was too loud and interrupted your studies, your heiness.“

„No need bringing royalty into this, although I admit, this title would suit me quite a bit, don’t you think?“ Lúthien rolled her eyes and noticed her ears and cheeks heating up as he sat down next to her on the laying barrel she upcycled as a piano stool, their thighs touching each other slightly. She stared at his trousers and her mind drifted to the strong grip his legs had on her that night…. 

„My eyes are up here, pet.“ She gasped again and wanted to fight his bold assumption (which frankly was true), but couldn’t contain a loud laugh. She looked him in his eyes,  despite her urge to avoid his gaze and was rewarded to see his face lighten up with her laugh. God’s, he was just ethereal. „Ok, ok, i don’t know what to say to that“ Lúthien looked away and at her hands still on the keyboard. 

To her surprise, Astarion placed his hands on the keyboard as well. 

„You know, I thought about what we talked about yesterday,“ she looked at him while he talked and absentmindedly gazed at the piano,“ I think i might have some history playing the piano when I was younger. He started lazily playing an arpeggiated phrase containing c, e ab…“Wait, you know that song?“ Lúthien stared at him with wide eyes, „ I wanted to practice it, as it is one of my favorite piano pieces!“

„ i know, I recognized the melody as soon as you started with the first notes“, his gaze rested on the keyboard, „ I must say, I applaud your taste in music darling , as it is one of my favorites as well.“

And then he started playing. As his beautiful, long fingers danced over the keys, his shoulders and his whole face began to relax. This calm and peaceful expression filled Lúthiens heart up with an immense, deep feeling for the pale man sitting next to her, so much she felt herself almost exploding on the inside. He played the piece so beautifully, carefully distinguishing between the strong, forte parts and the more soft, piano ones. The melody was like a wave he managed to draw flawlessly, so empathetic towards the intentions of each note, she was left speechless. She even thought she was sure she saw a small smile across his lips, while he was caught in the wave of the arpeggio phrases with his eyes closed.

This sight sent shivers down her spine and in that moment she wished nothing more than to be the piano, to be each key he touched.

She knew she loved him, a realization that hit her more calmly than she expected. It was just that she knew and now, she had just said it out in the open, at least to herself in her mind (which was quite the big step for her). 

„ Do you know what this piece is about?“ Astarion looked her in the eyes while playing the last notes, still lost in the melancholy of the tune. 

„I know it is called „ ,A Love Dream’“ Lúthien returned his gaze, eyes big and her whole body flushed, still flustered by her own realization.

„That is correct, dear“, his crimson eyes darted to her face and she couldn’t sit still, so she changed the position of her hands from the barrel to her thighs to the keys again just for the sake of moving some of her body, otherwise she was sure she would just jump at him and kiss him like an absolute mad woman, „ but do you know the whole story?“ 

„N-No“ Lúthien managed to get out. „ You know“, Astarion chuckles, „ its funny how just you practicing three simple notes got me thinking so deep about things I was almost a hundred percent sure I forgot that they existed. And that music, and playing the piano is still somewhat a part of me.. even after all this years of numbness.“  Lúthien couldn’t take her eyes of him and rested her hand onto his instinctively. At first she wanted to take it back to rest at her leg, but in that moment she knew she could stay there. 

„ The story of a Love Dream is obviously about love, darling“ Astarion continued with a slight tease in his warm voice and smirked at her, but without that usual mask, so she notices. „ but about all the ups and downs, and specially, what remains of all the feelings after the beloved has passed.“

Suddenly, he moves closer to Lúthien and grabbed her resting hand more firmly, which she appreciated greatly, as she was sure she couldn’t contain herself much longer. „ But what if-„ he almost whispered in her ear, his face terribly close to her neck and her lips- , „ what if someone finds love after they already died? How would that feel like? If someone were to compose this piece according to this paradox, what would the musical waves look like? The other way around?“ 

He was so close to her face, he looked so deeply into her with his ruby eyes, asking this question with a sincereness she couldn’t take it anymore. She knew he was asking about him, about her. About all of this. What this means he is feeling, as he couldn’t remember he felt that way in two hundred years. She grabbed his neck and drew him onto her lips and they kissed. He wrapped his arms around her back and pressed her onto him so hungrily, but also so gentle.

As they deepened their kiss further and further, already traveling their hands to the other persons clothes, desperately wanting to gain access to skin, Lúthien managed to answer him, looking into his eyes, short of breath, hot and with a big smile : „ I think such a composition would thrive off this paradox, because when the story starts with the deepest of all pain, the most happiness must be what fills the time after.“ He smiled at her back, a clear, honest and genuine happy smile that melted her away for good, „ I would like for us to write it.“ 

[cyberrat]

89th Batch Of Fics: 10th Fill

Geralt/Gaetan/Jaskier – Part 4/4 – a/b/o; alpha!Geralt; alpha!Gaetan; omega!Jaskier; hurt/comfort; magic healing dick – One satisfied Alpha makes a happy Witcher and Bard combo :)

---

“And in return for your little… pack… you wish to mount me?”

Gaetan’s voice is odd; there is aggression laced into his words but he still has his hands on Jaskier, mindlessly petting and trying to soothe the Omega as he makes more and more of a ruckus.

Geralt hums low with a growling little edge to it. As sweet of an Alpha rumble as he can manage – which is not much, he is the first to admit, even without Jaskier’s many assurances that he sucks at this.

“He and I are a packaged deal,” he murmurs. No sugarcoating it. He can tell that the other Alpha appreciates it even as he is stuck in a stalemate. Geralt is quiet and Jaskier is not. The Omega is making a soft little ruckus that becomes harder and bigger as the Alphas fail to tend to his need.

He tries to twist around, his voice put upon despite what he is saying: “Then let me at least dress your wounds, good grief-”

He’s not allowed to go anywhere. Gaetan curls his arms in a bear hug around his middle and hectically pulls him in, closer, underneath himself.

Jaskier yelps, his fingers leaving tracks in the dirt where he tries and fails to grasp on to something.

Geralt can relate to what the other witcher is feeling. That desperation to connect. The intense loneliness gaping in his chest and the many years of training that insist that it isn’t sitting right there.

They’re in an odd little configuration; three people slotted into each other with Geralt as the biggest and sturdiest of them, ranging large and protectively above the other two.

Jaskier whimpers, the sound gone hoarse. “Fuck… you’re so close… please, just-”

He probably wriggles, trying to finally slip that warm Alpha cock where he needs it most.

Geralt inhales deeply, rubbing his cheek against Gaetan’s. They’re in a stalemate. He waits, anticipation prickling down his spine and sitting warm and itching at the small of his back. His cock flexes slowly, dripping pre-cum against the small of Gaetan’s back in turn.

Finally, the other Alpha relaxes minutely. His head tilts. Submitting.

The desperate skin hunger has won out.

Geralt rumbles low and approving. He shifts his arms, still wrapped around Gaetan’s waist and drags his fingers between Jaskier’s cheeks to gather a generous amount of his silky slick against them.

Jaskier whimpers in anticipation.

“Very good,” Geralt praises in a low voice. “Have at him.”

It’s a good sign that Gaetan waited for the permission. A sign that he could actually… fit. Nice and obedient. Right between them where he needed to be.

Geralt listens to Jaskier’s melodious whine as the Alpha slowly slides into him and brings his slick covered fingers between Gaetan’s cheeks. Gaetan growls as he feels the warm petting sensation across his nervously clenched hole, but the exhaustion from the massacre and wounds sustained keeps him docile. Has him shuffle his knees apart just so in an almost meek offering of himself.

Geralt smiles with a quiet, close-lipped uptick in the corners of his mouth. His fingers are slow and gentle as he pushes them into Gaetan’s overly hot body. He did not anticipate for it but he is setting the rhythm by which the other Alpha mounts his Omega. His Jaskier.

No matter how loud Jaskier becomes; how desperately he begs for more, harder, deeper. Gaetan has his head tilted in an odd way, somehow attempting to attentively listen to the Omega he’s mounting and also keep a watch for Geralt as he opens him up slowly with patient strokes of his thick fingers through the slowly loosening clench of his body.

Gaetan’s mouth falls open on a reedy little whine. His eyes look wet for a split second before he closes them against scrutiny and whispers: “...Alpha…”

Geralt’s mouth goes dry.

Jaskier’s incessant yammering suddenly cuts off. There’s quiet, only filled by the hesitant chirping of birds before the Omega suddenly changes his tune. His voice becomes throaty and a bit rough around the edges as he coos at the Alpha on his back.

Geralt watches as Jaskier half-turns, trying to press kisses against Gaetan’s cheek. Assuring him that he is fine. That he feels so goddamn big inside him. The line almost makes Geralt snort but he refrains from it. It’s worked on him more times than he likes to admit. Just something primal gripping him right by the cock.

Jaskier is sensitive; he can feel the loneliness and distress dripping off the Alpha in their midst. Geralt can see it too; it’s pretty plain at this point. A little embarrassing of a Witcher of Gaetan’s status, but… it has been a long day for the Alpha.

Geralt shuffles into places. Jaskier’s borrowed slick is like silk, aiding the slide into the other’s intensely hot body beautifully.

Gaetan grunts, stuck between the cooing Omega stroking his ego and trying to smooth ruffled feathers and the foreign feeling of having another Alpha mount him.

He’s growling but it sounds half-hearted; body clenching nervously as he tilts forward on his knees, away from the thick cock and unwittingly pushing deeper into Jaskier’s silky hot insides.

Jaskier gurgles. His arms seem to give out because Gaetan is tilting forward suddenly as well, his growl becoming high-pitched and puppy-like for just a split second. His hands shoot out, palms slamming onto the grassy ground to brace himself and push back up; right into Geralt’s warm, firm bulk.

Geralt hooks his chin once more across the other’s shoulder and growls; not in a threatening way; more just a low rumble that shudders through the other Alpha and keeps him unmoored. Whimpering.

Gaetan cuts it off, probably biting his tongue to do so, but his body betrays him even so. He carefully, almost shyly, tilts his hips up into Geralt’s breeding and Geralt rewards him with another few inches of cock, pushing into him and forcing him back into Jaskier.

They find a rhythm. Or more like Geralt finds it for them; fucking nice and slow and patient, pushing Gaetan into their little service Omega and listening to Jaskier going dumb and cock drunk in just a few delicious thrusts that have him drooling and trilling in a gurgling kind of way.

Like he is about to choke on his own damn tongue. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Gaetan is making precious little sounds. He’s wheezing mostly; just trying to keep somewhat upright and not completely bury Jaskier beneath his bulk. Jaskier tries to purr for him but that, too, gets choked out by everything else.

The both of them come before Geralt gets close. That is fine. He would not have subjected Gaetan to a knotting anyway; not when he is already aching and confused by everything else.

But he lets him have Jaskier; lets him growl and posture and bury himself so deep in his warmth that it might be just enough to make him forget the massacre for a moment or two. Maybe have him think of home.

Just like Geralt promised, they would escort him into the next settlement. But he hopes that by then Gaetan will have made up his mind to come with them indefinitely.

[lumiconic]

“ a moment of quiet ”

✧ kaeya ; comfort ; being nervous to speak to him & being reassured

✧ so sorry for how long this took!! i haven’t written kaeya in a while D:

  kaeya alberich is many things. that, he prides himself upon; he is cool, calm and collected, mysterious and enchanting; popular, friendly, and a smooth talker. for you, the person he loves, he would bring you the moon without hesitation, and he could probably charm it down from the sky with only a few words. so why are you … almost refusing to talk to him?

  he is not cruel, unless he wants to be, and the only beings in teyvat he saves that side of himself for are creatures of the abyss; he has never been anything but kind, and sweet, and gentle to you. anything less than that seems unthinkable. he could not imagine speaking to you in any other tone but a soft one. and yet … you don’t ever initiate conversations, or ask him to have a conversation alone with you; every discussion is started and ended by him, unwilling to put up with the quiet for too long but having to because you just don’t speak.

  he does his best to combat this, of course. whether positive or negative, another thing he fails to be is short of words. the uncomfortable silence that you seem unwilling to breach is oftentimes filled by his voice, silky and smooth at first, but it strains into tense chatter after a while of only receiving nods and short answers from you. he doesn’t know what to do, which is rare; doesn’t know what to say, which never happens.

  it just – builds up, and it has been for a while, and he can’t tell if he was letting it happen because he was unsure what to do or whether he simply didn’t notice. but now it’s definitely noticeable; the two of you are sitting at the same table, eating dinner, and it has been completely silent in the room for the last half hour.

  he looks over at you, and you’re chewing a bite of your salad placidly, eyes downward. he racks his brain for an idea of a conversation starter. “so, how was your latest assignment? the one where you had to work together with that eccentric alchemist?”

  you look like a deer caught in headlights at the sound of his voice, almost jarring through the quiet. you swallow your salad and keep your mouth closed for a moment, and he wonders if you’re just going to not say anything. it quirks his mouth into a small smile with awkwardness and amusement.

  “it was okay,” you say finally, “he was nicer than i expected, still pretty weird though. i swear i never saw his expression change in the slightest. he would be talking, and his face was completely still. it was kind of scary.”

  kaeya laughs, with a mix of relief and actual delight, and your lips curve upwards.

  “shall i arrange to meet him?” he asks. “he sounds … delightful, in a way. you could introduce us, maybe? perhaps next week, after work we could all meet up.”

  your expression shutters. “ah, um … i only met him for a little bit, so i couldn’t really take that into my own hands … sorry.”

  kaeya’s heart drops a bit, but he nods, waving his hand. “oh, of course! don’t worry about it, i suppose it could be some kind of intrusion to force my way into his affairs. maybe i could engineer some kind of situation that forces him to meet me?” he laughs. you try to smile again, but it looks decidedly more forced this time.

  you make some more small talk, not entirely awful but absolutely not what would be expected from a couple that has been together for a decent time now. it leaves him biting his thumbnail with frustration and confusion; he really doesn’t know what to do, and in the small moment when you raise your eyes from where they’re glued to your plate you look torn and more than a little worried. but those worries go unsaid.

  he consults rosaria at the tavern one night, over spiced cider. he checks to make sure there isn’t any person in the tavern who would possibly tell you about what his discussion; it’s empty besides rosaria. well, that strange green bard is in the corner, waving his tankard drunkenly and giggling to himself, but kaeya thinks there’s no reason to worry about him.

  “i mean, i’ve been trying to engage with them,” he laments, taking a sip of cider, “i swear they just don’t want to talk to me. they might not even like me. except they stick around, so i don’t understand what they want at all!” he heaves a sigh.

  “have you considered that maybe they do want to talk to you?” rosaria points out, her voice as cold as usual but sounding a bit more gentle this time. she has a small fondness of you; you’ve met a few times when you’ve had to work with barbara, and she’s heard quite a few stories from kaeya of how wonderful you are.

  “what do you mean?”

  “if they’re just afraid, maybe,” rosaria says, testing the sharpness of her knife on her pointer finger and wiping the small bead of blood on a napkin, “they think you could react badly to their conversational topics? or something. i don’t really know anything about romance.”

  “but i always start the conversations!” kaeya complains.

  “well, you could give them time to talk, but don’t force the burden of an opening statement on them,” she suggests. “just … stop making it an expectation. i get that you want to talk to them, but it’ll just cause them to clam up more if you make it obvious that you want them to carry the discussion. you’re a big talker, you do that.”

  “big talker? yeah, okay,” he grumbles. “sounds fine. but, to start, should i just expect them to begin this whole conversation about it, or – ”

  “did you miss the whole point of what we were just saying? barbatos!” rosaria cuffs kaeya on the arm. the bard in the corner utters a loud whoop excitedly, sloshing cider over himself at her exasperated exclamation of the name (correctly spoken for once in her life). rosaria looks over her shoulder at the bard with confusion and a bit of disgust. “well, it’s getting late; i think we ought to turn in.”

  “okay,” kaeya repeats, downing the last of his drink. “i … suppose i’ll speak to them soon, then report back?”

  rosaria nods, standing and walking to the door. she pushes it open, then turns to face kaeya again. a darkness passes over her face, casting her gaunt features in a terrifying shadow; a dangerous glint appears in her garnet colored eyes. “if you say or do anything wrong … i’ll make you regret it.”

  kaeya smiles cheerfully, waving. “thank you, rosie, truly, i enjoy our talks,” he chuckles. rosaria smiles back slightly and shuts the door, leaving kaeya to ponder the idea for the last couple minutes of cleaning up his drink.

  a few days pass, and he works up the courage gradually, being kinder to you in ways that aren’t quite noticeable to help put you more at ease … or something like that. truthfully, he also loves to see the way your face lights up when he presents you with a bouquet of windwheel asters and cecilias, showing you how the light from the ceiling fixtures filters through the papery veins of the flower petals. your smile reminds him why he wants to speak to you. it’s helpful in a way; you really are a person he’d do anything for.

  it’s a calm afternoon when the time finally comes, he’s waiting in the living room, fidgeting with his hands. he doesn’t often feel nervous, but then again there’s a lot of emotions he doesn’t often feel except with you.

  finally, he hears your voice through the walls along with your footsteps up the front porch. “i’m back,” you call, opening the front door and placing your bag on the hook as you take your shoes off. “i have a few papers i need to process, so i’ll be alone for a – ”

  kaeya intercepts, appearing in the hallway. “actually, could you put those on hold until later? and … can we talk for a moment?” he asks, dragging a hand through his hair. you swallow slightly and nod, following him into the living room.

  the two of you sit quietly for a moment beside each other. he is searching for something to say and your gaze is fixed determinedly on the floor. he doubts you’ll ever start the conversation if he doesn’t say something first. but … this feels insurmountable, in some ways. he’s almost scared of the result of his asking the question he doesn’t know how to say.

  he opens his mouth, then closes it. “[name], if i ever – ” he isn’t sure how to finish it. how does he even put this into words? the idea that he … scared you? that he intimidated you into silence? you, whose voice he loves more than any other sound in the world? “if i ever said anything, or did anything that made you think i didn’t want to hear you talk, i – ”

  “no, never!” your head shoots up, and you have a strong emotion of distress and just wrongness on your face. he can’t describe the relief that pours through him at your words, the unspoken and unrecognized fear that he would chase you away somehow without even knowing he was doing it. that he’d lose you, just like that. “you … haven’t done anything wrong, it’s me.”

  the miserable shadow that passes over your face tugs on something inside kaeya’s chest. “what do you mean, sweetheart?” the name sounds like warm, silky honey on his tongue, and a bit of tension goes out of the draw of your shoulders. you lean backwards against the chair, hugging a pillow to your chest.

  “i’m afraid,” you admit in halting, staccato bits. “that you won’t want to hear what i’m going to say, and … if i’m bothering you, it could be awkward, or you’ll be angry, and – if i’m annoying it might cause an argument, and i don’t know what i’d do … ” you press a hand to your forehead, looking down at the floor. “ … and i guess i’d rather not find out, do you … do you know what i mean?”

  the searching, hopeful quality in your voice makes him so sad. he barely knows why, but maybe it’s the way you seem to want his acceptance, a nod of affirmation that he doesn’t blame you for this, this worry that is consuming your desire and ability to talk to him, that he should have seen a long time ago.

  “i’d never be angry or annoyed by you,” he admits. “i love hearing your thoughts. that could never cause an argument, and … i like to just hear the sound of your voice.” he cringes a bit inwardly at this immature admission. you bring out such interesting sides of him. he would be embarrassed to say these words to anyone else, but somehow he feels like no part of you judges him for it. he hopes you can feel the same way about him.

  you blush slightly. “well, i – i just mean, i can’t really control it. i do get worried about this, maybe too much, but … i guess i’ll try and talk more.” you smile slightly. “i like the sound of your voice too.”

  “of course you do,” he smirks, signature flirtatiousness entering his deep blue eyes, and you sigh a little bit. “don’t get ahead of yourself. it’ll take some time.”

  “don’t worry your pretty head,” he says, and this time his gaze is fully earnest, though still containing that charming, charismatic edge; “i’ll be here the whole time. i just want to be here for you if you need it.”

  you kiss him on the cheek suddenly, and a bloom of heat spreads through his face. he turns his head away to hide the almost flustered look in his eye. “thank you, kaeya.” your voice is as tender and affectionate as he’s ever heard it, with barely a bit of doubt and full of warmth, and for once it’s he who’s silent in your presence.

  it’s not yet night when you return home, but as soon as you enter the room where kaeya is lounging, reading a letter sent by the traveler from liyue, he sees the tired lines on your forehead and moves aside to create a spot for you.

  you cross to where he’s resting and sit down on the couch beside him, lips pressed together in silence as you knead a throw pillow anxiously in your hands. the velvety fabric raises in mountainous lines between your tense fingers, almost clutching it in a white knuckled grip. kaeya slips his hand into yours, gently moving the pillow away, and the draw of your eyebrows relaxes slightly.

  “what’s going on?” he asks, his voice low as to not disturb the tranquility too much.

  you take a moment to speak, tightening your grip on his hand. “today was a nightmare.”

  “ah,” he says, the word containing, somehow, a multitude of understanding and sympathy. he pulls you into the crook of his arm, leaning against the back of the couch, and you let out a relaxing breath. “what happened?”

  “just – it was overwhelming, so much to do,” you say, the words suddenly coming out in a rush. “way too many things and i couldn’t prioritize properly, and there wasn’t enough time, and … i barely got any sleep last night, trying to finish my work that was due today. i didn’t get it done, so i ended up having to rush tomorrow’s, and it’s all building up, and … ” you bite your lip. “sorry, i shouldn’t be complaining, it’s just … ” 

  a tiny bit of worry flares through kaeya’s mind at your words, but he keeps his face even. “don’t apologize,” he says easily, wrapping his arm tighter around your shoulders. “keep going, unless you don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  you sigh, looking at him with a mix of exhaustion and gratefulness. “can i just … get some rest for a second? maybe you could read the traveler’s letter out loud?”

  “yes, of course,” he says, unfolding the letter and letting his eyes settle back onto the heading line in the traveler’s scrawl. “it might take a while, their handwriting truly is awful.” you laugh, and it’s such a pretty sound he wonders for the millionth time how you could ever mistake your voice and presence to be annoying. “don’t worry, i just want to hear.”

  he begins with the first line (“dear kaeya, i’ve arrived back in liyue after a long period of travel via captain beidou’s boat; she also wears an eye patch, maybe you can start a club …”) and lets his voice remain in a soft tone as he continues through the different paragraphs. he marks the passing of time, a slow development only identifiable by looking out the window to see where the sun is in the sky, every few minutes at the beginning, but then finds himself so distracted by the letter as well as your presence that he forgets to check for longer and longer periods.

 you doze off slowly; it takes the rest of the letter, an almost comically extensive thing with multiple pages, for your breathing to fully even out. kaeya folds it into its envelope and puts it on the arm of the couch, then settles into a more comfortable position, careful not to move.

  it is quiet in the room, but the quiet is welcome; a brief, soft rest from the endless noise of mondstadt’s city. warm amber light of the afternoon’s golden hour filters through the ornately carved window, casting shimmering patterns on the floor, but your eyes are closed against the radiance. kaeya is silent perhaps for once in his life.

  he tilts up the flap of his eye patch just for a moment to take in the sight of his love cast in such a pretty glow, before settling his arms in a crossed position against his chest and closing his eyes, the only sound left in the room your soft breathing that lulls him to sleep.

© lumiconic ; please reblog and follow if enjoyed

[sweetestlittledarling]

It Started with a Sneeze

Rating: PG

Pairing: GalexFinley (Halflingbardtav)

Part of @fluffbruary

Day 1 Prompt: Clinic (I rolled these out with Dnd dice so this should be fun lol)

Summary: Doctor Gale is on the case when sniffles are about

It started with a sneeze. The winter had been particularly harsh that year, with the winter winds rushing and pushing. Gale had not enjoyed going out in them, but it could not be helped as the world still turned and he still had classes to teach. That was until he heard a sneeze, sniffle, and cough from the bedroom. Curious, he peeked out from the bathroom and watched as his partner Finley got ready for the day as well, though not quiet as fast as usual. Gale watched as they gently pulled on their shirt, pausing for another fit of coughing. “Are you alright my love?” Gale asked, concern growing.

              Finley turned to look at him and Gale could now see the bags they carried under their eyes as well as how pale they were. “I’m…fine…” Finley said, sniffling between the words. “Just got a bit of allergies that all.” Their voice was something more like a bullwugs then a bard.

              Gale kneeled in front of them, placing the back of his wrist against their forehead. Just as he suspected, they were far too warm. “Tara!” Gale called.

              “Yes, Mister Dekarios?” Tara called back, plodding into the room from the hallway.

              “Would you please call the staff at Blackstaff academy and get someone else to cover my classes as I have to stay home today and tend to my partner who is ill.”

              “What are ya doin’?” Finley croaked, looking at Gale as if he was being silly. “I’m fine.”

              “You are not fine,” Gale corrected, as he began to remove his teaching robes and hang them back up in the closet. “You are however going to get back into comfy clothes and back into bed. Tara after you are done making the call would you please make sure that Finley gets back into bed and stays there while I go make us some tea.”

              “It would be my pleasure Mister Dekarios,” Tara said, with a little bow before disappearing out into the hall again.

              Finley sighed with a shake of their head. “Ya all it’s a case of the sniffles, there is no need for all this fuss.”

              “My love I know you don’t like to make a fuss over you,” Gale said, still shifting through the closet for something, “but as your husband I think it’s my duty, as the one who told you I would take you in sickness and in health, to make a fuss over you whenever I deem it important to do so. Ah here we go!” He pulled out his silky purple austere shirt and smiled. “Here, wear this.”

              “But usually, you don’t like it when I steal your clothin’,” Finley pointed out with a little smile.

              “No, I don’t mind you bothering my clothes. I actually find it rather sweet but there are times when I am left with nothing to wear and then I am slightly perturbed. In either case, you are feeling poorly and, I wasn’t you as comfortable as possible.” He knelt in front of Finley and helped them remove the shirt they were wearing to put on his. The larger shirt looked more like a dressing gown on the halfling making them appear just a bit smaller than usual, with long sleeves hanging past their hands making them appear. Gale watched as Finley brought the hem of the shirt up to their nose and sniffled. “Something wrong my love?”

              “I usually love this shirt because it smells like you,” Finley said, sounding a little disappointed, “but right now I can’t smell anything.”

              “All the more reason then to get back into bed and get some rest while I take care of you,” Gale said, quickly adding, “and It’s not a bother or a fuss because it is my pleasure to do so as your husband and the man who loves you very dearly.”

              Finley had opened their mouth to speak but closed it again with a smile. “I love you,” they said instead.

              Gale smiled back, placing a gentle kiss on their forehead. “I love you too. Now back into bed because the Dekarios clinic of healing is now open for its most important patient.”

              Finley raised an eyebrow. “The Dekarios clinic?”

              “Indeed, we come highly rated with no complaints from all our patients,” Gale said as he rose.

              “And how many patients have you had?”

              “Including you, just one,” Gale said with a little wink before slipping out the door, “so as I said, no complaints.”

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

yennskier and 27 please 🌻

27. Fixing their hair/clothes just before they run out the door

Here's some post-season 2 softness! Geralt doesn't appear, but you can assume there's some background Geraskefer going on.

“Fuckity fucking buttons,” Jaskier grumbles under his breath. “Who the fuck decided that buying a doublet with a million tiny buttons was a good idea?”

No one answers, because Geralt and Ciri are out hunting some beastie or another. But if Geralt was here, he would surely point out that it was Jaskier who commissioned this doublet from one of the finest tailors in Oxenfurt months ago. And it’s a marvelous piece of craftsmanship—periwinkle silk with deep blue embroidery and rows of tiny pearlescent buttons fastening up the front and the sleeves.

It’s just that post-fire fucker, Jaskier’s fingers, which still get numb and tingly at inconvenient times, aren’t quite up to the task. They fumble over the delicate buttons and he keeps fastening them up wrong, then having to redo it.

Sometimes, being the Continent’s most fashionable bard is a burden.

Yet again, Jaskier realizes that he’s fastened the last three buttons up wrong, leaving an awkward gap and making a terrible mess of things. Breathing hard through his teeth, he accepts that this may be too monumental a task for one man. He slips out of the room he and Geralt are sharing—looking around to ensure that no one sees him in such a slovenly state—before knocking on the door of Yennefer and Ciri’s room.

“What, bardling?” Yennefer calls through the door.

Jaskier sighs. “I need your help.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing that can be done. You’re far beyond help.”

“I haven’t even told you what the problem was!”

“You don’t need to.”

“Yennefer.” He lets a whine creep into his voice, because he knows it will make her roll her eyes. “Please.”

There’s a longer-than-necessary pause, undoubtedly while she finishes her glass of virgin’s blood and tucks away her cloven hooves, before Yennefer opens the door and scowls up at him. “What is it?”

Jaskier gestures to himself. “I can’t get the buttons to cooperate and I told the innkeep I’d sing for our suppers tonight. I can’t do that looking like this.”

She arches one eyebrow, but steps backwards to let him into her room. “You normally don't object to walking around with your doublet hanging open."

“Yes, but we’re trying to keep a low profile and we can hardly do that if every maiden in the village falls swooning at the sight of my hirsute chest.”

“Yes, a low profile.” Yennefer looks him over pointedly. “I’m sure dressing like the Passiflora’s finest in a Koviri backwater won’t draw any attention.”

Jaskier takes in her black lace gown. “What about dressing like the witch that locked the fairytale princess in the tower?”

She snorts and bats his hands away, undoing several buttons deftly before beginning to refasten him. He can feel the warmth of her hands through the thin, silky fabric of his chemise. For a moment, he loses himself in watching her nimble fingers work. She has such small, pretty hands. He would think them delicate, if not for the fact that he’s seen her snap a man’s spine with a flick of one of those lovely fingers.

It’s not until she looks up at him in annoyance that he realizes she said something. “Yes?”

“Your fingers are still bothering you?” she asks.

“Occasionally,” Jaskier says with a shrug. “The pads of my thumb and forefinger just get a bit numb sometimes. It doesn’t get in my way too much, only when dealing with absurdly tiny buttons.”

“That shouldn’t still be happening.”

“Geralt took me to a real hack of a healer, the stingy fucker.”

Yennefer pinches him through the doublet, which he deserves. He whines pathetically, because he knows it will make her happy.

“I’ll mix you up another salve tonight.” She fastens up the buttons at his throat, her fingers so close he can’t resist dipping his chin to kiss them. She flicks his nose in retaliation. “Try to actually use this one for its intended purpose.”

“It’s not my fault you put the last salve next to my tea! Accidents happen.”

“Only to you,” she says as she buttons up the last button and steps back.

Jaskier tugs at his collar, grimacing. “Well, you don’t need to button me all the way up. We wouldn’t want to deprive the lovely ladies of Kovir of all my charms. There are so few charms to be had in Kovir.”

Yennefer makes a disgusted noise, but unbuttons the top three buttons of his doublet. “That’s as far as I’m going. The lovely ladies of Kovir should be spared the sight of your nipples. This damn kingdom has enough problems.”

“If you want to keep my nipples all to yourself, Yennefer, you only have to ask.”

Yennefer tips her head back and guffaws. “I think that ship has sailed, given how low you normally keep your doublets open.”

“You’re right. If nothing else, Geralt might object.”

She rolls her eyes at him as she buttons up his sleeves. When she’s done, she steps back. “Alright, you’re perfectly fit to play in a dusty Koviri tavern to a room full of uninterested drunks.”

“Sweet words of encouragement like that soothe the poet’s soul.” Jaskier clasps his hands to his chest.

“Go play your set, bardling.” Her lips curl into a smile. “And do let me know if you need help unbuttoning yourself after your performance.”

Jaskier finds himself grinning stupidly. “And yet another maiden finds herself swooning before—”

“Get out before you talk too much and I take back my offer.”

“Leaving now.” Jaskier backs towards the door. “Thank you, Yennefer. You’re a jewel of generosity, as always.”

She waves a dismissive hand, but she’s still smiling.

If Jaskier has an extra spring in his step for the rest of the night, well, who can blame him?

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

[syrips]

oc/pc ask game!!

i love these and im like WAIT i can make my own!!

disclaimer, these may contain stuff weird, suggestive, and/or potentially dark so feel free to make your own version if u want but yea here u go

sections: Personal, Aesthetic, Music, Pleasure, Pain

Personal

🧼 Soap - Does OC have good hygiene? What is their routine or methods?

💰 Money Bag - Would OC donate the change in their purchase to a charity that a company claims is benefiting those in need?

💸 Money With Wings - Would OC commit tax evasion?

🐛 Bug - If OC was a worm, would anyone love them? How would others treat them?

🎮 Video Game - What would OC's gamertag/username be?

🔗 Link - What tags, blogs, pages, discord servers, and/or subreddits would OC follow on social media?

👀 Eyes - What would be in OC's search history?

✍🏽 Writing Hand - Your OC is given five seconds to edit/alter/adjust something about themselves (or their story). What do they try to change?

📈 Chart Increasing - What company/nobility/etc. would sponsor OC?

🎯 Direct Hit - Is OC "Wanted" in any village, kingdom, etc.? Dead or alive? What is the reward for them?

Aesthetic

🎨 Artist Palette - If OC was a color (or palette), what color would they be? Would others assign them the same color?

💻 Laptop Computer - What theme would OC's device, book, belongings, etc. be? What would their background, parchment, decorations be?

👔 Necktie - Does OC dress Modestly? Skimpy? Classy? etc. Do they have a dynamic, loud, quiet, etc. style?

👑 Crown - What textures are part of OC's clothes? Fluffy? Spiky? Leathery? Puffy? Feathery? What about shiny, silky, lacy, etc.?

👕 T-Shirt - Does OC prefer to wear vibrant colors or muted colors?

🐬 Dolphin - Would OC be a JJBA character?

💄 Lipstick - Does OC enjoy fashion? Would they enjoy styling others?

🎭 Performing Arts - If others wanted to join a cult devoted to OC, what choices would OC (or you) have in the style, theme, design?

🧣 Scarf - How often does OC change their style? Daily? Weekly? Seasonally? etc.

🧵 Thread - Does OC mend their clothes (or have them mended)? Does their clothes have tears, patches, alterations? How do their clothes get worn out or damaged overtime?

📖 Open Book - Share a moodboard you associate/made for OC!

🛒 Shopping Cart - OC suddenly has a lot of money. What is most likely the cause of this? What do they spend it on?

👒 Floppy Hat - Share a (sourced) picrew you made for OC!

Music

🎼 Musical Score - Share an OC playlist you associate/made for OC!

🎧 Headphone - Does OC have a large or small range of music they listen to?

🎤 Microphone - Share a (sourced) quote, lyric, poem, etc. of something that you associate to OC.

🎸 Guitar - Someone hands OC a guitar and tells them to play Wonderwall. What do they do?

🎶 Musical Notes - A Bard is inspired by OC and makes a song about them. What instruments, sounds, melodies, etc. may OC's theme song have? What would the mood of the piece be?

Pleasure

👂🏽 Ear - What sounds does OC enjoy? If OC likes ASMR, which types of ASMR?

🎲 Game Die - What would OC's favorite (pc/console/mobile/etc.) game be?

💠 Diamond With A Dot - What is something OC indulges in, publicly vs. privately?

✨ Sparkles - What is OC's comfort activity?

💋 Kiss Mark - Is OC promiscuous? Do they have a lot of lovers, partners, and/or friends with benefits?

😏 Smirking Face - How freaky is OC? What does OC do that they believe is freaky?

🥄 Spoon - What is OC's guilty pleasure food/treats?

🎓 Graduation Cap - OC is giving a motivational speech. What do they say? Who are they saying it to?

🧻 Roll Of Paper - OC is plotting an elaborate, mischievous prank. What is their plan and who is their target?

🥰 Smiling Face With Hearts - What do you love about OC? What events, art, work do you love to put OC in?

🤗 Hugging Face - How does OC make others happy? What do they wish they could do, or plan to do for others?

Pain

👩🏽‍⚖️ Woman Judge - Why don't some people like OC? What did they do?

🚩 Triangular Flag - Is OC uncomfortable with any topic, trigger, item, or event?

🧱 Brick - What is/would OC be traumatized by?

💢 Anger Symbol - What is OC's pet peeve?

💀 Skull - Is OC cursed? Haunted? Possessed? Fated to tragedy?

🩹 Adhesive Bandage - What is OC's worst type of pain to experience?

🔮 Crystal Ball - OC has witnessed a dark omen. What is the omen, superstition, or message that is witnessed?

🪓 Axe - What tragic/dark events, art, work, do you love (or love to hate) to put OC in?

😈 Smiling Face With Horns - How does OC make others sad/suffer? What do they wish they could do, or plan to do to others?