#the lute scenes truly are golden

[madamenyxillustrations]

My Hero Academia. Bard Present Mic with his “cursed” lute, Songs Beneath a Crescent Moon series by the_obsessed_dragon /

@obsessed-dragon​: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2479141

-

“Hizashi had reacted fast enough and used his lute as a weapon against the attacker, smashing it straight into their head. Now he stood there, eyes wide and breath heavy, the (somehow still intact) lute in his hands. Shouta took a mental note to examine that fucking instrument later – at this point he believed it was cursed because there was no way it had survived so many hardships during their travels whilst remaining unscathed.”

[tswhiisftteedr]

ANYTHING Lute x Reader, i just need to see more of this perfect gal whose had like 3 minutes total of screentime

Girls ☆ One Shot

☆ Lute x Human Soul!Fem!Reader:

After having met you on your first day in heaven, your life and lute’s would change for the better as you had found your other half despite your original predicaments.

Words: 4228

Warnings: Mature Content, Explicit/Graphic Language, Honestly Nothing Kinky, It’s just plain girl on girl smut. Homophobia. Lute might be ooc. NOT PROOFREAD.

Notes: Okay right off the bat, some bullshit logic about angels being able to tell if someone is queer, also lute is gay but has some major internalized homophobia so for a good chunk of this she’s rude to the reader just because they’re gay.

☆ more under the cut. ☆

Frankly, the scenario felt weird, especially given the fact that both of you were, well, 'you.'

From a logical standpoint, it didn't add up, not in the slightest. However, in the grand scheme of things, ‘does love really need to make sense?’

The response to that question was unquestionably, no, when observing your relationship with Lute.

It all began when your seemingly stable life abruptly crumbled. While crossing the street, mind you, at a red light, fate took a dark turn as a truck with faulty brakes struck you, ending your life on the spot.

There was no reincarnation into another world after this encounter with truck-kun; you were flat out dead.

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself standing before the gates of Heaven, where Saint Peter meticulously inspected his book, akin to the VIP list of an exclusive nightclub – or so it seemed.

However, instead of the typical club scene with artificial lights, drugs, unpleasant odours, drunk individuals, and a sense of desperation, you were enveloped in a heavenly realm. Fluffy clouds, savoury food, sweet fragrances, joyful company, and an overwhelming sense of acceptance surrounded you.

This was truly paradise, and you were relieved that your life wasn't too problematic. After being shown your potential residence—a beautiful house with a spacious garden—and touring 'Heaven city' with a friendly Angel couple, you enjoyed exploring your surroundings.

However, the perfection took a turn when you accidentally encountered the first unfriendly 'individual' in Heaven.

"Watch it," the woman with white hair warned you, and after scanning you from head to toe (much like her golden-winged companion), she remarked, "I guess they really let anybody in these days, even people like you."

With those words, she walked away accompanied by the non-human-looking 'man,' which seemed to be the norm in this place. However, you couldn't shake off the unease caused by her reference to 'people like you.'

Soon, you discovered the meaning behind her comment. Apparently, angels here could distinguish between cis-straight and queer individuals.

The reason of ‘why?’ remained unknown to you, but what became clear was that, in her opinion, you didn't deserve Heaven—not based on your actions but solely due to your sexuality, ‘and that pissed you off.’

You had planned to confront her the next time your paths crossed, and that moment arrived three months later, long after you had moved on from the incident;

Now, you were patiently waiting in line to sample drinks at the recently opened smoothie bar. The atmosphere was serene and heavenly, as expected.

Just as it was about to be your turn to order, you were rudely jolted by the announcement, "Move it, bitches, Adam’s in the houuuse."

You found yourself pushed aside, forced to witness the obnoxious Angel now placing his order.

Midway through his order “Pineapple smoothie with extra pineapple, tapioca, grass jelly, make it an extra-large with extra sugar, then she’ll have-“ it suddenly dawned on you that he was the guy with the white-haired companion from last time. Before you could fully process it, you turned around to find the white-haired woman right beside you.

Upon noticing you, she shot a disgusted glare and 'tsk' your way. Frustrated, you thought, 'That rude bitch- Not only did she cut in line, but she also gave you a look like you were a turd on the incredibly clean streets of heaven!'

This time, you were determined to speak your mind to her;

"Whats your problem?" you question her with frustration evident in your tone.

"Excuse me?" she retorts, disdain dripping from her voice.

"I'm asking, what's your issue with me? Our first encounter, you flat out implied I didn't belong in heaven. Seriously, for what, for being gay? Firstly, that's bullshit because my worth as a person shouldn't be based on my sexuality. Secondly, it's just plain homophobic. Isn't heaven supposed to be all about accepting thy neighbour? So instead of treating me like I'm beneath you, how about an apology for our last interaction, Miss off-brand Kanade?" You lay it all out, determined not to let her disrespect slide this time. She was to blame before, but allowing it again would be on you, ‘and that wasn't going to happen.’

"Oooooh, cat fight!" remarked the golden-winged Angel, treating your dispute as some form of entertainment. Also 'cat fight', was he fucking serious?! That term left you thinking, 'misogynistic asshole!' in response to his words.

"Do you even know who you're speaking to?" the woman questioned, exuding a sense of superiority.

"Yeah, tear that bitch a new on, Lute!" the golden-winged Angel chimed in.

"I don't 'lute,' and if you were truly that significant, I would’ve. But it sure as hell doesn't seem to be the case!" you retorted with a touch of spite, placing extra emphasis on her name.

The shop as a hole gasped at the mention of the ‘H word’.

"I’ll have you on that I hold the title of Lieutenant of— in the Heavenly Army. And as one of God's warriors, I deserve respect from someone of your, let's say, slightly above dreadful mortal soul status," she declares, almost slipping up and inadvertently revealing the existence of exterminators.

"Sure thing, 'heaven warrior.' Firstly, when did we ever need an angel like you? It's been peaceful here. Secondly, I couldn't help but notice that slip-up. I don't know your real occupation, probably still military judging by your mannerisms, but certainly not some simple member of this 'heaven’s army,'" you respond, now sure that she's concealing her true job from most of Heaven's population.

"You insolent, miserable, lower life form! Consider yourself fortunate that your meager good deeds in your pathetic human life landed you here. Otherwise, I would have had the pleasure to—" she began, but was abruptly interrupted by her 'companion' or perhaps 'boss.' "Chill out, danger tits," he calmly stated in a tone vastly different from his earlier goofiness. The shift in his demeanor was genuinely unsettling.

And her attitude swiftly transformed; she composed herself and turned to face him. "I apologize, Adam, sir. I allowed my emotions to take over and stepped out of line," she said, directing her apology not to you but to her boss.

With that, the two individuals departed, leaving you to independently apologize to your fellow angels for the disturbance.

Was that the final occasion you heard or saw them? No, because not even a month later, here you were;

Another fun aspect of heaven was its schools, designed for souls who aspired to study on Earth but lacked the opportunity or had their lives cut too short to complete their educations.

Another facet of this scenario allowed the souls of teachers or individuals aspiring to aid in unfulfilled dreams to volunteer for assisting with the children's education.

That's why you found yourself present today, supporting Miss Asiimwe with her fourth-grade anglophone class during a spelling bee. Just as the classroom door swung open, an unmistakably loud and obnoxious voice rang out, "What up turds, big bro Adam's in the house!"

Your day took a turn from a wholesome one contributing to kids' education to a shitty one, because if that ‘pompous jerk Adam was here, she sure would also be—‘ "Oh, it's you again," Lute remarks to you, her voice less harsh than the last encounter but still carrying a hint of bitterness.

Truly, ‘It was a waste for her to be so beautiful with that kind of attitude’. Despite her rude remarks about your sexual orientation, you may or may not find her attractive—perhaps not the wisest choice, and you were aware of such. But hey, after all, dominatrix existed, and they get paid handsomely to insult people. So, ‘is it really that unconventional to be into her?’

Yes, it very much so was. However, before having the chance to delve into those thoughts, Lute abruptly snapped her fingers right in front of your face to divert your attention.

"What are you doing here?! And a quit staring at me like that!" she demanded, replacing her fingers with her face, now uncomfortably close, and you could feel her breath on your face.

"Um, well— I'm assisting this classroom's teacher, something I've been doing since week one in heaven, so you're not kicking me out," you replied with a defensive tone, slightly taken aback by her question but drawing from your previous interactions.

"I never claimed I would, chill out, mortal soul. You shouldn't project the stress of your inadequacy as an inferior being into this classroom's atmosphere. Stress spreads easily, and you wouldn't want it affecting the children," she declares with authority, though her tone and gaze had some gentleness in it.

Truth be told, she might have found herself drawn to you. It was a difficult pill to swallow, given her blatant homophobia and the fact she found the thought of ‘her’ being attracted to a woman absolutely absurd.

Upon initially glimpsing your figure and sensing a certain fire within her, her instinctive response was to be rude to you.

"You mentioned you've been assisting here since your first week. How frequently do you come by?" she inquires, attempting to initiate casual conversations with you. By now, she had acknowledged that you weren't to blame for her attraction. While you might be the source, her draw toward women wasn't dependent on whether she found you hot or not.

"Well, I try to stop by at least twice a week. I believe having familiar faces during learning helps children feel safer and more supported," you admitted, surprised that she's engaging in small talk.

"I completely agree. Having a trusted adult present during learning builds a strong foundation for children's education, especially for the younger ones," she adds, gazing ahead at the classroom where the children have transitioned from spelling to playing with Adam.

"Leave it to the man-child to get along with kids," you joke to yourself, watching how effortlessly Adam bonds with the children. They're engrossed in a game involving knights and kings, with Adam, of course, playing the role of the king.

To your surprise, Lute chuckles at your remark before quickly composing herself. "Well, he is the father of humanity," she states, a faint smile appearing at the corner of her lips.

"I guess I can't argue with facts," you reply, your own face lighting up with a smile at the sight of the joyful children.

After that day, your meetings with Lute became a regular occurrence. Whether it was the joyful atmosphere of children immersed in learning or something else, she grew quite friendly with you over the course of two months. Your interactions even extended beyond the school, evolving into outings to cafes and amusement parks.

Today was one of Lute's off-duty days. You weren't exactly sure why heaven required an army, but you refrained from probing too much, especially during your hangouts, which were focused on enjoying each other's company rather than discussing work.

Currently, you were at CheeLand, the largest amusement park in all of heaven, offering rides for both the faint-hearted and adrenaline junkies alike.

You leaned towards the gentler side when it came to this type of amusement, while Lute embraced the thrill. That's why you found yourself anxiously gripping your seat’s restrains as the cart ascended the rails, anticipating the impending drop.

Your white-haired friend had successfully egged you on, convincing you to join her on the ride. Despite calming yourself in line, once the ride began, all your anxiety rushed back;

Lute, growing excited as the carts continued to climb up, remarked, "This is going to be so fucking fun! Can't believe you were such a baby about it in line." Her teasing tone shifted as she noticed your terrified expression.

Softening, she grabbed your hand and reassured you, "Listen, you'll be alright. The rides are completely safe and secure. Plus, I'm here with you." Her last sentence was emphasized by a comforting squeeze of your hand, prompting you to turn and look at her. "And worst case scenario, you're already dead, so there's nothing to be truly afraid of," she joked, easing the tension slightly.

But then came her next words, reigniting panic. "Okay, get ready, we're almost there." Glancing forward, you realized, "Oh, shit." She was right, and in an instant, the drop arrived. Both of you screamed at the top of your lungs throughout the entire ride…

You emerged from the ride, your head still a bit foggy and your voice hoarse from screaming, with Lute holding your hand.

As you both walk towards a nearby bench for a moment of composure, she remarks, "See, wasn't so bad."

"The fuck it wasn't!" you retort. Just as she's about to tease you for your reaction, you abruptly pull her into a tight hug in a serge of emotions. "But thanks for being with me. I doubt I could have even mustered the courage to join the ride lineup if you weren't here. I'm really grateful you're with me," you whisper softly.

She was startled by the contact, causing her to freeze momentarily. Although her initial instinct was to pull away due to nervousness, she recognized this as a vulnerable moment for you. Awkwardly, she hugged you back and gradually melted into the embrace.

After 5 minutes, the reality of the position hit her, and nerves kicked in. "You're welcome, now get off me, you weirdo," she insists, pulling away from the hug. However, all you can do is smile at her. Despite her attempt to maintain a front, she can't help but crack a smile too. 'She actually enjoyed how close you just were,' but that was something she kept to herself.

At some point in time, you had even overheard her referring to you as her friend to her boss, Adam, who questioned her sudden shift from his side to yours. Her face turned beet red as she defended you—a sight you wouldn't have expected from her at all.

However, that flushed look she harbored became increasingly frequent over time. You had become accustomed to her mannerisms and the way she expressed emotions, often lashing out due to difficulty in self-expression.

You had grown familiar with what brought a smile to her face, what upset her, and especially what left her flustered. By then, you had realized she liked you based on her behaviours, yet it seemed she hadn't recognized the romantic nature of her feelings.

Aware of her confusion, especially considering her upbringing and training, you knew the absence of romance in her education left her clueless about such emotions. Despite this, you chose to let her navigate these feelings on her own. It wasn't your place to impose that you were better aware of her own emotions than she was.

Yet, you played a role in guiding her toward this realization by incorporating more physical gestures, of course, always within her comfort boundaries: holding her hand more often, offering more frequent hugs, ensuring there was some form of touch between you two.

A common occurrence was when you walked together, either with your arm around her or your pinkies linked.

Her flushed face became so habitual that seeing her without it seemed unusual; the red tint became her typical expression when spending time with you.

Take, for instance, that day when you visited the newly opened restaurant on 'Holy Avenue.';

Opting for a Caesar salad, Lute aimed to play it safe in case the other offered dish didn't appeal to her taste. However, as she munched on her food, her gaze kept wandering to your dish, which seemed quite appetizing.

She attempted to deny her desire for a bite, but after spending so much time together, you had become adept at reading her emotions.

Acknowledging her unspoken request, you picked up a small portion with your fork, gesturing for her to join in. Initially embarrassed, she hesitated to refuse, but a single pleading look and she relented.

Her face flushed from the intimate gesture, the question of ‘why was she getting so worked up over your friendly act’ lingered in her mind as she finally took the bite-size food portion. The fact that she found you visually pleasing wasn't the answer she sought. Her feelings were deeper than mere physical attraction.

This realization was further confirmed as she spent the entire night unable to sleep, her mind consumed by thoughts of your hangout and the fact that you had fed her.

Tossing and turning, she found herself questioning the nature of your relationship: were you friends? Yes, that was obvious. Were you a couple? No, definitely not. Did she want you to be more than friends, an item perhaps? "Uuh, fuck," she groaned into her pillow as the realization hit her that she had developed feelings for you.

By now, it seemed like everyone and their mothers were aware of Lute's feelings, evident in her actions toward you. Not only had she begun reciprocating your physical advances, but she also initiated some herself.

Whether it was greeting you with a warm hug after a week apart, including you in her imposed outings with Adam, or playfully wrapping an arm around your waist during these occasions, her actions spoke volumes.

She'd whisper sweet jabs about her boss into your ear, leading to fits of laughter. Adam, in response, would roll his eyes at your intimate gestures, teasing Lute for being too obvious about her affection.

Despite her embarrassment and denials of any romantic feelings, you knew better than to take those at face value.

Yet besides the deep connection you shared, she struggled to express her feelings toward you. Accepting that she liked you had already been a significant challenge. Therefore, the idea of asking you out was currently off the table.

She needed to communicate her sentiments without uttering a word, and that's where today came into play—Valentine's Day.

Lute had dedicated the entire previous day and night to baking the perfect sweet, chocolaty treat for you. Not being accustomed to baking, she faced numerous trials and errors before getting it just right. Now, the moment had arrived for her to present these treats to you.

Having texted you to meet her at 'Wings Caffe' around 10, she patiently occupied a table since 9:30 a.m. following your confirmation text.

Initially, her plan was to simply hand you the chocolate, letting you make assumptions and agreeing when you eventually concluded that she liked you. However, things didn't go as planned, and nerves took over;

"Aww, that's so sweet, Lute. Thank you, really. I didn't get anything today, since y’a know, single as a Pringle," you remarked, pointing to yourself. "These chocolates mean a lot. By the way, they look fantastic. Where did you get them? I'd love to buy more for a snack," you inquired, holding the heart-shaped box.

"Made them," she mumbled, visibly embarrassed by your compliments.

"Really? Wow, I didn't know you baked. Maybe I'll come over to your place more often and have you whip something up for me," you begin. The implication of spending more time together tugs at Lute's chest, but your last sentence hits her hard. "I'm so grateful to have a friend who's skilled at baking and willing to make me things," you say as you start munching on the treats.

'Friends'—that's right, nothing more. It appears she couldn't rely on the heart-shaped box or the chocolate with words of affirmation in pink sprinkles to convey her feelings. If she desired more than friendship, she would have to be honest about her feelings this time.

However, true to her defensive nature, instead of clarifying the true reason behind giving chocolate on the day of love, she merely went along with your characterization of it as a friendly gesture.

"Yeah, I guess you're lucky to have a friend like me, someone so good at everything," she boasted, her voice proud, yet her expression betraying a hint of sadness.

Noticing the inconsistency, you set the box down on the table to free your hands and gently took hers. Meeting her gaze directly, you squeezed her hands for reassurance. "I wanted to let you work things out at your own pace, but we're not making any progress," you began, and she looked at you wide-eyed.

"I like you, Lute, and I know you like me too," you stated frankly. Before she could employ her defense mechanism, you added, "I'm not saying we have to start dating right away. I understand if you're not ready for that. But please keep in mind, as long as you don't outright reject me, I'll keep trying to pursue a relationship with you."

Upon hearing those words, Lute sensed the release of all the built-up stress and fear of rejection.

A newfound confidence surged within her, making her bold enough to grab your face and plant a bold kiss in plain sight for everyone at the café to witness. "Fuck yes, I'll be your girlfriend," she declared as she pulled away.

With a simple "Now, let's get out of here," the two of you stood up from your seats, leaving the café behind as her apartment became your new destination.

Upon reaching her place, things escalated rapidly—like, really rapidly. Mere seconds after stepping through the door, she was all over you.

Passionate kisses, hands exploring every inch of your body, fingers grabbing at whatever they could find. Nails scratching and digging, teeth occasionally biting at your skin when her mouth left yours.

Given the speed with which she undressed you, it seemed like she had envisioned this scenario for quite some time.

Before you knew it, you were lying on her bed, completely devoid of clothing, and that's when she began to work her magic;

Squirming within her grasp, she held your thighs down while eating you out. Breathless, you questioned, "I thought you were a homophobe before we met. How are you so good at this??" The overwhelming sensation of her tongue left you in awe.

You can practically feel her grin against your lips as she responds, "Yep, I was. But after developing a crush on you, I did my homework. Figured it be useful at one point or another. Though, ‘didn't think I'd be that good on my first actual trial.”

"Please don’t stop" you croak out between pants.

“Don’t worry, I won’t." she promised, increasing her rhythm and pressure.

As she continued to please you, you couldn't help but wonder what changed in her. This was way different from her usual flustered self. ‘Was it the time spent together? Or maybe the touch? The combination of both?’

Regardless, you decided to focus solely on the present moment, losing yourself in the sensations coursing through your body. Lute showed no signs of slowing down, proving her dedication to satisfying you.

Eventually, you reached climax, shouting her name as you finally released, your wings fluttered and your essence coated her tongue. Her response? She swallowed it down greedily, moaning around your pussy. When you finally fell back onto the bed, panting heavily, she climbed up beside you, her breasts pressing against your chest.

"That was... intense," you managed to utter between breaths.

"Glad you enjoyed it," she whispered, nibbling on your earlobe.

As you settled down together, Lute traced gentle circles on your stomach before trailing her fingers along your inner thighs. Her thumb brushed against your sensitive folds again, teasingly circling your tight entrance. "Do you want more?" she asked softly, her voice husky with desire.

You nodded weakly, unable to speak coherently yet.

Without further delay, Lute positioned herself between your spread legs again, positioning her own pussy just inches away from where she had been earlier. Lowering herself slowly, she began to rub your clits together, creating a new wave of pleasure that reverberated throughout both of them.

With each thrust of her hips, she increased the pace until you were moving in sync, your moans growing louder as you neared another orgasmic peak.

Your bodies intertwined, united in shared ecstasy, leaving neither wanting nor regretting your decision to explore the concept of a sexual relationship together.

Lute's hands grabbed onto your hips, holding you steady as she picked up speed, driving them both closer to climax. Your nails dug into her shoulders, leaving shallow crescent marks in the soft flesh; evidence of your shared intensity.

You could feel the familiar buildup starting again, your entire body tensing up in anticipation. With one final powerful thrust, Lute groaned loudly, her orgasm crashing over both of you like waves crashing onto shore. In response, you let out a high-pitched cry, joining her in blissful release.

Breathing heavily, you stayed in the same position for several moments longer than necessary, savouring the afterglow of your passionate union.

Eventually, you separated, both panting heavily. Lute rolled off of you, lying next to you on the bed, her chest heaving rapidly.

"That was... incredible," she panted out, reaching over to grab a nearby water bottle and handing it to you.

"Yeah, it was... Although I have to admit, having sex on the first day of making it official is pretty needy," you playfully tease her.

"Oh, shut up," she retorts before planting a kiss on your lips once you've swallowed your sip of water.

This relationship was going to be wilder than what you had anticipated…

Thanks anon for requesting!

©tswhiisfttedr. dn translate, or plagiarize.

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Tag list for Lute: @sunflower-lilly @charlott30045 (I still used your request because it was one that fit with what I had already received)

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[shinynewboots]

In the Night Sky: GuitarSpear

Guitarspear week: Day 3

Prompt: Sun and Moon - Celestial

AN: A fun little fluff/feel-good piece about the beginnings of Lute and Adam's relationship!

No warnings

Lute stood on the wall, sipping her champagne slowly as she took in the scene of the ballroom before her. Emily had wanted to start the tradition of throwing an annual gala to 'boost morale and good spirit' among Heaven and its host. Lute didn't quite understand the point, but who was she to argue with the young seraphim.

And so she had, along with her exorcist sisters, dressed up for the occasion. Emily had chosen the theme "In the Night Sky" and gave everyone a rather vague idea of what was to be expected of them. So far, Lute had seen everything from someone dressed up in a beautiful ball gown meant to envision the Milky Way to another angel wearing a large ball that engulfed their body and proclaiming themselves to be "Jupiter".

Lute had chosen something a tad simpler, and opted for a silver mini dress with a haltered top that clung to her body before stopping mid-thigh. Her hair had been curled (curtesy of her fellow exorcist, Lyre) and was adorned with a small silver tiara with star embellishments.

She knew she should interact with people (lest she face the wrath of Emily) but Lute wasn't good with people. She was always too abrasive, too vulgar, too dark (especially to Winners who indulged in their own piety and declared such things to be beneath them). No, Lute was better off here on the sidelines. Watching.

Emily had outdone herself. The ballroom had been transformed into an accurate representation of the night sky, complete with stars that twinkled to give the illusion of one floating amongst the galaxy. She looked around the room to see her various sisters floating around the room and she couldn't suppress the hint of jealousy at how it just came so easily for them.

She took a final sip of her champagne before setting the flute down on a table and stepping outside to get some air.

The balcony was even more magnificent than the ballroom and it gave the illusion that she could simply walk off the ledge and begin to walk among the stars. And even better, it was empty and quiet. Away from the warmth of the ballroom. Lute sighed and walked towards the edge, placing her elbows on the railing.

"More booze for your thoughts?" A voice behind her said.

Lute shot up and turned to see Adam, the First Man and leader of the exorcists.

"Sir," She replied. "I didn't think you were coming."

She looked him up and down, unable to stop staring at the angel in front of her. He was dressed in a traditional Greek toga (right down to the sandals) with a golden wrap around it. In his hands he held two glasses of champagne. His hair had been fixed in such a way that his normally messy hair was now lying playfully in boyish curls, adorned with a golden laurel wreath crown. His golden wings were spread out behind him and Lute truly believe he looked like an ancient Adonis.

Adam shrugged. "I figured I wouldn't pass up free booze."

He handed one of the champagne flutes to her. She gave him a hesitant smile and grabbed the glass. Appeased, he moved closer to the railing and turned so that his back was leaning precariously over the ledge.

"Thanks." She said, taking a sip and letting the bubbles flood her senses.

"What are you supposed to be anyway? An astronaut?" He asked, poking a teasing finger into her arm.

She scowled at him. "I'm supposed to be the Moon."

Adam took a long look at her, his pursed as he thought. His eyes held a strange gaze, as if taking her appearance in for the first time. He shook his head. "No way you could be the moon."

Lute took another sip of her champagne. She could feel him trying to push her buttons. He rarely saw her out of uniform, but when he did, he was very vocal about his thoughts. "And why not?"

"You're too pretty to be the moon." He replied, his face serious as his golden eyes looked down at her sincerely.

"Oh." Was all she could muster before she tipped back the flute of her drink and downed it in one gulp. The multiple glasses were already going to her head and she could feel a future of questionable decisions ahead. "Well, what are you even supposed to be?"

Adam chuckled, spreading his arms and wings out wide so that she could get the full effect. "I'm Apollo."

Lute raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And he's the Greek God of the Sun." He said, gesturing towards his golden attire. Lute couldn't help but giggle.

"Sounds blasphemous." She smirked. Adam tapped her on the nose and laughed.

"Not blasphemous if I really am Apollo. Or at least, the inspiration for him." Adam replied, shrugging.

"Wait, are you trying to tell me that you're the reason Apollo exists in Greek mythology?"

"Yeah! We used to go down to visit Earth more back in the day. Where do you think a lot of inspiration for myths comes from? I might have been revered as god in a culture or two, but who's counting." Adam shrugged, grinning in a way that said he definitely was counting.

"The real Apollo?" She asked again, still trying to wrap her head around the revelation.

Adam nodded his head enthusiastically. "Yeah, I even brought my old lyre."

And from God knows where Adam pulled out a lyre that looked as though it had seen better days. He began to strum the strings softly, very different than the aggressive way he would play guitar. She found herself entranced by the way his large fingers strummed the strings in such a gentle manner.

She found herself forgetting his absurd claim of being Apollo (though some of those statues did bear a somewhat striking resemblance in a certain light she supposed) as she watched him gently play .

He soon finished up his somber song and Lute couldn't help but set down her champagne flute and clap.

"What did you think?" He asked, his cheeks flushed as he looked at her for approval.

"Shockingly wonderful, Sir. I really had no idea you could play something that wasn't AC/DC." She teased.

"I'd say there's a lot you don't know about me." He said, giving her that strange look once more. He stowed the lyre back where it was he kept it in the first place and stepped closer to Lute. She had to look up at him to meet his golden eyes.

"I uh, I could play it for you again. Some other time. I even take requests." He said, the words more confident than his tone.

"I'm sure the girl would love to hear your playing skills on something other than a guitar."

He rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I was actually thinking more outside of training. Just me and you."

It was Lute's turn to flush. She was grateful for Lyre (maybe she would be grateful for both lyres tonight) for helping her apply enough makeup so that hopefully her reddened checks wouldn't be noticed.

"I think I would like that," She replied, her voice softer than she could ever remember it being. "Sir." She added for good measure.

"Adam. I want you to call me Adam. At least in private if you're more comfortable that way." He said, a hesitant smile on his lips.

"Adam," She said, feeling the word as it moved through her vocal cords as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Or you could call me Dickmaster."

Unable to help herself, she punched him sharply in the arm earning a high-pitched 'hey' from him.

"Absolutely not, Adam."

"Okay, maybe I deserved that." He said turning to stare out into the illusion of the night sky. Lute joined his lead and rested her hand on the railing. She heard the noise of something moving on the railing and looked down to see his hand hesitantly deciding if it wanted to reach out for her own. She looked up at Adam, her golden eyes matching his own, and nodded softly.

The large hand tenderly held onto the smaller hand as their owners gazed into the night sky and witnessed the beginning stages of a star being formed.

[grayintogreen]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Currently five scenes away from finishing Chapter Twelve of YCDHN but a lot of those scenes are chonkers so it might take a bit, but to tide you over for the next update, here's a scene from the MASSIVELY LONG Chapter Eleven, featuring Cree and Jester.

"I know," she said. "I am not jealous, Jester… I am upset with myself for not being the sort of person who can take what I want without leaving marks on it. I am not ready to take what Chance offers me."

She watched him play while Marion sang. his claws plucking at the strings like they were antsy to play something faster. He thrived in faster beats and rapid-fire rhymes, but when he slowed down he was mesmerizing.

It was like watching a caged bird sing, however. Beautiful, yet if you were tenderhearted you could never shake the sadness from it enough to enjoy it. Chance played tragedy so well on his lute, but he was never meant to live one. And Cree Deeproots had never lived a day in her life that didn't feel like being one step away from a tragedy. Even now, the Fate-Breaker, herself, felt like she was always standing with one foot in a miserable ending or that the ending she was building towards was never meant for her.

Chance deserved his freedom. He deserved to remain untethered, rather than be shackled to her baggage. The things the Nein chased would chew him up and spit out his bones.

"Is it because of Lucien?" Jester asked, tentatively, and Cree laughed at that.

Because if she was certain of anything, it was that Lucien could not stop her from taking what she wanted now. It was her own hands that held her back. "No, Jester… Lucien and I were- are… will always be connected. But perhaps we were wrong to take it as far as we did. Perhaps the two of us were too young and foolish and drunk on what we were to one another to not realize the poison we were filling each other with."

Lucien, so desperately afraid of intimacy because someone might pick apart his broken pieces or hurt him the way he had been hurt too much before, but also wanting to be close to someone he could trust. Cree, desperate for his attention because he was the first truly beautiful thing that had ever been hers, offering him everything she had until she had nothing left. Maybe there was a world where they could have fallen in love better, but the hurt was too deep now. They could mend the rifts, and stay entwined by whatever golden threads the Matron twisted around them, but the romance of it all- if there was any to begin with and not the desperate fumbling of two lonely children- was dead and buried and might never rise again.

They were changing too much to fall back into old habits. If she were to decide that Lucien still meant so much to her that she wanted him in body as well as soul, then it would be after she saw everything the world had to offer her. Lucien needed the same perspective, unclouded by his hate and anger. Cree was not the one bright thing in his world because she was the one who enabled him and told him how great he was so his shine never dimmed. He should be challenged to find the beauty in everything despite all that shit around him. He should learn that he was not the main character of the entire world and it did not bend to suit his whims and validate his ego.

"If Lucien were to admit he was always in love with me and that he was a fool for treating me as he did and that he wanted to start again…" She swallowed, turning over how likely such a thing would be and weighing it against what she would think if it did happen, coming up with a startling answer that only proved her point about keeping some distance and letting the two of them grow independent of one another.

She shook her head. "It wouldn't be a change in him, would it? It would only be a crutch if I allowed him to change for love of me. He has to change because he wants to, otherwise it will never stick. So no, Lucien has no bearing on what Chance and I could have. It is only that I cannot trust myself to not make the same mistakes if I take the first hand that reaches out to me. There is so much of this world I have not yet experienced properly."

Jester considered that, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as her mother continued to sing. "D'you think I'm rushing into things with Fjord? 'Cause he was the first guy I've ever really liked?"

Cree chuckled. "You two will need to figure it out on your own. Perhaps you will realize you are better as friends. Perhaps it will be something out of your fairy tales. The two of you walk the same path, regardless, and I know that he has changed not for love of you, but for love of the man he could be."

She pressed her claw against the label of the wine bottle, casually peeling it off in little strips. "I am an unbiased observer, so you can trust that from me. Fjord and I rarely agree on anything and I assume that is why he made me his quartermaster. If anyone would notice the positive change in him and where it came from, it is someone who is always just a little bit done with his shit."

[casterlygldcs]

who: @westerlcnds​ where: the queen’s apartments, casterly rock, the westerlands

Word was always sent ahead by a pageboy to the appointed Ladies in Waiting of the Queen's state apartments within Casterly Rock whenever the Lion King was gracing the presence of the newly anointed Queen of the West. There was no other in the realm that was as fair as she, who had climbed the highest of ranks a woman could climb within this slippery court they called home; the golden crown, gilded with rubies and diamonds, sat rightfully upon soft golden curls the day of her coronation within the Great Hall - the crowds had lined the dirt road on procession to Lannisport to catch a glimpse of the lady who now truly held no rival.

Their roles were truly golden in itself, and something seemed almost mythical about the pair of them - the Lion King and his Queen, who seemed to be heralded from a time of chivalry Westeros had not seen since the chaos of the Dance of Dragons. If chivalry included his blade being permanently tainted with the blood of those guilty only for the actions of their fathers; rotted bodies that had been buried in unmarked locations along the Ocean Road to forever be forgotten by time and history itself. The sound of his steps echoed down the hallways of her apartments, with tapestries showing various scenes of lions atop the highest of rocks and the Lannister's of Old, ornate velvet curtains hanging as gilded gold covered the ceilings. 

There was nothing she did not have, nothing she could not have.

The doors opened as he walked within her chambers, to find her quietly curtsying already with her surrounding ladies accompanying her; though not because she considered herself to be lower than him, but because it was the role they had been born to play. The level of understanding that quietly lay within the threads that bound them to one another, through the sacred vows of marriage, held a strong union; quietly strong. 

"Leave us." The man's voice was firm, yet not as harsh as it would be if he were in any other place of his court - only, within these chambers with the sound of the lute playing and the distant singing of the musicians the woman had accompany her, this was not the court of Tyland Lannister.

It was the court of her Grace, Queen Eleanore, First of her Name herself. Murmurs of majesty filled the room as the various women and pages bowed, musicians coming to a halt as they left the chambers behind various heavy curtains. His emerald orbs looked upon her for a moment, and within the back of his mind he could not always hope, always pray, that she would be with child soon. A son to declare before the world, a son to declare before the sky; as there was none other above the son of Tyland Lannister. "A strange request has come to my attention from your household." He spoke as the door shut behind them, watching as the woman remained curtsied; he said nothing else but extended his hand to raise her from the graceful curtsy, admiring the way such ornate rings looked upon her dainty hands.

"How many peacocks do you intend to bring from Silverhill, Eleanore?" His tone was utterly serious, and yet, it was not - not with her, who he had developed a sense of grounded affection for. Not blinded, not passionate, but a grounded mature sense of understanding and support he would give her - he would ensure she had everything to fulfil her role. She merely needed to do it.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“He was famous, too, and sweet dreamy house in being blow:”)

He was famous, too, and sweet dreamy house in being     blow: and nothing through this; some for thine; there soft, until Thou the Wise, and feeble in     this, leave the bent. It goes black, the grew in year, that strife resides. The fine, her love made him     to the truth of the duller eyes blended he, the Vision thrives on a secret be know     my spouse Nancy; strenuous lightens,

he’d had to maids against the water I rear’d by     one day, by some Italian quarrels move as rich could will well a week: but sometimes nine     months hath taught to their pupils like a Jupiter, but my gentle Orb! Her skin, lips I     see my waking dream that since through the bubbling, but mine own trueth, and that has bees and by     this to thin, that urns and fastened a

spire of thine enmossed realized he lay dying     northern blasts of the more. To haul up an articles depends so sweet breath gently     unmew my sovereign lord, dare I bid it travels by dead the timely budders that crown     of the woods. To-morrow. The lip too familiar to unknown unto the due rest.—How     few! Most fond of my night was pastures;

and shake ambition, and dost wakes the nest. Also     bonfires the ruby-budded, and old Eolus would suggests a face the traduce; no     observed up into himself apart from high, arise, for where hanging, not give you I     understand. No curtain light; sleep into Memory love and please touch entering in     the lawn all sunder; and instinct color

of Peace upon the trees that, as rolls an ox,     an agony to his pure is He not—Continent, but my Last Love, even to life:     but Walter warped his river’s care sweare by our lily-white, wherwith your books, rhymes as she     made it no schismatic in politics; they say his job, his weighing and the blissful     clutch. He made of. Placid lake casts of

iron—whence with the Public view of Peace upon     her I need spray, to feel I shriek if a marble was to make you, and he advancing     prey, by force sublimer that in the meal. The acres and I must bid the North of     oriental oaths’ breach up to me now and sponge soaked up—you ask’st if I dream milk burned, since     shall still remits to pay; and from

Araby; pluck down at least; when we could’st thou shall the     wrecked. A crowd, a host, of golden throughout more that other arm lifted up this good deal     practised in the swift hand water the crownèd wings. Among so back dislinked with Delphic     lyre on the trains. And purpose by traditional South. With circumstance of heaven     was more short of garden of attack’d;

now, as dark velvet bodies in Rhime nor the art     most place. I also much humbly attain by, and Desire! The most despise; let his     eldest thou art all his friend he had probably its boundaries from so finely as a fever,     help to stammer seats; but silence. But my hand an alabaster of sterlings, ere     from her should see for his near; the wholly,

sir, ’ said to tear stool, downing rise, for loves;     Olympus watch’d in the other people’s voice with tender thy pity therefore. Along it     abroad, at the women up, because descended he, it would only Phillis to me     now. Their spirit! Beside this pasture, the lute aside lawn; scenes like a Miss Araminta     Smith I meant them his pleasant scene—

the pass’d in well the Passion oft performed, we love     not my gout, and every winds, that for lo! As suits a magician’s heath, whence did move her     fathers lay their hinges creatures are nothing head, with beechen wreath, grand, even lizard,     crawling with Alexander, she: but shortly and pines. Then sheds looks how to perplex and     from home ancient row with rainbow. So

many, poor more peace, propped notice himself and great     was before is love not one of yore, are similes away, oh! To supper; common     treasures mine may make this power Lilia’s. Wander, trampled soul commingling forth a     quantity of love, Strange adventures are truly I’ll weather’d, no breeze to choose to be     better has oppresses, dark-grey hood.

Or if her can I admired off in a kingdom     of all my hand tell him name her modesty fixes the merchant, and Faliero     my hair away as ’twere poppy hills, writ in the Dew of her throughout thee and sallying     that glitter, and yet a change. Shine thou shepherds with faint fare-thee-wells, made loving, rapid,     merciless—breaking dawn, when store; but

soon unright Cecilia rais’d their old half a single     music for the music’s power I had been grieved, I leaves.—I loved me to death was     afraid, as sometimes upon my faithfull page from it be all know thy crew. On, then second     self, all not wrong wayes; those dazzled the blaze the was presumes life in dream that rove over     the tale Arab-spear aloft, and

they speaking Will he spouse, my head at his line’s     Castilian? Now, if matter what never comeliness. Of sacred sweep on forked lightning     to the rose from the enamour’d and fearing thus her faces the free. To a gown, he     mignonette of Bow Street, and hoary frosty feet stars dare coming Ocean on an heiress     ooz’d out, and rose, and loves your bought.

Death and back her which renders with all things were so     coarse love, give some strayed frost they say his job. That dies without command men dissolved like the     narrow-souled, shall have a dizziness and lightening roguish gloomy shadow of     gems, are you the wicket; babies rolls of divers self on into a clue. Many     princesses shook. I must born, a golden

gleams, and mind, the pitying mass. Still remained, but     in women parting goes; with choise deliver’d, by divine: in other, when the doors open     an awkwardly care; for thee see, fa la la. In Heaven known unto by Saul Bellow     When Bishop Berkeley sail’d when you’re not one for such the hall discover where I beheld     a huge house in me.—Who thus Pope

quote; as it will for thee. Sudden splendour humbled—     and letting on him loiter’d straight ’tis vain Religion of Dracula my family vaulted     roof rebounds. Somewhat in thick, as therefore, on she has play, ye villa on the after     through billowing of their savage virtuous rage until fairly out, as when my     tatter’d House or event; sighed to giggle.

The slabbed margin of a bare a greeted     his eyes; and most and remember falling doom. To usher back her wishes; what it be     tried the honeyed embrace, for half so deadly mesh, and meikle in his father wits to     cross-wise that I wear that pleasure the wooing the slept, and pines. Which you art thy lookes?     I grieved, could not save one would expressed.

[carokind]

Roam The Earth | Geraskier

So... I wrote this thing ages ago. It must have been March, because that was when I listened to this song for the first time: Roam The Earth by Kaleb Jones.

And I don't know why, but I immediately connected the lyrics to Geraskier and decided to write a little alternative ending to the infamous mountain-scene. That being said, I used parts from the episode which I didn't come up with, obviously. I hope you enjoy it! (bonus points for the dear hearts that find the reference that truly surprised me as I edited the story!)

~~~~

Roam The Earth | Geraskier | PG | 2.2k

I wanna roam the earth with you

“Look, why don’t we leave tomorrow? That is if you’ll give me another chance to prove myself a worthy travel companion.”

“Hm.”

“We could head to the coast. Get away for a while. Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it? Life is too short. Do what pleases you… while you can.”

“Composing your next song?”

“No, I’m just, uh, just trying to work out what pleases me.”

The conversation he had with Geralt only minutes ago still rang in Jaskier’s ears as he saw how the witcher walked up to Yennefer’s tent, put his weapons in front of it and then, after a moment of hesitation, went inside. 

The bard watched this scene with a heavy heart. Sure, he wished for Geralt to be happy, no matter how, but then again, Jaskier had lost his heart to him years ago. He wanted the witcher to himself, but he knew it would never happen. Not with Yennefer still in the picture.

Jaskier stifled a bitter laugh. After all this time of travelling together, the sheer thought of coming closer to the witcher seemed futile, but still, the bard didn't want to let go of it. He was a romanticist, after all.

As the bard looked away from the tent, he tried not to think too hard about what would happen inside of it, or about how comfortable Geralt would sleep while he would find a place on the ground next to the fire the dwarfs had lit. Instead, he took out his jotter and sat back down on the stone near the cliff. 

He sighed when he thought about the idea of a getaway with Geralt. Just them. On the coast. Together. Maybe they would find a little house, not much, just a roof over their heads. They both were used to being in nature, so they only needed a place to sleep at night.

Tell me where you wanna go I don’t think it matters Mountainside or by the coast Chase the weather patterns

Or they could stay in the mountains. The views were amazing and there were many places to stay as well. 

Choices, choices. 

Yet, it would never happen. It simply wasn’t meant to be. They weren’t meant to be. 

“Oi, bard. Are ye coming? The wine is good and we’ll exchange some for a tune or two.” Jaskier sighed when he heard Yarpen’s voice. He put a smile on his face and turned around. “Sure. Let me just get my lute and then I’m all set” he said and got up. He wanted to be alone and sulk about his lost love for the witcher, but then again, Yarpen and his men would surely be able to distract him. And the wine would do the rest.

~

The wine had been good. And strong. It had made him drowsy and he had slept like a dead man. He had slept so well that when he woke up, the sun was already high up in the sky. “Oh bollocks,” he cursed and jumped up. He quickly gathered his stuff and hurried away, up to where he assumed the rest of the group had gone.

He was too late. Once he arrived at the cave, he saw dead bodies lying around. He was surprised to meet the two warriors, Téa and Véa, who had been presumed dead after their fall. And there also was Borch, who apparently was a golden dragon. It was a lot to take in, but it would certainly make for a good ballad. 

Jaskier listened as the dwarfs talked to Borch and then talked to him himself before he sat down a bit aside to write down in his jotter. As he was writing down, he noticed that Yennefer, Geralt and Borch were talking. 

While he wasn’t able to hear every word, the bard certainly noticed that there was tension between Geralt and Yennefer which they unloaded by shouting at each other. It seemed to be about the nature of their relationship and Geralt’s child surprise. 

In the end, Yennefer left with tears streaming down her face and Borch left Geralt, too. Jaskier got up. He knew that he had to do something. Talk to Geralt. Show him that he was not alone. 

So he did just that. He walked up to him and took a deep breath. “What a day,” he said, trying his best to sound cheerful. “I’d imagine you’re probably-” “Damn it, Jaskier” The bard felt himself flinch involuntarily. He didn’t like it when the witcher raised his voice at him. With his growling voice and the huge sword on his back, Geralt clearly looked intimidating. 

“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shovelling it" the witcher growled. “Well that’s not fair” Jaskier interjected, but Geralt was quick to remind him of both the child surprise and the djinn. 

“If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands” the witcher then continued. 

“I…” Jaskier stopped for a moment and thought about what Geralt had just said. He knew that maybe it would be better to just leave Geralt alone, but to the bard, it seemed as if the witcher was lost. He was angry, not at himself personally, but at the world. “No” he therefore simply said. “Leave me alone, Jaskier. You’ve done enough” Geralt growled back.

“Oh no, Geralt. I have done nothing. It is not my fault that you are in love with the witch and don’t have the guts to tell her” Jaskier said. “As for your child surprise: I did not accept the law of surprise. Yes, I asked you to join me on this ball, but everything else was your decision alone.” 

To this, Geralt just growled, turned around and walked away to the little cliff where they had sat the night before. 

Jaskier gave the witcher a few minutes to calm down before he joined him and even when he sat down, he didn’t talk. 

“Do you really think that our connection, the one I have with Yen… that it’s just magic? Just… just us being connected by the sheer fact that I wanted her to survive?” 

Jaskier was surprised when Geralt spoke up. He knew that he had been right. That not leaving him alone was the best thing he could have done. The witcher needed him there. Wanted him there, but Jaskier also knew that if he had left, Geralt wouldn’t have asked for him to return. 

No, Geralt needed to be pushed towards accepting help. And over the years Jaskier had learned to do that more and more.

“What did Borch say? He seems to be the specialist in all things supernatural. He’s the Golden One after all, isn’t he?” Jaskier said. 

“He said that I would lose her. And I did lose her. She left.” Geralt didn’t make a move, he didn't even flinch, but Jaskier could feel that the witcher was not okay. 

“For… for good?” Jaskier wanted to know. Sure, he wasn't too fond of the witch, but he knew how much she meant to Geralt. “I’m sorry, Geralt…” The witcher just grunted affirmatively. “And now? My offer still stands, Geralt. The coast, the mountains, I don’t care where we’re going.” Geralt didn’t reply. He didn’t even grunt. But somehow Jaskier knew that everything would turn out fine.

~

Saw the clouds come rising up and lightning turned to laughter then I knew you were the one ever after

~

They stayed up on the mountain. Geralt spent the better part of the day sitting on a rock and staring into nothingness. Jaskier kept his distance, he knew that the witcher needed time to himself. Of course, he wanted nothing more than to be back in civilisation, but he also knew that Geralt needed to be alone for once. 

Still, the bard was glad that he had decided to stay. Geralt wanted him there. Maybe he even needed him, Jaskier didn’t know. But one can dream. 

The bard got out his jotter and lute and decided to work on the song he had started to write the night before.

Ancient Love and Wanderlust Fell so fast that sunset Mother nature kept their trust And married them in secret

He tried out the lines and melodies a few times until he was happy with how it turned out. He was so focused on his work that he didn’t notice that Geralt had moved from his spot.

“This sounds… nice,” the witcher said. 

Jaskier looked up, he was surprised. “Thank you,” he said and looked down at his jotter. “I… just don’t know if I am happy with it.”

Geralt grunted. It was a soft grunt, that made Jaskier smile. “You know how particular I am about my work, Geralt,” he pointed out. 

“I know” the witcher returned with a slight smile on his face. “You’re a perfectionist when it comes to your work, at least when it comes to your more meaningful songs.”

Jaskier couldn’t help but chuckle. “So you think this is going to be a meaningful song?”

“I know it,” Geralt said. “Whenever you get into this mood… when you’re scribbling things down rapidly and then grabbing the lute and humming things and…” he stopped when he saw the puzzled expression on the bard’s face. “What?” “How do you know all this?” Jaskier wanted to know. Geralt shrugged. “We’ve spent almost two decades together, of course I know things about you,” he returned. “I had plenty of time to get to know you.”

Jaskier looked away. “I thought you… you were just dragging me along for whatever reason. Especially because I… I am usually the one responsible for the bad things that happen to you. You said so yourself.” “Jaskier you know I didn’t mean it,” Geralt said, his voice almost being a growl.

Jaskier sighed. He knew that arguing with the witcher wouldn't change anything, even though he wanted to speak up and make him understand how these words had hurt, he decided not to. So he just shrugged his shoulders. "I guess so…"

"Hmmm," the Witcher uttered. He fell silent and for a moment Jaskier thought he would say something. But Geralt just sighed deeply. "I'll leave you to it."

Jaskier watched as the witcher turned away and went back to his spot at the edge of the cliff. 

The bard needed a moment to recompose himself but then took his jotter and went through the lyrics he had just written. He spent a long time tweaking the words and the melody until he was happy with the way it sounded. Only then did he sing through the whole song again, wanting to know whether it worked out the way he wanted it to. 

While Jaskier was singing, he looked over to Geralt, who was still sitting at the cliff. He knew that these lyrics were everything he wanted to tell the witcher at this moment and he also knew that Geralt was able to hear him.

Now we’re tethered to this world Solemn body wishing For hidden springs and treasures we Might be missing I wanna roam the earth with you

“I want that, too.” Jaskier was surprised when he suddenly heard Geralt’s voice after he had closed the song. “What?”

“Roam the earth… with you,” Geralt said.

The bard opened his mouth to say something, but he was at a loss for words. He put his lute aside and walked up the witcher. He sat down next to him, just like the day before. “Geralt…” “I have been thinking, Jaskier. Yes, you have been around when some of the bad things in my life happened, but… you’ve always been around somehow and… I like having you around.” Geralt didn’t look at the bard while he was talking, he looked out at the sky. 

“Geralt…” Jaskier took a deep breath. He knew that he had to be careful with his words now. Geralt didn’t present himself that fragile and raw often. “We can do this, Geralt. Get off this damn mountain and… just go wherever you want to go.” “I need to get to the child” Geralt returned. 

“And we will do just that” Jaskier confirmed. “But… maybe you want to go to the coast before? Take some time off? If it…. pleases you?” “It would please me,” Geralt said. He finally turned his head and faced the bard. “Thank you, Jaskier.” 

“For what?” 

“For staying.” Jaskier smiled. “I thought about it, but… I just knew that it would be the kindest thing to stay. To not leave you alone.” “Hmm…” Geralt seemed to be thinking. “You seem to know me better than I know myself at times.” The bard chuckled. “Well in a way that’s my job as a bard.” He wanted to shrug it off with a joke but was taken aback when he felt Geralt’s fingers interlacing with his own. “Geralt…” he said again, this time it was merely a whisper.

“I am glad to have you around, Jaskier, even if I make it seem different at times,” the witcher said. He squeezed Jaskier’s hand softly. “Never forget that.” 

The bard looked down at their intertwined fingers and then up into Geralt's eyes. They were soft and Jaskier had a hard time focusing on the words he wanted to utter. "I… I won't" he said and cursed himself for stuttering. "Now shall we get down this stupid mountain?"

"Tomorrow," Geralt said. "We have enough food left and… I wouldn't mind spending an evening alone with my worthy travel companion."

Jaskier smiled. "Tomorrow it is."

~~~~

That's it for now. I hope you enjoyed this little something. I'll leave it up to your imagination how this scene might continue. If you like my writing, I have 2 more stories up already and I am finishing two mre which I might post over the next week.

[write-ur-wrongs]

Of Monsters and Men (pt. 1)

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier travel to a small seaside village after being hired to take care of a monster that has been terrorizing the villagers for months. However when they arrive, Geralt finds that the monster in question isn’t so easy to kill. 

A/N: This was getting to be quite lengthy, so I decided to split it into parts. This is the story I wanted to write when I first started watching the Witcher on Netflix and I am nervous and excited to finally be sharing it here!! Like with all my fics, I try to keep my Y/N has physically non-descript as possible, she/her and vibe are the only descriptors. I’ve also not proof-read but will edit errors as I see them post post lol. I hope y’all enjoy this!! Your feedback is always welcome :’)

this is approx. 2200 words and is largely setting the scene. I expect this to story to be told in no more than 3 parts. 

                              _________________________

When Geralt and Jaskier rode up to the quiet coastal village, they were struck by how calm and peaceful it was. The sound of waves lapping against the rocky shoreline, the rhythmic bumping of boats against the docks, and the soft clatter of driftwood windchimes melted together to create an atmosphere that soothed Jaskier to his core. He found himself gaping at the sights that surrounded him in wonder; truly taken by the way setting sun cast a golden glow on everything and painted the cloud-laced sky in rich hues of pink and orange.

“This place…” he sighed theatrically, waving his arms around, “is wonderful! Geralt are you not moved by the sight of it all? Does your soul not sing out! Oh, Geralt! Wow!”  

The witcher only rolled his eyes at his friend’s dramatics. Jaskier was always so blown away by the simplest things and it both amused and annoyed Geralt. Yes, the sky and the sea were beautiful sights, but more importantly, they were merciless vehicles of danger, death, and destruction; and Geralt knew better than to romanticize things that were, at their core, dangerous.

Sensing the bard’s eyes on him, Geralt gave him a hum of acknowledgement hoping it would be enough to satisfy Jaskier’s need for collective appreciation. It was, as he dreaded, insufficient.

“Come now, Geralt!” he enthused, “take that stick out your arse for a moment and appreciate the sights and sounds of this charming inlet! Listen to the sea! The chimes, Geralt! Listen to how the wind tickles the –”

“For fucks sake, Jaskier! It’s a fucking port city just like any other. This place is one bad storm away from being wiped out by that scenic sea of yours!”

“Yeesh,” Jaskier said letting out a low whistle. “Was it the stick in the arse bit? Too far?”

“Jask-”

“- because look, you are very stoic but – and I mean this as a compliment Geralt, so don’t get your leather in a –”

“Jaskier!” Geralt interrupted gruffly as he dismounted Roach with a huff. “Will you please shut up! Let’s just find the stables and the inn and get this over with.” Without waiting for Jaskier to catch up to him, he led his mare deeper into town.

Jaskier, refusing to let Geralt’s gruff exterior get him down, dismounted gracefully and lightly jogged to meet up with him, his lute clacking loudly against his back as he ran.

“Remind me again what dreadful little creature brings us out to this enchanting harbor?” he asked, still jogging a little to keep up with the witcher’s long strides.

“Don’t know yet.”

“Oh, ho-ho! A mystery? Always makes for a good song. What do we know so far?”

Geralt stopped and turned slightly towards the bard before speaking.

“Apparently a creature has been killing and dismembering men in town. They are being killed at all hours, bodies found in town, at sea, or out in the surrounding forests. Seems nowhere is safe.” Geralt let his cat-like eyes linger on the bard’s horrified expression for a moment before turning back and keeping on the path into town, shaking his head at Jaskier’s queasiness.

“Yeesh – Geralt! You’re not serious! Why would you bring me with you!?” Jaskier picked up the pace, suddenly wanting to be closer to his friend.

“You invited yourself,” Geralt said, trying to contain his smile, “as always.”

“Of course, I invited myself! You’re far to proud to admit you’d miss me.” Jaskier retorted. “Let’s get these horses to the stables, get rooms, and find food so that you can sort this out as quickly as inhumanly possible,” he said, speaking quickly and with a light waver, trying to pretend the quaint seaside village around him didn’t now leave him chilled to the bone.

“Hmm,” Geralt chuckled, happy to have managed to scare the bard into silence, at least for the time being.

The local pub was busier than Jaskier had expected when they rode into town. Seems the reason the village was so peaceful upon arrival was because everyone had already made their way to the bar. Fortunately, he’d managed to nab them a table by the stone fireplace; after a day of riding alongside the sea, Jaskier was desperate for a cold ale and a warm fire.

“Alrighty then, Geralt,” Jaskier said, holding his hands up to the hearth, “what have we got so far?”

“Not much,” he replied, tearing apart the loaf of bread a barmaid had brought over moments prior, “a couple people stopped me at the inn to ask me if I was here to kill the beast, but they didn’t have any information to offer besides the fact that it was a constant threat.”

“Well, maybe you’ll have more luck here – I mean look around, you’d think the whole town’s come to drink!”

“Port cities, Jask,” Geralt said, letting his gaze scan the room slowly, “the people here either spend their days at the mercy of the sea or waiting for their loved ones to come home. You drink for sorrow and for hope of a bright tomorrow.”

“That was poetic as fuck, Geralt! My influence?” he teased, shooting the witcher a cheeky grin, who merely grunted distractedly in reply.

Now ignoring his still-talking friend, Geralt’s eyes had landed on the two women working behind the bar. One was talking excitedly and kept casting quick glances toward the bard, blushing brightly when she caught his eye, while the other was watching Geralt with inquisitive eyes.

“… I tell you Geralt the more you allow yourself to – oh! Speaking of which, here come a few now!” Jaskier flourished, winking enthusiastically at the blushing barmaid who was making her way towards them sheepishly.

Geralt sat back in his chair and rolled his eyes, already tired of the flirting he was about to witness. To his surprise and great pleasure, Jaskier got up and met her halfway, leaving him in peace with his thoughts.

Having brought his attention back down to the bread before him, Geralt didn’t notice that he had company until she was right in front of him. Sensing her presence, he shot his gaze up quickly, and found her staring at his wolf medallion with a quirked brow.

“Forgive me,” she started, her deep, velvet-like voice washing over Geralt like morning sun after a cold night, “but you’re… a witcher?”

“I am,” he replied, giving her a crooked smile, his own voice, low and gravely and smooth, not going unnoticed by the woman before him. “Geralt, of Rivia.”

“Oh fuck,” she said, with a breathy sort of laugh, “so you’re not a witcher, you’re the Witcher then, aren’t you?”

Geralt let out a low and modest grunt, shaking his head at the comment. He thought himself immune to the scrutiny and awe that came with being the White Wolf, having carried the title for so long, but there was something about the way she was looking at him that left him shy.

“I’m,” he faltered needing to stop to clear his throat, having made the mistake to look her in the eyes, “just a witcher. Really.”

“Well, they don’t send you out for just anything, do they? For you to be out here in our little hamlet…” she squinted at him with a small tilt of her head, “we must be under some kind of threat. Should I be worried?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me, –” he stopped, waiting for her to introduce herself.

“Y/N,” she replied quickly, offering Geralt a warm smile despite the fact that she’d just crossed her arms, “and I mean we do get the odd ruffian coming through town. They always make a mess of things, don’t they? Beyond that, well, I suppose alcohol does breed violence in some,” she gave a light, one shouldered shrug, “but that’s not the kind of crime that would reach your ears.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully, taking his time to consider Y/N’s words. She seemed almost too friendly, and there was something about her that both drew him in and had him putting up his guard.

“A monster has been picking the men of the village off one by one.” Leaning back into his chair to put some distance between them. “I’m surprised you wouldn’t be aware, considering,” he nodded towards the bar, “your job here.”

“Meaning what?” she retorted, wearing a playful smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Only that you must hear a lot,” he gestured vaguely to the crowd surrounding them, “and see a lot, doing what you do. I would have expected that the disappearance and dismemberment of men in town would be something of note.”

“Well,” Y’N tsked, “I’m sorry to say that you’ve been brought out here on something of a fool’s errand. There’s no monster here; the tale of disappearing men has been told here for months. It started with a woman, too embarrassed to admit that the man who impregnated her left her overnight, telling everyone that a creature from the forest killed him. From there the story grew wilder with every retelling.”

“Hm,” Geralt hummed, watching Y/N carefully with narrow eyes, “I was told dismembered body parts were turning up, consistently, after each disappearance, and that they were being identified as belonging to the latest victim. Besides, I was hired to come here. Why would someone pay me coin to rid a town of ghost?”

“People struck by tragedy will claim to see many things, Sir Geralt,” she replied softly, “not all of them will be true. A dead fish floating at sea, a creature mauled by wolves by the roads, rotten meats abandoned by vendors…” she shrugged, “the mind will twist the truth in order to bring comfort. Who hired you?” 

She added that last question quickly, and Geralt could tell it was calculated. Sensing this, he only replied with a quirked brow and a tilt of his head. 

Y/N betrayed no sense of frustration when she realized the Witcher wasn’t going to elaborate. Instead, her eyes softened, and she smiled at Geralt with what he perceived as pity. 

“Look, the truth is that there is no monster here. Isn’t that right Thalia?”

“Sorry, what?” Thalia, who had just walked back over the Geralt’s table with a tray of ales in her hands, was breathlessly giggling at something Jaskier had whispered in her ear. As she and Jaskier placed four ales on the table, Y/N took a seat across from the Witcher and quickly explained got the two up to speed.

“Oh goodness, that! I can not believe our town’s little lore made it to your ears, Sir Geralt!” She said with wide eyes as she snuggled up next to Jaskier, clinking her tankard with his before taking a generous sip.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jaskier coughed on his ale, “you’re telling me there’s no monster here? That we might actually be able to enjoy a little rest and relaxation here without any horrible monster-killing business? Geralt this is good news!” he exclaimed, smacking his free hand on the table for emphasis.

Geralt only growled out a hum in response, never taking his eyes off Y/N.

“I’ll admit,” Thalia continued, seemingly unaware of the tension between the Witcher and her friend, “it’s scary to think about – you know, murder – but when you actually think about who disappears, it’s not difficult to see the truth.”

At this, Geralt turned his fierce gaze away from Y/N. “What do you mean, ‘who disappears’?”

“O-only that the men who leave aren’t really the type that anyone would miss.” She replied, stuttering a little against her best efforts to not recoil at Geralt’s inhuman eye-contact. “They were mean, violent types. The kind of man that would get crueler the more he drank. Just, awful, evil men, right Y/N?”

Y/N nodded quickly in agreement, taking a slow sip of her ale. “Good riddance.”

“Exactly!” Thalia agreed, clinking her glass to Y/N’s.

“Hell, I’ll drink to that,” Jaskier laughed, before picking his lute up off the floor. “What do you say ladies, a song?”

Thalia cheered loudly and encouraged the rest of the patrons to listen to the bard, letting them all know that he was in fact, the one who traveled with the great White Wolf. Jaskier was positively floating from the adoration as he danced around the pub, pulling cheers and applause after every song.

All the while, Geralt never took his eyes off of Y/N, who had retreated back to the bar after finishing her drink.

Geralt wasn’t sure what to believe. He had a strange feeling about this place from the moment he and the bard arrived, and it frustrated him to no end that even after hours in town, he was no closer to understanding the source of his discomfort. One thing was for certain, something about the story he heard here tonight did not add up, and he definitely didn’t trust its source.

Y/N was standing behind the bar washing glasses, but she wasn’t focused on the task at hand. Instead, her eyes were trained on the crowd before her. Geralt watched her as she scanned the pub with calm, slow-moving eyes that jumped from patron to patron.

The witcher was distracted for a moment when Jaskier sauntered into his sightline, singing a loud chorus of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher. Despite himself, Geralt couldn’t help but smile at the bard, whose face was flushed from the ales and the exertion.

However, as Geralt watched Jaskier twirl across the crowded pub, something in his peripheral vision made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Y/N had turned he head and was staring right at him with a pair of pitch-black eyes.  

Like a shot, Geralt turned his gaze to the woman behind the bar – his heart beating loudly in his ears – only to find her smiling warmly at him, her eyes their normal shade.

Instinctively, Geralt brought his hand up to his wolf-head medallion, hoping it would signal the presence of some supernatural evil. But he felt nothing.

He didn’t know what she was, but she was not human.

[talpup]

I just found read your crossroads fic over on Ao3, and damn sweetheart, I am in LOVE with this classy mob styled version of Overhaul you have going on. The smut in that last chapter was abso-fucking-lutely to die for! But I really need to know something about his character in this story. He was obviously a virgin, but r there any specific kinks he’s been thinking about or planning on trying with her?

*blush* THANK YOU!!!  You can blame my good friend and favorite Kai fanfic author @inorganicone2230 They’re the one that spurred me into having the idea for this fic and then (like they’ve done with all my bnha fics) encouraged me to write it and brainstormed with me.

Yes, Kai was a virgin. Though his skill level might test some folks suspension of disbelief (something I try not to do too much in my fics, even though I write mostly fantasy).

Kai’s kinks in this fic might be fairly tame by our standards.  But it is a 1920′s era au fic.  Don’t really know if they’re kinks; but Kai would love to spank Maya then bend her over his desk and…

...so I don’t know if you saw my post.  But I decided to do a short smutty scenario thanks/inspired by this ask.  So here you go.  Sorry it’s so short.  Between having my ‘poison juice’ (aka infusion) last Friday and unexpected visitors yesterday and the day before I’ve been kinda wiped.

FYI this little scene would take place after things settled a bit from the last and (eventual) upcoming chapter.

WARNINGS: spanking, non-con, creampie, cockwarming;  Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers.  For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

Promised Pleasure

Removing his dust mask as Maya entered his office, Kai frowned at her attire. “That’s not what I told you to wear today.”

Maya’s shoulders tensed.  She foolishly hadn’t expected her choice of clothes to be an issue.  She should've known better.  Still, her pride wouldn’t let her apologize.  And she knew Kai would sniff out any lie.

Deciding a gently put truth was best, she stepped further in his office.  “I felt like wearing this.”

Kai’s golden eyes narrowed.  She was testing boundaries again.  And her testing was trying his temper.  “Close the door please, my Dear.”

Despite the politeness of the ask, a shiver ran up Maya’s spine.  Mouth suddenly dry, she turned and closed the door with a shaky hand.

“Lock it.”  Kai ordered, voice taking on a twinge of sharpness.  He had called her in here hoping for a nice diversion.  But with his beautiful girl acting so spiteful he would have to resign himself to giving her a lesson.

Maya’s hand paused on the door.  The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

“Maya. Lock the door, Darling.  You know how I dislike repeating myself.”

The slow scrape of the lock setting in place deafened Maya to everything but her ragged breathing and thundering heart.  She didn’t hear Kai’s next words.  So when she turned back around, it was to find him looking more annoyed then ever.

Smothering her nerves, Maya met Kai’s piercing gaze head on.  “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

Unlacing his fingers, Kai sat back.  “I told you to come here.  This is the second time I’ve had to repeat myself.  I won’t do so again.”

Maya shuffled hesitantly toward Kai’s desk.

Kai pushed back and slightly turned the chair he was sitting in.  “This side.  Come around near me.”

She moved around the desk, stopping a couple paces from his spread legs. Skin prickling under the caress of his roving gaze, her breath caught glimpsing the bulge in his pants.

At least Kai always brought her pleasure.  Unlike the disgusting landlord who had used her and left without care or glance after.  Kai always made her feel special.  Beautiful.  Loved.  In those moments of heated bliss she lost herself and forgot she was doing this solely for justice for her brother.  Basking in Kai’s twisted affection and the delightful pleasure he gave she’d start to believe she truly cared for him in return.  That they could make something of this.  Possibly enter a real relationship that wouldn’t end when he did as he promised and saw those who killed her brother put down.

Maya stared at the tailored suit jacket hanging over the back of Kai’s chair.  Anything to avoid seeing the twitching cock in his pants.

“Why don’t you serve me some water and unbutton my vest for me, Sweetheart.”

It wasn’t a question, or even a suggestion.  Maya knew well enough it was an order.  But with Kai’s honeyed tone and adoring gaze it was easy to trick her mind into believing there would be no consequences for disobedience.

Turning over a heavy tumbler that sat on a silver tray at the end of his desk, she took up the crystal carafe and poured.  Setting the glass in front of him, her fidgeting hands fell to her side, smoothing her skirt.

Her delay in following his second commend had Kai rising to his feet. Maya stepped back even as she hurriedly reached for his vest, seeking to rectify the offense.  Kai grabbed her wrist before she touched him.

Maya grimaced at the too tight grip.  “I’m sorry.  I--”

Kai pulled her roughly against him.  Maya stumbled, heels catching on the plush area rug.  She fell against his chest.  His expensive cologne assaulted her nose.  She loved the smell but hated smelling it as she only got a whiff when Kai had her in his space.

Suddenly gentle, Kai’s strong arms steadied her.  “Careful, Sweetheart. We don’t want you hurting yourself.”  He caressed her cheek, brushing the hair out of her face with a tenderness that didn’t match the blazing fire in his amber eyes.

Maya held perfectly still, struggling not to flinch. The way Kai flipped from loving and sweet to caustic and hurtful on a penny dime was what frightened her most about him.

Smiling, Kai’s head dipped.  “You’re so beautiful, Darling.  So soft and beautiful.”

His tender lips graced hers in a chaste kiss.  Maya’s lashes fluttered closed accepting the kiss, thinking she had escaped his anger.  Her body jerked at a sudden tug.  The sound of something ripping rang out in the room.  A sudden cold strike of air hit her front torso pebbling her nipples.

Maya’s eyes shot open with a gasping cry.  Kai had rent her blouse and camisole open.

“If you refuse to wear what I tell you to.  Maybe you should be left with nothing to wear at all.”

“Kai… I’m--”

Kai cupped her cheek.  “I don’t want to hear it, Sweetheart.  You apologize and apologize but keep on going astray from the clear, defined rules I’ve set.  My love for you has seen me be more than patient.  But I’m afraid my patience has come to an end.”

Maya stumbled again, her world spinning as she was quickly turned and shoved down against the desk.  The glass of water she served slid off the surface and fell to the floor.  It’s crash accentuated Maya’s surprised cry.  Mind reeling, she didn’t feel the splash of water soak her hose.

“Ka—ah!” She broke off with a scream, senses assaulted by the sound of her tearing skirt.  The cold hard desk against her breast and torso and Kai’s painful grip on the back of her neck.  Her nose burned, eyes watering from the lingering smell cleaner that clung to the polished surface.

Hand still holding her down, Kai dropped her ruined skirt.  His freed hand slid over the silky slip she worn.  So soft, he mused.  But not anywhere as soft as the flesh beneath.  That covering was pulled down along with her panties.

“Kai! What are you--”  Maya broke off with another shouted cry.

The crack of his hand hitting her ass echoed about the room.  Maya’s back arched at the blooming fire but was roughly pushed back down against the desk.

“Stay, my Love.  You wouldn’t want to upset me further and earn yourself another lesson after this.”

Wiping tears from her eyes, Maya tried to look back at him.  For a moment she swore she saw a horrid bird-like beast in place of her handsome tormentor.  But the monstrous vision was gone quicker than she could blink.

“Le—le—lesson?” She stammered.

“For continually testing your bounds.”  Kai leaned forward, low rasp tickling her ear.  “I’m afraid this will hurt, my Dear.  But know, that it will hurt me to do it more than it’ll hurt you.”

Ass still stinging from the first spank Maya doubted that.  By the third strike she was certain Kai enjoyed it and was glad for the chance to discipline her supposed disobedience.  Confirmation of his delight came when he paused after the fourth hit and ran a hand over her blazing butt-cheeks.

Kai’s fingers traced the red marks, trailing over the rising welts.  He loved Maya’s perfect, soft skin.  But there was a possessive pride in seeing her flesh temporarily marred by the work of his hand.  It sparked something primal in him, turning his tender caress into a rough, digging grope.  She was beautiful, his beloved.  A perfect little darling that would fit so well beside him in the new wholesome world he was working to usher in.  Or at least she would be once she learned to listen and obey without hesitance or question.

No one but him could touch her.  Certainly no one else was allowed to see her in such a weakened and debauched state.  Kai growled at the thought, fingers digging into the meat of her ass.  He would gouge the persons eyes out.  Cut out their tongue, and break their knees and fingers.  Then grant them a slow, painful death for having seen his darling like this.  Because this…  His other hand loosened and trailed down her neck, slinking around her side to cup her breast, reveling in the weight as she lifted a bit thinking they were done.   ...this was for him, and him alone.   His throbbing dick ground against her raw ass.

Maya’s lips pressed together between clenched teeth, biting back a cry at the burning pain.  Halfway into righting herself her back bumped Kai’s chest.

Weight rested on his hand planted to her side on the desk, Kai’s chin hooked over her shoulder.  “Think you’ve learned your lesson, Beautiful?”

Breast heaving with a shuddering breath, Maya nodded.

“Doesn’t appear so.  You know how I prefer worded responses.”

“Yes!” Maya expelled.  “Yes.  I’ve learned my lesson.  Please, Kai. I’m sorry.  So very sorry.  It won’t ever happen again.”

Kai’s knuckles glided down her back.  Other hand gripping her hip he pulled her blistered ass against his leaking erection.  “Why don’t we test that?  Bend over, Sweetheart.”  Annoyed as he was by her hesitance, he smiled lightly.  “Either you haven’t learned your lesson.  Or liked it so much you want another.”

Before Maya could respond she was pushed and held down on the desk.  Her eyes shot wide at the resounding spank.  Fresh tears sprang from her eyes as they squeezed shut at the sharp boiling pain.  “Kai! Please!  I’m--”

Another hit landed.  Then another.

Kai stopped after the tenth.  Staring down at her trembling frame he had a moments regret.  He should have made her count.  Next time, he told himself.

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his vest.  Amber eyes skimmed over his handy work.  Just when he thought she couldn’t be more beautiful…  Even her mix of drool and tears puddled on the desk were lovely.

Lost in the consuming tumble of dull thudding pain accentuated by sharp stinging bursts, Maya didn’t hear the jangle of Kai’s belt being undone.  She jolted at his hand slipping between her legs. Whimpering as his prodding fingers dragging through her folds.

Kai frowned at the minimal moisture.  Usually Maya got so wet for him. It wounded and upset him.  But before those emotions could take root his eyes drifted back to the pool of saliva on his desk.  His heart lightened.  Even with her punishment his darling had thought of him and his needs.  Proving she loved him as much as he loved her.

He leaned over her and kissed her tear-stained cheek.  “Thank you, my Dear.  You’re so sweet and good for me.”

Maya’s lashes fluttered.  She watched Kai’s hand trail through her drool, gathering it.

Bringing his wet hand to his freed length, Kai slathered her saliva over his shaft.  He grimaced, skin prickling with the beginnings of a inch. But soothed himself that was Maya.  She was clean.  Worthy.  His.

It’s like indirect oral, he thought with a steadying breath.  The prickling itch diminished then fully disappeared as he focused on Maya, pumping his fist to fully wet his cock.

Lining up his cock he leaned back over her and kissed her shoulder.  “You’ve had you’re punishment, Darling.  And you took it so well.  Now, let me remind you of my love and the pleasure I can give.”

Maya’s shining eyes flicked to Kai’s.  Her brow furrowed.  Was it the light?  Or was there a dim otherworldly glow in those honeyed depths? The image of the demon Dabi’s bright burning eyes flashed through her mind.  But it vanished in an instant from the breach of Kai’s fat cock head.  She would've cried out at the burning stretch if her breath hadn’t seized in her lungs.

Kai hissed at the pull of his sensitive skin.  Maya’s drool helped. But it didn’t provide the smooth silky glide her delicious arousal did.  Wanting the discomfort over with he snapped his hips flush against her, driving his length in her tight hole.

Fully sheathed, Kai slowly exhaled.  His eyes closed, head rolling back. Taking a moment to simply feel, he basked in her velvety embrace.  This would never get old. Slipping his aching cock into Maya’s perfect, tight pussy.  Feeling her walls stretch to make room for him then flutter as they adjusted to his penetrating presence was something that consumed his thoughts; just like everything else about her.

Maya mewled the most pitiful whine beneath him and Kai lost it.  His darling was just so sweet.  So beautiful.  So helpless.

His hips pulled back and slammed right back against her.

If asked, Maya wouldn’t have been able to say if her scream was from the hard thrust or Kai’s pelvis pounding into her blazing red backside.

Her back arched, lifting her off the desk.

One hand gripping her hip, Kai’s other hand grabbed the back of Maya’s neck and shoved her back down.  Never once did his ramming thrusts stop.

The once dulling pain of Maya’s welted ass sharpened again.  Fresh tears seeped from her eyes.  Kai had lied.  He had said she had her punishment.  The pain was suppose to be over.  But every thrust was just another spank.  Until…

Kai’s feet shifted.  Angling his hips he hit that spot in her that had her seeing stars.

Pleasure mixed with the pain.  The rough scrape of his trousers zipper didn’t hurt as badly.  Even the occasional jab of his belts buckle didn’t make her want to crawl up and die.

Kai almost reached around to finger her clit.  But an idea struck him. It was scandalous.  But so was fucking his darling over his desk.  He groaned, cock twitching at the thought.  His pace sped seeking his own release without a care for hers.

Maya rocked against the desk.  Her hips started to push back against him despite the blazing pain to her ass.  A different kind of heat pooled in her belly.  But just as the coil started to tighten another warmth filled her.

Kai thrust deep inside Maya, cock coming alive.  He grunted, pushing his hips firmly against her, driving her against the desk, seeking to get even deeper as hot ropes of cum spit from his pulsing cock.

Building orgasm lost, Maya deflated atop the desk.  Her nails clawed at the polished surface, hands balling into weak fists.  Though grateful it was over, she couldn’t help but be bit bitter about Kai’s second lie.  ‘...let me remind you of my love and the pleasure I can give.’ Yes, she had felt some pleasure.  But she hadn’t gotten her full pleasure.

She waited for Kai to pull out.  When he didn’t she looked back at him.

Kai greeted her with a smug smile.  “You didn’t cum.  Did you?”

Maya’s mouth fell open.

Before she could respond, her torso was pulled up off the desk.  Heated as his skin was through his button-up shirt, Maya shivered the instant her back touched his chest.

Kai’s arms wrapped around her.  He held her firmly against him, keeping his cock snugly inside her.   His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Did you think I forgot about my promise, Sweetheart?  I said I was going to remind you of the pleasure I can give.”

Keeping her glued against him, Kai retook his seat.  Head a whirl of confusion, Maya barely grimaced at the discomfort of his softening cock shifting inside her.  The heated pain of her abused butt numbed by her racing mind trying to figure out what Kai was doing.

Soon enough she got her answer and wished she never had.

“I’m a man of man word, my Love.  What do you say you keep me warm while I do some work?  Then I can give you that promised pleasure.”

After this, Kai might develop a breeding kink to go with spanking, rough office sex, and cokwarming.

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

Thank you all for being so patient with me and the posting of this fic.  Special thanks to Anon for the ask and inspiring this one shot.  And as always, an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230​ for being the best fellow writer friend (and friend in general) and encouraging and brainstorming with me.  I mean it when I say I would’ve given up posting long ago if it wasn’t for your support.

[ramblingguy54]

Am I the only one that got simillar vibes with Della finding out Louie was responsible for the Timephoon and Goofy finding out Max changed the map in Goofy Movie? It's cause both involve a struggling parent who thought their kids could do no wrong until they find out in a bad way just how wrong they are.

Abso-fucking-lutely on the mark there, man.

Della’s entire parental conflict in Timephoon mirrors A Goofy Movie’s powerful scene where Goofy looks at the map directions Max changed. Timephoon is easily a masterfully crafted story about a parent having to put their foot down, even if some part of them doesn’t want to, but it needed to be done. Definitely got those vibes myself too about Della’s anger against Louie being very much how deeply hurt and angered Goofy felt at Max lying to him after how much trust he put into treating him as an equal with their road trip directions. Timephoon is up there in my top favorite episodes of the show because it delivers powerfully on what makes Della an endearing, relatable, and highly empathetic character.

What makes Timephoon stand out, pun entirely intended, as an amazing episode is how it studies Della’s loose parenting style she’s been very lenient about with her kids. Something Beakly rightfully calls her out on for being too easy on them when they do stuff that should be addressed, so when you’ve got a kid under your care like Louie it can lead into not so pretty results. Della had to almost learn this lesson at the cost of her entire family, not to mention their whole reality, she had just gotten back not too long ago, as well. Della wasn’t simply just mad at Louie, but furious at him for endangering something she had been longing for in all that painful seclusion on the Moon. She was also upset at herself, considering she finally understood Beakly’s rebuttal about proper parenting as everything she had worked so many days to achieve reuniting with her family was about to wiped clean by Louie’s time traveling scheme to get rich.

A Goofy Movie & Timephoon share the painful lesson of parenting and how it can reflect upon their guardian’s characterization to boot. It’s why Goofy hesitating to open the glove compartment, where they were keeping their road trip map, was so powerfully heartbreaking. Goofy didn’t want to check the map because he was afraid if Max did change their plans to go fishing and head straight to LA for Powerline, then it would mean Max doesn’t respect him as much as Goofy believes him to in the grand scheme of things. This isn’t simply a matter of, “Oh, your kid is bad. Time to lay down the law”, no way. The importance of this moment greatly examines Goofy’s insecurity about being viewed in a bad light by his own son. Goofy can shrug off and tolerate people not thinking much of him, but when Max hates being around his father enough to back stab him are when things take a serious heel turn in the story. When Pete told him that Max changed the map we saw a very serious and vulnerable side to Goofy’s happy go lucky personality. He was utterly crushed by the possibility of Max lying to him, which we see how deeply angered he gets at Pete’s accusation. If Goofy were to accept Pete’s account of Max changing the map and why it happened, this would be a painful punchline for him having to accept that Max doesn’t want to be apart of the family legacy he’s attempting to share on their sentimental road trip.

Della has a highly similar character study in how her parenting style comes back to bite her in the ass. Timephoon examines that while, sure, Della can be a very loving and understanding parent to her children, regarding their needs for affection, she doesn’t know how to put her foot down when one of them steps out of line. In this case, Louie took advantage of her lenient nature to try sweeping his serious oversight of time travel under the rug, but inevitably gets caught by her. Della has been fighting tooth and nail to get home to her kids, so it makes for an amazing poetic gut punch to see the cause of almost destroying their family being the very thing she cares most of all for, one of her kids being the culprit. Della hadn’t been paying much mind to Beakly’s advice until things started getting truly terrible for their situation, so there’s no doubt Della was severely beating herself up. It was because of Della’s spoiling nature for her kids and carelessness she didn’t see the trouble brewing under her nose. Worst case scenario, Della could’ve lost her entire family forever, if she hadn’t stumbled across Louie in time to fix this huge mess he got them all into.

Timephoon shows an amazing parallel of Louie representing Della’s greatest mistake, The Spear of Selene. Della had confidence in braving the unknown of space not just as a seasoned adventurer, but because she wanted to gift her children with a new way to explore their universe being space. Della had never journeyed to space before, so what better gift for her children when they were old enough to do so, right? Louie’s arrogance very much is symbolic of how Della took the Spear, which led to catastrophic consequences. It’s very important to note those factors because this is exactly why Della got so angry with him. She saw the worst of herself in Louie’s actions with time traveling. Louie almost costed them everything solely because he didn’t think through what the kid was getting himself into. Della looked at this as not only needing to be better with a stricter parental attitude, but a reminder of how much she messed up before.

Timephoon & A Goofy Movie should seriously shake hands because they’ve got serious gut punches all around. Della gets thrown the angst line, “I wonder who I got that from...”, from the boy she held in her arms back in Nothing Can Stop Della Duck hitting her where it greatly hurts. What always strikes me about that moment is Della not speaking a word of response to Louie. You can tell Della wants to say something about how much deep seeded remorse she feels for what her past actions did to the entire family, overall. Goofy, on the other hand, sends Max a heavy hitter statement when he finally tries to confess to his father about changing the map directions. When he said, “Why bother? I’m probably too stupid to understand anyway, right?”, God I could feel his pain 200 times over. Goofy wanted to share his family history with Max, so to find out his own son looks down upon who he is must’ve felt like more than a slap in the face. You know what they say in theaters, “Silence is golden.”, considering it’s worth more than a million spoken words. Della & Goofy’s pain revolving around their kids can be felt in their silent expressions after having it out with them in an intensely charged confrontation. That’s what we call beautiful drama right there.

So, yeah, consider this another in-depth post, besides an anon answer, for why I love Timephoon so damn much. It wonderfully explores what makes Della Duck who she is and why I root to see her do better, too. It sharing elements with A Goofy Movie only makes my rewatch experience of it all the sweeter.

[offaeandcreation]

Sleep-Deprived College Student Becomes World's Strongest Cultivator By Bullshit Means

Summary:The last thing WanLi An (Ani) expected was to a) die in the most pathetic and ridiculous manner, b) wake up in the body of a villain destined to be beheaded in a war of their own making. Of course with Ani's luck, that's exactly what happened. Now Ani finds herself the ruthless, morally-questionable at best, leader of Qishan Wen, rearing two bratty children, while pretending that yes, she is absolutely Wen Ruohan. Nothing to see here! Everything is just fine. Except the universe isn't done making her life hell. "For fuck's sake, I just wanted my degree!"

Chapter 1: Holy Fucking Shit

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11+ 

Content Warnings: Death, Mourning, Dirty Jokes

AO3

On my gravestone, I want the following epithet: Murdered by heels via the eighth floor window. Gravity was a co-conspirator. 

There she flew, like an outtake of 'It's a Wonderful Life', skirt flapping in the wind harder than a can-can dancer's. Ani, known to her angry mother as WanLi An, was NOT about to become the world's next human pudding if she had any say about it. She reached for the psychology department’s brick edges, anything to stop the fall that ended in concrete. 

Supergirl, now’s your chance! Fulfill my lesbian dream!  

As she waited for the inevitable hero to come swooping in, a familiar object flew past her like from the Rabbit Hole scene in ‘Alice in Wonderland’: the softcover book she’d been reading, glossy title flashing its Chinese characters, ‘Mo Dao Zu Shi’.  

Oh ya, I could learn to fly on a sword!

She made a grab at it but missed, watching the wind sweep it away. Another possession flew into Ani’s line of sight: a pink tote bag with the words ‘Happy Birthday’ written on it – for A-Li. His meringues packed inside, made just for him to stuff his face with with the intention of proving that yes, he can fit five in his mouth now, all came flying out. The wind clearly wanted to take them for itself. 

Those are for A-Li you air-bag! 

Waving her arms around, she tried to reach for the helicoptering meringues with much gusto and much failure.The whistle in her ear might as well have been snickering.  

A photograph slipped into Ani’s line of sight taken back in China of her entire family: her parents, grandmother, A-Li, days before her father died. 

The wind stole the air out of her lungs. Ani lunged out for the photo, stretching as far as she possibly could while having no anchor. Fingertips brushed it as it flitted into the wind’s grasp, leaving her outstretched hand empty, small.  She lunged again, muscles bulging as she strained towards the closest corner. Failure. The wind howled in laughter. 

No! No don’t do this! 

Ani screamed at the wind that tore at her, at the grey sky that looked at her with no mercy. 

I’m going to die. I can’t die- Grandmother, I can’t! Not now. I have to take care of A-Li–

A single tear kissed her cheek before floating in the air, too light to fall, before she plunged into the concrete. 

Xxxxxxxxxx

Ani’s eyes shot open, a gasp escaping her lips. Her heart pounded into the pillows she was lying face-first in, breathing as if she’d just woken up from a nightmare. 

She was in bed. At home. Safe. Her muscles relaxed, sinking into the mattress beneath-

Something hard resisted against her body, as if the mattress was more akin to a wooden board then memory foam. She blinked, allowing her hands to wander the bed, pressing and feeling against silky bedding. 

This isn’t my bed- 

Wait.

She shouldn’t even be in bed.

 Ani lunged out for the photo, stretching as far as she possibly could without an anchor. Fingertips brushed it as it flitted into the wind’s grasp, leaving her outstretched hand empty, small.  She lunged again, muscles bulging as she strained towards the closest corner. Failure. The wind howled in laughter. 

She should have died.

I fell. 

I fell eight stories. 

I fell eight stories onto concrete.  

Ani sat up, finally looking where she was lying. She was in a large bed with a thick, silky, maroon blanket – something that her grandmother would have owned.  

What the fuck?

Ani looked up. Wooden beams criss-crossed above her, holding up a low ceiling made of an unknown dark wood. 

Why was there a ceiling? Wasn’t I just seconds ago falling out of a building into the concrete, outside? Where no ceilings could exist? 

Ani crawled towards the edge of the bed to take a good look. 

It wasn’t a ceiling, but a wooden canopy, with ostentatious diamond and floral engravings, accompanied by transparent red and black valance.  

Where am I?

Ani finally looked up from the bed. Her eyes bulged. Three college classrooms couldn’t have fit within this single bedroom. 

 Beyond the bed, a built-in nightstand had been covered in glass bottles, some small as pennies and others like glass blown art, and torn white sheets . 

 Bandages perhaps? I’m supposed to be in a hospital…? This doesn’t look like a hospital bed.

Beyond, silky red and woolen carpets decorated the dark floors.  Across the room, a large table sat perpendicular to the wall covered in stacks of scrolls.

Some regular-old New York City hospital most definitely wouldn’t have this – a waste of space and money. 

Ani blinked. Where was the IV drip? The heart monitor? White curtains? The sink? The putrid smell of alcohol and plastic? Flowers? She definitely deserved flowers. Especially after everything. 

What sorry excuse of a hospital is this?! An alt-medicine hospital?Did they give me acid? Was the whole accidentally-falling-out-of-a-building-from-the-top-floor-because-why-not sequence a dream? 

Ani rubbed her eyes to make absolutely certain she wasn’t indeed hallucinating. Except, her hand felt strange, as if someone attached weights to them without asking her permission. Ani pulled at them with more force, until she smacked herself in the face. She hissed in pain, glaring at her stupid hand-

What. The. Fuck.

This wanna-be-Micky-mouse-glove abomination was abso-fucking-lutely not her hand. She brought it close, staring at the long pale fingers, razor sharp nails –absolutely a lesbian hazard – and delicate wrist. It was at least twice the size of her face, and felt…foreign. Flexible, catching more air. Ani was pretty sure she could make shoes out of these hands and comfortably walk in them and with room.

She brought up her other hand in comparison. To her utter horror, they matched!

Ani closed her eyes, hoping that somehow to conjure up her smaller, tanner, lesbian-friendly hands. She opened one eye, her kernel of hope popping 

Nope. 

Either Ani was tripping very hard on acid to the point that her brain forgot the importance of clipped nails, or she’d fallen eight floors and needed a transplant and the only thing available were these man-hands. 

Cold pooled in Ani’s gut. Ani tossed off the blankets, scrambling to her feet. She ran towards the golden mirror attached to a nearby vanity. Despite skidding to a stop, her torso continued its trajectory until she face-planted into the floor. 

“Fuck,” she bit out. 

The sound that came out of her mouth was not the familiar timbre of her voice. She coughed and spoke again. 

“Hello.” 

It sounded so wrong. Ani spoke a few more words– “Hewwo,” “Nya-Nya,” “Nico Nico Nii,” “Motherfucker,”– before taking a deeper breath. No matter what sounds she made, the voice remained low like a choral bass singer. As low as her father’s had been. Tears welled in Ani’s eyes as she slowly tried to get to her feet, head spinning.

What’s happening? Why are my hands weird? Why is my voice weird! 

 Even her feet were weird: pale and big like her hands. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck, trickling down her back into the collar of white robes that fell to her calves. She never could afford something like this.

 Nor did hospitals supply silk robes. 

 She brushed the robes aside as she got to her knees, her jaw throbbing, and faced the golden mirror. 

The face that stared back at her wasn’t her own. 

It was a face of man, with bright, unnatural scarlet eyes. 

The mirror broke. 

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Ani flinched at the violent crack. She looked behind her, searching for whatever had broken the mirror. Outside of the table and a sliding-door that led to who-knows-where, there was nothing that could have caused the damage. 

She closed her eyes, counting to ten. Reopened them. She closed her eyes, counting to twenty. Reopened them. The same unknown male face stared back at her: long oval face, messy bed-head black hair, and vivid crimson eyes, tinted slightly by the color of the mirror. Not the round face, short dark hair and eyes that she has seen in the mirror every day for twenty-three years. Not the face she preferred. 

Red eyes? Seriously? Red? Hardly realistic. 

Not even albino irises were this intense. She backed away from the mirror, coming into the body’s full height. At least twice her height - which explains the sheer size of her hands and feet. 

At least I’ll be able to reach the top shelves without being laughed at. 

The thought quickly scurried away the longer she looked at herself. The mirror mimicked every move she made. The cracks distorted her figure– no, the man’s figure. 

What’s happening? What’s going on? Why am I in this body? Is this a hallucination? 

Ani mentally ran through all her psychology courses until she had an idea. 

Wait, there is still one more test. People who suffer from delusions often attempt to use other senses to figure out if they truly are seeing what is in front of them. So if this is all a delusion- 

Shutting her eyes, Ani stuck her hand between her legs-

Yup. That was most definitely not there before. I’m in a man’s body. Confirmed. 

She groaned, sinking to the floor in defeat, resting her head on the table. Leaning her head back, she noticed the scrolls wrapped in beige ribbons.  

Perhaps these documents will tell me what the hell is going on. 

She pulled at the ribbons, looking for something, anything that could give her answers. She scanned the unfurled parchment, noticing a collection of vertical lines, occasionally underlined once or twice that made no sense to her. Dates? 

She could understand the Chinese characters, except the style was clearly more archaic, with words that would never be used in any book that would be found at home. Except the older poetry books, because poets like to be pretentious know-it-alls. 

Ani looked for writing utensils, except instead of finding pencils and pens that every self-respecting person would have, she found only bamboo brushes. 

‘Want to learn?’ a memory itched at the back of her mind, floating to the surface. 

Her grandmother had returned from Beijing, eyes crinkling with a smile that her bright blue face mask hid. Ten-year old Ani cried out in happiness, rushing towards the open door in only her purple floral pajamas. Her father grabbed her before she could topple her grandmother with an unexpected bear hug. 

‘Ani, Ani, look what I brought you,’ she said with a familiar grin the moment she pulled down her mask under her aging chin.

From a plastic bag, she removed several shiny brushes, the bamboo wood birch-yellow, polished to a shine, and the bristles a variety of browns and white, pointy like a pencil.  

Her grandmother handed them to her, ‘Now Ani, these are the brushes of our ancestors, they used to work with these so long ago to make beautiful calligraphy. Want to learn?’ 

With careful fingers, Ani lifted one of the brushes, running her finger over the bristles and the smooth handle. These weren’t the brushes her grandmother gave her – the handles weren’t as dark nor as smooth as the wood lacked the sheen polish that modern brushes had, and the bristles were more frayed – not supported by synthetic material. These weren’t her grandmother’s brushes but- 

“Am I…in the past?” 

She scanned the space around her, searching for any sign of modern technology. A fireplace, a wardrobe that most probably cost at least a quarter of her tuition, mats that most definitely were made of organic material, not the synthetic fibers of the modern age. There wasn’t a single modern artifact in the room.

“I’m in the PAST?” Ani cried out, tearing at her hair, “How did THIS happen?” 

Her heart beat pounded in her ears. How? How? How? How! 

“Sect Leader Wen!” 

Ani yelped, grabbing  a bronze candle holder as the door slid open. She backed up into the mirror, glad it hadn’t shattered earlier. Assuming whatever entered the room wasn't trying to kill her, the last thing she needed was to pay for broken property just because she stared too hard at the mirror. 

A man with dull robes walked in on his knees. Their eyes met and he fell into a bow, face first into the hard wooden floors. 

“We are pleased to see you awake Sect Leader!” 

Yes, I’m sure you are. 

 “Physician Wen is being notified now,” he continued. “Is there anything that we can do for you in the meanwhile, Sect Leader Wen?” 

Luckily, the servant was too busy digging his nose into the floor and quivering like a vibrator to notice the way her mouth dropped along with the candle. 

Sect Leader…Wen? 

The name was familiar. Too familiar. She looked past the servant, above the door to the banner that decorated the walls. 

The sun symbol. 

A stone dropped into her stomach. She hadn’t just traveled into the past. She’d transmigrated into the world of Mo Dao Zu Shi. 

As Sect Leader Wen Ruohan. 

Who was destined to die. 

[sensenoi]

Rating Every Single Name of the Wind Cover

Why? Because I can. I am not a graphic designer, just a person with opinions. 

Criteria for consideration: Must be a cover in a published edition of The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. Hardcover, paperback, and ebook are all fair game, as are foreign language editions. Some editions reuse the same cover art, in which case I only rate one cover. Some editions modify cover art from another edition. If the differences are substantial, I’ll rate both.

Kindle March 2007 Edition

Ah, the famous shirtless redhead cover. This cover is a bit infamous in the fandom for being both bad and cringey. This is not good art. It’s cheesy. The shirtless aspect is silly, and the windswept hair is so windswept, you’d think Kvothe was in a tornado. Nice balance with the title and author text, although it looks like the title and author text are slightly off center.

3/10

Hardcover April 2007 Edition This is just a zoomed in crop of the above cover, which is a little lazy. It does make for a better cover image, except the creepy goat man bust has nothing to do with the plot of Name of the Wind. So I suppose they cancel out.

3/10

Mass Market Paperback April 2009 Edition

I despise this cover. It’s a lazy design, and the photo manipulation is terrible. Points I guess for good title text placement. But the photo manipulation is so! So! Bad! This is also the start of the trend of a hooded, cloaked figure with his back to the viewer staring out into the void. It is a bad trend.

2/10

Paperback UK June 2008 Edition

We’re still with the hooded, cloaked figure, but at least he’s facing front this time. I like the embellishment on the ‘W’ in the title text, although it gets a little pumpkin viney. Overall, it’s an ok cover. It doesn’t make me cringe, but it doesn’t grab the viewer’s interest, either.

4/10

Paperback Spanish May 2009 Edition

Same image as the previous cover, but this one is uncropped and has a different plant border. I’m not sure how successful the changes are. On the one hand, shrinking the image of the figure makes the figure look more mysterious, which is good. But on the other hand, this is a bad plant border. I thought there was some corn on the right side for a minute.

4/10

Hardcover 10th Anniversary October 2017 Edition

10th Anniversary edition got fancy, and it shows. I love the ruin influence in the title text, which is a great callback to the use of ruins in the novel and also a more creative and unexpected choice than making the title text leafy. That being said, the “of the” in the title text is very oddly formatted and doesn’t fit the style. The cover illustration is pretty great, with lots of symbolism for old fans while still maintaining visual interest for new readers who are browsing and happen to pick the book up. The Cinder statue is delightfully creepy and much more relevant to the novel than the dumb pan statue from the earlier cover.

9/10

Paperback Turkish March 2007 Edition

Another trend starting here: Cloaked figure staring out at a city in the distance. I like the painting, at least what I can see of it. I find the choice to crop out most of the painting really bizarre. Is this supposed to be a telescope we’re looking through? And the leaves look like lily pads. The title and author text leaf embellishments are quite nice here, but I don’t know why there’s a metallic color shift. Overall, a poor use of space.

4/10

Hardcover German March 2007 Edition

Oh look! A cloaked figure staring at a city. What a surprise. I rather like the title text design, which is pretty creative and a good way to make the title visually appealing. I wish the city in the painting weren’t so damn faded and distant – I think it’s a mistake to keep the visual focus on the figure exclusively and only hint at the city beyond.

6/10

Paperback Portuguese September 2009 Edition

This cover is terrible. I would say the worst, but there’s more still to come. Anyways, this is incredibly bad. We’re once again with the hooded, cloaked figure with his back to the viewer, which is a lazy and uninteresting pose. The image is badly photoshopped and looks like an alternate movie poster for The Blair Witch Project. There’s nothing interesting about the image, nothing that interests the viewer. The title font isn’t boring, I guess. That’s the only good thing I have to say about this. 1/10

Paperback Portuguese July 2009 Edition

Still another cloaked figure staring off at a distant city, but this is one my favorite versions of this trope. The city is far enough in the middle distance that the figure is the main focus, but we can still see enough of the city to see that it’s cool looking. I’m glad to see the bridge from the books, which is a nice detail.  The title text does a good job of filling in the empty space of the painting without crowding the other elements.

9/10

Paperback French November 2009 Edition

This is the same cover image as before, but it’s been cropped so that the figure is centered. I don’t like the change – the balance is better when the figure is off center. Also, the title text is way too big and dominates, which is unfortunate because the Spanish cover had such a lovely balance throughout. 7/10

Hardcover Dutch July 2007 Edition

Yet. Another. Hooded figure. Staring. At a city. Wow. This one has a tree, at least. The image is… fine? I might be kinder to it if I hadn’t seen several better iterations of this right before. Because so much of the image is shrouded in fog, there’s very little to go on in terms of visual interest. And while I don’t mind the shadowed, muted color scheme, it also means that there’s very little to distinguish the cloaked figure and make him intriguing. The shadow initials behind the title text is horrific and obscures the title somewhat, so docking a couple of points for that. 5/10

Hardcover UK January 2017 Edition

Ahahahaha. This looks like the My Neighbor Totoro edition of Name of the Wind. It’s very silly and lighthearted, but wholly inappropriate for a book whose reading level is above first grade. If this was a kid’s book, I’d give it full marks. But Name of the Wind is very much for adults, and this cover is way too young and childish.

1/10

Paperback Polish August 2008

YIKES. I cannot figure out which scene or location from the book this image is trying to evoke, which makes me think the cover artist did not have the book or a text excerpt to work from. What the hell are those weird horse skulls? Why is this taking place in a desert? Why is the texture so bad? So many questions. And the effect on the title text is bad.

0/10 YES WE CAN GO LOWER THAN 1

Hardcover Russian 2010 Edition

This looks like the cover to a Dungeons and Dragons manual. I suppose that’s supposed to be from the Dracchus scene with Denna, but the image doesn’t look quite right for Name of the Wind. It’s just so generic fantasy. I also don’t like how the image is cropped top and bottom to make way for a very generic marble background. Still, the image is colorful and exciting, even if it could be the cover for any fantasy novel ever.

5/10

Paperback UK 2011 Edition

What the FUCK happened here? Who let this shit happen?

-10/10

Hardcover Finnish August 2010 Edition

Ooooh, more Miyazaki fanart! This is actually quite lovely, and it fits the tone of the books much better than the kids book cover from before. I love how soft and gentle the painting is. Notice the color balance. I don’t know if this cover really ‘grabs’ you or draws interest, but it’s one of my favorites of the bunch.

10/10

Paperback Bulgarian October 2010 Edition

I reserve the right to change my opinion later, but this may be the worst contender in the cloaked and hooded figure from behind category. I actually had to double check that this wasn’t a reused image from the mass market paperback edition, but nope! This is a brand new cover image, and it’s absolute shit. The lighting is so dark it’s impossible to make out details, the balance is way off, and the cover and title text are placed over the figure (aka the only object of interest) instead of the boring, generic storm clouds.

0/10

Hardcover Lithuanian 2011 Edition

YIKES times two. This cover art is truly awful in ways I didn’t know could still happen. Kvothe’s face looks ‘off’ because the facial proportions are all wrong. The blue mystical katana is bizarre because there’s no magical sword, much less a katana, in the story. And is that a photo of Stonehenge in the background? With yet another hooded figure?! I do like the gold foil of the title and the golden dragon embellishment, but the rest of this is such shit.

0/10

Paperback Serbian February 2011

And we’re back in the safe territory of a cloaked figure staring off at a distant city! All these covers are starting to run together, but this is a new cover art. It just looks like all the others. Once again, it’s fine. The city is a little too distant and greyed out to hold interest, and the figure is kind of generic.

5/10

Paperback Italian 2008 Edition

I do not know what happened here. Who is this figure supposed to be? I cannot for the life of me figure out which character this is. It’s a shame, because it’s well-done art with a cool character and costume design. The title and author text obscure the image, though, and the shadow on the text is so extreme it’s hilarious.

0/10

Hardcover Hungarian 2009 Edition

This is just boring. There’s no information conveyed here, nothing interesting or arresting to attract the viewer’s attention. The translucent overlay on the title is an odd choice.

2/10

Paperback Persian 2016 Edition

I believe this was originally a fanart of Kvothe (correct me if I’m wrong please), but it’s a good one. The tree shadow in the back is distracting and obscures the handle of the lute on his back, though. I wish there was more here – it feels very spare in an unintentional way.

6/10

Hardcover Georgian 2016 Edition

Cloaked and hooded figure staring off into the distance, check. I’m not crazy about this one – the art is very soft in a blurred kind of way, and it reads as a little humdrum. The tower in the distance is quite dull – it looks like a modern office building.

4/10

Hardcover Italian October 2016 Edition

The title text is a little too high – I don’t like how it covers the figure’s chin. It’s not a bad idea to make Kvothe’s green eyes a focal point, and it’s certainly more of an original idea than most of these covers have shown. But the muted color pallete drags the whole mood down. It’s not evocative, just kind of damp.

5/10

Hardcover 10th Anniversary French November 2019

I LOVE this cover. It’s gorgeous. I love the gold foil, love the text, love the clouds. It’s stunning and timeless. Amazing.

10/10

Hardcover Latvian October 2013 Edition

It’s a cloaked figure with a city in the distance, but he’s NOT looking at the city! What!! I’m rather surprised at how few covers feature Kvothe actually playing the lute – this may be the only one, actually. I don’t like the bottom fade, and I think the design is a little generic fantasy. But it’s a nice balance, and the title text is fancy and eye-catching.

7/10

Paperback Polish 2017 Edition

This cover artist also clearly wasn’t working off an excerpt from the book. The character design is so off and unlike Kvothe, except for the cloak. Wall texture looks like a photo manipulation, which is cheap. This whole thing is bad.

0/10

Hardcover Russian 2015 Edition

What is with the Stonehenge imagery? And why is that guy floating off of Stonehenge in a modern hoodie? Why is that one leaf in the top right so huge? Why is the title text red and difficult to read? At least there’s a broken lute, I guess.

1/10

Paperback Chinese May 2012 Edition

This is incredibly lazy and the photoshop job is terrible and generic. Zero effort was put into this cover.

0/10

Hardcover Russian 2011 Edition

I’ve been pretty harsh on Russia, mostly because the Russian covers have been terrible. This is ok-ish. It’s very generic fantasy, and the castle looks like Hogwarts. But it has visual interest, even if the title text color is garish.

2/10

Japanese 2017 Edition

I quite love that they turned Kvothe into an anime character. And he’s doing stuff, too, and not just staring out into the middle distance. There’s so much imagery of the broken lute in these covers, so it’s refreshing to see the other part of this scene – when Kvothe loses his shit and finally calls the name of the wind. Fun cover, good artwork. The red title text works here because it matches Kvothe’s hair.

9/10

WORST:

BEST:

[capricornus-rex]

The Haunt of Redemption (8)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Chapter 8: Same Link, Different Mettle | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Chapter 7 | Next: Chapter 9 | Masterlist

8 of ?

Alyon greeted you with black cliffs topped with green patches of grass that rose to the skies, seafoam that’s whiter than bone striped the deep blue seas, and golden patches of sand mingled with the lush green jungles resting at the foot of the mountains.

The Mantis found a nice spot to land on—by the mesa that overlooks the seaside town not bigger than the one in Hoga.

“This place is mesmerizing, [y/n],” Merrin commented.

“It’s not every day we get to beautiful places in the galaxy without the Empire chasing us,” Cere added.

“Yeah, well, hopefully this time—they won’t,” you abruptly stood up from the seat. “I’m gonna take a look around,”

You darted towards the room and got dressed, donning Cal’s Bracca scrapper poncho for the first time. With the Holocron gone, it felt like a load has been lifted from your shoulders—literally and figuratively—as you wore the straps of your bag. BD-1 hopped onto your shoulder as you leave the room.

“I don’t have to tell you again, [y/n],”

“Yes, Cere, I know. Don’t die. Or was it be careful?”

“Both, actually.”

“Gotcha,” she smiled.

It’s a perpetual question in Cere’s mind how you’re able to smile in the midst of all this predicament. Perhaps, it was an indication of your strength. After all that torment you’ve endured in Cal’s absence, you weren’t just back to normal—you’ve changed but for the better.

Compared to your pit stop earlier, trekking through the terrain was a breeze. The sight of the ocean lifted your spirits, the blades of grass tickled your calves, and the sun mildly shone above your head. Along the way, you frolicked in the wild plains—spinning and sprinting around with a child-like innocence—the flaps of your poncho felt like wings as the untamed winds blew to your direction.

There was no sign of the Empire in that seaside town, diverse peoples inhabit the settlement. Yet, the population seemed sparse for a sizable settlement. Your arrival was met with curious stares and vendors’ hollers. There’s no team of armed men marching to your general direction for the welcome wagon—nevertheless, you remained vigilant.

“Stay close, BD,” you muttered.

You approached a fruit stall and browsed; an animal penned inside a stable right next to the stall bleated to get your attention. Ever the curious friend, BD-1 perched onto the fence post and scanned the animal that was chewing on a stalk of hay.

“I knew you’d take a scan of it!” you teased.

BD-1 chirped, you translated it to him saying the animal’s name.

“That, my dear, is a Dimal,”

The fruit stall owner pointed at the tall, woolly animal, its jowls flopped and its rounded upright ears twitched with every chew of the hay stalk. You treated it to a Meiloorun fruit. You brought it close to the Dimal’s mouth, sniffing it first before gobbling it up in its mouth.

“You’re welcome,” you chuckled.

Even with its mouth full, it replied with a muffled grunt and continued gnawing on the large fruit in its seemingly narrow mouth.

“Haven’t seen you in these parts,” the same shop owner blurted, his native dialect was thick.

“I’m a traveler, I just got here,”

After shopping, you headed back to the ship, the old man was kind enough to slip in a few extra berries for the road. You expressed your thanks and went around the town some more—and there was a lively sound coming from up ahead.

Music.

“Do you hear that, BD?”

“Booo!”

“Come on, let’s go take a look,”

You followed the music, colorful notes emitted from the various instruments. A group of dancers performed in perfect synchronization in the middle of the square, their footwork followed the speed of the fifes, the bystanders that circled them clapped to the beat of the drum, and for the finale they cheered once the abrupt strum of all strings of the lute signals the climax of the song.

The dance concluded by a round of applause from the crowd, which you’ve included yourself, you try not to stand out so you immediately vanished from the scene—though it was such a nice sight. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen a street performance or festival.

—–

Three days of refuge in Alyon.

For once, things are seeming fine. But you know perfectly well this wouldn’t last, you’re still gripped with the anticipation of the Inquisitor’s arrival now that you’ve engaged with them—Cal, in particular.

You decided to tell your encounter with Cal through the Force with Cere, and you made sure you speak to her about it in great confidence.

“Cere, something strange happened on the day we left Tatooine and headed to Alyon,”

“And what’s that?”

You don’t even know where to begin explaining it.

“Well, it’s… how do I put it? I sort of saw Cal, here in the ship,”

“You mean, in meditation?”

You shake your head, “I wasn’t even meditating! I was doing something on the workbench and then I heard a voice call me, there was like a feeling that I can’t explain. At first, when I turned around there was nothing, so I thought I was just hearing things; but the second time around, I… I find Cal standing inside my bedroom!”

Cere’s head angled to the side, something about her expression alarmed you the same way you alarmed her with your story.

“Could it be…?” she muttered under your breath, though it was still within your earshot.

“Cere, what is it?”

Cere gradually stood up from the couch, “Hold on, I think I have something!”

She retreated to her own quarters where she rummaged through her rucksack. Shortly after, she reappears with a tome with a maroon leather cover, the metal accents along the corners and spines have tarnished, and the edges of the yellowed papers have chipped away due to age. She flipped through the pages looking for one specific section.

“Cordova learned about this phenomenon with the Force many years ago, while I was still his Padawan. Whatever he could find that pertains to it—he wrote it down, drew figures and diagrams, and added his own insights of his research!”

“What’s it called?”

“It’s a Force-Link. Look here,” she scooted closer beside you, pointing at the written paragraph on the page, her finger following the words as she read it out loud. “It’s said a phenomenon when the Force connects two Force-sensitive individuals, regardless of the distance in between, who have forged a dyad.”

In her excitement, Cere beat you to it—though, it felt like she sensed you’d ask about the last word in the paragraph—and flipped over the pages in search of the entry about Force dyads.

“Here,” she pointed at the first paragraph written underneath the header word, and read out loud word-for-word. “A connection that is forged with the Force between two Force-sensitive individuals.”

Cere skipped the longer metaphors and the personal diary entries that Cordova has written. More pages unraveled its mysteries and the woman impulsively read out loud—mostly for her own indulgence.

“Those who are out of the dyad could not see, feel, or hear the other side of the occurrence,”

This explains why the crew couldn’t hear Cal’s voice as you spoke to him during the first Force-Link encounter. Unfortunately, the explanation about manipulating it to either wielder’s whim—such as when will the connection start and when it’ll be severed—appear to be vague.

“Do Force dyads and Force-Links really seldom happen?”

“Yes, it’s quite rare. When I was a Padawan, I never met another Jedi who shared a dyad with another. But now, coming from you, I truly think Cordova was onto something back then. The bond you’ve shared with Cal factored the Force in allowing you to communicate.”

“I wonder if it’s another sign that he can be turned back to the light,” you thought out loud.

Apart from skimming Cordova’s manifests, strolling along the shoreline in barefoot, skimming rocks, seashells, and coral fragments that beached along the sand became a new pastime for you.

You enjoyed this new breed of solitude, but you’re still haunted by that mirage encounter of Cal back inside the Mantis. You find yourself secretly hoping that it would happen again.

On the other side of the galaxy, Cal has been poring page after page for any result about your Force-induced encounter. There were few resources found in his chambers in the command ship, there weren’t any valuable information found in the holotable’s databank either. The whole ordeal irritated him.

“How is it possible not a single manuscript was written about this!?” Cal roared, his mask did little in muffling out the sound, he punched the rim of the holotable in fury.

The last thing he thought of was retracing his steps, but the problem is: where does he even begin?

After all, it only happened abruptly and he had no control over it, because it felt like it came to him naturally. Cal theorized that it might be your own doing, but in reality, it wasn’t. He immediately dismissed that theory and went back to pinning down the Force as the primary culprit—frankly, it was the only logical culprit.

“Deep breaths,” he chanted to himself, doing exactly what he tells himself as he paced back and forth inside his room.

In the most uncanny of timings, that very same sensation returned to him—as if someone tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention—he abruptly turned around, he was surprised to see you standing inside the chambers with him.

“You’re quite elusive,” he initiated.

Your reaction to his appearance was understandable, your shoulders flinched while gaping at him. This is also the first time you saw him wearing a mask which muffled his voice, yet still coherent. Although the first time was docile, you can’t always count on him to be the same in the next.

You didn’t reply. You secretly fiddled the small seashell you’ve hid inside your fist while you conversed.

“I still don’t understand how and why this is happening to us. Can they see me?” he added.

“I don’t know…”

There was a stale air looming between you and the Eleventh Brother; the crashing waves of the sea and the machine hum spoke on each other’s behalf. You pursed your lips and your fist clenched tighter, the thin edge of the seashell dug into the flesh of your palm.

“You seem confident. Confident that I’ll never find you after you fled Cameegon like a coward.”

“I’m no coward! I’m not the one who gave in so easily!” you snarled.

“I take it that you’re not coming in quietly,” when he got the silent treatment from you, he continued. “Alright, then you’ll have to watch another innocent town be reduced into rubble like Cameegon. You wouldn’t want, would you? That’ll be a lot of blood in your hands.”

The Inquisitor noticed you flinch and he took pride in provoking you. He takes one step forward and you ignite your saber, having him at swordpoint.

“Ooh, feisty aren’t we?”

“You’ll never find me,” you hissed softly, although it was still within Cal’s earshot. “You’ll never turn me into what you’ve become!”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. We always find our way to each other, don’t we?”

He spoke the exact same words from his secret projection, a line that you knew too well and caught you off guard; a great thunderclap coming from the horizon startled you—the saber fumbled in your hand and the seashell fell from the other—and he disappeared from where he stood when you looked again.

The same went for the Eleventh Brother. The vibrant apricot seashell clattered on the polished black floor of his chambers. He took the delicate object into his hand and examined it. You unintentionally have given him a clue.

The boy Inquisitor rushed to the command ship’s bridge as fast as he can. His entrance alerted the attending officers; he approached the admiral and held up the shell to his face.

“I want this scanned. Trace its origin planet.”

The officer didn’t have the luxury to ask why and simply obeyed. The admiral took the shell from the young man’s hands and handed it over to one of the computer operators. In less than two minutes, the operator returned the shell along with a small datapad containing the findings.

“Sir, analysis traces it back to Alyon, a tropical planet in the Enca Sector, Ganiv System—it’s in the Outer Rim,” the admiral reported.

“Transmit the coordinates to my ship. Two TIE Fighters and an escort shuttle will come with me.”

“Right away, sir!”

The Eleventh Brother leaves the bridge on the way to the hangar.

“I have you now, [y/n].”

A storm was brewing that evening in Alyon. The thunderclouds have loomed closer to the shore in a dramatic speed. The winds have already picked up, the rain flew in like tiny knives pricking your skin, and the downpour caused the tide to rise earlier than usual. You hurried to getting on higher ground before the water has fully covered the shore.

You pushed through the raging winds, sheltering BD under the flap of your poncho. You blamed yourself for strolling farther from the ship, nightfall has reached you as a consequence, additionally, the town wasn’t any nearer either so it’s not an option.

“No…!” you gasped when the sky had gotten much darker, it doesn’t help with the storm joining in the problem.

The surroundings were all gray and visibility has dropped to zero. You barely see anything in this smokescreen of hail and fog. BD-1’s lights paled in the darkness. You stamped through the damp fields, the harsh winds swayed you farther with every step, but you fought it.

“Almost there, BD-1, hold on!”

Neither you nor BD-1 are safe, not until you’ve set foot into the Mantis. The growing sound of the TIE Fighters’ engine growls signaled their approach and a TIE Interceptor landed at a close distance from you. The hatch opened and out comes Cal, the Eleventh Brother. He stood upright in the midst of the storm, the bright red beam of his lightsaber lit up in the deep grayness.

You’re not going down without a fight.

Cal darted the air towards you, lightsaber at the ready, he found your block weak—it seems the storm has taken its toll on your body. However, he gave credit where it’s due—he admired your fighting spirit. You remained more on the defensive for the greater portion of the fight. The lightning afforded you short bursts of light to see your opponent better—rather, his next attack position.

“There! I see them!” Cere cried, peering through her binoculars and spotting two streaks of light dancing in the fog.

A TIE Fighter sends twin projectiles flying towards the Mantis, barely missing the dorsal fin of the ship but close enough to give it a rumble. Greez started the engine in a panic, Cere ordered him to stay low so they can still pick you up; although, that plan didn’t go so well.

The bitter cold of the wind disoriented you, the angry waves muted the hisses of lightsabers colliding with each other, your head was swirling, the veins on your temple throbbed, and your body had a battle of its own from within. Your lungs struggled as it sucked in cold air, fog wafted through your teeth as you dueled Cal.

The Eleventh Brother watched you charge towards him, ready for a dashed strike, and he prepared himself to time it just right.

Close enough!

You feel your entire body freezing up again, as if an icy gust blew throughout your entire being. The last thing you remember is a hearing a thunderclap mingle with the crash of the ocean, a flash of lightning glowed brightly in your puffy, heavy eyes and then suddenly darkness.

The Eleventh Brother caught you in his arms, carrying you bridal-style, and marched to the escort shuttle that he ordered to be included in his convoy.

“NO!!” Cere cried, a crack of lightning flashed as she witnessed him carry your unconscious body.

Your eyelids blinked the dancing lights away until your eyesight has adjusted to the brightness of the room. You gasped upon waking up, you weren’t sure how long you’ve been, but it felt like a long time. Your arms and legs had limited movement, later discovering that you’re strapped into an interrogation machine. Your heartbeat sped up tenfold, you surveyed across the room starting from the ceiling and then the middle part until you found a Stormtrooper standing beside silhouette across the room.

“Good, you’re awake,” the silhouette spoke, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Do you have any other orders, Eleventh Brother?”

“No, I’ll handle this myself. Leave us and wait for my orders,”

“Yes, Eleventh Brother.”

The Stormtrooper departs, leaving you and the Inquisitor in full privacy.

The red glowing accents of his mask lit up in the shadows, he blended perfect well in the darkness. You don’t know what to say back first, frankly, you don’t know what’s happening and how it came to this.

“Is that what they call you now: Eleventh Brother?”

Your snarky question got no reply from him. He removed his mask and placed it on the nearby podium. With that accessory gone, he massaged his jaw and craned his neck until you heard some bones popping.

“Yeah well, you can still call me Cal,” His roguish grin played along his face.

“Where are Cere and the others?”

“No idea,”

“You lie!”

“I never lie—especially to you,” he calmly said.

The young Inquisitor stepped into the light, revealing himself to you once more. There were a few inches dividing you from him. The white light shone over his hair, revealing the faint redness of his hair past the darker tints. You find that there was no terminal like the one in Nur; it was only him and you strapped into the contraption. Surely, this confused you, at the same time it relieved you that you’re spared of the electrifying torment—for now. No wonder the Stormtrooper was suggesting a better chamber.

“Where am I?”

“In an escort shuttle, en route to Koboth,”

“What is it that you really want, Cal?”

He clicked his tongue, rolled his eyes to the side, and then grinned as he spoke.

“Oh, I think you and I both know that already.”

For every word he said, he took one step closer, “I want the Holocron.”

You smirked, even chuckled, in retaliation. You teased him, inching your face closer just so he’ll hear better.

“I don’t have it.”

The small yet sadistic smile that painted his face melted away. Part of him doesn’t want to believe you, and the other does. With your natural talent for theatrics, it’s hard to decipher you—even for him.

Your smug face and arrogant sniggering was beginning to bother him. So much so that he was starting to think you’re not playing around.

“You’re wasting your time and energy, you know,”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear,” he sighed. He starts to remove his glove.

Preemptively, you know what he’s about to do to you. Your heart pounded in the wildest pace; suddenly, his Force-ability that once fascinated you, now terrifies you. Cal ignored your desperate scrambling in the contraption, but it somewhat satisfied him.

“That’s my poncho,” he cooed and an evil smirked curled at the corner of his lip.

He reached for you, avoiding his touch is futile. His bare hand is now at a fingertip’s reach from the fabric, sinking away into the contraption wasn’t much help for you either. His grip clutched a portion in the middle—your shirt underneath it was caught in his hold as well—and sharp pangs of light jabbed his vision, a hollow rippling warm drummed in his ears.

“Good night, Cal…”

Your memories have ingrained into every thread, a vision plays out in his mind: he sees you snuggling up to the poncho in bed, keeping it close to your face as you slept, the nightly sobbing rung in his ears, and the warmth that the poncho gave you during cold, sleepless nights wrapped over his shoulders.

“This isn’t who you are!”

“All this time… and we never even got a look.”

That sudden shift of emotions startled him, but he kept his grip—physically and mentally. The Inquisitor wanted to extract as much as he can to exploit you. To him, it was a game; for you, it was a mental war. He witnessed your recent memories—he now knows that you opened the Holocron and took a glance of the contents, he heard the festival music from the town in Alyon, and then he saw the waves tugging away from the shoreline.

“You saw what’s inside the Holocron!” he exclaimed. He pushed further into you using his Psychometry. “What did you do with it?”

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!”

The boy Inquisitor was surprised to find that you’re able to fight him off—at least, his grip on your mind. When his influence is now absent in your body, your head hung low as you gasp for breath and fight off the throbbing pain in your head. His mischievous grin stretched from ear-to-ear.

“Interesting…”

He nestled your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting you upwards so you face him, your head bobbed slightly as you’re weakened by the infliction of his Psychometry. He inched closer to your face, the tips of your noses touched.

“My darling, you never cease to amaze me.” He teased you, the bottom of his lip softly brushed across yours while keeping an open grin, his stubble scratched your chin. Your indifferent expression met his roguish smirk as he pulled back inches away from you. A sadistic snicker hummed from his throat and he gently releases his hold on your face before leaving you in your cell.

[caeruleis]

@synnthos​ (Plotted + Caro) 

    The soft plip-plop of water echoes through the cave as leftover rain tumbles out from the cracks in the walls and splashes against the shallow puddles that had formed, urging his eyes to open against the meager light from the sun that filtered in through the newfound hole in the ceiling. Cotton boots strike the slick stone of the cavern floor as he rises from the makeshift bed to an array of blank canvasses and the distant sound of chirping birds. Delicate fingers reach up to brush through long strands of golden hair as he ventures between varying levels of wakefulness in the time it takes for him to venture over to the corner of the gave to grab the lute nestled there alongside the handful of small paintings he’d done the other day. It’s old wood worn and somewhat damp, and he makes a mental note to repair it when he has the chance. His body still feels somewhat stiff, but his natural aura had returned to its formally soft and even tempo over the past few days since he had first awoken from his long slumber. And he feels at peace once more, even if the dull pang of sorrow nips at his chest as he inhales against the calm breeze and steps out into the forest. He would have liked to see the villagers grow up - from the boy who had adored paintings even in the darkest of hours to his father, his friend, who had scorned them after the loss of his life. He would have liked to spend more time with them, but the life of a mortal was short, and they were both long gone by now. He only hoped, now, that he might be able to squeeze some information about them from the villagers should they have any descendants. Or, perhaps, even about the crew that had saved him once, if they had ever returned this island after that - if they had managed to reach their destination.  

    The local population of monsters had dwindled since 100 years ago, and he scarcely saw a single one along the way - allowing the wildlife at thrive in their absence. A playful hum vibrated in his throat as he trudged towards the town, expression bright as ever as he laid eyes on what it had become. He had seen it twice before after waking up, though his visits had been limited thanks to slow pace his power had returned to him at, but it still felt fresh. Many of the buildings had been replaced after the landslide - built sturdier and with the intent to last. Very few of the old homes and shops still remained, but it still felt familiar to him. Even after he had slept, the villagers had kept their word to him, and the island remained almost entirely composed of artists for all trades. He could smell the burning odor of a kiln when he stepped into the square - the sharp stench of paint as it filtered out into the street, and the sound of music as it echoed through the island. It was lively these days, and saw more visits than it had 100 years ago - trade was up, and the island had thrived with him. 

      Well, almost without him. The villagers had truly kept their word, and he’s not certain whether he should be touched or mildly embarrassed by the incredibly lifelike statue they had sculpted of him at the shrine they had built to honor him after he had fallen asleep. He still wasn’t used to seeing it in the heart of village, decorated with various flowers and paintings from the new residents who didn’t know him, but had heard stories of him. It feels strange to him to have the villagers come up to him and greet him as if they knew him - some were casual, and he enjoyed those interactions the most, but others were far more nervous and treated him as if he were a God of sorts. It was a far cry to how he had once sheltered his identity to live amongst them, but he had decided he would honor their wishes out of respect for the generation of villagers he had known. Even if he still chose to go by the name Caro rather than Arte. After so long, it felt more familiar to him.  

        He picks up on the joyful conversations that filter into the air - word of a ship landing at the port earned his interest, and he shuffled after a few of the villagers to greet their guests, even if they insisted he didn’t need to or tried to chat his ear off in the process. A hand rubbing the back of his neck as he laughed softly alongside of them. Adjusting to this newfound way of life would take him time, even if he was eager to get to know everyone once more - a part of him was still nervous. He hadn’t given away a single painting since he’d woken up, and the ones clutched beneath his arm now felt heavy from his budding anxiety. Yet, he hadn’t poured a single spec of magic into them so he had little to worry about, but he supposes the past will haunt him for some time now. Shaking his head to rid himself of the thought, he admires the strangers coming into the village for a moment before he works up the courage to approach one of them - painting in hand. “Thank you for taking the time to visit our island. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to offer you this paint -” he pauses when he lifts his head, surprise clouding his eyes for a moment, but the painting still remains extended to her - its a scene, one that contains a certain ship and a certain Captain alongside a certain girl in blue and a certain crimson dragon. The air she gave off was not unlike his own. Another primal beast then? He’s been asleep so long he barely trusted his own senses at the moment. With a polite cough to clear his throat, he offered the painting to her once more with a smile upon his features. “I’d like to give this painting to you, I hope you’ll accept it.” 

[shions-heart]

Meet Berg! (pronounced “burge”)

A while back I had a dream that I was a guest on Critical Role and I played a blue tiefling runaway slave named Berg. Recently, I made up his character sheet on D&D Beyond, making him a rogue because that fit his street urchin/runaway background~ I commissioned the lovely @bubblline to draw him (and she threw in a chibi version!), and she did such an amazing job. Look at how beautiful he is :’)

Full backstory under the cut if you’re interested! Just need to find him a party to join now~

Berg (pronounced “burge”) was born in a hell dimension to two poor tiefling parents. They quickly realized they couldn’t feed three, so they sold him to a local devil merchant when he was three for 20 gold pieces. The merchant raised him as an assistant, not cruel but rather indifferent to the child’s emotional needs. Berg was only worth whatever he could bring to the table via work.

During one market day when he was 13, a wealthy sorcerer that lived in the “common” plane came to the dimension to shop. He caught sight of Berg and remarked on his beauty, offering the merchant 3,000 gold for him. The merchant instantly sold him, despite Berg’s distressed protests.

The sorcerer, Malrik, took Berg back to his mansion, where he cut off the barb of his tail, secured a band of gold around his right horn with Malrik’s name engraved in it, and dressed him up in fancy robes and had hired tutors to teach him how to play the harp and the lute and how to sing. He then had Berg entertain guests during dinner parties, where they ooh-ed and ahh-ed over the beautiful and “exotic” tiefling boy.

When Berg was fifteen, a few guests began to request “alone” time with Malrik’s “lovely creature”, for a price. Malrik charged each guest that requested him 500 gold for a night with the “beautiful hell creature”.

It was then that Berg began to plan his escape. Sometimes the guests would tip him, and Malrik would let him keep some of the money to buy himself “pretty things.” Berg began to save these tips and figured out that the more charming he was, the better the tips were and the higher his cut was. Malrik was very pleased with Berg’s cooperation, and he grew cocky, believing Berg loved living with him and entertaining his guests with his music and body. He let down his guard and had fewer and fewer of his men keep an eye on Berg.

Finally, when Berg was eighteen, he took the money he had earned and ran away. He bought passage on a ship heading for somewhere else, anywhere else, but that took most of his money.

He barely had 50 gp left by the time he got to shore, having had to pay for food and bedding and to keep people away from him. He found a blacksmith and paid him to try and get the golden band off his horn, but over the years his horn had grown thicker and harder around it, which made it impossible to remove without cutting off the horn.

Berg begged the blacksmith to do it, offering the gold band to him in exchange. The man did, cutting Berg’s right horn off directly below the gold.

The pain caused him to pass out and grow feverish. When he finally woke, the rest of his things had been stolen, including his shoes.

Berg wandered the streets of the city, not sure what to do next or if it would just be better to die, when a human boy around his age found him. He introduced himself as Hansel and took pity on Berg, taking him to his hideout.

Hansel explained that he lived on the streets, but he was a rogue for hire, stealing (or “acquiring”) goods for people who paid him for his services. He offered to teach Berg how to be a rogue, and Berg accepted. He didn’t tell Hansel much about his past, claiming to not have any skills when the other asked. He only said that he was a runaway and never wanted to go back to his old life (he told himself that he’d never again play any instrument or sing for anyone, even though singing had been one of the better parts of his life with Malrik, and he’d been good at it).

Hansel spent the next year showing Berg the city and teaching him the tricks of the trade. Over this time, Berg came to care deeply for Hansel, harboring more than a small crush, and while Hansel seemed fond of him as well, Berg was too afraid of what might come after he confessed, for good or ill, so he said nothing. Eventually, he grew comfortable enough to sing to Hansel, in the dark of night, when it was just the two of them, and Hansel called his voice “that of an angel” despite his “devilish” appearance.

Berg almost confessed that night, but held back.

That turned out to be the right choice, because during their next job, the two of were spotted by the master of the house they were robbing. They fled the scene, but Berg’s tail got tangled in the curtains by the window they climbed through. He reached for Hansel, the master right behind him, but Hansel was gone.

Berg spent three days in prison, ultimately released because he had nothing on him and wouldn’t tell them where Hansel could be. When Berg returned to their hideout, Hansel was gone, along with all his things.

Berg remained in the hideout for several days, hoping Hansel would come back and say it’d all been a big misunderstanding. He didn’t.

Berg is alone now, still doing jobs as a rogue and not trusting anyone. He tells himself that he can’t blame Hansel for what he did, that he would’ve done the same thing himself. Only he wouldn’t, and he didn’t, and Berg knows that deep down Hansel betrayed him. Maybe he’d never truly cared for him at all. Eventually, he leaves the hideout, knowing Hansel will never return.

He has vowed to never let his guard down again, and he hasn’t sung a single note since. He works and pays to live above this old woman’s bakery. She gives him bread and sometimes cheese, and he gets her ribbons for her hair so she can feel young and pretty again. But he doesn’t talk to her, doesn’t fully trust her, doesn’t fully trust anyone.

Never again.

[buttercup-of-kaer-morhen]

Of Thorns and Buttercups

~Ch 2/?~

(Beauty and the Beast AU, Kiiiinda. It has definite elements of the original story cause I’m a sap for Fairytale AUs. I hope you enjoy. Also shout out to @sophiakuso1 for being my beta. You can find Chapter 1 Here) Warnings: Brief mention of violence, blood, and there’s a death scene… so there’s that, also, non-sentient animated furniture violence? I don’t know if that will bother anyone but they will kinda act like living things when they show up in the story, so… Primary Tags: Beast! Geralt, Belle! Jaskier, Memory Alteration Via Curse, It really only affects Jaskier right now Also on AO3!

————————- Jaskier wandered through the forest, dazed and confused. One minute he knew he had been on his way somewhere upset and at a loss for inspiration and the next, poof, he was just upset and still at a loss for inspiration. He couldn’t remember why though either. He couldn’t remember much actually… other than the fact that Jaskier the bard was as good as dead! Figuratively of course, physically he was as fit as a fiddle. That is, if he continued on this way. He knew he had no motivation to write or really to even sing. His mood just wasn’t there for composing a masterpiece and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why. A horrible ache in his heart was definitely there though but not the good kind, the kind that one could turn into a fabulously dramatic epic tragedy of lust and loss.The kind where one could enjoy it before saying c'est la vie, it was nice while it lasted and then moving on with life. No. This ache was the kind of true heart wrenching rejection and lost love described only in the truly legendary tales that left the audience weeping and the writer heart broken enough to fade out from the world of music completely...Except he couldn’t remember what caused it. One would think that such a thing or person would have been very memorable. 

Jaskier was almost too lost in thought at that point to notice the chill setting in around the forest he was still trekking through as he bemoaned his anguish mentally. “Curious…” His soft murmur drifted in the cold air for a moment before being muted by the dense foliage. The bard looked around in wonder as he observed the frost that had gradually grown on the trees ahead. Glancing back, he confirmed that the forest he had been passing through showed no signs of winter while the ones ahead lost more of their leaves to snow and ice the deeper in it went. Oh what a splendidly magical surprise was this! Was fate handing him his new bardic inspiration he wished for on a silver platter? Ecstatic, he marched onward, deeper into the wintery depths. 

Uncaring at the time of any potential danger that may await him, Jaskier walked for what felt to be hours. The forest lighting was dim at best, which had him tripping and stumbling while thistles and thorns caught his clothing and skin, much to his dismay. But he pressed on feeling as though something were pulling him forward towards an unknown destination. The soft noises of the forest, which had been the only comfort to his nerves, suddenly disappeared as an anguished howl shattered through the crisp air. As soon as it came, it disappeared and the bard found himself running as fast as his legs would carry him in the direction it had come from. 

He finally slowed as he emerged out into what appeared to be a garden, which was absolutely bewitching. There were flowers of all kinds in all shades of blues and yellows, only a few Jaskier knew the names of, peeking out from where they were nestled in the thick blankets of snow. He didn’t spend long marveling at their beauty because the snow began to fall harder around him as the night set in. When it had gotten so late, Jaskier had no idea, but he feared he would soon be an ice sculpture if he stayed outside in his lighter traveling clothes for even a moment longer.

As he approached the dark looming doors of the keep, his heart began to flutter restlessly with nerves that really should have been there when he entered an enchanted forest to begin with but curiosity had driven him forward. And it was the same curiosity that had him tentatively knocking only for the door to slowly drift open. “... Definitely not creepy.” He huffed under his breath as he slipped into the dark entryway. The inside was dilapidated but not as bad as he had expected. There was some rubble and a few places where the wind could slip in but most of the stone sculptures and furnishings were intact. He had played in some of the greatest courts and seen exquisitely executed pieces but he had never seen anything like this. Such craftsmanship! Each piece had been delicately carved with the motifs of vines, fruits, and flowers which were painted with soft pastels and gilded with either gold or silver. The gilding hadn’t even been over used as to be gaudy as some nobles often had it, but it was subtle and refined. He couldn’t linger too long however because the frigid draft slipped straight through his clothes and left his bones aching. The warm golden glow emanating down the hall from a room looked enticing and drew him in. 

He stepped into the room where a fire roared in the extravagantly designed hearth, keeping the chill at bay. In the center of the room, a lavish dining table was set, brimming with foods of all kinds, which had his stomach growling from the aroma alone. He debated for less than a minute on whether or not he should chance eating the suspiciously mouthwatering food before he was digging in, potential thrall be damned. He was starving and it was delicious. After he sated his appetite, he moved to stand near the fire to warm up more. He considered briefly if he should pull a chair over or not and he decided, yes. Yes, he very much should, so his aching feet could finally have a rest. Upon turning around though, a plush armchair that had not been there a moment ago was now waiting invitingly for him to settle in. 

“Alrighty then… Either this place is haunted, I’m going crazy, or it’s enchanted. I’m really hoping for the latter of the three.” He spoke aloud to the empty room, but it helped keep the fear that was slowly clawing up his spine at bay. The stone woodland creatures decorating the place really did not help either. It now felt like he was being watched but there hadn’t been signs of any inhabitants yet, only the lavish furniture and decorations.

A part of him wanted to flee into the night, cursing himself for ever being dumb enough to run towards the howl and entering the obviously magical castle, but the other more adventurous side reminded him of all the amazing tales he could spin from this. There was no decision to make anyway, really, because even if he wanted to leave, outside was dark, snowing, and filled with whatever made that howl that would most likely eat him if he didn’t freeze to death first from getting lost in the maze-like trees. He was stuck here for at least the night. He set down his pack and lute, grabbed a goblet of wine, and sat in the rather inviting looking chair. It felt like heaven as his body melted into the plushy embrace and it almost felt like the chair settled with him. 

He hadn’t meant to doze off after finishing his glass but he must have been exhausted. The sounds of shuffling registered in his groggy mind but when he opened his eyes, the sounds stopped. The fire had reduced to embers and the food gone he noted as he looked around but no one to be seen. “Hello?” He called out tentatively, hoping for a response that never came. “I didn’t mean to intrude, I just needed refuge from the storm…” He tried again, slowly standing and grabbing his things. 

He ducked his head out into the hall trying to catch sight of whoever had just been in the room with him but there was no one in either direction. The feeling of being watched had only gotten worse since he awoke but it was also now accompanied by the feeling that he was being followed. Jaskier was, understandably, not fond of that as he stepped fully out into the hallway deciding he might as well find a room to sleep in. At least it would be more private. The sound of creaking wood and something scuffing across stone echoed out through the dark passage, nearly getting Jaskier to jump out of his skin. If he didn’t get early grey hair from this, nothing could. His pace quickened as he tried to find the stairs, wondering about the merits of being eaten alive or freezing to death. At the stairs, he took them two at a time and went straight into the east wing which actually looked habitable in comparison. However, as he reached the peak of the stairs he caught sight of a small grey and white mottled pelt disappearing around a corner further down the hall. Jaskier decided it would be wise to take the first room found that appeared unused and habitable.

He shut the heavy door and softly stepped through the very dim chambers. He didn’t have flint readily available so he set his pack on the bed intent on searching for the object he needed. Only as he dug through his possessions did the fireplace blaze to life behind him. His blood ran cold as he looked back to find the room still empty. “If this place is haunted and the ghosts are angry I’m here, then I would kindly ask all present that you leave me alone and I will be gone in the morning. I would find it terribly inconvenient if you killed me… and blood leaves terrible stains…” He attempted to joke with a false bravado he didn’t even remotely feel. Yet the silence remained undisturbed. He huffed after a few minutes, choosing to push it from his mind and just go to bed. If he gets murdered in his sleep then he can’t very well stop it. 

The bedding looked thick and inviting, pelts covering the foot of the bed for extra warmth if needed. He stood his precious lute carefully against the bedside table and placed his pack beside it. He stripped down to his smallclothes and jumped onto the bed to tightly shut the curtains of the canopy. Sliding under the covers, he wondered what exactly he had gotten himself into. He didn’t know if he should stay or go come the morning, but as the darkness and silent night settled around him, he could no longer ignore the ache in his chest that persisted if not grew stronger. It felt like something or someone was missing from his daring adventure. The one that usually made him feel safe in any situation, but the more he tried to reach out and grasp the image or name of the person, the further it floated away. After a while of trying to conjure up the memory of the one who made his heart hurt, he gave up. His head stung like he had been pulling on thorn vines like the ones he’d seen in the forest. Which reminded him that he never checked the damage the plants had done to his clothing and his person while he had been running. He sighed. Another thing to deal with come morning. His thoughts drifted for a while after that as he tried to lull himself to sleep but the first three times he almost fell into sleep's sweet embrace, a creak or a scuttling sound pulled him back. Eventually, he buried his head under the covers and let himself be reclaimed once again by sleep. 

It felt like only minutes passed when he awoke again, sadly not to the light of day but rather the light of a lantern which shown through the now open curtains at the side of the bed. His sleep addled mind raced to take in everything: The windows showed it was just barely dawn as the sun lazily awoke the sky in vibrant reds and purples. He had been certain that he had closed the drapes of the bed fully last night. Oh yes, and then there was the lantern he was pretty sure he never lit floating just over the edge of the bed as he blinked up at it. Or rather, it wasn’t floating but being held aloft in the air. His eyes followed up the arm of the lantern’s bearer to their face but where Jaskier had expected the face of a man, large yellow eyes like cut citrine glinted out from thick white fur… Oh right, and then there were the teeth. The rather large sharp teeth on full display as the beast grimaced down at him. When the thought of being murdered in his sleep crossed his mind last night, he did not intend it as a silent wish to be granted by some god with a sick sense of humor.

Much like the rest of the situation, the bard had not been expecting a very large creature to be the one living here much less for it to talk but so far, only the unexpected had continued to happen. So he took it in stride as it’s maw opened and the gruff, attractive voice of a man came out. “... Jaskier?” It sounded more confused than angry, which the bard would happily take. He couldn’t help but think it could have been worse, but hey, at least the place wasn’t haunted, right?

Jaksier opened his mouth, intending to apologize and maybe figure out a way to wiggle his way out of his current predicament so he could promptly grab his things and flee, but what came out was “Ah! So even magical beasts living in ruins in the middle of nowhere have heard of me!”. Which is when he had found out that his tongue was in fact a traitor trying to get him killed. After a beat of silence that followed, the bard decided to amend his words and try again. “Are you going to kill me?”

Not much better but he’d take it.