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albaedhoe · 4 years ago

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promise

pairing : venti x gn!reader

summary : many people say promises are meant to be broken, but this one? It has been nurtured and cared for for millennia.

contains venti’s story quest spoilers

Unlike Barbatos, who was only a wisp among the thousand winds at the time, you were a young, lesser-known god. For plot sake, let’s say you’re the god of health. Having similar views and wanting to allow humans to have atleast some form of hope, the two of you became fast friends and stuck together within the confinements of old mondstat.

“Please don’t ever leave me.”

“I promise that I will never even think of leaving you, Barbatos. I, Y/n, God of Health, swear my power and life that I will keep this promise until the day I fall from Celestia.”

“W-Wait- you didn’t have to go that far!”

You were there during the events of the rebellion and fought along side those who were trapped under the rule of Decarabian. You were by the side of Barbatos the moment he had become one of the seven, the god of anemo and later changed his name to Venti.

“You took the form of your friend?”

“I...I don’t want to forget what he looks like.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save him on time, I can tell he meant a lot to you.”

“It’s fine! His sacrifice will never be in vain. Just don’t leave me too, as you promised.”

“As I promised.”

A few hundred years pass and growing tired of responsibilities, it didn’t take long for Venti to garner a need to escape, so he did, but not without taking you with him to the human world. While he took on the role of being a bard who played the lyre for others, you preferred a more stable subtle occupation that actually brings home money, such as being a teacher. This way, you can keep tabs on the younger generations of the people of mondstat without suspicion and to make sure that the city won’t fall into ruin because of the lack of education. After all, if that were to happen, everything the rebellion had fought for would be for nothing.

The grass grows green, leaves wilt off the trees, snow falls from the sky, the flowers start to sprout from the ground. The cycle repeating who knows how many times now. But one thing is for sure, Venti is lost. Mondstat does not need nor has needed of the god of winds for a long time. He comes back late to your shared cottage out in the open plains filled with dewy grass and blooming cecillias. On that night, he asks you a question. “Would... Would you allow me to rest for a few years..?”

Don’t get him wrong, Venti would never think of leaving you purposely. He’s just so tired. Your silence and furrowed eyebrows made his heart sink. He didn’t and couldn’t blame you if you had said no. After all of these millennia, you had kept his promise with undying loyalty and sincerity, and here he is, feeling as though he is selfishly taking advantage of your kindness. You even swore on your life and power!

Hanging his head low in shame, he didn’t notice you walk up to him and wrap his head with your arms, burying his face to one of your shoulders.

“I’m not mad at you, rather, I’m upset to think you see me so highly that you need to ask my permission for something, despite being an Archon.” Lifting his head so you could face him, you cup his cheeks and wipe the tears threatening to spill from his eyes with your thumbs. “I only ask that you allow me to spend these last days with you,” you whisper. “Of course,” he responds.

True to his word, he had spent every waking moment with you. Frolicking in the fields, listening to his singing while you read, braiding his hair, cooking dinner.

“V-Venti! You’re not supposed to add that much sugar!”

“Ehe!”

Until the final day came. The sun was bright and the breeze was gentle. Sat in the middle of a field that stretched out for miles, you were fiddling with a flower crown while venti stares up at your beauty with his head atop your lap. He thought about the years spent with you and treasuring every single memory. He thought about how much he appreciates and loves you. He thought about how much you will miss him, if at all and hopes that you won’t find someone to replace him so soon.

“When I’m gone, don’t go off running to find someone to replace me!”

“Don’t make it sound like you’re dying-”

“Done!” You hold up the finished crown of daffodils and cecillias. Venti chuckles at your antics. Gently placing the flower crown to fit his head, you look proud of your work. Comfortable silence fills the air as the two of you enjoy the atmosphere. Taking your hands to cup his face once again, he leans against your touch. “I will be dreaming of you,” Venti says. Leaning down so that the both of your foreheads were touching, you close your eyes. “I don’t doubt it. I hope you rest well, zephyr.” And with that, Venti dissipates into the breeze, only to be awoken when he is ready. Staring at the clouds above you, you smile gently as the winds made your hair dance and birds fly past your vision. An ache in your chest starts to form, “Oh dear...,” you laugh while your left hand rests above your heart.

The clock struck 12, the latest time Venti had ever been out drinking. He had told you earlier on that day that he had earned quite the tip for his entertainment and since he hadn’t drank in so long, he had asked you if it would be alright to splurge it on Master Diluc’s dandelion wine. Who were you to say no? You’re rather proud of him doing something he enjoyed and being rewarded for it, however, despite being an archon, you couldn’t help but worry that in his delusioned state, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself if he were to bump into the wrong crowd.

Slipping on a thick coat, you discreetly transport to an alleyway near Angel Share. Since it was a Friday night, opening hours are much later than other days of the week so no wonder the lights were still on and playful banter could be heard inside. Opening the door, the shouting only got louder. First thing you saw was the owner of the bar, Diluc, looking quite amazed and curious at something, or rather, someone.

“Good Evening, Master Diluc. Would you happen to know if a certain bard is here?”

“Good Evening. He’s actually right infront of you.”

Confused, you looked down at your feet. And low and behold, Venti was sprawled on the floor, cheeks flushed, hat crooked and he was muttering nonsense, you deadpan. Looking back up at Diluc, you reach to grab mora from your pocket.

“How much did he drink this time?”

“Around 37 glasses.”

You honestly weren’t surprised at this point. As you were about to hand over the money, Diluc stops you. “It’s fine, honestly. Watching you have to drag him back to your home builds enough pity in me to spare him the bill.” Waving goodbye and a quick thank you at the young bachelor, you silently think to yourself, ‘Your descendants have the same heart as you, don’t they, Vanessa?’ Slinging Venti’s arm around your other shoulder, you hoist him to his feet.

“For a guy that took form of a young boy that was practically skin and bones, you sure are heavy.” Teleporting to your shared abode, you shuffle to the bedroom. Forcing him to sit on the bed so you could at least change him into more comfortable clothing. “I kneeewww *hic* you’d come for meee *hic* Y/n!” Venti bellows out, arms wiggling as if to set himself free from your touch.

“I’ll drop you.” You threaten, but your hold on him so that he sits up only tightened more. Loosening his corset and unbuttoning his top, you make him put on a casual tunic. “You looooove me too much!*hic*” Not bothering with the bottom half of him, you tuck Venti underneath the covers. Slipping under the blankets with him, you interlock fingers and have eachother. Although his breath stank with alcohol, you couldn’t really care less.

“Thank you for not leaving me after all of these millennia and despite the things you go through just to be with me...” Venti whispers, eyes closed as sleep nearly takes him. Smiling softly, you joined foreheads with him. “I promised to never leave you, Zephyr, remember?”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #venti #venti x reader #x reader

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eirikaanemo · 4 years ago

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Venti's Your Soulmate: Part Four (GN)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Can be read without having read Part One, Part Two, or Part Three

Shoot, these things just keep getting longer, but this is the last of the Soulmate series! You haven't seen the last of these though, I have plans for some other headcanon aus in the future.

4) Writing on skin that says what your soulmate is most passionate about

You have three words on the back of your hand: freedom, music, and Mondstadt

When you were young it was pretty cool, everyone said those were great things to be passionate about. Your soulmate must be the awesomest

But eventually you get sick of the amount of attention you get for them and start wearing gloves

When you get older you get a job with the knights of favonius and move to Mondstadt

Maybe you’ll find your soulmate there, you think

In a strange sequence of events you become close friends with Jean

She catches you without your gloves on one day and sees the words

She doesn’t press you for details but gets a thoughtful look in her eyes

A while later she introduces you to a bard in green

His soulmate’s passions are very familiar…

She explains the situation to both of you and says she believes you’re soulmates

While hesitant at first, the two of you agree after getting to know each other, he just gets you like no one else

You’re both forever grateful to Jean for introducing you

8) All the nicknames your soulmate is called by is written on you

“Tone-Deaf Bard” and “Windborne Bard” give away his occupation

But “Darling Archon” is pretty damning

Thankfully, you’re able to cover up most of them pretty easily

But “Tone-Deaf Bard” shows up on your cheek, so there’s not much you can do about that one

It just shows up while you’re getting some groceries and you don’t even notice until a very amused employee points it out

You can’t just go home though, you have more errands to run

While doing that you happen to run into traveler- literally

When Paimon goes to fuss at you about it, she sees your cheek and gasps dramatically

“THAT TONE DEAF BARD HAS A SOULMATE!!!” She very loudly exclaims

You’re certain you’ve never been so embarrassed in your whole life. Half the city must have heard her

But the good news is that said “Tone-Deaf Bard” was one of those who heard

And you bet he came running; you didn’t just get run into, you got hug tackled

You were not happy when “Resident Rodent” showed up on your forearm

12) You share your knowledge with your soulmate

Your history teachers are absolutely mystified by how much you know. As in, you know more than anyone should

Eventually they decide that you’re making it up

Meanwhile, Venti actually learns math and money management skills

Playing instruments comes naturally to you, so does singing

Sometimes you have conflicting knowledge but your soulmate always clears them up with investigating

But besides these more mundane things, you also know about other things

Like gnosis

And archon identities

And Khaenri’ah

You know better than to talk about that sort of thing though

But the knowledge you share is enough to track down your soulmate in Mondstadt

It’s fairly simple because you happen to know where he sleeps at night and he ends up meeting you halfway since he knows where you’re going and what path you’re taking

You have a nice long chat by a campfire, a ways away from the beaten path

Being with him just feels right and you can tell he feels the same

And if you wake up the next morning with him holding you close and you decide to get a little closer… well, it’s not like anyone has to know

16) Have the same tics at the same time

You’re helping Diluc out with Angel’s Share for the night

It’s difficult though, because your soulmate is pretty nervous at the moment

Thrumming your fingers, tapping your foot, humming a little tune, every single tic has been used at one point and now you just keep cycling through them over and over

At this point it has started annoying some customers so you decide to take a break in a corner away from most people

There is one guy there, but he seems to have had one too many drinks, so he probably won’t mind

It’s only after you get there that you notice how nervous he is

Then you notice how in sync you are

You are both humming too

The same song

So you decide to change the tune you’re humming at the moment

He changes his tune too

Which catches your attention pretty much immediately

You try a couple other things, and your tics stay the same and in sync

While you’d love to tell him you’re soulmates right now, he is drunk, so you’ll wait until tomorrow

When you spring it on him the next day and explain the situation he apologizes for his behavior the night before with a warm, anxious smile and a nervous “Ehe~”

#eirika writes #venti x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin venti #venti #soulmate au

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brexrif · 5 years ago

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The Thief and the Witcher: Part 1

Anon Request!

Geralt and reader sitting in a pub with Jaskier. Geralt and Reader are seated while Jaskier is off doing whatever (we all know he is singing though) What about Geralt fingering the reader in public and expecting—quietly DEMANDING—reader to be quiet or it will only get worse. Maybe Jaskier comes over to have a conversation and Geralt is calm as ever, and the reader is struggling to keep conversation?

(Not my pic but a good one)

Warnings: smut smutty smut smut

Did my best to follow the request while working off of an idea I already had in mind! Please comment below and let me know what you think! Follow me for other Geralt smutty goodness.

You can find The Thief and the Witcher Part 2 here!

You can find all my work here: MASTER LIST

Xxxxxxxx

You slinked through a narrow, candle lit hallway grinning, pleased with yourself and your bounty. The leather sack slung on your back shifted as you gauged the weight of your spoils, deciding that you could stand to raid one more room. You approached a thick wooden door at the end of the hall that you knew the inn-keep usually saved for less desirable occupants. You whipped out your favorite dagger collected years ago from some pathetic noble lord; you remember the half-lidded look on his face when you had seduced him into a kiss while carefully taking the dagger off his belt- men are foolish. You drove the pointed end into the heart of the padlock, wiggling it slightly in a familiar pattern before hearing the lock click and give way to the heavy door. It creaked on worn hinges as you let it swing open, hiding from the doorway before checking to see if anyone was inside.

“Housekeeping!” you sang into the room while scanning quickly- no one was there.

Within your quick and practiced surveillance, you were able to take stock of what this poor soul had to offer you. You found two swords resting against the wall beside a set of very weathered armor, made for a very large man. With the fire blazing and the battleware of this particular customer, you ventured you must act quickly. Light-footed and practiced as usual, you glided over to the swords, grabbing a sack of coin from the table nearby. You noticed a pile of underclothes strewn carelessly beside the bed. Examining the swords, you quickly recognized one superior to the other. One of the stranger’s swords was made of pure silver, a weapon that could stand up to the flesh of monsters. Your eyes widened and you had to have it. You sheathed the sword in your belt, rotated it to the back of your right hip and covered it with your long woolen cloak. Pleased with your treasure, you made your way out of the room. You pulled the hood of your black woolen cloak far over your head before coming through the doorway and pulling the door shut behind you, quickly and quietly. You lowered your head, only your small chin and plump lips, now curled into a self satisfied smile, could be seen.

Making your way back down the hallway you heard heavy footsteps coming up the staircase. You kept your head bowed low and saw two very large, seemingly wet, naked feet making their way towards you. Surprised by the bareness of these feet you let your eyes wonder upward and damn, what a mistake that was. In their travel, your eyes found their way up two gigantically muscular calves, a pair of large, manly knees and the start of tree trunk thighs, covered in a generous layer of thick, dark hair. A dingy towel wrapped around his waist betrayed him, revealing a bulge you could scarcely tear your eyes from- you nearly tripped upon this discovery. This man was very clearly well endowed. Feeling some sweat start on the back of your neck, your eyes traveled further to the tightly defined ab muscles of this Adonis, which peaked prominently on either hip and dipped steeply downward in a V shape towards his other gift. A sweet, thick trail of wet hair swirled around his tight navel and dragged downward underneath the towel along with the crevasses of his rippling muscles.

“uhmmm..miss?” his deep gravely voice coated the thick air between you.

You realized your lips had parted slightly and your mouth was quite literally agape. “Excuse me” You quickly responded in a voice at least 3 times a higher pitch than your own, the kind you had used to announce yourself as housekeeping. You made yourself small against the wall without looking up and he walked past you slowly, confused and shaking his head a bit. His big body limbered and you could feel his heavy steps even in the stone beneath your leather boots. Once he cleared you, you practically flew down the three flights of stairs to the inn’s pub.

You spotted your friend, who was supposed to be keeping watch at the foot of the staircase for you, but was clearly distracted. She was poised precariously on a bench with a large mug of ale leaning almost halfway over the wooden table towards a very vibrantly dressed bard, who was holding a lute and playing softly to her. Her breasts were heaving out of her dress, her smile loose with alcohol and his eyes were resting on her chest as he played. What a sight.

“Lucja! We need to get out of here.” You came up behind her swiftly, your black cloak flowing and catching up with you as you commanded, detectable notes of annoyance in your voice.

“Don’t be silly, Y/N. I’m just getting to know my new friend here, Jaskier. He’s an artist” she cooed, returning her eyes back to the man across the table from her.

“Come, come! Have a seat!” Jaskier invited you to sit beside Lucja. You sat hastily, swinging only one leg over the bench and facing her harshly.

“We need to go” you looked at her severely, impatiently waiting for her head to fall out from the clouds and realize you were serious.

Just then you felt a few familiar steps come up from behind you.

“Ahh, Geralt! Finally! I thought you might have drowned in that bath-you were gone for-EVER. This is Lucja and uhhh-” Jaskier looked at you questioningly, obviously having forgotten your name as every functioning brain cell he had was devoted to courting Lucja. He spoke so quickly you hardly realized he had arrived at you by the end of his thought.

“Y/N” you said quietly, averting your gaze. You suspected the man behind you was the same man you encountered more than half naked in the hallway and hopefully not the same man who owned the silver sword you had swung on your hip currently.

“Right, right. Y/N. I was just singing about you to Lucja, Geralt.”

“Mmmmmfh” Geralt grumbled behind you, the distaste palpable.

He took a seat beside you gesturing to the barmaid for two more ales. You reluctantly swung your other leg over the bench, feeling the silver rub against the wood of the shared seat.

“Y/N?” he asked, drawing his amber eyes from the table to you. You reluctantly pulled back the black woolen hood to your cloak, revealing your face and your flushing cheeks. You nodded your head apprehensively, trying not to look at him too hard. You worried once you started looking at him, you wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Geralt” he offered. He was clothed now, wearing a black tunic with a series of small buttons running up his chiseled body. It opened at the chest to reveal a luscious forest of dark and thick chest hair that covered his built pectorals and prominent collarbones. You realized you were staring too long and turned your focus quickly to the drink that he set in front of you.

“What’s wrong Geralt? Why so grumpy? Bath water too cold?” Jaskier teased him from across the table.

“Someone in this shit inn has stolen one of my swords” he growled into his mug.

“Oh uh- that’s not good Geralt. That’s not good at. all.” Jaskier looked worried and started getting visibly anxious. Lucja’s eyes slowly and casually made their way to meet yours and she finally understood.

“Maybe we should leave you two to your search then” Lucja offered, starting to grab your wrist.

“Oh no. I wouldn’t so easily give up the opportunity for someone else to take some of Jaskier’s blathering for an evening” Jaskier started to protest but Geralt continued “besides, I only feel bad for someone foolish enough to steal from me… Maybe they could use a head start before I get to them.”

Lucja laughed nervously and continued her attention to Jaskier, keeping a weary eye on you and Geralt.

A few moments passed that felt like years. You pretended to be interested in what Jaskier was saying and gulped down your ale. Lucja had another drink for herself and one for you waiting. Within no time, she was falling forward on the table again.

“So, should I consider myself lucky that you left my clothes behind?” Geralt broke the silence between you two whispering the best he could, which honestly just came out more like a low growl. You turned to him abruptly, fully now, and you were blown back: his gorgeous honey eyes, surprisingly light given his accusation, his chiseled jaw peppered with the most delicious stubble- not a single patchy spot in sight, his long white hair and full, bowed lips curled into a mischievous smile.

“You seemed to prefer me in a towel” Geralt chided, smiling into his mug.

“I have no idea what you are talking about” you spat at him, quietly not looking to draw attention from Lucja or Jaskier.

“Come on, as if I could forget those lips, and how they fell apart for me so easily. It’s not the first time I’ve stopped a woman in her tracks with the sight of my cock” he offered arrogantly. You were shocked and embarrassed, you didn’t know how to answer and you wished you could pull yourself away from looking at him so intently. He faced you fully now, leaving his mug on the table and closing the space between you suddenly-

“and what exactly did a little thing like you plan on doing with my silver sword, hm?” he paused realizing you wouldn’t answer so easily, “I am talking about my sword now, not my cock” he added, the heat between you two smoldering and intensifying. You felt a large hand creeping up onto your thigh, the sweat on the back of your neck returning. Without thinking, you parted your legs for him, his touch so commanding. You remembered the bulge under his towel that stole your attention.

“I was going to use it” you retorted curtly. His large fingers made their way up your thigh crawling in towards your heat. You sighed deeply, surrendering yourself to him by widening your legs even further.

“Is that so?” he was teasing you now, he smiled at you and inched closer. He lightly placed his fingers outside your opening, testing the heat beneath the fabric of your trousers. He leaned in and put his lips gently on your neck, just below your ear. He whispered quietly, “would you like to find out what happens to little whores that take things that are not their own?”

“I am not a whore” you whispered back to him.

“Just a thief then,” he bit at the fleshy skin of your earlobe and reached his hand around your hip to grab the hilt of his sword. He wiggled it a bit and pulled back from your neck to read your face. Your eyes were hard on him, your lips starting to pout, trying to deny your defeat.

“You know nothing of me, Witcher”

“I know that you’re wet for me” he returned his hand between your thighs and pushed two fingers to the crest of your folds. He rubbed slightly, expertly over the thin fabric of your pants. You sighed deeply at the feeling of his rough fingers coaxing pleasure from you so easily, even with a barrier separating the two of you.

“I also know that if I hear anything other than a sigh out of you, I’m going to have to get my sword back in a much uglier way” his lips curled into a mischievous smile and his eyes laid harsh on you. As he spoke, he rubbed his fingers in towards you harsher and quicker. You nodded knowingly, falling helplessly to the sweet delirium he was eliciting from between your legs.

“So tell me Y/N, how long have you been surviving on thieved goods and gold?” he asked, pushing a fresh mug of ale towards you with one hand and crawling his fingers to the laces of your trousers with the other. The inn was loud now. With the late hour, there were many more patrons greedily eating and drinking, singing catchy pub songs arm in arm, and yelling to one another across tables. Jaskier and Lucja carried on beside you, leaning over the table and now joining hands, their eyes drunkenly fixed on each other.

“hmmm?” he rumbled to you sliding his giant hand down the slope of your mound. You readjusted on the bench, moving back to accommodate his swift work. You surveyed the boisterous atmosphere and pulled your cloak around protectively, embarrassed and desperate for some privacy. You could stop him if you wanted, you had stopped plenty of men from touching you in the past, but this was different. You wanted him, Geralt was different. His command was teasing, but you truly thought your heart might stop without his fingers on you, his gaze and attention on you.

“I have always fended for myself, did what I had to”

“Hmmm” he sighed, moving his large and powerful finger between your wet folds. Your front teeth sunk deep into the plump of your bottom lip, trying to contain the pleasure he elicited from you. “And somehow, that involved stealing my sword” He allowed for some time to pass, slowly dragging his fingers up and down the folds of your sex, feeling you. Your hand clenched around the mug in front of you and you tried to cast your gaze downward towards the table.

“You also took a small sack of coin, did you not?” He broke the silence. You turned your gaze to him suddenly, embarrassed now that he also noticed that. Geralt looked at you amused, “I can hear your heart almost falling out of your chest” he brought one of his large fingers, slicked in your wetness to your opening and quickly pushed it into you. You jumped in your seat, adjusting to the size of him and sharply inhaling. He chuckled deeply at you, enjoying the apparent struggle it was for you to keep yourself together under his touch and his interrogation. You looked at him breathless and overwhelmed.

“That’s okay, Y/N, you go ahead and keep that coin. I have a feeling I’ll get my money’s worth from you by the end of tonight” He clenched his jaw and moved in closer to you, now pumping that finger in and out of your opening quickly. You squirmed and sighed, trying not to pant under his touch.

“Mmmmm” he leaned in under your ear again growling, kissing up your neck into the tender start of your hairline. You could feel the rough stubble of his jaw tickle your soft skin. “Remember what I said, not a sound.” He paused his thrusting rhythm and brought his finger back to your clit, which soaked in your moisture, he wiggled freely and easily in circular motions. Each arc of his swirling unraveling you further and further under his touch. He was driving you crazy, he had you completely at his whim. He continued kissing up your neck gently and working your clit under the table with his thick arm.

“Ahhh. Yes. So, Geralt.” Jaskier slid down the bench to be across from you and Geralt. “Sorry to interrupt your uh-well. I seem to have run out of coin and the lady and I need more ale yet and well” he lowered his voice, embarrassed. Geralt moved his face from your neck to look at Jaskier, his fingers continued below the table and without Jaskier’s knowledge you were coming undone right before him.

“I wish I could say I was surprised Jaskier…but I think a good bit of my coin was taken by the foolish thief as well.” He moved his fingers back down to your opening and stuck two fingers deep inside you, punctuating the word foolish. “Perhaps Y/N can oblige you for now” He looked to you casually, raising an eyebrow while you squirmed. You could hear his fingers thrusting in and out of you, lewd wet sounds coming from just below the table.

“Ummm. Yeah...mmmmhm” you were practically moaning, not doing the best job at concealing the pleasure writhing through you. Geralt’s thick fingers stopped their thrusting and started exploring slowly inside you, journeying, rubbing along your quivering walls.

“Y/N, is everything okay…?” Lucja turned to you, swaying with drink, her eyes struggling to focus on you completely.

“Yeah yeah mmhm” you responded, sweat beading on your forehead and your lips parted, trying to not obviously and openly pant. You reached for your coin purse and basically threw it at Jaskier, the aggression of your sexual frustration fueling the toss. He paused for a moment, noticing a strange tension, but took the sack and slid back down the bench. Lucja became distracted again when Jaskier went about acquiring more drinks for the two of them.

“Hmmm.” Geralt hummed, closing in to you again and seeking better leverage for his busy hand. “That was a little too close Y/N. You’re going to have to do better than that” he commanded raising his impressive and clenching jaw. He looked down at you, his amber eyes burning and harsh, determined. The pad of his middle finger found it’s way to the flat, hard surface of your g-spot. You gasped loudly, then coughed to try and maintain the façade.

“Focus for me sweetheart. I’m going to make you cum, but I need you to keep quiet for me. Do you understand?” You nodded, your eyes trying to roll in the back of your head. You looked at Geralt, he was stern and commanding. You remembered the glimpse you drank in of his almost nakedness, how every inch of his towering body was covered in rippling, hard muscle. You looked now to the dark hair swirling on his chest and remembered how it trails down pleasantly to what has to be a magnificent cock below. You put your hand on his knee, bracing yourself for the orgasm, but it started creeping up his thigh until you could feel his impressive, rock hard cock throbbing beneath his leather pants. He took his other hand to your wrist and moved it back to his knee. He shook his head at you.

You dug your fingernails in as he started rubbing your g-spot. Your teeth sunk hard into your bottom lip and you closed your eyes tight. To hide your face, you threw your forehead into the palm of your other hand, which was being propped up by your elbow on the table. You shielded your face and breathed quickly through your teeth as Geralt brought you closer and closer to ecstacy.

“Mmmhm. Good girl.” You heard him growl and lick his lips as he watched you struggle, your heels digging into the floor as his finger began rubbing hard on your g-spot. A woman down the table from you shook her head disappointedly, but you couldn’t be bothered to care about anything other than chasing this feeling. Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, you felt his large thumb press on your clit and wiggle slightly. You came undone and let out a whimper. Geralt was relentless all through your orgasm, waves of pleasure radiating through your bones and sneaking out your mouth in pathetic little sounds.

“Mmmmmm, quiet now” he assured, bringing your lips to his. You put your hand over his, desperate for him to stop. He finally ceased, kissing you sensually, biting on your bottom lip before pulling away.

“Now…lets see how you can handle a sword”

Xxxxx

Need more? You’re in luck:

PART TWO!!

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avalcnrp · 3 years ago

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NAME. Casper Mac an Ghoill AGE & BIRTH DATE. 30 & March 28th, 759 CE GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/him RACE & CLASS. Strigoi OCCUPATION. Owner of the Jester’s Court ( Theatre ) FACE CLAIM. Bill Skarsgard

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: violence, blood ) Middle child syndrome; often possessing traits such as agreeable, even tempered, the family peace-keeper. All qualities that no one has ever said about the middle Mathanach child a day in his life. Born to a well-known family in the heart of Seascann, Casper had always broken all those stereotypes. The Mathanach’s were nothing but extremely doting on their children, sometimes to the point of annoyance, and not a single one felt as though they were less loved than the rest. This didn’t just hold true for the biological children, the Mathanach’s taking on the House Donovan way when it came to adopting in, but every child that was brought in and embraced by the family. Unpretentious, along with a sense of goodwill and keen moral compasses, was known to be in the bones of every Mathanach. Each of them playing their own role in not just helping their fellow humans, but supernaturals alike. Even while historically their brethren took a stance against magic in the Kingdom, those same feelings were never shared by the lesser Donovan house. This held true when it came to Casper helping those in need, it didn’t always apply to the choices he made for himself. Legend has it that Mathanach’s were suspected of having a bit of a prankster streak in the their bloodline, which was not lost on him one bit.

Though coming from a noble house, the Mathanach’s have always been willing to get their hands dirty for their community. Long before war was even the inkling of destruction invading the countryside, their family held roots in the Kingdom of Avalon. This is where, for generations, they raised their children and built their lives of modest means. While many bearing the surname could be considered aristocratic, there was never a job that was too low for any of them. They regularly opened shops, managed hostels, farmed their lands, educated others, and dabbled within diplomacy. This, years before the middle Mathanach was even a twinkle in the eye, was how the family was first approached by the infamous house of Bards and was honored to be chosen to be among them. Their ability to be so gregarious, yet still hold onto that sense of cloak-and-dagger, was one of the main skills that won them the seat at the table. Along with their uncanny ability to hold conversations or sleuth secrets from even the most fickle souls.

By the time of Casper’s birth in 759 CE, his family had woven themselves into the fabric of the marshlands and worked side by side with residents to establish their mark on the town. The young mind flourishing as his home life allowed him to breed and feed on any creative endeavor he chose. His mother’s Scottish ties to the land and marshes brought within the house refreshing new hymns and legends. Stories of their times as Romans, within the lands their rules once called Caledonia, and their descent into the Kingdom of Avalon. While the dates truly meant nothing to the budding mind, Casper soaked up the hair-raising tales and wondered if he, too, would one day be able to revel and bear witness to such events as those spoken of. But his mother wasn’t the only individual that aided in the knowledge that Casper keeps undisclosed to anyone who shouldn’t hear it. After all, it wasn’t just Benedictus blood that ran through his veins, but also Mathanach and was apparent soon after he had first laid eyes on the world. Each in the generational line was different in how they used their talents, but one thing they all shared was satire. In particular, his father had a strange knack for writing elaborate eulogies, ones that even would make the most heinous man seem righteous, but couldn’t stop himself from allowing a satirical line from slipping into the fold. Then there were the lessons and studies from those who were to carry on the House of Donovan name, the heirs of other adopted members, and a day never seemed to pass without newfangled information that kept Casper ever curious for more.

Given that he was not only the middle child, but was not destined to overtake or become heir to even his own household, Casper didn’t feel as though he needed to make much of a grand impression in those regards. Instead, he was often found fooling around at the local taverns and inns, listening in on the local gossip or rumors of his own whereabouts. His parents would often lecture him on the importance of obscurity, though there had never been any point in time that Casper felt he would eat those words. Days that eventually became years would go on like this, of Casper being nurtured in the environment of Seascann and the murky moors that surrounded them. Each moment he found a new path brought out a sense of confidence within him, fed his ego and instilled the feeling of invincibility. Then there were the other little moments; of discovering a new type of animal or plant life within its depths and the chances of laying eyes on a pale spirit or maybe even giving reason for a fear grota to follow him home some night. He welcomed any encounter that made his life that much more interesting.

Though as the stronghold of adulthood began to take more notice and the appearance of his boyhood waned, Casper’s desire for travel outside the comfort of their domain grew. A life that he had romanticized about in his childhood, the one of a travelling performer that managed to captivate audiences with just a simple makeshift stage. He used this time to learn more of the kind of work he wanted to fill his time, as life should never be spent doing tedious tasks but instead invoke something within the spirit. In Maum, he went by several names, though for unknown reasons seemed to favor the use of Ode Mac Iver. Tearmann, known for all its Viking charms and sea faire, Maurin Peadarsan was the one he favored until fear it could be traced back to ‘moor’ and abandoned it for Eustace when it time was right. Every town, a new alias that accompanied a whole set of experiences. Setting out into the various countrysides of Avalon for months on end, meeting new faces and establishing connections, Casper still found himself coming back to Seascann when family requested it of him. Especially when the opportunity presented itself in Camelot, a plot of land that he could transform into a credible establishment, and the making of the theatre began.

But this pleasant song and dance couldn’t last forever, it seems, as Casper was making his final stretch back to the familiar marshes he adored so much. The road that had felt his footsteps and presence for years chaperoned another, an individual he hadn’t recognized, though Casper offered his usual pleasantries before carrying on his way. In seconds, teeth sunk themselves into the bits of exposed skin that many had during the warmer seasons of the moors.

“What of thous full moon?” a fading voice whispers delicately, as if it was just in a fever dream.

When he finally awoke, pellets of sweat seeming to drench every part of Casper’s body, a ravenous hunger was the only thing that awaited him. The stranger who stalked the foggy, dusk stricken Seascann was nowhere to be found and had left a Strigoi in its place. Had Casper meant to be left for dead, abandoned like the bodies rumored to be found in treacherous bogs and used as sacrificial lambs to the Gods who truly owned this land? Or did they actually know of his Mathanach roots, targeting Casper like he had been warned in his youth? Nothing was certain. Quickly, he sought aid from his family who did their best to help Casper understand fully the creature that he now was, though the rest was out of their grasp. It seemed that now all Casper could do was wait— and listen, for the story of his creation to unfold before him.

PERSONALITY

+ visionary, gregarious, resilient – unpredictable, assertive, self-indulgent

PLAYED BY CHARLIE. CST. She/Her.

#taken #male #vampire #strigoi #bill skarsgard #casper mac an ghoill

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lasignoramain · 4 years ago

Text

Tempus Fugit

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warning: Major Character Death

Relationship: Jean/Lisa

Summary: "Before demanding too many miracles from the gods, first consider if you are willing to pay the price they ask."

Sometimes, the sand of one's hourglass moves too quickly. What happens when Lisa's time runs out?

Word Count: 3088

Read under the bar, and/or on AO3!

Who knew that helping Barbara convince Jean to go on vacation would lead to Lisa Minci, the simple librarian of the Knights of Favonius, taking on the role of Acting Grand Master? Kaeya could have asked anyone— Amber, for instance. The young girl would be more than willing to take on the role and perform amicably. Even Eula would gladly take on the role of Acting Grand Master, and would most likely view it as a challenge. A test, to see if she's one the same level as Jean when it comes to taking on the tasks of Grand Master.

Even with those candidates, both of which would be ready and raring to assist while Kaeya shirks his duties, he chose Lisa.

Lisa, who chose the measly tasks of a librarian for a reason. Her job is rarely stressful, though she still takes it just as seriously. Jean entrusted the library to her, after all, so she wouldn't disappoint the woman she's severely indebted to.

Jean, as well as Grand Master Varka. Although Varka was adamant on Lisa being the Captain of the 8th Company. Absentmindedly, Lisa grasps at the Vision resting on her chest. The Knights of Favonius— they're all flawed people with ideals and goals independent of their occupations. They don't always act as one would expect.

Protect those who cannot protect themselves, even if it means that you might sacrifice yourself in the process.

Why?

A protector, a guardian, both a shield and a sword, dandelions floating in the Anemo-blessed breeze. A warm smile, gloved hands resting over Lisa's. Determination to work hard to fill the shoes that Grand Master Varka left her, stress building when one too many stacks of paper rest on her desk. Still, she presses on, a storm of productivity. Sacrificing herself for—

For what, exactly, does Jean sacrifice herself for? Or maybe the correct question is who?

The obvious answer would be the people of Mondstadt. They're all grateful for Acting Grand Master Jean— grateful to the point where they're too reliant on her. A lost cat that will inevitably return when it's hungry, advertising papers lost in the breeze that could easily be remade in a day or less. Freedom shackled by a doting Acting Grand Master who can't say no to the people she's meant to protect.

Lisa clears her throat, shaking the dizziness away. Just a few more papers to review and sign, then she'll return to the library to ensure that things are running smoothly.

Is Jean thinking of her while she's away with Barbara and Klee? With Kaeya, Diluc, Albedo, Razer, and Lumine? Hopefully, she's enjoying her vacation thoroughly, reconnecting with that relaxed, fun side that she once had when she was younger. Not that Lisa knows personally what Jean was like before she began shouldering the burdens of a Favonius Knight; she's only heard stories from Barbara, who's always more than willing to share the memories she holds so near and dear to her heart.

Her... heart. When did Lisa's chest start aching? Dull, but uncomfortable nonetheless. Nothing to worry about, it should go away in a few minutes.

Perhaps Kaeya and Diluc will have a small moment of bonding while they're on those islands together. While they're brothers, they've been so distant for so long. Not that Lisa knows why— the reasons of their tense relationship is a mystery even to her. Such a fragile thing the two of them have. Lisa hopes they eventually reconcile.

As for Klee, she's most likely ecstatic to have so many friends with her. Hopefully she'll be even more overjoyed when she realizes who's behind her summer getaway. Lisa played along for the young girl's sake, though she would know that handwriting anywhere, even if Alice tried to change it up. She still dotted her I's the same, and her A's had that exact flourish to them that made it obvious to Lisa.

The omnipotent mage. How much knowledge has she acquired in her travels, compared to what Lisa knows? Does Alice know the truth of why the Archons bestow Visions on mere mortals? Is Lisa paranoid for good reason, or is a fool to be terrified by whatever grand scheme the gods have in store for those "blessed" with obtaining a Vision?

"Before demanding too many miracles from the gods, first consider if you are willing to pay the price they ask."

Blessings will always hide their curses in the depths of the shadows, only rearing their heads when given the best opportunity to cause the most damage.

The dull ache in Lisa's chest turns into a sharp, stabbing pain. Gasping, she keels over, resting her forehead on the cool, polished wood of her desk. Her hat flops unceremoniously off of her head and onto the desk, knocking over a jar of ink and a few stacks of papers.

Always... they always come with a cost.

It wasn't even her Vision that did this to Lisa. Still, she's lived her life, hasn't she? Her hourglass just has less sand than most, and she accepted that a long time ago.

Still, why now? Of all the times, when she's alone. No one to be by her side when she goes. Can't she have this one thing? To have someone hold her close to them while her time finally runs out? Or will she be alone as she always has been, holding everyone at an arm's length, too afraid to grow attached and lose someone, grieve over a lost life?

"Jean..."

Help. She needs help. Her blood is rushing so loudly in her ears, but if she can just manage to get up and find someone, call for help, and she might be able to extend her life just for a little while longer, at least until she can see Jean—

A cough rises up Lisa's throat, and, through her delirious vision, she sees the blood more than tastes it. Is her sense of taste the first thing to go? What about her other senses? Can she still feel her hands, the wooden desk her forehead is resting on, the thrum of her Vision on her chest?

Numb. Numb is all she feels. Is that a feeling, or a lack thereof?

Fuck, she needs to move. If she can just find Eula, or- or Amber. Hell, if she can just get the attention of the guards stationed outside the door.

Power through it, Lisa. This is what you've been saving your energy for— to fight your fate for just one more day. Curse the Archons, curse this Vision, and curse that stupid. Magic. Book—

Lisa groans, slowly pushing herself up from her desk. The entire room is spinning— how is she going to get anywhere like this? It's laughable, really. How many people have referred to Lisa as elegant, refined, composed? This— her, right now— is the complete opposite of how many view her.

Oh, how embarrassed she would feel if she wasn't on the precipice of death, desperate for someone to save her. Where is her knight in shining armor? Any moment now, she should be bursting through that door, always prepared to play hero for everyone.

So, where is her hero?

Lisa's hand slips on the edge of her desk. She barely has the strength to catch herself, so she falls with a loud crash. She needs to get her act together— it would be so embarrassing for Jean to see her like this, wouldn't it? A sweating, shaking mess.

But Jean won't say anything about the state Lisa's in. She'll just give Lisa that warm smile before gathering her up in her strong arms, and then they could go to Windrise for a picnic, or— or even Starsnatch Cliff, so they could pick Cecilia flowers together. Then they could have some tea before they have to go back to work.

Jean. Jean, Jean, Jean.

The floor is so cold, Jean. It's dark, Jean. It was light outside just a moment ago, Jean, where did the sun go? Goodness, how the time flies. To think that you and I only met a short while ago, Jean. I'm so happy that I met you, and— and the rest of the Knights of Favonius, Jean.

A door slams open. Footsteps, but it all sounds so far away. So far, Jean, you're so far away. Can't you come back? Can't you come home, just for me?

"Her... is grave. We need... to the Church, and, while you're at it... the bard. He can send for Jean— don't ask questions, just do as you're told!"

Ah, Lisa can't feel a thing. Is this what death feels like? Nothingness? Her hearing is all she has left. What happens after she loses that, too?

They mentioned Jean. By the time they get a hold of her, it'll be much too late, and not even Barbatos can save Lisa. Perhaps he can keep her spirit here, just for a little longer? She wants to see everyone one more time.

Please. Just once more.

But that would be a bother— Jean is on vacation. Lisa can't be selfish, can't take her away, can't be selfish.

"Come on, Lisa... stay with us."

Who is that? Eu...la. Eula.

Eula.

Lisa wishes she could apologize.

"Until I enact my vengeance on all of the Knights of Favonius, no harm can come upon any of them! Including you, Lisa. I'll make sure that nothing happens to you, or Jean, or Amber—"

Eula's a good person. Strange, but she fits in perfectly with the rest of the Knights. Caring in her own way. She doesn't know about why Lisa has the condition that she does, and she has never asked a single question about it. Lisa's always appreciated that about Eula.

Eula, whose voice she can't hear anymore.

Has she finally died?

Lisa.

Aha, that's a familiar voice.

She opens her eyes to find that, yes, she is dead. How morbid— her soul is outside of her body, and thus she can see her deathly pale corpse resting on one of the cots in the church's infirmary. Her Vision is without its usual amethyst glow. Venti is by her side, though not looking at her physical body. He's looking right at her spirit.

"Well, this is a shame," Lisa sighs, crossing her arms. "Here to take me away with the winds before I can even see my friends, Barbatos? I'm hurt."

Venti shakes his head. "The least I can do is allow you to see them one last time, Lisa. Though it would be faster to take you to the archipelagos where they are now, I've sent Dvalin to gather them, per Eula's request." He smiles sympathetically, eyes full of mirth. "How do you feel?"

Lisa hums, tilting her head to the side. "Must I answer that, I wonder? Although I no longer feel the pain that I did while I was alive, which, I suppose, is a blessing. I expected death to give me much more time to do what I initially planned on doing before I ran out of time, but alas," she sighs, though it's not as if she's actually breathing. How strange. "How long until Jean arrives?"

"It shouldn't be long, now. Dvalin is a fast flier, after all," Venti chuckles, though that sad look never leaves his emerald eyes. "I see that your carefree nature has followed you even in death. If you'd received a Vision from me, you would fit in perfectly."

"Your Vision wouldn't match my outfit," Lisa retorts with a shrug. "I'm the Witch of Purple Rose, not Green. Though, thank you for the offer. Perhaps in my next life, I'll be granted an Anemo Vision."

Venti laughs loudly at that. "Perhaps you will," he agrees lightheartedly. He opens his mouth to add something else, but pauses when they both hear loud footsteps heading toward them. Just as quickly as the mourning left Venti's eyes, it returns. "The winds bring your companions to us quickly, it seems."

Jean bursts into the room, greedily gulping in whatever air she can into her lungs. Barbara, Lumine, and everyone else who had gone to the Golden Apple Archipelago are here.

"Barbatos—"

"Jean. Everyone," Venti solemnly greets the group with a nod. "Lisa asked me to hold her spirit here for a little while longer, at least until she could see the rest of you one last time." He turns toward Lisa's ghost, who stands there with crossed arms. The Anemo Archon summons his lyre, plucking at its strings to play a mellow tune.

A breeze flows through the room, and everyone's gaze moves to where Lisa is standing, next to her physical body. She watches them all intently— Diluc tries to keep his expression unreadable, but his knitted eyebrows, his tightly pressed together lips. Barbara is holding back her tears, to no avail. They all look so... sad.

"Now! Why are we all so mopey?" Lisa chides, shaking her head. She steps forward, placing her hands on her hips. "I certainly wouldn't want to remember my last moments with you lot having such sad faces, now, would I? So smile! It's the least you can do for me, isn't it?"

Klee whimpers next to Albedo, and Lisa's facade cracks. She kneels to Klee's height, smiling at the young girl. "Come now, Klee. You're a strong girl, aren't you? I know it might be hard right now, but you'll be alright."

"But... but I won't get anymore treats from Miss Lisa, will I?" Klee whines, shaking her head. "I don't want that! I want Miss Lisa to keep giving me treats! It's not fair!"

At Klee's tantrum, Barbara finally breaks with a loud sob. Lumine pulls her in for a hug, though Lisa sees the small tear that rolls down the traveler's cheek.

"Oh, Klee. I wish I could've taught you how to make those delicious treats I make you, but I have to leave soon." Pretending to lose herself in her thoughts for a moment, Lisa hums, tilting her head. Then she makes a small "Aha!" before smiling widely. "How about this: Let's make a pinky promise! I'll come back to Mondstadt and teach you how to make those treats, and you have to promise to smile for me."

Klee's face scrunches in confusion, but she extends her pinky to Lisa. "You have to come back! If you don't come back, then I'll be very angry!"

With a chuckle, Lisa wraps her pinky around Klee's. "I will come back, Klee. Then we can make all those delicious treats and eat them together."

The young girl's lips quirk, before she breaks out into a wavering smile. "Mhm! It's a promise!"

Good. Thank goodness. Lisa pushes herself up, only to be met with the one gaze that hurts the most to meet.

"Jean."

The Acting Grand Master squeezes her eyes shut, taking a deep, shaky breath. It pains Lisa so to see her like this— barely able to keep herself together.

That won't do. That won't do at all.

"Jean," Lisa tries again, hating how weak her voice sounds. "Look at me, please?"

Jean's bottom lip quivers, but she opens her eyes. "Lisa."

Kaeya takes the hint that the two of them needed some privacy, and quietly ushers the rest of the group out of the room. Lisa takes one last look at her friends— her family— before they're gone from her sight. Venti is the only one who stays.

"My sweet, sweet Dandelion Knight," Lisa sighs, stepping forward to cup Jean's face in her hands. "I'm going to come back to you, so don't mourn me, alright? I'll come back, no matter how long it takes."

Jean breathes out a puff of laughter, eyes downcast. "Please don't give me that kind of hope, Lisa—"

"You don't believe me?" Lisa interrupts with a pout. "I'm hurt. I may not be as powerful as Alice, but I can assure you that I have my ways. So, even when you do feel my absence, know that I will never leave your side. Call to me in the winds that flow through Mondstadt, and I will come to listen." Her voice cracks, and she knows that Jean is hiding all of her devastation, bottling it up until Lisa isn't there to see her break.

"Lisa, I—"

"I love you, Jean." Her voice trembles. It's embarrassing, how fragile Lisa sounds in that moment. "Every afternoon we've spent together, every time we've been in each other's company, every time I've made you tea and stolen you away from your work so you would give yourself some time to breathe," Lisa spills her words, desperate to get everything out before it's too late, "I've loved every single moment I've spent with you. Don't forget to give yourself time to relax, Jean; you need it more than anyone in the Knights."

"Lisa, it's almost time," Venti says softly. "I'll take you one last place before I send you off. Where would you like to go?"

"Starsnatch Cliff," Lisa says without hesitating. "Jean. Don't forget this little old librarian, alright? Or I'll—"

"How could I ever forget you, Lisa?" Jean sobs, tears finally spilling over. She manages to smile, though— a shaky, miserable smile through her grief. "How- how could I forget about the woman I fell in love with, knowing that her life was moving much faster than mine? If I could just find a way to return those years you lost," she rambles, wiping at her tears. "If I could just... save you—"

"Jean," Lisa chokes out, vision blurry. Can ghosts cry, she wonders? She certainly feels like she could cry, right about now. "My lovely Jean, it's alright. It was only a matter of time, so please don't... don't..."

Don't cry.

"Lisa."

Venti steps forward, placing a hand on Jean's shoulder. "We must be going, now. I won't be able to keep her spirit for much longer."

Jean nods, a sniffling mess. "Take... take care of her. Please."

"Of course," Venti responds, before gesturing for Lisa to step closer to him. "Are you ready?"

"That's a silly question," Lisa chuckles, taking Venti's extended hand. A green glow begins to envelop the two of them, and Lisa can't help but keep her gaze trained on Jean, who's watching them go. Jean meets her eyes, and she mouths three words to Lisa. One last time.

"Take care, Jean. I love you dearly."

And finally, the sands of Lisa's hourglass come to rest.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfic #genshin fanfic #lisa minci #jean gunnhildr #genshin lisa #genshin jean #jean x lisa #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc #genshin impact kaeya #genshin kaeya #genshin klee #genshin impact klee #genshin barbara #genshin lumine #genshin impact lumine

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crowleyellestair · 5 years ago

Note

How about geralt with a reader who tags along like jaskier only instead of writing songs about him they want to create a bestiary: a book of monsters, what attracts them and how to deal with them. They ask him questions all the time about all sorts of stuff

AN/// I love this!!! I have other WIPs, but I stopped them all to write this. I love Regis, but I’m going by show timeline for this. I think a part two could be made, and I’d love to, so just let me know!

Her back jumped off the log, but the witcher seemed unphased. Geralt continued to look at the fish cooking over the small campfire. He knew that if he looked over to his companion that he’d find shinning eyes and a ready pen. The man knew he should count his blessings, having only Y/n as a travel partner and not accompanied by the bard as well, but he found himself rolling his eyes. The questions hadn’t stopped since first light, though, he knew that should be expected.

When Y/n first approached him, he had been adamant not to let her come along. He could see the same pure wonder behind her eyes that could be found in Jaskier’s. She put up a fight, saying that she was weak by any measure and tried to prove how ‘worthy’ she was, but that hadn’t bothered him. He’d seen his friend go through his own set of trials sprouted by traveling the path with him, and he didn’t want to subject anyone else to it. Geralt appreciated the friendship that grew with his bard, and would gladly let another into his heart, but it would be their downfall if he did. Y/n was a young, spry scholar who was trying to shed light onto misconceptions of creatures. She had said she wanted to inform to keep everyone safe, but despite the sentiment, he said no.

Geralt thought it worked this time, as he let them own softer than he had with the bard. A gut punch wasn’t effective in hindsight, but he could learn from his mistakes. Geralt even threw in his kindest smile for good measure, only used to settle frightened, lost children. Then, while in the heat of battle with a drowner, he heard a confident voice warn him of another trying to sneak up behind him. After the long lecture he gave on stalking, he found that she had sought the drowners out separately, with Geralt being just happenstance. He hadn’t believed her until he heard a steady heart and her tales of getting ‘Mucknixer’ info the same way.

He gave in, explaining that Mucknixers are just a drowners that look different and that she’d seem safer getting information by traveling with him. Their introduction seemed like months ago, though in reality it had been a couple of weeks. Unlike his start with Jaskier, Geralt felt like he knew what to expect, and was already slightly open for what she was trying to do.

“There’s a creature that even witchers don’t want to face? Wait, but I thought you said the Alpha Garkain was the worst vampire to face?” The witcher gave a grunt in agreement, standing by his earlier statement. His hand reached up to turn the skewer before finally allowing a glance towards his companion.

“I don’t face off against Higher Vampires. They’re too dangerous, so an Alpha Garkain is the worst.” He was right in speculating the glimmer in her eyes. Despite anything he had to say, it was always there. Y/n’s job was to ask about even the most intimate things, but always respected the silent boundaries he had. Geralt knew, that even if he told her every grueling moment of the trials, he’d still find light in those pools. The desire to learn and to share was so powerful that it had her bursting at the seams. It was quite endearing, though, Geralt had better control than that.

“What makes them so dangerous? Do they have impenetrable skin or something?” He gave a half nod, alluding to some accuracy in her statement. Normally, he had the bard refuse to end his line of questioning. It was effective, as the only way to end his talking was by starting to speak yourself, but Y/n was different. Along with respecting every boundary, she was silent. She wrote silently, only babbling to the sky when she couldn’t think of a specific word. And when it came to getting information, those large eyes would stare, unmoving, until Geralt was forced to talk. It was as if those eyes already gained the information by being able to read his soul, but still accepted verbal confirmation when he couldn’t handle the invisible force they omitted. And it was the same now, giving information so those eyes would focus on the parchment to write instead.

“They aren’t affected by steel or silver. There’s no weakness they have other than themselves and time. Igni and Black Blood should be something they’re susceptible to, though humans can’t consume that.” He watched as she nodded, scribbling out the last part. It was yet another thing he appreciated. When they first met, he had mentioned in passing that most information would be useless as only witchers can use or consume what most monsters find susceptible. Barely mentioning that no one was allowed to know formulas outside of witchers, she seemed to remember, and never asks for him to explain what oils or formulas he mentions. Though, he knew that was false, as he taught Jaskier the White Honey formula and Swallow, just incase something were to happen. “They are highly intelligent, as their name Higher Vampire suggests. They look like humans, and give off no magical essence. Though, they can turn into large bats.”

“Have you ever met one?” The way she worded things also dazzled him. ‘Met’? As if he were meeting an old friend or a noble for tea. Y/n also tries to refrain from using the word monster, often saying creature as an alternative. He had questioned it earlier, only to find the reason being her kind heart. She said she wanted to give everyone and everything a chance, and her heart gave away the brutal truth behind it.

“No, but I’ve known some who have.” She looked up, seeming as though she was going to ask something else, but something stopped her. He knew she wanted to ask something personal, but the softness that buffered around her eyes also made her back down. It seemed it was something that would cross a line, but he was curious. She seemed to know him, but it would be impossible. He’s been questioned for hours- days- weeks! So, he hoped it didn’t seem odd for him to ask her for clarification. He knew that she knew her hesitation didn’t go unnoticed. “What?” Again, she hesitated, re-inflating her shoulders again like before when they spoke of monsters.

“I just… The way you said… Are those people ok?” ‘People’, another thing she said in place of another. She seemed to only use ‘witcher’ as an occupation, and not a race like most, hell, even himself uses it as. And now her hesitation made sense. This kind soul wouldn’t be able to ask if his companions were dead without questioning themselves first. Geralt took the fish off of the fire and handed her the colder end of the stick. Their hands brushed, and in that moment something clicked. He wouldn’t mind those fingertips brushing against him, just as much as he didn’t mind her eyes on him. Geralt isn’t certain anymore that he doesn’t want her to get personal, to ask those questions she seems to want to ask. Opening up isn’t something he did, but if she were to reach out, it would be a mystery if he would indulge her or not. Though, the answer is seeming like he would.

“Some. Witchers follow the path, but also personal rules. Whether they decided to fight or not was up to them, and them alone.” Y/n nodded, but didn’t write what he said down. While there was interest for more info on witchers, she seemed to only write things down that were in favor of them. Instead of writing, a small smile spread.

“I could have told you that.” A simple bro raise was his reply. “You’re like the pinnacle of moral law. Every action you make is based on whether it’s right. It just so happens that most situations you’re in follow what I’ve gathered to be rules of the path.” Geralt felt like he shouldn’t be surprised, but his heart still clenched. Though, he knew normal surprise didn’t give him such a reaction. It was something else. It made his chest tighten, yet melt away at the same time.

“We should reach the nest tomorrow. Rest.” Y/n gave a gentle nod and smile after her fish disappeared. Her bed roll wasn’t too far from his, though it seemed to inch closer after every night that passed. And that was ok.

The only downside was that Y/n was just as dangerous as Jaskier. During every hunt, she tries to get as close as possible, despite what he requests- orders. That really was a setback, as he knew he would try and protect her with everything he has.

#witcher x reader #witcher imagine #geralt imagine #geralt x reader

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imagine-nation20 · 5 years ago

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Freedom

Summary: You and Jaskier have been meeting wherever you both go, only to spend fleeting moments together before parting again, leaving you colder than ever. Just when you think you might lose hope forever, you see him again.

Requested By: @ultracolorfulnerdcollection

Request: Hi there, Could you write Jaskier x Fem reader when he falls in love, but true love like he never has before and the keep finding each other having to let go of eachother. And the last time they find each other they do something crazy because they would not be able to bear departing from each other anymore. (All the fluff in the world, enough space to add smut if you wished to). I hope it inspires you Thank youuu

A/N: I actually loved this request, because ever since watching the show, I’ve sort of seen the whole ‘connected by destiny’ thing as an almost soulmate(platonic or otherwise) concept, and Soulmate AUs are my favorite, so… I was really excited about this.

~~~

The first time you met Jaskier, you were both teenagers. Your family was nobility, but you often traveled from your homes to kingdoms, helping with wars, uprisings, and other fighting matters. Your family was famous for their fighters, even going as far as to train any woman as well. That included yourself.

The party your father had been hired to protect as well as attend was boring. Most of the nobles talked about politics or arranged marriages, some even mentioning their latest affairs. It was a miracle no one had started a fight yet. You cringed at the thought of having to stop a fight between drunk nobles and royalty.

A boy, no older than you with shiny brown hair and bright blue eyes sat next to you at a table, holding out his hand. You eyed it wearily, not sure what he was up to, though you had some idea.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, but you may call me Jaskier” He introduced himself, bowing as well as he could while seated. You took his hand, deciding to humor him, and with a gentle smile, you returned the favor. He kissed the back of your hand, eyes alight with mischief.

“What brings you to my corner of the room, Julian?” You said, purposefully ignoring his offer to call him by a nickname. He rose a brow, smile widening at your sly look.

“Only your beauty, My Lady, and the hope of sharing a dance with you,”

And so you did. You and the boy danced for most of the night, only stopping to escape the party and find your way to a balcony, laughter escaping into the night air.

“And tell me, oh wise Julian, when you achieve your dream of becoming a bard, what will you write songs about? Heroic tales? Daring quests?” You teased, leaning back against the railing.

“Love Ballads,” Julian muttered, staring at you. The implications of his words made your cheeks heat up, and a shy smile to grace your features.

“Do you tell that to all the people you meet?” You asked, tilting your head. Julian chuckled, looking down to the ground before meeting your eyes once more.

“No, just you,” He whispers, taking a step closer. You follow, staring into his eyes. Your father’s voice calls your name, and you pull away, barely pecking Julian on the cheek before bidding him a good night and rushing to your father.

The next time you meet Jaskier, you are older, and traveling with a small group of you father’s men to protect a village from some monster. It is then that you also meet Geralt of Rivia, the famous witcher, and butcher of blaviken. It is also then that you hear Jaskier sing for the first time. His voice is soft, words like a delicate breeze brushing over the tavern.

“I am weak, my love,” He sighs out. “And I am wanting.”

He was right. Love Ballads were most definitely his strongest talent. As the song comes to an end, Jaskier looks up, eyes meeting yours still stood in the entrance, and his face visible brightens, smile blinding. With a quick apology and a rushed goodnight, he leaves to tavern goers hanging, rushing to you and ignoring your men, who all reach for their swords. With a wave of your hand, they calm, and you are quickly pulled into a hug.

Jaskier practically crushes you within his grasp, and you’re surprised at how strong he is.

“It had been too long, Julian.” You murmur, pulling away from his arms. He smiles at you, hands resting on your biceps.

“So it has, and much has happened since we last spoke. I’m sure you’ve heard the song.” He moved to offer you his arm, leading you into the tavern and towards a table in the back. You wave your men off, following Jaskier, completely entrance by his words.

“I have, indeed,” You looked to the table, seeing a white haired man sitting there, scowl on his face. “This must be the famous Geralt of Rivia.”

It was a wonder you hadn’t met him yet, as you two most definitely ran in the same circles. You had even arrived in the town of Blaviken after the famous slaughter in the market, hearing the stories of the Butcher.

“Hmm.” Was the only acknowledgement Geralt gave you looking at Jaskier and your intertwined arms. “I am not in the mood, Jaskier.”

“You’re never in the mood for anything, Geralt,” Jaskier muttered, waving his hand towards me. “This is Lady (Y/N) (L/N).”

Geralt seemed to recognize the name, but still didn’t say much on the subject. A ‘hmm’, was his only response. Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“You could show a bit more tact, Geralt,” Jaskier complained.

“Really, it’s fine, Julian,” Geralt seemed surprised at the name, quirking a brow at you. “I’m sure Geralt is tired from traveling a slaying monsters. As am I. I was planning on heading straight to a room,”

Jaskier perked up at this, nudging you slightly with a sly look. “May I join you, Lady (Y/N)?”

You laughed, shaking your head and releasing Jaskier. “Not so fast, Julian,” He sighed at the sound of his name, “I know your tricks, as good as they may be… though, you might catch me early in the morning before we leave for Cintra.”

Jaskier didn’t end up catching you, having overslept. He only heard the receding hoofbeats of your men as he roused from sleep, disappointed, but not very surprised. Geralt had him walking all day yesterday, and the exhaustion had started to show.

The third time you meet Jaskier, your father is talking with a nobleman about the possibility of your engagement to his son.

You hadn’t been happy during the entirety of the gathering, baffled at your father’s sudden interest with you marrying.

“You're older now, and people are starting to question your lack of a husband. They see you galavanting around with hordes of soldiers, and they talk,” Your father gripped your shoulders, pulling you to him in a hug. “I don’t want this just as much as you, but I won’t have people calling you dirty names. If you can find someone suitable who you want to marry instead, you can, but if not, I will accept the nobleman’s offer.”

There was no other option, and you knew it. Your father had your best interests at heart, and you were sure this boy would be a fine husband, but he wasn’t him. Your sweet bard, who would strum his lute and spin words of gold, just in the hope of seeing you smile at him. Your bard, who you had never spent more than a few moments with, but who had captured your soul completely.

It was destiny, your friend, Yennefer had whispered to you one night. The witch was so sure of that fact. Told you she had met Jaskier one time, saved his life, and that in his hazy sickness, he had only mumbled your name. You weren’t sure if she was being truthful or just trying to gain your favor with sweet words at the time, too used to the silver tongues of politicians and noblemen.

Still, sitting in the corner of the ballroom seems familiar, and the face that approaches you as well.

“My Lady,” Jaskier bows, holding out his hand.

“Julian.” Is your only response, but the way it is sighed out in response adds such a complexity, that Jaskier isn’t sure what you mean by it. All he knows is that he wants to hear you say it forever.

You spend that night like your first, and never leave his side, talking with Yennefer and Geralt as well, whenever they aren’t staring at each other. He tells you about their travels, and even sings you the famous song about his first adventure with Geralt.

You don’t mention your father’s plans of engagement. You knew if you did, Jaskier would offer you his hand instead, but you would never be able to take it, to take his life from him. Jaskier wasn’t the type of person who could settle down and run a household, which was obvious by his occupation alone. Speaking with him, and hearing how he interacted with people, let alone seeing it, was enough to erase any doubt that Jaskier was a free spirit. Being responsible for his misery wasn’t something you could handle burdening you. So you chose a different, more manageable burden. You chose a life of misery for yourself, in the hopes that you would spare Jaskier his own. Because if keeping this from him kept him free, you would never tell a soul.

You don’t see Jaskier for quite a few months after that, which is a short time period if you consider the years between your last few meetings. Your father wasn’t blind, and he could see the pain in your eyes as you spoke to your fiance and future father-in-law. He knew of Jaskier, he knew of your feelings, and that's why he had given you a choice. He had hoped you would try for your own happiness. It was in vain though, because he had raised you properly. Selfishness was not in your vocabulary, and he knew that is what you viewed asking Jaskier to stay was. Selfishness. How though, could it be selfish if he also knew Jaskier wanted the same thing you did?

Maybe that was why he sent out his fastest rider. Why the note clutched in the warrior’s hand was so hastily written.

When the knight finally managed to find the bard, who was tiredly strumming a new song in his and Geralt’s room, he drummed on the door hard enough to shock the bard onto the floor, and have Geralt reaching for his sword. The insignia on the night’s uniform had Jaskier quickly scrambling up, taking the letter address to him. It wasn’t your handwriting, as he would know that anywhere, but it was similar.

Geralt left Jaskier to sit on the bed, waiting for the bard to tell him they had a monster to fight, or that they had to go to another event. The words that slipped from Jaskier’s mouth, however, were not anywhere close to what the witcher was expecting.

“She’s getting married,” Three simple words that escape Jaskier in a small breath. Geralt’s head whips up, legs swinging over the bed to sit on the edge.

“What?” Its gruff, not gentle as Jaskier hoped the moment to be. He felt as if he might shatter if Geralt asked him anything more.

“She’s going to be married in a month,” He turned to his friend, and Geralt was sure it was the first time he had seen Jaskier so heartbroken. Tears were pooling in the bard’s eyes.

Geralt hummed, standing. He gathered their stuff, pushing the bard out the door. “Like hell she is.”

The next time you see Jaskier, you’re dressed in white, and frowning. It wasn’t that your dress wasn’t beautiful, it was rather perfect if you were honest, but the fact that it was being wasted on a day where you weren’t going to be happy, that was what bothered you.

“How are you doing?” Yennefer asked from her place reclining on your bed. She ate a few fruits out of a bowl, the black shine of her midnight dress was littered with glitter that you could have sworn were actual stars. You had given Yennefer the choice over what she wore today, as she was your only bridesmaid, and you knew she wouldn’t have liked what you picked. She looked beautiful as always though, and at least that made you a bit happier.

“I don’t know,” You said simply, running a hand over the bodice of your dress.

“Don’t bullshit me, be honest,” Yennefer said, not giving you the room to dance around the subject like usual.

“I’m completely miserable and I am afraid I will be for the rest of my life,” You said, turning to her. The main that had been working on your hair stumbled, and you brushed her off when she tried to go back. “My hair is fine, now go help set up something else.”

You knew you were being harsh, but you weren’t in the mood to care. The maid scurried off, and Yennefer quirked a brow at you.

“That was definitely not in character for you,” She said, leaning back on the bed once more and smirking at you. “I think I like angry and horny (Y/N).”

“I’m not horny.”

“But you don’t deny being angry?” She asked. You didn’t respond.

The door to the room opened, and one of the maids rushed in, eyes wide and hair frazzled. “There are two men who just arrived at the house, and one of them is asking for you, My Lady.”

You rolled your eyes. Probably another noble here to give you a wedding gift. “Send them up if you must. I can’t deal with another problem today and I fear if I leave this room, I will be riddled with them.”

The maid nodded, bowing and rushing back out. It wasn’t long before the door was swinging open and you were hissing curses. “Who could have so little decency as to-”

Your words were cut off as you spun around and made eye contact with the intruder. The blue eyes you had only ever seen so briefly, but which you knew so well. He was panting, hair wild and clothes unkempt. His usual jacket was long gone, leaving only pants and a shirt with his sleeves rolled up. It was a far cry from how put-together he usually appeared before you.

He looked you over, eyes filled with so much hurt, and anguish. It was a look you had become familiar with over the past few months, seeing it so often on yourself in the mirror.

“Julian…” You murmured, already feeling the tears well in your eyes. You were hoping never to have to see him again, but destiny apparently had other plans for you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, voice cracking halfway through. That look on his face was what you had been trying to avoid by not telling him. Yennefer leaves the room quickly, grabbing a patiently waiting Geralt as she closes the door behind them.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Jaskier.” You think that the nickname will be enough to tell him you’re serious about this, but it only hurts your more to see the wince he gives at the cold tone.

“Hurt me? You didn’t hurt me,” He took a step closer. “You cut into my back and tore my heart out.”

Its whispered between light sobs, but he still hears it. “I’m sorry.”

“Why not come to me. If this is about politics, I would have married you within the hour,” He knows he sounds like a man desperate for water after being left in the desert for weeks, but he doesn’t have it in him to care at the moment.

“That’s exactly why, Jaskier,” You hissed out, turning to him and letting the hot tears track down you face without a care. You would force yourself to feel the pain, because it let you know you were doing the right thing. “You would’ve given up everything for me at that moment, but you bore easily, and soon you will become bored with me. What then? When you realize you can’t go out on adventures with Geralt, because you have a house and an army to run? When you realize you can’t travel and write songs about heroes because I keep you tied to this godforsaken house?”

“Love ballads,” Is all he says, like he’s reminding you of a chore you have to do that day.

“What?”

“I told you when we met, my songs would be love ballads,” He stepped closer to you, hands coming up to wipe the tears from your face. “I would give up every adventure, every chance to write another song of heroics, if it meant I could spend even a year with you, writing love ballads.”

“But you will be-” You tried, only to be cut off by the feeling of him pressed against you, lips soft and gentle, but so desperate in their need of you. It was only a momentary kiss, but the way he lingered afterwards, the way his lips brushed lightly against yours, and the way his breaths came out in pants like he had just run a mile to get here, was enough to make it feel like an eternity. You weren’t complaining, but the nagging feeling that you were being selfish remained, and you pushed him away. The hurt look on his face was almost enough for you to say ‘screw it’ and kiss him again.

“I will not be the cause of your grief, Julian,” You regretted the name as soon as you said it. You knew it gave him hope, hearing the endearing way you spoke it into existence.

“Yet you stand here, being the greatest cause of my grief,” He followed you as you stepped away, white dress swishing as you moved. “If you are so scared of me losing my freedom, then run away with me.”

It was an absurd request, which you were keen to point out. “My father-”

“Was the one who brought me here.”

That wasn’t what you were expecting, and quite frankly, you were shocked. Your father had been so adamant in your marriage. Why would he bring back the one thing, the one person, who would jeopardize everything?

“Why?”

“Because he knew I would do anything to stop this wedding,” Jaskier scrambled for his lute, smiling slightly. “I will sing every love song I know.”

“Julian,” You tried to stop him, but only half-heartedly.

“I will get up in front of everyone waiting outside and scream it out.”

“Julian…”

“I’ll get Yennefer to spell it out in the sky with the clouds.”

“Julian!” You tried to shush him, as he was getting louder and louder. He dropped his lute back to his side, reaching for you and pulling you close, lips to your ear.

“I will whisper it to you every morning, as I wake up beside you as gaze upon your beautiful face.”

“Julian…” You mumbled, pulling him in for another kiss.

You were sure that no matter how hard you tried, he would not give up, as he had never been the sort. You could argue with him all day, cite sources and state facts, but if there was one thing Jaskier was, it was romantic, and he would die before he told you not to be selfish this one time.

Destiny seemed keen on you and Jaskier being together, or they wouldn’t have pushed you together like they did. And really, who were you to argue with destiny?

---

Yennefer stepped up in front of the crowd, smiling to Geralt. The nobleman and his son demanded to know what was going on, but the witch ignored them. She turned to the gathered friends and family, a polite, and somewhat smug, look on her face.

“There will be no wedding today, as I am afraid the bride has run off with her secret love.” Her tone held no remorse. The nobleman protested angrily, spouting off how this was outrageous and an insult to his family. He demanded Geralt, the mighty witcher, track them down.

“I can’t.” Was all Geralt said.

“And why not?”

“I only hunt monsters.”

#jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier oneshot #julian alfred pankratz #julian alfred pankratz x reader #julian alfred pankratz oneshot #the witcher #the witcher oneshot #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg

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jewish-privilege · 5 years ago

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...When the conference began Thursday morning, I was warned that protesters from the Bard chapter of Students for Justice in Palestine planned to interrupt my panel with [Ruth Wisse, a Harvard professor of Yiddish literature and scholar of Jewish history and culture, and Shany Mor, an Israeli thinker who is affiliated with the Hannah Arendt Center]. I was surprised they were not targeting the one on Zionism, but the one on anti-Semitism, the only panel of about 20 over the course of the two-day program where three Jews would be discussing the topic.

“But we’re not even talking about Israel,” I said to the conference organizers. “How does that make sense?”

My concern was met with an explanation of the College’s policy towards protesters. The center’s leadership, and the two Bard College deans attending the conference, seemed to have no particular plan to handle what was fixing to become an ugly disruption of Jews trying to discuss anti-Semitism. [Roger Berkowitz, the founder and director of Bard College’s Hannah Arendt Center] told us that there would be added security, but the security officers were not allowed to remove the students.

As the protesters started to gather in the lobby, I approached them. I told them that I respected their passion and commitment to what they thought was right, but asked why they had picked this panel.

“Come to my panel tomorrow,” I said. “Come protest my comments on Zionism. I’ll be talking about the occupation. Bring your signs.”

I told them I’d reserve the first and second audience-questions for members of their group, but that protesting the all-Jewish anti-Semitism panel was undercutting their work.

“Don’t you see that?” I asked. Didn’t they see that protesting Jews over Israel when they are not even talking about Israel is racist? Didn’t they understand that saying we were responsible for the behavior of the Israeli Jews just because we shared their ethnicity was racist? That making every conversation with Jews about Israel is racist?”

“The conversation about anti-Semitism is already inherently about Israel,” one of the students archly explained, repeating a deeply anti-Semitic trope that has been voiced across the spectrum from David Duke to Louis Farrakhan to Jeremy Corbyn’s supporters. Right-wing anti-Semites see any accusation of anti-Semitism as a Jewish conspiracy to take away the rights of whites, while left-wing anti-Semites sees the same accusation as an attempt to silence Palestinians.

Apparently, so do some Bard students.

...When the protesters proceeded to interrupt Wisse, they were applauded by several of our fellow conference speakers in the audience. These vaunted intellectuals, flown in from across the country to discuss racism, were commending a display of racism against Jews.

This was much more horrifying than the students’ chanting and leafletting, which failed to stop the indomitable Wisse from having her say, defining anti-Semitism as any political organizing against Jews (I have been told since that two students were removed, something I didn’t see from the stage, but the rest stayed). Not one of our fellow conference speakers got up and exercised their free speech rights to call the protest what it was. Not one came over to us after to express shock and horror that three Jews would be denounced for Israel’s actions while attempting to discuss anti-Semitism in America.

...But not one of my fellow speakers said a word. Two days later, I have not received a single note acknowledging what happened, which leaves me thinking they condone it.

And some were explicit about it. At a party for conference speakers at Berkowitz’s house right after the panel, Etienne Balibar, a French philosopher currently teaching at Columbia University, told me he thought the protest was wonderful.

“Why are you silencing Palestinians?” he demanded. “There should have been a Palestinian discussing anti-Semitism. They have many thoughts about it!”

I left the party. How could I drink with people like that? And back at my hotel, I realized that it would be pointless to participate in Friday’s program. There is no debate possible when people think anti-Semitism is not only acceptable, but commendable.

So when I was introduced the next morning, I pulled out a new set of remarks. I directly addressed these academics and writers and intellectuals who were brought to Bard to speak about how to fight racism and anti-Semitism. I told them I was appalled that not one of them had called out this blatantly racist act, the way they surely would have if it had been three Muslims on the dais, or three black speakers — or at least, the way I would have in that scenario.

“I’m horrified by your cowardice. By your self-justifications,” I read from the new set of remarks I had written the night before. “You, who I called luminaries! Whose books I’ve read! There’s nothing more I want to say to you or hear from you.

“The next time someone says, ‘What have you done to help Jews as anti-Semitism has spiked across the nation, as Jews have been murdered at their place of worship and Orthodox Jews get beaten to a pulp day after day in Brooklyn,’ you can say, ‘I sat idly by as Jews were protested for trying to talk about anti-Semitism. I allowed a Jewish woman to be held accountable — because of her ethnicity — for the actions of a country halfway around the world where she can’t even vote. I egged the protest on, in fact. And then I went to a party.’”

There is no debate possible when people think that your very humanity is up for debate, something my fellow conference goers no doubt accept as obviously true when it comes to anti-Black racism or anti-Muslim racism. And yet somehow, when it comes to anti-Jewish racism — holding one Jew accountable for the actions of another simply because they are Jewish — no one bats an eye.

No doubt the intelligentsia at the conference proceeded to debate whether Jews are a valid target of protest in my absence (Berkowitz did ask me to stay, as did a few members of the audience when I walked off the stage). No doubt others will continue to debate the question, too; perhaps they will argue that Zionists are a valid target, even when they are discussing issues that aren’t related to Israel.

Yet polls show that more than 95% of Jews in America have a favorable view of Israel. The debate over whether Zionists are human and deserving of human treatment will have to be held in the absence of Jews of conscience. In 2019, no Jew should be forced to debate their humanity, their right to exist independent of anti-Semitism.

...But as I know all too well, the most important factor in hosting the full gamut of legitimate opinion is knowing where the red lines are. And if you think allowing Jews to be protested for being Jews does not represent a red line, I have nothing more to say to you, and nothing I want to hear.

As I was getting my suitcase to leave the Bard campus on Friday morning, a student approached me. He had followed me out of the auditorium after I made my speech and left the stage. He had a big smile on his face.

“That was great,” he said. “I was at the panel last night and I didn’t really understand what was happening. I’ve never really understood what anti-Semitism is. But your remarks just now — they made it so clear.

“I get it now!” he said, his young face awash in the jubilance that intellectually curious people feel when a puzzle is solved.

I was filled with surprise and gratitude. I had convinced one person.

[Read Batya Ungar-Sargon’s full post at The Forward]

#long post #antisemitism #antisemitism dressed as anti zionism #batya ungar sargon #Bard College

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tipsycad147 · 3 years ago

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EARTH RELIGIONS and CEREMONIAL MAGICK

By Karen Charboneau-Harrison

Earth Religions such as Wicca share many outlooks and some vocabulary with Ceremonial Magick, but also have some fundamental differences with it. Both use magick (the controlled, focused use of energy, usually through ritual), both acknowledge the 4 elements, both use similar magickal tools (chalice, knife or sword, pentacle, wand, altar), both believe in personal responsibility and karma for one's actions and both tend to have initiations into deeper levels of practice and learning. EARTH RELIGIONS, however, see the earth as sacred, all beings as part of the divine spark, usually have personal deities - both male deities and female deities, don't believe in evil as a deity or sometimes even as a concept; follow closely the cycles of the moon as well as the seasons, see spirit and matter as being reflections of one another and are not Christian based. Most Earth Religion practitioners are also interested in herbs, incenses, spell work, astrology and divination. Earth Religions are spiritual pathways of worshipping the divine with a generous helping of magical practice; whereas CEREMONIAL MAGICK is not a religion - it is a way of invoking and using energy or forces to manifest one's desires. Although most ceremonial magickians have a strong Christian or Jewish background, it is a magickal practice separate from and not necessarily a part of their religious observances.

One of the most popular Earth traditions in the United States is Wicca, a branch of Paganism (from the Roman paganus, meaning 'of the country'). Wicca has both groups (covens - from the same root word as convene and convent) and solitaries. Most Wiccans worship The Goddess and The God; a few only The Goddess. Most groups have 3 levels of initiation, the first initiation happening after a year and a day of basic training, the second after the practitioner has mastered some more advanced skills in things such as divination, astrology, spell work, herbalogy and/ stone lore; and the third degree initiation when the person seeks to teach and counsel others and perhaps is planning to hive off into a group that they will lead. Some branches of Wicca are Gardnerian (Gerald Gardner), Alexandrian (Alex and Maxine Sanders, written about and practiced by Janet and Stewart Farrar) and Eclectic (most American Witches).

The Druids are a more hierarchical Pagan branch with three initiations as well - Bard, Ovate and Druid. The original Druids practiced in Gaul (The British Isles and France) and were the teachers, poets, musicians, philosophers, physicians, historians and lawmakers of the land. Druids would be considered the Celtic equivalent of the Brahmin caste in India.

Asatru and Odinism are Teutonic or Germanic branches of the Earth religions and are often confused with skinheads and such because the skinheads have adopted some of the symbology and the Teutonic Gods.

Today many people have become "Goddess worshippers" - they don't necessarily want to become Wiccan, but want to create their own brand of spirituality from reading and experience focusing on deity as female. Works by Barbara Walker, Patricia Monaghan and Riane Eisler would interest them. Native American practices have many similarities to western Earth Religion, but they don't consider themselves Pagan and would no doubt be insulted if they were called such.

CEREMONIAL MAGICK is based on Christianity, Hermetics and Qabalah and tends to see things in more dualistic or black/white terms. Most ceremonial magickians believe in the concept of evil or even a devil - although they are not worshipping or using these forces specifically. Ceremonial magick has its roots in early Egyptian and 7th century b.c.e. Greek and Roman magickal practices. Those cultures were influenced by Plato's ideas of dualism and emanation of divine energy into matter, but with spirit being superior to matter. During the Renaissance as philosophers, alchemists and astrologers began to travel throughout Europe and the Middle East sharing wisdom and trading techniques, ceremonial magick had a huge resurgence and many of the grimoires (literally the word 'grimoire' translates as lesson book - but grimoire has come to mean book of rituals, planetary correspondences, etc) used today are reprints of ones written during that time. Most ceremonial magickians are also interested in alchemy, Qabalah, magickal alphabets, Golden Dawn, and pathworking (guided meditations directed along one of the paths or links between the Sephiroth of the Tree of Life)

The most popular branches in Ceremonial Magick are the Golden Dawn, Thelema, Hermetics (Franz Bardon) and Alchemy:

Hermetics is Mystical wisdom which along with the Qabalah forms the basis of Western Occultism. Based on the writings of Hermes Trimegistis (a composite of Greek Hermes and Egyptian Thoth). Legend has it that core writings were on papyrus and stored in Alexandria (but burned when Alexander the Great invaded). Some Hermetic works are The Divine Pymander which tells how divine wisdom was revealed to Hermes. The Vision is about Hermes' mystical visions and cosmogony and the spiritual journey of the soul. The Emerald Tablet is inscribed with the whole of Egyptian mystical wisdom and includes the magickal secrets of the universe.

Alchemy is literally the art of transmutation (lead into gold) and is the foundation of modern chemistry and metallurgy. Symbolically it is the transformation of consciousness and the soul. It draws philosophically from the Hermetic traditions and by the 12th century had spread throughout Europe through the Muslim occupation of Spain (see books by Frater Albertus).

Golden Dawn (Hermetic Order of the) arose in England in the late 19th century and was founded by MacGregor Mathers. Other well-known members of the Golden Dawn were AE Waite, WB Yeats, Dion Fortune, Israel Regardie and Aleister Crowley. Golden Dawn practices and teachings were a mixture of Hermetics, Egyptian magick and Rosicrucian ideas. Within the Golden Dawn are 11 degrees based on the Sephiroth of the Qabalistic Tree of Life.

Thelema was founded by Aleister Crowley as a blend of Golden Dawn magickal techniques, sex magick of the OTO (Ordo Templis Orientis, a German based magickal fraternity of which he became the head in 1912) and yoga techniques. The "bible" of Thelema is The Book of the Law. Born into a fundamentalist Lutheran Brethren family, Crowley rebelled in every way he could. Perhaps not very emotionally mature, he delighted in shocking society - however, he was a brilliant compiler of information and wrote exhaustively about magickal technique and correspondences. Two of his best books are 777 and Magick in Theory and Practice.

Another member, Dion Fortune (Violet Firth) belonged to the Stella Matutina, outer order of the Golden Dawn. Believing she had a past life in Atlantis as a priestess, Dion channeled information regarding Atlantean teachings and was an adept ritualist. She wrote some great books, among them The Mystical Qabalah, Cosmic Doctrine, Sea Priestess and Moon Magic, Psychic Self Defense.

http://www.isisbooks.com/Earth-Religions-s/457.htm

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drakelis · 5 years ago

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OVERVIEW

Full Name: Drake Li Pronouns: He/Him Nicknames: You Little Weasel, Get Back Here Asshole Alias: N/A D.O.B: May 23rd, 1990 Languages: English Occupation: Assistant at the Golden Goose Gym, Student Sexuality: Heterosexual

PHYSICAL INFORMATION

Height: 5′11 Hair Color: Brown Eye Color: Brown Tattoos: a flower bud poking through dirt and grass that covers up his gunshot wound, vines down the front of his left shoulder

FAMILY INFORMATION

Father: Crisanto Li Mother: Jasmine Gwynne Brothers: N/A Sisters: N/A

PERSONAL INFORMATION

Positive Traits: optimistic, easy going, humorous, loyal Negative Traits: nervous, fearful, shy, oblivious Likes: animals, university, coffee, friendships, snow Dislikes: gangs, yelling, loud sudden noises Wants: to build a new life from the ground up, something he can be proud of Fears: falling back into old habits and unhealthy circles of people Character Inspirations: Nathan Drake (Uncharted), Jake Peralta (Brooklyn 99)

DETAILS

Drake Li was born to two people who really, really didn’t have their shit together nor did they want to. One irresponsible night led to the inevitable and there he was. He doesn’t remember a lot about his parents. He was always being dropped off to be looked after by extended family on his father’s side. His mother had no ties to Grimmbook except for Crisanto who she met... somehow. Drake doesn’t know the full story, nor is he interested in hearing it.

One day Drake was dropped off to be looked after by his uncle and his older cousins. That was the last he ever saw of his parents. Crisanto, embedded deep within the criminal underground of Grimmbook like much of the rest of his family, ended up picking a fight where he shouldn’t have with a rival gang, the conflict ending with a massive amount of casualties on both sides. When she realized he was dead, Jasmine packed up her bags and left town, not bothering to look back. There was nothing tying her there. Not even her child.

Growing up with his extended family was...fine. Drake was taken care of to the minimum of most minimum degrees. Maybe barely having their shit together was a Li family trait. They made sure he didn’t starve and always made sure that he was at home by nightfall but otherwise he was on his own. Drake was nursing himself back to health after having caught the flu when he was 7. He figured out how to make a splint from things he could find in the medicine cabinet by 9. He was a resourceful little kid, though no one really noticed.

Things continued on like that for years, until Drake was 11 years old and had suddenly caught the attention of one of his older cousins who needed help with a ‘job’. Of sorts. All he had to do was talk to this random lady and keep her talking until his cousin came back. He was a much better speaker back when he had no clue what was going on, so Drake found the job easy enough to do and he was glad to help or at least be noticed. It was the first crime he ever helped to pull. His cousin made away with the woman’s entire weed stash with Drake none the wiser.

He’d seen the dark underbelly of his town, though. He knew it was there. He’d seen shoot outs happen outside his bedroom window. He’d seen people get roughed up in plain daylight over some petty squabble just walking home. He knew it was there. He just never thought he’d get involved in the way he had.

It was a slow decent for him. Bit by bit his family dragged him into pulling off bigger and bigger crimes with them, gaining their trust with a natural charisma and quick fingers. He was a good tool to use. Sometimes they’d let him go off on his own, which led him to getting into trouble with the law more often than not. But his sweet demeanor got him out of detention centers fairly quickly and it was never all that bad anyway. He actually learned a lot, talking to the guards and parole officers when they gave him the time of day. They were actually kind, which was weird because for the longest time he had thought his family and relatives were kind. But after a while Drake realized they were just south of the definition.

He cut his family off after the incident that nearly got him killed. At 25 he was offered a job from one of the many criminal organizations he’d gotten involved with over the years (possible connection!) But already feeling unsure with where his life was headed he said no, thank you but I know a couple of guys who might be up for it. He told his uncle and his cousin about the job, completely unaware that after he did they spent weeks conspiring behind his back to double cross the organization that had asked for an extra couple people to help pull off a crime of their own.

He almost didn’t know why he was getting attacked up until the people sent to kill him came with a whole super villian-esque speech which at the least, was extremely convenient. They shot him in the stomach and left him for dead. After his run in with the vet that saved his life and the consequent hospital stay, Drake packed up his very few things and left the only home he’d ever know growing up, unsure what to do with himself or where to go.

He bounced around Underland a lot, living out of a few motels for weeks on end, renting out random apartments when he could afford it. He did odd jobs for a long time but nothing that he particularly enjoyed and nothing that required all that much skill, which he quickly realized he didn’t have a lick of.

Then he met Maggie Yao and his life finally seemed to be turning around. She saved him from a very similar fate from 4 years back with an incredibly quick and efficient display of skill. She offered him a place to stay and something to do while he tried to figure out how and where to start rebuilding his life. He owes her more than she knows. She’s cared about him more than anyone else in his life. Honestly Drake would do just about anything for her.

He’s almost gotten to the point where he can say he’s starting to build something of his own. Taking night classes at the university for biology has made him the happiest he’s ever been and he’s met some good people through his studies too. And he still has Maggie. And he hasn’t heard from his family in ages. So things are finally looking up.

EXTRAS

They never actually got the bullet out from where he’d been shot. Drake would say that it makes going through metal detectors an adventure every time.

This guy has. Some STRONG bard vibes. Maybe he doesn’t sing or have enough skill to play any instruments. But the charisma, when he chooses to trust in it, is strong with this one.

He still has some PTSD from almost dying... twice. He doesn’t really like to talk about it because he doesn’t want to worry anyone but he still gets the shakes and is liable to jump like a scared cat around loud sudden noises. Nightmares are occasional but he gets them sometimes.

Despite growing up around a crime family, Drake never really found himself getting into drugs all that much. He’ll smoke to calm himself down sometimes and he’s not adverse to going on a drinking bender if there’s someone else there to do it with him but he ain’t usually about that life.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Study Buddies They’ve seen Drake at the University library on a lot of nights and decided to share his table so they wouldn’t have to study alone. One night became two became a habit and they’ve become fast friends because of it [OPEN]

Spill The Beans

With all his time spent working in Underland’s criminal underbelly, Drake has a lot of connections and a lot of useful information that could get a lot of people in some very big trouble. However, considering how he never spoke a peep and almost lost his life twice, he’s rather reluctant to share anything despite how hard this person may try to pry it out of him [TAKEN; Daniel Mickey]

I’ve Got My Eye On You, Punk

Just because Drake is done with Underland doesn’t necessarily mean Underland is done with him. This person has been sent to keep an eye on him, just to make sure he doesn’t blab about anything he shouldn’t be. But knowing Drake, he hasn’t really noticed that’s what they’re up to just yet [OPEN]

I’m So Into You

Talking about Drake’s amazing ability to be oblivious to just about anything, he probably hasn’t noticed this person dropping every hint known to mankind and making eyes at him from across the room when they’re there at the same time. This crush of theirs feels a little hopeless but yet they can’t seem to shake it no matter how many times Drake doesn’t seem to notice [OPEN]

More to come! Extra headcanons can be found here

#gun tw #death tw #drugs tw #[i don't even know what's going on half the time; personal]

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whitherliliesbloom · 5 years ago

Note

💌 🍼 🌸 🎂 🕊️ for all!!!

Sweet and Pure asks [Accepting!]

YOU SPOIL ME IFNSIODF THANK YOU SO MUCH.

💌- diary or journal?

Answered here!

🍼- what is your favorite memory?

“Ah.. I can’t really pick one.. I um.. reminisce too much.. and I cherish all the memories I make, both the good and bad.

But... If I r-really had to choose.. Thinking back on how far everyone has come.. The very first meal we had after we defeated Emet-Selch... Not just our party, but with the scions too! There are many points in my life where I believed we were going to die... But with every battle, every step we take forward.. it just makes me more grateful that we’re still alive.. still here to fight the better fight.”

🌸- what is your favorite flower?

Answered here!

🎂- if you had 3 wishes, what would they be?

“O-Oh.. W-well assuming that I can’t ask for more wishes...I would wish for an end to Garlean occupation in nations they’ve invaded.

My second wish.. I-I’d wish for any remaining ascians to stop their attempts at a rejoining! T-that may be selfish of me.. especially after... after I’ve learned much about their motives.. and why they would seek to destroy our star in order to restore their own.. B-but.. I-It is as Alphinaud said! Our lives... the memories we have of our homes.. It’s not any less important than the lives of the past that were lost!

O-Oh.. that got a little serious there.. but.. um.. I’d use my third wish.. to become stronger! Strong enough.. to be able to better protect others.. and be more useful. As I am now.. I’m just..n-n-not good enough.”

🕊️- 3 habits you have?

“A-ah.. Habits.. Um.. Well.. L-let’s see.. I tend to.. avoid crowds..? I-I have a habit of writing in my journal whenever I get a new task and... Um.. I-I visit the twin adders barracks a lot.”

// Illya’s never gonna tell you her actual body language / habits she uses to cover up her feelings.. so I have to. She avoids eye contact when she’s hiding something, typically by turning her head away or tilting her head down so her eyes are covered by the shadow cast by her bangs. Another bad habit she has is skipping meals, especially if she feels like she doesn’t have enough time in the day. Thirdly, she clenches her fist a lot when she’s angry or upset, bonus if she clenches a part of her clothing or holds her fist against her chest.

💌- diary or journal?

“I don’t really have either.. though maybe I should keep a journal after everyone’s tellin’ me how forgetful I am. Just seems like a pain in the ass havin’ to write every little detail in some grimy book wherever ya go.

A diary may be fun though. I just gotta write what I’m feelin’ into it and stuff, right? ‘Dear diary, slayed another primal today, wish I had some ale right now’. Hmm.. sounds kinda boring.”

🍼- what is your favorite memory?

“Our fight with Gaius made me realize there’s an adventurer in me that I never thought was there before. Before then, I was just doin’ this adventurin’ thing for the money.. and not really cause there was any other option either. Hunt or be hunted.. that sorta thing. Never considered myself the heroic type either..

But beatin’ the livin’ crap outta Gaius and that stinkin’ Ultima toy of his, and gettin’ to have Thancred’s thanks for freeing him from ascian control.. heh, it felt... fulfilling. Bein’ called a hero is fulfillin’. But I knew I’d have died if it weren’t for the others bein’ there with me as a team. I realized then that I liked em, and that I wanted to continue fightin’ by their side.”

🌸- what is your favorite flower?

“I’m not the sort that pays a ton of attention to flowers. You askin’ for Illya or somethin’? If I had to pick.. maybe somethin’ like Chrysanthemums? They’re the best for brewin’ tea after all, right?”

🎂- if you had 3 wishes, what would they be?

“Oh man! What wouldn’t I wish for?? Lots of money? Lotsa cute girls surroundin’ me? Gettin’ Laurelis to always make her dance partner for that sweet damage boost...? Actually forget that last one, I ain’t stingy. I share my buffs with my bro with the big magic damage too, he deserves it.

Hm? Oh, yeah I guess and world peace, or whatever.. As if this kinda three wishes thing will ever come true, though.”

🕊️- 3 habits you have?

“The pals say I have a bad habit of talkin’ in my sleep but I don’t know if that’s true. Do I look like the sorta guy who’d do that? Ahh.. Also non-bards out there probably can’t relate.. but I flex my fingers a lot durin’ down times. Hey, grippin’ a bowstring for hours on the field ain’t a joke. Takes a lot of strength outta your arms, and especially cramps up your fingers, even for a pro like me!

Oh right! I was told I laugh too loudly too! But ain’t my fault that my voice’s just trained to be bold like that! I’m a goddamn bard!”

💌- diary or journal?

“I keep a journal of my daily routines and tabs on scores I have left to settle.”

🍼- what is your favorite memory?

“Favorite memory? That’d be.. when I saw the old man smiling so warmly up at me for the first time in twelve summers, I suppose. And I owe that smile to Illya. This debt’s the only reason why I joined them, and I’d rather not elaborate much else on that.”

// To elaborate: his clan got into a heap of trouble. Illya and Laurelis meet him for the first time after hearing that the elder of the clan, Sigfred’s grandfather needed help to fight off a rival father. The elder is caught and nearly dies, but Illya saves him and even risks her own life to supply enough aether to sustain him. Before then, Sigfred was a bit of a jerk towards her. Since then however, he feels indebted to her and thus agreed to join the two and the scions after they learn he possesses the echo too. Of all the members of the Warriors of Light squad, he has the softest spot for Illya and never yells at her.

🌸- what is your favorite flower?

“Don’t have any. Do succulents count? They’re low maintenance.”

🎂- if you had 3 wishes, what would they be?

“Sounds too good to be true. What’s the catch?”

// Hardass will never tell you that he’d just need one wish, which is for everyone he loves and cares about to be safe and never be in sort of danger ever again. He wouldn’t bother with the other two wishes. Even if it means he has to be the sole person left to fight.

🕊️- 3 habits you have?

“....Tch. I guess I’m as they say - too ill-tempered and brash. Think I accidentally swore in front of a bunch of kids too, but it wasn’t on purpose. I’m not afraid to admit I’m a little too reliant on caffeine.”

💌- diary or journal?

“GUAHAHA! Foolish mortal.. you aim to peer into the mind of a tyrant lord?? The chaos that rages in my mind.. is not one any weak minds can hope to comprehend or understand! That one would think I’d be naive enough to pen my thoughts down into physical letters... HAH!”

🍼- what is your favorite memory?

“Twas many millenias ago that the almighty god of chaos before you conquered the very depths of hell and all of the underworld’s secret magicks! Hellfire rained, tundras roared! Not even the ruins of carteneau could hope to match the anarchy I left in the wake of my conquest!!”

// Real answer: When the squad finally drove the garleans out of doma. It was at that time he felt for the first time in years that he finally got closure on his painful past and moved on to a new family. It was also the first time he’s ever shown his true personality in front of them.

🌸- what is your favorite flower?

“Why, nothing symbolizes death and darkness better than the spider lily does it not?! I dare say the hues of its petals burn as red as the wrath I hold in my heart.”

🎂- if you had 3 wishes, what would they be?

“DEATH TO THE WORLD! THAT RUINATION BEFALL THIS WRETCHED EARTH! FOR ARMAGEDDON!”

// He’d wish for his family to be brought back to life, for the damage done to doma to be undone and for zenos’ death. Of all my OCs, Heisuke has the biggest personal grudge against the garleans, and it’s all funneled to zenos for being an extra big pain in the ass especially of all people. There’s also the fact that he genuinely believes Zenos dying would make the world a much better place.

🕊️- 3 habits you have?

“NONE! Ask not such impudent questions to the lord of tyrants ever again, mortal!”

// Heisuke’s biggest habit is being the biggest liar of any of my OCs, even more than Illya. He’s a natural at acting, even for roles he doesn’t necessarily want to do. Other things he does is hide his face behind a hood, partly for the same reason as Illya in which to hide his emotions, but partly also because it looks cool. Third habit’s that he sometimes bites his lips so hard when he’s angry that it starts to bleed.

#ask #in bloom #sweet and pure asks #ancientechos #ask meme #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK #THIS TOOK A WHILE PDFKPSFSF #I finally get to write as my other boys...#they all have.. very different personalities

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bubbletimestories · 5 years ago

Text

Give a kiss to your sweet bard, o Geralt the grumpy (CursedJaskier)

Summary: While the two companions stop in a village, a bourgeois accuses Jaskier of having slept with his wife. The duo fled quickly but the bard began to see feathers growing on his body. The curse is spreading quickly, impressive but above all painful ...

Warnings: pain, curses, tears

Themes: curse, pain, mermaid, hurt/confort, feathers, singing, worried Geralt,

A/N. I don't know much about the world of The Witcher (except that Geralt says "hmm" and "fuck" a lot) but it is written with the heart (and a computer)

Translated with Google traduction, sorry ^^’

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128846?view_full_work=true

___________________________________________

(part 3)

An untimely ray of sunshine strikes the young man’s face even when he is immersed in a superb dream promising him wealth, abundance and pleasures. With a muffled groan, he straightens up, his brown hair in battle in front of his eyes, and utters a long loud yawn. The place next to him is empty, Geralt has probably gone downstairs to take care of his mare, which gives the bard time to wash. Still sleepy, he gets up slowly while scratching his chest and back to peel off the invasive feathers. While yawning, he hums one of his ballads and plunges his still numb hands into the icy water to wash. The cold bite wakes him up and he dries quickly before finally noticing how long his fingers are, as well as his nails that have hardened overnight. In the place where he scratched, there are already a few drops of blood in the middle of red marks that stand out on his white skin.

- G ... Geralt!

He immediately brings his fist to his mouth after this cry has escaped him. He doesn't want his friend to see him like that, he feels ashamed without really knowing what is happening, he probably made a mistake. But his call has been heard and the witcher half breaks down the door as he enters, his hand on the hilt of his sword, prepared to face a bloodthirsty creature or an angry villager. However, he finds nothing except his companion, prostrate in a corner, hands crossed in his lap and fleeing his gaze. The amber pupils inspect the room then the young man, detecting traces of blood on him. No need to ask a single question, it doesn't take long for the bard to spit out the piece himself, red with embarrassment and trying to hide his mutilated fists.

- I ... something weird is happening to me. I don't know what's going on.

The panic in his voice keeps Geralt from getting angry, and he just kneels down and pulls one of his hands out to examine it, at the same time noticing the fine feathers adorning his arm. Long and bronze in color, you couldn’t believe they came from any mattress.

- Fuck

Without a doubt, his friend is the victim of a curse that turns him into something, even if the witcher cannot determine what. He takes a closer look at the strange phenomenon as Jaskier becomes more and more agitated. His hand trembles between those of the mutant and he tries to breathe deeply. It can't be bad, they did nothing but ride and kill a few creatures, it's not like he released a new djinn. The same questions pass through Geralt's mind which is recovering.

- It looks like a curse, someone is trying to punish you and I think that the pig who insulted you at Dorian is not for nothing.

- That big bacon ?! But why ? I haven't done anything wrong or at least nothing that justifies damaging my beauty. Oh Geralt, what if ...

He doesn't finish his sentence, reaching out to grab his precious lute that he squeezes against his heart before loosening his fingers. Pale and worried in advance, he began to play a few ballad notes, but his clawed nails caught the strings, making the instrument squeal instead of producing music. Despite his efforts, he is unable to pull anything other than crisp notes and one of the strings brokes, emitting a final snap. Silence falls on the room and the bard hides his face in his monstrous hands, livid and defeated.

- I'm done…

Jaskier barely contains his tears and his companion looks at him without knowing what to say or what to do. Part of him thinks that the bard has only what he deserves by sticking his ... nose everywhere. But that doesn’t mean he’ll let him face it alone, he’s his friend and he has so few. With a groan, the witcher pats the bewitched knee and stands up.

- I know someone ... he can lift the curse. Gather your things quickly, we have to go to Yspaden.

Without waiting, the two companions set off, not knowing how much time they have to save the young man. A month ? A few weeks ?

Give a kiss to your sweet bard, o Geralt the grumpy

A light rain hits the paving stones of the courtyard, bringing out the odors of mud and excrement without displeasing the sole occupant of the stable. Regardless of the frozen drops that slide through his long snow hair, the witcher draws Roach outside to finish harnessing it. The last notes of a ballad resound through the windows, followed by enthusiastic cheers and a slender figure begins to greet behind the colored tiles. By the time he collects the shiny pieces that are thrown at him, Jaskier thanks the crowd and disappears outside, sending a radiant smile to his companion, his cheeks pink with excitement. His overwhelming enthusiasm was met with the mutant's usual impassiveness, who merely motioned for the bard to climb behind him. Since the young man's stallion perished under the blows of the manticore, they are forced to share the same horse but, to be honest, they don't mind. With a slight, if somewhat awkward, movement, Jaskier slips behind his friend's back, starting a chatter that is not about to stop.

- The people here are very generous, we have plenty of money to pay for a meal in the next inn. Although they would have been even more generous if you hadn't left after ten minutes with your most grumpy expression. You have defeated a manticore, you should be proud, if only a little happy, rather than ruminating like an old man.

His litany is interrupted by loud voices when a plump bourgeois bursts in front of them, followed by a group of onlookers fond of fighting and spectacle. The man looks furious and seeing the woman, red in confusion, who stands behind, Geralt breathes an exasperated sigh in advance. It is obvious that the bard who serves him as a traveling companion has still been stuffed with his manly member in the first lady he has come across, it becomes tiresome to always relive the same scene over and over again. Without giving the cuckold a look, he squeezes the reins a little more while feeling Jaskier stiffen behind his back.

- That dirty dog fucked my wife, he dishonored my Elisa!

- I did nothing at all! Sir, I’ve never seen this woman in my life, I swear.

While showing his most shocked air, the young man tightens his grip around the horse and blows Geralt to set sail far from here but his call remains unanswered while a big stubby finger stretches towards him with all the accusing power of which a deceived husband is capable.

- Come down, motherfucker, let me make you eat your lute by the ass!

- This proposal is attractive but I will have to refuse, we are expected. Geralt!

Still no support, the witcher is motionless like a statue, his gaze turned to the distance with an air of deep boredom. Since the musician is embarrassed, he has to fend for himself. Faced with the panic that gradually appears on Jaskier's features, the bourgeois emboldened, encouraged by the crowd who gathered behind him, as lovers of blood. His ham-like arm stretches out to grab the slender ankle and pull the fugitive out of his saddle. With a furious yelp, the bard lands in the mud, his breeches in no way absorbing his fall on the icy cobblestones. By reflex, he arched his back to prevent his lute from suffering a sad fate and backed off as best he saw the eyes of his attacker sparkle with fury.

- I'm going to bleed you like a pig and decorate my door with your purses, dirty hanged son, goat fucker, companion of the butcher of Bla…

The rest of the insults are hanging in the air, as is their author, whose feet begin to beat without finding any more ground. The cuckold feels his doublet creaking but does not care, more disturbed by the golden irises which stare at him with the cold anger of the predator who scolds before shredding its prey. The rest of the audience is silent, watching with a mixture of dread and delight as this fat bacon was lifted with one hand by the famous witcher who did not even draw his sword. Useless. With a terrifying face of stoicism apart from the incendiary pupils, Geralt speaks in a low, measured voice.

- My friend told you that he did not know your wife and if she cheated on you, it may be because your slug body is flabby and disgusting and that it has been too long since you have not being hard. Now get out of my way before your head goes to that of the manticore.

With a twist of the wrist, he releases the rude who runs away muttering curses, promising to take revenge on the bard, even if he waits to be out of reach to start vociferating. Disappointed not to have witnessed more violence, the crowd dispersed and everyone returned to their mug or their occupations. After wiping his fingers on his pants as if to chase away filth, the hunter turns to Jaskier, still on the ground, and reaches out to help him get up. The disgruntled air of the witcher incites his friend not to open his mouth and it is in a tense silence that the two men leave Dorian, one having buried his face behind the back of the other who looks at the horizon regardless of the rain.

One foot on a sticky table, Jaskier finishes tuning his lute, although no one is paying much attention to him yet. He is far too used to filthy rooms and inattentive spectators to get upset and the bard quietly takes care of his dear instrument while glancing at his companion. Geralt, if he seems to be drinking his beer quietly, remains on the lookout. It’s more of a habit than a necessity, but he’s never sure to drink in peace. His musician friend contemplates his scowl for a few seconds before pushing away with the fingertips some unwelcome down feathers stuck on his back and on his arm, to believe that his bed has died without him realizing it. He scratches himself mechanically before standing up, it's time to get on the stage. His long, thin fingers brush against the strings of the instrument, which he sings to perfection, soon accompanying him on a tune that has become familiar over the years.

When a humble bard, Graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song…

His sweet voice is slightly lost in the ambient hubbub but the young man does not allow himself to be disturbed and when he meets the amber glance of the hero whose exploits he sings, he continues with more zest. Little by little, the discussions and even the noise of the mugs stop, the men are silent to listen to the exploits of the witcher. When Jaskier starts the chorus, several voices join him and the pieces start to sparkle in the air before falling back to the musician's feet. Over the song, it's a real rain of metal falling, sometimes even made up of a few gold coins! Faced with such success, the bard extended his performance, his face radiating with joy as he mentally counted how many hot meals he was winning. His fingers soon tire and he must stop, greeting the generous spectators who continue to whistle and throw their savings shouting cheers. Geralt has lost nothing of the scene and he raises a surprised eyebrow as his friend picks up his salary, looking as happy as if he had been announced the death of Valdo Marx.

- Thank you all, it was a pleasure!

After many bows, Jaskier joins the witcher with a smile and places a handful of coins near his mug while boasting of his success. It seems to him that they are becoming more and more known and that Geralt's reputation is becoming less and less dark thanks to his faithful companion and his angelic voice. The warrior rolls his eyes when he hears such nonsense, which does not prevent him from glancing at his friend and discreetly chasing a down on his colored breastplate. By the time they make new irons for his horse, they're going to have to stay in Vizima, which isn't much to please the monster killer. But as long as they don't draw attention to them, everything will be fine.

- Try not to take up all the space tonight, Geralt, a young man like me needs sleep.

Jaskier pouted by folding and unfolding his aching fingers while his friend thought about their last night, stiff on the edge of the bed while the bard snored softly, rolled up in the blanket and fidgeting regularly. A witcher also needs sleep! The many shiny coins would more than pay for two rooms, but neither of the two men offers it for the simple reason that Geralt should keep an eye on his traveling companion. Officially. When the time comes to rest, they don't separate and no one would be crazy enough to point that out to them. Who knows if this mutant does not need toys to deceive boredom ... An excessively noisy toy if we asked to Geralt who frowns when seeing his companion rub his knuckles with a strongly odorous oil .

- What is that ? It stinks ...

- An ointment for my hands, they are dry and it is bad for business if I cannot play at ease.

- The world would be grateful to have a little silence.

The bard responds with a wrathful slap and pretends to ignore the insolent who takes the opportunity to lie down and close his eyes. A few minutes later, the candle was blown out and Jaskier slipped under the blanket, not without grumbling against the feathers that prick him through the fine fabric of his clothes. He falls asleep with surprising rapidity and soon cuddles on his friend who does not flinch, accustomed.

***

- G ... Geralt!

- I ... something weird is happening to me. I don't know what's going on.

- Fuck

- It looks like a curse, someone is trying to punish you and I think that the pig who insulted you at Dorian is not for nothing.

- That big bacon ?! But why ? I haven't done anything wrong or at least nothing that justifies damaging my beauty. Oh Geralt, what if ...

- I'm done…

- I know someone ... he can lift the curse. Gather your things quickly, we have to go to Yspaden.

Without waiting, the two companions set off, not knowing how much time they have to save the young man. A month ? A few weeks ?

****

A few days would be more accurate as the metamorphosis of the bard seems to spread quickly. When the sun reaches its zenith and the duo stops to eat, countless little feathers have had time to grow on Jaskier's slender body, which struggles as best he can not to itch. That they share the same mount also becomes a blessing because the numb hands of the patient can not hold reins and without the presence of Geralt to guide the animal and ensure that he does not fall, the bard would have dropped as soon as they left the inn. Regularly, the young man complains which shows that he keeps his whole head, it helps him not to go mad at the thought that his body no longer belongs to him.

The journey to Yspaden is long and Jaskier's good humor is slowly falling apart. In the evening, the coins continue to rain around him, even in the absence of a lute, as if his voice alone could charm the spectators but the young man no longer manages to appreciate his luck. Increasingly dressed to hide his condition, the bard, once so happy and light, closes in on himself and stops singing after two days of travel. This at least has the merit of bringing Geralt the peace and silence he so badly missed but, deep down, the witcher can't even appreciate his luck. He misses the cheerful voice of his friend, replaced by moans that get lost in the wind. Unable to scratch without nicking his flesh with the ends of his claws, Jaskier already thought he was undergoing torture, but soon his members themselves sought to form new angles. His whole body becomes painful and at night Geralt hears his companion making complaints in his sleep. He begins to think that the crime is not up to the punishment but the witcher does not express the bottom of his thought, held back by a kind of misplaced jealousy. Without really being able to admit it, he is angry with his companion for having umpteenth times shared the diaper of a stranger while his back was turned.

It is in this moody mood that the two men stop for the night as they pass through a thick forest. Sitting by the fire, Jaskier stretches his aching limbs to warm up, being careful not to ignite the thick plumage that now covers his body, merging with his dark hair to better highlight the pallor of his drawn features.

- How many days from Yspaden are we? I'm exhausted ...

Geralt thinks about setting up camp, showing his usual scowl.

- At this rate, we will arrive in three days. Four if the conditions are bad.

- Three days ?! It's way too much !

The young man notices that the witcher is running away from his gaze, he is especially aware that time is running out between his fingers and that he is approaching the point of no return. What will happen if he is totally transformed, if we know what he is metamorphosing into? Angrily, the bard, who is no longer really a bard, takes off his deformed boots to expose his twisted, dry and clawed feet like his hands once so beautiful and fine.

- Geralt, look at me! I'm an awful creature, I ... I don't have three days in front of me. I don't want to be a monster!

His companion turns to him, furious at these whining faces which he feels helpless. He takes his own fear for anger and points an accusing finger at his friend.

- It wouldn't have happened if you had restrained yourself from tumbling the first woman to come!

- Because that's what you think? I deserve what is happening to me?

- Obviously, you had to be punished in one way or another, failing a shameful illness ...

- Geralt!

The young man is deeply offended but his companion is not finished, jealousy spurting burning words from his mouth, made venomous by this long wait.

- You should have avoided getting anywhere!

- I DIDN'T SLEEP WITH THIS WOMAN!

Silence falls after this cry from the heart, the two men looking intensely, catching their breath. Jaskier has bright eyes, deeply hurt by his friend whom he did not think capable of judging him as harshly. A violent pain twists the bard’s bones who pushes a complaint and curls up on the ground, no longer holding back the tears which run down his cheeks like a torrent. He moans as he folds in on himself, devoured by spasms.

- I can't take it anymore ... I can't take it anymore. Make it stop ...

The witcher remains frozen, realizing that he has been unjust, jealous and even cruel to his only friend. Why does he have to destroy everything he touches ? He looks at the devastated young man, not knowing what to do to relieve him. Whatever the idea may come to him… Geralt kneels near his companion and puts a hand on his shoulder.

- Hmmm… I'm sorry.

Under his fingers, he feels the shoulder tremble, shaken by uncontrollable sobs. Then, slowly, with infinite precautions, the mutant grabs a blanket to wrap the patient in, then takes him in his arms, taking care not to press on the damaged limbs of the bard. The latter gradually calms down and closes his eyes, deeply inspiring the musky smell of the witcher, mixed his horse’s and the rain of the last days. This perfume, this embrace, comfort him and he feels the pain go away a little. They stay a long time like this, without saying anything, and even when the bard ends up falling asleep, his friend does not let him go, letting him slide on his lap to taste a little rest. Lying against his companion, Jaskier seems to be getting better, the features of his face rediscovering that innocent sweetness that is his own. The witcher watches over him all night while gazing at the stars, strangely serene.

*****

Three days ... When Jaskier said he didn't have so much time, he might not have spoken lightly. Dark storm clouds are piling up in an already gray sky, it will rain heavily on Redania and the bewitched bard may not be able to bear this final torture. Wrapped from head to toe in a blanket, the young man had walled in for almost an entire day, only his pale face stood out under the raspy wool. The pain has become so intense, so violent that the patient is unable to move, even to raise his arm. He has been delirious for several hours in a state of semi-consciousness, leaning against Geralt who ensures that he does not fall, leaving his mare to walk alone so that he can hold the bard properly.

A lightning bolt tears the sky, soon followed by a violent thunderclap as if the earth was going to open to swallow the duo. The witcher tightens his grip a little, his amber eyes turned to the horizon as he sniffs the air with apprehension. The rain will not delay any longer, they must find shelter as soon as possible, no way that Jaskier will be soaked. They can't stop in the next town, but if they don't, where do they go? A second thunderclap rings, charging the already salty atmosphere with electricity. As Geralt hesitates over what to do, his friend curls up when he hears the storm and that simple movement snatches a painful moan. Tears flow freely on his cheeks hollowed out in a wet furrow. In the same way, the path of the witcher appears all marked out.

- Fuck

He takes a breath and follows his mount towards the city, trying to repress in the distance the images of the massacre which he perpetrated there and which earned him the name of butcher. It was a long time ago now, but that doesn't stop him from being relieved by not seeing anyone around, even if he decides not to enter the city proper. Preferring to remain as discreet as possible, Geralt leaves his mare out of sight and lifts his friend in his arms, melting in the shadows to an abandoned stable whose worm-eaten boards will nevertheless constitute a good shelter during the 'downpour. It doesn't take long before the rain starts to fall, smashing on the roof without reaching the two companions. Despite his thick plumage, Jaskier continues to tremble with cold, his frail body seeming to break at the slightest breath of wind. The witcher keeps him against him to give him as much warmth as he can and, in the darkness of their shelter, he examines his companion with apprehension. From his skilful hands, nothing remains but stiffened talons whose sharp claws have left more than one mark on the bard over the days. His limbs are twisted at strange angles, curving in legs and wings in an excruciatingly painful process. Only the young man's face remains intact, which greatly surprises Geralt. The creature he is holding against his chest is unlike any other he could have encountered, which adds to his worry.

The patient is agitated abruptly, caught in a vice by a pain which tears his organs. His moans are sharper and he opens his mouth to scream, as if it could relieve him. Geralt only has time to put a hand on the pale lips to muffle the sound, his heart pounding that someone may have heard them. For long, endless seconds, he remains motionless while his friend calms down under his fingers. Calm falls again but the witcher's senses are too sharp to release his attention, he feels a presence approaching and he reaches out towards his sword, ready to defend their lives with savagery.

A young woman walks very slowly towards the stable, staring at the soggy haystack which will no longer hide strangers. In her hand, she squeezes a dull knife firmly, but the ferocity on her face is altered by the trembling of her limbs. She is afraid and Geralt feels it full nose. Their eyes meet and the witcher releases the guard of his weapon, raising a hand in appeasement while the other still supports the unconscious bard. The dark eyes of the newcomer come and go between Blaviken's butcher and his strange load, not knowing what to think of all this. Many seasons have passed since the mutant came, but there are still bloody stories. Eazel doesn't know what to do, her fist clenched around the handle of her knife, her frizzy hair dripping down her back.

- You are…

- Yes.

Geralt's voice is calm and low, he doesn't try to deny his identity (for what?) or threaten the young woman. He just wants to be able to protect his friend and he feels he can do it without violence. Word art has never been his domain, but he really has no choice. He notices the insistent glances towards Jaskier and instinctively tightens his embrace around the young man.

- My friend is sick, very sick. I have to take him to a healer but he can't travel in this rain.

- Is he…

- He is not contagious but his condition is worsening quickly and he will die if he is not treated quickly.

As if to support his words, the bard shivers in his blanket and lets out a plaintive sigh that moves Eazel. She herself lost a child just a few months ago, and to see that livid face with lips blued by the cold ... The blood will not flow today, not from her hand. By avoiding looking the butcher in the eye, the young woman puts her blade away.

- You can stay here until the storm stops. But don't make any noise and leave as soon as possible.

- Thank you…

Eazel just nods and leaves as quickly as possible, unwilling to meddle in the affairs of a witcher. Better to go home, say nothing, pretend nothing has happened. It's the best she can do for the two men.

Again alone in the darkness of the stable, Geralt allows himself a relieved curse and readjusts his position to wait for the rain to stop.

- Ge… .Geralt…

Jaskier tries to open his eyes but gives up, his mind rising to the surface for a time that his friend knows is short. The latter hugs him a little more to show him that he is there, that he is watching over his companion in misfortune. For several minutes, the bard said nothing more, continuing to moan the witcher's first name as a cry for help.

- She talks to me… she sings… in my ear…

His eyes roll behind his closed eyelids and he contracts under a spasm of pain that affects all of his bones.

- I have to... sing ... Geralt ... Geralt ...

He wiggles slightly, turning his face against the mutant's shirt and inhaling the scent. His body relaxes as he reassures himself and plunges back into the limbo of unconsciousness, his lips whispering the same word between two sighs.

******

Never before has Roach ridden so quickly and when its hooves reach the cobblestones of Yspaden, the mare is all smoking, drenched in sweat but proud to have covered such a distance in a short time. Its master has no time to thank it properly, just flattering it flank before taking the inert young man and transporting him where he can be saved. Geralt has only met the healer once, but has no time to look elsewhere and must rely entirely on him to free his friend from this curse that eats away at him.

- We're closed today ..., says a drawling voice when the witcher enters the dark building smelling garlic and alcohol.

- Fuck, Saraham!

This annoyed curse causes the head of the old man to be raised, who immediately recognizes the witcher and changes his attitude, becoming curious.

- Geralt of Rivia… it's a surprise!

A nice surprise, no, but neither of the two men need say it. The mutant deposits the reason for his arrival on the bench where he himself had been treated many years ago. He spreads the blanket without saying a word, showing the healer the body of the bard who does not even react to being thus examined. Saraham adjusts his glasses and scrutinizes the feathers, the young man's wing shape, whispering to himself how interesting the case is. Every second, the witcher's face tenses up a little more to get no answer and his eyes turn black as night but the doctor doesn't care. He ends up straightening up.

- Your friend is cursed

- That, I would have suspected. Heal him ... if you can.

Geralt's voice breaks slightly at the end and he takes a deep breath, his eyes remaining like amber. The healer nods and takes vials and ointments from the shelves.

- He is possessed by a spirit from countries far south, a kind of mermaid that you surely don't know. They have a captivating voice too, but where you know women with fish bodies, they have the appearance of a bird of prey. Someone, apparently, is mad at him. Or at you.

- Hmm ...

The witcher frowns but says nothing, having enough confidence in Saraham to let him diagnose. Jaskier issues a complaint and the mutant's heart immediately sinks.

- Can you free him?

- Oh, sure. I will remove Thelxiepeia from his body and everything will be fine. You're lucky that I traveled south. However, it will take a while. So get some fresh air, you stink of mud and sweat.

Moreover, the witcher is so tense that he radiates negative waves that Saraham does not need. He therefore pushes the young man towards the door before setting to work, Geralt remains planted in front of the house for a few moments without knowing what to do. Whether his companion lives or dies, it no longer depends on him. So he tries to take care of his best, bandaging Roach to reward it, walking the streets of this city far too small for him. Finally, as the sun sets on the horizon, Saraham points his nose out to tell the young man that he can come back.

- I gathered everything I needed and he drank something to bring out what threatens to kill him. But now, I'm going to need you to help him not to move because getting the spirit out will not be easy.

Geralt obeyed without argument and stood at the level of the bard's head, pressing on his shoulders to keep him motionless. But he thinks that this frail body could only be held with one hand. The healer begins the exorcism and the patient moans louder, agitating himself like a man with a fever, more and more violently. His friend has no problem immobilizing him, however, trying to remain stoic despite the pain he reads on the bard's features. It’s for his good, to save him. The limbs of the patient are seized with spasms and long dark feathers begin to fall on the dusty floor as Jaskier tries to scream without being able to emit the slightest sound. His mouth opens wide and he vomits a silver cloud like mercury which rises in the air as the body of the young man becomes more human. His tremors cease altogether and Saraham, putting an end to his incantations, has only time to enclose the spirit in a jar which he carefully closes.

- Pfiou ... I should be able to sell that for a good price.

Considering his work is done, the healer walks away, examining his capture, leaving Geralt at his friend's bedside. The witcher removes his hands from the now bare shoulders and finds himself stroking the bard's hair while waiting or rather hoping he wakes up. It takes long minutes before the latter makes a movement, grimacing by opening the eyes as after a long sleep.

- Geralt?

With his mind still foggy, the young man tries to straighten up and contemplates his arms, smooth and white again, not paying attention to his half-nudity. The happy smile that appears on his face triggers a feeling of warmth in Geralt who gently explains to his friend what happened. Jaskier's large, clear eyes widen as the story unfolds and he laughs.

- You mean I could charm the whole kingdom with my ballads ?!

The excitement gives a new life to the young man who looks for his lute before remembering that he has broken a string. Seeing a dejected look darkening the face of his companion, the witcher clears his throat and pulls something from behind a piece of furniture.

- A man from the village repaired it ...

Again, Jaskier is beaming with joy and he takes his instrument with tenderness as a father would take his beloved child. Gently he brushes the strings and begins to sing in a soft voice.

- Give a kiss to your sweet bard, o Geralt the grumpy…

He slides an impatient glance towards the witcher who shrugs his shoulders, unaffected. The effects of the mermaid are gone along with the feathers and everything else. Jaskier pouted, disappointed.

- Fuck. Too bad! Give a kiss to your sweet bard, o Geralt the grumpy, o Geralt the grumpy hummm Give a kiss to your sweet, he’s feeling so horny…

#Giveakisstoyoursweetbard #oGeraltthegrumpy #The Witcher fic #CursedJaskier

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