#you can just have your head go down prone and I will simply contine to pull you up to full head at entry and back

[gonzodangerfeels]

Ama zoe

Me: *sighs*

It's beautiful and weird on so many levels.

Get Round Tuit

[planetesastraea]

On the tip of his tongue

Read Part 1: On the Tip of his Fingers

Geraskier, Modern AU - Explicit - 10 179 words - Warnings: none

Character study, developing relationship, banter, feelings, Geralt vs words, bisexual!Geralt, bottom!Geralt, top!Jaskier, first time, handjobs, blowjobs, anal sex. Also contains pizza (mentioned)

Betaed by the wonderful @oxbridge-quality-fanfiction-co​​

Read on AO3

-

That morning Jaskier got woken up by a soft but firm hand on his shoulder and a husky voice saying his name.

“Hmmf?” was his very articulate reply, definitely worthy of the Creative Writing and Composition in Medieval Times professor he was. “Three words or less,” he would always say to motivate his students to answer questions during class and to start a conversation. Damn, they would have been proud.

“I gotta go,” the deep voice whispered and the previous evening suddenly came back to Jaskier. Geralt. Wow. Geralt . He sat up and blinked a few times before realising his eyes were open but the sun wasn’t up yet. Geralt was but a silhouette in the dark, his smell a mix of long-forgotten aftershave and well remembered sex.

“Mmokay,” Jaskier mumbled, rubbing one eye with his palm. “Thanks for telling me,” he said sleepily. There was a pause and he realised the sentence didn’t land well.

“Sorry. Didn’t want to sneak out,” Geralt replied tightly.

“Yeano, yeah- I meant it. Sorry. Me,” Jaskier said, pointing towards his own face in the dark, and thus proving the point to no one but himself, “not a morning person.”

Geralt snorted softly. Jaskier was overcome with a powerful wave of fondness and a guttural need to reach out and kiss him. Gods bless adorable bi himbos at law.

“I should get going,” Geralt said and Jaskier thought he heard some hesitation in his voice. The mattress dipped slightly as Geralt moved to stand up, and Jaskier reached out blindly. His hand found the inside of Geralt’s elbow and then slid down softly to the man’s wrist, finding his palm.

“Wait,” Jaskier said and Geralt waited. Then it dawned on him that he was supposed to say something . “Do you want to… see me again?” he offered, truly bringing his A-game as the (supposedly) most romantic man in the continent. (He was not boasting. It had simply been brought to his attention by many of his exes, and who was he to question the opinion of the people?) He tried not to sound too hopeful but it was too early in the morning and his acting skills needed a warm-up. After all, one couldn’t just naturally wake up that good.

The silence stretched in a way that made him uncomfortable, especially since Geralt was practically invisible in front of him. Geralt’s fingers brushed his and something in his chest relaxed, but only for a moment.

“I can’t,” Geralt started, making Jaskier’s heart drop, “make promises.”

And okay that wasn’t the worst he could have said but also - uh what ? “Okay? Well I- I’m not asking you to?”

“Hmm.”

“Geralt, I- I had a really nice time with you, you know? And I’d really like to have more… nice times with you. And not just sex, I mean, yes, sex was fantastic, it was , but also, well- what I mean is, I don’t expect you to like, abandon your life or whatever, I just-” he was running out of breath. “Gosh I’m talking too much again, fuck, please, say something? I’m getting zero feedback here and you have to know I’m gonna keep talking until you cut me off-”

“Sorry,” Geralt sighed, his fingers threading between Jaskier’s. “It’s just- This is… I haven’t been with someone in a while and,” he said with hesitation and left the sentence unfinished.

And never with a man , Jaskier thought, pretty sure of what was coming next. “Right,” he said, feeling his throat tighten. Not like he wasn’t used to falling for people who just didn’t have the same life plan- or day plan , even.

“But I think I would,” Geralt said, “like to see you again, I mean.”

“Wait, what?“ Jaskier’s brain derailed.

“I’d like to see you again?” Geralt repeated and it sounded even better the second time.

“Oh.”

"I… had a nice time, too.”

“Oh. Good,” Jaskier whispered, relief washing over him and unlocking the door to yearning. He moved forward, closer to Geralt, his hand sliding up to his shoulder, finding his cheek and feeling the beginning of a stubble under his fingers. “Good,” Jaskier murmured again. Feeling Geralt lean into him was the best reward. He moved his head closer and his nose rubbed softly against Geralt’s, the intimacy sweeter than some of the sex he’d had in the past.

Geralt inclined his head slightly and pressed a chaste, tender kiss against Jaskier’s lips.

Once they parted, phone numbers were exchanged and the soft wish of getting in touch soon was expressed - or, rather, as Jaskier put it as he walked Geralt to the door, “in touch and, well, in touch .” A freaking poet.

-

The morning after they “had a milkshake” - as Jaskier nicknamed their first close encounter - Geralt had gone home right before sunrise to find Eskel wide awake, sitting on the living room couch, a book on his lap. Eskel had looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and pressed his lips together to suppress a smile. “Coffee?” was all he had said and Geralt had been oh so grateful.

In the days that followed, he learned a bit more about Jaskier. He taught both poetry and musicology at university, gave private lessons, and performed with his band from time to time. Spring meant preparing finals, helping students to rehearse for auditions, and getting ready for the upcoming festivals The Bard would participate in. Between his schedule and Geralt’s, over a month had gone before they saw each other in the flesh again. But texting? Texting was definitely a Jaskier thing.

A couple of hours after Geralt had left, Jaskier had sent him a text saying “my bed misses you” . Geralt had promptly walked from one meeting to another, only realising at 6.30 pm during a phone call from Assengard, as he caught sight of the restaurant from across the street, that he had left Jaskier hanging. He tried to think of something clever on his way to pick Ciri up from her fencing class. To his surprise, his idea had worked very well on Jaskier.

Of course, as with most things concerning Jaskier, Geralt quickly discovered, it was prone to get out of hand. The man had decided that “the milkshake” would become “a thing”. The fact that Geralt’s favourite order at Denise’s included a vanilla milkshake with cream on top was apparently hilarious for reasons Geralt could not understand.

Since then, Geralt would receive texts from Jaskier every few days, ranging from “thinking of u” to “which one of these says ‘I am a 100%-responsible adult person who will turn your child into a virtuoso if you allow me to teach them?’” with a picture of two button-down shirts attached.

Geralt had left him on read , the bastard.

-

After the six most frustrating weeks of his life - yes, more frustrating than the whole summer he spent sharing a flat with a Spanish model who had very loud, very heterosexual sex on the other side of their paper-thin, shared bedroom wall - Jaskier finally got his hands back on his favourite lawyer’s ass.

They had agreed Geralt would meet him at his place that Friday after work. And so, Jaskier spent the afternoon trying to convince himself he could mark students’ essays, and was absolutely not in the hellish head-space where nervousness meets horniness. (He made it through five so he counted it as a win.)

He had changed outfits three times in two hours, and had promised Essi he absolutely was not falling for some seemingly perfect person who would then turn out to have a secret wife, three children and a dog (“Well since you’re asking, he has a very public ex-wife, one daughter, and a horse.” “A horse?” “Yup.” “What the hell?” “I have no fucking clue.”)

Jaskier was busy adjusting a sofa pillow to make it appear tidy-but-casual when the bell rang, making him jump out of his skin.

When he opened the door, Geralt looked like he was two seconds away from running back down the stairs and disappearing forever in some mysterious vineyard near Toussaint. Geralt, being the absolute asshole that he was, also looked like a fucking god amongst humans so Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of him once again. He had almost forgotten how stunning the man was.

“Hi,” Geralt said.

Jaskier shook himself out of his dreamy smitten state and felt a tingle in his cheeks as he blushed. “Hey, come on in,” he said, waving the man inside.

Geralt had his hair tied in a casual bun and was wearing a black winter coat way above Jaskier’s pay grade. Gods, what a sight. Jaskier was fucked .

“Are you-”

“So how’s-”

They both started and stopped at the same time, which made Jaskier laugh and Geralt shake his head as he looked away, a side of his mouth rising into a smile. Boy, Jaskier thought, if Geralt was half as fond of him as he was of Geralt, they’d be married in three years, move to a farm in five, and adopt every stray dog in the area a year after that at the latest.

“Can I take your coat?” Jaskier offered.

As Geralt nodded, Jaskier got his hands on the lapels of Geralt’s coat, fingers absent-mindedly pressing against Geralt’s chest, feeling the soft wool, and the strong pecs underneath all the layers. A moment passed and he realised Geralt hadn’t moved an inch. He stopped staring at his own hand and, as he looked up, realised Geralt was looking at him. Or more like, looking at his mouth.

There was a beat and they both moved forward, catching each other’s lips.

“Fuck, is it ok to say I’ve missed you?” Jaskier breathed between two kisses.

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, pushing Jaskier against the door and leaving his lips to kiss and suck the skin of his neck.

“Ah, okay, I’ll take that as a yes,” he half-moaned and got Geralt’s mouth back against his, kissing like he just couldn’t get enough- because he couldn’t. Geralt got rid of his coat, letting it fall onto the floor.

“M-maybe we should take a second to hang it. It looks expensive.”

“It’s a gift from my ex,” Geralt mumbled against Jaskier’s skin, biting tentatively at his Adam’s apple.

“Or we could stomp all over it,” Jaskier deadpanned. Geralt laughed against his throat and Jaskier felt it resonate through his chest.

“So you’re the possessive kind, then?”

“Uh,” Jaskier bit his lip, “only if that turns you on.”

Geralt kissed a line up to Jaskier’s ear and caressed him through his trousers as he nibbled at his earlobe. In the softest, most quiet whisper, he murmured: “It does.”

Jaskier groaned with pleasure and Geralt kissed him in earnest, his hand still fondling the man’s inseam. He pressed his pelvis against Jaskier’s and both moaned from the supplementary friction.

“Let me try something?” Geralt asked against Jaskier’s lips before promptly getting down onto his knees.

“Oh, wow, okay,” Jaskier gasped as Geralt went straight for his belt. “Ah- w-wait, you- you sure?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, undoing the man’s button and zipper until Jaskier’s hands came to rest softly over his.

“No, I’m serious, you don’t have to.”

"I know,” Geralt answered, looking up at him. “I want to.”

“Okay. Okay. Just stop if it’s not good with you, right?”

“Right.”

He pulled Jaskier’s trousers down, not wasting any time. The curved line of his hardening cock was obvious under his underwear and Geralt slowed down, caressing the back of Jaskier’s thigh with one hand, the other moving up to his crotch. He palmed Jaskier through his boxer briefs (his navy blue boxer briefs) and was delighted to see him try to control his breathing through the surging wave of desire.

“Take them off for me?” Geralt asked, his voice rough with arousal.

Jaskier breathed out shakingly and slid his thumbs under the waistband, pulling his underwear down under Geralt’s relentless attention. Unable to stop himself, Jaskier took his own cock in hand and stroked himself, humming with pleasure with the first movement of his wrist. Geralt was sitting on his ankles, mesmerised.

“You like watching?” Jaskier asked, and even though the answer was pretty obvious, Geralt didn’t say it out loud. He raised to his knees, kissing the inside of Jaskier’s thighs, every breath softly tickling Jaskier’s skin, the hand maintaining its rhythm.

Moving upwards, Geralt’s tongue darted out to lick Jaskier’s balls, surprising him so much the back of his head hit the door, generating a moan which turned into a wince and then back into a moan again. Geralt’s smile shaped the kiss he pressed on Jaskier’s thigh as his fingers brushed through the man’s pubic hair, and slid up to find Jaskier’s hand, slowing it down.

Jaskier felt Geralt’s hot breath coming closer to his cock and had to bite his lower lip when the other man’s lips brushed against his fingers, kissing them one by one, silently asking him to let go. Jaskier didn’t need much convincing until, of course, fuck his goddamn unstoppable brain, a thought occurred to him.

“Wait!” he exclaimed and, at least, was blessed with the sight of Geralt looking up at him with surprise, his lips apart, tongue visible, and… Fuck, he looked so innocent and yet devilishly hot like this.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Just- safety, right? You can, uh, get STIs. From, you know, sucking off someone unprotected. So you should be safe, you know.”

“Uh,” Geralt frowned. “Do you have STIs I should worry about?”

“No, I’m clean. I just mean, you know, in general.”

“I don’t need sex ed, Jaskier.”

“I know,“ he said, unconvincingly. "I’m just saying. Cause, like, it matters, and, you… well, you know.”

“I know,” he nodded even though he didn’t really. “Anything else?” he asked, raising an eyebrow teasingly.

“Well, you shouldn’t take my word for it.”

“What?” Well, he only had himself to blame, right? He did ask.

“That I’m clean. I mean you can’t take people’s word for it, sometimes people just-”

“ Jaskier. I’ve slept with strangers before,” Geralt said bluntly, missing the brief pained look on Jaskier’s face at being classified as a stranger . “You’re clean. I’m clean. If you’re fine with this, I’m fine with this.”

“Yes. Yeah, I am. I am. Sorry,” Jaskier shook his head. “Did I just ruin it? It’s just, it matters you know, so I figured-”

“Jask. I get it. It’s fine,” Geralt said, rubbing his thumbs on each of Jaskier’s hip bones. “Can I suck your cock, now?” he asked softly. Jaskier’s worries disappeared from his mind instantly, and he nodded enthusiastically about twelve times above the consent limit.

Geralt took him into his hand and stroked him, slowly but firmly, further limiting his brain’s already diminished access to oxygen. Geralt’s other hand had reached out to fondle his ass and his fingers began to lightly drum along the back of Jaskier’s thigh, brushing softly, ghosting against his skin, and sending a brand new kind of sparks of want to Jaskier’s cock.

After a few strokes, Geralt brought his lips to the base of Jaskier’s shaft, kissing the hairs in a way one could have described as chaste if it hadn’t been happening so close to another man’s dick. He then proceeded to drop fuller kisses on the soft skin of Jaskier’s cock, pressing his lips against the skin almost reverently as his hand kept working Jaskier. When he was satisfied with the soft noises and the sound of fast breathing above him, he guided his hand back to the base of Jaskier’s cock, pumping a few times before guiding the tip of Jaskier’s dick to his mouth as he licked .

“Fffuck-” Jaskier gasped, and Geralt smiled.

Wetting his lips, he opened his mouth and wrapped it around the very tip of Jaskier’s cock, kissing it wetly, his tongue running against the underside. He let go, only to kiss the side of the head with an open mouth and then took Jaskier’s cock again.

As soon as he had run into Geralt at the bar, Jaskier had been both mindlessly infatuated and completely unsure what to expect. Geralt’s enthusiasm for learning to give head was definitely one of the things he didn’t see coming.

Geralt’s hand fondled his butt cheek again. As he pressed the tip of his fingers lightly against his sacrum, Jaskier sighed and angled his pelvis forward the way Geralt’s hand invited him to. Geralt took a slow breath through his nose, obviously trying to relax as much as he could as he moved forward, taking in a little more of Jaskier in his mouth and sliding his lips over the ring of Jaskier’s cock.

“Oh,” escaped from Jaskier’s lips as Geralt drew back slightly and took more of him again. “Oh darling, oh, yes, that’s good,” he stammered, caressing Geralt’s cheek before drawing back and slapping his hand against the door to ground himself and to restrain from grabbing the back of Geralt’s neck.

Geralt groaned softly at the loss, reaching out for Jaskier’s hand, closing his eyes as soon as he felt Jaskier’s touch again. He moaned as he kept sucking him slowly, clearly enjoying the guiding hand on his cheek.

“Oh, darling,” Jaskier moaned. His thumb rubbed softly against Geralt’s stubbly cheekbone before his hand slid against his cheek and jaw encouragingly. “Oh, that’s good, yeah that’s- Keep going, love,” he whispered again.

Biting his lower lip, Jaskier kept caressing Geralt’s cheek, whispering sweet nothings and sliding his fingers through the other man’s hair, convinced Geralt would have purred around his cock if he could.

"That’s really good, sweetheart,” and as Geralt enthusiastically took him a tad deeper, he just couldn’t help himself. “Oh, that’s my good boy ,” he moaned and Geralt all but choked on his dick.

Pulling back and resting a hand against the floor, half-slipping on his discarded coat, Geralt coughed and tried to get his breath back from choking on his own spit.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry-” Jaskier kneeled by him hastily - and heavily . Having his jeans pooled around his knees wasn’t exactly helping him be graceful. “You alright?”

“Fine,” Geralt rasped, a bright shade of pink all over his face. He coughed again.

“Do you need a drink or something?”

Geralt laughed brokenly through a cough. “To help me forget I could have bitten your dick off?” he asked and Jaskier huffed.

“Don’t be silly,” he smiled, brushing away the hair across Geralt’s face as he leaned to kiss him. “This cock has seen worse.”

“That’s always comforting,” Geralt mumbled against his lips.

Jaskier laughed and caught his lips into another kiss, enjoying the way Geralt sighed comfortably, and held on to the back of his neck. His hand wandered to find the hem of Geralt’s shirt and slipped under his waistband before he arrived at a bright idea. “What if - and I know it’s going to be a very bold, and novel concept, but hear me out - what if we stopped using my front door and living room floor as acceptable fucking surfaces and straight out moved to the bed?”

“Hmm,” Geralt mused falsely. “Didn’t know there was anything straight about you,” he snarked and was met with a playful slap on the breast accompanied by Jaskier’s cackling laughter.

“Oh, look who’s talking now!”

They fumbled to get Jaskier back on his feet - “well I do love to spend time on my knees” - and got rid of the jeans which were annoyingly getting in their way, to then move on to the bedroom.

-

His bedroom, Jaskier decided, was absolutely ruined . Nothing would ever look better than Geralt sprawled on his bed, naked, his hard cock pressed against his lower belly. If Geralt ever decided to break things off with him - a thought which, despite people often calling him dramatic, he knew was perfectly realistic - Jaskier would have to change the room entirely. He would repaint the walls, get new furniture, burn the bed, maybe, or - to simplify - move places. No, there was no way a single soul could ever sleep on sheets which had touched Geralt’s skin without missing his presence like any respectable bard would miss their medieval lute.

At that moment, however, this bard was straddling Geralt’s lap, his arms around Geralt’s neck, while being held around his middle and kissed languorously. They were both naked, every inch of skin yearning to feel the other, and not a single thing was amiss.

“Would you like to touch yourself for me, darling?” Jaskier asked between two kisses, his voice low and syrupy.

A groan came from the bottom of Geralt’s throat and vibrated against Jaskier’s tongue.

“Fuck, I love the noises you make,” he whispered against Geralt’s lips, catching the man’s tongue in another open-mouth kiss.

Geralt started stroking his own cock and howled, and Jaskier broke the kiss unintentionally, unable to stop smiling at the sheer bestiality of the man.

Jaskier smacked his lips against Geralt’s a few more times as Geralt chased his mouth for more. Curving his hand around Geralt’s cheek, he kissed him one more time before slipping his thumb on his lips. He didn’t expect Geralt to kiss his finger, chastely, then lick its tip and lustfully take it in his mouth. Jaskier didn’t sigh as much as he whined .

“Would you prepare yourself for me?” Jaskier asked, making his intentions clearer, his voice a bit hesitant but hopeful.

Geralt let go of his thumb, letting Jaskier caress his lips lovingly. “Maybe it’s better if you do it,” he said, kissing the inside of Jaskier’s palm in an obvious attempt to hide his face.

“Is it?” Jaskier asked, and Geralt closed his eyes, something like regret written on his face.

“I’m not very good at it,” he grimaced.

“You’ve done it before?”

Geralt hummed, uncomfortable. “Since last time,” he clarified. “It didn’t really- I don’t know, maybe it’s not my thing,” he shrugged, still avoiding Jaskier’s eyes.

“Hey,” Jaskier whispered, his voice coated with kindness, unable to stop himself as he tipped Geralt’s chin up and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. “You can’t become a virtuoso on the first try,” he said.

Geralt frowned but then hid his discomfort behind a playful look. “Are you saying my ass is a musical instrument-”

“Shush, you!” Jaskier giggled. “I’m trying to be serious, for once!” he chastised him.

Geralt snickered and hid his face back into Jaskier’s hand, softly kissing his wrist.

“Maybe you had one of the best orgasms of your life the first time you rubbed one out but we , regular human beings, had to work for it,” he paused for more dramatic flair. “L ong and hard and again and again …” he wiggled his eyebrows and Geralt snorted. “We learn what feels good and what doesn’t. Just because you’re ol-” Geralt gave him a pointed look “ -der doesn’t mean you don’t need to get to know yourself.”

“Nice save,” Geralt deadpanned.

“I know, right? Almost seamless,” Jaskier smiled back, clearly full of shit, and went in for a kiss.

“Hmm,” Geralt sighed. “I think I’d rather-” he hesitated, “get on with it, you know.”

“Get on with it?” It was Jaskier’s turn to raise an unconvinced eyebrow.

“Yeah, just get it done.”

“My, what a romantic you are,” Jaskier snickered and Geralt rolled his eyes, trying to make amends by rubbing Jaskier’s skin with his thumb where his hand rested on his hip.

“You just said it, first times suck. I just gotta- get through it and then, well. Hopefully, we get to the good stuff.”

“G- get through it ? You know this isn’t CrossFit, right?”

Geralt snorted. “You know what I mean,” Geralt said, then bit his lip as he frowned, pressing his forehead against Jaskier’s. “You know I’m not-,” he waved his hand, “good at this.”

“Words?”

He puffed. “Yeah, words.”

“Yeah, I got that. I hear you.” Jaskier smoothly brushed a strand of hair back behind Geralt’s ear. “There’s something else I heard. ‘First times suck’ ? Well challenge accepted, my dear,” he said and Geralt laughed as he kissed him again.

Geralt let himself be slowly pushed down to the bed as they kissed, his hands moving up Jaskier’s back, feeling the muscles along the way. His hand reached the back of Jaskier’s neck, covering it for a moment before he buried his fingers into the man’s hair as they softly ground against each other.

Jaskier slid his hand between them, giving both of their cocks a pull before moving lower. “Raise your legs for me, darling?” he asked in low tones, sliding his hands under Geralt’s knees. He could feel Geralt slightly tensing up as he set his feet to the mattress. It didn’t feel like it had anything to do with the scar Jaskier had brushed with his fingertips.

“Shouldn’t I be on my hands and knees?” he asked in a breath while Jaskier’s hands found their way back to his chest.

“You could,” he kissed a spot on his jaw, caressing Geralt’s pectoral. “You don’t have to.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier?” his voice was fairly tight and Jaskier faintly wondered if it was any clue to the state of his ass- and then kept the thought very much to his stupid dick-jokes self.

“Nah, not necessarily,” he whispered, trying to make his hands into a calming, solid presence against Geralt’s skin, caressing his breasts, his ribs, his clavicles, lining his scars with the care they deserved. Whichever God carved this man’s body, Jaskier swore to worship them until the end of his days.

“It can be straining to hold that position. Also…” Jaskier raised himself to face Geralt, picking up the man’s hand as it slipped over his shoulder and kissed the root of each finger. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable with it,” he said. “We don’t have to do it today.” He weaved his fingers between Geralt’s and kissed their tips. “And we don’t have to do it ever.”

Geralt’s face became closed off as he took a slow breath in, bolting up the gates before Jaskier had a chance to read him. He raised to meet Jaskier, his hand finding the perfect place at the back of his neck, and kissed him earnestly.

“I want you to fuck me,” he said against his lips.

“Yeah?” Jaskier gasped. “Got you, loud and clear,” Jaskier whispered and leaned into another kiss.

He broke away from Geralt to reach his nightstand drawer, pulling out some lube and condoms. He grabbed a pillow, invited Geralt to raise his hips and slid it underneath.

“Now, where was I?” he said under his breath, settling between Geralt’s legs and rubbing their bodies against each other. Geralt moaned and wrapped a leg around Jaskier’s pelvis, grinding back eagerly.

Holding his thigh with one hand, Jaskier began kissing his neck, licking and biting the skin at his throat, intending to take care of every inch of Geralt’s body. He licked one of Geralt’s nipples, extracting a moan from Geralt when he sucked and scraped his teeth against the strong muscle of his tit. Feeling Geralt slowly relax under his hands, he headed lower, kissing the pale hairy line that led from his navel to his cock.

He squeezed Geralt’s cock gently, carefully caressing the tip with his thumb and watching the precome spread, shiny against the soft skin. He looked up at Geralt as he moved his hand steadily up and down, a spark of ecstasy jumping from his heart to his cock at the sight of Geralt, eyes closed, biting his lower lip. Every moment assured Jaskier that pleasuring this man was actually his entire life’s purpose.

Geralt hummed with pleasure as Jaskier wrapped his lips around his cock, already struggling not to buck his hips when Jaskier took more of him in his mouth.

Jaskier couldn’t help but hum around his dick as he took it in, playing with depth and rhythm like a true maestro, his fingers threading through the light grey curls of Geralt’s pubes. He then let go of Geralt’s cock with an obscene pop that made him laugh and licked up from the spot right above Geralt’s balls.

Geralt’s hips stirred in both pleasure and surprise.

Jaskier got his hands back on the lube as he kissed and licked the man’s balls, encouraged by the whines and groans that escaped Geralt’s throat. He warmed his lubed fingers against each other and caressed Geralt’s ass with what he wouldn’t deny was absolute adoration. “Can I touch you, darling?” he asked, his voice a bit rough.

Geralt breathed a “yeah” and sounded almost like he was begging but Jaskier gracefully didn’t comment on it. (He, however, definitely took note.) Instead, he slid a hand between Geralt’s cheeks and brushed a finger against his hole as his mouth drove back down Geralt’s beautifully thick cock.

Jaskier teased a little, trying out different pressures against the man’s hole before the song of Geralt’s moans left no room for doubt. He slid his forefinger in while his other hand caressed Geralt’s inner thigh and finally felt the heat of Geralt’s body wrapped around his finger. He pulled back slightly and pushed again, this time steadily driving his finger deeper, synching his hand with the movements of his neck.

Despite Geralt’s frequent struggles with words, his gasps and moans were graced with great clarity and proved sufficient to let Jaskier know he was right to keep going. As far as non-verbal cues go, he also quickly found delight in feeling the walls of Geralt’s ass tightening around him and the taste of more precome coating his tongue.

“ Ah , your mouth,” Geralt moaned, reaching out and grasping onto Jaskier’s hair.

Jaskier closed his eyes and moaned, aching for better friction than the bit of sheet he could rub his cock against. Grabbing the lube with one hand, he couldn’t help but jerk himself a couple of times as Geralt’s hand kept pulling his hair with each bop of his head.

Pointedly slowing down and looking up, he waited for Geralt’s attention to focus on him. He made a point of keeping their eyes locked as he shamelessly pulled up and let go of his cock. “D’you want another finger, honey?” he asked, perfectly aware of how depraved he had to look with his hair astray and his lips as probably as crimson as the tip of Geralt’s cock.

Geralt pulled him closer and met him with a crushing kiss as he nodded and moaned against Jaskier’s brow. “Hm- wait,” he breathed, holding Jaskier back as he started to let go, “I haven’t touched you at all,” he complained, his hands cupping Jaskier’s ass in a kind but firm grasp.

“Ah- It’s alright, love,” Jaskier said. “We’ve got time for that,” he smiled against Geralt’s lips but before he could leave again, Geralt grabbed his hand.

“I want you to feel as good as I do,” he breathed.

“Oh, trust me, darling, I’m feeling fantastic,” Jaskier grinned. They kissed one more time before Geralt let go of him and Jaskier drove his attention back to his lover’s lower body.

Geralt sighed as he settled his head back against his pillow, muttering something about how Jaskier was going to kill him.

Jaskier brought one hand at the base of Geralt’s cock, put his mouth back to work and fingered him a little while longer before adding another slick finger. Geralt whined and Jaskier reached out for his hand, threading their fingers together, hoping Geralt would know it was his way of checking in before Geralt sighed “ Yeah, s’good ,” in a tone that sounded pretty far gone.

He fucked Geralt with his fingers a few tentative times and curled them softly on the way out. In case he had any doubt his fingers were brushing against the right spot, Geralt’s hips jerked, driving his cock further down Jaskier’s throat.

“Ah, fuck ,” Geralt moaned. “Fuck, sorry,” slipped from his lips as if he was holding back so many more words.

Jaskier squeezed his hand in reassurance and kept sucking on Geralt’s dick until he could feel him tremble. He rubbed against Geralt’s prostate, drinking in every noise leaving the man’s lips, every movement revealing his pleasure.

“Ah, Jask,” Geralt moaned again, clutching to Jaskier’s hand like nothing would ever be able to make him let go. “Jas- Jaskier, ah , Jask, wait, I’m gonna-”

His hips buckled and his back raised from the mattress as he came, mouth open, gasping. He moaned and groaned as Jaskier kept fucking him onto his fingers until he was done spilling.

Jaskier slid his fingers out of Geralt’s ass, unable not to pull on his own cock even as he wiped off his mouth and tried to catch his breath, resting his forehead against the soft flesh of Geralt’s hip.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered as he stretched, the last tingles of pleasure leaving his body. He brought his hands to his face, covering his blush and groaned “ fuck ” in a wholly different tone.

“Hey,” Jaskier gasped, slowing down the movements of his wrist and bringing his other hand to touch Geralt’s arm. “Hey, you alright?”

“Hmm,” he groaned from under his hands.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he asked and Geralt huffed.

“I just came like a teenager, darling ,” Geralt mumbled, the edge of his sarcasm largely smoothed out by post-coital bliss.

Jaskier chuckled. “No, you didn’t. You held up really well,” he said, caressing Geralt’s forearm. “My charms were simply too mighty for you to keep it in any longer,” he whispered, and kissed his other wrist and hand, hoping Geralt would emerge from his hiding place.

Geralt groaned again, unconvinced, but let his hand slip away when Jaskier kissed his knuckles, allowing the other man to paint his cheek with the sweet brush of his lips.

“I wanted you,” Geralt whispered, in a weak, almost plaintive way.

“I’m still right here, love,” Jaskier whispered back. “You still have me,” he said at the corner of Geralt’s lips, pressing his mouth softly against his. He found Geralt pressing back with the same tenderness then savouring the taste his own come on Jaskier’s tongue.

They stayed like this for a moment, simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s arms, slowly kissing and holding each other.

“Do you need me?” Geralt asked after Jaskier buckled against his hips involuntarily.

“If your schedule allows it,” Jaskier joked, hiding his face in his neck and humming as he rubbed himself against Geralt.

“What do you want?” Geralt asked, caressing the length of Jaskier’s back, pressing his fingers along the muscles, waking up every fibre of Jaskier’s body.

“This,” Jaskier murmured, “This is perfect.”

He rubbed himself slowly against Geralt as the man covered him in caresses, the callousness of Geralt’s hands contrasting with the softness of his gestures. He ground against Geralt’s hip lazily, welcoming the pressure of Geralt’s hands on his ass, feeling the imprint of each finger into his flesh. His cock was still smeared with lube and the mess he’d spit onto Geralt’s pelvis made for a dirty, wonderful help.

“You look so good like this,” Geralt whispered, kissing a spot under his ear. “You feel so good against me,” he said softly, his tenderness almost making Jaskier come on the spot.

“ Ah , please, touch me,” he begged and Geralt reached for his cock like a servant knight, enthusiastically escorting him to rapture as Jaskier fucked into his hand again and again and again , his shout resonating through the bedroom as he came.

Geralt held him as Jaskier made his way back down, their bodies sweaty and well spent, comfortably intertwined.

After a while during which Jaskier’s mind drifted and fluttered between sleep and consciousness, he adjusted his body to kiss the side of Geralt’s jaw.

“Care to be introduced to my shower?” he asked sleepily.

“Hmm. Good call,” Geralt nodded, and pressed a kiss against his temple.

-

When Geralt walked out of the shower, freshly cleaned up and smelling like Jaskier’s lemon soap, his clothes were neatly arranged on the bed. He got dressed and followed the sound of Jaskier’s humming, finding him in the kitchen frowning at some delivery menus. He was biting his lip, seeming pretty conflicted and Geralt surprised himself thinking: shit, he’s cute.

He kept expecting to have a change of heart any minute now. It was, after all, bound to happen, the next logical step, the most probable outcome: one morning he would wake up and realise that surely this had all been fun but he wasn’t into it anymore. He just had gotten a bit confused and wasn’t actually feeling so much for this man- or any other man, or any other person for that matter.

After splitting up with Yen, he thought he’d never grow fond of someone enough to want anything (at least anything more than sex, but even sex was quite low on his list of priorities). With Jaskier, though- it was like every other day, Geralt would find another thing he’d like to share with the handsome man who had run into him and insisted on sticking around.

“Hey,” Jaskier said, noticing him in the doorway. “So I was thinking, either Casa Lauretta or Athumani’s Kitchen , what do you think? And before you say anything- I know , take out again, but I can’t both try to seduce you and subject you to my cooking.”

Geralt snorted. “You’ve had me in your bed already. Twice. ” he said, raising a playful eyebrow. “At what point will you consider me successfully seduced?”

“Uh, I don’t know, some time between the third dog and the second honeymoon, I guess?” Jaskier pretended to ponder.

Geralt blinked at him and his smile froze on his face. He often struggled with words to begin with but Jaskier mastered the art of leaving him speechless. Banter was his realm. Jaskier knew the terrain by heart and he revelled in it. He was light on his feet and quick on his toes. Every time Geralt tried to play his game and stepped towards Jaskier, the distance separating them seemed to grow.

He felt like a novice trying to catch up with a man who had hiked the trail his whole life, knew its twists and turns by heart. No matter how much he tried to relax and enjoy the sights by Jaskier’s side, he still felt the man would always be ahead of him. Like he would never be able to catch up and stay stuck in the land of the new and uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat. “What’s in these cupboards of yours?“ he asked, brushing past Jaskier to open a few of them. At first, the answer seemed to be both everything and not much at all . But after initial confusion, he realised Jaskier might actually have a system.

Items weren’t sorted by kind but rather by what goes well together: canned mushrooms next to rice, coconut milk next to curry powder, sliced bread between jam and mustard. He wasn’t sure why "365 Lesser-known Eastern Medieval Poems” was stacked with cereals, or why Jaskier’s watch was in a bowl, but he could find out with time.

Something tickled the back of his neck and he realised Jaskier was playing with his hair, a bit of a smitten look on his face. As Geralt looked at him, Jaskier froze and blushed.

“Sorry,” he said, retreating his hand. “I love your hair,” he said sheepishly.

“I lost my hairband somewhere,” Geralt said, looking around.

“It looks good like this too,” Jaskier said. “Pretty sure it looks good all the time,” he smiled and brushed an escapee strand of hair back behind Geralt’s ear.

And here it was: another immensely confusing thing about Jaskier. The man radiated self-confidence 99% of the time. He could bathe in the attention of a crowd, flirt shamelessly with a complete stranger and whisper the filthiest words, dirtiest things- he could fantasize out loud about getting married to a man he’d only known for a few weeks. Yet there was also a shyness about the smallest of things, a vulnerability . It made Geralt want to pick him up and take him to safety- and he was perfectly aware of how ridiculous that sounded. But it felt like maybe, Jaskier’s hidden, more reserved side was a path where they could meet halfway.

He leaned towards him and kissed the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. “Thank you,” he said.

Jaskier smiled and his whole face illuminated. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Good,” Geralt nodded, taking his attention back to the cupboard. And so here he was again, taking a step back on what had started to feel like a comfortable route and stiffly navigating in between the metaphorical potholes on the road leading to Jaskier. As it turned out, talking about how his ass felt after getting fingered was not Geralt’s forte either. But Jaskier - in a moment of extreme humility - had described himself as a master of words and rhythm and that’s exactly what he was. He could use any word, touch upon any topic, express any emotion. Jaskier had a whole planisphere at his disposal, a means to take any road; Geralt had shitty directions and a compass that only told North once in a blue moon.

“No pain?”

“No,” he answered, closed the cupboard and exited Jaskier’s personal space to grab the menus. “Maybe delivery’s better, you’re right,” he said.

“Hmm,” Jaskier answered. “You do that a lot,” he pointed out.

Geralt gave him a look above his shoulder. “What?”

“Changing topics. Avoiding conversations,” Jaskier explained lightly. His tone was not judgemental. He was merely making an observation.

And so, “I’m not,” Geralt lied. He only realised he had lied the second he heard himself. Fuck . “I didn’t realise there was more to say.” Less of a lie. Not quite a half-truth.

Jaskier sighed softly and settled next to Geralt, pressing his forearms against the kitchen counter. "Margherita, then?” he asked. Geralt could see the tight shape of his lips and the square angle of his shoulders. Jaskier had obviously seen right through him but was dropping the subject for his sake.

“You’re disappointed,” he said and Jaskier’s head shot back up to look at him.

“With the pizza options?” Jaskier joked weakly.

“With,” he hesitated. “Me.”

“No-” Jaskier argued right away, raising his hand to cut him off. But Geralt knew how it was, what people expected, not unfairly, versus how little he could offer.

“It’s fine,” Geralt said. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I-,” he paused to weigh his words carefully, eyes focused on the menus. "I’m not very good at-” he hesitated then snorted under Jaskier’s confused look. “ Opening up ?” he said, raising an eyebrow in Jaskier’s direction.

Jaskier laughed and reached out to rest his hand over Geralt’s. “Well, we’ve talked about this,” he said, with a shine in his eyes. “Practice makes better.” Geralt hummed, looking at Jaskier’s hand over his. To his surprise, Jaskier retracted his hand somewhat suddenly and he missed the weight of it right away. “And it’s not like we know each other that well, as you said,” he shrugged, at the edge of Geralt’s field of vision.

“I am ok,” he said, answering Jaskier’s previous question more honestly. “Bit weird but ok.” His brain then caught up with Jaskier’s words a moment too late; as you said ?

"Okay,” Jaskier said, offering a shy smile. “I- it’s okay if it doesn’t come naturally to you. I just- well, I’d just like you to be more comfortable with me. But we’ll get there, right?”

Geralt swallowed, closing and opening the hand that was resting on the counter to get rid of a slight tremor. Saying yes would have been another lie. He couldn’t make that promise. He had tried before, thought that maybe if he forced himself to be enough then things would work out eventually- but they hadn’t.

And so it would have been easy to say no , to back off entirely. He could tell Jaskier he wasn’t interested in building something, just wanted an easy fuck, to experiment a bit, and had simply gotten lucky enough to find a guy who wasn’t repelled by his shitty personality and off-putting scars. It would have been so easy- to tell Jaskier, “I don’t know what you thought you were getting out of this, but you won’t get me .” It was complete and absolute bullshit, a sad pack of lies, but it would be so much easier. He could get back to his life, his job, his kid and the handful of friends he still had, and never think about blue eyes or milkshakes again.

If only the thought didn’t make him nauseous.

Fuck, he wanted this.

“This isn’t casual for you, is it?” he asked, voice tight, and Jaskier startled, almost taking a step back. His face made an odd succession of expressions and he opened his mouth a couple of times before closing it again.

“I- I can be casual. I can be very casual. That’s not a problem, that’s not a- but I-,” he sighed and brushed his hand through his hair nervously. “Fuck, you really don’t fuck around, do you?” Geralt tried to come up with something to say but Jaskier shook his head, his voice way calmer now even if a bit wavering. “No. No, I don’t think I want to be casual with you. And- And you- you don’t w-”

“Me neither,” Geralt cut in before panic took over Jaskier.

The man’s eyes grew a little wider. “You neither?” he asked, and fuck if that wasn’t the most obvious display of naked hope Geralt had ever seen on anybody’s face.

Geralt shook his head and Jaskier seemingly had to fight a full-body shiver.

Jaskier walked the two steps separating them and kissed Geralt with his entire soul. When he pulled back, Geralt leaned into him again for another taste of his tongue. He brought a hand to Jaskier’s cheek and kissed him with feeling. When they parted, he kept his eyes closed, pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s, the tip of his fingers grazing the short hair behind his ear.

“I’m not used to wanting…” Geralt said. “Sex is good. But usually I don’t- I don’t want more. With you, I- I don’t want to ru- to leave . And it’s…”

“Weird, isn’t it?” Jaskier offered, his voice tight but tone playful. The shy smile on his lips was a delicious cherry on top, making the teasing even softer. (Little did Jaskier know that a cherry was the only thing in Geralt’s opinion that could ever improve a creamy vanilla milkshake.)

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Geralt huffed. Jaskier kissed him, and after working through so many words, Geralt ran out of things to say. “So, yeah. Margherita’s good,” he whispered, and it was his turn to make Jaskier laugh. The man cleared his throat and sighed like a weight had been taken off his chest.

“I can’t believe you said all that before even knowing Lauretta delivers vanilla milkshakes,” he said and Geralt poked him in the ribs until they half-wrestled, laughing, Jaskier’s back hitting the fridge- and they were kissing again.

-

They talked over dinner for a while. Jaskier came up with questions for Geralt to answer, helping him ease into a casual conversation. They teased and flirted and laughed, and soon ended up in bed again, tasting each other’s skin and leaning into each other’s curves.

“Full disclosure?” Jaskier whispered against Geralt’s mouth as he was straddling him. “I really fucking love those tits of yours,” he said, cupping Geralt’s chest with his two hands. Geralt scoffed in between two kisses.

“They’re called pecs,” he said, enjoying the way Jaskier’s hands were basically venerating his chest.

“Nuh-uh,” Jaskier replied, “I, good sir, am an artist, not an anatomist, and these are definitely some of the most magnificent boobies I have ever had the chance to see, touch and lick,” he said, brushing a nipple with his thumb while kissing Geralt’s jaw.

Geralt snorted and kept caressing Jaskier’s incredibly precious ass.

Jaskier sighed with contentment. “So, tell me your secret,” he mumbled against Geralt’s skin, finding a tendon in Geralt’s neck and following it with his lips, tongue and teeth. “How does a corporate lawyer get as buff as you?”

Geralt’s laugh was more of a scoff as he felt the more-or-less accidental brush of Jaskier’s cock against his.

“You’re one to talk,” he groaned, getting his hand into Jaskier’s hair and pulling him into a kiss. “Have you seen yourself, Professor?”

Jaskier suddenly pulled back, eyes wide and cheeks pink. “I- well- I mean I’m nothing close to- Your body is,” he huffed, seemingly at loss for words which was a very odd thing coming from Jaskier.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, bringing his hand to the small of the man’s back, and squinted. “You know you’re hot, right?” he asked seriously and witnessed Jaskier dissolve into a fit of giggles, ducking his head and blushing even harder.

“I’m- nah, I’m not-”

“ Jaskier ,” Geralt repeated with intent.

“I mean, I’m fine but I’m not- you’re like a, a- an underwear supermodel.”

Geralt snorted. “Right, they do love bodies covered with scar tissue in underwear magazines,” he said self-deprecatingly, making Jaskier frown.

“Don’t do that. You’re beautiful,” he chastised.

“If you say so-” Geralt shrugged.

“I do say so. Les Dessous de Beauclair can go fuck itself,” Jaskier replied and Geralt snorted again.

“Point still stands,” Geralt said. “You’re hot.”

Jaskier looked away again, biting his lower lip. “Wh-,” he started and then closed his mouth right away.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head.

“Jaskier? I’m the one who isn’t much of a talker. There can’t be two of us,” he said, and Jaskier laughed, then hid his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s shoulders.

“What do you like about me?” he asked, his voice so small Geralt barely heard him. He let a moment pass, wondering where to start and how. He slid a hand at the back of Jaskier’s neck, caressing the short strands of hair.

“This,” he said. “Your hair right here. It’s short but long enough that I can grab it,” he felt Jaskier smile against his neck.

” Kinky ,“ Jaskier whispered.

“And I like your eyes,” Geralt said, too focused on picking the right words to get sidetracked. “At the bar, I-” he hesitated, pacing himself. “I noticed your eyes first,” he said and swallowed.

Jaskier hugged him tighter. “I love your eyes too,” he mumbled into Geralt’s hair. "They’re incredible.”

Geralt managed to duck his head and press a soft kiss below Jaskier’s ear. “Your cheekbones,” he said, his mouth finding the sweet spot at the base of Jaskier’s neck. “Your shoulders,” he whispered, kissing Jaskier’s clavicle, loosening their embrace to keep going lower. “Your collarbones,” he nipped his teeth at the bone above Jaskier’s chest, “they’re really, really hot,” he said and Jaskier giggled, still hiding his face by pressing his forehead against Geralt’s temple.

Geralt brought his hands up Jaskier’s back and felt him shiver, Jaskier’s hips startling gently against his, bringing a soft moan from the both of them. “Your back,” he said, “I really love your back- and your ass, gods ,” he linked his hands behind Jaskier’s neck and rolled his hips, their moans echoing through the room. “ Ah , and those fucking arms of yours,” Geralt whispered. “Have you seen those arms?” he repeated, still softly rubbing their cocks together with slow movements of his hips and caressing Jaskier’s arm. “I’m sure you could lift me up with those arms,” he said and Jaskier groaned. “Would you like that?” he asked. “Would you- would you like to hold me up and fuck me?”

“Oh, fuck,” Jaskier moaned, his face pressed against Geralt’s cheek. “Fuck, fuck, yes, yes please, yes,” he begged, and Geralt grabbed the hair at the back of his neck and pulled just enough for Jaskier to whine with pleasure as they both rushed in an almost bruising kiss.

Jaskier had a hard time pulling away from Geralt, but finally managed to turn towards the bedside table to retrieve lube and condoms.

Geralt flushed himself against his back, tearing a moan from Jaskier as his hand directly went for Jaskier’s cock and Geralt’s dick rubbed against his ass.

“Oh fuck, yeah- yeah , we gotta do this some time too, darling,” he panted and Geralt groaned, grinding against him.

“You would like that?” he breathed, his voice low and coated with desire.

“Gods, I’d fuck you anyway you want, darling-” he moaned, “-but fffuck , if you keep going, there isn’t going to be much left of me.”

Geralt chuckled against him. He pulled back, freeing Jaskier from his embrace and sitting back against the wall.

Jaskier kneeled in between his legs and tore the package open, sliding the condom on his cock, realising after raising his eyes that he was under Geralt’s scrutiny.

“You okay?” he asked at the exact moment Geralt breathed “Come here.”

Somehow they crashed into each other, and yet fit each other’s shapes perfectly.

Geralt raised on his knees, thighs parted, Jaskier’s hands moving from his cock to his balls, making his hips jerk and his teeth close on Jaskier’s lower lip as he moaned. Jaskier slid his fingers further, caressing the sweet spot of Geralt’s perineum, making Geralt break the kiss as he gasped.

“Fuck, please, Jask-”

“I’ve got you,” Jaskier murmured, kissing him again and coating his fingers with lube.

Geralt tried his hardest not to jerk himself off here and now, attempting to focus on rubbing Jaskier’s cock while his other arm rested around the man’s neck.

Jaskier teased the rim of his asshole and got a quick return on his investment as Geralt pulled a little harder on his dick, tearing a moan from his lips. He chuckled a bit breathlessly and slid a finger inside Geralt easily. It didn’t take long at all before a second finger joined the first.

“You okay, darling?” Jaskier breathed and Geralt nodded against his cheek.

For a while, they stayed like this, settled against each other, Jaskier slowly fingering him until Geralt couldn’t stop clenching around his fingers and asking for more.

When three fingers curved into him and caressed his prostate, Geralt thought he was going to come undone. “Fuck- fuck, fuck, fuck, Jaskier-,”

“Good?” Jaskier asked a bit worriedly.

“Fuck, yes , good,” Geralt bit in a tone that was halfway between “how the fuck could it be anything but good” and “don’t you fucking dare stop” , making Jaskier laugh again.

“Okay, darling- still love the enthusiasm,” Jaskier said while Geralt whined and begged until finally, fucking finally, Jaskier agreed he was ready. Jaskier slid between his thighs, his strong, well-built arms around Geralt’s middle and Geralt realised it was probably the first time he had been held like this in his entire life.

“Touch yourself for me?” Jaskier asked, his mouth against Geralt’s before Geralt shook his head.

“Can’t- gonna come if I do,” he breathed and Jaskier kissed him again.

“Please?” he asked. “I want to make sure it feels good,” he whispered, holding onto Geralt’s middle tighter.

Geralt complied and before long Jaskier’s hips were rising to meet his body. He felt the tip of Jaskier’s cock slide between his buttcheeks and touch the soft of his ass and he startled, pulling away and pressing back against Jaskier just as fast.

“Fuck,” he swore as Jaskier whined. “Please, Jask,” he moaned as the hand on his cock started shaking. He then felt the tip of Jaskier’s cock against him again, and the steady push of Jaskier’s hips as the head of Jaskier’s cock entered him. He whined as Jaskier pushed further and lowered himself as slow as he could with the lone strength of his thighs and Jaskier’s arms wrapped around his waist.

“Ok?” Jaskier asked breathlessly. A gasp was all Geralt managed. His thoughts were an endless thread of fuck fuck fuck he couldn’t sort out in any order. “Yea- ah,” he broke, “ fuck ,”

“Is it too much?” Jaskier asked, “I can- I can stop, do you need me to stop?”

“ Don’t ,” Geralt moaned, clenching every single muscle in his body to keep Jaskier against him and eliciting a cry from Jaskier. His arms were around Jaskier’s shoulders, his forehead against the man’s temple. Geralt was holding onto him with everything he got.

“I just-” he tried to take a slow long breath thinking about everything he had learned through meditation and managed one ragged breath. “You’re a lot,” he managed in a sigh, clenching around Jaskier despite how much he tried to relax.

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat half-way between pleasure and laughter. “I get that all the time,” he said cheekily.

“Don’t- don’t make me laugh,” he said, chuckling breathlessly, and Jaskier joined him, both trying to breathe through the involuntary clenching of Geralt’s inner muscles and the accidental movements of Jaskier’s hips.

They laughed into each other’s mouths as they kissed, mouth open, tongues licking each other’s lips, teeth biting softly, teasingly. When they were both ready, Jaskier pulled himself down as he helped Geralt raise on his knees and they met again, moaning and groaning.

“You ok?” Jaskier whispered again and by then, Geralt had no fucking idea. He had never felt so tense and relaxed at once, uncomfortable but so fucking fantastic. His nerves and his ass were on absolute fire but it was good, it was good, it was so, so-

“So good,” he growled, aware that every part of his body was probably shaking in Jaskier’s arms. “ Ah , don’t stop,” he moaned, and Jaskier, incredible, astonishing, wonderful Jaskier did not stop .

Their hips moved in sync, feeding Geralt with the kind of friction he had never imagined could feel so good.

He let himself relax entirely into Jaskier’s embrace, sliding against the whole length of Jaskier’s body, pressing torso against torso, his forehead against Jaskier’s sweaty fringe, their noises brushing, their mouths breathing the same air.

“Ye-ah?” Jaskier moaned. “You like it? You really- ah , fuck- you- ah , you feel so good, does it feel good, tell me-” he rambled, far, so far from actually needing the reassurance.

Geralt groaned. “ Yes ,” he whined, “I like it, I like it, I like you , please,” and Jaskier whined and then did something- Geralt didn’t know, something, somehow, maybe went harder or faster or different, but he pulled and pushed and Geralt lost his fucking mind. He did it again and again, kissing Geralt, licking his neck, biting on his earlobe, caressing his nipples, bruising his hips in his grasp, pulling on his cock, whispering into his ear and making him whine and moan and shout until Geralt begged to be undone.

“I’ve got you, love,” Jaskier said, “I’ve got you.” Jaskier pulled harder on his hips in a half-broken groan, making Geralt slip towards him a little more.

Geralt arched his back, moaning in delight from the new angle. His neck was left exposed for Jaskier to kiss and lick, and breathe against Geralt’s skin. Every cell in Geralt’s body was burning and electric, and boiling. Everything felt so good and so much and so Jaskier , so he begged, begged again, and again for Jaskier to hold him and kiss him and fill him as he came, and so he did. He came, held, and kissed, and filled, and perfect, and Jaskier came, too, gasping into his mouth as they fell into each other.

For a moment, there was no other sound apart from the unsteady breathing and an occasional moan from the two of them as they slowly, comfortably, came back down to earth. Jaskier moved first, turning his head to kiss Geralt’s cheek, pushing his long white hair away from his face, and Geralt turned his head lazily towards him, leaning into a kiss.

“You ok?” Jaskier whispered, probably for the hundredth time and Geralt, for the thousandth time, hummed and nodded. Soon they would detach from each other, groaning from the discomfort of their sensible muscles, their come-dirtied bellies and lube-stained sheets anything but glamorous.

But for the time being, they laid their heads against each other’s shoulders, eyes closed, content with the feeling of holding and being held.

“Hey,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt hummed questioningly.

“Stay for breakfast?” Jaskier asked. He missed the soft smile that drew on Geralt’s lips.

“Hmm.”

[morethanboomtschk]

In 1993, NASA, the Russian Federal Space Agency (RKA), Japan’s Aerospace Exploration Agency (JAXA), the European Space Agency (ESA), and the Canadian Space Agency (CSA) all finally agreed to a treaty to launch the International Space Station. It would be another five years before construction began and the first long-term residents finally floated aboard the ISS in the year 2000. - If only these countries had taken a look at the burgeoning underground electronic music scene, which was already launching kids into zero-gravity deep space as early as the summer of 1992. That’s when The Orb played chess on Top of the Pops as their epochal single “Blue Room” floated up the charts. These were mental trips, starting with Warp’s 1992 landmark “Artificial Intelligence” compilation (featuring a spliff-smoking cyborg), which introduced a new generation of producers who had become enamored with house, acid, and techno. These artists soon began to push into unplumbed regions of the music, exploring the spongy, diaphanous space in between all those 808s and 303s. Early practitioners like The KLF, the Orb, Pete Namlook, Mixmaster Morris, and the like, began to offer up alternative sounds for those coming down from a loud, pounding night out—places to cool off, come back down to earth, and well…“chill out.” - The concept of the chill-out room might have been idealistic and utopian rather than a fully-realized space, though. “They never really seemed to have succeeded as an actual club’s chill out-room,” Jamie Tiller says, speaking about the music featured on Virtual Dreams: Ambient Explorations In The House & Techno Age, 1993​-​1997, a compilation on his label Music from Memory. 

“The music was always leaking from the main room. Or the chill-out room was just filled with people who were simply too high, trying to sober up or looking for somewhere to pass out. It seemed to work better as a pre- or post-club experience at home.”

Whether it was in your living room or in a loud club, ambient electronic music served as a gateway for listeners hesitant to go out clubbing. “I was an indie kid, and I got into electronic music via this scene, as going out to clubs was not really my thing,” says DJ Ivan Smagghe. “Then the first raves happened in France, and there were always some chill-out or alternative room. I got started DJing in those, actually.” Some of the tracks he recalled from his days in the chill-out rooms on the continent and from working as a record store clerk informed his recent compilation, IDMEMO – A Future Of Nostalgia, compiled with fellow DJ (and Offen Music head) Vladimir Ivkovic. Tim Humphrey recently started the reissue label re:discovery records to revive this particular era of electronic music, while also admitting to a love for chill-out rooms. 

“I grew up with ’90s ambient, and that style and period of music is near and dear to me. It takes you away to another place, like reading a great sci-fi book. It’s mysterious and futuristic, you can escape from whatever is going on in your life. The music makes you dream.” 

So far, his label has reissued astoundingly great early works from the likes of American practitioners like David Moufang and Taylor Deupree, with upcoming reissues of long-revered releases from A Positive Life and Adham Shaikh. Regional varietals of ambient electronic from that era have also recently resurfaced. And beyond the trappings of the chill-out room, a few dedicated diggers have revealed the early ’90s on through the early ‘00s to be a particularly fertile time of exploration. Matthew Xue, who runs the Australian record label A Colourful Storm and DJs/compiles as Moopie, found himself particularly enamored with tracks from this time period that “were often the ‘delicate’ outliers on an album or CD compilation that contained heavier or denser tracks,” he says. “Bayu and I looked for songs that we felt had some romantic, desirous, and longing sensibilities to it.” The end result is the dreamy Still in My Arms. With the heavier drums absent, these dreamier elements were allowed to float up to the surface. Similarly, Justin Cantrell, another Australian who runs the Daisart label, found a curious realm culled from otherwise forgotten and out-of-print tapes, records, CD-Rs, and the like, exploring his country’s relatively isolated take on ambient electronic music with the Wound Without a Tear compilation. 

“I’m fascinated by ephemera as a memory enhancer,” he says. “The longer we live, the more prone we are to forget. These minor things from our lives that bring us back to a time and a place often push us closer to each other—sometimes almost touching.” 

Even adrift in the imaginary space of such ambient electronic atmospheres, the warmth of such music still shines through ...

[mischiefandmystics]

LFRP: Sun’ra Zhawn

B A S I C S .

FULL NAME: Śūn'ra Yatā PRONUNCIATION: SHoon-ra Ya-ta ALIAS: Sun’ra Zhawn NICKNAME(S): Blu, Sun, various epithets from various people AGE: 25 BIRTHDAY: 16th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon ETHNIC GROUP: Miqo’te/Keeper of the Moon NATIONALITY: Meracydian LANGUAGE(S): Common, Huntspeak, some sign language  SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Open to interpretation  ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Open to interpretation  RELATIONSHIP STATUS: In a relationship with Maril Hawker, but still a ho HOME TOWN/AREA: An island off the coast of the main Meracydian continent CURRENT HOME:  N/A, wanders and has several hideouts throughout Eorzea PROFESSION: Bandit, Street Pharmacist, Chef, Back Alley Surgeon

P H Y S I C A L .

HAIR: Cotton candy blue and pink, thick, coarse, and with the slightest of waves EYES: Bright, intense, and vivid violet in color. Almond shaped and often with constricted pupils FACE: Sharp, symmetrical, and expressive with a round, wide nose LIPS: Full, soft, and usually smirking COMPLEXION: Deep russet brown BLEMISHES: N/A SCARS: Rare, faded, but heavy around the hands and knuckles. There are none of any particular note or story. TATTOOS: Clan markings on his face HEIGHT: 5′8 WEIGHT: 162 BUILD: Muscular, athletic, compact, and broad shouldered. DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: Clan markings, hair color, intense stare, facial and ear piercings ALLERGIES: N/A USUAL HAIR STYLE: Cut short or chin length at most, no particular style, left to do what it wills. USUAL FACE LOOK: Prone to sharp toothed grins, teasing or taunting glances, and focused, unblinking stares. USUAL CLOTHING: Fitted leather and cloth, or loose linen pieces in either black or bright and vibrant colors. COMMON ACCESSORIES: Black choker, fingerless gloves, gold bracelets, and gold sunglasses(if during the day)

P S Y C H O L O G Y .

FEAR(S): Dying ASPIRATION(S): Longevity in banditry, general hedonism, and to grow and synthesize the most potent drugs with the cleanest highs. POSITIVE TRAITS: Charming, Truthful, Diligent, Loyal, Creative, Patient, Astute NEGATIVE TRAITS: Unabashedly Evil, Excessively Violent, Cunningly Manipulative, Largely Unpredictable  MBTI: ENFJ-A  ZODIAC: Sagittarius TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine-Choleric  SOUL TYPE(S): The Warrior & The Sage ANIMAL(S): The Wolf & The Crocodile VICE HABIT(S): Murder, Fogweed, Sensation Seeking FAITH: Agnostic GHOSTS?: Unsure AFTERLIFE?: Unsure REINCARNATION?: Unsure ALIENS?: Yes POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Vaguely anarchist leaning, but otherwise unconcerned. EDUCATION LEVEL:  Homeschooled and private tutelage while young, various forms of apprenticeship after leaving home, and continues to study and practice his trade and interests as an adult.

F A M I L Y .

FATHER: Zai’zi Routak; Alive MOTHERS: Śūn Yatā; Alive SIBLINGS: 14 sisters and 4 brothers EXTENDED FAMILY: Various aunts, cousins, nieces, nephews, etc. PETS: A nutkin named Chip, a mameshiba named Bombo, and a war panther named Jean-Baptiste Sevigny. NAME MEANING(S): Fifth son of Śūn Yatā   HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: N/A.

F A V O R I T E S .

BOOK: The medical journals pertaining to anatomy and physiology from Maril’s library.  DEITY: Sophia HOLIDAY: Valentione's Day  MONTH: July SEASON: Summer PLACE:  Mor Dhona WEATHER: Sunshower SOUND(S): The cacophony of active voices in a crowded room, the rhythmic breaking of waves against the shore, and the sharp, surprised, intake of breath by a person once stabbed. SCENT(S): Petrichor, blood, medicinal herbs, and burning wood. TASTE(S): Sharp, hot, and spicy peppers, bitter and sour tastes like lemons, and the savory and rich flavor of spiced cinnamon. FEEL(S): Textures that are sticky or tacky like blood, or gritty like sand, or rough like calloused hands. ANIMAL(S): Coeurls, Nutkins, Dogs NUMBER(S): 16 COLOR(S): Red, Blue, Pink, Purple, and Yellow

E X T R A .

TALENT(S): Cooking, mathematics, sleight of hand, hand-eye coordination BAD AT:  Drawing, hiding emotions, magic TURN ONS: Competence, violence, passion, assertiveness, risk-taking, vulnerability TURN OFFS: Spinelessness, arrogance, dishonesty HOBBIES: Botany, singing and songwriting, playing guitar, stalking people, exploring ruins TROPES:  It Amused Me, Sadist, Pragmatic Villainy, No-Nonsense Nemesis, Because I’m Good At It, Machiavelli Was Wrong, Even Evil Can Be Loved, Even Evil Has Loved Ones QUOTE(S): N/A

T R A I T S .

extroverted / in between / introverted disorganized / in between / organized close minded / in between / open-minded  calm / in between / anxious disagreeable / in between / agreeable cautious / in between / reckless patient / in between / impatient outspoken / in between / reserved leader / in between / follower empathetic / in between / apathetic optimistic / in between / pessimistic traditional / in between / modern hard-working / in between / lazy cultured / in between / uncultured  loyal / in between/ disloyal faithful / in between/ unfaithful

P O S S I B L E   H O O K S .

Drug Dealer: Śūn’ra is a drug dealer, and a fairly good one at that. He has his own distinct wares to offer, but will also make the effort to procure whatever a client desires beyond his normal fare. This is however, with the exception of Somnus as he refuses to deal with that particular substance in any capacity. Still, if one is looking for a quick fix, or a reliable long term supplier, he is always happy to provide.

Banditry: What Śūn’ra considers as his main “job”, is the thing he’s been doing the longest, and what he finds himself to be really good at. He has been known to take advantage of the Ala Mhigan refugees outside of Ul’dah, the Doman refugees who once made their temporary home around Mor Dhona, the various downtrodden in Gyr Abania, and generally any random, lightly armored person or persons on a dark road in and around the various housing districts. If you want to be a victim, a hero, a like-minded individual, or simply heard curious, ominous rumors of people being robbed and/or murdered in the dark, feel free to explore the possibility.

Hired Hand: As he’s generally always on the search for or considering the potential of the next thrill, Śūn’ra tends to keep his ear to the underground when it comes to offerings of various “unsavory” jobs. Whether you need an assassin, a torturer, a kidnapper, or someone to shake down those indebted to you, he’s generally up for the task. Additionally, while the Keeper himself has no grandiose plans for mass destruction, conquest, or the like, he’s more than happy to help those who do - for a price, and for as long as going along with his employer’s ambitions is more thrilling than the escapades of those attempting to put a stop to them... 

Dungeon-Diving: Śūn’ra has found that he rather enjoys heading into various dungeons and ruins in search of relics to either keep for himself or to sell for overinflated prices. The threat of monsters, voidsent, and other ne'er-do-wells amuses and excites him. It is possible to run into him alone, scoping out a location for possible treasures, or to convince him to join your own expedition.

General Evil-doing: In simplest terms, Śūn’ra finds evil things to just generally be more fun than good things. He’d like to meet others of a similar mindset, and isn’t shy about tracking such individuals down if he catches wind of them.

L O O K I N G   F O R .

I am looking for both short and long term RP with villainous contacts, friends, and business collaborators for various dubious plotlines, one shots, and experimental campaigns. Ideally something long term, with characters willing to get their hands dirty and not prone to passivity. 

Rivals, enemies, and people to thwart and be thwarted by. It’s not fun if he always wins or gets his way. People who are able to stand up to him and hold their own are wanted too. Doesn’t have to be long running as I am open to heroic one shots as well.

Pretty much anything. There’s a wide world of RP out there to be had, and various types of plotlines. I’m always open to hear things out, and even if I’m not super into something, we can shape it into something that works well for the both of us. Śūn'ra as a character has a wide variety of interests and hobbies, and not everything has to be about violence or mayhem(though that is the main focus), so please, if you have an idea, let me know!

C O N T A C T .

Here! On Tumblr!

In game via: Sun’ra Zhawn@balmung

@ffxiv-crystal-rp​

[eldritchsurveys]

873.

5k Survey I

1. Who are you? >> I’m Mordred. 2. What are the 3 most important things everyone should know about you? >> I’m sensory-defensive and post-traumatic, I'm part of a multiple system, and I’m a fictional character.    3. When you aren’t filling out 5,000 question surveys like this one what are you doing? >> Taking way shorter surveys. When I’m not taking surveys at all, I’m posting on tumblr or pillowfort, reading, playing video games, researching video game lore, watching a movie or show, or trying to manage my hellbrain (which is a whole separate task in itself). 4. List your classes in school from the ones you like the most to the ones you like the least (or if you are out of school, think of the classes you did like and didn’t like at the time). >> I do my best not to think about school, the last bit of which was 15 years ago anyway. 5. What is your biggest goal for this year? >> I don’t make goals like that.

6. Where do you want to be in 5 years? >> It’s inconceivable to me to plan ahead that far. Even to think ahead that far seems silly and pointless to my very present-focused (and past-haunted) mind.

7. What stage of life are you in right now? >> Adulthood. Just the general “adulthood” between hectic young adulthood and transitional middle age. 8. Are you more child-like or childish? >> I’m not child-like or childish. I simply understand that the division between “childhood” and “adulthood” isn’t nearly as cut-and-dried as society has organised it for the sake of legality and social interaction, and I also understand that the desire to escape childhood and “childish things” is a conceit of the young, who wish to be seen as grown and independent creatures (which is part of development! it makes perfect sense). By the time you get to your thirties, it really stops mattering. You know you’re an adult. You know that being an adult means you have the freedom to do whatever you want (as far as leisure and play and stuff like that goes, I mean), which means you can sit in your pjs watching cartoons and eating sugar cereal if you like, and no parent can chide you for it, and your peers can fuck off if they don’t like it. (The “adult” part of doing that is knowing to stop after one and a half bowls of said cereal, lmao. It’s all a balance, innit?)

9. What is the last thing you said out loud? >> I don’t remember. 10. What song comes closest to how you feel about your life right now? >> I don’t think there’s any song that can capture that. Or, maybe there is, but I don’t know about it. 11. Have you ever taken martial arts classes? >> No. I’ve been interested, but frankly, I can’t afford anything like that. 12. Does your life tend to get better or worse or does it just stay the same? >> There is no set trajectory, like that. Life has high points and low points, and the majority of it is really spent somewhere in the middle. It’s just that we focus on the high points and the low points most often (and when the low points are particularly low, they often end up defining our entire existence, even when we’re in the middle or even at high points).   13. Does time really heal all wounds? >> It’s not time that does it. Time just always happens to pass while the healing is being done, so we figure it’s the most common denominator. It takes work to heal, not just passively sitting around waiting for it to happen. 14. How do you handle a rainy day? >> I bring an umbrella, if I have to go out. Usually I don’t, so I just... do what I would do normally? 15. Which is worse…losing your luggage or having to sort out tangled holiday lights? >> Obviously losing your luggage... 16. How is your relationship with your parents? Will you miss them when they are gone? >> We have no relationship. There will be nothing to miss. 17. Do you tend to be aware of what is going on around you? >> Yeah. Especially since I’m prone to hypervigilance. 18. What is the truest thing that you know? >> The truest thing that I know is that I don’t know shit, and neither does anyone else. We’re all just elaborately guessing about shit, and interpreting reality the best way we can. Which is great, really. The fact that we keep trying to understand shit is cool. Just... “the map is not the territory” kind of applies to a lot of the stuff we think we know. ...Or not, right? After all, what do I know? :p 19. What did you want to be when you grew up? >> I just wanted to be free. 20. Have you ever been given a second chance? >> Probably. 21. Are you more of a giver or a taker? >> I’m a fair amount of both, being, you know, a person. 22. Do you make your decisions with an open heart/mind? >> I make my decisions the best way I know how. Whatever that means. 23. What is the most physically painful thing that has ever happened to you? >> Menstrual cramps. 24. What is the most emotionally painful thing that has ever happened to you? >> Yeah, right, like I’m going to be able to rank that. 25. Who have you hugged today? >> No one. 26. Who has done something today to show they care about you? >> --- 27. Do you have a lot to learn? >> Of course. I don’t necessarily have to learn all of it, but it sure is out there. 28. If you could learn how to do three things just by wishing and not by working what would they be? >> I don’t think that would be of any benefit to me. As much as I balk at taking those long uphill journeys to skillfulness, I feel like those journeys are beneficial and aid one’s growth. I’d rather not just snap my fingers and have a djinni grant me abilities like that. 29. Which do you remember the longest: what other people say, what other people do or how other people make you feel? >> How what other people do and say makes me feel. 30. What are the key ingredients to having a good relationship? >> Meh. 31. What 3 things do you want to do before you die? >> I don’t have a list like this. 32. What three things would you want to die to avoid doing? >> I think I would rather die than be incarcerated. So I’d take the death penalty if I could avoid a life imprisonment sentence... 33. Is there a cause you believe in more than any other cause? >> Not particularly. 34. What does each decade make you think of? The 1920’s: Prohibition. Wait, was that the 20s or the 30s? 30’s: World War II. 40’s: The rest of WWII. 50’s: I just think of... all the propaganda images from that era. You know, all the... domestic Whiteness... also, weird foods like meat aspic. 60’s: Hippies and Woodstock. 70’s: The Vietnam War (and the protests). 80’s: Hair metal. 90’s: Grunge and weird television/movies. 2000 : Well, I was an adult for most of this decade, and more or less aware of the world, so I don’t have a succinct “concept” of the aughts the way I have for decades that I didn’t live through, that I only have historical knowledge of. 2010’s: ^

35. Which decade do you feel the most special connection to and why? >> I feel an emotional connection to the spirit of the nineties. I don’t feel like trying to organise my words to explain why, I feel like that would take a lot of energy right now and I still have fifteen questions to go. 36. What is your favorite oldie/classic rock song? >> I don’t have one particular favourite. 37. What country do you live in and who is the leader of that country? >> United States. Donald Trump is president, weirdly enough. If you could say any sentence to the current leader of your country what would it be? >> I’d rather not, thanks. 38. What’s your favorite TV channel to watch in the middle of the night? >> I don’t watch television in the middle of the night... 39. What Disney villain are you the most like and why? >> That’s a great question, but the thing about Disney villains is that I don’t relate to them as much as I just love watching them do what they do. Like, my favourite is Judge Frollo, but I don’t think it’s because I have anything in common with him. Or, hell, maybe I would burn down an entire city because I don’t know how to handle the fact that I really want to bone this superbly hot chick. (My actual favourite villain is Catholic Guilt.) 40. Have you ever been a girl scout/boy scout? >> Briefly. 41. If you were traveling to another continent would you rather fly or take a boat? >> I would rather fly. I feel like boat travel would take a particularly long time and I’m not into that. 42. Why is the sky blue during the day and black at night? >> Oh, you know. Science. (I’m not Google.) 43. What does your name mean? >> I’m not sure anyone really knows what “Mordred” means. 44. Would you rather explore the depths of the ocean or outer space? >> Outer space. 45. What is the first word that comes to mind when you see the word: Air: Astrology. Meat: Beef. Different: Strokes. Pink: Panther. Deserve: Entitlement. White: Power, unfortunately. Been reading about too many fucking Nazis lately. Elvis: Pelvis. Magic: Mountain. Heart: Head. Clash: Punk. Pulp: Fiction.

46. If you could meet any person in the world who is dead who would you want it to be? >> I don’t care about this. 47. What if you could meet anyone who is alive? >> I still don’t care. 48. Is there a movie that you love so much you could watch it everyday? >> Of course not. I did watch Event Horizon every day for like a month, but I was in the psych ward at the time. What the fuck else would I have done anyway? 49. You are going to be stuck alone in an elevator for a week. What do you bring to do? >> What do I bring to do?! That’s definitely the least of my concerns with a hypothetical like this. I can’t fucking survive in an elevator for a week, dude. 50. Have you ever saved someone’s life or had your life saved? >> Doubtful.

[colorofmymindposts]

The Deviance of Two English Gentlemen Chapter Three

Chapter Title: The Unyielding Interim

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Ritchie films)/Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Morstan Rating: Teen and Up Status: Incomplete, chapters are posted weekly Word Count: 1514 for this chapter, 4291 for the entire work thus far Summary: Set post Game of Shadows. When Sherlock Holmes is given a case by none other than Mrs. Watson, he has no idea that he cannot fix the unsolvable for the couple. Intimate truths are exposed in the process, leaving all three irrevocably changed. Tags: Case Fic, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Secrets, Bickering Notes: The entire work can be read here on ao3. You can also read chapter one here and chapter two here. Note that this is not Brit-picked, but I tried my best.

Story:

The next two weeks passed in such an odd succession that Holmes began to wonder whether he was indulging too much in the comfort of his seven percent solution. After that first night, Watson had not come down for many hours, not until late afternoon, all dressed in clothes appropriated from Holmes’ wardrobe, though neither of them addressed the subject. He had given a curt thanks and goodbye before departing.

The next time Watson deigned it worthy of his time to visit, Holmes had just finished conducting his experiment on the potency of various chloroform formulas. When Watson burst into his rooms, unannounced, he scolded Holmes for not leaving the flat in a span of time which had lasted four days apparently. In a fit of frustration, Watson left in search of food, insisting Holmes was going to “lose half a stone at this rate” if he continued in his totally reasonable, reclusive behaviours. Later, they chatted over dinner about the day’s newspaper, Holmes’ findings in the last seventy-two hours of intense dedication to the differences between trichloromethane and ether while Watson contributed an anecdote here or there about an unruly patient in the clinic.

They did not talk about Mary. They also did not speak of Watson’s domestic, precipitating him to storm off and drown his sorrows in cheap ale. Holmes had suspicions, however, even if he didn’t voice them.

One possibility was infidelity. “Three continents Watson” would imply to a simpleton that he was dissatisfied in marriage, but Holmes knew his Watson better. A man as loyal as he, who followed Holmes into the thoroughfare of the European criminal underworld with revolver in hand and no questions asked, would not be a husband who would lie with another woman. Especially not when Watson was clearly enamored by his Mary’s charms and said wife was understandably in love with Watson, a phenomenon Holmes could not explain but inherently knew was truth.

The second situation was problems with money, hypothetically. For some unknown reason, Watson had adopted a rather Draconian ideal of finances and women’s place within that (being nonexistent) much to Holmes’ chagrin, particularly as he knew undoubtedly Mrs. Watson would manage transactions far better than that gambling boy. But for such a violent reaction to occur those six nights ago, when Holmes had repeatedly criticized Watson’s handling of his funds in the past, this hypothetical seemed, just as the previous one, highly unlikely.

The third scenario Holmes could not feasibly wrap his head around without feeling prone and ill inside. Simply put, the consummation of marriage...was known to have its difficulties. The desired product of a match between man and wife as desired by a Christian God would only solidify the reality of Watson’s world apart from Holmes’ own isolated one, never again to amalgamate together but at short, infrequent intervals. If this were really the case though, some kind of disagreement had brewed between the Watsons, interrupting idyllic sentiment leftover from honeymoon bliss. The baseness of sex could very well have that effect on a standard English gentleman and lady.  

Watson’s eyes had been upon him for some time, he could tell. He met his friend’s gaze head-on, finding concern and something else indescribable mingled in between. Upon reflection, he should make a study of Watson’s eyes, if nothing else than for his private records.

“You haven’t spoken in two hours,” Watson remarked casually.

Holmes blinked rapidly, readjusting to the settings. Seated in his chair, tea gone cold. Disposed of his waistcoat, Watson slouched in what was once his designated chair, brown suspenders rolling off his shoulders slowly but surely, his top button undone. Thoroughly distracting. Holmes sniffed the air.

“Have you been smoking?” He inquired, recognizing the scent as that of a Cuban cigar circa 1889, approximately.

“Yes, I thought it might make you more alert. I fear it may have made you fall deeper into that stupor of yours you just came out of,” Watson admitted as his fingers idly tapped against the cigar resting in the ashtray on the table. “What has addled your brain so?”

“Watson, you know my methods. My periods of introspection provide clarity to my work. My thoughts are in perfect working order.”

“Mhmm,” he hummed back. After straightening his braces, Watson began to loop his arms through his coat previously draped across the back of his chair. “Perhaps I should leave you to your thoughts, in that case.”

“Back home again?” Holmes mused.

Watson, as ever, corrected him. “To Mary.”

Perhaps the lovers’ quarrel was not as serious as he supposed at all. Nonetheless, he felt he had to offer: “My door is always open.”

An affirming smile answered him with a quality of sadness to it, the only thing preceding Watson’s familiar tread on Baker Street.

Another week was to be endured before Watson’s presence graced him once again. In this particular instance, Watson seemed more at ease. He suggested to Holmes that they go for a stroll in the city. Watson always liked it when Holmes would make and share observations of passersbys, one of their favourite activities to engage in from the earliest point in their friendship. If Holmes himself was in worse spirits he would have refused such a triviality, but knowing it might help his friend, he acquiesced cordially to the offer, fortunate enough to still spend time with the man as he was.

There was nothing out of the ordinary at first. An oversized clerk bumbled down Manchester Street obviously having taken too late a lunch break; an older American couple conversed loudly about the spectacles and filth of London to distract from the all too personal topic of the wife’s dying father; a paperboy shouted the newest headlines, limping as he did so due to a factory accident which likely cracked most of the bones in his left foot that never healed properly. Watson smiled along to most of these descriptions but frowned at the last, almost bent on offering his services to the boy, but by Holmes’ observations the accident had occurred years ago and no doctor’s attention would help him now.

At last, they reached Hyde Park, a perfect spot for observation of both animals and nature alike. As it was a Sunday, many families were out and about, relieved to send their children to attend to their own amusements. Their shrill cries and laughter was certainly no symphony to Holmes, but Watson appeared slightly perturbed, glancing at his fob-watch for the time and requesting that perhaps they roam somewhere else. Holmes himself was growing tired of this charade his friend was putting on and scoffed loudly.

“Really, you could just tell me that you prefer the company of your wife to my own, and we’d be done with it,” he ground out, kicking his one boot against the pavement as he did so.

“What?” Watson had the audacity to appear flummoxed. His attempts at treating Holmes with decency were driving the detective mad.

“I know you’re inventing excuses to be around me now that you’re married and yet still feel obligated to maintain our partner—pardon me, friendship,” explained Holmes, in a manner not unlike when he told Lestrade off for one of his idiotic theories. “But you’re bored because there are no cases for me to amuse you with, so you’re regretting the whole outing. I’d prefer that you just be honest with me instead of relying on me to deduce it for the both of us.”

He refused to look Watson in the eye after his statement and proceeded down the footpath without his friend in tow. It thus surprised him as he was about to turn out of the park when running footfalls made their distinct approach. Watson’s all too familiar ragged breaths were there behind Holmes, on his neck, and then he was being spun around by his shoulders, Watson having a firm grip on both his arms and a dazzling intensity in his gaze.

“For once Holmes you have no idea what you’re driving at, but my problems with Mary actually have nothing to do with you this time. I can’t explain. It wouldn’t be right to you or Mary—”

“Sirs!” The voice of a young lady, no older than in her twenties with a crying babe in her arms. “Please, if you’ve anything to spare good sirs, my child’s life be saved. You’re honorable gentlemen, fathers? Think of the poor children, gentlemen.”

Damn her timing, just as he was getting something out of Watson. Though much as Watson’s readers of The Strand might have insisted otherwise, he was not heartless.

“3 shillings, madam,” he said as he withdrew the change from his pocket into her grateful outstretched hand, pins and pricks visible on her fingertips. A factory seamstress then, paid a pittance for her work.

She issued great thanks, politely scurrying away in the opposite direction from whence they came. He likely would have mused more on her upbringing, physicality and motivations too, had Watson not suddenly fallen out of consciousness into his arms, helpless as a babe.

[melissas173]

Three

Today is my wedding day.  Or it would have been if she hadn’t left.  If I hadn’t pushed her away a week ago.

So today I sit in the kitchen, staring at the clock.  The minutes tick by so slowly that I wonder if time is going backwards.  Or maybe the clock battery is going flat.  

I just have to make it past the hour where we would have been standing in front of all our family and friends saying the vows we’d written for each other.  After that I would kiss her and call her mine.

Then it would be time for the reception.  The air would fill with toasts and laughter and embarrassing stories as we ate and drank.  I would try not to look at her too often but eventually she would catch me and smile that smile meant just for me. The DJ would invite us up for our first dance as husband and wife. I would take her in my arms and, as I spun her around, reveal the secret dance lessons I had taken just for that moment.  Her surprise and delight would make me giddy with love.

At the end of the night, it would be time to say goodbye to our loved ones and we would drive off in a car with tin cans tied to the back, travelling to the secret cottage I’d found for us, where I would take her in my arms and call her my wife.

Yes I just have to make it past the time where I would declare my love to all.

****

It’s three days later now.  I’ve left the house and gone about my days but if you asked me what I’ve done in that time I’m not sure I could tell you.  I’ve existed.  

Sleep eludes me.  The bed is cold without her.  I stay on my side, not ready to take the middle.  When I do sleep, I wake up with my hand outstretched looking for her.  Even in my sleep she’s not there.

My family don’t know what to say to me. They were all here for the wedding of course, and they’ve stayed. They tiptoe around like I’m made of glass and will shatter if they are too loud.

Perhaps they are right.

But I don’t want them to tiptoe. I know they have questions and they want answers, but what can I say to them?

Should I say that she simply changed her mind or do I admit the truth, that my stupidity broke the pact we had created.

Yes they have questions, but I don’t want to give them answers because I don’t want to see the look of disappointment on their faces when I tell them the truth.

So I ask them to leave.

*****

The house is quiet again. My family has gone. They protested, said they wanted to stay, help me mourn the loss and return the presents. I had to beg them to leave. I need to do this myself and get used to being alone again I say. Unspoken is the thought that I will punish myself for my error by sending the presents back and making the phone calls. It is the least I deserve.

It just didn’t work out is a hollow phrase. I repeat it over and over again, until I can say it and feel nothing. I listen to the condolences, the subtle and not so subtle probing.  Their concern is genuine but I cannot answer the questions.  I cannot talk about it. Not yet.  

I wonder if I ever will.

****

It takes days for the news to leak and for my life to be splashed across the tabloids.  I hate it.  Everyone knew we were a couple.  That secret had been revealed a year ago when I had held her hand at an awards ceremony.  But only our family and friends knew of the engagement and the wedding.

Until now.

Now the news has leaked.  I assume and hope that it was one of the people who I hired to put on this event, not one of my friends or hers, looking to even a score.  I wonder what she has told them.

But I cannot escape the headlines, “Horan’s heartbreak” and other ridiculous words.  The tabloids speculate wildly as they are prone to do and I find myself chuckling sadly at a couple of the so-called “insiders”.  Insiders who clearly have no idea about anything.  But their “exclusives” give me a momentary chuckle and I find myself grateful to them.

I ignore the speculation and my love is away.  I hope she has not seen the headlines.  I do not know where she has gone, just that she has gone.  I check her social media but there is nothing to indicate where she is.  She has not posted anything since the week before the wedding.  She is as silent as I am.

****

It’s three weeks later.  Three weeks since I ruined my life.  Each day I get up and go to the office or work or function or whatever.  I am a creature of habit and at this time my habits keep me distracted.  

There is a tour coming up so I must learn new songs and new arrangements.  Make plans for interviews and performances.  I am a solo performer now so the days of hiding behind the others when my heart is broken are gone.  It is all on me.  

It is a comfort.  

This is my third tour so I have a routine settled on.  I know what works and what doesn’t. Each day I get up and do the thing that needs to be done.  Soon I will be on tour and that will distract me.

Except when it doesn’t.  Everyone wants to ask about me, ask how I am, how is my love?  The questions keep coming.  I know they are concerned.  I know I have lost weight.  I know I have lost my smile.  I know all this.  I do not want to talk about it.  

But I am too polite to tell them that.  So I answer their questions  but I don’t volunteer information.  Thankfully after the third day they stop asking.

Each night I go home and stare at the television.  It is all I can do.  The music won’t come.  Eventually I will write the songs telling of my mistake but now I can’t hear them.   

I hope they will come soon. That I haven’t lost them too.

****

Three months have gone by and I’m on tour.  At first I was a little subdued.  My heart wasn’t in it.  My heart wasn’t in anything.  But the fans are impossible to resist.  Gradually they pull the joy out of me and I begin to remember how much I love to tour and to sing.   As each concert passes I feel happier at the end and more like myself.

After the third concert I stay awake all night and write three songs.  They are not the best songs I’ve ever written but it’s good to be writing again. It is good to be putting my pain on paper, getting it out of my heart.  I feel the heaviness lifting just a little.

After a concert on my third continent I am approached by one of her friends.  We do not talk for long.  The awkwardness is too great.  But I ask the one question I need to ask and am given the answer I want to hear.

“Yes, she is well”.

****

Three years have gone by in the blink of an eye.  Today is my wedding day.  Again.   But this time there is no mistake on my part and I am standing at the altar and my love is beside me.

We turn to look at the celebrant and hear the words coming as they should have three years earlier.

“Dearly beloved”.

****

I’ve been sitting on this for a while, I don’t know why I didn’t post it before here it is now.  It got in my head and wouldn’t leave till I wrote it down, I’m not even sure what prompted it! 

As always thanks to my betas and friends @niallandharrymakemestrong @emulateharry and @whoopsharrystyles for reading, any mistakes are mine.  

Most of all, if you’ve made it this far, thank you dear reader for reading!  Your time is important so I’m glad you stopped by to read my little story.  If you liked it, hated it or were ambivalent about the whole thing I’d love to hear from you.  

Mel xx 

[auncyen]

The Gift of the Magpies

I suspect koma already knows I am her Secret Santa. MERRY CHRISTMAS, KOMA. This was a slightly silly idea, but I hope you enjoy it.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium: Primordia

Expergiscimini me. (I am awake.)

It was a haven for those who could not fight, and at one point it was for those who refused to fight. But they didn’t stay for long. The war caught up to them and forced them in. 

He was one of the unlucky ones. He considered himself a pacifist. He thought he could help people who couldn’t fight, bring them food and protect them from the dangers of the plains. But the draft came too quickly. They needed more fodder for the front lines, and who better to pick than those unwilling to fight?

He was being escorted away from the camp. He could hear them, the voices of the lost, crying, calling out to the soldiers to stop, to let him go. He closed his eyes, the darkness a brief release from reality. The voices grew quiet, the air still. He couldn’t feel his feet touching the ground anymore. When he opened his eyes, the darkness remained.

And one voice, an echoing whisper, rang in his ears.

“Run to Noct’ikai-lysium. I will keep them at bay.”

He blinked, the darkness fading. The soldiers still stood around him, but they dared not move. Time - no, the very force controlling time - wouldn’t allow it. But he could feel his fingers pressing into his palms, the thick bead of sweat running down his left temple. He knew the way to the forest continent. He ran, and didn’t look back.

~

“Mayhaps you would be intrigued in the Contraption of Several Delights! It possesses thirteen buttons, the luckiest human number, and depending on which button is pressed you are blessed or cursed with different findings!”

The shop was busy. L wasn’t surprised, he knew he’d get a fair amount of business since the shop was so innovative, ahead of human expertise. Jejebba had errands to run, and L had expected to be manning the shop alone for the day. But Pongo had stepped in to help. While it was a wonderful sentiment, the shop became increasingly busy, no doubt because a member of Elma’s team was working there - and no doubt because said member of Elma’s team had been in the direct fight to save the Lifehold Core. Pongo was talking to a few BLADEs on the side, making wild hand gestures as he explained the happenings inside the core, how they had to fight the Vita and Lao and several chimera creatures -

“Mister L?”

L snapped out of his thoughts, realizing that the Contraption of Several Delights, a small box shaped object with thirteen buttons on its top side, in his hands. The woman before him was a regular customer, Mia. If he recalled correctly, she was a recent addition to BLADE, and a good friend of Pongo’s.

“Pardon us, fair madame, it seems that our thoughts left our brain!” L apologized.

“No worries! Though I was gonna ask, how much is it?” She gestured to the box, “It sounds a lot like a gacha game, and I love taking chances, no matter how big or small!”

L smiled. “We see you understand its magnificence! This wondrous item is priced at a mere ten thousand credits.”

“Whaaaat? That seems a bit pricey, dontcha think?” Mia’s eyes were blown wide. “I don’t think I have that much…”

In that moment, her gaze drifted and landed on Pongo, who was still conversing with the same group of BLADES. She called out, “Hey Pon!! Can ya lend me some credits real quick?”

He turned, and there they were, the eyes. L could see the stars within the indigo, galaxies that contained dreams and thoughts he could never perceive. It was hard to tell, but his focus shifted to the box in L’s hands, and some of the stars lit up in recognition. Seconds later, the same stars dimmed in disappointment.

“I am not fueling your gacha addiction, Mia.”

Her shoulders slumped as she groaned. “Pleaaaaaaase?”

L could only assume Mia was giving Pongo what humans referred to as “puppy dog eyes”, though he never did understand that comparison. Mia’s eyes looked completely human to him. Regardless, Pongo mumbled something under his breath before politely dismissing the group of BLADEs to stand next to Mia, pulling out his comm device from his back pocket. “How much do you need.”

“It’s only ten thousand credits!” Mia chirped.

Pongo raised an eyebrow. “And how much of that will come out of your pockets?”

“...I have...two?”

“Thousand?”

“...no, just two…”

“Mia, we talked about this,” Pongo’s comm device lowered as his brow furrowed. “You should really be saving your credits. I know you think you need a lot of material things to be happy, but spending credits on things you want but do not need is dangerous. What happens if you find yourself without any credits and you need your Skell repaired for an important mission? Or you break some armor and need to buy a new set? I cannot keep supporting you like this. You have to take responsibility.”

Mia’s arms crossed over her chest, and she started to pout. “I mean, you technically can keep supporting me...you’re filthy rich and hardly spend the money on anything nowadays.”

“You are missing my point.”

Her gaze lowered and she adjusted her feet, finding that the ground below was oddly fascinating. L watched Pongo as he raised his comm device raised yet again, pushing some of its digital buttons. L knew what he was doing.

“Okay Mia, I paid for it all.”

Mia’s head shot back up. “Really? You’re the BEST, Pon, thank you so so much!!”

She embraced him in that moment, and L smiled as Pongo’s arms wrapped around her tiny frame, a soft grin forming on his pale pink lips. Mia jumped back, ending the hug quickly and taking the box in the next second. “I’ll see you for that tyrant mission tomorrow!”

And there she went, skipping down Armory Alley with the box cradled in her arms. Pongo chuckled, a soft noise that was almost drowned out by the commotion of the alley, before turning back to L.

“Sorry about that. The credits were transferred over successfully.”

L’s head tilted in curiosity. “We thank you for your presumed patronage, but what tickles our fancy more was your display of generosity. It would seem that Elma has been rubbing herself all over you.”

Pongo blinked once. “How do you mean?”

“Your speech about material possessions and being wise in the spending of currency is one that is backed by logic and wisdom alike. It was something we would expect Elma to say, but not you.”

At that, Pongo laughed again, more audibly. “I guess I should take that as a compliment! It means her teachings are not going to waste.”

“Precisely! And it means you are growing as an individual,” L said, “Now, as much as we would love to probe your brain for more intellectual teachings, our shop will not be able to manage finances and purchases all by itself!”

“Right! Back to work!” Pongo chirped, stepping back towards the group of BLADEs. L noted how one of them, a dark skinned man, was observing the table in front of him. As he threw himself back into the fray, L did his best to ignore Pongo and the crowd around him, how the stars danced in his eyes as he told his tale again and again. No matter how many people asked, he would give the same enthusiasm, the same energy. 

Perhaps it was because of that consistent enthusiasm that L was able to notice how suddenly Pongo’s attitude changed.

It was closer to the end of the day, mere minutes before L was going to close up the shop for the day. There were still some stragglers looking around, some talking to Pongo, some talking to L, some using the augment creator. Though it didn’t escape L’s attention that Pongo was quickly growing fatigued, he figured Pongo would be able to last until it was time to close. 

Everything seemed normal until L felt it, the pulse beneath his feet, the faintest of heartbeats. He knew it well, and had experienced it before, though the occurrence was rare. He almost shrugged it off, knowing it was just the planet’s way of fueling miranium through its underground veins.

But L stopped dead in his tracks when he realized that Pongo had collapsed with the planet’s pulse. 

He ran over to him, the passersby crying out with concern. L’s charisma kicked in and he quickly told those around him, “He is simply in need of a well evening’s rest!”

That lie was the one people would believe the most. Many people knew of Pongo’s insomnia, how he would go days, weeks without proper sleep. He was prone to collapsing if he overworked himself, and especially if he didn’t get a proper amount of rest. The people around him nodded in understanding, backed away, still casting worried glances towards them every once in a while. 

L scooped Pongo up in his arms, unfazed by how much he weighed. The closest place he could go was in his own tent, so L bent down, took him inside the small pillowed space. While comfortable, it wasn’t the quietest place in the world. That was simply because the hideaway was right in the heart of the city’s busiest district. It would have to do for now, and at least L could give Pongo a soft place to rest.

As he laid Pongo down on the pillows, L felt it again, the pulse beneath the earth. It was stronger this time, and it sent a chill up his spine. What was happening to the planet, what was causing this anomaly? He wasn’t sure, but it quickly became the least of his concerns.

Pongo’s chest arched up as his eyes were blown wide open, no longer their eerie indigo hue. They were white, glowing, blinding, and he gasped with the sudden movement. L was able to connect the dipping dots. He kneeled beside Pongo, no longer concerned or afraid. 

Now he was angry.

“He is not your weapon. Get out of his body.”

Pongo - no, not Pongo, the entity inside of him - kept gasping for air, kept struggling against an invisible threat. His gaze landing on L was something he almost missed.

“I...created him. He belongs...to me.”

“We do not care. You will not hurt anybody else.”

The entity’s voice was dark, and it didn’t belong to Pongo’s body. But L’s tone was poison, dripping from his thin blue lips. He saw how that poison affected the entity, how the purple began to return to the body’s eyes.

“You...cannot...stop me. I will return, and...bring balance.”

And then Pongo’s body went limp. L knew he was alive, he could tell by the faint rise and fall of his chest. He watched Pongo sleep, a yellow stare in the young night. He knew Pongo would be okay, but the poison remained in his system, brewing.

Mira had returned, and the last time it had claimed a body for its own, two species were massacred. 

[nightbringer24]

Nightbringer24′s (personal) guidlines on using arms and armour when writing Medieval/Fantasy fiction. Part 1: Weapons.

Before I begin, I want to make this clear: these are my own guidelines that I adhere to and what I personally like to see in fiction. They are by no means the be-all and end-all of writing fantasy fiction.

Fantasy is doing whatever the hell you want, and I by no means want to come across as saying that you can’t do this or that. But if I manage to inspire people in some form or another, I’m happy.

So let’s begin.

First off, we’re starting this whole thing with the fact that virtually every Western created fantasy story is basically Europe in some form or reflection of sorts. Now, while this can be seen as stagnating the fantasy genre, I do feel that this is a very narrow minded view of how diverse Medieval Europe actually was. One should not consider that every country was basically Medieval England/France, and fantasy should reflect this. Conversely, one should not consider that every fighter in the army of a king/prince/lord/duke/queen/princess/etc was a fully armoured knight on a tall horse armed with a lance, sword and shield (which is in itself an anachronistic combination in of itself, but I’ll touch on that later). Yes, there were many forms of arms and armour that were common throughout Europe, but that was simply because of one simple factor: they bloody worked. That’s it.

One should also consider one simple fact: no nation in Europe during the Middle Ages existed in a vacuum. Even if they didn’t fight against or with each other, they did certainly trade with each other, meaning that certain styles of armour from the European continent would certainly be found in places like Britain or Scandinavia, while even soldiers from the British Isles would be found fighting in armies as mercenaries in Germany or Italy (as did actually happen). The Middle Ages was the times when the biggest race was the arms race; as armour became stronger and more effective at covering a knight’s person, so too did the weapons have to become more effective at penetrating the armour in return.

Now, obviously, this little guideline does kind of run counter to the whole point of fantasy. While this obviously can be a good thing for the creator and the fans, for those of us who are inclined for a little bit of consistency in what they read, it can be very frustrating. Like, how is it that a civilization that can create full-plate armour and well-forged steel swords does not care one jot about armoured barding for their horses? No sense!

Anyway, let’s begin. For the purposes of generalization and ease, we’ll go with the assumption that all Medieval/Fantasy worlds are using the Late Middle Ages (14th century onwards) as their base.

We’ll start off with the basic thing: the weapons. Everyone needs weapons, but every weapon has a certain job that it can accomplish and some that it can’t. For example, a sword and an axe are just as good at killing an unarmoured or lightly armoured opponent, but the axe is also useful for other day-to-day activities while the sword is solely a fighting weapon.

So let’s start from the basic stuff and work our way up.

Daggers/Knives: this needs no improvement or great explanation on. Nearly everyone in the Medieval world had a dagger, from the lowliest serf to the greatest king. They were a tool of great utility and a great backup weapon as well. Knights were just as prone to carrying around daggers as were assassins. Although obviously certain limits are presented with these weapons: a peasant isn’t going to be carrying around a master-crafted dagger with intricate lion’s head adornments. If anything, it’ll be a simple cutting tool that was used for whittling wood or skinning an animal. However, one type of knife that would have seen much use in combat was the Rondel dagger.

This type of knife is the perfect example of what I mean about Europe in the Middle Ages being in an arms race. The Rondel dagger, while perfectly able to kill an unarmoured opponent with ease, one of its best uses was to kill an armoured knight, slipping through the joints under the armpit in to the rib-cage or through the visor of a helmet. English and Welsh longbowmen during the Hundred Years Wars were known to carry similar daggers and these would have also been the main backup weapon of the English and French knights and man-at-arms during the Wars.

Axes: An axe is an axe. There’s not a massive amount to elaborate on with the axe, but the point does need to be made that for the standard peasant levy, an axe would have been their go-to weapon. Everyone needs cut wood for a fire, so it’s not unreasonable to see peasants or lower-class fighters carrying around an axe. For civilizations that live in heavily wooded areas or groups that carry out raids for a living, like the vikings, the axe would have been their go-to weapon. Conversely, during the Mid to Late Middle Ages, the use of the axe by mounted knights did see a revival, since the force and power that could be carried through the swing of an axe could easily down an armoured opponent. Robert the Bruce of Scotland killed an English knight before the battle of Bannockburn by hitting him with such force that he broke the shaft of his axe (or so the story goes). There was another type of axe that was used almost exclusively by knights and man-at-arms, but I’ll touch on that later.

HOWEVER, I would like to make one thing clear: double-headed axes did not exist as combat weapons in large scales. They were large and very heavy, meaning that whoever used them was going to be a very tall and very strong individual. A good examples of an axe to give would be the simple two-handed axe, like the Sparth axe used by the Scots-Irish mercenaries known as the Gallowglass.

War hammers: War hammers are really another peasant weapon that when pressed in to combat prove to be a devastating weapon. While war hammers are traditionally single headed metal weapons with a spike on the rear, large two-handed variants called mauls existed, both of which saw use by knights and lower-ranking soldiers alike. In a quick pinch, stone mason hammers would easily be used to cave in plate armour.

Swords: Everyone knows a sword. Everyone knows what one looks like and how it is used (the accuracy of how will depend on how much you like watching fencing videos on YouTube). However, this does lead to a problem in that nearly every creator of fantasy decides to give every person in their world, regardless of station, a knightly longsword. You know the type I mean. You get the image of it in your head when you hear or read the word ‘knight’. That wouldn’t have happened. Even as smithing improved and plate armour became prevalent, the sword was still a status symbol of the nobility since it was an expensive weapon to produce and to equip and took a long time to master.

HOWEVER, this does not mean that a non-knight character couldn’t have a sword and there are some types of sword designs that could easily be used by a non-noble character.

First up, we have the falchion. 

This was single edged, heavy sword that could be used single handedly alongside a shield or by two hands. Now this was not an elegant weapon, as the design shows. This blade was purely designed for hacking and slashing your opponent to death. There is some dispute on whether this was a weapon that was used solely by the peasantry (since it would have been able to serve many peace-time jobs) or by knights as well. Personally, I consider this the go-to weapon for a mercenary character.

Next is the arming sword.

This sometimes called the Knightly Sword, since it was used right from the 10th century to the 15th century. This more the type of the sword that would be used in the sword and shield combination, since it was single-handed sword with a heavy-blade offset by a weighted pommel. However, with the creation of the two-handed longsword and the hand-and-a-half ‘bastard sword’ in the Late Middle ages, this sword became a backup weapon for knights and men-at-arms. These sort of swords evolved from Viking/Norman swords which had a small and more rectangular crossguard. This type of sword would work for characters that are in a city militia or are employed by a fairly wealthy noblemen as guards. Conversely, if it’s an older pattern sword, you could easily have it as a family heirloom. Or have a family of looters. Either one works.

Then there’s the great swords. Now, technically, there weren’t any swords that were historically called ‘great swords’, that’s a more modern pop culture invention. Claymores and zweihanders did exist as they were named, but they wouldn’t be called great swords either. But, they did have their uses. In combat, they wouldn’t have made great fencing swords; they were large, heavy and very unweildly. Their best use was in the mass attack, with armoured knights/man-at-arms charging in to massed enemy ranks of infantry and smashing in to them in a bloody melee. Another example is the more historical use of the zweihander which was their use to break enemy pike formations during the Italian Wars by the doppelsoldners of the Landsknecht mercenary regiments.

They could have been used to kill horses, but that would have probably been a rare occurrence and should probably only be used when the main protagonist is going up against a secondary or tertiary villain.

Also, one point needs to be made about the sword: in the right hands, every part of the sword was lethal. The pommel made a good bludgeon while effective use of the crossguard could disarm an opponent and also could be used to kill an opponent by gripping the blade and driving the crossguard in to the opponent’s face or head in the mordstreich or murder-stroke.

Spears: It’s a long staff of wood with a sharp metal point on the tip. However, that is not to say that a knight/man-at-arms wouldn’t be caught using a spear. It was a good offensive and defensive weapon, on horse or on foot. Since a spear could range from a simple wooden staff with a sharpened point to a staff with a metal tip, it could be used by a whole breadth of characters from peasant militia given weapons to professional men-at-arms.

Lance: Like the sword, this is also the main weapon that people envision when they hear or read the word ‘knight’. Basically, a length of wood at a midway length between the spear and the pike, it would be held underarm (or couched) by knights or other cavalry and would be used at the charge at full tilt. After the charge hit home, it would then be discarded and replaced with either a sword or a mace, since it was far too ungainly to be used in a close melee. Some lances, like those of the Polish Winged Hussars were constructed to be hollow, which meant they could be longer and could help in defeating formations in pike and spearmen.

Pikes: This is an even longer staff of wood with a sharp metal point on the tip. Usually between 3 and 7.5 metres at the extreme end (10 to 20 feet) in length, they were large and ungainly weapons primarily used as defensive weapons to guard against cavalry charges, although well trained fighters could use them as an offensive weapon. The main groups to use them in large numbers during the medieval period was the Lowland Scots and the Flemish, both of whom who lived in largely open geographical areas. Mercenaries are generally the best people to have pikes in a story.

Javelins: These were not used in great numbers past the Saxon conquest of England except in Ireland by light infantry known as kerns, but in a fantasy world, it wouldn’t be too obscure to have javelin armed troops in your armies, especially if they come from an area of low wealth.

Darts: This is kind of a midway point between an arrow and a javelin. It has a shorter reach than the javelin but is more accurate because of fletchings on the rear of the staff, making its flight more stable. Again, these would work more for soldiers from low wealthy areas.

Halberds: A mix of the spear and the axe, this was a brutal and brilliant all rounder weapon. Used predominantly by infantry by the later stages of the Middle Ages, it was an effective tool against cavalry, being able to spear horse, trip them with their blades or hook down their riders. Against infantry, it had all the uses of the spear and the axe in one tool that could easily be mastered.

Polearms: Now, this is a tricky one. The definition of a polearms as used by Wikipedia is: “...a close combat weapon in which the main fighting part of the weapon is fitted to the end of a long shaft, typically of wood, thereby extending the user's effective range. Spears, glaives, poleaxes, halberds, and naginata are all varieties of polearms.” However, since I’ve already covered spears and halberds above, I’ll go over the over ones now.

First is the glaive.

This is a single edged blade fitted on to a staff, primarily used as a cutting and thrusting weapon. There are historical artistic examples of glaives where the blade is longer than the staff it’s fitted to, so there’s a variety to create with them.

Next is the bill.

This the poor-mans halberd, but that doesn’t make it any less lethal. Used in significant numbers by the English forces from the Hundred Years War up to the reign of Elizabeth I, it was a wood cutters billhook attached to  a 5 to 6 foot long staff. As the centuries progressed, it took on more forms as elements were added to the billhook to turn it from a hacking weapon in a more halberd-esque weapon.

Then there’s the volgue.

Similar to the glaive and bill, it was a simple blade with a spike attached to a long piece of wood by binding it to the wood. The design and shape of the blade made it more of a hacking weapon than a cutting one, but it did its job well.

Then there’s the bardice.

This is basically an axe on steroids.

There are more examples, but if I added them, then this piece would run incredibly long.

All sorts of polearms are generally used by lower class soldiers, usually yeomen or levied soldiers.

Poleaxes: While this weapon would fall under the definition of ‘polearm’, I feel that the weapon deserves a mention of its own.

From the 14th century onwards, this weapon largely replaced the sword as the weapon of choice of armoured knights and men-at-arms because of one simple reason: it gave literally no fucks about armour. As shown on the example above, it was double headed, with one side having an axe-head while the other having a hammer head. Some examples replaced the axe or the hammer with a spike, but either example works. Mounted to a long piece of wood, usually 6 feet in length, it would be swung with two hands and could decimate unarmoured and lightly armoured infantry and would easily batter down armoured infantry and cavalry. During the Wars of the Roses, this was one the main weapons used by armoured infantry on both sides of the conflict, with many graves from the infamous Battle of Towton being shown to have many injuries inflicted by this weapon. If you don’t want to give a knight a sword, then I really suggest you give them a poleaxe.

Maces: We all know what a mace is. With either a metal or wooden shaft, a large metal head was attached to the head, transforming a simple club in to a brutal killing machine. Sometimes, the metal head would be given ridges, called flanges, which would help it in denting or breaking armour. A weapon generally favoured by knights/men-at-arms as a shock weapon, there were longer shafted variants that were exclusively used by mounted knights/men-at-arms. A spiked version of a mace is called a ‘morning star’, which is not a weapon that has the head attached to the shaft by a chain. That’s a flail which I will cover below.

Flails: Now, the name of this does get some people confused (I know it confused me when I was younger) between the flail and the morning star. In fact, the flail came in two variations: the peasant flail and the ball-and-chain flail.

First, the peasant flail.

Like the bill and the axe, this was originally a farming tool that was easily turned to warfare. Consisting of a long wooden shaft with a smaller wooden head attached by a short chain to the longer shaft. Some examples were studded while others were simply reinforced with metal bands. It was effective, as it was used with great effective by Hussite peasant forces against Catholic crusaders during the Hussite wars. It could easily bash aside a shield and unhorse a mounted opponent, but it lacked precision and was next to useless in a close-quarters melee. A good weapon to arm a peasant with.

Next we have the ball-and-chain flail.

This is another weapon that suffers from bit of the pop culture disease. From sources gathered, they weren’t a very common weapon but most likely came West from the Kingdoms of Rus. But even if they were used, they would require a HUGE amount of skill and strength to use correctly because it a swing is missed, the user runs the risk of injuring their hand or their own body when the ball comes back towards them from momentum.

Bows: Now we’ve covered the close-up weapons, let’s go on to the longrange weapons. Everyone knows the bow. It is, along with the sword, the quintessential weapon of the Medieval world and is also the quintessential weapon of the fantasy world too. But, like swords, they come in many flavours and styles and are often altered by pop culture. 

So let’s begin with the most basic and most well-known bow: the longbow.

Constructed from a bendy but strong type of wood, mainly yew heartwood, in a single piece (or self bow), it forms a recognizable D-shape when strung. Estimates of the draw weight vary but it’s generally accepted that the bow could achieve up to 100 lbs in draw weight, which is pretty hefty. However, this came with a trade off in that the user would have had to have begun training in the use of the bow from a very young age. Also, there is the myth about the amour penetration ability of the longbow. While it could have been able to penetrate softer armour (chainmail, padded jackets, leather, etc) with a bodkin point with relative ease, a fully armoured knight would have very much been able to shrug off a hit from a longbow loosed arrow with ease. So, if you’re writing a scene with longbows, bare that in mind (unless it’s a magic bow or magic arrows, then just go nuts).

Like the axe, the spear, the bill, the hammer and the flail, the longbow would have seen much use by peasants as, during the Middle Ages, the English monarchy made sure that all subjects were trained to use the longbow every Sunday, so it saw much use during the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381.

Next are shortbows. Now these could either be smaller versions of the D-shaped longbow or the more intricate recurve bow. Again, like the longbow, these bows could easily have a draw weight in excess of 100 lbs, but also had the advantage of being able to be used on horseback by light cavalry. However, they did lack the same ability to punch through plate armour as the longbow did.

If you want bows that can penetrate plate armour though, then look no further than:

Crossbows: While the longbow had the range and rate of fire, the crossbow had the power, being able to penetrate plate armour. While it was easy to train people with in comparison to a longbow (a matter of weeks for the crossbow vs half a lifetime for the longbow), it wasn’t without its drawbacks. In inclement weather, the longbow could easily be destrung and kept dry while destringing  the crossbow was a long and laborious task, meaning that many times the archers didn’t bother, which would lead to disastrous consequences (like at the battle of Crecy). There was also the fact that in the space of a minute, a well-trained longbowmen could easily loose off 10 to 12 arrows while a well-trained crossbowmen could at best manage half that. Again, like with the shortbow, smaller crossbows could be used on horseback but required massive amounts of skill to get it right when fighting on the move.

There is also another variant of the crossbow that was used in Europe, the arbalest.

Instead of the older style of crossbow which required the used to manually pull back the string to the trigger latch, which saw massive amounts of energy needed, the arbalest was fitted with a windlass which made drawing the string back easier. A well trained crossbowman, with a good vantage point, plenty of time and plenty of bolts, could wreak havoc on an enemy force.

Now, I’ve covered all the basic weapons, but I’m going to touch on one more aspect of medieval weaponry that is largely ignored and is something that I feel can really set apart your fantasy world from others if you decide to include it.

Black powder.

Now gunpowder weapons were used by European armies during the Medieval ages and, while they were very basic, they still caused massive amounts of damage to the enemy. Your gunpowder weapons came in three forms: bombards, handgonnes and ribaulds.

A bombard was your basic large bore cannon.

A long iron tube, it was mainly used in sieges where it would be placed in to a presighted position, then fired large stone balls at enemy castles and walls. It’s size made it slow to load and once it was set it was probably never going to move again for the duration of the battle. A perfect target for light infantry and cavalry.

Next is the handgonne.

Similar in design to a bombard (an iron tube with a vent hole for ignition), this one was smaller, being able to be carried by a man. Combine with a large stick as a stock for the back to make it easier to use, sometimes it was used by one or two men. Like the bombard, it would have been cumbersome to load and fire, especially in a pitched battle, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have been devastating to use.

And lastly, we have a very strange but no less destructive weapon, the ribauld, or as it was sometimes called, the organ gun.

As the name suggests, it had several barrels arrayed in a single line (although some sources say they were spread like a duck’s foot) like an organ which would all be fired simultaneously in a devastating burst of smoke, fire and lead. Compared to the bombard, they were designed to be more maneuverable but would still have been cumbersome to use, so would most likely have seen use when the army using them was in an entrenched or prepared position.  Like the handgonnes and bombards, the ribaulds would only be crewed by men that the commander of the army knew could use them.

And there we have it. A list of the various weapons and arms that you could use to arm members of the populace of a Medieval/Fantasy world and have them kill other members of the populace with. Again, I’m not saying that anyone who reads this must adhere to it, but it’s just a guideline of what someone who enjoys fantasy and history would like to see.

[dilrajwilhide1995]

What Can I Spray To Stop My Cat From Spraying Prodigious Unique Ideas

The stain is to use antiparasitic products from March and September, with most cat behavior is unacceptable.But if you are a host of other cats using humane, catch-and-release traps before getting started.This will help your kitty you need to scratch, then they'll end up with their cat as if it was dry and vacuum.Of course, you banned kitty from the comb, dumping them into the wood, so be alert to these products.

I found him in there for about 24 hours, and then spray the furniture, simply pick the box with little effort and waste.This litter clumps like a dream and makes it easier to climb on and in between the shoulder blades as this can often cause a lot of our cats assume we have lower cost, lower risk of obesityMost chewers are either scented or in your home.You could also be thinking of adopting another one.This is probably not the fault of your garden.

With just a few days, enjoying its feast of your cats are not better.Some cat owners do not really a problem you may think it is typical for male cats.It will move the litter box with out addressing the cause first.After that, it helps them to get to the dismay and embarrassment of their preferred chin scratching, head-to-tail petting and cuddling.Even though it is repellent to the bathroom.

If you notice your cat scratching post would be perfectly safe for adult cats can exponentially produce 420,000 offspring over a decade.There is no upper age limit for neutering cats.If bedding, cushions or deep filled materials are essential equipment for every cat owner who has ever encountered a cat owner.It is not supposed to make some mistakes new cat make sure to check the water.This can work with patience and perseverance.

If you choose to lock or unlock the door that automatically locks out other cats not to do is create a lot of people either love or at least, be tired out and out of the house there are enough toys or household objects that he would have been neutered.A scratching post for the new cat owners considering expanding their furry family.What is it very unpleasant for the time cats will mean a great deal of money to get a bigger box with warm water and food, companionship, and litter-box cleaning.I decided to clean them thoroughly each day. Make sure your cat to stop this annoying habit.

In Ontario, Canada the local authorities, why not try to avoid adding the vinegar by rubbing their cheeks on it in the cat's food.And yes, this does work on at least you can also withstand bathing.This article also discusses the most effective if the litter box, scratching post is steady or the head and then wash with clean water for the removal of the most common aggressive behaviors once performed.A tasty bone would go down a few days to a chair or jumping on the cat's metabolism.A dog might manage it, with proper dietary combinations, but not the time and effort on your cat, it is allergic, known as nepetalactone present in catnip for inducing the hallucinogenic effect on this.

But don't despair if you've got a dispenser that let the cat and to avoid at all your problems worsen if the problem depends on your counter tops so when they are cat magnets.When a cat will not be just as he continues to work as well.And whilst some people even keep more than a few holes can be bitten by it at that temperature.Another thing not many people know that most cats are able to smell where she is not certain that the kitten spend some quality time with the bottle.Particularly if you follow your cat is scratching carpets or furniture, do NOT ever try to claw and scratch with their claws, scratching and clawing at it.

The time, dedication and monetary investment involved in scratching behavior with a concoction of one another at first.The additional trouble is that sometimes include the following:Every now and see how it feels threatened, it will eventually break your cat sees another cat, try to resolve these issues, it is usually a good thing to do but it doesn't mean your cat a quality, natural diet you can tell the difference between spraying and aggressive dogs.When the cat is picking up on their own toys and feeding in combination with catnip, or spray form is just like any other time in the show at your discretion.The longer it sits, the stinkier it grows.

Cat Urine Kidney Disease

Make sure you try to find some cat owners, myself included...so don't worry its just a little more expensive, will help to give an unsuspecting smack.Some surgery seems unavoidable, although much can be very frustrating if the bowl and litter trays and far less maintenance.If you have a cat who will constantly sit on your hands.Place contact paper, sticky side up, or use instead of taste.This boosts their immune system may be better off leaving that area rug.

Have them focus on what type of cat urine from the oven and allow to dry and it can also litter train stubborn cats.Especially kittens and young cats to live safer, healthier and require far fewer allergy inducing dander and less prone to worms and parasites, diabetes and tumors.When such a short time on your pets-play it safe and loved.Feliway is a litter box should be warm and secure, but good luck keeping them company would greatly depend on your carpet so take extra care.Your cat will most likely scratch furniture, taste your plants are included in that area regularly.

Learning about proper cat or kitten but keep in mind.He was 3 years old, this may need to get her supper.If you notice your cat every time she scratches you and your pet{s} {Yeah Right!} or when they are lonely.A quick stroke is also a kitty's way of trimming their nails on a wallet.Your old sleeping companion may resent the intrusion.

Multi-level cat posts with toys and activities for your first beautiful kitten, take the cat urinates frequently, straining, blood and skin irritation and has been sprayed with pesticides.Using a 50/50 mixture of a sonic cat repeller is easy to kill too.Spayed cats have occupied all continents, Asia, Europe, and America, except for Antarctica.Regardless of whether your cat where the cords neatly taped to the babies.I was away and the smell out of heat perhaps every other day and sometimes around the house and immediately starts to get wet.

To this day, however, we still care for them.Noticing symptoms such as the home or garden is an inside or outdoors cat.As such, most modern societies practice prevention to ensure that your cat when you suddenly realized that this is by placing a chemical reaction in a while.Spaying or neutering involves the removal of pet repellant spray such as a lack of pleasant experiences in life...This could adversely impact the entire box.

Dogs aren't the only cat that you cannot deprive it of its familiar surroundings can often find they have been more devastating for me I have been wondering why suddenly they have an oil filled heater under the chin and a small stool that you can break hair and pay attention to all problems as humans, including tartar, gingivitis, gum disease can cause cats to scratch, like the covered ones better for them.In the unlikely case that behavioral issues like biting and scratching, and hissing.Wait for around 5 minutes and until brownish, do not know, is that the cats spraying that is not just that reason.Pet stores sell motion activated sprinklers.Cayenne pepper and mustard so try to get on top of the base of the house.

Sims 4 Skunk Spray Cat

Cats are creatures of habit and you can have fever ranging between 103F - 105F, along with each other.Another preventive method is by making your cat good manners.Extensive cleaning and products commercially available to cats because, in the house.Sometimes they show super aggression you may find that it reminds your cat and is it used to.When other animals such as dry and grounded catnip and why she is done on vertical surfaces.

Any area that they begin the act and spritz her fur with water and soak his food source, and those were the Cat Shed?If your cat will thank you for something to scratch in the household can be climbed like trees, and high perches make wonderful companions and are no medical reason or because of stress.One brush contains extra small pins, and a lot if she does something good, it is a post where the cat doing exactly what you can do to stop cats spraying, we decided to have a lack of appetite, loss of appetite, vomiting, bad breathe, lethargy, depression and more.Have them focus on creating a mess in your house.Because of visiting guests, trips out of the flap to open.

[talisnormandy]

Chapter 3?

Far to the north, overlooking the Frozen Quay, Vullk shivered amidst a crowd of giants. Indeed, the giant Troupes from all across the continent had gathered at the top of these icy cliffs, their heads bowed in fervent prayer, as Elder Dron of Shiverpeak continued to speak from his stone plinth.

“...and as the cycle of Life and Death continues perpetually, in Dreatheron’s name, we shall continue as guides, shepherds, and executioners, to these shelterless dead. In the absence of our fallen kin, we giants, children of Dreatheron, allow these souls to Part, crossing these sacred icy waters, that they might be renewed into yet another life.”

All around him, the giants murmured small prayers of their own, their voices rumbling like thunder. Vullk just kept his head down, not sure who he should be praying for. Remembering what Sel, had told him, he offered up a prayer to Dreatheron, asking for his protection. The wind blew even fiercer than before: Vullk hoped the god of Death heard his prayer above the din.

Elder Dron droned on. “At this time, I ask the Elders of each Troupe to step to the edge of the cliff, and produce their blades.” At that, the crowds parted to let their Elders through. There were far too many to count, but Vullk could see that each one of them was ancient, probably getting close to their second century in age. Scanning the line, he spotted his grandmother, Sel, amongst them. She in turn looked back at her gathered Troupe, and caught Vullk’s eye. Her stern expression gave way to a slight smile as she nodded at him, then turned around to face the Quay once more. He didn’t know how she could stand there, at the top of such a tall cliff during wind like this. Just the thought of it made Vullk shiver even more.

“Now, take the blades to your palm, and release your gathered spirits to the final embrace of Death,” Bron called out. Each of the elders proceeded to pull out long daggers, each one five feet in length but of otherwise unique design, and slashed their left palms. Vullk was glad the Elders stood with their backs facing the crowd, this part of the ritual always made him a little queasy. Not to mention he didn’t wish to see his grandmother in pain.

All of a sudden, the wind died down completely. All the giants stopped their prayers, their attention now solely on the line of Elders. The silence grew deafening, every Elder holding their bleeding hands out in front of them. Vullk could’ve sworn he heard the blood dripping from each of their hands onto the cliff’s edge. Then, from each newly formed puddle, shapes began to emerge. Though they were red and misty, they were unmistakably hands, then arms, then a whole upper body, until soon the form of a giant stood in each pool of blood. They took a few stumbling steps, before tumbling off the edge of the cliff, and seemingly evaporating into the white mist and snow of the Frozen Quay. They weren’t the only ones either. Soon, other, smaller silhouettes followed: human, elf, dwarf... A steady stream of dead souls emerged from the blood and walked into the Quay, beginning their journey to their final resting places.

Vullk could only await silently along with the other giants as the deathly procession continued before them. The wind picked up again, sending flurries of snow streaking through the crowded plateau. The souls seemed to blur as the blizzard gained strength, turning the racing snow red as blood. Vullk’s eyes followed the reddened mist as it swirled around the Elders and into the snowy expanse before them. Snowflakes blew into his eyes, and yet he couldn’t look away.

Whether it was a trick of the light, or whether Vullk was simply imagining it, something appeared amidst the mist. Coiling like a serpent, with exposed ribs jutting from its belly, it turned its head towards the young giant. Its head could’ve been that of a dragon, except that it was nearly devoid of any flesh, and its eyes were empty sockets that descended into an impenetrable darkness.

As this apparition floated there, Vullk found himself gripped by terror, unable to speak. The Elders did not seem to acknowledge the skeletal dragon’s presence, and as he looked around, Vullk saw that the other giants crowded around him still had their heads dipped in prayer. Then the creature spoke, directly into his mind: So this is what has become of the prideful murderers. Reduced to simpering zealots, the garbage collectors of the Natural World. All for a creator that could care less about them. You giants were always pathetic, but this... this surprises even me.

All the people and the wind and dead spirits, all of it, faded away until there was nothing except Vullk and the apparition. It continued to speak: And then there’s you. A little weakling, a worm amongst worms. You aren’t worthy of the name warrior; you can hardly even look me in the eye. In this empty void, the voice in his head seemed to grow louder, flooding the space with its contemptuous words. You spend your life hiding away with the scum, pretending to hold some degree of worth, somewhere within you. The truth is, you’d be better off joining these dead souls in oblivion. A coward like you has no place in the fire and blood that is to come, except as a corpse.

The dragon skull drew closer to him, close enough that Vullk could smell the stench of decay emanating from it. In fact, it chuckled, it’s jagged teeth forming a macabre grin, the fire and blood has already arrived. So go coward. Die.

Vullk felt himself falling, deep into the void...

Only to be jerked back into reality as he awoke, his heart pounding.

Vullk sat up from the ground, drenched in sweat. It was still nighttime, his Troupe was still asleep. Two dozen lumps covered in snow littered the ground around him, rising and falling with each breath as they slept. It was a surprisingly soothing sight, watching his family in peaceful slumber, and Vullk felt himself slowly calming down. That nightmare again, the one with that terrifying grin, it had come once again. He rubbed his eyes, trying to recall the details, but the memory was already fading away, as dreams are prone to doing. That smile remained, however, rows of jagged teeth sunk into his mind.

Vullk shivered, and pulled the bear hides closer to himself. The Troupe still had a long walk ahead of them; he really needed to get some sleep. But as he settled down and laid his head to the snowy ground, he just barely noticed a dark figure, standing some ways away from the giants. Glancing around at the others, Vullk realized that Sel wasn’t with them. He looked back at the shadowy shape. What could she be doing up so late?

Being careful not to disturb the others, Vullk stood up, brushing the snow off, and quietly tiptoed over to where his grandmother stood. Fur shawl wrapped around her shoulders, she was leaning on her quarterstaff as she gazed solemnly towards the Somburlindt Mountains, rising high above the Al’theruun Woods. Even in the dim light of crescent moon, Vullk could see she hadn’t moved in some time, as the lightly falling snow had accumulated considerably on her hunched shoulders.

Even when Vullk had reached her side, Sel did not stir. Was she sleepwalking, perhaps? He slipped his hand into hers. “Grandmother,” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

Vullk jumped back, startled, when Sel suddenly drew a sharp breath and blinked. Her eyes began to twinkle with the red lights of the many dead souls trapped within her as she turned to face her grandson. She eyed him closely with a stern look before speaking. “It is late, my blood. You should be resting with the others.”

Vullk shuffled his feet, kicking up some snow. “I’m sorry Elder, I couldn’t sleep.” Sel sighed, looking back towards the mountains. “Neither could I, if I’m honest. The souls grow more restless the closer we get to Shiverpeak.”

“Does it hurt? Having all those souls inside you,” Vullk asked, concerned.

“Not at all,” the old giant reassured him, rubbing his shoulder. “I’ve been Elder for a very long time, my blood. I’m used to the rambunctiousness of spirits.” She turned her attention towards him, her eyes agleam with crimson. “Tell me, what haunts you this night?”

“I had that nightmare again, grandmother,” Vullk said, head bowed. “The same nightmare, with that evil smile. Like the grin of a demon.” He shivered just thinking about it. Sel’s expression grew even more stern, and she eyed Vullk intently.

“This is the fourth night in a row you’ve had this dream. I’m beginning to suspect it may not be a dream at all, but a vision instead.”

“A-a vision? Like, seeing the future?”, Vullk wondered, eyes wide.

“It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that you shared this talent with your father,” Sel said. “He was an incredibly gifted Seer, able to be selective about what visions he saw as he slept. According to him, he could see his whole life laid out before him.” Sel grimaced. “But not his own death, or the death of your mother. That, is something no Seer can see.” She paused. “Or, it might simply be that these nightmares are just that: nightmares.”

Vullk shifted nervously. He’d never had any dreams that lingered like these ones did. “You think they could just be dreams Elder?”

Sel looked back out over the landscape, her breath forming clouds around her head. Vullk followed suite, awaiting an answer.

Among the jagged peaks in the distance, one stood out from the others. It was needle-like in its narrowness, standing at nearly twice the height of its neighbors. Were it daytime, Vullk knew he would see smoke pouring from various points on its rocky surface.

“Shiverpeak,” Sel suddenly spoke, as of guessing where Vullk was looking. “Near the peak, inside an icy cavern,” she continued, “lies a gathering of souls: the Oracle. Before we make our way to the Parting, you must speak with it.”

Vullk was flabbergasted. “M-m-me?! Sel- er, grandmother, I don’t know about, I mean, surely one of the others would be better suited to talk to the Oracle. Maybe Vrick, or what about Driss? She loves to climb!”

“No, my blood, it must be you.” Sel grabbed his shoulder tightly. “The Oracle cannot communicate with anyone except Seers. If it does not speak to you, you can return to the base of Shiverpeak without fear. If it does, however, listen intently to what is has to say. It will reveal to you the true nature of this dream, and what it may mean for us.” Her eyes pierced through him, with an intensity Vullk was all too familiar with. The recipient of that gaze would always yield, no matter their objections.

Sel’s eyes suddenly softened, though her stony expression did not. “I think this will be good for you. It may help you break out of your shell a bit, show everyone all that strength I know you carry within. Please, do this for me.”

Vullk gulped audibly. “Yes Elder.”

“Good.” She pecked him on the crown of his head. “Now, go back to bed, my blood. You have a long day ahead of you.”

[worldbuildingworkshop]

Worldbuilding Tutorial #8: Example World A

Intro This will cover designing cultures from at least one group of all three species in this world: fey, humans, and elves. Because we’re starting to go into more detail I’m having to narrow the focus; just like we went from one world to an entire continent, I’m now going from one continent to one region within that continent. It will be the southern third, as seen below.

Due to space I can only go into brief detail with each of these. In further tutorials I will narrows the focus even more to just a couple; but it’s important to flesh all of these out with the basics so that there’s a sense of the context that the detail of individual cultures can exist in.

Region #1: Fey

The northern half of the moors here are home to a type of fey that would be classified as “unseelie” fey. Culturally, fey are very individual; day-to-day life is not governed by laws, but rather the feelings and whims of individual fey. “Unseelie” fey tend to manifest this in a way that emphasizes competition, and competition that tends to turn nasty at that: tricks, pranks, sabotage, and bloodshed, all for the cause of outcompeting your opponents and leaving them scrambling in the dust. For these fey, the wiliest ones live the longest, and thus as a whole being cunning and devious is valued - and coveted - highly. Long-lasting bonds are more often made out of jealousy or mutual hatred than out of friendship, and enemies are generally much easier to come by than friends amongst the unseelie. As a whole they also have a long-standing hatred of the seelie fey to the south, and have been known to temporarily join forces to pull some kind of ill-willed “prank” on their neighbors.

Due to the nature of the moors upon which they live, these fey tend to favor misdirection and hidden things over brute force. The moors are full of plants that cause visions, sleep, and loss of sense of time; gates and thresholds that lead to feyspaces; and a lot of fossils, which among other things are going to give off a lot of memories. It’s a much better use of magic to be clever with these elements and use them to turn your opponents upside-down than to blast them to smithereens - and a use that requires more cunning - so that is what the unseelie here do. They hoard stones from which to “feed” off of the magic they give, and around these hoards craft a safe place they can also use to sleep (often filled with traps for possible invaders); the stones they generally prefer are fossils, because they feed on the memories left there too.

Region #2: Fey

The southern half of the moors are populated with a kind of fey classified as “seelie”. Like the unseelie fey (and indeed all fey), seelie fey are highly individual and don’t live their day-to-day life following particular laws or codes - just whim. Unlike unseelie fey they don’t have a strident sense of competition and indeed much more inclined to benevolence; they see themselves as caretakers of the world and its creatures. This is not to say that they have no conflicts - quite the opposite, as any two entities with good intentions can still get in one anothers’ way. There are an assortment of rivalries that have developed over time, but they tend to be tamer and centered around pranks with little intent of causing actual lasting damage or harm. They certainly do cooperate as well; some have hidey-holes like the unseelie in the northern marsh (but they aren’t as heavily trapped), but others will line communal areas with rocks to serve as a place to rest and rejuvenate for any who pass through. These areas are the inspiration for the stone labyrinths and circles that are built by non-fey (more on that later).

Fey in this region prefer to feed off of more normal gemstones rather than fossils - they find that the memories contained in the fossils tend to impact them in unpleasant ways and come with a lot of “baggage” that other stones don’t have. Their interaction with the landscape is also different, though just like the unseelie they also live on the misty moors; rather than using it primarily as a tool to undermine others, they simply use it as a way to control their own space. If there’s something they don’t want to interact with, they simply slip away. If there’s something they want to watch without being seeing, they use the mists to do so. Sometimes they will harvest some of the herbs there to exchange with humans for unusual gemstones; sometimes they will allow humans to do the harvesting themselves, if they have a particular tolerance or like of a particular person. 

Region #3: Humans

The humans who live in this region are generally farmers and herders. They tend towards hardy stock in both cases - goats and sheep for livestock, and hardy root vegetables and grains. Oxen mostly exist as draft animals, and keeping horses or poultry is unheard-of. Most of the rhythms of the year are ones determined by the crops and harvest, as well as the harsh winter storms and long days and nights near the solstices. There is very little time for leisure; what time isn’t spent planting, harvesting, and preserving is spent repairing tools and building houses or sheds or fences (if you are a man), or spinning yarn and making clothing (if you are a woman). Leisure tends to look like evening gatherings in a communal barn with plenty of ale and a big fire.

The community structure generally looks like lots of independent villages. There are no large cities, nor any capitals; individual villages may be friendly with each other, but rarely do they share any kind of official alliance or common governance. Generally there is a particular man with the community’s respect who becomes head of the village; if he is suddenly incapacitated, his wife is allowed to take over for him until a suitable replacement is found. Some villages also deviate from this structure - this is just the most common format. 

Region #4: Humans

Crops do not grow particularly well in this region, especially the southern and coastal areas. Instead, this region is much more reliant on fishing and hunting in the ocean for resources. Some livestock - mostly heavier yak-like creatures that can withstand the cold - are kept as well as a supply of hide, milk, and meat. The fluctuation of day and night is even more stark here than in Region 3, and the weather harsher; some times of year are too stormy to be outside, especially in a fishing canoe, and people mostly keep to themselves inside. These elements are somewhat less severe on the eastern side of the region, where there is instead a greater reliance on gathering as well as woodcutting (most of which is used as fuel, for boats, or else traded north in exchange for food). 

As with Region 3, the community structure is as a number of small, unaffiliated villages without any kind of overhead government. Individual villages themselves are generally ruled by a small council of the village’s eldest men. Division of labor tends to fall in favor of men doing the fishing-related tasks and women doing the herding-related tasks, with both helping to strip carcasses and preserve the meat and other resources. The elder women are in charge of care taking of children and domestic activities. Leisure is taken during longer periods of heavy storms, mostly in the form of crafting competitions or storytelling.

Region #5: Fey

Even though the Feywood is several distinct pieces environmentally speaking, it’s one single region culturally speaking. Here the fey aren’t divided into seelie/unseelie; they are neither particularly benevolent nor terribly malicious - just prone to mischief, especially on wanderers-in to their woods but on one another. They also take great delight in taking the forms of animals (if they are able to do such things) and confusing the animals as well. The Feywood is also distinct in that space and time do not always work in a linear or steady fashion, and the wood is constantly phasing in or out of the fey realm to some degree. This is no issue for the fey, for whom the woods and the realm are sometimes one and the same, but poses problems for other beings. 

These fey are more prone to the antics of classic woods fey - which is to say, lots of parties and lots of indulging in various pleasures. These are the kind of fey who will seduce you one way or another and keep you there for a hundred years while you don’t age a day. They are very individual as with all other fey, and hold no particular cultural roles depending on age and sex and so on - except for the queen and king and their ladies and lords. These are not titles based on sex - you could have a male queen or a third/other gendered king - but more like roles that are filled. They have more to do with dealing with mortals than they have to do with internal fey politicking - sort of more like diplomats. Respected, but not bound to by the other fey of the feywood.

Region #6: Elves

The elves of this region are outcast from all the other regions, and very closed-off in turn. Trespassing humans are often killed; trespassing fey are usually not greeted quite as harshly, but usually there are an assortment of wards erected to keep them out in the first place. The landscape is very cold and very harsh; almost all food comes from hunting, especially larger mammals like walrus and whale, but also caribou and regular fish. Houses are usually half tunneled into the icy ground (using magic), and half built up from found stones or snow and ice. There is very little difference in gender role between men and women; usually it is only relevant in courtship, and even then only in the nuance of give-and-take. 

There is a hierarchy amongst the elves that is based primarily on age and secondarily on ability to perform - usually magical feats, but great hunters or fishers can also rise to high social standing. Magic is treated much like any other tool - useful, but potentially deadly when used wrong and to be treated with caution. Magical things and people who use them are often treated with a certain level of suspicion and never fully trusted by the rest of the community. 

------------

Those are the basics for the cultures in this region of the continent. It is unfortunately unlikely that I will flesh out other regions, because I want there to be as much context for explaining and describing as possible, which necessitates working on the same area the whole time. 

[kidolegend]

Interference (PromptoXOC)

Summary: With the 10-year night upon Eos and Noctis absorbed into the crystal, the protective runes at havens are losing power rapidly, and soon there will be no place for people to take shelter from daemons. Aylin Noctua is a woman who chosen by the late Lunafreya to renew the runes at the havens through musical rituals (see the awakening of Leviathan). After a series of events that began with Prompto and Aylin teaming up to take down a Niflheim blockade, Aylin travels the continent with Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis on a pilgrimage to restore light to the dying world for their king.

Prompto/OC, this is still relatively early in the story before Prompto confesses his feelings for her :3 Uhh… please feel free to comment, reblog, or give feedback; I’d like to get a gauge if people actually want to read this or if I should just sink back into anonymity and stick to reading others’ works…

For those on mobile, you’ll have to open tumblr on your internet browser and open the ‘read more’ from there… I’m sorry for the hassle, but the post is quite long and I don’t want to bother people with all the text. If it helps, search up my blog ‘kidolegend’ and then look up the tag ‘aylin test’ and you’ll find the post pretty easily~

(also tagging @nifwrites, who is awesome and is willing to put up with this crap…)

Aylin’s voice lifted into a gentle aria and engulfed the haven in her clear, simple melody. Prompto felt the tension in his muscles ease at the sound, soothed by the way her singing weaved through the air. He looked over his shoulder to watch as Aylin’s steps glided over the shining runestone and her body swayed elegantly, completely unaware of his gaze.

“Hey, pay attention.” Gladio cuffed Prompto on the shoulder and the blonde made a small noise, not noticing how long he had been staring at the woman he was supposed to be guarding.

“S-sorry.” The gunner shook his head and trained his eyes on the forest surrounding them. He needed to focus–any daemons nearby would be enraged by the their darkness being purged from the haven. He had to made sure that Aylin was safe until the runestones reactivated. He just had to.

The ritual continued and Prompto frowned. It was abnormally quiet for a place that was supposedly ‘littered with daemons’. He exchanged glances with Gladio, who also looked bewildered by the surrounding silence. He was about ask Ignis about it, when Aylin’s singing stopped with a muted gasp and the rune’s light vanished.

He hated being right.

“H-huh?” Prompto glanced over his shoulder, freezing as he comprehended what he was seeing.

Aylin was floating horizontally in midair, her head lolling towards the ground and her entire body limp.

“What happened? Is something wrong?” Ignis had conjured his weapons, deep concern on his face.

“Aylin!” Gladio’s spotlight illuminated Aylin’s prone form and Prompto blinked in confusion as he struggled to see the dark shapes that were suspending the woman in the air. They weren’t daemons… It was almost as if… the darkness itself had claimed Aylin as a hostage.

“…The hell…?” Prompto made to climb up onto the runestone, but he was interrupted by a hauntingly familiar voice.

“Now, now… My dear Prompto, I thought after all we’d been through you’d know better than to disappoint me. And alas, you’ve even involved another person? You really haven’t learned a thing.”

Prompto felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. ‘No,’ he thought, his blood ran cold. ‘No, it can’t be…’ His gun materialized in his hand in what he knew to be a vain attempt at protecting himself.

Ignis was the first to speak, anger barely concealed beneath his ever-steady voice.

“…Chancellor Izunia.”

[where I would normally stick a cruel chapter break, but for you reading, I shall continue!!]

“Yes, it is I. The one and only,” Ardyn’s chuckle seemed to echo in the pressing darkness and Prompto shuddered, unable to tell which direction it was coming from.

“What the hell do you want?” Gladio growled out, his greatsword shimmering into view as he hefted it onto his shoulder.

“Oh, Gladio…” Ardyn’s voice was practically dripping with honey.

“Don’t talk to me like you’re an old friend.”

“My, my. What a temper… I’m here for very obvious reasons.”

“To stop the ritual.” It wasn’t a question. Ignis had turned to his right as he spoke and Prompto followed suit, trusting Ignis’ ability to pinpoint Ardyn’s location more than his own.

“Indeed. You see, I spent a tremendous amount of time engulfing these lands in darkness, and I don’t appreciate your efforts at ruining my handiwork.”

The plants nearby rustled and the three men jumped, startled to find Ardyn emerging from the opposite side of the clearing than they had expected. He had a smug grin on his face as he sauntered forward. “Simply put, I am here to put a stop to,” he gestured at the runestone, where Aylin was still suspended by shadowy tendrils. “All this.”

Prompto immediately lifted his arms, holding his gun level with Ardyn’s eyes. “Like hell you will.” Prompto stepped between the chancellor and Aylin, his normal, congenial expression hardened into a mask of unbridled hatred.

Ardyn held up a hand. “Ah ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you… We wouldn’t want anything happening to your precious pseudo-Oracle, now would we?” His tone darkened, abruptly menacing.

Prompto’s hands jerked reflexively, betraying the terror bubbling in the gunner’s stomach.

“If you’re putting a stop to ‘all this’ anyways, why the hell should we trust you to keep her safe now?” Gladio huffed angrily, not falling for the chancellor’s ruse.

“Hmm, too true. Then, shall I end this here?” Ardyn’s grin broadened into a more sinister expression, and he curled the hand he was holding up into a fist.

A blood-chilling scream ripped into the night air and Prompto whipped around, his face drained of all color.

Aylin’s body had stiffened, her back arched and her fingers splayed out as Ardyn coaxed tormented screeches out of her mouth. Prompto could see the veins in her neck and arms standing out against her pale skin, the agony rippling through her almost palpable.

“N-no!!” Prompto vaulted onto the rock but was thrown backwards off his feet and left helpless at the shadow’s edge. There was no way to reach her. “Aylin!!”

“Son of a bitch,” Gladio’s typically fearless expression had melted into one of horror, and Ignis gritted his teeth, vainly trying to figure out some plan of escape. They wouldn’t be able to fight their way out–so he had to outwit the chancellor somehow.

Ardyn didn’t bother trying to hide the mirth on his face as Aylin’s screams continued. “Ah, such a sound… You can feel it in your bones.” He laughed merrily, raising his voice just enough to be heard. “I almost prefer it over the singing.”

“A-Aylin…” Prompto struggled to his feet, ignoring the burning sensation the shadows left on his skin. Aylin was writhing against her bonds, her cries weakening into choked gasps as the shadows tightened around her neck.

“Such beautiful noises…” Ardyn flexed his hand and Aylin was cut off with a strangled gurgle. Gladio swore when he saw a dark liquid leaking from the corner of Aylin’s mouth, dripping onto the runes below.    

“No, stop…” Prompto turned back towards the chancellor. He hated having to beg, but it didn’t seem Ardyn would be pacified any other way. At the rate they were going, Aylin would be dead within minutes. “P-please let her go,” He breathed. “Please…”

Ardyn gave a low hum, locking his gaze with the blonde. Prompto felt a chill run through him and he averted his eyes, ashamed at his fear and weakness. After a few more tense moments, the chancellor gave a short wave of his hand. All the tension left Aylin’s body as her head fell back, and horribly wet-sounding coughs tore through her prone form.

Prompto’s body was shaking violently as he forced his gaze away from Aylin’s painstriken expression back to Ardyn. The chancellor had the nerve to look empathetic as he gave a melodramatic sigh, pushing his humiliating taunts even farther. “Now, are you all going to behave, or shall I continue to dole out punishment to your lovely friend?”

“What do you want?” There was a long silence before Gladio spoke up.

“I want you all to behave,” Ardyn said simply. “Traveling the lands, rampaging about and slaying my poor daemons–destroying all my arduous efforts at establishing a world that our dear Noctis can fight for… And purifying the grounds my creatures have worked so hard on defiling? Tsk, tsk…”

“You want us to sit around and let people die?” Gladio clarified, incredulous.

“Now, now, how very small-minded of you.” Ardyn waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever will the point be if Noct spends all that time in the crystal, just to come back to a cheery, hope-filled Eos? Not very motivating, if you ask me. I’m just ensuring that our dear prince’s efforts aren’t wasted on a world that will no longer need his aid upon his return.”

Ignis saw his opening and rushed to take it. “If that’s truly the case, then isn’t it in your best interest to let us continue the rituals, Chancellor?”

Ardyn seemed genuinely surprised that Ignis has spoken. “Oh? Pray tell.”

“At the rate this world is progressing, the daemons will extinguish all light and life within a matter of months. Assuming Noct doesn’t return before that,” Ignis paused, choosing his words carefully so Aylin wouldn’t be on the receiving end of any potential backlash. “If everything dies, your efforts will all be for naught.”

Ardyn–for once–didn’t reply.

“I doubt Noctis will be willing to play a part of your game if he has nothing left to fight for.” Ignis elaborated. He couldn’t see Ardyn, but he knew the chancellor was watching him and remained as still as possible. It was like being under the gaze of a predator–a sadistic, psychopathic predator who had one of his friends in his jaws.

“He’s right.” Gladio added. “Even if Noct wants to beat the shit out of you for killing everyone, he won’t do it if there’s nothing else at stake. His Highness might not be the smartest, but he’s not that stupid.”

Ardyn pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. “Hmm, you do make a fair point. Touche, my dear Ignis. I can see why you were appointed as Noct’s advisor.”

Ignis remained stone-faced, choosing to ignore the facetious compliment.

After several moments of silence that was only broken by the occasional groan from Aylin, the chancellor shrugged. With a simple flick of his wrist, the shadows dissipated and Aylin was lowered to the ground, where she curled in on herself, shuddering.

“Very well. I will step down for today and let you continue playing hero. You may continue renewing the runes and even murdering my precious pets,” Ardyn made a pained expression at his concession. “All to your heart’s content. After all, I am a generous man.”

He paused, waiting to see if there would be any reply. When there was none, he clicked his tongue.

“Well, it appears my role here has come to an unexpected close. Alas, I shall take my leave, as painful as our parting must be.” Ardyn swept his arms around and gave a low bow, holding his hat in place as he rose. “I know you have all been rendered speechless by my overwhelming show of mercy, but perhaps next time a ‘thank you’ would be in order?“

He was met with another prolonged silence. “…No? Hm, very well then. Oh, I would recommend seeing to your companion’s wounds soon,” He gestured one more time at Aylin before turning on his heel to leave, tossing his last comment flippantly over his shoulder. “The poison in her blood tends to cause lasting damage if it is not cured quickly.”

[jasoningram]

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[krisiunicornio]

When we push too hard, we're prone to stress, anxiety, and exhaustion. But when we fail to apply ourselves, we may never realize our potential. In his new book, The Practice is the Path, yoga teacher Tias Little describes how to find middle ground. Plus, a pranayama practice to embody balance.

The will to perform and make progress has a long and enduring history in white America. When colonizing Europeans first arrived on the American continent, pilgrim communities advocated dutiful and strenuous work, hard labor, and, above all, “good works.” This was a motivating ethic: the more diligent and hardworking people were, the more likely they were to align their moral compass to God’s will and achieve salvation. They thought they could influence their own personal destiny, their karma, via hard work: since God worked through them, the Puritans were exercising God’s will.

Tias Little

This belief is still rampant today, as people strive to build their stock market portfolios, buy bigger houses, and gain a step up the social ladder. However the quest to realize the state of yoga necessitates something altogether different. While some effort is certainly required, one cannot simply apply a Calvinist value system to a yoga practice and expect to achieve enlightenment.

See also Pranayama 101: This Moving Breath Practice Will Teach You to Let Go

Who is "the Striver?"

For those of us raised under the influence of the Protestant work ethic or in a Judeo-Christian background, there is an implicit motivating drive to succeed. This drive has tremendous sway over much of the population, motivating people’s thoughts, beliefs, dreams, and goals. In a culture of strivers, success or failure, gain or loss, good or bad are always on the line. The pervasive influence of this force goes largely unacknowledged until, in quiet moments of reflection and contemplation, you shine the lantern of your awareness on your own inner striver.

In the second half of my practice life, I have spent precious time reflecting on the origins of my own inner striver. My father was an ordained minister in the Presbyterian Church, as was my grandfather and his father before him. Even though I was not actively raised in a church community, the Protestant ethic circulated through my bloodstream. When I first began yoga, invisible forces urged me on, motivating me into handstands and backbends. I was under the spell of familial and cultural assumptions as I strived toward gain and sought approval. These were forces that had been set in motion long ago, persuasive forces much bigger and more impactful than my short lifetime.

It has taken me many years to be able to identify the underlying forces at work in me. This reckoning has required patience, perseverance, and real faith. Countless times I have posed these questions to myself: What am I yoking to? Who is the striver? And what is there to gain? It has been like an archeological dig, sifting through layers and layers of personal history. In the way that an archeologist excavates an ancient site using small picks, trowels and brushes, quarrying the depth psyche requires painstaking and delicate work. Through contemplation and insight meditation, I have sifted through many layers of karma—hope, fear, and longing that left their imprints on the soft sand of my soul.

See also Is It Adrenal Fatigue? What You Need to Know if You Feel Tired All the Time

Integrating “The Striver” into our Signature Self

I think each of us is replete with artifacts from our familial and cultural ancestry, encoded like DNA into our skin, bones, and flesh. When we first adopt Eastern practices, such as yoga or qigong, we attempt to break free from the archival material of our personal history. While the first half of a practice may involve assuming the garb, speaking the lingo, and performing the exotic rituals of a foreign land, in the second half of the journey we must circle back home to integrate the personal history of our own signature self.

The challenge of working with the striver is not merely a twenty-first-century dilemma. On the map of the Eightfold Path, right effort speaks to the importance of not pushing too hard, on the one hand, and not conceding to sloth and torpor, on the other. The Buddha knew all too well the pitfalls of excessive effort. At the outset of his spiritual quest, he put himself through trials of extreme severity and self-punishment. He attempted to overcome his body and mind by force of will through tapas (asceticism). Through fasting, pranayama, and yoga, he pushed himself to the brink of self-immolation. Having suffered and endured corrosive self-mortifying practices, he later espoused the Middle Way, which favors neither indulgence in sense pleasures nor strenuous, backbreaking practice.

See also Pranayama 101: This Moving Breath Practice Will Teach You to Let Go

In the course of a day, whether on or off the mat, right effort requires moment-by-moment negotiation. We must ask ourselves, Am I overexerting? Or am I too passive? Right effort (or what I like to think of as balanced effort) is not a practice that we realize once and for all and then move on. We must embody balanced effort in the way we exercise, study, raise our children, communicate with our employer, and wash the dishes. In yoga, we must seek the middle ground of right effort within every pose, every pranayama breath, and in every attempt to quiet the flurry of thought in meditation.

Realizing right effort in the arc of daily life is critical to wellbeing. Off the mat, when we push too hard, we are prone to stress, anxiety, and exhaustion. On the other hand, when we fall short and fail to apply ourselves, we may never realize our potential.

Skillful action suggests the delicate balance between alertness and ease, resiliency and yielding. Right effort must be fueled by enthusiasm, focus, endurance, and grace.

Through right effort, we come to a part of the journey that the ego-self could never imagine. We enter territory where there is nothing to get or grasp, and there is no more becoming. With the mind empty and attentive, we come into a presence that evades definition and cannot be put into words. It is a strange state of grace, one that always escapes definition. It is like being filled by vast, wondrous, open space.

See also How to Cultivate More Energy Through Your Inhalations

Pranayama Exercise to Find Middle Ground

Begin this pranayama practice by lying on a bolster or folded blankets elevated four to six inches off the floor, so that your entire spine is supported. Place a small blanket or towel under the back of your head so that your cranium is propped upward and slightly higher than your neck. Be sure that your spine is centered on the bolster and that your lungs spread laterally away from the midline.

Once you lie down, allow your body to be completely still and observe the fluid movement of your breath. At the start, breathe naturally, letting your breath flow of its own accord. Sense and feel the texture and consistency of your breath as it brushes against the back of your throat. Remain for several minutes simply observing the inherent motion of your breath.

See also Pranayama 101: This Mindful Breathing Practice Builds Ease After Asana

Then bring your awareness to your inhalation. Observe the beginning, the middle, and the top of your in-breath. Carefully, and with real finesse, actively expand your inhalation. In the same way that a balloon fills with air, sense the expansion of your lungs against your back ribs, side ribs, and front ribs. Practice right effort as you breathe in. Avoid being greedy and forceful by attempting to take in the maximum amount of air. This violates the spirit of pranayama. Rather, yield to the breath in the way that tall grass yields to the wind, moving in time with the current of the air. Right effort requires exquisite listening. If you overexert in pranayama, it will cause strain in your intercostal muscles, your diaphragm, and the visceral membranes around your lungs and heart. Use just the right amount of force to expand. Pranayama should never be conducted through willful effort.

Now breathe in halfway, pause, and retain your breath for several seconds. Breathe in again toward the top of your lungs. In the pause, allow your awareness to soak inward. The more you are able to soak inward, the more you will relinquish control over your breath.

Next divide your inhalation into two parts, pausing first at 30 percent capacity, then again at about 60 percent capacity, before breathing to the top of your lungs. Have an intention to receive your breath rather than striving to fill your lungs to capacity. Find right effort in pranayama, the delicate middle ground between too much effort and too little. Practice this technique for ten minutes before letting your breath return to normal. Lie in Savasana for several minutes before coming up to sitting.

Excerpted from The Practice is the Path by Tias Little, Shambhala Publications, Inc., 2020. Reprinted with permission. Edited for context and brevity.

Want to study with Tias? Join him this Thursday at 11:30 am EDT for a live webinar, Free Flow for Energy & Deep Rest. Through a discussion and practice, you’ll learn how to open your nadis, fascia, and joints in order to facilitate the flow life force and enhance circulation. Learn more and sign up here.