#And not just bards okay

[somecallmekay]

Like, imagine the possibilities of flirting as a caster. The utility of the spells. You're being gently pinned against the wall, them inches away from your lips, and you saying something to the tune of "if only we were somewhere more... private" and they smile, and without breaking eye contact a spell and everything around you two shifts as you get teleported to one of yours bedrooms. Slowly they glance towards the bed, look back, and grin. "You were saying?"

#This post is about flirting only #Make your own post about the utility of spells for the nasty #And tag me in it #Joking not joking #Flirting #Magic #Romance #Teleportation #Spells #And not just bards okay #Wizards and sorcerers too

[teatitty]

It's way funnier to me to imagine that Geralt is the one who desperately wants Dandelion to winter at Kaer Morhen with him but Dandelion keeps saying no on the simple grounds that it's too fucking cold and do you want me to die Geralt? Do you want me to get hypothermia and fucking die?

And Geralt's like "please I am begging on my knees I will cuddle you every night to keep you warm I just need to prove you actually exist"

#the witcher books #dandelion #geralt of rivia #gerlion #you know those romcom plots that are like 'I told my fam I have a bf and now they want to meet him so pls pretend to date me'? #this is like that except the reverse #geralt tells his fam he has a bestie who's a bard that cuddles with him at night and they all just #don't believe him bc it sounds so ridiculous #'it's okay to say you're just lonely geralt you don't need to Invent A Guy to convince us you're not' #'I DIDN'T INVENT A GUY HE'S REAL I PROMISE STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE I'M A PATHETIC WET DOG'

[anggeese]

Had this (another) au that's been rotting in my head for 2 years,,,,

#xiaoven #???? #xiao #nameless bard #genshin impact #still tagging it under xvn because it is a xvn au #i just want xiao to meet the nameless bard okay #most xvns revolve around venti dealing with xiao's issues so i'm here to make xiao deal with venti's 🫶 #i have no idea the semantics for this so no one ask me #art tag

[flowercrowngods]

⚔️ bard!eddie/knight!steve part 2 (~6k)

After the confrontation with Lord Harrington, Eddie is riddled with feelings of anger, guilt, and shame. At a lavish banquet, he finds his world turned on its head once more and he begins to understand just who his love really is.

⚔️ read part 1 here (~4k)

Eddie spends a maudlin few days wallowing in newly found misery and dramatically bemoaning the lack of inspiration and muse, to which his uncle merely instructs him to help him in the smithy, claiming that physical exertion would help with the wretched guilt. 

Eddie is loath to let go of his feelings just yet, though, hoping they would turn into self-righteous anger at the Lord after all. But he has no such luck. Night after night of pondering the Lord’s words and the hurt expression Eddie was met with not even a fortnight ago leave not a shred of doubt as to who is at fault. For years, unwittingly or not. 

But wit is not what will get him out of this mess, no. It can only be cleared by sincerity and vulnerability — something that Eddie has sworn to never show this town again, only worsening his predicament.

It tears away at him for days upon days, leaving him unable to sing, unable to play, unable even to sleep, cooped up though he is in the room of his childhood. It is a time he longs for with an aching heart, if only to take back his promise to never be vulnerable within these walls again, if only to be sure he doesn’t betray himself more than he betrayed Lord Harrington and both of their hearts. 

Time, seemingly done with Eddie’s mental back and forth, eventually pulls the floor from beneath his feet one night when he finds a written invitation from Princess Chrissy to attend her banquet tomorrow night as both highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. 

At the banquet, Eddie knows, he will see Lord Harrington again, and there will be no way to avoid him any longer. He imagines there will be more scalding glances, more sharp words from a sharper tongue, and more of his honour questioned. 

And the Lord would very well be in his right to do so. 

With a deep sigh and an even deeper pit in his stomach, Eddie goes on his pitiful journey to find some rest beneath the sheets. 

~*~*~

It is always a lavish affair when Princess Chrissy decides there is something to celebrate, and despite his nerves and a horrible anxiety that has been his steady but unwelcome companion all day, Eddie finds himself smiling at the view of the ballroom. 

It occurs to him how far he has come as he takes it all in, his eyes surely wide as saucers at the display of grandeur and opulence before him. Men and women alike dressed in finest fabrics and the brightest of colours, servants bustling about with wine and delicacies for the Princess and her guests. 

Years ago, the people of Hawkins took it upon themselves to chase him out of the city, and not even the Princess’s grace and friendship were enough to make him stay where clearly he was not wanted. And now here he is — highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. He cannot help but feel vindicated and proud, having spited Hawkins and her people like this; he has sailed with pirates and travelled with adventurers, learned from master craftsmen and sung for emperors. 

All of it to show this city that he is more. That he is better. 

And yet, he reminds himself with a heavy heart, he cannot sing today, and Hawkins will be the victor once more.

Eddie reaches for a goblet of wine offered to him by a most curteous girl flashing him a shy but charming smile, and it is almost enough to improve his mood, almost enough yet for him to gain the courage to approach the Princess about his predicament. He follows the servant with his eyes as he brings the wine to his lips, stalling the inevitable just a second longer, when suddenly they fall on a familiar, tragically glorious figure clad in the deep blue colours of his family. 

Lord Harrington, tinged in hues of gold more than anything else as the light of the flames dancing along the walls and ceiling alike catches in his hair in a way that Eddie has heard will make kings succumb to madness, is laughing along to the excited gesturing of a woman Eddie cannot seem to recognise. But it is not she who has caught his eye. It is Lord Harrington, standing there with a look so impossibly gentle and a dress so regal that it makes Eddie’s legs weak and his heart ache. 

Where is that pompous air that Eddie remembers so well? When was it replaced with elegance and beauty so blinding, accompanied so wonderfully with that smile on his lips? And how can a man who has been wronged so endlessly still smile like this, look like this, hold himself like this? Like the world is but an old friend he likes to carry on his shoulders so it can have a better look at what is ahead. 

Like the kindest songs must always have been about him, wittingly or not. Like he is more, so much more than what Eddie thought him to be. Like he is exactly who Eddie needs him to be. Wants him to be. Has dreamed him to be. 

And still, despite the fondness in his eyes and the lavish joy displayed by everyone in the opulent room, Lord Harrington has a steady hand on the sword by his hip. It is only for display of his rank as a knight and as a Lord, likely blunt and too light for proper defence, let alone offensive strikes against a sudden enemy. 

But Harrington’s hand is woven around the hilt. Clinging to it, as though reassured by its presence. As though anxious were he not to feel it by his side, cold metal and leather resting against his palm. 

His words echo in Eddie’s head again. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.

Stealing a man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.

Can he not flee? Can he not lay down that feeling of horror even on a night like this? Need he cling to his sword, any sword, like that, even unconsciously? Did he forgt about the sword on his hip before the Knightmærs? Was it Eddie who made him cling, who kept him from forgetting, even for one night, that dangers tend not to lurk in the well-lit corners of a golden ballroom?

The guilt threatens to devour him wholly, and Eddie might just let it if only some of the weight were taken from Lord Harrington’s shoulders. Desperately, Eddie tears his gaze away from the Lord’s hand and back up again, travelling over ocean blue and sunset gold, drinking him in more hungrily than the wine in his hand. 

As though summoned by Eddie’s pathetically beating heart, Lord Harrington chooses that exact moment to look up and away from his partner, and by some cruel twist of fate, out of the hundreds of eyes in this room, he meets Eddie’s. The gentleness fades, the smile paling into something tinged with regret, and it takes every ounce of strength Eddie has not to cross the room and fall to his knees to beg forgiveness. 

He swallows and lifts the goblet to his lips once more, his breath hitching as Lord Harrington mirrors him, and they both take a slow, excruciating sip, their gazes never once wavering. 

I will not sing tonight, Eddie promises, wondering if it is at all possible that Lord Harrington has the gift of clairvoyance and knows exactly what Eddie is thinking. I will do right by you, even if it is too late. Even if it costs everything. 

In the end it is Lord Harrington who looks away first, his attention caught once more by his companion, and Eddie withers as he sees the gentleness returning to his gaze. He is not quick enough in tearing away his eyes, however, because Harrington’s companion, another bard, he assumes fom the look of her, turns towards him just a second later — and if looks could kill, Eddie would find himself dead six times over. 

Fate does not possess the grace to let him die on the spot, however, the daggers in the bard’s eyes not sharp enough to end his life, but more than sufficient to snuff out any sense of bravery he could have possessed to approach Harrington anytime soon. Eddie finds himself almost grateful for the admittedly rather lame excuse that only comes to prove his cowardice, but he decides not to dwell on it for now. 

Or he tries, as he downs the wine in one go and lets his eyes travel in search for familiar, friendly faces, and finding the Princess already approaching him with a smile so bright and warm it alleviates the anxiety thrumming through him. 

“Eddie!” she says, smiling even wider when he remembers to bow before her — something they had to practice a lot when they were children and she would sneak away from her lessons and appearances to play with him instead. It feels like a lifetime ago; she is the prettiest person he knows — always has been, but she kept the spark of glee even as an adult. It makes him weak in the knees with happiness, having her friendship so deeply ingrained in his soul even after all this time. 

Her eyes travel over his doublet made of silk so deeply red it appears black if the light plays a trick on your eyes. It is one of his finest possessions, and it takes everything within him not to preen in front of her. 

“And to think of the way you scoffed so offhandedly when I told you ages ago that silk would suit you. You have grown to be so very handsome, my dearest friend, I can hardly take my eyes off you lest I have to fear your untimely disappearance once more.” 

Eddie smiles, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, entirely aware that he had not yet enough wine to solely blame it on that. 

“I am here to stay for the time being, Your Highness, so fret not. If only to show Hawkins how right you were, my dear, for I do look fabulous in silk.” 

Chrissy laughs, a joyful sound echoing through the hall and pulling many a pair of eyes toward them, but Eddie pays them no mind even as nervousness makes an eerie reappearance in the forefront of his mind. 

“I cannot wait to hear you play tonight,” the Princess continues, unaware of Eddie’s dilemma. There must be something in his face, though, for she reaches out to take hold of his hand. “You will, right? Tell me you will, Eddie. What reason have you to look so filled with gloom?” 

Eddie turns his hand to hold onto hers, propriety be damned even as he hears a gasp or two followed by scandalised whispering. For Hawkins, everything he does is scandalous, even merely existing. Holding the Princess’s hand is but another item on the list. 

“Forgive me, my Princess, but I cannot play tonight.” 

“But—“ 

“It is the Knightmærs that you long to hear, and it was always a dream to fill these halls with song sprung from my own feather, believe me. But it seems I am a fraud, and I need to do right by someone first before I will ever take to my lute again.” After a moment of silence he adds, “If you should like me to leave, I understand. But I will not sing.” 

The Princess looks at him for a long time, reading something that might be written behind his eyes, but she keeps a hold of his hand. 

“He sought you out, then.”   

Eddie’s heart falls as he grasps the meaning of her words. She knows about Lord Harrington and his involuntary ties to Eddie’s renown. Everyone in this room might know, might have heard of his deeds, might have seen his wounds as he returned from the battlefield that seems to follow his every step, while Eddie was out in the world living a lavish life with the title he earned from another man’s tales of valour and agony. 

“He did,” Eddie whispers. “And I need to make things right. He never deserved that.” 

She frowns, a crease appearing between her brows that does nothing to hide her gentleness and beauty. “Never deserved that? But Eddie, you made a hero of him! You wove battles he fought out of he goodness of his heart and the bravery in his bones, wove them into tales grand enough to outlast even the passing of time itself! I know many a knight who would kill to be made into that kind of a hero.” 

Even as she speaks, Eddie shakes his head, vehement to contradict her and make her see what he himself took so long to understand. 

“It is not I who turned that man into a hero, my Princess, that was his own doing. What I did was turn him into a legend, turn him into something untouchable by real emotion when he… seems to be so full of them! I took his story, all of his stories, and made them my own, stole the words out of the deepest dungeons of his heart and wrote epic ballads about pain that is strong enough to bring the bravest man to his knees with sorrow and— I took from him what was only his to give. The right to grieve. The right to be his own person. The right to his story, his pain, his own consequences to come from actions he was forced into.” 

Eddie swallows, beginning to understand, really, the scope of his actions as he speaks the words for the first time, and his throat rapidly closes up on him. 

“I took all of that and made it my own, and in the end it was only I who gained something. And worst of all, he never complained to me. Never exploded in my face or, or exposed me for the fraud that I am. In fact, it was I who confronted him about disappearing whenever I would sing my Knightmærs, because I found myself with hurt pride and—“ 

A breath, forced into his lungs to keep the tears welling in his eyes from spilling. 

“That man,” Eddie finishes with unsteady voice but iron conviction. “He deserves the world. He deserves better. He is a hero and he deserves to have a choice, but he is too good to make it. So I am making it for him.” 

He tears his wandering gaze away from the silhouette that seems to always pull him in, no matter how hard he tries to stray, and lays them on the Princess.

“I am not playing tonight.” 

Chrissy, too, has tears in her eyes after his speech, and she reaches up to cradle his face with both of her hands. Warmth floods Eddie where before he was bereft, and it takes everything in his power not to lean into her hold. Not when people are watching them. Gentleness like that is reserved for quiet, dark corners on stormy days long since past. 

“Oh, Eddie,” she says, her laugh a little wet. “See how much you have grown. You are the best person I know; always have been. You are forgiven, my dearest, loveliest friend. I shall not make you play, and I shall not stand it if people disapprove of it.” 

Relief washes over him, his body still trembling ever so slightly from his passionate outburst and fear of rejection, and he smiles as he casts his eyes down. 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

She hums and wipes at the wetness beneath his eyes before retrieving her hands. 

“Anything for you, Eddie. Anything in my power.” She turns to leave and Eddie has not the strength to ask her to stay, not when he knows she has royal etiquette to follow. But before leaving him to his heart still heavy with guilt, she speaks again, “It will be fine. I know it will.” 

God, I hope so. 

Eddie doesn’t dare to look and see if Lord Harrington and his bard were in earshot just now. Instead, he turns swiftly and retreats to one of the lavish balconies to clear his head with some fresh air. He finds it blissfully empty as he takes a trembling breath. 

It will be fine. I know it will. 

Eddie breathes, crisp air flooding his lungs that he does not feel all that deserving of, but he is grateful for it nonetheless. He cannot blink away the image of Lord Harrington’s downturned eyes, the smile that adorned his lips but a moment before fading in the face of Eddie’s presence. He cannot keep his heart from racing, hammering away rapidly at his ribcage, mimicking a spooked bird’s fluttering wings. Aiming to get out. Out, out, out, away from its hold and back where it belongs. Back to the man dressed in the blues of his family, the colour of his name, like armour against any sorts of attempts dared by lowly boys who think themselves to be bards of great renown.

It aches, his heart. And with every beat against his chest, the pain only carries further until it reaches his eyes with stinging force. It is a pain of guilt and sorrow, mixing with a longing so deep that it cuts him in half, torn though he is. 

Just one more breath and the air will be enough to tear him apart down the middle, right through his heart that is long past saving. The feelings he has been harbouring for years for a love unknown have not disappeared with Lord Harrington’s accusations. Instead, they merely gained a face and a name, turned into something real. Shifted, just so, to make room for the reality of Lord Harrington and every tidbit of information Eddie can learn about him, even when he tries not to listen, even when he tries to let go of misguided emotion for a man whose heart he has broken and abused already. 

But everyone talks about him. Now that Eddie knows where to look, he sees the respect for Lord Harrington in everyone’s faces. Sees the gratitude, sees the fondness, sees the reverence. 

Eddie closes his eyes against it, but it only serves to make the images more vivid. Lord Harrington positively gleaming in that ballroom, shining as golden as the sun right before she bids the day farewell, looking so fondly upon his friend. His bard. His companion. Looking so regretfully upon Eddie. Looking until he could no longer bear it. 

He needs to leave. It is sudden, that urge, filling the cracks of his being and glueing him back together with that all too familiar feeling that he’d thought himself to have moved past on the same day that he left Hawkins all those years ago. But it is back now, getting stronger by the second, urging him to leave, leave, leave. 

He will talk to Lord Harrington and beg for his forgiveness later. Tomorrow, surely, or the day after. In a fortnight at the latest, or in a month. But for now, he has to leave. Needs to leave. Must. 

On unsteady feet, and with an unsteadier heart yet, Eddie turns abruptly and all but stumbles his way back through the large doors and into the ballroom, which has filled with even more guests and even more servants and even more people who will steal the air from right beneath his nose. 

It leaves him frazzled and shaking, and his heart falls anew when he realises that he needs to cross the room to leave. 

As if pulled in by string or higher power, Eddie finds Lord Harrington immediately, the man’s broad back turned toward him. His hand still rests on his sword as he watches his friend — the bard with daggers in her eyes — approach the dais, lute in one hand and flute in the other. It’s a thin one, and made not of wood but of some kind of metal, and Eddie feels a flash of jealousy at her blatant display of talent and proficiency in more instruments than one. Even greater jealousy still when Lord Harrington keeps his attention on her — oh, and how well Eddie is acquainted with his attention, heavy and intense and leaving him hungry for more. Starving. 

He yearns for it. Longs to approach the stage and join the other bard as she begins to play, if only to be in the vicinity of that attention. That affection. All that gentle intensity. 

But he can’t. 

So he turns, twisting away from the mirage he so longs to touch, feeling phantom tingles on his palms where he imagines strongly enough. Entangled in the web of guilt, longing and imagination, though, he twists a little too far and nearly falls over his feet in his haste to get away. And then he quite factually runs into a figure he’d hoped to never see again, much less share the same breath as them. 

Before Eddie can utter an apology and continue on his way out of the ballroom and back to the safety of his childhood bedroom where the ceiling is a little closer to him and the air won’t feel quite as stuffy, Jason Carver’s voice cuts through the room and his patience alike. 

“Munson,” Carver sneers, somehow managing to look down on Eddie even though they are of the same height. “So the rumours are proven true at last! I did not think you possessed the gall to show your face here again. But you seem to be a lot stupider than you let on — and you do let on a lot.” 

The throng of people around Carver make themselves known with a vile chuckle at Eddie’s expense, and if he were a stronger man, if he were a more vicious man tonight and not hung up on guilt and longing, he’d have a snide comment on the tip of his tongue. 

As it is, though, he stands no chance but to let Carver speak on. He seems to have climbed in rank, moved on from being a simple guardsman to someone wearing white silk and a decorative sword on his hip. It is more imposing than Harrington’s, the hand around the handle more like a threat to Eddie than anything else. Especially accompanied by that sneer. That godawful, entirely too punchable curl of his lips. 

“Though the good Princess proves her taste in music and people once more, servicing her people and not letting you play on an occasion such as this. What a shame it would be for all of Hawkins to have your… talent… be showcased like that. What humiliation for you. I’m glad she chose a bard who can sing. And play. And entertain Her Majesty’s guests accordingly.” 

Carver’s words cut deep, and there seems to be no end to them. It shows on his face, Eddie knows, but he can’t… Suddenly he’s young again, suddenly he knows no longer who he is, who he wants to be in this world and how we will get there. Suddenly the urge to run away is no longer gluing him together but tearing him apart, tearing him in every possible direction just to get away from Carver and his lackeys, until he will shred himself into a million pieces. 

And still he has no words to retort the venom leaving Carver’s lips. He is shaking, fuming, something boiling inside him, and yet he has no words. 

Just as Carver opens his mouth to spit yet more lies about Eddie and his craft that leave his ears ringing, something behind Eddie makes Carver’s big mouth snap shut with a loud clack. 

Before Eddie can regain control over his mind and body to turn around and see what happened, a familiar voice fills the silence so blatantly left by Jason Carver. 

“Such vile words from someone who knows neither talent nor skill himself, and who displays an utter lack of craftsmanship and tact.” 

Lord Harrington speaks in such condescending tones with Carver that it makes Eddie freeze all over again, not daring to move lest he pull that condescension toward himself. And still he aches to turn around and drink him in. 

He stands so close. Eddie can almost breathe him in, and it’s almost enough. 

Before him, Jason flushes an angry red, unprepared to be confronted thusly by Lord Harrington, who outranks him in both title and popularity — and, perchance more importantly, in eloquence and intelligence. 

Carver’s mouth remains firmly shut, but Lord Harrington is not done yet, it seems, as he moves from behind Eddie to his side, the hand on his sword so dangerously close to Eddie’s hip. It takes all his might not to sway and lean to the side just briefly, just to feel the warmth of his hand through his clothes. 

“You know, Carver, I found myself pondering whether upon the arrival of Eddie the Bard you would find yourself starving for his attention once more, the same way that you did when you and your band chased him away.” 

The blood freezes in Eddie’s veins and yet he feels flushed with heat, especially when people turn toward them with curious and scandalised eyes.

Lord Harrington is not perturbed, however. “And here you are indeed, yearning for his words directed at you, aching for his attention, and wishing at least one of his songs were dedicated to you, written in your honour. Unfortunately still, you wouldn’t know honour if it spat you in the face. And you have miscalculated, good man, for you are irrelevant to a muse such as his, and too much of a coward for heroic tales of valour and sacrifice. The only thing you know to sacrifice is my patience. You are of no greater importance to this world, this kingdom, and  even this very moment, Jason, than an overgrown roach in a dead man’s kitchen.” 

The noise that leaves Eddie’s throat is not as embarrassing as the one Carver makes, and covered, too, by several gasps sounding around them. Lord Harrington has drawn quite the crowd — and for once he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, smirking as he is, regarding Carver like he means every last word of what he just said. 

It makes Eddie weak in the knees. 

And Lord Harrington takes yet another step forwards, placing himself between Eddie and Carver, shielding him not only from the man’s words and presence, but directing the attention of those around them away from Eddie. Pulling it towards his own person and Jason’s form, trembling with anger and humiliation. 

Eddie blinks, heart racing again, his mind running faster than a spooked race horse. Why would Harrington come to his rescue? Why would he pull all the attention toward himself when he should be rejoicing in seeing Eddie humiliated and beaten with his own weapon of choice? Why, when all the good Lord should want is to see Eddie fall from grace and from his high horse alike? 

Jason is sputtering some kind of response, but Eddie is transfixed by ocean blue and sunset gold so close to him that he could melt into him if only he had the right. So transfixed, indeed, that he doesn’t hear what Jason has to say. It is only when Lord Harrington speaks again that the world returns to him. 

“Leave the bard alone, Carver, you humiliate yourself with the way you’re leeching off his attention like a schoolboy with his first bout of attraction.” And then, closing the gap between them and speaking into Carver’s ear, just loud enough for Eddie to hear, Lord Harrington says, “Leave him alone. Speak of him again anything but praise, and I will have you emasculated per royal decree, and I shall see to it myself.” 

Where before his face was flushed red, all the colour now leaves Carver’s face as he blanches and swallows heavily. He looks between Harrington and Eddie, confusion and fear so clear on his features that Eddie would grin if he weren’t so shaken by the Lord’s actions and words. 

Carver takes flight the very moment Lord Harrington steps back, and suddenly Eddie finds himself alone with him. 

And words have not yet returned to him, especially when Harrington turns and lets down the smirking mask of condescension and instead regards him with an expression of worry and gentleness. 

“Are you all right?”

Eddie blinks, all but feeling the confusion and wonderment spill out of his big, dumb eyes, unable to hide it from Harrington and his golden skin. 

This is the man who has slain the man possessed by the Devil himself and took in his younger sister to live with him and get an education. This is the man who protected the Princess and this whole kingdom so many times, slaying foes and beasts alike and returning home a hero who refused his own celebrations. This is the man who would be King if the world were anything like Eddie wants it to be. 

The man who smiles so fondly, so gently, upon the people dear to him. The man who opens his estate in the winter to those whose houses stand no chance against the cold bitterness of the season, and thus defeats both lonesomeness and bleakness in one graceful gesture of kindness and compassion.

And still, this is the man who had his life twisted and glorified in song and poetry, the man who had the floor pulled from beneath his feet when his pain was made into something desirable. The man who stands in a ballroom filled with joyous laughter, wine, and dance, and keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword. The man who was wronged so endlessly by the ingenious bard who claimed to love him. 

And yet. He stakes his claim. He stakes his claim on Eddie. Protects him. Rather publicly, too, and now everyone knows of a connection between them that doesn’t exist, a connection that Eddie snuffed out before it had the chance to spark because he was so obsessed with the notion of grandeur and drama and love. A love that would survive it all. A love that would slay beasts and brothers possessed, a love that would be immortalised in song and poem, a love that… 

Would look at him the way Lord Harrington does. 

But it’s not love. Eddie knows nothing about love. How could he, when he hurt the man so? How could he, when he cannot find even the simplest apology, when he cannot utter a single word with the way his throat is closing up on him so rapidly in the face of that tenderness. 

“Eddie,” Harrington gathers him out of his reverie, a hand on his forearm. “Would you step outside with me?”

Another claim staked right through Eddie’s fluttering heart. He cannot bear it. Stands frozen to the ground.

“You need not have done that,” he says at last, his voice no louder than a whisper. It makes the Lord lean in closer, as though he has difficulty to hear Eddie otherwise, though he’d like to imagine that Harrington is just as drawn in by Eddie, and is powerless against it. 

The man smiles, though there is no fondness in it, and Eddie wants to recoil. 

“Jason wouldn’t know talent if it spat in his face. Which,” he adds as an afterthought, “is not a suggestion.” 

Despite himself, Eddie smiles genuinely, feeling a bit of the ever-present tension lift from his shoulders. “Do my ears deceive me, or am I right in my understanding that you think I have talent, milord?” 

The smile fades a little, leaving behind some hidden trace of genuineness that weighs so heavy in the air between them even as Harrington inclines his head politely. As though Eddie deserves politeness. As though he were of a higher standing than he is. And higher yet than Lord Harrington himself. 

“I would have to call myself both fool and liar to claim otherwise,” he says, his tone shifted to match his posture. Reverent, almost. Eddie wants him to straighten those shoulders and look down on him again, to do everything in his power to stop the wild beating of his heart that still cuts the words right from his tongue. “You have a way with words that is yet to be matched.” 

He looks up again when Eddie says nothing, and their eyes meet. Lord Harrington’s beauty is unmatched, and Eddie finds himself willing to look at him forever. Wanting. Longing. 

Whatever spell the Lord found himself to be under until just a second ago, it shatters now, dissipates into thin air as his expression shutters. And where before it was Eddie’s words that dealt nothing but damage, now it is his silence, for Lord Harrington steps away from him with a regretful expression and inclines his head once more. 

“Forgive me, I overstepped. I am aware of your opinion of me, believe me, I just… I simply… Forgive me. Please. Good night.” 

He turns, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword as though he were drowning in the ocean blue of his family name and the sword were keeping him afloat. Not a trace of pompous air emanates from him, and Eddie finally feels himself tearing in two as in that gold-sparked moment his knight and Lord Harrington become one right before Eddie’s eyes. 

And the bard is helpless when he calls out, “My Lord.” Nothing, as Lord Harrington steps away from him. “Steve.” 

He stops. 

And so does time. 

But Eddie didn’t think this far ahead, knows not what to say, how to make sense of the words trapped inside him that leave his hands trembling and his legs shaking, words that he needs to bring in the right order yet, lest he ruins everything again. 

There is only the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart against his ribcage and the eyes of their unwilling audience turned towards them. The eyes of people who want to see Eddie fail. Who want to see him flail and fall and crawl back into the winter’s night months after his birth, left outside his uncle’s doorstep as his father lost his life over years of debt he had no means to pay off. 

“I…” 

Words fail him. When he needs them most, when he needs them not as a weapon nor as a caress, they deceive him. And Eddie watches as his time runs out, like sand pouring between his fingers no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it. 

He watches, desperately, as Lord Harrington tears himself away. As he weaves through the groups of people, reaching for a goblet of wine as he does, and downs it in one go before he reaches his bard where she is standing off to the side for a short break. He watches as she takes the Lord’s hands in hers and pulls him into a quiet corner and then through a large door onto one of the balconies. 

He watches until his vision blurs with tears unshed. He watches until he can no longer stand it, and flees from the ballroom as more of a coward than ever before. 

tagging: @itsall-taken @pukner @mugloversonly @devondespresso @hellion-child @fairytalesreality @maya-custodios-dionach @awkwardgravity1 @bubblemixer @paperbackribs @the-redthread @stevesbipanic @gregre369 @chaoticvictorianspirit @cuoredimuschio thank you for reading, i hope this was okay 🤍

#steddie fic #steddie #bard/knight #steve harrington #eddie munson #knight!steve harrington #bardknight #bard!eddie munson #i feel like this is more of a 6k words intermission but hear me out the bard is pathetic and needs to stew a little bit #live with the consequences of his actions and realise just what he has done and how he feels about his knight and lord harrington #skjdfsk i hope this is okay i really really hope so i am so worried that it's gonna disappoint y'all who've been waiting #dio words

[janjan-the-ninth]

My brain whenever I hear that Cavill is the Witcher and cannot be replaced:

#srsly #my brain saw this s2 promo and took it too seriously #if you don't want to watch Hemsworth #that's okay #if you want to continue watching for whatever reason #that's okay too #i'm just sick of people constantly demonising s4 when it's not even filmed yet #let people who still enjoy the show enjoy it #y'all had one and a half year to be upset about this #it's time to move on to fandoms and shows you actually enjoy instead of hating people for enjoying something you don't #the witcher #the witcher netflix #twn #jaskier #jaskier the bard #joey batey #geralt of rivia #mine #note: this post was made cause joey batey as jaskier is my light and joy #and i'm so happy that i'll get two more seasons with him!

[finleycannotdraw]

this post from @0dde11eth inspired me lmao

go through the notes on that post to find some of the continued inspiration :)

tl;dr sleep-cuddly geralt is a headcanon you can pry from my cold dead hands!

#the witcher #finley cannot draw #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #jaskier pankratz #geralt x jaskier #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanart #LOOK I NEED THEM TO BE SOFT OKAY!! #imagining this is either at kaer morhen (cause jaskier would be cold and also probably scared of fire) or just in hotels during their #homosexual 20 year road trip #or both #ooh maybe I’ll write a fic who knows

[corndog-patrol]

For the prompts Winter and Spring for barduilmonth!

#barduil #Bard the Bowman #thranduil #lotr #the hobbit #barduilmonth2023 #thran caring for animals just HITS okay

[another-kshit-blog]

So anyway, this might be the worst official manga Sebastian I've ever seen.

#“ikeman” my ass there is nothing cool about this only pure dorkery #mey rin simping for ronald makes my heart happy. forget about that trash demon and get with the lawnmower man #who keeps letting sebastian write lyrics. please stop. have mercy #i'm sorry to say tanaka and sebastian are just not pulling it off. surprisingly bard looks okay though #manga cap #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #ronald knox #tanaka #mey rin #finnian #bard #scooting around on your ass using demon powers is not cool. and lose the hooker boots #for some reason i have an aversion to sebastian's uncovered skin in particular. it just looks wrong on him. not butlerly at all #kuroshitsuji #black butler #grell sutcliff

[harpyface]

d&d/wirral au... GO!

featuring wild magic sorcerer harry and artillerist artificer kim

clothing stats below (plus the d&d equivalent) (feat ooh custom kim skills with no context)

RED SUPER *STAR* GLASSES

+1 Composure (Deception): Blinding with starlight

DOUBLE-SLITTED V-NECK DRESS

+2 Electrochemistry (Performance): Shows off your tits *and* thighs

-1 Rhetoric (Investigation): No one makes eye contact with you for some reason

SIMPLE RANGER'S VEST

+1 Shivers (Nature): Listen to the forest

-1 Savoir Faire (Performance): Ill-fitting

HORRIFIC CAPE

+1 Inland Empire (Insight): Vivid imagination

+1 Authority (Intimidation): Regal golden pauldrons

-1 Savoir Faire (Acrobatics): Tripping hazard

GLITTERY FINGERLESS SORCERER'S GLOVES

+1 Inland Empire (Arcana): Uncapped font of magic (your fingers)

+1 Hand/Eye Coordination (Arcana): Perfect aim for your 9mm (your fingers)

GLITTERY SORCERER'S SASH

+1 Inland Empire (Arcana): A strip of fabric torn from the cosmos

GLITTERY SORCERER'S KNEE HIGH BOOTS

+1 Electrochemistry (Performance): Tall legs

-1 Savoir Faire (Acrobatics): Even taller heels

PRESCRIPTION ARTIFICER LENSES

+2 Perception (Perception): Fixes your hyperopia, somewhat

-1 Authority (Intimidation): Mega bino energy

ARTICULATE SCHOLAR'S WAISTCOAT

+1 Reference (History): Evokes a sense of a wizened professor

+1 Kinetic Dressage (Performance): Correct posture

REVOLUTIONARY PIRATE'S COAT

+2 Hand/Eye Coordination (Sleight of Hand): Channel the rifleman's aim

+1 Volta do Mar (Religion): And the poetic resistance to pale

STEADFAST ARTILLERIST'S PANTS

+1 Interfacing (Sleight of Hand): Mechanical thinking

+1 Hand/Eye Coordination (Sleight of Hand): Ammo on hand

POLISHED LEATHER BOOTS

+1 Authority (Perception): Adds some height

+1 Forte (Stealth): Tightly strapped to the knee

-1 Mortar (Arcana): Solidly grounded

CONDITIONED LEATHER GLOVES

+1 Hairtrigger (Acrobatics): Know exactly where your weapon is

-1 Airwave (Insight): Warm hands shielded from the world

#i see you bard harries but wild magic and sorcerer go well with eccentric amnesiac #i really like these :) #hm not a lot of int skills okay #i think that eldritch cannons can be massive and mountable but also giant gun kineema #it has a handle on the side prommy #kims outfit gave me the most grief just because it has the most elements #corvid creates #disco elysium #disco elysium skills #harry du bois #harrier du bois #kim kitsuragi #disco elysium au #dungeons and dragons #dnd #dnd art

[ride-a-dromedary]

I'm inclined to take Halsin at his word, but I wonder when he laments/jokes about having an awful singing voice if it's actually awful, or if it's just average/lower quality compared to other elven voices, which by human listening standards is still pretty good.

#BG3 Musing #Halsin #Halsin Posting #i am inclined to believe he likely is telling the whole truth with no hidden meaning (considering he also can't dance bless this man) #but also like what if he wasn't (and by wasn't i mean to him it's the full truth but to non elves it's like??? false humility huh okay hal) #doesn't have that ethereal quality to it so it's automatically like meh in elf circles and to elf ears #halsin's just a baritenor in a sea of castrati and sopranos #dave jones can sing so... #halsin: our teacher used to say i had the voice of a wounded boar #anyway *is able to harmonize near perfectly with a human bard* #(just in the lower register)

[chilei-the-hotsauce]

my beloved durge icarus uwu

#hes just a little guy :D #he may have murdered a nice bard he played music with just moments before but thats okay #he didnt do it on purpose #my art #art #digital art #i looove splattering him with blood #like. go off your eminence 💅 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 dark urge #baldur's gate 3 fanart #bg3 #bg3 dark urge #he gets to be a little fucked up as a treat

[iwouldhavebroughtyouviolets]

No because jaskier making jokes about geralt dying as a coping mechanism for them BOTH like the reason they work together and have lasted so long is because geralt NEEDS that lightness and the jokes and the downplaying how bad it is bc otherwise he gets too in his head he NEEDS jaskier to come in a joke about milking his death for at least three songs (and one epic poem) because they both know deep down that geralt dying would change jaskier as a person forever and so jaskier joking about it (IF geralt dies) is a way for both of them to take heart because geralt knows that jaskier just has this complete faith in him and THAT’S why jaskier makes the jokes because the alternative to jokes is too horrifying to even consider

#like yenn and geralt and ciri all need each other but they all also NEED jaskier #they need their bard to crack a joke and diffuse the tension and remind them that they are PEOPLE #and not just a collection of tasks that they can complete or powers they have #they get to be people who feel things and THAT IS OKAy #like jaskier loved him first!! geralt didn’t think anyone (at least any non-Witcher) could love him BUT JASKIER DID #also the way geralt takes care of the fighting and jaskier guides people to safety #like he just wants people to be okay be that the people he loves or random strangers #his whole thing as the sandpiper is he just wants people to be okay!! #jaskier #the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivera #geraskeir

[pangyham]

GAH LONG POST..

xingqiu and chongyun have insanely good potential for angst my god. xingqiu in particular is so fun to think about in the context of chongyun. what do YOU know about chivalry boy

thinking about how he and hu tao kinda operate on similar notions of justice and all that shmick except hu tao is more strictly averse to disrupting the Natural Order (incredibly vague and generalized concept rn sorry) whilst xingqiu sets his principles more arbitrarily. chongyun's presence somehow foils a lot of his notable character traits. gestures hands vaguely in the air but sth sth hu tao would not approve of xq's moral infractions

perhaps im just reading too deep into this but shrugs ill admit something's changed in Me the last 2 years and coming back to xq and cy has me like. scratches head now hold on im not entirely sure if i even like the way xq treats cy. its kinda one of the main points of their dynamic- the whole.. pranking this oblivious guy who i really adore etc. but its deeper implications leave me a little unsatisfied and a little troubled (?).. in the long run i personally dont really see anything substantially appealing about their (leaning towards romantic in this context) relationship other than like ?? the tropes that mhy imposed upon them. they were created as a compatible Duo ykwim. they reference each other a lot in their lore and even in-game but.. idk maybe i just view them separately instead of a joint unit that anaylzing them individually revealed a lot of crevices and cracks in their ship that's built upon their mainstream appeal

but anyway i've thought a lot about them as a duo and is it nuts to say i like them as a romantic ship but if they were unrequited. i can see them working out but it necessitates a complete subversion and reconstruction of xingqiu (chara development basically LOL) on my part that i would totally invest myself in but im not entirely sure how to execute it

i like xingqiu a LOT as a flawed character. i wouldnt go as far as to say hes toxic, just very conflicted and insecure. hes a fun character to think about. re: the hu tao bit i mentioned above, i think they would have a really fun, witty, and transformative friendship

but anyway. yes i like xq and i still like xy. theyre just a bit more complicated now aha. im still capable of enjoying fluffy ship dynamics but lately ive been in a Character Study Mood ... mmm.. ive yet to organize my chongming thoughts

#tangy talks chongyun #tangy talks genshin #xingqiu #hu tao #chongyun #on my cf list i specifically wrote: #“ive destroyed whatever palate i had for them(xy) 2 years ago and developed a new one that's more sour” LOL #it's true rip i was going thru my old art it's really funny how much ive changed since then #i feel like i just.. developed different outlooks ..? aka me realizing i might be aro #ive been much more qpr inclined w my ships aha. im also in love with all my friends. i like projecting my values of love and intimacy into #my favorite characters eeep.. shoutout to the raven cycle #i think the only ships i have that r conforming and exhibit conventionally romantic attitudes are uhm.. my bard and shadowheart ..and .. #natasha and pierre from war and peace BAKFBAJG #idk though i dont really like labeling relationships and Love and whatnot. just using categorical terms for convenience #wow these tags are long as hell #sorry im just rambling here but. i want the best for chongyun okay #im not rly sure if anyone shares the Same vision for xy but welp i☝️ will die on this hill #i talked vaguely here my bad #that was on purpose though lest i. idk. link a pdf #as for chongming i need to marinate gaming in my head more #can anyone tell i take my ships seriously LMFAO mfs wont settle for surface level bonds. i WILL excavate their pysches #ignore typos sorry.. typing this in bed #tangy talks Vaguely #using that tag so ill remember to elaborate on these umbrella topics later

[welcometogrouchland]

Caleb and Evelyn are hanging out in gravesfield one day (after she reveals herself as a witch to him. There's no concrete timeline but let's just say this is still a year/few years before Caleb flees the human realm, but he's been to the demon realm before on monster of the week style adventures w/ eve) when Caleb suddenly has A Responsibility to attend to w/ Philip (some kind of town meeting? Idk).

Evelyn asks to tag along in disguise but Caleb sadly tells her "sorry but this is really only a thing men do around here :( sad u can't come tho" and evelyns like no prob babe lol and just illusions herself a mustache and pants + ties her hair up and is like boom. Boy mode. And starts dragging Caleb by the hand to whatever big boy puritan conference he has to attend meanwhile Caleb is completely silent bc his inner monologue is just "WHY AM I STILL ATTRACTED TO HER. WHY IS SHE HOT. DO I LIKE MEN???"

Anyway that's how Caleb found out he was bi and after a quick (but very intense, he was a 1600s christian after all) crisis Evelyn takes him to the ye olde gay club

#ramblings of a lunatic #the owl house #toh #caleb wittebane #evelyn clawthorne #revising for my poetry test and. listen #I'm not gonna assign my blorbos to 17th century metaphysical poetry. I'm not gonna do that #but i did doodle caleb and evelyn on a lot of my annotations (bc. okay in all fairness they're either ye olde love poems- #-or ye olde poems about salvation guilt faith and a fear of death and damnation. eithet way it's befitting alright?) #and now I'm thinking about them again #going to the ye olde gay club #it's probably just a tavern with some bards fuckin it up to medieval hips don't lie #(you guys remember medieval music covers in like 2020??? the first big weird music trend before sea shanties?? sm fun)

[thesongweave]

~The Ending, The Beginning~

I've had this playing around in my head for a few days now and thought I might try to write it out (Take two. The first draft got all over the place, lol)

Gale romance sacrifice, with a surprise!

Oh uh. ACT 3 SPOILERS??

and uh. TW: character...death? angst? kissy kissy at the end. Happy ending for all!

It had all gone to hell so fast.

Thea, Gale, Karlach, and Astarion had climbed the brain, along with illithid Orpheus.

Orpheus was dead, the netherstones motionless at his side. The Emperor - Balduran- was dead too.

Gale looked at the others still standing. Karlach was next to him, one arm hanging limp and useless at her side. Thea was unconscious in Gales arms - hells, he wasn't sure she was still breathing....

"Astarion!" Gale called the pale elf over. Even he was limping. With a questioning look, Gale shifted Thea to his hold.

Karlach started, staring Gale down. "No way, soldier - you're not seriously thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

Her answer was in his eyes. He didn't really need to say his next words, but he did.

"It's our last option. Orpheus is dead, none of us can control the stones." He gazed down at Thea, who started to stir slightly. "Its me, now, or the world, Karlach."

"You two, take care of her for me?" There was so much regret in his voice. So many things he had wanted to do, to live for. He'd wanted to show Alathea Waterdeep, take her home...

It didn't matter, now. What mattered was destroying the Netherbrain. Gale motioned Karlach over, who was still voicing protests.

"The last thing I can do, at least, is spirit you all to the others. To safety. It'll...it'll all be over soon." He nodded, decisively. He was reigned to his fate.

Gale laid a last kiss on Thea's lips before stepping away.

"Gale--"

"And tell her I love her." The wizard shook his hands. Blue began to glow from his hands as he uttered the words for the spell that would teleport his friends - and his lover - away.

Thea's eyes opened just as the spell began to take form. She struggled in vain against Astarion's hold, to no avail. The three disappeared, leaving Gale alone.

The Wizard of Waterdeep turned to face his destiny.

~*~

It was mere moments later that Karlach, Astarion, and Alathea materialized at the docks. Others of the rag-tag company made their way there - it had been the agreed upon rendevous spot, for when the fighting was done.

Everyone else had made it.

Thea, having regained some semblance of consciousness, glued her eyes to the Netherbrain above. She could hear Karlach and Astarion filling the others in, while Halsin, Shadowheart, and then Jaheria tried to get the bard to let them heal her.

She refused all three, tears in her eyes. Alathea wanted to scream, to run back and climb the brain stem again, and give that damn wizard such a shaking he'd never pull a stunt like this again---

The cry ripped through her, a primal scream that was felt in the elf's core as the Netherbrain exploded. Light and magic flew through the sky like shooting stars.

Then came the pain. That burning sensation as the tadpoles writhed and died. It was to much - between her wounds and the pain of the tadpole's death, then the sudden quiet in her mind, Alathea collapsed, unconscious again.

~*~

"Gale of Waterdeep." The voice echoed all around him. Said wizard blinked in confusion -- wait.

He was dead. He'd blown up the Netherbrain, the crown, the orb...

Mystra's smile was, well. An enigma, as ever. But there was something else to the way she studied him.

Gale looked down and saw his hand - his semi-translucent, almost incorporeal hand.

Before he could react, or speak, really, Mystra continued. "You have destroyed the Absolute, the Crown, and the Orb in one fell swoop, at the cost of your own life." She paused a moment, letting the fact sink in, before continuing.

"It is within me to grant a boon of you, Gale of Waterdeep. What would you ask of your goddess?" the goddess tilted her head, waiting.

Gale didn't even have to think about it.

"I want to go back."

"Go back? Is that all? It is within my power to select you as my Chosen, once again."

Gale stopped for a moment - this he pondered. Could he be her Chosen without being her lover?

Mystra smirked - or, what was the equivalent of a goddess smirking, at least. "Yes, Gale. You do not have to be my lover to be my Chosen. I know you desire to be with the one who was left behind."

"Then, yes. I will be your Chosen, again."

"Very well, if that is what you desire. You have done a great service - not only for your goddess but for magic itself. This will not be forgotten. Now go - your life is yours at last. It is time you went and lived it." Mystra waved her hand, almost like a dismissal, then vanished.

And so, Gale waited, drifting in the cosmos. He wondered, briefly, how he was supposed to get back. He did not have a body to reclaim, no --

He did not have to wait long until something tugged at him...

~*~

Chaos - literally, all hell - had broken loose as the tadpoles died with the explosion of the netherbrain. There were still mind flayers in the streets, now running rampant without an elder brain or anything to control it.

At first, the companions did not see Withers approaching - after all, who knew he was still around, much less bold enough to walk out in the daylight?

Most were tending to their wounds, the mood more somber than some would expect. After all, they had just saved Baldur's Gate.

Jaheria and Karlach finally dragged Alathea down to the nearby dock, away from the others; Thea finally relented to letting Jaheria work some healing magic on her wounds.

Astarion, sadly, had vanished, subject to the scorching sunlight without the tadpole to protect him.

Likewise, Lae'zel seemed to have slipped away with Voss and the other githyanki who now opposed Vlaakith.

Of those left, it was Shadowheart who noticed the old 'bag of bones'. "Withers? What are you doing here...?"

Withers motioned for them to gather 'round. "It hath been bidden that one shall return. A boon, granted." As ever, the skeleton / lich / being was cryptic. He motioned for the group to move - he needed room!

"I strike thy name from the ledger -- rise!!" They had seen Withers perform the resurrection spell before, in camp.

As Gale's body materializes, smiles and cheers rise from those who had witnessed his rather unexpected return.

Gale blinks, shaking his head. He himself had been lucky enough to NOT have had to go through the resurrection process, at least not like this. Slowly, sight and sound come into focus.

It was dawn. Friends surrounded him, whooping and hollering and clapping him on the shoulders. Some friends were missing, he noted, but...

There was one person in particular missing. Was he too late?

Shadowheart laughed and shook her head, then looked towards the dock. The cheering quieted, and the others stood aside for the wizard.

"Go, now, to thine companion." Withers intoned. "Mystra's bidding is done, thy life returned."

Gale took a deep breath, and started forward. Halsin, Wyll, Shadowheart, and Minsc were all just a few steps behind. It didn't take long to reach the dock.

Thea was sitting at the edge of the small dock, back to the city, and leaning against Karlach with her head on the tiefling's shoulder. Karlach's head rested atop Thea's, her arm around the small elf's shoulders. Jaheria was next to Thea, back resting against the wooden beam. Thea had, begrudgingly, let the druid heal up her wounds.

At the edge of the dock, the group stopped, and Halsin gave Gale an encouraging push forward.

The High Harper was the first to spot and acknowledge the oncoming group - and did a double take. She eyed the wizard up and down, an eyebrow arched. Hells, she wasn't one to question it - she had seen more impossible things in her time.

"Karlach, I think we are needed. Come," Jaheria called as she stood.

Karlach looked up to the Harper, not seeing Gale at first. "What the hells could we be needed---" The movement of his robes caught the tieflings eye. She also did a double take, nearly falling off the dock into the water. Her mouth worked this way and that, but no sound came out, so Karlach's jaw simply...hung there a moment before she jumped up.

"Thea! Thea, you...uhm. Gimme a moment, then turn around, kay?" Karlach finally exclaimed, detangling herself from her friend.

Thea, who had been completely zoned out to almost seeming catatonic, barely reacted. She simply waved a hand in the air to the two.

It broke Gale's heart, to see his lady love in such a state. Jaheria and Karlach scooted around the wizard to join the rest of their 'band of misfits'.

Well, Gale thought, it was now or never...

A smile crept up to his lips as he took the final few steps forward to stand just behind Alathea. Of course, he made sure there was still enough room for her to stand without falling off into the water as Karlach had almost done.

"Copper for your thoughts?" He said, voice low, but just loud enough to be heard over the water beating against the land.

Thea, still as she had been before, jerked at the voice.

No, she thought, ready to weep again, This is a cruel joke...

Part of her did not want to turn around. But she listened, instead, to the part of her that did.

So she turned. Green eyes first took in the hint of well-made boots peeking out from under the fine fabric of a familiar robe. Her gaze traveled upward, a fear gripping her heart like ice, yet hope lit a fire in her that just maybe... The bard stood carefully on wobbly, weak legs. The design of the fabric was a familiar one - and it should have been, she's the one who had the robe commissioned as a gift in the first place.

There. All to familiar hands were stretched outwards, arms open in an offered embrace. Finally, she dragged her eyes upward - the final stretch of what could make or break this illusion.

Maybe she was dead, and this was her lover welcoming her to the afterlife. Thea found herself stepping forward instinctively as green hazel eyes brimming with newfound tears met warm, loving brown.

"You -- how -- "She croaked out, throat dry and raw. It was barely above a whisper. Small, delicate fingers drifted up, stopping a bare inch or so from Gales's cheek.

He couldn't possibly be real. Thea had seen the explosion, felt in the final moments just before the tadpoles died, felt his death as he'd plunged the dagger through the orb.

"Oh, well," he shifted from one foot to the other, concern starting to make his confidence falter, "when a goddess grants a boon for causing the destruction of a few things---"

Any further commentary was cut off as the elf threw herself towards the wizard, arms wrapping around his shoulders as her lips pressed against his.

Gale WAS real and wonderfully solid. He wrapped his arms around Thea, holding her to him, relishing in the fact that she, too, was wonderfully real and solid against him.

He could hear their friends cheering not far behind him, but in this moment, all that mattered was the elf in his arms. Finally, she pulled away - not far, mind, just far enough to part to breathe.

"Hello, bard," he whispered with a smile.

Thea's answering smile was brilliant - a myriad of emotions played through her eyes, but mostly, there was relief, happiness, and love.

"Hello, wizard."

Death, it seemed (at least this time) was both an end and yet, a beginning.

Gale swore he would make the most of it.

~*~ And yea, I didn't blow up Karlach, cause :V there should've been a way to fix her engine, dammit.

#gale of waterdeep #idk but calling each other bard and wizard as terms of endearment #gale #baldurs gate 3 gale #baldurs gate gale #bg3 gale #gale bg3 #gale dekarios #gale romance #gale x tav #tav x gale #bg3 #bg3 headcanons #ending with a twist #i'm not normal about my ship okay #i'm also just not normal about this wizard #also fuck mystra #i tried to pull a bit from the Gale origin playthrough ending

[smolalienbee]

1x05 except Geralt and Jaskier are already married by the time they meet Yennefer // 226 words of some crack-y nonsense

“Jaskier. Is she flirting with me?”

“Is she - Geralt, are you really asking that?”

Geralt doesn’t respond at first. He turns to look at Jaskier, brows furrowed. Of course he’s asking that - there’s no good reason why Jaskier would still need clarification - except Jaskier continues to just look at him, as though waiting for him to say something.

“We’re married,” Geralt elaborates slowly. “Why would she flirt with me if she knows I’m married to you?”

“You - if she - you think she knows?”

“Yes.”

“Geralt, are you forgetting the part where she quite literally asked you if I was just your friend? To which you responded with… oh, what was it? Right, nothing. You never did respond to that question. And this entire time you’ve really thought that she knows?”

“Hm.”

“Oh, don’t you dare just hm this, husband mine, your absolute lack of words is how we’ve ended up in this situation in the first place! And no, don’t give me that look, either, you know very well I couldn’t have said anything while I was still choking on my own blood.”

A third voice joins them then and they both look over at where Yennefer stands, right in front of them. In fact, she has been standing there for the entire duration of their conversation.

“...You two do realize that I’m still here, right?”

#smolalienbeewrites #geraskier #twn #geraskefer #witcher #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier #married!geraskier #the witcher #witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #i keep trying to rewatch twn #and keep getting new ideas in the middle of it #today's was just 'okay but wouldnt it be hilarious if the reason why geralt #went all scrunkly face when yen asked about them being friends #is because they're already together or even better MARRIED' #but like obvs he doesnt say shit #so then this happens #this is literally just nonsense #i metaphorically wrote it on a restaurant napkin #so like enjoy ig #or i dont! i cant tell u how to live ur life