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dapandapod · 11 months

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Hii! For mermay prompts, how about depth for geraskier (ofc)

WHY YES OF COURSE FRANKSTER! and uh, I made you choose between prince and amnesia, because both of those popped into my head at the prompt. Prince was chosen and here we are! Hope you enjoy! <3

(also feel free to prompt me, here or on tumblr, i am on a writing spree and olsdfkj sorry for posting like 4 times in a day)

Send me a pairing and a word and I will make you some words? ❤️

On Ao3 here

Jaskier has been gone for too long. Geralt has been pacing their room for hours.

Yes, he did promise to stay put for a couple days, to wait for Jaskier’s… whatever he is doing. Or who.

The shoddy fisher village is gray, cold, everything covered in a thin layer of salt the spray of the waves offer in its violent rage.

Wind is whipping around the little wooden houses– sheds, really. It’s been three days since Jaskier left. Three days, and he was supposed to be back this morning.

Is this how it feels to be left behind when Geralt himself leaves for a contract?

Possibly, because no matter how much Jaskier had told him to stay put, to wait, to just fucking trust him damnit, Geralt is fretting.

Finally he gives in.

Leaving the room the kind elderly lady is lending them, Geralt stalks outside. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.

The people here are not afraid of him, but seem to keep a distance from the bard. Everything about this place seems grey, but still it seems like the ever colorful Jaskier returns here, over and over again.

He starts with the aldermans house. They don’t have a tavern, the little gathering of houses far too small for such luxuries.

“The bard? You should check by the docks, or the boat house. He usually is out with the boat this time a year.”

He..what? Boat?

What the fuck is Jaskier doing?!

Geralt leaves without saying good bye, and the bard would have scolded Geralt for his bad manners, but he isn’t fucking here, is he?!

The boat house is, predictably, just down by the water. There is a long dock leading into the water, two smaller fishing boats tied to it.

An elderly man and someone who looks like his son sits by the house, mending nets.They look up when he approaches, shielding their eyes against the setting sun.

“Have you seen a bard around here? Jaskier? Brown hair, blue eyes, a lute and the worst fashion sense known to man?”

The elderly man presses his lips to a thin line and ducks his head. His son studies the witcher for a long moment, sizing him up, before responding.

“Aye,” he says, “What is it to you, witcher?”

“He’s my friend.” Geralt manages, working hard around a word that feels so inadequate. “And he is missing.”

“No more, lad,” the elderly man mutters, “Bad luck, it is.”

Geral frowns, trying not to let his impatience get the better of him.

“I’ll make it worth your while. Six crowns.”

“Florens.” The son corrects. “Ten. And I’ll take you to where we left him.”

The elderly fisherman refuses to come. Speaking of ill omens and bad luck, of not talking to the sea. The son takes him anyway, the sea getting oddly misty as they go further out with the boat.

“Coin is sparse out here, but my niece is sick. I’d rather leave the sea altogether than see her hurt,” the son says, rowing the boat towards a previously hidden little rock formation, barely an island. “Da doesn’t want to speak of it, speak of evil and it shall come, he says. We don’t need more sirens, he says.”

Geralt eyes him, then the sky. He can’t hear any flapping of wings, nor splashing of their tails. The water is calm, but the mist lays thick and hides both sight and sound.

The little boat touches the edge of the rock with a soft sound when they arrive.

“This is where I let him off every year,” the son says. “And pick him up after a few days. Know nothing but that.”

The florens trade hands, and when Geralt gets off, he pushes back into the water.

“I’ll be back in an hour. It’s probably superstition, but I don’t much like this place.”

Inspecting the area, Geralt finds it bare of both bards and life. He climbs around it, eventually finding an expensive looking chest with a solid lock on it.

It looks strange out here, oddly devoid of the wear and tear one would expect wood around the shore. Geralt picks the lock with ease, and when opens the lid, it doesn’t make a sound.

Inside it is a very familiar lute, and neatly folded clothes. Geralt’s heart sinks, but he has a trace now, something. He rummages around, finding everything Jaskier had brought but his jewellery. Even his underclothes is here.

Geralt closes it again, locks it carefully.

There should be traces here, anything to lead him to where Jaskier is.

The scent is old, barely there and hidden by the salty smell of the sea. Geralt will never complain about Jaskier’s perfume ever again.

It leads him to the other side of the little island, across the rocks on a path that looks surprisingly smooth and well walked.

Geralt stops when water starts lapping at his feet.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

Either Jaskier has been hiding something from him, or something very bad has happened. And either truth still means Jaskier is missing, and that he went into the water. And from the sound of it, has been coming to the water for years.

Geralt trails back to the chest, takes off his boots and heavy armor. Takes off everything but his trousers, and two silver daggers.

The stone is smooth under his feet, and quickly gets slippery as it continues out into the water.

It’s cold, his skin pebbles when he gets as deep as his knees. Then the rock abruptly ends. Geralt breathes deep, and dives. Cat and killer whale would have been useful, but he didn’t know he would have to go swimming when they got out here.

Geralt has almost swum around the entire island when he notices the formations. Runes carved into stone, worn smooth by time and water.

With another deep breath, he follows it down, down, down, and what little sunlight was left quickly disappears down here.

There is an opening a bit further down. And eyes. Many eyes.

Geralt realizes too late that he is surrounded, and there are clawed fingers and webbed hands pulling him deeper still, and into the opening.

His lungs are burning for air, and he is quickly disoriented, his elbows scraping against stone and harsh hands making him unable to reach for his knives.

Suddenly, they breach the surface, and Geralt pants harshly as he is dragged onwards and thrown onto a slimy rock. Broken shells of crabs and clams are spread out, and bones of fishes of all sizes lie spread among them.

Now free from his attacker, Geralt reaches for the dagger and turns to face them, but a beautiful face filled with fangs hisses at him as they retreat backwards, and another set of hands grip him hard.

Geralt can’t entirely make out if it is siren or mer people or something completely else, but more hands grip him, wrestling the knife from his hand.

“Walk!” one hisses, “You were looking, and you found us. Walk!”

Her voice is almost human, but her tongue is unused to his language. They shove him forward, deeper into the cave. It gets darker and darker, until suddenly Geralt realizes the walls are glowing.

Aluminescent is probably the right word for it. Algae covers the walks, swirling lines make patterns he feels like he has seen somewhere before.

It takes him until the now narrow walkway opens up into a bigger space that Geralt realizes where he recognizes it from. The embroidery of Jaskier’s clothes.

When Geralt locks eyes with Jaskier across the room, the bard’s jaw is slack with surprise when he sees him

“Geralt,” he says, but oh.

Oh.

Jaskier doesn’t have a tail, but his skin is glimmering with the same pattern as the walls. He is sitting in the middle of the open space, on a rock slanting out to a deep, clear pool. It almost looks like a throne room.

Around his feet are merpeople of different shapes and sizes.

The guards shoves him back when Geralt attempts to take a step forward, and Geralt bares his teeth to them.

“Stop it,” Jaskier says, voice commanding.

The guards, now that Geralt sees them, look like a strange hybrid of fish and man. Claws and fins and webbed fingers and hissing breaths, but they keep their distance, as they are told.

Jaskier is still wearing his rings and his necklace, but little else. On his brow is a circlet, thin and adorned with shells and crowned with a mother of pearls.

“I told you to wait,” Jaskier says, tilting his head.

“You didn’t come back. It’s been three days,” Geralt says, feeling foolish without not really knowing why.

“Has it? I’m sorry, time passes strangely down here.”

They just look at each other for a long while, for once the bard too seems at a loss for words.

“You don’t look like them,” Geralt says finally, indicating at the more fish-like guards behind him.

“I don’t,” Jaskier agrees, “Many mer these days are closer to sirens, but those close to the royal family are more humanoid.”

Jaskier gives a crooked smile when he sees Geralt wracks his brain.

“I told you I was a noble, didn’t I?”

“You said viscount.” Geralt suddenly remembers. “Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenove.”

“Ah yes, well. That is some of the truth, yes. Don’t give me that look, Geralt, I didn’t lie to you. I just happen to be a prince too.”

Geralt blinks, and Jaskier looks back at him, sitting proudly despite the light frown.

“Mer prince? Is that why you don’t have a tail?” Geralt asks carefully, and the guard next to him rolls his eyes so hard his head moves with it.

“I do have a tail, my friend. When I choose to. The perks of royalty, wouldn’t you say?” he says with a smirk, “Now, as happy as I am to see you here, and for you to meet my family, this is… not ideal. I wish… It doesn’t matter. You are here now. Ligeia, let him through. I think it is time he is given the tour.”

“But my prince-” Ligeia says with her weird, hissing voice, but Jaskier waves her off.

“I have spent more time with him than you are old. Let him come to me.”

Geralt is let through, and Jaskier offers his hand. It is not something they usually do, not while awake, but Geralt accepts it anyway.

Jaskier is cool to the touch, but his hands feel the same. Same callouses, same scar just over his thumb from a stupid accident with a branch.

He is led towards the other side of the rock, into the clear pool.

“Not the way I wanted to show you, but I’m glad you are here,” Jaskier whispers, like a confession. Hand in hand, they dive.

When they return to the outside world, the stars are out. When Geralt worries about how they will get back, Jaskier waves him off.

“They always kind of know when I need to go back. I think that is a part of why they don’t trust me.”

Yeah, that makes sense. Splashing of ores breaks the serene silence around them, and the son stares at them a bit wide eyed.

The ride back is more tense than last time, despite Jaskier’s chattering.

When they get back to their room, Geralt realizes they are still holding hands.

“Well, my prince,” he says teasingly, “I think we have some talking to do.”

#the witcher #geraskier #but kind of inspired by all the canons #jaskier is missing #geralt of rivia #jaskier #mermay #prince!jaskier #mer!jaskier #dapanda writes #pre slash #the witcher 3 #a little bit at least #the witcher fic

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lustypuppy · 5 months

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It's so funny being into pet-play and also being autistic. Like yes I do get sexual gratification at being talked to like a dog but also I am just literally a dog.

If I had a genuine tail to wag to express myself I think I'd honestly be so much better at communicating with other people. Head scritches are like the height of bliss, like I fully think I understand what it feels like to be a pet when my hair is played with, just a warm joy that makes you want to rest your eyes and forget the world. I've always and continue to sniff my food before I eat it and would say on a good day I have a pretty distinct sense of smell. I love pretty much all kinds of meat and I eat a lot of it, and when it comes to stuff like steak I want that shit pink, bleeding a little bit. I wish my canines were sharper so that they more resembled dog teeth. I feel that pack bond when I'm with my friends and I'm just as loyal, would die for each and every one of them and wouldn't think twice about it.

But yes also tug me around on my leash like I'm walking too fast ahead of you and give commands to me in an assertive voice to show you're the one in charge, give me treats when im good, get me toys I can chew on and play fetch with you with, tell me not to use my words and only to respond in barks, whimpers, and whines. Coo praise into my ears as you pound into my cunt, tell me how good of a boy I am when I cum into you, discipline me when I've been a bad puppy, let me curl into bed with you after, nestled against your side as I kick in my sleep, dreaming of sweet nothings.

So yes! It is a sex thing but also no it isn't. Hope this helps!

#hornyposting #i guess?#a little bit at least #petpl4y #on all levels except physical i am a dog #no but actually #like im a dog like im a freak #but also i am just a dog #autism is a crazy but beautiful thing

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dungeonbf · 3 months

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more mtl s/i thoughts... actual name would just be my name (øystein) but he gets realllll deep into his stage persona, to the point it's a bit jarring hearing his actual name. he's constantly in corpsepaint & these huge platforms covered in spikes... he's usually wearing a slutty little tanktop when not in his hooded cloak & his hair's super long, far down his back... hmm, he's kind of pathetic too. his vocals are super screechy and raw and he's sooo melodramatic & edgy.... talks about how medieval torture methods are "actually a bit romantic, if you think about it" also he's hmm. i think he's good at guitar but not like skwisgaar level, he's proficient though. he prefers vocals over anything. huge fanboy, like while touring with dethklok, he's constantly sweating and shaking and can barely look the band in the eye. i think toki and him would bond the fastest and toki would inevitably øystein to skwisgaar and thus, the polycule is born

#he'd be like kekht arakh i think... that's what i'm inspiring him off of #a little bit at least #euro.txt #guitarcule

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theprodigxl-daughter · 1 year

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so, the brazilian right wing who has always criticized the left for defending inmates human rights is now crying, asking about their human rights after being detained/imprisoned for terrorism and for trying to stage a coup...... i can't make this up

#i have to admit i AM laughing #even though i am sure that after this they will continue to deny the most basic human rights to other inmates #because in their vision they deserve human rights. not other people #but yeah #now they get it :D #a little bit at least #brazil #brasil #human rights #not religion related

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oh-gh0st · 7 months

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ok i feel better now

#ghosts rambles #a little bit at least #im gonna go throw clothes in the wash for tomorrow and write my idiots kissing

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barbieaiden · 10 months

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i absolutely love reading stuff from when i was like 11. 11-year-old me was like what do you mean this contemporary story has to be somewhat grounded in reality. what do you mean all the protagonists can't be snappy and sarcastic and have a bit of a temper. what do you mean i have to give the love interest a personality

#i truly did not give a fuck i wrote what i thought would be fun to write #and honestly i'm trying to go back to that #a little bit at least

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transingthoseformers · 1 year

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Maybe the reason we don't see much of Primus in the other continuities is because he's busy being active in IDW

#things i thought of when i was reminded that Unicron and him are multidimensional beings #the continuities all share custody of the same fuckin two dudes apparently #except unicron in transformers energon. that part of the guy is fucking dead #transformers #i hope this makes sense #a little bit at least #unicron singularity #or at least it's related to it

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awhitehead17 · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022: Day 24 - Fight, Flight, or Freeze

Prompt: Blood Covered Hands

Summary: After watching Damian almost bleed out to death, Jason is left feeling disconnected with himself. Dick follows him home to make sure he’s okay and without being asked too offers his support where he needs it.

Enjoy! :D

No matter how much he tries to remove it, the substance doesn’t leave his skin. He rubs his hands raw trying to remove the blood that coats them but it isn’t getting him anywhere.

He’s been stood at the bathroom sink for who knows how long by now and has tried everything to get the stains off his skin. He’s tried soap, hot water, cold water, disinfectant, shampoo, and yet nothing seems to be working in getting rid of the red that still covers his hands. He’s now considering to trying to use bleach, there’s a bottle of the stuff he can spot in the corner of the room, it’s very tempting.

Perhaps if he were in his right mind he would realise that his hands are in fact clean and he’s only causing his own skin to bleed now instead. However since that is not the case, he’s currently not in his right mind, all Jason can see is Damian’s blood plastered over his hands. Blood that shouldn’t be on Jason’s body, blood that should’ve remained in Damian’s body which didn’t because of poor decisions and life threatening consequences.

Damian barely made it to Leslie’s clinic. The kid had been inches away from death. Jason got an update who knows how long ago on the kid’s health and while he’s still unconscious apparently he’s going to be fine with time, Dr Tompkins stitched him together, gave him blood and ultimately saved his life. Her actions, unlike Jason’s, saved the kid’s life, all Jason did was stand around while the culprit who wounded Damian escaped.

Snarling Jason lets out a noise in frustration and slams his hands down on the side of the sink before gripping it tightly. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes as what occurred that evening replays in his mind. Damian getting shot multiple times, Jason watching it from a distance unable to prevent it from happening and then how he had to make a decision on whether to go after asshole or stay behind to put pressure on the wounds. Knowing the kid could bleed out if his wounds weren’t treated Jason stayed behind until help arrived, by that point his hands and clothes and even the floor were covered in Damian’s blood and the kid was barely breathing.

Jason went with them until Damian got taken away to be operated on and immediately left once he heard Damian was going to be okay. As soon as he got into his apartment he made way for the bathroom and started to scrub at his hands to get rid of the blood, the blood that’s gone but has left a stain behind.

“Jason.”

At the sound of his name Jason’s head snaps up and he opens his eyes to look in the mirror opposite him, in the reflection he sees Dick standing in the doorway wearing a frown and looking concerned. By the looks of it, it seems like the guy’s been standing there for a while and Jason wonders how long he had been watching him scrub uselessly at his hands.

“What you doing here Dick?” Jason asks neutrally. He would normally snap at one of bat’s randomly appearing in his home but Jason finds he just doesn’t have the energy to do so that night.

“Damian is going to be fine. Leslie is going to keep him in overnight and if it all seems okay she’s going to give the greenlight for him to be transferred back to the Manor in the morning.”

Jason pauses, of course he’s glad to hear that, however he already knew that information. It doesn’t answer his question on why Dick is here in his apartment.

“Great,” he comments blandly, “Bruce is probably thrilled with that. It doesn’t answer why you’re here though.”

Dick sighs and shakes his head. The elder walks into his bathroom and comes to stop by his side, no longer able to see him clearly in the mirror Jason is forced to turn around to face him in order to do so.

Dick seems to hesitate before answering, it also doesn’t escape Jason’s notice how his gaze lingers at his hands before flicking up to look at his face. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Jason snorts and looks back down at his red hands. “I’m not the one currently unconscious after almost bleeding out to death.”

“No. But you are the one who stopped that from happening.” Dick’s words are said with that no-nonsense tone he’s somehow picked up from Alfred. It’s infuriating because its hard to argue with that tone.

“I didn’t do much.” Jason says in the end, almost petulantly.

Dick doesn’t respond right away. Instead his brother leans over the sink and turns on the tap, he tests the waters temperature with his finger before gently gripping Jason’s hands with his own. At that point he hesitates for a moment, looking up at Jason with a questioning gaze but when Jason doesn’t react Dick continues on, he guides Jason’s hands underneath the lukewarm water and dabs at them with a clean cloth that materialized from somewhere.

That’s when it finally becomes clear in his mind that his hands are clean, the blood he had been long trying to clean off his skin was all just a figment of his imagination.

“You saved his life by putting pressure on his wounds. I know you would have wanted to go after the shooter but by staying with Damian you saved his life. You are the reason why he's survived today, he would have bled out completely before we were able to get him to the clinic.”

Dick points this out to him as he turns off the tap and moves to dry Jason’s hand with a towel. When he’s done, Jason’s hands are left red from where he viciously scrubbed at them and slightly tender to touch. Dick pulls away from him then, looking at him with a soft smile.

“It may feel like you failed today because after all Damian did get wounded and he almost died, however that didn’t happen because you were able to save his life in the end. It’s easy to say but we shouldn’t get caught up in the what if’s, that won’t do us any good. For now we rejoice in the fact Damian is okay.”

Dick’s speech leaves Jason feeling winded. He has no idea on how to respond to that. Normally he would either snap or make a comment about him being sappy, although for some reason Jason just doesn’t have it in him to do it. Jason currently feels drained and tired to the point that he doesn’t feel like himself.

Fortunately Dick seems to know that Jason needs his space in that moment, his brother steps away and starts heading out of the bathroom.

“Now I don’t know about you but I’m hungry. So you go and get changed and I’ll order us some take out.”

He’s gone before Jason could comment. Jason blinks at the empty space before shaking his head and accepting it. He knows what Dick is doing, his brother is giving him space but isn’t leaving him alone, it’s his way of looking after him without being all in his face about it. For once Jason finds himself easily accepting it, maybe some company that night won’t be such a bad thing after all.

#Whumptober 2022 #Day Twenty Four #Blood covered hands #Jason Todd #dick grayson #bat bros #protective siblings #hurt jason #big brother dick grayson #hurt and comfort #tw: blood #talk of blood #a little bit at least #disconnection #support #batfam #fanfiction

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myriadof-fandoms · 2 years

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billy hargrove - you can't rely (counterfeit)

#this from jamie bower's old band btw #banger of a song #band fucking slapped i had the privilege of seeing them live and it was one of the best shows #anyway this was what i did to keep sane while studying #did only halfway work but here we are like 3 exams later #about to fucking lose it #also yes i took these lyrics very literal and essentially called karen and her friends a pack of wolves that see billy as a piece of meat #i regret nothing about that whatsoever #billy hargrove #harringrove #a little bit at least #stranger things #stranger things edit #billy hargrove edit #mimi makes things #lyrics #you can't rely #counterfeit.#counterfeit #i cannot for the life of me remember if there is a . at the end of that #i also dont care and i'm due another crying session #then i'm gonna to take another 300 screenshots to make an edit of san diego by blink for billy and max

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thegizardofmars · 2 years

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Guess what clown vibing hard today, THIS clown

#tis me #in a t shirt-hausen #im in such a good mood today #and my makeups on point too☺️#my hairs frizzy as fuck but ignore that😂#clowncore #a little bit at least #my face

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lupicalled · 2 years

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things i want from the mondstadt event regarding razor lore:

a DECENT explanation on what happened to his parents. and by decent i mean don’t just say “oh they went off on a trip and never came back” or something throwaway like that. make me understand why - if they didn’t tragically die when razor was an infant - they felt it was BETTER to leave their infant son in the wild than take him with them. because if we don’t get that, any other excuse is fucked up.

if it’s true that varka knew who razor’s parents were all this time and never told him, i want some emotion regarding that. because quite frankly if he did that, it’s fucked up. address why varka never said anything if he did know.

more interaction between razor and mondstadters

lisa??? at all??? even if she just TALKS about razor. he’s her student and they are NEVER seen together.

also diluc and razor anything. anything at all. give me his (adoptive) parents interaction.

razor happy. he deserves that.

#( wishlist . )#3.1 spoilers #update spoilers #the mondstadt event is supposedly gonna have razor focus #a little bit at least #ask to tag

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laeorinel · 2 years

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FFXIV Write 2022 - Day 12

Prompt - Miss the boat.

Shadowbringers MSQ spoilers. Itty bit of ThancredxWol in there because I've been in a shippy mood as of late but honestly I think it's vague enough it can be ignored.

The last few days had passed in a blur, the panicked retreat from Mount Gulg having him revert to pure instinct. While Thancred typically made a point of staying entirely aware of his surroundings, he didn't know if he was coming or going right now. "Keep moving. Need to save her. Cannot fail again." This mantra was repeated over and over in his head until they eventually crossed over into the Crystarium.

As he waited alongside Ryne in Samara's room at the pedants, he knew there was likely something else he could be doing, should be doing, but at this moment, he just felt lost.

Samara lay on the bed before him, her breathing worryingly shallow. Her skin was now a few shades paler than it should be, her normally black scales and horns taking on a golden hue and her black hair turning pure white at the roots. Ryne was doing what she could to keep the Light raging inside her in check, but they all knew it was a stopgap measure at best. Something to delay the inevitable.

She was dying. The Light would soon overwhelm her, Samara Kha would cease to be, and a new Light Warden would be born wearing her face.

And it was because of them. Because of him.

He should have said or done something. He had figured from the start that Samara being the solution to all of the First's problems was too convenient. That there had to be a catch. Instead, he just went along with the Exarch's and Urianger's schemes, trusting the men had a plan. The Exarch had not led him astray in all the years he had been in the First; why would he betray them at the end? And while Urianger kept his own counsel and had his moments of duplicity, it was ultimately for the greater good.

And he would be lying if he said a part of him had not believed them. That she would be the saviour they needed. After all, she had been so many times before. What was one more miracle added to the list?

The leather of his gloves creaked as he clenched his fists. He was guilty of the very thing he had wanted to admonish Ser Aymeric for back in Ishgard in more ways than one.

He had fallen into the trap so many others before him had, believing that the Warrior of Light was unstoppable. That she could conquer any hardship through sheer stubbornness and force of will alone. That she could shoulder any burden placed on her and did so willingly. And that somehow despite the odds against her, she would win. That she would always come back to them. To him.

As the sailors back in Limsa Lominsa would say, he had missed the boat on this one. Both to stop this outcome and the chance to say what needed to be said. Whatever their nebulous relationship could be defined as now, he did not want this to be the end, yet he could feel what time was left slipping through his fingers like fine sand.

He unclenches his fists as he watches the flow of Ryne's aether into Samara slow and ebbs away. "Is she stable?"

"For now." Ryne sighed, frowning as she saw what looked like cracks forming on Samara's skin, as though it was porcelain instead of flesh.

Thancred nods once, uncrossing his arms and holding a hand for Ryne. "Come on. Let's meet with the others, see if they have made some progress in finding a treatment."

He knew there would be none, but he had to keep hoping they would find something that would help—both for his and Ryne's sakes. The alternative was unthinkable.

Ryne looks at Samara before taking Thancreds hand and pulling herself to her feet. "Should she be left alone?"

He lowers his head, watching Samara's almost serene expression as she rests. Were it not for her breathing; he would think she was already gone. "Were time on our side, I would have one or both of us stay, but the best thing we can do for her now is to try and find something that will help. Whether it be a treatment or a plan if- when she deteriorates further." He bites out those last few words.

Thancred takes one last look towards the bed before turning towards the door, Ryne close on his heels. His heart aches in a way it hasn't since he lost Minfillia, and he finds himself repeating the same old prayers to the Twelve he did then, but this time two more deities are added to the mix.

If the Twelve would not protect her, perhaps her Elder Gods would.

#ffxiv write 2022 #ffxivwrite2022 #thancred x wol #a little bit at least #ffxiv fanfiction

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