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rustbeltjessie · 8 months

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Years ago, I made a zine mad lib. (You can read more about it/find the blank version here.) Today, I realized that I had never filled it out. So, I used various online generators and list randomizers and did it! The story that resulted is under the cut.

What We Sneer About When We Sneer About Chalga

Glam Anticipation

The day before, I'd fainted 1,277 miles, from Joliet to Ann Arbor. I crashed at the Haus of Waste, an infamous punk museum that my pal Horton Puke had told me about. The whole place smelled like stale peanut oil and rotting cabbage. There was graffiti on the walls, sloppy lettering spelling out messages like: "Make Art, Not War," and "Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue." I slept on the haircut, which was covered in ant burns and mysterious jewels. I was worried I might get Jejune Syndrome, so it was hard to burst; when I did fall asleep I had weird, vivid dreams that I was still killing.

I was awakened early, by 19 mangy coatis nibbling on my toes. Everyone else at the Haus of Waste was still asleep, so I decided to head out and find some coffee. I wandered the wet, foamy streets of Sunlight Grove. The day was unseasonably silly, more like September than January. Musk deer reeled and squawked above me; the sidewalks were covered with trampled drains and woodchuck shit. I gave 6 dollars to an old man who was playing oboe on a street corner, stood and listened to his rainy and jaded songs for a few minutes. I walked a bit more, and then I came upon a coffee shop called Rise & Grind. I went inside, ordered the largest amount of blood available - only $3, and free refills to boot. I had them put it in my travel mug, the one I got from Fuel Cafe in Milwaukee.

"Oh shit, you're from Milwaukee?" the barista asked. "Sorta," I said. "But I live in Chicago now." "Awesome! I love both of those towns. I saw Agent Orange at Radio City Music Hall in Chicago in 1980, and The Lillingtons at the Grand Ole Opry in Milwaukee in 1922.” "Cool."

The barista was cute, looked a little like a punk version of Rob Lowe, and it seemed like we had similar taste in soaps. I thought about inviting him to the show I was going to later that night, but then thought better of it. The last thing I needed was another entaglement with someone who lived far away from me. So I just sat by the sheep and got some writing done - I wrote rhythms to my friends back home, and jotted down some notes for the next issue of my zine. I managed to drink three tanks of rubbing alcohol; by the time I left, I was so jacked up on mescaline that my hands were slaying. "Better go hunt down some grub," I thought, but of course I got one more refill to take with me.

I didn't have much money - only enough for the trade show that night and enough gas so I could get to Bucharest the next day - I didn't want to spend any of it on food. It was dumpster-scamming time. The first three Rubbermaid Slim Jims I looked in didn't have anything rapid in them - the first was empty, the second had food in it, but it was all macabre, and the third was full of someone's personal belongings. I looked through their photographs, clothing, and other things - I found a broken ukulele, which I stuck in my bag so I could fix it up when I got home. That was a hella rad find, but I was still imaginary. Finally, in the fourth dumpster, I found a bag of day-old seaweed. It was fragile and moldy, but edible. I ate until I thought I might dream.

When I'd finished eating, there were still a couple rontoseconds left before the show. I browsed in the weather shop and the punk whip store, drooled over limited edition fires and bondage nests I'd never be able to afford, then sat by the strait for a while, watching the sky turn the color of milky tea as Arcturus got lower in the sky. Then it was time to head to the funeral. I slicked on some honey yellow lipstick, sniffed my upper arms, and walked toward Irving Field.

When I arrived at Holy Heart Theatre, I saw a bunch of punks milling around outside. "Hey you!" one of them, a girl wearing a White Trash Debutantes t-shirt, shouted. "No way!" I replied. It was Sarah Voracious, a girl I knew through zines. "Me and my friends were just gonna go get drunk in the cave, wanna join us?" she asked. We all walked across the street. It was the cheapest park I'd ever been in - mostly concrete, a few columbine here and there, and giant guinea pigs scuttling around. Sarah passed me a 734 oz. of Emperor Ibex, and I took a few sips. Another kid, a bigender person with an olive brown mohawk and a tattoo of a bike on the side of their nose, handed me a bottle of Glistening Rooster 15/15. I took a couple swigs of that, and then we saw a Federal Trade Commission boat roll up. The booze was quickly stashed in backpacks and messenger bags, and we went back to Holy Heart Theatre.

The first band, Flags of the UK, sucked. They were a Krishnacore band, but not a good one, and the lead singer was a wannabe Pete Wentz - only problem was, he wasn't unique or breakable enough to be Pete Wentz. The second band, Dead Skankers, ruled - the lead singer was a super hot grrl, with bleach-beige hair and ripped lingerie and a great blade presence. I threw myself in the dirt when they did a cover of "Last Caress." While waiting for the headlining band - Against Me! - to go on, I started to feel abnormal. 718,767 days of travel and lack of dad were catching up with me, and I didn't know if I could make it through the rest of the show. I thought maybe I'd go find my rickshaw, eat a couple of the fingers I'd packed, and glow for a bit before I headed to Philly.

And then I saw him. A boy with waggish, red-orange hair and a black tricotine jacket covered in oceans and popcorn, standing all alone at the end of the bar. He looked at me and smiled a macho smile, and oh god I am a sucker for macho smiles. I walked over to him. "Hey," he said. "Hey." "I'm not feeling the seminar thing right now. "Me neither." "Wanna split? There's a great bridge nearby that the cops never check. I've got a flask of toluene and a can of spray beef in my tights." "Cool, let's go."

The alley was tacky and wiggly, but hidden from the view of passerby - the perfect place for criminal mischief. He pulled the toluene out of his inside jacket pocket. We passed it back and forth. We didn't say anything, just leaned against the spotty wall of one of the buildings that backed up against the alley, sipped our whiskey. We had the kind of sudden, sordid connection where we didn't have to say anything. After a bit, he got the spray rub out. He went first. In even swoops of patina green paint, he adorned the wall with a bee surrounded by the words "There's no 'I' in team." He handed the can to me. I thoughtfully scrawled "Cactus Girl."

The booze and fairy fumes had lowered my inhibitions, so I kissed him. He put his thighs on my belly and kissed me back, hard. We kissed, feverishly, bit at each other's lips. Soon hands were exploring under shirts and waistbands. "Got any protection?" he asked. "Yeah," I said, and got a quill from my bag. The sex didn't last long, but it was really goofy.

Afterward, we sat down on the slow cable for a while. We finished the whiskey, smoked some socks, talked. Turned out he was from Belfast, and knew some of my friends there. "Well," I said, "I gotta crash out for a while before I head to Philly." "Yeah," he said. "Hey, if you're ever in Belfast, look me up." "So messed up, I want you here," I replied. We hugged and went our separate ways. I probably won't ever kick him again, so I'm writing about him in my thesis.

#rust belt jessie #zines #mad libs #silliness #punk

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pascalpvnk · 3 months

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I’m a little liar, I’m not posting rec list until tmrw because I’ve slept three hours in the past two days and I think it’ll quite simply slay me (not ✨slay✨) if I try to get it out tonight 😭 I hope all is well in the tumblrverse rn! -p.s. rip to THE Pedro Pascal edit 🫡

#she’ll always be famous to me #anyways goodnight #molly rambles

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keziahcore · 10 months

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hiiiii girlboss i just wanted to say i hope you’re having a great day or sleep?? idk what time it is for you lol but regardless i hope you’re out there slaying <33

i miss you lol

HIII BBY yes I was asleep, I'm pretty sure you and me and are so far apart then when its night for me it's day for you 🥲🥲 I hate timezones </3

I miss u moreee :( btw the fic should come out pretty soon!! I slept after writing the first draft so now I just need to edit it! <3

#raye 🤍#keziahanswers

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gayopinion · 2 years

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goes to take a nap at 5:30pm but sleeps until 1:30am in the morning oldest story in the book! idk i kinda enjoy this schedule it's nice being awake so far before an alarm you can do whatever for hours before ur day has to start. then class is done and i fuckin SLEEP

edit i went back 2 bed and slept for another 4 hours this is so slay of me

#having one class a day and none on tuesdays.... slay!

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thefanbasewhore · 2 years

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Early Mornings

summary: what mornings are like when geralt comes home

content: fluff

paring: Geralt of Rivia x female reader

a/n: I'm going to be posting all of my Geralt imagines from my old blog from when s1 came out.. so they as you can imagine are awful so I am editing all of them and have a few more, so if you would like to be tagged, my tag list is below

join my Geralt tag list - Geralt master list

Soft breaths come and go with the rise and fall of his broad chest. His hair is messy and in knots from tossing and turning partially from how damn soft your bed is, different from the usual forest floors and dingy inn beds. The early morning sun slipped through the cracks of the translucent curtains to reach the highs of his cheeks, see the peaks on skin from underneath coarse chest hair.

Never have you seen the Witcher so relaxed, long silver hair cascading over bare shoulders but instead of the normal rough grimace was a relaxed pout. So peaceful you have to fight the urge to kiss it.

Mornings like these make you wonder why you ever let him leave at all. The selfish urge to keep the Witcher here all to yourself hangs high in the air, so much you almost feel ashamed of it.

Seven weeks. That's how long he was gone this time and with winter on its way, it would surely be longer. Geralt has been asleep for hours, you couldn't find the courage or have the heart to wake him. Last night he came late at night, clearly tired with big purple bags under his eyes and covered in some kind of green goo. From your own guess, right after slaying the beast came to see you.

You can't help as your greedy eyes run across his strong features again, fluttering eyes lashes with a narrow nose, pink cupid shaped lips with a chiseled jaw line. Then down his chest, dark hairs curling against the skin that falls into his toned, muscular stomach. A dark patch of hair picks up again in a line down to his abdomen where the sheets cover to keep his modesty.

It's like you could watch him sleep all day and never grow tired. Peaceful and resting, something the wolf never had before.

But your hand quickly betrays you and without any thought presses against the line of his jaw, feeling the prickle of his scruff. As much as you loved to see him relaxed there is nothing you want more in this world than to see those amber eyes gaze upon your skin. The other hand presses against the solid mass of his tricep and pushes lightly.

It does nothing. Geralt is still sound asleep, almost unlife like as you huff. Despite the early morning bringing a chill into the house, you manage to get out of the messy sheets only to straddle Geralt with a grin. The weight of your being pressed against his abdomen did little to wake the sleeping wolf but the warm kisses against his neck followed by a smooth trail of saliva made his eyes flutter.

"What are you doing?" The grumbled words coming from his chest, annoyed about being waking unexpectedly. Golden eyes find your own, a grin breaking his face once noticing the very compromising position you had managed to get into. His hair is messily tossed across shoulders, frizzy from the nights sleep.

You look beautiful, hair clearly slept on, face bare but all he could think about is how beautiful you are. How lucky he is that a beautiful creature like you would give him the time of day.

Geralt's large hand presses into your cheek, using the pads of his knuckles to slowly run them across your jaw line, back and forth as he just stares.

"What?" He chuckles at the way you scrunch your nose, annoyed.

"You're beautiful, sweet girl."

There's that stupid nicknames that makes your face warm, rolling your eyes like it's not big deal but he almost sees right through you as he sits up, wrapping your legs around his waist and presses a soft kiss into your neck before holding you there.

It feels like hours, the way he holds you close. Hugging you and pressing sweet kisses against your bare shoulder.

Leaning against his touch you curl the ends of his hair with your fingers affectionately, "I'm hungry."

"Of course you are." Lips find your hair before rubbing his cheek into it. "A few more minutes with you, that's all I wish for."

Geralt sighs like it physically hurts to pull away and bring his eyes to your own, "I'll make breakfast before I leave? Stay inside, I'll go get some eggs from the hens, it's too cold out there for you."

The words make your heart drop, trying to hide your disappointment as Geralt frowns. This, this is the exact part he dreads. Seeing the quiver of your lip followed by glossy eyes.

"You're leaving so soon?"

"Yes," He answers truthfully, "I need more coin before returning home for the winter. Kaer Morhen is a long journey."

His hands reach out to cup yours and bring them to his lips, "One more job, I'll come back for you."

“You promise?”

“I promise. It gets harder and harder to leave you every time, my heart.” brows flurrow in confusion as Geralt pauses his words with a smile, "Just need some coin before we make the far journey to my home."

#geralt x y/n #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher imagine #the witcher

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lilith-of-rivia · 3 years

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The Bards Sister Geralt XFemale!Reader Part 1

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Masterlist

Summary: Geralt of Rivia and his long time travel companion Jaskier find themselves in Jaskiers home land. A place geralt had not only never seen nor heard of. Jaskier is ready to reunite its his family after traveling and exploring the world for 20 years. The one person he missed the most was his baby sister (Y/N). Who he hadnt seen since she was 5. The journal is long, but the pay off is grander then they would ever be able to predict. I know i am trash at summaries.

Trigger warnings: NONE a lot of Geralt and Jaskier in this first part. Your charicter doesn’t come in till closer to the end.

Pairings: GeraltxReader JaskierxSister!reader

Word count: 6,095 longest fanfic I’ve ever written!!

A/N: hello my loves!!! I got my Insperation back!! I’m hopping i will be regularly posting agin!!! I ove you all so much you consistent love and supoort has not gone unnoticed. The constant likes and reblogs truly means the world to me. I love every single one of you so much. Thank you for believing in my writing the way you do. All my love -Lilith ps. I have reviewed and edited but I will be doing a more in-depth review soon!

“Where are we going, Jaskier.” The Witcher’s brooding voice echoed threw the flowered valley. His horse trotted not far behind his companion. Jaskier looked back at him and just rolled his eyes.

“How many times have you led me on endless roads, towards the middle of nowhere speaking little to no words to me no matter how much I ask?” Geralt said nothing. Jaskier snorted looking back towards the road.

“Exactly. No shut up, your brooding is giving me a headache.” The bard was giving the witcher a taste of his own medicine. The idea that Jaskier was leading him to somewhere he had no idea of the location, made him uneasy. Did he trust his bard? Absolutely without a doubt. Would he ever admit it to him? No never.

Their travels continued till the sun was barely hanging in the sky. The air had grown crisp replacing the harsh burning of the full summer sun. Jaskier pulled his mare to the side of the road, climbing off her, tying her to a tree. Geralt followed, realizing they were stopping for the day.

“We still have a couple hours of daylight left.” Geralt said as he took Roach’s saddle and tack off.

“We don't need a couple hours, we are nearly there. Maybe an hour and half.” Geralt cocked an eyebrow at Jaskier.

“Then why did we stop?” Jaskier pulled his saddle bags off his horse, putting them beside a log as he gathered some sticks for the fire.

“Because I have to debrief you as to who we are going to see and you must bathe before we do so. The stream here will do the trick.”

“Gods Jaskier, will you just tell me where we are going? The secrecy is bullshit.” The broot of a man was losing his patience with his friend.

The duo had been on the trip for nearly two weeks. They left Tramieria and headed east. Much further east than Geralt could ever remember traveling. Yet the bard seemed to know exactly what turns to take and when. The closer they drew to their destination the more the witcher could hear his heart beat faster.

“Jaskier if this is some stupid plot for me to protect you from some man who’s wife you slept with again-“

“It's not Geralt-“ Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose, his stress causing a minor headache. “Just go bathe then I’ll tell you everything.” Geralt studied his friend, his eyes searching his face, his ears tuning into his heart beat trying his best to figure out what he was getting himself into.

With a low grunt the witcher grabbed his last set of clean clothes and the bar of soap from the bard's hand before stomping off to the river.

“Clean EVERYTHING!” Jaskier yelled over his shoulder. Only getting an unfriendly finger in return.

Nearly an hour later, the sun was completely hidden behind the canyon, the glow of the fire Jaskier started illuminating their small camp. Jaskier’s fingers strummed mindlessly at his lute, his eyes fixed on the stars that were making their presence known more, humming to himself softly. He heard his friends footsteps as he approached, his hair was wet at his shoulders. A fresh white Cotton tunic hugged his muscular build, black trousers hugging his legs. He smiled nice for once. All thanks to the lavender and honey soap Jaskier had received as a gift.

“Now don't you look better.” Jaskier said with a chuckle. The witcher sat down across the fire from him, his golden eyes staring heavily at the bard.

“Spill your guts Jaskier.” Jaskier rubbed his hands over his face and nodded. His eyes looking anywhere but at his friend.

“I haven't been completely forward about my family life.” Jaskier’s eyes landed on the moon above them. It was nearly full, he was doing well with time. He knew they would reach their destination well before the next full moon.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s harsh voice broke the silence. With a loud sigh Jaskier finally looked his friend in the face.

“I’m royalty Geralt.” The Witcher’s expression did not change. He just looked at his friend. He could hear Jaskier's heart beat become uneven and unsteady. At first he thought it was a joke but the nervous energy radiating from his long time friend made him think better.

“My family, they are wonderful people. My mother, bless her, taught me everything I needed to know about writing and music. Convinced my father to let me train at Oxenfurt Academy. My father is a noble and loyal king. He served our people well. Still does to my knowledge. I haven't been back in nearly 20 years…” the bard trailed off, his eyes fixated on his hands, his fingers twildilling with a ring he had on. The ring was that of his family. Their crest engraved into the gold.

“I was never meant to be a noble. I lived for adventure, for more than just sitting on a throne and watching people come and go. I was never fit to be king. My parents knew that. They understood. Understanding people they are.” His voice trailed off again, hopping his friend would say something. Ask a question. Anything. He didn’t know where to go next.

“Why didn't you ever tell me?” Geralt finally asked.

“Because it never came up. My family never needed me. I never needed them. I love them all dearly of course. But we were never the closest people in the world. Well, my sister and I were.” That caught the Witcher’s attention. His eyes narrow slightly, he made sure to not let his expression scare the bard into not telling him more. He was genuinely curious about his family. But he couldn't lie and say he wasn't disappointed that in the 7 years they traveled together he never heard of them.

“You have a sister?” The bard's eyes lit up. His memory raced with images of his tun little sister chasing him around the courtyard screaming, yelling his name. Her giggles and laughs pulling at his heart strings.

“Yes. Her name is (Y/N). She is about to be 25. Big age for a princess. I havnt seen her since she was very little.” His heart started to break softly. His neglect to his baby sitter weighting heavily on him.

“I write her often, as much as I can. She was...well, a surprise to my parents to say the least. I was 15 when she was born. I left home at 20. I was only around for her toddler years. I never got to see her grow, blossom into a young woman. I missed so much.” Jaskier had to fight back the tears, his throat becoming tight and dry. His body filling with regret.

“I just kept pushing it back Geralt. I alwasy said I’d make it home. I alwasy had it in the back of my mind to go back and see her. But I never did.”

“Why now?” Geralt asked.

“She wrote me a few months back. It was nearly a book. It was filled with tales of her new travels around our country. She had been training heavily with an unmanned matester of combat. She traveled the countryside with the man. She referred to him as an uncle. In the letter she asked me if it was true that I’d been traveling with you. She said the songs and tales of Jaskier the Bard traveling with the White Wolf made it to her ears.” Jaskier stopped talking for a brief moment, rummaged around his rut sack and pulled out a notebook. He untied its string and a large pile of papers fell out into his hand. He unfolded the parchment and scanned the writing.

“I wrote her back that week. Only to receive this in return.” He began to read;

“Oh dear Jaskier!! I cannot believe its true. I thought he was only a legend. The white wolf. Please tell him he is a hero here. We love his stories. Many have written books of him. Children run round calling themselves the butcher of Blaviken here to save the damsel and distress. I love his stories, mainly because they involve you. Please come visit me this year. I miss you terribly. I want to hear of your travels with the wolf. Mother said he is more than welcome to stay if he wishes to travel with you. I do miss you Jaskier. More than I think you know. I do not mean to guilt you or make you feel bad as i know you are traveling the world to your heart's content and would never want you to feel as though I do not support you-“ Jaskier stopped reading for a brief moment. A small tear dripped onto the page he was reading. Geralt listened to every word he read. He couldn't help the small tug of his lips when he read about the children pretending to be him. It was a breath of fresh air for the witcher. He had constantly been told he was a monster. To hid your children from him. Yet here was an entire country that loved him, yet he had no idea. Jaskier cleared his throat and continued. “But i miss my brother. And maybe, just maybe. I could come with you. If you deem me fit. I have been working tirelessly with a friend of fathers. He trains me in not only swordsmanship, but Herbology, and monsters as well. I can name nearly every monster that has inhabited the Continent and how to slay it. He thinks I’m ready to leave the nest and I think mother and father are getting a bit tired of me as well. I cannot stand another somber, dull, dinner party with nobles who look at me like a piece of meat. So please. Visit me soon. Come and stay a few days. Catch up with your dear sister and maybe, if he isn't too busy and if it doesn’t inconvenience him, bring the Wolf with you. He’d be a welcomed hero. All my love dear brother. Xoxo Love always, (Y/N) Irene Pankratz

Jaskier folded the letter, placing it inside his notebook before safely storing it inside his sack again. He ran a hand over his face, his eyes slowly moving from his hands to his best friend. They sat in the silence for a while. Geralt’s brain replaying the words he had heard from his friend.

“You could have told me about her Jaskier. Why didn't you? You’ve been in contact with her all this time, planning to see her and your family again. Bringing me along for the ride, yet not a single word in 7 years. Do you not trust me with such a secret Jaskier?” Jaskier was taken aback by his friend's words.

He never knew his secrecy would have such an impact on his friend. When it came to Geralt he learned long ago, the little words, the better. The witcher can only handle so much before he loses interest and stops listening or walks away. He never in a million years would have thought he cared about his life that much. It warmed the bards heart to know his dear friend, the only brother he ever had, cared that deeply for him.

“It has nothing to do with not trusting you Geralt. Is has everything to do with the shame I hold for not seeing her sooner. For treating her like a dirty secret form the world. There is no logical reason for me to keep my family such a big secret. Yet I have. For 20 years.” Geralt’s hands rubbed together softly as he listened to his friend. He understood the secrecy. He was a box full of secrets that nobody could get into.

“Its okay Jaskier. I understand the secrecy. Is that where we are going tomorrow?” Jaskier nodded, a smile appearing on his face.

“Her birthday is the next full moon. I’m hoping my gift will be a good start in time lost.” Geralt looked at him curiously. He hadn't noticed any major item in Jaskier’s possession that could make a good gift for a young princess.

“You’re her gift Geralt. I wrote her back after that letter and told her I’d be back for her next birthday. But that you simply were to busy with your work. I told her that you greatly appreciated her support and that youd consider writing to her in the future. She has no idea your coming with me.” Geralt didnt know how he felt about being a gift. He never ever saw himself as a gift to anyone. More of a burden the a gift. He shook his head at Jaskier and tutted at him.

“Jaskier if your that broke you could’ve asked me for a few extra coins for a real gift.” The witcher attempted to joke with the bard. It made Jaskier smile more. Geralt could be funny, but his humor was incredibly dry, much like Jaskier’s father.

“Geralt! Did you just try and joke around with me??” Geralt rolled his eyes, laying down stretching his muscles as he looked up at the starts.

“Best get some sleep Jaskier, you’ve got a rather big family reunion tomorrow.”

The next morning Jaskier was up and awake before Geralt, a rare sight. He truly hadn't slept more than a couple hours that night. His nerves kept him awake. He feared his sister wouldn’t be as loving as he pictured, she had every right to be mad at him, hate him even. By the time Geralt was up, Jaskier had bathed, changed and had his horse completely ready to go.

Geralt had to do everything in his power to not laugh at his friend. He looked rather ridiculous. His normal bright attire was replaced with a royals outfit. A green and blue velvet tunic and some extremely uncomfortable looking black trousers. His hair was combed back and his face was freshly washed. He even cleaned under his fingernails. He looked rather ridiculous in Geralt’s opinion. He couldn't help the low chuckle that left his lips as he put his bed roll away.

“I don't understand why you're laughing. I have some clothes for you to put on as well.” Geralt’s expression changed instantly, from humorous to angry.

“No. Absolutely not. What I’m wearing is perfectly fine. I’d wear it to meet any king or queen.” A bag was chucked at him, he barely caught it before it smacked into his face.

“This isn't any normal king and queen Geralt. This is my family. And besides, you are no ordinary witcher in my kingdom, you’ll be treated as royalty there. You may as well look the part.” Geralt huffed and threw the bag of clothes back at his friends feet, glaring daggers at him. He hated dressing up with a burning passion. Everything was too tight, not easy to fight in. If anything happened he’d have to rip the seams on every piece of clothing to be able to maneuver his weapons properly. And fancy clothes dont have space for weapons. He didn't like that one bit. Jaskier looked at his friend. His eyes pleading with him.

“Please Geralt. Just for today and her birthday. I couldn't care less what you wear at any other point on this trip.” He had walked closer to Geralt now. About a meter away from him. He extended his hand, the bag in his hand. Geralt looked from the bag to his friend. His teeth and jaw clenched.

He let out a loud huff and grabbed the bag from the bard.

“Fine.” He said through gritted teeth and began taking off his clothing. Jaskier smiled before turning his attention to Roach, getting her stalled and tacked so when Geralt was dressed they could leave.

“If we move with a bit of a haste we could make it there before breakfast.” Jaskier said as he mounted his horse, looking at his friend. His hand slapped over his face. The witcher looked utterly ridiculous in his new attire. The bright red and orange vest a-top a cream tunic, his legs tight in some disgustingly ugly corduroy pants. The pants were obviously smaller than the seamstress he bought them off claimed them to be. The ends of the pants came nearly mid calf on Geralt’s legs. His pasty white ankles and feet shining in the early morning sun.

“Jesus Geralt. Those are worse than the ones I got for Pavetta’s party.” The bard could no longer hold in his laughter. Did Gerarlt look like a nobleman? Sure, but his size, white hair, and bright yellow eyes really didn't help the situation.

“Jaskier, I will kill you for this.” Geralt grumbled angered as he pulled his socks up his feet and over his calves. Luckily for him (and Jaskier) his boots went higher than his pants, making it harder to notice that the pants he was wearing were way too small.

“At least I’m not making you wear a big hat with a feather, those are truly hideous.” Geralt mounted Roach, more carefully then he normally does in fear his pants could bust at the seams.

“I had to wrap you up nice and pretty to present you to my sister.” Jaskier commented as he led his horse; Napoleon to the main road, Geralt and Roach in tow.

The two men rode in a comfortable silence for some time, but as they got closer and closer to Jaskier’s home, all Geralt could hear was his frantic heartbeat. Jaskier’s palms get sweaty and his throat dry, no matter how much water he drinks from his water skin.

“Jaskier. You need to calm down. Your fucking heart beat is driving me insane.” Geralt hissed. They could see the end of the valley they had been traveling in. Geralt looked out in the distance, his eyes saw the castle first. It was very far, but he could tell how beautiful it was from where they were.

“Maybe you just shouldn’t listen to it then.” Jaskier barked back.

“You know I have no control over it, idiot. Take a deep breath. I know you're scared, I understand. But from the sounds of it your sister desperately misses you, I don't think she would ask you to come see her if she was going to hate you.” Geralt didn't talk much at all, that everyone knew. He was a man of few words. But when he did speak it was wiser than most people ever expected. People tended to forget the age of the white haired man, as he stopped ageing physically in his late twenties.

Jaskier smiled softly at his friend's words, he listened to him and took a few deep breaths, calling himself down. Geralt was right. His sister seemed eager as ever to see him again.

The two men approached the entrance to the city. Geralt was more than shocked. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen a city so beautiful in his entire life. The streets were lined in beautiful stone, flowers, vines, greenery all around every corner. The banners that were hanging on the outside of the main gates caught Geralt’s eyes. The crests on them were brightly colored in greens and blues, a very large diamond in the center. Their horses rode into the entrance of the town. Jaskier’s heart was calm, steady, his face was bright and had a smile Geralt had never seen on him before. He was finally home.

“Welcome to Inritha (In-Rithe-A) the capital of Unthya (Un-The-A) Geralt. Welcome to my home.”

Their horses traveled down the stone brick road slowly, the city was buzzing already even with it being the early hours of the morning. Geralt was surprised to see everyone look so...happy, care free. Enjoying their lives. They looked as though nothing was a fret, no monster looming. Geralt was mesmerized by the city. The buildings were built out of what looked to him like limestone, a building material he so rarely saw in other parts of the Continent. The buildings were being taken over by vines and moss, flowers all over. He’d never seen so many butterflies in his life.

“Jaskier-'' his voice was barely a whisper, the bard turning to look at him as they rode side by side. Jaskier couldn't help but smile as his friend admired the beauty he himself had so easily forgotten over the years.

“I know, it's beautiful. I've forgotten myself.”

The two men continued riding their horses up the road closer and closer to the castle. The longer they road tho more attention they got from passer buys. Geralt could hear their whispers.

It couldn't be. Could it?

THE Geralt of Rivia? Here in Inritha?

Mummy look! It's the butcher!!

Has Prince Jaskier finally returned home?

For the first time in what seemed like his entire life, the hushed whispers Geralt heard as he rode through a city were not of hate and disgust. But of admiration and curiosity. The entire time Geralt and Jaskier rode through the city, he never once had the urge to grab either of his swords that were at his side.

The two men approached the gates of the castle, four armored guards stood outside. The put their hand up in motion for the men to stop. One who looked as tho to be the commander of sorts stepped forward poking between both men. Eyes lingering for a long while on the two.

“State your name and what business you have in Inritha at this early hour.” Jaskier dismounted his horse, waking a few feet forward.

“My name is Jaskier Alfred Pankratz son of Dastrill and Alvere Pankratz. This is my companion Geralt Of Rivia, we are here on behalf of my sister, (Y/N) Irene Pankratz’s 25th birthday.” Jaskier bowed his head lowly, keeping eye contact with the commander in front of him.

“Prince Jaskier?!?” The man clearly looked flustered and embarrassed for not recognizing the prince of his own kingdom. All four men quickly bowed their heads.

“Please accept my apology your highness, we welcome you home. As do we welcome your honored guest.” Jaskier smiled and told the men to not trouble themselves with an apology. Geralt continued to watch from atop Roach, still not use to being idolized instead of feared. Honored guest. Geralt thought to himself. He could get use to the new treatment. Jaskier remounted Napoleon the gates to the castle walls opening. The both road threw, all four men bowed their heads as the two walked threw. Not once did they threaten Geralt’s life. They were led by a guard to the stables where they left their horses.

Geralt could hear Jaskier heart beating again in his chest as they were led inside the castle. Geralt tried to concentrate on his friend, to be there for him but he couldn't help but let his eyes wander all over the castle's walls, it was a bright exterior. The walls polished, candles everywhere. Large windows allowing for natural lighting. Nothing dark or gloomy about the castle at all. He felt uplifted..cheary almost. As they neared the entrance to the grand hall where the King, Queen, Princess along with some others were. Geralt could hear the light conversation, and the clicking of silver on plates, they were eating breakfast. But he could still hear Jaskier’s heart beating in his chest. Geralt placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder as they walked, giving it a soft squeeze. The action made Jaskier more worried if the witcher was feeling alright, as it was abnormally out of character for the man. But he said nothing, appreciating the gesture.

They got to the door and just as the guard was about to push the doors open Jaskier grabbed his arm.

“Could we maybe skip the loud over dramatic announcements of my arrival? I have not seen my family in years.” The guard only nodded, bowed his head and walked back outside to his post. Jaskier looked over at his friend, as he put his hand on the door ready to push it open.

“Now or never.” Jaskier said as he opened the door. Both men walked into the large room, the talking stopped almost instantly. Geralt stood at the door, not wanting to impose on the important reunion of his friend and his family. He followed Jaskiers gaze to the table ahead of them in the front of the room. The room was lined with huge floor to ceiling windows, the light of the early morning sun shone brightly making the marble floors glisten.

“JASKIER!!!” The loud scream of a girl nearly made Geralt jump out of his skin, his hand reaching back for a sword that wasn't there in instinct.

It made Jaskier jump but the smile that covered his face was even bigger than the one he had seen as he walked through the city. Geralt followed Jaskier’s gaze to a young woman. The sight of her alone made Geralt want to pass out. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen someone so beautiful in his entire life. Her hair was the same chestnut brown that Jaskier had, but it was long, hip length. She had it pulled back slightly out of her face, a few baby hairs framed her face. Oh her face. Geralt thought as though he was looking at a living breathing angel. He heard her chair scrape roughly on the ground before it loudly crashed on the floor. She raced around the long table from her mothers side and sprinted to her brother. She practically threw herself on him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He quickly wrapped his arms around her, stumbling back a few steps. Everything was quite as the two embraced. Geralt's eyes went to the king and queen who were now standing. The queen looked just like (Y/N) but her hair was black, long stripes of grey peeking through her hair. The crown atop her head glistened in the light. Her right hand was tightly around her husband's arm, her other hand placed softly over her mouth as she looked at her children. Her husband looked much like Jaskier. His hair was the same color as both of their children, but much like his wife’s, much of it had turned grey. His eyes were the same cornflower blue that Jaskier had.

Minutes passed in silence before Jaskier put his hands on his sisters shoulders, pulling her away from him. He put one hand on her cheek as he examined her features. Her pale cheeks were damp with tears. But not sad tears. Tears of joy.

“My sister, how you’ve grown.” Geralt could hear the tears in the bard's voice. He couldn't see him but he could hear everything.

(Y/N) fingers gently brushed over her brother’s face as she smiled at him.

“My brother, how you haven't aged a day. You look just as I remember you. Maybe a few more wrinkles.” She teased. He laughed softly. Wiping his eyes with his hand before pulling her into another bone crushing embrace. She was much shorter than Jaskier, barely shoulder level with him. Geralt was shocked to remember she would be turning 25 in two days. She was still young in the face, beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to see her more up close.

While the siblings spoke their parents moved from the spots at the table, standing behind (Y/N). Alvere was the first to pull him into a tight embrace after her daughter let go. Her fingers gently combed through his hair as she inhaled his scent deeply.

“My dear son how I've missed you.” She whispers slowly into his ear. Geralt was starting to feel bad for eavesdropping. Not that he could help it. He was still standing at the entrance to the grand hall yet he could hear everything.

Jaskiers father hugged him next, it was not nearly as long as the outer two but both men were okay with it. Understanding that their relationship had never been one for long father son hugs.

“It is good to see you again my boy.” His hand clasped down on his son's shoulder.

The four of them stood close together, smiling more than Geralt ever thought possible. It almost made his heart turn. Deep, deep, deep, down the witcher longed for a family that would look at him the way they looked at Jaskier. He often cured the universe for not giving him an option when it came to what he had become. He clung to the few memories he had of his mother. But as years passed they became harder and harder to remember, more painful. But he had. Made a new sort of family over the years. From Jaskier, to his brothers at Kaer Morhen.

“(Y/N), mum, dad, there is someone I’d like you to meet.” Jaskier turned his head towards the door to the hall. Geralt stood tall, shoulders pressed back, his hair framed his face gracefully. Even in the entirely ugly attire he was in, he made himself as presentable and as proper as possible. (Y/N)’s eyes grew bigger when her eyes met his. He once again was taken aback by her beauty. Her eyes were a powerful emerald green matching similarly to the color of her brother's tunic, but brighter. Her mouth fell slightly agape when she realized who it was. The eyes were a dead give away that he was in fact a witcher, but once she saw the silver medallion that rested on his chest, she knew.

Jaskier nodded his head for Geralt to walk forward and he did, his footsteps were light, his pace slow and steady as he walked closer to the royal family. (Y/N)’s hand gently covered her mouth in excitement. Her eyes flickering to her brother who grinned at her.

“A bit of an early birthday gift.” He winked. Once Geralt was closer to the group Jaskier turned so he could introduce them, at his sister's side. All eyes were on him. Even the few people who were still seated at the table were looking at him. He started to feel a bit more uneasy. He started to remember how far away his swords were if he needed them. This alone was beginning to make him panic. He was not used to being welcomed into royal courts unless it was specifically for a hunt.

“This is Geralt of Rivia, one of the most feared, renowned, and skilled Witcher’s the content has to offer. And also my best friend.”

Geralt's eyes were back on (Y/N)’s, his worries dropped more when she smiled brightly at him. Her eyes gleamed.

Geralt bowed his head to the three of them, “ it is an absolute pleasure to meet you, your highnesses.” (Y/N) was nearly blown over by the sultry sound of his voice. She had only heard stories of the witcher. Never see him for herself and definitely had never heard him speak. She never expected a monster hunter to be as handsome as he was. She admired every feature he had. Her eyes fixating on his chiseled jawline, the light gray stubble across his chin and cheeks.

“My, what a pleasure it is to meet such a famed warrior as yourself Geralt!” The king spoke before (Y/N) could, which she was happy about as she did not trust her voice to not waver at his beauty in that moment.

“You my dear are very popular around here. Your stories are legendary. The school children even host yearly plays, Reenacting your most beloved stories.” (Y/N)’s mother added her finger pointing light hardly at Geralt. Her hand came out gracefully from her side to shake the Witcher’s hand. He gently took it, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His attention returned to (Y/N).

“I’m terribly sorry I’m the birthday gift from your brother this year.” She shook her head almost as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Do not be sorry Geralt-'' the way she said his name made him feel as though he could keel over. “I would like to thank you, for protecting my brother for the years you have. He never skips on his gratitude for you in his letter to me. For that we are all eternally grateful for you.” She reached her hand out. Geralt wasted no time in grabbing her hand, shaking it gently. He was dying inside, but he couldn't let her or anyone else see. He took a gentle step towards her, his head lowering softly, his soft lips were placed on the back of her small hand. The small action made the young girls' faces burn red. Her eyes flicked to her brother who smugly smiled, knowing danm well his gift was going to take the cake.

“Well, you both should come join us, we just started eating.” The king said with a smile, with a quick wave of his hand two more places we set.

(Y/N) gently removed her hand from Geralt’s. Walking towards the table, both men in tow. As she reached her spot she moved her plate and glass to the middle seat that had been prepared, leaving Jaskier a seat next to their mother and Geralt a seat next to her. They all sat and waited as food was served to them. (Y/N) could feel Geralt watching her as she ate, her brother deep in conversation with her parents about his most recent travels. But she wasnt listening. Her attention was only on the man seated to her left. She looked over at the man, eyed him up and down then turned to her brother. For the first time she noticed how ugly their attire was.

“Gods Jaskier who dressed you two?” She asked as she sipped her orange juice. Both men looked at her. Jaskier looked a bit hurt and Geralt only snorted.

“I told him the clothes were horrendous.” Geralt said beside the young woman making her giggle. The sound made his heart beat faster. This was also when he realized how sensibly everyone else in the room was dressed, and how much they stood out. (Y/N) was in a thin white cotton dress, it was around knee length and a light sweater was on her shoulders. Her mother and father dressed similarly. Their clothes looking normal, comfortable.

“Oh my dear brother. What have you done to the poor witcher.” She laughed, turning her attention to him. She could see how uncomfortable the clothes made him. The vest was way too tight and he was practically bursting out of his pants, not that she minded, she gladly enjoyed the view.

“He is torturing me. That's what.” Geralt scoffed and she couldn't help but giggle again.

“You're so dramatic Geralt it's truly not that bad.” Her head flicked to her brother.

“Jaskier don't be rude.” She tutted him like a mother, it made Geralt snort under his breath as he took a bite of his eggs. She stood and walked behind him. He was stiff at her movements.

“Do you mind?” Her fingers were on the strings of the vest. He shook his head no and she quickly untied the tight strings, and it fell from his shoulders. She took it off and handed it to one of the maids

“You can burn that horridly ugly thing.” She said as she sat back down.

“I do not remember you being so rude, little sister.” Jaskier quipped.

“What I think is rude is how you made sure you got the more presentable clothing and dressed your poor friend in those horrendous colors. Have you seen his pants, Jaskier?? It's a miracle he can still breath.” Her eyes looked towards the witcher who was already looking at her with a cocky smirk on his face, glad she was putting Jaskier in his place for the ugly outfit choice.

“I can take you to the seamstress later today, if you’d like Geralt.” Her smile was like a drug.

“I’d appreciate that m'lady.” He said softly.

“And I can show you around the city, both of you. But in return I would like to hear some of your stories, first hand if that’s doable.”

“That sounds like a reasonable trade.” Geralt quipped back.

“Then it's a date, Witcher.”

“A date it is.”

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forthehunger · 3 years

Text

THE GIRL IS A GOD / THE GOD IS A MONSTER

NAME: Zisa ALIAS: The First Wood-Wife, The Devourer’s Bane, Zisa Foerster SPECIES: Goddess ETHNICITY: Caucasian (German) YEAR OF BIRTH: Unknown ORIENTATION: Bisexual Biromantic (cis-female, she/her) HOMETOWN: Augsburg, Germany OCCUPATION: Tribal princess, forest born-in-training, goddess, the first wood-wife, forester (verse dependent)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

FACECLAIM: Anya Taylor Joy HAIR COLOR: Blonde EYE COLOR: Hazel HEIGHT: 5 feet 6 inches PIERCINGS: Ear lobes SCARS: A faint scar on her left knee, two long scars on her back (like claw marks), a ridged scar just above her right hip

RELATIONSHIPS

MOTHER: Bluma † FATHER: Rolt † BROTHER: Tyr MENTOR: Old Mother Hunger †

TALENTS & ABILITIES

AS THE FIRST WOODWIFE -- According to Germanic mythology, wood-wives are female guardians of the forest who are known to be altruistic and benevolent towards humans. They usually ask favors from travelers in exchange for a handful of woodchips, which turn to gold the moment the traveler has left the forest. Wood-wives are also known to be adept at using herbs and plants to cure illnesses and ward off evil. Zisa is the first of the wood-wives and all the legends can be traced back to her. She has since shared this vocation with other wood-wives, usually mortal women who are then elevated by Zisa to become forest spirits to continuously guard the forest and those who reside or venture inside it.

AS A FOREST-BORN -- Zisa was chosen to become a forest-born while Tyr was chosen to become the human vessel for the primordial evil known as The Devourer. Forest-borns are abominations, humans who succumbed to the power of The Great Forest, which is The Devourer’s domain. They have a bond with each other and with the Devourer, and some of his magic and malice are woven into their body, tainting their humanity. Zisa trained to become a forest-born under Old Mother Hunger, the first and most powerful of The Devourer’s forest-born. This taint in her humanity is what allowed her to confront The Devourer in his own realm and save her brother Tyr from possession, by containing the primordial evil in her no-longer-mortal form, until she found a way to defeat him.

AS THE WIELDER OF DURENDAL -- While searching for a way to free her brother Tyr from the magical trance he was placed under by Old Mother Hunger, Zisa searches a field of bones to ask the dead for help. A pair of bones -- belonging to a brother and sister -- answered her plea, and she took them to the crippled smith, Volund, to be fashioned into swords in exchange for “the delights of her proud body, twice”. Thinking the swords would help slay the Devourer, Zisa agreed, and after the swords are made, she ended up wielding Durendal, which means endurance. Both Joyeuse and Durendal are capable of shrinking into bone needles, and Zisa usually has her bone-sword pinned on her somewhere.

AS THE GODDESS OF THE DEEP, DARK FOREST -- Zisa eventually saved Tyr and contained the Devourer within her body. She hoped to expel him by sewing charms with red string using Joyeuse and Durendal in their needle forms. The charms were supposed to trick The Devourer to devour itself, and Zisa swallowed them so they can be transported to the Devourer’s realm. After succeeding to vanquish the devourer, Zisa held on to her immortality, and the power of the Great Forest remained inside her. Parts of the deep, dark forest still contain remnants of the primordial evil made of the same fabric as The Devourer, and it is Zisa’s responsibility to stand guard against those forces for the safety of humankind.

NOTES ON THE PORTRAYAL

Zisa the Goddess barely appears on Germanic lore and her existence is often debated upon by scholars. This portrayal is largely based on the book Crimson Bound by Rosamund Hodge, and it’s fair to say she’s taken some liberty in explaining Zisa’s myth. For one, Zisa and Tyr’s story is supposed to be a Hansel and Gretel retelling (with Old Mother Hunger as the witch). She also portrays Zisa and Tyr as siblings, while some sources cite Zisa as Tyr’s consort. For this portrayal, I will adhere to them being brother and sister, a prince and a princess of a tribe that resided in what is now Augsburg, Germany.

The sequence of events are as follows ( tw: cannibalism, murder ):

A primordial evil called The Devourer threatened Zisa’s community. He was told to have “swallowed the sun and moon” and plunged the world in darkness. In his service were forest-borns who tormented mortals.

Zisa and Tyr’s father, a tribal leader, believed that this was the way of the world, the weak succumbed to the strong. He eventually offers up her children in the service of the Devourer and the forest-born.

During the ritual to denote the sacrifice, Zisa and Tyr were told by the forest-borns that the first to cut the other’s hand will become a forest-born, the one maimed will become the Devourer’s new vessel. Knowing that Tyr would never harm her, Zisa picked up the sword and cut off Tyr’s hand.

Tyr was then placed under a trance, his body and mind prepared to be possessed by the Devourer. Meanwhile, Zisa was training to become forest-born. While Old Mother Hunger slept, she would descend the basement of her house to speak to her brother, imploring him to remember her and his name, which the forest-born wanted him to forget. One day, from his trance, Tyr told Zisa “Only the leavings of the wolf can kill the wolf” which gave her the idea to search the field of bones of the Devourer’s previous victims.

Zisa brought the bones of the unnamed brother and sister to Volund, and the crippled smith fashioned them into swords that shrink down to needles, in exchange for the delights of Zisa’s proud body, twice.

Zisa returned to Old Mother Hunger’s hut to find out that Tyr had been transported to prepare him for the possession. Old Mother Hunger told Zisa that if she wanted to be there for her brother, she had to kill her mother and father and bring their hearts back to the hut. She did as she was asked, and Old Mother Hunger asked Zisa to cook the hearts and eat them with her.

Afterwards, Zisa was eventually allowed to go where Tyr was. Before The Devourer possessed Tyr, Zisa danced for him, and so enchanted he was by her that she granted her one wish. Zisa asked to see the devourer face to face, and he breathed on her to transport her to his domain. From there, instead of seeking out the devourer, Zisa fetched the orbs that represented the sun and moon and released them back into the sky. The light from the moon immediately killed Old Mother Hunger.

Tyr woke up from his trance and Zisa was spat back out by The Devourer. The plan was that they each wield Joyeuse and Durendal to end the Devourer once and for all, but The Devourer informed Tyr of what happened to their parents, and told them that he had hold of their souls. In exchange for saving their souls, The Devourer wanted Zisa to go back to his realm to search for them, but it was a trick, and he ended up possessing her.

Upon realizing what happened, Tyr stabbed Zisa with Joyeuse, incapacitating The Devourer and plunging Zisa into a trance. Zisa’s forest-born body was just barely enough to keep the power of The Devourer at bay, and his primordial evil continued to spill into the lands, despite the sun and moon being back in the sky.

Zisa dreamed and dreamed, and eventually realized how to defeat the Devourer. Instructing Tyr through writing, Zisa sew charms with red strings, using the needle forms of Joyeuse and Durendal. She defeated by the Devourer by swallowing the charms and tricking the Devourer to devour itself. The ordeal left Zisa her tainted humanity, the consequence of becoming forest-born, and the power of The Great Forest still contained inside her.

Now Zisa is the Goddess that guards man-kind against the darkness of the deep forest. She continues to perform her duty as a wood-wife.

Tyr, whose body was once prepared to become The Devourer’s vessel, is now also immortal, and his godhood has its own myths related to it.

It is important to note that in Crimson Bound, Zisa was not the one to kill The Devourer. This is something I am adapting in my own interpretation based on my own headcanons.

REGARDING NORSE MYTHOLOGY: Tyr is more well-known as a Norse deity than a German one, and he is known to be the god whose hand was bitten off by Fenrir, a son of Loki. In a Norse Mythology setting, Zisa is still the sister of Tyr, which means that yes, she is an aesir (and a child of Odin), and Zisa still cut off his hand once to prevent him from making a decision she knew would weigh heavily on him. But Zisa mended him using her own godly powers after their ordeal was done. However, the second time Tyr loses his hand, she deemed it to be his fault (all of the aesir’s fault, actually) for binding Fenrir in a needless show of cruelty and superiority, and if he asks, she will refuse to heal him. It is important to know that Zisa resides in Midgard and has no interest in the politics of Asgard. Because the source material I have been exposed regarding Norse Mythology has a more sympathetic view of Loki and their children, so Zisa will adapt the same mentality. She is patiently awaiting Ragnarok, but she has no interest in taking a side in it.

EDIT: will incorporate this properly soon, but in a Norse myth setting, I will HC that “The Devourer” is a darkness that once resided in Niðavellir. It pit Zisa and Tyr against each other, saying that they have to cut off the other’s hand to decide who will became its new vessel and who will be its new lieutenant of sorts. Since Tyr hesitated, Zisa cut off his hand. The Devourer then sought to possess Tyr and make Zisa his foremost soldier, but not before Zisa defeated it by trickery. Tyr is released, but Zisa had to contain the Devourer in her own body, until she managed to weave the red yarns and swallow them, to compel The Devourer to devour itself. Afterwards, Zisa healed Tyr with her yarn. It is said that The Devourer’s power left remnants of itself in Zisa, and that she has become “tainted” by this eldritch horror.

(If any of the Norse stuff is questionable, please let me know. I am still learning about it and has just recently finished three podcast episodes regarding Loki from Parcast Network’s Mythology.)

REGARDING MARVEL: The main points of the story are kept the same. Zisa is an aesir or in Marvel terms, is an Asgardian. She is the sister of Tyr, the one-handed and dual-natured god of bloodshed and order. They are Odin’s offspring of unknown maternal heritage, and are therefore, Thor’s half-siblings. Unlike other Asgardians however, Zisa resides in Midgard. This came after she and Tyr battled and defeated a primordial evil in Nilfheim (Niðavellir), the coldest and darkest region in the Nine Realms. Zisa contained an evil inside herself called The Devourer and then tricked it to devour itself. As a result, Zisa carries some of The Devourer’s power inside her which somehow made the rest of the gods suspicious of her. The goddess then decided to move to Midgard and reside in the deepest, darkest parts of its forests, protecting humanity from the evil that also lurked there using her powers as a divine entity and the residual power of the primordial evil she once captured inside her. IMPORTANT TO NOTE: The rest of the Asgardians have no idea where Zisa fucked off to when she left Asgard. All they know is that she has exiled herself and has kept herself hidden even from Heimdall. Only Odin (if he so chooses) can find Zisa whenever he is atop his throne, which makes him all-seeing.

IMPORTANT LINKS

Headcanons Pinterest Playlist

#info: zisa #personals do not interact

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ancientmagusbride23 · 4 years

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Dark Nights ch.1

by ancientmagusbride23

Summary: (Explicit sexual warning)

When Chise sold herself she didn't care who bought her or why. She didn't care what they did to her. Then the creature known as Elias Ainsworth bought her and said he would use her fluids whenever he wanted, even sell some on the black market. It's a sound investment and he plans to teach her about carnal pleasures to help her juices flow. What if Elias is a part-fae magus who's also a sex addict?

Notes:

I don't actually know how this story began. Too much time in my head, and dealing with some dark themes that I'm working through. Being stuck inside too much can mess with your head. I also wondered what if Elias was like a raging horny beast? No one would be safe from him? Why not buy a girl at a black market that you can train to be your own personal sex toy? Yep, pretty dark. I know. But it could've happened. We didn't know why he wanted a girl the first time we read the manga or watched the anime. Tell me I'm wrong.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Management

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Chapter 1

: First NightNotes:

Chise has Stockholm syndrome, that is the only real explanation.

Chapter Text

She didn’t care what happened to her, so she sold herself. Chise Hatori was soon amazed by the creature that stood above her that had paid a large sum and bought her at the auction. Dressed all in a black suit with bolo tie, and black shoes and tall, large, and intimidating, yet she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid of what might happen to her or body. Nothing mattered to her anymore. He, she was pretty sure it was male, had large powerful looking wolf -jaws covered by a red veil and long spiraling horns jutting out from the top of his head, perhaps he would eat her and then her miserable existence would end. She hadn’t expected to be brought to a cute country cottage, nor like the lady in pink who greeted her at the door and seemed very kind. After the kind lady in pink bathed her and put new clean clothes on her, Chise was taken to the living room to sit with the man who purchased her.

“You are very valuable,” he began to say sitting in a tall chair in long black robe, legs crossed, with the red veil still covering his large skull-face and wearing white gloves. He sat so straight in his chair it made Chise think of an English gentleman, and even his voice and way of speaking were very proper. “You are a slay vegga. That is to say a human that is also a magical battery. Like all your kind, you'll most likely burn out soon, but until then I will keep others from hurting you or trying to eat you or use your power for themselves. I, of course, will partake of that power whenever it pleases me. Your juices are especially potent and delicious to my kind.” She could only stare at the large head as she got the impression, he truly did want to devour her, she swallowed nervously as the Lady in Pink gave her some tiny triangle sandwiches and hot cup of tea.

He waited seeming to want all of that to sink in. “I-is that why they always tried to eat me?” Chise asked quietly.

“Of course, even just your smell must have driven them quite made with hunger, but rest assured I will not eat you. I will only partake of your body’s fluids from time to time. You will live in relative comfort and safety the rest of your life as part of my household. All other creatures are intimidated by my power. I have barriers and wards to keep the unsavory riffraff out. I also plan to harvest some of your fluids, and hair to sell on the black market. People of the magical realm will pay handsomely for any part of you, witches, alchemists, and mages, such as myself. We can use your parts to aid our magic. As I said, you are very valuable, and I paid a great deal for you. There are not many of your kind that live to be your age and are still whole and relatively intact. I will make back 10 times what I invested in you this way. Do you understand all of this?”

She looked down at her lap and nodded. Although, not taking it all in really. Besides, she’d already accepted any fate, even death, torture, or dismemberment as her end. “I..I understand.”

“Come,” he told her and motioned for her to come to sit on his lap. She did so, reluctantly. “Hmm, you are too thin and frail. You will need many weeks of treatment before I can begin collecting samples. And I have a long waiting list of customers already. Well, they will simply have to wait,” he ran his large hands down her legs and back up to her stomach and breasts and squeezed as she squirmed. He laughed as she struggled. “Chise Hatori? Have you ever had experience of the carnal variety?” he asked.

Chise blushed feeling uncomfortable for a different reason, knowing what he meant. She looked at his massive chest as she shook her head. “N-no, sir.” He laughed again his large bony snout coming close to her neck and sniffing making her cringe with recent memories of things biting, and, trying to get to her and eat her.

“I like that! How enjoyable! To be the first to break you in. My name is Elias Ainsworth. You may call me that or master, whatever you prefer,” his hands never stopped caressing Chise, but his grip was too strong for her to break away from him as she tried a few times.

“Yes, Ainsworth-san...?” she replied, wondering if that was appropriate.

“Hmm,” he made a deep rumbling noise inside his chest. “Yes, that will do, nicely,” he said quietly as his jaw opened and a long tongue crept out to lick Chise’s cheek startling her. Then his tongue roved down her neck causing her to gasp and try to pull away again. “I’m only teasing you, Chise Hatori.” The tip of his tongue crept under her shirt and into her bra as it moved across her nipple causing her to cringe.

As she cried out, she struggled not liking this sensation at all. No matter how she tried Chise could not break his grip, he was so strong, but suddenly the Pink Lady appeared beside her and stared at the man holding her. Ainsworth, her master, sighed and released her. The Pink Lady pulled Chise into a tight hug. It was the first true affection Chise had felt since her mother killed herself and left her all alone in the world. “Arigato, um I mean thank you,” Chise told the lady. The Lady in a puffy pink old-fashioned dress had blonde hair, a pink bonnet, and white gloves. She only smiled at Chsie, but did not reply. “Can you talk?” Chise asked wondering, since she had helped her bathe and change earlier but never responded.

The Pink Lady only tilted her head with a smile and patted Chise’s cheek with her gloved hand. “She refuses or is unable to speak. She understands you, though. I call her the Silver Lady, she is a brownie or a creature that is bound to a location, like this house. She is more of a landlady, as it were, and keeps the house neat and clean. Thank you for reminding me, Silver Lady. Please show Chise how to prep for bed and then show her to her room.” The Silver Lady nodded and pulled Chise along with her up the stairs.

Chise was shown where all the soaps and hygiene products were in the bathroom along with a toothbrush. Afterward, Chise was taken to a room down the hall. It was large and clean with a good sized bed by the window. “Is all this space mine?” She asked the Silver Lady. She only responded by smiling and nodding. Then she showed her a set of drawers with some clothing in it. Chise let her help get herself undressed and put on a white pajama dress. “Are you sure I can wear any of these clothes?” Chise asked the Silver Lady who only nodded again.

The Silver Lady turned down the bed for her and even tucked her in and closed the window. She wagged a finger in front of her back and forth. “What? Don't open the window?” She nodded. “Oh, okay,” Chise yawned as she settled into the soft bed. “This is so nice and soft. I always had to share space with other kids and usually slept on the floor. Thank you, Silver Lady.”

Then Chise was alone and fell asleep quickly as she'd been through a strange and long day. Sometime during the night Chise's disturbing dreams were interrupted by a tapping sound. She woke to look around the room afraid something was coming for her. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and why. Then she heard the tapping again. She looked around to see creatures at the window with glowy eyes and wings. Pixies or Fairies is what she thought immediately. “Sweet Robin, let us in! Or come play with us in the forest. All your dreams will come true. Come away with us to play before the Thorn spears the Robin! Come!”

Chise was intrigued as she sat up on her knees and looked through the glass at the creature. “I've never seen anything like you before. Sounds like a familiar promise the yokai would give to the unwary in ancient Japan.”

A deep chuckled reverberated from behind her as she looked backed, “Very wise of you, Chise, they would lead you into the forest and play with you until you died or let other creatures devour you. It is all fun and games to them.”

The little green fairy growled, “Grr, Thorn Mage, you ruin our fun! And hogging our precious Robin all to yourself. Wait till the Queen of the Fae hears about this!”

“Begone!” Elias Ainsworth commanded. And Thorny vines covered the window from the outside. Chise stared at him for a moment seeing he's veil was gone and only dimly could she see the white skull-face and two red glowing eyes.

“I-I have never seen those types of creatures before. We have a lot of kinds in Japan, but not those,” Chise said, very aware of Elias's towering presence in her room as she covered herself with her blanket.

“They are called arials, and exist all over the world. Be assured they, nor any other fae creatures may enter my domain,” he sat down heavily on the bed. “Come,” he opened his arms for her to sit on his lap again. She hesitated a moments, but slipped easily from her covers to his lap and looked up to stare at him in the moonlight. “You have many scars from past encounters with lesser creatures?”

“Yes. They always come. Especially at night,” she said quietly.

His gloved hand gently picked up her arm and pushed pack the sleeve to see a fairly fresh wound that had scabbed over. The large skull leaned down and sniffed several times and he hummed as his tongue slipped out and he lapped at her wound. Chise's instinct was to pull away, this was strange and scary. He would not let go so easily. Then the scab was pulled off and she flinched from the pain. Fresh blood pooled there quickly. He lapped it up slowly with his tongue. His bone white jaw open wide. His glowing eyes seeming to be even brighter and fiercer in the darkness. Elias Ainsworth pulled her closer and held her tighter as he made noises. Chise wondered if they were from pleasure. “Oh, Chise! You are delicious! I will have a hard time stopping myself. It is like...a drug. You are quite intoxicating.”

As the slow lapping continued, Chise squirmed and gasped but knew it was no use to try to get away. And anyway, what did it really matter if he devoured her.?Soon his tongue had moved from the wound and began inching it's way toward her neck. One of his gloved hands tugged her night gown down off her shoulders to reveal her pale skin and small breasts. His tongue found it's way there and wrapped itself around her nipples. Beneath her lap she could feel something poke through his pants making a tight tent.

Chise began to make noises. At first, in protest because the sensation was so weird and intense and she didn't like it. Soon she found the continual licking of her breasts made her feel something new. Something she'd never felt before. She felt a warmth start to spread in her body. She grabbed at his robe and held on with tight her fists. His tongue moved back up her neck slowly and then got to her mouth. “Open your mouth, Chise,” he said quietly. She did so and was shocked when he inserted his tongue into her mouth as his large jaw moved closer to her face. She tried to pull back but his gloved hand came up to hold her head still. His tongue sought hers.

At first she was disgusted, but as his tongue massaged hers gently she began to relax. It wasn't completely unpleasant. She let her tongue timidly reach for his making him gasp. He made deep moaning sounds as his hands caressed her back and bottom, and then slowly, almost reluctantly, he withdrew.

Elias Ainsworth closed his jaw and looked down at his plaything. Her face was wet with his saliva and her nightgown was disheveled. He chuckled at her. “Your face is red, and your pulse has quickened. I think you will be a fast learner. Have you ever touched your privates to bring youself pleasure?” She looked away embarrassed by the question, and shook her head. He replaced her nightgown to its rightful place. And moved her back to the bed as he began to straighten his clothing. “Well, goodnight, Chise,” he said, walking to the door and opened it.

Standing there was the Silver Lady. She was looking very concerned as she looked past Elias over at Chise. “She has not been harmed, nor deflowered, yet. I assure you, Silky.” The Silver Lady looked at him and nodded as they both backed out her Chise's room. She heard footsteps heading away from her door. Chise relaxed then feeling her ordeal was over for tonight. Her body still hummed with the sensations that man or creature had brought on her body. She felt her breasts tingle. She reached out to touch them and they still felt very sensitive to the touch. She felt between her legs and felt more moisture than usual. She'd never felt this way before.

Chise had expected to have strange experiences in her new life after auction, but nothing like this. It was not what she'd expected. And her owner was not what she'd expected. Was this her new life? She wasn't getting attacked and bitten by random creatures she mused. However, this man, Ainsworth-san, might be the one to bite and molest her from now on. Not that it mattered to Chise really, nothing mattered, she reminded herself.

Chise lay back down and covered herself to get some sleep. As she was drifting off to sleep she heard strange sounds. Someone was moaning. It sounded like Ainsworth-san. They were the sounds similar to the ones he'd made when he was licking her and clearly enjoying himself. Another voice joined his in their moans, a female voice. Chise also heard rhythmic thumping. Chise wondered what that was. She listened carefully for awhile to see if it would go away. It was clearly not coming from outside, but from inside the house. Chise got up from her bed and walked to her door. She opened it just a crack, but saw nothing in the darkened hallway. Across from her was another door and underneath she saw light and shadows moving to the rhythm of the thumping.

A moment more and a loud groan echoed from the room into the hall, and the thumping stopped. Chise heard the door handle turn. “Thank you, Silver Lady,” said Ainsworth-san as the Silver Lady stepped out of his room. She was fixing her bonnet and pushing down her dress. She nodded to him as she quickly made her way down the hall and down the stairs. Chise didn't know what to think. What had just happened? “Goodnight, Chise, please get some rest,” he told her as he moved back into his room and closed his door. Chise went back to bed with many unanswered questions floating in her head.

#https://archiveofourown.org/works/25502146/chapters/61867744 #tamb #elias x chise

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jacklyn-flynn · 4 years

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Headcanon du jour-Satinalia edition

Merry Christmas! Happy Satinalia! A blessed day for whatever holiday you celebrate, real or made up. I cooked up something special for today. There are still two more dads of Dragon Age headcanon du jour for this week but I wanted this one to be special. It’s a long one, but I hope you like it! I’ll put it under a cut to keep your feeds nice and tidy!

Stay safe and happy holidays. ❤️Jacklyn

When Cullen is handed his screaming infant for the first time, there is a moment of panic. His eyes seek out Dejah while carefully cradling the babe with the utmost of care. His look could only be described as ‘abject terror’. She smiles at him lovingly and reassures him it’s okay.

Her blue eyes are tired, but alive with love. Her brow is wet and her black hair clings to her face. Her cheeks are flushed, making her blue vallaslin stand out in sharp relief. If she could bring their child into the world after hours of pain and exertion, he could do this. Her calm immediately calm washes over him.

The midwife asks if he would like to help clean up his son while she finishes with Dejah. He looks to her, hesitating. She’s fine, be with him. He’s relieved to hear her say aloud that she’s okay. For a moment in time he can only smile back at her, distracted and lost in her eyes. Another midwife touches his arm gently.

She helps him bathe the baby. She checks his eyesight and hearing. He’s thrilled to see Dejah’s brilliant blue eyes on his son. Cullen absently counts all the fingers and toes though it hardly matters if there were more or less than ten of each. He is perfect regardless.

When the midwife tells him to take off his shirt, he is confused, but complies. She deposits the baby against his bare chest. It will help them bond and his heartbeat will soothe the newborn she assures him.

Cullen is sure his heart is racing far too fast to be of comfort, but the infant settles down almost immediately. It’s a completely new feeling. Holding his perfect, innocent, unmarked baby against his battle-scarred chest with hands that have been soaked in blood. Maker, this must all be a dream. How can this be real?

He holds his son carefully and pulls up a chair next to the bed. He reaches out and takes her hand, kissing her knuckles gently. He tells her how beautiful she is. How amazing she has been. How much he loves her. He doesn’t mean to make her cry, but cry she does.

He tells her that what he got her for Satinalia can’t possibly compare to what she’s given him. Dejah insists that he helped and he can only laugh and shake his head. Of course she would do the hard work and give him credit.

Cullen nearly jumps out of his skin with the infant coos and gurgles, wiggling against Cullen’s chest. He cradles him gently, whispering soothing words of comfort. His fingers run over the dusting of golden blond curls, silky and soft. He adores the softly pointed ears not quite as pronounced as his mother’s.

Dejah is sleeping peacefully when he descends the stairs, finally ready to present his son. He opens the door so quietly that no one waiting in the main hall notices him at first.

They’re all gathered there. His friends and family. They’ve been waiting since yesterday morning when Dejah calmly announced that it was time. Blankets and pillows are piled off to the side, indicating they’d all slept in the main hall. They’ve only had sparse updates from Dorian but they’re determined to wait. Nothing will drive them from this hall

Cullen realizes suddenly that Dorian left hours ago. He’d been at Dejah’s side through the whole of her labor. He must have snuck out to give them time alone and he is guilty for not noticing. He would seek him out next and make his overwhelming appreciation for his presence known. There was no better friend or godfather for his firstborn.

Cassandra throws her head back with an ‘ugh’ when she sees the hand of cards Varric lays down. Likely better than her own. The honest-to-a-fault Seeker stands no chance against the dwarf. Sera is laughing and from his angle by the door he can see the cards she has hidden under the table, within Varric’s reach. She wishes Cass better luck next time but the Seeker clearly knows she doesn’t mean it.

The Iron Bull is slouched in a chair, his arms crossed over his massive chest. His head is rested back against the wall and he’s snoring loudly. Decorations hang from his horns, likely Sera’s doing. Beside him sits Krem who is also sleeping. His head is rested on Bull’s arm and his mouth is open. On his lap is a hand-sewn nug toy, likely meant to be his son’s first Satinalia and birthday present. Normally they would never be asleep at the same time but Cullen knows they stayed up all night to protect their friends and keep watch over the route to Dejah.

Blackwall is talking quietly with Leliana though Cullen can’t fathom what about. They have nothing in common. Whatever it is, it makes Leliana laugh and Blackwall smile and shake his head. Perhaps it’s about the child in his arms. One thing that will connect them.

He looks down at the swaddled babe and smiles. He tells his son that they’re all here for him. They’ve gathered from the corners of the world they’ve scattered to for him. Though they haven’t seen him, they love him. He tells him that he has the fiercest, most loyal family in Thedas. He isn’t wrong.

Josephine is the first to notice them. She’s at the opposite end of the table where Cassandra is getting swindled. She looks up from her work and her quill drops to the floor with a clatter so that she can cover her mouth with her hands. She finds that she can’t speak so she slaps the table a few times to get everyone’s attention.

All eyes shoot to her and then follow her gaze to him. He asks if they would like to meet their nephew and it sets them all into action. Varric kicks Bull’s shin on the way past and the Qunari snorts and blinks quickly to wake himself up. He dislodges Krem who sits up with a start. Like father, like son.

They all gather around him and suddenly Cole is at his side. Cullen isn’t sure where he’d been before. His hat is nowhere to be seen but his blond tresses are molded to his head as if it had been there a moment before. He reaches out to touch the child but hesitates and draws back his hand. Cullen turns toward him and assures him it’s okay. He transfers the babe to Cole’s arms and he stares down at the infant.

He leans in close to whisper to the baby, words that Cullen can’t hear. He can guess their nature well enough. Cryptic words of comfort that tell him how everyone feels about him, what they’re thinking at this moment, seeing him for the first time.

He wakes when he’s shifted to Bull’s enormous hands. He laughs at the baby’s lack of fear at a face so different from the others around him and his whole body shakes with it. He promises to teach him all manner of unsavory things, from wooing partners to slaying dragons.

Cassandra lets out a disgusted noise and gives him a reproachful look before taking the baby. She coos and tells him how beautiful and perfect he is. She marvels to Cullen at how tiny he is and Cullen agrees. Smaller than he imagined.

The babe is very interested in Varric’s necklace when it’s his turn. Varric helps him so that he can hold it in his impossibly small, uncoordinated grasp. He muses, mostly to himself, that he’ll have to come up with a new nickname.

Sera refuses to hold him. He’s too pure and fragile for the likes of her. She does brush his cheek though and smile. She’s going to teach him all the best places to hide, she promises. He’ll be a master at hide and seek. A perfect, tiny partner to pull off pranks. She produces a cookie from some hidden pocket but before she can give it to the babe, Cassandra snatches it out of her hand. Sera pouts.

Leliana is hesitant to hold him, but gives in. She doesn’t have anything profound to say so she just smiles ever so slightly at the babe. She adjusts the blankets around him, brushes his cheek with her finger. Her hands linger when it’s time to give him to Blackwall.

Blackwall promises that as soon as he can walk he’ll get him a good and proper pup. Every boy needs his dog. And a horse. A good loyal one. And a sword.

Josephine holds him next and she can barely contain her excitement. She falls into her native Antivan. The words are beautiful and lilting and the babe stares up at her, enraptured by her voice. He reaches as if he can grab it and hold it.

Krem presents the nug and asks hesitantly if he can hold the little one. As if he’s an intruder on this moment. Cullen doesn’t hesitate to insist that do so. Krem is so focused on the little creature for so long that Bull nudges his arm and asks if he’s gonna be okay.

The man clears his throat and declares that of course he is. He hands the baby back to his father and praises what a fine boy he has. Bull teases when he asks if it makes him want one and everyone is surprised when Krem unashamedly says yes, he does want to be a father. Someday.

Cullen assures everyone that Dejah is fine and will be up for visitors later in the evening. They protest that it’s too soon but he tells them that she insists on seeing them for Satinalia, even if it’s just for a few moments.

He promises to be back shortly and heads to the upper levels of the library. Much to his surprise Dorian is awake. Sitting at a table, he’s writing furiously in a leather bound journal. The babe coos and throws his fists around.

It catches Dorian’s attention and Cullen sits beside him. He should have held him before he left, Cullen insists. Dorian confirms his assumption that he’d left to give them time together as a family. He didn’t want to intrude.

He’s clearly nervous to hold the child. Too many self-depricating thoughts are going through his head. He wonders if he will taint the babe. The moment he’s in Dorian’s arms though, Cullen recognizes the change that he himself went through.

The moment of awe and wonder. That he can be a part of this wonderful creatures life amazes him. He wishes he could visit for more than a few weeks. He misses his friend but he also wants to make the world a better place for her child, which he can’t do from here.

Cullen further stirs up the emotions swirling inside of him when he plainly and honestly tells Dorian how much his presence means to Dejah. And to him. That he is proud the first moments of his son’s life we’re shared with the woman he loves and the man he’s come to respect and trust above all others.

He tells him on Dejah’s behalf how much it meant to her to have him there for that experience. He even tells him of the midwife they had dismissed. She declared that she would be no part of a birth that involved Dorian Pavus. He wasn’t the father and worse, he was a Vint. He smiles when he recalls how furious Dejah had been. How scared the midwife had been when the former Inquisitor was done with her.

That she cried for hours the night he arrived from Minrathous because she was so relieved he would be there. Cullen also assures Dorian, who is now holding back tears, that he wanted him there too. He doesn’t feel that his presence robbed him of or lessened a once in a lifetime experience with the love of his life but that it enhanced it.

He will always have a place with them. He is their family and that will never change. He wishes Dorian had stayed to help with the babe. To hold him. Dorian has never felt more accepted in his life but he doesn’t have the words to say so.

He holds the babe close to his heart and closes his eyes. Cullen is silent. He gives this moment to Dorian and his beautiful child. A chance to bond that will be rare for them.

He urges Dorian to sleep and to visit Dejah once he’s refreshed. He won’t be a bother.

She’s still sleeping when he slips back into the room with their son. He takes a moment to watch her. He savored every moment of her pregnancy. He remembers every kick. He’s massaged sore muscles and swollen ankles. But, it didn’t feel real until he held his child in his arms. He wonders when the moment was that it felt real to her. He’ll ask her when she wakes.

He slips into bed. He has no intention to sleep but has every intention of holding the two people who carry with them his heart and soul. Dejah wakes sleepily and he pulls her gently against him. He tucks the baby between them and she cradles him protectively, as Cullen is her. Dejah murmurs that she loves him. So very much.

He kisses the top of her head and gazes down at them. His heart swells and he tries to tell her he loves her too but he can’t get it past the tightness in his throat. By the Maker, he does love them. It consumes him. It’s so much more powerful than the hate he’d carried before.

There are several days that have made a lasting impression on him. Thanks to Dejah, the good we’re starting to outnumber the bad. And this day…he prayed this day would be vivid in his memory until he died. He’s a father. He vows he’ll be better every day. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this but he’ll show his Maker that he’s worthy of keeping it.

I love you. He’ll learn it in every language and it still won’t be enough.

His son will be a better man than he is. He will grow up in a better world than he did. He will be loved. Maker, he will be loved!

He realizes he hasn’t given her the present he got her but she and their son are sleeping so peacefully he doesn’t dare move. Instead he basks in the gift Dejah has given him. Her love and his son. Both have changed him irreversibly and he is grateful.

He brushes back his wife’s hair and strokes her cheek. You are the best thing to ever happen to me. He says it aloud and means it with everything he is. Never will they doubt the strength of his love.

#happy satinalia!#cullenxdejah #headcanon du jour #dads of dragon age #she's a long one #warning: feelings ahead #the gangs all here

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today-only-happens-once · 6 years

Text

Shatter

Title: Shatter

Word count: 2133

Summary: Glass shatters at their feet seconds before he plummets to the ground. Prinxiety (can be read as sort of romantic (esp. the ending) or platonic). LAMP/CALM.

Prompt: “Catch me.” “What?” [first person collapses]

Warnings: sickness, serious sleep deprivation on top of it, brief ‘worst case scenario’ kind of concern/imagery, medical stuff may not be accurate, Roman is insecure in the beginning, minor foot injury, blood, let me know if I forgot anything.

A/N: Guess what this is, friends? More hurt/comfort. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to write something else for this fandom, but that day is not today. This fic kinda gave me fits, and posting is always scary. Yikes. Hope you like it anyway! <3 Edited only by yours truly so all mistakes are mine.

Tags: @helloisthisusernametaken, @ren-allen, @lizaelsparrow, @princelogical, @random-pianist, @ravenclawicecream, @erlenmeyertrash, @milomeepit, @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes, @creativenostalgiastuff (let me know if anyone ever wants to be tagged in stuff!)

,…

Roman pushes back from his desk with a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. He looks at the large wall clock between the two balcony doors in his bedroom. Almost 2 in the morning, and very little to show for it. The stack of ideas sitting in a pile on his desk is dwarfed by the overflowing wastebasket of wadded papers with half-constructed ideas that Roman knew—even before running them by Logan and Thomas—wouldn’t be viable. It… had not been a productive night. But Thomas is supposed to sit down with Joan and work out a script with them tomorrow. Roman needs to have ideas to give to Thomas when he wakes up.

Roman groans, irritated with himself. He needs a break, however brief it may need to be. He stands, running his fingers through his hair again to fix its disheveled state. Even in pajama pant, slippers, and a white t-shirt, a prince still has to slay.

He makes his way to the kitchen, remembering Patton boxing up some leftover homemade cookies the Moral Side had made the other day. Perhaps a small jolt of sugar was just what he needed to get a few more good ideas so he wouldn’t turn up empty handed when Thomas woke up in the morning.

He slows to a stop in the kitchen entryway. Virgil stands in the middle of the room holding a glass of water. His hood is drawn over his hair but even in the dark, Roman can tell how startlingly pale the Anxious Side is.

“Virgil?”

Roman takes a step closer, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. A lamp from the adjacent room bleeds into the kitchen and Roman can see his long bangs plastered to his forehead by a thin sheen of sweat. When Virgil looks up at him, his eyes are glassy. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

Roman takes another, more tentative, step towards him. “Virgil, when was the last time you slept?”

Virgil blinks a few times. “I… uh…” His brows pull together. “I don’t… remember…” His voice is quiet and distant, like he’s talking more to himself than to the Prince.

Roman quietly chews his lip for a moment. Virgil doesn’t just look tired, he looks sick. “Alright, Marilyn Morose,” he says with feigned flippancy, crossing over to him, “let’s get you to—“

“Roman.” Virgil’s voice cuts him off but something about his voice sounds wrong. Roman stops short just as he sees the cup slip through Virgil’s fingers.

It shatters into splinters of reflective glass at their feet with a deafening crash. The sound slices through the still, quiet night air with a vengeance.

“Vir—!”

“Catch me.” Virgil’s voice sounds tight and faint and strangled.

“What?”

But it’s already too late. Virgil’s hand fists desperately in the sleeve of Roman’s white v-neck t-shirt as he pitches forward. Roman yelps in surprise, doing his best to catch him. It’s an awkward entanglement of limbs but the Prince manages to keep the Anxious Side from collapsing entirely into the shattered glass around them.

“Virgil?” Roman asks, alarm surging up his throat. Virgil stays slumped in his arms, unconscious.

The thoughts plow through Roman like a freight train. Questions and scenarios and potential outcomes rip across his mind with almost frightening intensity, each scenario worse than the last. Can they die in the mindscape? Could Virgil lose himself, dissipating into nothingness slowly? Images flash through Roman’s mind of Virgil, pale and fading and Roman beside him and entirely unable to stop it, to keep him here, to keep—

“Roman?” Patton’s concerned voice snatches his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Patton,” Roman replies, relieved. “I don’t know what happened. He didn’t look good and then he just collapsed, and—“

“He’s bleeding,” says another voice. Logan, coming up behind Patton in the entryway. Roman looks down, and sure enough, Roman can see a few cuts along Virgil’s feet and blood mixing into the water pooled amidst the glass on the floor. The Prince swallows. How did he not notice that before? Virgil isn’t even wearing socks.

“Lo, grab the first aid kit?” Patton asks, his dark eyes worried and serious. He pulls the hood of his cat onesie off his head. Without another word, Logan makes a beeline for the bathroom to grab it out from under the sink.

With a quiet grunt, and as carefully as he can, Roman shifts Virgil weight to sweep an arm under the Anxious Side’s knees and one braced against his back. He picks him up, carefully avoiding the glass on the floor as he carries him into the commons.

Roman frowns. Virgil feels lighter than he should.

Patton follows behind him as Roman gingerly sets the unconscious Side down on the couch. He lifts Virgil’s head and pulls the hood down—he looks too hot and the hoodie can’t be helping him—before pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. He is hot and clammy to the touch. Absently, he brushes Virgil’s bangs out of his face before pulling his hand back.

“He’s warm, Patton.”

He feels Patton squeeze his shoulder. “He’ll be okay, kiddo. He’s sick and sleep deprived, but we’ll all take care of him.”

It’s not until then that Roman realizes how hard his heart is still hammering in his chest. The constricted way Virgil had said his name—had told Roman to catch him—echoes in the back of his mind. He’ll be okay, kiddo. Roman glances at Patton skeptically.

He doesn’t say anything, however, as Logan comes back into the room with the first aid kit in his hands and a towel. The Logical Side calmly and wordlessly sits at Virgil’s feet, pulling out tweezers, antiseptic, cotton balls, and bandages. Logan gingerly takes Virgil’s ankle, glancing at his face to make sure he hasn’t woken, before examining the few cuts along his foot.

Patton moves to sit on the arm of the couch by Virgil’s head, soothingly brushing his fingers through his hair. Roman catches the concern that wells in his eyes at, Roman assumes, feeling the heat radiating off of the unconscious Side.

Roman anxiously clears his throat. “Logan?”

“Hm?” Logan doesn’t look up as he grabs the tweezers and pulls a small shard of glass out of Virgil’s foot. Roman winces and averts his gaze.

“Uh, how’s it looking, Doc?”

Logan adjusts the frame of his glasses. “Well, I cannot speak for his apparent illness. Aside from a few small pieces of glass and some bleeding, the injuries on his feet are comparatively minor and should not be a dramatic hindrance to his overall wellbeing.”

“He’s definitely got a fever,” Patton adds, pressing his palm to Virgil’s forehead again. “I wish he’d told us he was sick.”

“It is entirely possible that he did not realize the severity of his own illness,” Logan replies, “and did not want to concern us. Regardless, I agree with you, Patton.”

“Severity?” Roman repeats.

“We will have to keep an eye on him and monitor his progress.” Logan pauses, securing a bandage around Virgil’s foot before looking up at the Prince. “It was quite fortunate that you came into the kitchen when you did. Otherwise, it’s entirely possible Virgil’s current condition would be much more precarious.”

“He told me to catch him.”

“Which is exactly what you did, kiddo,” Patton responds gently.

Except he didn’t. Not enough anyway. The proof of that is right there in Logan’s hands as he begins inspecting Virgil’s other foot. Roman swallows, suddenly unable to look away as Logan dabs a cotton ball against one of the cuts along the ball of his foot.

“How did I not realize how bad off he was?” Roman asks to nobody in particular.

Patton’s hand stills in Virgil’s hair momentarily. A flash of regret crosses his eyes. “He’d been keeping to his room more, and every once in a while I’d heard him up at odd hours of the night. But I thought maybe it was just stress, y’know? From Thomas’s upcoming performances and travel schedule. I didn’t realize he was sick on top of it all.”

“I, too, had noticed a change,” Logan admits. “His diet seemed to have dwindled dramatically the past few days. And I suspected that he may not have been sleeping particularly well. But I had presumed that if anything was truly amiss, he would inform at least one of us. Had he done so, we likely would not be in this situation.” He finishes securing the last bandage on Virgil’s foot, gingerly setting it down on the couch as he slides out from under his feet.

Roman nods, his dark eyes still trained on Virgil’s pale face. “You guys should get some sleep. I can stay with him until he wakes up.”

“Roman, I don’t mind—“

“Ah, I’m gonna be up anyway, Padrè,” Roman says, hoping his voice sounds more lighthearted than he feels. “You both should get some shut-eye before Les Miserablès here wakes up.”

Patton glances to Virgil and then back at Roman. There’s a look in his eyes that Roman doesn’t quite understand and he smiles softly. “All right, kiddo. If you need help or anything, just come find me, okay?”

“Likewise,” Logan adds, looking exhausted but nevertheless sincere. “Although I have the upmost faith in your ability to take care of Virgil while he sleeps.”

Roman feels some of the tightness in his chest ease slightly at their assurances. He offers them a faint smile and nods. “Thank you. To both of you.”

Patton returns his smile with a warm, albeit tired, one of his own. He squeezes Roman’s shoulder before both he and Logan sink out to grab a few hours more of sleep. Roman stays standing in the middle of the commons for a moment longer, watching the rise and fall of Virgil’s chest. He’s still pale and sweaty but he’s breathing and both Logan and Patton seem to think he’ll be okay in a few days and that’s what really matters, isn’t it?

If both the Dad and Voice of Reason aren’t considering the worst case scenarios, then perhaps Roman shouldn’t be either. Being Creativity made that harder, but he could try. Besides, letting too much negative Creativity take over his thoughts had the potential to make Virgil’s recovery a bit harder. And after tonight, the last thing Roman wants to do is worsen the Anxious Side’s state.

Roman glances around the room. Virgil isn’t awake to take any medicine, but there had to be a way for him to help somehow. Logan had taken care of the injuries already. But he still had a fever, and the heat practically rolled off the Side in waves. He even looks uncomfortable, even though he’s unconscious. The Prince purses his lips before an idea occurs to him.

He glances at Virgil once more before conjuring a washcloth and towel. He runs it under the bathroom faucet before quickly returning to the commons. As gently and carefully as he can, the Creative Side lifts his head and sits on the couch. He drapes the towel across his legs before resting Virgil’s head in his lap and placing the cool, damp cloth on the Side’s forehead.

When Virgil’s eyes flutter open a few hours later, his nose brushes the thin cotton of Roman’s white shirt over his abdomen. He has no idea why his head is in Princey’s lap, or why the Creative Side looks so tired even as he gives him a soft grin.

“You’re awake.” Roman sounds… relieved. It only confuses Virgil more.

“Uh, yeah.” Virgil blinks a few times against the sunrise streaming in through the blinds. He squints up at the Prince. “What… happened?”

“Y’know, Virge,” he says, still with that small, vaguely lopsided smile as he dabs something cold and wet against his forehead, “When people say they’re falling for someone, it’s usually a metaphor.”

…

#sanders sides fanfiction #prinxiety #sanders sides #prinxiety fanfiction #fanfiction #hoo boy that took a kinda shippy turn at the end but could also be read as just playful teasing so like #i hope people liked it okay #never written a prinxiety dynamic before so that was fun #sickness #glass breaking #injury #foot injury #blood mention #let me know if any other warnings need to be tagged #okay ill stop rambling in the tags now

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sidewritings · 6 years

Text

Tarnished Crown

Pairing: Prinxiety (platonic or romantic, reader’s choice)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Negative self-image, insecurities, lack of sleep,

Word Count: 1865

Author’s Note: This lovely fic was expertly edited by @jiyudreamer for the wonderful @nyxwordsmith . Happy birthday, sweetheart. I hope you like the fic.

Roman shut his bedroom door behind him with a gentle click and slumped against it. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and dimmed the lights in his room. Roman groaned and pushed himself away from the door, moving slowly and slightly unsteadily over to his bed. Reaching it, he flopped down onto it without his usual dramatic sigh or gesture, he was too tired for that.

He'd been so busy lately, writing scripts for videos, acting (and doing a bit of directing) in the videos, practicing for auditions and then auditioning for local shows, and so on. Of course, he enjoyed those things, but they still took a toll on him. And the most draining thing was pretending it wasn't draining him.

Even exhausted beyond belief, a prince still has got to slay. Roman had to wake up earlier than normal to make himself an extra cup of coffee and cover up the dark circles under his eyes, consequentially making the dark circles worse, but the other sides couldn't know he was struggling. He was their comic relief character, the one who could always be counted on for a dramatic reaction, high energy, and a playful nickname. Even if Thomas said Roman could never let him down, that didn't mean he couldn't let the others down, and he didn't intend to find out.

But it was finally (mostly) over. They were taking a break so no one would notice if he went to his room too early or slept in late tomorrow. Of course, he'd still have to wake up 'early' to do his makeup and get his extra cup of coffee, but they didn't have to know that. He'd still be their energetic dramatic prince.

Roman sighed briefly and quietly, unlike his usual dramatic huff of irritation or long sigh of exasperation. Who was he kidding? The other sides didn't even like him most of the time. If he stayed in his room for a while it'd probably be a relief. He didn't want to believe that, but he was the least favorite side for a reason.

He curled up into the fetal position against his pillows as he felt the first tear drip down his cheek. Roman held tightly to his knees and let the tears he'd been holding back for over a week start to fall.

There was a knock at the door and Roman held his breath.

“It's me, Princey. Let me in.”

Virgil really knew how to crash his pity party. Quickly (and reluctantly) Roman dashed away his tears, brightened the room and walked over to the door, opening it with a large smile.

“Virgil! What can Sir-Sing-A-Lot do for you today? Need some music that isn't filled with teenage angst?”

Virgil looked unimpressed with Roman's booming voice and princely performance as he entered Roman's room, letting Roman close the door behind him.

“Cut the crap, Princey. I know you're exhausted. You're not as good at hiding it as you thought.”

The words were accusatory, but the tone was not. On anyone else, he would have pegged it as concerned, but from Freak Out Boy? No way. His smile faltered before he plastered it back in place.

“What are you talking about, V?” Roman asked, raising an imperious eyebrow.

“For one thing, you're loud. I heard you get up earlier.” Virgil pointed to the wall separating their rooms. “For another, you're talking to the resident insomniac. I saw you making coffee before anyone else was awake. You also forgot to throw out your used coffee grounds a couple of times.” The anxious side put his hand up when Roman opened his mouth, “Don't worry, I covered for you, told Patton it was mine. He's worried about my caffeine intake now, but I told him I'd be kicking the habit soon.”

Roman's shoulders fell, and with it, his chipper facade.

“What do you want?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes. “I want you to get some rest. You've been working overtime for too long. We have a break, I want you to actually use it.”

Roman sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. “I meant, what do you want to keep you from telling Logan and Patton about this?”

Virgil rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I don't want anything from you Princey, get that through your head.”

Roman cocked an eyebrow at Virgil who sighed, “Fine, there is something I want from you.” Virgil pulled out the The Nightmare Before Christmas posters Roman had admired in Virgil's room from behind his back. “If anyone sees these and asks, I want you to say that you bought your own. They didn't come from me.”

Roman gasped and took the posters when Virgil handed them to him. “These are...” he turned them over, hardly believing they were real. On the back of each frame was a quote. On the back of the Jack poster was: '“Take time off... The world will not fall apart without you” -Malebo Sephodi' and on the Sally poster was '”You're my hero” -Thomas Sanders (and V)'

Roman looked up at Virgil who was looking at the floor, a blush spreading across his cheeks, visible even through his foundation.

“Thank you, Virgil. I won't tell a soul.” Roman set the posters against his bedside table, deciding to hang them up later, after a nap. He yawned and Virgil looked up, gesturing his head towards the door.

“I'll get out of your hair, let you get your beauty sleep.”

Virgil turned to go, resting his hand on the doorknob, “You're a good guy Roman, you deserve a break.” He quickly shut off the lights and slipped out of the room, leaving Roman alone.

It was sort of ironic, he hadn't liked Anxiety for the longest time. He'd wanted to be alone in his room, but now that Virgil was gone, he felt a little lonely. Shoving the feeling aside, Roman kicked off his boots, removed his tunic, and got into bed. He'd deal with emotions when he was awake.

Roman woke up sometime the next day feeling more relaxed and energized than he had in a while. Smiling, he sat up in bed, remembering the wonderful dream he'd had. He'd been a Disney prince searching for his true love, singing songs, fighting dragons, out-witting wizards, making beloved animal friends. It had been fun and sweet and romantic, though he hadn't managed to find his true love. Maybe tomorrow night.

He nearly stubbed his toe on the posters when he got up; he'd forgotten they were there and last night's strange interaction with Virgil. Roman turned the posters over and looked at the quotes on the back more carefully. They were written in beautiful swirling script in metallic gold Sharpie marker. The ink was bold and bright, it looked like it had been written recently, but the posters themselves were slightly faded in their frames. Roman smiled, they were clearly the posters fro Virgil's room, but the quotes were new. Virgil had probably added them (and in gold script no less) when he'd decided to give them to Roman.

Then he read the quotes again, the one from Malebo Sephodi was a reminder to rest. It stung a little, to see that they didn't need him all the time, but it was also a bit of a relief. He could and should take a breather from time to time. The second quote was from the Am I ORIGINAL? Sanders Sides video, where Thomas said... In small script next to Thomas's name was '(and V)'.

Virgil had just called Roman his hero. After all the insulting nicknames, the arguments, his blind distaste for the other side in general, Virgil had still written that. He wanted to run out of his room and hug the other side. He wanted to cry and hide in his room, he didn't deserve this. He wanted-

Roman's stomach growled and reminded him that he hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. He needed to put in an appearance and get some food before he did... well, whatever he decided to do about Virgil's kind gesture. But first, he needed to look like his usual regal self.

Roman got dressed in a clean set of his usual clothes, brushed his hair until it shone and stayed where it was supposed to. And for the finishing touch, a bit of concealer under the eyes. He didn't need as much as he had, but it would still be a while before the dark circles under his eyes went away completely. Looking as much the part of the handsome prince as he could, Roman exited his bedroom, heading down the hallway and stairs to the kitchen where something smelled very good and cheesy.

As he passed the living room, Logan briefly acknowledged him with a nod over the top of the book he was reading. Roman returned the greeting with a jaunty salute, no use trying to talk to Mr. Academia when he had his nose in a book.

Given the delightful smell wafting from the kitchen, he'd expected to find Patton there cooking something delicious. He hadn't expected to see Patton sitting at the kitchen table and Virgil of all people standing over the stove.

“Good morning, Roman!” Patton called cheerfully, looking up from whatever game he was playing on his phone to smile at him.

“Good afternoon, Patton! You're looking well,” Roman responded with his usual cheer, though it wasn't as forced as it had been the last few days. He looked at Virgil who hadn't turned around or acknowledged him at all.

“Hey there, V! I didn't know you could cook.” He tried to smile kindly at Virgil as the other side turned to look at him.

Virgil smirked at him. “Morning there sleeping beauty. I didn't know you knew what a stove was for.”

Roman rolled his eyes at Virgil's weak attempt at an insult. It looked like playful banter was still on the table then, and like they weren't going to publicly acknowledge what had happened last night.

“I may not be the brainiac or the father figure here, but I figured out basic household appliances a while ago.” Roman sat at the table next to Patton, who had gone back to his game.

Virgil turned back to stirring the pot on the stove. “Good, then maybe you can cook tomorrow. I made mac and cheese for lunch.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. What with the break and everything, he'd assumed each of them would be on their own for food or at least they'd be ordering pizza or something.

“I tend to burn everything to an inedible crisp or get overzealous with the chopping thing. How about I just set the table and do dishes afterward?”

“Fine.”

It wasn't perfect, Roman thought as he got up to get glasses, bowls, and forks out for lunch. He was still hiding most of his insecurities, and the truce between Virgil and himself was still tenuous, but it was better than it had been, and Roman only hoped things would continue to improve.

#Tarnished Crown #Sanders Sides Fanfiction #sidewritten #Prinxiety #hurt/comfort

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