#iorvethofdunwall

@iorvethofdunwall​  --   ❛  kill me if you must. i’ve nothin’ to live for anyway.  ❜(Garrett!)

                                                             the witcher 3

It was midday, but with the cloud cover it might as well have been midnight. looming, and a menacing dark grey, they bore down on the muddy road while Ysmay walked alongside her horse, slogging through the muck with puffs and grunts. She’d been warned by Mousesack to stay to the road before leaving Cintra, nothing good would come from the forests, but to that the fleeing Princess growled a muffled: “fuck this.” Leading her horse off road, nearly losing a boot to the near-sludge like mud. 

Pine needles created a bed beneath her shoes, though the snapping of twigs and creak of dead grass would be undeniable beneath her horse’s feet as they walked; she was keen to keep an eye on the road, and the other to the darkness of the forest...until, she smelled something. 

It was more than wet leaves decaying in the dark; it was putrid, the rancid stench of bodies far too along in decomposition to be above ground. Ysmay recoiled, lifting a hand to her nose while her horse pawed the ground, pulling hard to move the Princess backwards--

That’s when she saw them.

Ghouls.

A squishing and squelching of flesh mixed with the sounds of teeth on bone, growls and snorts--and through the gloom, Ysmay witnessed two Ghouls, beasts slick with Melitele knows what, covered in fleshy-pink and grey skin, hunched over what looked like a toppled caravan. Evidently snacking on those who had been killed a few days prior. 

She turned quickly, waving a hand in front of her horse. “Calm, Thumbelina.” She whispered, a blue glow emanating from her fingertips immediately set her horse at ease, allowing her to retrieve her longsword, crafted of silver and given to her on her name day. She’d never killed a Ghoul, but if it was her or the monster, she’d light the damn sword on fire and decapitate the thing. 

One step and a flash of moonlight against the blade was all it took to get the Ghouls’ attention. One came quick, lopping after her with blood and bile stained teeth, trailing a half-decomposed arm in its wake. 

“Fuck.” 

@iorvethofdunwall​ asked: “ there’s a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. it would be a pity to damage yours. ” [from Tamlen]

princess bride sentence starters | accepting

Yennefer lifted her eyebrow in a perfect arch, though a smirk managed to curl on her lips. “You know, plenty of people like to preoccupy themselves with my breasts, but I don’t think anyone has ever quite been so directly concerned about damage coming to them.” She was still worried that one of these days, she’d piss Dandelion off enough that he would write that ballad about her chest (and probably nothing else flattering about her). “Just how do you suggest I keep them protected?”

@iorvethofdunwall​ sent  (Taking out Iorveth's inner hoe on Geralt) [🔙   //   push  my  muse  against  a  wall .] [⚡   //   tug  my  muse’s  hair .] [🔪   //   put  a  knife  to  my  muse’s  throat .]

AGRESSION//SEXUAL TENSIONacts  that  could  be  aggressive   //   or  a  little  bit  sexy   //   or  both.                   send  a  symbol  from  your  muse  to  mine.  feel  free  to  combine  actions  or  add  specifics  even  when  it  doesn’t  ask  for  it   !     can  send  non - sexually  as  well.

It happens so quickly, the way the elf shoves him against the wall. His teeth clench together at the pain that shoots throughout his body at the impact, fingers tangle into his hair and jerk, causing his head to jerk upwards and his teeth to clench together. 

Golden eyes land on the elf’s face, the knife at his throat should concern him. It doesn’t. Iorveth won’t hurt him, he won’t slice his throat, this is some sort of power move. Cat-like eyes are suddenly full of amusement, almost taunting, as if daring him to slice through the flesh of his throat.

“If you don’t intend on cutting me, I suggest you lower the knife, Iorveth. We both know you won’t kill me.” That look in his eyes, it’s so much more than distaste, there is something more. Something Geralt has seen in men and women alike, many times.

Art Meme || Accepting!

ꜱᴇɴᴅ 💞 ꜰᴏʀ ᴍʏ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴋɪꜱꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴍɪᴅɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏɴ ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴇᴠᴇ ( accepting )

The party was going on marvelously at Jaskier’s brothel. The Rosemary and Thyme was full of people chatting, drinking, playing, laughing, dancing and every other sort of social activities that a party like that could’ve induced. Jaskier was greeting his guests and bragging about his place and the atmosphere that was spreading all around of pure fun. He was honestly very happy in that moment, to see all of his new and old friends coming from every part of the world to attend his event, and was wearing a big smile since hours now.

The place was very elegantly decorated with all sort of plants, curtains made out of the finest silks, lights, flowers… every sort of fancy decoration that helped the guests getting into the party mood. And it was also so very well done. After all the bard ran from a place to another for more than a week to get everything in time and having everything ready for the celebration.

The music was loud and the laughters were even louder for all the evening. Jaskier took a moment for himself to walk out the place and taking a small breath of the cold air that was spreading through the night into the streets of Novigrad. The city seemed so quite from the outside of the tavern. Almost… sad. Jaskier blinked once, and turned himself to enter his place once again, so ready to inhale the passion of the party from every part of the room. 

It was then that he noticed the elf, standing on a corner of the tavern. Ah, so typical of Iorveth. Jaskier immediately recognized him - how could he let the elf come in unnoticed, not greeting him when he entered the place earlier? How long was he here though? …Scoia’taels, always so quiet.

Jaskier smiled and started to walk through his guest and when he was closer to the elf… everyone started to shout and the music was even louder, the laughs and the hype was higher all around. It was the new year’s hour. 

Jaskier was caught out of guard, not being close to anyone to wish them a happy new year, but being closer to Ioverth to be heard by him at least. He hesitated for a second, before realizing… that the elf was standing under a misletoe.

What. an. awesome. opportunity.

❝ don’t give me that look, shitling. ❞ / Avini

“oof, what rubbed you the wrong way?” shitling was one of the new and pretty imaginative names he’d been called lately. geralt had seen his fair share of pissed off witchers, had been in the very same situation, and usually such situations tended to end in great bloodshed. “wanna talk about it or should i continue silently judging you?”

“Fuck off.”

Every hideous story she hadn’t bought about Witchers being monsters collided in her brain at once as she was faced with the tall elf, staring up into eyes that were...intensely alien from her own, not just the magical reshaping of a Witcher but elven as well, and malicious.  She’d met elves before of course, and having grown up on the fringes herself was hardly picky about such things as ear shape, but the hostility and distance made it seem as though she may as well be facing a monster.  She had no idea how to reframe this situation, what to say to make him back down or leave her be.

...Thus the general statement.

Hardly putting it away, she rammed the dagger forward and reached for the other one she kept on her belt.  There were more than the two obvious, she wasn’t stupid, so if she was disarmed or had to leave one inside him it wasn’t the end of the world.  There was a little anger behind the strike, more than a little; her brother in law had given her that lute when she’d learned to play.  It was older than she was and if he’d damaged it she’d be both heartbroken and out her easiest means of making money until she could get a new one.