#mi writes

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role: Aramán (Web Series) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Wicander Halovar/Teor Pridesire Characters: Teor Pridesire, Wicander Halovar Additional Tags: Wet Dream, Religious Guilt, Frottage, Sexual Repression, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Internalized Homophobia, Praise Kink Summary:

“FUCK!”

Nephrit watches as Vanya throws the two-handed sword to the ground and turns away from her, her orange skin flushed from training and sweat dripping down her brow. It’s the third time Vanya has decided to throw a tantrum because the loss of her magical powers frustrates her.

Nephrit remains unimpressed.

“Pick it back up,” she says, voice even and arms crossed.

Fists balled at her side, breath coming out in angry puffs, Vanya turns around stares up at her. She’s so incredibly short. Even the horns growing straight up out of her forehead don’t add much height to her—but the broad shoulders, the big muscles of her biceps and the anger in her eyes make her seem bigger all the same.

Nephrit isn’t good at training people, but she understands why she’s been picked to work with Vanya. She can smell the guilt and shame from miles away, can see it in the tense line of Vanya’s jaw, the desperation with which she works.

For a small moment Nephrit thinks that Vanya might protest and not pick her sword back up. But eventually, after grinding her teeth and digging her nails into her palms for a few heartbeats, Vanya walks back over to the sword and picks it up.

“Why the fuck is it so—“ Vanya starts, then stops herself, the flush on her skin deepening.

“Hard?” Nephrit asks, raising an eyebrow.

Vanya pulls a face.

“Yes.”

Thanks for the prompt, I hope you like what I wrote for it ☺️

Words: 765

Established Geraskier, misunderstanding, fluff

Geralt had noticed something was bothering Jaskier. Not that it was hard to notice. The bard had been awfully quiet the past days. Hadn't even begged Geralt about coming with him on the hunt or made him promise to tell him everything in great detail. 

However, normally Jaskier would be in a better mood after a day or two again or he would come to Geralt to talk with him about it. Now five days have passed and nothing has changed and  at this point the Witcher was really concerned. 

He told himself that he really needed to talk to Jaskier, find out what was wrong. He even mentally cursed himself for not doing so sooner. What kind of boyfriend was he?

So when he entered the room they had rented in the inn, he was fully prepared to actually talk, to comfort, to go kill somebody, who caused his beloved bard such distress. What he was not prepared for was finding Jaskier standing in the middle of the room, his packed bag next to him.

Jaskier himself was chewing nervously on his bottom lip, not looking at Geralt. 

 “What...what is going on?” Geralt asked, having an idea but not wanting it to be true. 

“I am leaving. I have to.” Jaskier whispered, now looking at his boyfriend. He seemed sad, defeated. 

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role: Aramán (Web Series) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Wicander Halovar/Teor Pridesire/Tyranny Characters: Tyranny (Critical Role), Teor Pridesire, Wicander Halovar, Kattigan Vale Additional Tags: Light Dom/sub, Light BDSM, Praise Kink, Kink Negotiation, (it mostly happens off screen), Polyamory, Spanking, Tail Sex, Coming Untouched, Cunnilingus, Voyeurism, Switch Tyranny, Dom Teor, Sub Wicander, Religious Guilt, The struggle when you've only had this body for six months and no one is going to explain sex stuff to you even though you're an ancient demon, Mutual Pining, Kattigan is being a good friend, Panic Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Porn as Character Study, First Time, POV Tyranny Summary:

She hadn't expected to end up here. All she'd wanted in this gods-forsaken city was her stone, and now she found an entire group of strange people and even more strange happenings surrounding them.

There was no way now that Vaelus could leave them—not after witnessing the resurrection of Occtis Tachonis. Not after promising Sir Julien that she'd protect him so he wouldn't run off and get himself killed.

Not now that she'd heard the song of the nightingale as that woman in the form of a wolf came pounding towards her, making her heart beat so fiercely. Vaelus hadn't known it was still able to beat like that after seventy long years of feeling hollow and lost without a purpose.

Without her mother to be proud of her.

It seemed like such terrible irony that the person making Vaelus' heart sing like a nightingale was one of the Lloys—the very people who started the chain of events that led to the destruction of what Vaelus had loved most in this world.

"It's beautiful," Thaisha whispered next to her as they stared out over the lake nestled between the peaks of the Sunset Mountains. It had been so long since Vaelus left the Mournvale, had seen something else than endless grief.

Now she beheld mountains inlaid with rose quartz, glittering in the setting sun and reflecting on the still water surface below.

It really was beautiful.

Looking at nature like this, at life, had been painful ever since Sylandri's presence was ripped from this world. Vaelus had forgotten what it felt like to have her breath stolen in the face of such beauty. To feel truly and painfully alive.

Sitting on a large boulder next to one another was strangely peaceful. Vaelus tilted her head back and then glanced sideways at Thaisha. Had Vaelus been born an orc, she too would have wanted to strike her shaper down. There was still the old resentment, the wary mistrust of a Lloy by her side. But Thaisha had been nothing but kind. Seeing her with Occtic was... strange and heart-warming and almost painful, especially after having witnessed her with her daughter.

Vaelus didn't know anything about being a mother, but she knew everything about being a daughter.

Before she could think about it further, her hand slid to the side and brushed against Thaisha's. A beat of silence.

Then, somewhere in the distance, a nightingale started to sing.

"Do you hear that?" Thaisha asked. Before Vaelus could answer, Thaisha had intertwined their fingers and squeezed Vaelus' fingers as she looked around for the source of the bird song.

"Yes," Vaelus said, unsure if she was referring to the bird or her own beating heart.

"What do you think it means?" Thaisha whispered, looked down at their hands and then quickly pulled her hand away. The green on her cheeks darkened slightly and Vaelus found herself enchanted by how soft it made her look.

"It means that we're supposed to be together," Vaelus said. If looking at nature through Thaisha Lloy's eyes made it possible to love the world again, to make her heart beat again, then she could believe that everything was possible.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role: Aramán (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Wicander Halovar/Teor Pridesire Characters: Wicander Halovar, Teor Pridesire Additional Tags: Panic Attacks, Crisis of Faith, Loss of Faith, Religious Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing Body Heat, Wicander Needs A Hug Summary:

Despite being a disappointment in his father's eyes, Julien had always been an accomplished fighter. It was his duty to protect Aranessa and under his watchful eye she had never come to harm with the exception of last night.

He was an eldest son and a knight—protecting people was second nature to him, no matter how little he cared for most people out there. Not once had Julien ever asked if he was something worth protecting, because that line of thinking was unproductive, unnecessary and stupid. He was competent and his battle prowess had been proven hundreds of times.

He didn't need protection.

He didn't need anyone.

"Julien!"

Over the years Julien had learned to ignore most people, but he could never ignore his Lady.

"I forbid you to die!"

He wanted to bite back that he didn't intend to die, that the spectres surrounding him wouldn't get the better of him—but they seemed to be drawn to him, swarming him like moths fluttering towards the flame. And yet, looking at their hungry faces, Julien felt drawn to them. It would be so much easier to lower his rapier and just let them sink their claws into his chest, reaching into the empty nothing that had become of his rib cage.

Maybe he hesitated a second to long.

As his rapier clattered to the ground, Julien cursed under his breath and drew back his demi-gauntlet only to be grabbed violently from behind. The cold grip of death and the unexpected gentleness with which his arm was twisted behind his back should have made him fight harder.

There was no honor in giving up.

He should fight for his Lady who commanded him to live.

A blinding flash of light made Julien close his eyes. The following screech almost deafened him and with a violent tear the creature holding him was ripped away.

"A corpse cannot seek vengeance," a calm voice said to his left. When Julien opened his eyes again, Vaelus was there, her censer whip wrapped around the spectre in front of him. She was clearly shielding him with her own body and it made something inside of him unravel.

He was not a boy in need of protection, he didn't need to be shielded from anything—but his traitorous chest refused to care. No one had ever stood between him and danger, it had always been his duty.

"Pick up your sword," Vaelus said cooly as the spectre evaporated with a terrible shriek. "And live another day."

"Stop. Interfering. With my fights," he bit out and picked up his rapier before getting back into position. Vaelus raised an eyebrow.

"I will when you stop trying to commit suicide," she said unimpressed by his aggression. Julien decided that he could still argue with her later, could reprimand her for implying that Julien was unable to protect himself or fulfill his duty.

He filed that feeling in his chest away and turned around to position himself with his back to Vaelus.

"That's more like it," she said. "Until you're able to do it yourself again, I will protect you."