Alcohol Tw - Blog Posts

redainianbard​:

Upon hearing this familiar voice, Jaskier tensed, he took a deep swig of his drink and composed himself. Turning to face her with wide arms “Witch, how can I be of service to you this fine day?” he smiled on the outside but his day was not fine, Jaskier was never comfortable with his emotions outside of his art and this was something very few knew.

His previous conversation with Geralt hurt him. Deeply. He was angry and defeated, just as he felt when he was left atop that mountain in Cairngorn, it was a feeling he wished would never return and yet here it is. he faltered for a moment and spoke plainly to the sorceress. “You know that your boyfriend is a bit of an arse sometimes. Don’t you?” he leant back against the bar and picked up his drink and swigged again, it may not be a lasting solution but the burning did dull his senses.

⊱ ──────────── {⋆⌘⋆} ──────────── ⊰

Yennefer had thought it was more likely for Skellige to fall into the sea before she saw the day where her and Jaskier were friendly. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, careful to keep the contents of her drink inside of the glass. He smelled the same as he always did. It reminded her of home. 

“You can never be of any service, save cursing our ears and flattering random women,” the witch teased, letting go of him. “Yes, well, he seems to have made it *quite clear that he is no such thing to me, but yes. I am aware that he is a complete and utter arse of a human being.”

Copying his action, she took a drink of her own. Geralt was the exact thing she was trying to get off of her mind, but she supposed commiserating would work for the time being. “Should've known I’d find you here if you showed up. Been here long?”

⌘Yennefer and Jaskier⌘

@redainianbard

Yennefer was so over this week. With the whole Geralt situation pressing down on her like a lead weight, she was sick and tired of this stupid town, and wanted nothing more than to be able to make her escape. The nature of the town prevented her, and she hated the place for it. 

So she did the only thing she could manage, and kept going through the motions. Work, home, sleep, repeat. In her down time, she would do her best to make herself happy with the little things: watch the television, spend time with Ciri, and occasionally go for a drink when the girl was busy for the evening. 

It was one of those nights, she entered the local pub shortly after she had gotten off of work. A drink would do wonders for her aching heart. She had only been in the place long enough to order herself some sort of fruity concoction when she heard him. Singing filled the place. There was no mistaking who the owner was. She had dealt with it for decades now. Turning on her heel, black skirt flowing out around her knees, she looked round for him. 

Surely enough, he was making his way round the tables. She wanted to hate the display, she wanted to feel annoyed at his appearance, yet the only thing she felt was relief. If nothing else was normal, she could always count on Jaskier to be, well, himself. She met his eyes while he was giving his little performance, and offered a little smile. Yennefer approached him as soon as he finished; smirking, she raised an eyebrow. 

“Bard,” her voice was much less biting than it usually was, almost, nearly, affectionate.

Awww, this is so adorable! *hitting Arthur repeatedly* you’re so stupid, so so stupid.

A drunk Merlin hitting on Arthur and Arthur getting very flustered (and surprisingly pleased) about it.

"Hello, your majesty," a voice slurs to Arthur's right. Oh no.

"Merlin, I was gone for an hour. All you had to do was wait in our room, how did you—" Arthur remembers that he left Merlin with Gwaine. Arthur would very much like to reach back in time and punch himself in the face. "Ah."

"You know," Merlin says, and leans into him heavily. He coughs once and tries to push him off, wrenching his lukewarm drink from him at the same time, "You're very pretty."

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur responds, averting his eyes in an effort to stay stoic.

"No, really," and that one almost comes out like a purr, all low and secretive. "Especially when you're out of that stupid chainmail."

"Right, well, the chainmail is kind of necessary, Merlin," he manages. Speaking is rapidly becoming... difficult. Especially with Merlin draping his arm around his shoulder and mumbling into his ear.

"Is it?" His breath is hot and smells of alcohol, and Arthur has to shrug him off again.

"You aren't being yourself, Merlin."

The light in his eyes dims a little. But then he blinks and scoots toward him again—this time with an entirely different approach.

"I sometimes wonder," Merlin says with something devilish playing at his lips, "If you choose not to learn how to dress yourself."

Arthur's voice is rough when he speaks. "Why would I do that...?"

"Because," he replies with a grin, "Then... well, I'd have to keep changing your clothes for you."

He feels Merlin's hand dancing across his thigh and grips it, pushing it away. His face is burning, he must be bright pink, and his heart is thudding hard.

"You're going to regret this tomorrow, Merlin. I swear I'll make fun of you until you die."

"Worth it," he mutters as he takes to playing with Arthur's hair. He tries not to think about how nice it feels.

"Right, that's it. Enough. Time to go to sleep," Arthur says with a finality which Merlin can puzzle out, even with a muddy brain that's been addled by alcohol.

"Nooooooo," Merlin whines as Arthur takes his forearm and drags him from the tavern.

As he marches his best friend back to their lodgings, Arthur has to remind himself that princes don't fall for servants.