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#but waldo has my heart
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Vincent Price and Peter Lorre - The Comedy of Terrors (1964)
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fun fact: I actually have not 1, not 2, but 3 dedicated playlists of OST-style music for my various Guild Wars 2 AUs, and... that, of all ways, is the closest I get to "outlining" my stories. every sequence has a dedicated track that I picked out according to what I'd imagine playing in-game if it was an actual playable story arc in Guild Wars 2.
Regrowth's playlist has 59 songs and Flourish has 28.
then the Tideturners have one too, with a grand total of 22.
......... I don't have a problem,
#my posts#someday i might share some of them tbh#though at the moment there's so little context for these AUs that it'd probably not be particularly interesting yet lol#the boss battle and character themes are some of my favs#I'll give you one for peeking down here in the tags: Saoirse's main battle theme is 'Unforgiven' by Two Steps From Hell.#it's especially good because it even has 3 versions that would perfectly match up with her progression through the fight;#orchestral version is phase 1. instrumental is phase 2 adding drums. and final phase is the main version which adds a choir.#okay i'll give some more too if you're still down here lol but spoiler alert they're like 99% songs by Two Steps From Hell#'We Will Bury' You is the initial betrayal/encounter theme between Pirkko and Saoirse just before the battle starts#'Tragic Dragon' is the theme for Oblivion... Dragon of Null and Void. his true nature has always been a pitiful one.#'Science' is Pirkko's theme and I still love it a lot tbh#then there's 'Prelude to a Nightmare' as a general theme for Scarlet's ghost while she's still tied to Saoirse#'Gamechanger' and 'Where's Waldo' have to do with when Scarlet is in control of Saoirse and takes over the fight#when the latter starts playing you KNOW shit's about to get real. all inhibitions are out the window. it's do or die.#but on the flipside: Ceara post-Oblivion has some really emotional themes too. 'The Mechanical Heart' by Shannon Chiang for one#with that one having to do with when she starts trying to reclaim her identity and find a new path forward#all of these playlists are still WIPs though; Regrowth actually has a lot of defunct tracks from scrapped scenes in the Alpha version#and Flourish and the Tideturners need a lot more lol mostly Flourish tho since the Tideturners are more of a setting than a story#anyway. i think i've rambled enough to no one in particular lol#i am putting absolutely none of my tags on this. rolls away
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sofs16 · 7 months
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our leclerc win
continuation to a paddock day — next
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yn
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liked by charles_leclerc and 30 others
yn it’s charles day! i know im usually very unserious and goofy at times but lets be fr, charles is my other half. actually, he allows me to be me so basically he’s my whole being. ill say what everyone is thinking, i know people are like omg f1 driver! omg! BUT HE IS MUCH MORE THAN THAT! he burns pasta for a living (he’s learning atm), plays me beautiful songs on the piano im always blessed to hear, reassures me when things dont feel right, and everything in between that. i will always be behind you, charles leclerc. even if i have to find a job soon, i will be supporting you through a screen. i love you and it’s kind of stupid but i think youre the one for me. thanks for choosing me
view all 50 comments
landonorris Your love is disgustingly sweet but happy birthday mate🎉
charles_leclerc I love you so much. charles_leclerc 😘😘😘
charles_leclerc You are the one for me as wel, cherie❤️ [liked by yn] pierregasly Charles is crying on my shoulder
⤷ yn good
⤷ charles_leclerc 😂
october 16, 2023
yn
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liked by charles_leclerc, and 35 others yn hot a$$ 💋
view all 37 comments
landonorris why not just say ass
⤷ yn because im manifesting money, dumbass
⤷ charles_leclerc Woah.
⤷yn dw baby, waldo lets me call him dumbass because he thought i was one of the development drivers and then got embarrassed and walked into a door
⤷ landonorris I THOGUHT WE WERENT TELLING ANYONE ABT THAT
⤷ yn 🤷🏻‍♀️ loyal gf 1st, human 2nd, lando friend 3rd.
⤷ carlossainz55 what about me, yn
⤷ yn ooooo . loyal gf 1st, human 2nd, carlos fan 3rd, lando friend 4th
⤷ landonorris EZCHSE ME
⤷ fernandoalo_oficial Hello Yn👋
⤷ yn NEVERMIND loyal gf 1st, fernando fan 2nd, human 3rd, carlos fan 4th, lando friend 5th
⤷ landonorris Wow.
⤷ yn but being human is loving lando norris so 🤷🏻‍♀️
⤷ landonorris My fav wag (unless i get a gf) 🧡
[liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, fernandoalo_oficial, yourbsf, and pierregasly]
november 16, 2023
yn
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liked by charles_leclerc, and 18 others
yn WAHTTTT!!! first (and last of the season) day back at the paddock as A WAG. A WAG. ME?
view all 7 comments
charles_leclerc We’ve been dating 5 months, mon ange…
⤷ yn AND ILL NEVER GET OVER IT
landonorris Pretty!
⤷ charles_leclerc Norris. ⤷ landonorris AS A FRIEND MATE
⤷ yn YOURE SO CUTIE LANDO THANKS!!! yourbsf PROUD MOM ERA [ liked by yn ]
november 24, 2023
| kellypiquet has requested to follow you! 10m
| maxverstappen1 has requested to follow you! 2m
2 requests accepted!
yn.updates
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liked by ynlover16, and 1,181 others
yn.updates After 5 months, Yn has gone public on Instagram and is now verified! view all 47 comments
ynlocer16 3RD RECENT LORD HAVE MERCY
⤷ charles.yn AHAHA CHARLES FIGHTING THE DRIVERS IN THE COMMENTS
charlferrari ALL THE CHARLES CONTENT 🥹 OUR QUEEN!!! lwymmdts THE BIRTHDAY POST LAST MONTH. november 24, 2023
yn
abu dhabi
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liked by charles_leclerc, and 381,272 others
yn p1 in abu dhabi and in my heart @charles_leclerc ❤️ no longer lowkey wag 😞😞😞😞 plsxdont hate me i have humor
view all 161,181 comments
ynprix SHE SILLYYYYY LOVEU THANKS FOR GOING PUBLIC QUEEN
⤷ yn @landonorris SEE i AM silly! ⤷ landnorris SOMETIMES
charles_leclerc I love you 😘
chayn im crying i just scrolled thru all her posts and saw some charles’ comments 🥹
⤷ yn.fan unfortunately she archived a lot of them:( ⤷yn_edits @yn PUT EM UPPPP
⤷ yn sorry yall thats private 😞 maybe when both of us pass away together
chachaferrari STOP DOES THIS MEAN CHARLES LEARNED HOW TO MAKE PASTA
⤷ yn ;)
ynsart i love how active she is! she’s replying (or liking comments) to everyone, its so wholesome
[liked by yn]
yourbsf ALWAYS LOWKEY
⤷ yn preach sister
november 26, 2023
charles_leclerc
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liked by yn, and 4,272,585 others
charles_leclerc i see you, amour @yn 🌦️
view all 1,172,588 comments
yn dang, i’ll be sneakier next time! [liked by charles_leclerc]
ynferrari She takes photos?!?
⤷ charles_leclerc She double majored and did photography 💞
⤷ yn_lovvv HE SOUNDS LIKE A PROUD BFFF
december 2, 2023
charles_leclerc
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liked by 3,181,493 others
charles_leclerc i love them 🤍
view all 248,595 comments
ynstyle YN MET THE FAMILY?
⤷ yn shit my pants the whole flight but i love them
⤷ arthur_leclerc Yup, after you introduced yourself with a different name👍🏻
⤷ yn ARTHUR WE DONT TALK ABOUT IT LLEASE I SEESR TO GOD
⤷ charles_leclerc I quite liked the name changed
ynred i feel like she said yn leclerc. [liked by yn]
december 24, 2023
yn
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liked by 172,484 others
yn BEFORE ANY OF YALL SCOLD ME. yes, i brought the pizza. but did i think he’d ask for it mid (climbing/hiking? i dont even know babes) NO!
view all 35,283 comments
leclerc_pascale oh mon dieu
⤷ yn JE SUIS DÉSOLÉ MAMAN, C’EST TOUT CHARLES! i’m sorry maman, it’s all charles!
⤷charles_leclerc j’ai un rêve. respect that, amour 😓 i have a dream. respect that, love
⤷ yn i respect that dream of eating in CERTAIN places but okay😘
yn1989 jesus how many languages does she speak
⤷ yn 7🤍
⤷yn1989 WHAT. WHICH ONES
⤷ yn german, italian, french, japanese, spanish, english, and icelandic! ⤷ yn1989 charles’ favorite number is 7 😭 you both are so cool
⤷yn IVE BEEN SAYING THIS AND HE ASKED ME OUT ON JUNE 3, 2023. 6(june)+3+2+2+3= 16. LIKE ARE U JOKING
⤷ landonorris @ charles_leclerc your girlfriend is actually crazy. She’s a crazy fan
⤷ charles_leclerc I love that about her though. All of her 💞
⤷ yn 🥲🙂 shaking. kicking my feet. biting my nails. screaming. ripping my hair out
january 14, 2024
chayn.updates
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liked by yn, and 5,695 others
chayn.updates yn wearing one of charles’ polos in her recent post ;)
view all 492 comments
charleswife midddd. could literally be any polo..
⤷ charloss why are you actin like u have a chance bbg 😭 and ferrari and charles’ initials in on the bottom collar
january 18, 2024
charles_leclerc
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liked by 8,707,606 others
charles_leclerc I usually do not post for birthday’s but the world needs to see my AMAZING photos of you (@ yourbsf)😘 Yn, meeting you has changed my life like no other. to the chef in our house, the singer, the one translating a lot of things for me, dressing me up, and “everything in between”, happiest birthday amour ❤️ I got my Leclerc win when I met you
view all 4,484,585 comments
yourbsf yn will lose her shitballs over this and IM THE BETTER PHOTOGRAPHER
lewishamilton Happiest birthday to the life of the grid! landonorris happy birthday smartass 🧡
⤷ yn thanks dumbass 😘
yn IM GOIN CRAYB
yn I DONT DESERVE YOU IM SHITTING MY PANTS WHSTVTHEFUCK
pierregasly Yn is born on the 16th too?!?
⤷ yn hehehehehe
daniel3.jpg I took that first photo👍🏻
leclerc_pascale ♥️je t’aime. joyeux anniversaire xx
⤷ yn merci maman! à bientôt 🥹🤍🤍🤍
[liked by leclerc_pascale, and charles_leclerc]
may 16, 2024
yn
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liked by 1,282,182 others
yn life’s hectic as usual
view all 329,585 comments
landonorris what do you even do. im still so confsued
⤷ yn im a fulltime gf who sometimes goes to her job and takes pics and makes clothes 🤷🏻‍♀️
charles_leclerc yeux d’ ange
⤷yn 💌
charlie166 charles sent those flowers. bet all my money.
⤷yn mans be winning in imola and sending me flowers and sending me virtual kisses 💋
view all 117,383 comments
may 27, 2023
charles_leclerc and yn’s stories
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replies:
pierregasly replied to yn’s story: Get a room
charles_leclerc replied to yn’s story: lovely photo of me baby🫤 thank you
yn replied to charles_leclerc’s story: damnnnn nice photo tnx babe. i look like a housewife
landonorris replied to yn’s story: EWWWWWW
carlossainz55 replied to yn’s story: Chill, yn. Breathe.
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dimepdf · 2 years
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𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋. + 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 '𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓' 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘
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masterlist. / taglist. / any request?
synopsis. since the moment that Ghost laid eyes on you, he has sworn to be smitten. too bad you are Soap's girl.
pairing. simon “ghost” riley x reader , johnny “soap” mactavish x reader
genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni, pwp, porn with plot, smut, hard pinning, semi public sex, sub!ghost, power kink, degradation kink, mommy issues, voice kink, humiliation, i know nothing about COD just here for my masked meow meow | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍
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Simon was no saint: sure, he credited himself for being a morally "sometimes" correct person with pretty decent values. 
That alone should have been enough to build a platform on top of the truly irrational thoughts that would swirl in his thick skull and had only gotten worse since the day he joined the forces. 
He had blamed his rough upbringing for a lot of things since the day he was born, but being as touched deprived as he was now was definitely one of the things he could check at the top of his list as the cause of his crippling mommy issues, and boy was your appearance only adding fuel to the fire.
Being deployed was something he had just gotten used to, the feeling of never really settling down and always being on guard, and being used to having eyes at the back of his head.
But there was one thing Simon could never quite figure out, something that seemed to come naturally to his charming pal Johnny, and that was women.
When Soap had first hinted to Ghost about him being in a two-year relationship so suddenly out of the blue a few months before you even managed to show your face. It was like playing a perplexing game of Where's Waldo to piece together the mystery woman about whom his partner was making risque jokes in their conversations.
At first, Simon just wanted to throw in the towel and was entirely convinced that you were just a figment of the soldier's imagination, not that he would blame him.
Simon understood that the battlefield is a pretty lonely place and wouldn't judge his friend for losing a couple of marbles along the way, but if Johnny was losing some of his rockers, he wouldn’t prefer the delusion to continue on for too long.
Before he could step in and pull the plug, your official appearance had almost knocked the wind from his chest like a brick straight to the heart. 
Throughout the period that you were just a pieced-together image from the shitty descriptive words Johnny had used to describe you, Simon almost stumbled the moment he had laid eyes on you. 
Perhaps it was because he hadn't had the opportunity to fully look at a woman in the way he was able to look at you, but words couldn't describe how your features had him struggling to tear his gaze away.
Luckily, his broadening and usually quiet demeanor were enough to cover up his pure awkwardness during your first introduction. 
Struggling to form a normal question or even his name, Johnny introduces him with a dismissive pat on the shoulder before moving on and rounding up the rest of the team.
Since this, your appearance has been like a plague to him, like an infection burning under his skin, blurring the line between what is wrong and what is right.
If anything, you seemed to want to spread the infection even further from the way you would always try to joke with him, how you were always the only one to get handsy with him when talking, how you would always stand up for him when Soap would do his usual teasing, how your voice would always turn soft when you spoke to him, and despite all of that, you had still been in a loving relationship with Johnny, and yet Simon just couldn't shake you from his head.
You had him so smitten, like a stray puppy just looking for some sort of attention, and your mere existence was the bone of his dreams (literally and figuratively). 
You had him staying up late at night with his makeshift mattress and a bundle of blankets to form the most comfortable cot he could build out in the middle of some country he had forgotten the name of.
Night had fallen, and the team decided it would be best to set up camp not far from the target's resting place in a nearby cleared-out lot. 
Most people would have been thrilled to get a few extra hours of sleep to unwind after all the violence, but for Simon, those quiet moments were the fucking worst, and his erection, straining against his pants, begging for any ounce of attention as it pulsed against his briefs, only proved his point later on. 
As everyone parted ways, not too far but not too close, Simon thought that he had spread out just enough away from everyone, alone in an empty room, to spread out and attempt to find his comfort against the rough hardwood flooring, but the moment he had heard the shuffle next door, his body was as still as a board.
Apparently, Simon wasn’t the only one looking for some alone time for the night.
The noises coming from the other side of the room that you and Johnny had occupied left Simon feeling like he was standing right there next to you as you two went at it.
He could only guess that you were pressed against the wall and being lifted into some sort of position that had you whimpering out Johnny's name and moaning out how big he felt inside of you and whimpering about how good he felt.
Simon would remember how he sat against the wall, listening to every moan and plea of pleasure that came from your mouth. 
Simon knew that he was in dangerous territory the moment his fingers crept past the waistband of his pants and dipped into his underwear to relieve the growing problem tenting in his pants.
It was wrong to imagine fucking your best friend's fucking hot girlfriend, but in his defense, you just sounded so sweet, begging for dick. 
Simon was just convinced it was like you wanted him to hear those sweet little whines.
His hips bucked in at the brush of his cold fingers wrapping around his hilt. 
The sensation, paired with the sound of your hiccuping moans, sent a jolt of pleasure through his senses. 
All he could hear was you as his hand fell in the humiliating action of jerking himself off.
His breath caught in his throat as his head slouched against the wall with a small thump, his heart skipping a beat at the noise but quickly ignored it as your sounds didn't seem to stop, reminding him that you were probably too busy getting your brains fucked out to listen to every little sound. 
If anything, just the sheer realization sparked Simon to want to be louder—the thought of wanting to push that bar as far as he possibly could to the point where you would catch him in the act of pleasuring himself from the sound of your voice alone.
The thought of you punishing him for doing something so wrong—for touching himself without your permission—is terrifyingly arousing.
At the image, he let out a gasp, his mouth open, his eyes squeezed shut, and his hand quickened as he fisted his hands tighter at the scenarios of you controlling him, leaving him strung onto every command. 
As your pleas became less and less audible, the bliss grew stronger and stronger.
Simon wanted to get familiar with the sound, with the noise of your orgasm creeping just around the corner.
As he could only make do with his hand, he imagined the feeling of being inside of you, the warmth of your walls, and as he brought himself closer to his own edge, the thick ribbons of cum shot from him with a grunt that followed just after yours.
The post-nut clarity left him catching his breath, yanking his mess-covered hand out of the front of his pants, and staring at everything that had unfolded with a hard, annoyed grunt.
God how he wished that he could have you.
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babydollmarauders · 1 year
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ROADIE — TREVOR ZEGRAS
dad! trevor zegras x fem! reader
summary: in which your baby says her first word while Trevor is on a roadie.
warnings: pet names?
notes: i wrote this in about 2 hours and it was not proofread. so for all i know, this could be absolute trash.
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“mama. can we say mama?” i probably looked like a crazy person, bent over the front of the cart, talking to my 10 month old in the grocery store with a rats nest of hair and wearing leggings with a heavily stained oversized Anaheim Ducks t-shirt. and the usual stares over being a 21 year old mom aren’t helping.
this has been the first time since Addy was born that no one was staying with me while Trevor is on a roadie, and it’s been a bit harder than i anticipated. it’s been exhausting because although Addy is delaying with her words, she excelled with her other milestones. namely walking. she took her first steps about two weeks ago and has been toddling about the apartment ever since, so life has turned into a fun little ‘where’s waldo?’ game every time i turn around for the past two days. she’s also going through a sleep regression, so she’s waking up every hour again, which leaves me with little to no time to sleep or shower or do anything besides dote on her. and then, of course, when i opened the cupboard this morning, i realized we were on the last jar of baby food, so cue a trip to the store.
Addy just makes some babbling noises and scream laughs in my face, making me flinch and straighten back up.
“alright duckling, i hear you loud and clear. let’s get checked out so we can go back home for some Bluey time, yeah?” i worked quickly and swiftly, scanning each glass jar of food at the self check out and bagging them based on vegetable, fruit, medley, or meal.
when i finally get out to the car and buckle Addy in, her little blue eyes, exact replicas of Trevor’s, sweep over my face as wide as saucers.
“can we try that again?” i make conversation as i finish buckling her car seat. “can you say mama? mama. mama.”
once again, my baby just stares back at me.
“or not. that’s cool too. you can totally not speak at all if you want. doesn’t matter to mommy, as long as you’re happy and healthy.”
with the grocery bags placed in the passengers seat, i start the drive back to the apartment.
when we get back, i turn the tv onto Bluey and set Addy in her jumper in the living room. giving myself some time to wash the dishes piling in the sink. about 10 minutes into it though, my phone starts ringing back in the living room. drying my hands on a dish towel, i walk the ten or so steps back to the couch and swipe at the answer button on my phone screen without even checking the caller id.
“hey babe!” Trevor’s face fills the screen in a facetime and his voice is like music to my ears.
“hi love! how was morning practice?” i use the remote sitting on the arm of the couch to pause the tv show while i go sit beside the jumper so Trevor can see our beautiful baby.
“it was good! the sharks aren’t ready for us.” his face lights up as soon as Addy comes into the camera view.
“that’s great. i believe in y’all! show those fish who the real predator is!” his laugh at my joke brings a smile to my lips and i’m overwhelmed with gratitude that this is the man i’ll be vowing to spend the rest of my life with this summer.
“how’s daddy’s little duckling?! daddy’s so happy to see your pretty little face! yes, he is!” his baby talk oddly causes my heart to skip a beat. “dada misses you so much. i can’t wait to be home tomorrow night so i can kiss all over your tiny face.”
“duh- duh” Addy babbles and i smile at Trevor on the screen.
“we’re taking dada’s absence to try and learn the word mama, aren’t we baby?” i direct the end of my sentence to Addy, who’s still babbling sounds.
“that’s cheating!” Trevor’s whine is joking and he opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can get a word out, someone else does.
“dada.” my eyes go wide, Trevor’s copying, and we both avert our gaze to our 10 month old, who just said her first word. her chubby little fingers are making grabby motions towards my phone, straight at her father.
“that’s right babygirl! say it again! say dada!” Trevor is frantic and i can see tears welling in his eyes, even through the screen.
“you can do it baby! say dada!” i encourage her, my own tears falling freely down my cheeks.
“dada. dada!” she looks at Trevor and repeats the word before looking up at me. “dada.”
“oh my god, she did it Trev! she said her first word!”
“i know! i was so worried it wasn’t gonna happen! i mean, i would love her regardless, but she did it! and it was dada!” the smile he wears is breathtaking and wide.
“she misses you. so do i.”
“i miss you too, baby. i’ll be home tomorrow night.”
****
Trevor gets home tonight and i have not gotten a reprieve from the endless shouts of dada, all morning. at the moment, Addy is wobbling down the hallway towards Trev and i’s room for the fifth time today, repeatedly shouting “dada! dada!”
i can’t be for certain, but i have a feeling she keeps assuming he’s in our room and is calling out for him. she’s definitely a daddy’s girl, although that’s not a surprise because she has been since she was born.
i’m currently trailing behind her, recording a video. after a few seconds, i scoop her up into my arms and send the video to Trevor.
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to: Trev Swift
**video attachment**
she’s been doing this all day. babygirl is looking for her dada!
from: Trev Swift
oh my little duckling! be home in 2 hours
-
i blow raspberries on her cheek and readjust her on my hip.
“daddy will be home soon! isn’t that exciting?! i’m thinking playpen time until then.” i stop beside the pack n’ play set up in the living room already stocked with a few teething toys and blocks, and set Addy inside. i put some Mickey Mouse on the tv and sit on the couch, grabbing the book i’m currently reading off of the side table.
about 30 minutes later i notice it’s been suspiciously silent and look over to Addy, only to find her napping. i smile at the sight of my sleeping daughter, and go back to reading my book.
before i even realize how much time has passed, i hear the front door opening and a thud hit the ground. Trevor’s home. i bookmark my page and snap my book shut, leaping up from the couch and making my way towards the front of the apartment, meeting Trev in the dining room.
“hi, baby.” his arms snake around my waist and he leans down to plant a kiss on my lips. “where’s Addy?”
“napping. she passed out in the playpen about an hour and a half ago.” i slip my arms around my fiancé’s neck, laying my head on his chest. “how were your trips?”
“eh. they were fine. but i missed my girls.”
we pull back and share one more kiss, this one a little deeper, before the sound of Addy’s cries drifts towards us from the other room.
“you wanna get your daughter? i need a shower.”
“oh so now she’s my daughter?” he laughs as we walk into the living room. a big smile graces his lips and he scoops Addy up and into his arms. “hey babygirl! daddy’s home and he’s not going anywhere any time soon.”
“dada!” Addy shouts and slaps both her tiny palms onto his cheeks, squishing his face.
“yeah, duckling. dada.”
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prkwook · 8 months
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LIGHT 🔭 park gunwook
☆ pairing: bf!gunwook x gn!reader
☆ genre: fluff
☆ wc: 0.4k
☆ summary: what’s better than a date to an art museum on a rainy day?
☆ warnings: none (pls lmk if you see some that i should add)
☆ note: this is my first (written) fic so it’s not that good but pls bear with me, i’ll get better eventually LOL
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“we’re gonna fly up into the blue sky so slowly and we held the moon in our arms.”
YOU pause the music playing through your shared earbuds to whisper something to the boy that accompanied you to the national gallery of art on this rainy day.
“gunwookie, c’mon. let’s move on. i want to get to the monets before it closes.” you say, tugging on your boyfriend’s sleeve a little bit to try and signal that you want to keep moving but he is stuck in place, almost in a trance-like state, staring at the piece of art in front of you guys. he is always your choice companion to museums because of his curiosity. everything peaks his interest and just like you, he always wants to learn more. you two are similar in that way. both of you could sit for hours on end, staring at the same painting, always finding some small, little detail that you didn’t see before, but today, you want to see the new monet installation and gunwook is still playing a game of where’s waldo except instead of finding a red-and-white striped shirt wearing man, he’s trying to find the meaning behind the art in front of him.
“park gunwook~” you say a little bit louder, hoping to break into the tunnel vision he has at the moment. still nothing.
you engulf him in a back hug, one of your favorite things to do. he’s always so warm and no matter what, he’ll always provide some sort of comfort. this seems to always do the trick.
“oh gunwoooooook~”
“sorry y/n, what did you say?” gunwook says, with an apologetic look in his eyes.
“it’s okay.” you smile a smile that always eases his mind a little bit. “i was just saying we should move on because i wanted to see the monets they just got but since you love van gogh so much, we can stay a little longer.”
“are you sure? i don’t want you to miss seeing something you want to see because of me.”
“no, it’s okay! i promise! we can see them another time.” you say, still hugging him.
he looks at you in the eyes and smiles, an action that never fails to make your heart flutter. you two have been dating since primary school and even after all these years, a simple action like him smiling takes your breath away. you’re convinced that in this moment, you could never love someone more.
gunwook gives you a kiss on the head, takes your hand and guides you to the bench a few feet away so you can sit and admire the masterpieces arranged on the walls.
laying your head on his shoulder, you press play and music drowns out the world around you. in this sea of people, coming and going, it’s just you, your love, and the boy that holds it.
“you always had me and you’re always shining.”
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mcdonaldsnumberone · 2 years
Text
나야 나!
produce 101/idol au hcs
these r really rudimentary thoughts so . do what u will with them
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rin does Not give a fuck about fanservice. he’s the type of edgy contestant that stares at the camera and goes “watch me,” and his fans eat that shit up.
producers will be BEGGING this boy to smile and do some finger hearts at the camera, and he grimaces instead saying smth like “why do i need cheap tricks to show my skill as an entertainer?” MF UR ON AN IDOL SURVIVAL SHOW
otoya, on the other hand, lives to suck up to his fans. always stops in the middle of going from place to place to sign people’s banners, phones, fans, etc… it takes him forever to get from one place to another because of that
he also strikes me as the kind of guy who has all the tea abt everyone in the idol industry?? if u ever upset him, you better pray that otoya doesn’t call up blue lock’s version of dispatch the moment he gets a second alone. bllk! dispatch wld be out of business if it wasnt for him feeding them crumbs of idol drama 💀
bachira is the idol that’s constantly spamming social media. it’ll be 3 am in the morning, and everyone’s notifications are going ham because he’s posting shit like “my guts are baja blasting 🤪🤪🤪” while going through his post-taco bell poop.
at the same time though, he’s probably the one that’s the most “genuine” on camera? he does whatever he wants, so he doesn’t feel a need to fake a parasocial relationship with fans or craft a work persona. this is both a managerial nightmare and a dream-come-true, but we fuck w it here
i also think bachira wld be a dancer btw
nagi livestreams all his gaming sessions. sometimes he’ll set up an among us room to play with his fans (cough nct taeyong cough). he falls asleep all the time whenever he isn’t actively performing, so fans will sometimes play “where’s waldo” with nagi whenever another member is filming stuff backstage.
he’s also RIPPED so like people will sometimes ask him to show his abs and he’ll be like :X before yanking his shirt up. he doesn’t get why people ogle over him, but hey, it gets his bills paid so who is he to complain
karasu’s a rapper. i think the visual of him leaning back in his studio while working on songs is sooooooo hot. bonus points if we get pictures of his hands n stuff
ok i Know rin technically is the first place and leader of bllk eleven, but for some reason, karasu gives me leader vibes? he’s trying to round all the boys up while they’re doing dumb shit and hes standing there like 🧍 mamas i do not get paid enough for this
hiori joins nagi in on gaming. he livestreamed him dying his hair once. it was just him, god, and his truckload of fans in a cramped ass bathroom while he wrapped his head in foil and sat on top of the toilet.
he’s also the one that gets the brightass neon hair each comeback. u know the song’s abt to slap when hiori shows up looking like the froot loops mascot 🗿
chigiri’s sister won’t quit airing out chigiri’s dirty laundry, and it drives him insane. it also drives him crazy when people thirst after his sister. also i think his fancams wld go the most viral just bc he’s very pretty, and i think he’d be fairly reasonable with fanservice
although he does get pretty snappy sometimes, so it’s a delicate balance finding what he’s in the mood for. the hair stylists love dressing him up since he’s one of the less fussy members (thanks to how much his sister used to dress him up when he was younger)
one out of the two visuals of the group (the other being aryu)
aryu practices english with his fans! he’ll attempt interviews, posts, and livestreams entirely in english to learn, and he’ll do his best to correct his mistakes :) everyone’s very supportive of him, even when he’s rambling about his latest hair styling tips in broken english and bits of japanese
also because he’s so fucking tall, he solos everyone whenever those idol sports competitions come around. his long limbs are lethal, and people will thirstpost about him violently. he’s also very fashion-forward, so he collaborates often with the styling team about the group’s concepts and outfits!
ISAGI’S THE MEOWMEOW OF THE GROUP!! he’s trying his hardest and always delivers. he’s also down horrendous for whatever noel noa is as an idol, and he’s practically begging for a collaboration every other tweet. poor boy nearly shits his pants whenever he sees noa at an awards shows or other big events
i’d also love to see him star as an mc on music shows?? he gives off the perfect zealous yet cutesy vibes to pull that off. he’s the perfect level of awkward to be endearing, and he’s always invited back because of how polite and hardworking he is :] he also def has a lot of gap moe between his self as an absolutely fucking feral performer who rips up the stage versus him being Just A Dude offstage
reo was a trainee w nagi! he practices by doing covers of other idols’ works (im trying rlly hard to incorporate his chameleon thing into the idolverse ok), and he’s really touched when trainees do covers of his songs and dances too! it shows him how far he’s come :]
he ties his hair up a lot, so fans beg him constantly to put it down! id like to think nagi once caught him on a livestream fresh out of a shower w nothing but a towel around his waist, and people went fucking NUTS over 1) seeing reo half naked all drenched w water and 2) finally seeing him without his little bun
reo is also a dancer in my heart (i am never wrong btw <3)
omg cld u imagine all the cute names u cld give to barou’s fans? the king and his loyal kingdom :] people also wld kill to see his hair down and ungelled, but he doesn’t like it bc it feels unruly so there’s some beef between his management and him over that
he got wrestled into a maid outfit once, but people loved it so much it became a key moment for the group. he doesnt mind it as much as people thought he would, but definitely wld prefer to dress up in other costumes for once. barou’s also an extremely talented performer, often shining the most when he gets solo performances over group collaborative ones.
niko is literally junji from onlyoneof 🧍he also strikes me as the kind of guy to rock eboy fashion? he absolutely eats up any dark concepts!! he kinda detests cute concepts, but unlike rin (who’ll throw hands w his management), niko kinda learns to grin and bear it
niko also composes his own songs! he’s a very self-made idol, and he’ll treat his fans to a snippet of his latest project every now and then (this is me trying to incorporate his special skills but idol version pt 2)! he’ll lock himself in his room for days on end during off seasons to compose, only coming out to use the bathroom and eat at ungodly hours. other members sometimes drop by to bring him snacks and water
gagamaru’s a lil . unhinged to say the least . he does mukbang streams every once in a while, and it gives his management a stroke when it goes viral because he ate everything using his hands. he’s getting good at using utensils regularly, but hey, if his fans wanna see him stuffing his face in the way that makes him happiest, then who is he to upset them?
gagamaru also solos everything on idol sports shows. whenever he’s on one of those wilderness survival shows, he comes back out looking just the same as he did going in, if not better. he’s also so flexible that it drives every dancer in the industry green with jealous that they can’t control their body like he does. he’s still very sweet and humble though, so no one can really hate him since he’s just a big hunky goofball that does what he wants :]
YUKIMIYA KPOPS GEM YUKIMIYA KPOPS IT BOY YUKIMIYA OUTSOLD YOUR FAVES
ok fr tho yukimiya still keeps up with his modeling on the side (kinda hc to be a model-turned-idol), so he sneaks in a lot of his sponsors’ clothes into his idol outfits! those kpop fashion accounts are always scrambling to identify the clothes he’s wearing
he also has one hell of a gap between performing and being off stage, and he’s so goddamn charismatic that it feels like he’s a completely different person when he’s on stage. like he’ll be all smiley and sweet, and then he’ll go fucking feral just like isagi that it’s hard to believe he’s normally a soft-spoken gentleman whenever the cameras aren’t on him.
ok now that ive talked abt the bllk eleven, extra hcs of idol au bllk that werent part of the main team
aiku gets into so many dating scandals that they dont even feel like a scandal anymore. everyone wakes up and is like “oh this is who he was fucking w this time” and moves on. good for him ig? at least he’s free on that end
sendou gets nervous talking to girl groups. he’s also really generous w fanservice and does gravure photoshoot bc he knows what its like to be a fan of them. good for him good for him!! go feed ur fans!!
sae def placed first on a previous season of bllk produce 101, which got rin inspired to become an idol. imagine the tension at awards shows OOF 💀 or the questions people post abt the brothers potentially collaborating for a comeback. sae also hates fanservice, but he goes out of his way to shut that shit down
kaiser is kpop’s ace!! there is nothing this bitch can’t do! he also refuses to cover up his tattoo and shows it off whenever he gets the chance. talks about wanting to get more in the future, but his management’s successfully keeping him restrained… for now.
ness wld be disturbingly good at cute concepts… it’s crazy how easily he can get people to fall for him with his easygoing charm, but the second people start talking smack abt smth he likes, he turns murderous. it’s always the adorable ones you need to watch out for. sometimes fans admit to liking him more than kaiser which usually throws him for a loop.
speaking of concepts, shidou devours dark concepts too! i feel like he’d make one hell of a vocalist, and he’s constantly hounding sae for a collab together. even his regular clothes are striking enough to be confused for a stage outfit, and he takes a lot of pride in keeping up his demonic aura (even though he lives for the thrill of performing more than anything else)
kunigami gives off such husband material vibes. baby gets invited to shows where he babysits kids, cares for pets, etc and everyone just ends up falling more in love with him. he’s so respectful about turning people down too like goddamn how is this boy real
nanase is 100% the maknae of the group. bonus points if he originally came from a nugu group that rose to a fair amt of popularity, and now he’s starstruck that he gets to interact w idols that he looked up to for so long
ego def used to be an idol before retiring and becoming a manager/head honcho behind blue lock’s produce 101. he hates the artificiality of idols and pushes the boys to become their own version of what they expect an idol to be like. hes also insane in this au too
anri is one of the biggest managers of the produce project! she’s the one behind the scenes, setting everything up! the boys are extremely grateful towards her, and she even has her own dedicated fanbase!
tokimitsu has bad stage fright, and his fans do their best to support him! they encourage him to do what makes him comfortable, and he promises to work hard to not let them down. he has one of (if not, the) strongest bond with his fans, and their interactions are super wholesome.
buratsuta is like jyp. hope this makes sense <3
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check out this sick edit of bllk produce btw
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legendofmorons · 1 year
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hihi!! i noticed requests are open sooo
Wars & reader going on a date around town and the chain getting worried and looking for them please? 👀
and could you make it like. rlly fluffy too?
Absolutely I can! I just imagine Wind and Wild turning this into a where's Waldo situation asdfhjkl
A day to ourselves (Warriors)
Pairing: Warriors x reader
Rating: G
Summary: After getting Warriors to agree to taking a day off with you, you take him to lunch and then to a scenic spot on a trail. Unfortunately, you were out later than planned, so the chain tries to find you as dusk settles. This leads to a nice moment being interrupted by the usual shenanigans.
Warnings:
Other:
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You spent the last week convincing Wars to agree to the date- but by the stars, it's so worth it.
Warriors is holding your hand as he leads you through the market, preparations for the festival this evening well underway. His eyes flit between you and the crowd.
"You're right, (Y/n)." Warriors smiles, "This is nice."
"I told you it'd be good to take a break."
"You're right, as always, my love." Warriors says, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles without ever letting go of your hand.
"You're sweet."
"I try."
"Hey, Wars?"
"Yes?"
You turn to face him fully, stopping.
He stops, too, before urning to face you with a curious look.
"Do you trust me?"
"I do. I thought I'd made that clear."
"I have an idea."
"A date idea? Or an idea that gets us both in trouble?"
You smile, your heart warming at the way he watche syou. He stares at you like you're precious.
"A date idea, Link."
"Mh, okay. By the way, I like hearing you say my name."
"You're a dork, Link."
Warriors just laughs, "I'm sure I am. Come along now, we still need to have lunch."
"You're right."
"I often am." He says with a smile.
You follow his lead to the restaurant he's picked. Sitting down once you've both been shown a table.
He watches you open your menu before following suit. He just has a hard time believing that you actually feel the same. He wants to cherish every moment.
The actual food is of little consequence. After all, you brought him here to relax.
"Oooh, look! They have that salad you've been asking about. " You day with a smile.
"That's a relief." Warriors says.
"I'm glad. You definitely deserve to be spoiled."
"And you don't?"
"I'm not the one pushing myself past my limits all week."
"Hey!"
"I'm not wrong." You say simply.
"You don't have to say it though!"
"I know."
"You're rude."
"Maybe. "
He shakes his head, setting his menu down with a soft smile. Entirely too fond.
He can see a future with you. Which is terrifying. But what is more important is that he wants that future. However you'll give it to him.
The smug smile you gift him just makes him want to kiss your face everywhere until you laugh.
He wants to see you be happy.
"You're thinking loud again." You say, reaching one hand out to rest it atop his.
He sets his free hand on your's. "Just about how much I love you."
"Sap."
"I am. I thought that had been made clear."
"You're so cheesey. I love you, Link."
"And I love you, (Y/n)."
You just beam at him, absolutely thrilled. And very much looking at him like he's ypur sun and stars.
The waiter comes over, gathering your orders and setting down to glasses of water.
Warriors just sips at the water, allowing himself to start genuinely relaxing. His shoulders feel sore, but they're lower than usual, at least.
"Hey, Wars?"
"Yes?"
"You're wearing your walking boots, right?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"What are you planning?" He asks, turning his full attention back to you.
You just give a faux innocent smile, "Nothing big."
"You're going to get us into trouble. Aren't you?"
"I never do that!"
"If you say so, darling."
"You're just making fun of me."
"I am not. I just think that- on occasion- your plans have lead to unexpected trouble."
You give a playful pout. "Name one time!"
"Throwing rocks at a guardian. "Warriors supplies easily.
"Okay so only one plan failed."
"Darling- you tried asking me out only to get us ambushed."
"That wasn't my fault."
"I never said it was. Simply that your plan lead to trouble."
"So? I got great cuddles afterwards and a great boyfriend!"
"That's true. I did get a wonderful partner out of it."
"So my plan was successful. "
"Yes, it really was."
"Good."
You two spend the rest of lunch talking, sharing ideas for further dates. You share stories and jokes.
And it's perfect.
The way you both smile and laugh the whole time is nice. You might still be in the honey moon phase, but if Malon and Time are anything to go by, this can always be the overall feeling of your relationship.
Besides. Warriors is just glad he can finally pay full attention to you.
.......
You're leading Warriors through a hiking trail that's a little overgrown. Thankfully it's still pretty walkable.
Your hand holds his as he trails behind you, making sure you don't get hurt. Bracing you if you slip down a small hill or anything.
The treeline breaks and you give a soft gasp.
Warriors stops beside you, hand still holding yours before he gives the same soft gasp.
"This... This is beautiful. " He says.
Beautiful barley covers it.
There's a stack of medium-sized stones that have a modest waterfall cascading down them.
The water collects in a small stream that flows east towards the forest again. The water is beautiful and clear with little frogs hopping around.
The clearing is a field of tall grass, and to the right is a picnic table that seems a little out of use.
There's a large boulder that's almost flat enough to be a bed for three.
Nature has clearly thrived here.
Birds fly idly over head, crowing their words.
"I thought you might like this." You say, pulling his gaze back to you with little effort. "You said you liked things like this."
"It's like a babbling brook. "He says with soft awe.
"I heard the merchant talking about it. I wanted to bring you out here."
"I love it."
"I'm glad."
"Do you want to cloud gaze?" He asks, motioning to the large boulder.
"I'd love that."
Warriors leads you to the rock, helping you up before he joins you.
You both lay.
Warriors is flat on his back, one hand under his head. The other arm is over your waist, holding you close as you rest your head on his chest.
You lay on your side, knees pulled up.
Warriors' heartbeat is calming, and as you tilt your head to see the clouds, you feel at peace.
Sappily at peace.
It's nice.
"That one looks kind like a rabbit." You say, pointing to a cloud that looks like a deformed chocolate Easter rabbit.
"It kind of does." Warriors agrees, following your arm up to the cloud in question.
"You have a good heartbeat." You say, the exhaustion of near constant travel having done a number on your sleep schedule.
Warriors lets out a genuine and hearty laugh. His chest shaking and vibrating with it.
"Thabk you, darling."
"You're welcome. "
You can feel sleep creeping up on you. But you didn't really want to let it win.
"You can rest your eyes." He says, a knowing tone to his voice.
"But-"
"I'll be right here."
"Okay." You say, the allure of napping on your boyfriend while he holds you winning out.
Besides... he can't do work if you're pinning him down and napping.
This is a great plan.
His heartbeat lulls you into comfort as you let your eyes close. The world narrowed down to yourself and your boyfriend.
You know you'll be safe.
Warriors holds you as you sleep, his arm keeping you close as you dream.
His smile is near constant. He's sure that if anyone could see him they woukd call him a simp.
But he knows what he is.
And he's proud.
Especially when you curl into him as evenings comes and the air chills a little.
When you stretch woth a groan he known you're waking up.
"Hello my dear." Warriors says as he rubs his hand up and down your arm.
"Mh.... Did I fall asleep?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. You needed it."
You push up to your hands, both hands next to the right of his torso. Your hair falls forwards.
"Did you get any rest?"
"Yes, I did. I forget, sometimes, how relaxing it is to just hold you."
"Link..."
"I mean it."
"I know you do."
"I have really enjoyed today." Warriors says warmly.
"I'm so glad." You smile gently, groggy but glad he's here with you and happy.
"You're adorable, my darling. "
"I'm not."
"You really are."
"If I kiss you will you shush?"
"Maybe. Would you like to find out?"
You laugh before moving omen arm to the other side of him.
"Sure. "
You lean down, slow enough not to suprise him. Giving him time to stop you if he wants.
When you press your ips to his he gives a gentle hum of approval, one hand pulling you closer.
You pull away, your chest warm as if you have your own mini sun in it.
"Well?"
"Maybe try again." Warriors suggests easily, a smug smile on his face.
"Maybe I will-"
There's a loud crash before some yells your name.
You groan, dropping your forehead to Warriors' own gently.
"We've been found." You say.
"What were you thinking? It's been hours!" Legend calls sharply.
"I tried to stop them." Hyrule says from further back.
"We need to get to camp." Time says evenly, "And then you can help me figure out where to replace the bomb arrows, Wild."
"Look in my defense-"
"Enough." You call sharply as you sit up onto your knees.
The boys fall silent, looking to you in various emotions.
Warriors sits up, happy to let you take the lead on this. It may be immature- but he does enjoy it when you chide others.
"Why are you all here?"
"You said you'd be back by two! It's nearly nine!" Legend crosses his arm.
"And your solution involves having to replace bomb arrows because?"
"Don't ask." Twilight says with a sigh, "We're just glad you're both safe."
"You all need to leave." You say firmly, "Thank you fir your concern but we are fine."
"It's nearly dark. You should come with us." Time says with a sympathetic look.
"I need five minutes to not loose my mind." You say with a glare, "We'll meet you at camp."
"You heard them." Time says, "They'll meet us there."
Time leads the others away, some more willing than others.
Once they're left your sight you deflate, leaning inti Warriors.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, just annoyed. They kinda ruined our moment."
"They did."
"We should head back, Time is right."
"Usually. "
"Can we stay here for a minute first? This is nice, just sitting with you."
"Of course."
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norwegianwoodtarot · 3 months
Text
🌙 Blog Navigation🌙
Welcome! This blog is no longer active (see below) but above is my ‘Blog Navigation’ where you will find all my readings! 🌕🌖
Hello everyone!!! 👀👀
I’m just popping in to update ya’ll on some things. I’ll get into some updates on myself (if you’re interested) and where this account is going.
Some personal updates:
When I took my break at the beginning of last year I didn’t have a lot of time due to work. (I can’t remember if mentioned that last time I was on here? But I’m pretty sure I did Lol) Butttt I ended up getting a little promotion and moved states for work! (The promotion was technically an incentive to get me to move states but I’ll take it Lmao). That happened around the end of May, last year. But in bigger better news, as of December of last year, I am an ENGAGED GIRLYYYYY 💍🍾. *Que dog barking noises* My fiancé an I are not big wedding people (I honestly didn’t even really believe in marriage till we started dating) but in the state we lived in prior to moving, we were technically considered married under common law, as we presented ourselves as wives, so we thought, why not legally tie the knot Lol. We are planning to go to the court house sometime in April/May, then go back to her home state (where we used to live) sometime this summer to have a tiny dinner party with friends and family and that will be our “wedding”. Maybe we’ll wear casual white dresses, but that’s about it Lol. Those are the big things, but everything else has been pretty smooth sailing, the holidays were great. We went to Canada for Christmas, which was my first time and a very fun vacay!!
Now for this blog:
I have decided to retire this blog for good. I know a lot of you enjoy coming here when I am active, which I appreciate so much, but I have a couple reasons why I am choosing to leave. My blog will still be public, so if you ever want to come back you can, I just will not be posting any more content.
Like I said, there are a couple reasons. One of them being, I don’t feel like there is anything else to say. For the past 6ish-8ish months, I have not really been compelled to share anything else on the blog! I think everything that can be said publicly has been said! But this is a good thing!! In my opinion it means all is falling into place!!! We just have to sit back and relax!!
Also, the last time I was consistently active on here (late 2022, early 2023) I felt I was enabling a very toxic, extremely parasocial environment. To a point where almost (definitely not all) of my anons were purely here to force me to describe them as Harry’s soulmate and get mad when I share my findings/readings and it does not match up with them. Similarly, whenever some anons would disagree with Harry’s actions (particularly being in any sort of romantic relationships) they felt like it was a personal attack on them. It’s frustrating when I thought I created a fun environment to share tarot/clairvoyant findings, that turns out to be people calling Harry a “slut/slag” or saying that his soulmate is “fed up” with his “actions”, when in reality, it was their projections on to him and delusions that they were the soulmate.
Now, I don’t know who the soulmate is, and I don’t necessarily care who it is in particular. I created this blog to share my readings on them. But I know his soulmate isn’t 100 different anons on my little tumblr blog. And it is disturbing and disgusting to suggest that Harry must refrain from any sort of romantic/sexual relationships, just because he has a soulmate. That is not how life works for anyone. I was in three relationships before I met mine, and I’m sure a lot of you have/will as well. This does not hinder their connection nor is it him “cheating” on them. Get a grip on reality and stop projecting your fantasies and standards onto him. People can learn, grow, love, and experience heart breaks a hundred times before they meet the one.
As Harry has shared (quoting Ralph Waldo Emerson) “People destined to meet will do so, apparently by chance, at precisely the right moment”
Now, I don’t want this to be misconstrued. I am totally open to other readers and opinions from people who don’t partake or believe in spirituality but want to share what they think Harry’s sm may act like, look like, etc. etc. That’s why I created this blog!! For us all to share our opinions whether they are perfectly aligned or completely opposite. However, I won’t stand for people being rude or close-minded or projecting themselves onto Harry or his SM(s). That’s NOT the space I wanted to create. I wanted to keep an open-minded forum where we could share our opinions. Not people getting mad at me, other readers, or anons because our opinions don’t match up with them or their opinions.
With that said, I do want to highlight my amazing followers. To everyone who contributed to creating a fun, happy space, THANK YOU!!! You made this blog so fun!!! 💙💙🌙💙💙 I love and appreciate all of you, so much I can’t put it into words! You have helped me grow so much as a tarot reader from when I first stared!! Thanks again!!
And a huuuuugggge thanks to the other blogs who have reached out to help and support me! It means the world!! (I don’t know if anyone wants to be mentioned in specific, but they know who they are! ♥️)
Again, this blog will still be public so don’t worry! I will turn my asks on tonight and answer some tonight and possibly tomorrow if I have the time!! Thank you for following and contributing! I couldn’t have imagined this when I first started!! ✨✨✨
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My first and last time using a gif on this account Lolol. 💙✨💙
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Vincent Price and Peter Lorre - The Comedy of Terrors (1964)
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hourcat · 1 year
Text
um. i let myself go and wrote 2,120 words of enchanted!au piarles instead of being a normal person tonight .
Pierre finds him, like always, sitting by himself at a bench under a streetlamp. He’s hunched over, cooing at one of the pigeons walking by—which is a rather amusing sight, considering he’s still dressed head-to-toe in the medieval royalty clothing Pierre had found him in a few weeks ago. Of all the places for this to happen, he figures at least here in Manhattan there will be far fewer people raising their eyebrows at his odd behavior, if they even bothering to look at all.
Charles is rather handsome, though. They’re all missing out, Pierre supposes as he strides over, a comforting sense of familiarity washing over him at this habit of theirs that’s started to become a routine. “Charles,” he calls once he’s close enough. Night has long fallen, although there are still people milling about because—because it’s the middle of summer, of course people are going to be lounging out in Central Park on a Thursday night like this—but Charles turns towards the sound of his voice and lights up so immediately that Pierre thinks he could probably out-shine the sun. He’s illuminated the night here, anyway.
“Pierrot!” Charles exclaims, whirling up to his feet like he’s a fairytale character. And, well, the more he claims to be one, the more Pierre wants to believe him, because he all but waltzes to meet Pierre under the lamp, eyes glittering handsomely. He even looks like a storybook prince. “I’m sorry, I know you told me I should not wander, but the world is so—” he grabs Pierre’s hand tightly and uses his other to gesture to the rest of the park, which looks...normal. “It is so full of magic, Pierrot, it reminds me so much of my home.” There’s a smile on his face, big but with a hint of sadness hiding just behind it. “Maranello felt like this, you know. Every day. All the time.” He sighs wistfully. “I wish you could see it.”
Pierre chuckles softly despite himself. It’s late, and they need to get back to the apartment because Odette is definitely going to be upset that she didn’t get to come along for tonight’s Where’s Waldo search for this prince of theirs. But he can’t bring himself to release Charles’ hand, which is still grasping his tightly, so lost in his own whimsy he doesn’t even seem to be aware of his own strength. (Pierre doesn’t mind at all.) “Central Park is something else in the summertime,” he concedes. “I’ve lived here for years and I’m still not used to it sometimes.”
Charles squeezes his hand and turns fully to face him, his beautiful green eyes so wide with delight that Pierre feels laughter bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him. “See!” he exclaims, tugging Pierre closer. “That is what I mean! That is what magic is, Pierre, how can you not believe.” The fondness on his face is so genuine that Pierre really doesn’t have the heart to argue the point like they always seem to do. “A place so wonderous as this could never get old, not ever.”
Pierre will give him that. “This park is hundreds of years old, Charles,” he hums. “Thousands of people see it for the first time every day, you know. Tourists must find this place magical all the time.” Right on cue, a small group of people—they look like college students, bright-eyed and backpacked and babbling softly to one another—passes by, gazing up into the trees and laughing amongst themselves. It does feel a little like magic, even though that does not mean Pierre thinks magic exists. He’s not six anymore. He knows how the world works. He sees how the world works in the courtroom every damn day. But…it’s a nice fantasy. Charles believes, and Pierre won’t take that away from him yet. Not now.
Not as he’s gazing up at the glittering lights of the buildings around them, looking exactly like a tourist. “What was it like when you first arrived here, Pierre?” Charles squeezes his hand, once, soft, then tugs him even closer than before, their shoulders pressed together, now. “You must have felt the magic then, too.” He tilts his head back down to earth and smiles, still looking starry-eyed.
Pierre shrugs, although the warmth in his chest seems to just keep billowing outwards. “I was a kid,” he answers after a beat. “Twenty-one, fresh out of school. I’d been crammed in a plane and then a taxi for so many hours, so I was not exactly myself.” The memory of it feels so faint, so long-ago. He’s been here for over ten years, now—the young man he’d been back then is almost a figment of his imagination now. “My apartment was so tiny I think it probably could have been a closet. So I went for a walk on my very first night, just to breathe air that was not trapped in there with me, and…” And he’d ended up here. “It was a night just like this, you know.”
Charles looks dazzled. “Every summer night must feel like this, then.” He’s still so wide-eyed, so focused on Pierre it would make him self-conscious if it were anyone else. Somehow, though, Charles doesn’t seem to fall under the category of anyone else. He’s special.
“Not all of them,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “When it storms, this place is—” he shakes his head. “Not the point, not the point. I guess when I first saw this place, it did feel like a different world.”
Charles presses even closer. “So you did believe once upon a time.” His features twist up into a giggle, genuine and without any hint of the sadness Pierre had clocked before, as he realizes what he’s said. “Once upon a time. Like I am writing a fairytale!”
“You’re like a walking fairytale, Charles,” Pierre hums, bumping shoulders with him teasingly. “This should not be a surprise to you at all. How you can wander off to Central Park and see it like it’s out of a book…” he trails off, unsure of what he’s really trying to say. Maybe nothing at all. There’s something about Charles that seems to do that to him—draw the words out even if there’s nothing to say, like all Pierre wants to do is talk to him even though he’s from an entirely different life. He’s never felt like this with anyone—not even with Kat, and she’s the mother of his daughter. It feels like he’s caught in some spell.
Magic could be real if it’s what makes Charles so enchanting all the time.
Charles, who gives him a slow look up and down, a knowing expression crossing his face and sullying the unbridled joy that had just been there moments before. “Oh, Pierrot, you are still—you came right from work to find me, didn’t you?” His face starts to crumple. “I should have listened to you, I know this…this Man Hat Land is so vast I could be lost in a moment, I just—I didn’t even think—”
“Charles,” Pierre interrupts, squeezing their clutched-together hands again. “Charles, it’s okay. You miss being home, and this is the closest thing Manhattan can really offer in place of Maranello.” He shakes his head slowly, trying to soothe him like he might a stray kitten. “You weren’t in the apartment when I got home, and Odette said that you weren’t there when she got home from school, and I just…” Now this feels like a confession. He’s hot under the collar, suddenly, the warm summer breeze doing nothing to alleviate the way he’s burning up under Charles’ unrelenting green gaze. “I knew I had to find you. Make sure you were safe, even though I think I knew you would be here this whole time.”
Charles just keeps looking at him. “This does feel a lot like Maranello,” he murmurs after a long beat of silence. “But I do not believe it is the closest thing to home.” With a sigh, he lets go of Pierre’s hand but immediately replaces the touch with his arm, hooking it in Pierre’s elbow. “You must be worried sick about Odette being there alone, Pierre. I’m sorry.”
But Pierre can’t find it in him to be angry that he’s so many blocks away from home when Charles looks the way he does right now—devastatingly beautiful, somehow enhanced by the streetlamp above them. “Odette will be okay, Charles. She was worried sick about you.” He rests a hand against the prince’s wrist, a reassuring touch to keep him from collapsing with the immense emotions he must be wrestling with right now. “You know, I used to sneak out here all the time too, before she came into my life.” Charles makes a soft noise somewhere in his ear, tucked tight against Pierre’s side even though it is so warm and his clothes feel like they’re made of the heaviest velvet imaginable. How he’s not sweating to death, Pierre has no idea. “Back in France, my backyard used to look like this a little.” He pauses. “Green. Full of mystery, at least when I was small.”
“Did it help you?” Pierre raises an eyebrow at the question. “Miss home less?”
There’s probably a correct answer here—say no, try and urge this wandering behavior away, maybe even encourage Charles to try and figure out a way back home so he doesn’t have to miss Maranello the way he seems to so deeply. It’s the responsible thing to do, really.
“In a way, yes,” he says instead. Charles leans into him a little. “But—it was not about missing home less, I don’t think. It was more…learning to build a home here. Making this my home.” He thumbs at Charles’ wrist a little. “And it must have worked, because there is nowhere else in the world I consider to be home more than here. It is Odette, and it is me, and it is New York City.” There’s part of his deeply-delusional brain that wants to add and you to the statement, but Pierre brushes the instinct aside. Charles has a home. Has a life, and a kingdom, apparently, to get back to, even if Maranello is nowhere he's ever heard of. Pierre can’t keep him from that. He’s got no right to.
“I see,” the prince murmurs, still so close to Pierre that he can feel every breath Charles takes. The stretch of silence that follows is amicable, really: but Pierre can’t help but think there is something he could be doing. Charles looks so foreign, here, so out of place standing beside a black metal trash can that looks like the ones he used to kick at in his early days. Pierre wants to take him away. Wants to take him home—where he belongs, among impossibly kind and beautiful and naïve people like himself. Pierre wants to take him home and kiss him in his too-bland kitchen, right up against the island he’d disbelievingly questioned legitimacy of because this does not look like a land mass. Pierre wants to make him happy here.
Charles seems to understand, though, that there are boundaries that can’t be crossed. Instead of allowing Pierre to linger in his own fantasies, he tugs their hooked arms forward towards one of the wrought-iron archways leading back to the paved city. “Well—it is dark, now, Pierrot, and I think beloved Odette is going to worry about the both of us if we remain out here any longer.”
Ah, yes. “You’re probably right,” he hums in reply, lifting off of Charles’ wrist in favor of digging out his phone from where it’s fallen deep in his pants pocket. With one hand, he types off a message to his daughter—found him, safe, on our way back—and then pockets it again. “It’s a beautiful night, your highness,” he murmurs after a moment. “Could I walk you home?” Even with their arms linked, Pierre still mock-bows a little too deeply, drawing a bright laugh that seemingly carries across the entire park. Charles pulls him back upright, beaming with amusement.
“You could use some royal training, Pierre Gasly,” he giggles. “I was better at this when I was twelve, and that was before they started making me balance books on my head.”
Pierre snorts. “You are not going to get me to do that, I can assure you.” But he keeps his arm linked in Charles’ the whole walk home all the same, taking in the amused bursts of chatter at each thing Charles wants to sing about as they slip through the busy night.
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regaliasonata · 7 months
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Any Hunter/Dustin cuteness for meeeyah?? Could really use some serotonin tonight <33
I got a whole list of stuff😎
✨️⚡️Power wise⚡️✨️
-They both orient around each other well with fights, Dustin tends to be a little less experienced than Hunter but dude finds a way to add some edge to their situations.
-Started in my AU of the season but I love the concept of the elemental powers combining together. For Hunter and Dustin they can make stardust together because of the earth element's friction and the thunder clashing with each other, crazy in combat but also could work for fireworks✨️
-Sometimes they switch weapons for funsies but since they've gotten so used to each other their fighting skills allow for automatic adaptions(Hunter finds it adorable seeing Dustin yeeting the thunder staffs around⚡️)
-Ever watched Ninjago? If they want they can dance together in a battle to make a spinjitsu like tornado of rocks and lightning that rips apart pretty much any type of matter(well...earthly matter, aliens tend to have stronger qualities but the technique is still useful)
✏️Headcanon wise✏️
-After a rather close call with a motocross session Dustin decided to put up the hobby indefinitely until things cooled down with hesitation. So Hunter insisted that he looked for a new hobby, roller skating, Dustin falls a bit at times but he's got Hunter there to help him.
-Hunter can literally lift Dustin up like he's nothing(Showing that off to Conner who can literally do that to both Ethan and Trent...red's asserting their dominance as a game😂)
-Due to their elemental affinity powers tend to get wild. Dustin slowly branched into using magnetic qualities in earth and with Hunter's electricity the two got stuck to each other for a full week. Also dragging in metal wherever they go, on a different occasion Hunter tends to release static at times and accidentally shocked Dustin while they slept together. He's learned to control the surges so they aren't harmful but still have a lot of stimulation, he's found....other uses for them if you catch my drift(Dustin doesn't admit it but, it feels nice on his skin👀).
-Hunter is one of the only people allowed to call him Waldo, his mom passed away when he was young and the nickname Dustin was her doing, just feels better for those he trusts the most to call him by his real name.
-On days when new video games like Pokémon or Kingdom Hearts would release Hunter would start a thunderstorm to basically make sure only him and Dustin would be able to get the games first at launch. Of course Kanoi told them to stop this as it was getting in the way of classes.
-They don't go on fancy dates when needed, they just like to chill back or spend time wherever as a nice night out, though they do go clothes shopping together with Tori. Blake got a choker once for Dustin on accident and Hunter was very into that so now the yellow rangers wears them every now and then.
-Due to Cam's access to the Morphin Grid he found out about animal spirits and after the season when the zords were destroyed he ended up created the old ones from scratch. However he only had enough grid energy to condense them into smaller forms, similar to the Samurai Folding Zords. Hunter and Dustin's zords tend to fight each other whenever the two place bets on random shit.
-Dustin has a recurring dream of himself being a lion and when sleeping in Hunter's grasp he tends to nibble or even leave bite marks....which in time leads to him waking up and things ensuing between them...rowdiness complaints have been filed to Cam from students waking up at 2 in the morning due to their antics.
-They watch anime together but Dustin had to hold Hunter back when Marah spoiled MHA for him, she's a manga reader.(Dustin had a crush on Dabi but we're not going to talk about that...there are still lightning burnt Dabi posters scattered across the campus, jealousy hunter)
🌩Fluff and etc🌩
-They go to the Bradley parent memorial two times a month and in one dream Hunter got visited by his mom who revealed that she likes Dustin.
-Hunter is still trying to come to terms with himself, there's a bit of internalized homophobia that he has to overcome. Though he's been working out all these problems with Dustin and it's happy to overcome these feelings inside.
-Dustin tends to get emotional here and there so Hunter has found a secret garden within the campus for his boyfriend to vent out his feelings to him.
-a beetle like cat hybrid from the abyss of evil found it's way out during Lothor's return and after dealing with the villain they adopted the creature. Named him Sanoo after Susanoo cause Dustin likes various types of asian mythology, Hunter didn't like him at first but little Sanoo reminded him of childhood so now he's a full part of the family.
-Dustin is rather sloppy when it comes to kissing but Hunter finds its adorable.
-there's a large dragon like plush that they won at a fair hanging on the side of the wall in their room, it's filled with gold and red scales.
-They may...get it on right after a motocross race, adrenaline etc running around in their veins. Cam had to bleach his eyes out when he walked in on something he shouldn't have seen.
-Tori was secretly getting the vibe that they'd get together eventually, luckily due to her things worked out when it came to the first few days of said relationship. Helping them both with trying to get used to each other.
-They had a thing with taunting or getting angry with each other when they first met which led to them kissing after a harsh race. The two didn't acknowledge anything after for a few weeks and then eventually they got together.
-Dustin has a thing with being pinned down but likes to play dumb about it to get Hunter riled up. The fact that Hunter is stronger really excites him, both for this reason and cause it makes him feel protected. It might've been started when he used to roughhouse with Shane but now it developed into something more. Sometimes he even taunts Hunter just to get him going but dude caught on eventually and trust me when I say he's got a good way of using that to his advantage👀
-Hunter's voice also factors into some of Dustin's interest...Marah had to ban the yellow ranger from asking her about specific topics, things he should be dealing with himself(kinks and stuff are reserved for the internet)
-Hunter would never admit this but he'd love to slow dance with Dustin. His mother got him into 80s Japanese music and stuff such as Tatsuro Yamashita and Tomoko Aran's music makes him want to hold the yellow ranger close, maybe even in the moonlight or just even on a random day when they are alone. He told dustin about it and now it's thing they do every Friday, Dustin doesn't think it's weird, he actually finds it cute and that's all that matters to him.
Hope this isn't too much, was thinking off head an bam!
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kell-be-belle · 2 years
Text
You Don’t Have to Sing it Nice (But Honey Sing it Strong)
Geraskier, Modern AU, Rated T, 25,000K 
Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Anxiety Disorder, Panic Attacks 
Summary:  
Jaskier didn't know why he was here. His manager could have sent him to a tropical island with white sand beaches or a mountain chalet overlooking a quaint vineyard and yet he had been sent to the middle of nowhere. After a recently developed panic disorder has left him unable to perform, famed music sensation Jaskier is sent to the therapeutic farmstead of Kaer Morhen where their animal therapy program has become nationally renowned for its success. Jaskier doesn't care much for the dirt or the smell or the animals, but the soft yet disgruntled program manager, Geralt, might just make the damage to his wardrobe worth it. A fic in which Geralt is, for once, the emotionally competent one and Jaskier is in desperate need of some self-love.  
AN: My entry for the @jaskierminibang though it didn’t end up being as mini as I originally planned, haha! I collaberated with the wonderful and talented @the-painted-prince and their art is so tender and lovely I swear it could make my heart burst! And, as ever and always, a shoutout to my dear friend and beta-reader who wishes only to be refered to as Waldo Larx who is not Valdo Marx in a fake mustache who is not Priscilla in a fake mustache. Much love, I hope you all enjoy the fic!
[Artwork Here] [Read on Ao3] 
****
Blind. Jaskier was blind. The light shone with intensity enough to burn away all semblance of color and shape from his vision. The world washed away in the deluge of white flame as if it had never existed in the first place. And the ringing. Oh, the ringing. It pierced through his skull like the sharpened point of an awl, split through the bone and brain matter like too soft wood. He could not remember what it was like to live without its incessant shriek like a banshee dogging his every step. Claws in his chest. Electricity in his blood. Every fiber of Jaskier’s being screamed in protest of the wrongness of each sensation and yet he was powerless to do anything to relieve it. And just when he thought he would be crushed by the onslaught of sensations, Jaskier woke with a start.
It took a moment for Jaskier to orient himself. The smell of leather, filtered sunlight, the subtle rock and sway of tires over the roadway. Car. He was in the car. Jaskier couldn’t remember falling asleep, only the cool press of the glass on his forehead as he looked out the window. He must have been out for some time. Where before there had been signs of civilization, now there was almost nothing. Quaint little neighborhoods with family run shops had given way to a sprawling emptiness. Nothing, but wide, flat fields spread from either side of the solitary road with boundless expanse of the sky blue and bright above them. 
“Gods, what fresh kind of hell…” Jaskier couldn’t recall ever being in a place so devoid of anything. How anyone could bear to live in this environment was beyond him. To do so voluntarily was even more so. It was intimidating, the thought of nowhere and nothing stretching on and on and on. The interior of the car felt suddenly excruciatingly small. Jaskier could feel his lungs grow tight, feel his heart flutter helplessly in his chest. He forced himself to regulate his breathing, following the pattern he had learned. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. Within a few moments, he felt his muscles loosen and his heart steady. That hadn’t been so bad. He had been able to pull himself out of it. Perhaps all this pomp was unnecessary, afterall, and he was on his way to this wilderness for nothing. Jaskier thought briefly about telling the driver to turn around, to take him back to the familiar crowded and grime ridden streets of Oxenfurt where things made more sense and a decent latte wasn’t an rarity. But then he thought better of it and sunk into the seat as he pulled his phone from his pocket.     
Entering the passcode on his phone, Jaskier sighed as he began to swipe through the unconscionable amount of apps that cluttered his screen. Games, social media, and the like. He always promised himself that one day he would go through them all, but that day, of course, never seemed to come. He checked the weather, completed a couple crossword puzzles, and sent a Snapchat back to his older sister. He was pleased her vacation in Toussaint was going well, but that didn’t stop the pang of jealousy that wedged itself between his ribs. He wished desperately to be the one on a sun-drenched veranda overlooking Beauclair, a glass of est-est in hand. Oh well, there was nothing to be done now. He would just have to make the best of… well, whatever this place was.
Jaskier’s thumb hovered over the blank space of the search bar, the cursor blinking in and out of existence. He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, considering the wisdom of typing in his own name. He knew what would come up. Anticipated it in the way one anticipated the results of a concerning blood test. But there was a sick sort of curiosity that boiled thick and tar-like in the pit of his stomach and, against his better judgment, Jaskier acted on it. 
34-Year-Old International Pop Sensation, Jaskier, Suffers Fit at Music Festival
Valdo Marx Slams Long Time Rival Jaskier After On-Stage Breakdown 
The End for Jaskier? Pop’s Golden Boy Stepping Back from the Stage. 
Shocked and Heartbroken: Thousands of Jaskier Fans Left Confused as Pop Star Cancels Upcoming Tour. 
Jaskier flung the phone across the seat. He turned and pressed his head once more against the cool window, doing his utmost to fight back the tears that burned at the corners of his eyes. He felt foolish, like a child who had been told explicitly not to do something dangerous and was now suffering the consequences of a wounded pride. A phantom voice in the back of his mind chastised him with the quintessential ‘I told you so.' Jaskier closed his eyes, the remnants of his dream floating to the surface like oil in water. No, it wasn’t just a dream. It was a memory, too. Fragmented and skewed, but mostly as he remembered. Bright lights. Deafening sound. His senses bombarded from every angle to the point where even a single additional stimulant would send him careening off a cliff into complete and utter madness. 
Jaskier focused on his breathing. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. 
The car lurched, startling Jaskier from his trance. The world outside the window was no longer moving, he noticed. The driver had pulled the car along the shoulder, idling beside the turn-off to a stretch of road running perpendicular to the one they were on currently. 
“Alright, Mr. Pankratz.” Jaskier struggled to not pull a face at the driver’s use of his actual name. “The retreat is just down that road there. The owner should be around shortly to collect you.” 
“Wait, are you not-” But the driver was already climbing out of the car, ambling around the car to divest the trunk of Jaskier’s luggage. He already had the first suitcase out and was struggling with the second by the time Jaskier emerged feeling apprehensive and more than slightly pissed off. “Can’t you just wait here until the owner arrives?” asked Jaskier tersely. 
With a great deal of effort, the driver hauled out the suitcase and dropped it next the first with a huff, “It’s a long drive back and I’ve another appointment to get to. Not to worry, he’ll be along any minute now. We agreed on a two o’clock meeting time.” 
Looking down at his phone, Jaskier noted it was just shy of two o’clock. “Be that as it may, I would really appreciate it if you could-” But it seemed this man was determined to do nothing beyond getting himself back into the coolness of the air-conditioned car and out of this wasteland of a landscape. 
The driver was already climbing back into his seat as he called over his shoulder, “Good luck, Mr. Pankratz. Have your manager call us when you need to be picked up again.” And with a frustrated scream stuck behind his teeth, Jaskier had no choice, but to watch the man shift back into gear and rumbling down the road and away. 
“Call us when you need to be picked up,” Jaskier parroted in a nasally, mocking tone, “Fat chance of that happening. Piss off.” Jaskier pulled out his phone, fingers flicking over the keys with shocking speed as he shot off a message to his manager. Knight Riders Limo and Taxi service would most certainly not be getting his business again. 
The sun blazed down from the cloudless sky hot and merciless. Not five minutes he had been standing out here and Jaskier was already beginning to sweat. He could feel it under the curtain of his bangs, beading at the nape of his neck. He looked down at his phone again. Two o’clock. He looked down the road. It was lined by post-and-rail fencing and Jaskier ambled over to lean against it, rubbing his sweaty hands nervously over the thighs of his jeans. What if this man didn’t show up? What if Jaskier had just been abandoned out here like an unwanted dog by its owner? A bird called somewhere from the sky overhead and Jaskier’s mind filled with visions of great, shadowy buzzards circling in preparation to feast upon his corpse when he inevitably died from exposure. Just when Jaskier’s mind started to careen off into a tangle of possible worst case scenarios, a low rumble began to crescendo into the empty air.                   
Down the fenced road, a truck of indeterminate color was growing closer. Jaskier tugged his suitcases closer to him both out of wariness and a desire to save it from the vertible dust storm following in the wake of the tires. The truck rumbled up alongside Jaskier, the cloud of dirt catching up and hazing the air around him. He coughed, trying to clear the worst of it with the frantic flapping of his hand. Jaskier cracked open one eye, getting his first glimpse of the driver. It was a man and a startlingly attractive man at that. Chiseled jawed and dimple chinned with hair pale enough to nearly be considered white pulled back in half-up style. He sat sprawled in the driver’s seat with a casual grace, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the ledge of the open window. “Jaskier, I presume?” he said, his voice the rumble of a distant thunderstorm. 
Jaskier stood there rather dumbly, lips parted and cheeks dusted with the beginnings of a blush. “Y-yes, Jaskier. I mean me, I mean I-I’m Jaskier. Jaskier is me.” It was a wonder Jaskier didn’t bite through his own tongue with that jumble of speech. Not his most eloquent of greetings, but it had been a rather long couple months and Jaskier had not been feeling much like himself. Jaskier cleared his throat. “And you are?” 
“Geralt.” It sounded more like a noise one made when they were disgruntled rather than a name. Jaskier wondered if he had heard right, but the last thing Jaskier wanted to do was make this meeting any more awkward by asking the man to repeat himself. 
“R-right, and I’m assuming you’re from-” 
“Kaer Morhen Therapeutic Farm and Retreat.” He reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt, produced a business card and held it out to Jaskier between two fingers. His movements were so effortless and smooth, it actually made Jaskier a bit hot under the collar. Taking the card and scanning the embossed print, jaskier was relieved to find he had heard the man right.  
Grinning shyly, Jaskier said, “Well then Geralt I appreciate your transparency. Imagine if I had just climbed into a truck with some random passerby. I could’ve been in quite the mess.” 
“Of course. I wouldn’t worry too much about strange characters out this far. The coyotes are far more of a threat than any deviants.” Geralt chuckled when he said it, but Jaskier’s disturbed expression must have caused need for further clarification, for he quickly added, “You don’t have to worry much about them either. They’re way more afraid of us than we are of them.”  
Shoulders sagging with relief, Jaskier sighed, “That’s grand. Sorry, just a bit apprehensive about, y’know, all of this.” He gestured vaguely to their surroundings: the flat, barren terrain that was as familiar to Jaskier as the surface of the moon. “You know, when my manager told me I was being sent somewhere for my, uh, health, I had imagined someplace a bit more tropical. Or mountainous. Perhaps beside a vineyard or-” 
“I know it’s not the first thing that comes to people’s mind when they think of a retreat, but once people give it a chance they come to realize that farm life holds its own kind of relaxation.” Jaskier doubted that. There couldn’t possibly be anything relaxing about dirt and sweat and animals that bayed, nipped, and shit everywhere. But Geralt had such a look of sincerity on his face and Jaskier loathed to discourage him. “Let me help you with your bags.” 
“Oh, that’s kind, but-” Jaskier found his words caught as Geralt opened the door and hauled himself out of the truck’s cab. He had already found Geralt’s face rather handsome, but seeing the man in all his glory was a different beast entirely. The two of them were of a height, but Geralt had just enough of an edge on Jaskier that he looked down at him from over the line of his silvery lashes. Perhaps farm life held some appeal. It seemed to do wonders for the physique if Geralt’s were any indication. 
After loading both his possessions and person into the truck, Geralt hooked a quick turn and drove them back down the road from which he had come. Jaskier doubted a truck this old and well-worn had functioning air conditioning, but even if it did Geralt didn’t seem to feel the need to use it. All the windows were rolled down, the air blowing warm and dusty through them. Sweat rolled between Jaskier’s shoulder blades, gathered under the waist of his trousers. He sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be this way his whole stay. He certainly preferred the heat to the cold, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed being a sticky, sweaty mess either. 
Jaskier attempted to make small talk. Another thing Geralt didn’t seem entirely inclined towards, either. Perhaps he was more used to listening than talking, given his profession, but the man answered most of Jaskier’s questions with hums or murmurs. If he did choose to actually speak, it was relatively concise. Not in a rude or abrupt way, but almost like he only used exactly as many words as what was necessary. No more, no less. Jaskier was not sure if he found it off-putting just yet. It was certainly a break from what he was used to since Jaskier himself tended to use twice as many words as what was needed. Sometimes even double that.
With time, two buildings started coming into view. They were by no means large, but in comparison to the flatness of the surrounding landscape, they seemed nearly like skyscrapers. One building was most certainly a barn. Jaskier could see several animals in the pen surrounding it, all snuffling in the short, scrubby grass. 
Geralt pulled the truck up along the second building which was clearly the house where he lived- where Jaskier would be staying. It was a long ranch-style affair, clearly built to accommodate several people. Together, he and Geralt hauled his luggage in through the front door, leaving it beside the threshold for the time being. A hallway branched off from the main living area, stretching far enough that Jaskier almost couldn’t see where it ended. Several doors lined each side, perhaps ten in all. Some were closed and Jaskier wondered if he was not the only one currently staying here for the program. 
“Bedrooms and bathrooms are down that hall. The living room is a common area for everyone. You’re welcome to borrow any of the books," explained Geralt. Jaskier’s eyes roamed briefly over the wall of shelves, picking out a couple familiar spines. There was a large sectional sofa wrapped around a coffee table as well as a couple of plush looking arm chairs. There was no television or at least not one where Jaskier could see it. He thought that was a bit peculiar, but didn’t have much time as Geralt continued through the living room into what looked like a dining area. The table was long and wide, easily able to accommodate a dozen people. 
“We have all our meals together and take turns helping with the cooking. The kitchen is through here,” said Geralt as he took Jaskier down the length of the table and through a threshold where the hardwood floor gave way to black and white linoleum.        
There was the clatter of a spoon hitting the ceramic bowl, the splash of milk and half soggy cornflakes hitting the table beneath. Jumping at the sound, Jaskier looked up and found himself face-to-face with a girl. Teenager seemed too generous an identifier, though she was clearly old enough to not be strictly referred to as a child. Her mouth hung agape as she blinked at him, face framed by two messy braids. 
Every inch the girl’s face has flushed a violent shade of red, mouth twitching as she struggles to form words, “You… you’re-” Oh. Jaskier became acutely aware of where this was heading. His main demographic was pre-teens to mid-twenty-somethings. And judging from the glittering of her eyes, this girl was not one of his more casual listeners.
Geralt, either entirely unaware of the situation or just determined to not acknowledge it, introduced the two of them with a cursory, “Ciri, this is Jaskier. Jaskier, this is my daughter, Ciri.”  
Jaskier cleared his throat, lifting his hand and wiggling his fingers in greeting. “Ah, hello there. I’m Jaskier, oh, well I suppose your father just said that. But in any case, I’m Jaskier and I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.” 
One beat of silence. Two. Jaskier’s skin was beginning to itch. Were this silence to carry on a moment longer he simply thought he would scream just to fill it with something. Fortunately, things did not come to that. Someone, however, did end up screaming, it just wasn’t himself. 
“Oh. My. God. Dad!” Ciri sprung from her chair, the legs scraping against the linoleum floor in a way that set Jaskier’s teeth on edge. “You never said Jaskier was coming here!” 
“I told you this morning that we had someone coming in for the program.” 
“Yeah, but you never said it was Jaskier!” she shrieked, fists curled and tugging at the ends of each of her braids as if they were her only tethers to reality. Dancing from foot to foot, Ciri vibrated with a level of energy that Jaskier knew to only be attainable by enthralled young girls. He had been on the receiving end of it enough times to know it was a force more powerful than anything mother nature could design. “Marilka is going to be so jealous! Her face is going to turn all red and sweaty like it does whenever she’s upset.” Judging from her glee, Jaskier was willing to bet that Ciri was not on good terms with Marilka. 
“No,” Geralt interjected, swift and terse, “You won’t be telling anyone he’s here. Not Marilka, not Adda-” Ciri sucked in a breath, preparing to make her rebuttal, “and not Dara.” 
Gasping like a hooked fish, Ciri cried, “Not even Dara?” 
“Not even Dara.” 
With a dramatic sigh, Ciri deflated like a spent party balloon. “Fine, I won’t tell anyone.” Which earned a look of approval from Geralt, but it was short lived as she continued, “But Jaskier, I was wondering would you… would you maybe sing one of your songs for me later?” Jaskier’s heart leapt into his throat, his ribs clenched around his lungs like a vice. 
Scrambling for a reasonable excuse and finding none, Jaskier just stood there. His mouth jumped, working to form words he didn’t know to speak, “Ah, well you see, that is uh-” 
“I’m such a big fan of yours. Maybe even your number one fan! Please just one song?” pleaded Ciri, her eyes bright and glittering as if the entirety of her happiness in life hinged upon his answer. Ringing began in Jaskier’s ears. He tried to breathe, but it felt as though he were trying to get the air through a twisted garden hose. If this kept up, Jaskier feared where it would lead. Not ten minutes in this place and already he was falling apart.     
“Ciri.” Geralt, blessedly, intervened. The sound of her name felt like a bite, like the snap of a dog who had been goaded one too many times. Even Jaskier found himself flinching. Ciri looked down, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the floor as she purposefully avoided Geralt’s disappointed glare. His voice was low and smooth once more as he explained, “You know that’s not why Jaskier is here. I want you to apologize to him.” 
Startled, Jaskier stammered, “O-oh, that’s not really necessary I-” But it seemed he was getting an apology no matter his thoughts on the necessity of it. 
“I’m sorry, Jaskier,” muttered Ciri, eyes still cast down at the floor making her look rather small and chastened. Much more like the girl was and not the young woman she was so close to  becoming.
“Think nothing of it, dear heart.” She perked up at Jaskier’s use of the endearment, her eyes glittering as if they were brimming with stars. As ceaselessly remarkable as it was to be admired in such a way, Jaskier couldn’t shake the feeling of hands at his throat. He swore he could feel the fingers pressing into his skin. Could imagine the shape of bruises they would leave. Not wanting to dampen her enthusiasm, Jaskier pondered another way he could appease Ciri. “Perhaps later you and I can sit and have a chat, hmm? And anything you want, I’ll sign.” And that seemed to brighten her a bit, much to Jaskier’s relief. 
Quietly, Ciri gathered her cereal bowl and brought it to the sink, running the tap to rinse out the remnants of milk and cornflakes.  
“Hey, come here,” called Geralt, holding out one arm. He motioned with the subtle twitch of his fingers for Ciri to come to his side and she did with minor reluctance. She was obviously still sore about being scolded in front of her idol. Geralt wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m sorry for snapping. Have fun at school and please not a word to anyone, alright?” Ciri muttered an affirmation and pulled away, but not before Geralt could give her hair an affectionate ruffle. Her freckled nose wrinkled as she grinned back and Jaskier felt himself endeared by the display. After placing her bowl in the dishwasher, Ciri was gone. 
Sighing heavily, Geralt rested his hands in the curves of his sculpted hips, “I’m sorry about that. She’s a good kid, but she tends to get caught up in herself.”  
Jaskier fixed a smile, a skill he liked to think himself rather adept at. “Oh, think nothing of it. No harm done.” Geralt hummed in response. Something about its tone told Jaskier that he was not entirely unconvinced that some damage had been done. “So, I’ve met your daughter. I hope I’ll have the honor of meeting your wife as well.”  
“No wife, but I’m sure you’ll meet the rest of my family before the evening is out.” 
“Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed,” replied Jaskier, pretending that there hadn’t been a spark of excitement with the answer. 
“No worries. Divorced, actually. We’re still friends though and share custody of Ciri. She’ll go back to stay with her mother in the fall.” Turning back towards the hall, Geralt beckoned Jaskier with a tilt of his head and said, “C’mon, why don’t I show you to your room?”
The wheels of Jaskier’s suitcase ground against the hardwood floor as Geralt took them down the door lined hallway. The five doors at the top of the hallway were shut, most likely belonging to Geralt’s aforementioned family, while the remaining four at the end were left ajar. Their interiors looked empty of any personal effects leading Jaskier to the conclusion that he was, indeed, the only one currently here for the program. It was both comforting and disquieting.                
“Alright, so this’ll be your room,” said Geralt as he lugged Jaskier’s suitcases to the second to last door, “It’s not much, but I hope it’s comfortable enough for you.”
It certainly wasn’t much. A narrow twin-sized bed pushed against the wall with a nightstand beside it. A simple chest of drawers and a desk situated in front of the room’s only window which lacked any kind of view beyond the empty expanse of flatland the house was situated on.  
Jaskier could think of several hotel rooms he had stayed in that were far more accommodating. Were he just a bit taller, Jaskier would’ve been able to stretch the width of the room from toes to fingertips. He silently thanked his manager for persuading him to pack light as he sidled inside and tucked his guitar in the corner, Geralt following behind with his suitcase. Geralt was saying something about towels and sheets, but Jaskier was only half paying attention. His mind was rife with a thousand other thoughts, most of which centered around the growing sense of worthlessness eating away at his heart.           
Geralt held out his hand, palm faced up and expectant. What on Earth was he waiting for? Jaskier couldn’t imagine Geralt desiring something as inane as a high five, but Jaskier’s mind supplied him with no other possibilities. Fortunately, before Jaskier could make a complete and utter fool of himself, Geralt uttered a single word, “Phone.” 
“What?” squawked Jaskier indignantly. 
“Your phone,” repeated Geralt. “We have a strict ‘no phone’ policy for all guests when they stay here. We find it damaging to the therapeutic atmosphere. I thought you were informed about it.” 
Clutching the little device against his chest, Jaskier stammered, “N-no! I mean, I don’t see what my phone should have to do with anything. Besides, I’m a rather busy man. Well connected. I can’t imagine the fuss it would cause if I wasn’t able to keep up with it all.” He wouldn’t be able to check his social media or the various tabloids. How else would he be able to gauge the public’s opinion of him? Surely they would ask questions about his absence and that would lead to speculation which would then lead to a veritable hailstorm of articles claiming he had been kidnapped or murdered- or worse- that he was in rehab. Just the thought of removing his finger from the pulse of the world made Jaskier break into a sweat. He fought to keep his voice calm as he said, “I’d really rather just like to keep it, if you don’t mind.” 
“I’m afraid I have to insist,” contended Geralt, pressing his hand forward with its open, awaiting palm. 
Grappling for another excuse, Jaskier squeaked, “Madeleine! My manager, surely she’ll need to keep in contact with me.” 
“She is fully aware of our policies here. If she needs to contact you for any reason she has other modes of doing so and I’ll be sure you’re alerted.” 
Jaskier barked a laugh, trying to mask his growing sense of hysteria. “That’s far too much trouble for all involved parties. Let’s try and find a compromise, shall we? The phone stays in my possession, but I promise not to look during our, uh… well whatever it is we’re doing here.” 
“Therapy.” 
“Right, our therapy. Does that sound agreeable?” Jaskier plastered on his most charming smile, hoping it would provide some amount of leverage in support of his case. 
Geralt, however, seemed not the slightest bit moved by Jaskier’s allure. He lips pressed into a flat line as he sighed, “Jaskier, I understand that this is a difficult thing for you. I want you to feel comfortable here and I can tell that taking your phone puts that in jeopardy, but I have to urge you to let me put it somewhere safe. You’re here because you want to get better, right?” 
With a hot spike of embarrassment piercing through his chest, Jaskier snapped, “I’m not sick.” 
“I’m not saying you are. However, you’re not feeling your best right?” Which was something Jaskier could hardly disagree with. He wouldn’t be here were it not for the fact he was, inarguably, not feeling his best. When Jaskier nodded, Geralt continued, “Alright, that’s what we’re here to work on and I’ve found that phones tend to detract from that. With that in mind, I would really like for you to let me hold onto your phone, but I don’t want it to become a source of discomfort. So I’ll give you the choice, hold onto your phone and accept that it may hurt your recovery or give it to me with the promise that I will let you know the instant something important comes up.” 
Despite his stature and intimidating appearance, Jaskier was finding Geralt to be rather disarming. Perhaps it was in the evenness of his speech or the steadiness of his gaze, but there was something about Geralt that made the buzzing in Jaskier’s skull feel less volatile. He hadn’t known the man for more than an hour and already Jaskier felt as though Geralt truly had his best interest at heart. Jaskier looked down at the phone in his hand. His face stared back at him in the blackness of the inactive screen and he couldn’t help taking notice of the darkness beneath his eyes, the sunkenness of his cheeks. This wasn’t him. How long could Jaskier continue to wake every morning and see himself changing before he reached the point where he could no longer recognize himself? 
Like ripping off a bandaid, Jaskier thrust out his hand. The strain in his muscles wordlessly implored for Geralt to take the phone before he could change his mind. With a quick and gentle movement, Geralt did so and buried it away in the back pocket of his jeans. “Thank you for trusting me, Jaskier.”
“Let’s not dwell on it or I fear I may change my mind.”     
****
That evening, Jaskier joined Geralt and his family for dinner. Two brothers, one older and one younger, who worked in town, but helped run the farmstead as well. The older of them, Eskel, was a mountain of man yet had a soft disposition and the kindest eyes Jaskier had ever seen. He made a great effort to make Jaskier feel welcome and at ease. The younger, Lambert, was on the coltish side and had sarcasm in spades as well as a talent for cooking. Divine did not feel like an adjective typically used to describe meatloaf, but Jaskier felt it appropriate with this one. Lastly, there was Geralt’s father, Vesemir. In some moments, the man appeared to be as old as time itself and as immeasurably wise, but then his eyes would glimmer with a waggishness that belied someone of a much younger constitution. 
All in all, they seemed like a lovely family. The group of them even all sat down to a game after dinner, a card game called gwent. Jaskier had heard of it, but never played himself, however Ciri was more than enthused to show Jaskier all the rules. She stuck to Jaskier’s side like the spiny seeds of a burr bush, though she, thankfully, did not mention anything else about his music. No requests for songs or autographs or tales of his life in the limelight. Geralt must have talked to her again and for that he was secretly grateful.           
Later that night, as Jaskier shuffled down the hall with toothbrush and towel in hand to prepare for bed, he caught a glimpse through a cracked doorway to the room that must have belonged to Ciri. The walls were painted a mossy green and adorned with an amalgamation of photographs and sketches and magazine clippings. A bewildering peek into the mind of a teenage girl. Ticket stubs, prize ribbons, and… posters. Jaskier’s chest tightened at the all too familiar sight of himself. Not one, not two, but three versions of himself all younger and brighter and lovelier than the Jaskier of today.    
Jaskier remembered the photoshoot where the series had come from. It had been promotional for his Heaven is Here tour five years ago. He had been at the top of his game, then. Sold out shows. Nightly guest appearances. Basking in all things gilded and glittering and golden like a god at a feast set out in his honor. It should have been a fond memory. A reminiscence of all he had seen and done and accomplished. Yet, all Jaskier could think about was how much deeper the lines of his face had looked in the mirror when he brushed his teeth.The nubs of gray that peeked through his stubble.  
Shuffling down the hallway a little faster, Jaskier hoped to outpace the shadows of his thoughts as they crawled after him with outstretched fingers.
Back in his room, Jaskier closed his eyes and drew a collective breath. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. The tightness in his chest loosened a little, but still he felt unsettled. Jaskier looked at the room around him. Spare and functional, yet with small touches that hinted at the attempt of making it more welcoming. Watercolors of lush farmland on the walls. A lavender scented candle and a packet of matches. A chunky, seemingly hand-knit blanket draped over the foot of the narrow bed. 
Organization. Jaskier tended to live his life in a chaotic cluster of belongings packed hastily into traveling cases, but his therapist had suggested grounding. Setting roots. It was true, his stay at Kaer Morhen would not be long, but the tempest of his unease could be settled by surrounding himself with the familiar. His clothes, his books, his baubles, and bits. Setting his traveling case on the bed, Jaskier dug his hands in and began unpacking.              
Jaskier’s fingers whispered against the silken fabric of one shirt, folding it with as much care as he could, “I’m so sorry, my love,” he crooned to the garment, “this is not the treatment you deserve, but when needs must.” With no proper closet, Jaskier had no choice other than the small chest of drawers that sat opposite his bed. It was a sturdy piece and smelled faintly of the cedar it was fashioned from. Creases would remain a concern, but at least Jaskier’s clothes wouldn’t smell, too. 
It was a tight fit, but Jaskier managed to wedge everything he brought into the drawers. He lined his shoes by the door, stacked his books on the window sill, arranged his pens and notebooks on the little desk. Setting his hands on the notch of his hips, Jaskier stepped back and admired his handiwork. It wouldn’t stay neat for long- Jaskier gave himself two days at most- but it felt good to be settled. Soothed the itch that burned under his skin. 
For a moment at least.
Tucked in the corner, just beside the dresser, sat the hard case that housed Jaskier’s guitar. He had thought about not bringing it, back when he had been deciding between which shirts and jackets and rings seemed appropriate for the rustic ambience of his little getaway. However, the thought of not bringing it filled Jaskier with an emptiness that outweighed the apprehension of having it with him. Yet, its presence mocked him now. In the quiet of the night he could practically hear the strings singing to him. Calling out in a desperate plea to be played, but Jaskier’s palms grew slick. His knuckles locked up. The very thought of feeling those strings beneath his fingers made the fear swell inside Jaskier like the rising tide of a storm he had no hope of weathering.
Fighting desperately not to retch against the bile of his panic, Jaskier snatched his guitar case. He shuffled like a silent thief through the sleeping house and out the back door. He didn’t know where he was going or what he hoped to accomplish. All Jaskier knew was the thought of being confined in that cell of a room with the void of his case sucking in all the light made him feel ill. 
The darkness of the night spread ahead of Jaskier like spilled ink. It seemed endless. Nothing but the isolated silhouettes of trees and rocks. Then, like the beacon of a lighthouse at the edge of the sea, Jaskier was drawn to the floodlights of the barn. He was not overly fond of the idea of leaving his most precious possession amongst a mass of common farm animals, but he could not have it in the house. The strings would sing to him through the floorboards, haunt his dreams with their mournful twang. 
Moths were fluttering dazedly in the light as Jaskier came to a side door bearing a nameplate with the words ‘tack room’ over the threshold. He had absolutely no idea what a ‘tack room’ was nor did he know what was stored there, but it at least seemed devoid of any animal life. Jaskier was correct in his assumption and learned that ‘tack’ must have been a catch-all term for the various trappings of horses. Saddles, blankets, bridels, and the like. 
Skittering around the edges of the room, Jaskier searched for a place to stash his guitar. Someplace dry and concealed enough that he couldn’t be easily stumbled upon. The last thing he wanted was someone touching his cherished instrument with their greasy, inexperienced hands. Cursing under his breath, Jaskier was nearly ready to give up in search of another hiding place when he noticed a ladder resting against the wall in one corner. Setting down the case, Jaskier climbed up for a cursory glance, finding the area to be nothing more than a hayloft. He could hear the shuffle and huff of the animals in their stables beneath the floorboards. It was warm and dry albeit a bit dusty, but still suitable enough for the storage of his prized instrument. 
It took more effort than Jaskier anticipated to lug the case up the ladder behind him. He was red faced and sweating by the time he slid the thing across the floor of the hayloft. Resting with his hands on his knees, Jaskier took a moment to catch his breath. There was a brief moment of clarity. An instance where Jaskier paused and wondered to himself, was this something he was really doing? It felt as though this was crossing a boundary, taking him down a level to which he had never stooped before. This guitar was his most prized possession. The thing with which his entire life hinged. What kind of person would he have become had he not found the thing all those years ago tucked away in the attic of his childhood home, in need of a good tuning, but a fine instrument nonetheless. Jaskier looked around the dark and dust of the hayloft and noticed the irony of it. 
Jaskier carried the case to the back wall. No one would be able to see it from the ground, but Jaskier didn’t know how often this place was visited. With some effort, he pushed a couple of bales in front of the case to block it entirely from view. With many much more easily accessible bales, Jaskier doubted anyone would find the thing. He was confident his guitar would stay safe and hidden for the duration of his stay. With the dark deed completed, Jaskier pricked his way back down the ladder and to the house, hoping that now, just maybe, he would be able to settle down for the night. Wishful thinking.  
****
Jaskier had not been asleep long. The small, unfamiliar bed had not been kind to him and not even the hand-knit blanket had been enough to change that. Paired with general insomnia, Jaskier spent the majority of the night cycling through reading the same paragraph in his book fifteen times, arranging and rearranging all the bedclothes in a bid to get comfortable, and staring up at the ceiling in a mix of contemplation and existential dread. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with Jaskier and dragged him down into a fitful slumber like a wolf taking down a hare. It had been two hours at the most when Jaskier was awoken by a knock at the door. 
Grumbling, Jaskier rolled over and pulled the hand-knit blanket tighter around himself. He had begun to drift off again when another knock came, this time, louder. Jaskier opened one eye, taking in the room around him. It was still dark, though the faint glow behind the curtains determined that dawn could not be far off. 
“What fresh hell…” Jaskier reached out, smacking his palm against the surface of the nightstand until he found the alarm clock, struggling to make sense of its arms and notches with this sleep addled brain. It was just after five in the morning. No one sane could be up at this hour. Only insomniacs and masochists. 
Again, came the knock. 
“Sleeping, come back later,” Jaskier called back to his unwanted visitor, nestling back down into the cocoon of blankets as if the swaths of cotton could keep the world at bay. Still, the knocking persisted. Jaskier did his best to ignore it, to clear his mind and drift back off into the ether of sleep, but the steady rhythm of the knocking cut through him to the point where he swore he could feel its beat vibrating in his very bones.
With an aggravated cry, Jaskier thrashed in the blankets, wrestling to extricate himself from their folds and give whoever was at his door a piece of his mind. “If that knocking doesn’t stop this instant, so help me, I’m going to take my foot and shove it up your- Geralt.” 
Jaskier nearly choked on the name as it lodged in his throat like a stone. Geralt arched a brow at him, the corner of his mouth twitching in what was nearly a smile. Something about this must have been amusing to him, but he was doing his best not to show it. 
“Morning,” he rumbled, “best be getting yourself ready. Breakfast is on the table and Lambert will have a fit if you let it go cold.” 
Jaskier blinked slowly, his sleep deprived brain processing at the speed of molasses on a frigid winter’s day. Geralt was already dressed for the day. Slim jeans tucked into tall leather boots and a t-shirt that accentuated the dips and curves of his musculature in the simplest yet most enticing of ways. Perhaps it was the result of his sleeplessness, but Jaskier found himself staring for longer than what could be considered appropriate. The sound of Geralt clearing his throat brought Jaskier back to himself albeit pink cheeked and more than a tad embarrassed. 
“Um, sorry I, uh… just save me a plate or something? I’m not particularly hungry right now and I think I’m just going to treat myself to a couple more hours of sleep so…” He trailed off, fully expecting for Geralt to offer a gesture of understanding and then leave Jaskier to his devices.
“Sorry to disappoint, but this is when we start the day around here.”    
“Well, I didn’t really get the best sleep last night.” 
“When the morning chores are done you can have a nap if you’d like. Sometimes I even take one myself.” 
Jaskier huffed, frustrated by Geralt’s lack of sympathy. At the risk of seeming like a diva, Jaskier was not accustomed to much opposition. It wasn’t that he expected to have his every whim indulged, but a couple more hours of sleep hardly seemed like an exorbitant request. Madeleine hardly ever roused him before noon if there wasn’t a good reason like a flight to catch or a particularly nice brunch setup. And seeing how neither of those seemed to be involved, Jaskier wasn’t inclined to give in. 
“Look,” sighed Jaskier. “I understand that you’re just doing your job. You’ve been hired to do whatever it is you do here and I am going to be as sensitive as I can be to that, but there are some boundaries that aren’t meant to be crossed and that is most certainly one. I am international best-selling artist and-”    
“Alright.” 
“-you’re just going to have to- wait what?” Jaskier stopped himself short, brows furrowed as he blinked up at Geralt and parroted, “Alright?”
“Alright.” Geralt affirmed with a nod. “If it’s something you feel that strongly about, then we can compromise. Does another two hours sound alright?” 
Jaskier almost felt too stunned to speak, caught off guard by Geralt’s amenity. Jaskier had been expecting a bit more resistance, had been prepared for it, but now that it was unnecessary he felt a bit like a small dog who had made a big fuss over some baseless sound. Chest puffed, hackles raised. “Ah, yes, that sounds agreeable. Thank you for, uh, understanding.”
“Sure thing. I’ll come back and get you then.” And then Geralt was gone, boots clunking against the hardwood floor. Jaskier spent a few moments staring at the space where Geralt had been, the hall feeling abnormally empty without his bulking frame, before he slipped back into his room and between the sheets of his bed. 
Breathing a heavy sigh, Jaskier sunk into the mattress and closed his eyes. He waited for sleep to take him. Waited for that creep of darkness to drag him under into the bliss of unconsciousness. It lingered in the back of his skull, but seemed content to stay there never advancing. Jaskier tossed from one side to the other. Flipped the pillow and flopped onto his back. Pulled the blankets up to his chin and then pushed them down below his waist. Jaskier made a strangled noise, somewhere between a howl of frustration and a raging roar. He rolled himself out of bed, shoved his limbs through the first shirt and pair of pants in his drawer, and stalked out to the kitchen.  
The Rivia family was situated around the table laughing and talking and passing around platters piled with thick hotcakes, fluffy scrambled eggs, and glistening bacon. The very picture of familial bliss. Jaskier felt like an intruder. A stormcloud encroaching on a clear blue sky. Everything in him told him to turn away, to retreat back his solitude and leave them to their chatter and merriment. The thought was traveling from his brain to his muscles, his shoulders and hips twisting as they angled to take him away. 
“Jaskier.” Jaskier stopped still, looked up to see Geralt peering at him over the rim of his coffee cup. “Good morning. I’m happy you decided to come join us.” Jaskier grinned sheepishly, picking at a loose thread sticking out from his shirt cuff. 
“Jaskier!” Ciri popped up from her seat, her hair fluffy and sleep tousled and wild around her pale face. “Come here, come here! Geralt set your place up next to me!” 
Sure enough, when Jaskier stepped towards the table, there was an empty plate placed before the seat next to Ciri. A mug of coffee was steaming beside the plate ready and waiting to be loaded down with cream and sugar. Jaskier looked over at Geralt who just sipped surreptitiously at his own coffee, his lips curled in a benign little smile. Jaskier wasn’t sure how to feel about that just yet, but he was leaning towards something positive. 
Lambert barked something about how the hotcakes weren’t getting any hotter and that prompted Jaskier to slide into his waiting seat. Without having to make any requests, Jaskier’s plate was loaded down with food before things continued on without the barest hitch. Everyone welcomed him into the fold of their company as if he had never been apart from it. And it felt surprisingly good to be surrounded by it, all the brightness and revelry. It dulled the ache in Jaskier’s heart, made him feel a little lighter. For the first time, Jaskier thought that maybe, just maybe, this place may actually do him some good.         
*****
Jaskier was uncomfortable. It was not that he disliked animals, but he had little experience with animals and what he had was not particularly positive. His mother had a cat while he was growing up. An over-glorified pom-pom with a face flat enough to look comical. She used to sit on the top of the fridge, waiting for unsuspecting victims to walk by so she could assault them with her hisses and batting paws. An ornery cat was one thing, but this… this was an entirely different animal. Pun mostly intended. 
Jaskier yelped as a donkey swung its head over the stall of its door and let out with a bray loud enough to make his ears ring. At nearly the same moment, one of the goats skittered by him, bumping into Jaskier’s legs with enough force that it nearly toppled him arse-over-tits into a water trough. While the majority of his person was spared, Jaskier still suffered a wet sleeve and groaned as he held it out from himself like it was diseased. It could have been. Gods only knew what sort of bacteria lived in that trough.  
Geralt emerged from around the corner, a bale of hay perched on his shoulder as casual as anything. Were Jaskier’s shirt not now sopping wet up to the elbow, he would have appreciated the ripple of Geralt’s muscles as he tossed the bale down in front of the donkey’s stall, “Let me guess, that was Lil’ Bleater.” 
“‘Lil’ what now?” parroted Jaskier, pulling his arm out from the damp sleeve so he could ring the water from it as best as he could. 
“The goat, white and tan? Mischievous little thing. He knows that you’re new and that's just his way of saying ‘hello,'” 
“I suppose I’ve received colder welcomes, but I’ve certainly gotten warmer, too.” Jaskier wrung out whatever water he could from his sleeve and slipped his arm through it once again. “Are there more of those around? Should I have my guard up?” 
“We have twelve goats,” said Geralt, opening the door to the donkey stall and pushing the hay bale inside with the press of his heel. “-but most of them are nannies so they’re more docile. Lil’ Bleater is the only billy goat so he thinks he has to act tough.” Geralt walked down the hall a bit and retrieved a pitchfork from a hook. “Alright, Polka here needs to get her stall mucked and then have some fresh bedding put down.” 
Dumbly, Jaskier took the pitch fork as Geralt handed it to him, blinking like a deer caught in the headlights. “Wait… you want me to do what?” 
“Muck the stall.” 
“Muck? Muck as in shoveling shit? Oh no, I think not. There’s got to be something else I can do. Perhaps something not quite so up close and personal?” 
Geralt shared an amused look with the aforementioned Polka before saying, “You know, the whole point of animal therapy is to kind of be up close and personal with the animals. That’s why it’s called ‘animal therapy.'”
With an indignant huff, Jaskier snapped, “I could very well garner that for myself, thank you, but must this be the task I’m given? Can’t I- oh, I don’t know- do literally anything else?”  
“Fine, then how about we try something else first?” Jaskier watched as Geralt rested the rake against the wall, walking down to the end of the stable and to the door to what Jaskier now knew was the tack room. Dread seized Jaskier as his thoughts flooded with the memories of last night. The macabre tableau of burying away his guitar in the upper loft as if were a corpse in need of disposing. Geralt wouldn’t find it, would he? It wouldn’t have gotten there on its own accord and that would lead to questions which would lead to a confrontation which would- oh wait, Geralt was coming back. A bucket swung from his hand and was filled with what appeared to be brushes and combs. 
As he approached Jaskier, Geralt reached into his pocket and said, “Here, you’re going to need these.” Electricity spiked down the length of Jaskier’s hand as Geralt took it within his own and shoved a collection of hard, gritty lumps into the cup of his palm. 
Jaskier stammered, “W-wait, what-” but before he could make any further inquiry Geralt released his hold and turned to open the stall door nearest the end of the stable. The latch gave way with a resounding clunk. Geralt slipped inside and, despite his apprehension, Jaskier slipped in after him. There was a particularly threatening looking rooster strutting in his direction and Jaskier had no desire to be left alone with it. 
Out of the frying pan and into the fire, or so the expression went. 
The goats had been one thing and the donkeys had been another, but here Jaskier found himself confronted by yet another beast entirely: a horse. Jaskier’s heart stuttered in his chest, his first thought being for how alarmingly large the creature was. It was one of those things where one could not possibly fathom the scale of it until you had seen it in person like a skyscraper or a redwood tree. Pictures and film did absolutely nothing to prepare you for the sheer enormity of the thing as you stood next to it. 
Intimidated, Jaskier turned to slip back out the stall, but then he remembered the rooster that waited outside with its blade-sharp beak and hesitated. It was just enough time for Geralt to appear beside him, a steadying hand pressing on Jaskier’s shoulder. 
“Easy now,” he whispered, his breath warm against the side of Jaskier’s face. “No need to be scared, she’s not going to hurt you.” Geralt clicked his tongue and the horse raised her head, shoots of dry hay twitching between her lips. Jaskier inadvertently squeaked. “It’s alright, Jaskier. You still got those sugar cubes I gave you?” 
Remembering the hard lumps Geralt had shoved into his hand, Jaskier looked down to find he was indeed holding sugar cubes. However, the clench and sweat of his grasp had transfigured them into something closer resembling blobs than cubes. Jaskier grimaced, the half-melted sugar stuck sweet and sticky in the creases of his palms. 
“Alright, now hold out your hand.” 
“Geralt, I don’t-”
“Trust me.” Swallowing thickly, Jaskier raised his hand an inch. Two. Then three. All while Geralt uttered encouragement into his ear like the serpent to Eve, “Good, now keep your palm flat. Thumb tucked in. Perfect, just like that.” Intrigued, the horse took a step towards Jaskier’s offered hand, her hoof making a distinct clop on the hard floor. Jaskier shrunk back and were he not so apprehensive about the horse, he would have blushed at the fact that he had pressed himself into the curve of Geralt’s chest behind him. 
As she drew closer, Jaskier could not stop himself from taking notice of how pretty she was. Her coat was a warm and glossy chestnut. Her wide, dark eyes were rimmed with rows of lashes full and delicate enough to put any high fashion model to shame. A stripe of bright white accentuated the length of her face, a lock of hair falling artfully across her forehead. Jaskier did not know much about horses- in fact, he knew next to nothing about them- however, were he asked, he would say there was no finer specimen. 
The horse huffed softly, nostrils flaring slightly as she brushed her muzzle against Jaskier’s outstretched hand. He sucked in a gasp, his entire body going rigid. He wanted to move, but felt unsure whether it was wise. Jaskier wasn’t looking to be stomped or kicked to death, thank you very much. “O-oh… h-hello there, lovely." laughed Jaskier nervously. Compliments would not win him any favors in this situation, but he supposed they couldn’t hurt either. 
“Jaskier, this is Roach. Roach say hello to Jaskier.” The horse continued to snuffle against his hand, her breath warm and wet against his skin. Jaskier yelped quietly as Roach’s lips twitched and plucked the cube from his grasp, nickering as she crunched the sweet between her teeth.       
Chuckling, Geralt said, “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Indeed it wasn’t, but Jaskier would rather choke on his own tongue than admit it. If Geralt’s growing smirk were any indication, it seemed Jaskier didn’t need to anyway. “Like humans, she has her moods, but she’s a good girl and a couple of sugar cubes is a surefire way into this little lady’s heart.” ‘Little Lady’ did not seem the appropriate diminutive. Roach was enormous and not just in stature, Jaskier was noticing. She was quite round as well, particularly around her middle. 
“Goodness, then how many must curry your favor with sugar cubes to be as…” Jaskier trailed off, carding through the catalog of his vocabulary for a palatable euphemism, “voluptuous as yourself?”    
As he smirked, the dimple in Geralt’s chin deepened in a way that could only be appropriately described as delectable. He said, “It's a bit rude to be commenting on a lady’s weight, don’t you think?” 
Excuses fell from Jaskier’s mouth in a broken jumble like puzzle pieces tossed carelessly from the box, “Well, I- that is to say- I didn’t mean-” his cheeks flushed petal pink with embarrassment and perhaps a bit of something else.  
“Relax, I’m only joking with you. She’s definitely on the heavier side right now, but it’s not from too many sugar cubes. Roach is pregnant.” Geralt explained, smoothing his palm against the curve of Roach’s swollen flank. The horse nickered and tossed her head playfully, clearly enjoying the attention.
“Ah, that does rather make a bit more sense.” Now that Geralt had said it, Jaskier felt rather silly for not having realized. Geralt must have thought him some sort of fool. “Well, then I suppose congratulations are in order. Despite the pride on your face, I assume it’s safe to say that you’re not the father?”
Huffing a laugh, Geralt replied, “Definitely not. No, that was Scorpion; a stallion we were fostering for a couple of friends. He was struck so thoroughly by Roach’s beauty and charm that he cleared a five foot fence just to get to her.” 
“Oh, the romance, the scandal,” Jaskier gasped facetiously, “Well, good for you girl. Motherhood is no easy road, but at least you can’t say you didn’t have a bit of fun, eh?”
“Maybe too much fun,” Geralt rumbled back, reaching into his bucket of supplies and producing a stiff bristled brush. Holding it out for him to take, Jaskier had to pretend as if the brushing of their hands didn’t, once again, send a jolt of pleasure down his spine. 
Geralt explained the importance of grooming. How the act of it was a form of bonding and a way of showing affection. He demonstrated the proper technique, working along the grain of Roach’s coat with broad strokes. As filthy as it all felt, Jaskier had to admit he did find it somewhat soothing. The methodical strokes of the brush, the soft huff of Roach’s breath. It was easy to let himself melt into the movement, to let all other things fall away like the debris from Roach’s coat. Perhaps there was some benefit to this animal therapy after all.                    
It was peaceful for a time, but Jaskier’s restlessness was a wild and untamed thing. It wasn’t long before the need to fill the silence overwhelmed him and he blurted, “So how did all of this,” he gestured vaguely to the barn around them with its exposed ceiling beams and bundles of sweet smelling hay and four-legged occupants, “become what it is? I mean, was it always a therapeutic farmstead?” 
With a wordless hum, Geralt looked pensively into the gleam of Roach’s freshly brushed coat as if it were a mirror capable of reflecting his thoughts. In the absence of an answer, Jaskier’s mind supplied its own. He must have overstepped a boundary. Crossed some hidden perimeter between what did and didn’t constitute as an acceptable line of questioning. An apology rose in the back of Jaskier’s throat and had just about reached his lips when Geralt, at last, replied.
“I had a difficult childhood. Spent a lot of it in the foster care system, moving from house to house. Family to family. By the time I was adopted by Vesemir, the damage of that upbringing had taken its toll.” 
Jaskier’s mouth went dry, like a riverbed after a drought had robbed it of its last drop of water  “O-oh, I… I’m sorry I didn’t-” 
“No, don’t apologize,” Geralt interrupted, gentle yet firm. “It wasn’t an easy part of my life, but pretending it didn't happen is more damaging than acknowledging it. Besides, it kind of segues into how Kaer Morhen got its start.” He smiled a little and that put Jaskier more at ease. Loosened the knot in his belly. Geralt continued, “Vesemir already had the ranch when he adopted me. Old man has a soft spot for things that no one else wants. Animals. Children.” 
Roach snorted, craning her neck and bumping her velvet soft muzzle against his shoulder. Geralt smiled and smoothed a hand down the white stripe on her face. Roach seemed to lean into his touch, her eyes dark and placid like a lake carved deep into the Earth. Jaskier may not have had much experience with animals, but empathy was something that transcended between all living things like the light of stars through the gloom of space. And empathy was something where Jaskier had experience in spades.   
 “Working with the animals was good for me. Animals are different from people. They don’t have judgments over where you’re from or how you speak or dress or act. As long as you’re good to them, they’ll be good to you.” Jaskier had never thought about it that way. There had to be a certain kind of respite in knowing that you could be looked upon without condescension. Roach didn’t know the things Jaskier had been through. There was no way that she could. She only knew that he had shown her kindness and returned it with a little sigh and the bump of her muzzle against his shoulder. 
“Perhaps I was a bit presumptuous and for that I apologize,” Jaskier hummed, quiet enough that he hoped only Roach could hear. “You may just grow on me yet.” She flicked her ears, munching away on the bucket of oats Geralt had retrieved for her. Jaskier couldn’t claim to know what she was thinking, but he got the feeling that he was forgiven.   
Something shifted beneath Roach’s flank where Jaskier held the brush, making him yelp in surprise. He stepped back, watching with fascination as it happened again. Thrill tingled in the tips of his fingers as Jaskier breathlessly asked, “Was that… the foal?” Geralt’s smirk was answer enough. An irrepressible grin spread across Jaskier’s face. He placed the brush on the wall and eagerly pressed his palms against Roach’s flank once more. For several moments his hands rose and fell only with the steady pull of her breaths before he felt a light flutter and the distinctive shift of the foal turning within her belly.  
“Geralt,” blurted Jaskier, his eyes glittering bright and delighted, “We need to bring Roach more sugar cubes. A box of them. No, three boxes. No, a truckload of them!”     
****
It became routine these mornings with Geralt. It still took some coercion and more than a few wake up calls, but still Jaskier would roll out of bed and take his place at the table and breakfast with the Rivia family. Afterwards, they would head out to the barn and fill the hay sacks and oat bins, change out the water in the troughs and make sure all stalls were clean and fresh for their residents. Jaskier still didn’t care for mucking out stalls, but he did at least become a little less sensitive to it. As long as he didn’t let his thoughts linger too long on the fact he was shoveling shit, he found it was manageable. 
It was all becoming manageable, actually. Enjoyable even. Jaskier began to look forward to heading out to the barn in the mornings. He would take his time and greet every animal. They were much less intimidating than Jaskier first thought. He still had a healthy amount of respect for them, but he felt much more comfortable maneuvering around them, giving little pets and scratches and sneaking sugar cubes. His pockets were now always filled with sugar cubes. 
Most mornings, it was just Geralt in Jaskier working in tandem to complete the daily chores. Lambert and Eskel both worked in town while Ciri was often at school. Sometimes they worked in companionable silence and others they conversed. They talked about all manner of things and Jaskier was surprised to find that Geralt was rather open. Jaskier’s experience was limited, but the other therapists he had seen were tight lipped about themselves, which made sense. But there was something refreshing in hearing about Geralt’s life. It made him feel less distant. More like a friend and less like a counselor. 
Jaskier learned Geralt had attended university in Rinde where he earned his psychology degrees. It was also there that he met the woman who would eventually become his wife.  Geralt never revealed why they divorced and Jaskier didn’t ask.He showed Jaskier a picture once and Jaskier found himself entranced by the shine of her dark hair and unusually colored eyes. He thought of Ciri with her green eyes and ashen hair and wondered who on Earth she took after since she bore no resemblance to either of her parents.
The answer came almost two weeks into Jaskier’s stay at Kaer Morhen. A group of children came to the farm, brought in by a local group home. They got to help with small chores like feeding and grooming and when the work was done they were offered rides on the ponies and donkeys. It was heartwarming to see the way their little faces lit up with joy. Ciri seemed to know some of the children and at first Jaskier believed it was just from the repeated visits, but eventually learned it was because she once lived among them. Ciri had once been like them, just a child visiting Kaer Morhen. Geralt had taken to her so thoroughly that he called the home the very next day to begin arranging for her adoption. Jaskier most certainly didn’t get a bit misty eyed hearing the story, not one bit.         
Jaskier was beginning to like the bucolic lifestyle. It felt good to be steadied by routine instead of tossed around by the chaos of his life in the limelight. There were certainly times where the anxiety gripped him, when it sunk its taloned fingers into the flesh of his heart and refused to let go, but he was finding it happened a little less often. A little less keenly. And for a brief time, Jaskier let himself believe that maybe he was healing. He couldn’t yet bring himself to think about returning to the stage and he often found himself forcefully pushing away the knowledge that his guitar was still sitting hidden in the hayloft, but still it felt as though something were changing. As if he were changing. And Jaskier clung onto that with the desperation of a drowning man holding tight to the debris of a shipwreck. But Jaskier’s calm was only surface level. Ignoring his problems wouldn’t stop them from existing. Pushing them to the back of his brain didn’t banish them entirely. And it was only a matter of time before that became apparent.
Three weeks had passed since Jaskier’s arrival at Kaer Morhen and the weather was turning. Most nights had been mild, but tonight the wind seemed to blow hard and bitter. It howled outside the house, whispered through the gaps in the window seams. A storm was no doubt brewing somewhere beyond the barren horizon, drawing closer like an enemy battalion. Despite this, the night was still a pleasant one. After a delicious dinner of beef stew followed by warm apple turnovers, Jaskier and Ciri had settled into the living room for a game of gwent. 
Seated on cushions around the coffee table, Ciri was taking her sweet time deliberating on her next move. Jaskier yawned dramatically, stretching his arms high above his head, “Goodness, this whole night will have passed before you finally decide on your move.” Ciri’s head snapped up, her brows furrowed and bottom lip puckered in a pout. It made Jaskier laugh. “Fine, fine, I’m going to see if there’s any more of those turnovers. If you haven’t made a move by the time I get back I’m calling this round.” Ciri looked panicked, shuffling her cards hurriedly between her little fingers. “And don’t look at my cards while I’m gone!” Called Jaskier over his shoulder as he circled round the dining room towards the kitchen.   
Geralt was standing in the kitchen as Jaskier came around the corner, startling him  “Oh, Geralt, I thought you were out in the…” Jaskier trailed off as Geralt turned to look at him, breath hitching in the back of his throat. His heart faltered in its steady march behind his ribs. There was something in Geralt’s expression that unsettled Jaskier, something in the tight set of his jaw and the smoldering burn of his eyes. Not as keen as disappointment, but something adjacent. Jaskier hated it.
“What’s going on?” Ciri materialized beside Jaskier, peering around his shoulder to see what had caused the shift in his demeanor. She shrunk into herself. No doubt sensing the tension seeping into the air like a drop of blood in water. “Dad, is everything alright?”     
“Everything’s alright,” assured Geralt, giving her a weak smile. “I just have to talk to Jaskier for a few minutes. Do you mind giving us some privacy?” Uncertainty shined in her eyes as she looked between the two of them, hands clasped over her chest. “Just a few minutes, then I promise you can go back to your game.” Jaskier did not know what Geralt wanted to talk to him about, but he did know that he desperately wanted Ciri to stay. To be the buffer between him and that devastating look in Geralt’s eyes. Ciri took one step back, then another, and then she was gone. 
The tension swelled thick and humid, permeating into every crack and crevice of the room. Jaskier felt crushed by it. It pressed against his body like the palms of hundreds of hands all desperate to touch him. Desperate to tear him apart. He wanted to say something, anything, to diffuse the tension, but it pressed into his lungs stopping him from collecting enough breath to speak. Just when he thought he could take it no longer, Geralt stepped to the side, revealing to Jaskier the hard shell of his guitar case propped up against the edge of the table. Jaskier inadvertently shrunk back, the heel of his boot scuffing hard on the linoleum floor. It was like a creature of the night recoiling at the sight of a holy relic, overwhelmed by its divineness. 
“I found it in the upper loft,” muttered Geralt, one brow arched as he rested his palm on top of the case. "Do you know how it ended up there?” 
The heart in Jaskier’s chest churned out the rhythm of his pulse with a sickening chug like an engine on the verge of breakdown. Jaskier croaked, “My room. Too much, not enough space.” It would have seemed a legitimate reason had the words not sounded as though they were fighting their way up his throat.
“We could have found a space for it," replied Geralt, cool and smooth as water over stone. He was rather good at that, wasn’t he? Challenging all of Jaskier’s justifications and knocking them back as if they were flimsy as cardboard. It drove Jaskier mad. Was Geralt oblivious or just blatantly obstinate to the fact that Jaskier didn’t want to delve into yet another quandary?  
Shame burned through Jaskier like an inferno. Sweat formed in the hollow of his throat. His cheeks flushed red and indignant as he ranted, “It belongs to me, doesn’t it? It shouldn’t matter where I choose to put my own possessions. I could set it on the roof or bury it in the backyard or even toss it in the yawning maw of an active volcano if I so desired.” Something was happening to Jaskier. Something had crawled under his skin, tightened in his muscles. It filled his mind like a smoke and painted his vision with a vicious shade of red.  
Geralt remained calm, his hand half out in a placating gesture, “Yes, that’s true. You could do all of those or none of those things. I just know that it’s something precious to you and I’d hate for it to be damaged.” 
“So what if it was?” snapped Jaskier, wild and savage like an untamed animal, “Maybe then it wouldn’t taunt me so.” Were Jaskier in any reasonable state of mind, he would have noticed the concern that tightened Geralt’s features. Wringing his hands together, Jaskier whispered, “I could hear it, you know, singing to me in my room. It wants me to play, but I know that I can’t. I’ve tried. Dozens of times, hundreds of times, I’ve sat with it cradled in my lap and every time I place my hands on the strings it all feels wrong.” 
Geralt said nothing, only waited as Jaskier continued to rave like a madman held fast in the grips of his own lunacy. “I don’t understand why it happened. From the moment I first held it, it had always felt as easy as breathing. No thought, only function. And now? Nothing. Gods, have you ever felt such an emptiness? Such a deep and utter disconnect between who you are and the person you know yourself to be?” Geralt didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. It was agonizing to no longer recognize the person staring back at you in the mirror. They had your clothes and your face and blinked when you blinked, but it felt so hideously disjointed.  
Jaskier pressed his face into his hands. The world felt like a riot around him. A cacophony of lights and colors and sounds that felt more like a crowded street and less like the empty living room. His nerves were shredded and frayed. His sanity was held in place by little more than a thread and that was breaking fiber by fragile fiber. 
Geralt kept himself as small and non-intimidating as possible as he stepped towards Jaskier, his weather bean palm still held out in a constant gesture of amity, “We can talk more about that, I promise. We’ll work through all of those feelings, but I think it’s important we try to calm down first.” He took another step forward, fingers stretching mere inches from Jaskier’s wrist.     
“Don’t touch me!” Jaskier could barely recognize the sound coming from himself. Someone else was using his voice, conducting him as if he were a marionette. He would never scream like that. Would never shrink away from Geralt’s outstretched hand like an abused animal. Something was making him behave like this. But it did not matter, whatever possessed Jaskier had him firmly by the throat and seemed unlikely to leave him. 
Geralt lowered his hand, but still held it out in a placating gesture. “Alright, I’m sorry, Jaskier. I should have respected your personal space. I can tell you’re upset and I only want to help you. I think you’re having a panic attack and I want you to know that I’m here for you. Why don’t we try taking some deep brea-” 
“No!” Jaskier bellowed like a tantruming child, hands balled into fists at his sides as he wailed, “Everyone is so desperate to make me well and it’s not happening. It’s never going to happen. Can’t we all just be done with this miserable business?” 
“That’s not true, Jaskier, and you know it," asserted Geralt, “We’re working on it and we’ll keep working on it. You’ve already made so much progress-” 
“What progress?” cried Jaskier, his face burning fever hot as he struggled not to weep, “I still can’t play! Still can’t sing! What use am I if I can’t do the one thing I was put on this Earth to do?” Geralt opened his mouth, fully prepared to rebut Jaskier’s self-deprecating triad, but Jaskier declared the dialogue finished.        
Jaskier stormed through the living room, the gwent cards fluttering in his wake where they lay abandoned on the coffee table. He didn’t even notice Ciri, curled up on the corner of the couch with a throw pillow clutched in the curve of her body like a life preserver. It was a wonder he even found the door to his room in the blindness of his grief. But he did, somehow, and Jaskier slammed the door shut behind him with the magnitude of the approaching thunder.
****
Jaskier could not sleep. He rolled from one side of the mattress to the other with the springs groaning beneath him. He stuck one foot out from beneath the covers when he became too hot and pulled it back in when he came too cold. The clock on the bedside table heralded the ever persistent march of time with a tick tick tick. Insomnia had been no stranger to Jaskier in recent months. Tonight, however, came packaged with something else: guilt. It gnawed in the pit of Jaskier’s belly like hunger. Not the paltry feeling-somewhat-peckish sort of hunger either, but the all consuming sort. The sort that tightened against bones and made him feel hollow and frail. 
After slamming the door shut, Jaskier had collapsed back against it and slid down until he could feel the hard surface of the floor beneath him. The door lacked a lock, but even through the haze of his outrage Jaskier knew, deep down, that Geralt was not the type who would infringe upon his privacy. There were moments of clarity throughout the throes of his breakdown, that Jaskier swore he could feel Geralt’s presence just outside the door. As if he were only waiting for Jaskier to seek out his comfort. In those moments, Jaskier desperately wished to open the door. To let Geralt take him in his arms and shower him in all the reassurance he craved. But there was no way Jaskier could, not after he had been so hordenously cruel to Geralt.    
There was a knock at some point in the early evening, the shuffle and clink of something outside the door. Jaskier did not investigate, but something told him if he had he would’ve most likely found dinner waiting for him. The thought of consuming even a single crumb left Jaskier nauseated enough to leave it be. Instead, he spent the night wallowing in his own malaise within the four walls of his room. Disassociating in the desk chair for a time before moving on to crying in the corner and eventually to sprawling face down on the bed and holding his breath until spots danced behind his eyelids. Eventually he resigned himself to sleep, but had only managed to doze for an hour out of pure exhaustion before he was up again. 
Flopping onto his back, Jaskier stared up at the ceiling. The shadows formed and dissolved and reformed into a series of amorphous shapes on the pale painted surface. How could he have acted like that? It was not unknown for Jaskier to be taken by fits of passion, but whatever had happened earlier had been entirely foreign. Alien. He found that he could only remember it in pieces like he had been a passenger in a rolling car and all he had seen were flashes of the accident through the shattered windows. Geralt tried his hardest, but he hadn’t been able to mask the hurt on his face as Jaskier had smacked his hand away. His expression floated in the darkness of Jaskier’s mind, pale and apparitional. Jaskier wondered if it would haunt him forever in the same way the strings of his guitar still sang to him through the shell of its case. 
It was around two o’clock when Jaskier found he could ignore the call of nature no longer. The house would no doubt be asleep at this hour and Jaskier was confident in his ability to pop down to the washroom undetected. Donning his blanket like a cloak, Jaskier slipped from his room, his sock clad feet almost soundless on the hardwood. Jaskier conducted his business as quickly as he could though he took a moment to indulge in a few splashes of cold water to his hot, tear swollen face. When he emerged, Jaskier made to go back to his room, but stopped at the sound of a cough from the direction of the living room. That cough could have been anyone. Perhaps not Ciri since it had sounded distinctly male, but aside from that it could have been anyone. Vesemir, Lambert, Eskel… Geralt. 
There was a saying that curiosity killed the cat and Jaskier had found that idiom to be truthful more often than not. It was curiosity that drove him down the hall and away from the sanctuary of his room, to peer as covertly as he could around the corner and into the living room. Of course it was Geralt. It had to be Geralt. He was tucked cozily into the bend of the sectional, his features illuminated by the screen of the tablet perched in his lap. Despite everything, Jaskier felt compelled to sit beside him, to nestle himself into the curve of the couch and the curve of Geralt’s shoulder and let everything else melt away. Jaskier’s face heated at the thought. Judging by the furrow of his brow, Geralt was deeply focused on whatever it was he was doing and ought not to be disturbed. Jaskier turned, resigning himself to go back to his room, but the floorboard creaked beneath him like an old crone drawing her last breath. 
“Jaskier?” 
Cursing inwardly, Jaskier wrapped the blanket more securely around his shoulders and slid from around the corner into view. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t know anyone else was awake.” Jaskier’s tongue felt heavy behind his teeth, felt clumsy as it shaped itself around his words. “I could go back to my room if you want.” Some small, desperate part of himself hoped that Geralt would decline, but Jaskier would not be surprised if he didn’t. He had been unspeakably cruel to Geralt when the man had shown him nothing less than the utmost patience and kindness.     
“No, you don’t have to go back to your room. Unless you want to, that is. But I would very much like it if you came and sat with me.” And that made Jaskier’s heart flutter, his steps lighter as he crossed the darkened room to where Geralt sat.    
“How did you know it was me?” 
Geralt turned his gaze away, the curtain of his untied hair falling against the side of his face. He swiped his tongue over the curve of his lips, taking his time to choose his words carefully. “Almond,” he uttered, after he had cleared his throat. “I’ve noticed you use almond oil on your hands before bed. I could smell it from down the hall.”  
As conspicuously as what was possible, Jaskier brought a hand to his face, pressing his nose against the back of his knuckles and breathing in the scent. It was faint now, but still there. Almond. Jaskier’s heart fluttered. “O-oh, I didn’t realize it was so strong. I’m sorry.” 
“No," snapped Geralt with enough intensity to make Jaskier flinch. Geralt’s lashes were nearly translucent in the glow of the tablet screen as he blinked up at Jaskier, as if he himself were surprised by the intensity of his own voice. “I mean, there’s no reason to be sorry. I like the smell, it’s… calming.” 
Jaskier found himself smiling, felt it tugging at the corners of his mouth as if by invisible strings. Geralt smiled, too, and that only served to make Jaskier's smile grow. The muscles in his cheeks were growing tight, he had to rein himself in or fear his face splitting in two. “What are you doing up so early? As I recall, your day doesn’t start for another three hours.”  
“Sort of. I wanted to check on Roach. She seemed agitated this afternoon and I’m thinking tonight is the night.” 
Clapping his hands together, Jaskier gasped, “Oh, the foal! Let me see.” Jaskier strode over to the couch and plopped himself beside Geralt, too enthralled by the excitement of Roach’s potential labor to care about their proximity. Geralt shifted slightly and angled the screen towards Jaskier. Jaskier had to squint a bit against the brightness, but he easily recognized the stall Roach called her own. The mare herself was standing in the corner opposite the camera, pawing at the ground irritably with her dark tail swishing. 
Suddenly, Roach kneeled forward onto her front legs, her whole body following in the motion as she threw herself onto the hay covered floor and rolled onto her side. Jaskier’s breath caught, fear spiking sharp and bitter in the back of this throat. “It’s alright," came Geralt’s low, soothing voice. The weight of his hand pressed warm against the curve of Jaskier’s knee and that made his breath catch for an entirely different reason. “Don’t worry, that’s normal. Helps the foal get in position for birth. She’s done that three times in the last hour which makes me think she’s having regular contractions.” 
“What do we do?” Jaskier squeaked, the panic rising in his voice, “Do we wake the others or call the vet or-” 
Geralt hushed him with the quiet exhale of breath from between his teeth. “It’s alright, Jaskier. Roach will be fine. Most foalings happen without anyone even noticing. She has the instincts she needs to see this through on her own.” His thumb was brushing against Jaskier’s knee, back and forth like a metronome keeping time. “Still, I’m going to head out there and get her tail wrapped, make sure she has everything she needs and-”
“I’ll come with you.” The words were leaving Jaskier’s mouth before the thought had even fully processed in his mind. 
Blinking mystified, Geralt replied, “You don’t have to do that. It could be a long night and you should go back to bed.” 
“I’m coming with you and that’s final," he said with a determination that left little room for argument. Jaskier softened slightly, bringing his hand to cover Geralt’s where it still rested against his knee. Geralt’s knuckles were rough, milled by the toil of his work and the sensation sent a jolt down Jaskier’s spine. “Please, Geralt,” he hummed, soft and reverent, “I want to be there for her. I want to be there for you.”  
Geralt’s lips parted slightly, the edge of his teeth visible in the space between. Jaskier couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to delve into Geralt’s mouth, to feel the edge of those teeth along the flat of his tongue. There, in the curve of the couch with shoulders brushing and hands overlapping, it would have been easy to close the last sliver of distance between them. As easy as blinking, as easy as breathing. Natural and right as if there had never been in a time in their lives where their lips hesitated to meet. 
The screen on the tablet dimmed before turning off entirely and plunging Geralt and Jaskier into darkness. It felt oppressive after the burn of the light, but the weight of Geralt’s hand on his knee kept Jaskier grounded. “We uh, we should get going.” Geralt coughed. 
The molten gold of Geralt’s eyes burned like the afterimage of the sun in Jaskier’s mind as he nervously laughed, “Yes, right, of course. Can’t forget about our damsel in distress, now can we?” He slid forward off the couch, effectively dislodging Geralt’s hand. And Jaskier had to pretend as though it didn't kill him to do so, that the shape of Geralt’s palm didn’t still burn against his skin like a brand.  
****
Roach huffed hard, her nostrils flaring and moisture beading beneath the fringe of her forelock. She tossed her head, lips drawing back over her teeth as she let out with a piercing whinny. Jaskier longed to comfort her, sweep a hand down the length of her neck and whisper words of encouragement. Geralt, however, was apprehensive to allow him in the stall; not because he didn’t trust Jaskier, but because he didn’t trust Roach. She could be a bit ornery even at the best of times let alone while in the throes of labor and something told Jaskier no amount of sugar cubes would charm her.
There was no other choice for Jaskier other than to sit by, chin resting atop his folded arms over the stall door. His fingers drummed against the wood in an aimless rhythm. The bouncing of his heel against the concrete joined in. Jaskier couldn’t say he had ever seen a baby be born human, horse, or otherwise and the anticipation of it left him feeling more than a little on edge. His every nerve felt alight with anticipation and it bled from him like an open wound. 
Geralt, however, was as calm and collected as could be. He maneuvered around the stall with a languid grace as distributed fresh hay over the floor and freshened Roach’s water. Afterwards, Geralt wrapped her tail with a thin piece of cloth, ensuring it stayed clean and out of the way during the delivery. Now, Jaskier watched as Geralt stood by Roach’s side, wiping down her sweating flanks with a dampened cloth and whispering soothing sweet nothings. It was quite possibly the most tender thing Jaskier had ever witnessed. Something inside Jaskier told him he should be jealous that the object of Geralt’s affections was a horse, but honestly he was just fascinated. Amazed, even.    
“Alright, it’s showtime,” Geralt huffed breathlessly. Whether from apprehension or excitement, Jaskier couldn’t tell, but he was willing to bet it was a combination of the two. “You’ve got this, girl. I’ll be right here.” And Jaskier found himself hiding a grin behind the screen of his hand, feeling hopelessly endeared to Geralt and his little encouragements. 
After exiting the stall, Geralt perched himself next to Jaskier close enough that their shoulders brushed. It felt comfortable. It felt right. Like their proximity had never been limited to anything more than three feet. And tith the smile still playing on his lips, Jaskier sighed, “It’s incredible.” 
Geralt arched a brow, his golden eyes glimmering quizzically as he stated, “It’s just nature. It happens all the time.” 
“No, not that,” huffed Jaskier with a small laugh. “I mean you and Roach. The bond you share, it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before. I’ve traveled round all the world, met hundreds upon hundreds of people of every color and creed, yet I can confidently say that I have never seen anything like it.” 
Grinning shyly, Geralt chuckled, “That makes it sound a little weird.” 
“How dare you,” Jaskier gasped in mock affront, shoving his shoulder against Geralt’s, “Here I am trying to deliver poignant sentiment and here you are sullying it with jokes alluding to beastiality.” And Geralt laughed, free and truly. It was a sound sweeter than anything that could be made with notes or strings or keys. A strand of Geralt’s hair fell loose from its tie and Jaskier felt the overwhelming urge to tuck it back behind his ear. To feel the strands of it slip between his fingertips soft and fine as spider’s silk. Jaskier had to turn his thoughts elsewhere before he decided to make a fool of himself and act on them. “So, how long until we have ourselves a foal?” 
“By this point, I’d say somewhere within the next half-hour or so. Not much more we can do now except wait.” 
Jaskier hummed, nipping mindlessly at the uneven edge of one fingernail. With not much else to be done and with little distraction, Jaskier’s mind couldn’t help wandering. He thought about earlier, about the ease with which Geralt had moved on as if the events of earlier simply hadn’t happened. As if the night had carried on with laughter and light and they had all gone to bed with full hearts. As much as Jaskier wanted to pretend, to let himself live in such a pleasant dream, the guilt still weighed heavy in his heart. He felt he had to say something. Anything. Even if it was just a simple word of apology. 
“You know,” he began, feeling the warmth of Geralt’s attention shift to him. It made him squirm.  “This, um… this may not be the best time, but-” Geralt made no move to stop him, only waited patiently for Jaskier to swallow the doubt in his throat and continue, “I just wanted to apologize for earlier. You’ve been so kind and I know you were just trying to help me and I was, well, a right cock about it.” Geralt exhaled sharply through his nose, like he had suppressed a laugh. Jaskier felt he should have been upset, but that couldn’t have been any further from the truth. He found it endearing to know a silly little word like ‘cock’ could make Geralt laugh. It made Jaskier feel a bit more confident, helped to ease the tension in his heart. “Tomorrow, I promise to work harder to better myself. I would hate to disappoint you or hurt your reputation.” 
“Thank you, Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice was warm and honey sweet, seeping into the cracks of Jaskier’s world weary soul like a balm, “I appreciate your apology and I honestly want to apologize myself.” 
“Oh, no you don’t-” 
“I do. I pushed a boundary I shouldn’t have and for that I am sorry. Aside from that, Jaskier, I…” Jaskier looked up at Geralt then, saw the fervor burning molten bright in his eyes as he said, “I want you to get better for yourself. Not for your manager or your career or your fans and most definitely not for me or my reputation. I want you to think of doing things in the scope of your own sake. No one’s importance should be above your own and I desperately want you to see that.”
Jaskier was left speechless, an accomplishment very few could lay claim to. Anyone that knew Jaskier knew that he loved often and freely. He loved his family. He loved Madeleine and the crew who helped him in his work. He loved the thousands of nameless, faceless strangers who had, mystifyingly enough, deemed what he did a thing worth devoting their affections towards. But in those loves and all of their facets, Jaskier couldn’t say he had ever really thought to  reflect it inwards. He loved himself enough, or so he believed. He thought himself rather handsome, particularly about the eyes. He dressed well, spoke well. He liked to think himself at least moderately talented since he wouldn’t be where he was if he were mediocre. It was an arguably healthy mix of conceited and humble. 
But those were superficial things. Appearance, talent. When Jaskier looked in the mirror, did he think about things like patience and understanding? On his worst days, did he simply allow himself the grace of being human? No. He beat himself senseless over it. Every day he spent curled in his bed, every night he spent lying awake, Jaskier punished himself. There was no reason for him to feel as he did, no good one, anyways. Destiny had been kind to him far kinder than most. To feel the way that he did felt ungrateful. Selfish. And Jaskier wasn’t sure how to work past that. 
“Geralt, I don’t-” Began Jaskied, but Geralt lifted a hand to quiet him, his expression suddenly hard and grim. Jaskier trailed off, examining Geralt’s face for the reason for his sudden sobriety. Geralt leaned forward over the top of the stall, eyes narrowing as he looked intently at Roach. She kneeled down into the hay, flanks heaving, breath ragged. Something shone bright on the floor near her backside and Jaskier was horrified to find it looked like blood. “T-that’s normal, right?” asked Jaskier, doing his best to dull the edge of panic that cut through his voice. “That’s supposed to happen, right Geralt?”  
The line of Geralt’s jaw tightened as he murmured, “No, something’s not right.” 
“What do you-” But Jaskier was unable to finish before Geralt was throwing open the door and rushing into the stall, nearly slipping on the hay he had so meticulously laid out in his haste. He lowered himself as he made to approach Roach, murmuring lowly as he smoothed a hand along her damp, heaving flank. He peered over Roach’s side, to the place where her foal was beginning to emerge. The intake of his breath was sharp as freshly broken glass.     
“Jaskier!” There was a look of unbridled fear on his face as he turned back to Jaskier, a wide white sea around the gold of his iris. “Run back to the house! Get Eskel! Tell him it’s a red bag!” There was such alarm in his voice. It raised the hair on the back of Jaskier’s neck, awakening his most primal instincts of fight or flight. 
“Wh- I don’t-” 
“Now, please!” And that finally sent Jaskier running, his feet moving before his brain had even fully caught up. Jaskier’s lungs burned as if filled with fire. His muscles screamed as he pumped his arms and legs in a desperate struggle to get to the house as quickly as Geralt’s plea demanded. The path seemed to stretch out in front of him, the darkness and fear skewing reality into a waking nightmare. The house felt miles away. Centuries could have passed in the time it took for Jaskier to reach it.    
Bursting through the house as if the very hounds of hell bit at his heels, Jaskier tore down the hall and stumbled face first into Eskel’s door. He pounded on the wood with the flats of his palms, pleading for help. Eskel emerged not a moment later, sleep tousled and bleary eyed, but alert enough. He settled a wide hand over Jaskier’s shoulders. Urged him to take a breath. Once Jaskier had composed himself enough to convey Geralt’s message, however, Eskel was gone. Disappeared like the assistant in a magician’s vanishing act. Were his heart not galloping in his chest, Jaskier would have been impressed that a man of Eskel’s size could move with such speed.
Despite the burning of his lungs, Jaskier turned and followed as quickly as he could. By the time he returned to Roach’s stall, Eskel was already kneeling in the hay beside Geralt. Something flashed in Eskel’s hand like quicksilver. Jaskier belatedly recognized the object as a pocket knife and nausea rose up the back of his throat. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do with that and if he thought too hard about it he was sure he would start dry heaving. 
“Jaskier.” Jaskier still felt himself lost in that nightmare, so much so that he barely recognized the sound of his own name. It took him a moment to locate Geralt, his pale, panic-stricken face swimming into focus. “I’m going to need your help. Try to keep Roach calm, can you do that for me?” 
With his heart like a stone caught in his throat, Jaskier choked, “I don’t know if I can.” How could Geralt ask something so impossible of him? He could barely keep himself calm and Geralt knew this. 
“Jaskier please.” The desperate crack in Geralt’s voice broke Jaskier’s heart in a way he could never have fathomed until that moment. It pierced through the gaps in his ribs like an onslaught of arrows discharged from the bows of an army. It drew Jaskier into the stall. Drew him to the space beside Roach like the moon drawing the ocean from the shore. Jaskier kneeled in the hay, the stalks prodding through the fabric of his trousers. 
“Sssh, it’s alright, love…” He tried to sound reassuring, but his voice sounded thin and quiet. Roach tossed her head, a grunt low in her throat. Her damp forelock fanned out across her face and Jaskier gingerly brushed it away with a trembling hand. White ringed the outer edge of Roach’s normally placid eyes. Her nostrils flared as she huffed in pain and alarm. 
Something strange happened at that moment. Jaskier felt himself connected with Roach, connected on a level he had never before with any human being. There was such fear in her eyes as she looked up at him, fear that somehow seemed not much unlike his own. A mirror image, practically. She didn’t understand what was happening and felt herself betrayed by her own body and that was not so different from Jaskier when the panic clenched his heart and seized his lungs. No one should have to experience that, human, animal, or otherwise. He wanted desperately to spare her that pain, but there was little he could do, almost nothing he could offer. 
Except one thing.        
Jaskier felt himself brought back, taken to a time and place long before any of this. Before Geralt and Kaer Morhen, before the breakdown that brought him there, before even his fame which was, if he was speaking honestly, perhaps the beginning of it all. Jaskier thought back to a simpler time. A time when the scope of the world was restricted only to the confines of the village in which he grew up, to the four walls of the bedroom of which was his only domain. 
The wind howled outside Jaskier’s window. Julian. He had just been Julian, back then. Trees scraped the glass with their barren branches. In the play between the dark of the night and the light of the moon, their shadows looked like claws reaching out ready to snatch him from his bed. Julian screamed, throwing the blankets over his head with the kind of naivety only children were capable of. In his fright, he did not notice when the bedroom door opened. Julian squeaked as the bed dipped beside him, but calmed when he caught the familiar scent of his mother’s hand oil. Almond.
“Oh, little lark,” she crooned, lifting the shroud of his makeshift armor and passing a hand through his downy hair, “why don’t you sing with me?” And Julian would nestle himself into the circle of her arms and as his little heart slowed its skittish pitter-patter he would sing along with her. 
And here, back in the present, as the man Jaskier was now, he sang the same song he had all those years ago.           
“There… beneath the willow tree… I learned a lot about the way of things… I learned that everything has breath inside…” Jaskier’s voice was tight, the higher notes cracking beneath the strain to his underused vocal chords. It was a bit out of his natural range, though not impossible. He wanted nothing more than to stop. The melody felt like it was being wrung from him like water from a cloth, twisted tighter and tighter to squeeze each and every drop from him. 
And yet, still, he sang. Sang as if all life depended on it. Like the sun would blot out the moment his thready notes ceased. Jaskier didn’t know to which measures Geralt and Eskel were resorting to, to save Roach’s foal and, quite frankly, he didn’t want to either. He focused solely on the warble of his song and the comforting of Roach. Jaskier smoothed the palm of his hand down the length of her sweating neck. Brushed aside the damp strands of her mane and crooned his little song. 
Jaskier had sung the song nearly three times through before being drawn by Geralt’s whispered,   “Jaskier.” And he could not recall ever hearing his name spoken more softly, more reverently than in the way it fell from Geralt’s lips. A prayer as if Jaskier were a thing worth that devotion. 
Dazedly, Jaskier turned towards Geralt. The world around him felt dim and hazy around the edges in the way it did in a dream. For whatever reason, Jaskier found himself captivated by the fall of Geralt’s hair. Several of the silvery strands had fallen free of their tie and curled against the sides of his face like rogue bolts of lightning. It seemed the clearest thing in all this mist and distortion.      
Geralt’s hand reached for him slowly, tentatively, with outstretched fingers as he whispered, “It’s alright, Jaskier. It’s over.” He touched those fingers against the back of Jaskier’s hand with the lightest of pressures, feeling him out like Jaskier was a wild animal that could turn and bite given the wrong move. When Jaskier did not flinch from his touch, Geralt pressed onward. The warmth of his hand slid gradually over Jaskier’s own. It sharpened  the edges of the world around him, bringing the reality of what had just occurred back into focus. 
“The… the foal-” Jaskier gasped, voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. Geralt hushed him and stroked the back of his hand with measured movements. The sensation of his calloused palms was soothing in a way Jaskier hadn’t expected. Like little waves lapping at the ocean’s shore.  
“It’s alright. Everything is alright. Look.” He angled his shoulders, allowing Jaskier to look past to where a damp, wrinkled shape lay shivering in the hay. Jaskier kneeled forward, squinting as his eyes struggled to make out the details. Short, wiry hair and gangly legs. A small narrow face emblazoned with the white patch of a star. The foal let out with a soft whine, ears flicking back and forth in a mix of curiosity and alarm. 
Breath catching in his throat, Jaskier gasped, “Oh… oh, dear thing…” The world outside was so bright and loud compared to the cushioned dark of its mother’s womb. It was too much to grasp, all the sounds and colors and scents. It was a familiar kind of terror, so much that Jaskier could feel it growing in his own chest like a rot. Lifting a trembling hand, Jaskier reached out. If he could only comfort it. Show it that it wasn’t alone in this riot of existence.  
Geralt took Jaskier’s hand and cradled it against his chest, thumb brushing against the back of it in the same soothing motion he had been making all along as he whispered, “Watch.”
Roach had sat up, craning her neck back to look at the miserable little creature that lay beside her. She knickered quietly, nostrils flaring with the huff of her breath as she sniffed at the foal. It shrunk back a little, at first, but recognition seemed to dawn in its dark eyes. Like it had found its way, the sight of the shore after a storm. Roach knickered again low and adorant as she began to nuzzle at her foal, licking soothing stripes over its little face. The foal leaned into the comfort and safety of its mother’s touch and snorted with contentment. To have witnessed something like this, the first tender moments between a mother and her newborn, was nothing short of miraculous.           
“It’s a boy. We have a colt.” 
With a breathless laugh, Jaskier collapsed onto his backside. His legs had given out from beneath him, the adrenaline of the ordeal draining his system and leaving him as weak and unsteady as the foal in the hay. He laughed again because he did not know what else to do. It came from him in short, erratic bursts. Geralt was not laughing with him, his mouth flat and tight and colorless. Where was his joy? They had skirted the edges of disaster, Geralt should have been positively jubilant. And yet he sat there, disheveled and forlorn.  
The world was growing increasingly blurry and panic spiked in Jaskier’s chest, but when felt the first hot droplet roll down his cheek he knew what was happening. Jaskier was crying. It started with a whimper and wheedled its way up his throat like an escaping bubble of air. He clapped a trembling hand over his mouth, a vain attempt to stop the next whimper as it followed immediately in the wake of the first. Jaskier’s breath hitched painfully in his chest, his whole body lurching with the force of it. 
Jaskier could no longer see through the blur of tears, but he could still feel Geralt’s hand clasped around his own as he whispered, “It’s alright, Jaskier. Don’t fight it anymore. Let it out.” Jaskier tried to speak, but it was impossible to get his words past the emotion lodged in his throat. He wanted to tell Geralt that he couldn’t do it. That he feared if he finally let this emotion go that there would be nothing left to him once it was gone. Sadness though it was, what would be left of Jaskier if it no longer weighed down his heart? It was all he was now. All he knew how to be. 
Curling in on himself, Jaskier keened as he struggled to keep it all locked away. It was so painful, like trying to hold fire in his hands. There was no going forward and yet no way back and Jaskier sat there trapped in the space between the two of them. Pulled ceaselessly by their gravities to the point where he swore he could feel his bones creak under the strain of it. He was no star. He was no god. He was just a man too weary and spent to hold himself together any longer. 
But he didn’t have to. 
Geralt crawled towards him, enveloping Jaskier in a slow, deliberate embrace. Jaskier could have backed off, could have wriggled his way out like a wary rabbit with a snare, but he didn’t. He sat there and let Geralt take him in the circle of his arms, his body like an anchor holding Jaskier fast against the rising tide of his emotion. A sob wrenched itself from Jaskier’s throat, raw and jagged like a ripped seam. 
“I’m here,” Geralt hushed, his voice that low rumble of distant thunder. He rubbed the space between Jaskier’s shoulder blades, rocked him back and forth like a babe in the cradle, “I’ve got you.” And it was like a lock being opened. With Geralt’s assurance, with his weight and his warmth, Jaskier finally gave in. Let himself be dragged under into the depths of his grief. Another sob tore itself free and then another and another until the barn was filled with his desperate cries. And as much as it felt like being torn limb from limb, somewhere deep, deep inside him Jaskier felt just the smallest bit lighter.  
****
In the aftermath of everything, the calmness of the night seemed all the more still. No crickets sang their song nor fireflies flickered with light. Not even the wind dared blow the gentlest breeze, the grass tall and unruffled against the dark curtain of the sky. It was serene in an unexpected way. Normally, Jaskier found this sort of stillness unbearable, compelled to fill it with movement or sound to drown out the deafening roar of nothingness. But here, perched atop the top rung of the corral fence, Jaskier felt oddly calm. Numb, perhaps, seemed the more appropriate term. 
Jaskier’s tears had since dried, but his cheeks still felt sticky with their residue. His eyes still burned with their salt. The sobs wracked his body for what felt like hours, burning through him and leaving him hollowed out like the weariness after the rage of a fever. Jaskier had suppressed his grief for so long that now that he had released it he felt empty. The weight of it in his heart had been a strange sort of comfort and without it now he felt untethered. 
“Jaskier.”
Jaskier blinked slowly at the sound of his name. It sounded strange in his ears, like he suddenly could not comprehend it being a thing that belonged to him. Something slipped around his shoulders and the weight and warmth of it brought him a little clarity. It was a blanket, not the same as the one that sat folded on the end of his bed, but definitely of the same make. Geralt came into Jaskier’s line of sight, his shirt changed and his hair freshly tied back. “I thought maybe you were cold. You were shivering.” 
“Oh… I hadn’t realized.” Jaskier’s fingers were feeling a little less numb, but at his core he still felt chilled. Jaskier had the feeling it was something that could not be solved by a blanket. 
Geralt climbed up and perched himself on the fence beside Jaskier. They were close enough that Jaskier could have leaned into Geralt and nestled himself against the shape of his side if he only had the mind to. Geralt allowed a few beats of silence to pass before he asked, “Are you feeling a little better now?” 
Jaskier shrugged his shoulders, the tassels of the blankets bobbing against his chest with the movement, “I don’t know just yet. I’m not really feeling much of anything at the moment.” 
“That’s pretty normal. That was a lot of emotion to deal with at once and it can leave you feeling spent.” Whether or not that was a comfort, Jaskier was not sure. It was a relief to know that what he was experiencing was normal, but it did not make the sensation of apathy less unsettling. For Jaskier, someone who had always prided himself on his empathetic prowess, it was especially bewildering.               
Silence lapsed between them once again as Geralt waited patiently for Jaskier to collect himself. “Was there ever a real danger or was it a fabrication meant to break through to me?”
“No, that was real,” Geralt replied gravely. “Roach was delivering the placenta before the foal. Had we not worked as quickly as we did we could’ve lost him.” Jaskier lifted his head, looked across the field to where Roach and her colt were huddled just outside the stable. The colt teetered his way across the grass, inspecting the blades with curiosity. Jaskier imagined, for a moment, a world where the colt didn’t exist. Where he had never taken a breath or seen his mother’s face or felt the grass tickle his muzzle. It made Jaskier unbearably sad. 
Guilt roiled hot in Jaskier’s stomach as he whispered, “I’m sorry. That was a terrible thing for me to say. I know what Roach means to you.” Jaskier was still learning the ways of Geralt’s wordless language, but he suspected his responding hum forgave Jaskier’s cruelty. It was far more than what he deserved. And still, it did not seem that Geralt was done with him. 
“Thank you," breathed Geralt, soft and tender as he had earlier. 
“Whatever for?” rasped Jaskier in dismay. As far as he was concerned, his contribution to the situation had been modest at best. 
“I couldn’t have delivered the foal on my own. You’re the one who ran for help. And then you kept Roach calm. No doubt she was terrified and your actions helped soothe her enough so we could work.” Geralt’s voice grew thick, then. Perhaps it was just the refraction of the light from the retreating moon, but Jaskier swore he could see Geralt’s eyes growing damp. “Honestly, I can’t even think about what would’ve happened if you weren’t there.” 
Something fluttered in Jaskier’s heart then. The phantom of some emotion that his spent little heart just wasn’t ready to feel again just yet. Jaskier breathed, “Ah, well, then I suppose it was my honor. I’m happy just to have helped.”    
Silence lapsed between them though it did not feel uncomfortable. It felt like breathing room. Like a moment of reprieve. Together, Jaskier and Geralt sat in companionable silence as they watched the colt explore the world with wonder. It was a heartening sight.  
It was Geralt who first spoke again. “That song you sang… it was beautiful.” 
“My mother used to sing it when I was child.” Jaskier breathed a quiet laugh, “Strange, I had almost forgotten it until now. I remember it used to make me feel so safe.” 
“Then maybe that’s why it came to you. Something in you knew that you needed that feeling," offered Geralt. Jaskier hummed in response. “How did it feel, to sing again?”
Tugging the blanket tighter around himself, Jaskier shrugged once again and said, “I don’t really know. It’s all a right sort of mess at the moment, but I think I feel relieved? I had been so terrified for so long that I had been abandoned by the muses and to find that I had not truly been lost, that combined with-” He paused, waving his hand in a sort of vague all encompassing gesture- “everything, I’m afraid it was a bit too much.”
The sky was beginning to change color now. Less of a black and more of a gray. Dawn could not have been far off now and after the endlessness of this night, the prospect of seeing the sun again lightened Jaskier’s weary heart. The night, however, was not yet finished with Jaskier. If Jaskier wanted to greet the dawn as a new man, there were still some demons in need of exorcizing. 
“Geralt?” Jaskier received a hum of reply. “I want to tell you about what happened.” 
“You’ve been through enough tonight, Jaskier. Don’t feel that you have to do more than what you’ve already done.” 
“No," bit Jaskier, his voice sharper than he intended, like the prick of a needle. Jaskier licked his lips, steadying himself with a slow breath. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. “I’m sick of ignoring it. I’m sick of pretending it doesn’t exist in the hopes that it’ll magically disappear. I need to confront it right here, right now, or I fear I may never be able to move forward.” Jaskier turned to Geralt, his teeth worrying into the soft flesh of his lower lip as he said, “Will you listen?” 
Without even a moment of hesitation, Geralt replied, “Of course. Always.”          
“It started a couple of years ago,” began Jaskier, his voice a tight whisper. “I started getting these jitters before performances. My fingers felt wrong, like the joints were locking up. It spread to cramping in my muscles. My whole body felt taut like an over-tuned string. I’d pace backstage, jump and shake and do anything to make it feel as though I weren’t slowly petrifying. For a while, I was able to ignore it, but then it spread to my lungs…” Jaskier pressed a hand against his chest, massaged his fingertips absently into the hard plate of his sternum. 
Geralt did not touch Jaskier, but shifted ever so slightly closer to his side. The warmth of his presence beside Jaskier was enough of a comfort without being overwhelming to his frayed senses. Jaskier knew, however, were he to only reach out that Geralt would not hesitate to meet him. He swiped his tongue over his lip before he choked out, “It felt like I couldn’t b-breathe.” Even now he could feel that familiar vice, his ribs closing around the tenderness of his lungs like the teeth of a bear trap.  
“Deep breaths, Jaskier, steady breaths,” Geralt rumbled low and soothing, like a great house cat purring in the lap of its owner. “You’re safe here, remember that.”  
Nodding his head, Jaskier drew a breath through his nose and pushed it out between the purse of his lips. In, one, two, three. Out, one, two, three. When the snare of his ribcage loosened, Jaskier continued, “I went to the doctor. Several doctors, actually, fearing that something was horrifically wrong with me. After all the serendipity of my life, I believed fate had come to knock me from my perch. But my tests came back normal. Passed the evaluations with flying colors. I was fit as a fiddle in every physical way which, of course, left only one conclusion…” Jaskier could still remember the look on the doctor’s face, the flat press of his lips, the furrow of his graying brows. Pity. He had looked at Jaskier with such pity that one would’ve thought he had diagnosed Jaskier with a terminal illness. The memory made his skin itch. Set his teeth on edge. 
“Just because an illness is categorized as mental does not make your physical symptoms any less legitimate," assured Geralt.   
Jaskier laughed, a bitter thing like the snap of a twig. “That certainly isn’t the way I was made to feel about it. He made it seem as though it were a thing I could simply will away. Something as mundane as resisting the urge to drink excessively or eat a second helping of cake.” Jaskier pressed his face into the curve of his palms, pushing his fingers up to rake through the sheaf of his hair. “And I tried, I really fucking tried, but it was bleeding into everything. I started having trouble sleeping, I didn’t even want to think about eating, and that just made everything worse. A vicious, unending cycle.   
“They tried giving me medication and even that was like petrol on a campfire. I swung violently between so dazed I could barely keep focused and so restless I felt ready to jump out of my own skin.” Jaskier clenched his fists in his hair, centered himself on the pull of his scalp. The numbness inside him was wearing, like nerves reawakening in a sleeping limb.  
“It got to the point where I dreaded performing. Was utterly petrified of it. Would I be able to make it through without breaking down? Would my fingers fumble on the frets? Could I collect the breath needed to sing? There were hundreds of people- thousands, tens of thousands- all there to see me perform. Me. And I felt like I couldn’t remember the words to my own songs. Couldn’t remember the chord progressions I had written with my own hands.” 
Jaskier began to tremble, starting in the bounce of his heel to his knee then up and through him like the shifting of tectonic plates becoming an earthquake on the surface of the Earth above. “And then came that festival, oh that bloody festival. I had been going on my fourth night with no sleep and was subsisting on a diet of coffee to combat the exhaustion and protein shakes because I couldn’t bear to eat anything solid without it feeling like a rock in my stomach.
“And Madeleine, dear thing, was trying everything she could to help me, but I was entirely shot. The only thing that could have helped me at that point was a hard blow to the back of the head, honestly. Madeleine tried to convince me to back out, but I… I couldn’t do that. I was the headliner, Geralt. The headliner! Thousands of people had waited all day and paid good money just to see me."
Jaskier wrung his hands together, the nails of his left hand leaving little pink lines where they scratched over the back of his right. “My fans, they mean everything to me. They’re the loveliest people and I would still be busking on street corners and playing wedding receptions were it not for them. And so, the show went on. I… I can’t remember everything from that night. It’s like flashes from a drunken bender or a nightmare. I remember the lights being inordinately bright. The jack on one of the amplifiers must not have been plugged in correctly and it was buzzing in my skull like a scream. I was so dazed I couldn’t remember which song we were opening with… I think I played a few chords, but after that it’s all…” Jaskier’s words trailed off, disappearing into the air like wisps of smoke. He stared vaguely off into the distance, the world in his periphery bleeding into an amalgamation of shapes and shades of blue and gray. He felt himself drifting, floating somewhere between awareness and oblivion.        
Then, in the gentlest of tones, Geralt asked, “Tell me, Jaskier… when did you stop singing for yourself?” 
“I-I don’t…”
Geralt’s brows furrowed, his eyes bright and gleaming as they bore into Jaskier and he reiterated, “When did you stop singing for yourself?”
Jaskier found himself at a loss, bewildered by Geralt’s strange question. Of course Jaskier sang for himself and always had. It was his greatest passion, his most laudable talent. He had been born with a song in his heart and he had been singing it from the moment he had drawn his first breath. Sure, Jaskier could have been something simple and mundane like an accountant or a teacher, but he had chosen this life because it was meant for him. Music was not only a passion, it was the sun at the very center of his being. The thing around which all others revolved. Without it, Jaskier would not be Jaskier. 
Seeing Jaskier’s confusion, Geralt tried to clarify, “Earlier, when I talked about looking at things through the scope of yourself, this is the thing I mean. Implying that you stopped singing for yourself entirely may be an extreme. I know it’s still something you love, but there came a point where the expectations of your career overpowered it. It wasn’t only about creating music for the love of it, it also became about fulfilling your contracts, performing, selling albums, and satisfying your fans. That’s a lot of pressure.” 
Tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders, Jaskier looked away. What Geralt was saying did make a lot of sense, but it still felt wrong. Felt wrong in the way an improperly sized coat felt wrong. It kept out the cold and staved off the rain, but the sleeves were too long and the hem dragged in the mud. “But I… those were the things that motivated me. I wouldn’t have pushed myself so hard had I thought there was no one who wanted to hear me…” 
“I understand and it’s good to have things that drive us, but… think, when’s the last time you sang just for the fun of it? Where you didn’t think about where a song would place on the charts or whether it would play repeatedly on the radio?” 
Jaskier opened his mouth, prepared for an answer to appear like magic on his tongue, but nothing emerged beyond a weak puff of breath. He carded through his most recent memories, then further going back weeks, months, years all in a desperate search for an answer. He came up with nothing. Every whistle, every hum, even the mindless drum of his fingers seemed to always hold an underlying purpose- what could be made from it? Could this melody become his next hit? Could this rhythm make for a good baseline or a drumbeat? Jaskier couldn’t recall a recent time where he simply let the music flow through him without thought of what it could become. To just let it out into the world without pretense or expectation. To do nothing more than revel in the release and joy of just making noise.  
The fence creaked beneath them as Geralt shifted his weight, drawing Jaskier back to the present, “Gods, you’re right,” He wheezed like the breath had been knocked from him, “you’re right about all of it. I love making music, always have and always will, but I can’t remember the last time I just enjoyed it for what it was. Where I just sang for the fun of it…” 
“Alright, then how about we try it?” suggested Geralt and Jaskier blinked at him, bewildered by it. 
“Wait, you mean… like now? Like, right now?” 
The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched, pulling up into a charming little grin. “If you’re feeling up to it. It could be anything. A jingle from a commercial or a couple scales. It could be the most random assortment of notes you can think of. The first that pops into your head. Don’t think about the things it could be, just enjoy it for what it is.” 
And Jaskier felt very small then, like a child standing at the edge of the pool working up the courage to dive in. He could swim, he knew that he could, yet the deep blue of the water’s depth made him doubt himself. Could Jaskier let go of all his doubts and insecurities to just let himself sing? A weight settled warm and steady just above Jaskier’s knee. He looked down to see Geralt’s hand, placed just as it had been earlier in the living room with his thumb brushing against the ridge of the bone. 
Jaskier closed his eyes and drew a steadying breath, doing his best to relax the muscles in his neck and shoulders. He opened his mouth, felt the shape of the sound where it sat stuck at the base of his vocal chords. He willed it up, fought to expel it from his throat not much unlike, he thought with mild disgust, a cat trying to cough up a hairball. Jaskier swallowed thickly. “S-sorry, this is harder for some reason. It felt easier when I had less time to think about it…” And Geralt didn’t shame him for it. Only waited patiently, his thumb keeping up its short, even strokes against Jaskier’s knee like a metronome keeping time. 
Trying again, Jaskier gave his throat a good, hard clearing. He just had to jump. He just had to make a sound. The longer he sat there thinking the harder it would become. The deeper the water would seem.  
 The note burst from Jaskier’s lips like a firework, quick and exuberant. The sound of it echoed into the night, startling the colt and interrupting his grass inspection. He raised his fuzzy head, his ears perked and attentive. Jaskier grinned at Geralt sheepishly, “S-sorry, that wasn’t very good was it?” 
“Did it make you feel good?” Asked Geralt and, tentatively, Jaskier nodded his head. Then with all the tenderness and sincerity in the world, Geralt replied, “Then it was beautiful.” And that made Jaskier’s heart flutter, quick and brilliant like bird wings. It couldn’t have been true, but still it emboldened him. And so he tried it again, finding it somewhat easier this time around.
One note turned into two turned into three until Jaskier was singing whole melodies. He sang all the scales from major and minor to harmonic and melodic. He sang the jingle for Little Whiskers cat treats. A Tousaintoise nursery rhyme meant to help children learn their colors. An old Redanian folk song his grandmother used to sing whenever she made potato dumplings. An assortment of arbitrary notes spanning from the heights to the depths of his vocal range and everywhere in between. 
At some point Jaskier had slid from his perch on the fence and had wandered into the grassy field. He puffed out his chest, raised his chin, and threw open his arms. He swayed and spun, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl with the tassels bouncing against his chest. And he sang and sang and sang. And it felt fresh and new. It felt worn and familiar. His voice was raw and weary from disuse, but Jaskier found he didn’t care much. The joy it felt to just sing, to make noise for nothing else other than the fuck of it made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t felt in months. 
By the end of it, Jaskier was flushed and panting, the chill of the early morning air turning his breaths into clouds of mist. It felt like clouds of smoke, like he was breathing fire. And Jaskier tipped his head to the sky where the first rays of dawn were cutting into the fading gray of the night and simply let himself be in that moment. Simply let himself exist. No past, no future, just the present. 
Jaskier turned back to Geralt, the man looking back at him with such a look of pride it made his heart swell. This man, this man had saved him. What rotten work it must have been, but he hadn’t given up. Never faltered in the conviction that Jaskier was capable of experiencing happiness once again. What Jaskier had done to earn that kind of devotion, he didn’t know, but whatever it was he couldn’t have been more grateful to Geralt who stood there with the breaking dawn casting his pale hair in soft shades of pink and gold. He was beautiful, so very beautiful. 
Crossing back to the fence, Jaskier took Geralt’s hands within his own and in a moment of blind euphoria pressed his lips to Geralt’s knuckles. “Thank you,” He uttered, his voice teetering on the edge of a whimper, “You helped me find my song again.” 
It may have been the reflection of the early morning light, but Jaskier could’ve sworn Geralt’s eyes looked wet. He didn’t get to inspect further for Geralt was tugging on Jaskier’s hands, drawing him in against his chest and holding him in an embrace. With his head a little clearer, Jaskier could enjoy how it felt to be fitted against Geralt’s frame. The dips and curves of their bodies seemed almost matched to each other, like two halves long separated made whole once again. Jaskier tucked his chin in the crook of Geralt’s shoulder and breathed in the fullest breath he could, holding onto it and the feeling of his chest flush against Geralt’s. The sun at last broke over the horizon as they stood there locked into the circle of each other’s arms. And it felt like a revelation. The long night had at last ended and here, once again, was the sun. 
Geralt stumbled forward into Jaskier, his grip growing instinctively tighter in an effort to keep them both from falling forward. Jaskier lifted his head and was shocked to be met with Roach’s white lipped muzzle. She had appeared behind Geralt, nickering and bumping her head between his shoulder blades in a bid for his attention. 
Jaskier chuckled, reaching his hand out behind Geralt and running a hand up the stripe of Roach’s face, “Oh, I’m so sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to steal Geralt from you. If anyone should be getting all the affection it should be you.” And Roach snorted in response as if she agreed. Geralt and Jaskier reluctantly extricated themselves from each other. Geralt’s warmth still lingered over Jaskier’s chest and he felt cold without it. He wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself, but it did little to help. It wasn’t the sort of chill that could be fixed by something like a blanket. 
Reaching his hands under the curve of her jaw, Geralt pressed his forehead to Roach’s and Jaskier found himself once again struck by the bond the two of them shared. “That’s my girl,” He murmured, sliding his palms down either side of her neck in long strokes, “You did so well.” And she snorted in approval, clearly enjoying his ministrations. 
The foal stood just behind his mother on his new, unsteady legs. It was obvious his mother was comfortable with this company, but it seemed he was not yet sure what to make of them. Jaskier kneeled down to make himself seem more approachable, holding out a placating hand and clicking his tongue, “C’mon, sweetling, no need to be afraid.” The foal swished his tail, flicked his ears. He took a step forward and then one back, caught between his curiosity and his fear. In the end, it seemed his curiosity won out and he stumbled to Jaskier and pressed his soft muzzle into Jaskier’s waiting palm.             
“Little guy’s gonna need a name," said Geralt, brushing a hand down the colt’s stiff mane. “Any suggestions?” 
Jaskier blinked. “You want me to name him?” and Geralt confirmed with the incline of his head. “Wow, what an honor. Alright, little one, what shall we call you? There’s absolutely no pressure since this is only the name you’ll have for the rest of your life, so…” Jaskier looked the colt up and down, trying to draw up some inspiration. His coat was a shade or two darker than his mothers, his frame lean and lanky, and he had a patch of white between his eyes that looked a bit like a blossoming flower. Jaskier hummed, pressing a knuckle against the bow of his lips as he thought and eventually said, “Dandelion. A spot of brightness in an otherwise dark landscape and resilient as all hell.”  
Geralt hummed appraisingly, “It’s settled, then. Dandelion it is.”
****
“You don’t have to sing it right, but who could call you wrong? Just put your emptiness to melody, your awful heart to song. You don’t have to sing it nice, but honey sing it stro- o-oi knock it off!” Jaskier yelped as he teetered precariously from his perch at the top rung of the corral fence. It didn’t help that he had his guitar in his lap and was trying desperately to keep it from slipping his grasp and falling into the mud below. 
Dandelion looked rather pleased with himself, snorting and swishing his stubby tail as he nudged playfully at Jaskier’s legs. Jaskier was not paying him enough attention and he wanted Jaskier to know it. Grinning despite his close brush with catastrophe, Jaskier laughed. “You cheeky little thing! Fancy yourself a critic, now do you?” Dandelion flicked his ears and nickered. “Oh, I see how it is. While I value your opinion as a friend, I’m choosing to ignore it because you’re only a week old and haven’t been exposed to enough music to really know anything.”
It seemed Dandelion wasn’t interested in any form of intelligent conversation, only silly times. He rubbed his fuzzy head against Jaskier’s legs, flicking his ears and snorting hot, damp breaths. It was rather endearing up until the moment Dandelion started to nip at the leg of Jaskier’s trousers. “Little scamp! Just wait until your mother hears about your naughty behavior. I assure you, she won’t be pleased.” 
A high whistle pierced the air. Dandelion bolted upright, ears perked at full attention. Across the field, Geralt was striding towards them with Roach loping dutifully beside him. “Speak of the devil. You’re in for it now, love.” But Dandelion didn’t care much for anything else Jaskier had to say. He took off across the field, tossing his head and letting out peals of high pitched whinnies. He skittered around Geralt and Roach, his little hooves kicking up the dirt. Geralt grinned, ruffling Dandelion’s short, wiry mane as the foal pranced by and settled himself beneath Roach for a little midmorning snack.
Jaskier watched as Geralt continued towards him, pretending not to be mesmerized by the sway of his hips or the otherworldly glow of his hair in the sunlight. Folding his arms over his chest, Geralt leaned beside Jaskier on the fence. The smell of his cologne carried on the breeze and made Jaskier lightheaded in a pleasant, drunken kind of way. “Look at you. Becoming a morning person are you?” Geralt asked with amusement.   
“It’s a wonder how a couple good nights of sleep can change a man. Truly. I hardly recognize myself without the bags under my eyes.” Geralt shook his head, but his exasperation was nothing more than a ruse to mask his endearment. Jaskier’s heart fluttered with thrill at the knowledge that he was getting under Geralt’s skin.  
“All packed?” asked Geralt, something flashing in his eyes as they looked out across the field. Jaskier could not explain it, but it made something tighten in his chest. 
“Just about,” replied Jaskier, somewhat solemnly. The room he had called his own for the last month was clean of his belongings save for the few items he would need in the morning before he was collected. It felt bittersweet. Jaskier was never meant to stay here forever and his leaving meant that he was recovered enough to return to his normal life. Still, he couldn’t help the twinge of melancholy as he took his books from the windowsill and his shoes from beside the door. Jaskier’s clothes had smelled like cedar as he packed them into his traveling case. He wondered how long the scent would linger. How many times would he be able to press his nose into the folds and remember something simpler?      
“Feeling nervous?” asked Geralt, his brow arched. 
Shrugging, Jaskier replied, “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t, but it would be as much of a lie to say that I wasn’t excited as well. I feel ready to get back out there. To take what I’ve learned here and start things fresh.” In his heart of hearts, Jaskier was an artist. An entertainer. He thrived off the attentions of an adoring public in the way a flower thrived in the shine of the sun. And, beyond that, Jaskier had a more magnanimous plan in mind for his grand return to the stage. “I want to share my story. Full exposure, no modifications or redactions. Once, I would have been ashamed of my condition, but I’m not now. I think it’s important to be candid about what has been happening and why I was gone.”
Geralt looked surprised, brows raising as he cautioned, “That won’t be an easy road, you know. As unfortunate as it is, the world isn’t very kind or understanding towards those struggling with mental illness.” 
“I know,” Jaskier affirmed, tossing Geralt a sprightly smile, “but I’ve never found any interest in taking the easy road. Besides…” and Jaskier grew pensive then, staring into the creases of his palms. His skin had grown thicker in the last month. A testament to what he had endured here and how it had made him stronger. “It’s important to share a story like mine. If what you say is true and millions of people are struggling as I am, then those people will need an advocate. Surely not everyone will have someone to help them through it like I’ve had you. If I can help just one person through my song or my speech or my actions, then I will be satisfied.”  Geralt smiled at him with all the radiance of the sun. It was enough that warmth pooled sweet and content in the pit of Jaskier’s belly. 
“I’ve got something for you.” Geralt dug into his pocket and withdrew a cellphone. Jaskier’s cell phone. He very nearly didn’t recognize the thing despite it bearing his signature buttercup print case. Geralt held it out, and Jaskier, hesitantly, took it. After a month without it, the shape and weight of it felt strange within his grasp. “Figured you’d be needing it back. You’re going to have to keep in touch with us somehow.”  
An ache swelled in Jaskier’s heart. Having his phone back felt like a finality, a reminder that this little dream was coming to an end. But it was bittersweet, because even though his time at Kaer Morhen was ending, it seemed Geralt was not through with him yet. Chuckling, Jaskier said, “Have you any idea what you’re inviting? I’ll be texting you constantly.” 
“Ciri’s always complaining about how bad I am at it. It’ll give me the chance to practice.” 
“I’m utter rubbish at remembering time changes, too. I’m sure at some point I’ll end up calling you at an absurd hour by mistake babbling about a beach I visited or something else trival.”
“Like the animals don’t already keep me up at all kinds of hours? I’m used to it. And I haven’t traveled much so I’d be interested to hear about some of the places you go.”
Jaskier sighed, “Very well, then allow me this in return. Each show, every show, I’ll make sure everyone in my entourage knows that you’re to be given unrestricted backstage access wherever I am. And I can arrange anything else you require, as well. Flights, hotels. There’s no limits for you, dear friend. I’d move heaven and Earth if only you asked it of me.”
Geralt chuckled, a soft sound like the rumble of thunder, “Have you any idea what you’re inviting?” And, were he a braver man, Jaskier swore he could have kissed that man silly. Oh, that would have taught Geralt a lesson in being a smartass. But that seemed like a boundary Jaskier wasn’t meant to cross. Or maybe it was. He was still thinking about it.  
 “Oh, I’ve an idea given Ciri’s tenacity, but I feel it’s the least I can do.” Nothing would ever feel adequate enough to express his gratitude to Geralt and his family, but damn if he wasn’t still going to try. “And perhaps you can even see one of those beaches. The coast can be a lovely place to visit.” 
And Geralt hummed his approval, his eyes warm and clear like honey in the sunlight. And it wasn’t for the first time that day that Jaskier marveled at how truly handsome Geralt was. Geralt’s gaze flickered down to the phone still sitting awkwardly in Jaskier’s palm. “Well,” he began, almost as if it were a challenge. “Aren’t you going to turn it on? I’m sure you’re dying to know what’s been going on in the world since you’ve been away.” 
Jaskier looked down at his phone. The blackness of the screen reflected the world around him. The blue sky and its candy floss clouds. The glass green shards of leaves from the nearby tree. Geralt and his starlight colored hair and his honey colored eyes. “No,” Jaskier finally said. “No, I don’t think I will. I think I’d just like to be here in this moment… with you.” 
With pink cheeks, Geralt cleared his throat. “G-good, good I’m glad you’re putting yourself first. You’ve grown so much since you first came here. Out of all the people who’ve come here for help, I can’t say I’ve ever felt this way about them-” Jaskier’s heart jumped. Geralt seemed to notice the implication of his choice of words and scrambled to clarify, “T-that is to say I… I’m proud of you, Jaskier.” 
And Jaskier’s heart swelled in his chest, full enough that he believed it could lift him from his feet and pull him up into the boundless blue above. It took a moment for him to get a breath in around the girth of his heart, but at least Jaskier breathed, “Wow, I… I don’t know what to say except… thank you, Geralt. For everything.” 
The corner of Geralt’s mouth curled sheepishly as he shrugged. “You did all the hard work. I just gave you a little push in the right direction.” 
Jaskier barked a wet laugh, finding himself feeling rather sentimental all of a sudden. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye. “Can’t you just take my thanks? You’re far too humble. I dare say a little egotism might do you some good.” 
Silence settled between them, light and serene like a sheet of fresh fallen snow. They were so close to one another. Geralt’s face was angled up towards him, the sunlight playing off the sharp planes of his face and giving him a softer appearance. His eyes were hooded, translucent lashes shimmering as they brushed the tops of cheeks when he blinked at Jaskier entrancingly. The bow of his lips was such a tempting shape and Jaskier wondered what it would be like to follow the curve with his thumb. With his tongue.      
“Oh, fuck it.” And Jaskier took Geralt’s face between his hands, pressing their lips together in a fervent rush. For a brief, excruciating moment, Jaskier feared that he had perhaps read the atmosphere wrong, Geralt growing still as stone against him. But just as Jaskier was about to pull away, a string of apologies already forming on his tongue, Geralt’s hand snuck behind Jaskier’s head and pushed them back together. He licked eagerly into Jaskier’s mouth, their chins and noses bumping in their passion. Geralt’s tongue tasted like coffee and the scrape of his stubble against Jaskier’s chin made him shiver with delight. He felt like a teenager again getting his first real kiss behind the stands at a football match.       
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier gasped when at last they seperated, cheeks flushed and lips swelling. “That may have been a bit impulsive of me-” 
“No,” soothed Geralt, pressing his hands over Jaskier’s where they had remained bracketed either side of his face. “No, I’ve been wanting to do that for days, but I was trying to be professional.” 
“Fuck that." declared Jaskier unabashedly, making Geralt laugh.   
Leaning forward, Geralt pressed his forehead to Jaskier’s. “Well, if that’s the case, then I would very much like to kiss you again.” The rumble of his voice sent a thrill through Jaskier, sparking in his nerve endings like little static shocks. 
“Oh, I would like very much for you to kiss me again.” Jaskier grinned as he wound his arms around Geralt’s shoulders, drawing him closer and combing his fingers through the silken sheaf of Geralt’s hair. It was just as soft as Jaskier had imagined and that left him feeling absolutely delighted. Jaskier’s fingers were still working through Geralt’s hair as he hummed, “And then I’d like you to kiss me again after that. And again after that. And again after-” 
And Geralt silenced him with the insistent press of his mouth. Jaskier grinned like a fool against the kiss, laughter rising like bubbles in his throat. Somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, Jaskier worried over the logistics of all this. Long distance was not an easy path to take. There would surely be many nights where Jaskier would long for Geralt’s touch and kiss. But Jaskier was doing his best to be a different man, now. Those bridges could be crossed when he came to them, but for now he focused on savoring everything for how it was right then in that moment. The bittersweet taste of Geralt’s mouth, the heady musk of his cologne, the maddening little hums that rumbled in the back of his throat. 
The moment was interrupted by a distinctive snort and Geralt and Jaskier turned in unison to see little Dandelion standing before them. His head was cocked, ears perked in fascination. Geralt sighed with fond exasperation while Jaskier waved his hand at the little colt. “Off with you now, Dandelion, this isn’t something children should see.” And Geralt laughed soft and captivating as he pulled Jaskier in for yet another kiss.
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thegewnn · 7 months
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Has anyone been able to decipher the writing on Stede's Where's Waldo map?
The writing at the top left looks like "My heart beneath cloud breaks as the storm"
And the top right looks like "An ages past haunt _____" (I can't figure out the last word. Looks like "mayhays", but that's not a word. Maybe "my days" or "mayhaps"?)
And the bottom left looks like "Would that you dared brave the New World?"
And the bottom right is just a drawing (assumedly of Ed) with hearts around it. 😂
Is Stede just writing lines of dramatic poetry around the edges of the map?
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womanexile · 8 months
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https://twitter.com/iamnearlyhome/status/1707510342090191163?t=NWuDLMKdSOaHO7r3JKiDqQ&s=19
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This is a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson
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He has a poem called The Sphinx.
The Sphinx is drowsy,
The wings are furled;
Her ear is heavy,
She broods on the world.
"Who'll tell me my secret,
The ages have kept?--
I awaited the seer,
While they slumbered and slept;--
"The fate of the man-child;
The meaning of man;
Known fruit of the unknown;
Daedalian plan;
Out of sleeping a waking,
Out of waking a sleep;
Life death overtaking;
Deep underneath deep?
"Erect as a sunbeam,
Upspringeth the palm;
The elephant browses,
Undaunted and calm;
In beautiful motion
The thrush plies his wings;
Kind leaves of his covert,
Your silence he sings.
"The waves, unashamed,
In difference sweet,
Play glad with the breezes,
Old playfellows meet;
The journeying atoms,
Primordial wholes,
Firmly draw, firmly drive,
By their animate poles.
"Sea, earth, air, sound, silence,
Plant, quadruped, bird,
By one music enchanted,
One deity stirred,--
Each the other adorning,
Accompany still;
Night veileth the morning,
The vapor the hill.
"The babe by its mother
Lies bathed in joy;
Glide its hours uncounted,--
The sun is its toy;
Shines the peace of all being,
Without cloud, in its eyes;
And the sum of the world
In soft miniature lies.
"But man crouches and blushes,
Absconds and conceals;
He creepeth and peepeth,
He palters and steals;
Infirm, melancholy,
Jealous glancing around,
An oaf, an accomplice,
He poisons the ground.
"Outspoke the great mother,
Beholding his fear;--
At the sound of her accents
Cold shuddered the sphere:--
'Who has drugged my boy's cup?
Who has mixed my boy's bread?
Who, with sadness and madness,
Has turned the man-child's head?'"
I heard a poet answer,
Aloud and cheerfully,
"Say on, sweet Sphinx! thy dirges
Are pleasant songs to me.
Deep love lieth under
These pictures of time;
They fad in the light of
Their meaning sublime.
"The fiend that man harries
Is love of the Best;
Yawns the pit of the Dragon,
Lit by rays from the Blest.
The Lethe of nature
Can't trace him again,
Whose soul sees the perfect,
Which his eyes seek in vain.
"Profounder, profounder,
Man's spirit must dive;
To his aye-rolling orbit
No goal will arrive;
The heavens that now draw him
With sweetness untold,
Once found,--for new heavens
He spurneth the old.
"Pride ruined the angels,
Their shame them restores;
And the joy that is sweetest
Lurks in stings of remorse.
Have I a lover
Who is noble and free?--
I would he were nobler
Than to love me.
"Eterne alternation
Now follows, now flied;
And under pain, pleasure,--
Under pleasure, pain lies.
Love works at the centre,
Heart-heaving alway;
Forth speed the strong pulses
To the borders of day.
"Dull Sphinx, Jove keep thy five wits!
Thy sight is growing blear;
Rue, myrrh, and cummin for the Sphinx--
Her muddy eyes to clear!"--
The old Sphinx bit her thick lip,--
Said, "Who taught thee me to name?
I am thy spirit, yoke-fellow,
Of thine eye I am eyebeam.
"Thou art the unanswered question;
Couldst see they proper eye,
Alway it asketh, asketh;
And each answer is a lie.
So take thy quest through nature,
It through thousand natures ply;
Ask on, thou clothed eternity;
Time is the false reply."
Uprose the merry Sphinx,
And crouched no more in stone;
She melted into purple cloud,
She silvered in the moon;
She spired into a yellow flame;
She flowered in blossoms red;
She flowed into a foaming wave;
She stood Monadnoc's head.
Through a thousand voices
Spoke the universal dame:
"Who telleth one of my meanings,
Is master of all I am."
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homomenhommes · 2 months
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Thank you for your gay history blog entries. They give me hope.
MERCI. Your message touched my heart. Thank you you make me feel I am somewhere into this quote;
"To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children...to leave the world a better place...to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
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