#i’ve killed like three roaches in my. room the past three days and the way i’m always so genuinely scared and start screaming

[lilgynt]

i can’t LIVE like this i can’t kill and throw out bugs i CANNOT be living like this will sell my soul for someone to do this for me

#personal #:) #weird house structure where it’s easier for bugs to come in #and THEN #my house is filthy so i #the bugs during summer have a fucking FIELD day #and as much replant i put near my windows and shit and how often i deep clean it’s not like i can just like #block my room off from the rest of my house 🥰🥰🥰 #i’ve killed like three roaches in my. room the past three days and the way i’m always so genuinely scared and start screaming #like i understand bugs are needed for the environment and in theory i like them but in practice i see an ant and i start fucking sobbing

[inkmemes]

this  country  (  2017  -  2020  )  sentence  starters ↪  taken  from  the  bbc  mockumentary.  trigger  warning  for  mentions  of  religion,  death,  sex.  alter  as  you  see  fit  ♡

“i like the underdog.”

“don't be a fucking dick.”

“everyone comes together on days like today and just forgets their utter hatred of each other.”

“everyone who's anyone's going to be there and there are people from my past that would love to see me slain.”

“there's a tea rooms there and under the counter they've got a panic button and if i take one step inside, they can press that. the police will be there in three minutes.”

"he whatsapped me the other day asking us to go laser quest with him and i ... well, i clicked on it by accident, didn't i? so he knows i've seen it."

"i mean, i get it, but it's not making me feel nothing."

“it's baffling. i'm baffled by the entire situation, if i'm honest.”

“what the actual fuck? what the actual fuck? you have fucking lost your head, mate. you have lost your fucking head.”

“when i get hold of you, i swear to god i will fucking deck you.”

"someone's just been throwing plums at my house. i'm going to kill them. i can't believe it. i can't believe it. all over this. plumming on here, plumming on that. plum on the sofa, look! there's nothing left that hasn't been plummed."

“i've had a target on my back since the day i was born.”

“thank you very much, enjoy your free potatoes.”

“do you know how small your brain is?”

“hogwarts is that way, dumbledore.”

“he used to say i looked like the puppet off the dolmio advert.”

“there's a kid crying over there. do you want me to...? i can tell him to shut the fuck up if you want?”

“he genuinely looked like a moomin.”

“on my first day of karate club, karate master goes to me, [name], i don't know why you're here because i can't teach you anything. if anything, you should be teaching me." and just gave me his black belt.”

“you know that little old blind man? yeah, when i was punching him in his face, the lens from his glasses broke and cut my knuckle.”

“some things are just best left in the past, where they belong.”

“what's the point in knocking if you're just going to walk in anyway?”

“it was a miscarriage of justice though, cos what people forget is 12 out of them 20 hostages actually found it funny.”

“i lied so much i still don't know what's real life and what's plain lies.”

“i'm so glad you're out of that lying phase.”

“he likes to be the only person on the road, so whenever he sees a car coming the other way he just pulls over.”

“nasa went through hundreds of them in the '60s. and now every time i see a really bright star in the sky i can't wish on it, cos in my head i'm thinking, ‘that's probably just a spacecraft with some monkey bones in it.’”

“you absolute traitor. that's my cheese - it's my fucking house!”

“don't you dare eat that cheese. you eat that and i will smash this. i promise you, i will smash you with this.”

“fuck! you switched them!”

“yeah, i can see it's fucking burnt, sherlock.”

“i honestly am ashamed to know him, sometimes.”

“if you knock on someone's door, don't take no for an answer. get into their house. if they say, ‘leave my house’, stay. and if they say, ‘i'm going to call the police’, you walk upstairs and see if there's anybody else upstairs to sell to.”

“she looks like uncle fester.”

“right. i'm going to piss in their flowers, then.”

“you really need to go home. your mum's called the police and everything.”

“you're also fired from being my best mate, by the way.”

“in business, there will always be setbacks. i don't drink my own juice, fray bentos doesn't eat his own pies. but that's business.”

“do you know what, i don't actually want to play this any more, because it is actually very, very boring.”

“i'm ashamed of myself, that's not usually me, so don't get the wrong impression.”

“i genuinely think one of them fancies me as well.”

“it's fate her moving across the street.”

“the problem with finding a girlfriend in the village is that most of the girls you meet round here are old-age pensioners.”

“yeah, i am looking for a relationship, but thing is i've just got so many trust issues, yeah, with being fucked over massive in the past, so no matter how much i get close to someone now i'm thinking in the back of my head, ‘shit, am i going to get fucked over?’ because i've been fucked over in the past massively. my last relationship proper fucked me up.”

“i went through a really dark phase. listening to papa roach and just blowing everything up with them little french bangers.”

“shut up, you don't know what you're talking about!”

“i don't like the man. i know he's my uncle, but i don't like him.”

“it's just malicious lies, that's all it is.”

“i'm not saying i've got a cruel heart, but if she ain't willing to take me as i am rather than the monster i've become, then she can literally just jog on back to sea with all the other fish cos i don't care.”

“what do you look for in a boyfriend?”

“the key to dating, yeah, is the two rs and the three ts. 'respect, rapport, and talking, talking, talking.' don't ever let that ball hit the ground. good relationships are built on great conversation.”

“on a date, you've got to tell them all the interesting stuff about you, because that's what they'll be interested in.”

“he said to me, he goes, ‘you can't smoke on here.’ i said, ‘i'm not smoking, i'm vaping.’ the look on his face when i said that. i don't think he knew what vaping… what a vape is.”

“you would make me the happiest mouse if you say yes and become my spouse.”

“here's a tip, [name], next time you take a chick out on a date, don't bore her to tears.”

“roses are red, violets are blue, i've got five fingers, the third one's for you.”

“get out of my way, pipe cleaner.”

“[name] phoned me the other day at three in the morning saying, ‘come quick,

there's a hedgehog in the garden that looks exactly like grandad.’ so i got up, i got dressed and i ran over to [name]'s as fast as i could and then i just stopped in the middle of the street at three in the morning and thought, ‘what the fuck am i doing with my life?’

“you're joking me? because if you are joking me, that is massively harsh.”

“oh, let me get a song up on youtube. you're going to absolutely love this, [name]. here we go… listen to this. oh, for fuck's sake, advert.”

“let's go down the pub and get shitfaced.”

“where do i see myself in five years? well, me and [name] will have a flat in the middle of the village and all of our furniture will be inflatable and we'll have cable and it will pay for itself, because we're going to use the spare room to breed quails, because their eggs are worth fucking shitloads.”

“is this about the calippo, still? because you offered to buy me that.”

“if he wants to go, good luck to him, i say. i reckon he thinks that i can't live without him, which is a laugh, because he went a whole weekend away once and i got on all right. i just ended up following this cat around the village.”

“i've got to do what's right for me, at the end of the day, instead of worrying about other people.”

“how about you say sorry? sorry for the massive knife that's hanging out the back of my back because of you.”

“oh, and while you're stabbing me in the back, feel free to bend down and kiss my arse.”

“can i just ask you an honest question? why would you want to leave the village when we've got a pub and a shop?”

“i think you don't know how lucky we have it to be doing nothing with our lives, like. we're all going to die, anyway, so what's the point in doing anything?”

“i want ownership of the words fucknut and dickmilk.”

“i had this come through the post. and i've got a few concerns about it. firstly, this guy on the front looks really arrogant. not the sort of guy i was expecting, if i'm honest.”

“this is starting to stress me out a little bit.”

“why are you trying to stress me out? you know i'm already stressed out as it is.”

“the bloke that used to live in there, right, kept hearing strange noises coming out of his attic at night. and he'd go to the fridge and find that food was missing from the fridge. so he thought, ‘i'm just going to go up to the attic and check this out.’ and he found an entire family of peruvian panpipe buskers just living up there. and he thought ‘i'm just going to leave them to it, ‘cos they're not really doing me any harm.’ and then, a few years later, he thought, "well, i'll just go up to the attic to check on them. ‘see if they're all right.’ and it turned out they'd all died of asbestos poisoning. yeah, he doesn't live here any more.”

“some people will always be scared of me, and i can't change that, no matter how nice i am. but there's a balance to be had between being nice and being feared.”

“don't really like catching up. it's not my thing.”

“i just watched this video of this girl doing a random act of kindness on youtube. she basically paid for this old man's shopping at the till. and this old man was, like, about 90 years old. and he's so fucking old, like, you could see through his skin. and he just starts bawling his eyes out. he's like, ‘you're fucking joking me, this ain't fucking real life.’ i just thought... i want to make someone feel like that. ‘cos that's... i really… that's what i want to do.”

“i'm not dead. just can't be arsed to text her sometimes.”

“you know, correct me if i'm wrong, but four texts a day is complete madness. no-one can keep up with that.”

“i am doing kind things selfishly.”

“i was at midnight mass one year, right, someone got tipped off i was there. as i was coming out the church, someone tries to shoot me with a crossbow.”

“well, i haven't seen the film, have i? that's why i came here - to watch the fucking film - like a normal human being.”

“i've made an effort by coming here tonight. i didn't want to come.”

“i had to wheel him here from his house in an asda trolley, cos he was just too heartbroken to move.”

“sometimes you don't know what you got until you ain't got it any more. like blockbuster's. i just took 'em for granted - and then, one day, gone, and you spend ages trying to figure out what went wrong, and then you realise it was your fault all along.”

“i thought you said you wanted to fix things.”

“she wanted it to go that way, and it just wasn't gonna go that way. she even got me thinking that they'd get back together… ..but that's manipula.... manipulative people... do that. and he's better off without her.”

“that wasn't much to write home about.”

“it's fucking dead, isn't it?”

“basically, somebody's been sending me threatening letters, and i don't know who's doing it - and i am concerned, because my peripheral vision is poor, so, if somebody attacks me from the sides or snipes at me from an upstairs window, i am fucked - but my hearing is excellent, see? so i just need to spend a few days inside honing my sonar, and i'll be fine then.”

“if you don't like the work, the circus is in town and they're always looking for clowns.”

“his soul is just going to crumble to dust.”

“this really is not a good situation for me. a physical threat is something that i can deal with, but a sexual thing is not my area of expertise.”

“just really fucked in the head, mate.”

“what have i done? i haven't done anything wrong.”

“do you know how sad that is? that is so, actually, sad. that makes me sad for you, that you can't take a joke.”

“i think i just got a bit carried away with the whole thing.”

“your finger's going up my arsehole, mate.”

“i'll hold the back of your head, so you don't bash yourself.”

“when i lie in future, i don't want a massive lecture on how bad lying is, cos deep down, you're the worst of us all, mate.”

“i'd quite like a coke.”

“it's going to be like gluing a breadstick back together, because… like, as if a breadstick's been in a blender and it's all… ...the pieces smashed up.”

“like, this one time i started a fight club in the village hall, and i got a black eye from beating myself up. but it made my enemies think, ‘fuck, if she can do that to herself, what the fuck can she do to me?’”

“i'm absolutely 1,000% sure i've broken it in two places.”

“i knew this day would come.”

“i should be in tk maxx, getting the bargains that i deserve.”

“unlike you, [name], i'm not a fashion disaster.”

“i'm still warm in my grave, and she's sucking off the pallbearer.”

“you know, it took me ten years to get over [name], and i only went out with her for half a day.”

“i swear to god, if i see him here again, i swear to god, i will have no hesitation in just going up to him and just planting one on his face.”

“right, then keep your nose out of my business, yeah? nosy old cock-womble.”

“[name]’s attitude to me is puzzling. if i walk past her in the street

and say hi, she'll tell me to fuck off. yet every year, she sends me a really sweet, nice christmas card. you know, there's just no consistency there.”

“he's good-looking up close, isn't he?”

“don't show me any weakness, because i will take advantage.”

“no, put the brick down, you fucking psychopath.”

“when i asked him, he just said, ‘come to my office now,’ which means we're in the fucking shit, cos we're always in fucking shit.”

“i shouldn't be paying you at all.”

“i've always had a son. i talk about him all the time.”

“he's my son. he's not my dog.”

“it reminds me of the wicker man. i don't really know why.”

“i just find it weird how you can be so close to someone and they can be such a big part of your life, and then the next minute, you're just sort of strangers in the night.”

“i don't want the emotional implications.”

“well, about five years ago, i sold my birthday to my mum for about 200 quid, which means my mum's legally entitled now to never celebrate my birthday ever again for the rest of my life. not even, like, a happy birthday cup of tea, or a moonpig card, nothing - which is the worst decision i ever made in my entire life.”

“he deserves that anyway, because he's been sexting my nan, so…”

“what's this surprise? cos i need to know whether it's going to be worth this walk.”

“i always see them banners above the motorway, and i always thought, ‘who the fuck does them?’ well, now i know. people like me.”

“did you know you can't get stung by a stinging nettle if you grab the leaf top and bottom, like that? it's only when you touch it on the sides, it stings. agh, actually, that stung, then.”

“pez dispenser, they're cursed. they are, i'm not even joking. honestly, when i had one of them, i had the worst bout of bad luck i ever had in my life.”

“i swear down, it's a short cut. it might be a pleasant walk, we might enjoy it.”

“i'm not scared of the fox twins. i'd just like to sit them down and ask 'em plainly, ‘look, guys, what is going on? ‘cos this has just gotten completely out of hand now. you know, stop walking on your knuckles, stand up straight, be the best version of you that you can be. get a job, even. there's a trolley boy who works at tesco's, you know, who may as well have been raised by wolves. if he can get a job, you guys can walk it.’”

“yes, there has been talk of strange goings-on in the woods, ghost sightings and the like. but… ...they're never from particularly reliable sources.”

“i live with a ghost. there's a ghost in that house. he's like a civil war cavalier, with all the hair and the hat and all that. and every time i walk into the living room, he doffs his cap. and on his shoulder, he's got this crow that barks at me. it means i spend less time in the house, really. not because of him, because he's-he's quite peaceable. but the crow is malevolent. and i'm not having that. i can't share my house with a malevolent bird.”

“that's haunted as fuck.”

“am i going mad here, or does that, to you, look like that's where just ghost will hang out all the time?”

“look at him, little red riding twat.”

“if he's got an attitude with me, i swear to god, i'll just grab the steering wheel and drive us all into a wall.”

“it's a bit annoying, actually. cos this is not the first or the second time i've had to tell you, really, is it?”

“his sparkle has just gone.”

“you know my dad actually wrote the song wonderwall on the back of a beer mat in the space of ten minutes, don't you?”

“i've just got a tiny, tiny, tiny little favour to ask you.”

“when i think of [name], i think of someone who is very loyal. and very, very stupid. sort of more stupid than loyal. sort of 70% stupid, 30% loyal, probably. because she's very loyal. but extremely stupid.”

“do you know what? i actually don't think he loves you at all and i don't think he's ever loved you.”

“all right, that's harsh and unnecessary, but fine.”

“frankly, she is behaving like the antichrist.”

“i literally just got here.”

“you are such an unemotional slab of ham, [name].”

“i've got so much shit on that man you would not believe.”

“there's something in my eye.”

“i just can't quit him, you know?”

“yeah, we might have a fiery relationship,  but when we're together, it's just… it's just pure chemistry, isn't it?”

“i'm not proud of it, believe me. but at the end of the day, i'm a very vindictive person, you know? it is what makes me me.”

“i basically went out and bought an alpaca off gumtree for £500. of all the mistakes i've made in my life, that was possibly the largest. definitely the physically largest.”

“yeah, i really don't wanna talk about that.”

“her only loyalty is to herself, staffies, and the tv channel dave… ...which, in my opinion, is a tv channel made by knuckle-draggers for knuckle-draggers.”

“i can't move on till i've seeked revenge, unfortunately.”

“if that was in france, that would be fine, but we're not in france.”

“the only thing we had in common, really, was stealing, and that was more my thing that i got him onto. but it just goes to show, you know, some friendships last and some friendships don't, but that's just the way it is.”

“you know it was me that got you sacked, don't you?”

“the thing i learnt about friendship is, you gotta accept each other's flaws, no matter how toxic they may be.”

“shit-stirring from beyond the grave.”

#rp meme #rp prompt #rp starters #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #this is the nichest meme ive made #but this show is so fucking funny okay

[des8pudels8kern]

Geralt doesn’t manage to shake the bardling for weeks after their run-in with Filavandrel. A beating and the ugly truth about the stories humans tell each other to feel good about themselves barely seem to have scratched the surface of his romantic notion that Geralt is a misunderstood hero rather than a mercenary who specializes in killing monsters. Still, after almost two months of roughing it in the woods he declares that his songs will do Geralt no good if there is no audience to perform them for, and turns right, towards inns with soft beds and pubs with plenty of cheap ale and audiences too drunk to be disconcerting, while Geralt turns left, towards more of the ever-same shit.

He doesn’t expect to see him again.

*

“Geralt!” The call rings out across the street as Geralt steps out of the alderman’s office, and for a moment he cannot place it, not the voice nor the face of the caller. Then the man stops waving and moves to cross the street, and now Geralt sees the lute on his back. The bard from last year.

“I was making my way along the trade route South when I heard that the people here had sent for a witcher for their little basilisk problem, and thought to myself I should come and see if the witcher in question isn’t my friend, the White Wolf. And here you are! What a happy coincidence!”

The bard beams at Geralt. He tries to go in for a hug but changes his mind at the last minute, apparently not entirely void of self-preservation instincts.

Geralt grunts at the happy coincidence and regrets that he wasted time earlier washing off the worst of the blood in the river, otherwise he’d have been gone by now.

The bard stays at his side “collecting inspiration” until the siren call of some musical competition lures him away.

*

“Geralt!” It’s early summer, Geralt has lost his armor to a centipede’s acid, and he’s in town for the fair, hoping one of the trade stalls will offer suitable replacement when Jaskier pops up at his side.

“I knew I recognizes that silver hair! You look… like you need a bath, actually. Do you have a room yet? Well, with the fair in town you are probably too late now. Come, you can share with me. It’s time I get back and pick up my lute for my turn on stage anyway, and with your glower clearing the way we’ll be so much faster than I’d be on my own.”

They leave town together three days later.

*

“Ah, Geralt!” He’s just finished his third contract of the year when he returns from collecting his money to find Jaskier stood next to Roach’s stall.

”I’ve just left Haage, where I wintered at the court of the lovely Lady Lenor, tragically widowed and much appreciative of my company and talents, and was hoping I’d run into you if I went East.” Jaskier skips up to him and starts plucking sticks and scales out of his hair. “Didn’t we part around here somewhere last year?”

They travel together all through summer and into fall. Geralt leaves him in Ard Carraigh and heads North long after the first frost.

*

“Ger—ah, apologies. Wrong witcher. I didn’t miss Geralt, did I?”

Eskel blinks at the strange man before him, then shakes his head.

He’s never heard of someone requesting the services of a specific witcher. Then again, Geralt has that song about him going around; maybe it really did help his reputation. Either way, they are still on the main road from Kaer Morhen they all follow down before their Paths diverge for the year, and he left before Geralt.

“My gratitude, sir witcher,” the man chirps. He ducks back into the tavern, and when he comes back out, he carries a lute slung over his shoulder.

Huh.

The bard waves at him as he trots past, and Eskel, dumbfounded, waves back.

*

“Geralt!” Jaskier plops himself down on the bench beside him, close enough that their arms brush, and heaves a deep breath. “There you are. I was beginning to worry I’d gone the wrong way.”

He’s in one of the tiny settlements just barely out of the foothills of the Blue Mountains, getting Roach’s horseshoes seen to, and there is absolutely nothing there that would explain Jaskier being anywhere nearby. Jaskier’s inexplicable ability to have their paths cross year after year notwithstanding, the closest town that could have sustained the bard through winter is weeks away, and spring has broken so recently that Geralt himself only left Kaer Morhen days ago.

Jaskier pulls out two slightly pruney pears, and Geralt, who has only had dried fruit the entire winter, shrugs and accepts his company together with the pear.

*

“Geralt!” Jaskier sits on a rock at the entrance of the three houses that make up the very first village Geralt passes through, coming from Kaer Morhen. His lute lies in his lap, fingers moving over ths strings, his legs swing back and forth, and he seems not the least bit surprised to see him.

Lambert, riding at his side, throws Geralt a quizzical look.

“Did you leave your bard here all winter,” he whispers under his breath, too low for Jaskier to hear.

“The closest I ever left him was Ard Carraigh. He just kept showing up closer and closer each year,” he hisses back.

Lambert frowns. “He probably just asks around which direction we come from every year.”

Jaskier slips off his rock and stretches his back. “Shall we go, then?”

*

“Geralt!” They look up and stare as Eskel leads Jaskier into the hall.

“Horrid weather outside.” His face is red with cold and there is snow melting on his coat. The same snow that closed the pass weeks ago.

“I heard him knocking at the gate when I came back from the stables. Couldn’t just leave him outside, could I,” Eskel says with a helpless shrug.

With a tired sigh Jaskier drops down onto the bench next to Geralt. He wordlessly passes over his bowl of stew into Jaskier’s reaching hands.

Lambert hasn’t yet learned to be quite so resigned to his fate.

“You took the path up the mountain?”

Jaskier hums around his spoon.

“Is there more than one path up the mountain, Vesemir?”

“No, just the one.” The old witcher stares at Jaskier the way he would at a creature that fits not a single one of the entries in his bestiary.

“The one we used to send young witchers on, as a final test of their training?”

“Yes. That one.”

“Sorry, is there any more of that stew?”

Geralt grunts in affirmation and refills his bowl for him with a smug grin around the table.

That’s what they get for years of mocking Geralt that, surely, Jaskier couldn’t be that weird; Geralt probably just didn’t understand how humans worked.

 ----------

Day 11 of my 500 words challenge, 1163 words. Ah, I am so productive!

#the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier #well depending on your shipper goggles i guess #500 words challenge #not!fic

[wolf-and-bard]

Dead or Destitute

- a geraskier fic (warnings for blood, mild gore, swear words)

"What the fuck?" Geralt snarled at Jaskier who had just opened the door, wearing an amiable smile and the most ridiculous robe of silver-broquaded burgundy that flared out at the sleeves and the bottom with frilly cuffs. It was buttoned closed save for the top three which fell open to reveal a glorious patch of chest hair. Jaskier's lips looked wine-stained, his hair was tousled, but when he saw Geralt the haze of light intoxication lifted into a brilliant grin. A grin that went straight into Geralt's heart. Fuck. "Geralt. Didn't expect you to come calling, how'd you know I was around?"

"I didn't." "What? Then why are you here?" "Uh..." Geralt cocked his head. Sniffed. Yes, definitely red wine, but only half a glass. Jaskier wore a new perfume too, rose scented. He was partial to almost all flower scents whereas Geralt couldn't stand them. He preferred Jaskier's natural odour. "I'm looking for the Viscount de Lettenhove? Some Duchess from Novigrad sent me because apparently he owes her a large sum of money. You know this man?" Obviously, Jaskier knew this man. If the state of his appearance was anything to go by, he had probably been thoroughly engaged with this man before Geralt had knocked. Which caused an uneasy twinge Geralt pointedly ignored. So, Jaskier was courting trouble once more, nothing new here. "Sorry, what? Sent you? Geralt, are you playing debt collector?" Jaskier asked, stepping closer. The smile was persistent, stuck to his lips as he brushed a spot of Roach hair from Geralt's chestplate. The undertone of that statement, however, was accusatory which made Geralt defensive. "It's not like I enjoy it, but I've been going through a drought and it's like the monsters are hiding or something. Needed to feed myself." "Shit, that bad?" Jaskier crossed his arms, eyes raking up and down Geralt's body to look for signs of destitution. To the outside world, Geralt knew he looked like a regular old Witcher, but Jaskier might just be able to tell the smaller signs of his dry streak. "I will manage." He always did. "So, where is this man? Viscount. Whatever." "He's standing before you." "What... you?" "Surprise? Honestly, I had always assumed that you knew." Knew that Jaskier was secretly nobility? Geralt wrecked his brain for conversational fragments he might have overlooked, information he had simply forgotten, and came up short. "I didn't." "Well, now you do. Oh, but this is fun. Say, Sir Witcher," Jaskier licked his lips and peered up at Geralt from under thick lashes, the blue of his eyes stark in the waning light of day. Geralt furrowed his brow. "Are you entirely sure that I have to pay you back in coin?" Jaskier winked and something boiled over in Geralt's chest, bubbled up from out of nowhere. Gods, this man was infuriating. "Is this what you do when you owe people? Suck their cocks to get them off your back?" Geralt didn't give two fucks how that sounded. Jaskier might not be gifted with enhanced perception, but even he could comprehend jealousy when it was so blatantly put before him. As it was, Geralt's voice was drenched in it. Jaskier let out a humorless laugh, harshly contrasting his earlier mirth, and put his hands to his hips. "That's the road you wanna take with this? Truly? I had meant it as a jest, Geralt. In case you hadn't surmised from the fact that am a travelling bard, usually I'm not here when tax lawyers and debt collectors come calling and it's not like I constantly owe anyway. Besides, I can suck on whatever cock I like to." Technically, sure. It was just that Geralt wanted it to be his and only his. He couldn't very well say that, so he went for the second-best emotion he felt in regards to Jaskier pulling out sexual favours. "I just don't want you to whore yourself out, someone could hurt you," he said and was rather proud of how earnest that came out. "I'm not, I wasn't. I was just being flirtatious," Jaskier sighed, anger deflating. "Why would you be flirtatious with me?" "Why ever? Now that is a question I will only answer when I've had at least a bottle of Lambert's home-brewed vodka." "What?" "Never you mind. Come in, I may be dead broke, but I can still offer you a cup of tea." Jaskier stepped aside to let Geralt into a square foyer/living area which had a skylight and several settees and couches scattered around it. Three doors lead away from it as well as a winding staircase that disappeared behind a velvet curtain. The middle of the room was dominated by a table with half a dozen chairs, its light surface covered in parchments and dirty dishware. Jaskier's lute case sat next to the door, his traveling wardrobe was lain out over a dark purple couch. As if he had just arrived. Or wanted to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. "Sit, please," Jaskier said and gestured towards a back corner, the only couch without stuff on it. "Make yourself a home, I shall be right back. Chamomile, is it?" Geralt nodded absentmindedly and sat. This wasn't at all what he had expected. Neither from Jaskier nor from some Viscount. It was  a nice house, definitely excessive compared to a commoner's lodging, but it wasn't grand. It was....cosy. Jaskier returned with two mugs, plain, one chipped, and sat next to Geralt, close enough that their shoulders bumped together. "Did you wash off the perfume?" "Uh, yes. I know you don't much care for it, messes with your senses and all." Jaskier shrugged and sipped on his tea, then cursed and put it down, rubbing his lower lip. Geralt wanted to kiss it better, astounded by Jaskier's perceptiveness. Fuck. In terms of doing his job, this was going sideways. "How'd you accumulate so much debt anyway? You break an ancient relic or something?" "Ha-ha. Actually, no. This state is entirely due to my great compassion and sense of selflessness. See, I have this friend who was a gambling problem. Asked me to help out and I couldn't say no," Jaskier explained. "Are you the friend?" "No, Geralt, I'm not, but thanks for believing in me..." Jaskier mock-pouted and Geralt laughed, but quickly sobered up when he remembered how insistent his contractor had been. Either the money or the Viscount's head. Geralt would not behead Jaskier, or anyone for that matter. He had planned on a simple Axii strategy. Now... well. "You could have come to me," Geralt said softly. He emptied his tea in two drags to hide how silly he felt. Why would Jaskier have come to him? And even had he wanted to, how would he have found him? His mouth ran away with it. "We could have sorted it out, we still can." "That is very sweet of you, dear, but you literally just told me you only took this job because your short on coin yourself. Anything else, sure, yes, you will always be my first address when I'm in too deep. This is something I have to get myself out of. I could-" "No," Geralt interrupted, slamming his mug down onto the table. Tea sloshed over the rim of Jaskier's. "No. We find some contracts. Wasn't there a plague in Vizima? Sure to be loads of Ghouls and Graviers around. Besides, cities are jack-full with crowds for you to play. We could save up, there's still time." "There really isn't." "Jask," Geralt pleaded, and for what? Truth be told, there was only one simple way out of this. "The Duchess, what did she tell you to do if I couldn't pay up?" Jaskier asked, worrying his lower lip which was entirely too distracting. "Bring her your head." Jaskier gulped audibly. "Well, guess I will have to fake my own death then..." "No," Geralt said. On an impulse, he took Jaskier's hand between his own and pressed his forehead to Jaskier's knuckles. "Give me three days. If I'm not back by then, you run." "Geralt, what are you planning?" "Do you trust me?" "With all my heart," Jaskier replied without missing a beat. A dusting of pink clung to his cheeks when Geralt let go of his hand and stood. "Three days," he repeated. He promised himself to make it in half that time. Two days later saw Geralt back in Jaskier's house, exhausted from sleep deprivation and the hunt that lay behind him. He held his trophy aloft for Jaskier to see. The bard stood a few feet away from Geralt, back in his standard arrangement of doublet and shirt, all a faded, dusty violet. "Geralt, is that a head," Jaskier whispered, wide-eyed. Something clammy and cold wafted over from him, but was promptly replaced with little bursts of adrenaline that melted on Geralt's tongue when he inhaled them subtly. He grunted and dropped the head onto the table where it splattered the parchment collection and dirty silverware with blood. "Fuck me..."  Jaskier said, staring at it. The long blond curls were matted with grime, the once regal cheeks sunken in. Here was one Duchess past her zenith. "Are you not pleased?" Geralt asked and cocked his head. "This solves your problem." "It does, in a rather drastic fashion." Jaskier seemed to struggle with himself, mouthing words Geralt couldn't make out. Then, his shoulders dropped and he crossed the distance between them, put his palms flat against Geralt's chest. Tucked his face against Geralt's neck and Geralt grew very still. Careful to not give Jaskier cause to pull away. "But I thought you only killed monsters." The words came out shaky and when Geralt noticed that, he also picked up on the slightest tremor that hushed through Jaskier's body. What was going on? Had it been the wrong move after all? Geralt huffed in frustration, unable to read Jaskier after all the time they had spent together, and brought his hands up to cup the bard's shoulderblades. Jaskier shuffled closer. "Shouldn't have hired a Witcher," Geralt said. It' was a weak retort, didn't make all that much sense. The crystalline truth was that he had no ethical explanation for this, no code of conduct to refer back to. He had had more than ulterior motives for this one and, fuck, but it had been worth it. Even if Jaskier despised him for it, even if that made him the monster. He had done it to save a loved one from certain persecution, possible death. A loved one. Oh shit. "Suppose so..." Jaskier trailed off, nuzzled Geralt's neck and that was a weird feeling, created a tingle that made it hard for Geralt to swallow. The corners of his mouth twitched upward. He dared to splay his hands over Jaskier's back. "Jask?" "Yeah?" "Are you okay?" he murmured, hiding his smile in Jaskier's hair. "I'm conflicted," Jaskier admitted. "How?" "Uh... just thinking that this shouldn't turn me on as much as it does." "Oh." Jaskier peeled back a little to catch Geralt's gaze and they both burst into silly giggles. Those faded quickly, however, when Jaskier bumped his nose against Geralt's and his breath caught in his throat. Geralt tilted his head forward and dared to claim a kiss. Then two. Then a million, all at once. They broke apart for another stupid burst of laughter. Reaching behind himself, Jaskier brushed  the accumulated junk off the table, head incluced, and hopped on it, drawing Geralt between his legs. "My knight in shining armour," he sighed and kissed the corner of Geralt's mouth. "My beautiful princess," Geralt shot back. He had meant for it to come across as sarcastic, but it sounded more like a sweet declaration of surrender. "Thank you, love." "You're welcome." Geralt leaned down to kiss Jaskier properly, framing his face with both hands. They tangled up, got lost in each other, resurfaced only when Jaskier grew breathless. "Geralt?" "Hmm?" "We're still broke." Ah, fuck. Well. That was a concern for another day.

#the witcher #witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #gerlion #geralt #jaskier #ficlet #idiots in love #cw blood #cw swear words #still endlessly inspired by tw3 #first kiss #fluff #humour #also posted this on ao3 #my writing #yes I named this after a line in the first Hamilton song #sue me #(please don't sue me)

[toosicktoocare]

prompt: “jaskier kinda letting it slip that he was some super low self worth? i kinda got that vibe from him. maybe he’s drunk or delirious or something and geralts kinda confused on what to do but Tries His Best. thank u in advance :p”

Wow, my heart.

There’s relief that coats Jaskier’s eyes like a rising sun that’s fought against a long night when he and Geralt step out of a dense forest to see a small village framing the edge of the woods, and Geralt finds his eyes wandering to Jaskier’s through the bard’s soft profile. A hint of a smile creeps at his lips, not even close to holding a candle to Jaskier’s wide, toothy grin, but enough for him to mirror Jaskier’s mood, if even just a fraction.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes out, whipping a beaming gaze toward the Witcher. “Do you know what this means?”

“You’ll stop complaining about how the ground isn’t meant to be slept on by such a delicate ass?”

“No, that’s-- I never said my ass was delicate!” Jaskier’s shift in tone, from glee to exaggerated annoyance, brings out a huff of a laugh from Geralt.

“You’re absurd, Geralt, you know that?”

Geralt tilts his head, eyes narrow and slightly devious, and he doesn’t miss the way Jaskier’s cheeks grow impossibly red.

“This means,” Jaskier stresses, drawing out his words as he waves his hands toward the village. “We, my friend, can partake in the finest ale this world has to offer!”

“The finest ale,” Geralt repeats slowly. He hardly thinks this small, quaint village will house ale to exceed worldly expectations, but Jaskier’s excitement has him following the bard into the tavern, stopping briefly to tie Roach to a post by the local in and ensure she’s comfortable.

The tavern is lively when he makes it in, and Jaskier already has a large mug of ice cold ale at his table. It’s half empty, and Jaskier’s strumming loudly on his lute. Geralt nods toward the bar keep, and a moment later, he has his own mug of ale. It’s bitter, cold on his lips but hot in his chest, and he can’t help but sigh deeply around the rim of the mug.

“Oi, bard, what new adventures do you have to share of the old Witcher?”

Jaskier takes a long swing of his ale, and Geralt cocks a brow his way when the bard locks wide eyes to his tired ones.

“Geralt,” Jaskier slurs out loudly, and Geralt takes brief, mental note to Jaskier’s incredibly low tolerance to alcohol.

“Geralt of Rivia! Can I tell them about the fleders? I want to tell them about the fleders!”

Geralt only grunts in response. It’s hardly an exciting story, but Jaskier will put his fib of a spin on it. He offers a curt nod, taking another swig of his ale, and Jaskier leaps from his seat.

“Fly, fleders, fly,” Jaskier sings. “Fly high, and try, but you cannot hide from the Witcher’s eye!”

Geralt thinks back to that day, and his heart beat quickens, for just a single, brief moment. There’s so much in this world that could crush the lively bard, and he doesn’t... he won’t... Sighing, he takes another sip of his ale, watching with an arched brow as the bar keep places another at Jaskier’s table.

“The sword he swings is broad and steel, designed by magic, designed to kill!”

Geralt spends longer than he would like to admit considering how “steel” and “kill” don’t particularly rhyme, and he can’t quite grasp how Jaskier can make it work, but the bard does, effortlessly, even in his apparent drunken state, and Geralt drops his chin into his palm, denying another ale in favor of keeping a clear mind as Jaskier drifts down a sea of alcohol.

For two hours, Jaskier drinks and sings, and the tavern eats him up like fresh, warm bread that’s just been pulled from a wood stove. Geralt keeps a careful eye on each, drunken civilian, and twice, he stiffens in his seat when a man and a woman get too close for comfort to the drunk bard.

“Jaskier,” he finally interrupts after a third man makes an unsettling pass at the bard. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier draws out the name, emphasizing ever consonant despite the general slur of his tone. “I’m just getting started--”

“--you’re done,” Geralt repeats, and maybe it’s malicious, but he puts an orderly sense of power behind his tone that has Jaskier nodding with a dramatic frown.

“Well,” Jaskier shouts, waving his arms about and craning his neck toward everyone as Geralt shoves him out with a hand on his back. “I bid you all a fond farewell!”

Rain has picked up when the two exit the tavern, and Jaskier takes three steps before he trips over his own feet. Geralt tries to reach him in time, but he’s a hair too slow. Jaskier lands face first into a puddle of mud, and Geralt’s at his side in an instant, chasing the flick of concern that nudges at his heart.

“Jaskier, are you...”

His words fall flat at Jaskier’s loud, drunken laughter that rings out across the quiet town.

“How clumsy of me!”

Geralt grunts, sighing deeply as he yanks Jaskier to his feet, pulling him into the inn. He pays more for a room with a tub, wishing to combat Jaskier’s poor mood that will come with morning while the bard is still too far gone on eight mugs of ale.

The inn keeper prepares the bath when Geralt slides a few extra coins her way, and soon enough he’s nudging Jaskier into their shared room for the night.

“Get in,” he tells Jaskier, and Jaskier shouts, face going impossibly red.

“Geralt of Rivia! Turn yourself around while I undress!”

Geralt has a brief thought to encourage this argument, pointing out the few times Jaskier’s seen him naked, but he only grunts, too tired to play along with Jaskier’s antics, and turns on his heel until he’s facing the window.

He watches the rain sliding down the window pane, and upon a closer look, he can faintly make out Jaskier’s reflection behind him. The bard is stumbling, struggling to free himself of his pants, and twice, he almost falls headfirst into the large tub. Geralt huffs out a quiet laugh, turning only when Jaskier finally calls out to him.

“This might be the best bath I’ve ever had,” Jaskier starts. “I think it’s the best bath in the world.”

“Are you always this generous toward the world when drunk?”

“Geralt,” Jaskier huffs out, lips pulling into a pout that Geralt stares at with narrow eyes as he takes a seat against the wall under the window, one knee drawn to his chest while the other leg is stretched out in front of him, toe close enough to brush against the wooden tub.

“You need to learn to appreciate the finer things in life!”

“I don’t need to view the world in light under a drunken haze,” Geralt grunts out, and Jaskier sighs and tilts his head back until he’s staring at the ceiling. Geralt’s eyes follow the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump against the deep sigh. He frowns, tilting his head.

“You’re probably right.” Jaskier rolls his head until he meets Geralt’s eyes. “But you have to admit, it’s fun.”

“What’s fun?”

“Pretending.”

“Pretending.” Geralt repeats, drawing out the word slowly, tone shifting up slightly in quiet question.

“Pretending that you’re better than what you are.”

Geralt’s muscles stiffen at Jaskier’s words, and his brows furrow.

“It’s fun to forget for a moment that your true worth merely amounts to songs that ring out of hyperbolic lies.”

A burst of burning pain blooms like fire across Geralt’s chest. Jaskier’s words stab like a sword pushing past his rib cage to his heart, and for just a brief moment, he imagines pulling Jaskier into his arms as if to shelter the bard from harmful thoughts, but his muscles protest the idea, too stiff against a weight of heavy shock.

“Jaskier,” he breathes out, tone reflecting the pain that coats his eyes, and Jaskier pulls his gaze back to the ceiling.

“You’re a Witcher, Geralt. You’re a legend, and I’m just... small in comparison to your stories.”

Geralt’s muscles move before his mind does, and he moves with them, allowing instinct to push forward for his mind is flitting into unfamiliar territory. He slowly crawls the small distance until he’s inches from Jaskier, and while he normally likes to smirk at Jaskier’s flushing cheeks, he ignores the glow of red this time in favor of placing a rough palm to Jaskier’s damp arm.

“You aren’t small. You tell my stories.”

“I lie.”

“You paint a picture--”

“--a picture that lies--”

“--a picture that encourages imagination,” Geralt presses, determined to win this argument. His fingers tighten slightly on Jaskier’s arm. “You have a gift, Jaskier, and you use it to bring light to an otherwise dark world.”

There are things he could say, that he could alter, that Jaskier brings light to his dark world, but Jaskier’s already tearing up, eyes welling with large tears that threaten to slip down his flushing face, and Geralt gives the bard’s arm a tight squeeze.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Geralt.”

Grunting, Geralt gets to his feet and turns sharply on his heel until he’s facing the bed. He can feel an unfamiliar creep of heat starting toward his cheeks.

“You’ve come a long way from describing my talent as a pie without filling,” Jaskier presses with a few sniffs, and Geralt risks a quick look over his shoulder.

“Yes, well, I’m going to sleep. I’m sure I’ll be up half the night with you making sure you don’t choke on your own vomit.”

Jaskier scoffs, though there’s no heat behind it. “Will you allow me to join you when I finish?”

Grunting, Geralt slips his shoes off near the foot of the bed. “Only if you bring a good attitude.”

#the witcher #netflix the witcher #my writing #my witcher writing #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #jaskalt #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #drunk jaskier #emotional whump #yall it's weird writing in geralt's perspective for once #he's difficult to write i'll tell you that

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Eight (Zuko x Reader)

Part Seven

Word Count: 3,000

Warning: This chapter gets violent - there are mentions of death and assault. I'll include a recap at the beginning of next week's chapter for those who choose not to read for the sake of their mental wellbeing. No harm done in not reading; I appreciate you taking care of yourself ♥

Author’s Note: .......... yeah idk what happened either. oops there’s actually a plot here lmao

~ Muerta

Your tour of the city the following day is rained out by mid-morning, leaving you cozily stranded at the Jasmine Dragon until the weather decides to clear. Iroh gives you a private room to relax in while you wait, coming by every hour or so with a new menu item for you to sample. Since the weather is quite chilly, he’s converted the table in the room into a kotatsu, which you’re curled up under with Toph leaned comfortably against your shoulder. From where you sit, you have a perfect view of not only the street from the room’s window, but the rest of the tea shop, your gaze shifting between watching passerby avoiding the downpour outside and customers milling about inside, smiling to yourself each time you catch a glimpse of Zuko darting between tables; He insisted on working the rush that day, all of you changing out of your ceremonial robes and into something more low key so as not to attract attention.

Regular customers are happy to see Zuko, greeting him excitedly and asking how his “travels” have been; he nods over to you a few times while speaking, multiple people coming up to meet and congratulate you. Toph smirks at you, teasingly nudging your arm.

“I think you’re more popular as Lee from the tea shop’s wife than you are as Firelady,” she observes. “Not one person who’s come over here has said anything about the royalty sitting next to us.”

Kuei looks up from his reading, shrugging his shoulders as Bosco - whose head rests lazily in the king’s lap - lets out a grumbling yawn.

“I’m not meant to be noticed,” he states. “Besides, I come here all the time; regulars are used to seeing me here.”

“Are they also used to your guards taking up every table within twenty feet of you?” you joke. You’re only half kidding - plainclothes guards are stationed at three tables beside the room’s open door, all tensing up and ready to pounce every time anyone who isn’t Iroh or Zuko approaches.

Kuei grins sheepishly at you, offering another shrug.

“Not all of us are warriors,” he excuses.

“We need to teach you to fight,” Toph comments. “Having a scrawny Earth King is embarrassing.”

Before Kuei can retort, Zuko appears at the threshold, sliding the door shut behind him with urgency. Kuei stands immediately, instantly alert.

“The Dai Li were just spotted in the refugee district,” Zuko announces. “A customer told me they're staging some kind of protest.”

“Does it really count as a protest if they're facists?” Toph mutters. “Seems like the kind of thing they'd be opposed to.”

“A protest against what?” Kuei asks. “They don't typically operate so boldly.”

“I don't know,” Zuko answers, “but we should go there and stop it. They're too powerful for the regular guard to subdue.”

He turns to you, eyeing you sternly.

“Stay here,” he orders. “Toph and I will handle this.”

“Oh, the hell you will,” you quip, standing so abruptly that Toph tumbles over. “I've already told enough imperialist assholes that I don't answer to you - you shouldn't have to be one of them.”

Zuko shakes his head, ignoring your harsh comment.

“Darling, please, I'm not trying to boss you around,” he explains. “The Dai Li are dangerous and I want to keep you safe.”

“I'm not even safe in my own home, Zuko,” you counter. “We’re a team - we face danger together.”

You cross your arms, challenging Zuko with a determined, defiant glare. He sighs frustratedly, furrowing his brow but eventually giving in.

“Alright fine,” he caves. “We don't have time to argue. Let's go.”

You leave the Jasmine Dragon through a hidden panel in one of the private room’s walls, installed for just such occasions when Kuei needs to make a hasty exit; his guards are already assembled on the street, perched on ostrich horses with two steeds empty for the Firelord and king.

As Kuei mounts, you help Toph onto the back of his saddle, where she takes hold of your forearm and pulls you close so she can whisper in your ear.

“Did Sparky call you ‘darling' just now?” she marvels.

You blush, realizing that yes, he most definitely did.

“I think so,” you mumble in response.

Zuko calls for you and you part from her, noting the smirk that spreads across her features. You climb into the saddle behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist as he digs a heel into the ostrich horse’s side, sending you speeding through the streets of Ba Sing Se; you hardly feel the rain biting at your cheeks and hands against the firmness of his back.

The refugee district scatters in chaos, people scampering like ants separated from their colony as they attempt to flee the terror the Dai Li have inflicted.

Agents prowl up and down the streets, raiding homes and businesses seemingly at random and interrogating their owners, many of them beaten or bound in stone cuffs. You ride past an agent looming over a man and his young children, his hand raised to strike; as you pass, you pull Zuko’s sheathed katana from its slot in the saddle, holding it out so it hits the agent in the throat and topples him, incapacitated; the man wails, tears streaming down his face as he lifts his children and carries them away from the scene.

You arrive at the source of the bedlam, where the heads of the Dai Li have gathered in a market square and bark out commands, taking prisoners and making displays of their battered, comatose bodies. Zuko reins the ostrich horse to a halt, leaping off before fully coming to a stop and removing his dual swords from the horse’s pack, strapping them onto his back. He hands you the reins, roughly taking your hands in his and leaning in close to you, shouting over the din.

“Can you ride?”

You nod as you settle yourself into the center of the saddle, squeezing his hands tightly.

“Go with Kuei and take out as many Dai Li as you can for the guard to arrest,” he tells you. “Toph and I will go for their leaders.”

He places both of his palms on either side of your face, bringing your head down so he can press his lips firmly against your forehead.

“Be careful,” he says in parting.

You kick into the ostrich horse’s side, turning back the direction you came and following Kuei through the streets, Zuko’s katana strapped at your hip.

Despite Toph’s teasing, Kuei is actually a skilled rider; though weaponless, he maneuvers his steed with ease, steering headlong into members of the Dai Li and trampling them, the beast lashing its long, razorlike talons until they fall unconscious. You ride close behind, sweeping the surrounding area whenever he overtakes a target and stunning anyone who tries to interfere, driving the edge of Zuko’s katana into their stomach or back; the only time you unsheath the blade is when you come upon an agent with a young girl pinned beneath him, her dress hiked above her hips and his body far too close to hers for your liking.

The image sends rage coursing like fire through your veins, and you remove the katana from its casing, riding up swiftly behind the man and drawing the blade across his neck, slitting his throat before he has a chance to react; his blood splatters across your legs and the face of the girl he attacked, causing her to shriek and crumple into tears. You reach down and lift her into the saddle behind you, riding her to the nearest area of relative safety you can find before returning to Kuei’s side.

“Is there anyone else?” you ask, looking around. Things seem to have calmed, the guard already arriving to take their prisoners and the citizens of the district starting to collect themselves, those not harrowed by shock either coming to the aid of their neighbors or starting to tidy the buildings that were raided.

Kuei shakes his head, panting heavily as he attempts to catch his breath.

“I passed the head of the guard a moment ago,” he tells you. “She said they have most of the situation under control - they're having trouble getting the leaders to surrender.”

“Let's go back,” you suggest. “We might be able to help.”

Kuei nods, trailing beside you as you gallop back to the market square, stumbling into a standoff between the Dai Li and the guard, Zuko and Toph in the middle of the fray - they have the leaders cornered, Toph having bent the earth around a few of them and Zuko with a flame ready in hand, one of his swords in the other. The scene is still but tense, and you sit with Zuko’s katana drawn.

“It’s your choice,” Zuko booms, approaching one of the captured Dai Li with predatory grace. “Either you come peacefully, or your entire troop will be killed.”

The bound man gives Zuko a wicked smirk, rolling his head to the side.

“Wouldn’t your father be proud,” he drones deeply. “His disgraced son, meddling where he doesn’t belong and threatening death when he can’t get his way - just like daddy. Even after you defeated him, you’re still seeking his approval, aren’t you Firelord Zuko?”

The man grunts as Toph’s fist closes, the rock around him compressing his chest.

“Watch it,” she snaps. “Zuko might be above squashing a slimy little roach like you, but I’m not - and he’s not the one who has you in a vice right now.”

“The Firelord is merely following Earth Kingdom law,” Kuei interjects. He rides into the center of the circle the guards and seized Dai Li have formed. “Dai Li have been considered highly dangerous by my guard since a child was found murdered in the catacombs under Lake Laogai preceding the end of the war; any members who resist arrest are sentenced to death once taken into custody. It’s your choice - be found responsible for the death of your men, or let them face fair trial.”

You don’t hear the man answer. One of the apprehended Dai Li nearby takes hold of the knife from the belt strap of the guard who holds him, stabbing her in the stomach to free himself; he makes a beeline for you, shoving his shoulder into your ostrich horse’s side and knocking you out of the saddle, sending you to the ground at his feet.

The Dai Li grips you by the hair, hoisting you up by the scalp and pressing his arm forcefully into your chest - the knife, still wet with blood, digs into your neck, so rigidly you feel a sting as its blade slices through the top layer of your skin. Zuko, who’d rushed forward the instant the man lashed out, pauses, his stature braced and eyes wide with terror. The Dai Li chuckles evilly, running a blood-soaked hand through your hair.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you Zuzu?” he mocks. “Let’s see if your no-killing rule applies when your pretty little plaything is up for grabs.”

“Don’t hurt her,” Zuko snarls. “You already face a death sentence just for touching her.”

“Then I might as well go out with a bang,” the Dai Li hisses.

You feel your skin start to split as the knife cuts deeper, and you squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for your lungs to fill with blood.

Before the worst can come, a metallic snap cuts through the strained silence, the arm flattened to your chest going slack as the man it belongs to slumps into a heap beside you.

You fall to your knees, limbs quivering as a quiet, heaving sob escapes your chest. Zuko sprints to your side, scooping you into his arms and immediately taking you away, carrying you into the back of one of the guard’s wagons and ordering to return to the palace.

“Kill them all,” you hear Kuei gravely command as the cart rolls away. “None of them can be trusted in trial.”

You don’t realize it until you arrive at the infirmary, but you’re soaked. Healers strip you of your wet clothes and assess you for injuries, finding only a small laceration on your neck from where the Dai Li threatened you. They clean the wound thoroughly, draping you in a large blanket and serving you sweet, calming tea, keeping you there for a few hours before allowing you to return to your suite.

Rain streaks down the sitting room window in sheets as you ghost through the threshold, thanking the healer who escorted you in a whisper as she assuringly touches your shoulder, then shuts the door behind you.

Zuko stands from his place by the pane when he hears your voice, swallowing heavily as he watches you enter.

“What happened?” you rasp, blinking drearily.

Zuko approaches you slowly, gingerly lowering you into the nearest chair.

“Toph snapped the knife and shot the tip through the Dai Li’s forehead,” Zuko recounts. His voice is dark, roughened with gravel. “They’re all dead. There are more still out there, but their numbers are significantly less after today.”

You nod, your gaze directed away from him, eyes unfocused as you stare into nothing.

“The guard who was stabbed is okay,” Zuko continues, taking one of your hands and clasping it between his own. “She apologizes for letting her duties slip.”

You shake your head, pressing your eyes tightly closed as you try to force the image of the day’s events from your mind.

“She has no need to apologize,” you murmur. “I’m okay; she’s the one who got hurt.”

Zuko sighs softly, reaching up to rest his hand on your cheek.

“This is why I wanted you to stay with Iroh,” he chides. “You’re not trained to defend yourself. It’s too dangerous for you to go everywhere with me.”

You pull your face away from him. From the corner of your eye, you shoot him a glare.

“Don’t scold me,” you mutter. “I defended myself well enough.”

Zuko retracts his hand, leaning away as if you struck him. He lets out a frustrated huff.

“Seriously?” he quips. “That’s all you have to say for yourself? You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“And so you could you,” you retort. “I’ve had a price on my head ever since I came to the Fire Nation; I don’t think I have to remind you that a man was murdered for the sake of making a threat towards us. Everyone’s after both of us, so we might as well stick together.”

“No,” Zuko snaps. “I won’t allow that. You’re my responsibility and I have to keep you safe.”

You jump to your feet, glowering down at him. He stands in return, taking a step back as your eyes meet his in a heated stare.

“You won’t allow that?” you challenge him. “What the fuck happened to treating me like an equal? You said in your damned wedding vows that you wanted to give me freedom. Did that only mean when it was convenient for you? You only want me as an ally when it looks good? Need I remind you that you were perfectly willing to let me ride out into battle when I was doing so under your command? You know that I’m capable of standing up for myself - I don’t need you playing savior whenever you think I can’t.”

“I’m not trying so suppress you,” Zuko counters. “I’m trying to make sure that the people who want us dead don’t actually achieve it. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you because you were following me. You need protection.”

“Zuko, I killed a man today.”

You make the statement plainly, in a deadpan, looking him directly in the eye. He pales, his face going completely ashen.

“What?”

“I killed someone today,” you repeat in a hiss. “Before today I’d never even held a weapon, let alone used one on another person; that didn’t stop me cutting a Dai Li’s neck open because he tried to rape a teenage girl in the street. I feel like a monster, Zuko, but don’t you dare tell me I need protection - what I need is your help. I don’t need a knight in shining armor. I need my husband.”

Zuko’s expression falls, your brows still arched together as you realize you’ve been shouting. You take a deep, shaky breath, crossing your arms and clutching the sleeves of your robe.

Zuko crosses the room to you, resting one of his hands behind your head; his other arm curls around your waist, pulling you in and pressing you flush against his chest.

You didn’t notice before, but your whole body is trembling, tears starting to pour down the sides of your face. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko breathes. “You’re right. We need to stick together. I just… I hate the idea of losing you. I… care… I care so much about you…”

You bury your face in his shoulder, your fingers knitting themselves into the fabric of his robe; the shock of the day finally hits you, and you feel as if you’ll crumble in his arms.

“I know,” you whimper. “I care about you, too.”

Zuko lifts you into his arms, cradling you like a child as he carries you into the bedroom. He lays down beside you, and for a while that could be minutes as much as it could be hours, he holds you, rocking you gently and rubbing your back as your body heaves with sobs, tears soaking your face the way the rain beats against the walls of your room. When you’re finally calm, he leaves only as long as it takes you to change into your night clothes, returning once you’re dressed and taking you into his arms again, comforting you as the sound of thunder trembles somewhere in the distance.

You fall asleep with your head on his chest, clutching him tightly through the night. You dream of nothing, and for that, you’re thankful.

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[whitecrowapothecary]

Bottled Delights (3)

Jaskier is more than meets the eye, and Geralt learns how to communicate. I think.

Tag list: @love-more-today-than-yesterday

Read it on AO3 here!

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Geralt finds that their relationship… doesn’t really change much after his confession. Jaskier was never one to hide affections before, but now Jaskier is touching him constantly. A hand on his arm when he passes by, a kiss on his cheek whenever Geralt comes back from town. Geralt hasn’t slept a single night in his actual room, mostly because Jaskier says the bed is too comfortable to just ignore. Geralt doesn’t point out that the bed in his room is just as comfortable. The best part of their new relationship is the kissing. Jaskier might say the sex, and Geralt can’t deny it, but sex he’s had before. He hasn’t been able to kiss Jaskier before, not in any reality, so he finds his eyes drifting, watching the way that Jaskier talks or sings and looking away quickly when caught. Jaskier seems to delight in the attention, and he’s more than willing to kiss him when Geralt isn’t truly paying attention, just to bring him back. 

They’re laying in bed, legs twined under the blanket and Jaskier laying practically on top of him. The night air blows through the room, raising goosebumps across Jaskier’s exposed back, but that could also be because of Geralt’s fingers, sliding featherlight over the bumps of Jaskier’s spine. 

“Why don’t I get to go out on hunts with you?” Jaskier’s tone is airy, light, but Geralt can smell his disappointment. 

“You could get hurt. Or recognized.”

“I’ve been on plenty of hunts before, for far more dangerous monsters than some nekkers, Geralt.” A pout begins to form on Jaskier’s face and Geralt’s hand slides up and down his back in soothing strokes. Jaskier relaxes against him, but his eyes are shadowed and Geralt frowns. 

“Why do you want to see nekkers?”

“I don’t! I want-” Jaskier cuts off in frustration, forehead thumping against Geralt’s chest as he hangs his head and sighs. Geralt prods gently between Jaskier’s shoulder blades in a silent request, and Jaskier lifts his head after a moment. “I want to go out with you, not be stuck here waiting for you to get back. I want to see you fight, even if it’s just some stupid nekkers or spiders or or-”

“What happens if I can’t protect you, or a knight happens by and sees you?” Geralt’s other hand comes up to gently touch Jaskier’s neck. The bruises from their first night are long gone, but they’re fresh in Geralt’s mind, and Jaskier can tell with startling clarity that the witcher is scared. 

“Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t need protection?”

Geralt makes a noncommittal noise at that, gaze unfocused, and Jaskier sighs heavily. He tucks his head under Geralt’s chin, Geralt’s arms going around him more securely, knowing he won’t get much out of Geralt now. He’s seen it before, the way that Geralt loses focus when his past drags him down, and there’s almost nothing he can do to yank Geralt back to the present. He closes his eyes instead, knowing the best that can be done for either of them is a little sleep. 

Jaskier wakes up with the sun, used to the routine, and finds Geralt already up, pacing. He’s in his armor, blades strapped across his back, and he turns when Jaskier shifts, holding out a silent hand. Geralt comes over, takes it in his and presses it to his lips as he crouches by the bedside. Jaskier hums sleepily, rolling fully onto his side. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, love. I pushed you too hard.” Geralt can feel guilt clawing in his stomach, and he doesn't like leaving Jaskier here, but he doesn’t know what he would do if a knight less understanding than Damien were to find the two of them in Toussaint. He’s surprisingly less worried about the monsters- Jaskier has seen many, read through Geralt’s bestiary more than once and knows the common ones on sight. 

“I won’t take long. Back before lunch.” Jaskier hums, cupping Geralt’s cheek with the hand he still holds and drawing him in for a kiss. Geralt lingers for a moment longer than he should, and eventually Jaskier has to tell him to go. He ducks out of the house into the early dawn morning, heading for the stable where Roach has already been prepared. He lifts himself up into the saddle easily and sets off on the road away from the vineyard. As far as he knew it was just going to be a simple hunt- one that wouldn’t take him long at all, and would have disappointed Jaskier to watch. 

It’s farther out than his other contracts have been, and closer to the city as well. He’d tried to say that, to tell Jaskier that, but the words had gotten too tangled in him and he hadn’t been able to find a way to get them out. Geralt rides through the morning, watching the sun rise in front of him as he heads east, further inland toward where the villagers had instructed him. The monster seemed far from any kind of civilization, but a contract was a contract and they’d need coin when they left in the spring. The trees begin to thin more the closer that they get, and Geralt stops when the scent of decay hits him. He leaves Roach near the treeline, not bothering to tie her. He’d rather she run away if a nekker gets too close than stay and be eaten. She’ll come back eventually. 

He follows the scent further out of the treeline, and he breaks out into a clearing filled with nekkers. More than he’s ever seen before in one place. He swears colorfully, unsheathing his sword when the first one notices him. Nekkers are annoying at most, but Geralt counts at least twenty of them and large groups can be deadly alone. His only hope is going to be to isolate with his signs. Geralt cuts the first three down with relative ease, but they keep coming, swarming around him, and where Geralt dodges one another waits, slashing at him with sharp claws. His armor takes the brunt of it, but one slashes a gouge into his thigh and he grunts in pain. A blast of Aard gets most of them away from him and he doubles down, cutting through the crowd of them and whittling away at their numbers. He sees a flash of teal in his periphery, and he turns in surprise as Jaskier leaps nimbly back from the claws of a nekker and dispatches it with a long, sturdy dagger. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt has no clue how he managed to keep up, or when he’d followed, but Geralt fights his way through the rest of the nekkers, using a small bomb to destroy the nest before storming over to where Jaskier stands, wiping his blade off on a piece of cloth before sheathing it. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, Geralt! You seemed like you could use some help.” Jaskier turns to him with a grin, but Geralt growls, scowling. 

“How did you get here?”

“I walked? Really Geralt, I’ve kept up with you for years, doing it now is child's play.”

“I told you to stay home. They could have killed you.” Geralt takes a step closer, thigh protesting, and Jaskier’s gaze flicks down. He sees Jaskier’s pupils go wide and his nostrils flare. 

“You’re hurt.”

“I will heal. If one of them had bitten you, you’d be dead Jaskier. You aren’t- built the same as I am.” 

Jaskier’s eyes flick up to him, and for a second Geralt sees hurt flash over his face before anger replaces it. “I am well aware of our differences, Geralt. But I can handle nekkers, as you’ve just seen.”

Geralt growls, shaking his head. He isn’t sure how to get it through Jaskier’s damn head, and his heart is thundering at the thought of Jaskier being here. “Why don’t you listen to me?”

“Because I am tired of being left behind!” Geralt hides the flinch at the way that Jaskier’s voice raises, and he meets Jaskier’s glare with one of his own.

“I am not-”

“One day, Geralt, you are going to leave on a contract without me, and you won’t come back. And I don’t know what I’d do if I weren’t there to do something.” jaskier’s voice is fiery with his wrath, but his voice cracks at the end and Geralt can feel his anger freezing in his veins. Geralt takes a step forward, sighing heavily, and his eyes widen at the stench that hits him. He lunges forward as a shape blurs behind Jaskier, and he tries to yank him out of the way- but it’s too late. A grotesquely clawed hand punches through Jaskier’s chest, the sound of bone crunching resounding in Geralt’s ears. Jaskier looks down as if surprised, brow furrowing at the pain, and his hands come up shakily to touch the bloody claws still stuck through him. Geralt sees Jaskier grab onto them, as if holding them will keep him steady as blood blooms across his chest, staining the white chemise beneath. 

“Jaskier-” 

The sound that comes out of Jaskier’s mouth at the sound of his name is inhuman, and Jaskier jerks as the creature behind tries to yank its hand free. Jaskier’s hands stay steady, keeping the hand firmly stuck through his chest. “Geralt, I am going to say this as calmly as I can. I am not human. I would very much appreciate it if you would stop gawking and kill this thing.”

Geralt reels back, eyes widening, and he moves automatically on Jaskier’s command, as if he can’t control his own body. Geralt uses one quick slice to detach the beasts arm at the mid forearm and another to stab it through the heart, his silver blade coming away coated in black blood. When Geralt turns back he watches, detached, as Jaskier pulls the arm through his body, dropping it into the dirt with a scoff. Jaskier’s entire form seems to be wavering, shimmering like waves in the Toussaint sun. The wavering stops all at once, and years fall from Jaskier’s form like leaves in the fall. His wrinkles smooth away, his back straightens a bit, and he turns to Geralt, ever the youthful nineteen year old that Geralt remembers from Posada. 

“That was my favorite doublet.” Geralt stares, horrified, as the hole in Jaskier’s chest knits itself back together, until all that’s left is the hole in his clothes and the red blood smeared across his skin. Geralt feels himself sagging, thigh protesting at holding him, and Jaskier reaches out to prop him up one handed. Geralt’s nostrils flare, an automatic bolt of apprehension shooting through him, and Geralt is backing up, out of Jaskier’s grip before he knows what he’s doing. “Geralt, please, I can- explain everything.” 

“What are you?” Jaskier grimaces, whistling and waiting as Roach comes trotting up. He doesn’t answer until Geralt pulls himself up into the saddle, and he takes the reins to lead them home. 

“A higher vampire.”

“Like Regis.” Jaskier’s head dips in a nod, and he glances every so often up at Geralt to ensure he’s still on his horse. 

“Regis and I hail from the same clan. He’s a… well, for lack of a better word he’s like a brother to me.” 

“How old are you?”

“Just shy of three hundred.” Jaskier’s voice is wry, and Geralt can see that Jaskier wants to say something about asking people their ages, but he refrains. The trek back to the vineyard seems to take half as much time as the trip out, and Geralt’s head is swimming from blood loss by the time they get back. Jaskier has to help him slide from Roach’s back, and he tucks one of Geralt’s arms over his shoulder as they hobble back inside. No one is in the house when Jaskier pushes open the door to Geralt’s room, depositing the witcher onto the bed. “Stay here.”

Geralt doesn’t have the strength to argue with him, and he instead works to shed his armor, leaving it on the floor. He’s panting by the time that’s done, and his fingers shake as he peels his pants off, snarling as the fabric pulls across his cut. He should have just cut them off, but if he can salvage them he’s going to. His thigh is a mess of blood and torn flesh, and he realizes with faint fear that his artery has been cut. How he’s made it back here is a feat in itself, and he’s staring numbly at his wound when Jaskier comes back. Geralt sees Jaskier pause, stumbling, and when he looks up Jaskier’s pupils are blown so wide he can no longer see the blue of Jaskier’s eyes. The bowl of water and towels is set hastily on the nightstand before Jaskier drops into a crouch beside Geralt, grabbing at his thigh and twisting it to get a better look. Geralt hears himself gasp in pain, but his head is growing fuzzy and his eyesight is fading. 

“Jask-”

“You’re losing too much blood.”

“Already lost too much.”

“No. No. I can-”

“It’s okay.” Geralt reaches a shaking hand up to touch Jaskier’s cheek, and Jaskier leans into the touch. 

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier says, and Geralt wants to ask him what for, but then teeth are digging into his thigh and his pain increases tenfold. It only lasts a moment, and then cold spreads through his thigh. Geralt watches in morbid fascination as Jaskier pulls back, eyeing the cut and then licking a long stripe through the bloody mess. Geralt’s other thigh jerks in surprise, and he has no clue what Jaskier is doing but he does it again, and then again before sitting back and pressing a hand to his mouth. His fingers are trembling, covered in blood, but Geralt’s bleeding is already slowing, and he watches as his thigh heals until all that’s left is a long, pink scar. Jaskier brings the bowl of water close now and wipes the blood from Geralt’s skin, stripping off his boots and his ruined pants. His hands are gentle as he tucks Geralt into bed, and Geralt sees tears sliding through the blood still on Jaskier’s face, pink drops staining his shirt. 

Geralt has heard about vampire saliva before- it’s a powerful healing aid, one near impossible to harvest. He’s never seen it in action, never had any reason to let a vampire get close enough to use it, but his fingers trace over the scar on his thigh over and over again. A hand smooths over his forehead, pushing his hair back, and Jaskier leans down, blue eyes locking with Geralt’s. “Sleep, love.”

Geralt’s eyes close before he can protest, and he slips into a black, dreamless sleep. He faintly realizes as he drifts off that Jaskier has coerced him, and he tries to feel angry, but the thought slips away from him. 

His room is dark when Geralt wakes later that night, and he sits up in bed, pressing a hand to his thigh as a dull ache settles into his skin. “A bite will only take the pain away for so long.”

Geralt jerks at Regis’ voice, and he looks to see Regis leaning against the wall by the window. Geralt’s voice is rough as he talks, and he lays back in bed carefully. “How did you get here?”

“Jaskier summoned me. He needed someone to watch over you while you recovered.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“The blood.” Geralt remembers then, Jaskier’s pupils blown wide, mouth covered in blood, and his stomach twists harshly at the thought. He has no clue if Jaskier broke an oath by helping him, some personal creed, and he suddenly wants nothing more than to ask him. He can feel anger present as well, festering in the back of his mind, but he can’t quite put to words what is making him angry, so he tries to push it back. 

“Where is he?”

“He needed some time to collect his thoughts. He should be back momentarily.” Regis steps away from the window, moving to stand by the bedside, and Geralt pulls himself up to a semi sitting position, propped up against the headboard. “Geralt, you are one of my dearest friends.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet, and Regis reaches out to lay a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Remember that when he comes back. And when you talk.” Geralt hums, nodding, and that’s the best that he can offer right now. Regis leaves him once he knows Geralt isn’t on the cusp of death, and Geralt spends the time he’s left alone to think. He idly rubs at the muscle of his thigh, trying to work the ache out and knee jumping every time he touches the sensitive scar. It will deaden eventually, hopefully, but even the brush of the blanket sends flares down to his toes and the sensation is uncomfortable. A knock sounds a bit later, and Geralt calls a soft ‘come in’ to allow whoever it is to step in. Geralt can already smell who it is, and his heart lurches in his chest. Jaskier is subdued, quiet when he steps inside, closing the door behind him and wringing his hands. He’s clean of blood and in a new change of clothes, but his eyes are shadowed and his steps measured as he comes closer. 

“How does your thigh feel?” Geralt grunts, not wanting to say that it hurts, but Jaskier knows him too well and he nods, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “I can numb it again, if you’d like.” 

Geralt shakes his head, and Jaskier sighs, glancing up at him. He squirms under Geralt’s gaze, seeming more and more nervous, until he’s on the verge of babbling, and Geralt stops him before he can start. “You didn’t tell me.”

“How do you tell? Should I have said ‘Geralt, love of my life, I’ve been lying to you our entire lives, I’m a higher vampire.’ I- couldn’t.” 

“Regis is my best friend.” Geralt points out, and Jaskier sighs in frustration, raking his fingers back through his hair and not caring when it stands up oddly.

“I didn’t know you knew him until you brought me to meet him. I wanted to tell you then, but I couldn’t find the right moment and-”

“You didn’t trust me.” There it is, what’s been gnawing at the back of Geralt’s mind. Anger rises in his throat, and his words come faster and faster until he’s choking on them. “You followed me for twenty years, and didn’t trust me enough with this secret. Watched me let others go, refused to kill them. And you lied to me.”

“I trust you with my life.” Jaskier snarls, dragging his hands down his face and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. The part of Geralt that loves Jaskier wants to reach out and comfort him, but Geralt’s anger is a beast of its own and he can feel himself trembling with it. “But I- I’m a coward and how do you tell the witcher you’re madly in love with that you’re a monster?” 

“With words. The things you claim to be so good with.” His words are cutting and he can see Jaskier flinch, but his heart hurts and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to think. He doesn’t care that Jaskier is a vampire, doesn’t care that he isn’t human in the slightest. He just- wanted to be trusted. To share everything that he could with Jaskier. He withdraws into himself then, wanting to protect the gaping, bleeding wound in his chest. He doesn’t know what of Jaskier is a fable meant to make Geralt trust him and what’s real, and the though carves its way deeper into his chest. “Who are you? Really?” 

“I don’t know.” Is all that Jaskier can say, and Geralt turns away from him then. Jaskier leaves the room without saying anything else, and his steps are silent where before Geralt knew them by heart. Geralt spends the day in his room, hiding away and unable to face anyone else. The pain in his thigh ramps up when he stands, and he practices footwork until he can’t bear his own weight anymore, and then he collapses back in bed. The pain is a welcome distraction, and Geralt sinks into the oblivion it brings, curling up in bed and fingers digging into the muscle so it won’t fade. He leaves the room at Marlene’s insistence on the second day, joining them at the breakfast table but hardly saying a word. B.B. seems worried, but knows better than to ask questions, and Marlene hugs Geralt until the man finally hugs her back, shuddering. She sees the horror in Geralt’s eyes that he won’t say, and she sends him out to the garden to harvest plants, telling him that doing work will do him some good. 

The sun is warm on his back and for as muddled as his mind feels, being outside helps, and he picks all of the plants that are ready before retreating to the lab in the cellar. The sharp alchemical smell of the old equipment is familiar, and he spends the morning crafting as many potions as he can with the supplies on hand. His mind processes while he works, mulling over Jaskier’s words. He hasn’t seen the bard since Geralt sent him away, and his scent is stale throughout the house. He wonders where he is, if he’s safe, and it feels like a sword through the chest to think about how he’d pushed the man away. Geralt has to face what he is every day of his life, face the stares and the threats, but Jaskier.... Jaskier doesn’t. He blends in as easily as any human would, moving through the world invisible, outlasting friends and in constant fear.

No wonder Jaskier didn’t tell him. He’d pushed Jaskier away immediately, just like the man expected, and the vial in Geralt’s hand shatters in his grip when he thinks that. He really wasn’t any better than the humans that Jaskier has no doubt dealt with before. Suddenly he wants nothing more than to find Jaskier, to beg him to stay and apologize for being an ass. Geralt cleans up the mess that he made in the lab before heading inside for lunch. He’s sitting at the table, plate still in front of him when lavender fills his nose, sharp and new, and his head whips up. He follows the scent, but it’s everywhere and Geralt can’t pinpoint where it ends or begins. He checks the guest bedroom, but the sheets are freshly made, undisturbed, and Jaskier’s pack is still on top of the dresser where it belongs. 

Geralt goes down to his room, hoping, praying, but Jaskier isn’t there either. The source of the scent seems to be a stack of books on his nightstand, a piece of paper folded on top. Jaskier’s scrawling, elegant script is obvious, and Geralt snatches the note up to read it. 

You need time, and I aim to give it to you. You asked me who I was, and I couldn’t answer. Maybe these can.

Geralt’s gaze goes to the books and he picks the first one up off the top. It’s old, the pages yellowed and the spine protesting when he opens the cover. He looks through it, and most of it is in a language Geralt doesn’t understand. But there, near the end, it switches to common, and Geralt realizes with a shock that these are journals. Journals dating back almost three hundred years exactly. Geralt pours over the journals, wanting to know more, to hear Jaskier’s voice without him speaking. 

The first journals from when he’s young are hopeful, optimistic, and Regis is talked about more than Geralt would have expected. It chronicles Jaskier’s lessons in controlling his emotions around humans, fighting the draw of blood, and hiding what he is. It mentions something about magnetism a few times, but Geralt isn’t sure if that’s referring to a vampire's inherent powers of coercion, so he tucks that away to ask Jaskier about later. Despite how old the journals are, Jaskier’s personality shines through in his words, the small snippets of complaints about Regis being hard on him, the lamenting of passing fashion or music. There’s plenty of music, scraps of paper tucked between pages with the names of songs or little snippets of sheet music that Geralt can’t read. Geralt lights all the candles in his room when it gets dark, unable to put down the journal he has laying in his lap.

Jaskier’s tone shifts around his 200th year, the joy fading from the pages. His words become melancholic, morose, and his journal entries become shorter and shorter. An entire year is missing before Jaskier writes again, and it’s only to lament his long lifespan. To point out how Regis refused to let him go. Geralt’s heart pounds at the insinuation within those words, and he finds himself reading faster and faster. The next entry is a short story about a ball that Jaskier went to, but in it Geralt can feel hope struggling to rise. Jaskier had finally played for an audience for the first time, and had been paid handsomely for it. Music begins to crop up intermittently, songs that Geralt knows vaguely from childhood. Songs that Jaskier wrote, published under a dozen different names. Then near the day that they’d first met in Posada, Jaskier bursts into multicolor life. 

His journals are smaller, but the pages are chock full of stories- embellishments of Geralt’s heroics but also observations. Questions about Geralt that Jaskier never voiced aloud, little notes on what Geralt likes and dislikes. Drawings of him, of Roach, of various plants Geralt had pointed out for collection. The melancholy hanging around his earlier entries falls away entirely, and Geralt remembers half the conversations they’d had, Jaskier scribbling in his journal for no apparent reason. He’s staring at a drawing of his sword, rendered in incredible detail when he flips the page, eyes drawn to the entry. 

Geralt talks in his sleep. Nothing that would embarrass him, but he calls out for his family. I hear him beg sometimes for people I know are dead, beg for people to make it stop. It breaks my heart to hear him this way, so sad, but when I ask in the morning he looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head. I suppose I overstep too much. 

Geralt frowns at that. He had nightmares frequently, but he didn’t know he talked. Didn’t know that Jaskier was even awake to hear him. Though, as a vampire he doesn’t really need sleep, and judging by how full the journals are, he spent more time writing or drawing than ever sleeping. He skims through the newer journals, knowing most of what happened between the two of them, but lingers on the newest entries. The ink is fresher, darker, and they’re dated only a couple weeks ago. 

Geralt took me to a cemetery today. I wanted to call him crazy, because what would we possibly find in a cemetery? But we found more than I could have expected. Regis is here, in Toussaint, and apparently good friends with Geralt. Knowingly. Geralt doesn’t seem to care that he’s a higher vampire, and that should be good, right? So why does my heart pound at the thought of telling him?

More is added later, and Geralt’s heart kicks up in his chest.

He loves me. I know it now, after their conversation while I was carried home. How can I continue this sham, lying to him? I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I have to tell him in the morning when he wakes. If I don’t, I fear I never will, and he deserves better. So much better.

The last entry in the journal is longer than others, and he flips past just to make sure there isn’t anymore before he reads. It almost feels like an invasion to read Jaskier’s thoughts, but they’re all he has at the moment and reading them seems easier than making Jaskier talk. 

He kissed me today. I wanted to tell him, but his touch was so soft and my coward’s heart buckled. His lips are as tender as I’ve always imagined, and I found myself kissing him back before I could tell him to wait. I worry for him when he goes off on his own, and I want nothing more than to yell at him, to shake him and tell him there is no way he’ll lose me to a monster. That the only one in danger is him. He’s the best man that I’ve ever met, and the day that he finally leaves this world is the day that I leave it too. I love him too much to endure after he’s gone, and I only hope that if he goes, I’m there to send him off. To hold him in his last moments, to kiss him and tell him it will all be okay. Oh, to kiss him. I have to do it more, as much as I can, because if I don’t I fear I’ll drive myself mad with wanting. 

 He feels tears escape him then, and he wipes them away quickly, breath shuddering in his chest. He closes the journal, tucking it back with its brothers, and hears soft footsteps on the floor outside his room. They linger by his door, the scent of lavender and sadness drifting to him. Geralt is up and out of bed before he can doubt himself, and he nearly rips the door off the hinges opening it.

“Jaskier.” Geralt breathes, staring wide eyed as Jaskier freezes in the middle of the room, near the door. He looks haggard, dark shadows under his eyes and hair a mess. 

“Geralt. I was just-”

Geralt is moving forward, feet carrying him unconsciously. His hand comes up to cup the back of Jaskier’s head, and he’s kissing the bard without another thought. Jaskier freezes, making a soft, wounded sound against his lips, and Geralt shudders. He’s still moving, doesn’t stop until Jaskier’s back hits the wall and Geralt presses him bodily into it. Jaskier arches up against him then, hands scrabbling to grab onto Geralt’s shoulders as Geralt hoists him up into his arms. Jaskier’s thighs are snug and warm around his hips, and Geralt kisses him harder, lapping into his mouth and tasting the moan that escapes. Jaskier uses a hand to shove them away from the wall while the other buries in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt finds himself stumbling back, holding Jaskier’s full weight in his arms easily. Jaskier’s thighs flex around him, lift him slightly so that Geralt has to tilt his head back to kiss him properly. 

Geralt hears furniture scraping across the ground as Jaskier’s fingers twitch, and he’s guided back into his room, the door slamming and locking behind them. Jaskier kisses him greedily, like this is the last chance he’ll get, and Geralt responds in kind. He presses Jaskier up against the door and Jaskier moans into his mouth, grinding against him and tugging at his hair. Geralt pulls back then, huffing a laugh when Jaskier chases him. 

“Jaskier- hold on-”

“For what?” Jaskier’s voice is breathless, and he looks as gorgeous as he did twenty years ago and Geralt’s heart constricts, threatening to burst. 

“I can’t- do this without- apologizing.”

“You don’t-’

“I do,” Geralt interrupts, cupping Jaskier’s cheek and brushing his thumb along his cheekbone. “I pushed you away. I was in shock and- I was awful to you.”

“It wasn’t as if I didn’t deserve it.” Geralt shakes his head, kissing Jaskier again and pressing their foreheads together. Jaskier pants softly, lips parted, and Geralt can see that his teeth are pointy and sharp, just like Regis’. How he never noticed before with how much Jaskier smiled he doesn’t know. 

“You didn’t. You don’t. I read the journals.” Jaskier’s eyes flick over to the neat stack on the nightstand, and his eyes are scared when he meets Geralt’s gaze again. “I know who you are. Always. It was cruel of me to say anything otherwise. Will you- forgive me?”

“Only if you forgive me for being so foolish for so long.”

“Done.” Jaskier laughs then, relieved, and Geralt tilts his head to kiss the laughter from his lips. This time when they fall in bed together, hands roaming and lips kiss bruised, it’s with new eyes. Geralt explores Jaskier slower, holds him tighter and presses deep into him. Jaskier shakes in his lap, trembling and twitching with each feeling, and Geralt chases the experience of leaving Jaskier speechless. Geralt doesn’t let Jaskier get far, even when they’re done, and he sleeps with Jaskier tucked against his side. 

                                                          -*-

He wakes to slow, soft kisses being pressed into his neck, and he arches to allow Jaskier more room to work. Jaskier hums in thanks, taking his time to explore, and Geralt slides fingertips up and down Jaskier’s side lazily. 

“How did you hide so long?” The question has been in his head for days now and Jaskier chuckles, smiling against Geralt’s skin. He nibbles at a particular sensitive spot, making Geralt gasp, and his fingers press into Jaskier’s ribs in warning. Jaskier kisses the spot in apology, and goes up onto an elbow to look down at Geralt. 

“Magnetism.”

“You mentioned it in your journal.”

“Mhmm. It allows me to cloak my features, make people see what I want them to see.”

“Isn’t that something all higher vampires can do?” Jaskier shakes his head, smiling.

“No. Remember from your bestiary? Each higher vampire has an innate ability-”

“That makes them unique and impossible to classify. Like Dettlaff’s herd mentality.” Geralt can feel sleep sliding from him, and he grows more and more interested when he sees the grin on Jaskier’s face. 

“Precisely.” 

“Explain it?” Geralt phrases it as a question, but he’s curious and it sounds more like a command than anything. Jaskier laughs though, leaning down to kiss Geralt softly before he settles against Geralt’s side. 

“I can manipulate how others see me, how they perceive me. I use it as sparingly as I can, really. It’s a lot of work to keep up, so I don’t go over the top with it. Wrinkles for the most part, because a human who doesn't age is suspicious.”

“You aren’t using it now.” 

“No. I don’t think I have to.” Jaskier’s voice quirks as if asking should I be? and Geralt hums softly. “Let me show you. Give me the name of someone we know.”

“Triss.” Jaskier raises a brow, but Geralt shrugs. “She looks the least like you.”

Geralt sits up with Jaskier, and he watches as that same heat-like shimmer overtakes Jaskier. Only this time it isn’t kept to his face; it envelops him completely, and when it subsides Triss sits before him, curly hair loose around her shoulders and an arm clasped over her chest. Geralt reaches out to tug on a strand of hair, and his lips part in surprise when he actually feels the strands between his fingers. Triss shimmers again, and the illusion slips away, leaving Jaskier in her place. 

“Making people see is one thing. Making them feel, and believe? That’s an art all it’s own.”

“Does that carry over to your music?”

Jaskier scoffs, offended, and he gives Geralt a withering look. Geralt raises his hands in surrender and Jaskier huffs. “No. Music is something that I happen to be good at.”

“I have another question.”

“And you haven’t asked yet?” Geralt hesitates, unsure of if he really wants to, but Jaskier prods him gently and he takes Jaskier’s hand in his. 

“When I woke up, after the fight. Regis was here. He said you needed to clear your head because of the blood.” Jaskier hums, goading him on, and Geralt can feel heat rising up his neck and onto his cheeks. “Do you- have the same problem that Regis does?”

Jaskier is quiet for a moment before he leans forward, placing a soft kiss on Geralt’s neck. “No. I don’t drink if I can help it. It doesn’t appeal to me much.”

“Then, when you uh, licked my wound?”

“That’s different.” Jaskier’s voice is defensive, and Geralt finds heat pooling in his stomach when Jaskier noses at his neck and takes a deep breath. “You appeal to me. Very much so.” 

“And if I- wanted to let you?” Jaskier’s lips quirk in a smile against his skin, and Geralt shudders when sharp teeth just barely prick at his skin. 

“Then we’ll have to empty the house.”

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #higher vampire jaskier #chapter update! #gore #depictions of violence

[hazbincalifornia]

Choice

Chapter 24:  Blitzo goes back to work.

Warnings: As always, mpreg, and an IMP death relating to hanging.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

“Welcome back, Blitzo!” Millie smiled from her seat atop Loona’s desk as Blitzo threw the door to the office open. “I know it’s only been a couple of days, but I’m sure it-”

“Millz, love you to death, but put a sock in it before I do it for you,” he growled, eyes narrow and fists clenched tighter than a politician’s asshole as he chucked his already-drained iced coffee cup into the trash. Loona shuffled in behind him and dropped on the couch, pointedly focusing on her phone screen.

“Geez, who whizzed in your cereal? Something happen?” Millie blinked, bouncing herself up a bit on her seat to keep at his eye level. “Can we help?”

Moxxie emerged from Blitzo's office, shuffling papers. “We’ve managed the cases so far just fine, but I need you to sign off on-”

“You can sign my-” Blitzo sucked in a deep breath, pinching his forehead before letting it out. “Fine, everything’s fine.”

Moxxie raised an eyebrow. “I take it something went wrong. That, or you’re just sex-hungover. That can happen, you know-”

Millie cut him off with a click of her tongue, and his mouth snapped shut. “Moxxie, we don’t need the honeymoon story, I think somethin’s really wrong. He looks all slumpy, like a willow-weed in the r-”

“Can both of you lay off? I don't need the tag-team act right now.” Blitzo wove around Moxxie and his pile of paperwork to enter his office- the one that Moxxie shouldn't have been gallivanting in and out of. “You two deal with the client, I just really, really want to fucking shoot something, so tell me when the deal’s done, alright?”

Millie sucked in her cheek and Moxxie glanced over to her before his eyes flicked back to Blitzo, whose fingers twitched before he slammed the door in their faces.

_______________________

Three sharp knocks on the door. “Sir? It’s time to go, unless you want us to work by ourselves again. We’re more than capable-”

“No, I’m up, I’m up.” Blitzo scrubbed at his eyes- any attempts to fall asleep at his desk and make up for the complete lack of any kind of rest last night had been thoroughly thwarted by his brain going at a hundred miles an hour. (The coffee wasn’t to blame. Probably. He’d fallen asleep on way more than the piddly single one he’d downed in the past.) Mostly, it had been wanting to throttle Stolas mixed with wanting to throttle himself, and then imagining rapidly escalating scenarios of where he might be able to chuck the kid once they popped out. (Currently, he was at ‘trying to slingshot them up to Heaven just to see what they’d do with it.’ In all likelihood, it’d be crucifix batting practice.)

“It’s one that the client said might be suicidal, but she seemed quite self-important and thought that her boyfriend wouldn’t be able to live without her anyway, so I wouldn’t trust that.” The chair creaked as Blitzo got up, but if it was because it was a couple years old and salvaged from the back of the circus’s dump or because of the deadweight around his gut that had officially turned his shirt into a crop top was anybody’s guess. 

As he entered the main room, Moxxie was rubbing a cloth over the musical note on the side of his gun, and Millie fussed with a length of rope while humming to herself.

“I’unno sugar, the client said he was kinda hefty…”

“We have other options if it breaks, and clients often exaggerate that sort of thing. Besides, it just needs to hold him long enough to snap the neck, or at least asphyxiate him. Then they’ll just assume it broke after he died.”

“I’m just saying, it’s more cleanup.”

“Well, this is the kind of rope they can usually get topside, so I say we- oh, good, you’re here.” Moxxie pointed to the paper piled up on the coffee table. “I already did all the hard bits, I just need your signature.”

“Right, right. Signature. Got it. Then we get to go kill something, right?”

Moxxie glanced over at Millie, and the look they exchanged passed way more information than Blitzo’d ever be able to parse. Must be a marriage thing. Must be nice, too. Being able to know what each other was thinking and shit. Real useful.

“Yeah, hun, then we can go kill something. Nothing like some good ol’ violence to get the blood pumping, right?” Millie smiled as Blitzo dashed off a loopy B on each of the papers. Most of them were bills, a few were paychecks that he’d probably just forgotten in the mess of the past few months since Moxxie would know better than to try and slip extras in since it would destroy the budget anyway, there was one approving the repairs for the fire, right, right, this was why he let Moxxie handle all the boring shit, at least it was easy to just sign the dotted line- there. Done.

Blitzo cracked his knuckles, tail snapping in mid-air. “Right! Let’s go fuck somebody up!”

“There we go!” Millie gave a little laugh, punching his arm as Moxxie picked up the Grimoire and opened to the right page before drawing the circle with his free hand. Loona was still settled on the couch behind him, nursing a sports drink from the fridge and half-watching the three of them, head tilted slightly.

Moxxie nodded to the portal, setting the book down on the desk. “Right behind you, sir.”

____________________

The guy didn’t even fight back when they woke him up and strung him up. What a wuss. Hangings were usually fun since they squirmed and made funny noises while trying to break free if the neck didn't snap when the chair dropped, but it wasn’t nearly bloody enough for Blitzo’s taste today. Oh, sure, he’d clawed at the rope that had manufactured nylon sharp enough to carve out blood from under his nails, but his face was purpling at a rapid rate, so they probably didn’t have to do anything other than let gravity finish the job for them, especially considering his kicks were starting to slow anyway.

“You want to go watch some wrestling death-matches when we get back home? I heard they’re bringing the Big Boar in, he’s some sinner who was a lucador back in life. That’ll get some of that killer instinct out.” Millie gave a playful growl as she rummaged around in the target’s belongings. Blitzo watched her hips waggle for a moment before she made a little ‘hmmph’ at a pin-up cowgirl calendar.

“Hmm… tempting, Millz, tempting.”

“Pride wrestling’s more like good ol’ fashioned blood sport, especially when they get the guys that can regenerate limbs!” She ground her fist into her palm with an intense look. Moxxie rolled his eyes as Blitzo leaned against the wall.

“Pl-ease… sa...ve..” the human wheezed out before Moxxie poked at his stomach, and he coughed up blood directly on the little imp before falling limp. Moxxie grimaced, using the man’s somewhat-sweaty bedsheet nearby to clean himself off.

“Perhaps you could invite his highness? I remember him saying something about-”

“Nope,”  Blitzo snapped out immediately. “Not gonna fuckin’ happen.”

Moxxie raised an eyebrow, dropping the sheets. “It was just a suggestion, sir. Had too much of him over the past few days?”

“You could say that,” Blitzo muttered, a hand resting on his stomach, and Millie's eyes softened.

“Aw, you could have said something. He ride you too hard?”

The fingers curled inwards, claws dragging above the surface and lighting it up red, forcing him away from his own skin. “Something along those lines, yeah. You two can drop this anytime, you know.”

“Well, at least the little one will be out of your hair soon,” Moxxie said. “Just a few more months, then I would imagine it’s just visitations now and then. You said that you’d already discussed things with him about custody, right?”

Blitzo swallowed, the hand raising up from his belly to rub at the back of his neck. “So, er, about that-”

The wood groaned as Moxxie took a step forward. “No. You didn’t.”

“Come on, Moxx, he was drooling over it, how the fuck was I supposed to know he wanted me to-”

Moxxie threw up his hands. “What have I told you? To think about what you’re doing! What do you do? Throw yourself-”

“Oh, you think this is my fault?”

“Of course it’s your fault!” Moxxie folded his arms. “What did I say when you were considering keeping it? That it was going to be a big responsibility! You barely can call Loona civilized and she’s somehow a legal adult, what in the seven rings would you fuck up if you had to raise an actual child?”

“Exactly! I don’t fucking want to!” Blitzo spat out with enough venom to make Moxxie’s fingers tighten on his arms. “That’s the point, I thought this was just going to be for a couple of months and then yeah, maybe getting to see them now and then wouldn't suck the worst ass if they turn out cool, but I’ve got other shit to do! I’m a busy guy, and I’d definitely fuck it-”

“Blitzo…” Millie reached out a hand before curling it into a loose fist in midair. “Hun, I’m sorry.”

“Yes. Thank you, Millie.”

“Although…” She gnawed on her lip for a moment, and he groaned.

“Don’t you start-”

“Why did you adopt Loona then? I’m genuinely wonderin’, that’s all. You love her to bits, why’s this different? If you hadn’t done that I wouldn’t be askin’, but… you like being a dad.”

“I…” He trailed off. There was a scuttering in the wall behind him, like a roach or some other grimy-grody pest, and a chill drilled down the vertebrae of his spine as a shiver ran through his bones. Why was the sweat dripping down his side cold, like condensation on the side of a frozen water bottle? Damned drafty house. “I wanted to be there for somebody, somebody that I chose to be, and that won't-" He cleared his throat, shaking his head to start over. "Anyway, she’s a good kid who's figuring her shit out and I like hanging out with her. I'm glad to be her dad. That's different."

“Why would this be so bad, then?” Millie repeated. 

Blitzo scoffed. “ ‘Cause I got Loona when she was older and I had to go through a buncha bullshit to sign the papers instead of just getting nutted in and having it sprung on me? That was an active effort, and teenagers are basically an entirely different species from babies, I’ve only had to clean up her shit a couple of times-”

“Did not need to know that,” Moxxie muttered.

“-Shut up Moxxie, but anyway, point is, Loonie was already walking and talking and has her own tastes and shit, most babies are just worthless little parasites until they’re, like, ten. I was a fuckin’ miserable little thing to deal with according to literally fucking everybody, so why the fuck would I want to inflict that on myself when I can help somebody that’s already gotten through most of the annoying phase? Plus, her sense of fashion kicks ass. Babies can't pick you out dope outfits." His tail snaked up and tapped his shoulder. "Point to me, excellent reasoning.”

“She’s still your daughter, and you still have to deal with a lot from-” Millie tried to continue, but Blitzo held up a hand.

“Look, it’s just different, okay? The apartment’s crowded enough. I’ll figure this out somehow.”

“...If you’re sure,” Millie said, shifting her weight on the creaky floorboards. “How did the prince take it?”

“Ugh, you really think I want to get deep into his little wah-wah I-thought-you-knew bullshittery?” Blitzo snorted. “I don’t give a shit what he thinks, he should have been upfront about the fact that I was going to be ruining both me and the squirt’s life instead of just being a fuckin’ incubator for cash. End of story.”

There was a nudge from inside of him that was much sharper than usual, and Blitzo’s eyes snapped down.

“Did you just fuckin’ bite me?”

#helluva boss #one time #shadow writes stuff #helluva mpreg #daddy blitzo

[crowleyellestair]

Imagine being Jaskier’s Destiny

AN/// I hope everything is correct cause I wrote this kind of fast and I’ve never tried this format before, so I hope you guys like it

Destiny was an interesting thing that strikes fear into the hearts of everyone on the continent

Jaskier had always believed in it, like most

He had heard the stories of destiny catching up with those who don’t listen to it and he saw firsthand what happened at the party of the Cintra

Sometimes his mind wandered to Geralt’s attitude towards fate. What will happen to his friend if he decides to ignore his child surprise?

He trusted the Witcher with his life and lute, but would he be powerful enough to stand against the stars?

After months of worrying about his friend, he started to worry about his own destiny

Was he destined to fame and love or heartbreak?

A companion to travel through life with, other than Geralt, or will he die alone?

But one day he was granted more answers than he had before

Jaskier had been with Roach as Geralt had gone off in the woods to hunt for a witch that he was commissioned to capture

He wasn’t supposed to kill her, but she had apparently skipped out on paying back a local shop for supplies she took

Dandelion thought he spotted something out of the corner of his eye

So naturally he went to go look at it

But nothing was there

Until something caught his eye again farther into the woods

After a while he was brought to a cabin

It was a quaint little place, that was in the middle of the woods, so he assumed it belonged to who they were looking for

The towns folk all said she was nice, but she rarely listened to humans or did what they asked, thus the need for the Witcher

Jaskier had knocked and was met with a kind, old face that welcomed him in

She had spouted nonsense until he had him sitting across from her at the table in the middle of the room

The woman had grabbed his hand and her eyes glazed over

“A warrior wallowing will wander into your arms”

“That’s quite the alliteration-.” Her hand clamped harder and his normal smile dropped from his face

“It’s just past tomorrow’s dawn where she has unknowingly been waiting. The siren will capture her heart just as her heart will capture the music man.”

Now, Jaskier had no idea what destiny was going to give him, or how he was going to recieve it, but he assumed this might be it

After his hand was released with a pat, the woman asked if he wanted some pie, to which he accepted

Geralt had busted through the door an hour later

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt, you are just in time. Margery was about to tell me about the ghoul that had tried to fight a griffin. Now, I couldn’t say if she is lying or not, but it has made for a great story.”

He hadn’t been really listening to what she had been saying, just as she never listened to any of the questions he had

He was too focused on the wording of her statement

Was he going to lose his destiny to a creatrue right after he fell in love with her?

That’s a shitty destiny

Geralt had gotten the lady to listen to him and they made their way back to Roach, then the town

It had taken most of the night to find their way back out of the forest

So by the time they had reached the tavern, the sun broke the tree line and basked the three of them in gold

And Jaskier was  excited

Because it was tomorrow’s dawn

But nothing came of it

He performed his heart out, but nobody stood out to him, and almost everyone in the room was married or was dissinterested in the man

A year past

He had forgotten about it, really

Until Geralt was injured and out of medicine and they had to stop in town, despite their original plan of traveling through the night

“Welcome to ‘Tomorrow’s Dawn’. ‘Ow can I ‘elp you?” The bartkeeper rasped

Despite the man’s tone, Jaskier was taken back to the woods and the old, kind woman

So Jaskier brushed him off, let Geralt tend to himself for once, and picked up his lute

He felt bad for Geralt having to deal with the man himself

But he had to know

He was in the thick of it, being more in tune with the audience more than usual

And that riled them up

People were dancing and singing along, but his attention was drawn to a figure plopping down in the corner of the room

The woman had dropped her hood to show a dirtied face

It looked as though this person had been in a recent fight, and her action of shouldering her broad sword off her back and onto the table helped furthure the assumption

She looked like a warrior

That’s when he noticed shining eyes focused soley on him

After he had finished the song, he pushed through people to get to her table

She put up the act of being bothered by his presence, but somehow

Somehow

He knew that she was lying, so he proceeded to sit

“You wouldn’t have been waiting, by chance, for something recently. Have you been?” Confusion struck her

“Yes?” There was a pause so she continued. “I was waiting to walk my friend home. It’s not safe outdoors at night by one’s self. As I expected, we had company. It was just past-.”

“Just past Tomorrow’s Dawn.”

“I mean, I guess it could be considered ‘just past’, but I was going to say the library. It’s more like a couple streets away, which holds many establishments in between, but sure. Just past.” Jaskier had let out a laugh at her sass, her playful attitude relieving him somehow

“And what could I call a hero like yourself?” She had also let out a small chuckle and a brief smile that had his heart doing flips

“I was merely being a friend. Y/n.”

The name had felt so right

“I’m-.”

“Jaskier. I know. I’ve heard of the Witcher and his famous bard. I must admit, the stories of your voice don’t give you credit. You could have easily been mistaken for a siren considering how wrapped up I was in your performance.”

Oh

Masterlist I have a few more Jaskier fics you should check out!

#jaskier imagine #jaskier x reader #witcher imagine #dandelion x reader

[mr-geraskier]

could you write something, like, geralt having a mental breakdown and being comforted by jaskier?

Can I just say I have no idea what the heck happened as I was writing?

---------------Jaskier grabs Geralt’s arm once again, trying to pull him up on his feet. “Geralt get up and let’s move. You’re gonna get sick if you stay in the rain plus your wounds will be infected. You’ve already lost a lot of o blood.”

“I pushed all of you away! Yennefer, Ciri, you! I hurt you once and I can hurt you again. Look at me! I’m a monster!”

Jaskier stops pulling Geralt’s arm and drops onto his knees behind the witcher. “You are not a monster!”

The rain is cold, almost freezing against Geralt’s skin. It soaks his hair making his white hair look grey. His clothes are ripped from the last monster he fought three days ago and he hasn’t found a town to replace them. He feels week, hungry, and lost.

Months ago Yennefer took Ciri and ran away. Geralt chased them for weeks before coming to terms that Yennefer was going to protect Ciri and that he can trust her. Still, he worries about both of them and the last two months have been hell due to him not being able to sleep because of how much he’s thought about Yen and Ciri getting hurt. The past few times he’s been able to nap he gets a glimpse of Jaskier singing to him and once he wakes up guilt floods over his body.  

A month ago he made the decision to search for his missing bard and apologize for his careless words. So far, there’s been no luck finding Jaskier. The hope in Geralt’s head is disappearing rapidly as he walks down the muddy path with Roach by his side. The wind blows in Geralt’s face making him squint his eyes. He walks like this for about thirty minutes before seeing lights and smoke in the distance.

As he continues to walk he notices a small town half a mile away from him. People begin to scream, but not at Geralt, something bigger. Kids cry and run to their mothers who also run for their lives. Finally, Geralt catches a look at the cause of the chaos amongst the town. A monster stands in the middle of the road. Geralt cant makes out what it is, whether it was just because of the rain or because he hasn’t slept for weeks. Either way, he begins to run towards the town, pulling his sword free he lifts it near his side and thrust the sword at the monster, only missing by a hair. ---Word flys a monster has entered into town and has already killed one man. Everyone in the tavern begins to panic, running around the room, watching through windows, running out the doors. Jaskier’s eyes dart around the room at the mess everyone is making. He’s about to join them until he hears mentions of a witcher. Jaskier’s eyes widen and he runs to the doors, pushing through the men and women in his way.

He dashes out the doors and runs to the sound of screams. Why is he doing this? Geralt made it obvious that he doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. It might not even be the white-haired witcher. It could be any witcher that happened to walk through a town just to fight a monster. Then Jaskier could go back to his rented room. He can go back right now if he really wanted to, but what if it is Geralt. What is he gonna do then? Run up to him and hug him? There is no possibility of that happening. If it did happen he would be pushed away and crushed just like last time. Screw Geralt. But what if it was him? All these thoughts flood through Jaskier’s head as he runs. He makes his way through allies and around panicking townsfolk until his eyes lay upon the creature. He doesn’t recognize the beast from any of his and Geralt’s road trips around the land. Geralt, that’s why he ran all this way into danger. Just to see if the witcher everyone mentioned was, in fact, the White Wolf.

Grabbing a nearby fruit cart, the monster throws it down the road at the man. Jaskier watches the monster before sticking his head out of the ally and gazing his eyes upon Geralt of Rivia.

Hundreds of emotions and thoughts run through his head as he watches both the monster and Geralt fight. The monster goes to grab Geralt but he swiftly uses his sword to chop the monster’s head clean off.

As the rain still falls Geralt stands in the road covered in blood.

Jaskier doesn’t look away from the man only thirty feet away from him. The only words he’s had nightmares about for months now plays through his head. “If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.” These harmful words are on repeat in his head as he watches the witcher sway back and forth in the road. He turns around, not wanting to make another mistake, but before he can walk away he hears a thud behind him. Geralt has fallen to his knees and yells “Fuck”.---Geralt’s whole body is shaking and he can’t tell if it’s from the cold rain or from something more internal. He bends down and screams into his chest.

“WHY IS THIS IT? WHY IS THIS THE WAY MY LIVE IS SUPPOSED TO GO?”

He grabs his sword and begins to stab the creature in front of him over and over again before finally throwing it across the road from him.

“THIS IS MY DESTINY? THIS IS WHAT I MUST DO FOR THE REST OF MY FUCKING LIFE? I DON’T WANT THIS!”

Tears begin to fall from his eyes and he slowly sinks into himself. He falls over on to the muddy grown, shaking even harder now from his sobs. “Why can’t someone just off me already and end my suffering?”

A hand grabs hold of Geralt’s arm and tries to lift him up. He pushes the person away from him, not wanting help up.

“Oh no, we are not gonna be doing this shit again. Get the fuck up and let’s go.” Jaskier demands.Geralt looks up at Jaskier and stops shaking. He shakes his head and averts his gaze from Jaskier’s. “Don’t touch me. All I’ve ever done is hurt you. I can’t do it anymore.”No one has found them yet even though they are in the center of the road. Good thing for the witcher or else his reputation would be ruined.

“You, Geralt of Rivia, are no monster! No, a monster is emotionless. They feel nothing for others as they attack and kill people around them. A monster doesn’t c-care for anything they are doing or anything they have done. You, Geralt, are no monster. Y-you are a man, one that deserves nothing more than a beating and a punch in the face goodbye. A monster has no care in the world. Well, don’t worry because you care! Just not about-- me. You know what it’s like to have a broken heart, yet you broke mine without another thought and you let me walk away! I walked for days, scared, and alone! I should beat you now while you are weak and vulnerable!”

Tears fall down Jaskier’s face making his blue eyes even bluer. Geralt refuses to look away from the young man. The pain in his voice fueling Geralt’s guilt over the past months.

“Now, get the fuck up before I change my mind about helping you.” Jaskier grabs Geralt’s arm once again, ready to fight but Geralt lets him help him up. They walk to the tavern, where Jaskier’s rented room is located.---Jaskier sits on a stool, watching out the window. Geralt is sitting quietly in the bath, being forced to wash the mud and blood off his body. Neither of them has said anything since Jaskier nearly forced him in the tub of water. Geralt feels the need to say something. He is terrible with words though.

“Thank you.” Geralt looks over to Jaskier, some sort of hope in his eyes.

Jaskier says nothing, just watches the rain slide down the glass of the window.“You helped me, even though I didn’t want it. Even when you didn’t want to.” Geralt tries again. Longing for some kind of sign of forgiveness.

Jaskier shifts in his seat but still doesn’t make an attempt to speak to the witcher.

Geralt sighs and sinks down into the water. He thinks about what Jaskier said earlier. About him breaking his heart. “Jaskier.-----I’m sorry.” Geralt watches Jaskier’s eyes flick over to him and then back to the window. “I truly am. You wouldn’t believe the shit I’ve done just to find you and say that.” Jaskier shrugs his shoulders making Geralt smile slightly. “Yes, I probably deserved everything that did happen to me. And you were right, I am just a man. Men are cruel and harmful and I never meant to hurt you like I did that day.” Geralt’s yellow eyes meet Jaskier’s blue ones. “I know I broke your heart. And I’ve thought of that every day since you walked away from me on that mountain. Haven’t been able to sleep lately, because all I ever dream about is your beautiful broken voice singing to me.” Jaskier blushes at the last words and Geralt smiles.

“Why did you say all that stuff out there? I heard you yelling before I came to get you.” Jaskier’s eyes never leave Geralt’s, not wanting to let go again.

“I’m weak. I was giving up on finding you before I walk to your town and fought the beast. Yennefer and Ciri ran away from me and after that, it was just me and Roach. Ciri was my destiny and when Yen took her I felt like all I’ve done these past years have been for nothing. Then I came to the conclusion that even though my destiny was completed, I was satisfied with you by my side. So, I traveled all this way to find you. I don’ just want to kill monsters for coin anymore. I want to travel with you.”

Jaskier reaches out slowly and grabs Geralt’s hand. Geralt, without hesitating grips his hand and pulls Jaskier closer to him. Jaskier land on his knees next to the tub and they sit there, silent. Geralt leans forward and rests his forehead against Jaskier’s and closes his eyes.

“Can we go to the coast now?” Geralt asks in a whisper.

“Only if you never push me away again.”

“Deal.”

#geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #jaskier x geralt #Jaskier #ask #ask me literally anything

[obsidianfr3sk]

The Origins (Chapter 6)

Summary:  Before the Renegades put an end to the Age of Anarchy, they were six kids trying to survive day by day in a city ruled by chaos and desolation. Is there a space for hope and kindness somewhere in Gatlon City? Maybe.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123756/chapters/62695558

Tag list: @nodrianbcyes @blueraspberry-official @healing-winston-pratt @plain-jane-mclain @novas-tunnel-of-anxiety @novas-egg-beater @callumtreadwell

Notes at the end of the capter

The world we’re gonna make

Age of Anarchy

Year 10

After going to the comic shop, they walked a mile to reach Joe's Basket. Hugh opened the door and smiled at the man behind the counter. That apparently innocent move gave him an excuse to leave the door open, so an invisible Simon could enter without raising suspicions.

Follow the routine.

He looked at the few products that remained on the shelves. Probably the owner could not afford more merchandise or the suppliers were robbed. Hugh frequently saw cases of trucks carrying food being attacked by gangs or by Anarchists.

“Not that there is much difference between one and the other,” his aunt once said.

(Hugh repeated the same sentence a few days ago, and Simon found it “dangerously hilarious”.)

The man behind the counter was following him with his gaze as if he suspected Hugh was going to steal something. Most countermen did the same when he came in. They took advantage of that mistrust. Simon went to the other end of the store and put everything he could find (that was among the things allowed to steal) into his backpack, while Hugh distracted them.

He felt an invisible hand touch his shoulder. It was his signal to buy something and get the hell out of there. They never ended a robbery without buying something.

Hugh took a chocolate bar and put it on the counter.

“Two dollars.”

He took out the coins he had in his jacket pocket. Eighty cents.

“I don't have enough.” He smiled at him uncomfortably and turned around. “Sorry for the inconvenience”

“How is your aunt?” he asked him.

Hugh was caught off guard by that question.

“She was your aunt, wasn't she? The lady you came with the other time.”

He could hear Simon thinking, “How could you be such an idiot?”

“Yes. She is fine.”

“I'm glad that she's recovered.”

“She hasn't,” he blurted out.

“What do you mean?”

He didn't know why he had said that.

“We don’t know what she has,” he whispered.

“Why are you smiling?” the counterman asked, disturbed.

“Sorry.” Hugh put on a serious face again. “It's a defense mechanism.”

The counterman nodded.

“I understand. No one can afford medical care these days. Not like there's a lot of hospitals left anyways.”

Hugh laughed. Even if they could afford a hospital, he knew his aunt wouldn’t want to go. “Don't worry, honey, I'll be all right. I'm too stubborn to die.”

“Take the chocolate.”

“No, I couldn't.”

“Don't worry, no one's buying them. You are the first customer I've had today.”

“Really? It seems like everyone does their shopping here.”

“Roaches do,” he replied. “They came last night, took a lot, and paid nothing if you know what I mean.”

Hugh knew what he meant.

“Sorry.”

Simon slapped him on the shoulder.

“Take the chocolate,” insisted the man from the counter. “And tell your aunt I say hello.”

Hugh took it. He would definitely tell his aunt. Surely she would be happy to know the counterman had remembered her.

“Our family has always been characterized by our beauty,” she would say, arranging his blonde curls. It was the same line she said every time someone remembered her name or paid her a vague compliment about her appearance. “When you grow up, you will have all the girls behind you.”

Heather Everhart always was talking about what was going to happen when Hugh grew up. When he was little, she told him “I promise that when you grow up, I’ll tell you everything about your parents.” Fortunately, his aunt Heather wasn’t known as someone who didn’t keep her promises, so during his fourteenth birthday, Hugh walked the streets of Gatlon City, holding his aunt's arm, and wondering if she was taking him to a place where the answers about his past were. All those years, his aunt Heather refused to respond to his questions about them.

And now, he may finally know where he came from.

After a long walk, they arrived at the richest neighborhood in Gatlon City. It wasn’t anything like he had imagined. Yeah, it seemed a lot better than where he lived, but most of the houses were completely abandoned. His aunt walked swiftly without even stopping to admire the pretty houses that remained. Hugh forced himself to follow her example and keep going.

They finally stopped in front of the biggest mansion Hugh had ever seen. Its walls were covered by mold and climbing plants, the windows had been shattered, and the doors were stolen.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

His aunt Heather pointed at the mailbox. Hugh removed the dust that covered it and revealed the name carved on it.

Everhart.

“Sit down, Hugh."

"Here in the sidewalk?"

"Yes. Don't worry about messing your clothes." He hesitated. The sidewalk looked unclean and dusty, and he was wearing his newest pair of jeans. "Come on, honey, it's not like you do your laundry."

He finally did it. Anything to get the answer he wanted.

Heather and Hugh Everhart were the richest and most popular kids at school. They did everything together, not only because they were twins, but they were also best friends.  Their paths divided when they went to college. She majored in theatre and he studied "something to do with politics".  Sometimes he made fun of her for choosing to pursue an art-related career, but she didn't care. Heather loved being a costume designer and was having a lot of work offers from Broadway shows.

When Hugh Everhart became mayor of Gatlon City, the power he now had started to change him, and his views about the prodigies did too. He started a campaign against them, even going as far as to start segregating public spaces and reinforcing the rule against prodigies attending to the same school as non-prodigies.

“It was a rule that already existed, but no one took it as seriously, and some school districts turned a blind eye when they discovered a child was a prodigy,” his aunt explained.

Then, Hugh asked about his mother.

“Oh, Anna was a friend of mine. She played the main role and was the most beautiful woman in the room. I introduced her to your father during the first Broadway productions I worked on. I will always regret that night,” she said. “They felt in love pretty quickly, got married the next year, and then you arrived.” Her smile disappeared. “Anna hadn’t been honest with your dad though.”

“Did she cheat on him?”

“No! No, no, no. Something worse. She didn’t tell him she was a prodigy until you were born.”

Hugh was starting to know how the story was going to end. He wanted her to stop, but at the same time, he wanted to know the truth, even if it hurt him.

So he let her finish.

“Your dad was pissed. He didn’t want anything to do with you, so he forced Anna to let you on my porch. The only thing she told me was she wanted you to be named after your father. Two days later, she died.”

“Did he kill her?”

Suddenly, his aunt stood up, took him by the arm, and started to get away from the house as fast as possible.

“Someone’s watching us,” she whispered.

Hugh looked at one of the houses. In its garden, a young woman was watching them go. They made eye contact, and she smiled. Her hair was curly and her skin was dark and soft. Hugh tried to smile back, but his aunt didn’t let him.

“Don’t look at her." She waited until they were out of the neighborhood to keep talking. “Look, I don’t know if he killed her," she mumbled. "They said it was suicide, and Anna had some problems, but your father and I never spoke again after that.”

Hugh didn’t like to think about his parents now. But it didn't matter, his family was perfect just the way it was. He, his aunt... and Simon.

Simon's dad had just left for work when they arrived. His sister was sitting in the living room, mesmerized by the old television they had. Mr. Westwood had managed to fix an old DVD player and Sophie was delighted with the cartoons she was now able to watch. They had kept the TV at low volume though. That way, the neighbors wouldn’t found out that they had a TV and wanted to break in.

“I'm here, Sophie,” Simon announced.

Sophie turned to see them. Hugh greeted her and she greeted him back. Then, he followed Simon into the basement.

“You shouldn't have stayed that long,” Simon said, dropping his backpack on the floor.

“It would have been more suspicious if it seemed like I was in a hurry to leave, don't you think?” he answered.

“We won’t go back there,” said Simon. “You’ll be recognized again.”

“You're right. I'm too handsome to be forgotten.”

“Nice. I think I'll keep your share of the loot just for that comment.”

“What do we have today?”

Five cans of beans, two of vegetables, one loaf of old bread, and three small boxes of pear juice.

When he first met Simon, Hugh was shocked to hear him say, “Now that I'm a prodigy, I'll be able to steal better.” First, he laughed, thinking it was a joke, but Simon remained serious.

Shortly afterward, his aunt's hand-made carpet business started to lose clients. All the money they could get was used to pay the bills. Hugh had never been so hungry in his life, so he asked Simon if he could help him get food.

“I could,” he replied with a shrug, "but you wouldn't like the way I get food, and I don't have any other idea."

“I will love any idea you have.”

Even if it means stealing.

“You will call the police if I tell you.”

“What police?” Hugh asked.

That the first time he heard Simon’s laugh. It was as wonderful as the first time he saw him smile.

“It's Sophie's birthday tomorrow, so I want the juice boxes,” Simon said. “It’ll be my gift”

Hugh did not answer. He still had his mind on Joe's Basket.

The store was empty because the Roaches were there. He imagined the terror the man behind the counter must have felt. Had a gun been pointed at his head? Did they hit him? Did they hurt him in any way? Did they threaten his family?

How long would it take to realize that things were missing from the shelves? Some never did, but once a lady noticed a bag of flour was missing as soon as they left her store. She grabbed Hugh's arm and demanded that he return what he had stolen from her. Luckily, Simon was carrying everything, and no one could see him. After several screams and threats, Hugh managed to convince the lady that he had taken nothing and let him go.

The man at the counter had no idea what he was doing when he gave him that free chocolate bar. He was giving his merchandise to a thief. Surely he would feel betrayed. He had had an act of kindness with someone, and that was how they paid him?

“Well, you can keep one box of pear juice,” said Simon, holding it out to him, “and a half loaf of bread. I would prefer that you keep all the vegetables. Sophie makes a big fuss when it's the only thing to eat.”

Hugh got out of his thoughts and took the chocolate out of his pocket.

“Here. It's for you."

Simon did not hesitate to accept it. He broke it in half and gave him the largest piece. It was a great sacrifice on his part because Simon loved everything that had chocolate. It was difficult to get, but every time Hugh saw it in a store, he bought a bar for Simon, and every time, Simon share it with him.

He wiped away the remnants of candy on his pants before taking the new Wonder Man number out of the paper bag. He sat down on one of the old cushions in the corner of the basement and began to read it.

Simon gazed at him with curiosity. Hugh noticed it but said nothing. He knew that Simon had no interest in the plot of The Fantastic Adventures of Wonder Man. He preferred The Scarlet Enchantress and the Phantom Feline, and read nothing but that, although they no longer produced any more numbers. Its creator had been killed after drawing the Scarlet Enchantress attacking Ace Anarchy with an energy hit.

Simon sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Why are you so quiet?” he asked.

“I'm not.”

“Does it have something to do with the Roaches?”

He adjusted his glasses. They were already starting to cause excruciating headaches. Hugh really needed new ones.

“I do not like it either.”

“I know,” said Hugh. “I've never thought otherwise.”

“Well, you have a very curious way of showing it.”

Hugh opened one of the pear juices and raised his eyebrows.

“There is something you don't know about me, Westwood.”

“What thing, Everhart?” he asked with a frown.

He left the juice on one side and the comic book on the other. Then, he went to the shelf where they kept a box full of the comics they bought. Hugh took out the blue mask of Wonder Man his aunt made for him and put it on with a mysterious air, cautious so that Simon did not see him doing it.

“Hugh—”

“I'm not Hugh... I'm Wonder Man!” he exclaimed turning around. “And your kingdom of chaos is over!”

Simon was startled, but he immediately started to laugh and took his black Phantom Feline mask from the box. He put it on awkwardly as he climbed onto the table and picked up a red cloth to use as a cape.

“I would like to see you try it, Wonder Man,” Simon purred mysteriously covering his face with the cape. “But you will have to catch me first.”

Hugh created handcuffs with his powers and Simon vanished.

Silence invaded the room. He had to be very aware of each sound. Even the slightest movement could give away Simon's position and make Hugh the winner of the fight for Gatlon City that was unfolding inside their heads.

Hugh was the one who came up with the game. It all started because they argued over who would win in a fight: Wonder Man or the Phantom Feline. Simon was convinced that the Phantom Feline would end Wonder Man in a matter of seconds, because “Wonder Man was too stupid to find Phantom Feline when he turned invisible.” Hugh replied that the Wonder Man was extremely intelligent and that the Phantom Cat was no match for him.

“And I will prove it to you.”

Since then, they put on their masks and pretended to be Wonder Man and Phantom Feline whenever one of them was sad or upset. Like when Hugh's aunt was in bed for three days and her fever did not go down, or when Simon's father lost one of his many jobs and refused to speak to his children.

“Don't you think you're a little old to play like that?” Mr. Westwood asked them.

“Not at all,” they replied at the same time.

Hugh heard a rustle to his left. He turned, and before he could react, the handcuffs were snatched from his hand and he was thrown onto the cushions in the corner.

Simon put him the handcuffs and place his foot on Hugh’s chest.

“And the Phantom Feline takes control of Gatlon City in record time!” he exclaimed with an evil laugh.

“I will end with you, villain!” Hugh growled.

Simon took his razor out of his pocket and placed it just above the heart.

“Any last words?”

Hugh looked at him with determination. “Long live to justice.”

Simon nodded and stabbed him. The razor blade fell at the same time that Hugh played dead.

“Evil has triumphed. It always does,” Simon whispered, staring into the distance dramatically.

Hugh turned to look at the back cover of the comic book he'd left on the floor.

He was nothing like him. Wonder Man was stronger, taller, and did not wear glasses that were not from his graduation. He had dark skin and brown eyes, hiding his identity behind a blue mask and a tight uniform. On the back cover, he stood on a pile of villains defeated by him, his chin up and a silver spear nailed to Ace Anarchy's iconic gold helmet.

His blood went to his feet.

“Simon—“

“I saw it too,” he replied. He knelt and removed the handcuffs. “Now you will no longer find out what happened to Wonder Man at the end of the story.”

Hugh kept staring at that image. The spear. The helmet.

And he smiled.

“In the end, he beats Ace Anarchy.”

“Hugh, accept it. There will be no end,” said Simon, shaking his head. “He will never beat Ace Anarchy.”

“Maybe he doesn't,” Hugh muttered. “But what if we did?”

The End.

Now, you may be all like “wut obsi tf is this the end???” I mean, the end of this fic?? yeah. but the end of this the obsiverse??? i don’t think so bitch. this month i’ll be posting the first chapter of a new fic, Rise of the Renegades, which is going to be a continuation of The Origins. It’ll be all about the first year of the guys as the Renegades, how they formed, their fisrt missions, and maybe their first encounter with Ace:))) don’t wanna give spoiler tho. 

I hope you support the continution as much as you supported this fic. Seriously all the comments and tags mean a lot to me. I’m not use to sharing my writing, at least not outside school work, so it's great to know that people all over the world like what I do. Los adoro <3 Keep it weird.

Also all the chapter titles were from the song A Million Dreams it was one of the main inspirations for this work

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #renegades trilogy #hugh everhart #simon westwood #fanfic #the origins #ao3

[x-reader-theater]

Hold me Tight, for the Days are Long {5}

Relationship: Geralt of Rivia X Male!Disabled!Reader

Summary: Pain is only temporary, especially in the company of those you like. 

Warnings: Cursing, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Word Count: 1866 words

A/N: So, guess who’s been dead? Me, that’s who. I had a very very bad illness that just wasn’t going away but I’m not dead anymore! Tomorrow I should be posting the conclusion to this series but don’t expect anything else from me in a while. I just started up school again which means I don’t want to write anything for myself. Pretty much all my creativeness is going towards school work. I guess I can reveal that I’ve had ideas for a third and final story, I don’t think that’s a secret. I’ve probably seen it before. Anyways, please like, reblog, and comment! I may not reply but I always read every single comment and I look through the tags of reblogs so if you say something, I’ll see it! Without further ado, here’s chapter 5 of  Hold me Tight, for the Days are Long

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Chapter 5: Just Tell me You Arrogant Prick. 

Your fingers come back to you first. Your entire body is tingling, except for your fingers. You feel them moving, cracking from their lack of use. You have no idea how long you've been out to elicit that reaction. 

Next are your toes. You feel them wiggle, not within the confines of your boots, but against a blanket or a sheet of some kind. 

Then, your ankles and wrists, up through your arms and your legs to your hips and shoulders. You feel your whole right arm spasm and you almost think your left arm should as well. That's when you remember what happened you groan in pain as flashes of it come back to you, one by one. 

You hear something moving beside you and a very recognizable, deep voice. While being recognizable to you, you can't quite place it. 

"[Y/N]? [Y/N], can you hear me?" the voice calls out. You feel whoever it is grab your hand. They're not soft, like you're expecting, but rough, calloused, and so achingly familiar. 

You groan again, not in answer but in pain. Your eyes shoot open as your hand grabs for your side but you squeeze them shut again once the light and pain hits. 

Another hand holds down your silver arm, as well as the one of flesh attached to you. You struggle, tossing yourself side to side on the bed you're on, trying to throw your assailant off you, but it's no use. They're stronger than you in a lot of ways. And, your side in killing you right about now. 

So, you stop. You go limp. And you let your eyes flutter open. 

Leaning over you, his long white hair hanging around his face, let out of its' signature half-up look, is Geralt. His yellow eyes are wild, undone, and, even, a little bit nervous. 

Scratch that. A lot a bit nervous. 

"Geralt?" you manage to squeak out. Your voice is gone. Without any water, you can barely hear your voice through the cracks. 

Geralt lets go of your left arm and places his hand on top of his other, which is still holding onto your hand. "[Y/N]..." His voice is soft, softer than you've ever heard it. It's kind, kinder than you think he's ever been in his entire life. It's also so… perfect. 

You smile something small, like a secret held between the two of you, and say through cracked lips and shaking voice, "It seems I was the damsel in need of rescuing, Geralt." 

He laughs at that, almost certainly thinking back to when you saved him before, all those years ago in that cave. It felt like a lifetime ago. 

And honestly, it was. 

You were a different person then. And so was Geralt. You wanted things so badly in your life and Geralt showed you the truth. But you also brought out a side to him he doesn't show much anymore. There was a playfulness to him that he hides away. Maybe it got someone hurt. Maybe it got him hurt. You don't know. But that playfulness is gone. Replacing it is a hardness in his eyes you've never known before. 

But you can't say you haven't changed. Your own playfulness is diminished. You've found a path you wish to stay on, something you make good money doing and even though you haven’t had your hardships, you're still alive to tell the tale. You know you would be dead without Geralt there to save you, and your heart clenches at that. And it's at that moment you realize you are so incredibly, hopelessly in love with Geralt of Rivia. 

And that scares you. 

"Could you get me some water?" you ask quietly, and Geralt just nods and gets you his waterskin, pouring it into your mouth when your arms don't move like you want them to. Your mind is sluggish as you drink your water, but just as soon as it's given, it's taken away from you. You sigh contentedly and say quietly, "Thank you, Geralt of the Witchers," before your eyes close and you're asleep once more. 

You don't hear what Geralt says to you before you drift off into your dreamless sleep. 

--

You wake up slowly this time, but you can also feel your whole body again. Not just the pain but also the way the scratchy blanket feels on your skin, how the bedroll you're on presses up against you, and against the ground. It's not comfortable by any stretch of the word. But it's livable. 

You start to sit up with a groan and Geralt reaches out his hands to help you. You feel them, on the small of your back, on your right forearm. You look around then back up into his eyes. You smile at him and say quietly, “Thank you.” He just smiles and nods. You look around slightly, still trying to get your bearings, and you say to Geralt, “Where’s Jaskier?” 

“Right here,” Jaskier says from behind you. You go to look but hiss in pain when you contort your body. He sounds bored like he doesn’t want to be here. 

You let Geralt help you turn around so you’re facing him. You ask him, “How are you? Didn’t get caught up in the fight I see.” It sounds snarkier than you intended, and you just hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

Your hopes don't come true. 

"Yes well, we can't all be stupid…" he says. Geralt growls and goes to say something, but you hold up your hand. His mouth closes. 

"No. We can't. Even I'm not that good. Did you hear my rib when it cracked?" you ask. You see him start to relax a bit, his walls falling slightly. "You're useful Jaskier." 

He smiles at that. "I applied your healing salve to your ribs…" 

You smile. "So that's why I was so numb when I first woke up!" you exclaim. "Thank you, Jaskier. You've done more for me than you'll know." 

You know it won't repair your relationship with him, what little you had in the first place, but it's a start. 

"I need to get back into town, collect onna payment I'm owed…" you say, moving to get up slowly. Geralt doesn't let you. His grip on your arm tightens. 

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Geralt asks quietly. 

You shrug. "Don't really have much of a choice, now do I?" 

Geralt leans in close, his nose so close you can feel him exhaling through it. "But you do. Run away. Forget this life. Don't hurt yourself anymore." 

You look at him. You don't say anything. You just watch his eyes. His yellow eyes that had encapsulated you all that time ago. Now, they seemed dull. Without life. Uninspired. He doesn't have the motivation for life anymore. He's living life just like you. 

"And what about you? Huh? Why haven't you run away?" You move closer to him, if that's even possible. You feel the breath from his lips on yours. You squint your eyes as his get wider. "What about you? Why haven't you done anything? Why haven't you left?" 

"Because I'm a Witcher. I can't just walk away!" he exclaims. 

"And neither can I," you say calmly, sitting up more, meaning you get even more in Geralt's face. "I'm already too deep in this to let go. Same as you." You reach out a place a hand on his arm. "But there's no way I'm leaving you again." 

Geralt just watches you, not saying anything, not doing anything. There's something in his eyes you haven't seen in a very long time. It's something you yourself have lost sight of. You thought you would never see it again. 

You see hope. 

"Oh my gods," you hear Jaskier groan next to you two. "Just kiss already!" 

Geralt blushes slightly and looks away, something you definitely have never seen before. But you don't let him slip away. You turn his face and kiss him. Not hard. There's no lust behind it. It's soft. Sweet. Hopeful. 

You pull away and he says softly, "We'll go back into town tomorrow." 

You smile and kiss him again. 

--

Your ride into town is quiet. Peaceful. Jennis is trailing behind you as you ride with Geralt on Roach. You saw how jealous is made Jaskier, and you just looked at him apologetically. It was the only way to aspease Geralt right now. The town itself isn't large. The amount of people in it you could probably count up to. 

Geralt stops in front of the pub and he slides off. He holds his hand out to you and you take it. You slide off Roach and land on the ground hard. You grab your side and hiss in pain as pressure is put on your wound. Geralt puts an extra hand on you but you wave it away. You can do this yourself. 

"I'll be out in a moment," you say gently to Geralt. He goes to protest but you cut him off. "Don't follow me. I promise I'll be alright." He just nods. 

You walk into the Pub, not even looking behind you as the doors close behind Geralt and Jaskier. You walk across the wooden floors, your boots hitting the ground in uneven steps. You hold your side as people look over at you for a moment before turning back to their drinks, partners, or sorrows. Sometimes all three. 

You slowly but surely make your way to the little dark corner in the wide reaching room. You push past those in your way, hissing in pain as a few knock into your sides. But you keep on moving, ever determined. Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only a minute, you sit down across from the mysterious person who commissioned you all those days ago. 

"It's done," you say quietly, placing a hand on the table and leaning forward. There's pain in your voice but you hope your determination masks it, if at all slightly. 

You can just barely see the figures lips as they're pulled into an impressed smile. "Good. Here's your payment. As promised." 

They set a large sack of coins on the table and you reach out quickly, snatching it. You place it in your satchel next to your side and look up at the person sitting in front of you. 

You go to get up, but they grab your wrist. At least, it feels like they're grabbing your wrist, but they haven't moved their actual hand. You look at them in shock but all they say is, "Be careful. You don't know how much it would break him if you left." 

You wrench your hand free and turn, confused and angry at the person for holding you, and you walk out. But not before catching a glimpse of long dark brown hair fall out in waves from the hood. 

You walk out to Geralt who looks like he's been shaking to go after you, but you place a hand on his shoulder and he immediately stops moving. 

"Let's go."

#Geralt #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x male reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x male reader #geralt of rivia x male!reader #male reader #Jaskier #jaskier dandelion #dandelion #the witcher #geralt of the witchers #my work #My writing

[squid--inc--writes]

purgatory

so, I decided to finally finish writing that piece from a really fucked up dream I had. this probably doesn`t cover a quarter of it, but I enjoyed it, and its the first solid writing piece I`ve had in 2 years, so I`m proud.

@schwarzekatzen @wettthepottterheadss4120

warning: gore, gross descriptions, vague psychological bullshit, bullying, violence, etc.

word count:  2281

summary: you follow Trith (not mentioned in the story) on her first round to meet some of the residents within this particular realm of purgatory. Because, frankly, who else can?

My eyes open to a hollow ceiling, peering right into an attic where a familiar rocking hair rocks away. Not a care in the world about how it's up there. That would be Granny Gin. Don't know her real name, but still. She's there. Dead as ever, and knitting away. Sometimes I sleep in long enough that her scarf reaches the floor.

Standing up, groggy, I make my way to do my rounds. Someone's got to make sure the dead don't panic. The first round doesn't have to be me all dressed up. Not like they care about the smell. At least I don't think they do. Can the dead smell? I don't know. At Kirby's request, I started keeping a journal so he can remember what last happened and get one step closer to getting out of here. I also want to help everyone else out of purgatory, so this is why I'm writing this. Brand spanking new. Right up on a blank page. Yep.

So, I guess my next ghastly figure is Heidi. She stands in the bathroom all day. Touching up her makeup, not changing a thing. Aside from the usual changes extended stays can cause. I think she starved to death. Couldn't tell you. She's standing there, takes a glance at me in the mirror, nods, then tries another colour of lipstick. She's been here a while, so that means three eyes, each one a distinct colour of red, blue or yellow. She also has glowing skin, and her legs are becoming more horse like. Maybe her puzzle would be solved by getting her life a little STABLE. Hah. Get it? Why would I write down my laugh?

Whatever, I'm not going to erase anything or cross it out. The thoughts of the living might help, even abstractly.

The next is the hallway. Bert walks along, holding a gas can thing. Y'know, an old timey thing they used to gas bugs? I'm not sure, I can't recall ever needing an exterminator.

He tips his hat to mean, "hey there, lil' lady. Didn't the landlord tell ya to keep out of the building for the next day or so? Don't worry. I'll wait to do my work until you get out. I'll just let 'im know I'll be a bit late starting."

I nod, "thank you." Sometimes it's easier to play along. I feel he's been a tad testy, so I try not to agitate him. Usually I can pass by just fine. Maybe he had anger issues. Try and work his puzzle out like that. Ironically, he resembles a cockroach by now. He doesn't have hands, but the rigid limbs that should have been his hands were made of a hardened skin. It chipped away from his bones like it knew it wasn't supposed to look like that. I rarely look him in the face, both because he looks… interesting, but also because it tends to aggravate him. Maybe it's the way I look at him. He's yelled at me for being a large bug before, not always a roach. I just don't want to get hit again. Maybe I shouldn't help him.

Next up, Theodore and Teddy. They have the same name, and they yell at each other from across the hall. They each have their own rooms. Sometimes they switch rooms. They seem to be connected at this point, literally. They have long strings of flesh swinging from between their bodies. At one point, they got cut, and you see everything pouring out. They acknowledge it in their recent arguments, getting mad at the other for not making enough of an effort to keep it all in. Theodore usually doesn't have a jaw anymore, since it melted down, combined with his clothes. I can't check on Mindy anymore thanks to them. I don't think I want to.

However, I think the problem revolves around they're communication. But that's an obvious point. Maybe they need to accept their own responsibility for their misfortunes.

Mindy… last time I saw her, she had dolls connecting to her through thousands of strands of veins, and nerves, and all other sorts of things. They aren't all made of plastic anymore, last time I saw her.

Theodore says to me, as if his chin wasn't sitting where his stomach would be, "hello dear. How are you today?"

"I'm doing well. Thank you. How are you and Teddy today?"

Teddy snorts from the other room, dusting off an old hat, and placing it on his head, "I'm fine. Perfectly."

Theodore rolled his eyes, "we're as well as ever. Just a lovers' quarrel."

Teddy got offended, ripping the hat off, "oh, NOW we're lovers?"

I nod, and quickly leave before they start trying to pull their guts to their respective sides, and spitting insults. It never ends well.

Next up, Patty and Simone, standing on the stairs. They are actually quite friendly with each other. Patty asking Simone about her husband, Simone asking how Patty's been, after her being widowed and all. They swap recipes regularly. Patty very much seems like she killed her husband. And some of the recipes they swap sound as if Simone is trying to kill her husband. If what she says is true, he deserves it. God do I hope it's not.

Simone has morphed into the railing at this point, spine jutting from bloodless flesh so she can lean on the staircase. I feel the one they used to talk at was a lot lower, considering Simone is almost nine feet in the air. Patty, however, seems to be turning to a bone statue. Her legs can no longer move, not that she moved much to begin with. Wait, no, this time she seems to be turning to ice. Her legs are quite transparent, but there's a layer of frost surrounding her feet. They never used to acknowledge me, but Simone seems to have spread to the stairs, and she'll scold me for walking too roughly. Patty gives me the most judgmental look. I think if they could move on from husband's they'd probably be home free. But that is what their lives revolved around for so long, so I'm not sure that could be easy.

Once I sneak down the stairs without slipping, or getting yelled at, it's into the kitchen I go. Sid is at the fridge constantly stuffing his face. Somehow, he's a part of the fridge. Everything drops out of his stomach back into the fridge, into a pile of slop. Like something a pig would eat. If he's particularly frantic, he'll tear chunks out of himself. I don't think they can feel it when they hurt themselves. Not unless they're supposed to…

I have no clues as to how Sid can save his puzzle. He doesn't tend to talk. I'm not sure he has vocal cords anymore. He barely has eyes.

Moving from the kitchen is the parlor. I'm not sure how this place works, so I'm not sure this is in the right place. Either way, the parlor has about seven people in here. Kirby plays checkers with Daniel, Maud watches TV with Lainey, Paula and Shess pick on Lily. 

Paula and Shess would probably be gone if they could stop, and just sincerely apologize. I'm not sure Lily is really a person though, because she's never changed once. I think she kind of looks like a mannequin, but moving. She's meant to play a part, being small, and easy to pick on. Shess shattered her arms at one point, and now just has gooey, bloody stumps with bone shards sticking out that she uses to punch lily with, and her head is being engulfed by her own skin, but her eyes seemed to have multiplied, hair having started to attach and grow off of the eyes. Like the world's grossest ice-cream cone. Paula, on the other hand, started turning into blades. Her fingernails are long and sharp, her arms have started to thin at the edges, and splinter into more blades, even her nose resembles a knife. I passed her once, her hair brushed my cheek, and I had a long cut from my temple to my chin. That wasn't fun. I can't talk to either of them. They're always caught up in bloodlust.

Lainey and Maud try to ignore Shess and Paula as much as possible. They are actually aware of their surroundings. I don't think they need my help out, because they've been fading lately, so maybe they're ready to pass on. They generally talk about the movie they're watching. Sometimes they get new snacks from an unknown source. Usually they just coo at each other about how much they love each other, and what signs to look for to find each other again. They told me that Purgatory allows you the chance to return to when you died, the chance to fade completely, or to join the better place in whatever you believed in. Purgatory is for learning lessons. They both believe in reincarnation, and fully believe they'll still love each other, no matter the timeline. It's one of the nicer conversations.

Daniel and Kirby are next up. Daniel has no idea what's going on ever. His skin seems to be made from webs, and these small black creatures weave over him all the time, anytime something starts breaking down. Which happens at every move.  Daniel seems actually peaceful here. Maybe he needs to take a stand. Especially with Kirby always cheating. He doesn't even do it subtly, he straight up takes pieces, and places them where they shouldn't be. Daniel would probably tear all his 'skin' off at this point if he tried to do something.

Kirby, however, seems to increasingly be made of greasy Hawaiian print shirts. Yes, you are made of shirts. I almost slip when I pass your table because it's not, like, slightly caked on grease, it's literally dripping, and doesn't spread past a three foot radius. Maybe if you apologized for Dan, it would help. How's that sound?

Okay, three more rooms, then I start getting ready. So, I leave the other side of the parlor, head into the hall, and head to the basement. Shimi is down here. They're just a long, skinny eel at this point. With multiple heads that bite at Shimi's main body. I'm not even sure when Shimi showed up, and I've never seen much else, so I'm not sure they can leave. I don't try to go into the water. Too scared. It's undefinably deep. Some places you can see the ground, others are holes, others are so obfuscated by flesh that has yet to melt down and turn into water. I'm sure Shimi's been here for thousands of years.

Heading back upstairs, I check on the, what I can only assume, ballroom. It's huge, and usually has a few dancing couples. This room changes a lot, and has the least mutated people in it. I remember I helped one couple realize the intense emotion they couldn't move on from was rage, at the fact that they had cheated on each other. They both felt wronged, but they were both no better than each other. The puzzle they solved involved them no longer dancing together, and finding new partners. Today it stood completely empty. Not unusual, but still. The room always unnerves me.

Next up, I like to call the nook. It's not quite in the library, but it's very cozy right outside it.

A rough, sweet voice says, "what took you so long?"

I smile at Ronnie. She's very nice. I think she is, maybe was, actually my age when she died. We're both around seventeen. She however has skin made from literal porcelain, although that does mean when she moves too much, her body starts leaking blood, like from her eyes and joints . Her hair is nearly laid around her head, a warm auburn. And I don't mean that figuratively. It literally feels the way a room with plenty of blankets and a fireplace would feel like. The nook doesn't have a fireplace, it just has Ronnie.

She rasps out, "well, are we going to have a nap? You're my favourite snuggle buddy, and I can't have one without you."

I'm pretty sure she can't leave because she's trapped in her childhood. She's told me about all her dolls, and toys. I think her house might have burned down, and she wouldn't leave them behind. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get her to leave.

I give her a closed mouth smile, and step forward, "yeah, I can help you take a nap."

I wind up cuddling up to her. And, I think I won't write much until after I get ready. Too tired. Need to wake up more.

When I'm finally up, I look up to see the hollow attic. No floor at all. Grandmother Gin rocking away in her rocking chair, completely unaware of the lack of floor.im not sure if that's actually her name. Sometimes I get up so late that her blanket actually gets in my way trying to get up. At least I don't usually get dressed up to do my first round. I don't think the dead care about when the living stink. They don't seem to care about much. I do. Speaking of stink, I am doing this for my pal Kirby. Try to keep a record and write down everything that happens. Maybe I can help him, and some of the others, out of here. That's why I'm writing this. Right here. Blank page. Well, not blank anymore. But, hey, first page, first to go.

#violence #tw violence #tw gore #gore #writblr #writing #my writing #vaguely horror #horror #short story #tw mutilation #gross descriptions #predictable but still fun

[lesdemonium]

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope Chapter 16

Ship: Geraskier Word count: 45187 (total) Chapter: 15/16 Summary:  

“Such a nice, beautiful sound,” the fae crooned. “If only he were this way always.”

Julian’s mother stood up. She claimed she was prepared to stop the fae, to protect her baby, but in Julian’s darkest moments he doubted this part of the story. His mother loved him, of that he had no doubt, but she had been young and weary, and even years later, she couldn’t quite get the twinge of exhaustion out of her eyes when she recalled Julian’s infancy. Even if she had been keen on protecting him, the fae was too close, too fast, too set on his plan.

“A gift, for the new mother,” the fae continued. He leaned a hand in to stroke Julian’s cheek. “I give you the gift of obedience.”

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier’s mother with Jaskier’s obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the “gift” became more of a curse.

Additional tags: AngstAngst with a Happy EndingHeavy AngstUnrequited LoveNot Actually Unrequited LoveAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceCanon EraNot Canon CompliantCursed Jaskier | DandelionAlternate Universe - Ella Enchanted FusionCurse of ObedienceRape/Non-con ElementsImplied/Referenced Rape/Non-conJaskier | Dandelion Whump

read on ao3 - read chapter 1 on ao3

read chapter 1 on tumblr

Geralt was ushering Cirilla onto Roach’s back by the time Jaskier made it downstairs. By this point, he was so weak, he was leaning against a post holding the stable roof up, but still Geralt eyed him warily, like he was dangerous. Jaskier supposed he was.  He stepped between Jaskier and Ciri, and his fingers stretched out, like he was debating taking his sword.

“Don’t come any closer,” Geralt warned, his voice dangerous. “I won’t let you hurt her.”

Jaskier shook his head helplessly. “Geralt, I would never. Not. Not willingly.”

“You tried to kill me.” Geralt pointed an accusing finger at Jaskier.

He had a flat affect, betraying no emotion, as Geralt had spent so many decades training himself to do. Jaskier, however, had spent decades studying his witcher. The corners of his eyes pinched, just slightly, and his mouth was a hard line. Jaskier couldn’t have physically hurt him, though he had gotten close, but Geralt was wounded all the same.

“I’m sorry--the Nilfgaardians--Geralt, they knew,” Jaskier said. “They knew about my curse. Cahir--their leader--he ordered me to kill you. I couldn’t tell you about it. He told me not to. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. You have to know I’d never hurt you.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed, and he searched Jaskier’s face. What he was looking for, Jaskier didn’t know. Geralt took a step closer, his expression turning more wary.

“You were the trap,” Geralt finally said, his shoulders sagging. “The castle--it was so easy to get to you. I was expecting a trap. But nothing came. Because it was you. They used you against me.”

Jaskier nodded. “I’m sorry, Geralt. I tried to tell you. I couldn’t. I tried to get away from you.” He swiped the heel of his hand over his still-wet eyes, then looked up to Cirilla. She still looked so terrified, the poor girl, and was holding onto Roach as if the horse was her only lifeline. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I had no choice, you see. But I’ll never, ever do that again.”

Cirilla stared at him for a long moment, then slowly, carefully, nodded her head.

“He still needs a healer,” Ciri said, letting herself down from Roach’s back.

“I don’t think--” Geralt began, but Ciri pushed past him to Jaskier.

Ciri tugged Jaskier’s arm around her shoulder and eased him off the post. She was struggling, Jaskier could tell, but still she stubbornly turned them both back in the direction of the inn. Ciri probably would have gone the entire way, if Geralt hadn’t come to Jaskier’s other side and shifted Jaskier’s weight onto himself.

The three of them made it back to the inn in silence. Geralt laid Jaskier down on the mattress again, and this time Jaskier went with no fuss. Jaskier heard Geralt kick the dagger out of sight moments before the healer swooped into the room. She fussed over Jaskier’s wounds and Jaskier, begrudgingly, was the best patient she could have asked for, if only because his compliance helped ease the tension in Geralt’s face.

“Apply these salves twice a day,” the healer instructed, pointing to the ceramic pots she had left on the table. “Let him rest, and he should be mobile again in a couple days.”

When the healer left, an awkward silence filled the room. Each of them looked in a different direction. Ciri out the window, Geralt at the door where the healer had just exited, and Jaskier on his own hands sitting in his lap.

“Here,” Geralt grunted. Jaskier looked up just in time to see Geralt hand Ciri something, then nod toward the door. “The next room. I’ll be able to hear you if anything happens.”

Ciri nodded, sparing one last glance at Jaskier before she left the room. The heavy silence continued after she left, and Jaskier felt suffocated by it. He had never much liked silence, but now it felt particularly insidious, after all that had happened.

“Geralt, I’m so--” Jaskier tried, needing to break the tension in the air, but he was cut off as Geralt put up a hand.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said. He hesitated a moment, then came to the bedside. He sat on the edge with clunky, disjointed movements, and kept his eyes on the floor as he spoke, “I’m so sorry. What I did--and then avoiding you--I was just trying to protect you.”

Jaskier crossed his arms and glared at Geralt. “I don’t need protecting. Especially not that sort of protecting. You promised me you would never.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.” Geralt finally looked up, and he looked so earnest . As if he had never meant anything more in his life. “When I heard they had you--” He scrubbed a hand over his stubble. “I came as fast as I could. I couldn’t imagine--”

“It’s fine, Geralt. It just. It doesn’t matter.” Jaskier looked away from him, staring instead at the pots of salve. It was safer that way. “I’m safe now. So. You and Ciri can go.”

“We’ll stay until you’re healed.”

Jaskier scoffed. “I don’t need your charity, Geralt. I can handle myself just fine while I heal. I’ll only slow you two down, and I don’t want to force you to stay out of some misguided feelings of guilt. I forgive you. We can move on. You don’t have to pretend to want me around.”

He was so focused on stubbornly not looking at Geralt, that Jaskier jumped when Geralt’s fingers cupped Jaskier’s jaw. He tilted Jaskier’s chin back to look at Geralt, then pressed forward to smooth his thumb along Jaskier’s cheekbone.

“Being without you this last year has been agony, Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice soft. He shifted, scooting closer to Jaskier, and cupping his face between both hands. “I missed you every single second. I regretted what I did every single second.”

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out an audible breath. His heart pounded in his chest and he leaned into Geralt’s embrace. He could stay in this moment forever.

“So take me with you,” Jaskier breathed.

Now, Geralt sounded regretful. “I can’t. It’s too dangerous. I want to, more than anything. But Nilfgaard is after us, and I won’t put you in harm's way. Not again.”

Jaskier opened his eyes again, furrowing his eyebrows at Geralt. “That makes no sense, Geralt. Nilfgaard already got me once. You missed me. I missed you. I don’t know of any safer place than with you.” His hands covered Geralt’s and he pushed himself up to sit on his knees. “I have to go. You have to take me. We can’t--I couldn’t stand to be parted from you again. Not now that I have you here.”

“Don’t--you can’t do this.” Geralt shook his head, thumbing at Jaskier’s cheeks again. “I need you to stay here.”

Geralt looked devastated. His face was pinched as if he was in physical pain and he held Jaskier’s face as if Jaskier was the most precious thing in the world. And still, he did not seem swayed by Jaskier’s words. That would not do. This time, Jaskier was going to win this fight.

“Then order me.”

Geralt blinked. “What?” he asked.

“Order me. Tell me to stay away from you. I will not listen to your suggestions, Geralt of Rivia. If you want me to stay, then you have to tell me to stay.”

“Jaskier, I’m not going to do that to you,” Geralt said, glaring now. “I won’t do that again.”

“Do it. If you want to keep me safe so badly, then fucking do it . Order me to stay.” Jaskier’s voice was firm, brokering no argument. He had learned from the best, after all.

Geralt looked torn. He grimaced, and though he started by shaking his head, as he took in Jaskier’s set jaw and narrowed eyes, he wavered. Geralt was going to lose this one, and they both knew it now.

“Jaskier, stay here. Don’t follow us,” Geralt finally managed, each word taking a great deal of effort.

Jaskier pulled Geralt’s hands away from his face and climbed forward on his knees. He swung a leg over Geralt’s lap, straddling him, and now he took Geralt’s face in his hands. Geralt stared up at him, perplexed, and wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s hips. Jaskier leaned in, dipping his head and stopping just a hair's-breadth away from kissing Geralt.

“No,” Jaskier breathed against Geralt’s lips. “I will not. I go where you go from now on.”

Geralt huffed into Jaskier’s mouth, and his arms tightened around Jaskier. “But, the curse?”

Jaskier shook his head. “I told my truth. I broke it. I love you, Geralt. I am now, and have always been, yours. And I will not let you cast me aside, never again.”

Jaskier felt drunk on this new power. He was free. Geralt’s order had not settled into him like every other order before it had. For the first time in his life, Jaskier was his own person, free to go wherever he wanted, free to say no whenever he cared to.

“You love me,” Geralt said, and Jaskier shivered as Geralt’s thumb trailed over his skin, just above the hem of Jaskier’s trousers. He had missed this entirely too much. “I love you. I love you, too, and I want you safe, even if I’ve done a terrible job of showing that.”

Jaskier’s fingers carded through Geralt’s hair and Geralt tilted his head to capture Jaskier’s lips in a kiss, but Jaskier pulled away. He pulled away far enough to see the questioning quirk of Geralt’s eyebrows. The amber of his eyes.

“You’ll make it up to me. I know you will. Now, ask me to come with you.”

Geralt stared at Jaskier, a small smile creeping across his lips. They drew together again, until their lips just barely touched. For a long moment, that was all they did. They breathed together, Jaskier’s eyes closed as he felt this moment.

“Jaskier, will you come to Kaer Morhen with me?” Geralt whispered.

For the first time, Jaskier had a choice. He had his witcher again. He had his freedom. No one could imprison him or bend his will to their own, ever again. He was his own man, rather than a pawn in anyone else’s game.

Jaskier captured Geralt’s lips in a long, slow kiss, leaving them breathless and wanting more. Geralt leaned Jaskier back on the bed, hovering over Jaskier’s body to keep them close, but let Jaskier rest. Geralt’s hands slipped up Jaskier’s sides, soft but steady, like he was never letting Jaskier go again. Jaskier held Geralt’s face and chased his mouth, knowing, finally, that Geralt was his, and he was Geralt’s. For once, it wasn’t a lie, or a half-truth, or a secret. It was honest, and open, and out there. It was love.

“Yes.” Jaskier pressed a kiss to Geralt’s brow. “I go where you go. Always.”

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #gerlion #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #my writing

[jaskierswolf]

The (un)Helpful Mage (Pt.2/3)

Previous ______

Geralt had cursed that damned mage a hundred times over by the time they reached Posada.

The bard stopped chattering pretty early on into the journey but the man was incapable of silence. When he wasn’t humming some melody under his breath he would tap incessantly on the strap of his lute or muttered rhymes breathlessly. The worst part is that he didn’t even seem to realise he was doing it. When they camped for the night the bard had scribbled in his notebook furiously with his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration until the firelight faded to embers and it was too dark for him to keep writing. With some reluctance the bard had curled up on the ground next to Geralt. Geralt tried not to feel guilty but he couldn’t help but think that the bard would have probably been tucked up in a bed somewhere warm if it weren’t for the mage’s curse.

The next morning Geralt had awoken to find the Bard cooing at his horse. Roach, the traitor, seemed to have taken a liking to the chattering troubadour and let him pet her mane. The next couple of days had passed in a similar manner. Geralt’s headache had eased after the first day and his travelling companion had tentatively began to ask more questions and quietly strum away on his lute.

The morning after their last night on the road before Posada, Geralt had woken up to find the bard laying practically on top of him like a blanket. He assumed the human had gotten cold in the night and reached out to share Geralt’s body heat.

They didn’t talk about it.

The bard blushed prettily and rolled off of Geralt as if nothing was amiss and they were strolling into Posada by supper time.

“I need to take Roach to the stables.” Geralt told his travelling companion as he dismounted. “You’ll have to join me.”

“Do we know how far we can go from each other?” The bard asked as he kept pace with Geralt. “Not that I mind your company but obviously there was reasons a man would want some privacy.” He winked at Geralt with a smile that was probably meant to be charming but it didn’t work on Geralt. He would not be charmed by this chattering good for nothing bard.

Soulmate.

He scoffed. Destiny was shitting with him if she thought that a bard would make a good soulmate for a witcher.

“Twenty feet.” Geralt answered and then cursed loudly.

“Witcher?”

“I can’t kill monsters with you trailing after me. We have to break this.” Geralt grumbled.

To his surprise the brunet placed a hand on his arm. Geralt growled as he turned to face him but the bard was looking up at him with those piercing blue eyes and such a soft caring smile on his face. There wasn’t a whiff of fear which was unusual in humans, especially ones that had just been cursed to follow a mutant and monster killer. Geralt realised with a start that the human had not smelt like fear once in the few days they’d been tied together.

“We’ll find a way. In the mean time I can play for our supper.” The bard beamed up at him. “I’ve been getting rather good since leaving Oxenfurt. They train the best troubadours in the Continent!”

“They train you how to fight as well?” Geralt asked.

The bard laughed melodiously and winked. “Not at Oxenfurt.”

Geralt raised his eyebrow at the man but he didn’t seemed inclined to expand. For someone that talked so much he seemed to want to keep his past to himself, unless it involved music, sex or food. Geralt laughed to himself. He didn’t even know the bastard’s name.

They settled into a corner of the tavern. Well, Geralt did. The bard danced on top of tables strumming his lute and singing at the top of his lungs to try and charm the room. His voice was enchanting and he flirted easily with the patrons of the room. Some of the younger girls blushed prettily but the crowd was tough and the bard’s songs were… not the finest Geralt had ever heard. He was quickly booed off the tables and once again left to gather up stale bread from the floor.

The brunet looked disgruntled but lit up when he saw that Geralt had been watching him.

“So.” He said as he flopped dramatically into the seat next to him. “Tell me witcher. How was my performance?”

Geralt just rolled his eyes. He’d been refusing to answer that question since day one. He hadn’t heard much of the bard’s first performance before they’d been cursed, and whilst he liked his voice, Geralt really couldn’t say much else. This time, however, he’d been paying attention and he had one rather large criticism but if he offended the bard then there was no way of escaping his whining.

They may be able to move just about twenty feet from each other but it wasn’t exactly comfortable, and Geralt had noticed that once the bard had flitted inside the building and out of his sight then he’d immediately started to feel a pull through the door even though they were less than ten feet apart.

Bloody mage.

“Oh come on. Three words or less?” The bard insisted and Geralt decided he’d have to take this one on the chin unless he wanted to hear the troubadour sing ballads about mythical beast for the rest of their acquaintance.

“They don’t exist.” Geralt grumbled.

“What don’t exist?” The bard asked his brow furrowed in confusion.

“The creatures in your song.” Geralt added.

The bard pulled a face as he considered the criticism and nodded. “Right. Yes. Well. I’ve never actually met any real monsters. Thankfully. Unless you count lords who beat their wives?”

Geralt smirked. “Not the kind I kill.”

“Tell me about them, Geralt.” The bard leant forward on the table, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “You know my name?” It was the first time the bard had used his name and Geralt couldn’t remember ever introducing himself.

“Not many witchers left these days.” The bard shrugged. “Even less with such unique hair.”

Geralt hummed and finished his drink.

“So, witcher, Geralt of Rivia, tell a humble bard a story?” He leaned his head on his hands and Geralt swore that the man practically batted his eyelids at him.

He considered the proposal. If the troubadour was the only source of income for them whilst they sorted out the curse then he’d have to write some half decent songs. Geralt really didn’t want to live off stale bread until he could hunt again. He scowled, but what monsters would the bard would to hear about? What would make the best story? Geralt wasn’t exactly known for his riveting tales, his experience in the field was practical and not the type of adventure that poets wrote epics about.

Luckily for both of them he never got the chance to decide as fate intervened in the shape of a scrawny farmer.

Unfortunately for him the offer of coin was once again too much to resist and devils didn’t exist so it shouldn’t put the bard in too much danger. He would just poke about the fields a bit. It was probably a hungry stag grazing on the crops. No monsters.

Or at least that was what he thought?

__________

Julian strode away from Roach playing his new, sexy, lute with confidence that his witcher would follow him. Yes yes, of course the witcher didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter but something Geralt had said made Julian think he wasn’t exactly unwelcome company.

Geralt had pleaded with the elves to let him go.

A witcher who had an obvious distain for humanity and who didn’t even know his name, and he’d defended him.

Really if Julian had died it probably would have been easier for Geralt. The man would no longer be bound to him and he could go off and live his best witchery life. Sure he might feel guilty about his death for a few days but surely the man had seen more death than Julian could even begin to comprehend.

And yet, here he was.

Alive.

And still very cursed.

He winced as he got near the twenty feet mark and his vision began to cloud over. He almost dropped his lute as he struggled to catch his breath. He gasped as the sound of hooves trotting on the dirt path echoed round his head and Geralt landed next to him and his knees buckled underneath him.

“Geralt?” He asked weakly.

The witcher hummed an agreement. “Best not stray too far, bard.”

Julian smiled up at the witcher. Geralt’s eyes seemed to soften as he gazed back down at him.

Bard.

Julian laughed he should probably tell Geralt his name.

His name. Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove.

The home he’d run away from to become a travelling bard. He didn’t want Geralt to think any less of him, to think he was a coward. What sort of a man runs away from a cushy mansion to live on the road? Geralt would dump him back at his parents’ estate and he’d never get to see the world like he’d always dreamed.

No.

That wouldn’t do at all.

“I was thinking.” He said thoughtfully to his quiet companion as they carried on walking side by side along the path. “I need a stage name. Every good bard needs a stage name. Something unique to draw attention to oneself.”

“Your clothes aren’t bright enough?” Geralt sniped.

Julian gaped at the insult. His clothes were fabulous thank you very much! At least he knew what colour was and the blue brought out his eyes. He narrowed his eyes at the man. “I will pretend I didn’t hear that, Geralt.” He snapped with a flamboyant wave of his hand.

“A likely tale.” Geralt grumbled and Julian rolled his eyes.

“No, my stage name will be the envy of troubadours all across the Continent. A tribute to the song that will make me famous!” He sang gleefully as an idea popped into his head.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, bard.”

Julian ignored the witcher’s sarcastic remarks. “I may not be able to respect the Elves in my song, otherwise I’ll never be able to change your tragic reputation, but I can pay homage in my chosen name. Our first adventure as a duo, in Dol Blathanna!” He twirled around to accentuate his point. “Otherwise known as?”

Geralt growled at him but didn’t answer.

“That’s right. The Valley of the Flowers! But, dear bard, what does that have to do with your name? I hear you ask.” Julian continued.

“I didn’t ask.”

“My name, dearest witcher, will be Dandelion!” He announced gleefully as he remembered the bright yellow flower from his youth. He’d spent many hours in the garden blowing off the seeds when the yellow petals turned grey and fluffy.

Geralt snorted.

“Dandelion?”

Julian, no Dandelion, put his hands on his hips. “And what’s wrong with that?”

Geralt smirked and tilted his head like an adorable puppy. “Dandelion?” He repeated.

Julian huffed. “Fine. Whatever, witcher. What would you suggest?”

Geralt looked around the fields either side of the path. There were plenty of wildflowers scattered in the grass. “What about that one?” He pointed to a bunch of cornflowers.

Julian scrunched up his nose. “Nah. That’s a shit idea. Anyway I prefer dandelions. They are bright and yellow like the sun that gives us life and heat and burns brighter than the love between two souls.”

Geralt scoffed. “They teach you that at Oxenfurt?”

Julian pouted. “It’s a work in progress. What’s so good about cornflowers anyway?”

The witcher didn’t answer his question but scoured the area for a different flower until he picked a small yellow buttercup and handed it to him. Julian looked down at the small flower. It was pretty. It was also yellow like he’d requested.

“Buttercup?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Better than Dandelion.” Geralt shrugged.

Buttercup. No that wasn’t right. Not quite. It needed more mystery, more allure.

He grinned.

“Jaskier.” He announced, a warm feeling settling in his heart. “My name is Jaskier.”

After their adventure in Dol Blathanna, Jaskier’s music improved significantly as he began to immortalise bastardised versions of their adventures together into ballads and poetry. Geralt felt more confident about taking on smaller contracts for the right price and Jaskier was now actually picking up gold coins rather than mouldy old bread.

They still hadn’t broken the curse but they were making it work. Luckily they had some leeway which meant that they could sleep in separate rooms if the inn had two next to each other and they could get far enough away to piss behind a tree when travelling.

The strangest thing was that, over the last few months, Geralt was starting to enjoy the bard’s company. He no longer wished for silence on the road and there was an uncomfortable disappointment in the pit of his stomach whenever an innkeeper said they did in fact have two rooms that were next to each other. More often than not it was rooms on either end of the inn which meant they had to share instead. Anything further than fifteen feet was uncomfortable and twenty feet was hell on earth.

It was much better for both of them to curl up on one mattress or bedroll together than to worry about the burning in their hearts whilst they slept.

Occasionally, Jaskier would take a lover to bed in the room next to his and Geralt would lie awake, trying not to listen to his soulmate, trying and failing. It wasn’t intentional but it sparked some petty jealously in his heart. He remembered the mage’s words.

For some it is rather like brother’s in arm, others will have an unbreakable friendship.

That was what he would have with Jaskier. Despite the younger man’s flirtations when they’d first met nothing further had ever developed between them and Geralt was fine with that. That was what he wanted.

and then of course. There is love.

Geralt scoffed.

Who could ever love a witcher?

They didn’t feel like that. That’s what they were told. It was what Vesemir drilled into them.

Witcher’s don’t feel.

But then again, Geralt had never been a normal witcher. His additional mutations had made sure of that. In some ways it had made him more beast like, stronger, faster, better than his peers, but in other ways he was more human. Less predictable and more controlled by his emotions, his fears, his desires.

But what did a witcher desire? Beyond a full coin purse, a hot meal and a whore to bed.

He sighed.

This witcher desired more.

He desired Jaskier.

“Geralt.” Jaskier whined in the bed next to him. “Would you kindly shut up?”

He grunted. He hadn’t even said anything, the bard was probably just bored.

“I have never known such a noisy thinker.” Jaskier continued. “Honestly it would be easier if you just talked! At least then it would be out of your head.”

He hummed and rolled over onto his side and pulled Jaskier to his chest. They often woke up like this but they never spoke about it and they never initiated it whilst they were awake but Geralt was almost overwhelmed with the need to feel Jaskier pressed up against him.

“Oh we’re cuddling now. Not that I’m complaining. I love cuddling but… why are we cuddling?” Jaskier chattered away.

“Just go to sleep, Jaskier” Geralt grumbled into the back of his neck, inhaling his soft warm lavender scent.

“Yes of course. Sleep.” Jaskier sighed and relaxed into Geralt’s embrace. “Goodnight, my dear.”

_____

Next

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #soulmates au #geralt/jaskier #the unhelpful mage #wolfie's witcher writing

[edensbuttercups]

Swords and daggers - Part two

Pairing: Geralt x reader Summary: With a month ahead of them, Geralt decides to teach the reader how to defend herself as they spend some time together in the forest. Word count: 2k A/N: Here we go with part two! I’m guessing there will be a total of three parts, but who knows if there’s going to be a continuation of some sort 👀 I hope you’re all doing well ✨

Part one Part three

“Here” he said as you arrived at a small opening in the woods. A river could be heard nearby, and you sighed, placing your few belongings on the floor, tired from the short night’s sleep and hungry. You laughed at the memory of what had happened few hours earlier, when you found Roach.

You hadn’t spoken much, still not sure of how to act around him. You saw the way treated him, as if he was to be feared or be disgusted by, but you couldn’t see what they were so afraid of. You walked few steps behind him for most of the way, until the point when you left the road and you spotted a horse ahead. “A horse!” you ran towards it, slowing down before it and caressing it lovingly. You turned to find Geralt next to you, smiling at the horse. “Her name is Roach. She’ll be our travel companion, alright?” “Yes! She’s so pretty.” You smiled once more, petting her. “I was talking to the horse.” He said, stifling a laugh. “But yes, she’s cute.” He added, his eyes stuck on you, taking in your features.

You stood in front of him, dagger in hand, listening intently, ready to learn to kill. “So, face to face, you’re going to aim here” he lifted up his shirt, pointing to his heart. “But there’s two problems. You’re going to have to avoid the ribs and the breastbone” he grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest. “Can you feel my ribs?” You nodded, your face as red as could be as you felt the hard bone you had to learn to avoid. “In between the ribs. You stab upwards. Try.” You looked at him, fear tinging your eyes, before moving your arm upwards and stopping few centimeters away. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, trusting you. “Good. Now.” He said, turning around. “On either side of the body there’s a kidney. Pick a side and just under the last rib stab up.” You placed your hand on him, electricity coursing through your veins. You felt his rib and nodded, stabbing upwards, stopping once more before hitting him. “Anything else?” “Those are the easiest shots. Hit there and keep stabbing them until they don’t move; only then you’ll know you’re safe.” You nodded. “What if I don’t have time to find the right spot to stab?” “Anyplace is fine. Obvious places are head, neck, and the two places I thought you about. Go for those.” He placed a hand on your shoulder as he fixed his shirt back in place, leaning closer to your ear. “Hopefully I’ll always be around to protect you though.” You nodded and smiled, before grabbing your dagger and swinging, stopping the blade under his jaw as he smiled, circling around you, grabbing your arm and swinging you around, tripping you up. You found yourself on the ground with his hand placed under your throat. “You’ve still got to practice before you can think about surprising me, dove.”

A week and a half had gone by. You had moved around, circling the area where you had first woken up. You had spent your days play fighting, training with your dagger and talking to your two companions, Geralt and Roach. You soon found out that Roach was a great listener, as you had time to find out standing outside of whatever small village you ended up upon while Geralt looked for food and a decent place to stay. Geralt on the other hand had started talking more often to you, teaching you some tricks, talking about some old monster he had slayed and sometimes, when the time was right, you learned about each other. It usually happened late at night, when you were both tired and alone. You didn’t always find a room in town, or simply didn’t have enough money for them, so you ended up sleeping in the forest, near a makeshift fire. You looked up as the sun had started to set. You planned on spending a couple of days in this part of the forest as you had found a small lake nearby where you could fish. You sat next to Geralt and studied his expression, his golden eyes glistening with the golden light cast by the fire. “What are you thinking about?” he looked at you, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “Just tired.” He looked at you, smiling before closing his eyes. “You can sleep If you want.” You said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Not that kind of tiredness I’m afraid. But thanks.” He said as he stood up, adding another log to the fire.

“Geralt!” you shouted, not daring to move an inch of your body in front of the beast that stood before you. Your hand slid towards your dagger, painfully aware that it would take an incredible precision to kill a monster of that size with a weapon this small. “Geralt!” you shouted louder, hoping that the Witcher was close enough to hear you. You took a hesitant step backwards, your breath hitching at the sound. “Fuck” you muttered silently, torn between running back to camp and attempting an attack. You were fully aware that the monster would outrun you, so you chose the latter, placing a step forward and taking a deep breath, studying the beast. It had stayed suspiciously still, studying you with eerily white eyes. “Here you are.” You heard the familiar voice call. You turned towards him with eyes full of rage as he walked past you, his sword drawn towards the beast. A loud screech pierced through the air, filling you with fear as you stood behind the Witcher, who stood proud in front of you. Time slowed down as the monster jumped towards Geralt, it’s claws inches away from his face, as it struck the first blow. Geralt slid to the side, moving his sword upwards before quickly sliding it to the side, slicing the beast open. Another screech was heard as the beast swung towards the Witcher, some of its claws penetrating his skin as he was held down under the weight of its limb. You forgot about your fear, a new instinct taking over as you slid towards Geralt, pulling your dagger over your head and aiming for the beast, planting the blade its lobe. You felt a hand on your arm pulling you away, the beast writhing in pain before loudly falling to the ground, a dark puddle staining the ground. You turned and met his golden eyes as you finally found the time to catch your breath, holding his gaze as anger bubbled once again in your chest. “You shouldn’t have helped me. I could’ve dealt with it.” “You’re welcome” you said sarcastically, trying to walk away but failing, his hand pulling you back towards him and holding you in place. “You could’ve died.” “You could’ve died.” You barked back, inching closer to him, feeling your confidence fueled by your anger grow. “Then I would’ve died. And you’d have been safe, alive. The life of a Witcher is that to kill or get killed and you’re nobody to change that.” “Oh shut up. I could’ve died when I was calling you, petrified in front of that beast, but you took your damn time so clearly you’re not that fucking worried about me!” you freed your arm from his hold, walking towards camp, ignoring his calls. You sat in the small area you had prepared for the night, sitting on the soft cover and facing away from him. You heard his footsteps get closer before he sat down on the few logs that he’d placed around the fire. The light had started fading, the darkness growing around you just like your hunger was. Your stomach growled, hungry for more than just the slice of bread you had that morning. “Come to eat. You’ll need energy for tomorrow.” You ignored his words, pulling your legs to your chest, hearing him hiss as he removed his armor. You remembered the claws that had sliced his skin, ripping a piece of your dress before standing up and walking towards him. “Finally coming to eat?” he smiled, a smile that could have softened your heart if only you weren’t too stubborn to allow him that satisfaction. You kneeled next to him, studying his wound. It was a deep cut and needed to be stitched, but you tightened the fabric you held around it, making him hiss once again as you pulled harder, securing it. “We have to get you stitched up. Do you have a needle?” He nodded but didn’t move. He sighed and looked away, trying to ignore the rage he was feeling too. “I didn’t know you were in danger.” He spoke slowly, his tone cold and distant. “I called for you.” “As you did yesterday. And the day before that. All of that over a harmless insect or some stupid sounds.” “Geralt, it wasn’t an insect. It was the size of a fucking horse!” “Still, it was an insect.”  “Listen, where I come from you can’t ride insects. I know you think I’m an idiot, but I’d like to see you in my place.” You stood, trying to free yourself from the hand that had once again found your arm, but you failed, giving in and being pulled down once more. His hand was warm against your skin as he held you next to him, gently yet hard enough to stop you from slipping out of his grasp. “I don’t think you’re stupid. Quite the opposite actually. But either way, I’m sorry. I know this must be new for you.” You nodded, feeling the grip around your arm loosen. You moved your arm, sliding your hand up to meet his, tangling your fingers together. “Thank you.” You whispered. You sat like that, in silence, while the dark around you made its way through the forest, your breaths synchronizing. “I have to stitch up your wounds, come here.” You grabbed the needle and string from a bag nearby, sitting once more next to the Witcher that now sat shirtless in front of the fire. You tried not to let your gaze linger on his scars, yet you did wonder how he got them, what he went through. You took a deep breath, unsure as to how to stitch up a wound, not sure if what you had seen on tv was accurate enough to copy in real life. “It’s not that bad, I’ve had worse and I’m still alive.” He chuckled, staring at your confused and fearful expression. “I’m not leaving you with another scar, not on my watch.” You furrowed your eyebrows, working on the wound as he distracted you as he could, talking to you about some other adventures. It didn’t take long to stitch him up, and in no time, you had started and finished eating, all while laughing and joking, the anger from earlier long forgotten.

“What’s different? In your time?” he asked after some time, when the light of the moon shone bright enough to make both of your features stand out in all their beauty. “Everything. I don’t even know where to start.” You laughed, leaning on him before carrying on. “Where do you want me to start?” “Daily life. The little things.” You smiled and took a second to think. “A big difference is that we’ve got a thing called electricity. We use it for many things, the main being lights. We have lights everywhere, way brighter than candles, and we have phones, where we can talk to people even if they’re far from us, and computers, that we use to play, or learn new things, or… There’s just so much, Geralt. So much.” You laughed once more, feeling comfortable in his arms, the rhythm of his breathing slowly making you drift to sleep. He didn’t move, holding still as to not disturb your sleep. He had grown to enjoy your presence, though he’d never admit it in front of you, and was dreading the day when you were going to leave him. He breathed in one last time before closing his eye and leaning back, holding your body close to his as he fell in a deep slumber.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #reader insert #reader #the witcher netflix