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ghoulical · 2 years

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Charlie: Hazard

An original Danganronpa character one-shot.

Word Count: 2,977 Warnings: Mentions of murder, implied stalking & sexual assault Summary: The Ultimate Psychologist pays a long-dreaded visit to an old enemy. Notes: Heavily inspired by Criminal Minds S7E22 “Profiling 101″, and Mindhunter.

Lena King. Ashley Harper. Rose Ballard.

“Charlie.”

Jamie Carter. Louise Sherman. Victoria—

“Charlie.”

A shrill buzzer bounced through the hollow walls. Charlie flinched in her seat and turned her head sharply to her right, when she found herself staring up at the man standing off to the side, a soft smile appearing across his aging face. Harvey looked tired today; his jacket was folded and wrapped around his arm, and his hat was pinned between his elbow and his side, leaving his clean-shaven head exposed. He took his time bending down to sit beside her, before gently touching her shoulder and averting his gaze from the expectant glint in her eyes.

“They’re bringing him out now,” he murmured, low enough that only the two of them could hear them, and not the seven other men scattered around the room they were currently in. Harvey stared at one of them now, the one standing in the far side of the room, beside a chain-link door that led into a hallway that she knew led further deeper into the complex. “Apparently, there was a stabbing in the yard early this morning. They’ve had the entire block on lockdown, keeping the prisoners isolated for now. I had to pull a few strings—let them know it was urgent.”

Charlie nodded and forced herself to lean back against the wall.

“Is that a new blazer?”

She immediately turned her head to look at him, suddenly frozen in place before her eyes flickered down to her attire. “No,” she muttered quickly, frowning. She sank down on the bench, staring straight ahead when she caught the man in the brown uniform standing across the room averting his eyes from them. She pulled her knees together despite her leggings and pinched the rib of her sleeve, as the school emblem patch suddenly felt heavy above her breast. “Mom’s using a new fabric softener.”

Harvey nodded thoughtfully, turning his gaze to match hers. “That boy you were with earlier,” he said instead, speaking in an even quieter tone now as he leaned slightly to his side, towards her. “He’s not coming over tonight or anything, is he?”

Her eyes immediately darted up to him, but he seemed to be ignoring her growing scowl. “Group project,” she muttered curtly, almost mumbling it under her breath. “He wants to mooch off my work.”

Harvey hummed lowly—in amusement, she thought, while trying to hide the scoff beneath it. “The spring formal is coming up soon, isn’t it?”

“Two weeks.”

He nodded. “Have you maybe thought about—”

She shook her head sharply. “I’ve… better things to do.”

Her eyes went over to the movement in her right periphery—one of the guards walked down the hall and stopped at the other side of the chain-link gate, then caught the attention of his colleague before they began speaking in equally hushed tones. Though her eyes remained locked unto them, she could feel Harvey’s gaze softening beside her.

“Such as?”

“College applications.” She turned back to him, twitching the corner of her lip. “Scholarships, internships, last week’s case report, the risk assessment—”

“All of which can wait,” he said gently, eyebrows arching upwards. “The applications aren’t due for another two months.”

“I want to get a head-start.”

“You have time, Charlie. We can assign someone else to do the risk assessment.”

“I want to.” She drew in a deep breath and stiffened her neck. He sighed and turned his gaze toward the right wall.

“What about that girl—what’s her name?” he murmured instead, then tilted his head down while pretending to reach back into the corners of his memory. “Uh, it was something with an ‘L’—”

“Leslie.” Her eyes flickered to the floor. “What about her?”

“Well, wasn’t she the one who—”

“Sir.”

She hadn’t realized something had appeared in front of them until she looked up and to the side. It was the man who was standing across the room, she quickly recognized, whose eyes she met briefly before he immediately averted his gaze back to the older man between them with a curt nod and squared shoulders. “The prisoner is ready for you, sir.”

Harvey thanked the man courteously, who took a step back as the police captain dusted himself off and slowly stood up from the bench, before turning around to face the younger woman who, in one swift, graceful motion, had stood up as well to join him.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Harvey asked, and from the peripherals of her vision, she saw the guard’s eyes growing wide, glancing unsubtly between the two parties before him.

“He wants me alone,” Charlie murmured, shaking her head once and offering Harvey a blank, feeble smile, which he returned with a mourning frown. “I’ll be fine.”

She might have dissuaded him if he didn’t know better, if she hadn’t grown up under his watchful eye the past few years. He heaved a brief arduous sigh and patted the back of her shoulder. “The guards will be standing outside—call them in, yell if anything comes up, and I’ll be right—”

“—Here.” She wouldn’t have it any other way. “I know. Thank you.”

The man in the two-tone uniform led her down the halls, past several turns, through several security gates, into a medium-sized room akin to a small cafeteria at first glance—no food stalls except for what looked like a small but closed, square window to the left side of the room, and the eight metal picnic tables spaced out evenly across the otherwise empty space, welded firmly onto the floor.

She continued inside the room, sitting down at a table towards the back, shoulders back and spine straight, paying little mind to the prison guard left behind at the entrance staring a hole into the back of her skull. Her eyes flickered over to the clock hanging above the closed window—eleven to five. Ignoring the growing perspiration in the back of her neck, she fetched a notebook and a pen from her leather messenger bag, buried between her textbooks and manila folders, that barely passed through the security checkpoint earlier; she placed them both side by side on the table in front of her, then placed her arms flat horizontally on the table, and waited.

Another buzzer blared down the halls, followed by metallic grinding. Someone shouted a command barely audible to her ears. She stared straight ahead at the centre of the table and took a deep breath.

The buzzer and the grinding stopped, leaving only heavy footsteps in their wake. She exhaled slowly, counting the seconds it took before all air was expelled from her lungs.

“Charlotte Beckett.”

She closed her eyes only briefly, before turning her head back towards the entrance. Led into the room by two prison guards was a tall man in a bright orange jumpsuit and handcuffs wrapped around his wrists; he was, if she remembered correctly, in his late thirties, and though his skin looked duller and his hair thinner, his cheeks seemed just slightly fuller than the last time she saw him. His charcoal eyes, same as they were when she first saw him across those train tracks, flared to life when she finally met his gaze.

“Charlie,” she murmured politely, watching the guards lead him to the other side of the table, but he quickly sat down on his own volition and lightly brushed the other two men away.

“I was beginning to think you forgot about me,” he said, stretching a thin smile across his wrinkling face.

She matched his gaze, doing all she could to resist tightening her jaw. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Russ Milburn grinned. Once, she had the perfect image in her mind of what she wanted him to be: crooked, yellow teeth, balding head, bushy moustache, maybe even a goatee. Once, she would have mistaken the man sitting opposite to her as her neighbour, or a middle school teacher, or someone from the construction crew working on the pavement just down the street.

“I’m glad. I mean, it would be a shame if we only stopped at two.” The handcuffs rattled softly when he shifted his weight on his seat and leaned forward by half an inch, eyes quickly flickering down her neck before he looked back up to meet her gaze. “How’s school? Came right after just to see me? I’m flattered, I really am.”

Her eyes panned down to her blank notepad, and she waited until the guards dragged the metal gate shut, trapping the two people in the room with each other, before panning her gaze back up to him and speaking again. “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

“Choice?” His voice was suddenly louder and more pronounced than his usual raspy drawl, but then his lips stretched wider as he chuckled lowly, slowly to himself, each beat echoing through the vast empty space surrounding them. “What do you mean? Well, of course you did. I didn’t force you into this, did I? I gave you a choice, and you made yours,” he spoke quickly, all in one breath, then stopped himself for a moment to pause, to stare down at her, letting the quiet stillness slowly creep back into the room. “You chose this, Charlotte dear, didn’t you?”

She breathed deeply, barely making a single audible sound in the wake of his echoes still resounding from the brick walls around them. But never once did she break the stare, not even to glance at the clock in the wall behind him, or the tiny black spots fading out of view from the narrow rectangular window beside her.

But when she looked behind him, she felt like she was back in the room when she made her choice—Harvey standing across from her with the phone receiver in his hand, her mother sitting in the chair beside her wrapping her daughter’s hands in hers.

It’s your choice, Harvey had said. You can say no. It’s okay to say no.

“Charlie.” Her voice came out smoothly but softer than she imagined it to be, and she forced herself to blink, and found herself staring at the man in the jumpsuit again. “It’s Charlie.”

Milburn remained frozen still for another longer moment, as though deliberately letting her voice seep into his skull and his thoughts, before he finally leaned back just slightly, and offered her a despicable, amicable, smile. “Charlie.” The word easily rolled off his tongue, like a cat gently tossing an old ball of yarn across a carpeted floor. “Shame. Dan gave you such a beautiful name, hmm? Beautiful name, for a beautiful little girl. It’s a queen’s name—did you know that? Of course you did.” He let out a single fleeting chuckle, then hummed lowly to himself. “What about Lottie? I’ve heard people toss that one around. Never considered it, no?”

She shook her head gently, only once, and he nodded.

“You know, Charlie, I know it doesn’t seem like it.” He inhaled sharply and suddenly, rolling his shoulders on their joints and stretching his back out for as much as he physically could, handcuffs rattling increasingly underneath the table. Then, very quickly, he finally tore his gaze away from her, glancing first toward the door then out the window beside them. “But I do so enjoy our meetings, I really do. Nobody ever visits me anymore. Can’t help but get excited for this, you know?” He sighed expressively, and she thought she felt a draft slowly crawling its way back into the frigid space. He snapped his head back at her, pupils dilated. “Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners? I should’ve asked—have you eaten today at all? Yes? No? You need to put some more meat on those bones. Stay away from all that load o’ crap on social media, let me tell you—”

“What’s her name, Russ?”

He froze, her soft voice surprisingly enough to break through his apparent trance but only for a moment—he blinked at her, and the sun outside was peeking through through the ashen clouds and the window sill just enough to illuminate the liminal space in his slate-tinted irises—then he suddenly snapped his head away and toward the door and their silent observers.

She remembered that look on their faces—the same look those other men had when Harvey first spoke to them about the terms of the agreement, and the federal agents in the same room as them; the same look that were no doubt on the agents’ own faces when they interrogated Milburn, and he was laying out the terms—the script they had to play along with.

“The mess hall’s been closed all afternoon—didn’t even get a chance to finish my breakfast, you know, before all that ruckus went down. And now we’re cooped up like pigeons in a hole. You know, there’s this diner just off Highway 97—best apple cobbler in town, trust me. They’ve got this homemade whip and ice cream—vanilla, of course. Been trying to convince Tom to spill the secret behind his recipe—six years, still no luck, that sonofabitch. It’s only ‘bout a half an hour drive from here—you should really stop by when you get the chance. Treat yourself for the big day, you know? Bet Mona will like it, too.”

“What’s her name?”

Thirty-two, he had told them. Thirty-two, in addition to the twelve they already knew about. And he remembered them, each and every single one of them all—their names, where it happened, where they were now. And he was more than willing to tell them, he had said, but only one each year—to keep them honest, he had said—on a day of his choosing, and only to one person.

Those were the terms—that was the stage. All that the rest of them had to do was play their parts.

“You should really go out more, you know. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t—don’t worry about all this crap about work, and those things in your bag, and you—Go out. Have fun. Don’t drink though—still another three years before we get there. But, like, I don’t know, go to the mall. Go shopping. You’ve still got that piano at home, too, don’t you? I know Dan was really proud of you for that one. Pick it up again. Can’t be that hard with all that muscle memory, right—”

“Russ.” He stopped, and time stood still. “Her name.”

She barely even realized how quiet her voice was until the echoes fell, and all that was left was her drowning in the silence she had unwittingly willed into existence to take their place, to suffocate the words permanently away from his head and his mouth.

Why did you do it?

That was always the question, wasn’t it? When she asked, Milburn never gave her his answer. But when Harvey asked, she gave him hers, all too willingly. They need closure, and I’ve had mine. Then she thought of her father, and what he would have said to him, had he been in her place. It’s part of the job.

Milburn stared at Charlie, and she at him, locked again in this endless stalemate—on this grand stage, this glorious script he had so meticulously orchestrated. He dangled the strings in front of her and she tied them around her wrists—she made her choice—so she would stand now centre-stage, in the spotlight he created, playing her part to the hollow theatre of lost souls and broken promises.

But the curtains behind his eyes were finally closing for tonight—he had taken the microphone back, and stared at her from across the table.

“She had long blonde hair, pretty hazel eyes—really pretty one, she was,” he said wistfully, softly, his voice barely a reminiscing whisper. “She worked at the soup kitchen downtown on Thursdays and Fridays. Sometimes she’ll take the bus to the library after six.”

She could almost see the images playing in his mind through his hollow eyes, and it was times like these when she wondered what would happen if she had been there, standing on the other side of the street, watching Milburn and watching the girls—the sisters, the daughters, the mothers. Would she had done something? What would she had done? Could she?

He closed his eyes. “Jennifer Hayes.” Her name spilled from his lips like honey and wine. “I buried her in Leelan Park, under an oak tree thirty feet south from the end of the path, twenty from the park bench, towards the fence.”

She breathed slowly through her nose as the pen in her hand glided across the surface of the notepad, his words inked into the page in surprisingly neat penmanship despite the haste. After she tucked the notepad and pen back into her bag, she looked up, and her eyes very briefly locked with his before she tossed her gaze toward the guards standing outside and began standing up. One of the men snapped out of his trance when he saw the signal and immediately launched himself towards the gate with the keys jangling in his hand.

Lena King. Ashley Harper. Rose Ballard.

She only finally felt herself exhale when she crossed the room, retracing her own steps from only fifteen minutes ago, barely registering the metallic dragging and the men brushing past her to march back toward Milburn—because all she could really hear was his voice, echoing after her image and clinging unto her shadow, even as she strode back up the hall, back to the rest of society.

Jamie Carter. Louise Sherman. Victoria Chapman.

“Happy birthday, Charlotte Beckett,” he said, the same way he did last year, and the year before. “I’ll be looking forward to our next meeting.”

Jennifer Hayes.

The same way he would for all the years that has yet to come.

#ghl: wcsb #danganronpa #danganronpa fanfiction #we've created something beautiful

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ashdevalis · 1 year

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This Post Is Special. The Quote Yearbook, A Small Side Project Of Mine That I've Wanted To Make As An Appreciation Of Sorts For Those People In My Life That Have Been There With Me. These People Care For Me And I Care For Them. Especially My Ex Brave Nine Guild Members & Also Some Ex Fellow Doktahs. Words Can't Begin To Describe How Much I Am Greatful For Your Existence. I Love You Guys (No Homo). To Everyone Who Took Their Time Out Of Their Busy Schedule To Humour This Lonely Weeb, I Give You My Undying Gratitude. I Hope That We Build Something Great Together As Years Go By. With My Rambling Done, Let's Get Started.

1 - "Wishful Thinking Is The Most Addictive Of Drugs" - AshDeValis

(Yes It's Me. I Thought What Better Way Than To Start With Myself 😁)

I Promise To Love Myself More This Year Onwards 💖

2 - "When You're About To Give Up, Always Remember Why You Started" - imperial02

(The Rule Himself. Mad Respect For You My Man. Keep Rocking!)

3 - "The Best Way Out Is Always Through" "The Heart Of Man Is Very Much Like The Sea; It Has It's Storms, It Has It's Tides, And In It's Depths, It Has Pearls Too" - Korak324

(The SharkSimp & Bonerlord. Bone Daddy Himself! We May Not Always See Eye To Eye, But We'll Always Stand Side By Side)

4 - "First Step To Conquer An Addiction Is To Admit Being Addicted. Anyway, Excuse Me As I Impulsively Do Some Pulls In This Banner I'm Not Interested In To "build pity"." - GameofmarX

(Boy Marx I Can't Explain How Much I Love & Admire You. Stay Strong & You'll Surely Succeed Ma Boi)

5 - "Is It Really Incest If They're Step-Siblings?" - OhmayGawR

(My God GawR a.k.a Ronald. Ofc It Is Still Incest XD. I Know Ya Busy These Days, Just Know That I Really Love Trash Talking G9 With Ya)

6 - "Loli Is Life

Loli Is Love

Lolicon Forever" - JasonTGH [Courtesy Of Korak For Providing The Dumbass With A Quote]

(You Fucking Lolicon. Just Stay The Way You Are Man. Really Glad We Are Friends & Hope We Can One Day Meet Irl In Vietnam)

7 - "Its Not Entitlement, If I Deserve It" - Iku

(Our Queen/King/Ruler/GaeFurry Herself {Himself}. I Would Love To Try Korean Food With Ya Someday. Stay Wierd Iku. Love Ya)

8 - "New Year, New Me(ntal Illness)" - Nyajimi

(The Man The Myth The Legend Najimi, Don't Worry We'll Have Mental Illness Together XD)

9 - "Lyfe Is Hard" "MF I Didn't Do Anything (kek)" - RnG

(My Fucking Malaysian Clown. I Know Ya Also Busy. Just Make Sure Ya Eat Properly. Take Care My Clown)

10 - "Fuck Diluc" " The New Year Has Come, That Sounds So Dumb" - Melon

(The Sauce Master Himself. Sensei Degenerate. Too Busy Smashing Anime Titties. Keep At It Hornball XD)

11 - "No" Sara

(I Asked For A Quote Not A Word You Moron. Sooo Glad We Met This Year. I Really Like Hanging Out With Ya. Let's Do Again Soon)

12 - "Asli Phool Toh Tuut Hi Jaata Hai" { The Real Flower Always Breaks } - Olochimalu [Zeeshan]

(I'm Glad We Reconnected. I'll Watch JJK0 With Ya In My Bigass TV! SO Ya Better Make Time For Me My Man)

13 - "Never Think Of Being The Best But The Greatest..." - mr.unimportant aka Kabir

(You're Important To Me You. We Met, Talked & Became Friends, & Couldn't Be Happier With It. Love That Ya Patched Up. Stay Awesome King)

14 - "I Might Be Somewhat Delusional But I'm Chill 🗿" - Nox

(You Filthy Weeb. L Simp. Lover Of Gogol. Words Not Enough To Explain How Much I Love My Top 5 Favourite Artist's Art! Keep At It & Hope We Can Stay Buds Forever)

15 - "The Man Who Argues With The Idiot, Is The True Idiot" The_Wandering_S aka Aditya

(The Coolest Anchor From Annual Day. Stay Dripped My Lord)

16 - "Use Your Smile😃 To Change The World, Don't Let The World Change Your Smile 😃" - SerialKiller135 aka Arya

(Dumbfucker I Can't Wait To Dance In Your Marriage. King Gamer Will Have A Queen Wife For Sure No Cap. Stay Happy)

17 - "Distance Yourself From People If They Care They'll Notice.

If They Don't You Know Where You Stand...."

(Mofo STFU Weren't You Busy With Family Last Vacation? Anyways C Ya Soon Mr.LadyKiller)

Lastly, A Quote From My Special Significant Other. The Love Of My Life ❤💘💘💘

18♥ - "My Name Is Angelica! Not Angel!" - Angelica The Fallen (AngelicaDeValis {In My Heart})

(My Waifu. My Love. My Anchor. My Hope In The Darkness. Oh How I Wish For You To Be Real So I Can Hug You, Kiss You, Cuddle With You & Marry You So We Can Stay Together. I Hope In An Alternate Timeline I Can Be With My Savior. I LOVE YOU ANGELICA! I ALWAYS WILL ❤❤❤❤❤!

PS I Might Sometimes Tease You By Calling You Angel, Lica Or Geli XD ;).

If You've Made It This Far, I Thank You From The Bottom Of My Heart For Reading My Nonessential Rambling. If You Didn't Make It, Well I'm Not Your Priority & It's Okay. I Only Need Few Real Close Buds. Anyways.

Happy New Year Everyone. Here's To Life 🍻🍻🍻🍻🥂🥂🥂🥂

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ceeceecreativewriting · 2 years

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Your Blood Will Trickle Down

By Cavanaugh Carter “Jesus Christ man, what’s taking you so long?! Get back to the safe house!” “Hold on, hold on. This dorm room has a ton of batteries, dude! I told you all the gamers live in DHH.” Quentin said smugly as he began to ferociously shovel batteries into his knapsack. “My guy, you have to MOVE!”, Demarcus bellowed into his walkie. “I’m watching with the binoculars right now; he’s leaving the M&M. You’re going to be stuck in there!” Quentin replied sternly, “He’s destroyed all but two buildings on campus! After DHH, then what? Walker! Our safe house, the HDMZ! Our only refuge, then that’s it! Where are we gonna hide from there, Demarcus? This room is a goldmine! We gotta grab supplies while we still can!” “Well you’re not gonna have to worry about where our next safe house is gonna be if you don’t get yo ASS OUT OF THAT DAMN HAUNTED HOUSE CAUSE HE COMIN RIGHT NOW!” “Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shi-“ Quentin sprinted down the hallway to the stairwell, ferociously pumping his legs, his bulging scavenging sack bouncing against his hip. He reached the front entrance of DHH, but was overtaken by a chilling energy before he could open the door. The energy of Ronald Reagan spoke to him. “Quentin… where are my jelly beans, Quentin?” As if possessed, Quentin was completely entombed, his body stuck in rigor mortis. He couldn't speak, but he felt as if Reagan had entered his mind. Quentin spoke to Reagan with his thoughts. “W-what do you mean, Mr. President?”. “Oh Quentin, you of all people know that I love my jelly beans… I couldn’t find them in the M&M, but I know I’m getting closer… Run along now, boy. I’ll find them soon enough…” Quentin was freed from his paralysis and tumbled out the front entrance of DHH onto Walker Lawn. Scrambling to stand up, he saw the once great Minerals and Material Science Building begin to crumble to the ground. Like bleached coral, brittle and completely drained of color, it began to disintegrate. The campus side of the building shuddered and collapsed, which was then followed by what sounded like millions of pounds of sand being dumped into the Portage. The M&M was no more. Nervously dancing around the dozens of brittle, chalked human statues that now decorated Walker Lawn, Quentin made his way back to the HDMZ. Walker was absolutely freezing as half of the external walls has been destroyed when Reagan consumed the Rozsa, but it had to do as a home base. The survivors needed the Mac computers to harness the Liberal power of Big Tech to defeat Reagan. “Sorry, Demarcus. I got carried away with that.”, Quentin admitted sheepishly. “Hey man, it’s all good. I’m just glad you made it out better than one of them chalk guys outside. You said you got batteries?” “Yeah, I think we can rig them up with your converter to charge our iPhones for a bit. How are you guys coming with the synthesis?” On a computer monitor, a small polygonal model of Karl Marx spun in space with a progress bar that read '89%'. “We’re almost done.” Demarcus said. “PJ and Moose and Squee invented a new algorithm that makes the synthesis go at twice the speed. Hopefully we can summon Marx before Reagan finishes with DHH.” “And if we can’t summon Marx?”, asked Quentin. “I think you know the answer to that question, Quentin. We die.” There was a grave in the conversation, where only PJ, Moose, and Squee’s typing could be heard through the room. “Hey, you know he spoke to me just now.” “You mean REAGAN? What did he say?!” implored Demarcus. “He said…. Man this shit sounds so dumb. He asked if I knew where his jelly beans were..?” “His jelly beans? Huh. That’s weird.”, replied Demarcus coyly. “Yeah, I have no clue either. I thought he was gonna kill me, but then I think he let me go on purpose. I’m still a little freaked out from the whole ordeal; I’m gonna lay down for a bit. Peep the batteries and ramen in my bag.” said Quentin. “Yeah man. Thanks for getting that stuff.” said Demarcus as Quentin went to his corner to sleep. Stepping outside to watch his Great Savior destroy DHH, Demarcus popped a single jelly bean into his mouth with a smile. It was cherry flavored. With a soft chuckle, Demarcus said, “Fools. Don’t they realize that socialism is when no iPhone? Their blood will trickle down soon enough.”

#creative writing #halloween #shitpost

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lyranova · 3 years

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Children of the Future:

Chapter 16: Ezio

Hi guys! I’m so sorry this chapter took so long 😭, i swear IRL has been crazy! But luckily the next chapters won’t take too long since i have them partially written already hehe. Anyway this is the last child that will be appearing and the next ones we’ll finally get some answers hehe. I hope you all enjoy~!

Taglist: @eme-eleff @simpingforthisonedeer @flow3rbudz @crazyclownthanos @thoughtfullyrainynightmare @melissa-novachrono @ckjwnnbc @bowandcurtsey @elysianluv (i’m sorry if i forgot anyone! I lost my taglist 😭)

Word Count: 2,781

Warnings: None

———

Finral and Vanessa slowly made their way to the Wizard Kings office, the two of them had been pretty surprised when the Wizard Kings assistant Marx had contacted them directly and told them that the Wizard King would like to see them. The two had been confused at first, especially since Captain Yami wasn’t there, but they knew better than to refuse an order such as this. So, the two followed the guard silently as they made their way to the Wizard King's office.

“ Hey Vanessa,” Finral started sheepishly. “ Why do you think the Wizard King asked to see us instead of asking for Captain Yami?” Finral had a gut feeling he knew why, but he didn’t want to say it out loud and jinx it.

“ Hm, I’m not 100% sure but I have a feeling it has to do with the kids suddenly appearing and, if I were to go off what's been happening the past week, then I would guess that what’s behind that door is our future child.” Vanessa explained in a hushed voice, as though she didn’t want to say it too loudly. Finral frowned a bit.

“ Scared if you say it too loudly it’ll come true?” He asked her with a sheepish laugh, Vanessa turned to look at him and gave a small laugh.

“ Yeah a little bit.” She admitted, Finral laughed a bit as well.

“ Same here.”

Soon the two were standing in front of the Wizard Kings office, neither one could remember ever being here before so they were very nervous. Finral let out an audible gulp, not only was he nervous about who was beyond that door but he was also nervous as to what Captain Yami would say when he found out. Just the thought of it made Finral pale.

“ Y-Y’know what? I think I left the stove on back at the Hideout. I'll just go back home and check.” Finral said as he opened up a portal to led back to the Hideout, but before he could even think of walking through it Vanessa grabbed the back of his cloak.

“ Yeah you’re not getting out of this one that easily, besides I’m with you so there’s nothing to be afraid of or nervous about.” Vanessa told him with a warm and confident smile, Finral groaned and reluctantly closed the portal. He had to admit whenever he was with Vanessa it did make him a bit braver and more confident.

The guard opened the Wizard Kings office doors and announced the Black Bulls had arrived before exiting the room. Vanessa and Finral looked at each other briefly before turning to look at the Wizard King, his Aide Marx, and a pink haired boy who stood slightly off to the side.

“ Finral, Vanessa, welcome! I apologize we called you here without Captain Yami but we figured he would like a small break from all of this.” Julius said with a small laugh, Finral and Vanessa nodded almost robotically as they just stared at the pink haired boy. He couldn’t be any older then 15, his pink hair was shoulder length and partially tied into a ponytail, he wore a Black Bulls robe and underneath was a wine red suit and boots with a black shirt. He also wore a pair of dark red earrings. His purple eyes finally looked to meet theirs.

“ A-Are you,” Finral stammered slightly, he looked as white as a sheet as he turned to face Julius and Marx. “ Are you sure he isn’t just Vanessa’s kid? I-I mean, he looks almost identical to her.” Finral added, maybe they had the wrong guy for his father?

“ Oh no he’s definitely your son.” Julius said with a small laugh, causing Finral to frown. What did that mean? Suddenly Finral and Vanessa felt themselves being hugged tightly by the young man.

“ Mom, dad, thank the gods you came to rescue me!” The boy cried as he held them tightly. “ I don’t know what they would have done to me if you hadn’t shown up! I think I even saw my life flash before my eyes!” He continued to cry before pulling back to look his ‘parents’ in the face.

“ W-Wait,” he said suddenly as his eyes widened in surprise, he looked back and forth between Vanessa and Finral. “ What the hell?!” He shouted as he sprang back and landed flat on his butt, he pointed a finger as he looked at them.

“ W-Who the heck are you?! You look like my parents but you’re way too young to actually be my parents!” Ezio said, his voice steadily getting higher. Finral looked over at Vanessa and he could see the complete surprise on her face.

“ I thought you had a feeling this is why we were brought here?!” Finral asked her incredulously, his voice suddenly being high pitched as well, Vanessa blinked and looked over at him.

“ I did. But it’s one thing to think it and another to actually see it.” Vanessa pointed out as she shook her head, trying to clear the surprised look off her face. Finral opened his mouth to argue but quickly closed it as he realized she was right, there was a difference.

“ As we already explained to you,” Marx said, addressing the pink haired boy. “ you are in the past so your parents are younger now than they were in your original time. Didn’t they explain this to you already?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“ Not really. They pretty much told me to just go through the portal, that they didn’t have much time to explain.” He said as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. Julius placed a thoughtful hand under his chin, that was another common theme between the children, that their parents were rushing to send them through a portal and didn’t have time to explain. As he thought about it he noticed the boy had stood up and Vanessa had walked over to him.

“ Y’know, you really are a cutie.” She said with a small laugh, causing the boy to blush a deep shade of red.

“ C-C-Cutie?!” He stammered in surprise before she continued and wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, you could tell by the look in her eyes that she was teasing him.

“ I bet you’re a real hit with the ladies, and maybe some of the guys too.” She told him before she thought about it for a moment. “ Unless you inherited your flirting skills from your father.”

“ What’s that supposed to mean?!” Finral shouted before Vanessa turned to look at him.

“ That means your flirting sucks.” She told him deadpan, causing an almost outrageously surprised look to appear of Finral’s face.

“ Excuse me?! I’ll have you know I’m an absolute hit with the ladies!” Finral began shouting in a high pitched and almost disbelieving voice, as Julius watched the interactions between them he noticed the pink haired boy began to relax and saw the slow realization that these were in fact his parents, just younger.

“ Don’t you think it’s about time you introduced yourself?” Julius asked the boy after a few minutes, the pink haired boy blushed a bit in embarrassment as he realized he hadn’t told them his name.

“ Ah yes, sorry about that.” He laughed before clearing his throat. “ My name’s Ezio Roulacase, it’s nice to meet you!” He added, giving a bit of a dramatic bow. Vanessa and Finral frowned a bit before placing thoughtful hands under their chins as they looked at him.

“ Hm, I think Ezio fits you perfectly, don’t you think Finral?” Vanessa asked as she turned to look at him, who nodded in agreement.

“ Yeah it really does fit him I think. Well, it’s nice to officially meet you, Ezio!” Finral said with a cheerful smile.

“ Now that introductions are out of the way, here are the directions to the temporary house you’ll be staying at with the others.” Marx told them before he began to explain where the house was that the others were staying at.

———

Yami pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched all the ‘families’ talk, mingle, and get to know each other outside. He had been a bit surprised when Noelle and Asta showed up with three kids and a devil, he had a small feeling that Noelle had a crush on Asta but he figured the kid was too dense to ever realize it. But as he watched Asta talking and doing a workout with his eldest daughter, while Noelle sat and talked with the two younger ones, he realized that they actually made a cute family. But then again, as he looked around at the other Black Bulls, he realized they all made cute families. Except for Zora, he and Nebra still couldn’t seem to get along. Not even for their kids sake.

“ What are you thinking about?” Yami turned at the sound of a familiar voice and smirked a bit when he saw it was Charlotte.

“ Eh nothing much, just thinking about how weird it is to see all of these kids with kids of their own.” He told her, nodding towards the younger squad members. Charlotte nodded in agreement.

“ True, it is a bit jarring to see kids with, well, kids of their own. Especially considering how some of the kids are around the same age as them.” Charlotte said, Yami nodded in agreement before the two fell into a comfortable silence for a moment.

“ Y’know,” Yami said suddenly, causing Charlotte to look at him. “ As weird as it is to see them with kids of their own and seeing how happy the mini knuckleheads are, it kind of makes me feel like I must’ve done something right as their Captain.” Yami finished as he rubbed the back of his head.

“ You’ve done a lot right as their Captain,” Charlotte told him firmly. “ I may not always agree with your methods, but I think you’re an excellent Captain. You gave those kids someone to look up too and admire, you gave them a home when they needed one, you gave them a family and friends that they can lean on and support. That’s my honest opinion.” Charlotte finished with a firm nod and a bit of a blush on her face, she couldn’t believe she said all of that too Yami!

“ Aw the Prickly Princess does have a soft side.” Yami joked, causing her to turn an even deeper shade of red.

“ O-Of course I do! Just because I don’t tend to show it very often doesn’t mean I don’t have a softer side!” She told him as she glared at him slightly.

“ Sheesh sorry I was just teasing you.” Yami said as he held his hands up in surrender, he smiled a bit before bringing one of his hands down and placing it gently onto her shoulder. “ But thank you for the compliment Princess, you’re not a bad Captain yourself.”

Charlotte blinked in surprise at Yami’s compliment, she smiled a bit as she looked down at her lap somewhat shyly. She wasn’t used to compliments let alone ones from Yami, but she had to admit it made her heart skip a beat when he acknowledged she was a good Captain too.

“ By the way,” Charlotte said after they fell into silence once again. “ you’ve been sitting here watching Alistar and Hikari for a while. What do you think of Alistar?” She added curiously as she noticed the two talking by the side of the house. She heard Yami make a disapproving grunt and she couldn’t help but chuckle.

“ I think he’s hiding something, his Ki and body language prove that. He’s been trying his best to hide, or at least mask, it from me and Hikari. But I can still tell.” Yami said as he pulled out a cigarette, Charlotte tilted her head.

“ Do you think Hikari’s noticed?”

“ Probably,” Yami said with a small nod before taking a drag of his cigarette. “ whether she’s acknowledging it or not is a different story. But I’m sure she’s noticed.” He added as he let the smoke from the cigarette out of his mouth, she noticed a protective look on his face and began to laugh softly.

“ You’re very protective of her,” she said as her soft laughter began to stop. “ but I think she’ll be fine Yami, I trust her and her judgement.” She began to laugh again when Yami blushed a bit and just grumbled under his breath.

“ It’s not just him I’m suspicious of though, I’m also suspicious of Princess Brooding Pants over there.” Yami said as he nodded towards the dark haired girl, Miku Charlotte believed her name was, and she frowned a bit as well.

The girl had completely separated herself from everyone else, even her ‘parents’. She sat underneath a tree with a book and just kept to herself. Charlotte wasn’t too surprised seeing as her parents could be the same way, but it was still a bit odd, especially when the other kids had asked her to play or train with them and she outright refused without even looking up from her book.

“ Do you think she’s hiding something as well?”

“ Oh I know she is, but it’s not like Golden Boy, while he’s actively trying to hide his Ki, she isn’t.” Yami said as he took another drag of his cigarette, Charlotte went to open her mouth when Gauche suddenly yelled.

“ Hey heads up! Incoming!” When the Captains turned and saw three people on brooms flying towards them. As they began to get into a defensive position Yami realized he recognized at least two of them.

“ It’s alright, it’s just Vanessa and Finral.” Yami said with a sigh of relief as the three people landed safely on the ground and began to walk towards them.

“ Hey Captain Yami!” Vanessa shouted happily as she waved at him and the others. “ Looks like this is where everyone ran off too huh?” She added as she looked around at all the familiar, and some unfamiliar, faces.

“ Who’s the kid?” Yami asked as he pointed at Ezio, who almost instantly paled as Yami directed his attention his way.

“ Oh, well, this is our son Ezio. Apparently he came from the future as well.” Finral explained sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“ You all need to stop having kids.” Yami muttered as he seemed to age instantly at Finral’s words. Charlotte smiled sympathetically as she patted him on the back in a vain attempt to comfort him.

“ Josslyn! My love!” Ezio suddenly shouted as his eyes landed on the pink haired girl that came walking towards him, without hesitation he ran and tried to capture her in his arms. Without missing a beat she dodged him easily, causing him to land flat on his face.

“ And here I thought I would finally get a break from you.” Josslyn said with a disappointed sigh and a shake of her head.

“ You’re so mean Joss.” Ezio cried dramatically before he turned to see Hikari walking towards him. “ Hikari! You’re here too!”

“ Hey Ezio,” She said as the pink haired boy wrapped her in a hug.

“ At least someone’s happy to see me.” He muttered as he glared at Josslyn, who only ‘hmphed’ in response.

Alistar looked around at the group of people that had gathered from his spot by the house. He began to count the children one by one, there was only meant to be 10 total but Miku suddenly showing up gave them a total of 11. He still couldn’t quite figure out how, or why, she was here. Even after speaking with her privately he didn’t get a clear answer. He let out a soft sigh before pushing himself off the side of the house and began walking towards the others. Since everyone was gathered now, it was finally time to tell them everything. As he opened his mouth suddenly a small portal opened up, a portal he recognized to be Marx’s.

“ Sorry for the sudden intrusion, and I’m sure Finral, Vanessa, and Ezio just arrived there, but we need all of you to come back to the Castle for an urgent matter.” Marx explained quickly.

“ Why? What’s going on now? I swear if you tell me it’s another kid-.” Yami growled before Marx quickly cut him off.

“ It isn’t another child! But it is someone’s parent, well, I think it’s their parent.” Marx muttered before he was suddenly pushed out of frame by someone.

“ Hello Vanessa, it’s been a while.” The Witch Queen said with a small smirk as she watched the surprise flash across everyone’s faces.

———

Thank you for reading! I hope you all have a good day 🥰!

#children of the future #oc; alistar #oc; hikari #oc; ezio #vanessa enoteca #finral roulacase #finral x vanessa #oc; josslyn #josslyn is not my oc #yami sukehiro #charlotte roselei #black clover #black clover fanfiction

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jacks-wylan · 3 years

Text

Follow me home

Here’s my @thewitchersecretsanta for @itsmajel. Sorry for the late, darling! I hope you like it, even if it’s not what I had in mind at first and rushed a bit at the end (life got in the way sobs). Still, i hope you appreciate geralt and jaskier being horse girls, the almost-not-fake-marriage and a little cameo of Valdo Marx that does nothing at all (but come on, everyone wants Valdo to be present at Jaskier’s wedding right?)

❀

The missive is delivered right in his hand one fine morning, at the start of spring. Geralt is minding his own business, sipping a piss–tasting ale in the darkest corner of a tavern in Oxenfurt, and he's waiting for his bard to deign him of his flamboyant presence as he has done for almost twenty years now.

Jaskier is late, though, and Geralt can't help but frown, worried, when a boy – a young boy, dressed in a rich uniform – bows to him and calls him Sir Witcher, handing him the letter. To be honest, the whole gesture scares him: no one ever bowed to him before.

When he opens the missive, Geralt sighs, recognizing immediately Jaskier's flourish handwriting.

“My dearest friend,” he reads, and that is not a good sign. “If I only try to write the real reason of my absence there by your side in Oxenfurt, a single parchment would not be enough, and I am quite sure you would not even read the whole ordeal, ignoring my request of aid. Once you reach for me here in my birthplace, I will explain everything. Please, my friend, I beg you to come here in Lettenhove as soon as possible. I don't have much time left.” Geralt blinks, “What the fuck.”

Geralt feels his heart dropping down in his stomach, dread pooling there as he scrambles up from the chair, grabs his swords, leaves some coins on the table, and runs outside. He doesn't even mind the next words written in the missive, the gentle, “Yours always, Jaskier.”

He just puts the already crumpled piece of parchment in Roach's saddlebag, hops on the horse, and heads towards Lettenhove – ignoring the shouts of the same boy that has delivered the missive. He knows the way, he doesn't fucking need company, and also, whoever he was he would just slow him down.

And Jaskier hasn't much time left.

He rides for a day and a half, avoiding inns and taverns, sleeping just when needed. He follows the seashore, remembering from conversation that Geralt pretended to ignore that Jaskier passed his childhood bathing in salty waters, breathing fish–smelling air. He remembers that whenever he played in Kerack courts, he always said that it felt like home.

Jaskier never once mentioned Lettenhove, though.

Geralt arrives in Lettenhove by twilight. It's a cheerful city, decorated for a festivity he has no knowledge of. There is a bonfire in the middle of the marketplace, already lit, with some people dancing and drinking wine around it, children laughing and screaming as they play catch. He watches around, in search of a familiar colorful figure, but he sees nothing of importance, so he heads toward the nearest tavern, set on asking every single soul if they know anything of Jaskier the Bard.

He growls at the stableboy, when he takes Roach's reins from his hands. “You know of a bard around here?” he asks the boy, helping him take the saddle off Roach.

The boy nods, guarded, “Well, yes! A bard is going to play tomorrow, for the wedding!”

“Wedding?”

“Don't you know, sir?” the boy cocks his head to the side, watching him from the other side of Roach. Another one that calls him sir, that's kind of creepy. “The long lost Viscount is finally going to marry tomorrow! That's why we are all celebrating.”

Geralt hums. Jaskier probably has been called to play at his birthplace court, and he needs assistance for this. Maybe one of the many ladies he loves is the future bride of the Viscount, who probably Jaskier hates for no reason at all, and for this Jaskier has brought misfortune upon his head: what if he's imprisoned? What if tomorrow, instead of his performance, Jaskier will be hanged beside the bonfire because he fucked the wrong maiden?

Damn him and his cock, “And this bard, you remember his name?”

“No, sir. I'm just a stableboy.” the boy shrugs, “Don't know who're the lord's hosts. But I got a glimpse of him when he came the other day, and he's really...” he scrunches his young face, “Excessive.”

Gods, yes. That's definitively Jaskier.

Geralt nods as a thanks, trying not to think about the the worst, and heads towards the inn. It's not the first time Geralt has to pay for Jaskier's debt in order to take him out of prison, and it's definitely not the first time he has to help Jaskier escape from imprisonment, and yet, now something seems... off. Geralt can't quite pinpoint what, though.

He eats soup, and drinks water. No one is looking at him feed himself alone at a table, too busy in the wedding's arrangements to pay attention to a lonely Witcher – as weird as it is. He takes a room, and the innkeeper doesn't grimace nor make him pay more while handing him the key, and it's probably the merry time around that makes all this people happy and all, but it still feels so damn strange.

“We will tell the Viscount of your arrival!” says the innkeeper, as he goes upstairs. Geralt just shrugs: he doesn't know why, and he doesn't care. If they have a job for him, he can ask Jaskier's freedom as a payment, at least.

For now, he just drops his belongings on the floor next to his bed, and lays on it to try gaining some sleep. Tomorrow, whatever happens, surely Geralt has to fight against something – be it a drowner or two, or a regiment of soldiers.

The next day, Geralt wakes up with someone stomping as they run up the stairs, stopping in front of his door and knocking loudly, too loudly. He groans, and glancing at the window he left open the night before, he notices that it's barely dawn – he has a half mind to just ignore the nuisance and go back to sleep, but he suddenly remember why he finds himself in Lettenhove in the first place and thinks better of it.

Slowly, he gets up, passing a hand on his eyes to wipe the sleep away, and the person on the other side of the door hasn't enough patience nor time, this morning, because they knock again and shout: “Geralt! Open up, I know you're awake, you oaf!”

Geralt blinks. That voice is definitely Jaskier's.

He walks to the door and unlocks it. Immediately, Jaskier pushes the handle, and if Geralt wasn't a fucking Witcher with quite good reflexes, the angle of the door would have definitely hit his forehead. Not a great start, for the day, it would be. “Geralt! My darling friend! You are here just in time!”

“Jaskier.” Geralt says, calmly. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What does it mean, what the fuck I am doing here?” Jaskier passes under his raised arm to enter inside his room, in his hand a heavy bag from where a mouth–watering smell comes. “That was I that called you here, remember? I believe you got my letter. I brought breakfast!”

Geralt grits his teeth, following him as he makes himself at home. “Yes, that's why I don't understand why you aren't in prison.”

Jaskier frowns, as he puts fruits and sweet rolls out of the bag. “I totally have no idea why you think I should be in prison right now.”

“You little– here, look.” Geralt grabs his satchel and takes out Jaskier's letter, showing him the peculiar words he'd chosen. “Please, my friend, I beg you to come here in Lettenhove as soon as possible. I don't have much time left.” he reads with a growl. Gods, seeing him here safe and sound is a relief, but he feels like he's been mocked, and it irritates him. “I though you were in danger, Jaskier, so I came here– wait, why you signed it...? Yours always...?”

Jaskier tears the letter off his hands, a panicked expression twisting his face, “It was in the heat of the moment, alright? I though I was gonna die any day without you – I mean, without your help to take me out of this mess. Don't mind it!” he folds the letter and puts it in his silk trouser's pocket. “Anyway, I think that explanations are in order.”

“You think?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. Then, he motions at the food he's served on the bed, “In the meantime, eat. The tale is long, and kinda boring.” Once Geralt is seated on the floor by the bed, a sweet roll in his mouth, Jaskier seems to be enough satisfied to start explaining. He does it with a huff, blowing a strand of hair away from his eyes – and Geralt no, he has totally not followed the motion with barely concealed awe, “My friend, before your arrival, I really thought this would have been the end for me. You are my only hope to make it out alive.”

“What have you done?” Geralt asks, flatly.

“Absolutely nothing – apart being born. You see, my darling Witcher, there are things that are... expected from me. My father actually pretends those things that I, no, I totally refuse to do. One of those things, is marring a completely unknown rich woman just for the sake of... you know, I really don't know why. Perhaps is because people will now stop spreading rumors about me, or worse yet because my father expects an, ugh, an heir. From me! My sister gave birth last summer, and he still expects me to have an heir! Isn't one enough, I wonder? How many heirs a Count needs, to be in peace with himself? It's really beyond my comprehension.”

“Jaskier, wait.” Geralt almost chokes on the sweet roll he is swallowing at Jaskier's words. Did he hear it right? Is he talking about marriage and children? Is he really Jaskier the man in front of him, or he's a doppler trying to fuck up with him? “The wedding is yours?” he asks, and that was really the last of his worries, but evidently all his mind and mouth were able to elaborate is just that.

“Unfortunately, yes. Thank all the Gods that you are here just in time, Geralt! One more day, and it would have been one day too late.” Jaskier walks towards the window, and looks down at the decorations with a dreadful grimace pulling his mouth. “Can you believe that hateful man how far is gone with this farce? With this charade? Hell, he even called the worst bard of the entire Continent to play during the banquet!” he sniffs, outraged. “But you're here! I shouldn't have doubted you! I have a plan to make all of this blown up, and you are the centerpiece of it.”

“The stableboy mentioned this bard. I thought it was you, by his description.”

Jaskier gapes, widening his big, blue eyes in a comical way, “Sad that he's gonna lose his job for this! Gods, how dares he compare me to that... that scoundrel–”

Geralt shakes his head, an amused smile tugging his lips. He's gonna admit it, he feels mostly confused by the stream of words coming out of Jaskier, as always. He just understands that he has an important role in his plan to not get married, and he guesses that he will help him regardless of his motives. Jaskier is... a free spirit. Geralt can't see him married off with someone, unless his wife–to–be is alright in never see him again because he'll be too busy walk the Path with him.

Hm. That is why the thought of Jaskier married is so foreign, so strange, so unbelievable? Because that would mean Geralt will never have him around again, in that case?

Geralt frowns, and raises his eyes to look how the bard is still muttering offenses against the young stableboy, “Isn't the Viscount the one who's gonna get married?”

“Yes, 'tis I, Julian Alfred Pankratz, the willingly estranged Viscount that has finally returned home to his so boring obligations and blah blah blah.” Jaskier motions in the air with his hand. Then, he blinks, looking down at Geralt, “I did never tell you this, didn't I?”

“That you were a fucking Viscount? No, Jaskier.” says Geralt, and he knows that he's able to conceal the bitterness in his voice – and yet, considering the guilty faces Jaskier is making, he probably didn't do it right this time.

“I beg for your forgiveness, my friend. I never told you this not because I don't trust you, because I do. You know that, and never doubt it again.” Jaskier sighs, and finally he walks away from the window to sit next to him on the floor, “It's just that... I always run away from this life, even in my mind it's always been like I've never lived here before, never borne here, that there weren't people waiting for me to stop being egoistical and take my responsibilities. This is the reason I never mentioned it before, you have nothing to do with that.”

Geralt can understands this, and he'd be too hypocritical of him to say that he doesn't do the same – he, too, runs away from unwanted, from scaring, responsibilities. So he just nods, and Jaskier smiles, relieved.

“I bet you are wondering why I am here, then. Why I don't run away from here once again.”

“I bet you're gonna tell me anyway.”

Jaskier gasps, a hand dramatically posed on his lips, “That I'll do! How did you know that?” he chuckles, then gets quiet. “Mhh, well, it's for another egoistical reason. I'm just tired to run away from... from what is my home, after all, I hate it or not, it still is. My mother died this summer, and I wasn't here to give her one last kiss. Actually, I don't ever remember the last time I've seen her, and now all I have is a grave.” he shrugs, as if he doesn't even care. Geralt can smell, though, in his scent, a touch of sadness, and regret. “My sister gave birth to the chubbiest baby I've ever met in my entire life, and I wasn't here for her. I wasn't here for her for her wedding either. What I'm trying to say, Geralt, is that I want too much to be free to also come here, just once in a while, to bring present to my nephew and lay flowers on my mother's tomb.”

Geralt clears his throat, slightly uncomfortable, “I'm sorry for your mother.”

“Don't be. Last time I've seen her, I was eighteen. My sister almost didn't remember my face, when I came here a couple of months ago.”

Geralt hums, and grabs an apple. “So, this plan?”

“Yes, the plan.” Jaskier claps his hands, and absentmindedly accepts the apple Geralt is handing him. “Today is the wedding day, and I'm going to meet the lovely lady my father has chosen for me, but! Listen this, because you will totally praise my brilliant mind this time.” he takes a bite at the apple, munching with fervor as he tries to gather the words to explain his so brilliant plan, and Geralt feels a smile tugging at his lips at the sight. He's ridiculous. Geralt is, too, obviously. “I organized a horse race.”

Geralt frowns, “Good.”

“It'll make sense, hear me out. I somehow convinced my father to accept this my... caprice. He thinks that it is just to entertain the guests, but I made very clear that it will be the winner who's gonna marry me! At this point, I guess my father doesn't really care who will be my bride, as long as I'll be married once and for all. And, and,” he stops Geralt before he could ask clarifications with a finger closing his lips, “I will participate. You will do in my behalf, of course, you know I can't ride a horse for shit, and I am so sure that Roach will make the other horses eat her dust! I will win the race, and I'm gonna marry myself.”

“That's...”

“Brilliant?”

“Stupid. It will never work.”

“Whaaat?” Jaskier pouts, crossing his arms against his chest, “Why? It has to work!”

Geralt knows that nobles gets embarrassingly excited by these kind of things – the scoops, the scandals, and whatever they comports – but he doesn't think that a scam like this will work. Not that Geralt knows his father at all, in what way he's going to react at Jaskier's, hm, trap, but if he really wants Jaskier married and soon–to–be–father, he won't surely accept the whole 'I won at a game so I will marry myself' thing.

Hence, this is stupid. But looking at the sad pout on Jaskier's face, Geralt can't find in himself the power to tell him that his plan has all kinds of holes in it. So, he mutters, “If... if you're sure about it.”

“I am! So, you're on?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Of course,” Jaskier rolls his eyes, fondly, as he does every time Geralt says something uncalled for. “You always have a choice, my dear. After all, there will be a lot of nobles, a lot of meaningless chatters, a lot of stabbing behind the backs, a lot of songs from a terribly bard. I wouldn't wish it even to my worst enemy. Well, sure, without your help I'd die within the day, slicing my own throat with a cutlery out of desperation and boredom, but this is not a forcing towards you by any means.”

Geralt smacks his shoulder, and Jaskier shrieks an amused ouch, massaging the hit spot. Put like this, he no, he really doesn't have a choice. How could he leave him be, when Jaskier is looking at him with those puppy eyes, with his lower lip slightly protruding, with those desperate words about his demise?

Well, he knew that he wouldn't have any choice since he received his letter back in Oxenfurt.

“Fine.” he sighs, then, “What do I have to do?”

“Nothing too complicated, darling. You just have to be faster than my... fiance's horse. Actually, I think Roach would do most the work. Never joined a horse race before?”

“Have you ever seen me in one?” he asks, rhetorically. No one would challenge him in anything, nor offer him to join a competition that, usually, is for noble's entertainment, so it's naive of Jaskier to ask something like this. But Geralt knows that Jaskier, most of the time, doesn't fully comprehend how people take Geralt at arm's length, and gets mad when he witnesses the – maybe deserved, maybe not – cruelty they have towards him.

“No, but maybe you have in my absence. Who knows what you do when I'm not around!”

“I do what I always do, Jaskier. I walk the Path, I fight, and I try to survive. I have no time for games.”

Jaskier scrunches his face, clearly discontent of his words, “So unfair.”

It doesn't matter if it's fair or unfair, it's still Geralt's life, and Jaskier needs to understand that nothing will ever change, no matter the fact that he doesn't like it and he deems it humanly wrong.

So Geralt doesn't respond, and a quiet silence falls on them whilst they finish their breakfast. Jaskier wipes away the apple juice from his mouth with the hem of his luxurious chemise, and the gesture is so little nobility that Geralt still doesn't believe the fact that in front of him there is a Viscount. That the bard that followed him for almost two decades is a Viscount – and he had no clue at all.

Jaskier winces and grimaces, when people start to shout and sing and claps from the roads outside. “We need to go. My wife–to–be is probably arrived.” he rolls his eyes, raising from the floor and reaching out to help him do the same. “I bet my precious lute that she is as unhappy as me about this arrangement. Gods, I don't even know her name! She probably doesn't know mine either! This is bullshit.”

Grabbing his stretched hand, Geralt prepares himself to what's about to happen.

He doesn't have a good feeling about this.

Jaskier's fiance is flawless, with a curved body and straight blond hair. She's not a teenager as Pavetta was during her wedding – the only banquet Geralt has ever participated, and he's for the first time in all his long life praying that this won't end like hers ended – and she walks with her chin held high, an expressionless stare pointed in front of her. Maybe it's her face, but Geralt thinks that Jaskier is probably right, and she's as unhappy as he is in this whole situation. After all, a lot of years passed since Jaskier was twenty and ready – for his father, at least – to get married: she has probably found someone else to love in Jaskier's absence, because her brown, stricken eyes resemble so much Pavetta's.

Well, Geralt thinks. Maybe Jaskier's plans will work, if he has his fiance's support.

Geralt watches as Jaskier and his fiance's meet for the first time in the farthest corner of the main square, with Roach neighing quietly next to him. Jaskier's eyes are full of pity, as he, with a sweet, small smile, kisses the back of her hand, so lightly that his lips doesn't even touch her sun–kissed skin. They don't exchange words apart for empty pleasantries, and Geralt feels an hollow inside of him at the sight.

He doesn't want a meaningless, unloved marriage for Jaskier.

He nudges Roach forward as the cheerful crowd follows the soon–to–be–wed couple to the magnificent palace at the end of the main road. He doesn't think Geralt will be welcomed there inside, no matter what Jaskier wants – he is too busy with his father and fiance, right now, to mind his comfort – but he thinks that, at least, he can go in the Pankratz's stables, considering that Roach will be one of the horses that will compete.

He is surprised, though, to find a servant in there that shows him the way inside the palace, indicating him where to go to the chambers allocated to him. He's too confused to try asking for explanations, and too stunned to growl at the stableman as he takes Roach's reins from his hands.

Maids prepare him a bath, and new, perfumed clothes are brought to him. Geralt doesn't feel enough relaxed to take off his armor and stay only with the clothes Jaskier – obviously – sent to him, so when he heads to the stables again, he tries to ignores the confused stares from servants and maids as he walks the corridors with frilly, clean clothes under his stained, clearly old armor.

In the stable, he finds himself to be surprised again, when he sees Jaskier nuzzling Roach's nose, hugging her neck from time to time as he murmurs sweet nothings in her flicking ears. “You will be my forever heroin, Roach, if you win this race. I know, I know, it's child's play for you, my horses – or, everyone's horses, don't get so offended, Gods – are snails compared to you, my girl. Still, you have to give all your might, regardless of the incompetence of others.”

Roach snorts, and tries to bite Jaskier's fingers. Geralt suffocates a laugh just to not interrupt whatever is going on between her and Jaskier.

Jaskier gasps, but the idiot doesn't take his hands off the horse, “You're so touchy! I didn't say that you are incompetent! Gods, sometimes you are worst than your owner. Ohw! I said sometimes!” his words are followed by a couple of kisses on her muzzle that she tries to shy away from – with not much force, though. Geralt knows that Roach is totally able to headbutt Jaskier out of her way, if she really wants to. “Anyway, what I meant, you prickly horse, is that mistakes are not allowed. Not if you still want me run after you throughout the Continent! And I know you want me. Who else is gonna give you this, if not me?” he asks, taking a small sugar cube from his pocket.

Roach stops stomping her foot on the ground, suddenly very docile.

“Yeah, I know. If you help me, dear girl, I will give you a whole bag full of your favorite treats. All for you, to eat all at once if you wish!”

“Are you done spoiling my horse?”

Jaskier jumps and a bunch of sugar cubes falls from his closed palm, “Holy shit, Geralt, do you perhaps want me to have a heart attack? You almost succeeded here!”

“Dramatic.”

“I'm serious, Gods.” Jaskier leans on Roach hugging her with an arm, and she doesn't mind at all, too busy eating all the treats fallen on the dusty ground. His other hands is posed against his chest, at the height of the heart. “That's why Roach is my favorite: she at least huffs and snorts to make her presence known.”

Geralt caresses Roach's neck, and her ears flick in acknowledgment. “Trying to bribe her won't work.”

Jaskier pouts, and frowns at the now clean ground where just second before the treats he brought for Roach laid, “It was working before you interrupted so rudely. By the way, did you rest? I see you changed with the clothes I had sent to you. They are really nice on you, I have to admit, but, dear, you don't need your armor in a horse race.”

“You will never know.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow at him, “Aaand that's why you are the wise one between us. Uhm, I'm gonna buy you a new armor, though. This one is falling to pieces.”

“You don't have to buy me anything, Jaskier.” Geralt sighs, and drops his eyes off Jaskier to pay attention to Roach, distract himself in adjusting her saddle and controlling her shoes. If she has to race, she has to have all the needed comforts – in no way Geralt would ride her with a broken shoe or a loose saddle.

“But I want to! Whatever. You are saving my life, it's the least I can do. Money won't be a problem at all, on the contrary: for the first time, my father's money – also mine, I'd like to stress – would be finally used for something useful. He spends all our wealth in women and wine, the old fucker!”

Geralt almost says that put it like this, Jaskier isn't so different from his father, but he thinks better of it. So he just hums, letting him continue blabbing about the disgraceful ways his father lives even before his mother's death.

He really has a lot to say regarding this argument. Distractedly, Geralt wonders if Jaskier will remember that they have a horse race to win before it's too late, or if he'll be too preoccupied in blaming his father for all his bad habits to notice the hours pass. He will probably find himself already married the moment he'll finally stop talking.

Suddenly, Jaskier claps his hands, “Now, Geralt, we have to go, we wasted enough time in chitchats. I already talked to my father, and he knows that you will be the other participant. You are competing against the best knight serving my fiance's family – I didn't even bother learning his name.”

“Do you at least know your fiance's name, now?”

“Yes, but I want to forget, as she wants to forget mine. We want absolutely nothing do to with each other, and believe me, for the first time in my entire life, I'm relieved to know that someone hates me.” Jaskier shrugs, and takes his hand in his, tightening slightly his long fingers around his much larger palm. For a second, he gets distracted by the casual gesture: he will never comprehend how a man's touch can be so warm, how can it make his skin tingle so strangely and yet so pleasurably. “Let's go now, I want to show you where the racecourse is located. It's a circular racetrack, really, the horses have to run around the stands where my family and my fiance's family will be to watch the... the challenge, and the first one that reaches the starting point is the winner.” he sniffs, “I feel strange, Gods, I'm starting to feel anxious. Don't get me wrong, I know you are going to win without any doubt, but I can't get out of my mind the feeling that something will go irremediably wrong.”

Geralt has the same feeling since the very beginning, but he just follows Jaskier silently out of the stable after giving Roach a see–you–later kiss on her muzzle. He doesn't add anything more to Jaskier's worries, and he mostly ignores the townsfolk that stop them on their way to the racetrack, giving Jaskier gifts as small bouquets of wildflowers and flower crowns.

A young girl tries to give him one too, and Geralt almost panicked as he crouches before her and she puts the too small crown on his head. Her mother doesn't even try to snatch her away from him, and Geralt supposes that it's thanks to Jaskier's influence. The whole town is acting as he is just one of the many guests came here for the wedding.

Thankfully, Jaskier doesn't comment Geralt awkwardness.

Jaskier shows the racecourse when they finally reach it, situated in a dusty clearing just out of town. Geralt doesn't care as Jaskier starts telling him how the workers have built this in no more than a week time, but he is particularly aware of Jaskier's hand still closed tight around his.

Jaskier stops midsentence when a sudden strum of a lute echoes around the empty racecourse, and the disturbing scent of anger and disgust coming off Jaskier imbues his senses. They both raise they stares and up on the stands, seated there with no care at all with a lute posed on his lap, there is a bard, apparently.

“What the hell is he doing here?!” Jaskier fumes, and if only stares could kill, the bard would be dust on the ground. “Hey! What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Practicing for you wedding, Julian.” the bard answers, throwing them an amused grin, “There's chaos out there, and talent needs tranquility to reach its peak. Speaking of, why are you doing here? Shouldn't you be back in your chambers to get ready for your grand day?”

Jaskier stomps a foot on the ground, petulantly, “There will be no grand day! Get out of my way!”

“I won't be so sure of myself in your place, Julian. I am sure that someone has distorted your request about this race, and all of this is going to blow out in your funny face. But I am your servant today, so, as the lord commands.” the bard bows with a hand posed against his chest, then hops down the stands and disappears back towards town, as Jaskier's face becomes purple with anger.

Geralt asks, “Who is he?”

“My worst enemy, my recurrent nightmare, my crux and disgrace.” Jaskier passes a hand through his hair, “So, no one you needed to meet, no one important to know.” with a frown, he looks up the sky, a hand shadowing his eyes against the shining sun. “It's almost midday. It's a matter of time for the guests to start to arrive. Geralt, my friend.” Jaskier turns to him and, sadly, his hand leaves the grip on his. “I need to go. Win this race, and I'll be forever yours.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“Forever in your debt, I meant!” Jaskier shrieks, red in face, as he runs away the same way the bard disappeared, a cloud of dust raising from his feet in the haste of it.

With a resigned snort, Geralt turns around to go to Roach and get her ready for the race.

But the bard's words keep swirling inside his head, amplifying the bad feeling about Jaskier's plan: I am sure that someone has distorted your request about this race, and all of this is going to blow out in your funny face.

Well.

The stands are full the moment Geralt comes back at the racecourse with Roach trotting happily next to him. Jaskier is there with his family, seated at the center of it, at one of his side an older man that is his spitting image if not for the gray hair and serious expression, the other his fiance.

A young lady with a chubby baby sits beside his father, and even if she doesn't resemble Jaskier a lot, Geralt thinks that she's the sister he talked about.

Geralt is welcomed with a grand applause, followed by another when a knight in a white armor, riding a equally white stallion – the irony – takes place next to him at the starting point. They give him a thumbs up as Jaskier's father is shouting the rules and the motives of this sudden, at his saying uncalled for, race from his position.

As he talks, Geralt looks at Jaskier. He has a stricken expression twisting the usually smooth lines of his face, a vein popping on his forehead as the same bard they met before sings and strums behind him. He's not relaxed at all, even though he said that he is not afraid of Geralt to lose the race. So, why so tense?

The bed feeling intensifies.

Geralt caresses Roach's neck as she snorts, a bit annoyed by the cheerful crowd around them. He murmurs words of comfort, not dissimilar to the ones Jaskier told her in the stables whilst trying to bribe her – that is, until Jaskier's father shouts to them to get ready and in position.

There is a short countdown, and Roach tenses.

When the “Go!” is shouted, Roach runs. It's blurry after that, all Geralt can see – even with his enhanced senses – is just the road in front of them, all his – theirs – attention is to win this competition and get over with all of this.

He hears the stallion behind him, and Roach cleverly, with his guidance, gets in front of it to block its way, so it can't go past her and it's forced to slow down like this.

Clever, clever girl. A wave of pride overwhelms him, and he's sure that also Jaskier, up where he is enjoying the show, is feeling the same way.

Obviously, he and Roach are the first to cross the finish line, and everyone around them shout and scream and cheer the winner – and considering that it's Geralt the winner, it feels so strange. He drops off Roach and she seems to balks at the praises the people are shouting at her and at her clever talent, stomping her feet at the ground and neighing happily. She even trots around herself, in a very funny dance. Somewhere behind him, Jaskier's laugh trills, louder than any cheer.

The knight drops down their stallion too and gets closer to him. They takes off their helmet and Geralt is surprised to see that his challenger is a beautiful woman, with cropped short hair and a satisfied grin on her sweaty face. She stretches an arm towards him to shake their hands, before going.

“Father!” Geralt hears Jaskier say out loud. Raising his eyes, Geralt sees him standing in front of his father, excitement written on his face. Next to him, his fiance has finally lost her stricken face, and she seems so relieved that she just stays seated there, with eyes closed, and a hand against her heart. “My challenger has won. So it means I won!”

“Yes, my son. The Witcher has won.” repeats his father, calmly.

“Exactly. So I can marry my–”

“Your Witcher. You can marry him. It's what you were after since the beginning, weren't you?”

Jaskier inhales sharply, dropping his mouth wide open. “W–Wh–w–whha–”

The bard bursts out laughing, almost falling down on his butt.

Geralt panics, and hopes he did hear wrong for the first time in his life. He looks at Jaskier, waiting for something, anything that would hint him their next move, but Jaskier seems to be turned into a stone, eyes growing distant.

“I won, father.” he says, in the end, with a thin voice. “I've got to chose, now.”

“No, the Witcher has won, Julian. And you did chose: it was you that organized all of this and let the Witcher participate.” his father says, candidly. Then, he turns towards Geralt, the blue eyes that so much resembles his son's looking down at him with no particular emotion hidden behind them, “So, Witcher. Will you merry my son?”

Geralt is still panicking, sadly. That's why he says, “Yes..?” right before biting his tongue.

Jaskier winces as if slapped. His ex–fiance is looking at the scene with a curious gaze.

The bard is still laughing his arse off somewhere on the ground.

When Jaskier's father claps his hands and orders his servant to take Geralt back to the palace so he can get ready for tonight ceremony, it all clicks in Geralt's mind.

He's fucked.

Three hours later, the sun is almost setting down over the horizon, and Geralt finds himself in his chambers, in front of a mirror, trying to close the white doublet the maids brought to him.

He's angry, and not just because the buttons have no intentions to stay put. He's angry because he doesn't like at all the situation he's finding himself in, and he's even banned from going to see Jaskier wherever he is right now, to ask for explanations, to at least know how is he supposed to do to take them both out of this mess.

He feels like relaxing a bit, though, when he hears familiar steps approaching his door. “Come in,” he says even before Jaskier tries to knock.

Geralt hears a sigh, then opens his door with the utmost care as if scared to make even the smallest of the noises. When the door clicks shut behind him, Jaskier finally raises his eyes to meet his stare on the mirror. “Geralt, I–” he blinks, “Wow. You are quite a sight in white.”

Geralt just snorts, fuming. He gives up trying to close the buttons of the doublet to turn toward Jaskier with a dark glare, arms crossed against his chest, and the strange twinkling inside Jaskier's eyes dim, walking closer to him with a subdued posture. “Geralt... uh, are you mad at me?”

Geralt sighs. And, as always happens, he can't stay mad at him for too long: especially if he looks at him with those puppy eyes, so expressive that they seem to beg more than his mouth could ever do. “No.”

“Oh thank the Gods. I am so, so sorry, Geralt, it wasn't supposed to go like this! I mean, I am actually really surprised that you said yes to my father when he asked you if you wanted to marry me, but–”

“I didn't know what to say!”

“I know, calm down! It's okay, really, I already made up a new plan.” Jaskier says, excited.

“This doesn't make me feel better.”

“Miscreant!” Jaskier huffs, the gets closer and starts ruffling with his clothes, closing the buttons of his doublet and straightening the wrinkles, “I understand that the simpler plan is the most effective. You just have to say I don't, when the Melitele's priestess will tell the vows and ask you again if you want to marry me. The ceremony will be very brief, you don't have to worry about this, considering the little time we had, so you don't even have to prepare a speech. Aren't you happy? All you have to say is I don't!”

“That's it?” Geralt doubts it very much.

“That's it!”

Geralt grunts, unconvinced. “And your father will leave you alone, even if you don't get married?”

“I talked to my sister before coming here. Apparently, being left at the altar is a scandal. No one wants a groom or a bride that another disavowed, no matter the reasons.” Jaskier shrugs, “Gods forbid if an abandoned person gets a second chance.” he adds, sarcastically.

“And you're okay with it?”

Jaskier looks at him incredulously, “You're kidding? I'm more than okay. I don't want to marry anybody, Geralt, not now, nor ever. My life is perfectly fine as it is.”

Geralt finds himself frowning at the ground, something akin at nervousness churning his stomach at Jaskier's words. He should not care, after all, what Jaskier wants to do with his life, it's nothing of his business – and yet, he doesn't like the thought that Jaskier will never want someone stable to love for the rest of his life.

Is he starting to think like Jaskier's father?

Shit.

Jaskier probably notices his face darkens, because he gets even closer and grabs one of his shoulders, tightening slightly his grip when no reaction comes from Geralt, “Are you fine, Geralt? Believe me, I am truly, truly sorry for throwing all my family's mess onto you. But fret not, my friend! This will be the end, at least I can assure you this.”

Geralt looks at him. He has a plain robe on, clearly he was also preparing for the ceremony before sneaking out to come here, to him; his face is blotched red, maybe for embarrassment, maybe nervousness, Geralt can't say; his scent is mostly covered by some sweet perfume he used while bathing. He still is making puppy eyes at him, hoping to soften him as he begs for forgiveness.

But in the end, there's no motive for him to ask for forgiveness: it was Geralt who panicked and said that yes, he wanted to marry him. Thank fuck that it's all going to end soon, because this whole situation is becoming ridiculous.

There's a lot of ridiculous things he's done for Jaskier, after all.

But this? This beats them all.

“Whatever, I have a little gift for you.” Jaskier says, searching inside the pocket of his robe and taking out of there a silk, blue hair ribbon. “I know that I've already broken traditions by coming here, because one should see the bride – in this case, the groom – right on the altar, not before. But,” he says, showing him the ribbon. Geralt touches it with a knuckle, and it's as smooth as it looks. “this one is nice. They say that we need something old, something new, and something blue. You are what we have of old,” he laughs at this, and Geralt just smiles at him, “and our clothes are relatively new. What we missed is something blue, and all I've found is this. May I comb your hair?”

Geralt looks at him, then at the ribbon. At last, he sighs, “Sure.”

Actually, he feels a bit in trepidation as Jaskier commands him to sit at the vanity and settles behind him. His long fingers starts, slowly, almost carefully, to separate the white strands in three parts. Geralt watches as he combs his hair with care and confidence – it's not the first time he does that after all – but somehow this time it feels... different. Sacred, he would say, if only he was a poet.

Jaskier's hums under his breath does help the moment, making it even more intimate. He makes a plain braid, not too complicated, but taking his time nonetheless. Geralt definitely doesn't shivers when Jaskier's fingers brush against the skin of his neck, and no, he's definitely not too aware of Jaskier's breath too close to his ear when he leans to catch loose strands of hair.

Definitely not.

“Here you go!” Jaskier concludes, as he makes a flourish bow with the ribbon at the end of the braid. “Perfection.”

Geralt tells himself that he doesn't notice Jaskier's fingers lingering a bit more than necessary on his hair.

“I should go, now. I hope no one notices my absence.”

Geralt nods, “Hm. Go then.”

“Yeah, I–” Jaskier bites his lower lip, as he poses his hands on his shoulder. Their eyes meet through the mirror, and Jaskier seems to almost be saying something, but then thinks better of it. He smiles at him, with an healthy glow on his cheeks. “Thank you again, Geralt. What you're doing really means a lot to me.”

Said that, Jaskier leans towards him and leaves a smooch on his cheek, loud and a bit wet.

Then, he literally runs. “Ta!” he shouts as the door closes behind him.

Geralt freezes on the spot, a hand pressed on his cheek, where the ghost of that brief kiss still lingers there. His head completely shuts down. What the fuck was that?!

His mind can't make a coherent thought for the rest of the evening, finding himself by the altar without knowing how and when it happened. Jaskier is slightly late – if he understood well, they were supposed to reach the altar together – but Geralt knows why he isn't here yet, and in his altered mind he still can't get over that kiss.

Not that Jaskier never touched him before, being so tactical and friendly even with complete strangers – but, but kisses were always off limits. Combing hair? Yes, sure. It happened plenty of times. Massages? Also okay. Geralt still remembers fondly when Jaskier helped with his very uncomfortable problem on his bottom. Sleeping together and finding their limbs tangled together the morning after? Nothing wrong with that at all, it always happens when friends sleep together.

Right?

Hm. Put it like this, the kiss – on the cheek, mind you – seems to be the less intimate thing they've ever shared.

Then why..? Why does it bother him so much?!

Jaskier appears next to him on thin air, apparently, because Geralt didn't acknowledge his arrival at all, not until his tense laughter trills beside him as he almost trips on the last step of the altar. When he motions at him to try and steady him, Geralt's mind shut down again as his eyes finally fall on him.

Jaskier is also dressed in white like him, with golden embroidery running through his doublet and trousers, and he has an ephemeral aura around him that almost blinds his eyes. Jaskier returns his gaze with a sheepish smile, a blush on his cheeks and a quick shrug, as if to say Sorry for the late. Even if it's all a farce, I had to be on top regardless.

And on top he is, fucking hell.

Geralt can't quite take his eyes off Jaskier, as the Melitele's priestess starts talking out loud for all the guests to hear. Every time Jaskier notices his gaze, Geralt lowers his eyes as if caught doing something prohibited. Gods, he feels like a teenager. He feels like a real groom on his real wedding day – maybe? He doesn't really know what a groom may feel during a wedding.

This exchange of stares happens three times more. At last, Jaskier chuckles and the priestess looks at him oddly.

Suddenly, Jaskier takes his hands in his, raising them at heart length. They both turn towards each other, staring into each other faces. Geralt panics slightly, having heard not a single word that came out of the priestess' mouth. Jaskier is biting his lips, red in faces – he's probably trying to suppress one of his usual loud laughs. He's laughing at him!

He doesn't matter that at the moment Jaskier is the most beautiful man he has ever seen in his pitiful long life, he's ridiculing him and now he's mad. Kinda.

“I do.” says Jaskier, solemnly.

Geralt frowns. What was the question?

The priestess nods, then turns her pretty face towards Geralt, “And you, Geralt of Rivia?”

Shit. Fuck. What was the question?!

“I...” he asks Jaskier for help with a begging look, but Jaskier just tilts his head to the side. “I... do.”

The priestess nods again, but Jaskier blinks, “What?” he mouths.

“Was that..?” Geralt panics, because oh Gods, he now understands that the question was the question, the only question he needed to answer, the question Jaskier clearly has told him to say I don't. “Shit, no. I don't. I... don't.” The priestess jerks as he tries to mend his terrible mistake, “I don't want to marry, you heard me? I don't.”

Chaos erupts around them as Jaskier's father shrieks a “What?!”; the bard laughs his arse off again somewhere, hidden in the middle of the crowd; Jaskier's sister has a hand on her lips, feigning a surprise she doesn't really feel.

Jaskier is, instead, looking at him with a curious expression. Their hands are still tangled together in a firm grip, and Jaskier tightens slightly the grip to bring his attention on him and him only – not that Geralt had attention on anyone or anything, or else this mess wouldn't have happened in the first place, but still. Jaskier's thumbs are caressing the back of his hands, and the gesture is making him so aware of him and totally not of their surrounding.

“You said...” Jaskier prompts, after a minute passed just looking at each other.

“I panicked.”

Jaskier chuckles, “I noticed. Why?”

Geralt pursues his lips. Fuck, Jaskier is mocking him again, “I was distracted, and I haven't heard what the priestess said, so–”

Jaskier says, “You were looking at me, I know this. I distracted you?” Jaskier gets closer, almost a breath away from Geralt's face. Geralt feels trapped. “Tell me, I distracted you? Were you enough inebriated by my presence that the thought of marry me crossed your mind, and you weren't against it at all?”

Geralt says nothing.

“Geralt?”

“Will you marry me?” he blurts out, regretting it the second after. Yes, alright? He was thinking since that blasted kiss in his chambers that he would mind being Jaskier's husband, and being kissed again, and maybe meet his nephew and accompany him to bring flowers to his mother's tomb. So? Sue him for living in a fantasy for once in his life.

“No, darling.”

Of course not. How could he? He didn't want to marry that beautiful lady, surely he has no intention to marry a blasted, stinky, grumpy Witcher. “Alright.” he swallows down the bitterness of rejection, even if he shouldn't really feel so bad. He knew the response the second he asked, so.

Jaskier rolls his eyes, though. He actually feels really surprised when Jaskier leans on him and kisses him. Not a smooch on his cheek, no, a kiss on his lips. His head, obviously, shuts down again so he doesn't reciprocate, just enjoys the soft lips moving on him, and finally his scent, under the layers of sweet perfume, reaching his nose. “Silly Witcher. No, I don't want to marry you, or anyone really. I believe that I needn't to demonstrate to no one my love: not to my father, and not to Melitele herself. So I needn't a frivolous ceremony and a signed contract, a white doublet and a hundreds of testimonies to love you 'til death do us part.”

“Okay.” says Geralt, even if nothing is okay, because surely he got something wrong? He doesn't think he fully understands what Jaskier means.

“You marvelous, silly, naive man.” Jaskier sighs, fondly, “Did you know that we can make love even without a marriage contract? Let's leave everyone to their scandal. My sister is having the time of her life, she'll take care of everything.”

“Make what?” Geralt's almost afraid to ask, but Jaskier's expression is soft and fond – he seems in love. More than he's ever been, that is.

Jaskier winks, “I'm gladly going to show you, love.”

What happens next is a blur, Geralt notices just Jaskier's kisses, hugs, and soft, naked skin under his fingertips.

This time he understands the whole situation very, very clear.

#geraskier #thewitchersecretsanta #the witcher secret santa #mine:fyccina

160 notes · View notes

pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Note

- maybe something soft with Ciri? Just good ole daughter contents

- literally anybody, but preferably a non-witcher casually without a thought picking Geralt up to like get smt behind him or move him out of the way, or in a dangerous situation (yes, this is mostly about all those buffskier memes but it's funny with any other character too, can you just imagine his face if Yennefer picked him up)

- anything at all with Valdo Marx in any capacity (I have a problem)

- heck I had another one but I can't remember, I shall return

Hi Anon, my boy still hasn’t texted, so you get a sample dish of all of ‘em.

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Soft with Ciri

“It’s okay, Geralt,” Jaskier said, putting one restraining hand on the witcher’s arm. “She’s only dancing.”

“With. A. Boy.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier frowned at him. “She’s sixteen, now, Geralt. There will, in her life, be boys. And girls. And people.”

“It’s not about--” Geralt muttered. “It’s not that she’s dancing with a boy.” Of course it wasn’t that Ciri was dancing with someone. He knew she would grow up someday and date and maybe even find love. Geralt held no illusions of ownership, Ciri wasn’t his to control, she was her own. The issue wasn’t that she would grow up someday and date, it was that someday seemed to be coming much too soon.”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier said. “She’s growing up, I know it’s hard, but look at her.”

Geralt watched their daughter spinning circles in the sun. Her hair, so like her mother’s and so like his own, caught the light, like a moonbeam in broad daylight.

She laughed, head thrown back and eyes dazzling and Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s hand. Geralt felt his eyes sting a little.

Ciri detached from her dance partner and ran over. She wrapped her arm around Geralt’s neck and pulled him down. It was almost like a hug except she whispered.

“That boy is a real prick, but his da’s the alderman here, and since he shorted us...” Ciri slipped some coins into Geralt’s hand.

Geralt sighed. “We better get out of town. He smiled at his daughter, who looked up at him, beaming. “I’m proud of you.”

And it seemed like they had a little more time yet before Ciri started growing up too much.

Let’s All Lift Geralt

The first time, well, Geralt had half believed he’d dreamt it. It hadn’t been a halucination, but he’d had so many potions and the griffin had really torn a chunk out of him, he was flying high on toxicity. Then Jaskier had appeared, slightly blurry, in front of him, patted his face a little nervously, then lifted him.

It had been...nice, being cradled in some surprisingly strong arms. Geralt had laid into it, black eyes sliding closed. He’d listened to Jaskier’s heartbeat thudding in his enhanced ears.

The second time Geralt was truly shocked. He’d slipped while making repairs to the walls at Kaer Morhen. A broken ankle was nothing to a witcher, all it meant was a day off from repairs, but he’d slipped and a block of stone would have fallen on top of him but a tendril of purple magic, curtesy of Yennefer, held the block hovering in the air.

Then, without so much as a ‘by your leave’ Yennefer lugged Geralt over her shoulder like a sack of flour. It was...hot.

The third time....was really really early.

“Ciri?” Geralt said muzzily. “Its not even light out.”

“It’s Yule!” She pounced on the bed, displacing pillows and waking Jaskier, who poked his head above the covers. Yennefer, on Geralt’s other side, smirked and stretched.

“C’mon,” Ciri said, tugging Geralt’s arm. “Uncle Lambert’s already downstairs.”

“Of course he is,” Geralt muttered.

Then, with one mighty heave, Ciri managed to lift and dump Geralt from the bed.

*Mr. Turner’s Dinkleberg voice* Valdo Marx

They were in Cidaris, in an inn. Geralt was rinking to deal with the crowd, and Jaskier was causing the crowd to pay for the drinking. Geralt shot Jaskier a wink over his mug of ale. Jaskier smiled back.

Geralt mused over his ale a moment.

“What a lonely face,” someone said. A redheaded woman slid in beside Geralt and gave him an inviting smile.

“Not lonely,” Geralt grunted.

“Oh sweetheart,” said a man sliding in on Geralt’s other side. “No one who looks like you sits alone unless they’re lonely.” He was slightly plump with a stupid little goatee and curly black hair. His doublet was covered in gold braid. Geralt had gotten used to the fact that Jaskier’s blue doublets were, in fact, the point of fashion. All this gold was...over the top.

“Not alone.”

“Not any more,” the woman purred. Her red lipstick had gotten smeared onto her teeth.

“I’m Valdo,” the man said.

“Marzia, called Marx or Marxie,” said the woman.

Alarm bells began ringing in Geralt’s head.

“Hmmm,” he said.

“You may have heard of us?” said the man. “We’re a duo group, Valdo Marx, Troubadours of Cidaris.”

“And we can take you away from here,” Marzia purred, “and this, frankly pitiful music.”

“I like the music.”

“That’s a question of taste,” Valdo said.

“Pardon me, you half-wit louts,” Jaskier said, having ended his most recent song. He plopped himself solidly down into Geralt’s lap and gave him a kiss that was less than appropriate for the amount of people around. “That’s my boyfriend you’re talking to.”

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captainsolare · 3 years

Note

Heyya!!! I love this new event you're doing! Could I get a fic for Julius x fem reader please? Normal AU, roll 2 times for trope and 2 times for dialogue prompt? I hope I made the request correctly! Thank you ily 💙💙

A/N: Hey there! Thanks so much, ❤❤ I hope you enjoy it

Julius + Normal AU + Please pretend to be my date for this (dinner with my parents) + "It's freezing in here."

Warnings: includes a brief alcohol mention (Julius drinks wine), some angst/ hurt/comfort, f! reader

“Julius honey, your father and I need to have a chat with you.” The words from his mother over the communication device sent Julius into a cold sweat. He chuckled nervously, glad his mother couldn’t see his facial expressions, “What about? Is something wrong?”

“Yes of course there is! Next week marks the start of the holiday season and you still haven’t brought home a wife! Or even a girlfriend for that matter.”

Julius pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to come up with a suitable response but her next words sent a whole new wave of panic through him.

“Your father and I have been talking and I’m afraid if you don’t bring someone with you to our dinner next week, we’ll be choosing someone for you.”

Julius tried not to drop the device, an ultimatum for marriage? He guessed he should have expected this at some point but it still didn’t make this moment any better. His mind racing he said the only thing that came to mind to get out of this situation.

“No no! No need for that, you see… I’m actually seeing someone right now, I’ll bring her along!” He desperately hoped she couldn’t hear how tight his voice was, but to his relief his mother sounded happy.

“Oh really? This is wonderful news, I can’t wait to meet her.”

“And that’s why I really really need your help!”

Julius was practically on his knees outside your door, eyes wide with desperation. Your brow was furrowed as you tried to wrap your head around this situation.

“She really gave you an ultimatum about marriage?”

Julius nodded with a sigh, shoulders drooping. “Yes, she did. And since I lied and said I had a girlfriend already I need someone to play the part.”

You nodded slowly, pointing at yourself. “And you decided to go with me?”

He nodded eagerly, “Yes, we’re already so close I figured you’d be willing to help in my scheme.”

You studied his face in the ambient torchlight from the hallway, he looked so desperate, and so cute, how could you say no?

“Fine. Just let me know when I need to be ready.”

“Oh thank you, thank you!” He pulled you into a hug, heart light with relief, “You have no idea how much of a lifesaver you are.”

You awkwardly patted his back and he let you go with a quick goodbye, leaving you to stand in the doorway alone.

The gravity of the situation set in soon after he left, as it often did after he managed to pull you into one of his harebrained schemes. Collapsing on your bed, you shook your head at the ceiling as you thought about what this would involve: you’d have to pretend you were in love with him, which wouldn’t be hard because you definitely already were, you’d have to do a good enough job to fool his parents, which hopefully wouldn’t be hard since your acting skills were decent, and the final and most difficult part would come afterwards. After the dinner, you’d have to come back here to the castle, and you wouldn’t have Julius’s hand in yours anymore and you’d have to pretend that you were fine with it.

You rolled over and groaned into your pillow, “Oh Julius why did you have to choose me for this job?”

The day of the dinner soon arrived and Julius came to pick you up. You took one last look in the mirror, smoothing your clothes before you opened the door. You’d picked out what you hoped was a suitable dress, and you packed enough clothes in your bag for a few days if need be. From what you’d heard about Julius’s mother, she was quite pushy and since it was the holiday season you might need to keep up this charade for a few more days than originally planned.

“You look lovely darling,” Julius said jokingly as he walked with you to the carriage. You smiled and hoped he couldn’t see the hollowness of it, you could already tell that this would be more painful the longer it went on.

You stared out the window and watched as the towns became villages became countryside, and the cobblestones became dirt roads. It’s just one dinner. It’s just one dinner.

“Can we go over the plan one more time? Just to make sure we’re on the same page?” Julius asked, breaking your empty stare.

You blinked, returning to the real world and the imposing walls of the carriage seemed to grow closer. “Sure.” You said hoarsely, swallowing even though your throat was dry.

“Okay,” Julius leaned in closer, “So we need to pretend that we’re dating, hopefully just for tonight. But if not, and we end up having to stay for longer and things get desperate I’ll call Marx and have him set up a fake emergency for us to attend to.”

You nodded, “Okay sounds good.”

He placed his hand on yours and you resisted the urge to jump. “Thanks again for agreeing to this, I appreciate it more than you know.”

You smiled softly, “No problem.”

The carriage came to a stop outside a huge manor in the countryside, it’s sprawling lawn was lush and green, and there was a rose garden that could be seen through the iron gate.

Julius squeezed your hand, “Just for tonight.”

“Just for tonight.” You repeated. Maybe that’s the problem. a pang of sadness stabbed through your chest as you stepped out of the carriage, there’s no going back now.

The manor had a huge oak door, complete with a brass grimoire door knocker in the center. Julius had barely touched it when the door opened, revealing an excited woman and a slightly more subdued man standing in the doorway.

“Oh! It is so wonderful to meet you.” You said, extending a hand to the woman before you. She confusedly shook your hand before realizing you had mistaken her for Mrs. Novachrono, “Oh my, I’m sorry. I’m just the maid, the lady and master are in the parlor awaiting your arrival.”

You grimaced, you’d only just arrived and had already made a mistake, this didn’t bode well for your stay. Julius escorted you to the parlor, hand touching your lower back gently.

The parlor was filled with white furniture, the walls a dusty powder blue. Two people, presumably Julius’s parents, stood when you entered the room. The woman strode over to you and took your hands in hers, “Oh, it is so wonderful to meet you! You have no idea how long we’ve been waiting for this moment. I’m Marie and my husband over there is Julian.” She gushed, heat creeping up your neck at her words.

“It’s lovely to meet you as well, I’m Y/N. I’ve heard so much about you it’s nice to finally meet you in person!”

Marie gasped happily at your words, “Oh so you’ve been gossiping about me have you Julius? All good things I hope!”

Julius raised his hands in defense, “Yes mother, all good things.”

Marie nodded her pleasure, and led you to the couch. Julius sat next to you as you shook his father’s hand.

“Shall we have some tea while we wait for dinner to be prepared?” She asked. Before anyone could nod, she was calling the maid in to bring a tea tray.

“So Y/N, I want to hear all about you! How did you meet my darling boy? Has he been treating you well? I’ll smack him if he’s not, he may be the Wizard King but he’s still my son!” Marie said, watching you intently.

Julius could sense you were overwhelmed and grabbed your hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Well you see, I’m an archivist that works in the castle, so that’s how I met Julius. Don’t mention this to Marx but he has a habit of sneaking off to places he shouldn’t when he’s supposed to be doing paperwork.”

“Hey! That’s an unfair judgement!” Julius protested, but there was no hurt behind it.

“It’s a true judgement Julius!” You gave him a teasing grin before turning back to Marie, “Your son does indeed treat me well, he’s one of the kindest, most caring people I’ve ever met, and I fall more in love with him every day.”

Marie seemed pleased with your answer and was soon distracted by the tea that was set in front of them. Julius and his parents made small talk until dinner was announced, giving you a bit of respite from Marie’s rapid fire questions. You couldn’t help but smile, here Julius had ditched his cloak, and you got a peek at what his childhood had been like. It was interesting, watching interact with his parents, they seemed overbearing and aloof at the same time, and you wondered how they had raised such a decent man.

Julius took a sip of his wine near the end of dinner, the taste tangy sweet in his mouth.

“So Julius, when are you going to ask this girl to marry you? If I were you I’d have put a ring on that finger a long time ago?”

Julius started, the wine hit the back of his throat, sending him into a coughing fit. Once he had suitably recovered, he took a deep breath, “Well,” He considered his answer carefully, “I haven’t thought about it yet, I don’t think either of us want to rush things.”

You swallowed, nodding in agreement. “With the state of the kingdom, we weren’t sure if it would be a good idea to jump into such a serious commitment so soon.”

Your answers were deemed satisfactory and you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You leaned on the sink and rested your head in your hands, you swallowed down a sob. This was harder than you could have imagined, not the lying, not the acting, just the fact that this wouldn’t last buzzing around in your mind. It hung over you like a cloud, this is a lie, it’s all a lie to him.

You took a deep breath, splashing your face with cold water, before returning to the table. “I’m awfully tired Julius, do you think it’s time to leave for the castle?”

Julius gave you a kind smile, “Yes, we can make it by morning if we leave now.” Marie tried to protest, but Julius won her over and you were soon saying your goodbyes in the foyer.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you. I do hope you come again soon.” Julian said, shaking your hand once more.

You nodded, pushing down the sadness that was welling in your chest, threatening to spill over. “Yes, until next time.” There won’t be a next time.

Julius’s shoulders sank with relief as soon as you were back in the carriage. “That went better than expected!” He said brightly, sinking back in his seat.

You could only nod, fearing if you spoke it would reveal how you were really feeling.

You arrived back at the castle as dawn was breaking in the sky. Julius helped you out of the carriage, dropping your hand as soon as you were down on solid ground.

“I must say, your acting was impeccable Y/N.”

That was it, that was the stone that broke the dam and tears spilled onto your cheeks.

Julius was taken aback at your reaction, he’d never seen you cry before and he was completely at a loss of what to do.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? Is something the matter?” He asked, studying your face frantically.

You blinked at him, eyes narrowing. “Is something the matter?” You repeated, “Is something the matter?! Julius, you must be denser than I thought if you’re asking me that question.”

You turned on your heel, rushing down the stone hallway to your room. Julius’s footsteps echoed behind you as he ran to keep up with your pace. He truly didn’t know what was wrong, and that only made you angrier.

You paused at your door and Julius caught you, hands resting on your shoulders.

“Will you please talk to me? Was it something I said?” He asked softly, purple eyes soft with concern.

You only sobbed harder, sinking into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you gently, as if he was afraid to break you.

“Yes! No! It wasn’t something you said per se, it was this, all of it!” You exclaimed, chest heaving and hands shaking.

Julius’s frown deepened, “Oh. I’m sorry Y/N, I didn’t know this had been so hard for you.”

You couldn’t stifle a laugh at his apology, “Hard for me? Of course it was hard for me. I meant what I said, it wasn’t acting,” your voice broke painfully as you took a deep breath to continue, “I mean it, I’m in love with you Julius.”

Julius’s hands dropped from your sides in shock, his face was a mixture of surprise and sadness when you met his gaze. Of course, the realization hit him like a ton of bricks, of course, you were in love with him, and he had been too dense to notice.

“I-- I’m sorry.” He stammered, and you took your chance to run into your room, slamming the door shut behind you.

You sank against it, too exhausted to stay standing. You heard footsteps receding and fresh tears rolled down your cheeks, of course, he was leaving.

A few minutes later there was a knock at your door. “Y/N, can we talk?” A soft voice asked, it was Julius.

You weren’t certain you wanted to talk to him, but you opened the door anyway and let him come in.

“Y/N, first of all I want to apologize. I was too dense to realize that what I had asked of you may have caused you hurt, and I’m sorry for that.”

You stared at him, “Okay.”

Julius ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, debating on whether he should say what was on his heart. “I also need to confess something, if that’s okay?”

You nodded, studying him carefully; you dared not get your hopes up, but somewhere in the depths of your heart, there was a small tiny glimmer of hope.

Julius sighed, “The truth is, I only asked you to do this job because I love you as well. Maybe this was my selfish way of getting to act like a couple without telling you how I felt because I was scared of how you would react.”

You sucked in a breath, “All along?”

Julius nodded, eyes tinged with sadness, “All along.”

“Well, it’s freezing in here. The least you could do is come and wrap me in your arms.” You said, the ghost of a smile on your lips.

Julius strode to your side, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. The hard conversation could be had in the morning, for now, this was enough.

#julius x reader #julius novachrono x reader #julius fluff #julius angst #julius hurt/comfort #f!reader #planet fate #aurora borealis

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belettewrites · 3 years

Text

In which Geralt wants to show Jaskier that he cares, and his only braincell finds it a good idea to gift him things. Around 1,6k words.

Geralt is a silent man. He saves his words for when he needs them, careful with how they might be understood. Oh, he knows he has a dry sense of humor and doesn’t hesitate to sass people, but his conversations are mostly about contracts that he’s about to take.

It means that he doesn’t quite know how to use his words when it’s not about his path. For instance, telling Jaskier that he cares about him is nearly impossible. At first it’s because he doesn’t even know that he does, and then-. Well.

He still wants to show Jaskier that he cares. He has to, right? That’s what friends do. He thinks. So he tries to show it every day, when he makes a bigger fire for Jaskier to stay close to, or when he discreetly buys spices that he knows Jaskier likes to add to the rabbits he catches.

It’s not after the djinn accident that Geralt realizes how much he truly cares for the bard. He might have known, before, that the bard’s death would cause him some sort of pain, but what he didn’t know was that the thought of it would hurt that much. Seeing Jaskier, blood on his mouth, calling for his help-

Well. Geralt got scared. He still is quite spooked, to be honest. He knows the bard is magic to a certain extent, he knows that he’s as immortal as Geralt can be, but one hunt going wrong, one spell thrown at him could be enough to- to-

Geralt makes a good wish. Yennefer survives, and he knows that should he need help one day, she’ll be there. But he says goodbye, and he and Jaskier leave together, Jaskier humming softly and Geralt deep in thoughts.

He needs to show Jaskier that he cares. He already shows the bard that he trusts him – no one else but him can play with his hair like this – but he needs to prove him that he cares. Trusting equals caring for Geralt, but he knows that his friend speaks a different language than him and Geralt needs to know how to translate it in a way that Jaskier will understand.

And because Geralt doesn’t know how to tell his friend, his best friend, that he is, well, his best friend – he offers him things. That’s his brilliant idea: giving small gifts to Jaskier and hoping it’ll be enough.

A new blanket (“It’s darker, safer” he says. “I saw that you were shivering these past two weeks and your old blanket is damaged beyond repair,” he doesn’t add.)

A few words after a performance (“I- liked the last song,” he blurts out one evening as Jaskier is making his way back to him. “Seeing you perform, something that obviously makes you happy, is enough to brighten my days” he doesn’t say.)

Geralt still doesn’t think that what he did was enough when they part way that autumn, Jaskier leaving for Oxenfurt and Geralt going back home at Kaer Morhen. But he has all winter to think about it, and that’s what he does. Well, sulk about it is more like it.

Jaskier doesn’t need anything, he already has everything, he thinks as he repairs the leaking roof.

There’s nothing I could offer him that he’ll find of use, he sighs as he’s chopping wood.

Nothing will ever be enough to show him that he means a lot to me, he despairs one evening in the library, before Lambert throws a book at him for being “a brooding idiot.”

Spring is in the air, and Geralt still doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t ask his brothers. They wouldn’t understand, and he knows that Lambert would tease him until the end of his life – and would come back as a ghost just to tease him some more.

A few days before he can leave to meet with Jaskier again, the cover of a book lying on the kitchen table catches his eyes. It’s a- romance book. Glancing left and right to make sure that no one is here, he takes it in his hands. It must belong to one of his brothers, or to Vesemir. The cover displays a golden bracelet, and it reminds Geralt of something.

He doesn’t remember when it happened – he mostly remembers Jaskier’s fond smile. They had been in a market, in a town he since has forgotten the name of, and they had walked past a group of teenage girls who were gifting each other the same wristbands. Jaskier had glanced at them, smiled at him, and said that it was poetic, that those wristbands linked the girls together. They were cheap, dark wristbands, but according to Jaskier it didn’t matter.

Geralt puts the book back where he found it and thinks about it some more. Jaskier doesn’t think like him; maybe Geralt has been doing it all wrong, maybe his gifts don’t need to be practical. Jaskier likes jewelry, Geralt has seen him linger near the jeweler stand in multiple markets.

But Jaskier doesn’t wear bracelets. He wears rings, of all sorts.

Geralt could offer him a ring, but the bard would find it weird; so that’s a no go. Geralt tries to forget about the idea, and when he leaves a few days later, he’s not sulking. He’s not, not matter what Lambert might say.

He still isn’t sulking as he makes his way towards Oxenfurt and passes across a little town.

He needs sugar cubes for Roach, because Jaskier, being the kind soul that he is but mostly trying to bribe her into liking him, gave her some and now she’s grumpy when she doesn’t have them, so he goes to the market.

He lets himself enjoy seeing humans so carefree. There aren’t that many of them, the town is quite small and surprisingly friendly, so he stays as relaxed as he can be in the company of others. Children are running and laughing around him, and Geralt regrets for a second that Jaskier isn’t there: he would have loved to see it.

One of the kids falls face first on the ground, and an older boy who Geralt assumes is the child’s brother goes to him, gets him back on his feet, kisses him on the cheek and tells him to go back to playing with his friends.

It would have made Geralt smile if he had been one to smile. Jaskier would have; he would have taken Geralt’s arm, and said something about the laugh of children, and how it heals souls in pain.

Or something like that. Geralt isn’t the poet between the two of them.

He turns away, still thinking about Jaskier, and his eyes fall on a ring that is exposed in the stand next to him.

No he tells himself. Don't.

Geralt leaves the town with the ring safely packed in his bag.

He doesn’t remember much of the rest of his journey; and everything he might have wanted to say to Jaskier when they meet again is forgotten as soon as Jaskier beams at the sight of him.

The ring is still in his bag that night. They’re not in Oxenfurt anymore, Jaskier wanted to leave immediately; Geralt suspects it has something to do with Valdo Marx and how the man teaches there during spring.

They’re in their room at an inn, Jaskier happily talking about things that happened during winter, (“I actually took notes Geralt, because you’re the only person I can trust with these information and I didn’t want to forget anything”), and Geralt realizes that now is the perfect time to gift it to Jaskier.

The bard is sitting on the bed, cross-legged, a sheet of paper in his hand. Geralt knows better than to try to read it: Jaskier’s handwriting is illegible.

He stands up, and Jaskier stops talking.

“Everything alright, dear?”

The pet name almost makes him smile. It’s a gift from Jaskier, to him, every time he is called dear heart or dear or my friend.

“Hmm. I just- there’s something-”

Actions speaks better than words, so Geralt takes his bag and searches for the ring. He takes the small purse out of his bag – it’s a simple thing, brown with a lace to close it – and slowly makes his way back to Jaskier, who’s frowning at him, apparently worried. Geralt feels oddly nervous.

“I don’t-”

“For you,” Geralt interrupts, and puts the gifts in Jaskier’s hands.

Jaskier who, for once, is speechless. Geralt shifts nervously as Jaskier opens the purse, and takes the ring in his hands so delicately, as if it will break if he’s not careful enough.

He feels ready to bolt out of the room, and then Jaskier looks up at Geralt with something akin to awe and adoration in his eyes and- are those tears?

No, that wasn't the plan at all, why is Jaskier crying-

"Thank you, Geralt," he then says softly, a smile on his lips. "It's..."

Geralt looks down; he’s not strong enough to look at Jaskier, he knows the ring isn’t as beautiful as Jaskier would have wanted it to be.

Well, he didn’t asked for any rings, but he knows his traveling companion’s tastes, and this doesn’t fit in them.

He’s an idiot for ever thinking that-

"It's the best thing I could have wished for."

Huh? Geralt looks up again, and Jaskier is cradling the ring to his chest, as if it were something precious. Jaskier smiles again, a watery smile, and puts the ring on. It fits perfectly.

"Now, don't take it badly,” he laughs, a small laugh that makes Geralt feel warm all over, “but I'm going to hug you and there's nothing you can do about it."

Jaskier stands up, and Geralt meets him halfway. He puts his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder, and he feels more than he hears Jaskier’s soft sigh. He can feel the ring against his back, colder than Jaskier’s hands, and if he smiles, well. No one will ever know.

#geraskier #Soft Geralt #The Witcher #Jaskier #Geralt of Rivia #mine #no beta we die like cpge students #I hope this one appears in the tags

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 3 years

Text

this is the road to ruin (Part 6/?)

(Previous) (Masterpost) (Next)

Summary: Geralt finally explains things to Jaskier.

Jaskier is pretty sure that going to a diner to meet a man who he thinks may be either some kind of supernatural serial killer or a hitman might be the worst decision he’s ever made, far worse than giving Valdo Marx access to his bank account or his brief, devastating time as a bottle blonde. He’s never had a lick of self-preservation when it comes to attractive people and that has never been more apparent than this moment, when he walks into the diner alone and unarmed, fully aware that there’s a good chance that he’s about to be murdered.

This is the diner where a waitress was killed in the parking lot only a couple of months before. There’s a small shrine to her at the hostess stand, with a framed photo of a smiling, moon-faced redhead accompanied by a little teddy bear and a cluster of electric candles. Jaskier hopes he’s not about to meet the same grisly fate as he looks around the diner. He spots Geralt in a booth in the back corner, looking terribly out of place among the orange vinyl, fluorescent lights, and colorful posters on the wall. When he sees Jaskier, he raises his hand in an awkward wave.

Jaskier takes his time walking towards him, fighting the urge to turn tail and flee in the opposite direction.

“You didn’t bring the bat,” Geralt says as Jaskier approaches.

“I thought about it.” And right now, Jaskier really wishes he had. He would feel a lot better with the Countess in his hands. “But restaurants tend not to let you in when you’re armed.”

“Hm.” From the look on Geralt’s face, Jaskier assumes he has at least one weapon hidden on him. “You can sit.”

Jaskier lowers himself into the seat across from Geralt. When the waitress comes to pour him some coffee, he orders some chocolate chip pancakes, because if he’s going to die, he’s going to die with sugar and carbs in his system. Geralt orders eggs, bacon, and toast.

“So, who are you?” Jaskier asks as soon as the waitress walks away.

“I told you. Geralt.”

Jaskier stares at him, unamused.

Geralt stares down into his own mug of coffee. “My name is Geralt of Rivia. I’m a witcher.”

Jaskier remembers his conversation with Alan weeks ago. “That boy’s eyes aren’t right,” Alan said. Looking into Geralt’s slit-pupiled yellow eyes, the ones that Jaskier has always assumed were contact lenses, he realizes how right Alan was. Those eyes don’t seem human.

“Those aren’t contact lenses, are they?” he asks quietly.

Geralt shakes his head. “No.”

“Witchers were monster hunters, right?”

“Still are.”

“Monsters don’t exist.”

“Are you sure about that?” Geralt’s voice is gentle.

“I’m not sure about much, actually.”

The edges of Geralt’s mouth curl upwards. “Neither am I.”

“So what, you travel up and down Route 89, hunting monsters?”

“I travel all over hunting monsters. I’ve just been sticking to this area lately because of the katakan.”

“The what now?”

“It’s a type of vampire.”

Jaskier swallows, remembering the scar on Priscilla’s throat. “Is that what’s been killing people?”

Geralt nods. “It’s what attacked your friend. I was in time to scare it off, but I had to choose between chasing after it and staying to help her.” He hesitates. “I recognized her, from when I brought you back to your apartment. I knew she was your friend. I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

“From when you brought me back to my apartment.” Jaskier’s grip tightens on the coffee cup until his knuckles turn white. “Something happened to me on my way home one night, didn’t it? I keep having these weird dreams.”

“You were attacked by a werewolf,” Geralt says.

And then Jaskier can see it as clearly as if it’s standing in front of him right now: a snarling twisted face, a gaping maw full of teeth, a clawed hand pressed against the window of his car. “Why don’t I remember it?”

“There aren’t many of us witchers left,” Geralt says. “Only six of us, when there used to be six entire schools. Humans used to be afraid of us. They hunted us, wiped out entire schools in massacres. The only reason they don’t come after us anymore is because hardly anyone knows that we exist. We’re very careful to make sure it stays that way.”

“So…”

“Ciri’s mother, Yennefer, is a sorceress. She wiped your memory.”

Jaskier tries to wrap his mind around a world where witchers, sorceresses, vampires, and werewolves exist. He fails miserably. “What?”

“I’m sorry. Mind magic like that isn’t easy and she was under pressure. It seems like you remembered just enough to be terrified of me.”

Jaskier remembers the first time he saw Geralt after that bizarre night, the uncomprehending panic he felt at the sight of him. “But you saved me.”

Geralt isn’t looking at him, instead tracing his finger over the image of a strangely proportioned dick scratched into the tabletop. “I drove by and saw your car broken down on the side of the road. I was worried you would be in danger with the katakan on the prowl. Didn’t expect that a werewolf would get to you first.”

“Well, I’ve always been a magnet for trouble.”

“Apparently so.” Geralt glances up at him. Some of his white hair has slipped out of his ponytail and Jaskier is filled with the odd urge to reach out and brush it out of his face. He tightens his grip on his mug.

“So all these dreams I’ve been having for the last few months are memories.”

“Yes. If it makes you feel better, your dreams would be much worse if you could remember all of it.”

“That doesn’t help, actually. At all.” Jaskier swallows. “Can Yennefer reverse it?”

“No. I am sorry.” Geralt hesitates. “I hoped that you wouldn’t get involved in any of this.”

“I would also very much like to not be involved in this, but this thing attacked my best friend and…” Jaskier breaks off, taking a deep breath. “Thank you. For saving me and for saving her.”

“I didn’t do much. Just used Axii to keep her calm and kept pressure on the wound until I heard someone coming.”

“I don’t think she would still be alive if you hadn’t been there.”

“No,” Geralt says softly. “Probably not.”

“And without you, she wouldn’t be healed.” Jaskier feels a lump of emotion rise in his throat. “They weren’t sure if she would ever talk again, let alone sing, and now her voice is almost back to normal.”

“That was all Yennefer and her wife, Triss.”

“Why?”

“Because I was too slow to save your friend from getting her throat torn out. I wanted to make it right, so I asked them to help.” Geralt glances away again. “I came to the hospital after I got Ciri home to Yennefer’s. You didn’t see me, but I could hear you talking to your other friend. I heard you start to cry when you found out Priscilla wouldn’t sing again. That was my fault.”

Jaskier doesn’t know why Geralt would care so much about Jaskier’s sorrow and fear for his best friend. He doesn’t know what he did to make this man care about him at all. He almost doesn’t want to ask, but he can’t stop himself. “Why does it matter to you?”

Geralt lifts one shoulder into a shrug. “I’ve been alive a long time. There aren’t a lot of people out there who are unthinkingly kind. You had no reason to give me free coffee or patch me up when I was hurt. You had no reason to be happy to see me every time I showed up.”

The thought that all it takes to win Geralt’s loyalty is some free coffee and a little kindness breaks Jaskier’s heart. “How long have you been alive, Geralt?”

“Hm. When was the First Nilfgaardian War?”

“The thirteenth century?”

“I was about eighty when that happened.”

Jaskier stares at him. “You’re a thousand years old.”

Geralt looks almost offended at that. “Closer to nine hundred.”

“Melitele’s sweet fucking tits.” The waitress, bringing their food, gives Jaskier a deeply offended look. He offers her an apologetic smile in return. As soon as she walks away, he leans across the table, “You’ve been alive for centuries.”

“Yes.” Geralt arches an eyebrow at him.

“You’ve basically seen the entire history of the Continent.”

“I’m not that old. You sound like Ciri. She once asked me if I ever met a dinosaur.”

“Have you?”

Geralt levels him with a stern look that’s belied by the fond curl of his lips. “No.”

“So, is Ciri a witcher in training?” Jaskier asks around a mouthful of pancakes.

“She wishes.” Geralt huffs out a fond breath. “Ciri’s adopted. I saved her father’s life and asked for the Law of Surprise as payment, not realizing his girlfriend was pregnant at the time.”

“Now I know you’re old. The Law of Surprise hasn’t been a thing for centuries.”

Geralt grumbles good-naturedly at that. “Her parents died four years ago and I adopted her. She lives with Yennefer and Triss in Vizima most of the time, though she travels with me two weekends a month. I live in my van. Not really conducive to raising a kid.”

“You live in your van?” Jaskier is mildly horrified.

Geralt shrugs. “It’s not so bad. No sense renting a place, when I travel all over the Continent anyway.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “You must have so many stories.”

“A few.”

“I want to hear all of them.”

“As you keep saying, I’m old. I have a lot of them.”

“I have nowhere to be.” Jaskier grins at him over a forkful of pancakes.

Geralt returns his smile with a soft curl of his lips. “What do you want to know?”

“How did you become a witcher? You said there were schools, right?”

“There were,” Geralt says. “I’m School of the Wolf.”

Geralt talks and Jaskier listens. Jaskier gets the sense that Geralt isn’t used to talking this much; it seems to take effort for him to put his thoughts into words. Every time he looks up and finds Jaskier listening to him with rapt attention, he seems surprised. Geralt tells him about training to become a witcher, about the excruciating Trials, about his years on the Path. He talks about how monsters and magic waned once the Continent began to industrialize and were forgotten as myth. He talks about how few witchers there are left, and even fewer sorceresses. He talks about what it’s been like to see the world change around him over and over again, while he remains the same.

Shifts switch at the diner. The sun rises. Jaskier orders an omelet and Geralt another plate of eggs, bacon, and toast. As he eats his second breakfast and listens to Geralt talk about getting stuck in Nilfgaard during the Fourth Nilfgaardian War, he realizes that he’s forgotten to be afraid of the other man. He no longer tenses whenever Geralt moves. He knows for a fact that Geralt is dangerous— the witcher described some of the mutations that came with the Trials— but somehow, that knowledge has lessened his trepidation. Because now he knows for sure that if Geralt wanted to hurt him, Jaskier would already be dead.

It’s only when the diner begins filling with the breakfast rush that Geralt’s story peters out. He looks around with a look of faint surprise, like he didn’t realize how long they’ve been here, and says, “I should get going.”

Despite his own exhaustion, Jaskier can’t help but be a little disappointed. “Well, you know where to find me.”

Geralt’s lips twitch. “I do.”

They pay for breakfast— or, Jaskier insists on paying, since Geralt saved his life and it feels like the least he can do— and head out into the parking lot.

“Take care of yourself, Jaskier,” Geralt says before they part ways.

“I always do.” Jaskier shoots a flirty smile over his shoulder. “And next time, I want to hear more stories.”

Geralt lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “There’s not much else to tell.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

The entire drive home, Jaskier has a little smile on his face. As he’s climbing the four flights of stairs to his apartment— the elevator has been broken for years— a memory comes back to him.

Being cradled against a warm, strong chest in a bridal carry, feeling a slow, steady heartbeat against his cheek as he’s carried up the steps. A voice murmuring, “You’re okay, Jaskier. You’re safe. I promise.”

When Jaskier falls asleep, that’s what he dreams of.

***

Next time: After Geralt’s big revelation, he and Jaskier grow closer.

@kueble @dredshirtroberts @avoidingaverage @teamfreehoodies @oneshots-galore @tsukiwolf42 @process-pending @moonlightcrazyphoenix @soyoudneverguess @arseoverkettle @deepfriedfettuccine @blooodymoon @technicallywiseoncns @inikokoru @sharinalein @nicasbeta @frywen-babbles @storm-and-starlight @frenchkey @maya-the-yellow-bee @exrayspex @buttercupsanddandelions @therarestjewel @eskel-and-goat @sheisawonder @fontegagrilledcheese @bugontherug @peanitbear @holymotherwolf @flowercrown-bard @persony-pepper @dapperanachronism @likechoonee @seekerofthehiddenshadow @atomicpastel

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #my fic #my writing #gas station au

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

And Do I Dream Again?

We’re throwing it WAY back to the early 2000′s with this one, guys. One of my first hyperfixations crossed over with my latest; poetic, really. I also dug into my Weird Memories archive and remembered that we used to make banners for our fics back in the fanfic.net days (I’m old as hell and I’ve been doing this for a long time). So...without further ado, the first story in my A Very Bouncey Halloween series:

Jaskier perched on the velvet-padded stool in front of his dressing room mirror and ran a brush through his soft brown hair. He hoped to remove the curls it had been pulled into for the performance and return it to its normal fluffy mess; unfortunately that wasn’t entirely possible, the pomade his costumer had applied was too thick.

Once his chestnut locks were as silky smooth as they were going to get, Jaskier placed the silver brush back on the tabletop and sighed. The Phantom had left him another plain red rose with a plain black ribbon around the stem. No note. No name. Just Madame Yennefer’s quiet, “He was pleased with you.”

A whisper in passing.

Valdo interrupted the young starlet’s thoughts when he poked his head in the door and smiled brightly. Jaskier pulled his delicate white dressing gown closer around his shoulders and chest, hiding whatever skin he could despite its laciness. An ingénue’s aesthetic did not always lend itself well to preserving one’s modesty, ironically enough.

“You did wonderfully tonight, my sweet,” the Viscount purred from his place in the doorway.

“Thank you.”

“Could I have the honor of escorting you to a late dinner?”

Jaskier was about to turn him down outright when he struck upon a very particular thought. If his Angel of Music was as possessive as Jaskier hoped, surely he’d step forward and show his face to deter the Viscount. If the Phantom thought his claim on the pretty opera prodigy was being threatened then perhaps he’d make an appearance. The scheming young starlet smiled softly and let his excited Angel-related blush do the work for him in regards to Valdo Marx, “That would be lovely, Viscount Valdo.”

The mustachioed cavalier beamed. “I’ll have my footmen bring the carriage around.”

And then he disappeared back out the door.

Jaskier turned towards his mirror, still clutching the robe around his shoulders tightly to keep it closed. He wished desperately that he hadn’t changed out of his costume before the Viscount arrived at his door. Valdo had all the appearance of a gentleman, and he’d been kind enough when they were both children, but something about the way he’d looked at Jaskier in such a state of undress, like he was hungry…

The prodigy shivered and ran his hands up and down his upper arms for both comfort and warmth. The corset around his middle felt unusually tight as he stood to get dressed in his street-clothes. If he was to meet with the creepy young Viscount for dinner then he’d need to be dressed.

Before he could move an inch, however, a cold wind swept through the dressing room and doused the candles. Jaskier gasped and let his hands fall to his sides. Had his plan really worked so well? Had his Angel decided to step out of the darkness and finally show him the face behind the roses?

The deep, familiar rumble of his tutor’s baritone seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, filling the pitch dark room with sound: “Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory! Insolent fool, your brave young suitor; sharing in my triumph!”

The possessive note in his Angel’s voice sent a shiver down Jaskier’s spine and he replied quickly, already halfway under the Phantom’s dizzying spell: “Angel, I hear you! Speak, I listen; stay by my side and guide me. My soul was weak and I wished…” - the boy shook his head to clear the thought away - “Forgive me. Enter at last, Master.”

“Flattering child,” the Angel chuckled darkly. “You shall know me soon and see why I hide my face in shadow. You shall understand at last why I have not let you lay such innocent eyes upon me in all these years.”

“Yes,” Jaskier breathed, stepping forward into the embrace of darkness. From behind the two-way mirror on the wall, Geralt gasped softly. He felt his heartbeat double in speed. The longing on his flower’s face was exquisite. It lit a flame in the composer that could not be dampened by the mists of any Paris catacomb. The boy cast his eyes around the dark room, searching for his tutor, “I want to see your face, my Angel. Don’t tease me any longer with your pretty words. I’m tired of spending my nights alone, Phantom.”

Geralt was going to fall to his knees and cry if the boy said another word, so he interrupted: “Look at your face in the mirror.”

Jaskier turned to the full-length mirror on the wall and saw a light shimmering faintly from behind the glass. He reached out involuntarily and his eyes went wide with confusion. There was definitely a figure there...a tall, broad-shouldered man standing just beyond the wavy glass wall. He was holding out his hand in Jaskier’s direction. The singer’s ghostly, lace-clad reflection stared back at him with hazy vision, enthralled entirely by his Angel’s presence.

“Angel of Music, hide no longer!” Jaskier begged, stepping forward again. “Let me see you, please!”

“Come to your Angel of Music,” the figure in the glass beckoned, waving him forward with that broad, outstretched hand. Further into the room. Into the dark.

Jaskier placed one delicately slippered foot in front of the other, crossing the carpet in a slow but determined line. He tried to keep his legs from tangling with his dressing gown as he moved, slipping it open a bit to reveal his mostly-bare legs. Geralt bit his lip at the sight of all that skin, too much and too little at the same time. Gods, how he wanted to touch the younger man. Hold him. Please him endlessly.

Jaskier’s eyes never wavered from the figure in the mirror. His Angel had finally come for him and he wasn’t about to waste the chance to see his tutor up close. To feel his Angel’s hands against him. He reached out towards the glass and the white silk of his robe slipped easily from his shoulder, baring a swathe of pale skin.

Geralt hadn’t been aware, until that very moment, that someone could feel both predatory and terrified at the same moment. He wanted to take Jaskier away and hide him beneath the Opera house forever where nobody could ever touch him again; but oh, how sinful would it be to keep his talented student sequestered from the sun. He didn’t want to be rejected. He didn’t want the boy to see his face, his hideously scarred face and strange white hair, and turn from him in terror. He wouldn’t be able to live through that.

And then…

“Jaskier!”

Fuck. That stupid little Viscount was going to ruin everything Geralt had worked for! Had waited for! Had prayed and begged and yearned for!

But the starlet didn’t turn around.

The posh young fool pounded against the strong mahogany of Jaskier’s dressing room door, screaming his head off to get the opera star’s attention but Jaskier’s bright blue eyes stayed trained on the composer’s outstretched hand. His gaze was glassy and out-of-focus.

Hypnotised by chance, Geralt mused. I probably should have expected that, given the circumstances and the usual nature of our meetings.

It had been months since the Phantom of the opera last had to hypnotize his prized pupil; and it was only to keep him from getting too close to his lair.

Now his darling little flower, the boy whose voice he’d trained from good to gorgeous, was standing willingly before him. His face was void of anything but devotion. His eyes were misty and his lips were parted oh-so-sweetly as he stood before his Angel, utterly enthralled. The decadent white lace of his dressing gown had fallen from one of his shoulders, baring not only his entire left collarbone but the long, statuesque expanse of his neck as well. Geralt took his flower’s pale, rose-petal soft hand in his larger, more calloused one and whispered, “Will you come with your Angel of Music?”

Jaskier nodded and breathed out a soft, pleading: “Yes. Take me, Angel.”

Geralt pulled the younger man’s robe back over his shoulder to return him to a state of oddly indecent modesty before grabbing up the torch and turning his back on the dressing room entirely. Jaskier followed behind as they walked, the gentle whispering swish of his robe’s lacy train a constant reminder of his presence. You are taking Persephone down to the Underworld, a little voice at the corner of Geralt’s mind whispered. You are pulling your flower away from the light of the sun.

He shook away his guilt and squeezed the starlet’s hand. Jaskier squeezed back instantly, firmly, and any doubt left in the composer’s mind flew clean away. He wants me back, the older man realized. He came with me into the Underworld.

They rounded the final curving corner of the low, quickly-dampening stone hall and came upon Roach. The trusty mare was waiting as patiently as ever where Geralt had left her bridle fastened to the wall and she perked up her ears when her master approached. The opera ghost lifted his muse up into Roach’s saddle and nervously met Jaskier’s blue eyes with his malformed gold ones, “Sing once again with me our strange duet.”

“Your power over me grows stronger yet,” Jaskier replied easily, finishing the rhyme of a song Geralt had once composed for him. His hand reached down to cup the side of the Phantom’s face that wasn’t hidden by the white plaster mask. Geralt flinched away but Jaskier paid the movement no mind, continuing to caress him wherever he could reach. “Oh, my sweet Angel.”

The composer turned away, leading Roach down the echoing hallway as quickly as possible. He tried not to glance back at his flower too often, afraid of having his intentions misunderstood by the drowsy-looking boy but oh - the way Jaskier looked sitting astride the horse with his stockings still fastened above his knees and his underthings only barely reaching to meet them. The way his dressing gown, all thin white silk and fine lace details, cascaded down around his hips and spilled over Roach… “Fuck.”

“My Angel?” he inquired. He sounded half asleep and Geralt bit his lip in shame. It wasn’t right to look at someone like that without their permission, first. He’d apologize later.

“Nothing, my little flower. Would you sing for me?”

They’d reached the shore of the underground creek that cut through Paris. It wasn’t the sewer but it wasn’t exactly nice either. Geralt swung Jaskier down from Roach and into the boat, settling him back against a pile of velvet pillows gathered (stolen) just for this occasion. He wanted his love to be comfortable. He wanted the boy to return once his tutor gave him back to the outside world.

Because Jaskier could not be kept away from the sun. From the stage. From the adoration of the Paris elite.

No, Jaskier was destined to succeed.

Jaskier sang through the final notes of the aria he’d performed earlier at the Gala, daring to push his voice further and pitch the notes higher than was written. It sounded heavenly as it rang and bounced off the curved brick walls of the tunnel system. Geralt knew his home would never sound this lovely again and he marveled in it for a moment.

“Sing for me!”

Jaskier went ever higher, his face turning pink with the effort of sustaining the song. He gasped for breath between notes.

“Sing, my flower! Sing for me!” Geralt demanded, rowing the tiny boat closer to his odd little home. Jaskier was so caught up in pleasing his Angel, his tutor, his Master, that he didn’t pay attention to how constricting his corset was or how little air he’d actually been taking in.

The desperate opera singer finished out the final two notes of his aria as strongly and loudly as the rest before he slumped, unconscious, to the floor of the boat.

The phantom dropped to his knees, abandoning the oar completely. He gathered the younger man into his arms and laughed in shock. His fingers paused at Jaskier’s neck to feel his pulse. He was alive. He would be fine. He’d been so eager to impress that he had run himself out of air.

“The little fool,” Geralt chuckled, settling him against the pillows again to resume rowing. “I’m fucked.”

---

Jaskier’s eyes blinked open slowly, surveying the unfamiliar bed he’d found himself in. “Angel?” he called nervously. There was no reply, but in the distance he could hear an organ playing quietly. Jaskier stood and stepped gracefully from the bed, summoning up all his greatest charms to impress his teacher.

When he crossed the floor and ducked into the antechamber he gasped; the Phantom wasn’t hideous at all. He wasn’t a hunchback like Triss had suggested. He wasn’t deformed like Firman claimed. His Angel’s hair was long and white, swept halfway up and away from his face while the other half hung to sweep against his shoulders. Jaskier knew already that his eyes were deep honey-gold and slit like a cat’s; they had haunted his dreams before.

He had seen them in Box Five before. Watching him sing.

“Angel!”

“Jaskier!”

The music stopped as his darling Phantom rushed to reach his side, arms outstretched to steady him if necessary. Jaskier thrilled at the attentiveness of his soon-to-be-lover (he hoped) and let himself fall bodily against the Phantom’s chest. His head fit perfectly against the older man’s broad shoulder and he sighed contentedly as he settled into place. “I thought you’d never show me your face.”

“I still haven’t.”

“Let me see,” the brunette pleaded, reaching for the edge of the mask where it sat on Geralt’s face. The composer turned away and grasped Jaskier firmly by the wrist. His grip sat just on the edge of painful and Jaskier bore it bravely. If he had to prove himself than by gods he most certainly would. “I want to see you, Phantom. I want to know your name and your face, truly.”

“You’ll… I don’t want you to leave yet,” Geralt whispered brokenly. Jaskier’s heart ached for this man, the man who had taught him to sing so beautifully. Surely the only thing beneath the mask could be more beauty?

“I’m not scared of you,” he reassured. “I love you, my Angel. Can’t you tell? I’ve been waiting for you for years, now.”

“You were merely a boy, then.”

“You aren’t much older than I am,” Jaskier huffed. “What, six years? Maybe seven?”

“Closer to ten.”

“And if I hadn’t been orphaned so terribly young then I would have been married at fourteen,” Jaskier reminded his tutor, whose face had turned pink beneath his covering. “I was a noble’s son, my dear. Please let me see you.”

Geralt sighed and removed the mask, baring the scar that marred one half of his otherwise very attractive face. Jaskier’s fingertip traced feather-light across the surface of his wrinkled skin. He didn’t flinch this time.

“Beautiful,” the boy muttered. “You’re so beautiful, my love.”

“My love,” Geralt sobbed, burying his face in the younger man’s neck. “My name is Geralt.”

“Geralt,” the prodigy whispered softly, like a prayer. “My sweet, perfect Geralt. You have shone so brightly in the darkness of my life, darling Geralt. You must know that I love you deeply and dearly.”

“As I love you,” the Phantom admitted. This had been more than he’d ever hoped for. Tolerance he was prepared for. Tolerance he understood. Reciprocity? Acceptance? He was terrified and thrilled and giddy.

“You are brighter than all the stars in the sky,” Jaskier beamed, pressing his lips to the opera ghost’s. Geralt kissed back, pressing their bodies together from hips to shoulders. Feeling him.

“You are my little flower,” Geralt stated, pressing another soft kiss to the boy’s forehead.

“Come,” the starlet insisted, pulling away and tugging at his hand. “If I am to be your virgin sacrifice in the pits of this Parisian Hell then I intend to enjoy it thoroughly.”

The Phantom laughed and followed his darling into the bedchamber.

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cosmiccandydreamer · 3 years

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Stability Chapter 11

Otis Driftwood x Reader

Masterlist is here.

"You listen to me, and you listen well! I am gonna kill every member of your family! I'm gonna hunt them down like the animals they are, and I'm gonna skin em' alive! They are going to feel the pain and suffering of every last victim!" A disgusting squishy sound-filled the empty void of the cell. Sheriff Wydell had stabbed Mama Firefly in the stomach and twisted it until the light left her eyes.

He was done playing this cat and mouse game. Mama's last taunt and laughter that ran through the station after more questioning pushed him over the edge. He had grabbed a large knife from his office and stabbed her in the stomach. As she fell to the ground he stood and took in the scene of what he had done. There was no turning back now, people like these people are monsters he thought to himself and the only thing monsters fear are other monsters. He had discovered through the interrogation that his brother was indeed murdered by Mama herself when he had come to investigate the cheerleader's disappearance.

Sheriff John Wydell's eyes widened at the sight of his dead brother getting up from the couch he was sitting on, he began stuttering "I'm, I'm walking the line on this brother. I'm... I'm walking".George Wydell scoffed and answered sarcastically "Well, mother pin a rose on me, that is so great! I want these motherfuckers dead! Kill 'em!" John Wydell jumped up in a cold sweat… oh it was just a dream he thought, or was it? It couldn't be this hard to be signed by his brother that he needed to avenge him. "I'm brother, I'm trying," he thought to himself.

"Why are you over here all by yourself handsome? Married or not you don't gotta be all alone"... Candy had slinked over to where Otis was laying on the couch downing a bottle of Jack Daniels. The rest of the crew was partying with the ladies at the brothel. Otis wasn't in the mood to party though. He wanted to get out of here and get moving.

He felt guilty which was surprising for someone like him, that he was here enjoying a safe environment for the night without knowing where you were. "What do you want woman" he scoffed and attempted to get up.. "now now lay down You look like a mess Is your back hurting or something I can give you a massage I am a masseuse Well at least I can give a good enough massage that feels like I'm a masseuse" Candy said in a sultry voice twirling her hair, "listen here woman I said I ain't fucking you so go on and get" Otis said shooing her away with his hand.

"Hey now no one said anything about fucking! How about I help you out friend to friend? You just must be tense worrying about your old lady out there". She sat next to him on the couch, he slowly got up to face her, "just a massage right No funny business or I'll throw your ass through the window". "Duly noted" she laughed and helped him stand grabbing his arm. She led him to a soft mattress on the floor.

Sheriff Wydell on the other hand was not having the best night either, he was racking his brain on what was the next step to take for finding the four of you. He found himself staring at himself in the mirror talking to himself "You know I got to tell you, that's some catch phrase you got there, Devil's Rejects. What? You got something to say to me clown, huh. I bet you scare lots of folks, don't ya? Yeah, regular fuckiin' killer. You want a piece of this motherfucker? You want a piece of this? Huh, what you got! What you got! Lord I am your arm of justice. Lord I am your arm of justice. Lord I am your arm of justice. Your righteous sword of vengeance. Let my blows be true. From the illusion leads me to truth. From darkness leads me to light. From death leads me to eternal life."

"Ah sir? That guy you asked for is here" his deputy Ray Dobson knocked on the door to his office breaking him out of his trance. It was his deputy, who made the connection that the aliases the family members usually went by and their connection to the old Groucho Marx films. He also discovered that the Fireflies were associated with the local clowns celebrity Captain Spaulding. Hoping to gain some insight into this connection, Wydell brought in film critic Marty Walker for consultation.

The over the top Marty illustrated how each of the killers named themselves after characters played by Groucho Marx throughout the course of his career. Things between Wydell and Walker quickly became unsavory when the critic made a remark about Elvis Presley. Marty head scateched his head while looking at the clues pinned to the board "that goddamn fucking Elvis Presley." Sheriff Wydell looked up at him with his eyes wide and full of rage.

"What'd you say about the King?!" Marty was clearly taken aback by the sudden tone change and looked around at everyone else in the room before sputtering out "I said he died three days before Grouch…" Wydell walked very close to him, looked him deep in the eyes and slowly said "Marty... if you ever say another derogatory word about Elvis Aaron Presley I WILL KICK THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF YOU!".

"Boss don't you remember we had to run in with that guy Charlie not too long ago didn't he stay around with the guy named Spalding?" Ray quickly replied trying to defuse the situation. "Well goddamn you're right Ray… let's go pay Mr. Charlie boy a visit" he backed away from Marty and grabbed his hat. "Be seeing you Marty"

Spalding had told Charlie that if he went and bought some fresh chicken He whipped them up some fried chicken on the house as a thank you for letting them hide out there. Unbeknownst to Charlie Sheriff Wydell had spotted him leaving the funtown and heading towards the chicken stand. He corners Charlie and demands that he give up the three of them and if he had any information on where you were he needs to give that information up to or it would not end well for him.

He also asked him if he catches Otis in any compromising situations if he could snap a photo. It would be in his best interest. "I was also wondering," Wydell said, closing the car door a bit more on Charlie. He had closed his car door on Charlie's hands after instructing him to approach the vehicle once they cornered him in with their vehicle. "Is this girl with them by any chance? and I'm only going to give you one chance to answer me honestly" he held up a picture of you, Charlie shook his head viciously "no no naw she ain't with them gods truth man god's truth".. "god's truth hmm well you know where she is? I would like to have a little chat with her" Wydell replied. "Oh c'mon what's that lil girl gonna do" Charlie attempted to chuckle. "Hmm" Wydell said "looks can be deceiving, anyways tonight midnight I'll be seeing you". He released his hand and drove off in a cloud of dirt and smoke.

Back at the house unfortunately or fortunately depending on how you look at it for Otis, Candy was actually a very good masseuse and actually did just give him massage without reaching for his penis which is what he assumed was going to happen. His back was killing him from the hours of driving and that shit van they had stolen from the family back at the motel.

He also was holding a lot of stress in his shoulders from the anxiety of the plan not going his way and not having any word from you now for multiple days. Unfortunately now she wouldn't stop following him around which was starting to piss him off because one she was annoying and two his back was still hurting and he could have used another massage. "You sure you don't want another one I mean you passed out during yesterday's massage just let me do your shoulders just a little more" she said skipping toward him.

He wasn't sure if she was just trying to be nice or she was trying to wear him down to fuck her or something. He sat cleaning his knife while staring off into space thinking about you and when you gave this knife to him. You were in town with Baby and wandered into an antique store. You knew as soon as you saw it you had to have it.. he was overjoyed at the knife and vowed to never go anywhere without it.

"What took you all so long? You said you were just heading into town for some supplies tonight" He asked , slamming the screen door behind him and walking out towards the car. You had insisted on driving your mustang into town with Baby on a girl's trip while he was in the middle of a project. He was hesitant but he allowed it because he knew that you two could probably use some girl time, he wasn't the easiest to always be around.

"Oh shut up Don't know why you always got to be rushing people" Baby replied flipping her hair and strolling past Otis. "Fuck you" "no fuck you" "no fuck" "Hey!!" You yelled waving your hand in his face. "I took so long because I got you something, I saw it and I couldn't pass it up". You pulled out a dark paper bag and handed it to him. He looked inside and got silent, it was a large beautiful knife. Taking it out the bag he held it in his large hands and studied it closely. "Shit darlin this, this is beautiful..for me huh?" "Yeah of course!" "Why though?" He asked looking back at you with general confusion on his face. You walked over and stepped up on your tippy toes to softly kiss him. "Just wanted to do something nice because I love you". You said patting his chest and walking inside after Baby.

He stood there for a few more moments looking at the knife and tucking it in his boot. Once inside he grabbed you by the waist and kissed you deep. "Thanks.. ah.. I just don't know how to accept gifts, not used to 'em." "Well I'm glad you like it" you smiled up at him "had me worried for a second I was starting wonder if you didn't like it" "naw I love it it's going everywhere with me always" he said wrapping his long arms around you "just like you".

"Stop hovering woman!! If I need anything from you I'd ask now get" he huffed at her looking back to his knife. She stood for a moment and turned on her heels and headed away. Charlie headed back to the house trying to swallow the anxiety in his throat. He didn't want to betry the group but he also wanted to protect his business and livelyhood. He stopped at the liquor store and grabbed a bunch more bottles of Jack Daniels, might as well get them drunk and make this shit easier.

#otis driftwood #house of 1000 corpses #three from hell #otis driftwood x reader #otis firefly #thedevilsrejects #the devils rejects

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