#utternocries

[strumthelute]

||| @utternocries​ ⫸ a NOT SO small starter for you <3 rip me. rip you.

A good many things he had expected to find in Brugge. Opportunity to line his pockets with enough money to settle himself into a nice private suite at the tavern he’d frequented; the endless attention of excitable women and the occasional man willing to lay down his defenses and seek refuge in the strumming of string and the harmony of voice. Eat to his heart’s content. Drink, too - to be merry. But all expectations seemed but fantasy for the most part. Brugge wasn’t near as bustling, but he did alright. Kept himself fed, warm, and ordained with company -- whether he found it personally suitable or not. It would do, he’d tell himself. It was better than that of being alone, or the worse.

Worse being at his side a moment longer; being the thorn in his side he seemed. Oh, it was pettiness that brandished the anger there. Covered the void that should have been loneliness and pain with a pretentious play at being entirely better off without him.

That wretched Witcher. 

That beautifully brusque sort of man who slew monster for coin. Who stuck his nose into business it ought not. Who tolerated Jaskier’s company for the better part of many years. They had been friends, once upon a time --- and some nights, when Jaskier found himself alone and underneath starlight lost in thought, hoped they still were. 

It was dawning on his second month, loitering in this town; not having quite the heart to traverse elsewhere just yet. Countless days and losing his sense of worth. There were only so many willing to toss a coin his way, or wrestle in his sheets. Only so much he, himself could take - playing that damn song. The one most often requested, despite his myriad of ballads and laments. It was hell, but it kept him from the streets and more so. 

What he hadn’t expected was the growing crowd one early evening, with folks bustling, lively in their whispers. Whispers that eventually came to his ear informing him of the white haired stranger prowling their streets. A Witcher. THE Witcher. His bloody white wolf.

Months. It had been months since their last word to one another. Harshness upon that mountain; harshness Jaskier hadn’t understood, but took it to heart nonetheless. And now, despite his efforts, destiny --- the bitch that she was, allowed them to cross paths once more and the bard could not quite make heads nor tail of it. 

The creak of the door sounded loud despite the tavern’s noise. Felt deafening, and a weight he hadn’t anticipated pulling against such bony shoulders. That pit in his stomach churned. And when the tall figure passes into the hall of the house, forsaking the cool damp air - Jaskier sees it. The dark leathers beneath cloak; the silver hair glinting in window light. It's him, without even seeing his face, and he knows it. His Geralt. 

It’s an uncertain crossroad, this feeling. Run to him with the narrative of the past having never happened, or to bolt out the back door in an instant. Thoughts ran wild, as did the beat of his heart, but the bard couldn’t quite move - confined to his corner, lute poised in hand - eyes onlooking. Statuesque, despite the crone leaning into him with a smokey voice, that pressed him back into rickety wood.

“Isn’t that yer Witcher?”

Those carefully placed fingers upon string fumble, and the noise is wretched and unintentional ---- though Jaskier hardly notices. Transfixed. Worried. Angry. Elated. So many feelings all at once. “....Geralt…” Should he remain unnoticed, he had figured it quite beneficial to wait until the Witcher was seated and occupied before deciding his fate. To flee or to fight. To embrace him like naught all had once transpired.

#utternocries #utternocries01 #rp. #starter. #//oh my god this got long and stupid im so sorry. #but i couldn't help myself. #like i said #this can be super small and chill - i just had to SET THE SCENE. #but anYWAY. #have some angst?? some feels.

[griimreaping]

@utternocries​ ━━━━━   s.c

Adjusting  the  bag  of  groceries  on  her  hip  while  pushing  the  cabin's  door  open,  Jean  can't  help  the  snort  of  a  laugh  as  Geralt  so  eloquently  calls  one  of  the  local  men  a  mud-caked  pig.  Setting  the  canvas  bag  down  on  a  sagging  table  occupying  the  larger  majority  of  her  kitchen  Jean  pulls  her  hair  back  into  a  loose  bun  as  her  eyes  scan  the  space.

❛  Do  you  have  to  be  anywhere  for  maybe  the  next  day?  I'd  enjoy  the  company  for  a  little  while  if  you're  not  too  terribly  busy.  ❛    A  small  warm  smile  colors  the  druid's  face  as  she  starts  to  sort  through  the  provisions  that  they'd  picked  up  at  the  market.  Not  to  mention  she'd  like  someone  to  be  a  taste  tester  for  the  newest  batch  of  meads  and  wine,  which  had  been  fermenting  away  in  the  cellar.  Who  better  than  the  local  witcher?

#‘ﾟthread » JEAN MASTERS — ❝ my body’s already cold ! ❝ #verse﹕WITCHER ► the dead they speak so ﾟ* LOUD #‘ﾟships » UTTERNOCRIES — ❝ two sides of a scarred coin ! ❝ #utternocries

[lwiamatka-a]

feat. @utternocries.

#⌞we came so close it was almost love.⌝ geralt - utternocries. #utternocries #⌞my edits.⌝ #⌞wise and generous queen. and beautiful.⌝ visage

[hystericals]

@utternocries​ asked that’s a pretty pin / accepting.

     fingers turn the gold piece over in her fingers, the metal worn from years of deft fingers running over it. it was her mother’s, carefully pressed into her hands as she was taken from the only life she had ever known, into a life that would bring about an unraveling that she never recovered from. her eyes go to those of the witcher, sat across from her, a warm blaze between them.

     ❝ it was my mother’s. ❞ her eyes take on a faraway look, and for a moment she’s a little girl again, admiring her mother’s prized brooch. the sorceress recalls watching her mother affix it to her clothing with a little flourish, it was the nicest thing she owned, the nicest thing the family owned. ❝ she gave it to me when I was sent to the man, they married me to. i don’t know why I’ve kept it. ❞

#utternocries #𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞: (𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧) 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠? #i am just blessing the dash with more of our nonsense

[fatedtragedya]

sera’s never late for assignments, especially not art assignments. she was either annoyingly early or just on time. but, this assignment was different. it was due in a day and she hasn’t even started, she doesn’t even have an idea. draw someone who means a lot to you, her professor said. like it was that easy. news flash, it’s not. sure, she could just draw her siblings. but, last assignment, she drew beck and she wanted to go a different route. but, her mind was completely blank. that was until her break. geralt popped up in her mind and she absentmindedly began drawing him. it’s not something she planned, not really. she always asked before she drew someone but this time was different. 

she didn’t notice he was behind her, she didn’t even notice he came in. not until she saw his hand on the counter. a sharp gasp left her lips as she spun around in the chair she was sitting in, a breathless laugh leaving her lips as she shook her head. ❛ you scared me. ❜ emerald hues dart back down at the picture, noticing his gaze on it. her cheeks instantly head up, lips pressing together. her gaze meets his own, inhaling a breath. ❛ it’s not finished yet. there’s still a few more things i want to add. do you like it? ❜

plotted starter / @utternocries​ !

#`⠀ *⠀ ┈ ⠀THREADS .⠀⠀/⠀⠀SERAPHINA BECK . #utternocries #pls i adore them

[brokedestiny]

@utternocries​

               “ tell me you don’t want the same. tell me you don’t wish them all dead, for what they did to her. “

#utternocries #* / vengeance is mine. i will repay. / interactions.

[lunima]

☾  STARTERS ⇢ @utternocries​

THE  CLOUDLESS  AUTUMN  NIGHT  MADE  FOR  FRIGID  WEATHER.  a soft breeze ghosted across the land like icy fingers, tickling the grass with bits of frost and making the moon SHIVER beneath her furs. geralt had plopped it over her shoulders some hours ago, uncaring or unaffected by the drop in temperature as they wove through the woods. he sat behind her on roche, a solid wall against the wind. his stoic demeanor didn’t assuage her guilt at leaving him bare to the elements. ezra wriggles in the saddle until she has turned to face him, sweeping the fur from her shoulders to drape around his. another wriggle and both her legs would hang over the side of their mount. smugly, the moon tugs the cloak around them both, only the top of her head visible as she rests her cheek against his warm chest.

#utternocries #v: tbt #geralt: i'm f- #ez: shut up ur freezing

[ofyennefcr]

{ @utternocries​ | closed starter. }

❝Do you think Roach is starting to like me more than you?❞ 

A little side glance his way, the slightest uptick of the corner of her lips. Always teasing him. Though, unbeknownst to him, she did adore the animals from afar. Something from her long forgotten past life (or tried to be forgotten...) around the farm animals. Pigs were stubborn and the hardest to work with, goats she enjoyed watching play, but horses... She’d always admired them.

The horse in question drew sorceress from her reverie, nudging gently at her chest. Yen, perched carefully on the railing of the stable, brought both hands up to catch Roach’s large muzzle. ❝Though I do not talk to her. Perhaps that offends her.❞ Now Yennefer looked at Geralt fully, a knowing twinkle in her eyes. 

#utternocries #YEETS THIS AT YOU!!

[nxtawitch]

@utternocries​

The rain was unending, soaking through everything in her camp. Not even her well-fulled peplos, which Gisela had long since undone the stitching of and turned into a large cloak and blanket was safe from it. Water was patient, after all. It must’ve found one of the worn portions from where it had been clasped with a brooch, and started to seep through from there, the opportunist cold quick to seep through after her. 

As a result of the rain, her fire was smoky, spitting clouds of foul-smelling debris into the air. Gisela’s eyes and throat burned as she coaxed it into a temperature suitable for cooking—cold killed and hunger could kill faster. With numb, trembling fingers she tossed another log onto the fire, coughing when the wind sent the smoke once more into her face. 

“Damn it!” She muttered, with heat still beyond her grasp. The fire was caught, but the rain, as always, foiled her. Were it not for encroaching darkness and having no where else to camp, Gisela would’ve gladly marched on to another place. Beneath the hissing and spitting of logs and the patter of rain, she heard it though: the snort of a horse. A horse meant a rider, and the gods knew what one would do with a lone woman in the woods, cast too far from home to call for help. Gisela lifted herself into a crouch, numb fingers gripping her hatchet and pulling it beneath her cloak. If—when, because her camp was the most obvious thing in the world thanks to that smoking and sputtering flame—they noticed her, she’d at least have surprise on her side.

“Freya, help me.” She whispered into the growing darkness, where her barely alive fire caught in two sets of eyes. That was not normal. Her eyes widened, and she pulled the hatchet a bit closer. At least, based on weeks alone, it was not quite the type of monster that would gut her immediately. Gisela chewed her lip, “If you’re hunting for any coin, I don’t have any!” As if that would dissuade them. 

#┝ eall is earfoðlic eorþan rice ✤ ( witcher. ) ┤ #utternocries #my favorite thing about the witchers having those cat eyes for night vision #is that they 100% have that reflective membrane #perfect for spooking people

[yenofven]

for @utternocries​ | continued from here;

It’s the slight warning that rolls of off his tongue that does nothing but earning a little smirk from her. Yennefer was never careful and he knew that the very best  — she could be with him though if she really wanted to, but she liked that he puts her in her place when she tests the waters.                          He could warn her anytime, anyplace. Her violet eyes move back and forth, searching his gold ones as if to read his comment more, it sounded awfully cheeky and she couldn’t have that. Not one bit. “You’ve never been one to complain of the tight-ness of ones...” She pulled on the belt as if to pull him closer to her, head tilted to give him her full attention. “... ‘constraints’.” She smirked, a low hot hum settling in her throat.                — “In fact, I distinctively remember you thanking me for providing such a tightness.” Her eyes trailed to that lip he was biting, blinking a few times, “Thinking about it now, Geralt?” Yennefer teased.

#utternocries #x. ( v; my world is cruel / MAIN ) #/ omggggggg #/ these two i cant lmao i love them so much!

[exhidna]

@utternocries​ -  ❝ They say the reality of the place is far more interesting than the myth. ❞

She takes his words into consideration. It threw her off, how deep and - eloquent the White Wolf, Geralt, could be. Though she was never fully prepared or ready when he did. “ And do you actually believe what THEY say?” She glances at him for a brief moment before focusing on the town surrounding them. “Are you actually taking an interest in gossiping?” 

#utternocries #monster of misfortune. ( v;; main ) #now that you have me what will you do ? ( answered ) #he wanted me huh obvious-queue. ( queue )

[griimreaping]

@utternocries​ - one word fic prompts

Lower ( part 1 )

The tolling of the church bells was genuinely ominous. An impending sense of dread dominating the grey morning fog, which blanketed Novigrad. Those silvery sounding clangs ringing out through the mist to call forward its faithful masses from the gloom. Pulling the traveling cloak tighter around her shoulders, if only to stave off the nerves rather than the general chill that harkened the coming of autumn, Jean flinches when Geralt's shoulder lightly brushes hers. Nerves had been high in the woman's chest as they neared the city, the last time she'd stepped foot in those walls being the night before her family died. Now with the cold solid stone rising around them, Jean couldn't help be reminded of a tomb.

This must have shown on her face from the flicker of a frown that graced the Witcher's mouth. He'd been summoned on a contract put forth by one of the wealthy governors that had come to occupy a mansion in the northern district of Novigrad. Since he'd taken up residence there, it's caused the man nothing but grief. Deaths in the family, along with some more insidious spectral activity that made even the most persistent of tenants shy away from even renting the place. Which only added to the misfortunes befalling an otherwise uninteresting and mundane man of wealth. With such wealth, he enlisted Geralt's help, and by some lucky stroke, Jean as well. Who had insisted she come along since the governor had mentioned something about black vines overtaking most of the house. 

"What plant has black vines?" Had been the first question Geralt had asked when done skimming the frantic letter that had been sent forward to Downwarren. The Witcher had to stop spending so much time in her little hut, now even people outside of the village were beginning to notice. Plucking the letter from his hands and chewing on the inside of her cheek as she read, Jean's mind crunched over all the various odd species that thrived in this environment.

 "Devil's bramble is the first that comes to mind, but it's more of a shrub than vines. Could also be just a mistaken color?" Placing the letter back down and folding arms across her chest, the Druid casts an uneasy glance out of the dewy glass in her kitchen to the misty bog. She hadn't been to Novigrad in nearly fifteen years. The harsh smell of a house fire coming back in a wave so sudden it took a considerable amount of will not to choke on the air stuck in her lungs. Hugging herself tighter, Jean forces the words out of her lips in an attempt to cast away unwanted memories. To drown the screams.

"You'll probably need an expert on plants and herbs," a glance is cut at the Witcher to gauge how the words are received. "I won't ask for any of your payment, I'm just genuinely curious now and could do with a bit of adventure away from the bog and corpses." Geralt grumbled a few words about how things were dangerous, and Jean's rebuttal of how she could handle a sword along with magic seemed to lessen the worries only marginally. Or at least enough that he put them to bed. Now walking among the cramped sewage reek which clung to the southern district like a diseased lover, Jean begins to miss her bog. Roaches hoof beats echo in the dull mist as they weave through cobblestone streets going north. A beggar approaches before seeing the Witcher and thinking better of his choices, slinking back into a darkened patch of fog that yawned into an alleyway. The struggling morning sun had yet to touch these streets, sleepy shop windows gazing out onto quiet abandoned boulevards. A liminal moment in time before the meager warmth of an autumn day shone through the slate clouds above.

 That invisible line between districts isn't so invisible in Novigrad. A stark change between cramped tenant buildings that had begun to go crooked like a thieves smile, to the gaudy colors in the markets almost hurt the Druid's eyes. Even at such an early hour, a merchant in puffy gold pants tried valiantly to hawk some bruised peaches to her, claiming they were the city's sweetest. More polite "no thank yous" than Jean figured were necessary, and he'd given up his venture only to flag down another tired traveler bustling away. They did not make it out of the markets without expending a small amount of coin, which Jean put out to receive a small set of glass bottles in return, which now clinked softly in her bag. Geralt eyed the merchant selling her the glass wear with a critical eye, waiting to see if he was going to swindle her or not. This intense cat-eyed stare is more than likely what got jean a reduced price just to make them go away.

"I think I have a new idea about what the vines are." The Druid pipped up as another jarring change in scenery happened from the markets to the northern district. Now polished iron gates bore their teeth at them from the mouths of massive walkways up to ostentatious villas. No longer is the lower districts' corpse stench lingering; instead, a delicate waft of mountain roses and lemon trees walk in step with the Witcher and the Druid. Jean felt dirty here like she shouldn't be permitted to touch anything for fear of sullying it beyond rescue.

"There's a rare type of flower which only grows on the site of immeasurable evil. I've only ever read about it, though; the drawing seemed close enough to the description he gave." Rummaging around in the folds of her cloak, Jean produces a very worn and overly bookmarked tome. Roughly the size of her palm, the books brown and yellow pages had the look of something that had been steeped in bog water and perhaps blood at one point. Leafing through to the proper page, the pages crackle with age under the woman's touch.

"Here, Dagon's breath. Black vines with leaves about the size of a supper plate, able to produce flowers but only on full moons. Dried flowers turned into a powder can produce some of the most potent madness-inducing potions known to the world. Since this is such a rare specimen, there are speculations that even the scent of the flower can cause severe hallucinations." Reading this passage aloud, the Druid could feel a cold hand drag down her spine. If this was what they were dealing with, then whatever cast the curse even to make it grow had to be obscenely powerful.

The Dagon is old magic. Older than what most perceived as life it's self, coming from the chaos before time. From all that Jean could find in the books in her home, it was a god born of entropy and discord but required strict worshippers to ensure that it would have a proper host to inhabit when the void took back over. Mages and fanatics alike that dabbled in the Old Gods were ones that put their minds in the hands of babbling madness willingly, hoping to be rewarded with some form of forbidden insight to the world. The thought made the Druid shudder. She'd tasted the sharp edges of madness once before, those dark whispers in a language lost still snaked into the blackest of nightmares that she couldn't wake herself from. They'd always promised such alluringly unfathomable things to her.

It's lost in these troubling murky visions that cause the woman to bump into Geralt when he stops at one of the ornate gates. Placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her, the Witcher's disquiet shows fully. He'd had many half-hearted qualms about bringing her along on this, and now that she was becoming so distracted, it only furthered his worry about her being a liability.

"You should go wait back at the inn. Now that I have a better idea of what this plant is, it shouldn't be a problem." I don't want you to get hurt; goes unvoiced, but his cat-like eyes' narrowing conveys the sentiment. Jean's face flares pink around the ears at her embarrassment, but she doesn't allow the dialogue of the inn to go any further. Making a vague gesture at the nameplate affixed to the gate, the woman lets out an irritated breath, the frustrations more directed at herself.

"We're already here; it wouldn't make sense just to send me away now. Plus, I don't remember which roads we took to get here through the fog. Come on, Geralt, just let me continue, and I'll keep my head on straight, okay? No more distractions." A half-hearted smile that she hopes will cement the words into place only has Geralt absently rolling his eyes. Producing the key that had been sent along with the letter they'd received, the gate is unlocked. A horse post just inside the iron portal is where they part with Roach, who busies themselves with munching on the fresh hay that had been left out.

Path flanked on either side by overgrown flower beds containing every flavor of poisonous plant known to the region. Even a few that look notably exotic had a tight knot of anxiety forming in the woman's chest. A breeze sighing up the path causes the nefarious blooms and grasses to seethe in a green ocean around them, their ghostly voices curling in Jean's ears. Reaching out to place a holding hand on Geralt's arm, Jean freezes in her tracks when the house looms into view from the dismal fog, which had turned into a light misting rain.

When the governor had stated the vines were growing along the house, she had expected a few sparse fingers grasping greedily at the spaces between the bricks. Instead, what they were greeted with was a building that seemed to move with a life of its own. Thick coal-black leaves nearly the size of Geralt's head shiver in the breeze giving a sinister shivering quality to the house from foundation to rain gutters. Interspersed with wine-red flowers sporting elegantly curved petals and long golden yellow pistils that reminded Jean of a great blood-sucking insect searching for its next meal.

Then the whispers.

"Geralt, we shouldn't go in there." We're the words Jean heard herself saying, startled by how her voice sounded so terrified. While the Druid can listen to most of the passive voices of the plant life around her, these held that same nebulous darkness that only spoke to her in deepest nightmares. They carried the same voice as the madness. Their saccharine-sweet smell only there to lure you in closer with beckoning leaves and candy red petals.

Before responding to such a statement, a loud voice calls to them excitedly from the house. A gaunt man in a midnight black traveling cloak hurries toward them, waving his arms and wearing an almost crazed smile that shows far too much of his gums, which are far too pale to be healthy.

"Witcher! And... company. So good of you to finally arrive, and when I fear I am at my wits end!" The man nearly shouts at them, reaching out to vigorously shake Geralt's then Jean's hand with both of his clammy skeletal paws clasped around theirs. When his fingers leave the Witcher's, he notices fresh raw wounds on the man's forearms peeking out from his dark robes' confines. They looked almost like symbols carved into his skin, but such a quick glance hadn't been enough time. Deep-set eyes that once would have struck a woman dead with a glance now flit in their sockets nervously, the striking ocean blue ringed with bloodshot scleras and the deep shadows of exhaustion. The man looked to be hand in hand with death, yet the cold grip that clutches Jean's own spoke of fierce hidden strength that still dwelled like an angry spirit inside him.

"You must come inside! He has told me so much about you. I am looking forward to speaking with you before we get to such dark and dismal affairs. Come come." Voice and grip offering no rebuttal, the governor loops his arm with Jean's, nearly dragging the woman toward the house of dark whispers. Following close behind, Geralt notices the low humming of his medallion as they approach the building. There was nothing good contained within, the corrupted magic oozing out and tainting the air around them.

#‘ﾟanswered » JEAN MASTERS — ❝ here the light only dies to remember ! ❝ #‘ﾟships » UTTERNOCRIES — ❝ two sides of a scarred coin ! ❝ #verse﹕WITCHER ► the dead they speak so ﾟ* LOUD #utternocries #alright so look this is part one #part two will get posted tomorrow because I’m trying to edit it to give it an actual endinstead of rambling for like 10000 words

[lwiamatka-a]

@utternocries​ liked for a starter. 

               “ i regret that I did not meet you sooner, white-haired one. “

#utternocries #⌞they call her the lioness of cintra.⌝ verse

[hystericals]

“ quiet my fears with the touch of your hand. ”

random lyric sc | @utternocries​​

#utternocries #you get this soft lyric #bc reasons #ily #𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞: (𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧) 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠?

[fckingbard]

@utternocries​ 

“Oh, this? It’s- It’s nothing. Scuffle. Teeny-weeny argument. What happens when SOMEONE’S not around to come to my aid. Tell me Geralt - am I still as handsome as I was an hour ago?” 

#utternocries

[fourmarksmage]

@utternocries​ asked: “ i’m not putting a fucking toe in that water. ”  

outlast II starters | accepting 

Yennefer pinched the bridge of her nose, huffing out a sigh of frustration. “How much worse could a bit of pond water be -- stagnant as it is, compared to the monster viscera you’re regularly covered in?” She had to give Geralt credit, even when she was able to look into his mind, he still managed to surprise her in the strangest ways. Even if it was frustrating in the given moment. All her research pointed towards a particularly potent magical charm at the bottom of the bond, but she wasn’t going to dive in. Surely, a witcher had encountered far worse conditions that he had dove into without a second thought. “Think of it as a contract, that I will pay you very handsomely for. And guarantee a lovely, warm bath to make up for this little dip in the water.”

#utternocries #verse : tbd #sometimes the best thing a flower can do for us is queue #yen's just... u got to be kiddin mE GERALT