#(ty lambert...she really needs it)

[darling-i-read-it]

Blue Paint

Dalton Lambert x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: spoilers for insidious the red door, spook spook 

Author’s Note: my decade old crush on patrick wilson was not expecting to make any movement when i saw this movie. However, the much more age appropriate ty simpkins was there with long hair and brooding smiles and i had a moment of weakness. ig up until this movie in my brain he was still 5 and i didn't realize he's older than me

Summary: You are rooming with Chris and are close friends with her and Dalton when he starts to mentally deteriorate rip 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

“Dalton? Woah, woah.” 

Dalton snapped his head off the table. Your eyes went wide as you watched him wake up, blinking aggressively. His fingers were still dipping in the paint but they had dried as he slept. 

“What time is it?” he grumbled. His hair was sticking up. He must’ve been out. 

“7. I just got back from dinner. I was gonna ask why you weren’t there but I guess we know the answer to that.” You looked down at the desk. Whatever he had been painting was now a smeared mess. His cheek had imprinted nothing but blue onto whatever the focus was. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean…” He shook his head. “Whatever.” He moved the canvas, starting to put things back as they were. 

“Your face is blue,” you noted. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, now that his brain had caught up to him. You pursed your lips. You lived above him, with Chris. She was the reason the two of you had been introduced and then you ended up going to the same building for your early classes. 

“Chris said something happened at that frat party,” you said. “I just wanted to know what went down from a reliable source.” He shook his head. He was still sticky on the face. Whatever he was using to paint didn’t dry as quickly on his face as it did on his fingers. You put down your bag and looked around for something to clean him with. 

“Nothing happened.” You turned around, giving him a look. He let out a sigh. “I just mean, she was being dramatic.” 

“Chris being dramatic? Now who would’ve thought.” You grabbed a dirty shirt off the ground. “You like this shirt?” you asked. He looked at you, confused. He shook his head. “Cool.” You dipped it in the glass of water on his desk and then cupped his face with your hands. You started to rub off the paint. “I love Chris and I trust her. I just mean, she was saying some weird things.” 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Ow.” 

“Sorry.” You sat on the unoccupied bed and leaned back. “Anyway. Tell me what’s going on.” He shook his head. He looked goofy, smeared with blue. If he didn’t have such a melancholy look on his face you would probably have laughed at him. “She said something about astral projection.” “It’s this whole thing.” His phone rang. It was on the table, beside the paint. He picked it up, looked at the name, and declined. 

“Was that your mom?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why don’t you answer?” “Listen, you’re asking me a lot of questions right now and I’m not necessarily equipped to answer a single one of them,” he said, exasperated. You nodded, taking the hint. Instead you sat back up and started to clean his face again. 

“I have nail polish in my room that would help with this. Or, do you have rubbing alcohol?” 

“You sound like my mom,” he muttered. You pursed your lips and narrowed your gaze. “She probably packed something like that.” He looked down at his bag, one of the ones he had left unpacked. You picked it up and put it on your lap. You opened it up and started to look inside. 

“If not, we’ll find some. Or you can go to class in the morning all blue. It’ll really let everyone know how you’re feeling.” He laughed gently. Your eyes flicked up at him. There was something about him that you felt a fierce need to protect. There was a puppy dog aspect to his features, in his eyes. “Ah ha. Mrs. Lambert for the win,” you muttered as you pulled out some rubbing alcohol and a towel. You tossed the bag aside otherwise. And dumped some water on it first, then started to scrub. 

“I can astral project,” he said slowly. You stopped rubbing, meeting his eyes. He was dead serious. “I think. That’s what Chris said anyway.” You nodded slowly, continuing your work. “You think I’m crazy.”

“No. I just think you stopped your sentence with no more details and I’m waiting for them.” 

“I can see myself when I’m asleep and then I’m in this other world. Walking around, except no one can see me,” he said. 

“This paint is gonna stain,” you grumbled. You sat back. “You haven’t talked to your parents?” 

“No. Why would I talk to my parents about this?” 

“I dunno. Maybe it was something you did when you were a kid and they would know about it. Maybe it’s genetic.” 

“So what, are you like the astral projection expert now?”

“Dalton,” you said. “I’m just trying to help.” He let out a sigh. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “Do you really think it’ll stain?” 

“Yes.” You winced. “Can’t imagine you can skip Armagan’s class tomorrow hm?”

“I’d rather face the embarrassment.” You nodded once. “I’ll take a shower. See if it cleans it off.” You nodded. 

“Mind if I hang around? Cleaning calms me. For some reason I think I should be stressed.” He shrugged.

“Mi casa es su casa.” 

“Sweet. Thanks D.” He dug around his bag for some clothes while you grabbed some more napkins. The door gently shut behind him as he left, leaving you alone in his room. The night light and his lamp illuminated the desk. You started to take the stuff off the counter, dumping piles of paint into the towel as you did so. You adjusted the light so that you could see everything. 

As you went to move it, Dalton’s phone turned on. You glanced at it, seeing the face of a pretty woman who had Dalton’s smile. You would’ve known it was his mom even if there hadn’t been a name to go with her phone call. 

You started to put it down, then glanced at the door. 

Answering it would be weird. 

You had never talked to his mom. Granted, you kind of hardly knew him. But clearly he was going through something and you were a strong believer that a mom could help figure anything out. 

After glancing back at the door you swiped the answer on his phone and brought it to your ear. 

“Hello?”

“Hi…sorry is this Dalton’s phone?”

“Yeah! Yes, sorry. He’s taking a shower and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t pressing,” you explained, far too quickly. You cleared your throat. 

“Oh!” She cleared her throat. “Are you one of Dalton’s college friends?” She paused. “Are you a girlfriend?” You laughed nervously. 

“Oh Mrs. Lambert I don’t know-” You started to regret answering the phone. This was definitely too weird. 

“No, sorry, that was a weird question.”

“This is a weird conversation.” You cleared your throat. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah. I was just calling to check in on him, he hasn’t called that much. Would you tell him to call? I worry. He’s a brooding guy and I just wanted to make sure he was making friends out there. I mean, I guess he is making friends, considering you’re close enough to be answering his phone.” She stopped for a moment. “Is he alright?” 

“Yeah! Yeah, he’s…” You glanced at the door. “Actually Mrs. Lambert, I did answer for a reason.” 

“Renai. Please. And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Y/N.” 

“Y/N. Why did you answer?” 

“He’s been a little…off lately. I mean, everyone understands going to a new place and starting school and whatever. But he was at this frat party yesterday-”

“He went to a frat party?” 

“I don’t have details, I wasn’t there,” you said, and had the heart to imagine him there and laugh. “He’s been acting kind of weird when he goes to sleep. Something about astral projection. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

Suddenly she was quiet. She was stammering and then she was silent again. You glanced back at the door again. You weren’t sure how long he would be gone. 

“Can you tell him to call me Y/N?” 

“Yeah. Is there…anything I can do to help him?” She was silent again. You could almost imagine her, biting at her nail, wondering what was going on, what she had done wrong. You wondered what the past had brought with this subject. What happened to earn her silence? 

“No, I’ll talk to him. Thank you for answering and letting me know.” 

“Of course. It was nice to meet you, Renai.” 

“You too Y/N.” She hung up and the silence was more threatening now that the conversation was over. She gave you no real comfort. In fact, now you felt worse. 

“This is for sure staining. Do you think Armagan will care? Maybe she’ll think it's an artistic expression.” You jumped at the sound of Dalton’s voice. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You still had his phone in your hand. He stared at it, confused, his eyebrows knit. 

“What’re you doing?”

“I really think you should call your mom D.” He looked even more confused now. His hair was wet and matt against his head.

“Did you talk to my mom?” 

“I know that’s super weird,” you admitted. “But she called and you didn’t answer earlier and I just got worried. I’m worried about you.” He narrowed his eyes on you. 

“I’m fine.” You handed him the phone.

“She sounded worried when I mentioned you hadn’t been sleeping well. Maybe you should-”

“I appreciate your concern but I’m okay. Really.” 

You handed him back his phone. You had managed to clean up the remaining paint but you hadn’t moved around any of his supplies. You bit your lip and gestured to them. 

“I didn’t move this stuff, I wasn’t sure where you wanted it.” 

“Thanks.” 

“I think the blue is a power movement by the way,” you said. He sat down on the bed beside you. 

“I think I’ll be okay in the morning,” he admitted. “Though I’ll get some weird looks. It might be a good topic of conversation.” 

“For sure! I mean, I’ll for sure talk about it.” He rolled his eyes. “Chris will also talk about it.” 

“She likes to talk.” 

“She’s extremely funny.” 

“She is, isn’t she?” You smiled gently and looked down at your lap. 

“I should probably leave you to it then. You probably have to visit some other realm in the night, huh?” He half nodded, running his hand through his hair. 

“What did my mom say?” You met his eyes.

“She thought I was your girlfriend.”

“You did answer my phone,” he countered. “That was on my bedside table.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Out of concern!” You shook your head. “She wanted to know if you were okay and if you had made any friends.”

“So you told her I couldn’t sleep?”

“Again! Concern!” He chuckled a bit and pulled his legs up onto the bed. He leaned against the wall, looking over at you. You turned around, a playful smile on your face. You wiped it off. “You should call her.” 

“I will, I will.” You started to sit up but he grabbed your arm, pulling you back down. “Where’re you going?” 

“Back to my dorm. Leaving you to sleep or walk or whatever it is you do when the lights are out.” He stared at you. You tried to read his expression. Soft, needy, trying to be guarded but doing a bad job at it. “Or I could stay. We could have a slumber party.”

“I like slumber parties.” 

“Me too,” you said, smiling. “Do I get to grab my pajamas or am I being held hostage?” He rolled his eyes. “Chris is gonna get jealous. She likes slumber parties too.”

“You can invite her down.” 

“There’s only two beds,” you said, gesturing to the two.

“We can share.”

“These are twin beds.” Dalton smiled, a genuine smile. He shrugged. 

“We’ll get close.” You wanted to hit him but refrained, just letting yourself blush. You stood up. 

“I’ll be back down in a second.” You opened the door and then turned around, leaning against it. “I’m not gonna tell Chris.”

“I didn’t think you were.” 

You shut the door behind you, taking a deep breath. Boys with long stringy hair were a downfall to the best of humankind. You couldn’t exactly deny the typical college girl butterflies. 

You pushed open the door to your room. Chris was sitting on her bed, book open at her legs. 

“I’m going out for the night,” you said. You reached for your pajamas. 

“Where’re we going?”

“Daltons.” 

“Sleep over?”

“Yes ma’am.” She raised an eyebrow. “Watching over him. Doing my duties as a friend.” She watched you as you walked around the room, shutting the door behind you so that you could change. 

“In separate beds?”

“Yes Chris,” you said, looking down at her. Her stare remained. 

“For how long?”

“Chris!” You threw your shirt at her. She caught it, laughing gently. 

“Have fun but not too much fun. Make sure he doesn’t astral walk into this bedroom again while I’m sleeping. That was fucking creepy.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Thanks for your support. You’re an amazing roomie.”

“Oh I know.” 

[fluentmoviequoter]

I love your writing it's great could you write a Dalton Lambert x reader where the readers a single mom to a one year old chris introduced them and they hit it off so they've been together for 6 months and then before that friends for 6 months so the baby was 6 months old when they got together and is now a year old so Dalton became readers baby's step dad a little and reader and her child go with Dalton to his home for Thanksgiving break and meet his family obviously Cali doesn't really care and is happy to have a sister and niece now and Renia is happy to know Dalton is happy and absolutely loves the reader and her kid and then foster being the teenage boy he is doesn't really care that much but obviously Josh doesn't really like reader cause she's a young mom and is skeptical of her considering the problems he and Dalton have

So sorry for the long wait! I hope this is along the lines of what you wanted. I think this is my longest fic and it covers over a year; I tried to follow your timeline. Thank you so much for the request and the kind words!! Enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Warnings: fem!reader is pregnant and gives birth (no detail), unnamed child (nickname: Bump), marriage, lots of fluff, some angst towards the end. 3.8k+ words

A/N: The title is from "Come Together" by Aerosmith, which has absolutely nothing to do with the fic, I didn't explain why the reader is a single mom, that's up for interpretation/reader's choice. I also made a very obvious reference to another Ty Simpkins movie.

One and One and One is Three

✵Last October✵

“Dolphin, please!” Chris begs, extending a store-bought Halloween costume.

“I’m not going to another party with you, I’ve learned my lesson,” Dalton responds, crossing his arms.

“Fine.” Chris sighs. “I guess I’ll go by myself, just a poor, defenseless girl, and hope for the best. I thought we were friends.”

Dalton groans as he tips his head back, running a hand through his hair. “Why do you always do this?”

“Because it works. Now go change, we need to go.”

Chris tosses the costume onto Dalton’s bed before walking out.

Dalton takes a deep breath before picking up the bag.

“Iron Man? Really?”

After changing, Dalton meets Chris outside the dorm building, standing silently as she playfully fawns over him. The closer they get to the party, the more Dalton appreciates the cheap piece of plastic covering his face. Maybe he can get through the party and back to his dorm without any incidents this time.

Chris leads Dalton inside the house, greeting people and looking around as she walks toward the kitchen. Dalton hears several other Avengers yelling at him but pretends not to notice them. As he prepares to ask Chris what or who she’s looking for, she stops abruptly, and he nearly runs into her.

“Baby Bump!” Chris yells.

“Chris,” Dalton hisses, concerned he will have to break up a fight. He takes off his mask to prepare.

Chris hugs someone and then steps aside. “Dalton this is Baby Bump. Baby Bump, Dolphin.”

Dalton tells you his real name as you tell him yours. You laugh as you repeat his name and shake his hand.

“You’re…” Dalton begins.

“Pregnant?” you suggest. At the same time, Dalton finishes, “A kangaroo.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m a kangaroo. And you’re Iron Man.”

Chris interjects to say she’s going to find food. You nod sweetly and smile, sending Dalton’s mind into overdrive as he imagines you looking at him like that.

“Do you like Iron Man? Or did Chris get your costume? She wanted to pick mine, but I vetoed that.”

“Yeah, yeah, Chris picked it. She forced me to come, so I didn’t have much of an option,” Dalton answers.

You nod and smile up at him, making him wish he had the mask back on to cover his warming cheeks.

“You make a very attractive Iron Man if it helps.”

“I’m pretty sure you could tell me I look stupid, and I’d say thank you.”

You laugh, and Dalton thinks it’s the best sound he has ever heard. You look over your shoulder for Chris and shift your feet to find comfort.

“Do you wanna go somewhere else, or sit down? Anything?” Dalton offers, raising a hand toward you slightly.

“Yeah,” you answer with a sigh. “But you stay here, enjoy! Chris should be back soon.”

“Chris isn’t coming back, it’s like her favorite thing in the world to abandon me at parties. So, where to?” Dalton offers his arm, and you loop yours through, smiling as he walks you toward the front door.

“Why did you agree to come?” you ask as you exit the house.

“I’d never let Chris go to a party by herself. This one seems like a decent one, so I’m okay with leaving her.”

“Bad experience with a college party?”

“Frat party the first week.”

You make a sound of agreement. “You’re a good friend.”

“You never told me where you want to go,” Dalton points out, trying to get your attention off of him.

“I’m craving something really weird, so if you want to go home-“

Dalton cuts you off with a dramatic shake of his head. “Let’s get it. How weird can it be?”

✵Last November✵

“What do you guys want for dinner?” Chris asks, looking up from her phone.

“Your favorite concoction?” Dalton suggests, looking over at you, where you’re lying on his bed with your feet up.

“Never going to let me live that down,” you grumble. “I’m pregnant, Dalton, it was a one-time craving, get over it.”

“Yeah, Dalton, give your pregnant best friend a break. You’re so mean,” Chris adds, winking at you quickly.

Dalton rolls his eyes and returns to his drawing, listening to you and Chris discuss what to order. When the two of you decide, Chris places the order and then says she has to finish some laundry before it gets delivered.

“What are you doing for the break, Dalton?”

Dalton abandons his drawing; his interest shifted to talking to you. He sits at the end of his bed and stretches his legs beside yours. “My dad’s coming to pick me up after my last class, so I’ll be with them for Thanksgiving. What about you?”

“I’ll be in labor, hopefully.”

“You’re staying here?”

“Yep. My stuff got delivered to my new apartment yesterday.”

“Need help unpacking?”

You open your mouth to answer, then tense as a contraction seizes you.

“Was that a contraction?” Dalton asks, sitting up as his eyes widen.

“Yeah, just Braxton Hicks. I’ve had more of them this week.”

“If I’m not here, you’ll call when you go into labor, right?”

“Depends on what day it is and how fast it happens.”

Dalton says your name, waits for your full attention, then says, “Call me. No matter what day or time.”

You nod, then raise your hand and allow Dalton to pull you up to a sitting position.

“Bet you never thought one of your best friends in college would be pregnant.”

“I’ll admit, I never thought about it. But I’m glad we’re friends.”

Dalton stands and helps you up the rest of the way, opening the door as you promise to return in time for dinner.

As the door to the bathroom closes, you feel another sharp contraction. Your eyes widen when you realize what’s happening.

Pulling your phone from your pocket, you click Dalton’s name on your favorites list.

“Hey, Baby Bump, did you fall in?” Dalton answers.

“My water just broke.”

You hear Dalton stand and start running. “I’ll be right there.”

“Sorry about dinner.” You exhale sharply as you experience another contraction. The phone beeps as Dalton hangs up.

“Did you seriously just apologize about dinner while you’re going into labor?” Dalton asks as he walks into the bathroom. You see his shoes outside the stall you’re in.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll talk about that later. Let’s get to the hospital.”

From the moment you walk out of the bathroom stall until your little girl is placed in your arms, Dalton’s hand doesn’t leave yours. He wipes your hair from your forehead and tells you every encouraging thing he can think of. Feeling closer to Dalton than ever, you nearly answer ‘Lambert’ when the nurse asks for your daughter’s last name. You decide not to tell Dalton about that, though.

When you finally force Dalton out of your apartment before Thanksgiving break, you promise to keep him updated. Dalton doesn’t tell his family exactly why he keeps checking his phone, but the smile on his face when you send a picture of you and your daughter tells everything they need to know. Even if Dalton doesn’t know yet.

✵Last December✵

“I missed you so much,” Dalton says as he hugs you. “You look amazing.”

“You were gone for a week, Dalton, I look exactly the same.”

“I got Bump some Christmas presents.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about Chris’s nicknames. Actually, really nervous to hear what she calls me now.”

“Oh, I know what she’s planning to call you and I’m getting in on it,” Dalton says with a smile.

“Wait, did you say Christmas presents? She’ll be less than six weeks old; she won’t remember it.”

“But you’ll remember her first Christmas, and you might need some of them.”

You nod and pull Dalton into another hug, whispering, “I missed you, too.”

The door opens, and a handful of gift bags enter before Chris yells, “Merry Christmas, Momma!”

“Oh, no,” you whisper, hiding your face in Dalton’s chest.

“Oh, yes,” he whispers in reply. “Momma.”

✵May✵

“I know something is going on between you two, Momma.”

“Chris, Dalton and I are just friends,” you insist, for the hundredth time.

“He acts like a dad to your kid, more importantly he acts like your husband, and you’re going to sit there and tell me you don’t want more?”

“We’re just friends.”

Chris’s smile grows, and you furrow your brows as you wonder what you said wrong.

“You didn’t answer the question. You want more, don’t you?”

You bite your lip and look over to your sleeping daughter.

Chris leans forward as she says, “Then do something about it.”

“Like what, Chris?” You stand and pace as you explain, “I can’t just tell a guy, who I’ve only been friends with for seven months, by the way, that I’ve fallen in love with him and can’t imagine my life without him. No one wants a girlfriend with a kid, besides It’s bad enough that he stayed by my side while I had a kid and buys her everything.”

“You said no one wants a girl with a kid then immediately said Dalton treats your daughter like his own.”

You wipe your hands down your face as you sit back down. “I can’t lose what we have. Dalton is an amazing guy, but it’s true that girls with kids are less desirable.”

“No, it’s not.”

You jump at the sound of a third voice, looking over to see Dalton standing in your kitchen.

“How long have you been there?” you ask quietly.

“I’m going to give you two some time,” Chris announces, sending Dalton an encouraging nod as she passes him.

Dalton waits for the door to close before he walks over to you, looking at your daughter before meeting your eyes.

“You are not undesirable because you have a kid. You are beautiful, brave, self-reliant, not to mention an amazing mother. Some guy will be very lucky to have you.”

“How much did you hear?” You repeat.

“Just that you think girls with kids are less desirable. Which isn’t true.”

“Really? That’s all you heard?’

“Yeah.” Dalton’s eyes soften as he kneels before you on the couch.

“What’s going on?”

“If I tell you something, and you don’t agree with me or feel differently, can we still be friends?”

Your daughter starts crying, and Dalton rubs his thumb across your cheekbone before standing and picking her up from her playpen. Dalton bounces your daughter and smiles at her until she starts laughing.

“Momma is nervous, but she doesn’t need to be, does she?” Dalton asks in a high voice. He shakes his head dramatically, drawing a laugh from you and your daughter.

Hearing your laugh, Dalton looks over and sees you smiling. He sits beside you, holding your daughter in his lap.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since after that Halloween party, and I just keep falling more in love with you,” you admit, playing with your fingers.

Dalton’s smile grows slowly, and he stands up, spinning with your daughter. “Did you hear that? Momma loves me too! Yeah, she said it! The big l-word, can you believe that?”

You smile as you stand and walk to Dalton’s side. He tucks you under one arm, kissing your temple quickly. “In case my victory lap didn’t make it clear, I love you too.”

“Even though I have a kid?”

“Are you kidding? I love her too. Professor Armagan is convinced she’s my kid anyway.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I drew a picture of her and no matter how many times I try to explain the situation, she swears that it’s my kid.”

“I think she is, too. Maybe not by blood, but you’re the only father she’ll ever know, Dalton. She loves you; no one else gets her to laugh like that.”

“She cried when I walked in,” Dalton states with narrowed eyes.

“To get your attention, Dalton.”

Dalton gasps and looks over to her. “Really? You did all that just for me? Now I��m going to have to spend more time with Momma though.” He lowers his ear like she’s responding, nodding and shrugging to his imagined conversation. “Of course, I’ll still visit you. But I may have to kiss Momma when I come in or take her on a date. I promise we will still be best friends though.”

“I love you,” you whisper, looking into Dalton’s eyes.

Dalton removes his arm from your shoulders and holds up one finger. He sets your daughter back in the playpen, placing her favorite toy beside her before returning to you. Dalton wraps his arms around your waist, and you raise your arms over his shoulders.

“I love you. More than you know,” Dalton whispers.

Dalton tips his head down and kisses you, laughing into the kiss as your daughter squeals happily in the background.

✵October✵

“You two should do a couple’s costume! It is your one-year anniversary,” Chris says as she drags you and Dalton into a costume shop.

“We didn’t start dating until May.”

“But you should have started in October, that’s my point.” Dalton rolls his eyes when you look over at him.

“Joker and Harley?” Chris suggests.

“I like to think I left the psychopath back in the Further,” Dalton deadpans.

“You could have said anything else. Both of you,” you state, shaking your head as you look at the costumes.

“What would you pick?” Chris asks.

“Farmers and a pumpkin,” Dalton answers.

“That was fast. Wait, pumpkin?”

Dalton looks over at Chris, waiting for her to realize the obvious. “Oh! Right. I forgot that you’d want to include her.”

Chris walks to the next aisle, and Dalton returns to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Find one?”

“I think she’d make a cute Grogu.” You turn in his grasp, smiling as you ask, “Do you still have the Iron Man costume?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Because it looked really good on you. We could do superheroes.” Something catches your eye over Dalton’s shoulders, and your smile widens. “Or we could be the Incredibles.”

When you look back at Dalton, he’s looking at you like no one else exists.

“Or we could get married.”

You pull away from Dalton slightly, looking into his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Would you want to? This isn’t an official proposal.”

“Of course, I would, Dalton.”

“What’d we pick? Besides PDA?” Chris asks as she returns.

“The Incredibles,” Dalton answers quickly.

“I think Bump has something for you, Momma,” Dalton says as he opens the door to your apartment after dinner.

Lit candles sit on the windowsill, and Chris and your daughter are wearing dresses. You look at Dalton with teary eyes, wondering what’s going on. You kneel in front of your daughter, and she makes grabby hands at a black box on the table.

“Wing,” your daughter cheers.

Chris winks at you before picking up your daughter and carrying her into your bedroom.

As you stand and turn around, you see Dalton kneeling in front of you, the box open to reveal a beautiful engagement ring.

“I love you. I fell in love with you when I first saw you dressed up as a kangaroo, and I can’t live without you. You and your daughter are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I want to spend the rest of my life learning to be a husband and father with you by my side. Will you marry me?”

Tears slide down your face as you nod. “Yes, Dalton, yes!”

He stands, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you. You laugh as he slips the ring onto your finger, looking at it quickly before leaning up to kiss him.

“How would you feel about a Halloween wedding? For sentimental reasons,” Dalton suggests.

“Absolutely,” you agree.

Chris carries your daughter out, and she immediately reaches out to Dalton, squealing as he picks her up.

“Momma said yes!” He cheers, pretending to dance with her.

On Halloween, you and Dalton stand in a courthouse with outfits picked by Chris. Chris stands by your side, holding your daughter as you say your vows and marry Dalton Lambert.

As you exit the courthouse, you take your daughter from Chris and hug her close. Dalton silently asks for her, hugging her in the same way.

“You’re stuck with me now,” he whispers before looking at you, “and so are you.”

✵November✵

“Let’s go to my parent’s house for Thanksgiving. You can meet my family, and I know you didn’t get a real Thanksgiving last year,” Dalton suggests.

“I don’t know, Dalton. I mean, do they even know about everything that’s happened? About us?”

“My mom knows, and she really wants to meet you.”

Dalton wraps his arms around you, swaying you gently.

“Okay,” you respond with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

“I’m so nervous,” you tell Dalton as he pulls onto his parent’s street.

“Everything will be fine. They’ll love you; both of you.”

As Dalton parks in the driveway, he squeezes your hand and leans across the console to kiss you. As he pulls back, he sees his mom coming down the driveway.

“Here we go,” Dalton whispers before opening his door.

He hugs his mom quickly before coming around to open your door. After helping you out, Dalton says, “Hey, Bump, what are you doing here?” as he releases the car seat straps.

“Hi, sweetheart, I’m Renai. I’ve heard so much about you!” Renai introduces herself before pulling you into a hug.

“I’ve heard a lot about you too. I’m glad to finally meet you!” You respond before introducing yourself.

“And this is Bump,” Dalton says as he joins you.

“A pretty girl like this deserves a better nickname,” Renai says with a smile.

“Dalton!” Kali yells from the porch.

“I’m going to go become her favorite brother because I have a baby,” Dalton announces proudly before walking away.

Renai gestures for you to join her as she begins walking behind Dalton. “I can’t thank you enough for making Dalton so happy.”

“He’s made me happier than I thought possible.”

You hear someone say your name, phrased as a question, and look up to see Kali sitting with your daughter in the living room.

“Hi. You must be Kali, you’re Dalton’s favorite sister,” you tease before introducing yourself and sitting beside them.

“I’m his only sister,” Kali answers with a laugh. “Is she really my niece?”

“Yes, she is. Is that okay?”

“That’s awesome! Wait, so then you would be?”

“Your sister-in-law.”

“I finally have a sister!” she cheers before hugging you.

You make eye contact with Dalton over Kali’s head, smiling at him.

“Is that the wife?” Foster asks as he walks in.

“Yes,” Dalton answers before telling him your name.

“Cool. Nice to meet you,” Foster tells you before continuing toward the kitchen.

“He’s nice, just weird,” Kali tells you quietly.

“Dalton,” Josh calls as he walks in. He looks over at you, playing with Kali and your daughter. “A word?”

Dalton catches your nervous look and nods at you before following his dad outside.

“He doesn’t like me, does he?” You ask Renai as Kali continues playing with Bump, adopting Chris’s nickname.

“Josh has… trust problems and a lot of incorrect assumptions about single mothers. Give him a little time, and if he says something out of line, please don’t be afraid to put him in his place. As far as I know he means well, but sometimes he goes about things all wrong.” You nod, Josh’s voice becoming audible from outside.

“Would introducing myself make it worse?”

“Sweetheart, I honestly don’t know. I’ve known Josh a long time but even I don’t know what makes him so… Josh. But, feel free. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me to come yell at him.”

You thank her, then slowly approach the back door before stepping outside.

“Dalton, you can’t even tell me why she’s a single mom at her age!” Josh argues.

“I can’t tell you because it’s none of your business,” Dalton explains, with a level voice compared to his dad’s yelling.

“Hi,” you say, drawing their attention. “I know we haven’t actually met, and that you don’t trust me or like me because I have a kid and I was a single mom.” You introduce yourself and extend a hand, awkwardly waiting as he hesitates to shake it.

“My mom was a single mother, and she had so many problems,” Josh begins.

“Mr. Lambert, sorry to interrupt, but I’m not a single mom anymore. I understand your concern that I have a kid and what people could say about Dalton for being with me.”

“Oh, so because you have a boyfriend you aren’t a single mom? You’re already balancing a child and college, what could you possibly offer my son?”

“Happiness,” Renai says as she steps out. “Josh, let them explain before you start biting heads off and making this about you and your mom. I’m going to go finish cooking, and if I hear you yelling again we will be celebrating Thanksgiving without you.”

You lean closer to Dalton and whisper, “Your mom is awesome.”

He chuckles against you before nodding.

“Okay. Please, explain,” Josh tries again, crossing his arms.

You look over to Dalton and nod, allowing him to explain.

“We got married. Almost two months ago,” Dalton answers. “And the last fourteen months have been the happiest of my life. If you have a problem with me, or her, keep them to yourself, Dad. We aren’t here for your approval, we wanted to give you a chance to get to know your daughter-in-law, but if you want to waste that by being stubborn and letting your childhood trust issues get in the way, then that’s your loss. Because this is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my life and that little girl in there is my daughter, blood or not.”

Josh drops his arms and nods slowly. “I’ll be honest, I won’t be able to accept this overnight, but if you’re both happy and your lives are going where you want them to, then it’s your decision.” He turns to you and apologizes for yelling.

“It’s okay, Mr. Lambert,” you promise. “I know that trust and respect have to be earned.”

“Call me Josh,” he offers, a small olive branch.

“Food is ready!” Renai calls. “And Bump seems to think her last name is Lambert.”

“Maybe it should be,” you whisper to Dalton as you walk inside.

His eyes widen, and he stops walking before rushing to catch up and ask, “What does that mean? Bump Lambert does have a nice ring to it!”

[spilledbutter]

like cardiac arrest (high voltage when we kiss) - chapter 2

Summary: Jaskier needs a date, fast. Problem is, dating is harder than it used to be. Luckily, Eskel’s willing to help him out.

Or: Two idiots in love think it’s a great idea to pretend to date each other. No one is fooled.

Jaskier/Eskel | Rated: M | WC: 4k+ | CW: coarse language, sexual thoughts

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Prompt fill for lovely Kei! Read Chapter 1 on AO3 or here on Tumblr.

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The weekend came, and with it, the arrival of Lambert and Aiden’s monthly cookout. Even though it was November and practically snowing, Lambert didn’t cancel his cookouts for anything, everyone else’s feelings about that fact aside. (“Rain or fucking shine, Jaskier, I don’t give a fuck about something as trivial as the weather,” he’d sneered when Jaskier had bothered to ask, one day. He’d never questioned it again.) Jaskier and Eskel were going, as they always did, with the new development of needing to look like a couple. They’d decided today would be as good a test run as any in seeing if their relationship would pass as genuine. After all, who would be a better judge than their friends and family? 

It was a reasonable, terrible idea. Jaskier was absolutely shitting himself as he heard the knock on his door.

Eskel thought he should pick him up, thought they should drive there together. It did seem more natural, Jaskier supposed, but it really just meant he had no time at all to prepare himself for being a couple with Eskel and what that meant for his sanity.

He took a deep breath, which caught in his throat only a second later. 

Eskel looked… Wow. The other man was stunning in a red button-up, top two buttons undone and bloated biceps on full display. His top was paired with well-fitting black jeans, which showed off his plump backside rather nicely. He had a sherpa-lined leather jacket and soft-looking scarf hanging over one arm, Blundstone-booted feet tying it all together.

Jaskier idly cursed good genes and the color red and the time when he’d told Eskel he looked dashing in it, so very long ago. It was awful that Eskel had taken him at his word, really, because now he was left dealing with the unfortunate reality of his good taste. He was practically salivating, unable to help his staring with so much to look at. 

Jaskier was very much not ready for today, Melitele help him.

“Hi.” He sounded breathless even to his own ears, but Eskel either didn’t notice or was too kind to comment on it.

“Hi yourself. You ready to go?” 

Eskel stepped fully into Jaskier’s apartment, perfectly at ease, and bent to scratch Mattie, Jaskier’s cat, as she gave him a mrow in greeting. 

“Yeah, just about. Let me just grab my coat.” 

Jaskier moved to the bedroom and was back in a flash, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his own double-breasted peacoat and wrapping a scarf around his neck. He’d dressed for luck today, wearing all of his favorite things in the hopes that this wouldn’t all blow up his face as spectacularly as he expected it would. 

A button-up of his own, in a pretty cream color with light lace detailing around the buttons, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off his hands and wrists. His lovely thrifted waistcoat covered in floral embroidery (which some might call gaudy, but really, that was due to their inability to appreciate art, thank you very much). His favorite pair of black jeans, which fit his ass and thighs like a glove. His well-loved Chelsea boots, warm and practical but stylish and rustic. The pearl earring he’d crafted from one of his mother’s old necklaces in one ear and his many, ever-present rings adorning his fingers. Your clothes are your armor, Jaskier, and gods know you’ll need it today.

He came back to stand in front of Eskel with a smile and a prayer. 

“Well, we look quite the pair, don’t we?” He hoped his usual charm was enough to mask his nerves. “You clean up rather nicely, Esk, though I don’t think that’s a surprise to anyone.” 

He brushed a casual hand over Eskel’s shoulder without much thought, missing the flare of heat in the other man’s eyes.

“You too, Jask. In fact…” Eskel took that moment to step closer, crowding into Jaskier’s personal space. He placed a careful hand at Jaskier’s waist, used the other to guide Jaskier’s fallen hand back to his own shoulder. The look in his eyes was inscrutable, his touch as familiar as it was strange in this charade they found themselves in.

Jaskier was stunned for the second time in as many days. He blinked, mouth falling slightly open. “Esk? Bit early for this, yeah? We don’t even have an audience, unless you count Mattie,” he chuckled nervously, heart pounding like a drum.

The hand was a warm, bracing heat where it rested over the linen of his shirt. Jaskier felt the touch like a brand, sparks flying from the points where they made contact.

“Hm,” Eskel rumbled, bringing his other hand around Jaskier’s lower back and somehow stepping even closer. “Figured this would be as good a time as any to practice.”

Eskel’s thumb was rubbing small, distracting little circles at the base of his spine. Jaskier was finding it harder to string together a coherent thought by the second. “P-Practice…?”

The other man’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his mouth quirking into a becoming smile. Jaskier wanted to see what it would taste like, pressed to his lips. 

“Kissing, Jask. Would you prefer I planted one on you when you weren’t expecting it? I didn’t want you to be more surprised than everyone else is already going to be.”

Jaskier spluttered, cheeks turning red. “I– well, I mean– Maybe? Probably a good idea, all things considered, would seem– normal, since we’re dating and all. Not that I’m saying no right now, but–”

Eskel took pity on him, chuckling. “Noted. I’ll remember that for later.”

He still hadn’t stopped that damnable stroking of his back. Fuck.

Jaskier bit his lip, hand tightening unconsciously on Eskel’s shoulder. His other hand moved from his side to rest tentatively on the meat of Eskel’s pec. “It might be… smart. Practicing. Do you… um, now?”

Jaskier had never been less eloquent in his life, but Eskel didn’t need pretty words to understand what he meant.

Eskel’s hand traveled smoothly from Jaskier’s waist to grasp his chin. Jaskier wasn’t small by any means, standing at just under six feet tall, but Eskel made him feel downright dainty. Something about that fact made a primal part of his brain purr with pleasure.

They locked eyes, blue meeting hazel. Jaskier took a few moments to just… look. He didn’t see any hesitation or regret in Eskel’s gaze, just warmth. The tension in his shoulders loosened, his face tilting just that little bit more upward.

Eskel, intelligent man that he was, didn’t wait any longer. 

The warm press of lips against Jaskier’s own sent a bolt of lightning down his spine. It was rather chaste, all things considered, but he’d never felt quite so many butterflies as he did now with anyone else, the warmth spreading from where they were connected all the way down to his toes. 

Eskel’s arms curled firmly around Jaskier’s hips, but his kisses remained soft, almost tentative. Jaskier felt a hunger clawing its way up his throat and just barely smothered the desperate sound that tried to escape. He pressed himself closer, arms looping around Eskel’s neck as his lips parted, praying that the declaration sitting on his tongue remained inside. 

By the gods, kissing Eskel was like the first sight of water in a desert. Like the first flowers sprouting through frost, like first love in the summer. Like the last love he hoped he’d ever have.

They’d been kissing for maybe a minute, probably less, but when they pulled apart, Jaskier was panting. He felt absolutely wrecked, heart threatening to claw its way out of his chest, every part of his being screaming about the minuscule distance between them.

Fuck, he was so fucking fucked.

“Um,” he licked his suddenly dry lips and blinked through the pleasant, dazed feeling that had taken over his brain. “Think we’ll pass the test?”

Eskel looked almost as starstruck as Jaskier was, breath coming in shallow little puffs and a faint flush at the tips of his ears, though he schooled his features quickly. Jaskier’s heart fluttered at having that effect on him, feeling the sticky ooze of pride in his gut, despite knowing it was just a physical reaction to a damned good kiss.

When Eskel spoke, his voice was rough. “I think we just might.” 

—-

“Jask! Eskel!” Aiden’s voice carried warmly over to them as they arrived through the back gate.

The butterflies were fully present again and Jaskier wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. Eskel’s hand was a comforting warmth on his lower back, guiding him through the gate where he waited, hesitating.

“Hey, you two! Glad you could make it!” Aiden came over and hugged both of them tightly, as if he hadn’t just seen them two weeks ago when they met with Geralt and Lambert for drinks. 

Jaskier smiled despite himself. “Hey Aiden, everyone here already? We brought refreshments.” Eskel held up their offering at Jaskier’s queue.

Aiden grinned like the cat that got the cream. “Great! Afraid Lambert made his way through most of ours last night when Geralt came over. Poor fool’s hopeless at Gwent, gods help him.”

Eskel snorted. “Don’t worry, Aid. I like you, so I won’t tell him you said that.” 

“And that’s what makes you my favorite brother-in-law!”

Eskel smiled, moving to press a casual kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before excusing himself. “Going to put these in the fridge real quick. Be right back.”

Jaskier froze, knowing his face was practically glowing at the easy display of affection, but tried to play it cool. Damn it, Eskel, you had to leave me to deal with this alone…

He supposed he should be grateful it was Aiden first. He sighed.

“So… You and Esk?” 

He glanced over at Aiden, not sure what he was expecting to find, but huffed a small breath of relief at seeing only curiosity in his expression. “When did that happen?”

“A few weeks ago. Remember Yenn’s birthday?” 

In truth, it wasn’t a hard story to sell. He and Eskel were frequently together (some might say attached at the hip), so it wasn’t surprising when they’d left together that night. Jaskier was a friendly drunk in general, even more so with his actual friends, and he knew he’d been all over Eskel. He privately remembered how hard it was to keep his mouth shut, with the cold air around them and the warmth of Eskel’s body as he’d practically carried him down the street. How close he’d been to blowing it when they’d stumbled home to Jaskier’s flat…

Aiden nodded, brows raised, and shook him out of his reverie. “So, was it you or him? Honestly Jask, I have to tell you, we’ve all talked about it over the years,” he chuckled.

Jaskier frowned, brows furrowing. Aiden didn’t seem to notice.

“We placed some bets, with interest, so I’d really love to know if I won the pot.”

“You all placed bets on when I’d finally confess? That’s hardly fair. Should’ve taken the secret to my grave just to spite you,” Jaskier grumbled.

He was more than a little indignant that they all seemed to know how absolutely gone he was over Eskel, particularly since he’d never mentioned it to any of them. Maybe it was just a testament to how well they knew him. The thought wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

Aiden smirked, saying nothing, before tugging Jaskier by the wrist towards the fire pit. 

“Come on, it’s fucking cold.”

—-

For the fourth time in the last twenty minutes, he found his gaze traveling across the yard. Eskel was sipping at a beer and chatting with Geralt. No doubt it was about the kids Geralt kept catching stoned out of their minds in the park campgrounds every weekend. He knew it had been a thorn in his best friend’s side for weeks, reluctant as he was to do too much about it. Lambert, who had just joined the other two, suddenly roared with laughter at some bit of Geralt’s dry humor, Eskel and Geralt smirking along with him at the unheard joke. Jaskier found himself smiling fondly, watching them all together.

“Lucky in love at last, bard?”

Jaskier scoffed, caught staring, and turned to Yennefer. She was bouncing little three-year-old Ciri on her knee on the other side of the fire, looking every bit at home in Lambert’s backyard. The beer she was holding clashed with her tailored pantsuit but only added to the picture she made, and really, it was just unfair that she made that look work to her advantage. Even with the snot Ciri was surreptitiously wiping on her shoulder. 

“What can I say, witch? The man’s got taste,” he retorted with a smirk, all confidence he didn’t quite feel.

The nicknames were stupid things they’d given each other back in college, back when they were rivals fighting over the attention of a certain white-haired man who wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship. They were almost pet names, now, many years and shared bottles of wine over Geralt’s stupidity later. 

Triss smiled over at him from her place next to Yennefer, a knowing glint in her eye. She was chopping vegetables for kabobs, her skilled hands making quick work with the knife she was holding. Yennefer leaned over to her, rolling her eyes at Jaskier, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Triss let out a smitten giggle.

A lawyer and a doctor, both beautiful to boot. He'd be intimidated if he hadn’t known them for years. 

He smiled despite himself, pleased to see his friends happy in love. It only hurt a little bit, this time, knowing he at least had Eskel’s temporary attention to comfort him.

“We’re happy for you, Jask, you know that, right?” Triss finally chimed in, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she passed him to take the finished kabobs to Lambert at the grill. 

Jaskier felt his cheeks heating, longing and wistfulness twisting sickly in his gut, and nodded. He hoped his feelings didn’t show on his face. 

The night carried on, drinks and laughter and stories about their weeks shared between them, before they finally settled at Lambert’s massive patio table to eat. It was still cold out, but the patio lamps were warm, and Jaskier couldn’t help but feel even warmer with the drink in his belly and good company around him. 

Jaskier was sitting next to Eskel, Aiden on his right, and Geralt across from them both. It was a little awkward, feeling Geralt trying not to stare at them. He hadn’t said anything to his best friend about this, knows how that must look since they all believe he and Eskel are dating now, but really, there wasn’t anything to tell. He couldn’t exactly tell Geralt he was fake-dating his brother as a ploy to best his mortal enemy, now could he? Nevermind the fact that he’d never exactly told Geralt he was in love with the man. Seemed like that was for the best, as that would only make things worse than they were now.

There was a stilted silence in the air, everyone tucking into their meals except for Geralt, who continued to look at Jaskier and Eskel as if they were a great mystery he couldn’t quite parse. Finally, Geralt must decide he’s drunk enough to say something because he huffs.

“I just don’t get it. How are you two dating?”

Everyone pauses, looking between the four of them–Geralt, Jaskier, Eskel, and the elephant in the room.

Jaskier, surprisingly, found his hackles up. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Geralt shrugs, looking only a little sorry. “It’s just, well… surprising, is all.” 

And that just made it worse, Jaskier practically bristling like a cat whose tail has been stepped on. He starts spluttering, winding himself up into a rant about how Geralt doesn’t know fucking anything and how dare he say that in front of everyone, when Eskel’s hand lands on his thigh.

Jaskier pauses, then, looks over at Eskel. He is surprised by the warmth he sees in the other man’s eyes, compassion and tenderness and comfort all wrapped up in gold-flecked hazel. Eskel’s thumb is stroking over Jaskier’s knee, and he’s looking at him like that, and Jaskier suddenly can’t find it in him to be angry anymore.

“It’s okay, sweet thing,” Eskel murmurs. “I’ll do the explaining, yeah?”

He shifts his attention to everyone, walking them through their cover story–how they’d left their friends at the bar several weeks ago and fallen into each other’s arms. He keeps rubbing those damnable circles into the flesh on the inside of Jaskier’s knee, and Jaskier can’t quite stop himself from staring at Eskel’s mouth as he forms the words. 

Particularly not when Eskel adds in a few things they hadn’t discussed.

“I know you’re all surprised, but this isn’t really new. Not for me. I’ve always loved Jaskier,” and he takes a moment to gaze straight into Jaskier’s eyes as he says that, before looking away like it’s nothing. Like he hasn’t just shattered Jaskier’s entire world.

He continues, clueless to the storm raging its way through Jaskier’s insides. “I just finally got my shit together enough to say something about it–and I was lucky that he felt the same way.”  

Jaskier can’t look away from him, caught up in the way his eyes look at he says things like always loved and lucky about Jaskier, of all people. He feels a twinge of deja vu, thinking of the conversation with Yenn just over an hour ago. 

Geralt’s hawk eyes keep darting back and forth between them–to the foolishly besotted look Jaskier is sure must be on his face right now, to the way he’s got his whole weight leaned against Eskel’s side like he’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s not sure what Geralt makes of Eskel, but whatever he sees, it finally seems to satisfy him enough that he crosses his arms and nods.

“Happy for you both. I mean it,” he says gruffly, making sure to meet both of their eyes to show how serious he is. Jaskier feels a flutter of affection for his closest friend, any residual annoyance from his earlier comment fully faded away now.

Geralt pushes away from the table then, reaching to grab Ciri from her booster seat. He excuses himself, likely going to put Ciri down for her late afternoon nap. It’s just as likely he needs a second to rationalize the reality that his brother and best friend are together.

Jaskier turns back to the rest of the table at this point, still unsure what he’s going to see in the rest of their faces despite Geralt’s acceptance. He looks around at everyone, at Yennefer and Lambert and Vesemir, and feels something tight unfurl in his stomach as he sees the acceptance on all of their faces, something he hadn’t even known was there. 

He lets himself smile, just for a second, and squeezes Eskel’s hand where it still rests on his knee under the table. He gets a fond squeeze back. This felt right. And although it wasn’t true, it felt good to know that everyone would be there to support them if it was.

—-

The rest of the evening is a quiet affair, and when the stars are well into the night sky, they finally say their goodbyes to everyone and make their way back to Eskel’s car. It’s only when he’s settled in the passenger seat with his seatbelt on that Jaskier goes limp with the weight of all of his feelings, pressing the heels of his hands firmly into his eyes.

“Jask? You okay?” It comes quietly, and although Eskel isn’t touching him, Jaskier breathes in his presence like the comfort that it always is.

He takes a moment and heaves a heavy breath out through his nose before he tries to speak. “Yeah. Just didn’t anticipate that being so… heavy. And I have to admit I didn’t think about how Geralt would react to the fact we hadn’t told him first when I proposed this idea.”

Jaskier rubs a nervous hand through his hair, sighing. He feels Eskel’s eyes on him, with that same quiet intensity he always has, before his hand is suddenly in Eskel’s. 

“I’m sorry if I… overstepped, back there. Figured you’d really–want to sell it,” Eskel chuckles, weakly, and drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

Jaskier takes a moment to look at him more closely, taking in the tense set of his shoulders, the way he won’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says, squeezing Eskel’s hand again, “What’s going through that big brain of yours?”

Eskel is still quiet, and it’s a little unsettling. Jaskier forces himself to be patient. 

Eventually, he sighs, before turning to look at Jaskier. “We could still stop this, you know. Tell everyone it was all a big joke. I know I said it might be easier since we know each other, but I might have been wrong on that front.”

Jaskier’s heart is pounding, heart beating too hard at the direction this conversation might be turning. He doesn’t think Eskel is on to him, doesn’t think he’s noticed, but he will be if Jaskier asks what he wants to. Do you want to stop? Because I’ve never wanted anything less.

He swallows the question burning in his throat but is determined to do something about the furrow between Eskel’s brows, at the very least. No use in having the other man worried because of him.

“You did exactly what was asked of you, dear heart, no apology needed.”

Jaskier pauses, tap-dancing on the fine line between comforting honesty and revealing too much. “You know, when we decided to do this, I knew it would be a little messy,” he gave a rueful smile at that, hoping the little bit of truth in his words was enough for now. “But I can’t say there’s anyone I’d be happier doing this with than you.”

Eskel finally looks his way, a twitch at the corner of his mouth akin to a smile. 

“Yeah?” And that confident light Jaskier loves so much is back in Eskel’s eyes as he says, “Not just because I’m a phenomenal kisser?”

The moment is broken, just like that. Jaskier shoves him playfully, laughing despite the resounding crack he feels in his heart. However this ends, they’ll be okay, even if he has to make peace with just being Eskel’s friend forever. Even if he knows now what Eskel looks like right after he’s been kissed, bright-eyed and breathless and beautiful. Even if his stupid heart guts him from the inside out by the time this is over.

Eskel turns the keys in the ignition and finally starts the drive to Jaskier’s flat. The streetlights outside flicker through the windows, turning Eskel’s olive skin a lovely golden brown. They’re quiet, except for the soft music playing on the radio, each digesting the developments of the last few days.

Jaskier can’t help himself, eyes drawn to Eskel’s face again. The other man looks mostly relaxed, still frowning slightly at whatever thoughts are going through his mind. Jaskier feels the ache acutely, then, wishing more than anything that he had the courage to fess up.

Instead, he reaches over and gently takes the hand resting on Eskel’s thigh in his own, smoothing a thumb over his knuckles. He hopes it’s a comfort, however small. He misses the eyes that flick over to him as he does so, the overwhelming fondness that takes over the other man’s expression as if he can’t help it any longer.

They sit like that, clasped hands resting on Jaskier’s knee and earnestly stealing glances at each other, for the rest of the drive. 

Eventually, they pull up in front of Jaskier’s building, and Eskel parks the car. Jaskier is gathering his things and doesn’t notice when Eskel gets out of the car, hurrying over to open the door for him.

Another wave of blistering warmth rushes through him, the longing so intense he can barely stand it, but he simply beams up at his friend, getting out of the car with a quiet thank you.

“Well… this is me.”

Jaskier can’t resist glancing down at his shoes, feeling bashful, all of a sudden. He’s not sure why the feeling comes to him only now when the other man had declared his undying love in front of their friends and family earlier, but it’s there all the same.

His breath is stolen from him when Eskel steps forward and wraps his strong arms tightly around his frame, squeezing him in a hug so tight he lifts him off the ground. Jaskier is flustered, blushing at the fact that Eskel lifted him like he weighed absolutely nothing, but hugs him back just as tightly.

Eskel finally sets him back on the ground, arms still lightly wrapped around his sides. That inscrutable look is back in his eyes as he stares down at him, a soft smile on his face. Jaskier feels his insides go all squirmy.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

“I’ll text you, okay?” He smiles in response. Before he can stop himself, he leans up to press a soft kiss to Eskel’s scarred cheek. He gives him another quick hug before scurrying inside.

He stops to catch his breath only when he’s safely inside his apartment, leaning heavily against his locked door. Mattie comes up to him and rubs affectionately against his leg, but he can’t pay her any mind. Groaning, he slides to the floor, head in his hands.

He was so fucking fucked.

(2/3)

[simplylove101]

2023 Horror Challenge: [45/?]

↳“The further you travel, the riskier the journey becomes.“ Insidious: The Red Door (2013) dir. Patrick Wilson

Plot: The Lamberts must go deeper into The Further than ever before to put their demons to rest once and for all.

Starring: Ty Simpkins, Patrick Wilson, Sinclair Daniel, Hiam Abbass, Andrew Astor & Rose Byrne

Well, I have finished the franchise. lol This was... *interesting*. Not quite exactly how I imagined this conclusion to go down, both bad and good. It's certainly the weakest one in terms of story for me. I very much enjoyed the intent behind making the narrative focused on Dalton and Josh's characters both remembering the forgotten past, it made sense to have those two storylines paralleling off each other as they went along. But at the end of the day, there really wasn't much to grab onto that felt fresh beyond Dalton's college stuff. Which is an aspect I actually was all here for because it was a change of scenery and new faces, particularly Chris. I genuinely appreciated her presence because she brought the needed lightness that you usually get from Specs and Tucker in this franchise (who do make an appearance but it's quite lame tbh, same for Elise). I tried getting more into Josh's storyline because Patrick Wilson is great, (and as someone who truly enjoys both The Conjuring/Insidious universes I'm so grateful he seems to thrive in the horror genre) but his is just kinda okay for me. They try to slowly build up to a reveal within it that is probably the only true twist of the movie but once you kinda think about it, it's quite predictable and they don't do much with it. In terms of jumpscares, there's some. I will say the MRI scene... If you know, you know. It got me a little because that is one of my irrational fears, getting stuck in one of those machines. There's like a middle one that didn't get me at all and part of me was disappointed cuz I'm used to these movies having me on the edge of my seat. It could be a little slow and boring at parts. As far as a directorial debut, I think Patrick did all right but the writing was subpar because where were the twists? But the acting was great from the main cast as always. Really so cool they got back not just Ty but also even just Andrew Astor back as Foster, considering how young they were in the first two movies. But yeah, if you're going into this movie expecting answers for the lore of The Further and The Red Door and everything else, sadly, we get nothing new. Which is just kinda mind-boggling they went to all this effort when they really didn't have anything new to say, which should always be the point of a sequel or reboot. This had so much potential to be an epic conclusion to have the series end on a high note but unfortunately, that was not the case here. It had its moments though so it wasn't all bad as I said before. But it's definitely just a shadow of how good and classic that first movie felt.

Tell me why I never watched a teaser or a trailer for this until after the movie and I noticed how they put all the best scary stuff in it. Like why spoil that??? Ugh I hate trailers that give everything good away. lol

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Someone Else (I'm Still Right Here)

also on ao3

minor warning for Geralt coming on to Jask when he doesn't know who he is, but nothing comes from it. 

 They've hardly been in town long enough for anything to go wrong and yet, Jaskier finds his thoughts interrupted by banging on the door of their room. If it was Geralt, he would simply let himself in even if he didn't have his hands free to open the door properly, so it must be important. Jaskier rises from the bed, setting his lute aside with a sigh. He detests being interrupted while he's working for anything less than an emergency - and judging by the fact that the knock hasn't come again, this is hardly an emergency.

He saunters to the door, pulling it open to find the face of the innkeeper's wife staring back at him anxiously.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says, "it's your Witcher, sir. Something's happened and no one is... well, they're all afraid to get too close to him. They called in the healer from the next town, but-"

Jaskier frowns. The contract was for a pair of drowners, not even a nest of the damn things. Geralt could have taken them out in his sleep - so what went so terribly wrong?

Jaskier lets himself be led downstairs, doing his best to mask worry with intrigue, but it isn't working. The innkeeper's wife leads him to the edge of the forest where her husband is waiting, a look of pained concern on his face. Jaskier's stomach drops as the man just points into the trees, and he hurries forward without delay. If the people in town won't help Geralt, he will certainly do his best.

When he finds him, Geralt is in a bad state. His eyes are still dark from the potions - probably why the locals wouldn't come near - and there's blood streaked down the side of his face.

Jaskier stays quiet. It's bad enough that Geralt can hear his pulse racing, he doesn't need to make his fear any more obvious to him. He kneels down on the soft ground, assessing the damage before moving him. He's learned from experience that one wrong move can make a wound worse rather than better.

"Okay," he says once he's satisfied. "I'm just gonna pull this off," he taps on Geralt's left pauldron, "make sure your head is the only thing you banged up." Jaskier frowns as he says it, but Geralt seems, as usual, unconcerned. He's much better behaved than usual though, which strikes Jaskier as being particularly odd.

He ignores it and pushes through, tearing an already ripped piece of Geralt's shirt to wipe away some of the blood. Geralt will be grouchy about it later, but if Jaskier replaces it, he can't be too angry. He does his best to clean Geralt's skin and he finds just the one injury - a hefty blow to the head. Not that it seems to be bothering Geralt any.

But when Jaskier cups his jaw, tipping his head to one side, Geralt hums. It catches him off guard and Jaskier jerks back to look at him.

"Your hands feel nice," Geralt breathes and leans into the touch. Okay. So maybe the head injury is more serious than it appears. The innkeeper's wife said a healer was coming, Jaskier will mention it to them when they arrive. Or maybe it's just the blood loss. Either way, the healer will be better prepared to deal with it than he is.

"What are you doing here?" Geralt asks.

"The innkeeper's wife came to collect me. Figured someone ought to come and collect you."

"No one else would even get near me."

"Yes, well, I'm not everyone else, am I?"

"Hmm. Guess not."

Jaskier comes around to look at him, straddling his thighs and Geralt leans forward, resting his head on his shoulder and nuzzling into his neck.

"Yes yes," Jaskier hums, "I know you're tired, darling, but we have to get you up and back to town."

Geralt is reluctant, but he lets himself be hauled to his feet and doesn't even complain about Jaskier propping him up as they make their way back toward town. He's quiet, which is to be expected, but Jaskier is worried that he's keeping something from him, that he's worse off than he seems because Geralt seems quite happy to let himself be assisted - something he would regularly fight against.

As they make it back to the inn, Jaskier knows everyone is watching them and he scolds a couple of them for not offering to help when a man was injured. He takes Geralt up to their room and ducks out from under his arm, leaving him alone for a moment so he can get the fire lit and ready the bed for him. But before he can do either, he finds himself pressed up against the room door with Geralt's face mere inches from his own.

The dark veins and darker eyes are… sexier than they have any right to be and Jaskier swallows back a groan, pressing a gentle hand to Geralt's chest. The Witcher is still woozy and unsteady on his feet, but he resists being pressed back and Jaskier frowns at him.

"Mm, as much fun as this is, I doubt you'll think so highly of me in the morning, darling." Geralt smiles slyly and, for a split second, Jaskier worries that he's become Geralt's quarry, that the toxins running through Geralt's body are really as bad as he always claims they are and that he is, in fact, in real danger around him. But then Geralt leans in, bumping his nose against Jaskier's and any thoughts of fear dissipate immediately.

Instead, Jaskier ducks down and away, holding both arms out as Geralt follows him.

"Geralt," he asks, "what's gotten into you? Not that I mind, but-" he eyes him carefully and Geralt just grins at him again.

"Don't be coy with me, bard, this is what you brought me here for."

"Um. No? I brought you here to rest, to put you to bed not take you to bed, and find you something to eat. This is our room, Geralt, not my room. They only had one left and I didn't think you'd mind-"

"Our room?" Geralt interrupts and Jaskier nods. Worry creeps in and he looks closely at Geralt. His eyes are black still, though the veins are retreating and he seems brighter than usual, not so gloomy.

"Yes?"

"Why would we be sharing a room," Geralt huffs, "I've only just met you."

Jaskier gawks at him. It's not like Geralt to play games, that's Lambert's area of expertise - and this is stupid and obvious even for Lambert's tastes. But something is off about Geralt tonight. The worry turns to fear and Jaskier suddenly wonders if the man he's brought back is his Witcher at all.

He's never met a doppler, but he's heard Geralt tell stories about them. For the most part, they're harmless, but Jaskier suspects they can be paid or bribed like anyone else and the thought of a stranger here in the room with his things, with Geralt's things-

"I thought you wanted sex," maybe-Gealt says again, slightly confused but not at all dissuaded. Normally Jaskier would take it as a compliment that he was still so enthusiastic about fucking him, but this feels very, very wrong. And yet a part of him still considers it.

If it is a doppler, there's no harm really. He's consenting and Jaskier is more than happy to fuck a man with Geralt's face (he doesn't think too much about how that will affect him after it's fine). Right? But there's still a nagging feeling that this isn't a doppler. He'd know, he thinks, if he brought someone else home with him.

"Can you just-" he says, backing up toward the bed where his bag is sitting on the floor. Maybe-Geralt just watches him with confusion as he crouches down and pulls his dagger from his pack.

It's just a little thing, but it's pure silver, gifted to him by Geralt in case of emergency.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Jaskier says, holding it out, "I just need you to touch this."

Maybe-Geralt gives him a questioning look but reaches out and takes the dagger from him, turning it over in his hand. Nothing happens.

"Hmm," he says, "nice weight, well made. A little decorative maybe-"

"Doesn't hurt?" Jaskier asks and maybe-Geralt, who is seeming more and more like just Geralt laughs.

"Not unless you stab someone with it."

Jaskier valiantly ignores the little smirk and shuts his eyes.

"Okay," he says, "start at the beginning, what do you remember?"

"I… woke up in the forest and then you showed up," he smiles at him and Jaskier is already preparing a refusal.

"Listen, Geralt, I am your friend and you would probably even argue that-"

"How come? You're very handsome and you've been helpful and kind-"

"But it's not like that, Geralt. It never has been. I offered once and you were… less than impressed with me." Geralt says nothing and Jaskier takes the opportunity to reign the conversation in. "Can I clean you up now? Something is obviously wrong and we have to get you to a doctor."

"They said a healer was coming."

"I was thinking of someone a little more professional," Jaskier says and Geralt gives him a look. "We have a mutual friend who may be able to help. But for now, you've got me and I'd like to take a look at that wound."

Geralt relents and Jaskier finally succeeds in getting him sat on the bed without Geralt trying to come on to him again. He pulls Geralt's hair back and ties it out of his face, it'll need to be washed later, but he's not going to try and explain how it's fine for him to wash his hair but not fuck him right now.

The wound itself it's so bad, a bit swollen, a bit bruised, but the actual gash is small and very manageable. He cleans it first with water and then with vodka and applies a good amount of salve. He doesn't know which herbs Geralt combines for a poultice, so he bypasses that for the time being; when he gets him to Shani if the wound isn't healed on its own, she'll be able to tend to it.

He finds linen wrap at the bottom of his bag and presses it to Geralt's forehead, gently wrapping it around and tying it at his temple.

"Should be good for now. I'll go down and have supper brought up. Do you want a bath?"

"No. Thank you."

"Alright. Just… stay here, I'll be back."

As soon as the bedroom door is shut, Jaskier closes his eyes, but he waits until he reaches the main floor to lean against the wall and sigh. He has no idea what he's going to do. He never thought he'd be sad to see the day Geralt tried to get him into bed, but it feels so wrong. He'd rather spend the rest of his life failing to impress Geralt than spend another five minutes with him like this.

He takes his time ordering food, half-hoping that Geralt will be asleep by the time he gets back to the room, but their supper is ready quickly and Jaskier reluctantly takes it back up to their room, setting the tray on the table beside the bed.

Geralt at least spares him conversation while they eat and then Jaskier sets the dishes aside and strips out of his clothes for bed, already dreading having to share a bed. He keeps his shorts on and waits until Geralt is already in bed before climbing in after him.

The fire is burning low already, so he's not worried about it, but he blows out the candle beside the bed and pulls the blankets up over himself. He faces out into the room, preferring not to see Geralt right now. It feels weird to want to avoid him and it makes his chest ache because this is Geralt, but it's not. He just wants his Geralt back.

He shuts his eyes and tries to sleep but Geralt is cuddly like this, shifting closer and pressing up against him. He gets an arm around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut. It's everything he thinks about during the long nights sleeping around a campfire, but he can't let himself give into it. But it feels good because it's Geralt's arm around him, Geralt's chest pressed to his back, Geralt's breath against his neck. He very nearly whines because it's so damn unfair.

But then Geralt's lips press against the back of his neck and a little gasp escapes his lips, unintentionally. He ignores it the first time, but then he does it again and when he shifts closer, Jaskier can feel the length of his cock pressing against his ass. And fuck, that's hard to turn down, but Jaskier wrenches himself out of Geralt's arms.

"I can't," he whispers, unconvincing even to himself.

"You want it, though," Geralt hums, "I can smell it on you."

"Maybe," Jaskier confesses, "but not like this. Not when you don't know who I am. Not when fucking any other person in this place would be the same for you. I can't, Geralt. Go to sleep."

Jaskier hates how disappointed Geralt sounds when he pulls away, but he doesn't try again and Jaskier almost finds himself wishing he would. He tugs the blanket a little tighter around himself and pulls his knees to his chest, trying to force back the fear that he might not get his Geralt back.

In the morning, Geralt wakes first and Jaskier is relieved to find himself alone in bed, although he worries about where Geralt has gotten to. But when he drags himself out of bed, he finds Geralt packed and ready to go with a hearty breakfast waiting for him.

"What's all this?" Jaskier asks, "trying to get away from me all of a sudden?" It comes out more bitter than he intends and he winces at the tone of his own voice.

"You were so sad, last night," Geralt says quietly. "I don't know how to fix this, how to remember you, but I thought you'd want to get started early. I had breakfast brought up." He offers a soft smile, gesturing to the food and Jaskier's heart flip-flops.

"Oh. Thank you."

"I've eaten. Take your time and we can leave when you're finished."

"Right."

Geralt just sits on the bed while Jaskier eats his breakfast and contemplates the fact that this is still his Geralt, as much as it doesn't seem like it. His own things are still ready to go and he has no idea who to go to to collect the reward for the drowners, but it couldn't have been much anyway, so he's not worried about it. Geralt won't be pleased about it when he remembers himself, but there's only so much Jaskier knows how to handle and he wants to get Geralt to Shani as quickly as possible.

They head out mid-morning, and Geralt insists on letting Jaskier ride, which is… nice, in a concerning way. Roach is equally confused and concerned, but Jaskier does his best to comfort her. Thankfully, they aren't far from Oxenfurt or Jaskier isn't sure how he would cope.

Geralt walks alongside him, happy enough apparently to let Jaskier ride. He hums as they travel, a low wonderful sound that had Jaskier's heart fluttering, but it tears him in two because the song is his which means Geralt does remember something, but he's also so sad to see him this calm and relaxed knowing his goal is to take that away from him.

For now, he won't say anything, will just let Geralt enjoy the journey. When and if they find a way to get his memory back, he'll explain everything and give Geralt the chance to decline if he wishes. The selfish part of him hopes he doesn't.

They carry on in much the same way, but even when Geralt talks, Jaskier struggles to find it in himself to be too enthusiastic about anything. He's already in a difficult spot and he just wants to get through this, whatever the outcome. But it's obvious Geralt notices and that he's trying to distract him from it.

Jaskier tries to cheer up a little, if only for him, but he finds it difficult because he knows Geralt can tell how he's really feeling. But Jaskier appreciates the effort, either way.

"Remind me where we're going?" Geralt asks and Jaskier realizes he hasn't told him, Geralt just trusted him not to be leading him towards certain death.

"To Oxenfurt," he says, trying to sound cheerful, "it's one of my favourite places on the continent. I have a friend who practices medicine, she should be able to help."

"You don't have to pretend for me. I know you're sad, I know you miss him. Me. I wish I could give you your friend back."

Jaskier's heart clenches and he takes a steadying breath. "I'm fine," he says, "and I can't miss him, he's you and you're right here." He feels odd, like he's talking to a child, but Geralt just smiles at him, softly but like he doesn't believe him. Jaskier wouldn't either, he's never been good at lying to Geralt.

There's a heavy silence that falls after that and for some time they continue forward unspeaking. Jaskier twitches to feel the silence, to sing or talk to something just to keep from thinking that Geralt is upset with him. Then, abruptly, Geralt speaks.

"What kind of man am I?" Jaskier doesn't even have to think to answer that.

"You're kind," he says, "more than anyone gives you credit for. You always try to take the less violent route, even though your job is to kill monsters. You're generous and loving and you care so deeply for your friends and family."

He pauses for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat. Because he's not included in that group. He knows Geralt must care for him, but not in the way he loves Eskel or Lambert, or even in the way his friendship with Shani or Zoltan comes so easily to him. Next to him, Geralt is silent for a moment and then.

"Jaskier are you-" Jaskier shuts his eyes, dreading whatever is coming next. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do," he says, forcing cheeriness into his voice, "You're my best friend."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"Geralt-"

"I know I don't really know you, but I… think I love you, too."

"Geralt, don't say that," Jaskier shuts his eyes tightly, "you can't know that."

"I feel it."

Jaskier wants to scream. It's so unfair to hear those words from Geralt's mouth and know they’re not true. He pushes Roach a little quicker forward, but Geralt stops him.

Roach comes to a full stop and Jaskier grows frowns at Geralt as he comes to stand next to him. Geralt raised a hand up, cupping his jaw and guiding him downward.

"I feel like you won't hear it from me again, so I love you." He's soft, almost breathless, and when he stretches up to kiss him, Jaskier doesn't stop him.

It's just soft, no urgency, no want for something more than just a kiss and Jaskier can't help but lean into it just a little. Because those are Geralt's hands on him, Geralt's mouth against his own, soft and slow.

But Geralt moans softly against him and Jaskier remembers himself with a start. He pulls back from the Witcher, almost unseating himself, but Geralt steadies him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "I can't, it's not fair-"

"To me?" Geralt asks and there's sadness behind the humour in his voice.

"Yes."

After that, they spend the rest of the day in silence and Jaskier feels bad for Geralt - he can't imagine losing his memory and not knowing who he is - but he can't stand the fruitless hope. Because Geralt doesn't love him, he's made it known that they're not friends and how could Jaskier hope for more when he can't even attain friendship?

Then again, the man walking next to him now still is Geralt. He doesn't feel like Geralt and he doesn't act like Geralt, but he is. Jaskier isn't sure how people usually react when they lose their memories, so he doesn't have a basis to judge by, but it is still Geralt.

When they stop for the night, Geralt sleeps close enough to keep him warm but doesn't cuddle up like he did the night before and Jaskier hates himself for it. Maybe Geralt has a chance here at a new life, one where he can be happy and not weighed down by the memory of his childhood. And if he does, if he wants it, who is Jaskier to deny him that?

He's not sure he could be a part of it, though. Even thinking about him now, wishing Geralt would come a little closer, curl an arm around his middle, he feels like he's betraying his friend, betraying the old Geralt as the case may be.

Either way, he'll get Geralt to Oxenfurt so they can speak to Shani and see if there's anything that can be done. If there's not, he doesn't have to worry about making the decision to leave or stay, but if there is- If there is a chance Geralt can regain his memories, Jaskier has to let him make that choice alone and then make his own depending on what Geralt wants.

They reach Oxenfurt a few days later after what feels like a month-long journey and Jaskier is just glad to be somewhere warm where he can have his own room and not have to worry about wanting to be close. He leads them immediately to the inn and rents two separate rooms. It's fairly costly and he's reminded of the reason they needed to take the last contract, but he could be in Oxenfurt for a while depending on how this goes and he'll be able to pick up work easily enough.

Jaskier heads up to his room and makes sure Geralt gets settled, then he heads down and orders food and a bath up to Geralt's room before heading out to find Shani.

The first place he looks is the hospital, but the nurse working informs him that Shani has her own clinic now and she's located near the centre of town. Jaskier thanks her and doubles back, following the directions she'd given. Shani's clinic is tucked between two other buildings and Jaskier knocks before entering. There's no one inside but it's only a moment before Shani emerges from a back room, the neutral look on her face quickly growing into a smile. When Jaskier doesn't return the gesture she frowns.

"I take it this isn't a personal visit," she says and Jaskier can feel something inside him slip. He shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I- we need your help."

"Geralt?" she asks and the last bit of his self-control gives way and he chokes on a sob. "Hey," she says, "come sit down."

Shani guides him to a back room and sits him down on a plush soft, surprisingly nice for a medical clinic. She shuts and locks the door behind them and sits next to him.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Geralt," he chokes, "hes'-" he takes a deep breath, swallowing back another sob. "Shani, he doesn't know who he is. He doesn't know who I am."

"Oh. What happened?"

"I wasn't there. I just- they came to get me because no one else would get near him. It was just supposed to be a drowner contract but he got hit in the head or something. I don't know what to do."

"Where is he now?"

"Back at the inn."

"Here?" she asks. Jaskier nods. "Why don't you take me to him, I'll take a look."

"I- I don't know if he'll want to be fixed? He came with me but Shani, he seems happy."

"Why don't we go and see him first. We'll figure out what's wrong before worrying too much, hm?" Jaskier agrees and Shani packs a bag and they head for the inn.

They find Geralt in his room, having eaten and bathed and he looks good. He's got his hair down around his shoulders and he's shirtless and Jaskier has to avert his eyes. He takes a seat in the corner and lets Shani introduce herself and asks to look him over. Jaskier stays quiet and watches cautiously as Geralt easily lets Shani look him over. Once she's finished with his body, she examines his head.

"Well," she says at last, "you obviously took a pretty hefty blow to your head, but the good news is it should be simple to reverse the memory loss."

"Good," Geralt says quickly. He spares a glance for Jaskier before turning back to Shani. "What do we have to do?"

"It's simple really, just a shock to your system should do it. I have a friend who can help."

As Shani goes into the details, Jaskier tunes out. He hears something about neurons, but he's more concerned about getting Geralt alone for a couple of minutes before he makes a decision. He loves Geralt, wants nothing more than for him to be happy, so he wants him to go into this knowing everything Jaskier can tell him.

"Can we have a moment Shani?" he asks and Geralt looks at him as Shani nods and ducks out of the room.

"You want to do it?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're happier like this," Jaskier whispers, "Geralt, I've never seen you this relaxed. In twenty years, you've always been miserable. I just- I want you to make an informed decision."

"You say you want me to be happy," Geralt says, "but since I told you I didn't know who you were you've been so sad. How is it fair for me to be happy like you say when you're still suffering." He tips Jaskier's chin up with two fingers and looks into his eyes. "What I said before, I wasn't lying. I don't know where all these feelings are coming from but I know you are so important to me."

He pulls up a smile and Jaskier knows how this is going to end. And he'll be happy to have his Geralt back, but know him like this? To know this Geralt wants him, even in some weird, imaginary way? He doesn't know how he'll be able to continue.

"Okay," Jaskier relents. "I just… wanted you to know what you were getting into."

"I'm sure it can't be all bad. I have you."

Jaskier's heart clenches, but he doesn't get another chance to speak because Shani enters the room. Thankfully, Geralt has stopped touching him, but he's still close and she gives Jaskier a look.

"I put out a call to my friend," she says, holding up a box that looks vaguely familiar. "Xenovox," she explains, "Marilla is a mage. She should be here in the morning."

It's late afternoon now, so that means spending another night at the inn and Jaskier is torn. On the one hand, he wants Geralt to be back to normal, but on the other- he's selfish and he wants Geralt like this. He wants so badly to have anything and- no. No, he can't.

Shani leaves them shortly after assuring Jaskier that it will be alright, that Geralt will be fine. He wishes these were better circumstances, that they had come to visit Shani instead of asking for her help, but she waves him off with a smile.

"Come and visit when things are back to normal," she says, "I'll see you in the morning."

Jaskier sees her off and then returns to the room to find Geralt sitting on the edge of the bed, contemplating. He's still shirtless and Jaskier finds it hard to look at him directly. He sits in the bed next to him, hands folded in his lap.

"Well," Geralt says, "we have the night. Things will be different after I get my memory back, right?" He turns, reaching out to cup Jaskier's cheek. "Be with me tonight," he breathes, "just for tonight, let me take care of you while I have the chance."

Jaskier huffs a humourless laugh. "That's the problem, you always have the chance, but you never want to take it."

"Then let me now," he hums and his hand falls to Jaskier's thigh.

And it's so tempting. Because Geralt is right here offering everything he's ever wanted, if only for a night. But this is not the Geralt he fell in love with. This is not truly his Geralt's consent. When Jaskier looks up, it's obvious that Geralt knows his answer before he even speaks.

"I'm an idiot," he says softly, "to not jump at the chance to be with you. If I don't remember tomorrow, I want you to know you're important to me." Jaskier nods weakly, but he can't find the words. "Maybe we should turn in early? We have a long day tomorrow, I think."

Jaskier nods and he lets Geralt pull him down to the bed and tonight, he lets himself be held, curls into Geralt's hold and presses his nose into his neck. He doesn't let himself think, just buries himself in Geralt's scent, so warm and familiar and shuts off his mind.

Jaskier awakes to a knock on the door and realizes he's still in his clothes from yesterday. Geralt answers the door to Shani and Marilla, and Jaskier is only just climbing out of bed when they come into the room. He gets a look from Shani, but if she's feeling any particular kind of way about finding him in Geralt's bed, she doesn't say anything.

The actual process doesn't take any time at all. Marilla comes in and does something to Geralt, what she does is unclear but he falls unconscious and Jaskier panics at first, but Shani holds him back.

"Sorry," she says, "I should have warned you."

Jaskier does his best to make Geralt comfortable in the bed and he leaves with the two women to let him sleep. He thanks Marilla desperately and asks her to stay until he wakes, but she tells him she has other business to attend to and after dipping down to kiss Shani briefly, she disappears down the stairs.

"Friend, huh?" Jaskier asks and Shani smiles at him.

"Don't try to change the subject."

"Actually, can I ask you about something?"

"Of course. Why don't we get a drink, he could be out for a couple of hours."

They head down to the common area and Shani orders them a pair of drinks while Jaskier finds a table out of the way. He's never understood why Geralt likes corner tables, but right now he gets it. He doesn't want anyone to talk to him and he just wants to be able to sit and drink with Shani.

When she returns, she slides his drink across to him and slips into her seat.

"What did you want to ask about?"

"Uh," Jaskier starts, turning his mug in his hands, "when I first took Geralt back to our room, just after he was hurt. He tried to kiss me. He… thought I was bringing him back there to fuck him."

"Oh."

"You don't sound surprised."

"I'm not, really. I'm surprised he acted on it, but-"

"What does that mean?"

"Geralt doesn't have any brain damage," Shani explains, "something just… got knocked loose, so to speak. He was still him, Jaskier. His thoughts, his feelings? That was all him, Jask."

"You're telling me-" abruptly, the memory of Geralt telling him he loved him comes back to him and his mouth goes dry. "You're telling me that was just him?"

"Mmhm. Without all the baggage and self-loathing."

"I don't- he can't- if he wanted me that way, I would know."

"Would you?" Shani asks, "because I think you would be the last person to know. Wait till he wakes up, talk to him."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Shani, for this and for everything."

"Happy to help."

They finish their drinks and Shani heads home. Jaskier thanks her again and promises to visit when things are better and waits until she's gone before heading back up to Geralt's room.

The first thing Geralt knows when he wakes up, is a pain in his head. He blinks awake to find himself in a bed in a nondescript inn. A better look around finds Jaskier asleep in a chair next to him, but he stirs as Geralt sits up and then he's scrambling to pass Geralt a mug of water.

He feels woozy, but Jaskier's presence soothes him; he knows from experience that Jaskier would never let anything happen to him and is willing to risk his own health and safety to assure it. There's no one else he'd rather see upon waking. But he doesn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembers is taking a hit and stumbling away from the scene.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks gently. He looks up and the first thing he notices when he looks at Jaskier is how sad he is. The emotion wafts off of him, but Geralt doesn't need his heightened sense of smell to be able to tell.

"What's wrong?" he mumbles, his voice thick.

"Tell me what you remember. From the start."

Geralt thinks back, going through the events of the hunt, none of which are very interesting until he was thrown into a tree. Water hag, he remembers, chucked mud and blinded him. Then he's stumbling away, all three monsters dead and then- fuck.

His gaze snaps up to Jaskier's face, looking for any sign of recognition, but he remains eerily calm, even as Geralt recollects kissing him, pressing him up against a wall and- fuck, what was he thinking? The more he thinks about it, the more comes back to him, but in bits and pieces.

Kissing him, touching him, pressing up against him in bed. The memories are all foggy, scattered, but they feel too real to have been a dream. But Jaskier shows no signs of being assaulted by him.

"I'm-" he starts, but sorry doesn't feel like it's enough. Jaskier is open with his affections, but he wouldn't be okay with that.

Geralt tries to push himself up, to get out of bed and away from Jaskier because he can't stand the thought of doing something like that. He can't remember why he did, but the more he thinks about it, the more real it feels.

"Geralt," Jaskier says firmly, "I'm not mad. But I think we need to talk if you're up for it."

He doesn't want to talk to Jaskier. He would rather find out from someone else, he can't bear to hear the words from Jaskier. And he knows Shani was there. Shani and another woman who he didn't recognize.

"Where's Shani?" he asks.

"She's gone home, darling. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"

Geralt looks up at him and he feels hopeless. Jaskier is exhausted, he can see the bags under his eyes, the dark circles. And he doesn't seem any less sad than he did initially. It doesn't take much to realize what happened.

"I'm sorry," Geralt mumbles, "about what I did- when I kissed you, I-"

Jaskier stops, already halfway toward the door and sighs deeply, stopping in his tracks before turning around.

"Okay," he says, "we're talking about this now, then." He comes back and seats himself on the end of the bed, facing him. "Tell me exactly what you remember, Geralt."

"I remember taking the contract, fighting off the drowners - and a water hag - got mud in my eyes, stumbled and something hit me, threw me into a tree. Probably one of the drowners pushed me. I took them out, started back toward town but I must have passed out, the next thing I remember is-"

"Me."

"Yeah. You took me back to our room, I thought you were- I thought you wanted sex."

"I know, you were fairly adamant about that."

"Fuck. Jaskier I'm sorry-"

"You didn't know who I was. If a handsome stranger took me back to his room, I'd think the same. When you didn't know who I was I was… terrified. I didn't know if I'd get you back." They're both silent for a moment and then Jaskier prompts him to continue.

"I remember that. I remember talking to you," he lowers his eyes, "I told you I loved you, I don't know why." Immediately Jaskier's sadness intensifies and he catches it in the twitch of his lip, the way he glances away.

"You asked if I was in love with you," Jaskier explains, "and told me you loved me. What else do you remember?"

"I remember asking you to- suggesting we- I propositioned you. And I remember being in bed- Jaskier, did we-?" He can't imagine anything worse than sleeping with Jaskier while he's not himself, than having the chance to be with him and not truly being present in the moment.

Because he certainly won't have another chance, especially not now that he's gone and muddled things up.

"No," Jaskier confirms and for the first time a small smile tugs at his lips, "not that you didn't try. But It didn't feel right. I knew when you had your memories back, you'd hate me for it and I couldn't-"

"I could never hate you," Geralt interrupts, "if anything I'd hate myself for pushing you into it."

"No," Jaskier says, shaking his head, "Geralt you don't understand. I wanted to. I wanted so badly to just say yes last night when you asked me. I tried to work it around in some way that you wouldn't hate me for taking advantage, but every time I just feel terrible to even think about it. The reason I didn't sleep with you is because I couldn't bear the thought of fucking you when it wasn't really you. Because I didn't want him, even if he was you. I wanted- I want this you."

"You do," Geralt snorts, "someone who throws himself at his friend because he doesn't remember, someone who tells him he loves him unprompted-"

"Do you think," Jaskier suggests, and it's clear by the look on his face that he's considering his words very carefully. "That maybe what you said to me and what you did- what you offered," he corrects quickly, "was because you do have feelings for me?" His voice shakes just faintly and Geralt can smell the anxiousness coming off of him.

It's cloying, overwhelming and it mingles with the scent of sadness and fear and just the faintest hint of something hopeful.

"It's just that Shani said there was nothing wrong with your mind, it was still you in there when you asked, when you said that." Jaskier looks up at him and Geralt feels years of emotion welling up inside him and he doesn't know how to hold it back any longer, not what Jaskier is asking him outright.

"Jaskier, I-" he takes a deep breath, focuses on a mark on the blanket between them. "I don't remember everything. But I did mean what I said. I do… I love you," he whispers, "I didn't want you to think less of me or," he glances up and Jaskier's eyes are shiny like he's trying not to cry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to find out like this."

"I'm not sad," Jaskier says, "Geralt, I have been following you around for half my life, caring for you, singing about you and you didn't think for maybe a moment that I could love you back?"

"You-" Geralt stumbles over his words as Jaskier's confession sinks in. "You sleep with everyone. Everyone but-"

"You don't even call me friend, Geralt. Why would I try and take you to bed with me thinking you don't care enough to call me your friend?"

"Oh."

"Oh? You didn't consider that?"

"You're not my friend," Geralt says, by way of explanation, "but you're not a lover, either. You're not a brother. Not a comrade. I don't know what you are."

"Oh."

"But you could be… a lover?" the word feels strangely heavy in his mouth and he nearly regrets saying it at all until he sees the way Jaskier's eyes light up. A smile tugs at Geralt's lips and he leans forward, reaching out to take Jaskier's hand, tentatively turning it over.

"Jaskier," he whispers, "can I kiss you?" A wide grin spreads across his face and Jaskier tips forward toward him.

"Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

[rebrandedbard]

If you’re still doing the sentence prompts I’d love to see either 46 or 9 with geraskier

Ooo nice choices! Since there were two requests for number 9, I’ll answer it on this one so that anon and @itiswhatis-andwhatitisisgay both get the alert. Keep a sharp eye, anon! I’ll do 46 for you next!

9. “Don’t you ever do that again!”

WC:  1371

Jaskier’s Champion

Added a younger Ciri into the mix because my immediate thought was that the phrase sounded like an upset toddler crying. Decided Ciri was going to be Jaskier’s little bitty champion and come to defend him from her mean dad.

-

“It isn’t funny!” Ciri wailed, stomping her little foot in the snow. “It isn’t funny!” she repeated, pushing at Geralt’s legs as if her tiny arms had enough strength to move him. Her face was boiling red and streaked with tears, a bit of snot dribbling from her nose. Geralt tried to bend down to wipe it away, but she batted at his hands, crying out in rage, “No, no no!”

“But Ciri—”

“Go a-way!” she screeched. “It isn’t funny!”

When he tried reaching for her again, she picked up a handful of powdery snow and threw it at him. “Go! Right now!”

Jaskier put his hands on her shoulders. “Now, Ciri,” he entreated. “It was only a little prank, and Geralt apologized already. Nobody was hurt. It was only a bit of fun—nothing but a playful tease. Perfectly harmless.”

“No-o-o-o!” she cried once more, long and piercing. “We don’t want you!”

Geralt winced, looking at Jaskier with a desperate plea in his eyes.

Jaskier shrugged over the top of the hysteric tyke’s head. “She may be no more than a baby, but she has the sense of justice of a morally-staunch old woman.”

He sneezed, startling Ciri, who turned to Geralt with a glare of pure scorn.

“Bless him,” she demanded.

Geralt held his handkerchief out to Jaskier instead. “Bless you,” he sighed obediently.

Ciri reached up on her tip-toes and snatched the handkerchief away, tossing it back at him. She pulled a little hanky of her own from her cloak and handed it to Jaskier in its place. Then, with a sniff, she turned and started pushing Jaskier toward the stables. “Let’s go,” she said, picking up her little knapsack. She struggled, dragging Jaskier’s pack once more through the snow. She made it another two feet from the inn door before she had to stop and catch her breath.

“Cirilla, little cub, I really don’t think this is necessary for a simple—”

“It is nec-ess-ar-y!” she insisted. “He pushed you. He pushed you in and you got sick.”

They’d had a little play-fight in the snow four days ago, happy as a pack of puppies set loose to romp. Towards the end, Geralt had crept up behind Jaskier and pushed him into a snowbank, unaware of the duck pond that lay hidden beneath. Jaskier had come sputtering to the surface, soaked through, and it was a half hour’s walk back to the inn. He’d caught a chill before they could get him warmed up, and for three days after, he’d been resigned to his bed.

Ciri had been frightened, asking over and over if Jaskier was going to die—a question that, when first asked, had doubled Geralt over in laughter. Her little green eyes had been so huge and sincere. He just couldn’t help himself. Ciri hadn’t let him come near Jaskier since.

“It isn’t funny,” she mumbled again, as if she could see the memory playing over in Geralt’s mind. And perhaps she could. She had a touch of magic in her.

“It isn’t funny,” Geralt agreed. He knelt down to eye-level to speak with her. “And I’m sorry I laughed. I would be very sad if anything should happen to Jaskier.”

Jaskier smiled at that, slightly smug. Oh would you now? he seemed to say.

Geralt glanced up at him with a look that told him to behave, then reached out to pick up Jaskier’s wet bag. She grunted at him, but he ignored her, heading towards the stables. He began to strap on Roach’s saddle and tied Jaskier’s bag to the side, speaking slowly as he did.

“So you’ve decided to leave me behind. Where are you going?”

“Not your business,” Ciri huffed, refusing to look at him.

Geralt hummed. He caught an anxious look from Jaskier, but simply reached out and took his lute case, tying it to the saddle next. “Your uncles will be waiting for you at home; they promised you plenty of presents for Yule this year. But I’ll be there too. Perhaps you’d rather go to Oxenfurt with Jaskier. There would be lots of parties in store for you, and the groundskeeper’s dog will be having her litter soon. Maybe they’ll give you a pup.”

Ciri frowned as Geralt took her knapsack and tied it with the rest. She hesitated a moment, then held her head up and said, “Oxfurt.”

“Then you’ll need coin for your travels.” He pulled a pouch from his belt and put it in her hands. “Here. This ought to be enough to put you up in a cozy room on the way. Make sure you don’t walk too much. Jaskier still needs his rest. And feed him lots of soup, understand?”

Ciri looked between Geralt and the pouch. She turned to look up at Jaskier, too confused to remember her temper. When she turned back to Geralt, he had Roach’s reins in hand.

Geralt looked down at her and asked, “Can I come close enough to bid Jaskier goodbye?”

Ciri gripped the little purse tight in her hands. She looked between the two of them, the hint of a pout beginning to form on her lips. Her face was becoming red again as if she were trying very hard to hold something in.

So Geralt leaned over her head and gave Jaskier a kiss. Jaskier blinked in surprise as Geralt gave his face a cheeky pat, then Geralt was off, leaving Roach’s reins in his shocked hands. “Goodbye!” he called, pack slung over his shoulder. “Take good care of Jaskier for me, Ciri.”

Then Ciri was crying, chasing after him with a heartbroken wail.

“Don’t go!” she sobbed, latching onto his leg.

Geralt tried to suppress a smile, hiking up his burdened leg to take one last performative step. “You don’t want me,” he said.

“No!” she cried again, hugging his leg even tighter as the tears rolled down her face.

“You do want me?”

“No-o-o-o-ho-ho-o-oh!”

Despite her unintelligible responses, Geralt turned and dropped his bag, sitting on the frozen ground. The moment he was within reach, Ciri threw herself at him. She beat his chest with her tiny fists, then wrapped her arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder. He hugged her, wrapping her in his cloak to keep warm.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” she shouted.

Geralt nodded. He pet her hair, shushing her gently. “I promise.”

“No leaving! Ever!”

“What,” Jaskier asked, “was that all about?”

He stood towering over Geralt with his hands on his hips. His face was flushed, far too flushed to blame on the cold, and he was looking at Geralt with his sternest no-nonsense expression.

Geralt smiled innocently. “I was doing as I was told. Seemed to work out well.”

“Not that,” Jaskier said. “The whole—!” He gestured a circle around his face, then flicked his hands at Geralt, eyes landing on his lips. He cleared his throat and looked away, flapping his hand in an empty motion. “That.”

“The kiss?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier huffed. “Yes, that.”

“Hm.”

“Oh-ho-ho, no! Don’t you ‘hm’ me! We are talking about this one, Geralt.”

Geralt chuckled, offering Ciri his handkerchief. “Ciri doesn’t like when you’re sick,” he said.

“And?”

“And I don’t like seeing you sick either.”

“But what has that got to do with—”

Ciri wiped her eyes and tugged at Geralt’s cloak. “Did you kiss him better?” she asked.

“Yes, princess,” Geralt replied. “He’s all better now.”

“Then you can stay.”

Geralt picked Ciri up and put her in Roach’s saddle as the realization crept over Jaskier. He turned to take the reins back once more, winking at Jaskier. “Unless you think he needs another kiss, Ciri,” he added casually.

Jaskier scrambled after them, eyes lighting up with excitement. “I need a—!”

“I need a kiss better,” she said, holding out her hands.

Geralt craned up and kissed her cheek before instructing her to hold on tight to the saddle horn. They were only two days away from Kaer Morhen. There would be plenty of time to kiss it all better once Ciri was in the care of Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert. They had all winter.

-

Send me a drabble prompt!

[queenxxxsupreme]

So I was thinking, how do you think the dad!witchers would deal with their wives cravings during pregnancy? I think it would be so cute because they would totally dote on them but also so funny 😂

A/N: Okay absolutely love this!!! So I have absolutely no idea what foods were and weren’t a thing in this time period but I don’t necessarily have the time (or attention capacity) to research correct foods of the time period because I’ll start doing that and then somehow end up on a sight buying cute booties for my dogs. So I apologize ahead of time for anything that is wrong. Also in case some of you don’t know, hot peppers (at least in my family) are banana peppers that have been, like, canned in a pressure cooker. My grandma makes them and it’s the best thing ever. I don’t know if that’s just a hillbilly West Virginia thing but I wanted to make sure you guys know what I’m talking about. 

Lambert 

You absentmindedly rubbed the side of your stomach, chewing on your bottom lip. You turned your head to look over at your sleeping husband. 

He was on his stomach, one arm folded beneath the pillow while the other was on top of the pillow. His eyes were closed and lips slightly parted. 

You knew waking him up just so he could go to the kitchen for you was selfish, but you didn’t want to get up yourself. The kitchen was terribly cold at night, especially since you didn’t keep a fire going in there. You didn’t want to chance something happening to the unattended fire. 

The room was dark, save for the light emitting from the hearth at the end of the bed. The curtains in the window were pulled shut, keeping the bright moonlight from entering and disturbing you or Lambert. 

You shifted around on the bed, pulling the blankets up over you a little more. You turned over on to your side to gaze at the witcher in your bed. 

“Lambert?” You whispered his name. There was no reply.

You bit your bottom lip once more, your thoughts focused solely on getting what you needed from the kitchen. 

You moved your foot underneath the blankets, inching closer and closer to him until you found his calf. You nudged him gently. 

“Lambert?”

He grunted and turned his head away from you. 

You frowned. 

“Lambert, I’m talking to you.”

“I’m sleeping.” His voice was muffled by the pillow. 

“I need help, love. Please?” You hooked your leg between his, then pulled his leg closer to you. 

“Damn it, woman.” He grumbled. “M’trying to sleep. Quit playing footsy with me.”

“Lambert!” You whined, reaching over to rub his arm. “I’m going to die if you don’t help me.”

His eyes opened and he turned his head over. He narrowed his eyes, not amused with your over dramatic statement. 

“Why won’t you sleep, bug?”

“Because I’m hungry.” You frowned, stroking his muscular arm with your fingertips. “I want something from the kitchen but it’s too cold for me to go into there.”

Lambert groaned and rubbed his face. 

“Can’t you just wait until morning?”

“No, I can’t, Lambert. And since you’re the one who put this baby in me, you are obligated to help me whenever I need it.”

He said nothing, still trying to drift back to sleep. You shook his shoulder, whining his name. 

“Laaaamberrrt!”

“Fine! You’re lucky I love you, bug.” He muttered before climbing out of bed.

“Thank you, love.” You smiled excitedly, sitting up in the bed. 

“What do you want?” He tugged on a pair of night trousers that hung low on his hips. 

“That bag of chocolate candies you got for me earlier today.”

“I thought you ate all of that.” He moved towards the door to the room. 

“No, there’s still some left.” You bit your bottom lip for a moment, fingers nervously fisting the blankets. “Love?”

He stopped just in the doorway, turning back to look at you.

“And could you maybe get me a few of those pickles my mother made? The ones she brought last week?”

He furrowed his brows together.

“You want chocolate and pickles? At midnight?”

“Please.” You nodded. Your mouth watered at the thought. 

He stared at you for a few moments and shook his head.

“You’re so weird.”

You smiled as he left, pulling the door shut behind him to keep the warmth in your bedroom. 

You waited anxiously for him to return, eager to eat your fill in pickles and chocolate. 

When he returned, he carried the bag of candies and a bowl with four pickles in it. He passed you both and then lit the candles on your side of the bed with Igni. 

You took a bite of one of the pickles and then put the rest of it down, working quickly to unwrap one of the chocolate candies. 

“Thank you, love.” You spoke through a mouthful of pickle. You added a bite of the chocolate and closed your eyes, almost moaning at the taste. 

Lambert had settled in on his side of the bed facing you, concerned but almost too afraid to really ask. He didn’t know much about pregnancies but it had made you weird. Well, weirder than usual.

“Does it really taste that good?”

“Do you want some?” You offered the bowl to him but he shook his head. 

“No. Nope. No thank you.” He pulled the blankets up over his shoulders. “I swear, the things you eat keep getting weirder and weirder.”

“I can’t help it. It’s your baby that’s doing it.”

He scooted closer to you so that he could tuck his nose into your hip and wrap one arm over your thighs. 

“Love you, bug.”

“Love you too, Lambert.”

Geralt 

Geralt glanced up from his sword to watch you move around the kitchen. 

He was sharpening one of his swords with a whetstone while you tidied up the kitchen. But you stopped cleaning and were now searching through the cupboards. 

“What are you looking for, dove?”

“M’hungry.” You muttered, frowning when you couldn’t find anything you wanted. 

You closed the cupboard and crossed your arms, eyes flickering around the room. Your gaze stopped on a bundle of bananas on the counter.

Without hesitation, you moved down to retrieve the bananas and took the whole bundle to the table. The bowl of fruit on the table caught your eye too, more specifically, the bright yellow lemon resting on top of a couple apples. 

You stared at the lemon for a few moments before going to get a plate and knife. 

“You’re awfully quiet, dove.” Geralt commented.

“I’m sorry. I’m concentrating.” You placed the knife and the plate down on the table then sat down.

“On what?” Geralt paused for a moment, watching you cut the lemon into wedges as if it were an orange. His brows drew together. What the hell were you doing?

“On finding whatever it is this baby wants to eat.”

Once the lemon was peeled, you picked one of the pieces up and ate it like one would eat an orange slice. 

Geralt’s eyes widened at the sight. 

“Love, isn’t that…. Sour?”

“Not really.” You shook your head. Once you were finished with the piece of lemon, you placed the peel down on the plate and picked up a banana. You peeled it and took a bite. 

Your eyes were focused on the banana as you chewed it. Your brows drew together.

“Is something wrong?” The White Wolf glanced back down to his sword and began to sharpen it again. 

“I’m not…. I’m not sure if this is what the baby wants.” You sighed. “But it tastes good so I guess I’ll keep eating.”

Geralt chuckled softly at your reasoning. 

You ate all seven of the bananas and two whole lemons. 

When you were finished, you rubbed your pregnant belly and looked around. You still wanted something else. 

“We should go to the market.” You said, looking at your husband. 

“Now?”

“Yes. I-I need something, Geralt, but I just don’t know what it is.” You frowned. “The baby is still hungry.”

“Jaskier went to the market. I’m sure he’ll bring something back.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” You stood up and moved towards Geralt. He put his sword aside, not wanting you to get hurt, and patted his thigh. 

You settled on one of his legs, wrapping your arm around his neck. 

“Please, love?” You pressed a few kisses to his cheek.

He sighed, rubbing your lower back and leaning forward to kiss your nose. 

“Fine. I’ll go get Roach ready.”

You smiled happily and stood up. 

“Thank you, love.”

As you waited for him to saddle up Roach, you wandered around the kitchen in search of a quick snack. You found a jar of pickles and got to work on eating the entire thing. 

When Geralt walked into the house, he saw your sitting at the table eating the last pickle.

“Did you find what you wanted?”

You nodded, smiling happily. 

“Do you still want to go to the market?” He asked, hoping you’d say no.

“Well, we are now out of pickles.” You looked down at the jar. “What if I want more later?”

Geralt nodded, sighing gently. 

“I’ll go grab your cloak.”

As you finished off the last pickle, you stood up and wiped your hands off on your skirt.

Geralt returned with your cloak and put it on your shoulders. 

“Perhaps we can get a few more bananas while we are out?” You suggested, tying your cloak.

“Whatever you want, my dove, you can get.” He put his arm around you and kissed your temple.

Eskel 

You padded out of your bedroom and down the hallway to the kitchen. You did your best to avoid any floorboards that you knew were squeaky. You didn’t want to wake Eskel so early in the morning.

The sun was peeking through the window in the kitchen, lighting up the room enough for you to navigate it without having to light a candle. 

You pulled a bowl from the cabinet and started for the front door. 

Even though you were just in a white chemise that fell a few inches past your backside, you didn't mind walking around the house to the garden. There were no neighbors close enough to see you, and even if there were, you weren’t too sure you’d care. 

The chemise was hiked up a little more than usual in the front, your softly rounded belly pulled the material up. You weren’t terribly big, but it was evident you were pregnant. 

You walked around the house, feet growing wet from the morning dew that covered the grass. The sun was warm against your skin. A gentle breeze blew your hair. 

You opened the gate to the strawberry patch, which you had to keep securely protected by the fence. Lil Bleater and her friends liked to eat your strawberries.

You knelt down and began to pick ripe strawberries. Once you had filled the bowl up, you went to the well to retrieve some water to rinse them off. 

Satisfied with your work and very determined to see that your cravings were taken care of, you ventured back into the house. 

The strawberries were placed at the kitchen table and you went to the cabinet to retrieve the jar of peanut butter and the jar of hot peppers that you had bought at the market a few days earlier. 

You placed the jars down on the table and then went to get the last three items needed: a fork, a spoon, and a plate. 

With a smile on your lips, you sat down at the table and began to spoon out a hefty amount of peanut butter and hot peppers. You picked up a strawberry and dipped it into the peanut butter. The saltiness of the peanut butter and the sweetness of the strawberry was the combination you had been craving all night. 

You sunk back into your chair, content and happy as you continued to munch on the little treat you’d put together for yourself. The heat that the peppers offered burned your mouth but in a delicious way.

“It’s a little early to be having breakfast.”

You lifted your head to see a shirtless Eskel coming down the hallway. 

“Hi, love.” You smiled at him, waving a little before you put a few hot peppers into your mouth. “This isn’t breakfast. It’s just a snack.”

“Looks like a whole meal.” He commented, moving around the table to sit beside you. He kissed your forehead, his hand coming up to the back of your head. 

“Do you want some?” You offered, scooting the plate of hot peppers and peanut butter closer to him.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. The thought of eating what you were enjoying so much made him almost want to vomit. But he wouldn’t express his dislike for what you were eating. He didn’t want to make you upset or feel bad for what the baby was making you want. 

“I’ll pass, but thank you for the offer.”

You pulled the plate back to your side and picked up another strawberry.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You explained, looking over at your husband. 

“I know. Felt you toss and turn all night.” Eskel put his hand on your thigh, coarse fingertips moving up and down your thigh. “Thought maybe it was your back hurting again.”

“Just me being hungry.” You shook your head a little. “The baby wanted some weird things.”

He smiled, eyes flickering down to your stomach.

“You should’ve woken me up. I would’ve got you whatever you wanted.”

“You looked so peaceful sleeping.” You leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I didn’t want to wake you. Besides, I wanted to get up and walk around.”

“Restless.” Eskel placed his hand on your stomach and leaned over to kiss your cheek. “Maybe after you eat this, you can get some rest.”

You nodded, feeling drowsiness come forward as the attention your cravings had been demanding faded. 

“You should really try this.” You told him, dipping a piece of hot pepper into the peanut butter.

“Not sure that I’d like it.” He answered with a little chuckle. “Sure that won’t mess with your stomach? The peppers?”

“I can eat anything.” You grinned. “The baby loves hot food.”

Eskel nodded, rubbing your stomach softly. 

You ate until you were full and felt almost too sleepy to walk back to bed. 

Eskel kept one arm around you, kissing the side of your head as he guided you to the bedroom. You laid down and he pulled the blankets over you.

“Is there anything you need before I lay down?”

You shook your head, scooting over to the middle of the bed so you could be closer to him. He settled into the bed and wrapped his arms around you.

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @MishaFaye  @whitewolfandthefox @ayamenimthiriel @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @wolfyland07  @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @romancebibliophilia @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @crazybutconfidentaf @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural  @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @thefirelordm @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @badassspaceprincess @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @runawayolives @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster

[mordoriscalling]

Secret pt. 3, 6/6

(1/6) (2/6) (3/6) (4/6) (5/6)

5 times Geralt and Jaskier use the “secret” language and get away with it, and 1 time someone understands them

This time, it’s silly again :D

+1

Jaskier is thirty-nine when he winters at Kaer Morhen for the first time. He turned bitter five years ago and it’s been two years since Geralt’s made life sweet again. Unrest starts growing on the Continent, the Northern Kingdoms turning their gazes southwards to Niflgaard with varying degrees of anxiety, but Jaskier and Geralt haven’t talked about it yet. They have discussed Destiny and abandoned child surprises before but without urgency. That will come, rather soon. Just not yet.

For now, they enjoy the peace while it lasts.

Showing him Kaer Morhen is the ultimate act of trust, he knows. After Jaskier and Geralt leave the witcher keep come spring, Yennefer or Triss will meet them immediately to wipe out all the memories Jaskier has of how to get there, and even of Kaer Morhen’s surroundings. He understands that completely and feels as protective of the place as the witchers themselves but sincerely hopes that it will be Triss who gets to nose about in his mind. He’s not ready to meet Yennefer after their last adventure. Bargaining with water nymphs was a ride.

Ever since Geralt and Jaskier made friends with the purple-eyes sorceress in Rinde, Yennefer has been a whirlwind appearing in their lives at the most unexpected times. She shows up to ask for a favour, which usually involves getting some rare magical ingredient that she needs for whatever it is that mages work on. At this point, there’s a litany of mutual favours that she shares with Geralt. Jaskier started writing a ridiculous ballad in his head to keep track of who owes what to whom.

In short, Yennefer means magical shenanigans (plus convincing her to talk a bit more about that elixir of eternal youth which she mentioned in passing once, just so casually right before portalling away) and Jaskier is not ready.

It better be Triss.

At least there’re many moments from the inside Kaer Morhen that he’ll be allowed to keep and treasure. Like now. he’s in the stables and stands at the entrance of Roach’s stall and watches Geralt tend to his horse. The witcher talks to the mare quietly, not acknowledging Jaskier’s presence. The bard knows he’s smiling like a fool but there’s nothing he can do about it, not when the affection he holds for the man in front of him nearly makes his chest burst.

Jaskier thinks to himself that this Roach deserves an award for putting up with their bullshit for the past two decades.

When Geralt is done with taking care of her, he finally pays attention to Jaskier. The witcher walks up to him, the sheer size of him making Jaskier feel as if Geralt was towering over him even though their height difference is negligible. There’s a little, precious smile on Geralt’s face and when his eyes meet Jaskier’s, his gaze is almost scorching.

The searing heat would be unbearable but Jaskier knows what it means, and it’s lifting. He’s a bit giddy, close to floating in the air. If he was a songbird, he would take to the skies and fly towards the Sun, to Geralt’s warmth, until his wings give out. He would sing for the Sun until he had no voice left in him. He will. Geralt is such a good man, for all his flaws, his dangerous appearance and abilities, and Jaskier will never be done talking about it.

“Mój słodki, łagodny wilk.” My sweet, gentle wolf, he says quietly, unable to keep the adoration from his voice.

Geralt grunts but doesn’t really protest the endearment, a shy quirk on his lips. Jaskier giggles and pecks him on the cheek. The witcher let out a low, pleased rumble, and the bard just has to kiss him again–

A howl of laughter snaps them back to reality.

Lambert chortles from the entrance to the stables. Eskel stands there too but he, at least, laughs with much less malice.

“Geralt, słodki, łagodny wilk, o kurwa!” Geralt, a sweet, gentle wolf, oh fuck! Lambert wheezes out.

The red-haired witcher keeps cackling, looking like a nastily delighted child, and Geralt appears ready to kill him in an instant. Jaskier runs out of patience to put up with the ridicule soon after him.

“Aiden też cię pewnie tak nazywa.” I bet Aiden calls you that too, the bard replies, annoyed.

Three witcher voices collectively screech, “Co?!” What?!

Jaskier doesn’t even know if it’s true. The only thing he’s sure of, which he deducted from his continuing correspondence with the Cat and the Wolf, is that the two aren’t pining for each other like they used to.

Geralt’s and Lambert’s expressions switch – now it’s the former’s turn to be gleeful, while the latter looks murderous. Eskel remains immensely amused, with an added dash of shell-shocked.

“Lambert!” Eskel chokes out, “Ty i Aiden?!” You and Aiden?!

A fight of witcher proportions ensues. There’re shouted accusations, threats, name-calling and wrestling as Lambert tries to both dodge his brother’s questions (and fists) and throttle Jaskier. Geralt and Eskel don’t allow either to happen.

Jaskier only observes the chaos unfold without an ounce of guilt. After all, a mess like this is bound to happen when one secret too much comes to light.

***

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you’d like to revisit the 5+1 part as a whole, you can do it on AO3. I hope you liked it! :D 

[crowleyellestair]

Proof- Eskel OS

Summary: Y/n asks for Eskel’s hand, but she wants permission from the family first

 Nerves racked through her body as she sat in the back of the bar. In hindsight, maybe it was easier to go to Vesemir first, letting Lambert fall second in this order. Dandelion had assured Y/n that both of the witcher’s would be supportive. Hell, Geralt had agreed to their excitement that would match his own. Of course, the White Wolf hadn’t outwardly expressed it, but Y/n was aware of the signs that said he was.

The woman’s fingers thrummed against the table and her eyes tried to reread the paragraph she had been stuck on since she sat down. The book had always calmed her, yet the weight of the situation laid on her shoulders like water behind a dam.

“Alright,” Lambert’s booming voice called as he plopped down across from her. “What was so important that you sought me out? Alone, no less. Should I tell Eskel?” A small smile made its way to present itself, nerves and joking be damned. She placed the book in her bag and passed the full cup of ale she got for him to his side of the table. He nodded in thanks before taking a long drink.

“I need you to not tell Eskel, actually.” The younger witcher tensed as he sensed the urgency and waver in her tone. He placed the cup down as he readied himself, arms crossing over his chest.

“Oh? That’s not a great way to start a conversation.” Y/n let out a sigh, reading herself as well. Her eyes opened and met his own, trying to emphasize the seriousness of the situation.

“I know that this isn’t necessarily the way to do this. And I know you aren’t related by blood. And, I know this could come off as disrespectful, but I refuse to go on without trying. Lambert,” she took a large breath, squaring her shoulders a little. “I am asking for your permission to marry Eskel.” She watched as the younger witcher mimicked a statue. After a minute or so, his brows furrowed.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you need family permission in these situations, and Eskel considers you his brother. And not just because of the ‘witcher’ thing. I… I know Eskel will never ask for my hand, and there are times where he insists it’s too dangerous. I’ll stay at camp wherever he goes no matter what, but I want him to know that I’m serious. That I’ll never leave him.” Lambert laughs, and rests his elbows against the tavern table.

“You know he loves you. A little too much if you ask me. It’s been, what? Four years?” Y/n’s hand rubs against her brow as she sighs. She still hasn’t gotten a distinct reaction yet, and she didn’t feel as though she was above water.

“Yes, and I am aware he loves me. Despite that, I know that he still worries about my love for him. You guys don’t really believe in marriage, but I don’t come from the same background. I think that maybe, if we get married like from anyone back at my hometown, he’ll know that I’m serious. Like I want to be with him the same way I know how others express they want to be with their significant other.”

“That’s just convoluted.”

“That’s just Eskel.” Lambert let out another laugh, and a true smile donned him.

“Can’t argue with that.” Y/n still waited with tense shoulders and wide eyes. Lambert went in for another drink before a brow raised to his hairline. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you… Do you approve? Accept my proposal for your brother?”

“Yeah, obviously.” She let out the breath she was holding, letting it turn into a chuckle, and returned his smile.

“Obviously.”

 The healer was proud of herself for making Lambert swear to secrecy until she announces things as she couldn’t ask her light for his hand until she asked Vesemir. And she couldn’t, for the life of her, find the older witcher. Or at least, not without Eskel knowing. Y/n had to wait until winter, and even then, she had to wait until she could get him alone. Her anxiety grew back, as before, if Lambert said no, she would have time to cool off. If Vesemir refused, then they’d have to live with that together until the snow passed.

Luckily, the greenhouse he had started precuring wasn’t attached to anything in the fort. After the first three weeks of winter, Vesemir was finally alone an Eskel was occupied with Lil’ Bleater. At first, she knocked on the door, knowing Vesemir knew she was there from her footsteps. The small grunt is what pushed her into the room. There wasn’t much that was ready, most everything being sprouts. He was bent over a hedge of something when she approached him.

“Vesemir?” The old wolf looked up, placing the vial in his hand onto the table. One look at her worrying hands, and he knew something was off.

“What’s wrong?” She gave a small smile, picking up the small clippers between them, and snipping off a brown leaf on the already presenting Caphea Ilevea.

“Nothing, I hope. I mean, of course, if you say no, it will be okay.” Her own brows furrowed, matching his. “I mean, it won’t be. At all. But I will still care about you-.”

“Y/n.”

“Yes, the point. You are Eskel’s father in our hearts, and so I need to ask you this- with no disrespect intended. I am asking for your approval to marry Eskel.” Much like Lambert, he simply stood there for a moment. His arms slowly crossed, and his brows furrowed more.

“Witcher’s don’t marry.”

“I am well aware of that, sir. I wouldn’t have taken this route if I didn’t think Eskel needed it. He still worries that I’ll leave him one day, but I need to prove to him that I’m not going anywhere. I would give my life for Eskel, but he doesn’t believe that devotion will last. I will admit, the Path is hard, but I’d go through anything for him.”

“Have you asked the others?” Her hand flew to her neck after she placed the clippers down. A flush crossed her cheeked in embarrassment.

“Yes, but for a reason. Geralt had walked in when I asked for help from Dandelion. And I decided Lambert could be the biggest resistor in this situation. I remember how long it took for him to warm up to me. I’m sorry for not asking you first, as I know the father-.”

“You’re already breaking the rules by being the one to ask for the man’s hand to begin with.”

“Yes. As I said though, no disrespect.”

“And none taken. You have my permission. I know how well you keep him safe. But you must know, that there are prices to this. You can’t back out for any reason. You aren’t allowed to die, either. Your passing would destroy him, even if you would happily replace his life with your own.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.” Vesemir grasped the vile once more, bending down to inspect the stems of the plant in front of him.

“What have I told you about calling me ‘sir’?” Y/n smiled as she made her way back to the door.

“Not to say it, as you’re no noble. However, that’s the correct title for a father in law, and I have seen you as such for years. It’s just going to be official now.”

 The whole time, Y/n had been worried about what his family would say, and not how the witcher himself would react. Eskel had started to pace in their large shared room. Y/n decided a while ago to sit on her heels, as continuous kneeling might be bad for her knees on the stone floor. It had been going well, until the implications of everything set in.

“How could you do that, Y/n? Why would want to?” His hand hasn’t stopped rubbing his scarred cheek, and she was sure they’d have to replace the rug as his walking track would be visible once everything was over. Y/n flinched at his volume, but only because she knew everyone in the keep would now be aware of what was happening.

“Because you don’t believe me when I say that I love you.” Eskel scoffed, but the out of character action was visibly regretted.

“Of course I believe you. I’d know if you were lying.”

“Then you don’t believe that I’ll stay.” That made him stop in his tracks. His sad eyes glistened as they flew over her form.

“You can’t know what you’ll want in the future. And tying yourself to me is what starts the wedge. You’ll feel trapped, and I know that if we do become married, I won’t let you go.” His voice lowered to a wobbly whisper. “Geralt’s djinn bind might be a little different, but he was strong enough to let Yen go. He found happiness somewhere else. I can’t do that. Not with you.”

“Eskel, you know how clever I think you are, but you’re being a right ass.” His brow rose and he plopped himself across from her on the floor. “How long have we known each other? How long have we been together? If I knew where I could find a djinn, I’d leave right now and bind us together. This is the safe and fun way of showing you to open your eyes. That I love you, and that will never change. That when you leave for a hunt that you refuse to let me follow on, that I will still be at the camp waiting. I want others to know that I love you, and how that will never change.” The witcher’s eyes were finding the wall very interesting, so Y/n closed the distance between them. Her hands cupped his cheeks, and he was forced to look at her. His shoulders were slumped, and his legs were barely folded. He was vulnerable. But Y/n wouldn’t do anything to destroy that. “You took a chance on us once. Can I ask you to do it again?” His lips pursed, and he blinked a few times, the little wetness that had gathered disappeared.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I love you, Y/n.” She quickly brought their lips together, his hands finding her hips.

 (Part 2? The ceremony?)

[fluentmoviequoter]

hi love! i was hoping you could write more about Dalton, maybe like where he meets the reader at a Halloween party from a sorority, since Chris is trying to get him a gf. It can be kinda like a Cinderella kind of thing since everyone is wearing costumes and masks, he doesn’t know who is the mysterious girl that danced all night.

I love this idea so much!! This was a ton of fun to write! I don't think I actually said this was a Halloween party, just a masquerade party, so if you want to imagine it taking place at a different time you can. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Warnings: switches POV, movie references, fluff, maybe a little angst?. 1.8k words.

A/N: I loved writing this so much and it actually inspired me to do a Halloween Writing Party, so I'll be posting more information about that at the beginning of October! The title and the last lines are references from Another Cinderella Story (2008), and I recommend listening to the song 'Just That Girl'. :)

Just That Girl

“We should go.”

Chris looks at the party invite on the desk, then looks around like she’s entered an alternate reality.

“Who are you and what did you do with Dalton Lambert?” Chris asks.

“Chris, it’s a party where no one knows who anyone else is. It’s a party with no complications, no danger. Let’s do it.”

“I don’t know what’s happening, but I am agreeing because this will never happen again. And we can finally get you a girlfriend,” Chris states as she stands.

“It’s a party, not a date. We need masks and costumes.”

“Oh, dear Dolphin, never fear when Chris is near.”

✧✧✧✧✧

“The wig doesn’t seem excessive?” you question, holding the synthetic hair up to your head.

“No. It is entirely necessary, it pulls the whole look together,” your friend insists.

You roll your eyes but comply, tying your mask on before securing your wig over it. Your friend adds a few finishing touches before deeming you ready to go.

“I didn’t realize sororities had so many themed parties with such strict rules,” you state as you exit her bedroom.

“Yeah. Which reminds me, you aren’t allowed to take off your mask, change your costume after you arrive, or tell anyone your name.”

“My name?”

“Yep. Gotta let everyone wonder who the mysterious pretty girls are.”

As you descend the stairs, all the sorority sisters are already welcoming guests, and people are dancing and talking. You nod to your friend and go your separate ways. Walking through the growing crowd, you notice the many costumes and masks. Entering the kitchen, you’re surprised to see only two people getting drinks.

“You’re still not going to tell me where you got this costume so quickly?” the boy asks.

“Flynn Rider,” you interject, “wherever she got it, it’s a great costume.”

He looks up and smiles, the only part of his face visible. “Thanks.”

The girl looks between the two of you before walking away, asking a guy to dance as she exits the kitchen.

“Would you like to dance?” you ask.

“Sure. I’m not very good, never really danced before,” he answers, taking your hand.

“No one’s good, we just pretend to be. Let the mask give you all of the confidence you need,” you whisper conspiratorially.

He laughs, and you wrap your other hand around his forearm as you navigate through the crowd entering the kitchen. He pulls you closer and doesn’t let go until you’re on the dance floor. You interlock your fingers behind his neck, smiling at him as his hands settle on your hips. He begins swaying you as a slower song plays.

“I know we’re not supposed to talk about personal things, but the girl you came with?”

“Best friend, former roommate, constant pain.”

You laugh and lean closer to him, wondering what you would be talking about now if you were elsewhere.

“What about you? Here with someone?”

“There is no someone to bring.”

He dances with you for three slow songs before the DJ changes the music.

“One more? I love this song,” you declare as the beat speeds up.

“Your wish is my command,” he answers, bowing before following your lead.

As the song ends, your friend comes over and asks you to help her make more punch, so you tell your mystery man you’ll see him later, hoping that you really do.

✧✧✧✧✧

Dalton watches the mystery girl walk away, catching a glimpse of the clock, which says it is nearly midnight. He sets out to find Chris, wondering how he can tell who she is with all these costumes. Luckily, he hears her before he turns a corner.

“You ready to go?” she asks.

“We can hang out a while longer,” Dalton answers.

“You want to dance with mystery girl again.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re going to try to find her tomorrow, I hope?”

“If she implies she’d be okay with it, absolutely.”

“I saw you two dancing; she’d be totally on board.”

They agree to meet in the front yard in thirty minutes and then go different ways. Dalton spots the girl walking out of the kitchen and rushes to her side.

“Any chance you have one more dance in you?”

“For you?” She responds, “Absolutely.”

✧✧✧✧✧

You sway through the end of a song, resting your head on your mystery man’s shoulder, attempting to wish your mask away. He pulls you closer, his hands on your back as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“I have to go, my friend is waiting.”

You lean back and look at him, pouting. “You’ll find me, right?" you whisper.

“Is that what you want?”

“More than anything.” You smooth his jacket as he nods. “I’ll be waiting. Thanks for making tonight so special.”

“Would you get in trouble if I told you something personal?”

You nod, then mumble, “Unless it’s really vague.”

“If we meet again, I’d like to draw you. But for now, our time is up.”

You hold his eyes as he backs up, your shoulders slumping when he finally turns around. Closing your eyes, you force yourself to remember every detail of his smile and his eyes.

“May I have this dance?” someone asks beside you.

Watching the spot where your mystery man just left, you accept the offer to keep yourself from chasing after him.

✧✧✧✧✧

“The sorority house isn’t a good idea, is it?” Dalton asks, pacing his dorm.

“Nope. They won’t tell you anything. Those shrews will probably conspire to keep you apart.”

“Shrews?”

“If the shoe fits.”

Dalton rolls his eyes and rubs his neck as his gaze drops to the sketch on his desk. He has drawn every detail he remembered but doesn't know how to find her.

“What if you just hang out in the center quad? You'd see her eventually, right?”

“I’m not going to do that, Chris. One, super creepy. Two, tons of students walk by at different times of day, it would be nearly impossible to find her that way.”

“And obsessing over her picture to devise a plan to find her isn’t super creepy?”

“Not when she said I could.”

“Wait, if you told her that you draw, why don’t you just hang out by the art building all day? If she’s as interested as she said, which she is, may I add, she’ll find you.”

“You’re a genius, Chris!” Dalton yells as he runs outside.

“I know!”

✧✧✧✧✧

You watch all of the students exiting the art building, standing on your tiptoes to get a good look at faces. None of them appear to be your mystery man. Sighing, you drop your head and walk to your class.

✧✧✧✧✧

Dalton waits outside the art building for two days, but his mystery girl never comes.

✧✧✧✧✧

By the end of the week, you feel like crying because it seems impossible.

“You look miserable,” your friend says as she enters your room.

"Because I am.”

“Mystery man?”

You nod, looking out the window as if he'll be there.

“Don’t give up, it’s only been a few days. That party idea was stupid, I see that now.”

“Especially stupid if you fell in love with a guy whose face you haven’t even seen.”

“Alright, Cinderella, buck up and find him. You’re not doing any good sitting here.”

✧✧✧✧✧

Dalton sighs as he slips his sketchbook into his bag after class is dismissed.

“Dalton, a word?” Professor Armagan asks.

“Of course.”

“Your works recently have been different. Not bad, only different. It’s as if the energy surrounding your art has shifted.”

“What could cause that?”

“Any emotion. Has something happened recently?”

“I met a girl at a masquerade party.”

“And now you’re living a Cinderella story?” Professor Armagan asks with a smile.

“Something like that,” Dalton answers before chuckling.

“Dalton, you’re an artist. Use the girl to make the art, and the art will get the girl. Does that make sense?”

Dalton tilts his head before shaking it.

Professor Armagan pats his arm. “It will.”

As Dalton walks out of the building, he thinks about what Professor Armagan said. He doesn’t realize his bag is unzipped until someone says something.

“Excuse me? You dropped this.”

✧✧✧✧✧

You pick up the paper and call out to its owner. Unintentionally, you see the drawing and look up quickly.

“Your hair is long,” you observe as your mystery man says, “You were wearing a wig.”

“You actually drew me,” you state, holding the picture up. “I thought that was just a line or something.”

“Beauty like that has to be documented. And I needed to remember what you looked like while I was searching.”

“You looked for me? I’ve been looking for you.”

Dalton mirrors your smile, stepping closer as he takes the sketch from you.

“We had to have passed each other.”

“I waited outside the art building between my classes but never saw you,” you explain.

“I must’ve gotten out while you were in class.”

You raise a hand and brush the hair from his eyes. “The mask did a disservice. Anything that covers that face does.”

“You’re one to talk. Who convinced you to cover up that face and hair?” Dalton counters, raising his hand to hold your wrist by his face.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask. “I wanted to run after you at the party and do it.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you more every day since,” Dalton whispers. You lean forward, and he places a hand on your waist to stop you. “Am I allowed to know who I’m kissing?”

“The girl in the picture,” you tease before telling him your name. “And I’m guessing you’re not really Eugene Fitzherbert?”

“Dalton,” he tells you.

“Well, Dalton, pleasure to meet you.”

“And you.”

You raise both hands to his jaw as you kiss him, shivering as his hands pull you closer by your waist. Tipping your head back, Dalton deepens the kiss just as you pull back.

“Will you go on a date with me? Preferably one where I can see your face?” you ask.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I’m never letting you hide from me again.”

“Yeah, my friend called me Cinderella,” you tell him, laughing.

“My art professor said I was in a Cinderella story. She also said ‘Use the girl to make the art and the art will get the girl,’ whatever that means.”

You tap your hand against Dalton’s chest excitedly. “That’s exactly what happened!”

“So I’m the only one that doesn’t get it?”

“Dalton,” you begin, and Dalton has never heard his name sound so good. “You drew a picture of me, and then you dropped it, which is how we found each other again. You used me to make the art, and the art got me!”

Dalton smiles and nods. “I guess you’re just that girl.”

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 26: Telling Stories

Chapter 25

Read on AO3

In late February, the Redcoats came back.

They were evidently not satisfied that Claire was who Jenny said she was the last time they were here, when Jenny had shown off the potato-baby.

Claire was in the middle of changing Brianna’s diaper in her bedroom when the front door burst open. Claire’s heart leapt into her throat and her hands froze for a moment. She carefully continued tying off the diaper as she listened to the hushed voices from behind her slightly ajar bedroom door.

“...rumors in the village…”

“...a healer that lives here…”

“How is your cousin, Madame Murray?”

Claire swallowed, feeling like prickly sand was running down her throat as she did so. Her bedroom was no priest hole, but she felt it would be wise if she and Brianna stayed hidden. If they decided to search the house, well...she’d worry about that when the time came.

“Kitty play!” Brianna shouted.

“Shh!” Claire hushed. “We must be very quiet, Brianna.”

In deliberate defiance, Brianna gave a loud shriek, and Claire thought she might vomit. Brianna dissolved into a fit of giggles, quite amused with herself.

The voices downstairs stopped briefly, and Claire’s pulse only returned to normal when she heard Jenny’s voice again:

“One of the bairns. Ye ken how they are.”

Once Brianna was dressed again, Claire rushed to the windowsill, where Lambert had been left.

“Let’s play with Lamb, darling. How does that — ”

She turned around and Brianna was no longer sitting on the bed, and the door was slightly more open than before.

Fucking hell.

Claire dropped the lamb and sprinted out of the bedroom and down the hall after Brianna, toddling with impressive speed toward the stairs. Claire hiked up her skirts and reached her in four quick strides, scooping her into her arms, eliciting a shrill yell from the toddler that halted conversation at the bottom of the stairs again.

Claire looked over the banister at the three Redcoats cornering Jenny, who remained calm and level-headed as ever. All four of them were now staring upward. Claire wet her lips, her heart bruising her ribcage. She forced a pleasant smile and curtsied slightly before quickly turning around with the intention of slipping back into her bedroom and keeping Brianna occupied until they were gone.

“Madame.”

Fuck.

“Do come downstairs, if you don’t mind.”

That is not a request.

Claire took a shuddering breath, and her chin began to tremble.

“Brianna, love, we’re going to play a game, alright?”

“Play game?”“Shh...yes, a game.” Claire was whispering into her hair, quiet enough that she barely heard herself. “A quiet game. You must not make any noise. If you win the game and stay quiet, you may have as many biscuits as you want.”

“Biscuit!”

“Shh...quiet, lovie. Yes?”

Brianna nodded silently, pursing her lips together absurdly. Claire slowly made her way to the stairs and descended, clutching Brianna tightly. No doubt the soldiers had heard Brianna’s half of the conversation, but thankfully what she’d said could pass as a child making unprompted requests.

The other children were likely in the nursery with Mrs. Crook, aside from wee Jamie, who was likely outside with Rabbie and Fergus. If only Claire had changed her diaper faster, had been able to get her to the nursery before they were noticed…

“Good day, Madame,” the captain greeted. Claire smiled woodenly.

“This is the very same babe ye saw the last time ye were here, Captain,” Jenny interjected before he could prompt Claire to speak. She stretched out her arms, smiling brightly as she took Brianna in her arms. “My wee Brianna Murray.”

“How very charming,” the captain said dryly.

“Lizzie is her godmother,” Jenny continued, flashing a secret look at Claire. “Ye remember my cousin.”

Elizabeth. Jenny’s cousin, Brianna’s godmother. The role I’m playing right now.

“Indeed,” the captain said, eyeing Claire suspiciously.

“Mistress Fraser is visiting us again just now,” Jenny went on, rocking Brianna gently, keeping her smile wide.

Thank God Brianna would do anything for a biscuit. If I hadn’t pulled the quiet game out of my arse she’d have called me Mummy eight times already.

“And does Mistress Fraser have any healing abilities?” he pressed.

“Oh, aye,” Jenny said warmly. “Whenever she visits she offers what help she can to our tenants. We’re very grateful to her.”

“Tell me, Mistress Fraser,” the Captain said, turning to address Claire directly. “Where did you learn such abilities? Family trade?”

“She — ”

“I’d like to hear her myself, Madame Murray,” the captain said, clipped and aggravated. “Go on, Miss.”

Claire was trembling head to toe. She cleared her throat and answered in a raspy whisper: “Aye, Sir.” She took care to emphasize the ‘r’ the best she could.

“Do speak up, please.”

Claire exaggeratedly cleared her throat again, then touched her throat before forcing herself into a coughing fit. Jenny immediately caught on.

“Apologies, Captain. My cousin has caught something from one of our tenants, and she’s been having trouble wi’ her voice lately, ye ken.”

Claire carried on with her coughing, and the three soldiers unconsciously stepped back a few paces.

“Collins. Get the lady some water, for God’s sake,” the Captain ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

“Dangerous for the child, is it not?” The Captain said. “Having a sick woman hold it so close?”

Claire finally let her coughing subside, and she allowed herself to start panting.

“Och, the bairns have all had the sickness already. Canna catch it again,” Jenny said offhandedly, and despite the situation, Claire swelled with pride.

She’s been paying attention when I speak of these things.

“Ah. I see.” The captain took a step forward, unclasping his hands from behind his back. “Such a...vibrant color.” He reached a hand toward Brianna, and wrapped a curl around his finger. Claire’s stomach lurched. “Quite...red.”

Red Jamie.

“Aye, my mother’s color,” Jenny said with pride, though Claire could see the fear in her eyes. 

“None of your other children have it,” the Captain said, amused. “It’s astonishing, really.”

Collins returned then with a glass of water, and Claire accepted it with a polite nod, having to concentrate very hard to keep the water from sloshing out with the force of her trembling.

“My wee Maggie has a bit of it as well,” Jenny said dismissively. “Bits of red woven in wi’ blonde — ”

“Remarkable isn’t it,” the Captain went on. “The resemblance. Don’t you think, Collins?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Resemblance, Captain?” Jenny asked uneasily.

“To her...uncle.”

“Och,” Jenny said quickly. “Unfortunate that the traitor inherited much of our mother’s beauty as well. Suits the bairn much better, don’t ye think?”

“Indeed.” The Captain’s finger was still woven into Brianna’s hair, and Claire had never before felt such a deep urge to kill somebody.

Jamie would cut his bloody hand off.

“Are you a widow, Mistress Fraser?” The Captain said, abruptly turning his head to face her, his hand still touching Brianna. “And a mother, perhaps?”

Claire shook her head.

“Lizzie’s never been marrit,” Jenny said lightly. “I often tease her about it.”

Jenny made a move to shift Brianna, to inadvertently get her away from his grip, but he very abruptly seized a fistful of her curls and held on tightly, forcing Jenny to cause Brianna pain by pulling against his hand. Brianna yelped and began wailing. Jenny’s face turned white, and Claire’s vision went red, pressure building between her temples.

“Are you quite sure, Mistress Fraser?”

“Captain, please, ye’re hurting her — ”

“I’d like the truth, please, from Mistress Fraser’s tongue.”

Brianna shrieked again.

Claire forced herself to start coughing again, using all the breath in her lungs to create as realistic a hacking sound as she could manage.

“For Heaven’s sake, Madame. Enough.”

Claire let the glass slip from her grip and shatter at her feet, then rolled her eyes to the back of her head and dropped to the ground.

“Lizzie?” Jenny called. “Captain, please, she needs help, she’s ill — ”

“Get her up onto the sofa!” The Captain barked, beyond irritated.

Brianna’s shrieking was growing louder and louder, likely distraught to see her mother topple over. Claire’s heart was in her throat, tears gathering behind her closed eyelids, her arms aching to press Brianna into her.

Claire was roughly lifted by the two soldiers and laid out on the sofa. Jenny called for Laura and ordered her to take Brianna into the nursery with the other children. Claire bit her lip to stifle her sigh of relief; this meant that the bastard no longer had his hands on her daughter.

Jenny began fretting over Claire, putting a rag on her head, dabbing at her neck.

“She’s burning up,” Jenny cried, distraught.

In a different century, Jenny would make quite the actress.

“Captain, I’m heart sorry, I’ll be happy to answer any questions ye have, but my cousin is no’ well, as ye can clearly see.”

A heavy, tangible silence followed, and Claire could hear the Captain sigh heavily, almost giving way to a growl.

“Very well. When she wakes, offer her my well wishes and a fast recovery.” His voice was thin and tight.

Three sets of footsteps retreated, and then there was a great crashing noise that made Claire jump on the sofa. The footsteps continued and the front door opened and slammed shut.

Claire immediately shot up off the sofa, and Jenny firmly grabbed her shoulders. Claire vaguely registered that the contents of the mantle had been swept onto the floor, creating a mess in the parlor in the Captain’s rage.

“Stay, sister. In case they return.”

“Brianna...I need her…” Claire’s eyes were wide and frantic, her breathing shallow and panicked.

“She’s alright, Claire. She’s wi’ Mrs. Crook. He didna hurt her.”

“I could kill him...disgusting, loathsome man…” Claire spat, her entire body trembling under Jenny’s hands.

“I ken. It’s over now, sister. It’s alright.” Jenny wrapped her arms around her, and despite the urge to run, to kill, to scream, Claire simply melted in her arms, weeping bitterly.

“That was...horrible, Jenny…”

“I ken, mo ghraidh. It’s over now. Ye did well.”

“Her screams…Oh God…”

“I can bear pain myself, but I couldna bear yours. That would take more strength than I have.”

I cannot bear her pain.

“She’s alright, Claire. She willna even remember this.”

Claire nodded against Jenny’s shoulder, sniffling. At least there was that one small comfort.

“I think it’s been long enough, now. Let’s go,” Jenny said, smiling weakly. “I feel I must hold my own bairns just now, as well.”

That night, and every night thereafter, Claire wondered how much longer they’d be able to keep up this act.

——

March 19th, 1749

It was one of those rare moments of peace, a crackling fire accompanied by the glowing moonlight. Claire was knitting new arm warmers for Maggie, as she’d outgrown her old ones yet again, passing them down to Kitty, who passed her old ones down to Brianna. Brianna was restless beside Claire in bed, tossing and turning back and forth, Lamb tucked under her arm.“Mummy,” Brianna blurted.

“Shh...quiet darling,” Claire whispered. “It’s time to sleep.”

“Story, Mummy.” Brianna sat up and began tugging on the sleeve of Claire’s nightgown. “Story, Mummy.”

“Story, Mummy...what?” Claire looked up from her knitting, cocking an eyebrow at the demanding toddler.

“Story Mummy please?” Brianna said, her ocean-eyes widening, and her bottom lip sticking out in that irresistible pout.

“Well, alright,” Claire grinned, setting aside her knitting on the side table. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Brianna grinned a crooked, toothy smile and clapped her hands.

“Come here, lovie.” Claire opened her arms, and Brianna crawled into her lap, nuzzling herself into Claire’s breast, resting a pudgy palm on the soft flesh at the top of her nightgown, the latching instinct apparently not having left her just yet despite being recently weaned.

Claire hummed with contentment, feeling her little girl settling into her, safe and protected in her mother’s arms, where she belonged.

“Which story do you want to hear, darling? The one about the little princess, and the seven dwarves?”

Claire was not brought up on fairytales at all; any tales told to her by Uncle Lamb were folklore of whatever land they were currently occupying, based in culture, religion, or scientific fact. She hadn’t been raised on princes and princesses like other girls had. She hadn’t gone to see Snow White in 1938 for any reason other than curiosity at its novelty: the first full-length animated motion picture. She’d enjoyed it, and teared up more than she’d liked to admit during the dwarves’ funeral for the princess, mostly because Uncle Lamb had been openly weeping, surely remembering the funeral that Claire was too young to be affected by, a funeral of matching coffins.

It was a fond memory she kept tucked away, something she stopped speaking about after Uncle Lamb had passed. She found herself speaking of it again, telling Brianna the little fairytale as best as she could remember from her one viewing of it. It was simple enough: little princess runs away from an evil queen, lives with seven little men, is saved by her prince, and off they go to happily-ever-after. Brianna enjoyed it well enough, and it made Claire smile to think of telling her about motion pictures someday, and revealing that her favorite of Mummy’s stories was actually created by a man named Walt Disney, each frame individually drawn and painted with as much care as the portraits done by her Grannie Ellen and her Auntie Jenny.

“No Princess. No dw-avs,” Brianna says simply. “Queen, Mummy.”

Claire smiled wistfully, a quiet sadness settling in her chest.

The tale of Laird and Lady Lallybroch was another one of her favorites.

“Alright, lovie.” Claire kissed the crown of her head. 

“Once upon a time, there was a brave, dashing warrior.” Claire felt her little girl smile against her breast. “He had hair like flames and eyes like deep water. Just like yours, baby. He called himself Laird Broch Tuarach, and he lived with his Lady.”

“Lady Bock Too-wack,” Brianna cooed, and Claire gave a watery chuckle.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Lady Broch Tuaroch. She was the most important thing in the world to the Laird. She was…”

“Queen!” Brianna said.

“And he was…”

“King!”

“That’s right, lovie. Their own little kingdom. They loved each other very, very much.” Her voice got tight, and she wound her arms tighter around Brianna. “So very much, that they decided to bring a little princess into the world.” Brianna gave a little giggle. The more she heard the story, the more she began to process that the little princess in question was her.

“The Laird had to go away, leave his Lady and their little princess. But, he left behind a special gift before he had to go away. Special for his little girl.”

Brianna proudly held up the little lamb, and Claire chuckled again.

“That’s right, darling. Fraser colors, so that your father will always be with you.” She pressed a fervent kiss to the top of Brianna’s head.

“The end,” Brianna said contentedly, pressing Lamb back into her chest.

Claire didn’t say anything for a moment. She rocked Brianna silently, her chin resting atop her wild curls, feeling her squishy cheek pressed into the crook of her neck.

“Brianna?” She broke the silence. “Do you know that the warrior, the Laird, the King...do you know that he’s...he’s your Da?”

Brianna had heard the word before. Her cousins said it every day to Ian, about Ian. She wondered if her little brain could grasp it yet, what it meant to have a Da. Or to not have one.

She didn’t expect Brianna to say anything, didn’t expect her to understand well enough. This story was Claire’s way of telling her daughter that she had a father that loved her, even before she would understand. Someday she’d understand.

Claire thought she was hearing things again when Brianna’s little voice said:

“Da.”

She’s just parroting. She’s only two-and-a-half years old. She doesn’t understand.

But logic was powerless to stop the raw emotion that slammed into Claire at the sound of Jamie’s daughter calling out to him.

“That’s right, baby,” she croaked, squeezing her as tightly as she dared. “Da loves you.”

“Da…” Brianna cooed once more, before the sound morphed into a little snore, and she was fast asleep against her.

Claire allowed the tiniest of sobs to escape her lips before she clenched her entire body to silence herself. With the greatest care, Claire laid Brianna on the mattress beside her and then clamped a hand over her mouth, feeling hot tears run over her fingers.

How many tears must I cry? How many nights must I burn alive with this pain?

And yet...how blessed have I been…?

She took a shuddering breath, running her fingers lightly over Brianna’s downy soft curls.

How blessed am I to have you here still? How blessed am I to raise her in your honor, to teach her to love your memory as much as I loved your flesh and blood?

Could she? Could Brianna ever understand the depth of her father’s love for her, the depth of her mother’s love for him?

I’ll do my damndest, Jamie.

I will never stop telling our story.

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze pt.1/25

Geralt swore as he knocked into his bedside table, hopping from one foot to the other as he tried to pull on his socks. He’d have a nasty bruise on his shin by that evening but he’d had worse, a lot worse. Across his chest was a web of puckered scar tissue that he’d had ever since he was a child. He growled under his breath and pulled his shirt on hurriedly.

“Geralt!!” Ciri shouted from downstairs. “Come on! We’re gonna be late!”

He glanced at the clock and swore again. She was right. It had taken so long to get her dressed and sat down eating breakfast that he’d lost track of time. He pulled half his hair back into a black hair tie and stared back at his reflection in the mirror. He looked passable.

“Coming, Princess.” He called back to his young ward.

He’d known Ciri since she was born, and he’d known her parents well before the accident. Pavetta and Duny had been two of the kindest people he’d had the pleasure to have known and he’d been honoured when they’d asked him to become Ciri’s Godfather. Of course, at the time, he’d only ever expected his duties to be a sort of uncle figure in her life. No one could have predicted they would have been taken from the Earth so soon. Ciri had spent the next few years with her Grandmother, during which time Geralt had barely seen his Goddaughter. He and Calanthe had never really seen eye to eye and the elder woman had decided Geralt was a bad influence on her granddaughter’s life.

Still, Geralt had been sad when he’d received the call at the beginning of summer that the woman and her husband Eist had passed away and Ciri would become his ward. Calanthe had been a fierce woman and Geralt found he had a lot of respect for her, despite their differences.

And now he was raising a child as a single father.

It wasn’t where he’d seen his life going but Ciri had brightened up his lonely existence considerably and he would not change having her in his life for the world. He’d not realised just how lonely he was before Ciri had moved in with him. His life had just been work, sleep, eat repeat. He worked hard to afford his house and then never actually spent any time there because he was always working or at the pub with Lambert, Eskel and Renfri. Since Ciri, he’d realised it was alright to spend time staying still at home.

He shook his head and made his way down the stairs. It was Ciri’s first day at school and then he’d have to make his way to the station for the start of his shift. Vesemir had been very understanding and now allowed Geralt to work his shifts around his young ward. He now started after the school run, and he would only do on-call or evenings if Yen or one of the wolf pack was around to babysit over night.

“Geralt!” Ciri called again and ran out of the kitchen. She had her shoes on but the laces were flying and Geralt only just reached the bottom of the stairs in time to catch her as she tripped. Her hair flew out behind her in a cloud of ashen blonde and he was hit by the scent of her floral shampoo. He chuckled. Lilacs. Just like Yen. Ciri had probably chosen her shampoo to mimic Yennefer’s after his ex had spent the week with them over the summer.

“Got ya!” He chuckled as he pulled her into a hug. She hugged him back tightly, she always did, and he stroked his fingers through her long ashen hair. “Be careful, Princess.” He dropped her down on the bottom step and tied her laces, explaining what he was doing as he looped the laces round. She watched carefully, sticking her tongue out in concentration. “You can have a go tomorrow.”

“Let’s go!” She whined and pulled him by the hand towards the door.

“Wait.” He ruffled her hair and gestured towards his own boots, sitting down to pull them on.

“Hmmph.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and pouted at him. “We’re gonna be late on my first day! Everyone is gonna laugh at me.”

Geralt’s eyes snapped up from where he was tying his own shoelaces at the sudden vulnerability in the young girl’s voice. He frowned and tilted his head as he tried to search for the answers in her bright green eyes.

“Why?” He huffed when he found no answer.

Ciri shifted awkwardly and scraped her feet on the floor. “They did at my old school.”

Geralt tensed and he felt a bubble of rage in his chest as he finished off his laces. “Why?”

But Ciri couldn’t find the words. Her eyes filled with tears and she spun round to avoid his gaze. He stood up and pulled the young girl into another hug and kissed her hair. “They won’t laugh, little Lion Cub, and you must tell me or your teacher if they do. Promise?”

Ciri nodded against his chest and then wiped the tears away. The next minute it was as if the whole moment had never happened and she plastered a smile on her face and pulled Geralt determinedly towards the door. He grabbed his keys off their hook and let himself be pulled towards his old truck.

“Come on!” She trilled and he let himself smile at her newfound excitement.

He made a note to check in with Yen to see if she knew whether Ciri had had any problems at her old school. After the death of both her parents and her grandparents, Ciri was bound to have been the odd one out and Geralt knew from experience how cruel kids could be when you were the odd one out.

The drive went without any further incident. Ciri was happily chatting away about all the new things she couldn’t wait to learn, wondering what her new friends would be like, and her new teachers. Geralt had received an email from the school administrator a few weeks before. Ciri was going to be in Mr Pankratz’s class, otherwise known as Buttercups. All the tutor groups in Ciri’s school were named after flowers. Yen’s tutor group had been called Lilacs before she’d quit teaching a few years ago to focus on her career as an art critic. She’d enjoyed spending time with the children but had found that teaching didn’t suit her and her online art blog had been growing in numbers almost everyday. She’d begun to make a name for herself over the last few years and had been jet-setting all over the world after receiving invitations to all the most prodigious galas and gallery openings.

It had been one of the reasons they’d grown apart. Geralt hadn’t enjoyed the glitz and glamour of Yen’s new life, and she hadn’t been content to stay in the small town for the rest of her life. The spark that had kept bringing them back together after every fight had fizzled out and they’d realised that deep down their relationship had never really meant to last. They were both too headstrong, too stubborn. Still, she knew him better than he knew himself and they stayed in contact. He didn’t have many friends outside of his work life and he didn’t want to lose Yen. He still loved her and she was his best friend. Life without Yennefer Vengerberg would be very dull indeed.

It had been Yennefer who had managed to use her connections with the school to get Ciri a place last minute once she’d moved in with him over the summer. Yennefer was still friendly with the staff and regularly met up with a handful of them when she was in town. Geralt pulled up and parked the car. He helped Ciri pull her rucksack onto her shoulders and held her hand as they headed towards the reception.

A pretty young woman was manning the desk. She had curly dark caramel coloured hair and dark chocolate eyes. Her skin was tanned and her cheeks were painted with a flurry of freckles. He frowned. She seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn’t recall ever meeting her and he was usually pretty good with faces. She smiled brightly when she saw them approach and stood up to shake his hand.

“Mr Rivia?” She asked.

“Hmm.” He nodded. “Call me Geralt.” He added.

“Excellent. I’m Ms Merigold.” She smiled as she released his hand.

Merigold.

That was Yennefer’s best friend’s name. Triss Merigold. They’d never managed to meet up whilst he’d been dating Yennefer, and Geralt had started to suspect that Yen had purposely never introduced them. Maybe she’d been jealous. More likely she’d realised their relationship was never meant to last and there was no point in involving her friends. Geralt had been optimistic and Yennefer had been introduced to all the most important people in his life. He felt a pang of sadness to know she’d never allowed him the same courtesy.

She ticked off Ciri’s name on the clipboard in front of her. Geralt grimaced when he noticed hers was the last name. This single parenting lark was going to be a lot harder than he expected. “Don’t worry. There’s still time.” She turned to Ciri. “And you must be Cirilla?”

Ciri made face and scrunched up her nose at her full name.

“She prefers Ciri.” Geralt explained.

“I’m sorry Ciri. I didn’t know. We’ll make sure all the teacher’s know before you have any classes with them.” Ms Merigold smiled down at his ward. Ciri scowled whilst she considered the other woman’s apology and then her face broke into a bright smile. “You’ll just need to let Mr Pankratz know.”

“Thank you, Ms Merigold!” She beamed.

“Follow me. I’ll show you to Mr Pankratz’s class. You too, Geralt. Jaskier, Mr Pankratz, likes to meet all the parent’s on the first day.” Ms Merigold walked around to their side of the desk and started to make her way through the corridors, pointing out important locations to Ciri on the way, the toilets, the school assembly hall, the dining room.

Ms Merigold stopped in front of a bright yellow door that was covered in kid’s drawings of buttercups. The name ‘Jaskier’ was scrawled out in elegant calligraphy under the thin window pane.

“Here we go. Once you’re done, Mr Rivia, Geralt, if you could drop back to reception and we’ll finish up the paperwork.” Ms Merigold gave Ciri a small wave and wandered back down the corridor.

Geralt took a deep breath and knocked on the door. The music that was floating through the door, halted and Geralt heard a voice through the buttercup covered door.

“Come in!”

Geralt scowled at the cheery tone and pushed the door open. In the middle of the room, surrounding by tiny children, was a sunny looking brunet cradling a guitar in his arms. His face broke into a grin when he saw them. Geralt felt like he’d been punched in the gut as Jaskier’s brilliant blue eyes met his. He’d never seen eyes that blue before. They seemed to shine and glitter in the bright lights of the classroom. He was… radiant.

Geralt tore his gaze away from the teacher and looked around the room. He knew he had a habit of staring too much and with his larger frame he had a tendency to be intimidating. He didn’t want to terrorise Ciri’s new teacher on her first day. It would only make her school life harder for her. Although, Jaskier’s eyes were so captivating and unique, Geralt could hardly be the first person to gawk at him.

“Ahh Mr Rivia! At last. And you must be…”

“Ciri.” Geralt cut the younger man off. “This is Ciri.”

“Ciri!” Jaskier jumped up excitedly and swung his guitar onto his back and extended his hand to the young girl. “Nice to meet you Ciri, I’m Mr Pankratz but everyone calls me Jaskier.”

Ciri giggled and shook Jaskier’s hand. “That’s a funny name.”

“Princess.” Geralt warned in a low voice.

“No no. It’s fine.” Jaskier just waved it off with a charming smile that made Geralt’s stomach flip. He turned back to the children behind him with a wave of his hand. “Right everyone,” Geralt noticed he was making gestures with his hands as he spoke. It looked like sign language not that Geralt was overly familiar.

“I want you all to think of three things that have made you happy this morning and share them with as many people as possible. It can be as simple as having a yummy breakfast, or a parent picking out your favourite top for you to wear. Go!”

He finished off with a final wave of his hands, his tongue sticking out as he concentrated on the last couple of words. A little boy in a beanie was watching him intently until the very end. He had an adult sitting nearby who smiled appreciatively at Jaskier.

The classroom erupted with noise but Jaskier’s eyes just danced with excitement. He’d probably have a hard time calming the children back down but it gave him a chance to talk to Ciri and Geralt without much disturbance. Jaskier turned back to Ciri with a more serious expression. “Jaskier isn’t my real name Ciri, but I chose it. Just like you chose Ciri, right?”

Ciri’s nose scrunched up as she took in what her teacher was saying and then nodded.

“Just because we chose our names, doesn’t make them any less important. A name is a very personal thing Ciri. We should be openminded, yeah?” Jaskier spoke calmly, fixing his blue gaze on the younger girl.

She blushed a little but nodded. “Yeah.”

“Wonderful.” Jaskier trilled happily. “Now, go join the others. Remember I want three things that put a smile on your face this morning. What’s the first one?”

“Cub!” Ciri replied with a laugh.

“Her stuffed lion.” Geralt explained when he saw the flash of confusion on her teacher’s face. He immediately brightened up at Geralt’s explanation and met Geralt’s eyes with a grateful expression.

“That would make me happy too. You’ll have to bring Cub in one day so we can meet them.” Jaskier’s voice was so sincere and genuine that Geralt almost believed that the young man would like nothing more than to meet Ciri’s stuffed toy lion. “Off you go then.”

Ciri scampered off to meet the rest of the class. Geralt watched after her nervously but Ciri was already better than him at making friends and she’d already introduced herself to two of her peers before Geralt turned back to face her teacher.

“Mr Rivia.”

“Geralt.” He insisted.

“Geralt.” Jaskier nodded. Geralt’s name sounded like molten chocolate coming from Jaskier’s mouth. He turned back to watch Ciri so that the teacher couldn’t see the blush that he was fighting down unsuccessfully. “I just wanted to check with you to see if there’s anything we can do to make Ciri’s school life easier. The other children aren’t aware of her, circumstances, shall we say? If she ever needs time off or you think a therapist at school would help her then we can accommodate that. She’s far too young to have known so much death.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded. Jaskier wasn’t wrong. “I’ll have a think. Thank you, Jaskier.”

“So what’s made you happy today, Geralt?” Jaskier asked with a wink.

You.

The word almost escaped his lips and took him off guard.

Instead, he took a deep breath and turned to face the teacher, desperately trying to ignore the smile that seemed to brighten up the whole room, or the way his eyes twinkled as if he knew the most exciting secret.

“Ciri.” He paused. “And the coffee machine.”

Jaskier’s chiming laugh filled the room. “Ah yes the elixir that is coffee. That’s only two things though, come now Geralt even the kids can count to three.”

“Hmm.” Geralt struggled to think. “Ciri was nervous this morning.”

“And that made you happy?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him and put a hand on his hip.

“No, of course not. Let me finish.” Geralt almost growled at him before he remembered that this man wasn’t his friend, he was his daughter’s teacher. “She was nervous, and you made her laugh.”

“So, I made you happy?” Jaskier smirked mirthfully.

“No.” This time Geralt did growl the word. He couldn’t help it, this man was just so infuriating. Of course he was. No one could be that beautiful and not be a pain in the arse. “You made Ciri happy. Ciri being happy made me happy.”

“Ciri’s on your list twice.” Jaskier pointed out.

“Problem?” Geralt raised an eyebrow at the younger man.

“No. No. No problem.” Jaskier grinned. “Right. I need to get back to the little devils. Triss, Ms Merigold, will set you up with my email address should you need it, she’ll also need your phone number incase there’s a problem here. I’ll look after Ciri, Geralt. I promise.”

Geralt grunted with a nod and turned to leave the room.

“Wait. Geralt.” Jaskier called. “One last thing.”

Geralt tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at the brunet.

“If we can’t get hold of you. Is there someone else to contact in emergencies?” Jaskier fiddled with the strap of his guitar.

“Hmm. You could try my work. Vesemir, or Yennefer if she’s in town.”

“Vengerberg?”

“That’s right.”

“You know Yennefer Vengerberg?” Jaskier looked at him wide eyed.

“Yes.” Geralt nodded wearily, Jaskier was probably a fan. Yen’s art blog had become something of a sensation after all.

“I met her once. She left before I started here, but she’s become something of a legend amongst the staff. Mr Gynvael speaks very highly of her.” Jaskier explained although the way his gaze drifted awkwardly to the floor made Geralt think there was probably more to that story than Jaskier was letting on.

“Hmm.” Geralt didn’t quite know what to say to that.

Luckily for him one of the children started to cry and Jaskier instantly slipped back into teacher mode, rushing over to where a child had fallen on the floor. “Hey hey. It’s alright. Can you show me what hurts?” Jaskier cooed to the small child.

Geralt smiled at the easy care that Jaskier had with the children. He would be far better at being thrown into single parenthood. Geralt sighed and walked out the classroom. He glanced at his watch and cursed. Vesemir would not be impressed with him. He was much later than he’d anticipated but he could always say it was an exception for the first day.

He pulled out his phone and hit his second speed dial.

Vesemir picked up on the second ring “Ah White Wolf. You’d better have a good explanation.” Vesemir chuckled.

“Ah. Fuck. Yes.” Geralt sighed. “I’m on my way.”

_____________

Geralt ached. His body was tired from running drills with Lambert, Eskel and Renfri all morning. They had also been called out a few times. Nothing major luckily, an unfortunate microwave incident in the local University dorms, a couple of house calls that were easily contained and the hugely stereotypical my cat is stuck in a tree call. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed as he unlocked the door to his flat. He’d barely stepped across the threshold when a blur of ashen blonde hair came flying at him and he caught Ciri in his arms and spun her around.

“Geralt!” She giggled happily as she flew through the air.

“Hi Princess. How was school?” He asked his ward.

“It was great! Mr Jaskier is the best!” She sang happily. “He was telling us all about words that sound the same, and Dara can’t hear properly so Mr Jaskier is teaching us how to speak with our hands!”

“Yeah?” Geralt smiled fondly down at the young girl as he carried them both to the kitchen where Coën was waiting for them both. Geralt nodded at him in greeting. “What words sound the same?” He prompted wondering how much she would have learnt on her first day.

“Yeah! Like bee and tree!” Ciri nattered away happily.

“Hmm. And you were a good girl for Coën when he picked you up from school?” He asked.

Ciri pouted. “I’m always good!”

Geralt chuckled. “Of course.” He turned to her babysitter. “Thanks Coën. Any problems?”

“None at all. She was an angel.” Coën said with a laugh as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “She’s even been teaching me how to sign the alphabet. Ciri, show Geralt how to sign your name.” Coën asked with a gentle smile. Ciri beamed back and scrunched up her nose and she slowly spelled out her name with her hands.

Geralt made a mental note to look up sign language courses online. If one of Ciri’s friends used sign language then it was only a matter of time before they ended up on a playdate and he wanted to be able to communicate with his ward’s friends and support Ciri in her learning.

“That’s good, Ciri.” He praised a little awkwardly. He’d never been particularly open with his feelings but it was something he was working on for her. He knew children needed praise and encouragement so he was trying his best.

The three of them sat in the kitchen for a few minutes whilst Ciri tried to go through the whole alphabet. She forgot a few of the later letters but Coën had already looked them up on his phone and was able to remind her. Geralt’s respect for the teenager grew. He was the son of one of Vesemir’s former colleagues and Vesemir had recommended him as a babysitter once he heard about Calanthe and Eist’s death.

Once Ciri had reached the end of the alphabet, Coën hugged her goodbye and Geralt shook his hand. “I’ll see you both tomorrow then. Bye Ciri!” He called with a wave before picking up his bag and heading to the front door.

“See ya!” Ciri waved him goodbye and then turned her attention back to Geralt. “Did you know nothing sounds like orange?”

“Hmm. I did. Did Mr Jaskier tell you that?” Geralt asked as he lowered Ciri back to the floor and began to root around in the fridge for his dinner.

“Yup! Purple doesn’t have a word rhyme either.” Ciri grinned.

“Hmm. I never thought about that. Mr Jaskier is a clever man.” Geralt smiled softly at the memory of Jaskier’s bright eyes and kind smile.

“He’s the bestest!” Ciri agreed. “but don’t worry, Dad, you’re still my favourite.”

Geralt’s heart stopped in his chest.

“Dad?” He asked quietly.

“Well obviously.” Ciri said with her hands on her hips.

“Come here.” Geralt said and pulled her into a big hug.

“Oh there’s something from Mr Jaskier on the table for you!” Ciri said as she squirmed in his arms.

“Hmm?” Geralt let his daughter go and saw a yellow envelope on the table.

“He said to make sure you saw it.” Ciri insisted.

Geralt flipped the envelope over. He was sealed shut by a small blob of teal wax. Geralt chuckled at the sight of it. He should have known that Ciri’s teacher would be the extravagant type. He opened the envelope carefully, tracing the elegant letters of his name. He’d never known anyone else with such dramatic writing. He wondered if Jaskier wrote on the whiteboard like that or whether he’d made an effort for the letter. Geralt scowled at that. Why would Jaskier make an effort for him? He shook the thought from his mind. He wasn’t special. Jaskier had probably written a letter like this to all the parents.

The writing inside, however, wasn’t nearly as neat. It wasn’t bad but it was definitely more of a scrawl than calligraphy.

  Hi Geralt!  

     Thank you for coming in to see me on Ciri’s first day. I always prefer to meet the parents sooner rather than later so we can work together to give the kids the best start in life that we can. Normally I would send an email at the end of the week to give all the parents an update on their child’s progress and what we’ve learnt but it’s the first day so that’s all a bit exciting isn’t it?  

     Ciri is an absolute delight! She makes friends very easily and seems to have the whole class wrapped around her little finger. She’s even managed to bring one of the shyer kids, Dara, out of his shell. You should be very proud of her.  

     On a more serious note, Ciri has noticed that her family situation isn’t exactly common. Most of the kids in our class have two parents or live with their mother. We had to have a little chat after lunch. She got a bit upset that she didn’t have a mum and dad but we talked about how family is important, especially the ones we choose. If there’s anything I can do to help please let me know. If there are any topics that are best to avoid etc.  

     Anyhoo! Today we learnt about rhyming words and started work on writing our numbers and alphabet. In the morning we learnt a new song together and started learning sign language! A wonderful skill to have, I think, and this afternoon we had to draw one of the things that made us happy. Ciri should have her drawing done by the end of tomorrow! I expect to see all her drawings pinned to the fridge. No slacking, Geralt.  

     I am absolutely thrilled to be teaching Ciri this year! Here’s to the rest of a brilliant year with the Buttercups!  

     Kindest Regards,  

     Jaskier.  

Geralt didn’t realise he was smiling until Ciri peered up at him with a smirk on her face.

“Dad, do you like Mr Jaskier?” She cackled.

“He’s a good teacher, Princess.” He scowled down at her.

“He’s got pretty eyes.” Ciri hummed thoughtfully.

“Cirilla. Go to bed.” Geralt snapped.

“But Dad!” She whined.

“Don’t forget your teeth.” He grunted.

“Urgh. Fine.” She stormed off upstairs in a huff.

Geralt gently traced the letters of Jaskier’s name at the bottom of the paper. Jaskier was a beautiful man, there was no denying that. It was the first thing Geralt had noticed when he’d walked into Ciri’s classroom. You’d have to blind not to notice that, even Yen would probably agree and Jaskier was decidedly not her usual type, and he was kind. He was good with the kids. He talked too much. That much was evident but he’d already won over Ciri and Geralt had been impressed by how he’d handled the sensitive subject of Ciri’s home life, both that morning and in the letter.

That didn’t mean he liked him though.

It was just well-deserved respect.

He pictured Jaskier’s blinding smile and the mischievous glimmer in his eyes. Geralt felt a warmth bubble up in his chest at the thought. He put the letter in his pocket and slumped down into a chair, resting his head on this the table.

“Fuck.”

_______

Next

[incorrectunrulyprincesses]

Underland’s Unruly Princesses: Boarding School Dropouts (chapter 3)

“Princess Emberess will be sleeping in the redhead room. It’s the first door in there.” said Madame Graciella. “Your luggage has been brought any moment.” She opened the door to reveal a grey room with six twin beds with gilded wood headboards, and grey bedding, and a wooden chest at the foot of each bed. The windows were boarded shut with nails and there a gilded grandfather clock stood in the corner. There were four other girls sitting on beds.

The girl sitting on the bed closest to the door was a tiny little thing who couldn’t be more than four. She had a twelve inch fishtail braid in a fiery red hue, though slightly less vivid than Ember’s own. Her left eye was blue, and her right eye was green. She had a dusting of freckles across her nose, and wore a rosy pink velvet dress trimmed with flowers and bows with a silver pendant with a teardrop shaped rose quartz, and a large pink bow in her hair, tying off her braid.

On the second bed was a tall and willowy girl of eleven with a rather vacant expression caribbean blue eyes and short ginger hair that grazed her shoulders, clad in an orange taffeta gown with a silk honeysuckle pinned to her bodice, citrine stud earrings, and a black headband.

Next to her was a tall, thin, brittle looking girl of ten with eyes so brown they were nearly black and coppery curls piled elaborately atop her head. She wore a cyan silk gown with delicate sea green embroidery, a pearl choker with a jade cameo, and two peacock feathers in her hair.

Beside her was a kind looking girl who looked to be about ten with periwinkle eyes and hair in loose ringlets the color of new bronze flowing down her back. She wore a turquoise satin gown with intricate gold damask embroidery and hot pink tulle trim and cuffs and hot pink gems adorning it, a necklace with a gold braided chain and teardrop shaped gems, and a sea green ribbon woven into a waterfall braid among her wavy hair.

The final girl in the bed next to Ember’s was a short, chubby girl of ten with ocean blue eyes, and frizzy hair somewhere between strawberry blonde and auburn worn half up, half down. She wore an airy butter yellow silk a-line gown with blush, peach, and tangerine daisies embroidered on it, a magenta belt, a three-strand necklace of pink diamonds on a silver chain and a white daisy pinned in her hair.

“Ladies, I’ve brought a new friend for you. Meet Princess Emberess of Crims. Your highness, may I present your new roommates Lady Marie-Christine D’Aubigne of Voyagea, Lady Portia of Snudworth, Lady Suzette Atkinson of Ruby, Lady Kathleen Carter of Crimson, and Lady Francesca Lambert of Scarlet. Report to the dining room for lunch and your manners lesson with Mistress Emanuelle in ten minutes. Your highness, I must go to escort your sister to the blonde room, two doors down.” announced Madame Graciella, escorting Rosalind out by one arm.

“But madame, my mother told me I was to stay with my sister! I promised our mother to look out for her!” Ember protested, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

“Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of her. She’s only two doors down.” Madame Graciella reassured. “Ladies, why don’t you get better acquainted with the princess, while you get ready?” Madame Graciella was much nicer than her sister, but she was incredibly intimidated by her.

“Are you really the princess?” asked little Marie-Christine, an awestruck look in her eyes.

“I am. My friends call me Ember, at least they would if they had any friends.” Ember smiled. This little girl reminded her of Ros.

“I’m Marie-Christine, but you can call me Chrissie.” said Marie-Christine.

“How old are you?” asked Ember.

“I’m four. I’m the youngest in the school by seven minutes. My twin sister Marie-Anne is in the blonde room with your sister. This is our first year. But our older sisters Marie-Louise and Marie-Therese are in the brunette room between us.

“If your sister’s in the blonde room, she’d better watch her back.” Suzette Atkinson piped up.

“You might be princesses, but the real queen around here is Cressida Cowper, and she’s there too. She eats new girls for lunch.”

“Cressida is my best friend.” Portia Keen mused in a deadpan voice, her nose to the sky. “You’re all just jealous of her beauty and brains!”

“Cressida and Portia share a brain. That and they’re both from Snud, and knew each other before coming here.” Suzette spat.

“Sukey, I’m sure Ember’s sister can handle herself.” rationalized Kathleen Carter. “I mean Cressida’s awful, but the other girls are all really cool.” she held her hand out for Ember to shake. “I’m Kitty. Your sister will be okay, Cressida’s horrid, but the other girls are all nice. Besides, Chrissie isn’t the only one with a sister there. My sister Lacey will be there too, and she’ll look out for your sister. How old is your sister?”

“She’s seven. Our mother just stopped breastfeeding her.” Ember accepted Kitty’s hand.

“Why would she do it herself? That’s what we have wetnurses for!” asked a bewildered Portia.

“Shut up, Portia.” snapped Sukey, glowering at the ditzy girl. “But seriously, your mother stopped at seven?”

”Mum’s always cosseted Ros up like a baby. We’ve had a pretty isolated upbringing with no friends our age. Mum always said we were lucky to have each other. My sister’s an incredibly vulnerable person. She’s never left the castle grounds until two days ago when we left for school. She cried herself to sleep at the inn, and I had to calm her down because her father’s a deadbeat who’s ignored her her whole life, but Mum’s utterly enamored with him.”

“That’s rotten.” Francesca Lambert narrowed her eyes.

“So you have no friends your own age?” Asked Kitty.

“Unfortunately not. Nobody at court but my mother has children.”

“Our parents may not live at court, but some of us are in your mother’s house of progress. My older brother Stefan is the knave’s squire. Harriet Lennox from the Brunette room, her father is Count Marcus of Odyssey, your mother’s master of coin. There’s three other girls in the brunette room who are high up in your mother’s queensguard. Chrissie’s father Baron Leonard of Voyagea is her master of spies. Some of us are in your aunt’s court or house of progress as well.”

“Cressida’s grandfather is Queen Mirana’s master of justice.” Portia chimed in. “Her father’s lord commander of her queensguard. My brothers are in her queensguard too. My mother and Queen Mirana are close, personal friends.”

“Stop calling my aunt ‘Queen Mirana!’” Snapped Ember. “She hasn’t been queen for nine years. As far as I’m concerned, the only queen I recognize is my mother!”

“Portia didn’t mean any harm.” Kitty said, stepping between the two girls. “She just parrots what her mother, Cressida’s mother and Cressida say.”

“That’s because Portia has a single digit IQ. She needs Cressida to do all the thinking for her.” Sukey snarked. Francesca giggled at Sukey’s blunt remark.

“That’s right! Wait, what were we talking about?” Portia inquired.

“We ought to go down for lunch with the others. Maybe you can snag a seat next to your sister.” Francesca suggested helpfully.

“And maybe you won’t hog all the rolls this time, Fanny. They’ll go right to your hips.” Portia jeered.

“Shut up Portia!” Fanny, Kitty, and Sukey shouted in unison. Maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad here after all. Most of the girls seemed really nice, with the exception of Portia, but she obviously wasn’t smart enough to do any real harm. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder how her baby sister was faring in the blonde room.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Hi Alex, 11. Character A thinks that they are not good enough for Character B for the pining prompts, any pairing really?

Thanks you!! I don't know if this is really pine-y enough, but it got away from me.

Hideous. Terrible. Monster.

Geralt tries not to let the words bother him, but they hurt more than the stones that hit him. It reminds him of Blaviken and he grits his teeth against the memory. For a while, he had nearly forgotten about it, but that day comes back to him in full force now as he holds his forearms up to keep the rocks from hitting his face. He hasn't even done anything wrong this time.

As he finally reaches the town gate, he realizes with a start that he can't go back to camp. Jaskier is there and he can't see him like this. Geralt takes off in the opposite direction, remembering a stream they passed on their way into town, making hard in that direction.

When he finds it again, he sits at the edge of the river, staring down at his reflection. His hair is tangled and twisted with mud and gore and his face is flecked with blood - some of it his and some from the bruxa. He looks every bit the monster they say he is and Geralt's heart sinks as he thinks about Jaskier sitting back at camp. He'll be waiting for him to return, he's probably got supper ready for him and Geralt is going to come back looking like this?

He can't.

He can't go back to Jaskier like this, not having done what he did. Because he's no good. He couldn't even save the guardsmen. Jaskier deserves someone soft and kind and beautiful. He deserves someone wealthy and successful, not a dirty Witcher who can't even do his job properly. His eyes sting and Geralt slaps the surface of the water, scattering his reflection. He can't even imagine how Jaskier can bear to look at him.

For some time he sits there at the side of the stream, not knowing what to do because he needs to eat, needs to feed Roach, but he doesn't want to go back and have Jaskier see him. But he wants to. Wants to fall into Jaskier's arms and have him tell him everything is fine. Wants to let him kiss away the bruises on his skin. Want to curl up with him and feel Jaskier's breath on the back of his neck as he whispers sweet things into his hair.

But Jaskier shouldn't want him. Jaskier deserves better. So Geralt sits at the side of the stream, refusing to look at himself for hours. He doesn't even have the energy to clean the blood from his hands now and it's dried, pulling his skin tight and making it itchy. He focuses too hard on it, but he can't bring himself to move, can't force his body to shift or his hands to rub together.

It's long dark when he hears footsteps approaching and he flinches as they reach him, not focused enough to realize they're familiar.

"Geralt?" Jaskier's voice is soft and hesitant, worried. Geralt says nothing. "What happened, love, I was worried-" He tries to rest a hand on his shoulder, but Geralt pulls out of his touch, curling further in on himself. He hears Jaaskier's little gasp and he feels awful about it, but he can't let him touch him.

Jaskier crouches down next to him, elbows resting on his knees. He wrings his hands, clearly needing something to occupy himself if he's not allowed to touch, and Geralt feels worse.

"What's wrong, love? You're filthy, let me-" he reaches out but quickly retracts his arm, thinking better of it. "Sorry. Can I-?" Geralt doesn't say anything and there's a wave of grief that washes over Jaskier. Reluctantly, Geralt nods. He can't bear Jaskier being upset over him.

Jaskier's hand is soft where it presses against his cheek, rubbing something away with his thumb. Geralt just sits and lets him, trying not to focus too hard on how good Jaskier's touch feels. He doesn't deserve it, he's a monster, just like the things he was created to kill.

But Jaskier hums softly and produces a damp bit of cloth from somewhere, dabbing at Geralt's skin and wiping the blood away. The tune is familiar, but Geralt can't quite place it, too lost in his own head to really think about it.

When the one side of his face is clean, Jaskier climbs into his lap, sitting so they're face-to-face and Geralt is forced to look at him. Jaskier smiles, but there's genuine worry behind it and his scent betrays him. But he never once stops in his task, wiping Geralt's skin clean and tying his hair back out of his face.

"Better?" Jaskier asks and Geralt wants to tell him it can't be better because he is the problem, but he just nods and Jaskier dips down to kiss his nose.

"I talked to the villagers," he says softly, "I know what happened, Geralt. It wasn't your fault. It's not your fault those men died and it's not your fault the rest of them blamed you. Without you, they all could have died, but you saved them, love."

"I'm a monster," Geralt breathes and in a beat, Jaskier's arms are around him, pulling him against his chest.

"You're not. You're a kind, caring man, Geralt. The love of my life."

"You deserve more."

"Like what? A prince? A Duchess? A knight, perhaps? Geralt I've had them. I want you. I don't care what anyone else thinks about you, I know you. You buy sugar cubes to feed your horse because she works so hard and she deserves it. You play hide and seek with the children at the orphanage - don't tell me you don't, Gretka told me." Jaskier tips his chin up, smiling at him. "You make special hair grease for Lambert even though the smell of it makes you gag. You take care of me. I'd be dead a hundred times over without you, my darling."

"Only because you fucked the wrong person."

"And now I only fuck you," Jaskier shrugs, smirking, "so no one wants to kill me anymore." He dips down, kissing Geralt's lips and he lingers so long Geralt can't help but give in, moving softly against him. When Jaskier breaks away, he's still smiling but his eyes are shut.

"I can't undo what people have done to you to make you think you're not worthy of love, Geralt, but I will do my best to teach you that you are. Why don't you come back to camp, get out of those clothes and I'll make tea. I found some berries just a little ways from where we set up that might be nice." He cups Geralt's face in his hand and Geralt leans into it.

"Okay," he whispers.

Jaskier smiles wide at that, rising to his feet and helping Geralt up.

"Tomorrow, we should reach Oxenfurt and we can stay at the university. They have a lovely bath there and I have a private suite," he looks up as his fingers slip between Geralt's. "Just for us, hm?"

"Okay," Geralt repeats. Because he doesn't deserve Jaskier, but he wants to.

[renee-writer]

Win a Date Chapter 18 Dinner

Claire lead Jamie into the kitchen. Geillis just stares at him in her kitchen. “James Fraser is in my kitchen.” She says out loud.

“Our kitchen but yes he is.” Claire says with a grin as she moves to help her. “Geillis is the cook amoung us. I can do basic things.” She tells him.

“I can cook. My mam taught me. I can teach you.” He assures her. His hand close around her waist, burying his face in her hair. Geillis removes the chicken and vegetable from the oven as she watches them cuddle. She moves it to the table and starts to get down plates and glasses. Hesitation as she wonders if she should use something other then their everyday dishes considering their guest.

Claire notices. “Need help Gel?”

“I was just wondering whether we should use our normal dishes.”

“Please do. I would like to be treated like any date of Claire’s.”

“Will do. Or try.” She hands down the dishes and Jamie takes them from her. The table is set and they sit down. They fill up their plates and start to eat.

“You are a grand cook Geillis.” He tells her.

She blushes and stutters as she attempts to respond. Claire sighs. “She says thanks. Right Gel?”

“Aye.” She gets out. They continue eating and Claire attempts to keep a conversation going so it feels normal to Jamie.

“Jamie, tell us about growing up at Lallybroch.” He grins, and stretches back and starts to tell them.

“It was wonderful. My sister and I had chores, of course. Milking the coos, gathering eggs, mulching out the stalls. We learned to make bannocks and other breads, the distinguish good plants from weeds. We played in the hay lofts. Build snow villages, Nae just man, when the snow fell. We learned to respect the land and the animals raised on it. To be responsible for every seed sown. I was able to hone my craft pretending to be everyone and everything as Jenny and I explored the moors and munros. I've skinny dipped in the loch. It was an amazing way to grow up.”

“Wow. Sounds like.” Claire says.

“I will take you there. You too Geillis if you would like to go.”

“I would love too.”

“Me too.”

“Has Claire told you about her childhood?”

“Some.” He turns fully towards her.

“Well, I had a very unusual childhood. Raised all over the world. After the deaths of my parents, my Uncle Lambert, my dad's brother, took me in. I was five. He tried to leave me at a boarding house and I throw quite a fit.”

He chuckles. “I can see that.”

“So he took me with him. He was an archaeologist and a grand one. I was world schooled, learning something in every place he had a gig. It was really educational. I tested out at fifteen. Started college at sixteen. When I got my pharmacist license, he helped me open the drug. I am quite proud he saw it become a success before he passed.”

“I am sure he was quite proud.”

“Oh he was.”

They stand and start to clean the table. “I got this guys.” Geillis said.

“Now you cooked. We can clean up.” Claire replies.

“Oh I couldn’t let..” she recalls what he asked. “sorry. Go ahead…. I am going up to bed. It was nice to meet you Jamie.”

“You too Geillis. Thank you for the wonderful dinner.”

“You are welcome.” She smiles at them both and heads upstairs. They grinned at each other. She starts to load the dishes into the dishwasher while he wipes down the table, then the stove and counters. She starts the dishwasher and he pulls the trash out, tying the bag up.

“Where does it go Claire?”

“Oh the rubbish bin is by the back door.” He carries it that way and she shakes herself and places a new bag in. He comes in and washes his hands.

“Would you like to show me your room Claire?”

“I would love to.”

[shefanispeculator]

Gwen Stefani and Blake Shelton are happily taking their time when it comes to tying the knot.

The 50-year-old singer and the 43-year-old country star have made it no secret how serious they are about one another but a source tells ET that they're still in no rush to get married. Despite a report that the couple wants to marry but have run into an issue due to Stefani's Roman Catholic faith -- the Catholic Church does not allow remarriage after a divorce unless the previous marriage has been annulled, a process that could take more than a year to complete -- our source says religion is not the sole reason the couple is waiting.

The source also notes that the two already have their ideal life together.

"Gwen's faith is incredibly important to her but it isn’t the only thing keeping them from a big wedding," the source says. "They made a deal to take it slow after their divorces. Neither Gwen nor Blake wanted to rush into marriage. They have been living the life they have always dreamt of together and haven't felt the need."

"Religion is very important to Gwen and Blake has been so respectful of that," the source continues. "She doesn't take her Roman Catholic faith lightly but of course, has to apply it to her life today. She is head over heels in love with Blake and they both know they want to spend the rest of their lives together."

Still, the source says their friends are sure the two will eventually tie the knot.

"A wedding hasn’t been a priority, but when it becomes important, they will take the steps they need to do it properly through the eyes of the Church," the source says. "It will take time but they will follow the steps and make it happen. They make all their important life decisions together, talking throughout the day whenever they are apart." 

"Gwen feels she has found the man of her dreams and Blake knows Gwen is the one for him," the source adds. "They both adore one another and plan to spend the rest of their life together. Their friends are sure a marriage will happen soon enough."

According to our source, the two are definitely already very committed to one another, especially when it comes to Shelton's relationship with Stefani's three sons --  13-year-old Kingston, 11-year-old Zuma and 5-year-old Apollo.

"Gwen and Blake even parent together," the source says. "While Gavin, as their father is, of course, a big part of the boys' lives, Blake has also become a father figure to them. Gwen and Blake couldn't be happier with how life is today, despite not having tied the knot."

"Gwen and Blake fell in love so soon after their marriages ended that they needed to take time to live their new lives together," the source continues. "They both were in very difficult situations and relied on one another throughout their process. It actually brought them closer together. Blake loves Gwen and had always wanted children, so her boys have been one of the biggest gifts in his life. He raves about them all the time."

Both Stefani and Shelton have been married before. Stefani married Bush frontman Gavin Rossdale in 2002 and their divorce was finalized in April 2016. Meanwhile, Shelton has been married twice. He divorced his first wife, Kaynette Gern, in 2006 after three years of marriage, and he married his second wife, Miranda Lambert, in 2011. The two country singers announced their split in July 2015, and their divorce was finalized that same day.

Stefani and Shelton have been dating since 2015 after meeting on The Voice. Stefani has talked about her religious faith before, specifically, how she feels it led her to Shelton.  

"At the time when it was going down, never in my wildest dreams would I ever imagine the miracle that happened to me,” she told Yahoo Entertainment in 2017. "Some people don't like to hear this, but for me, it was a spiritual intervention. It was a true miracle. I think the only way I got through all the hard times is just my spiritual faith and my belief in God, because I’ve just seen the miracles around me. ... My No. 1 thing in my life is my faith and everything else falls after that, and I just always have been constantly asking for guidance. That's all I care about. Everything else is underneath that. [Shelton] was just one of the gifts that I was given. And I'm so very, very, very grateful."

Meanwhile, Shelton also credited their relationship to God in an interview with The Tennessean earlier this month and said that Stefani had convinced him to attend church regularly for the first time in his life.

"I believe in God now more than I ever have in my life," he said. "The biggest part of that is just how [Stefani] came into my life and now our relationship. It's just too weird. If you take God out of it, it doesn't make sense. If you put God into it, everything that's happened with us makes sense."

ET spoke with Shelton in June, where he directly addressed rumors that he and the No Doubt singer were heading down the aisle. Shelton called the reports "complimentary."

"If I am somehow, and Gwen is somehow, newsworthy enough that they have to make up stories about us just to have something to say, then I guess that's a good problem to have," he told ET. "You know, I gotta say that we couldn't be happier, and we've never been doing better."

Shelton also noted that his bond with Stefani "gets stronger every day."

"Obviously, that's gotta lead somewhere, but I promise you, we won't break the news in any of the grocery store trash magazines," he shared.

ET last spoke with both Stefani and Shelton on Monday at a taping of The Voice, and Stefani clearly couldn't be happier with her longtime beau.

"Blake saved my life, everybody knows that," she said. "Like, we're just having the time of our lives, and we never expected that this late in our lives, so we're just trying to savor every moment together, and just to be back on The Voice as well ... but working together again has been really fun, and I love being here and I love being with him."

Meanwhile, Shelton shared that dating Stefani definitely changed him as a person.

"I don't want to remember what I was like before Gwen, actually," he admitted.

"I'm a little bit of a jerk to you still," he then joked to fellow Voice coach Kelly Clarkson. "But I was a jerk to everybody... Look how nice I am now!"