#I’ve never seen a roach in this apartment before and it’s been months

[grassbreads]

Up way late at night due to reasons and killed a bug in my kitchen that was either an extremely small cockroach or an upsettingly roachlike moth and it’s fucking haunting me

[jaskierswolf]

Happy Birthday to the ever-amazing @herostag! In traditional Wolfie fashion.... I have a gift for you!

1.2k of Geraskier nonsense - featuring a baby forktail and one disaster bard

_____________

Winter apart from Jaskier had been quiet, too quiet. Geralt was always surprised by how lonely his life seemed once his bard had flitted back off to Oxenfurt for the colder months, the promise of a warm bed and fine company luring him away from Geralt’s side. So, Geralt was riding faster than he probably needed to in order to cross the Continent in as little time as possible. He would make sure Roach was compensated when he reached Oxenfurt. He knew the university stables would take good care of her, they always did.

Every bard he met along the way seemed to mock him, singing Jaskier’s songs as they danced and flirted around the taverns or inns that he stayed at when he could. It got worse the closer he got to his destination. He heard songs that he’d never heard before, but there was just something in the cadence and in the rhymes that reminded him of chamomile and cornflowers, and he just knew the songs were Jaskier’s.

By the time he trotted through the gates of Oxenfurt, he was exhausted, hungry, and yearning for something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He rode straight to the university, the winding streets a familiar path now. He could find Jaskier’s dorms blindfolded at this point, even without his witcher senses.

It was like coming home after all.

His medallion hummed as he made his way through the corridors towards Jaskier’s room. Geralt gripped the wolf in his fingers, instantly focusing his senses and scanning the area for any sign of danger. If he was lucky then it would just be left over magic residue from a portal. He knew that Yen liked to visit Jaskier over the winter, they would drink far too much wine and gossip like farmer’s wives. Geralt could never quite suppress a smile at the thought. It had taken Yen and Jaskier a long time to reconcile, but knowing that the two most important people in his life got along was heartwarming. He had never thought it would be possible.

“Jask?” He called out, tilting his head as he rounded the corner. He narrowed his eyes at the crash that came from Jaskier’s rooms, followed by a string of curses in his friend’s familiar lilt. “Jaskier,” Geralt growled, his head already reaching for his silver sword on his back.

“Oh bollocks!” Jaskier cursed, just as Geralt rammed his shoulder against the door. The wood splintered and the door crashed open.

Geralt froze on the spot.

Jaskier was wrangling what looked like a baby draconid. Its wings were flapping furiously and it let out a terrible screech. It flew up in the air, knocking an open bottle of ink onto the floor, emerald leaking onto the floorboards, but the bard paid no attention. Geralt was ready to lunge an attack when the creature fell to the floor.

Jaskier cooed and scooped it up into his arms, carefully minding the spikes on its back and, impressively remembering to keep the tail at arm’s length. “It’s okay, sweetheart, mummy’s here.”

Geralt blinked as he tried to process Jaskier’s words; mummy. What the fuck was Jaskier on about?

“Mummy?”

Jaskier’s familiar blue eyes flashed up, as if noticing Geralt for the first time. Geralt felt the restlessness that had been plaguing him all winter settle in an instant as he lost himself in Jaskier’s eyes for just a brief moment before the forktail screeched again. Jaskier winced, but kept a firm grip on the draconid. “Ah, Geralt, my dear! You’re earlier than I expected! How was Kaer Morhen?”

“You’re holding a forktail, Jaskier.”

Jaskier grinned sheepishly, “You noticed that?”

Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sometimes he wondered how Jaskier survived the months and years that they were apart. “Fuck’s sake, Jaskier.”

“It’s only a baby forktail!” he whined, pouting at Geralt with a quivering bottom lip and wide blue eyes that were already beginning to water.

Geralt mentally cursed and squeezed his eyes shut, but it was too late. Jaskier had this incredible way of getting under Geralt’s skin. He’d never been able to seriously say no to the bard in all the years they’d known each other. It was the bane of his fucking life.

“Where the fuck did you find it?”

“On the path just outside the city,” Jaskier hummed, his voice taking on that wistful tone that meant that he was already lost in the memory, in the story he was beginning to weave in his mind. “As much as I adore Oxenfurt, the wanderlust begins to itch after a while. I’ve been a travelling bard all my life, staying still for so long doesn’t suit me, as you well know, my friend.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed.

“So I was taking a stroll outside the city gates, and before you get all grumbly on me, I remembered my dagger in case of bandits. Sadly, there were none. Oh, what a story that would have made! A lone bard fighting off the whole army of bandits, a tale of life and death, our tragic protagonist falling at the last moment just as his secret love rides into town… whispered confessions as he takes his final breath.”

“Focus, Jaskier,” Geralt cut in sharply, a hand on the bard’s shoulder to pull him back into the real world.

Jaskier’s eyes blinked, a flutter of long dark eyelashes. “Oh.”

“The forktail?” Geralt prompted, trying not to lose his patience. His bard was holding a deadly creature, a monster, in his arms and it was putting him on edge.

“Ah, right, yes. Not five minutes outside of the city, I found this little darling. Her wing was punctured and she’d been abandoned by her mother and left to die.”

Geralt gritted his teeth. “You should have left it there, Jask.”

Jaskier gasped, stumbling back from Geralt and trying to shield the forktail from his view. The creature hissed, the prongs of its tail fanning out. “Geralt!”

“You’ve seen what a grownup forktail is capable of, Jask. For fuck’s sake!”

“My baby wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Geralt almost wanted to throttle the bard. For someone so smart, he could be so impossibly dense. “I’m sorry,” was the only warning Jaskier got before Geralt had gripped the reptile by the scruff of its neck. He turned and fled from the room, holding the forktail at arm’s length.

He wouldn’t kill it in front of Jaskier.

He wasn’t that cruel, but he was a witcher and he had a job to do.

“Geralt, you arse! Give her back you bastard!” Jaskier yelled after him.

“It’s a monster, Jask.”

“She’s a baby!”

Geralt gritted his teeth. He would not turn around. He would not look at the bard with his beautiful blue eyes and softly tousled hair. He would not bear witness to the devastating disappointment in Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt snarled, forcing the image from his mind. He was doing the right thing, yet he’d never felt more like the monster from the fairytales as he did in that moment.

He ground to a halt, the draconid still writhing in his arm. With a heavy sigh, he cast Axii on the creature and it fell still, the spikes flattening on its back.

“Geralt?”

Geralt thrust the monster back into Jaskier’s arms. “As soon as the wing is healed, you’re putting it back where you found it. Understand?”

Jaskier grinned, giving Geralt an awkward two-fingered salute. “Yes sir!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. He didn’t mention that he would go back to kill the reptile at the first available opportunity. He couldn’t break Jaskier’s heart like that.

Fucking bastard of a bard.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Whump you say? Geralt gets Hanahaki

I’ve been waiting for you, Anon. I’ve been waiting for this prompt specifically and boy when I tell you I might have cried writing it...

2k ish (a little less) words long. Idk why y’all were worried, it’s me. It’s gonna have a happy ending.

tw: Hanahaki, blood mention, illness, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending ---

It had started up just before they parted ways for the winter; Geralt had quietly coughed a handful of rose petals into the corner of his cloak and hidden them from sight as Jaskier gave him their yearly parting embrace. “See you in the spring, Geralt!”

“Hmm.”

You might not ever see me again, actually, the Witcher thought. He tried not to let anything show on his face; not his fear and certainly not his longing, but he ached to tell Jaskier that he loved him and that he’d miss the bard’s presence through the long and dreary cold of the winter months. Geralt also knew that if he told Jaskier the truth about his feelings that he may never set eyes on the bard again anyway, regardless of how the disease currently wracking his body developed over their time apart. He was sure that Vesemir could identify whatever the strange illness was; the old swordmaster might even have a cure ready to go in the old storeroom. If not, they could send for Triss. 

“Safe travels.”

“And you as well,” Geralt nodded curtly. He mounted Roach with all his usual grace and ease, biting back another cough and tasting the sickly sweet floral note of rose rising up his throat to coat his tongue again. 

---

“Fuck,” Vesemir sighed. “It’s Hanahaki disease, Geralt. It’s not going to be easy to cure now that the pass is full of snow.”

“What’s Hanahaki disease?”

“It’s-” the eldest Wolf Witcher scrubbed his hand over his bearded face and took a moment to compose himself. He’d seen it happen before. He’d seen human bodies buried in the ground with entire root systems crawling from their chest cavities. He’d watched young men and women alike cough entire violet or rose or daisy buds from their mouths while they shivered with fever and seemingly unending pain, but a Witcher? Vesemir hadn’t even thought it was possible for a Witcher to contract such a frivolously deadly illness. “I don’t know exactly how to explain this to you, Geralt.”

“I won’t go screaming into the hills, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” his middle-child joked, “I can’t run very far anymore without a coughing fit.”

“I can’t send for Triss or Yennefer, either. They won’t be able to do anything,” Vesemir spoke calmly and evenly. Geralt, propped against some pillows on adoptive-father-enforced bed rest raised an eyebrow. “It’s a disease that eats at you from the inside out. It latches on to, uhm, romantic feelings and grows with them until it overtakes its host completely. Or until the host, uh… confronts those feelings head on and admits them to the object of their affection.”

“So this is…” Geralt’s eyes were wide and terrified. The eldest Wolf had never seen the stoic boy look quite so scared before, and he’d seen him go through the Trials. “This is going to kill me, is what you’re saying.”

“Who are you in love with, you stubborn oaf!?” Lambert cried, marching into the room from where he’d been lurking in the hall. He startled the other two Wolves and Geralt coughed out another handful of petals. The blood that came with them was surprisingly new. 

“What do you mean!?”

“He means,” Vesemir said, as slowly as possible (so that even the great Geralt of Rivia would understand his situation), “That until you tell this person how you feel, the flowers inside you will continue to grow and dig their roots in and, if you never tell them how you feel at all, you will eventually die.”

“Then I guess my fate is sealed,” Geralt smiled sadly, settling himself back against the pillows. “My time as a Witcher is up. Coughing up flowers isn’t the worst way to go, all things considered.”

Lambert growled angrily. “I’m not ready to lose my brother yet, Geralt, so just tell us who you’re pining after and we’ll go fetch her back!”

“No.”

“Why the fuck not?!”

Geralt, growing increasingly more feverish and already exhausted from everything that had happened that afternoon, closed his eyes. “Because he deserves better than me, Lambert. He deserves so much more than I could ever give him and I’m not about to steal him away like a selfish ass and force my feelings onto him for my own sake. I’d rather die.”

“Self-sacrificing bastard,” the youngest of the Wolf Witchers snarled, storming from the room. “Ass! Cock! Fool!”

Vesemir could only nod his agreement and follow silently after.

---

Jaskier read the letter once.

Then he read it again.

After a third time through he was sure that he hadn’t misunderstood the contents.

Dear Jaskier (aka Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, Prof. of the Seven Liberal Arts at Oxenfurt),

I am Eskel, brother to Geralt of the Wolf Witcher School at Kaer Morhen. I write to you now to ask for your presence at the keep. Geralt has fallen gravely ill and will not likely make it through the season. He does not know that I have written to you, but as his best friend and companion on the Path, I thought it my duty to invite you to see him one last time before he’s gone for good. He’s loathe to admit it, but he misses you and fears for your safety come springtime.

Sincerely,

Eskel of the Wolf School

Somewhere beneath the bright embroidery of his doublet and the hand-woven muslin of his chemise, Jaskier’s flighty, deeply-loving heart shattered into a million pieces. 

He grabbed his heaviest woolen cloak from its peg near the door and made for the stables at once.

---

“Geralt!”

The White Wolf opened his eyes a sliver to confirm that he wasn’t hallucinating again; ah yes. What a lovely last dream to have before I die. Standing in the middle of his bedroom at Kaer Morhen, covered with still-melting snow, was Jaskier. The bard’s blue eyes were brimming with tears and his bottom lip was wobbling violently as he gazed upon the Witcher’s withering form.

“Geralt, what’s wrong? Your father and brothers sort of explained it to me but I’m still not sure what’s happening. You’re dying?”

“Don’t worry, bard,” Geralt smiled. A loud, sudden cough wracked his body and he bent over double, spitting a blood-spattered but fully-bloomed rose out into his cupped palm. He laughed joylessly and tossed the bloom onto his bedside table. “I’ll be out of your hair, soon. Won’t this be a last ballad to write, a wolf dying as he’s eaten by flowers?”

“I don-”

“Hush,” Geralt rasped. Jaskier dropped his cloak to the ground uncaringly and rushed to his Witcher’s side. He sat on the edge of the mattress and took Geralt’s closest hand in his, grasping the appendage to his chest and sobbing into the sword-calloused skin like his tears might save his best friend’s life. “Don’t be sad, Jaskier.”

“I am sad, Geralt! I’m absolutely fucking terrified and heartbroken and crushed! Vesemir said you could heal this at any time but you just… you just won’t because you’re stubborn and an idiot and the sweetest goddamn man I’ve ever met in my life! How dare you tell me goodbye when you are perfectly capable of fixing this problem yourself! How could you promise to see me in the spring and then break your word by dying well before the grass turns green again?! You bastard!”

“You won’t miss me after another year passes,” Geralt reassured him, flexing the hand still held tight in Jaskier’s grip. “You won’t even remember me by the time the first daisies spring up.”

“How dare you,” the bard cried again. He pressed a nervous kiss to the tip of the Witcher’s pointer finger before letting go completely and dropping his head into his own hands. “How dare you say those things to me when you know full well that I love you with all my stupid, fragile mortal heart. You asshole.”

“Wh...what?” 

“I love you, Geralt!” The Witcher stared up at his friend with nothing but confusion written across his handsome features. Jaskier reached out, wiping a smear of blood away from the corner of Geralt’s mouth as tenderly as any maiden in any of the bard’s favorite romance novels. “I love you and I’ll never forgive you for letting yourself die on me like this.”

Geralt blushed. He stammered. He coughed up two or three more bloody roses and Jaskier tossed them all into the fire with rage blazing in his cornflower irises. 

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything on this gods-forsaken Continent and now you’re going to take yourself away because you’re, what, scared of something? Is it Yennefer? If she’s refusing to help you then I’ll ride all the way to Vengerberg by daybreak and then I’ll break all her fucking fi-”

“I love you, too.”

“What?” Jaskier asked, stopped mid-rant and mid-thought by the Witcher’s sudden admission. “What did you just say to me, Geralt? If I didn’t misunderstand, you said you loved me too.”

“I did. I do! I have loved you for a rather long time, actually.”

“Well, I’m glad we’ve settled that,” Vesemir said from the doorway. He turned on his heel and disappeared. “See you both for breakfast tomorrow, I’m sure. Well... maybe breakfast is being a bit optimistic. I’ll see you for lunch.”

“What did he mean?” the bard asked. His eyes flitted between the empty doorway and Geralt’s guilty grimace. “What the fuck did Vesemir mean when he said he’d see us at lunch?! You’re still clearly dying and I-”

Geralt felt his fever receding and coughed experimentally. There were only a few brown, half-dried petals that fell from his lips. No blooms. He coughed again and nothing came out of his mouth at all. He grinned and laughed, tugging Jaskier up onto the bed and against his broad chest. “Vesemir was right!”

“What the fuck is going on?!” the bard begged. His hands twisted into the neckline of Geralt’s shirt, holding him still and steady. Blue bore into gold with such heated intensity that the Witcher thought he might pass out regardless of his recently healed disease, “What just happened!?”

“I- I told you I loved you and it cured the Hanahaki!”

“You had fucking Hanahaki and I was the cause of it? Oh Geralt, I’m so sorry! I should have noticed sooner! I should hav- Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I didn’t think you loved me back.”

“You didn- Geralt, have you been paying any sort of attention for the past seven or so years? I follow you everywhere, I bandage your wounds, I put food on your plate and a pillow under your head whenever we get the chance. I bathe you and mend your clothes when your fingers are too stiff from practicing your forms to do it yourself… you utter fool. You buffoon. You great, dumb, goofy, idioti-”

He was cut off by Geralt bringing their mouths together with such gentle but insistent pressure that all Jaskier could do was melt against him. His hands unwound from the shirt and stabilized against the Witcher’s pectorals instead. He sighed into Geralt’s mouth, swallowing down the happy sounds his dearest Witcher made in return. When they were finished pouring out their affections they sat, breathless, curled against the pillows of Geralt’s enormous bed. 

A large pointer finger slipped beneath Jaskier’s chin and tilted his face up, locking their gazes, “This isn’t how I wanted you to meet my family or see Kaer Morhen for the first time, but I’m glad you came. I know the journey through the snow couldn’t have been easy, even though I’m sure there was some magical assistance.”

“For you, my love, I’d travel the pass barefoot.”

“You’d die of exposure.”

“Not if your life was on the line,” the bard murmured against those flower-chapped lips. “For you, Geralt, I could survive anything. Just as you must swear from this moment on to survive whatever you can to make it back to me.”

“Will you go back to the academy until spring?”

“I’m never leaving your side again, Geralt of Rivia. Come flora or fauna, you’re stuck with me for good.”

“Hmm. Good.”

“Just… Just don’t bring me flowers any time soon.”

[marshmallowprotection]

Iris

Pairing: Choi Saeran/Reader, 707 | Choi Luciel/Main Character

Description: Was there faith in a false paradise with a savior that spilled honey sweet lies to make you agree? There is no life to be found amongst those in a rotting flowerbed, only those clinging to the roots as the world awaits your demise. Why is he still here when others had long been plucked from the dying earth? And better yet, why are you still here after everything, clinging to his roots as if he’ll bring you life? Or is he the one clinging to you?

SE Saeran x Former Believer Reader

Word Count: 5500

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[Read On AO3]

Chapter Sixteen

“It’s been a while since you’ve been back, Saeran. You skipped our last week's session without any explanation. Normally, you never miss coming here because it gives you space from your brother. I don’t suppose something has changed at home with your relationship over the past week since I’ve seen you?” 

Saeran almost gave her the sympathy chuckle that she deserved for going to the trouble of making a half-hearted joke. He had no energy to make sense of what was happening to him and that was just saying the least he could about it. His life had always been this way. It was trial after trial where he’d be given something that made him happy and then it would be ripped away from him to be used as collateral. 

He knew how to deal with that process as it came for him. He knew how to deal with things when they hit the fan and crashed; what he didn’t know how to cope with was a reality where he wasn’t yanked away from everything that made him question his worldview. He didn’t know how to live without a perpetual state of trauma holding him down. Of course, that was the whole reason why he was in therapy now, wasn’t it? 

He had to learn how to live without feeling like he was walking eggshells. That was easier said than done, though. He had been suffocating for months as he made sense of what it meant to be free of the chains that dug so deeply into his skin that his scars went deeper than the marks that he tried to cover his bracelets and braces. What did it mean to be free when you still had to live in hiding from someone that would kill you for simply drawing a breath into your lungs? 

Saeran wasn’t sure that he had an answer for that… nor did he think he was going to ever have an answer for it. 

Saeyoung hadn’t found one, and if that idiot couldn’t manage to find his answers whenever he seemingly had an escape plan for every possible casualty, there wasn’t likely to be anything that would leap out at them unless something changed. They were prepared for anything that they could be but it was one thing to run through your options, but when someone else held all the cards over your head…?

There was a difference between being prepared for a disaster and knowing that no matter what you did, someone might be twelve steps ahead of you already. It didn’t matter how smart you were or how many traps you laid to contain the problems of the hurricane that was brewing in the Atlantic to destroy the coast. Preparation meant nothing in the scheme of ungodly destruction, but Saeran knew that. 

He knew what it felt like to be a force of destruction who thought of nothing but himself and his whims to have and hold power. It was a disgusting feeling that breaks you apart from the inside out and even if you gave up everything, you would only be a miserable roach crawling on his back just as the next monster came to rip you from your tower of success to take it for themselves. That was the feeling that came from being a monster. 

It didn’t matter what you did to yourself, there would always be someone quicker than you who would swallow you up. Saeran had to learn that the hard way and it destroyed him before he knew how to turn around and make peace with his pain. That’s the system he learned, the bigger you are and the harder you hit means nothing when someone can always be trained to undo everything you do. 

It almost feels pointless when you realize that. 

Why keep fighting to be the strongest monster when it was going to inevitably destroy you? It was an exhausting way to live your life day in and day out. Saeran couldn’t imagine going back to living that way anymore. He was too tired and sullen to ever think of doing something like that again. He lived that life ten times over until he forgot who he was and what it was that his heart wanted. The only reason he found his way out of the labyrinth was that someone gave a damn about him. 

You had been there to pull him out of the darkness when he thought that he could never be anything else. He didn’t know why and his memory still felt spotty when it came to understanding why it had to be you with him. He just knew that something about you made him feel like there was a light in that darkness and he clung to it tightly like a fool who wanted to own everything. He was lucky that you saw underneath his disdain. 

But the rest of the world couldn’t be like you… they couldn’t understand him the way that you did, simply for the reason that they weren’t you and they could never be you. The only person who would ever know who Saeran was would be you. 

You were the only one that he trusted to know the darkest parts of his chest and the gentle spots that hid underneath your embrace to survive the sun’s rays. You were what mattered to him. 

And now that you had seen him for what he was, every part of him, there was a feeling inside of him that didn’t know what to do. He long assumed that you were living a life without him that would make you happy and protect you from any more burdens. He thought that you would be safe and sound with someone that could give you the clouds and the sky. He let you go because he wanted you to be free from his chains. 

He never once thought that you would find your way back to him. 

Nor did he think that you would stay with him knowing the truth… you knew it now, and you knew what a monster he truly was. Yet, you held his hands and smiled. It didn’t make any sense to him as you did that. Sure, you were a nihilist that knew how to make sense of pain and suffering, but this felt more masochistic to him. Why would you want to stay with him knowing that his hands always felt like they were covered in a saccharine poison? 

Once again, you were an enigma that Saeran didn’t understand. No matter how many times he went over it in his head, he never found an answer to why you made him feel the way that he did. It just made sense. That’s all he knew about it. When he was with you, that was when he stopped the feeling of isolation in its tracks and reached out for someone that he couldn’t see. He blindly let his heart search for you until you found him. 

The truth hung on your shoulders as it did him, and when he broke down and told you everything that completed his mistakes, he knew that there was no taking it back. You seemed to take it as you did countless things—in stride—as if it were a breeze to coast through life. Yet, Saeran knew you a lot better than that. You were just as bitter and angry as he was about the state of the world, there was just a part of you that had more faith than he did. 

Even if it was a small trace, your sliver of light had given him a chance to break the chains. It was a debt that he could never repay. You expected nothing for it, however. That’s what made you a good person compared to him. That’s what made you a better person than he could’ve ever been because you tried to understand what was missing and how to find it again. You tried and he had always let himself give up before he could see something more. 

That left him in a place of darkness for such a long time, and that’s why his monster hounded at his heels like a hungry wolf. It was why he was twisted up and confused every step of the way in his recovery. How could he find the peace that he yearned for when all he knew was the remains of his broken temple? When all he could see was the downfall, it was hard to grasp at the straws of what he did have.

He thought about you today as he sat here in therapy, knowing that you made sense to him but nothing else did. You were a phone call away. He could speak to you or see you anytime he ever decided to make that choice. That was something within his power now that he could control despite everything else that he had been through in his life. 

He had control. He could see things however he wanted. That was the daunting part of existence, though. That was the part that he didn’t know how to live with. 

Saeran was relieved that you were there for him but another part of him knew that this was uncharted territory for him. There was a chance that he could do everything wrong and still end up by himself again. He wasn’t the man that he used to be but he was someone that had all the time in the world to do good and bad. Everything was on his merit now and as frightening as it was, it was also… liberating. 

Of course, there was no way for him to properly express that to his therapist. He knew that the words that would come out of her mouth would be the support of whatever he wanted to do or try going forward. 

She would insist that he see things through because he wanted to know where they wound up. Something about life being a game of risks but never taking those risks making you miss out on everything, be it a good experience or a bad one. It wasn’t wrong but he didn’t know how to respond to that idea. It made sense in theory and it would be what he needed to do but achieving that seemed impossible. 

Stiffly, perhaps, with his eyes drawn on the window as he thought about the dread pooling inside of his guts again. He knew where he stood with you and he was okay with that. What he was trying to avoid thinking about was the one thing that he didn’t control in his life… no, it was those two things that he didn’t control in his life that loomed just on the horizon of his vision and left him feeling at a loss for words. 

Saejoong was still out there running the country with his faux smile and friendly wave. That alone made Saeran’s skin crawl whenever he thought about it. Out of all the monsters that he had faced and created in his life, that man was still the biggest bad to exist. He would avoid the news as much as possible just to ensure that he wasn’t thinking about the bastard. He had enough problems to go about dealing with every day, and the last thing he wanted was to think about him. 

Avoiding Saejoong was as simple as turning off the T.V. However, he and Saeyoung had to force their eyes onto a screen now and again to make sure that that the man wasn’t going to try anything stupid that would risk what good lives they had now. The agency was done for after everything he did but that didn’t mean that the Prime Minister was easily defeated. 

After letting the weight off of his chest when it came to you, it seemed like he wasn’t going to be granted a moment of peace from his thoughts. He closed his eyes only to wake up to the reality that he was never safe. He bit his tongue and shoved the thoughts of his father to the side as best he could but avoiding him warranted the chance that he would run into his other monster that he was trying to stay far away from.

Rika wasn’t free to harm again but there was nothing left in her to harm anyone, not even herself in the remains of her shattered fantasies.

Her trial was coming closer and closer with each passing day and the media storm that would follow put Saeran in a disgusting place that he wanted to avoid. Hell, he knew that it was hurting you and everyone else that escaped that damned place. It was just about the only thing that people would talk about when he left the safety of the bunker to get away from feeling trapped. Of course, the average person wouldn’t have a clue about what it felt like to be in a cult compound. 

It was a sick fascination that people held in their hearts for something that they thought that they would never fall for. But, the ugly truth was that anyone was susceptible to manipulation under a perfect storm, and nobody was safe from it. 

All it took was the right trick or treat to make someone fall underneath that spell, and Saeran was still trying to unpack how he had been manipulated simply because his memories of the past were not his own. It was like he missing two years of his life before he woke up in the darkness. 

That wasn’t a beautiful daydream that people wanted to paint it out to be. There was no saving in a place that wanted to control and contain you like you were another part of the toy chest. It was a box that was meant to confine you away from the world and keep you close to someone who had all but given up on everyone because she feared that they would leave her and the only way to keep them close was by control and torture. Saeran understood her sentiment because it tore ugly into his veins. 

There had been a time when he was willing to destroy everything to make sure that he never lost what he wanted. Rika’s sentiment burrowed itself inside of his heart and he knew that very well. She was a part of his life as much as Jihyun had been, and no matter where he went or what he decided to do… their words and experiences would be imparted onto him. 

That realization dug into his veins and made him feel sick to his stomach, and it was the reason why he had come to his therapy session looking to navigate these feelings. 

He just didn’t know how to start. 

But, you were the one that told him that he needed to confront it in a place that he felt was safe enough to start. This was the only place that he could think of that would keep him from feeling like he was going to explode. He didn’t want to unpack those thoughts and feeling with his twin and there was more that he could discuss with his therapist about Mint Eye than he could with anyone else. He didn’t want to dump all of it onto you. 

You were processing your grief and life at the hands of Mint Eye, and while he knew that he would always have a place to look at you when he had a horrible day, there was no way that he could tell you about the shame that clung to him like a layer of dust in the attic that had been yet to be removed. It never left him… like the feeling of blood seeping into the confines of his sweater where his skin met the fabric. 

He could talk to you about what haunted him in the night that you had experienced with him… however, there were years of trauma that you hadn’t gone through by his side. There were things that you didn’t know about and God, he didn’t want you to know about. He didn’t want you to know that it had been so horrible that his memory had been destroyed beyond repair. There were gaps so deep that it felt like he was in the void. 

The only sprinkling of light in those memories had been when he recalled your face. He still had no idea why your face was so bright in his mind. It was like he knew you from somewhere before his memory cracked, but he knew that he couldn’t. You lived far away from where he was as a child and the first time he met you was at Mint Eye… but something uncomfortable twisted in his guts as he realized just how horrible it was to not remember things. 

His mind was a bloody and broken place and yet, here he was, sitting in the middle of a room meant to help him help himself out of this pit of agony. This wasn’t where he thought he would ever be. Was that a bad thing? No, it wasn’t a bad thing, yet, it was a strange thing and that was the only word that he could use to define this mess. 

But, there was no way to look someone in the eyes and say that your symptoms of PTSD were so uncomfortable that you felt like you were going to be sick every minute of every day. He breathed in deeply and kept his eyes traced on the window. He was lucky that it was a good day outside and that there were no storm clouds in sight. His mood felt dreary but he wasn’t as heavy as he had felt in recent weeks. 

Was that… progress? 

Was that a step in the right direction for once? 

“No breakthrough here,” Saeran said, flatly. He shook his head because he knew that she was going to ask more about that. He doubted that he was going to have a day where everything made sense to him. That was about as likely as ice cream falling from the sky.  “Sorry, we didn’t have anything like that. We’ve been trying to talk more and I’m trying not to hold things against him since that’s not solving anything. I understand in theory why I feel the way that I feel about him but let’s not unpack that box right now, okay? That’s not what I want to talk about at the moment.” 

“Oh? There’s something on your mind?”

That piqued her interest immediately. His therapist sat up in her chair and cocked her head, she scanned his face for something that she wanted to find but eventually gave up. Maybe he was that patient that remained an enigma… much like how you were the one that remained far beyond what he understood about the rest of the world. At least, he didn’t feel like a lab rat when she was talking like he had with the doctors in the hospital. 

Still, he had never told her that he wanted to talk about something of his own accord before, and she seemed to be frothing at the chance to hear whatever was on his mind. He couldn’t blame her, given how long he had been coming to this place. He hadn’t met someone who had so much light and faith in other people before, not since MC, and it felt so strange to think that there were other people like that out there. 

There must have been something in the water that made them that way… it wasn’t anything that he had been taking. That much hopeful and cheerful optimism simply wasn’t how Saeran was ever going to think about the rest of the world. He wanted to be able to tolerate the rest of the world in his way, maybe understand the beauty in the ugliness that existed, but he’d never be like those people who believed in something. 

Saeran knew that he couldn’t believe in the world. 

But, he knew that he could believe in singularities. There were concepts that he could believe in and maybe… just maybe, a handful of people that he trusted. But, there was a small list of people amongst that category. It was a pool that wouldn’t be very big given the way that he pushed folks far away from him as soon as possible, but it was still more than he ever considered. He was just surprised that Jumin Han still tolerated him after all this. 

Well, that’d make him a better man than Saeran, wouldn’t it? 

As much as his therapist knew, he was just another no-name survivor of the cult as the rest of the clients that she likely dealt with apart from Saeran. Jumin had this team of specialists working with the cult members and given the security, there couldn’t be that many handling all the believers, so it wasn’t impossible that Saeran was the only one she saw. 

What was that like? 

He had to live with the memories every day but what did it feel like to listen to that over and over again from other people? Her cheerful eyes should’ve been dull and tired if she had to hear about the trauma that took place in Mint Eye all day… or, did she do what she did for him all the time by asking about hobbies and other interests to provide the gap between the grim memories and the worst of the worst thoughts one could bring up? 

It reminded him of you. 

He sighed, but he allowed himself to voice the thoughts that were brewing in the back of his head at the moment. “The trial is coming soon and no matter where you go, they’re talking about that nonstop. Even if you can get into a safe room away from all the cameras, you’ll find it on SNS no matter what. So, what’s the key here to avoiding it? Surely, you’ve heard that your other patients are getting retraumatized.” 

“Do you want to avoid it, Saeran?” 

“What do you think?” 

“I wouldn’t know what you think about it, Saeran. However, I can say that I don’t think any of you should be subjected to the media blitz. You deserve justice, yes, but time to heal properly in your way. I’ve got patients who need to be secluded from all media and others that are fully ready to watch the trial happen at the courthouse. It’s a circus when the media gets hold of cases like this,” she said, gently. Though Saeran didn’t look back to see what she looked like as she said those words. 

“I think each victim needs to decide for themselves what they want in this situation. I can offer my input and be there to support each person, but you’re the one that decides what you’re going to do for yourself. I don’t know the depth of what you went through but I understand that trauma runs very deep. If you struggle to verbalize your pain now, it’s my best suggestion that you did not put your heart through it. But, why is it you’re asking me what I think when this is your choice?” 

Saeran snorted. Yeah, that’s about what he expected her to say. She would say something flowery and then turn it back on him to figure out what it was that he wanted out of all this. He wasn’t expected to go to the trial and he wasn’t involved with the mess. You were, you were the one that he was worried about going through all of this. You were going to be sequestered in a hotel room and taken from the courthouse to the hotel every day once it started. 

He wanted to support you for going through this mess but he wasn’t sure that he could sit there in that room with you. He imagined seeing Rika again might make him break down and lose all of the progress that he’d made thus far, but the idea of letting you go into that place by yourself to face Rika on your own wasn’t a good thought either. 

Why should he get out of that when you were throwing yourself into the lion’s den on purpose? 

Nobody forced it on you, either. 

Jumin made that abundantly clear after Saeran apologized for threatening him… you never once did something because you were demanded. You said and did what you wanted, and even if they asked something, you only gave the answers you wanted. Even if it was under the context that you felt like you owed it to them, you never gave the information readily. It took months for you to be okay with discussing small chunks. 

Saeran knew how you felt about Rika now… she had broken you after you had done nothing but believed in her cause. She broke your hope and faith in a matter of seconds all because she had decided to use you against him. You realized that your faith in paradise meant nothing and that broke you in ways that you wouldn’t talk about. He could see it in your eyes because his world was blown to smithereens at the same time yours was.

You had been someone who wanted something to believe in and that earned you nothing but destruction. It was a cruel reality. How you had the strength to look her in the eyes was beyond him… because when he did it, he blew up realizing just how little he meant to her all that time after she promised that she saved him and loved him like her son. He blew up and nothing stopped him from hurting everything around him. 

He feared that happening to you… even if you weren’t him and there was no way that you could lash out. You had the support of the world on your side because nobody wanted Rika to get out of this situation unscathed. Some people felt bad for what she suffered as a child the more that the media was able to reveal her history, but even more, people wanted her to face punishment for the disgusting truth of paradise. 

No matter how you cut it, she tortured people to create a family that would never leave her and then broke down when she realized just how detached she had become. Saeran felt nothing for her anymore but a sliver of pity inside his chest. It wasn’t much pity but how could he feel anything but pity? She broke him and everything else, and that was the cost of her hubris… the same way his actions caught up with him for believing in her cause. 

“You’re thinking of going to the trial?” She inquired promptly, which drew him away from the wandering thoughts that floated around the back of his head. “Is that what this is, Saeran? You don’t need to ask me for an answer to justify going or watching if that’s what you want to try doing.” 

“I’m not talking about myself,” Saeran said, though he very quickly added, “I was just curious about what you thought of others doing that to themselves from the position you’re in.” 

“Well, I will admit the media blitz here is vastly different to what I would expect back in America, but this is still far too much on the victims in my opinion. It’s alright if you want to go, but you’d do well to know that if anyone so much as assumes that you’re one of the survivors, they will not stop at anything to get information out of you. I’ve seen two other victims get caught up in this damn circus that needed to be secluded completely after their identities were discovered. I don’t wish that on anyone, Saeran.” 

Yes, Saeran thought. That was a risk that came with the trial and another reason why Jumin Han was going to sneak you in and out through back, covered head to toe in a disguise to make sure no cameras touch you. People inside the courtroom would know your face but no cameras would be involved whatsoever. It was a risk that could’ve been broken with the smallest disrespect to your person. 

But, you were taking it. 

Saeran’s other problem with this situation was that if he was spotted at all, his father would be able to find him without a doubt in his mind. That wasn’t what he wanted to happen… nor was it what he intended to happen. He had to make sure that it never happened. It couldn’t happen. They had suffered so much that it wasn’t worth going through it again. 

What was the suffering for if it just started all over again? What was the point? There would be no chance to even think about anything ever again if Saejoong found out about them. The agency had no chance anymore but Saejoong did. 

It would compromise everything that had been done to protect him and Saeyoung. He couldn’t risk that, but he also couldn’t tell you why he couldn’t go… even though he wanted to support you there. It was like being trapped between a rock and a hard place because there was no way to do this right. 

Even with a disguise, Saeran knew that he looked enough like his mother that Saejoong would be able to find him. For God’s sake, the country was putting pressure on him to speak about things with the remains of Mint Eye. He was the Prime Minister and expected to make sure that nobody assumed there were no other cults or problems in the country. He had to keep that image that this was a squeaky clean place. 

Just like his apparent record, huh?

So, Saeran didn’t have an answer for what he was going to do to be there for you, but he knew that there was a lot to think about and consider going forward. There was nothing but risks ahead but that was all he knew. He only knew how to live a life filled to the brim with monsters lurking just beyond the corner that he was heading for. He didn’t want to walk ahead but he had to go, and he had to face what was coming. 

Saeran was just lucky that he even had the time to figure out what he wanted to do with himself. It was better than the last time, at the very least. He sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, it was just the price of his exhaustion. Was this what it felt like to deal with your problems all the time or was it just this bad because he let it fester inside of him for months? God, he couldn’t imagine how that felt. 

That was when his therapist hit the nail on the head, “Are you worried, perchance, about some of your fellow survivors, Saeran? It’s not wrong if you are. It’s very kind and considerate of you to be concerned for their emotional and physical safety.”

He set his lips in a line. He wasn’t going to talk about you aloud. It was enough for him to admit what he was feeling about Mint Eye, but there was no way that he was going to let himself speak of what you were going through. Nobody needed to know. It was safer that way. God knows if he’d got caught close to you that could not only damn him but put you at more risk than he wanted for you. That was why he… had to bite his tongue.

He needed to figure out what to do. 

“Yeah, if that’s what you want to call it,” he leaned back in his chair and looked at his therapist with that distant look on his face. Saeran had a lot to think about now and there was so much to consider about what to do next. “Thanks for the… insight, anyway. I’ll just turn off my phone for a while to avoid whatever happens with the trial if worst comes to worst. That’s probably what you were going to suggest anyway.” 

She smiled. “You’re learning fast, Saeran. But I was going to suggest that you make sure to take a little break and do something that makes you feel good while you’re avoiding digital worlds at large. You could perhaps keep working on that garden of yours in the meantime… and maybe share a few more tips with your favorite therapist. Her blossoms are dying.” 

Saeran could handle that. 

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you you're overwatering what you're taking care of before you understand that." 

However, the reality was that he had to make a decision that only he could decide for himself. It could risk everything that he knew but it is a decision that would make or break how he felt about everything in his life. He could control and tend to a flower that was trapped in a vase but there was nothing that he could do for a wildflower that wasn't controlled by anything but the Earth. 

You were the Wild Iris that he wanted to protect, even if you weren't safe in a garden that he cultivated.

It was a risk that he was willing to make.

Even if Saeyoung didn't agree.

[dismuch47]

ADVANCED SETTINGS (Part 1)

And the winner of the Scarlet Vision Drabbles Voting is... Advanced Settings! With Custom Skin as a close second. Luckily this one is turning out waaay longer than I thought it would be, so I had to break it into two parts. Second part will come out later this week. 

It’s been awhile since I’ve fanfic dabbled, so this has felt really nice. I feel I will be writing more about these soulmates.

Advanced Settings: Wanda and Vision find there is more to iron out in making their relationship “work”. Rated Mature.

Wanda made her way down the narrow stairs, holding her two bags close to her person. The creaky boards protested against her dainty weight and brown chips of aged paint flaked away with each step of her boots. She strode to the stained plaid couch in the musty living area and plopped down her burdens. A roach scurried out from between the cushions and zoomed to the sanctuary of a hole in the upholstered armrest.

No… she would not miss this location.

“Has anyone seen my… oh, I see it.” Wanda walked to the defunct treadmill in the corner of the room, plucking her ear-pods from the treadmill’s control panel. The train ride would be long and music was the only way she would survive it. She shoved the corded earphones into her jacket pocket with her phone and smoothed the sides of her hair behind her ears as she ran through her mental checklist again.

“Got your ticket?” Natasha inquired over a near empty dinner plate, supplying the reminder, not out of real concern but rather a sense of familial normalcy. She was a stern but stunning mother hen.

“Ah… yes!” Wanda had to pat herself down and found the ticket in her back pocket. She held it up victoriously before putting it in the smaller of her bags. “I think I have everything…”

“Not everything.” Steve’s rich tenor voice cut in over the hissing and bubbling of the shabby kitchenette that occupied the same small space as the living area. He placed a plate of peppered chicken, plain rice, and steamed broccoli in front of Wanda before draping a dish towel over a toned shoulder. “No one should travel on an empty stomach. Eat up.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at the the corny paternal grin he gave, but accepted the plate. She took her seat at one of the mismatched chairs that occupied the dingy room, refusing to sit on the couch with food. 

“Moscow… my old stomping grounds.” Nat sighed, before taking another bite of chicken. “Shto-to s chem-to.” Her Russian was comically muffled by food.

“I’ll take pictures.” Wanda promised, scarfing rice. “I’m forcing myself to take in more of scenery this time. But I swear once I’m in a hotel, all I want to do is shower and never leave the bed.”

Wanda winced as soon as she dropped that setup.

“Oooooh? Do tell…” Wanda had actually forgotten that Sam was in the room as well, as small as it was. He had been unusually quiet, nursing some leg soreness from a tech-recalibration injury. Nothing seriously hurt, save for pride. The plastic baggies of ice duct-taped to his thighs sloshed and clacked as he shifted in the only run-down chair with padding. “And when exactly are we gonna meet this mystery boyfriend of yours? Who pays your way to exotic locations and expensive hotels, hmmm?”

Wanda gave a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes… and forked more food into her mouth to occupy it.

Sam chuckled at the intentional silence. “I see how it is.”

“A girl’s got to have her secrets.” Nat supplied, taking her plate to the sink to rinse. “Besides, I don’t recall you being very open about your copious tawdry affairs back at Avenger Headquarters.” Wanda smiled down at her food, thankful for the deflection of topic.

“Copious, yes. Tawdry… never.” Sam grinned back, putting his joined hands up behind his head in bemusement, leaning back in his chair. “I’m an open book about the ladies, Steve can tell yah.”

Steve shook his head, but acknowledged it was true with a dimpled grin. A far cry from his blank expression that used to overshadow his stoic face at any mention of Avengers history. It had been 8 brutal months since the fall-out with Tony Stark and the US government.

“And as I seem to recall, Romanoff, you were caught more than once coming back to the compound. Late. Shoeless….” Sam continued.

“Late night scrapbooking.” The ex-assassin responded dryly. “Scout’s honor.”

“And then we have Mr. Virtue over there. Clamped tighter than a nun’s thighs…” Sam continued.

Steve gave an innocent shrug. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell.” Nat was looking down, but gave a small grin, arms folded over her chest. Wanda briefly wondered if the two had ever connected on a level other than as a commander and his right-hand.

“Tony, well… Tony had Pepper.” The topic was exhausted, but he kept talking. Steve turned away, back to the grimy stove to tidy-up. “Brody,  shit, I don’t know how Brody had time for anything other than cleaning up after Stark, but he consistently wowed even me with all his ‘war stories’ in the battle of love.”

“And Clint was the honorable family-man.” Wanda said half-heartedly. She turned her wrist up to check the time on her watch.

“Yeah. Good man. Good man.” Sam nodded, respect for the settled existence that Hawkeye had found and chose over a life on the run. “And then there was Vision...”

Wanda’s grip on her fork slightly tightened. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t figure that guy out. He invited to his room, like, twice to talk about a painting he purchased. Twice. One of the three things in his room. A little odd…”

Wanda’s jaw tightened. The painting was a New York Street Artist’s rendition of the Tree of Life. The artist was also blind. He created a picture from memory, using odd colors to convey a synthetic translation to the image to stand out against what would be considered normal and correct. It created something beautiful and breathtaking in the process. It resinated with Vision deeply. The proceeds went to a medical facility that specialized in therapeutics for children with disabilities. Wanda had been there with the Synthezoid when he had become enamored with it at first sight. Had come to his room numerous times afterwards to talk about it, or just sit with him, staring at it’s mastery as he read aloud.

“I don’t think he ever…you know?” Sam finally said. It cut through Wanda’s thoughts. “I mean, how could he? I don’t think he even had the… machinery… for it. Poor guy.”

“Sam…” Steve didn’t have to look at Wanda to feel her bristling. He didn’t always understand it, but he knew that she had a close friendship with the synthezoid.

“Oh don’t tell me you never wondered about it.” Sam huffed.

“No, Sam. I don’t wonder about a teammate’s junk.” Steve turned around, impatient that his friend wasn’t picking up on his annoyance. He took a sip from a mug of black coffee.

“Or lack, there of.” Sam countered, oblivious.

“I have to go.” Wanda stated, louder than needed. She went to the sink with her plate.

“To be fair, Vision has molecular control of his physical structure and density.” Natasha continued, to Steve’s surprise. “So, in theory, he could get the job done. But it would be very one-sided.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “How so?” 

“I imagine it would be like using an over-elaborate vibrator. All sensation for the partner… nothing for him.” Nat shrugged. “A safe and controlled simulation, where there is nothing asked of you.”

Sam blinked at the thought-out response. “Damn, Romanoff…”

Dishes clanked loudly, even angrily, at sink. Wanda didn’t meet Steve’s concerned look. “Sorry I don’t have time to clean these.” She strode to her bags on the couch and muttered a farewell before storming out of the apartment. The door slammed shut with the flick of Wanda’s wrist and a flash of bright scarlet energy. 

Sam’s brown eyes drifted from the door where the youngest teammate had just left. He glanced at Steve and Nat. “Did I say something?”

“We all did.” Steve put his mug down on the counter, brows knit in concern. “Vision is her friend. She misses him.” He gazed at the hot brown liquid in his mug thoughtfully, thinking of those who he missed. “We shouldn’t have talked about her friend that way.”

“Oh…” Sam blinked, and then frowned at himself. “I didn’t  think… Should I go and-?“

“Just stop talking for a sec and take your pills.” Nat interrupted, striding over to him to offer two painkillers in one hand and a glass of water in the other. “I’ll go talk to her. Smooth things over before she leaves.” Sam nodded sheepishly and accepted her offerings.

Steve made a noise of protest, to perhaps leave Wanda be, but Nat gave him an understanding “Time for Girl Talk” wink before stalking after her companion’s trail out the door.

It didn’t take her long to catch up with Wanda, who walking down the stretch of road to the nearest bus pick-up to take her to the station.

“Hey.” Nat called, not even out of breath after the jog. “You did forget something,” she held up a flash drive. “…with the next meet-up location, job details, instruction on-“

“How could you say all that about him?” Wanda shot back.

Nat considered her young teammate… her friend… for a moment. “Well, it’s the kind of thing I would say if I didn’t think that you had an intimate relationship with Vision going on, currently.”

Wanda’s lips thinned into a firm line. She crossed her arms and looked down at her feet.

“It’s the kind of thing that throws the boys off the trail about what I saw in the Netherlands when I tailed you.” Nat shook her blonde-dyed head. “I hate lying to teammates. Especially Steve. But out of respect for you and female bonding, I’ve kept my word. Keep yours and don’t let your feelings ruin your focus.”

“If you think my focus is a problem, why even let me go?” Wanda asked.

“I wouldn’t.” Nat retorted. “But Rogers seems to think you deserve some semblance of a young-adulthood. He thinks your mysterious Euro-boyfriend phase is healthy for you. And that’s of utmost importance, considering how closely your control is tethered to your emotions.”

Blunt, as always, but Wanda appreciated the honesty. And the freedom. She reached out for the flash drive after a moment. “I’ll keep my head down. Check in when I need to.”

Nat nodded approvingly, then turned to leave.

“Natasha,” Wanda called, halting her friend. “Did…did you mean what you said, though?” She searched Nat’s guarded blue eyes for truth. “That…he can’t feel what I...”

The silent response was deafening.

“That I’m  just… using him?” Wanda finally ventured.

“I won’t pretend to understand… any of that.” Natasha shrugged. “But what does it really matter what I think?”

It wasn’t reassurance. And the cold sentiments expressed in the apartment would loop themselves in Wanda’s head, no matter how loud she turned up her music on the bus. And then later on the long train ride.

As farmland and rolling hillsides blurred past, Wanda kept her forehead pressed against the cool glass of her window. She felt like Vision, her mind endlessly running and playing out memories and scenarios whether she wanted it or not. Analyzing and computing to try and find a solution to ease the pit in her stomach. 

She knew that Vision could feel. She had stumbled upon that realization during one of their first few kisses, 5 months ago. What linked her given abilities to it’s source in Vision’s forehead, though unexplainable, proved that what she felt for him…label-less yet profound…he definitively felt for her. And her absence from him, the lack of that engulfing feeling, caused him a wounding loneliness. It’s what had made Wanda want to give herself fully to him.

But with the introduction of intimate relations 1 month later…

Vision had learned everything there was to know about her body and what delighted it. What actions and sentiments yielded the most sincerest, and surfeited, responses. Always so lost in her desires and satisfaction, she always believed it when he said that his greatest pleasure was bringing about hers. But if she really thought about it…. really thought about it…

Wanda pulled her knees into her chest, boot heels digging into her seat. 

He didn’t moan. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t heave. He didn’t lose himself like she could completely in him. His eyes never left her face even when she had to close hers in convulsive ecstasy. His broad and handsome smile was always waiting for her when she would come back to reality. Waiting and in need of no reprieve.

She hated this feeling. This feeling that she was doing something wrong. That she was taking and taking without giving when she would literally set the world on fire if it meant Vision’s well-being.

Wanda was so consumed that she didn’t look up to take in the environment of Moscow as the taxi pulled in to take her to the hotel. She almost dreaded it. She was tugging at her sleeves to cover more of her hands. Did Vision have resentment about this? That she could flaunt how human she could be when he couldn’t? She hadn’t thought about that when she took the plunge to have him. She had followed instincts and emotion… like always. Wanda rubbed her forehead, upset with herself.

She checked in as usual, requesting a key to a room under “Victor Shade”, always left for her at the front per Mr. Shade’s instructions. The front desk clerk was beaming at Wanda, expressing how nice Victor was and how he talked about his world-traveling girlfriend with so much admiration. Wanda smiled weakly and accepted the extra $100 room credit gift because Victor was just “so sweet to hotel staff”.

Wanda stepped off the elevator and drudged down the hall to their room. She arrived and took her keycard out, ready to use it on the card-scanner, when the door swung wide open. 

Vision was there, beaming down at her stunned face, keycard still held up in her hand. Though of course, at the risk of being seen even for an instant, he was visible in his human mapping. Blonde hair smoothed with a slight, playful waive. Skin fair but peppered with human imperfections like freckles, freshly shaved skin texture. But his cerulean eyes were the same piercing blue true to his actual form.

“The front desk computer confirmed your arrival.” He said, to quell her surprise. “Wanda. Darling.” He said, deeply, and reverently. “Welcome to-“

Wanda let her bags fall to the floor and leaped up into his arms, legs wrapped as high on his torso as she could manage, lips crushing the end of his sentence. Vision grinned handsomely against her needy lips.

“I’ve missed you.” She managed finally, pressing her cheek against his.

“I reciprocate your sentiments.” He combed graceful fingers through her auburn hair. “Considerably, so.

***

Ever the perfect gentlesynthe, Vision carried his barnacle of a girlfriend to the suite’s luxury bathroom. She detached from his waist with a gasp as he showed her the candlelit bathroom, large clawfoot tub frothing with lavender scented bubbles, soft piano renditions of movie love-themes emanated from a portable radio he had relocated from the bed stand. He gave a controlled ray from the mindstone in his forehead to bring the lukewarm temperature of the bath back to a simper again.

“Vision… this is…”

“Exactly what you need after a long day of training and travel.” He placed a hand on either side of her head tenderly and tilted her forehead up to plant a kiss. His human facade shimmered away with the contact. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Wanda then realized that she didn’t even eat her whole dinner. Hours ago. She reconsidered. “Well…”

“How about Olivier Salad? Or Shuba? Better known as ‘Herring under a Fur Coat’? A Russian delicacy, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Wanda scrunched her nose up at Vision.

“Cocktail shrimp and cheese sticks it is. “ He grinned at her default preference.

“And wine! You know the kind I like…” She added, unzipping her jacket.

Vision smiled, emitting a chuckle. He left her in privacy to unwind and rejuvenate, while he called down to the front about room service to be delivered in 30 minutes. He then sat down to compose a note on hotel stationary, thanking the staff for the lovely presentation of the room and the warm reception for his Wanda. Satisfied with the flourish of his penmanship, he then accessed streaming guides to find vintage sitcoms that might please Wanda.

Only 10 minutes had passed when he heard his name being called from the bathroom.

The synthezoid was there in an instant, concern conveyed in his tone. “Wanda, I’m here. Are you-“

“I’m fine, Vis.” His human girlfriend peeked over the tub’s edge, visible only from her shoulders and up. Her long hair was wound in a sloppy bun, piled atop her head. “I just… wanted to look at you…”

Vision felt his lips curl into yet another smile. A frequent, unprompted state of expression when Wanda was near. “And…?” He inquired, kneeling to the floor to gain eye-level with her rich hazel gaze. 

Wanda bit her lip, taking his hands in her own, lacing her soapy fingers with his maroon digits. “And… I think you are wearing far too much. For a bubble bath.”

“You would like me to join you?” Vision asked, after a beat of processing the subtextual request. “Would that not defeat the purpose of… relaxing?”

“I’m tired of relaxing alone.” Wanda retorted, leaning her head down against their joined hands. “Come assist me.”

Vision stood, untangling his fingers from hers, and began stripping down. He could easily phase through his clothing, but he found the act of undressing much more interesting and human than being unencumbered by the physical properties of clothing. It also slowed down his naturally speedy rhythm of existence, which he observed pleased Wanda. The human drank in the sight of her nude synthetic boyfriend, mindlessly swirling her index finger around in the warm water she soaked in.

One long vibranium-infused leg stepped into the tub. Wanda maneuvered to the far end to make room, until Vision had sat down, adjusting his sculpted length to the confined space. She floated herself to sit on his lap, her back leaning heavily into his chest, auburn head resting against the dip of his shoulder. She signed deeply and emitted a noise of contentment at the feeling of him against her. Vision brought a hand up to cup her dainty shoulder. The other slipped across her belly, splayed out to absorb the toned smoothness of her.

“This feels nice.” Wanda murmured. Vision smiled into her neck, planting a firm kiss at the base. “Does this feel nice, Vision?”

Something in her tone of her inquiry sounded peculiar. As if there was an answer she was desiring. It puzzled the Synthezoid, who had most of her variations of responses and phrasings committed to his memory. But humans were complex and ever-evolving. Wanda was no exception.

“I am very content  to be a variable in your relaxation.” Vision retorted. He was met with silence. She was unable to see the smile on his face falter. “Unless… you wish for something more stimulating now…” HIs hand skimmed through the water, over slick skin, down her navel, to the her silky region. Seeking her sensitive entrance…

Wanda lightly clenched her thighs together, pulling his hand up out of the water and kissing his knuckles. “I just want to sit like this for a bit, Vis.”

There was a pause before his response. It made Wanda wince. “Of course, darling. Whatever you desire.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Is this alright?”

“Yes…it feels nice. It always feels nice.” Again, her words said pleasant things, but conveyed a tone ill-at-ease.

“Wanda?” 

She turned to face Vision, straddling his lap. Chest to chest.

“I’m sorry….I…” She sighed deeply. “Natasha said something and… it got to me.” Wanda looked up into Vision’s cerulean eyes. “I don’t… use you… do I? When we are together?”

“Use me?” What an odd statement.  His hand cupped the side of her face. “I have no qualms about being put to ‘use’ by you, Wanda. Ever. If that is what you ask.”

“No. I mean… ugh, how do I say this….”

“You know you can say anything, Wanda. I’m made of vibranium. I won’t be damaged.”

Wanda smiled weakly. He had come so fair in his speech patterns. Had learned personality traits that he obviously preferred. She could feel… him… a soul within, if that was what it was. She took comfort in that. 

“When we come together, intimately-“

“Sexually.” Vision supplied. Unabashed.

Wanda huffed. “Yes…sexually… you give so much. And I’m not complaining. At all. It’s… unreal.” 

Vision smiled tenderly, placing another hand on her other cheek, kissing her lips the way she had showed him awhile ago. He liked the little noises she made when he did so. And would watch her face as their lips departed from one another, her eyes usually heavy with serenity and arousal.

But not tonight.

“What do I give you, Vision?” Her inquiry was direct. She rested a cream-colored hand against the rich maroon and reflective vibranium of his chest.

Vision tilted his head at her. “Your pleasure and well-being is of paramount significance to me.” His eyes blinked excessively as she pulled her face away from his contact. He had said something unsatisfactory. “Is that not enough?”

Wanda’s gaze was now downcast. “I suppose I underestimated how much it would mean to me. To not be able to give you pleasure. To not see you able to take it for yourself, instead of just for my sake.”

The sythezoid’s eyes darted away as he processed. Avoiding her returned hazel glance. He knew it would betray his discomfort. But stoicism was not what he wanted with his Wanda during moments like these. He wanted her to see him… really see him… even in time of uncomfortable vulnerability. 

“This body was not made with human reproduction in mind, but synthesized evolution.” Vision said, finally breaking the silence. “Pleasure, desire… arousal… these are constructs that I loosely understand in definition only, and by observing how they manifest in you…who I care a great deal for. And that was enough for me.”

“Was?”

He finally brought his eyes back to her face. Her expression, contorted in aching sympathy, made his eyes close. The repressed hurt upon his face seemed an honest response, though he knew it would further upset the situation. He sought to remove himself before causing Wanda more distress.

“Vision, no…” She gently protested, but his form  disappeared from the tub and rose outside of it. The vibranium striations across his broad back glittered from the reflection of the flickering candlelight. “Vis…”

He turned towards her, his smile was back, as if it had never left. “Room service will be here soon. I surmise it best I not greet them naked.” He stooped to kiss her on top of her head, then collected his clothes before leaving her presence.

[billyspotato]

Welcome Back - Geralt of Rivia

Words: 2.160 words

Type: Angst & Fluff

Summary: After Geralt finds Cirilla, he goes to your house looking for a place to stay for a while, but you haven’t seen each other for over a year.

Warning: English is not my first language. Sorry if I misspelled something. 

Yennefer, even though she’s not mentioned, and Geralt didn’t have any kind of relationship in this imagine’s universe! 

Btw, Azana is a character I created when writing, she’s not actually a character in the books, show or games.

Part 1          Part 2

A/n: Gif’s not mine :)

You look over at your now clean kitchen and sigh in relief. Now you can finally go to the market. You change clothes quickly and put on your boots before grabbing your basket and stepping out of your small house.

Like any other day, the sky is colored grey and the wind is cold. You pull the hood of your cloak over your head, making your face is now covered from the sides and shielded from the cold.

As you stepped in the busy market, some locals looked at your cloaked self and looked elsewhere right away, scared to be caught. Everyone still has the idea of your ‘friend’, Geralt, fresh on their minds. Even though he left more than a year ago and you have never seen him again.

People are still intimated by Witchers, and that also applies to the people that surround them. And it looks like it always will.

While looking at the various loafs of bread displayed in front of you, your mind was occupied with something else, or someone else. Geralt, and his well-being.

Could he be hunting right now? Getting payed well, you hoped.

Could he be happy? That can be discussed.

Could have he found love?

That thought sent a sharp pain through your chest. You don’t even know if he’s alive, how can you even think about him being in love with someone else?

You looked up at the seller and gave him a small smile before extending your hand with the coins. The man took it welcoming your smile and you grabbed the loaf out of the wooden table and putting it into your basket.

You moved on to the vegetables displayed by other sellers and while taking a look good at everything, so you wouldn’t take a rotten one by accident home, you hear someone call out your name.

“Y/N, my sweetheart” Azana, an old sweet woman from the village and seller from the market, calls out while extending her arms and looking at you.

“Hi” You say welcoming the smile and the daily hug.

“How has your day been?” She asks with an adoring smile on her face.

“Pretty tiring, decided to clean the house today” You say with a sigh, “Not the best idea. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m alright. The fruit is selling like crazy today for some unknown reason”

You laughed at her confused look and she then lifts her eyebrows and opens her mouth as if she remembered something.

“I’ve heard the Witcher came back to the village today” She states, and you give a sad smile.

“Azana, Geralt’s not coming back”

“Don’t say those things, my sweet. You know he is, he wouldn’t just leave you” She says before walking back to her table, which is filled with customers, “Here take this, for you and just in case he’s back, for him as well” She offers while starting to put various fruits and vegetables in your basket.

Azana always had the hope that Geralt would come back. She said that she had never seen you happier like the way you were when he was doing business in town. Azana would even offer food to Geralt after his work would be done as a ‘thank you’ for him to come back to you alive.

She was your neighbor when you were younger, ended up taking care of you many times as well, so a certain friendship grew, and now she just wants to see you happy. And Geralt made you happy. So that made her love him for it and be forever thankful.

That was until Geralt had to leave town to continue his work. Unfortunately, he can’t just stop and live a good life with the woman that he loves in a small cozy home with 7 kids, he is a Witcher after all. You understood that and you let him go, after making him promise to come back once in a few months.

But, you haven’t seen him since.

Now, people in the small village would like to make, listen and spread rumors since nothing exciting happens in this place. The most exciting thing that has ever happened was the Witcher’s appearance. So, they would just spread rumors about his whereabouts, making you (the first 3 times) and Azana (even today) hopeful.

After thanking Azana for the food and getting another bear hug, you decided to walk back home. She kissed your cheek before you turned around and the smile plastered on your face warmed the woman’s heart, while looking at you like a proud mother.

As you walked out of the market and into the streets on your home, Geralt pulled Roach’s reins slightly, making her move slower, as they made their way in the village. Ciri’s eyes looked around what surrounded her, not alarmed by anything, just curious.

“What are we doing here?” Ciri whispers to Geralt, who is sitting behind her on the saddle.

“This is where we’re going to stay for some time” He explains while pulling the hood of Ciri’s cloak over her head, hiding her face from strangers.

Geralt pulls Roach’s reins once more, coming to a full stop, as they got into the barns of the village. He gets himself down the brown horse and helps Ciri next.

“Witcher, it’s been a while” A man states from behind him.

Geralt looks up at the man and nods, acknowledging his presence. The two men knew each other, you would sometimes visit the barn and take a look at the sleeping horses and somewhat sick/injured animals, in love with the idea of helping them. That’s when Geralt met the man, making him in some way trustworthy.

“I’ll take her” The man says once more, taking a hold of Roach’s reins.

Geralt’s amber eyes followed the man as he took Roach into the stables while in complete silence. Ciri looks up at the Witcher confused at how he handed his dear beloved horse to a stranger.

“Do you know him?” She asks and Geralt looks at her.

“Somewhat” He says before adjusting the swords on his back. “Let’s go get you something to eat”

They walked out of the barn, Ciri’s mind now occupied with what she will eat since they’re not in the middle of the hoods anymore (making the list of possible foods grow), as people shared looks and even whispered to each other, some in excitement and others in pure shock, with the sight of the white haired man.

The both of them stepped in the busy market and Ciri pulled Geralt by his leather sleeve to the table various vegetables were displayed right when her eyes laid on it. Geralt kept being, obviously, willingly dragged by the young girl while she gasped at the amount of food.

After buying bread from a very scared man, Geralt gives it to Ciri, who welcomed and started eating right away.

“Can we get apples as well?” Ciri asked as her eyes focused on the pile of red and green apples displayed in front of a lady.

Geralt nods before following the girl, who right away started the conversation with the lady behind the fruit. The lady, being Azana herself, smiled at the blonde beautiful girl before a tall man stood behind her, making her eyes go up to his face.

“Geralt?” Azana asks in shock as the amber eyes of the Witcher looked at her as well.

“Azana” Geralt says while biting off his small smile, which is begging to appear.

“Oh, my dear” She says before going to him and pulling the broad shouldered and strong man into a hug like she did to you seconds ago.

“Still a hugger?” Geralt comments making the woman laugh while pulling away.

“I will always be one” She says with a big smile, “Have you seen Y/N yet?”

“No, not yet” He says, “We will after Cirilla gets her food”

“Do you miss her?” Azana asks, wanting to know right away if his feelings are the same as the ones she told you, so you wouldn’t lose hope.

Geralt only nods while Ciri looks up curious at the conversation and with who you are.

“Do you still love her?”

The question made Ciri’s eyes widen and look up at Geralt in shock. The loner white haired man has someone, and he didn’t tell her?

Geralt, feeling Ciri’s gaze on him, doesn’t use words to answer Azana, he only gives her a small smile making the old woman almost cheer in happiness.

“And who are you?” Azana asks. Ciri looks up at the woman, giving her a small smile.

“His child of surprise” She simply answers.

Azana’s eyes widen at her words and she looks up at Geralt.

“Long story” Geralt simply says, probably slightly annoyed with how blunt Cirilla was. “I’ll tell you later”

“Alright, then” Azana says while Geralt grabs coins to give it as a payment for the apples Ciri picked. “No need, you’re apart of this family Witcher” She says, while walking back to behind her table, “And get going, don’t make her wait any longer”

Geralt nods at the old lady and Ciri looks between them entertained with the conversation. Both of them walk out of the market and Ciri starts her questions.

“Who’s Y/N?” She asks and Geralt doesn’t answer, “Your friend? No, it must be your lover”

Geralt slightly nodded, even questioning if Ciri even saw it. “How come you never talk about her?”

“I tried to forget about her”

“Why? If you love her, why forget her?”

“I didn’t keep my promise. I was supposed to come back in a space of months, but I was too far in the continent and too busy to come back”

“How long as it been?”

“A year and a half” He says almost is a whisper, sounding like he is disappointed in himself.

“Why are we walking so slow then?”

(…)

You turn the page on the book that you are reading almost drifting off to sleep until a knock on your front door is heard. You sigh frustrated, thinking of your neighbors that might need something (like always), but you look confused once you open the front door.

“Can I help you?” You ask the young blonde girl in front of you.

As Ciri looked up at you, Geralt appeared next to her. Your breathing came to a stop as your body went in complete shock. It’s not possible, right?

You let the girl in your house when taking a step back but your eyes don’t leave him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice cracking as you hold in your tears.

“I came back”

“Yeah, a year and 7 months later” You tell him as your heart started beating faster and faster.

Silence was the barrier that separated the two of you. Neither of you wanted to talk or knew what to say, making the air around you thicken up.

Your eyes welcomed his familiar face and so did his. Your heart just couldn’t really feel anger towards the person that you so deeply love, and your mind just reminded that ‘he came back for you’.

“I’m sorry. I really am” He states, not really knowing what to say. “A lot of things happened, -and I know that isn’t an excuse- But I came back here to tell you that I’m so sorry”

You sighed as your eyes filled with tears and you pulled him into your arms. The tears, being them of relief, start falling down your cheeks and a sob escapes your mouth. Geralt’s arms go around you and pull you up and closer to him, your familiar scent filling his lungs and your soft hair moving under his callused hand, relaxing him completely.

“I thought you were dead” You tell him as you pull away.

“And I thought you were going to kill me” Geralt jokes, trying to lift the air of tension that had been building up in these last minutes.

“I hate you” You say while smiling at his stupid attempt. Geralt wipes the tears off your wet face with his thumbs and pulls you in for a kiss. You lean in making your lips touch and your body exploded with emotions you haven’t felt in so long.

As you two keep evolving the kiss, Ciri has her half-eaten apple up to her mouth as if she was getting ready to take a bite but stopped mid-way; her face held a disgusted look and it slowly intensifies as you two kept going.

“Hello? I’m still here!” Ciri says, making you two pull away.

“Who is she again?” You ask Geralt but Ciri opens her mouth to answer for him.

“Shut it!” Geralt says while holding up his finger in Ciri’s direction, before looking at you once again, “I’ll tell you after lunch” He says as Ciri smiled and took a bite of her tasty red apple.

- - - - 

This is probably awful but it’s not my fault! I swear! My family just kept talking super loud when I was proof-reading, and I couldn’t really do much!

Anyways, I never thought I was going to write for Geralt, but here we are. Hope you liked it.

Part 2? Maybe?

- - - - -

🌸✨Sorry, but I’m not writing in this account anymore. Go check out my new one @twinklelilstarkey✨🌸

[de-facto-slut]

Release Me Into Orbit

(Dark!Bucky x Black!Female Reader)

Summary: Bucky and the Reader are trying to heal from the trauma of their pasts.

A/N: I tend to keep my summaries vague and straight to the point. This particular story is based on a dream I had twice several years apart. Same plot and everything just alternate endings. I had started typing this story a year ago and decided to abandon the thought letting it see the light of day. But in the middle of Invisible chain I got the inspiration to start it up again. Thus, why Invisible chain is on a wee little hiatus. Anyways, I don’t talk about myself a lot on here and probably will continue not to do so, but I am a black female. The story was the product of my dreams. Thus, the reader is a black female. With Invisible chain I didn’t include this fact because it didn’t occur to me to do so until now. But most of my stories are centered around dreams, daydreams or thoughts with me at the center so. You can pretty much assume the reader to be from that perspective.  As for the title of the fic it is based on a song by Nao and I recommend listening to it as I did when writing this. Lastly, this fic will have a wee bit of a slow start so I hope you can stick with me. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story.

Warnings: Non-Con, Dub-Con, Violence, major character death, Manipulation, emotional abuse, physical abuse, eventual Kidnapping, Breeding Kink, angst etc. Honestly More tags will be added.

“If by my life or death I can protect you, I will. ” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Chapter 1: Nightmares

The brunette woke up with a start as he wiped the sweat beads that formed on his forehead. His eyes adjusting to the darkness as he glanced over at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was merely 4am in the morning. With a slight groan, he sat up, resting his forehead in his hand. His abrupt awakening caused him to have a mild headache. He had been having the same reoccurring nightmare for days now. Standing up, he made his way towards the door, carefully exiting the room and making his way to the kitchen. He was surprised to see Sam standing in the kitchen, drinking a strange concoction.  “Didn’t expect to see you up,” Sam stated, placing his cup down on the counter as he eyed Bucky. Bucky shrugged his shoulders as he took a seat at the counter across from Sam, who was busy zipping up a gym bag. “You’re heading to the gym at this hour?” Bucky asked. Sam threw his bag over his shoulder, “Have to stay on top of my game for this next mission.” 

It had been a few months since the avengers defeated Thanos and decided to go their separate ways.  The avenger headquarters was destroyed and was replaced by a new facility as a memorial to the Fallen Avenger, Tony Stark.  After Steve retired, Bucky had nowhere else to go. Instead, he returned to the newly built avengers HQ with his unlikely new partner Sam. The two had been staying there dealing with the aftermath of Thanos and the retirement of some of Earth’s mightiest heroes. Only a few days ago, Fury decided to contact Sam and Bucky about a mission, and thankfully he did as they were growing bored of the small tasks they were given.

It had been two days before Fury returned with more details for the mission. Bucky, Sam, and Fury gathered in the living room as he threw down an old file box before them. “Look through those as see if those look familiar to you, Bucky.” He started taking a seat opposite of him. Bucky pulled a file out of the box and began to leaf through it, stopping and pausing for a long time. Sam studied his face, curiously, “What’s wrong?” Sam asked, slightly concerned. Bucky did not reply; instead, his hand tightened into a fist, as Fury reached over and grabbed the file before throwing it in view of Sam.

“I questioned whether or not to put you guys on this mission. But It seemed like something you guys could handle. Plus, we need Bucky’s insight.” Sam looked at the file to notice a picture of several scientists sitting together, “What is this?” he asked curiously.  Fury took a seat across from the two men and looked towards Bucky. “Secret Hydra files.” Fury stated, merely leaning back into the chair. “Hydra?” Sam questioned. “I thought they were done with,” Sam scratched his chin visibly confused. “If only it were that simple. They are like roaches; they keep coming back. They weren’t kidding when they said you chop off one head- those pesky motherfuckers.” Fury replied, visibly frustrated. “Anywho, I’ll leave you guys to go over the file. We’ll be seeing each other real soon.” Fury slapped his hands on his thighs before standing up. “I’ll see myself out.”

Sam turned towards Bucky, who remained offly quiet. Bucky leaned back into his chair with his hand rubbing his chin. He seemed to be lost in thought, before Sam interrupted him, “Bucky?” The brunette snapped out of it, returning his attention to Sam. Bucky looked around the room; he hadn’t noticed that Fury even left. “Seriously, Bucky? What is going on?” Sam asked once more, growing frustrated. In the years that they have known each other, he had never seen Bucky so unfocused. Sam and Bucky weren’t the best of friends, but they were partners. He knew something was wrong, he could sense it. Bucky stood up, ready to dismiss Sam again, but Sam quickly stood up, catching him by the arm. “Bucky, I swear if you don’t just come out and say what’s bothering you, I’ll tell Fury you aren’t fit for this mission.”

Bucky and Sam remained in an intense showdown before Bucky forcefully removed his arm from Sam’s grip. He stood there contemplating his options, he knew Sam wouldn’t let up. Not only that, but Bucky would also be pissed if he got benched on this mission. He released a deep sigh before taking a seat on a stool by the kitchen counter, he wrapped his knuckles on the granite lightly. “I’ve been having nightmares…” Bucky finally mentioned. Usually, Sam would take this opportunity to make fun of Bucky, but he knew this was serious. Sam made his way into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of whiskey, before pouring it for both of them. Sam slid a glass towards Bucky, who caught it, before taking a seat. Bucky took a sip of the drink before continuing, “Occasionally, I’ll get some fragmented nightmares about some of the things I did in the past, but these are different,” he explained. Sam’s eyes remained fixated on his cup, but he hadn’t taken a sip yet. Sam was afraid to ask, but he knew he had to, “Different how?”.

Bucky paused, and the air was filled with silence before he threw the rest of his drink back. He cleared his throat, “This particular one keeps playing over and over in my head like a broken record…” he finally replied. Sam knew Bucky had a lot of things going on in that head of his, and as a Veteran, he understood. A lot of fucked up things happened to Bucky, things that could break any man. But he had never seen Bucky in such a state of mental disarray since his recovery in Wakanda. “I’ve done a lot of fucked up things, Sam…” he began. “But there is one thing in my past that has always stuck with me...” Bucky leaned forward with his elbows resting on the counter, and his fingers played with his lips anxiously. “I was hoping when they put me on the ice in Wakanda that maybe…just maybe I would have forgotten.”

Sam paused, he knew he was no therapist, and there was no simple way of comforting his partner. Steve was way better dealing with Bucky than Sam could ever hope to be. “Bucky, a lot of messed up stuff happened to you. And granted you did a lot of messed up things, but you can’t just expect those things to leave you…you got to confront some of those things instead of just letting them get the best of you.” Sam swirled his cup around, placing it back down. “Look, man, I know we aren’t best friends, and you aren’t required to tell me anything, but I’m here to listen if you need it. Judgment free.” Sam mentioned. They sat in silence for a moment, and Sam figured, maybe there was no winning here. He was about to give up until Bucky spoke, “I promised…I promised to protect them, and I failed.” Sam peered over to the brunette, only to see a pained look on his face. Sam was confused but chose not to speak; instead, he chose to just listen as Bucky continued, 

“2014. It haunts me ‘til this day.”

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

hey u know the fic where the reader was upset cause she was in love with Jaskier and he gets a girlfriend and she ends up sleeping with Geralt? Could you write a part 2 maybe where she realizes that she wants to be with Geralt all along? Only if you want to lol it’s your story haha

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt x Reader Word Count: 1,478 Rating: T Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak​ @whatevermonkey​ @mycat-is-mylove @mynamesoundslikesherlock​ @kemmastan​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​ @writingstudent​ @mlleecrivaine​ @coffee-and-stories​ @amirahiddleston​ @ultracolorfulnerdcollection​ @astouract​ @your-not-invisible-to-me @daydreamer-in-training @morelikebyesexual a/n: Here you go! xo

Time does not heal all wounds but it can ease the pain.

Your unrequited love for Jaskier went from a deep gash to a scabbing, aching thing and you found more and more than it felt more like a scar. A remnant that you forgot unless you glanced at it sometimes. Your friendship grew less strained, though he’d hardly noticed it in his infatuation with his new conquest, and you found that you didn’t wince at the sound of her name as you once did. Sometimes he was look over at you and the sun would hit him just right and you’d be a little taken aback by how handsome he was and the scar would be seen, but you didn’t feel the same sense of agonizing longing that you once had. You attributed a large part of this to Geralt.

Since that night, Geralt had remained a steadfast friend. He’d always been your friend but he’d been more open and checked in with you more since that night. He never initiated anything physical with you, save for the time he saw you brushing Roach’s mane. You’d been singing to her softly, not even noticing that he’d arrived until he was next to you. There was a soft intensity to his gaze as he took the brush from your hands, quickly chucking it aside, and pulled you into a kiss that made you feel like you were drowning in a torrent of unspoken need and left you gasping for air when you pulled apart. He’d found the brush and handed it back to you and then wordlessly left. That night when you came to him it had been different. The sex was good, always good, but it had grown softer and more and more time was spent just pressing your hands against each other’s laughing at the way his totally encompassed yours. You laughed more with Geralt in bed than you had ever laughed with another anywhere else. You grew to learn that he was funny. He had an interest in history and he began to teach you Elder. You found yourself turning to Geralt first when you heard some exciting news or if you told a joke you looked to Geralt for his reaction before Jaskier. The feeling that began to grow inside of you was familiar, but foreign all the same. Like hearing a song you knew sung in a different language. You’d loved Jaskier, truly loved him. But your love for him had turned into a genuine, close friendship whereas your friendship with Geralt grew and bloomed into something more. Something you recognized by tune but the language was different.

You went through the little village where six months earlier you’d thought your world was ending, and maybe in some ways it had. But it hadn’t been an end, only a new beginning to someplace you felt happy again. You and Geralt got a table while Jaskier went to fetch his beloved.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” Geralt asked once the bard was out of earshot.

“I am,” you said decisively with a smile. Geralt smiled back and you held each other’s gaze for a moment until you saw Jaskier returning out of the corner of your eye. Alone.

“Where’s your lady fair, Jask?” you asked brightly.

“She… will not be joining us,” he said, eyes looking askance. You shared a worried look with Geralt.

“Jaskier?” you said, not needing to finish the question as his blue eyes, filled with hurt, met yours.

“She no longer requires my company,” he said, a bitter note to his voice as he recited the words. You felt Geralt look over at you but your face grew warm with anger in your friend’s honor.

“That’s her loss then,” you insisted fervently, “There are other, better women who would love to be with you.”

“Perhaps,” Jaskier said glumly, “In any case if it’s all the same to you I’d like some time alone in the room. Might work on a ballad to capture my heartbreak. Or to entice another lover. We’ll see what happens when I get there.”

You waved him farewell and when you looked back at Geralt you saw he was still watching you, a strange, assessing look on his face and if you didn’t know any better some sadness as well.

“There you have it,” he said simply.

“That’s such bollocks,” you sighed.

“Well as you said, there is another woman for him,” Geralt replied, giving you a meaningful look.

“Of course. Jaskier will never struggle to find partners. He’s far too handsome and talented,” you agreed, nodding as you took a drink of your ale and considered sending one to the room for Jaskier.

“I give you my best wishes, then,” Geralt said as he rose and before you could respond he’d walked out of the inn.

-----

Geralt brushed through Roach’s mane slowly, willing himself to calm down and be reasonable. He knew he’d been a distraction for you. He knew that it was temporary and that he shouldn’t let his feelings run away with him. He knew these things, and yet.

And yet he couldn’t get the feeling of your skin beneath his hands and mouth of his mind. He couldn’t shake the sound of your laughter, as beautiful as the moans he could drive from you. He could stop noticing things that reminded him of you everywhere whether it be a plant that held nearly the same hue as your eyes or a glimpse of a pastry he knew you’d like or even the damn brush in his hand. He chucked it across the stable in a fit of frustration, feeling more and more like a fool with every passing second.

“What do you have against that brush?”

He whirled to find you standing in the entrance to the stall, arms crossed over your chest and your mouth quirked up in an amused smile. He turned his attention back to Roach to unhelpfully shook her mane in his face.

“What you said back there, about giving us your best wishes, what did you mean by that?” you asked, crossing the stable to stand in front of him so he couldn’t keep shutting you out. You knew what it sounded like but you needed him to say it, needed him to be open with you before actively giving him your heart. As if it was still yours to give and not fully owned by him already.

“I’ve done what I said I’d do. I supported you as you waited it out and now you will receive your reward. Jaskier is available to you. I only want you to be happy,” Geralt replied, though he couldn’t bring his eyes to meet yours.

“Gods, where to start,” you muttered under your breath, pacing in front of Roach as you thought. “Alright well first of all, Jaskier is a human being with autonomy and just because he is available now doesn’t mean that I’d have him automatically. He has a say in it as well.”

“Of course he’d want you,” Geralt scoffed, as if the idea of anyone not leaping at the chance to claim you as their won was the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard.

“Secondly,” you charged on, “I meant what I said. I’m ok. I don’t harbor any feelings for Jaskier anymore. Not like that, at least.”

“You don’t love him?” Geralt asked disbelievingly.

“Of course I love him!” you cried. Geralt flinched and turned around, ostensibly to look for the brush but your hands rested on his shoulders before he could move, stilling him instantly. Even through the layers of his armor and clothing your touch could be felt as clearly as when he was bared to you. You walked around in front of him again, using one hand to cup his cheek and gently tilt his face to meet yours.

“I love him as a friend. I do not love him as I have come to love you, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt’s eyes filled with confusion and a flicker of hope. You rose up on tiptoes to press a kiss against his lips. He faltered for just a moment, uncertain if he should trust this, but then his arms encircled you, pulling you in close and returning the kiss. When you broke apart you rested your forehead against his, stroking the curve of his jaw and the silver hair that threaded through your fingers.

“You don’t have to say it back, you don’t have to say or do anything, but I hope you will accept my love,” you said, murmuring the words softly like a prayer. His hands rose to your wrists, gently moving your hands before his lips so he could gently press a kiss into each palm before the amber eyes sought yours.

“I love you too.”

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

Misery and Happiness Ch. 1

Chapter 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Summary: Word of an injured, possibly dead witcher has reached Jaskier in his travels and as much as he would like to walk away, he knows he can't.

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Jaskier frowned heavily into his ale while listening to the three men behind him gossip.

For two days, every tavern he entered was subject to strange mutterings about a witcher, gone mad and injured, probably dying. The bard was used to hearing gossip about witchers but never before had it seemed so factual. The words whispered seemed to hold a grain of truth to them that had Jaskier worrying.

Jaskier had been trying not to think of witchers in general for the past six months, or at least one particular, angry, emotionally constipated witcher, but the worry was starting to overpower the ache in his heart.

“Hey, where did you say that witcher was last seen?”

Geralt was moving through the woods that supposedly held a wyvern nest, trying to quiet his mind. Ever since that blasted mountain his mind had been working overtime, making sure he remembered every mistake he had made, every life he had managed to ruin. More painfully, he kept hearing himself, yelling awful, destructive words at the one person that had never judged him, never abandoned him.

The pounding in his temples grows as he thinks of his bard. No, not his bard, the bard. The bard that had spent most of the last two decades by his side, doing everything he could to make Geralt’s life easier. The bard that Geralt used to be able to think of as his own but now, after Geralt had used harsh words to push him away, now he was simply the bard that Geralt wasn’t sure he would be able to live without.

Finding the nest, Geralt makes quick work of the wyverns. He acted on instinct and killed like the monster he was made to be. It wasn’t until after the wyverns were dead, he noticed the sharp stinging and intense throbbing in his side. Looking he could tell his armor had been seriously pierced and his side seemed to be flayed open. A mistake, one that could cost him his life, a witcher’s retirement.

Jaskier would be so mad that he let himself get hurt.

No, he quickly cut off that thought process. Jaskier was gone, had left when Geralt attacked with the sharp stab of words.

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Geralt held his side and stumbled away from the nest. Finding an outcropping of rocks not too far away, he quickly sunk to his knees before downing a bottle of swallow. He laid on his uninjured side and soon was unconscious.

Faces flitted through Geralt’s subconscious, the shadow he remembers of his mother, the pride on Vesemir’s face after he survived the trials, the shock on Pavetta’s face when Geralt claimed the law of surprise, the anger on Yennefer’s face upon learning of his unwanted child, the pain on Jaskier’s face when Geralt accused him of causing every problem destiny had thrown him.

-

The village Jaskier had been pointed to was only a day away from the one in which he had been, so he set out immediately. The chance that the rumors were true, that there was a witcher hurt and in need of help, was too large to be ignored. Even if it weren’t the witcher Jaskier knew so well, he would do everything in his power to help.

The village was small and only had one inn so Jaskier quickly hurried there, hoping the innkeep would have some information. Heading inside the inn Jaskier went to the bar, “Hello, my good sir” he greeted the innkeep enthusiastically, “might there have been a witcher in town, a few days ago perhaps?” he finished with a smile.

The innkeep frowned, “Aye, took a contract for something stealing livestock, lived in the woods. Witcher went in never came out.”

“I’ve heard word the witcher was injured, if he never came out how does anyone know that?” Jaskier questioned, smiling falling.

“Well, the livestock ain’t been attacked since so one of the boys went looking around the woods. Found the witcher, hurt and lying in a cave. The boy tried to help him but the witcher was out of his mind, wouldn’t let the boy near him. Poor Tomas came back a right mess,” explained the innkeep.

“How long ago was this?”

“Four days back.”

“Where is Tomas? I need to talk to him.”

The innkeep pointed to a table in the corner where a tall lanky young man was eating from a bowl. Jaskier nodded his thanks and quickly made his way to where Tomas was seated.

“Hello,” Jaskier started, sitting across from Tomas, “I don’t mean to bother you during your meal I just need to know where you found that witcher.”

“U-uhm, I wouldn’t go looking for the likes of him. Was dangerous, didn’t know what was happening around him. Honestly probably dead now, didn’t look very well,” Tomas startled out, wide eyed.

Jaskier smiled tightly, eyes glinting dangerously, “Tomas, darling, none of that information was what I asked. Where. Is. The. Witcher.”

Jaskier leaned further over the table toward Tomas and the boy leaned away quickly and hurried to tell Jaskier exactly how to get to the rock outcropping where he had found the witcher.

“One last thing, could you describe what he looked like? The witcher?”

“Ahh, well. Big. Yellow eyes like a cat. White hair.”

Jaskier felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach and hurried back to the innkeep, “the witcher’s horse, did he leave it or take it with him?”

The innkeep frowned, “she’s still stabled up here, didn’t want him coming back to me having sold her off. Figured I’d wait a couple weeks,” the man explained.

“Well I’ll be taking her off your hands,” the innkeep immediately started to protest Jaskier’s words before the bard cut him off, “here, for the trouble of keeping her stabled.”

The innkeep looked at the generous pile of coin Jaskier had set on the bar before nodding to the bard.

Jaskier hurried to the stable and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Roach. He quickly saddled her up and led her out of the stable, “C’mon girl, it’s time to find our witcher.”

-

Jaskier’s heart thunders as he rides along the edge of the woods searching for a rock outcropping said to hold a dying witcher. The wood here was sparse, the trees spaced far apart and the light from the noon sun was filtering through nicely. He should be able to spot Geralt.

Soon enough Jaskier spotted an outcropping ahead that matched Tomas’ description and he urged Roach faster.

And there, under the rocks, was Geralt.

Jaskier jumped off Roach and rushed to Geralt’s side. The witcher was filthy, covered in blood and dust and dirt and Jaskier heard himself let out a sob as he reached for the witcher to check for a pulse. He closed his eyes waiting and finally felt the witchers slow heartbeat, slower than normal, Jaskier thought. And certainly weaker than it should be.

Shaking Geralt gently, Jaskier tried to wake him, but the best he got was a muttered cry that Jaskier couldn’t understand. Jaskier frowned, the witcher, who normally ran on the colder side of body temperatures, was burning up. Taking stock of the witcher’s body Jaskier found a large gash in his side that, while it seemed mostly closed, also seemed incredibly infected.

With a great bit of struggle Jaskier, with Roach’s help, manages to get Geralt up and in her saddle before quickly climbing up behind him.

Geralt rouses some on the ride but his eyes remain unfocused and he doesn’t respond to anything Jaskier says, almost as if he can’t even tell he’s there, pressed up behind him, holding tightly enough to keep him on the horse.

“Geralt please say something,” Jaskier pleads.

Geralt lets out a pained moan and slumps further into Jaskier’s embrace as his eyes close again.

[myidlehand]

Little story about how Roach helps Geralt speak to Jaskier after the mountain.

I’m re publishing this cause apparently if you link stuff in you post it doesn’t appear in the tags and I want to see if that makes a difference with or without a link. Sorry if you already saw this post then. This is a prequel to another drabble I wrote called The Path. You can find both of the stories on my AO3, the link is on my bio and also on my writing masterpost.

The Cave

Jaskier had imagined meeting Geralt again after the mountain a lot of times. A cave in the middle of nowhere wasn’t part of the scenarios he had conjured up in his mind thought. But then again, it was his own fault for being so close to Morhen valley before the winter. Geralt was probably on his way back to the Keep.

They meet when Jaskier comes barging into the cave Geralt and Roach settled in, to protect themselves against the storm raging outside. Jaskier already had a bad day before finding Geralt but now it’s late and he’s soaking wet and it’s the only place that looked dry for miles and he doesn’t have a choice. Winter had started to settle early this far north and not only was the storm pretty violent but the rain was freezing as well. The dark clouds had been menacing to burst all afternoon and he had meant to stay another night in the village to wait it out. But he had to leave in a hurry (he didn’t think the baker and the baker’s wife would find out he slept with both of them on separate occasions) and the storm had caught up to him.

And he thought he was over it. He really did. It’s been months, but apparently he’s not prepared. Geralt’s head snaps up when Jaskier enters the cave and they eyes lock. They both stay still for an awkward minute. Geralt’s hands hovering over the sword in his laps he was cleaning, Jaskier a hand against the wall of the cave.

Roach huffs and it seems to put them in motion. Geralt stands, ready to speak but Jaskier cuts in before he has time to say anything.

“I’m gonna change, I’m soaking wet. I’ll leave when it stops raining”, he says without really looking at Geralt. He puts his pack near the fire as far as he can from the Witcher and changes without another word. Geralt sits back down, not knowing what to do. He knows he fucked up but he wasn’t expecting to see Jaskier ever again. He wants to tell Jaskier to stay but he doesn’t know how to speak anymore. So he just starts taking care of his swords again and pretends that he’s not looking at Jaskier while he’s changing or when he’s trying to find a place to spread his clothes so they will dry at least a little. He doesn’t react at all when Jaskier makes a pleasing noise when he discovers the rest of his pack didn’t get soaked as well, at least not enough to damage his notebook or his lute. Jaskier settles near the fire and they pretend no to see the hurt looks they both give each other every time their eyes catch. Jaskier writes for a few minutes in his book but can’t stay still for very long. Geralt watch him get up and wordlessly give a scratch on the noise to Roach before walking toward the entrance. For a second, Geralt is afraid Jaskier will walk out into the rain again, preferring to leave everything behind than stay a night stuck with him. But Jaskier stops right at the mouth of the cave and leans against the wall, arms and ankles crossed and just looks outside.

He doesn’t feel like writing right now and especially not like singing or even just playing. There’s too much on his mind and he needs to calm himself down. Looking outside at the rain always helped. There’s a melancholy settling over him and watching the lightning illuminate the sky makes him feel better. Geralt stops cleaning his swords and there are no sounds now apart from the rain, the cracking of the fire and the thunder. It feels good for a while.

Geralt watches Jaskier for a moment. The bard is quieter and more still than he has ever seen him before. It doesn’t feel wrong exactly but Jaskier seems different now. All Geralt can think about is how lonely he’s been without Jaskier and how he hate that ball in his stomach that appeared as soon as he thought Jaskier was leaving again. He needs to apologies, to explain but how can he? He’s never been good with that sort of things. Roach huffs again and catches his attention. He’s never been good with Jaskier or with Yen for that matter, but he’s always been good at talking with Roach. He grabs her brush and goes to her, working quietly on untangling her hair for a minute. That brought him closer to the entrance, but Jaskier hasn’t moved away from him so he thinks that’s a good sign.

“You know Roach, I don’t think I ever told you about my best friend”, he says and even with his back turned he can feel Jaskier tense but stay quiet. “Most people are afraid of me. They tolerate me because they need me. I can’t blame them, for hating me after what I did.” He pauses for a moment, catching a whiff of smell front the entrance. Jaskier already smelled sad but he always had a distinctive sour and sad odour every time Blaviken is mentioned. Geralt is not sure why he wasn’t involved in any of it after all but Jaskier always seemed… affected by that more than other things. He sighs. “I fucked up a lot of things Roach. That day, I made a mess for all the Witchers, not just me. And I fucked up things in Cintra and with Yen and Renfri and there’s not a lot of things I can fix but I’m trying.” In the corner of his eye, he can see Jaskier is paying attention more closely now. “And the thing is, I’ve been an asshole to a lot of people because I thought it would be easier if I was all alone? I wouldn’t have to wonder what they want from me. It’s easier to be on your own.”  Roach pushes her head against his shoulder and throws a hoof against the floor impatiently. “Don’t judge me, Yen doesn’t count, that one is complicated and I did what I could to save her. Badly alright but I didn’t mean to do that to her… or me. I fucked things up but it’s… dammit, that’s not what I’m trying to say, don’t interrupt me.”

At the entrance of the cave, Jaskier smiles slightly at that but doesn’t turn.

“What I’m trying to explain“, Geralt says after a pause, trying to order his thoughts again, “is that I was wrong. It wasn’t easier alone. In fact, I wasn’t alone for a long time before I fucked up again. Because there was this man who saw me in a tavern and thought it would be a grand idea to attach himself to me and follow me. He thought my life was a beautiful adventure, even the gross parts of it. There was this man who saw me and decided to follow me without even a thought he could be hurt in the process. Or despite that, I think. All my life I’ve only known people who needed me to be something they could use. Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert, they stuck by me but they are Witchers too who got forced into this life just like me. I never had someone who chose me just because they could. Who came to talk to me before they knew who I was and stayed anyway. Who was delighted by what I am and never scared at all. I never had someone in my life who loved me for me… Before I met him.”

When Geralt turns around, Jaskier I already watching him. Geralt keeps on petting Roach, keeping her head between them but not pretending he’s brushing her anymore and Jaskier waits. “You see Roach, I really fucked up. I was angry and scared and I needed to know he would stay no matter what. He’s always been there even when I was awful to him and right then I needed to know I wasn’t the worst version of myself I have ever been. The monster that wasn’t worth following anymore. I needed to know that I was still worth choosing.” Geralt’s eyes drop to the floor, not ready to see Jaskier’s reaction just yet. It doesn’t take long for Jaskier to answer softly.

“I’m sorry I left.”

“I’m sorry I was awful to you”, Geralt echos.

“My timing was not the best. You were hurting and I shouldn’t have tried to make that situation less awkward.”

“Maybe not but I shouldn’t have yell anyway. I was unfair to you.”

Jaskier comes to him then and engulfs Geralt in a big warm hug.

“What’s…”

“Don’t fight it. You own me at least this. Please” Jaskier adds quietly.

“Alright.”

Jaskier hugs him for a while, and Geralt hugs back. It feels nice, he hasn’t been hugged in a really long time, he forgot how intimate it feels.

“What I said…”, Geralt whispers “I lied. I just needed to hurt you.”

“I know”, Jaskier answers back. “I wish I had stayed anyway.”

“I think it’s good you didn’t. I needed that. I’m sorry it took me a while to understand.”

“I’m sorry too.” Geralt doesn’t know if Jaskier is apologising for having poor timing, or if he’s sorry that Geralt was such an ass but either way, they both seem to regret what happened and it’s what’s important. Roach interrupts them by pushing them away with her rear, not happy to have two people in her space. Jaskier laughs quietly but releases Geralt.

“Thanks, Roach”, Geralt answers.

They settle near the fire, Geralt listening to Jaskier playing the lute while he looks after his armour, like they use to before the mountain. There’s still a sense of uneasiness between them but they both know they can make it work again if they want to. Jaskier moves from the other side of the fire at some point and they sleep next to each other that night, like always. The next morning, when the snow has replaced the rain in the sky and they are ready to leave Geralt asks.

“Where are you headed?”

“Not sure. I wanted to travel back to Oxenfurt, but it looks like the snow’s not going to stop soon. I didn’t think winter would be here so soon. Maybe I could head back to Posada, wait until spring to catch you there? Just like old times”, he adds timidly but hopeful.

“Come home with me”, Geralt practically demands.

“Home?” Jaskier knows what Geralt means but he needs to hear the words.

“To Kaer Morhen. We have a lot of catching up to do. You can tell me what you did after…after you left”, he says awkwardly “and meet Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert. You’ll like them. Well maybe not Lambert, he’s a prick… Hum, “Geralt thinks for a second, a strange glee that Jaskier has never seen showing in his eyes” … actually, you’ll annoy the shit out of him, it’ll be perfect”. Geralt leaves the cave, Roach by his side and Jaskier follows him after a second, a big hopeful smile on his lips. Maybe they can make this work again.

“Oh, delightful! Please tell me everything. I need ammunition before I meet this Lambert!”

***

Thank you for reading! If you want to read the companion piece or something else, I have plenty to find on my masterpost.

[onthepageoftears]

Hold Them Closer ~ Ch.5 [Jaskier x assassin!reader] || Witcher

A/N: 

Your kind words and reviews mean a lot to me, so please don’t afraid to leave a message/comment!

Summary: Gaining the information you needed isn’t easy, and brings up old memories.

Warnings: language, mentions of death/killing/blood

Words: 2,043

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

Night cascaded the sky around you — it wasn’t nearly as dark as it was in the village you and Jaskier had been holed up in, but the city of Novigrad still had a way of surprising you. The torches only lit the streets enough to see a couple feet ahead of you, but the darkness was comforting. It made you wonder what Jaskier was doing right now, as you made your way towards Arnet’s guild.

To say being back in Novigrad was strange would be an understatement. The nearer you got to the city, the worse your stomach churned. It reminded you of the months prior, of the incident with Rauf and Jaskier and how everything that you once knew seemed to fall apart.

But being completely honest, your life was better than it had ever been. You were happy, you felt safer — despite constantly fearing someone after you or Jaskier’s head. But being with Jaskier did make you calmer, as Geralt noted. You weren’t a machine like Rauf once saw you. You were just…you.

But now, with your cloak hood hiding your face as you wandered the alleyways of Novigrad, you felt more like your old self than you had in a while. The patch that you re-sewed into your cloak felt like it weighed a ton on the fabric, but still, you kept walking. Because you were going to get the information you needed, no matter the cost.

You rounded the corner on the street to Arnet’s guild, slowing your steps as you neared the main entrance.

The last time you were here, Rauf had just died by your knife. His lifeless eyes still haunted your dreams, but being back in the city made you think you would see them around every corner.

You were glad when the door hatch opened before you, where a woman grimaced at your figure.

Silently, you flipped the collar of your cloak so the woman could see your patch.

“Y/N.”

You weren’t completely surprised that she knew who you were — you were more…unsettled.

Walking through the familiar guild had you internally cringing. Assassins all around were sharpening weapons, healing their wounds, hanging around. More than anything, you wanted to exterminate this guild just like your own. But you knew doing that, right now, wasn’t the right choice. Until you found what you were looking for, these people would have to continue on killing others for nothing but coin. You hoped, at the least, that some of these people felt the heavy weight of guilt that you did.

But you doubted that.

As soon as you were lead to Arnet’s room, he got up to greet you, “Y/N. It’s a pleasure, as always.”

You nodded, forcing a small smile on your face as he clapped his hand to your shoulder. “What do I owe this pleasure, child?”

You shifted under his gaze, swallowing the lump in your throat. Though you were far from being an assassin, you had the urge to stab him right there, to end both the suffering you were feeling and the suffering that he would inevitably bring to others — by his hand, or by the members of his guild. Instead, you shook it off, and cleared your throat.

“I have to be honest, Arnet. I didn’t come to catch up.”

Arnet nodded and walked over to the seating area in his room. “I figured as much. You were always a bit more serious than your uncle, though that isn’t a bad thing.”

The words stung you, but you masked it. “I came to ask about my mother."

“I can’t say I know too much. Why do you ask?”

You froze. In all the time it took to come back here, you never really came up with a plan. You tried to, multiple times, but then would get distracted by other nerves. But in this moment, a conversation with Rauf entered your mind. It was after one of your visits to Arnet, when you were still too young to go on your own missions. Rauf was mostly talking to himself, but he spoke aloud: Arnet is a bit of a stubborn bastard. But he knows the sweet taste of revenge. The need for justice.

You took in a breath, shoving the memory of Rauf to the back of your mind before it made you want to smash something.

“Rauf told me the truth. The night before he died.” You swallowed down your lies as Arnet tilted his head. “I’m sure you knew already. That he killed my father.”

Arnet blinked, not showing any other emotion on his face. “I did.”

“He…he told me of the betrayal my mother showed him. That she didn’t remain loyal. But he also told me that he couldn’t kill her for the heartbreak she forced upon him.” You had to swallow the bile that rose in your throat. These lies you spoke made your tongue feel heavy, your saliva thick. “I want to finish what Rauf couldn’t. But his journals leave no trace of her. I can understand why, but…I thought you might be able to help.”

Arnet considered you for a moment. You may have been seen as sort of family to him, but that didn’t mean you were close. You couldn’t read his expression as he took a sip of his drink, so you kept your face as stoic as possible. Stiff as a sober Geralt, Jaskier would say.

“Though I don’t know if this is the best way to spend your time, I can respect the drive you show.” You nodded, hiding the desperation in your eyes. “But I hate to tell you that I don’t have a clue where your mother could be.”

This time, you visibly shrunk in your spot. The disappointment filled your eyes, nearly consuming your thoughts. But you weren’t giving up that easily. “What about the village I grew up in? Do you know where that is?”

Arnet nodded, “It’s in Velen. Not far from the crossroads. But I doubt that she stayed there.”

“Of course.” The fact didn’t matter. You were tempted to jump out of your seat then, to get on your horse and find the village by morning. Even then, you would have more of a lead as to where your mother went. But the sense in you kept you put. You needed more information, just in case.

“And…what do you know about my mother?”

Arnet sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve only heard of your mother through your uncle. She was a beauty, but many women like that are…trouble. Your uncle had his head in the clouds. I told him that more often than he could count, and he always told me to piss off.”

“Sounds about right.”

Arnet chuckled, continuing on with a small smile. He looked like a simple old man telling a story of an old friend; it almost calmed you, until you realized who he was, and who his friend was.

You frowned as he spoke, “He was quite the romantic. Wanted to give your mother everything she wanted —buy her land for a farm, get her a shop to sell her goods. He was ready to give up everything for her. And for you.”

You blinked away the anger that had begun to form in your eyes. If he was such a romantic, he could have left you and your family alone. He could have let his ‘beloved’ live the life she wanted to instead of the one he wanted her to.

He gave up everything for you. That must have meant he gave up his morals, his honor, his humanity, as well. And that was not something to be proud of.

Noticing the amount of time he had been talking, Arnet faltered. He leaned forward in his seat. “Maybe I can find some of my men to help you on your journey. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind—“

“No.” You backtracked, realizing how panicked you sounded, “I mean, I need to do this alone.”

“I understand.” Arnet smiled at you, just for a moment, before standing up. “Well, I’m afraid that is all the information I have for you.”

You stood up as well, “Thank you, Arnet. Really.”

“Thank you, Y/N. For carrying your the burden’s your uncle couldn’t seem to fulfill.”

You couldn’t help the memories that surfaced to your brain. Rauf’s blood. His eyes, glazed over. But unlike from your dreams, these memories made you straighten your back, clench your jaw. Because though Rauf seemed to haunt you, you were glad he was out of this world. Dead. And one day, you would be glad to see Arnet in his place as well.

You nodded your head at the man in front of you, looking straight into his eyes as you spoke. “It is my honor.”

—

As you descended the path away from Novigrad, you realized you hadn’t gotten there in the middle of the night, but rather the end. The sun had already begun to rise as you and Buttercup gradually left the city behind you. The further you got, the better you felt — though now, there was a new feeling rising in your chest. Hope, yes, but also worry. Now that you knew where to go to find your mother, you wondered what would be there to greet you. You didn’t let yourself believe she would still be there, because you knew she wouldn’t. But still, you hoped there would be more of a clue of where she had gone.

Your mind was racing when you caught sight of something on the road away from the city. You pulled on Buttercup’s reigns, slowing her down as your eyes focused on something you really hoped you didn’t see. But as you got closer, you knew it was exactly what you feared.

“You’ve got to be joking.” You grunted, getting Buttercup to stop just on the edge of the path next to another…very familiar horse.

You pat Roach's side before walking a bit further into the woods. And just as you suspected, there a small camp with Geralt and Jaskier sitting around a fire. You were almost amused at their presence — they hadn’t even bothered to hide, being just off the path.  But your frustration slid the smirk from your lips, replacing it with a scowl.

“I told you not to follow me.” Your voice startled the men — and by men, it was mostly Jaskier. He jumped from his spot on the ground, only to give a relieved smile at the sight of you.

You kept your scowl firm as he made his way over to you. “Oh, my. Y/N, how funny it is to see you here! Geralt and I were just on…a stroll. A very, very, very long stroll. Towards the same place you happened to be. What a funny coincidence, hm?”

You blinked. “Hilarious.”

You glared at Geralt as he walked past you two and back to the horses, before turning back to Jaskier. The bard tilted his head, placing a hand on your shoulder with a sigh.

“Come on, we let you go in alone. I just wanted to make sure you got out alone too.” Noticing your glare soften — only slightly — he brought his arm around your shoulders and guided you back to the horses, where Geralt was patting Roach's side. “We couldn’t let you take this wondrous, self-discovering journey alone, could we Geralt?”

Your furious glare made Geralt sigh, finally turning to look you in the eye. “He wouldn’t stop talking”

“Then you should’ve knocked him out.”

Jaskier squeezed your shoulder. “And he is standing right here, love.”

You would’ve swooned at the new nickname if not for the anger in your chest. But just like it always happened with Jaskier, once you looked into his eyes, your shoulders dropped.

“We need to find a place to stay for the night. We have…a bit of a journey ahead of us.” 

Jaskier clapped his hands together and helped himself up to Buttercup with an all too-bright smile. “Ah, just like old times, huh?”

Both you and Geralt rolled your eyes, simultaneously barking out a, “Shut up.”

———————————————————————————————————

And so another journey begins! Let me know your thoughts :)

[vulturhythm]

1/2 I have an angsty idea (BTW, this is Tristan and Iseult anon - I'm so flattered you wanted to give me a nickname! If you still want to, Skyleen is good since that's what I've been using on AO3). Anyway, my idea isn't too unique from what you've already posted because what you do you do so well and I like it so much). It revolves around Jaskier being horribly sick/poisoned and Geralt desperately trying to find a cure - maybe it's something specific, like a near-extinct herb or the heart of

... heart of the beast that originally poisoned him, but in any case it's really hard to get and Geralt has to go on a lot of dangerous journeys in search of it. Meaning he has leave Jaskier behind (it's a conveniently prolonged illness). And he keeps failing. He keeps going out on any tips, even the most unlikely, brutalizing himself for a few days/weeks trying to kill monsters/please mages/bribe kings/capture demons or whatever he thinks he needs to do, but he always comes home empty handed...

... and Jaskier's always sicker, weaker, worse when he comes back. He'll spend a few days with him, caring for him, loving him, pleading with him to stay strong, before preparing to head out again. And eventually Jaskier realizes nothing is going to work. Even if Geralt did find something, the illness has progressed so far it wouldn't do any good. So he asks Geralt to stop. Stop hunting, stop risking his own life, stop leaving and just stay with him until the end. And Geralt can't.

Can't give up, can't face losing Jaskier, can't accept (what he sees as) Jaskier losing faith in him. So he goes out again, and again. Eventually, the disease and despair break at Jaskier until he clings, begs Geralt not to leave him, and Geralt does anyway, using his greater strength to remove Jaskier's hands from his arms, clothes, hair, Jaskier's cries echoing worse than any curses from Blaviken. On the last trip, he finds the cure. Having lost his horse to some calamity, he *runs* back...

... to Jaskier, full tilt, past even a witcher's stamina and returns to wherever they've been holed up incoherent with exhaustion and fear. Is he too late? What do you think? (Also, thank you for writing such lovely angst! I think it's the best way to get the love out).

thank you so, so much for sending me this beautifully tragic idea! i do hope this is up to your standards.

- - - - -

i won’t let you die

sorceresses are wretched things.

this is an opinion geralt has formed over a fucking century of enduring their treachery and their torment and their taunting, all the times he’s fallen into bed with one be damned. those times were fucking meaningless when compared to the love he found in jaskier.

meaningless, worthless, pointless - and now, looking back, he fucking hates himself for them.

he hates himself, for it was a sorceress whose rage when denied geralt’s aid in the coup of a crumbling kingdom was unmatched - whose rage led her to curse the bard at geralt’s side, merely fucking standing there, not even doing a damn thing.

he wasn’t doing a goddamn thing.

geralt is snarling, spitting, cursing, demanding an explanation, a cure -

the sorceress drops dead, an arrow through her skull, shot from the ramparts of the castle ahead, and, well.

geralt knows when he isn’t welcome.

he pulls jaskier away, runs from the city square, pulls his bard along through the seething, screaming, rioting crowd.

-

at first, geralt thinks the curse was maybe just as simple as the little rash that pops up on jaskier’s skin within they hour, as they walk away and leave the kingdom behind.

(it will be decimated by week’s end.)

he learns quickly he is wrong when jaskier doubles over and vomits on the trail.

there’s blood amongst the bile.

geralt’s heart seizes.

-

he pushes roach hard, hard, hard to the next town over, one where the healer and the mage are one and the same.

“it’s a disease,” the man tells them, and there’s sympathy in his eyes and something sort of like relief in jaskier’s, but - “and it’s one that can’t be cured.”

geralt knows he can never forget the fear that crossed jaskier’s face.

worse, later, is the resignation.

“geralt - “

“i know. i won’t let you die.”

-

he goes to yennefer next, even though to see her face is to grimace inside.

it’s been a week, and the rash has spread, and jaskier complains of stomach pains daily, even when he hasn’t eaten, even hours before he vomits blood.

yennefer takes one look at geralt before her gaze slides to the bard at his side, and she sighs, and motions them inside.

they learn nothing more.

“incurable,” she says, and if geralt didn’t know full well her loathing of jaskier, he would think she sounded... apologetic. “he’s got two years at best, likely less.”

“there has to be something -“

“geralt. i can’t do a thing.”

-

“geralt, surely someone will know... a - a different sorceress, a mage...”

“i won’t let you die.”

-

they go to another mage next, one tucked away in the depths of a town from which geralt has long since been banned.

it’s here that, finally, they get something - a name, a cause.

“it’s eating away at him,” says the old mage, “from the inside out. it’s an ancient thing - dark magic, as dark as i’ve seen. they say... well.”

“what?” geralt snarls, his grip on jaskier’s arm only tightening when his bard sways closer against his side.

“dragon heart, they say. little more than theory, but - “

and just like that, geralt is out the door, jaskier close behind.

-

“you can’t go after a dragon alone - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

jaskier is weaker.

the rash has become boils here and there, on the backs of his hands and arms and shoulders, and he can no longer play the lute without pain.

as much as it tears geralt apart to leave him behind, he does.

he leaves jaskier at home in corvo bianco, begs their nearest neighbors to drop in, keep him well...

swears to come back alive.

-

“promise me you’ll come back if it’s a false lead - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

he slays the dragon, a fierce red thing far up north, slices out its heart and carries it back to blaviken tied to roach’s haunches.

the old mage is waiting, ancient tomes and tablets and scrolls open on every surface, herbs and plants and monster pieces on top of and among it all.

“if this is right,” says the mage, “it’ll be violet at the end, but, well,” he amends, as he checks a scroll, “translating these have been next to impossible,” he admits, as he slices off a section of the heart, “and it might not - “

the broiling mixture in the cauldron turns a horrid, bloody red when the heart is dropped inside.

geralt feels nothing but dread.

-

“geralt, you can’t possibly kill enough dryads in time -“

“i won’t let you die.”

-

the second time he leaves from corvo bianco, he leaves jaskier in pain.

the boils are becoming lesions, and the bloody bile is a daily occurrence, and his singing voice is all but gone.

geralt sets off for the forests, and, well...

he slays fifteen of the forest nymphs, and he feels guilt biting at the back of his throat each time he shaves bark from the dead dryads’ trees, but jaskier’s red and bleeding skin is at the forefront of his mind.

the potion goes gray this time, deep and dull and dreadful, and geralt wants to scream.

-

jaskier is coughing now.

geralt stays home for a week, mourns the loss of jaskier’s warmth in his arms, for his bard cannot bear the touch of another’s on his sore and blistering and bleeding skin.

it pains him to see, and yet...

he cannot rest.

he leaves at week’s end, the edges of the world on his mind.

-

“geralt, please, just stay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

twenty tongues of elven warriors.

geralt sees the hatred, the betrayal, the disgust in filavandrel’s eyes as he slaughters those that remain.

he sees it tenfold when he slays the elven king where he stands.

he sees it in the surface of the river when he crouches down to wash his skin free of blood, reflected in his own eyes when he does his best to clean his own wounds.

he sees it in the washed-out green the cauldron’s contents turn.

he sees it in jaskier’s eyes when he returns home, tells him of the fall of the elves... tells him of the new scars upon his back.

-

“please, my wolf, stay behind this time...”

“i won’t let you die.”

-

fang of demon.

five new claw marks across his jaw.

jaskier cannot stand without doubling over in the worst fit of blood-splattering coughing geralt has ever witnessed.

the potion is black.

-

“geralt, it’s okay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

flesh of the one cursed before first breath.

a night in a crypt, a broken wrist, a gash on the flank.

jaskier’s eyes are bloodshot and his voice is frail. he cannot walk alone.

the potion is teal.

-

“geralt, please, if you love me - “

“i won’t let you die.”

-

eye of the beast upon the highest throne.

a king slain, a kingdom out for his blood, an arrowhead through the shoulder and a ribcage of splintered bone.

jaskier is bedridden.

the potion is gold.

-

“geralt, my love, *please,* i beg of you - “

“i won’t let you die.”

fang of the lycanthrope.

scar across the chest.

white.

-

“the cure doesn’t exist, geralt, stay home - “

“i won’t let you die.”

sting of the manticore.

wounded in the side.

bronze.

-

“it won’t ever work, my love, please let me die in your arms - “

“i won’t let you die.”

vessel of the djinn.

broken, battered, bruised.

charcoal.

-

at the end of the fifteenth month, geralt leaves his beloved behind for the last time.

he leaves jaskier coughing, choking, begging, grabbing for his arms, his hands, anything to keep him close -

grabbing for him despite the wounds geralt and the healers have done their best to keep bound -

begging for him despite the way his voice is all but gone -

sobbing for him despite the way he can barely even breathe -

but geralt draws away, shakes his head, whispers one last time, “i won’t let you die.”

he can hear his bard’s sobs well beyond the walls of their home.

-

twenty nine days.

wyvern, harpy, dwarf, virgin, cockatrice, gryphon, chimera, basilisk, leshen...

vampire, succubus, drowner, kikimora, barghest...

the monsters blur together after so long - after so much of his blood spilled.

geralt is growing weak, growing tired -

growing slow.

and then, one day -

one day, he stumbles as he walks back into the mage’s tower, stumbles and catches himself on the edge of the cauldron, and -

and his blood, the blood that’s fucking covering from melitele only knows how many fucking cuts and gashes and scrapes and gouges -

his blood drips from his palm, from his wrist, from his fingertips, and it falls into the cauldron -

and the concoction of herbs and roots and flowers and bones and brains and heartstrings and feathers and stones and blood, it -

it turns deep, vibrant violet, and -

and geralt goes still.

-

he’s never pushed roach as hard as he does that day, the next day, the next...

it’s the third day when a group of highwaymen cross his path, when they fire at him from the hillside, when a crossbow bolt strikes roach through the sockets of her eyes, and -

and geralt tears them all down without an instant of hesitation, and he pauses to mourn the loss of his cherished companion, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and geralt runs.

his legs ache and his lungs burn and his ribs feel as though they may shatter again from the strain, and he is bleeding, and he is dying, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he loses track of the days and of how many times he trips and falls and of how many times he drops to his knees and then to the ground -

and still he runs.

-

i can’t let him die.

-

geralt feels as though he may collapse by the time he stumbles against the doors of corvo bianco, but still he moves,

still he pushes on,

pushes the door open and almost falls inside, and -

and he cannot breathe, and his vision is hazy, and he knows that he’s gone too far, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he steps through the doors of the room they’ve shared for so many long and perfect years, and -

and he reaches into his pocket for the vial of antidote, and -

and he looks up, and he goes still.

the vial falls to the floor.

geralt lurches the few steps to the edge of the bed, drops to his knees, reaches out to touch the back of a cold, cold hand, closed tight about a scrap of parchment he can’t bring himself to acknowledge.

he lowers his edge to the mattress, and he breathes in, and he breathes out, and...

and at last, the witcher is still.

-

geralt,

my beloved, i have kept alive as long as i can. i have spent my life at your side, and there isn’t a day of it that i would have changed.

my only regret is that i did not die in your arms.

i love you.

live well.

[aphrodites-law]

The Clarke Show

(A take on The Truman Show)

Nia Reign is as imposing as Lexa imagined. Her suit is a dark green with silver cuffs, nothing that Lexa could ever hope to afford. 

"Why Clarke?"

She isn’t the only live show, but she's certainly the most popular in the nation. Arkadia's darling. Arkadia's golden child. Lexa has never had the time or luxury for escapism, but everyone knows that even the nation's prince, Lincoln, trails Clarke in views by millions.

"Because Clarke is getting restless. It's a phase I'm sure you're familiar with––the yearning for the world you've never been a part of. She wants spontaneity. Adventure. We've scripted something that’ll show her the grass isn’t always greener. It'll make for a thrilling story arc."

Lexa looks at the hundreds of screens, each one a frame of the town built for Clarke and the twelve other Selected. The grocery store she shops at; the movie theater she goes to; the streets she walks on; the beach; the offices; the coffee shops; the parks; the neighborhood––every single place ready to spring to life should the Selected decide to take the trams there. It's an exceptionally well-oiled machine.

"What role would I play?"

"You'll be the dark horse. The wild card Clarke never thought she'd hold. You'll take her places she's never been­––new sets we've built. You'll win over her heart and then you'll break it, right in time for us to introduce Finn."

"Finn?" Lexa asks, still gazing at a screen where a bird briefly flits in front of the camera. She wonders if its species is native to the area or if it's even real at all.

"Clarke's future husband if all goes according to plan. Finn is a perfect match for her in every way. Your opposite."

Lexa turns to the control room below the glass panels. There are hundreds of employees in headsets pressing hundreds of buttons, rushing from right to left, biting into sandwiches and yawning while they craft the details of Arkapolis. There are workers in shirts designing objects on large screens; workers in lab coats testing liquids in vials; workers with grease smears tweaking the settings of androids. There is so much energy and talent being poured into a fake world. Lexa wonders why these people couldn't better their real world instead. Lexa’s neighborhood in Arkadia is crumbling apart, the infrastructure rusting and rotting, and yet here she is watching engineers design sets with swimming pools and amusement parks.

"No offense meant," Nia says behind her.

Lexa shakes her head. "I'm no princess."

"But you can be charming.”

Lexa turns to her. "I'm not a good actress."

Nia sits in her leather chair, utterly in control of the room and the conversation.  "I've seen the women you seduce. They don't hold a candle to our Clarke. Surely it won’t be difficult for you to muster some passion."

What Nia means is that prostituting herself for entertainment should come easily. Lexa knows that's exactly why she was picked for the role.

"Clarke made a whole nation fall in love with her the moment she opened those blue eyes onscreen for the first time," Nia reminds her. "Right now there are millions of souls watching her and yearning to spend time with her. Time you'll be afforded. You don't need to be a good actress, Ms. Woods, you need to be exactly who you are: a lowlife drifter who seduces lonely women to get something out of them. In this instance, more money than you've seen in your entire life."

Anger boils inside Lexa, but the words aren't all lies. "You think you know everything about me based on police records?"

Nia chuckles at Lexa's naïveté. "I don't care to know everything about you. I know what's necessary. You need the money and you’ll do anything for it. Am I wrong?”

Lexa thinks of her sister Anya and the medical bills sticking out of drawers; the leaks in her apartment; the skittering of roaches on their floor. She thinks of her nephew and niece––Aden's gaunt face and Marla playing with dolls made out of cans and wires. She thinks of the floor she sleeps on in the corner of Anya’s room, cold and damp.

"When do I start?"

Nia smiles victoriously. "You’ll go through scrubbing and fitting first. An implant will be placed in your ear canal; it’ll be used sparsely but I will be communicating with you when needed. It’ll also track your location. Training will take three weeks––you’ll need to know Arkapolis like the back of your hand, not to mention your new profession. You’ll spend time with your new best friends, Raven and Costia, for familiarity purposes. We’ll have Clarke meet Lexa in a month’s time.”

Lexa’s eyes flash at her own name being used so strangely, as if she isn’t the one being referred to. As if she will exist separately from the character they have made up for Clarke, the Lexa who’ll take pleasure in seducing and using and discarding the nation’s sweetheart. She wonders how hated she will be coming out of it. 

"I want the money, a weekly stipend, sent to my sister," Lexa tells Nia, looking at her with a set jaw. "You control so much of the media––I want a guarantee my family will be kept out of it. No one bothers them. No one even mentions them.”

"We can do that." Nia looks up and smiles, the once cruel curve of her lips turning tender. "Look."

Lexa glances back at the screens, watching as Clarke walks out of her small house with her dog. She waves at her neighbor and grins. Her life is so simple that Lexa feels some anger toward her. Why couldn't Anya have been one of the Selected? Why did Aden and Marla know more about suffering than Clarke did? All she will know of pain is an orchestrated heartbreak before true love swoops in.

Lexa doesn't pity her. If it keeps her family safe and fed, she'll lift Clarke Griffin to unimaginable heights before dropping her. She'll be the villain her story needs; take her heart and crush it with a smile.

"Do you stream everything live?" She asks Nia.

Nia seems bored now, the formality of convincing Lexa over and done with. "Clarke's channel is family friendly, with a slight delay in the feed. We expect you to alert us at the beginning and the end of explicit footage. The public knows Clarke is only broadcast live for eighteen hours a day. It'll make our lives easier if you'd ensure physical intimacy happened within the closed window, but if not the delay gives us time to cut to our planned programming. Obviously you won’t start conversations that further the storyline within those six hours either. There is nothing more frustrating to the public than missing out on milestones.”

Lexa rolls her eyes as she watches the ants hard at work in the control room. "How romantic," she drawls. "Bet those guys enjoy the show when it goes offline."

Nia hardly contains her disdain at Lexa's crassness. "We have a number of protocols in place for private scenes."

Lexa vaguely recalls that bathrooms have no cameras, but ‘private’ has an entirely different meaning for the Selected. Surely it was private when Clarke’s father passed away onscreen, followed by a close up of Clarke’s sobs. Surely it was private when she kissed a girl for the first time and embarrassed herself with a sneeze, not knowing the entire nation was laughing at her clumsiness. 

But if it bothers Lexa that Nia talks about someone's reality as footage and scenes, she reasons she should get used to it fast. Soon she'll be a part of the show too, and her life will be nothing more than snapshots stitched together for the purpose of entertainment. Nia suddenly stands by her, surveying the control room like a Queen would survey her land from her castle's highest tower.  

"Believe me, the novelty of working behind-the-scenes wears off quickly. These people aren’t different from you. All they want is to get the job done so that they may go home to their families. Surely you understand that."

Lexa looks at Clarke again, her body in a medium shot as she walks her pet with no worry in the world. In a month things will change for her. For both of them. Lexa takes a deep breath and nods, knowing exactly what she would sacrifice for her family’s sake.

[soundofseventeen]

13 Days of Christmas (Joshua Hong)

I am very tired, rip. gif credit to owners...im off to cure my cold

Word count: 1676

You wouldn’t call yourself the grinch, but you definitely hated the holidays. You couldn’t stand how the moment Halloween was over, Christmas trees were not only put up everywhere you turned, but the music seeped from the stereo and into your brain (and sometimes your dreams). And then there was the holiday shopping. There were people who didn’t deserve anything but you still had to get them something because you hung out with them. But then there were those who deserved everything the world had to offer, but you couldn’t afford that because the money in your bank account liked to laugh at you for even thinking it. None of that, however, compared to the ridiculous hours you had to work.

The worst job in the world, you liked to say, was retail. You didn’t mind dealing with people as long as they were friendly and didn’t send you into a panic attack after one interaction. They made your days bearable...and also not hate your job too much. But the ones who treated you like gum under their shoe or a roach they couldn’t kill made you wanna gouge your eyes out...or douse them in gasoline and set them on fire. You were fine with either option. It seemed like they all came out to play during the holiday deals and make your life even more miserable than it already felt. You’d been mentally preparing yourself for these days since July, maybe earlier...you didn’t know to be honest. Time now seemed like a foreign concept. Halloween meant dealing with parents fighting over the tiniest accessories for costumes to screeching for a manager because of a nonexistent discount. And the teenagers who acted too cool for everyone had you screaming into whatever you had in your hands. And November brought angry people who basically cursed you and your future generations for not having a bigger display of Thanksgiving items (despite few people celebrating the actual holiday.)

But those didn’t compare to the month-long Christmas. Christmas, ironically enough, was the holiday from hell. Most of the time, you clocked in early in the morning as the sun rose and there was a good chance you wouldn’t come out until the stars were out. If your manager didn’t have you mopping the floor from a coffee that a careless mom spilled, you worked the register, praying that you had the strength to get through your shift. You envied everyone who walked in or passed through those doors because they didn’t feel dread coursing through their bodies. All in all, if you could quit your job without worrying about your next paycheck, you would’ve walked a long time ago, because sometimes it didn’t feel like they paid you enough to deal with that bullshit. 

Tonight seemed like no exception when you trudged through your apartment door, your feet feeling like they’d give out at any second a little after midnight. You let yourself fall on your couch, ripping off the ridiculous Santa Claus hat your coworkers begged you to wear with them, wondering if you could “lose” it somehow. Your face hurt from the mostly fake smile you wore the entire time. You wanted a hot shower to relax your muscles; you wanted to sleep in to the new year so the stress would go away. You needed to look for your laptop so you could start your Christmas shopping so you could spare the other retail workers. (While customers left you apathetic, the empathy you felt for everyone else who dealt with them skyrocketed and you vowed to make things easier for them.);  you needed food so your tummy would quit whining at you to eat something; you needed to remind yourself that no other job paid above the minimum; you needed the fucking cold to go away so you could be less cranky. You just hated everything right now.

As if your night couldn’t get any worse, a scream sounded next door to you. It wasn’t an, “Oh my god, I’m dying here, someone please save me,” yell but one of, “Oh my god; what is this?!” How that was possible, you didn’t know but it was enough for you to leave your couch and out the door in record time to give them a piece of your mind. Some people were asleep at this hour and some like you wanted to wallow in their self-pity because they had to repeat today tomorrow again. 

You had a few choice words for the white flakes falling from the sky because now you had to officially accept that Christmas was coming and you were gonna die of premature stress. But then you saw the culprit who startled you and ruined your night and yelled out an irritated, “Hey!” with hopes of rolling whatever you could spew at him.

He looked at you, his emotions one of wonder and surprise at being acknowledged, his hand midair as if reciting a Shakespearan monologue.

His eyes were a lot sparklier than the ornaments that decorated the Christmas tree at work and you weren’t expecting that, so your expansive vocabulary of bad words died on your tongue, and the longer you looked at him, the harder it was to form a sentence of, “Why the fuck are you so loud?” or something along those lines...and goddamn it, now you were blushing because you had no idea what to do now. His black hair fell into his eyes as the wind blew and he made zero effort to move it, making him seem more attractive and if you weren’t frozen on the spot, you would’ve gone back in and let the roof cave in over your head.

“Hello,” he finally spoke and you were officially fucked. “Can I help you with something?” That. Lisp. With lips redder than Snow White’s had you melting into a puddle and ready to scream at whoever decided to make your life this hard.

“Yeah,” you hated yourself for how meek you sounded when you meant to sound intimidating. “Why’d you yell? Some of us have to be up early tomorrow.” Or in a few hours...time lost its meaning. All you knew was that your alarm had been set up already.

“I’m sorry. I-I just I’ve never seen snow before tonight. See, I’m from LA and it never snows there. Like, we’d go somewhere like Lancaster or more up north, but this is the first time I’ve seen it fall while I’ve been here.”

“Yeah, but so loud? Was that necessary?” Fuck, he was really cute with his reindeer antlers and you really needed to focus because now was not the time to look like a fool in front of a cute boy. Well, any more than you already have.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah well just don’t let it happen again.” You finally found the strength to move and you went back inside to let your neighbor have fun with the falling snow, trying to ignore your racing heart and blushing cheeks.

“Oh, shit this is cold!” 

“Dude!” you threw your head out.

“I’m Joshua,” he waved at you.

“And I wanna sleep.” You sighed. “Listen, I know you mean well, but I have to deal with unpleasant humans tomorrow and the day after that and this whole fucking month until the new year so if you shut up for the rest of the night, then I would appreciate it.” 

He shot you a finger gun and clicked his tongue. “Ahh, you work retail. I could tell by your attitude.” He shivered from the cold. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you; I was just excited to see it-”

And now you felt like a jerk. “No, I’m sorry it was just a really long day and people were annoying and some five-year-old kid almost made me cry and December is just a nightmare and it’s only the beginning. I didn’t mean to snap at you, and enjoy the snow.” You closed the door slowly and opened it again just as quickly. “Also, wear gloves because frostbite is not a joke. Okay, sorry for disturbing you.” *

The next morning, after digging in your closet to find all the accessories to keep you warm, you were running late. So much so, you didn’t even bother turning on your alarm. (It was insured so you weren’t too worried about something happening. And in your haste, you ran straight into...Joshua. Great. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll pay for any damages tonight. My boss’s gonna kill me if I don’t get there soon.”

“Do you ever just take a second to breathe?” He asked you, gently blowing on his coffee cup. The smell of it mixed with French vanilla wafted through the air and into your nostrils. “It’s not even eight yet. What’s the rush?”

“Traffic, and long lines to get breakfast.”

“Well, I have a bagel. Here.” 

“I don’t know you.”

“Well, it’s either take my word for it or you’ll be hungry for hours.”

“How’d you like the snow?” Better to change the subject even if meant getting there a little later than usual. You looked at his bagel a little longer and hesitantly reached for it. (And you realized you didn’t have dinner last night, making it look twice as good.)

“It’s really pretty. I’m kinda glad I live here now.”

“It won’t be like that after a while, trust me. And I really have to go. Uh, thanks for the bagel. I’ll pay you for that.”

“Just don’t yell at your neighbors anymore for seeing snow and we’ll call it even. Good luck at work. I think you might need it. Also, I didn’t get your name.” The cold air left his face red and you hated yourself for how attractive he looked.

“I’m Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, I’ll probably see you after work. Have a great day.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or sarcastic but you knew that he was cute and you may have believed in Santa Claus for bringing a cute boy to be your next-door neighbor.

[queenxxxsupreme]

What Consumes Us (biker!Geralt)

Chapter 5

A/N: guuuuuuys so I hit a little bit of writer’s block for the sixth chapter which was why I was delaying putting this one out. I thought I was going to have to change some things but I figured it out and we are good to go!! As always I want to give a huge huge HUGE thank you to @jensensjaredsandmishaslover​ for being my beta. I love you babe<3 I also want to give credit to @justyouraveragemainblog​ for ALWAYS letting me bounce ideas off of her and for giving me inspiration for this story. You’re absolutely amazing babe:)

Warnings: none, angsty I think????

Word Count: 4.1k

Here is the rest of the chapters for What Consumes Us.

“Geralt will stay with you tonight until we can find somewhere else for you to go.” Tissaia spoke as she moved swiftly and gracefully towards the door that led to the bar. 

Romina was absolutely drained. There was a weight on her shoulders and she still felt nauseous. Her mind was going a million miles a second but at the same time, she couldn’t think of anything. All she wanted was to go home and take a shower, and maybe sleep for a week. 

“Romina?” Geralt’s voice pulled her from her swirling thoughts. She turned her head to look at the door Tissaia had left through. “Come on. It’s almost two in the morning.” She stood to her feet and followed him out of the break room.

***

Geralt’s truck rumbled as he put it into park. The engine died when he turned it off and pulled the keys out of the ignition. 

Romina had been silent the entire ride to her apartment. Her eyes stared out of the window to her right, her hands on her thighs squeezing every now and then. In the back seat, Roach was laying down with her head resting on her paws. 

The Witcher glanced over to Romina, sighing softly through his nose. He didn’t know what to do, what to say to make her feel better. He could sense her confusion, her anger. Her mind was in a great turmoil. She took a quiet deep breath and blinked, bringing herself from her thoughts. She turned her head to meet Geralt’s gaze. 

“Do you often get put on babysitting duty?”

He almost cracked a smile. At least she was well enough to tease him like she usually did. 

“Only when it comes to unstable Sources.” He stuffed the keys to his truck into his jacket and opened the door. This caused the lights in the cab to turn on. Romina was still looking at him, not making an effort to get out of the truck. “What?”

“I just…. I haven’t thanked you for earlier today.” She spoke quietly, letting her gaze fall to her hands. “You were shot and Tissaia yelled at you for something you couldn’t control. For something I did.”

“Tissaia didn’t yell at me.” Geralt stepped out of his truck and closed the driver’s side door. He opened the door right behind him and whistled once. Roach jumped down from the back seat. “I’ve seen her yell only a handful of times in the decades I’ve known her. She didn’t yell. She was just frustrated. Having a Hellcat kill a Black Sun could spark a war if Cahir decides to retaliate.”

Romina watched him close the door and then move around the front of the truck to her door. She didn’t intend to stay in the truck, to make him open the door for her. She just couldn’t get herself to think straight, to think of what she needed to do next. All she could do was sit there. Her limbs felt heavy, like someone tied weights to each of them. Geralt pulled her door open and waited patiently for her to unbuckle and slip down from the seat. 

“I didn’t mean to kill him, you know.” She whispered, standing barely a foot from him. She looked up at the tall man. Tears glossed her eyes and she bit her bottom lip for a moment. “I didn’t mean to.”

“There’s not a Source in history that didn’t accidentally kill someone.” Geralt closed the door to the truck as she moved towards her apartment building. “You’ve heard of Cirilla.” 

It was a statement but he paused to make sure she confirmed his thoughts. Romina nodded softly. They started for the elevator. She pushed the up button. 

“She killed at least a dozen people in the process of learning to control herself.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Romina glanced over to him.

“I never said it would.”

***

Romina closed the door to her apartment behind Geralt then locked the bolt and slid the chain across the top of the door. 

“Um, you can sleep on the couch.” Romina absentmindedly rubbed her arm. “I promise it’s more comfortable than it looks.”

“I won’t be sleeping tonight.” He shook his head, his eyes flickering around the room. She nodded her head softly. 

“There extra blankets in the closet down the hall if you change your mind.” She started to move towards her room. “Good night, Geralt.”

“Good night, Romina.”

***

Romina stepped into the shower, closing her eyes as the hot water made contact with her skin. She closed the door to the shower and then put herself directly underneath the falling water. Her eyes closed and her chest tightened. A sudden sob broke from her lips. One of her hands covered her mouth while the other held on to the shower wall. Her head fell as she cried into her hand, trying to muffle the sound. 

The water soaked her hair, making the long brunette strands cling to her neck and face. The weight on her chest was too much to bear. Her whole life she had been kept from the truth, from knowing who she was-what she was. Her uncle ran the Black Sun. He might have had something to do with her father’s death, and she killed a man. 

The latter alone was enough to break her down to tears. Guilt filled her entirety, absorbing her every thought and making every inch of her body numb. The water burned her skin but she didn’t move. She deserved the pain. The mental anguish wasn’t enough. 

***

Geralt lifted his head as he heard the door to Romina’s room open. He had heard her over a half an hour ago crying in the shower. He could hear her frantic heart beating, hear her muffled cries from behind her hand. 

Romina emerged from the hallway, her arms tightly wrapped around herself. She was dressed in a pair of black joggers and a white hoodie with the coat of arms for Kaedwen on the chest just above her heart. It was a black unicorn within a gold square. Her still damp hair was left down. She tucked a few pieces behind her ear. 

“I-I just wasn’t sure if you wanted company or not…. since you aren’t sleeping.” Her voice was raspy. She cleared her throat. “I can’t sleep. There’s too much…. too much going on.”

He said nothing. He was sitting in a chair in the dining room closest to one of the windows. 

Romina sat down on the sofa, curling her legs up underneath herself. 

“Just a few months ago, I lived in Kaedwen.” She wanted to talk, needed to talk. She needed to do something, whether he’d talk back or not. “I moved here because I wanted to be closer to my mother after my father died. She…. She loved him more than anything. I wasn’t sure how losing him would've affected her.”

Geralt listened to her carefully, curious to know more about her. 

“I’m from Ard Carraigh. I was a paramedic.” The little smile crossed her lips. “I was damn good at my job. Earned myself a nickname. The Angel of Ard Carraigh. My co-workers…. They’d call me a miracle worker.” She dropped her gaze to her hands, her fingers uncurling as she studied her hands. “Anyone I laid my hands on, they’d overcome whatever illness or injuries they had.”

Geralt noticed the way her fingers trembled just slightly. She curled her hands back up and pushed the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands. She placed them in her lap as if she was hiding her hands. 

“The man you killed isn’t worth your worry. He was a criminal.”

“It wasn’t in my place to kill him though.” Romina shook her head, taking a deep breath to keep herself from crying. “Just because he was a bad man, that doesn’t mean it was okay for me to take his-to take his life.”

Geralt felt sorry for this woman. She was practically hurled into this life, into a life she should’ve grown up in. She would’ve adjusted easier had she been introduced to the ways of the Hellcats at a young age. 

Roach left her place by Geralt’s feet and went to Romina. The dog jumped onto the sofa next to Romina and placed her head on her lap. Romina smiled softly, rubbing Roach’s head. 

“Have you killed someone before?” Her voice lowered to a soft whisper as she looked across the room to him. The Witcher held her gaze, tilting his head up just a little. 

“Yes.”

Hearing his answer didn’t make her feel any better like she thought it would. Romina nodded softly and looked down at her hands. 

"Why does Cahir want me? He’s-He’s my uncle. He shouldn’t be trying to kidnap me or kill me or-or whatever he’s sending people to do to me.” 

“It’s for the same reason Calanthe gave the okay to bring you into our world.” Geralt leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.  “You have the potential to be powerful.”

“If Calanthe’s granddaughter is a Source just like me, then why can’t she do what they all want me to do?”

“Because Cirilla is only sixteen. Calanthe doesn’t have the time to wait until Ciri is old enough.”

Romina nodded again. She looked down at Roach, smiling softly as the dog’s eyes met hers. 

“Who are her parents? Cirilla’s?” Geralt paused, clearly surprised that she asked the question.

“They died when Cirilla was young. It was a car accident.”

“Did you raise her?” Romina couldn’t help her curiosity. She would’ve never pictured the brooding, intimidating man to be a father. 

“With Calanthe’s help.” Geralt nodded his head once, tearing his eyes away from Romina. She smiled softly. 

“I’d like to meet her someday.” She looked up at him through her lashes. His golden eyes flickered over to her. Geralt nodded his head gently. 

“You should try to get some rest.” He stood to his feet and moved towards the window. His leather jacket was laying across the back of the chair he had previously been sitting in. The black henley he wore fit his torso and arms snuggly, accentuating his toned arms and his broad shoulders. The sleeves were pushed up to just below his elbows, revealing the tattoos on his forearms. 

The left one had the scene of a creek down by his wrist. Stones and rocks lined the creek and the bottom of a tree peeked out from the bottom of the sleeve that was pushed up to his elbow. The right forearm contained a snake wrapping around him with the head resting on the back of his right hand. Romina couldn’t help but gaze at the markings as he went to the window that overlooked the street below. He pulled the curtain back just a hair. As if on cue, she yawned, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She smiled down at Roach and then stood up. “Can I…. Can I just take a look at your side? It’s going to eat me up all night if I at least don’t check on it. You should’ve gotten stitches and I-I was going to do it but then the cops and Tissaia showed up and Jaskier was knocked out…. Oh shit! I forgot about him-,”

“Your friend is fine.” He assured her. “And I’m fine too. No need to worry.”

Romina held his gaze, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She bit her bottom lip, trying to think of a way to get him to agree to letting her just look at the wound. The paramedic in her was dying to make sure he was okay. The wound should’ve put him in the hospital. Geralt let out a sigh through his nose and rolled his eyes. 

“Fine.“

“Thank you.” Romina smiled just a little and moved towards him.

He pulled the material of his shirt up just enough for her to see the area where he’d been shot. The skin below his ribs were void of any open wound. Where he had been shot, there was a bullet scar. It was lighter than the rest of his pale skin.

“That’s amazing.” She breathed in awe, reaching out to tentatively touch the scar with her fingertips. 

When her fingers made contact with him, he inhaled carefully. Romina, thinking she hurt him, drew her hand back to herself and looked up at him.

“I-I’m sorry-,” 

“I’m fine. I told you I was.” He tugged his shirt back down into place. “Now go sleep.”

Romina nodded her head, biting her lip as she took a few steps away from him. She bumped into the end table by the sofa and turned to make sure she didn’t knock anything off.

“I’ll-I’ll see you in the morning.” She turned and quickly made her way towards her room.

***

The Next Morning

Romina knocked on the opened door to Tissaia’s office. It was just before 10:30a.m. and the staff of Aretuza was busy preparing for the day. Romina wasn’t on the schedule to work but Tissaia requested she come in anyways. 

“I didn’t expect you so early.” Tissaia put the papers in her hand down and folded her hands in her lap. 

“I need….” Romina trailed off, her eyes flickering down to the floor. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a steady deep breath through her nose and out through her lips. Her heart was racing in her chest. She wasn’t sure why it was doing this, but it made breathing and focusing on her thoughts difficult. “There’s a lot on my mind right now.”

“You need a distraction.” Romina nodded her head even though it wasn’t a question. Tissaia looked back to her desk and then to her watch. 

“I have an idea. Geralt suggested you learn a little self defense. He said you do pretty badly when it comes to defending yourself.”

“I’ve never had to fight, Tissaia.” Romina moved into the office, sitting down in a chair in front of her desk. “I’m-I’m completely new to this whole ‘fight or die’ gang shit.”

“We aren’t a gang, mouse.” Tissaia corrected her. “We are organized. We have a code, and we have morals. We aren’t a band of thugs going around committing petty larcenies.”

Romina’s gaze dropped to her hands and she nodded softly. 

“There’s a hierarchy, mouse, a food chain. And right now, you are at the bottom of that food chain. Without Geralt, you’d be dead already. Self defense is something you must learn in order to survive in this world.”

Romina said nothing. 

“Lift your head, mouse.”

The brunette slowly lifted her head, her eyes finding Tissaia.

“What happened to the fire I saw in your eyes the day Cahir came?” The Rectress tilted her head to the side just a little. 

“I killed someone, Tissaia.” She whispered. “I-I should be in prison right now, not here.”

“You wouldn’t last a day in prison, mouse. The man you killed deserved to die. He was a murderer himself.”

Hearing those words did little to comfort Romina. 

"I wouldn’t have brought you into this if I didn’t have faith in you, in what you can become.” Tissaia’s voice lowered and a softness took over her harsh tone. “I don’t waste my time on lost causes. You will experience many, many hardships in the near future. But you cannot linger on them. Do you understand what I’m telling you, little mouse?”

“Yes.” Romina nodded her head once more. 

“Good. Since you are here early, I’d like to discuss your current living arrangements. You live in Tanwen, correct?”

Romina nodded again.

“That is the Cahir’s territory. How would you feel about moving to Etolia?”

“Etolia?” Romina hadn’t heard of that part of Cintra.

“It’s just around the corner from here. And Yennefer and Triss live there in the Towers of Etolia. You currently don't have a vehicle, is that correct?”

“I’m working on it, but right now I take the bus or walk.”

“Etolia would be safer for you. It’s more ideal that you live closer to others like you. Should anything happen, Yennefer or Triss are there for you.”

“Do I really have a choice?” Romina furrowed her eyebrows together.

“I’m afraid not. If Calanthe sees that one of her own is living in territory of the Black Sun, she could see it as though you’ve turned on her.”

Romina said nothing. Her stomach churned at the thought of being Black Sun territory. 

***

Having nothing better to do, Romina ventured out to the bar. It wasn’t yet time to open, meaning the only ones present were staff members. She took a seat at the end of the bar, crossing her arms and resting her head on them. She felt so exhausted, so worn and weak. 

“Here, love.” Triss placed a cup of coffee down in front of Romina. She lifted her head and offered the mage a half-ass smile. “How are you feeling, Romie?”

“Not the greatest, to be honest.” Romina wrapped her hands around the warm cup.

Something moving in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Further down the bar from her was Yennefer and Geralt. The former sat on a stool, her legs crossed. The white haired man stood close to her. Yennefer brushed her fingers over the sleeve to his leather jacket.

“I wasn’t aware they were a thing.” Romina brought her eyes back to her drink. 

“Yennefer and Geralt?” Triss raised her brows. “They haven’t been a thing for ages.”

“She seems like his type. Rough and…. aggressive.”

“Yennefer isn’t one for settling down.”

“He wanted to?” Romina furrowed her eyebrows together.

“She didn’t want more than anything casual.” Triss’s voice dropped to a quiet whisper as Geralt turned away from Yennefer and started making his way towards her.

Romina very briefly met his gaze before looking at Triss. 

“Hello, Geralt.” She greeted with a smile. 

“Triss.” He nodded once to her. Romina could feel his eyes boring holes into the side of her head. “Are you ready to get back to your apartment?”

“Tissaia must be paying you well to babysit me.” Romina lifted the coffee up to her lips and took a drink. She placed the mug back down on the counter and took a deep breath. “I don’t know anyone who follows around someone with as much trouble as me.” 

“I’m just…. I’m going to go.” Triss moved away from the two. 

“I’m not in the mood for games today, Romina.”

“Yeah? Well I’m not in the mood to be followed around!” She couldn’t help but raise her voice. All of the emotions inside had been festering, bubbling and boiling until they grew to be too much. “Since you came into my life, I’ve had problem after problem!”

She slipped from the bar stool she was perched on and turned to face him, standing nearly toe to toe with the massive man. She gazed up at him with anger in her eyes. They held each other’s gaze, neither one looking away as a few people moved into the room to watch.

“You can’t blame me for your problems, Romina.” Geralt kept his voice even and calm. “I’m not the only one Tissaia’s had follow you around.”

Romina’s brows drew together as she took in his words.

Something moved out of the corner of her eye. Jaskier stood near the entrance to the bar. Her attention was taken from the Witcher and turned to the only person she deemed a friend in Cintra.

“Jaskier?” She turned to face her.

“Hi, love.” He lightly waved at her.

“You…. You’re one of them?” She whispered.

“I-,”

“He’s one of us.” Tissaia spoke from the edge of the hallway. Romina didn’t look at her. “You’ve had one of us watching you since you stepped foot in Cintra. Whether it be Geralt or Jaskier, you’ve been protected.

“Is there anyone else you have that’s lying for you?” Romina spoke through her teeth to the Rectress.

“No.”

“Good. I’m done with this bullshit.” She shook her head and turned to leave, raking her fingers through her dark hair.

“Should one of us go after her?” Triss looked to Tissaia. The doors to the bar swung open and closed behind Romina.

“Not yet. Let her cool down.” Her eyes flickered to Geralt, who had his hands curled into tight fists by his sides. His golden eyes, swirling with frustration and annoyance, were focused on the door Romina disappeared out of. “It’s best not to let her words get to you-,”

“It’s not her words towards me that I’m concerned about.” Geralt turned his head to Tissaia. “You’ve seen what happens when a Source loses control. Ciri nearly reduced Aretuza to ash when she thought Calanthe died in the collapse of the Yaruga bridge. You must have extreme faith in Romina’s ability to control herself.”

“The very fact that she has yet to lose complete control of herself is a sign of her strength.” Tissaia tilted her chin up just a bit.

“You’re pushing her limits, Tissaia. I can feel the Chaos radiating off of her.”

“She’s been through a lot, Geralt.” Triss looked at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Why’d you have to tell her about Jaskier?”

“The kid was going to fuck up at some point. May as well have been me that told her.”

“What?” Jaskier’s eyes widened.

“What’s your game plan, Tissaia?” Yennefer crossed her arms as she leaned against the bar. She knew the Rectress always had something planned. There was never a time when she wasn’t two steps ahead.

“Romina isn’t some pawn in your game.” Geralt said.

“She’s not one of us, Tissaia.” Yennefer’s eyes briefly flickered over to the Witcher before she looked back to Tissaia. “She’s going to be killed the longer you pretend she is one of us.”

“She didn’t grow up in our world, Yennefer.” Tissaia reminded her. “How Emmaline raised her daughter was none of my business until Romina showed signs of being a conduit. She had a normal childhood, which can’t be said for any of you.”

As she looked around at Geralt, Yennefer, Triss, and the other staff members who were watching from the doorway of the kitchen.

“Death and betrayal, those are all things that have hardened each and every one of you. You’ve been subjected to it for most of your life, whether it be before you came here or after. Romina was protected her entire life. Barrett and Emmaline made sure nothing of our world would sully her. That is why she’s taken these last few days so harshly, why she is on edge. We must be patient with her.”

Tissaia’s gaze fell on Geralt.

“Getting irritated with her when she snaps at you isn’t going to help anyone.”

The Witcher growled from deep within his chest. He turned and stormed out of the bar. 

***

Hours later, Romina sat inside her apartment. After aimlessly walking around Cintra for the better half of the day, she retired to her apartment to hopefully get some rest and figure out what she was going to do.

She didn’t want to be a part of the Hellcats. She was uncomfortable with how okay everyone was that she murdered someone. That wasn’t the environment she wanted to be in. They were liars too. Jaskier pretended the whole time that they were friends. She confided in him and trusted him. 

Romina shook her head, gripping the mug of coffee in her hand tighter. She lifted her head and looked around the room. Her eyes fell on the window Geralt always looked out of.

Feeling a little paranoid, she stood to her feet and placed the coffee cup on an end table as she crossed the room. She folded her arms beneath her breasts and pulled the curtain back a little. Peaking out into the darkening street, she could spot a few people walking down the sidewalk. On the other side of the street from her apartment building sat a police car. It had been sitting there since she arrived home a few hours ago. 

Just as she turned to go to bed, her eyes caught a familiar black truck sitting just a little further down the street than the cop car. She watched the truck for a few moments, knowing very well who was inside of it. It aggravated her that Tissaia would still send him to babysit her even after Romina expressed her dislike in being followed.

“Assholes.” She muttered under her breath. She moved towards the front door, slipping on a pair of boots. 

Taglist: @ayamenimthiriel​ @geralt-yennefer-jeskier​ @riviawitch3r​ @hina-chans-stuff​ @fcgrizi @bloodyinspiredfuck​ @augustwalking @singeramg​ @jensensjaredsandmishaslover​ @yesno18​ @justyouraveragemainblog​

[anotherdayinchuckletown]

They’re Funny That Way, Chapter 1

Hey, guys! How’s it going? I’ve been writing for about ten years now, but this is only the second ever fic I’ve shared anywhere, so I’m super nervous!!!  

This is basically my take on a Harley Quinn origin story tailored to the universe of Joker (2019).  It’s going to be Harley like we’ve never seen her before, with lots of Arthur, lots of Sophie, lots of original characters, and lots of twists and turns.

I’m SO beyond excited to finally share this with you guys, and I hope you all enjoy! Please like, comment, reblog if you do so that I know if you guys love reading this as much as I am enjoying writing it!  This fic is also posted to my AO3 account (https://archiveofourown.org/users/marie_deneuve), so you can also read it there if you’d like!

Without further ado, heeeere we go!!

Chapter 1

 The apartment building at Eleven-Forty Anderson Avenue is an eyesore situated in the midst of a likewise ugly city called Gotham. A pimple on a face only a mother could love. A pariah among pariahs.

Management has long since stopped caring about its maintenance, leaving it a patchwork of leaking ceilings, cracking foundations, and broken windows haphazardly boarded shut. Even the most seasoned resident of Gotham City would quicken his pace when passing the telltale archways which separate the apartments from the rest of the city.

Sophie Dumond is currently doing her best to avoid saying any of that out loud.

“It’s really not that bad,” she lies. “Definitely a far cry from where you’re living now, but once you get used to it, it’s not the worst.” Although she is on the phone, she looks down at her shoes anyway, so as not to look her guilt in the face. A crack in the tile beneath her feet stares back accusingly.

“Really? My brother told me his appliances never work, and the maintenance crew is impossible to reach,” the voice on the other line replies skeptically. It belongs to another young woman by the name of Emma Boulanger – Emma Scott, actually, ever since her marriage – who has been Sophie’s best friend since the two of them met in elementary school. She is also the godmother of Sophie’s five-year-old daughter, which was an unpopular decision she had been made to justify more times than she would have liked (honestly, though, her sister could call her if she ever became less of a pretentious bitch).

This phone call marks the first time Sophie has heard from her in one month, two weeks, and six days. Not that she’s been counting or anything.

It’s just strange not to talk to her, as she’s always the first to know of any big changes in her friend’s life. Emma is certainly the first to know about changes in Sophie’s life as well. She’s there when they both open up their letters of acceptance into Gotham University, whooping and cheering and dreaming of finally, finally leaving this shithole, getting glamorous jobs in the big city. She’s there when Sophie is curled up on her bathroom floor, crying and clutching a positive pregnancy test, wanting the best for the child growing inside of her, yet fearing she would never be able to provide it.

That’s why it’s so odd when Emma’s twin brother is the one to mention in the hallway one day that his sister has filed for divorce. And furthermore, that she’s returning to Gotham to live with him until she gets back on her feet.

“Like I said, Emma, it’s not perfect,” she relents. “But hey, at least it’ll be nice to hang out again. It’s been way too long.”

“Yeah, it really has! I moved, what, almost two years ago?” Emma’s voice brightens marginally, and Sophie can nearly see the lopsided grin spreading across her face, so familiar is she with every tic, every tell, every minuscule inflection to her words. “Metropolis is boring as hell, by the way. I almost miss Gotham - call me crazy.”

Sophie huffs, knowing full well that Emma is playing it cool - trying not to let on how much she dreads moving back to a city she called a living, breathing prison for so many years. Best to keep things lighthearted then. Empathize with her, acknowledge her feelings, but never, never pity her. “You’re definitely crazy, Em,” she shoots back, raising an eyebrow. “What exactly does it for you, the enormous rats or the graffiti dicks?”

An almost imperceptible chuckle filters through the receiver. “Well, no one ever really escapes Gotham, do they? I figure I might as well develop a little Stockholm Syndrome.”

Sophie doesn’t immediately respond to the bleak sentiment. It’s simply a joke, of course, and as a matter of fact, very on-brand. But there’s enough truth to it to cause a momentary lapse in the lightness of their conversation.

Sophie has found gradually that Emma was right growing up. Gotham truly seems less like a place and more like an entity. It has a certain way of taking, taking, taking from a person, and when that person has nothing left to give, taking just a little bit more. The citizens meander like restless spirits, doomed to wander to and from their low-wage jobs for eternity. The air is heavier out there, tugging their faces down into sour expressions, aging them prematurely. A reflection of their surroundings.

Sophie often wonders if she looks the way they do.

If Emma notices the shift – which she certainly does, she always does – she politely ignores it. “I guess beggars can’t be choosers… It was nice of Eddie to let me stay with him on such short notice.” Fondly, she adds, “He may be a bit of a shithead, but he’s a good brother.”

Before Sophie can stop herself, she laughs aloud. “No comment. We do live on the same floor, you know.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Do you two ever hang out?”

“Not particularly.” Sophie doesn’t dislike Eddie – quite the opposite, in fact. She always chalks up her lack of chemistry with him to simply having nothing in common. He and Emma share nothing but a birthday, a head of golden hair, and a pair of striking ice-blue eyes.

Rapid footsteps make their way into the foyer, breaking Sophie out of her reverie. “Mommy, look what I drew!”

Muttering a quick “hang on a second” into the receiver, she turns toward the source of the sound, and a sheet of paper is practically shoved in her face from below. She is met with a mish-mosh of various shapes and colors, one large brown figure taking precedence in the middle of the page.

She smiles warmly. “Wow, that’s very good, Gigi! What’s that a picture of?”

The artist beams with pride. “It’s the roach you killed in the bathroom yesterday!”

Son of a bitch.

“Can we put it on the fridge, Mommy?”

Blinking owlishly, Sophie scrambles for a response. They really don’t teach her this shit in those parenting books she sometimes finds at Gotham Central Library.

She settles on, “Honey, you already have so many nice ones up there, I just can’t decide which ones to keep! Let’s put this one away for now, and I’ll think about it, okay?” She offers her free hand to take the drawing so that she can accidentally misplace it later.

It does the trick. “Okay!” her daughter chirps, proudly handing over her portrait. Encourage, then swiftly change the subject – a motherly sort of manipulation that works in everyone’s favor.

“Holy shit, I haven’t even asked about Gigi yet!” Emma exclaims. “God, she must be getting so big! She starts Kindergarten this year, right?”

“Yeah, in the fall. And she comes all the way up to my waist now, isn’t that insane?” Unmistakable pride colors Sophie’s response.

“That’s so awesome! Did she miss me at all?” comes over the receiver as Gigi simultaneously begins an onslaught of “who’s that, Mommy, who’s that?”

“Miss you? Are you kidding? Listen to this.” Sophie crouches next to her daughter, holding the phone away from her ear, but nearby so that Emma can hear. “Gigi, your Aunt Emma’s on the phone. She’s coming to live here again soon, isn’t that great?”

The resounding shriek is a good indicator that she agrees. And that Sophie is going to have to bring the neighbors another gift basket so they don’t complain about her to the landlord.

“Can I talk to Aunt Emma, Mommy? Can I, can I, please, please, please?” Tiny, impatient hands grapple for the phone as laughter pours in from the other line.

“Come on, if I let you talk to her now, we’ll be stuck here forever.” A quick glance at the clock reveals that it’s nearing eight o'clock. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for bed soon?”

Gigi wrinkles her nose in distaste, and Sophie cuts her off before the complaints can begin. “No arguments, Gigi. Go start your bath – I’ll be there in just a minute.”

She receives a defiant huff; nevertheless, Gigi stomps her way to the bathroom, and Sophie waits for the sound of running water before she returns to the previous conversation.

“So anyway, Eddie tells me you’re holed up in a hotel room until the weekend. I’m guessing that Daniel didn’t take the…the breakup news very well?” she asks, somewhat cautiously. Talking about Emma’s husband – now ex-husband – is a mixed bag, even back when they were dating.

“You could say that,” Emma responds sheepishly. “It wasn’t pretty, let’s leave it at that. I thought it would be best for me to get out of the house right away, give him some time to himself.”

It makes Sophie nervous that she is skirting the question, but then again, Emma’s in a vulnerable position at the moment. And she’s rarely one to talk at length about her own emotions in the first place – she’s much more of a listener.

Sophie would like to ask what she means by “it wasn’t pretty”, but decides against prying. She would also like to ask why she ever married that jackass in the first place, since their relationship had been obviously strained from day one. It was always as if the two of them were tightrope walking over a volcano – bubbling quietly, boiling and threatening to swallow them both whole. The smallest change in the wind, the most harmless comment about Daniel not picking his towel up off the floor could send them tumbling into the inferno. She supposes one of them finally fell.

Something about that man has always creeped her out, but she gave up voicing her discontent with him after about the thirtieth time Emma brushed her off. She won’t say “I told you so”, since she wouldn’t want to belittle whatever pain Emma is going through. Still, she can’t help but feel a little relief – that doesn’t make her a terrible friend, right?

All of this can wait, though. It can wait until they’re seeing each other face-to-face again. Until Sophie isn’t on a strict time limit. She needs to wrap up the current conversation quickly because if she doesn’t, she could possibly be dealing with a flooded bathroom shortly. Five-year-olds do not generally care about the cost of repairing water damage if it seeps into the downstairs neighbor’s ceiling.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay, with…you know…everything.”

“Of course!” Emma reassures her. “I’m perfectly fine. Like I said, I’m looking forward to being home. Honestly.”

Sophie is not convinced, and frankly, it sounds like Emma is not either. She wonders if her friend has been checking in on the worsening condition of their hometown from Metropolis. The homeless population is growing by the day, and the working class is becoming more and more restless due to low wages and poor working conditions in the inner city. Rumor has it that sanitation workers are chief among the dissatisfied, and a garbage strike is all but guaranteed by winter.

So much she wants to say. So much she can’t say. “That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

 _______________________________________________________________

Emma remembers around this time last year taking a trip to Paris, France. She saw the premiere of a musical there called Les Misérables – it was based off of her favorite book by Victor Hugo, so naturally, she begged and begged to go.

And what a payoff! The show was spectacular, from the costumes to the stage design to the music. Oh, the music! Despite being there with her then-husband, she had the most fun she’d had in years, letting the melancholy chords turn her as light as the air and the lyrics carry her far, far away in the wind.

Even more than the music, she was captivated by the plot. She could practically feel the plight of the poverty-stricken citizens. One of the opening scenes depicted the starving masses singing of their grief over the way they were snubbed by the wealthy, left to rot in the streets.

That is the scene Emma finds herself stepping into today. Only this time, she is not a passive observer, watching the events unfold without being affected. From today on, she is one of the characters.

From the moment she arrives in downtown Gotham City by taxi, the tension claws at her with icy hands. It digs into her ribcage with each glare aimed her way, even in the mild September breeze. She knows she sticks out like a preacher at a Pride parade in her obviously expensive skirt and heels. It’s not like she had time to go digging around her closet for something more appropriate that night she left her house.

Handsomely tipping her driver, she climbs out of the car and rushes underneath a set of archways and inside the apartment building where she’ll be living for the foreseeable future. She doesn’t look very closely at it from the outside, so desperate is she to get off the street and away from whatever the hell that smell is.

Emma uses the opportunity to finally look around a bit, taking her surroundings in with narrowed eyes. The lobby is dimly-lit, with no color to it whatsoever. The walls are painted a chipped-up brownish yellow, which could have been white many years ago. It reeks of mold, to the point where the smell outside might be the lesser of the two evils.  

Leaning carefully against the nearest wall, she mutters, “Not that bad, my ass.” From her purse, she retrieves her recently-purchased copy of a new novel titled Jumanji, and she waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

…

…

…

Emma’s eyes snap open - she hadn’t consciously closed them to begin with. She realizes with embarrassment that she almost fell asleep standing up. God, she’s more exhausted than she thought. How long has she been standing down here anyway?

“I’ll be home from work around four; I just need a little time to tidy up before you head over,” Eddie had said on the phone the night before. “I’ll meet you in the lobby and walk you up at six, okay?”

“That works,” Emma had replied. “As long as you’re actually there at six.”

“Hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve never exactly had a reputation for being punctual.”

“Jesus, Em. You think I’m gonna leave you hanging out down there alone?”

“We’ll see.”

Shutting her book, Emma checks her watch.

Six forty-five. That fucking flake forgot.

She groans, pushing herself languidly off the wall and scanning the room for assistance. No one at the front desk - in fact, there hasn’t been anyone there since she arrived, making her wonder briefly if she’s even in the right building.

Her eyes next land on the myriad of mailboxes against the opposite wall, closed off from the rest of the lobby by rusted wrought-iron bars, most likely to protect the postman. She walks through the open gate tentatively, and upon closer inspection, each mailbox has a sticker labeling the residents by apartment number. Bingo!

It doesn’t take long to find what she’s looking for. On the eighth floor, perfectly spelled out for her, she sees both S. Dumond in 8B and E. Boulanger in 8H. Why not visit the one who didn’t leave her stranded for an hour first? She could always call Eddie on Sophie’s phone anyway - the asshole probably smoked a joint as soon as he got home and passed out on the couch watching Magnum, P.I.

She heads for the elevator and presses the call button. As it whines slowly and almost menacingly down the shaft, she hears someone softly trudging along behind her, the very first sign of another life in here. As she enters the elevator, she politely holds the door open, and makes room for the clown getting on after her.

No, not a silly person. An actual clown. Painted face, red nose, neon green hair and all.

Of all the weird people she might expect to see in a place like this… Not even two hours in Gotham, and the evening is already shaping up to be quite the roller coaster.

Emma can’t help but stare as the doors shut and the clown punches the button for, coincidentally, the eighth floor. She settles into the far corner as she discreetly analyzes him. His posture, his defeated gait, the pitiful expression underneath his painted-on smile… His aura permeates the entire space, seemingly enough to weigh them both down, causing the elevator to drag slowly up the shaft like molasses, screeching all the way.

This is without a doubt the saddest clown Emma has ever seen. And she’s seen Pagliacci.

Around the third floor, there’s one long, particularly loud screech. Emma’s heart leaps to her throat as their ascent suddenly comes to a complete halt, and the lights in the tiny elevator space flicker on and off once. Is a three-story drop enough to kill a person her size? She prays that this isn’t how it ends - in this dingy elevator, terrified, with no one but a fucking clown. A clown who hasn’t moved an inch this entire time.

Thankfully, after a few seconds that seem to drag on for a lifetime, they start to slowly crawl up the shaft once more. Emma breathes an audible sigh of relief, and the clown seems to finally notice her, tossing a quick look of sympathy in her general direction.

Once she’s certain she can speak without her voice quivering, she does so. “Does…that happen often?”

Her voice really gets his attention. He whips his head around so fast she almost worries his little hat will come flying off like a frisbee. He blinks at her once, then twice, as if processing the fact that she is addressing him. For a split second, it looks like he’s going to say something.

Then, remembering himself, he simply shrugs bashfully. Emma lets out a breath she doesn’t realize she’s been holding.

She notices the decorative red flower adorning his lapel, one of those prop flowers that’s actually a tiny water gun. Smiling in a way that she hopes is charming instead of ill-at-ease, she points to it. “I, uh…I like your flower. It’s very pretty.”

The clown tilts his head curiously. After a beat, he wordlessly reaches up and into his bright plaid coat, holding said flower slightly out toward her. Offering for her to come closer, to lean in and smell it.

Emboldened, she grins, shaking her head at him. “No way, mister. I know how that trick ends.” She’s kidding around with him, but she really can’t afford to get her clothes wet right now; she only has the ones on her back, after all.

Still, his lips at last curl upward, a real smile that reaches the lights of his eyes. And it’s then that Emma can see the color in them, an enchanting seafoam green that inexplicably draws her in, pulling her away from the corner and toward his side. He watches her carefully and intensely with an expression she can’t quite read. When he turns to face the doors once more, it’s not without keeping her settled in his periphery.

Most people would probably be a bit nervous being…examined so thoroughly. However, Emma finds his mannerisms endearing in an odd way. She’s never cared much for clowns before, but this one doesn’t seem so bad.

They ride in comfortable silence for another few moments. When they reach their destination, Emma is the first to exit.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely taking the stairs from now on,” she says.

The clown nods in response as he exits behind her, giant red and blue shoes flopping comically over the threshold.

The hallway is a bit noisy, voices of the residents drifting through the paper-thin walls like a mist, creating a fine haze over everything. The walls are just a touch too close together, making Emma claustrophobic and urging her to get to 8B as quickly as possible.

Not wanting to come off as rude, she introduces herself. “I’m new to the building, by the way - my name’s Emma. It’s a pleasure.” She extends a hand to shake.

The clown does return the gesture, but not before staring her hand down for an abnormally long period of time. And his grip through the rough material of his gloves is so soft and careful, it’s as if it’s barely there.

She’d honestly like to chat with this fascinating new neighbor of hers a bit longer, but instead, she pulls her hand away, settling for a polite nod and a cheerful “good night”.

She does not look back to see that the clown’s unwavering gaze follows her all the way down the hall.