#Severe Marx angst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theautisticfroglord · 1 year

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Please be alright

pairing - julius x reader

fic type - angst to comfort

warnings - deatth mention, julius is stressed,

notes - another fanfic over 1000 words!!! also I made an art for this one :3 yet another brick wall of text at the beginning💀

Julius, the Wizard King, is your partner. He loves you and wants to protect you. He always managed to keep you safe. Until one day. You got into a fight and ended up getting severely injured, and you could have died. You were escorted to the infirmary to be healed. Everyone is uncertain if you’ll survive, though. Julius was broken when he got the news about what happened to you. That night, he can’t get himself to sleep and he still has work to do. At about midnight, Julius is writing at his desk. Then, his emotions hit him harder. He can’t hold back his emotions anymore, and starts to cry. Julius hasn’t cried in a long time because he manages to keep them down. He notices his own body trembling and he puts his head down. Julius tries to keep himself quiet as he continues to cry against the desk. He soon can’t help but to sob quietly as he attempts to console himself. A long time later, Julius stops crying. He continues to rest his head on the desk until he hears a knock on the door.

“Come in…” Julius says, his voice a little shaky, still. Marx walks into Julius’s office.

“Julius, you don’t have to stay up doing work all night. We have time to write all these papers,” Marx chuckles, but then notices how Julius is acting off. He looks really tired, and his cheeks are reddened. He also notices how Julius is trembling a little. Marx then notices how the desk has a small puddle of tears on it. He then realizes that Julius had been crying. He walks closer to Julius’s desk.

“Julius… you’re really anxious about what happened to Y/N, aren’t you?” he asks, concerned. Julius tries not to look at Marx directly.

“They might live, you know that? Sleeping can make this easier for you,” Marx offers Julius, kneeling a little so Julius will look at him. He tries to stop himself from crying, but he can’t help it anymore. Tears start streaming down Julius’s cheeks.

“Marx…” Julius cries. Marx gasps, surprised at how Julius is crying in front of him. Julius walks around his desk and hugs him.

“I’m just… s-so worried about Y/N… I want them to be alright… I want to see them,” Julius sobs as Marx consoles him.

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t go see them, they also need to rest,” Marx sighs. Julius starts to cry even harder, and Marx is surprised at how sad and hurt Julius sounds.

“I didn’t get to tell Y/N I loved them before they left… I was out and couldn’t see them! I’m so stupid, it’s all my fault…” Julius cries, hugging Marx tighter.

“It wasn’t your fault Julius. You didn’t hurt them, I’m sure they still love you,” he reassures Julius, trying to calm him down. He starts sobbing louder until he’s practically wailing. Marx can tell that Julius is really hurt over what happened to you. He feels heartbroken seeing the Wizard King so vulnerable and hurt. He even tears up a little. When Julius manages to calm down, he lets go of Marx.

“You’re right, I-I need to sleep,” Julius sighs. Marx puts a hand on Julius’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Marx,” he nervously walks out of his office and goes back to bed. The next morning, he wakes up later than usual. He doesn’t get out of bed, though. Julius takes a picture out of his drawer. The picture is of you and him together. He stares at how cute you looked in the picture, and he starts to cry again. He sobs into his pillow so people don’t hear him. After he calms down again, he hears a knock on the door to his bedroom.

“W-Who is it?” Julius asks weakly. The door creaks open, and Marx peeks into his room. Marx notices Julius’s face, and he gives him a concerned look.

“Y-You can visit Y/N today…” Marx chuckles, and he sees Julius’s face light up.

“I’ll get ready,” he climbs out of bed. Marx leaves him alone to let him get into his outfit. Julius comes out of his room a few minutes later. They make their way to the infirmary to visit you. Julius’s stomach is in knots, and he’s really nervous about you. Him and Marx wait outside the room you’re in, hoping you’ll be okay. Then, the door to the room you’re in creaks open.

“Oh, you’re both here,” Owen chuckles. He notices how uneasy Marx and Julius look.

“You can come in here, they’re ready to see you,” he invites them into the room. Marx walks in first, then Julius. They both come into the room and see something they didn’t expect. You were sitting in the chair next to the bed you were in, and you looked perfectly alright, other than being tired. Both Julius and Marx were at a loss for words as you stood up from the chair. Julius waked up to you.

“Hey, Juliu-” You start, but then he collapses in your arms. You feel his tears against your neck and you you’re confused. He starts to sob loudly.

“Y/N… you’re alive…!” he cries as you sit back down so you can support him in your arms.

“I’ll leave you guys alone for now. You’re free to leave when you’re ready,” Owen walks out of the door. Marx tries to comfort Julius by putting his hand on his shoulder. Julius starts crying louder.

“We were so worried about you… we’re glad you’re alright, Y/N,” Marx sighs. Julius is still wailing against your shoulder.

“Aw, honey… the whole palace is going to hear you if you keep crying,” you chuckle, and he gets flustered realizing that. He calms down a little as you rub his back.

“We can do this later, when we’re alone,” you whisper to him. He finally lets go of you and stands up.

“S-Sorry… I’m just so glad you’re okay,” Julius sniffles, wiping away his tears. You stand up from the chair again.

“It’s alright, baby, I love you,” you purr, pecking him on the lips.

“Let’s go back home,” Julius sighs, feeling more calm now that he knows you’re okay.

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articskele · 2 years

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opinions on magalor x marx: i like them in a silly way: like no angst and actually deep thought just its funny to imagine them living in a treehouse together making grilled cheese for breakfast lunch and dinner being very stupid and have like the soggy cat and beach ball versionof a bromance

Oh absolutely!! Just them being dumbass besties and getting into all sorts of shenanigans

Scamming Dreamland, pranking people, going on silly everyday adventures, running for their lives bc they combined their powers to make the biggest sparkliest firework Ever that accidentally hit the Halberd and almost blew it up-

Point is they're a disaster duo and I love them

Also I'm loving the treehouse and grilled cheese thing, I'm adopting those hcs as we speak (Tangent about cooking hcs below ouo)

I can guarantee you the only things Marx knows how to cook are grilled cheese sandwiches and shitty weed brownies skdfjsdklfjsd-

Marx switches the labels on the sugar and salt to prank someone else, but then he completely forgets about it and falls for his own trick-

Marx will just. Forget that things are hot and burn his tongue-

You know that "we could bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes...OR 4000000 DEGREES FOR 1 SECOND" post? Yeah that's Marx

They've definitely set the treehouse ablaze on several occasions-

(Also the treehouse has a lil balcony thing with a telescope so they can watch the stars :D)

Magolor is a pretty decent cook actually! Tho he does tend to overestimate his abilities. Memorizing a whole cookbook's worth of recipes doesn't mean you'll automatically be able to Do Them perfectly (he's a perfectionist just like me fr)

Also he just likes grilled cheese bc it's a nice simple comfort food ouo (autism catboy real!!)

Merry Magoland definitely serves a buncha egg themed foods lmao

Maybe Mags dug up an old Halcandran cookbook in some castle ruins? One of the recipes is a decadent chocolate strawberry cake for a certain "Aeon Hero"...

#all platonic btw but yeah they silly ouo #also apologies for the super late reply!!#kirby #magolor #marx #my nonsense #mailbox

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driftwoodmfb · 2 years

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This is mainly for @artidoesthings

Some of my thoughts/ideas on the Kirby but it's Monster Hunter AU I'll put it under a read more line because there's a lot XD

A lot are have the monster curse (I think that needs a better name) that turns them into monsters. Some of these include but are not limited to (and can be discussed you want to change). Meta, Dedede, Taranza or Sectonia, I want one or the other for plot reasons, Magolor and Marx, they probably half did it to themselves in an attempt to gain power having no idea they would turn into a mindless monster. Susie, Elfilin, or maybe he was a monster first who somehow became human? He could also be one of the companion pets. and Galacta, who is actually stuck as a monster at the moment (instead of stuck in a crystal) Bandana does not have the curse. At least not at the beginning of the story. I'll leave the door open for potential angst there.

The Meta Knights, or at least some of them, know about Meta having the curse. They found out when Meta was still learning what caused him to transform. So yeah, Meta accidently transformed in front of them during an expedition or hunt they were on. Meta doesn't keep them inform about what he found out about the curse, in fact he barley even acknowledges it. This is something he would later regret when he attacked them in his monster form. He severely injured Mace Knight who, in this au, wasn't a robot. Mace now has a prosthetic arm, two prosthetic legs, and lost a good amount of his sight but he is alive and heathy. He has a mask that looks similar to his original character that helps him see. Meta obviously feels really terrible about causing this. This is what made Meta leave and hide in a cave where he ends up being found by Kirby and Bandee from the story beginning I typed up in that first ask. After the harm Meta caused, he was a lot more open to fully explaining his situation to those who found out about it.

Meta's curse activates at night(?) and probably has one more condition, but I don't know what it would be. Maybe at night when he's not alone which is why it activated when Kirby approached. Kirby got to close and the sun had just set so it was really the worse timing. When he transforms it will be a few days before he's able to transform again meaning he's safe during those days. That transforming period is probably how it works for most people with the curse.

I'm not sure how people get the curse, but I'm currently thinking that the person gets bitten or scratched by a weird looking small monster that quickly runs away after doing so, so they aren't well documented. The creatures are fast and appear to look shadowy and are a dark purple or dark grey. The bite/scratch starts to look really bad like a purpley maroon colored infection that grows to about the size of a palm of a hand, until one day it just goes away. After it goes away though, that's when the curse takes affect and now the person can turn into a monster and has no idea.

Humans turned monsters have been killed, but no body realized it. When killed in their monster form they stay in that form even as a corpse. The person stays missing leaving love ones to still hold a false hope that they may be alive. This realization really makes people who have the curse or are aware of it really look at dead monsters differently. One always has to wonder, was that monster actually a human?

You might be wondering why no one has transformed in the town. Well that's because only people who go hunting or on expeditions are in the areas where the little curse giving monsters appear. So those people are more often than not out on the field instead of in the town. Plus for a lot of people their transformations conditions related to things that they come across in the field.

Kirby is really good with all weapons and often switches which one he's using. Kirby is protective of his friends and is very protective of his friends with the curse since they are in extra danger. Kirby, along with every other kid characters would be at least in their teens if not early 20s since kids aren't going to be sent to hunt monsters. Kirby is a bit of a prodigy at monster hunting and is climbing the ranks fast.

Taranza is a tailor and makes armor too! If he has the curse, then the transform condition is something out in the field, so he never goes out there anymore. In the case of him having the curse, he killed Sectonia in him monster form and he will never risk something like that again. I think he would be one of the cursed ones who are able to remember what happened when he was in his monster form meaning he remembers every second of him killing her. He would also remember her not fighting back since she knew about him having the curse. The guilt eats him up inside. In the case of Sectonia having the curse, she was killed in her monster form. She either attacked Taranza and a near by group of hunters saved him, but killed her or hunters brought in her corpse and she had a unique mark on her that Taranza recognized when they brought her in. In either cases, Taranza blames himself for her death, either he should have handled her better and not get the attention of the other hunters or should have gone with her on her expedition. He was also there when she first got the curse so the blame is strong for him. He would also have armor that's made from her monster form's corpse which is a bit morbid, but he has his reasons. One he didn't want her to be stuck with some stranger in death, especially not one of the people who killed her and two it's like she's always by his side. He wears it often and cries when he's alone.

For Susie, I'm thinking that she finds out about the monster curse and basically wants to eradicate all those with the curse and doesn't believe that they "just got one day". She thinks they are monsters through and through. Or at least she did... Until she got the curse herself. Yeah... She had a bit of a mental break down.

Marx and Magolor are hunting partners, but are low class ones. They didn't like how things are run and kept talking about how they would rule better than those currently in charge. It was all talk until they heard of a way to get power and a lot of it. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into. They willingly got bitten by the tiny monsters except not once, but several times. Once starts the curse, a few times activates it immediately. This never happens normally because the monsters don't want to get spotted nor captured and no one knows how to stop the prosses anyways, so it's fine to play a little bit of the waiting game. Marx's and Magolor's transformation conditions are to be near each other. They were honestly lucky they didn't kill each other in their monster forms, but they did start fighting. Kirby and the gang came across the two of them as monsters having no idea they were victims of the curse. They only found out after they decided to separate both of them so they don't have to fight two monsters at the same time, but when they go far enough away from each other they turned back to normal. They were very injured, but they were still breathing. It was quite a surprise when both groups reconvened to find out both monsters were people. After being treated, Mags and Marx explained what happened. From the information given made Meta realizes that their transformation condition is probably them being near each other and has them separated immediately since it had already been a couple days due to their recovery. Marx and Mags actually help give the group a huge lead on this curse due to them both getting a really good look at the little monsters that gives the curses. Taranza kinda hates Magolor and Marx in this au since they chose to get the curse and that curse is what lead to Sectonia's death. He knows they were in over their heads and didn't know the details, but he can't stand the idea of someone getting this curse on purpose. Side note: When Magolor and Marx were fighting, if one did kill the other and ate a part of the body, the former would never be able to leave the monster form because they would technically always be together. This monster would eventually be killed since no one knew he used to be human.

I have two options for why Galacta Knight is stuck in his monster form. One being his transformation conditions are still constantly being met. The second option, which is definitely the worse case, is that after so much time has passed with the curse (probably years) the victim will no longer be able to return to their human form unless the curse was somehow broken.

Based off of the one post Arti made. Galaxia nearly kills Meta when he was in his monster form. Bandee is the one who countered one of Galaxia's attacks. It wouldn't have been a killing blow, but she was still only a few good stabs away. Kirby caught up with Bandee and was focused on keeping Meta's attention so he wouldn't target Bandee or Galaxia. Bandana was focused on blocking Galaxia's attacks. They just had to hold out until the sun rose. Finally, Meta turned back. After Galaxia realized that they were telling the truth she starts to feel awful. Meta is unconscious, which isn't normal for when he turns back, but he was pretty injured. Galaxia was the main one to patch him up because of how bad she felt. Meta doesn't hold it against her, in facts he felt like he deserved it because of all the problems and damage his monster form caused.

Maybe Dedede's transformation condition(s) relate to him being not near a group of people to be a bit of an opposite parallel to Meta's potential condition.

If Bandee does get the curse it would be because he notices the curse giving monster and protects Kirby, but Bandee gets scratched instead.

Angst alert! Not all of them, but some of the people with the monster curse have killed people. Is it worse if they remember or not?

Hey Arti, please let me know what you think about these ideas and especially ones you want to change. I'm most curious about who you think should have the curse Taranza or Sectonia and if what Elfilin should be, cursed, originally a monster, or a pet/companion.

By the by, for anyone who reached the end, thank you for reading all of this! It- it was definitely a lot.

#kirby but it's monster hunter au #kirby #kirby series #monster hunter #tw death #cw death #kirby au

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a-kind-of-merry-war · 4 years

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Journal Keeper

Jaskier is always writing in his journal. Geralt can’t understand the appeal in writing about his own life - dull as it is. And then, quite suddenly, he can. Inspired by the epilogue of RDR2, if you can believe it.

Look, guys. This one is really sad. Full blown angst, hurt without comfort, it does not have a happy ending. TW: major character death, angst, general awfulness. Sorry. ~3k words.

Geralt relies on his memory when he’s hunting monsters or crafting potions. If he’s lost, he has a map; if he’s on a job, he has the desperately-scrawled contract shoved in a pocket, stained with blood and ink. Any job that doesn’t require a contract or letter or a notice pinned to a rotting board is quick enough that he won’t need a scrap of paper to refer to anyway.

He doesn’t need to take notes, he doesn’t sketch the monsters he kills. He knows every plant and herb and mushroom on the continent and beyond by memory alone - it’s what happens when you’ve been on the Path for as long as he has - and he doesn’t need to draw them for future reference.

Jaskier is not like him. He’s always scribbling in a notebook - writing down his thoughts, his feelings, little snippets of songs and stories. He details Geralt’s hunts and his own courtly exploits, his tongue sticking comically from the side of his mouth.

When Geralt allows him to get close enough, he makes little sketches of the monsters he hunts. If Jaskier happens to be there when Geralt takes the beast down, he’ll get as close as he dares without actually kneeling in the viscera and scribble tiny, detailed drawings of claws and fangs and feathers. Geralt figures, after so long travelling together, that he must have a sizable compendium of monster drawings stashed away somewhere.

It’s not just monsters, either - he draws diagrams of weapons and armour, labelling each part. He copies the likeness of flowers and herbs, with twisting arrows pointing to the most useful parts and hastily scribbled recipes for potions that, as a human, he will never have to take.

On an evening, be they resting in the warmth of an inn or beneath the stars, he jots down that day’s events: even if all they’d done was walk several empty miles between towns. Geralt finds this bizarre: the idea of writing down what he’d done each day seems pointless to him. More than that: it seems dull. All of Geralt’s days are much the same, and writing them all down, reliving them one after the other, will only emphasize that sad little fact.

Jaskier writes about contracts and banquets and balls. He writes about petty aldermen, cheap farmers, comely barmaids with twinkling eyes and handsome Dukes. He writes in pointed, venomous words about Valdo Marx and flowing, purple prose about the many people he meets and falls in love with.

Geralt has no idea how many notebooks the bard must have gone through in their time together. He always has a fresh one buried at the bottom of a bag before the first is fully used, so he’s never caught unawares.

It is odd, Geralt thinks, but there’s something comforting about it - something sweet. The gentle scritch-scratch of Jaskier’s pen on the parchment after they’ve shared an evening meal soothes him: it’s the sign that the day is over, and Geralt has miraculously survived another hunt.

Jaskier doesn’t try to hide his scribblings - in fact he’s very open with them, often shoving his book beneath Geralt’s nose to get his opinion on a doodle or diagram - “tell me, Geralt,” he says, nose crinkling, “if this griffin’s talons are correct. And the feathers - are they quite right?”

Sometimes, Jaskier encourages Geralt to try himself, insisting that as Geralt is the one who goes face-to-face with these beasts that his own drawings would be more accurate than Jaskier’s, who more often is found running away from the monsters than towards them. Geralt is resistant, at first - it would be a shame, he thinks, to ruin such lovely work with his awkward hand.

But Jaskier is more persistent than Geralt is self-conscious, and he does try, but only a few times. He doesn’t have the same control over the pen that Jaskier does, his lines are too thick, his sketches indistinguishable. Even his handwriting, which has never been something he’s cared to perfect, is misshapen and spiky next to Jaskier’s neat cursive. Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind, though - he’s all smiles and gentle encouragement, no matter how much Geralt’s drowners look like lopsided fish.

The first winter he comes to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier brings with him two spare notebooks, and by the time spring is nearly upon them he’s filled them both. Geralt, feeling awkward, makes him a new one - there’s parchment to spare in the vast library, and they are not wanting for leather. Vesemir helps him bind it with rough, uneven stitches.

It’s a lumpy thing, the pages different sizes and the cover slightly too large. It doesn’t open properly down the middle, and when he hands it to Jaskier - who is still lamenting not bringing more books with him - his first instinct is to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “It’s not as nice as your others, but I thought it could tide you over until we reach Ard Carraigh.”

Jaskier takes it from him with a smile.. “Where did you get this?” He asks, in wonder.

“I…” Geralt feels foolish, and he hates it. “I made it,” he says.

And Jaskier’s face splits into a wide grin, and then there’s tears in his eyes, and Geralt can’t move quick enough to avoid the hug as Jaskier throws his arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” he says, when he finally lets go. “It’s lovely.”

Geralt looks at him with disbelief, and Jaskier huffs at him.

“It is lovely.” Jaskier’s fingers lightly brush against the bumpy, imperfect leather. “Made even more lovely by knowing that you made it for me, Geralt. Truly.”

It’s a few weeks yet till the snow thaws and they can set out once more - and while there’s less to write about when trapped in the icy mountains with a bunch of grumpy witchers, the notebook goes everywhere Jaskier does. Sometimes, Geralt spots him simply running his fingertips softly up and down the cover, utterly lost in thought.

Geralt spends a long time watching those fingers, the way they caress the scarred, ugly thing.

Three weeks later, the pass clears, they return south, and Geralt realises with quiet devastation that he’s fallen in love with his bard.

His brothers, he thinks, will not be surprised.

He does not tell Jaskier.

Nothing changes - and a few months later the notebook is full of monsters, adventures, and more dull days than Geralt can possibly count. They feel less dull, now - now that he knows where his heart lies. Even on the longest trek, when the only view for miles is of farms and sheep, there’s always something to notice: the way Jaskier sings as they walk, the new song he composes for Roach, the loaf of bread he manages to steal from a windowsill when there’s no coin left.

Those long, grey days seem less grey, now.

But still he does not tell Jaskier.

Jaskier, for his part, appears not to have noticed - he behaves much the same as he ever did: laughter and beer and teasing, slipping in and out of bed with innumerable companions. But Geralt sees something different in it now: when Jaskier binds yet another wound with one of his own shirts, quietly grumbling about ruined silk, or when he shouts at an ignorant peasant, or when he presses himself close to Geralt’s back when they’re forced to share a bed. Before, Geralt called it friendliness. But now, seeing Jaskier in this new, dazzling light, he wonders if it might be something else.

It’s after a hunt that he decides to act. He’s returned to the inn covered in monster guts, and the ever-practical Jaskier has already got a bath waiting for him.

“I refuse to share a bed with a man who stinks of monster spleen,” he says, pointing at the tub. “Get in.”

Geralt does, and allows himself to be cleaned. Long gone are the days where Jaskier would simply toss a bucket of water over his head and leave him to figure out the rest himself: now he’s quiet and attentive, fragrancing the water just enough to cover the stink without irritating Geralt’s sensitive senses. He washes the black, oozy blood from Geralt’s arm with a sponge, that same look of concentration on his face as when he’s writing in one of his journals. And then he abandons the sponge and lathers soap between his fingers and uses his hands instead - his pale, slender digits swiping up and down Geralt’s marred skin.

Jaskier does not hesitate or wince over Geralt’s scars. His fingers brush the raised skin gently - reverently. Geralt shudders, and it has nothing to do with the coolness of the water.

It takes him two days. They’re in the wilderness once more, half a day’s ride from a village being terrorised by a basilisk. The woodland clearing in which they’ve made camp is rich with the smell of roasting deer, Jaskier scribbling furiously in his book. It’s only one third finished, with far more pages than his others.

“More room for all our adventures,” he had said, eyes twinkling. “Now I shan’t run out of paper as quickly.”

Geralt approaches him quietly. Too quietly: Jaskier doesn’t even realise he’s there, and jumps when Geralt kneels down in front of him. Silently, he takes the book from his hand and places it on top of his satchel. Jaskier lets him.

Later, Geralt isn’t sure who kissed who first. It doesn’t matter, of course.

The roasted deer is all but forgotten. Jaskier feels so good under his fingers - his skin soft and pliable, his mouth warm and eager. For a long while, all that exists is Jaskier and his hands and his skin and his lips and the way he gasps Geralt’s name from pink, needy lips.

Afterwards, sweaty and spent with leaves in their hair, he asks Jaskier if he’ll be writing down this little adventure. Jaskier runs a hand up and down his chest and laughs, his breath tickling at Geralt’s neck.

“Perhaps,” he breathes, “Perhaps. But I rather hope there are more adventures of that kind to come. I cannot possibly write them all down, can I?”

Jaskier falls asleep first, safely cocooned in Geralt’s arms. When he’s sure he’s drifted off - his heart slowed and breathing rhythmic - Geralt holds him tight and whispers it into his sleeping ear.

“I love you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier does not respond, merely twitching in his sleep.

The next day, Geralt hunts a basilisk.

The next day, Jaskier finally gets too close.

For a long time, Geralt doesn’t know what to do with himself. He takes the pay without a word: it feels wrong to accept it, now. The villagers let him stay awhile in an empty farmhouse, and he’s grateful for their kindness. It’s all he can do to write a brief, simple letter which he sends to Oxenfurt. He gives nearly the full bag of coin to a stablehand with a fast horse to ensure it gets there quickly.

After the stablehand leaves, he wonders if he should have sent it to Lettenhove. There’s no one to ask what to do, now.

On the third day, the healer comes. The priest, too, with swathes of white linen. Geralt exists quietly on the margins.

A week after the basilisk, the stablehand returns with an entourage. Geralt tries to explain - tries to make them understand that it seemed better than calling for Jaskier’s estranged family - but words come even harder than usual. The blonde-haired woman who arrives at the head of the pack doesn’t say anything, just pulls him into a hug.

They share their grief.

It takes two days to return to Oxenfurt. Geralt rides Roach behind the canopied cart, never once taking his gaze from it.

Geralt had always been a little suspicious of the poets Jaskier spoke of, but when he’s actually amongst them he’s treated only with kindness. They insist he stays in the Academy for as long as he needs - but the event of it is all over in a matter of days. He could leave, but his bones have turned to lead and he cannot carry on, not like this.

Those long, grey days return. He stares out of the tiny window of his lodgings at the slow-moving Pontar. He stays there till the sun sets and the moon rises.

After a month of living as a ghost, the blonde-haired woman returns. It’s awkward for a while: both too lost in their own private grief to properly talk to someone else. She brings wine with her - Est Est, his favourite, always - and they drink. Wine loosens their tongues, and finally Geralt speaks. His voice is hoarse from underuse, his tone broken, his words faltering. She understands.

He cannot stay in Oxenfurt. When it’s time to leave, she presses Jaskier’s bag into his hands - the one he’s used on their travels for decades. They’ve decided that she should keep the lute: it belongs in a place of art and life and music, they both agree. But the rest is his.

Geralt rides from the city, across the Eastern bridge. He rides until Roach can go no further. He makes a meagre camp for himself, not bothering with anything beyond the smallest fire. Something compels him to open the bag.

There, atop old shirts and loose coins, is the notebook. He pulls it out, and it falls open on his lap. The crisp, blank pages flutter in the wind, skimming through the empty pages of a life cut short.

He snaps it shut and throws it back in the bag.

Hunts continue. He has to eat, after all: has to pay his way, even if he doesn’t want to. He trudges. He sees old friends, and is forced to retell the story over and over. He hopes that the next retelling will hurt less, but it never does.

After four months, he finally has the courage to look in the bag once more. He places the notebook down on the cover of the small, hard bed that he’s rented for the night. He pulls out the shirts which, miraculously, still smell of Jaskier. He sleeps with one shirt balled in his fist, pressed to his face. It’s almost like he’s back - almost like Geralt is home.

In the morning, stiff and somehow more tired, he realises the notebook has slipped to the floor in the night. It’s fallen open on the last filled page. He reads it: of course he does, he can’t stop himself. It’s like listening to a ghost - like listening to a voice echoing at you from the back of a cave.

Jaskier did write it down. That makes him smile. He mentions the basilisk, and there’s a note about the uses of basilisk venom. It feels such a waste, so utterly foolish - how flippant and irrelevant these last words are, when in hindsight they were the most important thing Jaskier would ever write.

Geralt picks up the notebook. He reaches into Jaskier’s bag and finds a half-chewed pencil. Slowly and precisely, he writes the date in the top left corner of the next blank page.

At least, he hopes that’s the correct date.

He hesitates for a moment, and then beneath the date he writes - Walked ten miles. Contract in Vizima. Rotfiend nest - destroyed. Need more bombs.

It’s a pale, soulless companion to Jaskier’s writing.

Everyday, he writes beneath that, hand shaking, I miss him.

The next day, he writes about the Vizima contract in short, simple sentences. He notes down that he needs more Celandine. He tries to sketch Roach, but the pencil is too small in his hands and his lines are rough and uneven and it’s wrong, all wrong - he’s ruined it, he’s ruined the one thing he had that tied him to Jaskier and, and--

He throws the pencil in the fire.

Two days later he buys a new one, and vows to start again.

His writing is not as floral as Jaskier’s. He doesn’t linger on poetry or feelings or art. He notes down practical things - population sizes, weather patterns, notes on which herbs he needs. He draws Roach, again and again, until he deems his efforts worthy.

That winter he returns to the keep with the notebook nearly full. There’s something there waiting for him - a large wooden chest. He’s about to ask how such a delivery could get so high in the mountains, when Eskel appears.

“Someone left it for you in the tavern in Ard Carraigh,” he says. “They knew one of us would stop there on the way through. You owe me, Wolf. It weighed a fucking tonne.”

Geralt kneels down and unclips the straps that keep the box shut, heaving open the wooden lid. He peers inside. Eskel peers over his shoulder.

“Books?” He says, “We’ve got thousands of books. Why do we need any more?”

Geralt picks up the nearest one. He opens it to reveal rows and rows of neat, cursive handwriting and a little sketch of a slyzard. There’s a note on top - he takes it in a shaking hand and reads: These are, by and large, about you. So it seemed right you should have them. Take care.

The notebook drops heavily back into the box. Geralt’s legs have turned limp - he cannot stand. There must be a hundred notebooks in the box, all full, all complete.

Eskel is looking around, now.

“Hey,” he says, as if only just realising the ringing emptiness that’s been following Geralt around for months. “Where’s your bard?”

Geralt pulls shut the lid, and rests his head against the wood.

Here, he thinks. He’s here.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #THIS IS VERY SAD #you HAVE BEEN WARNED #major character death #confessions #and journalling #inspired by rdr2 #and also i had beautiful ghosts from 2019 cats stuck in my head

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goblins-riddles-or-frocks · 2 years

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What are your favorite things about Nikolina, and if they're not the same answer, what makes you ship it?

OMG I only just noticed that I had this in my drafts and never replied!

So I will admit that a lot of what I like most about this ship is what I bring to it, even though I love what’s on screen I love their dynamic. But I’m mostly in it for what might have been, post TGT canon. Or just entirely canon divergent type stuff, which is incidentally also why I consider it more of a ship than just… a relationship I liked. I tend to only seek out fan content when I’m unhappy with what I got from canon or if I feel like it’s too bare bones.

Anyway I just said this on twitter the other day but I just love stories where the characters are picking up the pieces together!

This is a tangent but like I’m reminded of a thing I heard from a writing podcast once lol. It’s called relationship axes, where you rate two characters’ values on like money, mind, manners, morals, and marx brothers (humor lol) or something like that. And relationships stem from characters having however many of these in common and compelling/more invested conflicts when one or several do not align. I don’t necessarily approach things in the exact same way? My natural thought process definitely isn’t as structured, but the relationships I find the most interesting have a certain degree of conflict and a certain degree of respect/fondness. And that even extends to purely antagonistic dynamics. I just think there’s more investment and thematic cohesion even when there’s a lot of understanding and common ground between the characters’ viewpoints.

And while these two share a lot of values, and also like each other very much, they just want entirely different things. Their ideas of happiness are almost mutually exclusive. I enjoy that kind of good faith/genuinely being well meaning while also having inherent conflict.

And like I’ve said before, they just approach things super differently. Alina does NOT give a damn about appearances, Nikolai really really does; he is ambitious, she is not; etc. They complement each other very well.

Anyway I just enjoy second choice romance, and marriage/relationship of convenience type stuff. I think stories that revolve around choosing to be vulnerable, and choosing to love someone can be very poignant. And also angst surrounding emotional unavailability is just extremely fun for me lol. So I really like the pall that Mal might leave behind, or even the Darkling (the latter particularly in a version where she loses her power, and how his death could also represent that)

#grishaverse #shadow and bone #alina starkov #nikolai lantsov #nikolina #i ramble sometimes #all the bendy punctuations #*writer's cap*

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lyranova · 4 years

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Hiii Lyra! F or the Emoji character ask could you maybe do 💙, 💘 and 💧 for Marx, please?

Hi Melissa~! I hope you like these I’m sorry if they’re not very good 😅!

💙- How do they say/show that they miss their partner?

Ooh Marx probably keeps a photo of you in his robes so whenever he begins to start really missing you he just pulls it out so he can look at your beautiful face. When you finally return he probably gives you the biggest and tightest hug he can muster!

💘— What was one of the first things that attracted them to their partner?

If you’re an organized and tidy person it would probably be something like that tbh 😅! But if you’re not than it would probably be some sort of act of kindness that you did in front of him, like help a lost child or convince Julius to go back to work.

💧— Random angst headcanon

If you were severely injured you would probably see a very different Marx. I feel like he is a very tidy person, so you’d see him completely disheveled lookwise, also i think he is the type of person who keeps his emotions to himself and you’d probably see him panicking and probably very emotional. Also a slight anger at whoever or whatever hurt you. It’d take a while for you to be able to calm him down!

#asks #melissa⚡️#marx francois #marx headcanons #black clover #black clover headcanons #marx x reader

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 4 years

Text

New fic!

The first chapter of No Grave Can Hold My Body Down, the third and final installment in the Only Human series is posted! You can read the first two scenes under the cut, or you can find it here on AO3.

Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier; Yennefer/Fringilla; Essi/Shani

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Tags: AU— Superhero/Superpowers; Established relationship; Assumed character death; Grief/Mourning; Human experimentation; Implied/referenced torture; Geralt whump; Jaskier whump; Canon-typical violence; Angst with a happy ending

Summary: When an old enemy of Geralt’s seemingly returns from the dead, he brings with him an ultimatum: Geralt must give up his identity as the Witcher, or have his life and his family destroyed. But after catastrophe strikes, it’s up to Jaskier to keep the people he loves safe.

There’s no body for them to bury today.

Yennefer told Jaskier that this is normal in the aftermath of a magical fire. The flames burned through clothes, flesh, muscle, and bone. All that was left behind was a pair of swords, one silver and one steel, and a wolf’s head medallion.

The medallion hangs heavy around Jaskier’s neck, the press of it cold and unfamiliar against his skin when he tucks it under his button up shirt. When he rubs at it through the thin polyester, he can feel its ridges and lines. He remembers running his fingers over it so many times when it was around Geralt’s neck, warmed by Geralt’s skin—

But he can’t think about that now.

“It’s time to go.”

Jaskier doesn’t startle at the sudden appearance of Vesemir in the doorway. A week ago, he probably would have, but he’s been strangely numb ever since-

He’s not thinking about that either.

Vesemir looks like a man who has aged a decade in a week. “Ciri and Yennefer are downstairs with that detective and his wife.” Normally, he would spit the word “detective” with venom, but he sounds too tired for venom.

Jaskier might have said something in response, but he can’t be sure. He seems to be floating somewhere above his body, watching himself in his rented black suit, his fingernails bitten to the quick and the medallion of the man he loved— loves— hanging around his neck.

“Come on, son.” Vesemir’s voice is more gentle than Jaskier has ever heard it and that’s what finally makes tears prickle at the corner of Jaskier’s eyes.

He hasn’t cried yet. He thinks if he starts, he won’t stop, and he needs to be strong for Ciri. Besides Yennefer, he’s all she has left.

“I’m ready.” His voice sounds far away, like it belongs to someone else.

It’s a lie, but Vesemir probably knows that. There’s no way that Jaskier could ever be ready for this, not if he and Geralt had gotten fifty or sixty more years together.

How could he ever be ready to say goodbye to the man he loves?

***

Three weeks earlier

“Essi Daven, are you trying to kill me?”

Essi snorts into her drink. “If I was trying to kill you, Jaskier, you would know.”

Jaskier slaps his hand over his heart and makes a wounded noise that draws the attention of several people around them. The bar where they meet for happy hour every Friday night is crowded with talking, laughing people. “You cannot possibly be telling me that Valdo Marx is good at his job.”

“He’s mellowed out since you left. It’s almost like you purposefully antagonized him all the time.”

Jaskier sniffs. “I did no such thing.”

Essi rolls her eyes at the ceiling. “Things at The Press are boring without you.”

“Well, I left big shoes to fill.” Jaskier is no longer bitter about being fired from his old job, not a year after the fact. Especially since the online magazine where he works these days pays more, has better hours, and comes with significantly fewer near-death experiences.

“You sure did,” Essi says. “You know, if you said the word, the Countess would totally hire you back.”

“I would never say the word.” Jaskier shrugs. “I like what I do now.”

“Writing dumb quizzes?”

“Excuse you, those quizzes are actually more complicated to make than anyone gives me credit for. And that’s not all I do. I write news articles too.”

Essi snorts. “I miss you. Don’t know why, but I do.”

“I miss you too. But hey!” Jaskier holds up his drink. “That’s what happy hour is for, right? Maybe one of these days, you can even get Shani to come.”

“Hopefully.” Essi shifts on her barstool. “The last year of med school is tough. She’s at the hospital almost every night.”

Jaskier knows that’s only part of the story. Neither Essi nor Shani are happy that Jaskier is back with Geralt, not when they think that Geralt cheated on Jaskier and nearly got him killed. But while Essi has managed to accept Jaskier and Geralt’s rekindled romance for Jaskier’s sake, Shani hasn’t. Jaskier can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen her in the past year, which just feels wrong. But it’s not like Jaskier can tell Shani and Essi his real reasons for breaking up with Geralt and then reconciling with him.

Still, he says, “You two should come over for dinner sometime, once Shani graduates. You two need to meet Ciri.”

Essi expression softens. “One of these days.”

“She’s a great kid. You and Shani will love her.” And maybe seeing how good Geralt was with her would soften their feelings towards him.

“I do need to see you as a parent,” she says teasingly.

“I’m not a parent exactly,” Jaskier says. “More like a cool big brother.”

“Cool?” She raises a skeptical eyebrow and Jaskier laughs. “Another drink?”

“Wish I could.” Jaskier checks the time on his phone. “Geralt is taking me to dinner tonight. There’s a new Toussainti restaurant near us that we’ve been wanting to try.”

And just like that, something shutters in Essi’s face. “Have fun,” she says in a perfectly neutral tone that is so un-Essi-like that it would be preferable if she were openly angry.

“Essi.” Jaskier sighs. “He’s made amends for what happened. I’ve forgiven him. You and Shani really should too.”

“Would you forgive someone who did that to me? Or to Shani?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Jaskier says, because they both know the answer. Anyone who hurt Essi or Shani would be dead to him.

“Then don’t ask me to forgive Geralt.” She finishes the dregs of her drink in one gulp. “I’m glad he makes you happy, Jask, but he still broke your heart. I watched you cry over him too many times.”

Jaskier’s heart hurts, but there’s not much for him to say. “He’s not going away anytime soon.”

“I know that,” Essi says. “And I can play nice for your sake. But that doesn’t mean I’m ever going to be happy about it.”

“Fair enough.” Shrugging his coat on, Jaskier bends to press a kiss to her cheek. “Give my love to Shani.”

“I will. And give my love to Roach.”

“See you next week, Essi,” Jaskier says and heads out into the cold January evening, feeling more out of sorts than he should after going to happy hour with his best friend.

***

Read the rest on AO3!

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my fic #my writing #no grave can hold my body down

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fangirlshrewt97 · 4 years

Text

Geralt Whump Week Submission Day 6

TITLE: I Hurt You (You Saved Me)

SHIPS: Geralt of Rivia / Jaskier|Dandelion

PROMPT: Monster

MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix

WARNINGS: NA

SUMMARY: Excerpt:

The only thing he could actually blame Jaskier for was his stupid decision to befriend Geralt, for trusting the Witcher to keep him safe. Because now Jaskier was hurt and the thing truly responsible for it was chopped into several pieces and flung across the clearing. So, the only one Geralt could actually blame was himself.

Basically, Jaskier gets hurt, Geralt blames himself, and along the way to getting Jaskier help remembers some key memories with him.

WORD COUNT: 5424 words

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Additional Tags include Geralt Whump Week, Prompt: Monster, Geralt Whump, Jaskier Whump, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Protective Geralt of Rivia, Self-Hatred, Non-linear storytelling, Pining, Geralt of Rivia has Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Falling in Love, Canon-typical violence, Soft Jaskier, Soft Geralt of Rivia, Idiots in Love, Friends to Lovers

AUTHOR: Fangirlshrewt97

CHARACTERS: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier

LINK TO AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25109782

///

He wanted to blame Jaskier. Blame him for being reckless, for not paying attention, for thinking he would be fine tagging along on one of Geralt’s hunts because he wanted more inspiration for one of his diddies.

But the only thing he could actually blame Jaskier for was his stupid decision to befriend Geralt, for trusting the Witcher to keep him safe. Because now Jaskier was hurt and the thing truly responsible for it was chopped into several pieces and flung across the clearing. So, the only one Geralt could actually blame was himself.

///

It had been almost two weeks since Geralt’s last contract, his coin was running too low, and the villages he had to cross had not been all that welcoming. Jaskier hissing and rearing to fight everyone who looked twice at Geralt did not help the situation. He was touched by how fiercely Jaskier protected him, but sometimes he wished he would learn to pick his fights.

“I am choosing my fights Geralt. I am choosing to fight for you.”

Geralt shook his head. “You don’t need to do that.”

Jaskier scoffed. He propped himself on his side from where he had been lying on Geralt’s chest. “Geralt, last time we were at court, you almost tore off the arm of the nobleman who insulted me.”

“He called you a whore.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve been called worse. But you did not need to defend me that day, I didn’t ask you to.”

“I wasn’t going out stand by and let him call you names.”

Jaskier smiled fondly. “Precisely my love, how is it fair you ask me to stand by while all these strangers beg you to help them with a monster and then call you names in the same breath.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Oh? Do you think I don’t care for you as much as you care for me?”

“Jaskier it’s-” Geralt bit off, growling when he was unable to say what he wanted. Jaskier merely ran a hand across the length of his chest, accustomed to giving him time to sort out his thoughts. “I don’t need to be protected.”

Jaskier laughs, the bastard.

“Oh darling, of course you don’t need to be protected.” He leans down and kisses him, slow and heavy, pouring his seemingly endless affection into Geralt until the Witcher wonders if one can drown in it. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel nice when someone does it anyways though. You protect me from all the monsters of silver, and I’ll protect you from the ones of steel.”

I’ll be your shield against humans, I won’t let you get hurt again. Not on my watch.

Fuck, Geralt’s chest is a pandemonium of emotions, so he does the only thing he does understand. He rolls the bard back onto his back and shows him his love.

///

A conversation from long ago echoes through Geralt’s mind as he ties the makeshift bandages he created out of his tunic across Jaskier’s chest. He wills his hands to stop trembling, his heart to not beat so loud, his breath not to be so ragged and painful. He doesn’t particularly believe in any God, but right then he prays to every one he knows to allow Jaskier to be alright.

Because the world needed this miracle of a man to be alive.

Because Geralt needed this miracle of a man to stay alive.

///

They were camping next to a lake, the summer night making the air heavy and humid. The soak in the river had been delightful, the cold water washing away the stickiness on their skins, allowing them to feel clean for the first time in days. They were on their way out of Novigrad, Jaskier having requested Geralt to meet him there after he finished his latest hunt. The bardic festival hosted by Lord Whittenmore had sent a personal invitation to Jaskier who had been honored, and determined to win once he learned Valdo Marx would also be there.

Jaskier had worked tireless on perfecting new compositions for the festival, staying awake late into the night, having to be hauled to sleep by Geralt when the Witcher finally had enough of the racket.

“Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

“Do you know the constellations?”

Geralt slowly peeled his eyes open, sleep had been scarce during the hunt, and though he would not admit it out loud, Geralt found he slept best when the bard was next to him.

The sky above them was a twinkling canvas, the moon half full but still bright enough they hadn’t even needed to keep the fire going for light. The lake was surrounded by a flat ground, allowing them to see the sky unobstructed. And stars crowded each other so much it was difficult to make them apart.

“A few.”

“I had a book about constellations when I was a child. My mother, she would read to me every night from that book. Told me the story behind each one.”

Geralt rolled his head to the side, taking in the view of his lover from the side. Jaskier was staring steadfast at the stars, their light reflected in his own eyes. Geralt’s breath got caught in his throat when Jaskier turned to meet his gaze. Jaskier did not need the reflection of stars in his eyes to imitate their twinkle, not when his out shined them all.

“Tell me one?” The question left Geralt before he could stop it.

Jaskier seemed to light up even more somehow, and launched into the tale.

Geralt fell asleep to the sound of his voice, his eyelids too heavy for him to keep them open.

When he woke the next morning, he swore he could feel the imprint of a kiss laid on top of his eyelids as he had drifted off to sleep.

///

Geralt heaved Jaskier up on his arms, ignoring the searing pain running up the entire left side of his own body. Fucking kikimoras. Trusting the potions he had taken beforehand to heal him, he secured Jaskier in his arms. Clenching his jaw so tight, he was sure he was chipping his teeth, Geralt tightened his hold on the bard and started to run. He needed to get a potion in Jaskier, get him stable, and then take him to a healer. One who could do magic.

Jaskier’s head lolled against his shoulder, the bard having succumbed to the pain a long while ago. Geralt picked up his pace the more he heard Jaskier’s heartbeat slowing down. The drum the dictated the beat of his life more and more.

His own chest started to feel icy, fear gripping his heart with claws that made it bleed.

///

It had been the bard who kissed him first. They were camping just outside of the Cedarian capital, the town had been having a nasty basilisk problem that took Geralt the better part of two days to take care of. Jaskier had conceded to being left behind in town on the condition of being allowed to fuss over Geralt as much as he wanted once he returned. And hadn’t that been a warm thought to mull over on the hunt. There was now someone who was waiting for Geralt on the other side of the hunt. Someone who had no obligation to do so, but chose to. Chose to spend time with him, someone who cared, someone who washed and tended to his wounds and soothed his nightmares. Jaskier chose him.

The basilisk had been a pain but Geralt had killed it and collected the reward soon enough. They rode out of town after Geralt got his coin, the villages reeking of equal measures of fear and disgust. They set up camp in the woods, Jaskier not complaining about the lack of a soft bed or the plain stew.

Geralt did not know much about the bard, for all that he rambled and babbled throughout the day, Geralt noticed that Jaskier rarely spoke about anything regarding his past. But there were some things he could not hide, the easy comfort in the silks and colors of his doublets, his intimate knowledge of nobility, his casual spouting of political relations and hierarchies in every country. Jaskier came from money. He came from a family that educated him. Possibly a family that loved him. So what was a man such as himself doing as a wandering minstrel? One who walked with Geralt even?

Every night, these thoughts occupied Geralt’s thoughts, though he’d never voice them out loud. He fell to a restless sleep, and was up with the dawn. Jaskier did not protest too much when Geralt roused him so early, just getting up and packing. They were barely on the road when the hair on Geralt’s neck stood up, and he called Jaskier to halt. He had barely pulled the bard close when an arrow landed right where the bard had been standing. Snarling, Geralt pulled Jaskier onto Roach, and kicked the horse into a gallop. A couple more arrows whizzed by, but none hit their target. Unfortunately the path they were on narrowed, and they ended up in a bottleneck. Geralt dismounted, pulling out his steel sword and taking a fighting stance as he patted Roach to hide with Jaskier. Soon enough the bandits descended, and they must have thought their numbers would help against a single Witcher, only to find themselves quickly outmatched. Geralt received a few nicks, and one slash to the side of his chest that could had pierced him if not for his armor. By the time Geralt disposed of the last bandit, he was panting and the pain from a cut to the leg had him limping.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried out when he emerged from the hiding spot. The bard rushed to him, entering his personal space and started to prod him, finding all the wounds. Geralt growled and batted at Jaskier but the bard was not deterred. The bard had him sitting on a nearby rock and pulling out Geralt’s supply of salves and bandages, quickly bandaged the two deep cuts, the nicks already starting to close on their own.

“Well, nothing like a bandit encounter to get the old blood pumping, right Geralt?” Jaskier tried to joke, laugh dimming at the sour look on Geralt’s face. He sighed. “Look, let’s just go alright?”

Geralt grunted and stood up, beckoning Roach to him. He mounted, and to Jaskier’s surprise offered him a hand too. Accepting the offer, Jaskier mounted Roach, slinging his arms loosely around Geralt’s waist. But to his surprise, rather than going out of the bottleneck, Geralt rode the opposite direction, back to where they had come from.

“Um, Geralt, I think we are going in the wrong direction. We need to be going the other way.” Jaskier explained. Geralt just grunted. Jaskier fell silent, but Geralt could scent his confusion.

They arrived at the place where the first arrow had been shot, and seeing it there made Jaskier gulp. It made Geralt’s blood boil. How dare these humans try to take his bard away?

When they got to the arrow, Geralt dismounted, making Jaskier yelp and follow. “What are you doing Geralt? I’m sure the bandits hiding here saw the fate of their friends and fled.”

Geralt was looking for something though, and moved with a purpose, pulling back a bush to see his prize. Crouching to get it, he brushed off the dirt that clung to it, noticing the dents and splinters to the wood.

He brought the lute back to Jaskier, who was standing next to Roach with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“Here. You dropped this.” Geralt said as he passed the lute back to Jaskier.

Jaskier took the lute from Geralt, cradling it for a moment before staring back at Geralt. His scent took on a pleasant smell of pine wood and flowers on top of his default scent of chamomile and vanilla, one Geralt had smelled before but had not yet deciphered the meaning of.

“You… we came back for this?” Jaskier asked, wonder filling his voice. Geralt shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the emotions he was reading off of Jaskier.

He grunted. Jaskier’s lips twitched before morphing into a genuine smile, small but beautiful. It made Geralt’s heart speed up and a bubbling feeling develop in his stomach.

And then. And then, Jaskier switched the lute to one hand, using the other to pull Geralt close to press a kiss to Geralt’s lips. The Witcher stood frozen, the heat of the bard’s body feeling as though it was burning him. Jaskier had closed his eyes, but Geralt couldn’t find himself able to do the same, mesmerized by the shape of Jaskier’s eyelashes lightly brushing against his cheek. His lips tingled when Jaskier broke the kiss. “Thank you Geralt.”

Jaskier turned around and started walking back towards the pass. When he didn’t hear Roach following, he twisted his head to beckon him. “Are you coming Witcher?” His voice was warm.

Geralt unfroze and climbed on Roach, following the bard for once.

What had just happened?

///

When he neared the road, he whistled a short tune, Roach galloping to meet him. Swinging Jaskier onto her saddle, Geralt climbed behind him, shifting to have him sitting side-saddle, secure between the Witcher’s arms. Then, he snapped Roach’s reins, begging her to be swift as they thundered towards the nearest village.

He hated how much this reminded him of the Djinn and the meeting that had happened. How many times was he doomed to hurt this man?

///

The first time Geralt kissed him, Geralt wished he had done it differently. They had been in Murivel, and just by sheer bad luck Jaskier had encountered a nobleman who vividly recalled his face as it had tumbled out of the window of his wife’s chambers. Needless to say, he had been holding a grudge and Jaskier had been sent running through the streets of the town while half a dozen guards with swords chased him. Jaskier had ended up crashing straight onto Geralt, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground.

“Geralt! My darling Witcher, help me please!” Jaskier had cried.

Geralt heard the sounds of the soldiers, and was able to connect the important dots even if he didn’t have the full story. Unfortunately, he had left his swords in the inn and had only a small dagger. And this was their town. And Jaskier was wearing one of his obnoxiously bright doublets that made sure he always caught everyone’s eye. Good for a performance, bad for hiding from soldiers who want to castrate you.

Already regretting the action he was going to do, he hauled Jaskier against the wall of the nearest alley, pressing close to the bard, touching from shoulder to knees. Jaskier squawked before his breath hitched. It was not helping Geralt concentrate.

“Geralt?” the word was whispered against his ear, and instinctively Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s hip. He heard the soldiers round the corner on their street and turned to Jaskier, pressing his lips onto his, swallowing the moan Jaskier let out. Jaskier was frozen for a moment before he threw his arms over Geralt, one burying itself in his hair and the other encircling his torso. Geralt brought his hands around Jaskier’s waist, pressing them against his lower back, making the bard arch into him.

The heat from the bard was intoxicating, and left Geralt wanting to continue doing this. This miracle of a human who touched him with no fear, who wanted him.

He heard a group of footsteps stop at the mouth of the alley but moved on quickly enough. It was only when he heard them turn another corner that Geralt stepped back. Not too far though, leaving just a couple inches of space between them.

Jaskier was a sight, lips red and plump, eyes slightly glazed and hair mussed. “Geralt…” Fuck, even his voice was hoarse.

The Witcher could feel his arousal racing through his veins and when his hips brushed the bard’s they elicited a moan letting him know the bard’s reaction was more visceral than a simple kiss warranted.

Geralt could still recall the first kiss Jaskier gave him, he had spent nights replaying it in his head. He had also, in the nights when he travelled alone, allowed himself to imagine how he would return the kiss. This had not been it.

He had wanted to earn it, wanted to treat the bard, make him smile, make him laugh, make his scent be filled with happiness.

Still, he couldn’t say he entirely hated what had just happened either.

///

Roach brought him to the healer’s hut quickly, sensing the panic from her rider. Geralt dismounted, carrying Jaskier in his arms. He shifted him enough to knock on the door, anxiety and panic coloring every second before the door finally creaked open to reveal a tiny woman who barely reached his chest.

“Please, respected healer, my friend has been injured and he needs immediate assistance.”

“Hmmm,” the woman contemplated before thankfully opening the door further to let him in. “There is a bed in that room, deposit him there. Divest him of his clothes too.” She ordered.

Geralt quickly followed her instructions, willing away the trembling in his arms as his fingers unbuttoned Jaskier’s doublet.

He couldn’t pull the bard to sit to remove his chemise, so he used the dagger from his boot to cut it, promising in his head to replace it for him. He was just finishing with lowering Jaskier onto the bed when the old lady waddled back into the room. In the light of the fire, the slash of the kikimora had cut a wide line from just below Jaskier’s armpit to his opposite hip in the back, the line curving jagged and dangerous.

“Now Witcher, let me do my job, go sit outside.”

“But-”

“I cannot concentrate if I have you hovering over me. I may not be able to scent your anxiety but I am sure you reek of it. Begone with you!” She ordered, pointing back to the main room.

Biting back an argument, Geralt sighed and bowed his head. “Yes madam.”

He glanced backwards at Jaskier, still laying on the bed, pale and haunting with the moonlight that was shining down on him.

He closed the door, the main room being dark and cold compared to the space he had just occupied. Knowing he couldn’t stay still, not when he was useless to help Jaskier, not when it had been his fault the bard had been hurt in the first place, Geralt fled.

///

“That’s it. You are teaching me how to make your damn potions Geralt!” Jaskier huffed as he tried to staunch the bleeding by wrapping the bandages faster. But Geralt’s torso was slippery and bandages ended up bunching up rather than laying flat on him.

Geralt, helpfully verbose as always, growled at him.

Jaskier growled back and pulled at the bandages viciously.

Geralt tried to swipe at him. Jaskier pulled the bandages again.

“I am the only reason you are not dead you idiot. Stop resisting me!”

Geralt snarled, securing Jaskier’s wrist in a tight enough hold strong enough to hurt but not fracture.

“Get your hands off of me, or I will do it for you.”

Jaskier bared his teeth in a half feral smile. “I’ve travelled by your side for 10 years now you bastard, you think you scare me? I’m not afraid of you Geralt.”

The two men wrestled some more, although it was less wresting and more Geralt using his bulk to keep Jaskier away from him without hurting the bard while the bard clawed and threatened to bite him.

In the end, Roach got annoyed by the racket then were making and headbutted Geralt’s back, making him lose his balance for a second. Unable to balance both of them when Jaskier decided to swing at him again at that instance, both went crashing to the ground, Geralt gasping as lines of pain radiated from his cut shoulder to the ends of his toes, further exacerbated by Jaskier falling half on top of him.

“Shit! Are you alright, I am so sorry!” Jaskier exclaimed as he scrambled to get off the Witcher and stand upright, accidentally kneeing him in his, thankfully, uninjured side.

Gritting his teeth so hard he almost heard them crack, Geralt braced himself on his hands and pushed himself up against the rock he had been sitting in.

Jaskier dropped to his knees beside him, far more careful of his movements.

“Geralt?” the concern was overwhelming in its sincerity and its scent.

For all the flaws the bard had that drove Geralt out of his mind on a daily basis, the one consistent thought in his head was the perplexity he felt as he studied the enigma of Jaskier. The bard was loud, colourful, had a tendency to go feral and pick stupid fights, got into stupider beds he ended up having to run from with his trousers only half done. But he was also kind to Geralt, a kindness that was genuine. He feared for Geralt, not because of him. Geralt did not know what to make of this human. And now he claimed he wanted to know how to make potions to help Geralt out? The idea was absurd.

But as Jaskier took his silence as permission to continue his fussing, he sat back and let the bard do as he wished, thankfully quiet this time. Jaskier’s touch was gentle but firm, and the fear Geralt kept waiting for, even after all this time never came.

Somewhere along the way, Jaskier had learned how to heal him, how to care for him, anticipate his needs. And Geralt felt a curl of shame in his stomach that he could not say the reverse was true.

///

Geralt was back at the swamp. The scents were overpowering, the rot of death and blood, kikimora and Witcher and human, all combining to form the most noxious smell Geralt had ever smelled.

He felled the head off the monster, harvested the useful bits, and then burned the corpse. He burned the whole clearing too, just to be safe.

He rode back in a fugue state, his mind was blank because the only thought was ‘Jaskier will be alright, Jaskier needs to be alive, Jaskier needs to know, Jaskier will be alright, Jaskier needs to be alive, Jaskier needs to know …’

The sun had set long ago, only his Witcher vision allowing him to guide Roach back to the hut of the old healer. Leaving Roach to munch on the nearby patch of grass, Geralt reentered the cottage. The smell of blood in the air had been replaced with incense, and Geralt could hear a faint chanting from the old lady.

Lost without direction, Geralt sagged against the wall next to the door leading to Jaskier. He curled his arms around himself and rested his head against his knees.

All that was left to do was wait. How had this all happened?

///

It had even been a simple hunt, the alderman had put out a commission for a Witcher to take care of the spider monster in his lake, and when Geralt had met him, had even been helpful in giving details. He described how four of the men of his village had been lost when they had left through the path north to do business and then failed to return. But when a couple others returned, they realized the men who disappeared must have done so near the water. So the remaining citizens had armed themselves and gone to the search the riverbanks to find their bodies to bring home, only to lose another citizen to the monster.

The alderman shuddered as he recollected the sight.

He had said, “Master Witcher, I know that in most places your kind is not treated kindly, but we are a small village, dependent on each other. Loss of even four men is a heavy loss, and we cannot afford to lose any others lest all of us die. We do not have much coin, but we can provide you lodging and food for free to compensate.”

Geralt had accepted the offer, not least because he had seen the hunger pang faces of the children when he and Jaskier had arrived, death and misery hanging like a cloud over the village. Jaskier had quietly offered to play at the tavern and the alderman had smiled at him weakly. He had travelled wide and seen the rarity of people in power who cared for their people, and the man before him all but bled his grief at the death of his people.

“Music and happiness have long been gone from here Master Bard. If you would kindly welcome them back for even a night to this town, I will be grateful beyond words to you.”

Jaskier had offered a nod and made arrangements for his performance. That night, after singing and dancing and finally seeing those children laugh, both men retired to their room.

“What monster do you think it is?” Jaskier had asked, laying on his side, head pillowed on his arm, looking at him.

Geralt had been on his back, on arm tucked beneath his head as Jaskier took the one on his stomach to play with.

“Based on the description, it is probably a kikimora. They are difficult but if you go in with a plan the job can be done quickly enough.”

“Let me come.”

“No.”

“Geralt.”

“You could get hurt.”

“That’s what you tell me before every hunt!”

“It’s true of every hunt.”

“Geralt…” Jaskier whined. Geralt had relented. In hindsight, he wanted to hit himself over the head for such a stupid decision.

The next morning had dawned early, and the two went in the direction of the swamp. Jaskier had conceeded to staying away from the fight itself, and found that there was a place where the path forked to the swamp, one heading to the river, and another to higher ground. Making sure the bard was safe up high, Geralt ventured to the river, pulling out his silver sword.

He leaned down and picked up a few pebbles, enchanting them with a sign, and once at the river’s edge tossed them in. Barely a couple of seconds passed before the still waters rippled and splashed as the monster emerged from the riverbed. It roared, Geralt barely able to make out a small darkened spot on it’s head before it launched itself at him. Geralt dodged and threw an Aard, which stunned the kikimora enough for Geralt to hack off one of it’s legs.

Enraged, the monsters had screamed again before slashing out rapidly, catching Geralt in the arm. Geralt grunted as the claw pierced the skin below the armor, but used the proximity to chop off another limb. He threw another Aard, throwing the kikimora out of the water and into the cliff by the river’s edge. The soil of the cliff must have been weaker than it looked, because Geralt could only watch as the ground beneath Jaskier’s feet crumbled and the bard let out a scream as he fell, landing on the monster’s back. Jaskier was stunned for a second before he scrambled away from the monster, limping to cover. Geralt unfroze and launched himself at the monster, giving Jaskier enough time to get to safety. Unfortunately, the kikimora was fueled by anger at that point and viciously slashed out it’s leg throwing Geralt into the river. Geralt spluttered when he breached the surface, and could only watch in horror as Jaskier let out a blood curdling scream before falling silent as the monster seemed to cut him in half.

Geralt couldn’t recall what had happened next, only knew his vision had gone red and he had fought against the monster, going so fast and hard the kikimora could not even prepare a defence for itself.

///

Geralt had been engaged in intense self-flagellation for over an hour before the door next to him crack open, spilling bright light into a dim room that had Geralt squinting. The old woman stepped out, closing the door behind her. Geralt rose to his feet, feeling his heart in his throat.

“Madam, my friend-”

“Quit your nervousness, it is unbecoming. Your friend shall be alright. A little bruised but he will be healed by the morrow.”

Geralt felt the immediate urge to sink to his knees in relief.

“Now go on ahead, he is asking for you.”

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat before starting to pound. “Asking- He’s awake?”

“Yes, boy, generally sleeping people cannot make requests. Go on in now.” The lady said as she practically pushed Geralt into the neighboring room.

The sight in there was enough to make his eyes tear up. There on the bed, looking exhausted with a new scar, but otherwise healthy and breathing, and whole, was Jaskier. With his bright blue eyes, and warm smile, and kind hands. There was his miracle of a man he had done nothing to deserve.

Geralt nearly sobbed in relief. Good things did not happen often to him, destiny had a tendency to fuck him over at every turn.

Jaskier called him forth, extending a hand towards him. “Geralt.”

The steps he took felt mechanical, as though it wasn’t him who was walking, not him placing his hand in Jaskier’s, not him being blessed with that radiant smile. But that smile dimmed a little, and Geralt wanted to bring it back.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Geralt managed to croak out after several prolonged moments.

“Like you can’t believe your eyes?”

“I-” Geralt said, before being overwhelmed, and he surged, enveloping Jaskier in a firm but gentle hug, burying his face in Jaskier’s scent. A tear made its escape and landed on Jaskier’s bare shoulder.

“Geralt wh-”

“I heard your heart stop.”

“Oh Geralt. I am alright, I am here.”

Geralt just clung to Jaskier tighter. The bard brought one hand up to run through Geralt’s hair as the other rubbed soothing circles into the small of his back.

The pair stayed like that until Jaskier’s muscles protested, and Geralt forced the bard to lie down, pampering and fussing over the bard.

His bard. His friend. His Jaskier.

The old lady allowed them to stay the night, saying the stitches would burst open if the bard had to ride by horseback or walk the next day.

“Thank you for taking care of me, my lady.” Jaskier had said.

“Little boy, I just did my job. If the big one hadn’t brought you to me as quickly as he did, no one could have helped you. You should be thanking him.”

“I plan to, my lady, I plan to.” Jaskier had said, voice so fond, Geralt wanted to run, especially when those blue eyes filled with love were aimed at him.

“Very well, you both interrupted my supper, I am going to eat. I trust you to take care of yourselves.” She had bid before walking out, nodding at their bows.

Once she was gone, Jaskier had cupped Geralt’s face ad brought him in for a kiss.

“This is not your fault.”

Geralt’s fist clenched in the sheets.

“Of course it is.”

“Geralt-”

“I should have been more careful.”

“And I should have actually listened to you.” Jaskier said exasperated. He sighed, shifting his hand from Geralt’s cheek to the back of his neck. “Dear heart, you warned me so many times, you gave me so many chances to stay behind and I rejected all of them. Neither of us are to blame, or both of us are. But please, please don’t put this on yourself.”

When Geralt looked like was going to protest, Jaskier shut him up with a kiss.

“Promise me.”

In front of those eyes, Geralt had always been helpless. “I promise.”

Jaskier smiled brightly again. “Good.”

And then because he was a ridiculous fool in love, he pressed a kiss to the Witcher’s nose.

And because the Witcher was an even bigger fool in love, he blushed.

///

In his heart Geralt did not know if he could ever truly forgive himself for letting Jaskier get hurt, but he had promised the bard, so he would try.

He would also make sure to do his best to ensure harm never came to his bard again, directly or indirectly.

Jaskier was far too precious to hurt.

#the witcher #my fic #my wriring #geralt whump week #geralt whump week 2020 #geralt whump week day 6 #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #geraskier fic #soft geralt/jaskier #let me know what you think!

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ao3feed-geralt-jaskier · 4 years

Link

by Kalaratri

Jaskier has always known he loves in a way that is too much. He gives too much of himself, and wants too much in return. This is how he copes with that; getting back with his abusive shit of an ex.

--- Jaskier puffed his chest up, ready to launch into a diatribe on the injustices of surly barmaids when a hand reached in front of him to deposit several coins in front of him. “I’ll pay. Whatever our dear, disaster, Dandelion desires.”

Oh god, thought Jaskier. I fucking hate alliteration.

A bard who knew him, who called him Dandelion, the nickname only his classmates remembered.

Shit and fuck, thought Jaskier succinctly, then turned to face his nemesis.

“Hallo Valdo. Fancy meeting you here. Crippled Kate’s close early?”

Words: 1755, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Valdo Marx

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)

Additional Tags: Angst, Whump, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-mountain breakup, No beta we're rawdogging this

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #netflix the witcher #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier #geraskier

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

Text

Road Trip : Punk!AU

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Punk!Aevryn x Punk!Valdo, Punk!Jaskier x Reader, Punk!Geralt x Punk!Yennefer Word Count: 3,329 Rating: T (swearing and violence) Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @coffee-and-stories @nevadawolfe a/n: This one is pure, distilled angst with just a whisper of muddled yearning. Ball’s in your court, Joz. Enjoy.

Part VI - Your shockwave whisper has sealed your fate

{Part I}{Part II}{Part III}{Part IV}{Part V}

When Valdo Marx pictured the renaissance of his great love story it had never happened in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Still he sat at a little table in the corner, awaiting Aevryn’s return. He clutched his phone in his hands, oversized vintage headphones tamping down his unruly brunette curls as he tried to calm himself by listening to his favorite album. His thinly veiled hipster sensibilities appreciated it because he knew no one else had ever listened to it outside of perhaps five people at most. His aching heart loved it because it was hers; a recording they’d made in his father’s studio when they were kids. The sonorous notes of the violin echoed in his mind, a secret unrequited anthem that kept her close at all times.

He saw the door open from the corner of his eye and sat up expectantly, hope plain on his face that faded to high-pitched anxiety when he saw who had entered the café.

“Valdo,” she said, sitting across from him without invitation, ever the queen of the space she inhabited no matter how briefly.

“Yennefer,” he replied, “What the hell are you doing here?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and the violet eyes fixed him with a cool, unimpressed look. But there was more there, curiosity, and maybe a little bit of uncertainty.

“Hardly a good first move, Valdo. Don’t you know the best way to win a woman back is to get her friends on your side?” she asked. Valdo scoffed and the bottle green eyes looked askance. His slender fingers slid the headphones off of his hair, curls springing back in place without so much as a dent. He crossed his arms in front of him, creasing the lines of his blazer.

“I’ve long given up any hope that you lot will ever be on my side,” he replied, his tone a blend of warm anger and icy disdain.

“It’s not like you to give up,” Yennefer remarked. Valdo considered her words carefully. She was a woman of few words but she was sharing them with him which had to mean something. Aevryn wouldn’t send her friend to speak for her, she was braver than that. And, he hoped, she cared for him enough to face him if she was going to end things forever. But hope was a dangerous thing and he’d been made a fool for it before.

“As charmed as I am to see a one-time rival and eternal thorn in my side, tell me what you’re doing here or tell Aevryn she can deliver her messages herself,” Valdo said, the words bolder than he felt, his heart beating rapidly at the thought of Yennefer walking out and taking all hope of a future with Aevryn with her.

“I’m not here for Aevryn,” Yennefer said and then reconsidered and said, “Actually, I am a bit. I wanted to meet with you first. She didn’t want me to, for what it’s worth, but I insisted.”

“It’s rare to meet someone more stubborn than Aev,” Valdo smirked.

“And yet, here I sit,” Yennefer replied, matching him smirk for smirk. He nodded in acknowledgment and gestured for her to continue, eyes slipping to the window every few moments, looking for a glimpse of mussed, rich brown hair.

“What makes you think that things will be different this time?” Yen asked, through with pleasantries.

“Because I’ve decided they will be,” Valdo answered simply.

“Oh well in that case, cheers,” Yennefer said sarcastically, her face unimpressed. Valdo swallowed a litany of crass, passive aggressive responses and leaned forward, emerald eyes meeting violet.

“I was a fucking idiot. I made a mistake. No, not a mistake, a choice. A really shitty choice that I have spent years processing. I went to therapy,” he said this last point with emphasis and Yennefer had to admit (well, not aloud) that it was a good sign. “I have been dealing with the consequences of my actions and I’m making new ones. I’m not going to pretend I’m some fuckin’ saint or that I’m a new man because frankly, darlin’, Aev liked the old one just fine. But I’m a better man in a lot of ways.”

“So you talked to a shrink and had to deal with some consequences and now you think you’re worthy of her,” Yennefer said.

“Of course I’m not bloody worthy of her, who could be?” Valdo exclaimed.

“Well on that we’re agreed,” Yennefer replied, though she couldn’t deny that it was what she’d been hoping he’d say. She knew it was time to uphold her end of the agreement with Aevryn and go get her from the little café across the street she’d posted up at, but she had more questions and she wasn’t going to get a chance like this again.

“You’re a pretty fucked up individual, all things considered. How do you do it?” Yennefer asked.

“What? Be fucked up? Like most things in my life, it’s mostly inherited I s’pose.”

“No, loving. How do you still love her and trust yourself with loving her? How are you not scared all the time?”

Yennefer wasn’t usually this open but Valdo was also probably the only person in the world where she could say this without it getting back to Geralt or Jaskier. And, despite his many, many flaws, he knew how to keep his mouth shut. Valdo thought about her question, eyeing her carefully but holding back the many questions of his own.

“Honestly?” he said, “I am scared. But I also know that I can either be honest with myself about what I want or I can keep trying to drown myself in distractions while the yawning pit of self-hatred that’s been eating me from the inside out grows larger.”

“Well when you put it that way it sounds easy,” Yennefer said.

“Isn’t it?” Valdo asked with a shrug. Yennefer looked back up into his eyes and held his gaze for a silent moment, considering what he’d said and what could happen next. She rose suddenly and nodded briskly.

“Thank you, Valdo,” she said, and walked out without another word.

-----

“I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense,” Jaskier argued, gesturing wildly as he had been for the last hour since Yennefer and Aevryn had gone for some alone time, “You think it’s odd too, right? You must!”

The question as directed at Geralt who grunted noncommittally, avoiding Jaskier’s eyes. You recaptured one of Jaskier’s hands in your own and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“Babe it’s been a weird few days, maybe they’re just getting their nails done,” you said. You looked to Win for support and she looked between you and Jaskier with an uncomfortable, blank expression.

“I mean it’s definitely possible,” she muttered, slipping an earbud in to try and drown out the welling conflict around her.

“Maybe Yennefer is the one who needed the time alone,” you offered.

“No, Aev was crying the other day. Crying, Y/N! She always tells me when something’s wrong and that means it can only be because of that rat bastard Valdo Marx,” Jaskier’s mouth curled into a disgusted grimace as he spat out the name. “But why would Yen be helping? She hates him as much as I do!”

“Maybe we should get something to eat,” you suggested, “Milwaukee has some good places, right Win?”

You sent the question your friend’s way but she was lost in her own world and didn’t hear you, leaving you floundering on your own. You looked to Geralt for help and he nodded before putting a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Jaskier, you need to eat. You get paranoid when you haven’t eaten.”

You shot Geralt a baleful look as Jaskier began to sputter and pulled his hand away from yours again to punctuate his angry rant with his arms but he still followed as Geralt led them off to find food.

-----

All at once, there she was.

Aevryn. Maybe, if he was lucky, his Aevryn.

She found him immediately, Yennefer having told her where to look though he was a hard man to miss. Even in a crowd she could find him. The caramel colored hair had been swept to the side and the sea green eyes sparkled with excitement. He rose from the table and crossed over to her. She held out a hand as he threw open his arms and they laughed awkwardly.

“Oh this is stupid,” she said, and moved into the hug. He embraced her so tightly she struggled to breathe but the pain was lost in the warm, familiar scent of his cologne. He screwed his eyes shut tight and took his first, full breathe in months. When they pulled back, reluctantly, she wiped a tear out of her eye.

“Stupid,” she laughed nervously again, moving to take a seat which Valdo quickly moved out for her. Once she’d been seated he took his place again and they just looked at each other, hearts beating a staccato duet. She placed her hands on the table and she tapped on it with her fidgety fingers. Valdo placed a hand over hers and it fit perfectly, as it always had.

“So I listened to it,” she began. She noted the way he sat up in his seat and tried to force his face calm but the forest hued eyes were pleading as he nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“It was a fucking mean thing to do,” she said. His face fell and he shook his head.

“Aev what do you… No, I wasn’t trying to…”

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” she insisted. Her words were severe but she didn’t look angry, her eyes holding none of the heartbreak or malice he was unfortunately familiar with.

“Did you, uh, did you listen to all of it? Did you hear Tom-”

“I’ve listened to it 12 times since it released. Half of them crying,” she said. Valdo’s eyes scanned her face helplessly, the whole plan falling apart in his grasp as he held her hand tighter.

“Aevryn I swear to Christ I-”

She pressed a finger to his lips, stilling his words. She felt his tongue lick gently against her finger between the slightly parted lips and she shivered. Her eyes sought his and held the gaze intently.

“It was beautiful,” she whispered. His face lit up beautifully and Aevryn felt herself slip just a little bit more in love with, awed that there was more room to fall for someone who had held her heart since she was a child.

“Aevryn I meant every single word, I l-”

“Oh I think the fuck not.”

-----

Geralt had headed to the best reviewed place in the area, determined to get something in Jaskier’s mouth so he would stop talking for a moment. He didn’t see Yennefer hurry out of the café across the street calling to them. He didn’t think anything of the way Jaskier tensed and then ran for the door. Only when he heard Jaskier yell did he realize what must be happening.

“Fuck,” he bit out, hurrying after his friend.

Jaskier stood before Aevryn and Valdo, chest hurting with all of the emotions it held. Aevryn looked guilty, the picture of someone caught in the act while Valdo sneered at Jaskier, clutching Aevryn’s hand possessively which only fueled Jaskier’s rage.

“Jaskier… please let me explain,” Aevryn began. To other patrons in the shop it looked like a salacious lover’s quarrel, a woman caught two-timing her lover. You reaching for Jaskier’s hands trying to pull his attention away and calm him down only made it look more exciting and more than a few people took out their phones to start snapping photos. A server hurried over.

“Hi, sir? Sorry, you’re going to need to please keep it down,” they asked. Jaskier’s body was taut like a snake ready to strike but he forced himself to be polite to the lady. He glowered at Aevryn who stood.

“Aevryn!” Valdo cried, losing the calm exterior he’d tried so desperately to cling to as she slipped from his hands.

“I’ve got to talk to Jaskier, I’ll be right back, you stay here,” she said, giving him a small smile before turning back to Jaskier who made a disgusted sound and charged back out the door, nearly knocking over Yennefer in the process. You’d heard of people being beside themselves but you’d never seen it depicted so clearly or painfully as Jaskier who paced and seemed so overwhelmed by anger and hurt that he struggled to breathe.

“Jaskier please,” Aevryn began, tears already coming to her eyes as she tried to approach her friend.

“Don’t,” he bit out, “Just don’t… fucking stand there and try and tell me to be calm or to listen or hear that he’s better. Jesus fucking Christ, Aevryn, what does it take?”

“Jaskier,” Yennefer tried cutting in but he wheeled on her, blue eyes flashing with white hot rage.

“Don’t,” he snarled at her and for once Yennefer backed down, stepping aside where Geralt wrapped an arm around her waist and she let it stay there, reassured by his presence.

“How could you do this?” Jaskier asked, “You know what, no, don’t answer because frankly there is nothing you could say to make it ok.”

“I’m not an idiot, Jaskier, and I don’t need you to try and make me feel like one,” Aevryn argued.

“I don’t think you’re an idiot but, fuck, I must be!” Jaskier argued, “I mean, what, how long has this been going on? And I didn’t know! I knew something was wrong but I had no fucking clue. What other secrets are you hiding from me? Were you ever not keeping secrets or have you been lying to me our whole friendship?”

“Jask…” Aev couldn’t form the words, overwhelmed by the pain in her friend’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I didn’t mean any of this… I just…”

“Aevryn?”

Jaskier’s eyes darkened to pure anger again as Valdo walked out to the little alleyway you’d all congregated in behind the café. He was looking at her anxiously, worried by the tears in her eyes, so worried he made a beeline for her and didn’t think to glance at Jaskier whose body coiled and launched, striking so hard he knocked them both over. Amid the scuffle he could hear you screaming and feel Geralt’s hands try and seize him but Valdo managed to grapple him and shove him up against a wall, getting in two good punches, one directly into Jaskier’s mouth and the other in his ribs. Jaskier roared and seized Valdo around the throat, constricting his breathing long enough that the man stopped punching and then released him, forcing him onto the ground as he began to strike, punch after punch, heedless of anything but the need to vent all of the anger and pain that had welled in him over the years. Years spent staring at Valdo Marx’s smirking, taunting, heartbreaking face that had the sheer nerve to do it again. And again. And again. All without any way to stop him.

“Jaskier stop!” Aevryn cried, fighting against Yennefer who held her back from joining the fray, “Jaskier please I love him!”

Jaskier’s fist, bruised and bloodied, stilled in the air. Geralt pulled Jaskier off of Valdo who groaned and tried to sit up. Aevryn ran to his side, gently touching his bleeding temple and taking in his eye that was already purpling. There was blood staining his clothes but when she looked back at Jaskier she saw it was his. Valdo’s eyes were trained on Aevryn alone, unaware of anything but the words she’d said, echoing in his mind.

“Jesus, Jaskier,” you gasped as you eyed the blood running from his mouth, one hand holding his ribs. Jaskier stared at Aevryn and she saw the broken look in his eyes.

“You love him,” he repeated, voice raspy from his screaming, sounding tired and defeated. Aevryn nodded, tears filled with regrets and, she hated herself the most for this, some relief. It was out. Not as she’d planned or hoped, but it was all out there. Jaskier nodded, wordlessly, eyes falling to the ground. Yennefer walked to stand by Aevryn and Jaskier looked up to meet her eyes as well. They were unapologetic, but not without regret. He nodded again and scoffed, wincing immediately after and clutching his side.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” Geralt said, eyeing Jaskier’s ribs nervously.

Jaskier wordlessly walked away, not giving a second look back as you and Geralt helped him out to the curb to find a taxi, Roach parked too far away to walk with him. Win stared at you, stunned, and you exchanged confused, hopeless looks. She looked back over at Aevryn who was trying to help Valdo stand.

“Win, go find Roach and drive her to the hospital,” Yennefer said, helpfully offering your friend something concrete to do that didn’t force her to pick a side. She nodded gratefully and set off.

“Did you mean it?” Valdo asked, standing now as Aevryn winced at the black eye.

“Of course I fucking meant it,” she cried. He smiled and pulled her into an embrace that was meant to be celebratory but she only sobbed harder and even he wrapped her up tight, rocking her slightly and humming a comforting song the way he had years before.

“I’m going to make this alright,” he promised, “I love you and you love them, and I’m going to make it right for you. You’ll see, Aev. I can’t do everything but I’d do anything for you.”

-----

Sun had long since set but Jaskier stood in the same position he had since he’d been discharged, one bruised rib and a suspected concussion later. They’d parked Roach back in the same spot they’d arrived to town and he stood outside of the van, arms crossed, staring into the distance. Geralt drummed a restless beat against the steering wheel with his fingers and you sat cross-legged on your seat, feeling helpless. You’d tried to get Jaskier to sit in the van with you but he’d insisted that he wait right where he was. Win was in the far back of the van, headphones in, trying hard to stay above the waves of anxiety and pain that swarmed her from all sides. S

“Jaskier,” Geralt said.

“No.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt repeated, sighing deeply, “She isn’t coming.”

“You don’t know that,” Jaskier replied stubbornly, pale blue eyes fixed on the horizon.

“Babe…,” you began.

“Y/N, don’t, I know my friends. They’re going to be here. Yennefer promised… she said… they’re going to be here,” Jaskier insisted, but you heard his voice crack.

“Aev texted me,” Win said, her voice small but carrying in the terse silence. Jaskier stiffened and you looked hopefully at your friend who bit her lip as she took a shaky breath to continue. “Um, her and Yennefer are getting a ride with Valdo. She said they’ll meet up with us when the van is fixed.”

You reached out an arm to rest on Jaskier’s shoulder but he stayed stock still.

“No,” he said, “No, they’re coming. I know they are.”

You and Geralt exchanged sorrowful looks and didn’t say anything more. Jaskier stood for another three hours as night bled into the early hours of the morning. When the first stretch of dawn began to reach across the sky, he climbed into the car wordlessly and leaned against the side of the van, curling into himself as well as tightly as he could. You closed the door behind him and Geralt stirred Roach to life, briefly waking Win who had fallen asleep. She looked up hopefully and when she saw your tear-filled eyes she reached out a hand and took yours, holding it tight the whole rest of the way as Jaskier stared out the windows, seeing nothing.

#Punk!Jaskier x Reader #Punk!Aevryn x Punk!Valdo #Punk!Geralt x Punk!Yennefer #Road Trip:Punk!AU #Vicious Mockery #Vicious Mockery AU #Punk!AU

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Text

Modern Valdo x Reader Part 3 (Angst)

A/N: A sequel to this fic. Let’s be real, this is a series now. I’m going to keep going and cannot be stopped. I’m going to need a series title or something to refer to this as besides “Modern Valdo.” Also specifically Modern Valdo fics are a requestable thing now. Just decided that. Or like if you want there to be a taglist, let me know? Self-prompted from this list because I wanted the sting. Word Count: 2975 Content Warnings: language; mild substance abuse; blood/injury

You had been living with Valdo for three weeks now, though it often feels like the situation had been forever, dancing on a wire’s edge, neither willing to be the first bring up that night, too afraid of what might turn out to be nothing in the harsh light of day and logical thought. Still you fell asleep most nights (and woke up some mornings) in each other’s arms, in one sleeping place or the other.

Every apartment you looked at, he found flaws that meant it “wasn’t good enough.” Your things from the place you had shared with Karla took up residence with you or were safely tucked into a secure storage unit that he’d insisted on helping you pay for. You had keys to his place and a parking pass for the garage. He regularly dropped you off and picked you up from work, and you’d get dinner or go to a show. When he had a gig, you were the only person allowed in his dressing room besides him, a surprising expansion of your already extensive backstage access.

“You two are just the picture of domesticity aren’t you?” Lukus joked after a show one night when you had greeted Valdo with a grin and a hug as he stepped off the stage.

“Never thought I’d see Valdo Marx settle down,” Mara added, nudging him with an elbow after you’d gone back to the bar to get drinks for everyone, as had become habit. “It looks good on you.”

“It’s not like that. You know we’re just mates. And Y/N deserves a better man than I could ever hope to be,” he sighed.

“Ugh, you are so whipped man,” Mara clapped Valdo on the shoulder. “Save that sappy shit for the album.”

“What ‘sappy shit’?” you asked, returning with two beers and whiskey sours, just as always, curious to what his bandmates might be teasing Valdo over.

“It’s nothing, Y/N,” he said, smiling as he took one of the cocktails and resisting the urge to kiss your cheek in thanks.

“Hey, Y/N,” Lukus said suddenly, startling you with how close he was now standing. “Wanna grab dinner next Saturday?”

“Um, sure. I love hanging out with you guys,” you said, slightly confused.

“No sweet cheeks, not the group, just you and I. As a date.”

“O…oh…” you blushed, staring down at your shoes as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world, missing the smug grin he sent Valdo’s way or the answering icy, murderous stare. “Um…sure…that might be…nice.”

If you were being honest, you had never considered Lukus as your type (his blondish hair and blue eyes and very squared face were often called conventionally attractive but you just found them boring) or someone you knew very well, but maybe a date would change that. And you were starting to get sick of waiting for Valdo to make a move when the ball was in his court. So maybe you could get over it and just go back to being friends. That was probably for the best anyway.

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something sexy for me.” He waggled his eyebrows at you with a smirk and you rolled your eyes.

Just like that, the peace of the apartment was broken, and the week passed in tense moments and frosty silences. Both desperate to bridge the chasm that had formed between you and genuinely wanting his advice, you walked out to the living room to find him sulking and cuddling a pillow and pointedly ignoring you.

“V,” you sighed. “I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you this week, but I could really use your help. You’re the only one I trust for this.”

He sighed and rolled his upper body to face you, but said nothing.

“I’m going to take that as an agreement because it’s the most you’ve acknowledged me all day. I don’t know Lukus that well or what he might be planning for this date thing. What do you think I should wear?”

His eyes, still rimmed in yesterday’s royal blue eyeliner, narrowed. “Something light colored, that way you can find it on his floor in the morning,” he snarled before flopping back over to face the back of the couch.

“Excuse me?!” you stared at him in complete disbelief. You had not inherent problem with the idea of potentially sleeping with Lukus on the first date but the implication in his tone that it was expected or guaranteed both confused and offended you.

“You heard me,” his voice was muffled by the cushions but you still caught its sharp edge.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

You watched his shoulders rise and fall in a dramatic shrug. “You’re not the first person Lukus has ‘dated,’ Y/N. I just know how he does things. He’s not a long-term, take home to the family guy.”

“So what? You think just because you’ve only seen him have one-night stands in the past, that there’s no chance I won’t sleep with him?”

“You asked for my advice. I gave it. Now you should probably go get ready, you wouldn’t want to be late for Prince Charming’s arrival.”

“You’re being a dick.” You hated the tears that sprung, unbidden, to your eyes and the waver of your voice.

“Yeah well, you’re going on a date with someone else. So you’re not blameless in this pain sweetheart.”

“If you have something to say Valdo, say it to my face. But if this is supposed to be your way of telling me you have feelings for me, it’s pretty shit.”

Silence hung over you for a minute before ever so slowly he shifted to face you properly, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees.

“I do have feelings for you, Y/N. And I thought…maybe there was a chance you felt the same but…”

“Why now? Three weeks ago, I asked you to kiss me. You rejected me that night, and you haven’t said a word since. What was I supposed to think?” You made a gesture of surrender. “So I gave up waiting for you, and now you’ve decided to say something?”

“If you really meant what happened that night, you’d have waited longer than three weeks.”

“That’s a selfish attitude V.”

He shrugged.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Turning, you stormed off back to the little office space where you had been keeping most of your clothes since moving in, waiting until the last possible moment to apply your makeup for fear that more would be said and it would start to run.

You felt terrible. The date with Lukus was on its second hour, and while it was just dinner at a little Italian restaurant (you appreciated that he had found a mom-and-pop place instead of a chain but suspected it was more for the hipster cred than any real devotion to helping small business), it should still have been your focus. Or he should have. Even if he was unfortunately dull and you had nothing of substance in common.

Instead, you kept playing Valdo’s words over and over in your head. The two of you had been friends for years, meeting by chance when you were put in the same orientation group your first day of college. You quickly became thick as thieves and knew every detail, the good the bad and the ugly, of each other. Or at least, you thought you did. But even knowing that he had a temper and an ego which hardly ever combined into something good, you hadn’t expected him to be so cruel.

“So, Y/N,” Lukus said, voice cutting through your thoughts as the waitress came to collect your check. “Do you want to get out of here? I’ve got…beers and stuff back at my place…”

You smiled apologetically and shook your head. “I’m not much of a beer girl,” you said ruefully. “And I’m afraid I won’t be very good company. It’s been a weird week and I’m not really…feeling it. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “That’s fine. Shit happens. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Thanks. And I did enjoy tonight,” you lied, feeling an odd lack of guilt.

When Lukus idled his old blue sports car in front of Valdo’s building, a strange sort of tension seemed to hang inside the vehicle. Your hand rested on the handle of the passenger door as you tried to think of the polite way to end the disaster of a date.

“Can I, I dunno, kiss you or something?” Lukus suddenly asked, and you shrugged.

“I suppose I don’t see why not.”

He grinned, the dopey, excited expression reminding you of an overly eager retriever offered a bone. The lips that pressed against yours were chapped and damp from being licked nervously during the drive. The whole thing was awkward and uncomfortable and you broke away as soon as it no longer seemed excessively rude.

“Right…well…goodnight?” you said, moving to exit.

“Yeah. Goodnight. I’ll call you or something.”

You nodded, although you frankly couldn’t care less if he did or not. You only hoped that it wouldn’t make things problematic at the next show. The entire thing had been a mistake. Still, you offered a little wave back over your shoulder at him when you reached the front door. There was no reason to be rude about it.

Every nerve was on edge as you took the elevator up to Valdo’s (and your? You still weren’t sure where that really stood) seventh floor apartment and you couldn’t pinpoint the reason. Sure, you were still upset over the fight the two of you had, but it shouldn’t have caused such a pit of foreboding in your stomach, should it?

The door wasn’t locked when you pushed it open, which meant that he hadn’t gone out for the night. You couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

“Hey, V,” you called out as you entered. “I’m back. Can we…I dunno talk or something?”

There was no answer from the darkened apartment. You reached over to flick on the switch by the door and gasped.

The room was a disaster. Several bottles, and worse candy wrappers, littered the floor and coffee table. At least one dripped dark liquor and dissolving sugar onto the braided rug. Valdo’s shoes, socks, three coats/jackets, and several pairs of pants (none of which were the ones he’d been wearing earlier) were festooned like crepe paper streamers. A straightening iron smoked and singed against the spine of the cheap romance novel, left open on its face with pages rumpled beneath it, that it sat on.

You paused in your inspection to unplug the fire hazard with a soft curse.

The couch looked like someone had flipped it and ransacked it for loose change, though the lean-to of other pillows and assorted blankets suggested more likely that it had been the foundation of an attempted pillow fort. The sight of that made your heart flip. You had seen Valdo build such a structure on two previous occasions: once when his grandfather, one of the few members of his family that truly encouraged his artistic pursuits for enjoyment rather than potential profit, had died, and the other when the band’s first EP received a rather public review from a respected music site that called it “trite, lethargic, and miserable.”

“V?” you called again, softer and hesitant now as you approached the plush hidey-hole. Something crunched under your heel and you stepped back to reveal the now semi-powdered remains of a Thin Mint, which you knew for a fact there weren’t any of in the house (or hadn’t been earlier in the afternoon).

A groan was your only answer.

“You’re worrying me now. So please tell me a) that you’re alright, and b) where you found a Girl Scout with cookies on hand on a random Saturday night? And maybe c) that you did not mug said Girl Scout?”

When you did not get a response, you sighed, dropping onto your knees to crawl under the silky silver-grey sheet that seemed to form the ‘door’ of the textile fortress.

“I swear to god V…” you growled, feeling just a tiny bit ridiculous. Until your eyes fell on his prone form.

His shirt rumpled up, exposing his back. He was wearing no shoes and had somewhere lost a sock (by the look of the remaining one, black with thin purple stripes, it was also not obvious among the ones strewn about the room outside the pillow fort’s protective wall). And his hair, his poor gorgeous hair. About half of it had been forced stick straight; if you breathed deeply you thought you could still detect the singed smell in the air. Several sections were noticeably shorter than they should have been.

Gently you nudged him and he sat up groggily before flopping like a puppet with cut strings and falling onto your shoulder.

“Hello Y/N. Lovely Y/N,” he slurred, emerald eyes staring blearily up at you. He slung his arms around your waist. “You came back.”

“Of course I came back,” you teased, keeping your voice light even as you noticed the dishtowel wrapped around his hand and the distressingly large patch of red on it.

“I thought you’d go home with…him. I didn’t want you to.”

You swallowed and sighed, not wanting to rehash the argument from earlier, especially while he was so drunk.

“Nah,” you tried to seem flippant. “He was a bit boring to be honest. And I shudder to think what you would have done without me.”

“Died.” His face was quite serious as he said it and your heart clenched momentarily.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve survived this long without me.”

“But I didn’t live. I needed you for that. I love you.” He rolled his head to press sloppy kisses to the shoulder he rested against and you pushed him away from you, trying hard not to panic.

“Valdo, you can’t just say shit like that. I know you’re drunk but Gods… is that really how you feel?”

You left him sitting there as you climbed back out of the pile and began carefully disassembling it around him, one eye watching to make sure his drunkenness didn’t cause an injury.

He nodded floppily. “I don’t like it, but it’s true. I realized it tonight. Or not tonight. I can’t remember.” He seemed intent on braiding his fingers together as he spoke.

The motion calls your attention back to the towel. “What happened there?”

“Oh! That I remember. I dropped a wine glass and it shattered. I cleaned it up and the glass cut me. It’ll be fine.” He waved dismissively and you rolled your eyes, quickly going to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for first aid supplies.

You sat cross-legged in front of him. “Give me your hand.”

“In marriage if you want.” He thrust it at you and you tried not blush at the soft look on his face.

Carefully, you unwound the towel and he winced with a hiss but did his best to remain unmoving. You inspected his palm with a frown; it looked like he had basically shredded it on the glass, but luckily there didn’t seem to be any shards remaining. You cleaned the cuts as gently as possible and the pair of you sat in silence. Several of them looked like they might be deep enough to need stitches, but you were uncertain. You layered gauze over them, pressing gently despite the pathetic, pained noises he made while you wrapped it. It would need to be checked again in the morning, when he was hopefully sober enough to decide for himself to seek treatment.

“What happened tonight Valdo?” you asked when you finished, still holding his hand between both of yours. “This isn’t you. Not normally.”

“I lost it,” he shrugged. “You left and I started drinking and then…I dunno.”

“It wasn’t like I was never coming back. Are you trying to say that I’m that much of your impulse control these days?”

He growled and yanked his hand away, standing wobbily and starting to pace stumblingly.

“Don’t you get it, Y/N? I’m in love with you and it scares the hell out of me. And then you left with him and it broke my fucking heart. So I tried to numb it.”

“V…I…” you shook your head. “We should talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober.”

“Are we going to? Or is this going to be another thing of us just pretending it never happened. Because I can’t,” he slumped into a sob on the edge of the couch frame. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to lose you. But I also don’t want to keep pretending this isn’t how I feel.”

You stood and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, letting him press his face to your middle as he continued to cry.

“I promise, on my life. We will talk about this in the morning. For real, talk. Or afternoon more likely because you are going to be hungover as fuck.”

One hand came up to brush gently through his abused hair as you held him until the sobs slowed to gentle sniffling.

“Now, let’s get you to bed, and then I can clean up from Hurricane Marx,” you smiled softly at him and pulled him to his feet, leading him to the bedroom.

He flopped onto the mattress and gently you coaxed him onto his side, sitting next to him and rubbing small circles on his back until you were confident by his gentle snoring that he would be okay. Then you shook your head ruefully and stood once more.

“What a mess,” you muttered.

#Valdo Marx #Valdo Marx x Reader #The Witcher fic #reader insert #The Witcher #modern!Valdo #lord help me I now have a google search in my history for 'what is a sports car?'#this is why I don't write modern stories people #this is not the first version of this fic. just the nice one I decided to go with #so that will be fun director's cut/commentary if someone wants it #with the amount I have built it up and denied it I am going to have to make the kiss truly EPIC or you people are going to riot #I can feel it #I should probably name his band at some point too #I am the Angst Fairy Godmother #I am an emotional masochist

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vintagegeekculture · 6 years

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The Pulp Scifi That Inspired the X-Men

I wrote before about the sources of inspiration behind King Kong and Conan the Barbarian, as both of these were so far back in time the things that inspired them are not really read much.

With the X-Men, it’s important to remember that a subgenre of science fiction once existed about mutants who we identified with because they were persecuted and feared by normal humans, which allowed authors to use science fiction to explore the idea of alienation. X-Men is a part of this trend, and seems unique because it’s the only one from this long-standing trend that is actively discussed today. Really, this is a kind of story all people who feel gifted or alienated are compelled to create.

Slan by A.E. van Vogt

Slan is a story about Jommy Cross, a young boy who watches his parents die in front of him in the first chapter, hunted by the government because they are a telepathic, superintelligent and superstrong subrace of humans with antenna on their heads known as Slans. Slans are hunted to extinction by the corrupt government ruled by the world dictator, Kier Gray. Jommy has to go into hiding, wearing a hat to hide his tendrils.

It’s a good bet that if you think about other planets a lot, it’s because you think this one is somehow a painful and unsuitable place to be for you. Slan is an extraordinarily well written novel that is still intriguing and mysterious even today, it always tops my list of recommendations when people ask me about pulp scifi because it absolutely holds up. What makes it so important is that scifi fandom responded with an unusually strong sense of identification. The circumstances and history of the Slan are not exactly like that of outsiders who are ostracized and “different,” but we relate to emotions, not specific life details. A lot of people who were homosexual, who’s parents are drunks and like to beat them, who were sexually abused, or extremely poor and alienated from richer peers, or just “on the outside looking in” can relate to the Slans. Scifi fans, who’s culture was incredibly fringe, called themselves “Slans” for years in fanzines an fan communications.

It’s no exaggeration to say that for the 1940s to the 1950s, Slan was the most beloved and widely read and influential science fiction novel, and maybe one of the best, too.

Mutant (aka the “Baldies” stories) by Henry Kuttner

Maybe one of the best of scifi’s forgotten geniuses of the 1940s, Henry Kuttner’s Baldies books are actually a post-atomic story, about a community of telepathic mutants known as “baldies” who hide away from a human race that fears and hates them. All Baldies were linked in a telepathic uni-mind, so none of them were ever alone. The narrator is the last surviving member of his species; the enemy is the prejudice and paranoia of the self-destructive human race.

Children of the Atom by Wilmar H. Shiras

The idea of a school as a setting where mutant children can get refuge and hide from a prejudiced world that doesn’t understand them comes from this book.

In this one, due to atomic radiation, a sub-race of superintelligent humans emerges. They don’t have any mental powers except their superintelligence. The Children of the Atom take refuge in a school who’s true purpose is unknown. In the finale of the book, a human preacher leads a mob to the door of their school, which makes the Children realize they can’t isolate themselves from the rest of mankind.

Odd John by Olaf Stapledon

Olaf Stapledon used to be a big deal. He inspired Asimov, C.S. Lewis, and Heinlein with his extraordinary “Last and First Men,” a story set over a billion years about the entire sweep of human history. But one of his more interesting novels was “Odd John,” a novel about the first “evil mutant.” Odd John is a charismatic and sometimes truly creepy antihero, an unusual mutant born ahead of his time; he switches between sympathetic and monstrous. We see his brutal mistreatment at the hands of the human race, but then see him use his powers on women in eerie ways, and see the hardened person he became, who created an island kingdom and base separate from the rest of the human race, a move that the evil mutants in Marvel, in imitation of Odd John, often did several times.

A lot of people identify the evil mutants with militant black leftists, but in the actual comics themselves, their worldview had way less to do with Marx and Malcolm X (as with “Dune is about oil,” that a giveaway someone hasn’t read it and just knows about it), and way more to do with some combination of Nietzsche and Captain Nemo. Like Nietzsche, their worldview is that traditional human morality doesn’t apply to them as another species. Each evil mutant is Nietzsche’s conception of the superman, elevated beyond good and evil and a “sovereign citizen” laws can’t govern. Nietchean “will to power” thinking is found in every single speech by Magneto. Likewise, like Captain Nemo, they are often driven by an urge for solitude in places they can’t be commanded by the small mindedness and petty tyranny of humans. Odd John combined both of these together: he was a Nietzchean superman who had a cruel disdain for ordinary morality, who’s strongest desire was to be left alone.

He That Hath Wings by Edmond Hamilton

The Angel has a very specific point of origin: a wonderful and tragic story about a mutant born with wings by “Planet Smasher” Edmond Hamilton, who was always fascinated by notions of mutation and human evolution; he invented the story about the “guy who invents an evolution ray.”

The titular mutant is a man born with wings, who, when he falls in love, cuts them off to blend in with the normal human race. He loves his wife so much he gave up flight for her, but unexpectedly, his wings grow back at the end. He knows he has to get rid of them to blend into society, but he is allowed one last night of flight.

Gladiator by Philip Wylie

Fans of Superman probably know this novel as one of the major inspirations for the creation of Superman (possibly THE major inspiration), with Hugo Danner, an artificially created mutant who is superstrong, invulnerable, and able to “leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

I’d compare Philip Wylie to Michael Crichton: he was the one “bestseller” scifi novelist at a time when scifi was ghettoized. His work was regularly on the best seller list, including “When Worlds Collide,” a novel that created the “disaster” genre as we know it today, and is still influential through it’s film adaptation.

Philip Wylie’s Gladiator didn’t just create Superman. The angst and anger over being in a world you never made that later became a big part of the superhero story was all right there from the beginning. Hugo Danner was a misanthrope who’s attempts to help were stopped by a senseless and incomprehending mankind that feared and hated him. Like Slan, this is yet another novel from the past that is surprisingly readable and good today.

The Humanoids by Jack Williamson

This is where the Sentinels came from.

To be clear: Jack Williamson did not invent the idea of robots who turn on the human race. But the very specific kind of robot the Sentinels are comes from the Humanoids, a novel about robots that take the instruction to protect mankind incredibly literally to the point they become dictators and ruthlessly command us, and battles consist of them adapting instantly to whatever strategies the human race uses.

#x-men #marvel #stan lee

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ghosstkid · 5 years

Note

yo lemme get that director’s cut on the latest chapter of amber!! i love your work!! - 💙

AHHhh!! Thank you so much!! Thank you for the ask! I’ll put it under the cut just in case someone hasn’t read chapter 10 of Amber yet! I’ll probably have chapter 11 of Amber up tonight or tomorrow morning!

Send me a ‘director’s commentary’ or a star!

This chapter gives me a lot of feels, it hurt to write honestly.

Chapter 10 is called Surrender in reference to the card that Fitz has pulled from his oracle deck several times in previous chapters but I never told you guys why or what the meaning of that card is. Like I said or rather like Fitz explains in chapter 10, the surrender card means ‘surrender to what you cannot control’. I have an oracle deck that has a surrender card in it, that’s where I got the meaning. You can interpret that in many ways, either surrender to the ways of fate, or you could see it as a death card like in tarot; sweeping change is coming whether you like it or not and you can’t control it. This card has been haunting Fitz since chapter one.

I’ll get back to Fitz later. I wanna talk about how this is the first chapter where both of Amber’s povs finally meet each other. Amber’s plot is so big it needs two povs who are from two separate spheres of Amber’s society in order to tell it! Bee is able to discover pieces of the puzzle that Mason would never be able to and vice versa.

You also would have no idea about the magic in this world if you took away Bee’s perspective. Mason’s world is grey and industrial, his story is more of a thriller and drama. Bee’s world is glittering and elegant, her story is more of a fantasy. Now they are brought together.

What I think is so fascinating and is a bit of a challenge for me and you the reader, is that both povs know things that the other doesn’t. Bee knows about magic, Mason doesn’t really. Mason knows just how cruel Ryan can be, Bee doesn’t. But you the reader know! This, of course, leads to really interesting character dynamics between them. Mason doesn’t trust Bee but Bee is very trusting.

In a way, both characters would thrive as well, if they swapped places. Bee is rebellious, she’s fearless and she wants freedom. She doesn’t like being told what to do. If she were a wild kid like Mason, she’d be unstoppable. Mason is also rebellious, driven and fearless. He also wants to be worth something. He wants power and to be respected. All his life he’s been talked down to and told he’s just a kid. Now that the only person who didn’t talk to him like that is on the verge of death, Mason is tossed adrift. Even though he loves Matt with his all his heart, he sometimes can’t stand the way he talks to him. If he were in Bee’s place, with money and power, he’d be unstoppable. My theme song for Amber is Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush. The encore is;

And if I only couldI’d make a deal with GodAnd I’d get him to swap our placesBe running up that roadBe running up that hillBe running up that building See if I only could….

Kinda sums up the above paragraph.

Another factor I think is important with these two povs is the age difference. Bee is 18 and she was forced to become an adult, a Lady, very quickly. She has a lot of responsibility and while she enjoys the power she has, she also wants the childhood and the lovely world she lost. Mason is 15 years old. He is a b a b y. He is wild and at times uncontrollable. He’s full of fire. However, just because he is young doesn’t mean his actions are excusable. I’m really curious to see your reactions to Mason in the future and the choices he makes.

Above all though, it’s important I think to remember that the main characters in Amber are teenagers. They deal with some really heavy stuff that forces them to mature very quickly but they are all still kids deep down.

Chapter ten is when things get a bit intense with secrets that both povs have. Once at the hotel, Bee goes to talk privately with Fitz. He wants to know what she wants and when he realizes that she just wants to help, he finds himself opening up to this stranger. Chapter ten was really hard to write because Fitz tells you that he will not make it to the end of this story. His sickness will kill him, it’s only a matter of time and there is nothing he can to do to stop it. He must surrender to it.

Fitz trusts Bee with this secret because he knows she just wants to help, so he knows she can make sure that his final wish will happen. Second, she’s an outsider. She’s not a part of the family that Fitz has brought together. Fitz has known since he started coughing that this is the end. He’s known since chapter one. He probably should have told the misfits but now it’s way too late to even think about doing that. Mason is so determined to save Fitz and so are the rest of the misfits. So just think, every time Mason and the others said they will save Fitz, he just has to sit there and smile. Fitz in Amber is probably thee most tragic character I’ve ever written.

And now Bee knows this secret and she has to listen to the misfits say over and over that they will save Fitz now too. In a way, it’s easier now for Fitz that someone else finally knows but now they have to share this weight and Bee will have to carry it for the rest of her life. It’ll also make reading Mason’s chapters now hurt that much more because his number one goal is to save Fitz.

After that angst, I have two scenes that are my favourite in this chapter because of how beautiful and sweet they are! The first is when Bee gives Toby her hair ribbon and capelet. It’s very a soft moment and it makes me smile. The second one is when Bee uses her magic to make Fitz’s oracle cards float in the air. It’s so beautiful and Fitz is amazed. He still has time to see the beautiful things in life and he gets to see magic. Now too, his magic is waking up!! Don’t worry, you will get to see what kind of magic he has soon ;)

At the end of the chapter, you finally get to meet the anarchists! This kicks off the second half of Amber which is absolutely wild. I am so excited to write it. You will meet more interesting characters like Smitty and John soon too! Maybe this world’s version of Karl Marx? You’ll never guess who that is lol As well as two of my favourite comedic relief characters ever.

Smitty and John are super cool characters. Smitty is cockier in this story than he has in past stories I’ve done and John is very suave and confident. They are tough characters and like Mason, they don’t back down from a fight. You’ll see in Chapter 11 what Mason thinks of that.

Also, another note about costumes cause I love them. The anarchist uniform in Amber is inspired by these photos of Maude Adams, an actress from the early 1900s. These photos are from when she starred in a play called L’Aiglon in 1900 in which she played Napoleon. She also went on to play Peter Pan as well!

I have planned a really cool scene in the future *spoiler* involving the misfits, including Fitz and there will be some really cool colour symbolism and I’m so excited to write it.

Chapter 11 will dive even further into the anarchists, who they are and how the misfits will react to them. A lot of the conflicts in both povs lead up to this moment where they have to make this huge decision. Do the misfits join the anarchists and put their own lives on the line to fight back and save Fitz? Does Bee turn her back on Ryan, putting herself at the risk of losing everything, to join them?

It’s gonna be fun!

Thank you for the ask! I love talking about my stories like this!!

#ask #this is so long omg #thank you for the ask!

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