#real ones will roach sweep this for me

[sorcerous-caress]

I'm so jealous of Daniil. Having only played the Haruspex route so far in both game, each time I'm invited to the Bachelor's place I turn green with envy at how he resides at an actual proper house with a real room and a real bed.

A real bed with a whole bedframe. A pillow with an actual pillowcase!! His bed even has sheets!

He has WINDOWS. His house is in a nice neighbourhood, and his roommate is a very attractive woman. There is actual furniture in his room. Not one hint of fungus growing on the walls or rust!

Can you imagine living there as your lair? Spending the whole game knowing you have a real house with a real bed to go back to at the end of each night? Seeing Eva's face every day before leaving to do quests?

Meanwhile, Artemy is stuck in this dumpster room of an abandoned factory. Cuddling with rats on his makeshift bed, held by nothing but a wooden panel, some boxes and a dream.

A pillow so yellow it has its own ecosystem where bugs established real estate. Is that even a pillow or is it some random rock Artemy found and chucked in there? Is it a stale loaf of bread?? Why is it hard looking?

But no, you don't even get to keep the rock roach pillow because in P2, they take it away.

Fuck you Artemy, you had it good for too long. No pillow now because what are you gonna do about it?. Fold your mattress instead to have a resemblance of a faux sense of protection under your most vital organ during the long hours of death rehearsal that you call sleep.

Somehow, they made the bed even more unstable looking. As if that thin panel in the middle could hold Artemy's weight without caving in. Oh, and apparently, I ran out of boxes to use for furniture because the bed and the table have to share custody of the same box.

We have downgraded into barrels now, as you can see :) No, I don't know what they used to contain inside.

Waking up every day to Sticky's snotty face telling me not to spit in the wind and nagging me about cleaning up the week-old human organs thrown around that are stinking up the place.

THERE IS MOLD GROWING ON MY WALLS. RUST FLAKES FALL FROM THE EXPOSED METAL PIPES DOWN INTO MY CEREAL EACH BREAKFAST.

This single wall holds so much mold and fungus that they started crossbreeding and evolved into new, never seen before types of bacteria. Satan's asscrack is more hygienic than whatever biohazard plagues of Egypt this slab of concrete contains.

I live in the gutters. My only neighbours are an illegal gang of minors with a hatred for furries and another illegal gang but of adults this time who sell me bullets way above the market price. A dangerous neighbourhood where you can't have shit because SOMEONE STOLE MY BULL.

The basement I reside in has no windows, the smell is pungent and fucking vile down here. There isn't even a space for a bathroom.

This is my kitchenette/bathroomette/showerette/cupboardette/surgery tools disinfection stationette/sinkette/watercoolerette/toilette/fridge.

also my buckets yk.

One bucket for the makeshift bathroom, another for holding important organs and loose guts during surgery, a third one as a cooking pot for making tasty meat grub soup and the final one for murky water after sweeping the floor.

What do I use to tell them apart? Oh nothing :) I just mix em up every now and then, oppsie daisy.

Oh and the floors are CONSTANTLY wet for some reason. Yeah sticky slipped and almost broke his neck the other day so watch your steps.

There is also this eerie room with literal garbage and broken furniture right next to the entrance. Don't worry about it, sometimes I hear someone crying and screaming for help when I'm trying to go to sleep but it's just the factory being silly lol.

Now this? This is where the M A G I C happens. This is where Artemy the Menkhu makes his famous herbal remedies and natural mixtures. This is where the Panacea for the infamous sand plague gets made!

In a rusty empty food can.

Falling into a bucket with shit stains.

MEDICINE BABBYYY. GET YOUR WEAK SOFT BONED ASS BACK TO THE CAPITAL BITCH, THIS IS HOW REAL MEN MAKE REAALLL MEDICINE!! RAWRRRRR🦅🦅💥💥

Meanwhile, dickovsky has the view of the cathedral and polyhedron just around the corner from where he resides. He has a backyard with a lake, and all I have is a swamp behind my basement. I trudge through the mud each night, collecting weeds and herbs to mix and trade so I and the two orphans who adopted themselves into my life don't go starving.

Not to mention the gaggles of herb brides loitering outside and giving me a false bad reputation.

That dandy douchbag has a pharmacy, a grocery, and a tailor right next door. The closest establishment to my shrekcore place of resident is a dingy basement bar with shady drinks and no bouncer to check for ID, I saw two kids in there once.

Pov: a qt3.14 surgeon says his dad isn't home and invites you over.

[hms-no-fun]

What's your opinion on the new HS^2 update? I'm really excited it's back but I'm a little worried. Like, the fandom has had a real problem with pretending all the horrible shit that caused it to end in the first place never happened. Is this just gonna sweep that under the rug even more? Is James Roach heading the project because he's less "problematic"? I love James roach and I'm sure he'll do great but what about all the transphobia? I just hope they finally fulfill the Toblerone Prophesy and make June Egbert cannon.

short version is, i'm cautiously optimistic! but this is a loaded question you've given me on a lot of fronts, so i'm gonna try to take it piece by piece.

to start with, the sudden revival of Homestuck^2 (now minus the squared) took me by surprise because to my knowledge, it was entirely dead in the water. my involvement with anything Official ended at Pesterquest, and pretty much the entire post-canon crew i was friends with in 2019-20 has moved on to greener pastures. i share a similar sentiment with @pochapal in that i would have put money on hs2 staying dead forever. i have, quite frankly, dreaded the inevitable day when official Homestuck media would resume production, because the fandom at large seems quite eager to sweep the ceaseless harassment and transphobia that ended hs2 under the rug and pretend that it just, like you said... never happened. when that california cafe used older Pesterquest-like character designs that omitted short chubby Terezi and black-coded Roxy, however well-intentioned and ultimately harmless that was, it felt like a sign of things to come. that, as you fear, the sharper & more personal queerness that we tried to bring to this series would be erased, in favor of something meant to simultaneously appease both tenderqueers and redditors, two sects of the fandom most responsible for the aforementioned harassment.

luckily, that really doesn't seem to be the case!

to your worry that James Roach was made director because he's "less problematic," i'll just say that's entirely the wrong way to look at it. it's not like WP (such that it even still exists) were cruising to get HS2 back up and running. by all accounts, James is the only reason it's happening again in the first place. i can't stress enough just how small an operation this Homestuck business actually is (or, at least, was when i was involved). this is not a Huge Corporation making cynical cash grab decisions. this is someone who cares about the material pushing to get something made where otherwise there would be nothing. check the new About page, where the principles of the so-called Homestuck Independent Creative Union are laid out in plain terms. this is something the original hs2 team fought for, so for this new version to start from there as square one is huge and a good sign of the possible longevity of the project.

next, let's talk about the question of this new team erasing the legacy of the old one. Kate Mitchell is on the record that she was reached out to about this new hs2, approved it, and declined to be involved. i don't know if the other writers were reached out to, but i have no reason to believe they weren't. this is a tremendously important gesture of good faith and goes a long way towards easing some of these worries.

but let's look at the composition of the team itself. do you remember The Perfectly Generic Podcast? originally hosted by future hs2 writer Kate, pgen became a flashpoint for community discourse, often opening doors between official homestuck and homestuck fandom. what made that show special was that, rather than relying on the imo tired genre of the liveread, pgen focused on a different topic each episode and explored it with one or two qualified guests. Kate's goal with the show was to encourage a more adult and quasi-academic discussion of homestuck, of its successes and its failures. if you weren't there, the weight i'm putting on pgen might seem overblown (not least because you can't find it anywhere anymore except on the internet archive). but it's not! when they decisively criticized the wild contents of the Skaianet debacle in episode 19, Andrew listened and worked to bring a more diverse group of creators into the fold. in the months after the Epilogues were released, Andrew issued a statement through pgen on episode 52 about how the Epilogues are meant to create bridges and offramps for the post-canon fandom. it's an essential piece for understanding the epilogues and their relationship to fanworks! that it wasn't included as the author's introduction to the Epilogues in the book version remains to my mind an astonishing oversight, but whatever. point is, pgen mattered to the folks in charge.

so let's look again at the writing staff of this new crew. James Roach first guested on pgen in episode 7, and would go on to be a regular. Haven, who did the Vriska and Roxy sprites in Pesterquest (and probably more stuff i don't remember), guested in episodes 81 and 87. Miles guested on episode 87 as well (unless it's a different Miles, i'm not familiar with their work and ugh this damnable linkrot). Floral, creator of one of my favorite hs fanworks & huge godfeels influence Liminal Space, first guested on pgen in episode 47, and would go on to be a regular (including once during my tenure as host to talk about Jade). on the technical staff side, Kohi built the hs2 website and has remained a backend mainstay both on the WP side and on Vast Error.

all of which is to say, if you were looking for a crew to cynically erase the past and appease the haters, these probably aren't the folks that'd be at the top of your list. of course, if you *really* wanted to cynically erase the past and appease the haters, you wouldn't bother reviving hs2 in the first place!

and that's the crux of the matter here. what cash is there to grab? what clout could possibly be chased? i struggle to think of a decision less obviously profitable and popular than continuing hs2 with a new crew right where it left off. i have to believe this is happening because the people involved want to make it.

so, yeah, i'm cautiously optimistic. i like this crew, i like the contents of the first upd8, and i'm glad as hell it's not a reboot! i'm grateful that by reviving hs2, the hs:bc crew have instantly yanked the epilogues & the post-canon project back into relevance in the broader community. and i always liked hs2 a lot! i was excited to see where they were going! i'm really looking forward to seeing more YIFFY!!!!!

but the thing is, this won't be the hs2 i wanted. i know that, and i'm not expecting it. my greatest hope for hs:bc, for this crew, is that they get the chance to take up the reins and drive this thing in whatever direction they feel most passionate about. if that winds up looking like the hs2 that was originally planned, great-- but more than anything, i want everyone on this team to feel just as empowered to leave a profound and personal mark on this series as the original team did, as i did working on Pesterquest. i hope the outline changes! i hope they take some really wild swings! i want to be surprised!! i want to be challenged!!!

above all, i want them to have the chance to pick a course, sail it, and see it through to the end regardless of what the public thinks. they deserve the chance that the original crew didn't get.

i have plenty of bitterness and cynicism in my heart over the events and circumstances of 2019-20, but as far as i'm concerned it has no place here today. i would never, ever wish the trauma and stress of that era on anyone. let the fandom at large react in whatever way it will, but i want things to be different this time. this is a second chance-- not just for hs2/hs:bc, but for all of us. even people who hate homestuck post-canon! this is an opportunity for everyone to choose to be better this time, and to push back when others might squander that opportunity. this team is not a group of celebrities, not an abstract fiction on the other side of the world, they are human beings who took a job. they've earned the opportunity to do that job, and they deserve to be treated with the respect and dignity that was so often absent a few years ago.

as to your last point, about june egbert and the toblerone. i've been saying for years that andrew's confirmation of june was less "the granting of a wish" than it was "a spoiler shared without input from the creative team." that there is any doubt about june's providence in hs2 can only be attributed to willful, aggressive ignorance on the part of people who refuse to engage with the written word in any way other than plodding literalism. the original team didn't unveil june ~immediately~ because they didn't think of june as a wish, they thought of her as a character in an ongoing story who needed time to develop naturally. i have never not felt entirely crazy about how thick everyone has been about this!

but will the new team make june canon? obviously i have no way of knowing for sure, but i'm gonna go out on a limb and say that probably the answer is "yes, when they're good and goddamned ready." just, please, for the love of god, don't go after every upd8 like "where's june? where's june? why hasn't june yet????" this was one of the worst results of the toblerone spoiler and it put INSANE pressure on the hs2 team. so just... just let this story be what it is. let this new team make the homestuck continuation they want to make.

and in the meantime, if you're really hungry for june... there's always godfeels :)

[boxofthings]

got any roach-centric fic recs? like idc the pairing, ghostroach/soaproach/ghostsoaporach any thats roach focused plzz

*cracks knuckles* I GOTCHU ANON this is my time to shine

If anyone wants to reply with their own pls do!

(These are in no particular order)

GhostRoach:

i left my heart in the mountains (right next to yours)

I'm going to want you 'til the stars evaporate

and here i stand (in the dirt with you)

These are all by Santihan and ugghh these were the fics that pulled me back from my near decade-long ghostroach obsession sabbatical. Well-written, emotional, they are amazing, my favs, I will rec these til I die (the first two are painful :'))

Things That Burn by abel_obel

Such a good one, I always go back to this when I'm in a ghostroach mood. Good ol' classic person A gets injured and person B freaks out

Roach Wouldn't Really Do It...

Exhaustion's a Funny Thing

Both by tinyduckies! Def read the TWs for the first one, but arghhh, I go back to these ones a lot!. I really like how the first one's more realistic/gritty when it comes to the aftermath of surviving Loose Ends

Second one's just a lovely depiction of Ghost and Roach's dynamic. Loved the banter and the second chapter ends real sweetly :)

The Barracks: Part 2

Ulterior Motives

Both by doberman, these two are much longer fics (which ghostroach is in desperate need of) and are such interesting reads!!

The first one is an AU that takes place in a pub with Ghost being his repressed, unhealthy self, and Roach coming in as the new co-worker to sweep him off his feet lol

The second one is ongoing and takes place slightly after MWII with Ghost meeting Roach outside of deployment

Sovereign by Applescone

God, this one really puts me in an introspective mood. It's so well-written and just feels so grounded and human. Takes place years after Loose Ends, with Ghost and Roach rekindling their relationship whilst dealing with the complications of Shepherd's betrayal and death

我给你早在你出生前多年的一个傍晚看到的一朵黄玫瑰的记忆 by Alex_Upshur

Ok I know this is in Chinese, but just use a translator like I did and yeah, while it won't be as accurate as the author wrote it, it's still a really lovely fic and i adore it :') A lil bittersweet look into the 141's lives and sweet moments with Ghost and Roach <3

Of Doubts and Dreams (Retold)

The Hook Up

All written by Call_Of_Booty, an og ghostroach author from wayyy back during the og trilogy (and ff.net) days. The first one's a rewrite of one of their old fics and it focuses on Roach and Ghost's dynamic up until the night before Loose Ends.

Second one's about Roach deciding to leave the SAS whilst he and Ghost have complicated feelings for eachother due to past hookups. Both great reads!

Distance Makes the Heart Pissed Off by krwaken

I'm sure every GhostRoach shipper knows this one lol. A lovely 200k word slowburn of these two <3

Fear & Delight by EpiKatt

Hornet's Nest with more GhostRoach :))

Tell Me Why This Has to End by Feral_Raccoon

ANGST :( Post-Loose Ends. Ending broke me haha

and you wrote your name / right there next to mine by cheese_n_crack

more Loose Ends angst :( A bittersweet ending with Ghost and Roach looking at the stars in their final moments

You'll Get Sick Anyways by ghostslefttit

Very short, but very cute lil fic with Ghost taking care of a sick Roach :))

If We Crash (I Hope We Do) by mintyiecat

Man I can't even begin to describe how much I love this one. Portrays Ghost and Roach's relationship post-loose ends where Roach is now a civilian. Loved how the author depicted their relationship as not flawless. Felt very human and raw. Very sweet ending :)

GhostSoapRoach

Something in the Orange by fixfoxnox

Y'all been knew this would be on here lol

Follows Roach's pov where he's been reincarnated into the reboot timeline with all his memories from his old life and him trying to make his way back to Ghost. This one makes me sad as hell. Has all the feels :')

Something in the Orange by insomniamemoirs & RandomWordsAndStormyDays

Funny how my top two GSR fics are named the same thing, but hey, they're both amazing. I was apprehensive because of the "calling Soap Roach by accident" trope, however they really diverted my expectations and made these three really feel like equals in a relationship. Really love how they made sure to establish a strong dynamic between Soap and Roach instead of pitting them against each other. And Roach isn't just some 2D character here, he's very nuanced and I love it!

Freezing Waters by AmphibianEft

Sweet fic of Roach getting injured and Soap and Ghost freaking out and taking care of him

Stress Relief by Anonymous

Just Soap and Ghost taking care of Roach after Hornet's Nest (smut) :)

SoapRoach

Leg Day by tinyduckies

Good ol' smut lol (09 soaproach mm)

Everything That Isn't Said by pajamabees

More 09 smut

Taste by fixfoxnox

Just 3.5k words of Roach wanting to kiss his captain :)

fall for me by punishervest

Just a sweet moment between 09 Soap and Roach with Soap reminiscing on his past with Price but also considering how he wants something more with Roach <3

She (Means Everything To Me) by mylareading

Just 1.9k words of Soap being down bad for Roach (super sweet)

Roanig (Roach x Konig)

I Really Like The Way You Stare At Me by turqu0ise

The fic that introduced me to roanig <3 Just a cute fic focusing on the development of their relationship

Subatomic by tinyduckies

Another nice fic focused on the development of their relationship. Loved the interactions they had in this :)

These are the ones I have so far! I'm sure later on I can add to the list, and if anyone wants to reply with their own feel free :)

I've also been made aware there are Keegan/Roach fics, but I haven't gotten around to reading them yet, but def check out their tag anon! Hope this was an adequate rec list haha

[winters-mistress]

Protector

"Ciri, down!" Geralt yells as the Charnobog flies over him and swoops towards her.

The girl tenses and flattens herself against Roach's mane, starting to thrash her legs in the stirrups to free them.

The chernobog roars, beginning to swipe at Princess and horse alike, and the sound deafens Geralt attempting to run out of the thigh high water he had immersed himself in.

"Run! Run!" Geralt yells, but he's drowned out.

Ciri's eyes widen as the rock monster roars and opens its wings, beating hard twice. She can feel the wind pushing her braid back, that and the next cast of witcher sign Ciri was too shocked to recognise, and the beast roars again, before it flattens itself and swoops down, claws out.

Roach whinnies loudly, raring back on her hind legs as if to defend the girl. Geralt yells as he finally gets free of the water, and Ciri winces as she gears the tearing of flesh.

She gasps as she suddenly slips from the brave mare's back all together as Roach rears once more. She falls with a shriek of her own, for her right leg had gotten caught in the stirrup, and she falls with a sickening 'snap!' of human bone.

Ciri shrieks, hunching foreward to grasp at her injured leg that is definitely not bending the right way. She can hear Roach neighing, the beast shrieking, Geralt yelling, and heavy wind that drowns it all into a similar sound, blurring into one.

"Ciri! Run!" Geralt yells, beginning to advance upon them all, but the silly witcher hasn't realised that she's hurt, it seems.

Her ability to run is compromised, so what other ability does she have.

She draws in a breath, hopes to the gods she doesn't sweep her protector and his steed to hell, and screams.

Ciri's not sure what happens when she screams. The closest she's gotten is seeing the oviserated crop field just before Geralt, all she knows is she's fucking scared, and now she's in pain, and her body will do the rest.

And seemingly, it does.

The monster freezes in place, mid air, all grey rock and gleaming red eyes, staring right at her. She makes eye contact with the beast, just in time for Geralt to finally get over to her, dropping to his knees as he inspects her.

"Don't bother about me!" Ciri pushes him away by the breastplate, only managing to lean him back a little. "G-get the fucking thing!"

Geralt snaps from concerned protector into bloodlusty witcher. He grabs the sword that has fallen to the ground and charges the beast. Much to Ciri's shock, it stays in place, as if frozen in time, like a painting in real time, doesn't even move as Geralt makes it into two places. And finishes it off with igni.

Adrenaline weighing, Ciri grunts and gasps as she takes sight of the state of her leg. It's swollen in her leather leggings, easily three times the size of the left. Her knee is swollen, she cannot bend it, not to mention the left her shin is bent in a way it definitely isn't supposed to.

Geralt returns to her the moment her tears start falling, and she sobs from the pain, falling back against rhe muddy, leaf and twig laden ground. Geralt's hands fall onto her side, turning her around so he can inspect the damage.

"Fuck." He hisses. "Fuck!" He yells.

"Roach-Roch-" she leans to see the horse.

"Don't worry about her, superficial cuts." Indeed, the horse still stands, three long gashes along her side, and she walks gingerly over to master and his girl. But she's okay, she's alive.

Ciri sobs as he runs his hands down her injured leg. He is gentle, she knows, but it feels like her leg has been set alight.

"Dislocated kneecap, completely snapped the top of your shin-" he mutters something she doesn't understand.

"I'm going to set the knee, for one. There's not much I can do apart from bound your leg. I know a place, Roach can take us there once I sew her up. Temple of Melitele, Nenneke can help." He rambles, and at any other point in time it would have amused her. Geralt, the stoic, silent witcherman, now speaks and shakes and looks so earnestly.

She takes a deep breath, nodding. She feels bad for the poor birds that scatter at her scream once Geralt shoves her knee into place. He looks like he feels bad, winces as she sobs through her bandaging, before he brews a tea that should put her to sleep with its painkilling qualities, as he tends to roach.

"I'm sorry, Cirilla." He whispers as she fades in and out of consciousness, deliciously pain free and woozy. "I've failed at protecting you."

"Y'killed the beast." she mumbles. "Can't ask more'n that, hurt us worse if y'didnt."

"I'll get you to Nenneke, she'll help us." He vows as her eyes slide closed. "I'll keep you safe."

"I know."

And she drifts off to sleep, holding tight the witcher's hand.

[surpriserose]

In honor of the new season coming soon, please horse girl Geralt x doctor Jaskier where Geralt keeps getting thrown off his horse (unnamed until Jaskier steps in and gives her a name 🥺) because she's so untamed and Jaskier keeps bandaging him up. Geralt is a city boy so he's not used to the country but Jaskier IS (and with that sexy as hell buttery smooth southern accent) he helps him tame Roach (what they name his horse because Jaskier lives in a dump with plenty of roaches and he is friends with them so thinks it's a cute name. Geralt can't help but agree with him). They find a baby on the side of the road when they're out riding and they adopt her, realizing that there is more between them than just a bandage and a scraped knee. Moodboard please btw ❤️

omg thats sooooooooo cute 🥺 i hope you dont mind that i was really inspired by you switching up one of my favorite tropes (country boy geralt and city boy jaskier) so i also had to write a little something to go with the moodboard so theres a little drabble under the cut ^_^

Geralt stopped counting the number of times he fell off this damn horse. He swore into the dirt again. Damn his brother Eskel for buying such a shitty wild horse for him. Geralt had taken a trip down south to see his family again and they surprised him with his own horse. They knew how much he loved horses despite hating the rest of the family farm. His step dad Vesemir smiled at him and gave him a wink when Lambert and Eskel brought him to the barn.

"Now you'll have a reason to come down more often, huh, son?" Vesemir joked.

There was no way that was happening if Geralt couldn't get a handle on this damn mare. He sighed, pushing himself upwards and dusting off his riding clothes.

"Nice horse you got there," a man's voice with a heavy drawl said. "What's her name?"

Geralt's head snapped up, meeting the bright blue eyes of a man leaning against the old wooden fence. Oh shit, Geralt thought, he's hot. He hoped he wasn't blushing, it would be a dead giveaway on his porcelain skin.

"She doesn't have one yet," he replied, looking over the stranger. As if he didn't sound southern enough, he was wearing a large cowboy hat shading sun kissed skin.

"Is the same true for you?" the stranger smiled.

"No," Geralt started, suddenly nervous. The charms of other city men had never reached him, but this man with his cowboy swagger was seconds from sweeping him off his feet. "No, it's Geralt."

"Pretty name for a pretty boy," the cowboy chuckled. He held out a hand, "My name's Jaskier, and if you need some help with your horse, I'm the man to ask."

"Oh yeah?" Geralt raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, but I don't need any help."

"Not even with giving her a name? I'm a real creative guy, you know."

"I'm good," Geralt said. If I don't get away from here I'm gonna end up making a fool of myself, he thought.

"Are you sure? You look like yer bleeding," Jaskier shouted as Geralt turned away.

Geralt stopped and looked over his arms for wounds. Jaskier hopped the fence and jogged up to Geralt. Now they were face to face and to Geralt's surprise Jaskier was almost as tall as he was. Before Geralt could say anything Jaskier knelt in front of him, cowboy hat tipped back to Jaskier could throw him a wink. "It's on your leg, Geralt? Don't you feel it?"

Geralt gulped. "Let me sit down. This seems...compromising..."

"Hurts my heart that you wouldn't want me in a compromising situation."

"Well, that's..."

"Or is that not the problem?" Jaskier grinned. "Because if there's a problem, I'm a problem solving kind of guy."

"Well, there's maybe one problem," Geralt said nervously, his Boston accent breaking through.

"And what's that?"

"There's no Dunkin for a thousand miles."

[natjennie]

Whats your deal OFMD S2 opening scene?

ok GREAT question sorry it took me a minute to answer. here are some ideas because I'm really extra:

I'll put the text below the cut in case those are hard to read

A choppy ocean, camera in and out of waves, night, dark, splashing, gasping breaths as Lucius’ head breaches the surface. He’s shaking and spluttering, frantically thrashing, looking around horizon, sees nothing, starts panicking, cursing, very dangerous feeling, quick cuts. Then, he sees a dinghy with a few occupants at the very edge of the horizon and starts screaming for help and stede’s voice screams back “Lucius? Is that you?” and lucius deadpans “you’ve GOT to be kidding me” and, as a bonus, a sopping wet red handkerchief smacks into the side of his head as he “what the FUCK” cut to some of stede’s old stuff as flotsam in the ocean, spelling the title card

Very similar mary monologue from e10, talking about the joys of being a widow for the second time, how free she is to love doug, how now the kids know and can talk about it openly, everyones happier. “The one thing they don’t tell you, though, is how often your dead spouse turns up at your door” as she opens the front door to stede standing in the pouring rain, barely holding his hand over his face to conceal himself with the swede, olu, buttons, wee john, black pete, and roach all crowding around behind him, looking around nervously as he smiles and goes “there’s been a bit of a situation” then cut to an extended sweeping pan of all the pirates spread out around the house with maps and books open, mary bent over a plan being written by stede, offering notes as doug serves tea to the crew, alma and louis running around playing with some of them, asking about pirate stuff, zoom to one of the pages spread across the table that reads “our flag means death”

Spin on that ^ but the monologue ends with something like “though I could use fewer men showing up in my living room” and it’s blackbeard, looking like absolute shit, dramatically stepping into the candlelight to reveal the scruffy beard, the makeup, “the widow bonnet, I presume?” “you’ve heard of me” “oh I’ve heard all about you” parallel. He has izzy/fang/ivan/etc watching the kids and doug, has a chat with Mary about stede’s death, series of miscommunications, finally they’re on the same page about stede not really being dead, being on his way back to some “ed” guy he loves, they work everything out, become kind of friendly and she’s like “your names not really blackbeard though, right?” and he says “heh, suppose not, no. I’m Ed” as he leans forward to shake her hand and her eyes widen, fancy classical violin music as “our flag means death” is spelling in the tea spilled from her dropping her cup in shock

Another parallel im sorry (insert the girls when theyre finding parallels meme), izzy rant of “its been almost a fortnight since blackbeard returned, and I’m beginning to believe stede bonnet may have been more of an asset than he originally appeared” with a horribly indignant growl in his voice, compilation of blackbeard being a real hot mess, throwing things, breaking shit, drunk all the time, burning ships without even getting the loot, breaking into tears in the middle of doing something intimidating, etc. izzy comes in to the old quarters and ed is wrapped in a little cocoon of stede’s finery, wailing, chucks a bottle of rum at izzy and it smashing against his head and he leaves and growls “enough! Ivan! Fang!” and they meet him off to the side and he sighs and goes “find me stede fucking bonnet” as they mutter assent, trails up to the mast, up to the stabbing heart flag, new flag under that says “our flag means death”

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

The Monster They Wanted Him To Be

Summary: Something is after you as you stumble through the woods all alone, but that's not the only thing you should fear.

Pairing: darkish!feral!Geralt x Reader

Word Count: ~ 1.6k

Content Warnings: foul language, implied physical violence, implied NonCon, implied blood play (if you squint), primal hunter/prey themed, 18+!

Feel free to check my Masterlist! 🌸💕

A/N: So... last night I had a dream that stuck with me all day long and made it's way into a fic. I have never written something like this, let alone written for Geralt, so here goes nothing! 😅

Tagging the ones I thought may be interested. Please let me know if you don't want to be tagged! @ysmmsy @viking-raider @demotalias

(gif by @witches-ground)

A pale moon was painting the bleak landscape in somber blue tones. Aside from crickets chirping and an occasional soft breeze shuffling through weeds, bushes and trees the night was quiet. There was nothing that would've justified Geralt not finding any sleep, his broad torso gently resting next to the warm body of his trusted Roach.

For the past two hours he tried to slip into the gentle arms of Morpheus, but only got as far as tossing himself from one side to the other and back on his back over and over. He felt the restlessness crawling through his body, but by all gods, couldn't point his finger on where it came from. Geralt was way past the point of utter exhaustion, long and lonely days visible in form of dark circles beneath his bright amber eyes.

"Ah, fuck.." he exhaled, his breath vanishing into the chilly night air as a tiny cloud. Reluctantly the worn out man sat himself up and brushed some gray strands of his hair back into a ponytail, that already looked like falling apart at any hectic movement now. He knew that it was to no use trying to fall asleep for now. Non of it would be granted to him anyway, not if he continued feeling like this. With an exhausted and thoroughly annoyed groan Geralt wiped his hands over his burning eyes, which only worsened the sensation instead of easing it. Every single muscle was aching for sleep. Just a handful of hours, just any at all, but the creeping feeling of something not being quite right had grown stronger with each and every toss and turn.

Roach had noticed that something was up, trying to sooth his restless friend with gentle nudges on his shoulder, reassuring Geralt that everything was okay and both of them safe, but that apparently hadn't really helped.

"I'm sorry..", Geralt murmured towards his companion as he got himself off the ground, sweeping the forest dirt from his trousers "I'll be right back, okay?"

The horse's ears twitched a little in acknowledgement of Geralt's deep, raspy voice.

Without having a real plan about it, the Witcher started wandering off into the night, passing tall, old tress that surely had seen wicked things happening among them. Their broad silhouettes reaching as dark columns into the cloudless sky above him. The mans hands stroked along the unyielding bark, his fingertips grazing over its rough ridges and wandering over the coarse surface. For a while Geralt just admired the nature surrounding him. It made him feel a little more calm and at ease, because plants didn't judge. Very unlike the villagers he'd left behind earlier that day. No, the trees welcomed him like he belonged here. The gently cracking branches and crumbling leaves underneath his boots felt like home.

People thought of him to be the monster, a Witcher, an outcast, but from his understanding only real monsters could cut down such beauty and grace for the sole purpose of scraping it into wooden panels to walk around on.

Leaning his back onto one of those mighty trees, he closed his eyes to the sounds of the night. Yet another breeze whirled through gently rattling leaves and the cool air brought something with it. A scent. It wasn't strong, nonetheless, it formed a distinct contrast to the earthy smell surrounding the Witcher. A hint of sweaty, heart thundering against a ribcage kind of fear crawled up into his nostrils.

Geralt inhaled it deeply, soaking all of it in as all of his senses started to vibrate within. His eyes snapped back open in an instant, his head hurling to the right from where this treacherous scent was carried by the wind. Without his notice his lips dropped agape, his mouth watering ever so slightly as the trace of human fear enchanted his thinking. The Witcher's hearing jumped from sound to sound, weeding out any noise caused by wildlife or flora. If he listened closely, he could hear it. Rapid footsteps in a not all that far distance, sending small vibrations through the earth underneath his feet. A panting breath, desperate, oozing with blank panic and a lonely heartbeat that was thrashing to pump adrenaline filled blood through exhausted limbs.

A low growl rumbled through Geralt's chest as he felt his whole demeanor slipping out of his rational control.

"Don't..." he muttered under his breath, but knew that it was already too late. His muscles tensed and his jaws clenched onto another as he turned to rush towards his new point of interest.

You.

The Witcher's glaring amber eyes cut through the night, still burning, but now set ablaze by feral instincts. They searched every innocent plant for a trace of body heat -your body heat- or droplets of sweat that would guide him the way. His nostrils were flaring with every breath he took, carefull as to not lose your scent. The winds were changing, fogging his sense of orientation, but Geralt wouldn't back down from his prowl just because of that. Now that he caught your enticing scent, his whole body was set on catching the rest of you too.

Oh, little bird, he grinned to himself deviously, such a wrong place for you to be at such a wrong time.

The further Geralt hurried his massive body through the night the stronger his urges grew. It had been quite a while since his last hunt and his needs payed him full redemption for being pushed down for so long. His mind got flooded with pictures of his scared prey. He couldn't care less about what you were running from, but that certainly wouldn't be the only thing very soon. He wanted to stalk after you until your lungs were burning, your muscles giving in after being hunted down over sticks and stones. Maybe you'd stumble and fall to the ground, but that would be somewhat of an anticlimactic accident. No, the White Wolf hoped that you still had some stamina left in your body. He was in charge now and he preferred to play with his prey before conquering it.

But as soon as he'd gotten you to the point of complete and total exhaustion, he'd be ready to latch hands and teeth at you. An image of him reaching out to grab your sweat-covered, delicate neck passed behind the Witcher's eyes, only encouraging him to not let go until he had you. Oh, he felt all too eager to sink his teeth down into your trembling shoulder after he'd ripped fairly unnecessary fabric from it, marking his prey like he always did. Tearing through your soft skin with his sharp canines until he'd draw your blood.

Geralt imagined your whimpering, how you'd cry out for help, being torn out of your illusion that he may be there to help you with whatever you were running from in the first place. No no, he'd be much more of a threat to your safety. He'd devour you, bruise you and take you his way.

Swiftly heaving himself over a tree trunk, the White Wolf threw a glare up into the sky. With the winds changing their course, heavy, dark clouds were forming above.

"Shit!" he pressed between grinding teeth, his voice cutting through the air like thunder. He really couldn't use rain right now. He had to hurry.

To his displeasure you still weren't in sight, although he was certain that you couldn't be far.

His own heart was hammering against his chest now, as he started to run against nature itself, desperate to get a hold on you before the rain would wash away any trace of you. It was coming, the air pressure and humidity already changing. Still, he rushed through the thickets. The need of having you clutched between his hands, his body towering over yours as he gave in to his urges, coursing through his veins.

"No, no, no!" Geralt groaned as the first drops started to hit the ground.

The pungent scent of earth greedily sucking up the water from above sweeping through the woodlands. Petrichor.

Your smell got stripped from his nose in an instant, his hearing sabotaged by the sound of heavy raindrops crashing onto leaves and branches and with that any trace of your body heat, that had been dancing as a faint shadow in front of his eyes, flooded away into nothingness.

A heavy rainfall burst from blackened clouds, soaking the Witcher's clothes heavy until they hung damp on his statue.

He felt as if he panted pure fire out of his lungs as he stopped in his hunt. He didn't want to, but he had to.

Until his fogged senses slowly started to clear up, one last feral fit of rage broke from his chest: A loud and roaring growl that got lost into a now pitch black night. Lost like you.

The white-hot scream that rumbled through his throat left it aching and dry. Upon that he swallowed hard, the weight of his failure sinking in with the former feeling of dreadful exhaustion now doubling down on his body, making him feel as heavy as if he was about to sink knee deep into the ground.

As cold droplets of rain were falling from the tip of his nose, Geralt felt an unforeseen wave of ease following after the anger, almost soothing it, making it easier for his rational mindset to return. Staring into the dark void surrounding him, he acknowledged that nature had saved him once more, saved him from doing something he would've regretted deeply the next morning - saved him from being the monster they wanted him to be.

[valdomarx]

Anon requested: Person A thinks that a proposal would be a great way to get out of a jam. Person B thinks it is a sincere proposal and accepts. Realizing it wasn't done from a genuine place leads to some upset.

In Jaskier’s defence, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Marry me, Geralt!” he called, jogging over to his witcher, a little out of breath.

Geralt’s face pinched into something cross and Jaskier was sure he was about to be told to fuck entirely off.

“It’s the Belleteyn festival tonight,” he explained quickly. “I might have, erm, sown my seed a little more widely than would be advisable in the town.” Geralt scowled. “And there may have been some, ahem, threats against my person made by the local lord.“ Geralt’s scowl deepened. “But we can smooth it all over if we’re wed tonight. There’s some local custom -- forgiveness of past indiscretions for newly married couples on May Eve.“

Geralt was still glowering but he hadn’t said no yet. Jaskier pulled out his strongest move: He ducked his head, looked up at Geralt from under his lashes, and licked his lips. Geralt’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue almost imperceptibly.

“So marry me? Here. Tonight.”

.

It had been a lovely ceremony, as fake weddings go. There had been music and wine, dancing and merriment, and Geralt even allowed some of the local girls to braid flowers into his hair.

They’d only had enough coin for one ring, a simple silver band, so Jaskier had taken that and he’d given Geralt his father’s signet ring. He’d never have parted with it for anyone else, but it was Geralt. He knew without question he would keep it safe until this ruse was over with.

Perhaps there really was something magical in the air at that time of year, or maybe it was an evening spent at an increasingly raunchy celebration that did it. But after the festivities were over and the townsfolk returned to their homes, Geralt took Jaskier back to their campsite in the woods, laid him down on a bedroll with indescribable tenderness, and fucked him within an inch of his life.

It was everything Jaskier had been quietly fantasising about for years, except more because it was Geralt and even Jaskier’s profoundly vivid imagination couldn’t match the reality of his witcher, every glorious inch of muscle straining and taut, eyes blown wide with lust, taking Jaskier apart and piecing him back together again.

.

The next morning, Jaskier woke slowly, feeling the telling ache of a night well spent. Geralt was already up, packing up camp and loading their bags onto Roach.

“There’s oatmeal in the pot if you want breakfast,” Geralt grunted. “We should get going soon.” He turned back to his work.

Right. Okay. They just... weren’t going to talk about it then. Back to business as usual.

Jaskier shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course Geralt would be as pragmatic about sex as he was about everything else. A way to get some relief, to meet a need. No expectations.

Hell, it had taken Geralt over a decade to admit they were actually friends. Jaskier felt stupid for even hoping for more.

Sleeping together had been a one time deal, it seemed. Too bad.

.

Jaskier realised he was still wearing the ring a few hours later. He should take it off, get rid of it. Maybe sell it at the next town.

He should ask Geralt for his father’s ring back too. But it seemed somehow rude to ask, too needy.

And he... well, he sort of liked catching glimpses of it decorating Geralt’s finger, like a tiny piece of Jaskier was with him wherever he went.

Jaskier found his thumb rubbing over the silver band around his own finger over and over again. It was silly, he knew, but he liked the feel of it. He would keep it for now.

.

After that, things got weird. At lunch, Geralt tried to persuade Jaskier to eat the last of the apples, as if he didn’t know their supply was running low. And at dinner, Geralt hunted and prepared two squirrels for Jaskier instead of the customary one. Jaskier would eat just about anything in a pinch, but charred rodent was not something he felt the need for seconds of.

Everywhere they went, Geralt kept trying to foist food on him. Did he think that Jaskier was weak? That he wasn't able to keep up without extra supplies? Jaskier was, admittedly, not as young as he used to be, but he thought he still measured up pretty well in the fitness department. He didn’t love the implication that he was falling short in some way.

.

At night, Geralt would lay out their bedrolls close together. Close, but never touching. When he laid down, Jaskier could feel Geralt’s breath on the back of his neck, and his chest ached with want.

He waited every night for Geralt to sneak an arm around his waist and pull him close, or to lean forward and whisper an invitation in his ear. Jaskier would be on him in a second.

But he never did, and every night Jaskier berated himself again for being so foolish and tried to push the thoughts from his mind. It was hard being so close and yet so far from what he truly wanted, but he wouldn’t force Geralt into a situation he wasn’t comfortable with.

.

After a week of this Jaskier was truly beginning to lose his mind, and it was a relief when they came upon a small town where they could rest for the night. Jaskier could go out, find some company and distract himself from the hopeless longing settled in his bones, even if only for the night.

When he announced his intention to look around the town, Geralt said he would come along too. That wasn’t ideal for Jaskier’s plan of distraction, but he’d make it work. He always enjoyed Geralt’s company anyway.

There wasn't a lot going on in the town, but there was a pretty barmaid in the tavern, a cheerful red-haired lady with exuberant freckles and strong curves. She flashed a smile at Jaskier the moment they walked in.

Perfect. He smiled back, ordered two drinks, and set to flirting outrageously with her. She giggled and teased back, not seeming intimidated by Geralt‘s presence, even though he was growing notably testier as their interactions became more charged.

When she reached over the bar to twirl a finger through Jaskier’s hair, Geralt actually growled.

She backed off and looked at Geralt. “Didn’t mean any harm,” she said. “I’m just being friendly. Unless...” She looked down at their hands on the bar, apparently noting their rings, and then back to Jaskier. “Unless you’re spoken for. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that,” Jaskier said with a laugh, just as Geralt said, “Yes, actually, we’re married.”

Jaskier stared at Geralt. Geralt stared at Jaskier. The barmaid held her hands up in the universal gesture for “none of my business, nothing to see here” and backed away to wipe down a table.

Every muscle in Geralt’s neck was tense and throbbing, and Jaskier had no idea what to say.

“Geralt,” he began, carefully. “is this about the other day? The ceremony? Did you... Did you think that was for real?”

Something pained flashed across Geralt’s face, an expression more raw than any Jaskier had seen on him before. Then he stood, turned, and bolted from the tavern.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called, getting to his feet. “Geralt, wait!”

By the time Jaskier was out of the door, Geralt was already disappearing down the dirt road, not turning back.

Ahh, fuck.

.

Jaskier left the girl at the tavern with a hurried apology, pausing only to throw their various possessions into bags and to load up Roach before heading out after Geralt. He knew bugger all about tracking, but he knew the direction Geralt was heading, and after that he relied on Roach’s instincts. She at least seemed confident in what to do.

He caught up to Geralt less than a mile outside of town. He was sat alone in a copse of trees just off the road, staring at the leaves.

He didn’t flee as Jaskier approached, though he didn’t turn to look at him either. “Geralt? I’m sorry. I was thoughtless. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Geralt stood slowly and turned to face him, though he avoided making eye contact. “It was a misunderstanding.” Geralt’s face was carefully blank, a look Jaskier recognised from times he was trying very hard to hide his emotions. “A wrong assumption on my part about the seriousness of the ceremony at Belleteyn.”

“Holy hell, Geralt.” Jaskier’s mind reeled. Geralt thought they had really been getting married, and he had been okay with that? “Does that mean... Would you actually want to be married to me?”

“It was stupid,” Geralt gritted out. Anyone else would have thought he was angry, but Jaskier knew him well enough to see he was hurt. “To think it was anything more than a distraction.”

No no no, that wasn’t right at all. Jaskier tried to take Geralt’s chin in his hand but Geralt turned his face forcefully away.

“Is that why you’ve been acting strange?” Jaskier thought back on it: the gifts of food, the aborted attempts at closeness, the feeling Geralt’s eyes on him constantly, checking his well-being.

“I thought...” Geralt wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I thought you wanted things to be normal. Like they always were.”

“If I were married to you for real, I wouldn’t act like everything was normal!” Jaskier exploded. “Damn it, Geralt. I’d kiss you every morning and hold you every night. And I’d tell everyone we met -- everyone -- that I was the luckiest person on the continent, because this is my husband, the one and only Geralt of Rivia, and he’s the best man I’ve ever met.”

Jaskier shut his mouth. Too late, though. Too late to take any of that back.

Geralt’s brow was pinched, though it didn’t quite look like a frown. It almost made him look thoughtful.

Finally he looked at Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Every morning?”

Jaskier felt all the fight leaving his body in one grand sweep. Geralt let him push him to his knees on the ground and allowed Jaskier to flop into his lap. Jaskier brushed a strand of hair from his face. “I’ve thought about kissing you every day for years,” Jaskier confessed.

And then he saw it -- one of Geralt’s oh-so-rare smiles. Not the forced grimace he adopted when he needed to look nonthreatening, or the tolerant lip twitch he’d give Jaskier when he was trying to be funny. No, this was a genuine Geralt smile, more precious than gemstones, the kind that lifted his entire face and reached his eyes.

Geralt threaded a hand into the back of his hair, brought their faces closer, and kissed him. At the touch of their lips every part of him went boneless, held up only by Geralt’s arms and a determination to make as much bodily contact as he possibly could.

His head was spinning by the time they pulled apart for air. Geralt’s eyes were sparkling, and Jaskier could have lost himself in that sight for the rest of his life and considered himself a lucky man.

Geralt leaned their foreheads together. “Will you stay with me?” he asked, very quietly. “Even if all I can offer you is charred squirrel and sleeping beneath the stars?”

“Always,” Jaskier promised, without a shadow of a doubt. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Through the good and the bad, the injuries and the pain, the plenty and the lean times. Through it all, he wanted to be with Geralt.

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his and slotted their fingers together. Their rings lay next to each other, the elaborate gold of Jaskier’s crest shining against Geralt’s pale skin and the smooth silver encircling his own finger like an embrace.

It was all startlingly clear. “Marry me, Geralt,” he said, his heart welling over. “For real this time.”

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

and then I don’t feel so bad

thanks again to @thecomfortofoldstorries for coming through when I whined at her about needing ideas

also shout-out to my older sister for being the coolest and getting this song stuck in my head today (happy birthday, sis. wish we’d been raised together)

---

Geralt holds the package tightly with both hands and glares down at it with icy anxiety building at the center of his chest. The cloak he’d special ordered two weeks ago is wrapped in brown paper, tied closed with a length of dark blue woolen string. The Witcher, who has faced countless monsters and angry villagers and vengeful nobles alike, takes a deep breath in through his nose and shudders at the thought of his next self-chosen contract: giving Jaskier a Solstice present. He hopes the cloak is good enough. He hopes that he chose a fashionable color, one that Jaskier will enjoy wearing no matter where he chooses to go this winter. Geralt hopes that the heavy wool he’d painstakingly decided on is the right kind of material for Jaskier’s tastes. He hopes… he hopes that everything he’s about to say and do goes well and that he doesn’t fuck this all up.

“Jaskier,” he calls, keeping his tone light as he knocks on the door of their shared room. “Are you decent?”

“Never!” Jaskier laughs from within. Geralt hears a series of quick, light-soled footsteps crossing the floor before the door is flung open to reveal Jaskier in all his evening glory. The bard is, as usual, painfully correct. He’s not very decent at all; his hair is a mess of brown waves that tumble down to cover his smooth, pale forehead. The apples of his cheeks are flushed fuchsia with a combination of wine and the high of a good show. His frilly white shirt is unlaced at the throat and loosened all the way down to reveal the sharp angles of his collarbones. Geralt gulps air like a man near to drowning and pushes his way inside. Has it gotten hotter, all of a sudden? Jaskier’s eyebrows furrow with worry and he closes the door behind his Witcher. “What’s got you even quieter than usual? Are you sick? Injured? Cursed?”

“Witchers can’t get sick,” Geralt answers, almost automatically. Jaskier rolls his eyes. 

“Your version of sick, then?” 

Geralt doesn’t know what his version of sick means so he ignores the comment entirely. Instead he shoves the package in his hands towards the bard and huffs. “I got something for you. I thought you might like to wear it to keep you warm, especially since I wanted… I was wondering if you’d like…”

Geralt growls and spins on his heel, running one shaking hand through his hair as if that might calm him down. It doesn’t.

“Fuck! Why can’t I be like you? Why can’t I just… say all the things I’m thinking? I’m no good with words, Jaskier.”

“I actually don’t say most of the things I think,” Jaskier shrugs. He bites the inside of his lip to keep from talking any more and ruining the moment. This is clearly something the Witcher needs to do on his own, whatever it is. He smiles softly and holds the paper-wrapped lump against his chest. “But I’m happy to wait for as long as you need, dear heart. Figuring out the right thing to say is hard.”

Geralt’s heart is pounding in his chest. Each beat rings out like one of Roach’s shoes against unforgiving cobblestone. He can practically see the sparks flying from it, igniting something in his chest that flares and wavers like a candle flame in the high breeze. He wants to protect the wavering warmth with every ounce of strength he has.

“I… I got you this,” he gestures towards the gift Jaskier has yet to open, “Because it’s cold at Kaer Morhen. The pass is treacherous, difficult for a human who isn’t prepared, so I wanted you to- I mean if you wanted to come with me, I would-”

His fumbling proposal is interrupted by a dull thwump as the package Jaskier was just holding suddenly hits the wooden floorboards. When Geralt looks up, terrified of the incoming rejection, he’s met with two watery blue eyes. Every one of his worst fears is being actualized in front of him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it now. 

“Fuck. Shit, I- I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t know if you would eve-”

Geralt is interrupted again, this time by Jaskier throwing his arms around the Witcher’s shoulders and starting to sob. Geralt panics and instinctively reaches to pull Jaskier closer against his chest. He tucks the bard’s face against the side of his neck and cups the back of his neck with one broad palm; his fingers scratch up the base of Jaskier’s scalp and into his soft, tousled locks. With his other arm Geralt holds the bard tightly around the waist, rubbing small circles into the meat of his hip as he waits for Jaskier’s breathing to return to normal.

“Do you not want to come with me to the keep?” he asks, voice low and gravelly but somehow smaller and more frightened than Jaskier has ever heard it sound before. His heart cracks wide open and his love for his grumpy White Wolf comes spilling out like water from a burst dam. 

“Of course I want to come to Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier chuckles wetly. Sadly. “I just never thought… I thought you didn’t want me there.”

Geralt considers the words for a moment. He really hasn’t been the most welcoming friend, all things considered. He can understand why Jaskier feels a bit lost and a bit confused. Overwhelmed, his brain supplies. Jaskier is overwhelmed. 

He slowly releases Jaskier and steps away.

“Here,” he grins, kneeling and offering the package back up to the bard, who accepts it slowly. Now those bright blue eyes are shining with a different emotion, and Geralt envies the mages who can read other peoples’ minds. “Open it.”

Jaskier slowly unties the blue string and pulls two or three layers of plain brown paper aside to reveal a cardinal-red woolen cloak. A cloak that Geralt has bought for him. The hood and the hem are just the right size and shape for the season. The shade of red Geralt has chosen really brings out the pink undertones of Jaskier’s skin and the darker flecks of blue in his eyes. Jaskier knows that this cloak’s design is haute couture and probably cost the Witcher a great deal of coin. “Oh… Oh, my sweet, darling Geralt.”

Hearing his name said like that, with such affection and gentle reverence, throws the Witcher into another frenzy of emotion. He can barely stand it. His fists clench at his sides. It takes Herculean effort not to sweep the bard off his feet and spin him through the air, peppering him with excited, happy kisses. Jaskier is coming to Kaer Morhen with him! Jaskier is coming home with him!

“Geralt?” 

“Jaskier,” the Witcher whispers, taking one slow step and closing the distance between them. The bard does not flinch. He does not move away. He does not step back. “Jaskier, if you don’t mind, I’d like to kiss you very badly.”

“Of course,” the bard breathes, his hand floating up to rest against the warm, stubbled skin of Geralt’s cheek, “I’ve been waiting so long…”

When their lips finally meet, time stops. There is only the warmth of their skin where it’s touching and the soft, gentle desperation of two people trying to prove, for once and for all, that they love each other. When they pause for air Jaskier pulls away a fraction. “Let’s go sit by the fire and chat, shall we?”

“Hmm.”

Geralt settles himself before the fire and pulls Jaskier down onto his lap, arranging him until they’re both comfortable. “Will your family mind my coming with you?”

“They’re expecting you. Actually, they demanded your presence this year. Lambert actually threatened me with bodily harm.”

“Did they, now?”

“Aye. Eskel said he’d find you and bring you back himself if I was too cowardly to buck up like a real Witcher and tell you that I-”

He cut himself off with a blush.

“That you what?”

“That I love you.”

“Well that’s good news,” Jaskier giggles, “And quite the relief considering I’ve been head over heels in love with you for years, now. A decade at least!”

“Y-you…?”

“Me, indeed.”

“I’m glad we’ll all get to hear your wonderful stories this winter,” Geralt nuzzles down against the side of his neck and sends Jaskier into another fit of giggles. “And songs.”

“Do you like it when I sing?”

“I like it best when you make up little songs as we travel,” Geralt admits. “They’re sweet... and I feel like- like they’re just for me.”

Jaskier lights up brighter than a well-cast Igni and settles himself into the Witcher’s tender embrace entirely. He begins to hum to himself and then slowly, in a way that always leaves Geralt impressed and entranced, words begin to form into verse:

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, Big grumpy Witchers that have me quite smitten, Brown paper packages tied up with strings; These are a few of my favorite things.”

Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s temple and hides his blush in the bard’s warm neck.

“Hair soft as silk that went white in the Trials, Arms that can hold me and heft me for miles, Eyes of warm amber I search for in Spring, These are a few of my favorite things.”

The Witcher swears he can’t fall any more in love. It has to be impossible; but then Jaskier’s voice gets even softer and the words are sung so close to his ear that it makes him shiver. 

“When the wolf bites, When the bee stings, When I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, And then I don't feel so bad!”

[watchingthefallofrome]

Witcher S2E1

I’m so excited for this

“rated for TV-MA for language, violence, sex, nudity gore, smoking” lol where is the smoking going to be?

the recaps are always telling what they want us to see/remember

Fringilla, I hope I learn more about you, girl

Yen, Ciri, I’m looking forward to seeing you two together this season!

let’s gooooooooo

this opens with an ominous bucket knocking against a well, building mood, this is such a Netflix show

interesting, i thought this snowy blue town from the trailers was going to be Kaer Morhen, glad I was wrong

Kira … or Kiera

oh, nope, she’s dead

***

oof, aftermath of the battle of sodden

“please let me live” “no today” Vilgefortz that was brutal

Tissaia, concerned mother, TM

4,000 Temerians and 5,000 Kaedwenians dead…what is the geography of this world??????? Where was Redania or Aedirn?

20,000 dead Nilfgaard, yesssssss, fuck them up Yen

Damn, Tissaia screaming Yen’s name, I feel that!

and now Geralt screaming Yen’s name!!!

noooo, not Geralt thinking Yen is dead, the pure emotion in his face, Henry, that was amazing, the “was it worth it” the stilted walk away, not telling Ciri who she is, ugh, keep trying to bottle up those emotions, witcher, you know that won’t work

***

Ciri and Geralt in the woods

aww, did Geralt build a little lean-to shelter for Ciri to sleep under?

so no one in this family sleeps, huh?

Ciri talking about the "black knight" sounds like a book reference, who tf is the black knight?

Ciri “i need to understand some things” that’s an understatement, kid

“I saved your father’s life...from your grandmother” did no one tell Ciri this story?? like there were hundreds of guests at this wedding banquet and no one mentioned it? Ciri's grandfather seemed cool why didn’t he tell her this story? like, really no one told her?

“she didn’t want your mother marrying … an outsider” interesting choice of words, here, Geralt

Ciri wants to go to Skellige “you’d be married off to the nearest lord of bad breath” Geralt giving real dad advice here, only wanting the best for his daughter, good oral hygiene only

***

ooh, a sweeping CGI shot of Aretuza, the budget!

Oh no Triss! don’t die!

that wig is a disaster

I love seeing Tissaia still all beat up from battle, love her character

***

Yennefer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Also beat up

damn, this whole cast is peak “grimes up good”

***

back to Geralt and Ciri traveling

aw, Geralt referring to Kaer Morhen as “home"

“there was an attack, when i was a boy” ah, yes, I forgot we changed the backstory/timeline here

Geralt axiied roach, however, that horse actor does not look calm, Fiona is still clutching those reigns with a death grip

Geralt finds a dead animal in the woods, gets out a hunting knife to inspect it, calms everyone, then EATS A CHUNK OF IT? Geralt. why.

LOLLL, the ominous knocking bucket is back, mood

“I know someone near by” … the lonely cursed man living in a creepy abandoned castle nearby...so you’re basically friends with the Beast from Beauty and the Beast?

ah, the old “two people meet, attack each other, and then recognize they are friends" trope

is this whole castle magic? is Nivellen magic? how do things keep falling from the ceiling?

Ciri is in a bath, oh no, she’s getting out …...... omg THAT is how you film a girl getting out of a bath without oversexualizing her or showing any other unnecessary bullshit, thank you!

all this food falling onto the table and spilling everywhere, hilarious

Nivellen asking if Geralt told Ciri how they met, Ciri “no, he’s not especially chatty”, haha, drag him!

Geralt getting called a “snow-capped sourpuss” lol

fuck, is “wyvern” pronounced “why-vern” (rhymes with fern) and not “wheh-ver-en” I’m 31

“in front of the girl?” “she’s tougher than you think” yes Geralt, standing up for Ciri and thinking she’s amazing!

so this dude was cursed because he used to be a frat boy?

The WILD HUNT?????? That is going to be the villain of this season??? That’s the antagonist of the third game, which are all set after the books, no? and isn’t the show is covering the beginnings of the books? why are they bringing this villain in in now? isn’t it way too soon?

“The Wraiths of Morhogg” lol, LOTR “inspired"

“I’ve lived through a whole dark age and three supposed end of days” Geralt the millennial confirmed

Ciri sitting on the floor, saying, “Go on Geralt, we’ll be alright” Fiona, baby girl, I love you, your acting is perfection, playing Ciri like the fucking queen she is, you’re amazing

***

Back at Aretuza

Oh, it’s that dude! with the curly hair, from Nilfgaard… what’s his name? … how did he get captured again? like i remember you, but i don’t

Tissaia is fucking on a war path trying to find Yennefer, like this is really showing us the depths mothers will go for their children, and their mother/daughter relationship isn’t even on the best of terms, like they have so many problems, but Tissaia is still out here fucking torturing people just to find Yen, like damn

“i know you want to scream...but it’s too soon” holy fuck

the use of high pitched sound sound in place of screams... chilling, love it

***

lamo, did Yennefer just make fun of the mushrooms Fringilla made for her?

Yen calling Fringilla a “pawn” …. “he won’t be happy to see you return, tail between your legs” camera shifts over Fringilla, focuses on Yen, “you know I won’t turn” …. “I’ll be lauded for saving them” “I’m sure they’ll be most understanding, all leaders are” …..Yen and Fringilla, telling each other the truths you BOTH need to hear, I want more!!

“shitgaard” lol

***

Nivellen just happens to have this light carousel history thing...“a doomed young elven warrior and the human she falls in love with..the fall of the elders” wow, this story surely won’t come back, just completely added here for funsies, nothing to do with the plot, no foreshadowing here

Geralt talking to Roach about Ciri….sir, go find Yennefer! she’s not dead! start talking to Yen about Ciri’s development, not your horse! we all love Roach, but shes not going to be Ciri’s new mom!

Geralt follows footprints, they stop, so the thing turns into a bird and flies away?

Ciri “I wish I could go back in time and save them, save everyone” okay, I’m ready for whatever that journey will take us, isn’t she the mistress of time and space or something? is this going to come back?? I’m excited to see.

“Mousesack told me of a hedgehog man who was cured of pure love”…so someone did tell you the story of your parents, you just didn’t know it was them, sigh, when will someone tell you?

so all Nivellen's servants are buried in the garden… so not like beauty and the beast...but also, how exactly did Nivellen kill them not knowing his own strength? i want details

"monsters are born of deeds done, unforgivable ones” okay, so we have the basic “who is the real monster?” theme here. it’s obviously never Geralt, but the jury is out on Nivellen, he’s getting more suspicious, why are all your former employees dead sir??

holy shit, Nivellen just drank out of a tankard with that prosthetic head on. that shit was so fucking good, I’m so happy netflix is investing in practical effects and prosthetics for their shows, it’s this head is fucking phenomenal, it’s so realistic i forget I’m not watching another person, like the features are still a little stiff and the lip movements don’t exactly match, but holy fuck, they have moving lips that match the actor, like this whole head is so amazing to watch in the scene, the actor is doing so much acting with his eyes and body language, omg, i could go off forever on how much i love watching this character, just from a film-making point of view, like i really feel like I’m watching revolutionary effects similar to lotr, and so subtle, no huge over-the-top battle scene, just this one character who is non-human who needs a realistic looking head, this effect is fucking amazing, we need more of this!

Geralt inventing a drinking game of truth or truth, love it

lol, Geralt's little pinched face after he missed his knife throw, he’s cute mad

“what changed you” “who...Yennefer of Vengerberg” okay. so i love Yen. I love Geralt. I love the tension they had in season 1. I did not see the way she changed him, I may be wrong, but....where was it

Geralt telling Nivellen Yen is dead, “how are you now heartbroken” “who says I’m not” and the shot staying on his face, ugh Geralt, giving out fucking gut punches here, love it

**

i love every time yen and Fringilla are on screen, I want more

“horses, whores, and mages, all useful til we’re not” think better about yourself Yen!

“redeem myself from what? … that implies choice … we were all just gilded pawns to control kingdoms” damn, Fringilla already calling herself a pawn too and looking at herself, damn what character development is in story for you, Fringilla?

“if I'd had Tissaia to shield me” damn Fringilla, tell her!!!!! Yen did get away with so much shit because of Tissaia! Fringilla got nothing! read her!

Yen, then calling Fringilla a bootlicker “eager to please. easy to wound” fuck, girl

okay damn, Yennefer and Fringilla just going back and forth with the barbs!!! I hope you both learn from each other, I’m fascinated by the positions they are both in and how they can be affecting each other here. Like, neither were left in good places at the end of season 1 and I’m excited to see where their charters will go in this season!

***

um, Nivellen, thanks for the exposition about how witchers kidnap children and torture them to turn them into witchers, but you’re telling a witcher that he had his feelings and emotions trained out of them…when literally in the last scene Geralt told you he was heartbroken over yen… you then claim witchers are monsters, when you literally just told Ciri monsters are not those with claws, but those who do bad deeds… like take a hint my guy

but actually Nivellen asking how Ciri feels about being Geralt’s child surprise is a good question, Geralt what does Ciri think??

“this is the look of a man who’s wondering why his old friend is cheating” call his ass out Geralt, Nivellen is only getting more and more suspicious

Ciri sleeping like a princess, cute

who is this woman on the ceiling?????!!!!! leave Ciri the fuck alone!

love her visual effects, the sped up movements, looks cool

love the use of contacts in this show…why don’t more productions do this, it’s such an easy way to drastically changes the looks of a character

Ciri “monsters to bad things to people” and Vereena “humans do bad things to everybody” you’re missing the point girl, it’s about individual actions, not collective punishment

Ciri immediately understanding the love story here, smart and empathetic, love it, you’re going to be a great queen!

Geralt back in the empty town again. how do we know? the ominous bucket is back!!!!!!

Geralt seeing a second set of footsteps disappearing, “it flies” … sir, you are a witcher…wasn’t that obvious from the first set of footprints?

“bruxa", or “bruxer” in Henry’s accent

ohh, we get the dramatic trailer scene with Geralt turning around with his witcher black eyes and telling Ciri to “move now”, good stuff, good stuff

soooooo… Vereena is eating Nivellen… like a vampire? is she killing him??

Geralt just going full witcher mode, sword in hand, breaking into a room to kill her, like how did we get here, you were trying to shelter your new daughter for the night and now you’re on a warpath to kill a bruxa, love it

oooh, Vereena’s double teeth! the way she screams!! fuck Geralt up!

um, Nivellen is just lying there, is he okay? is he dead??

Geralt following her on the ceiling, lucky he found the exact spot Vereena was in

in the courtyard, Vereena just fucking Geralt up then turning around and being kind to Ciri, love it

that show of Vereena flying back, with the white dress, beautiful, perfection, i feel like every fucking shot of this show was meticulously planned out, like the cinematography in this scene is great, i can see the planning and foresight in this show, and this whole scene is so monochromatic, love it, love everything about this

so she turned into a giant bat?? so actually like a vampire?

okay, why is she naked when injured? i like the placement and camera angle, no over the top nudity here, and Ciri runs to give her a cloak, love it, but what happened to her dress? she was already clothed

oh no, why Vereena, don't threaten Ciri!

oh shit! i wasn’t expecting Nivellen to come back and fucking kill Vereena!!!!!!

wait, she’s not dead, she’s trying to kill Nivellen! girl, give us at least one redeemable movement!

then Geralt just fucking chopping her head off, like damn

her last words, “he’ll come for you too” no, do not put terrible things into Ciri’s head! ... but also, setting up Geralt as a monster killer and Ciri becoming afraid of her potential powers, okay, I'll ride with it

so Nivellen lost his true love and broke the curse… but, she still killed an entire village and probably your servants, so...

“not for destroying the temple, but for raping the priestess” HOLY FUCK dude, you just said that casually, like, GODDAMN, this fucker was cursed because he was THAT kind of frat boy, what the fuck is wrong with you?

Geralt’s face twisting in absolute disgust at this revelation is perfection. Amazing reaction. Henry, I love watching you act. And they held that movement with Geralt and Ciri, like damn Nivellen, no one is sympathizing with you right now, amazing, love it

Geralt just turning away from Nivellen and walking away, like damn, that message is LOUD AND CLEAR

the treatment of rape in this fantasy show is refreshing, like no one is making excuses

Nivellen asking Geralt to kill him, “you’re mortal now, do it yourself” Geralt. Holy fuck, telling him to live with what he did, like fuck.

so, apparently this whole plot line was changed from the books…..but yeah, I’m just going to enjoy what this plot is trying to show and say in this story right now. When I finally read the books, I’ll re-review and get big mad over everything

Geralt in the woods, finally meditating, my baby, take a break, please actually sleep

Ciri is talking about being afraid of her powers? potential? she has some obviously growth to go through this story from being the princess to the bad ass character she’ll become, love her set up, I’m excited to watch her grow!

***

yes, my favs, Yennefer and Fringilla!

oh shit, all the red shirts just got fucking speared and removed off-camera, what is going to happen to my girls???

[asweetprologue]

i’m such a sucker for 1 it’s just such a good trope

a CLASSIC i’m also a huge fan of this one, thank you for the prompt! I tried to keep it rated T, since I don’t know if you’re looking for anything more than that, so I hope you enjoy it! <3

1. There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close

Jaskier is always a little glad when the people in the town they’re staying in are after him and not Geralt.

It usually ends up with them in the same basic place - out in the cold, possibly sans some belongings, breathless from running - but there’s something relieving about being kicked out because Jaskier has a reputation rather than because people think Geralt is a monster. It’s more of a kick to his pride, of course, but he’d take that over the hurt look that steals into Geralt’s eyes when people hiss mutant any day.

This time it’s a little more serious than normal, though still better than the grab-your-torch-and-pitchfork treatment that they sometimes receive. Jaskier walks into the tavern, takes one look around, and immediately meets the eyes of a man he recognizes from several Redenian intelligence dossiers. Sharp chin, dark eyes, slicked back hair, distinct scar across the bridge of his nose. A Nilfgaardian spy by the name of Vulmed Dorn. It takes less than half a second to note that the man has also recognized him, and for Jaskier to decide that maybe this town isn’t, actually, going to be the most friendly to them. By the way Dorn immediately rises to his feet and shouts out something about Jaskier being a sorcerer - really, it’s much too easy to get these people riled up - it’s clear that he’s been here long enough for the townsfolk to trust him. At least well enough to want to turn on Jaskier.

He turns on his heel in the doorway, grabbing Geralt’s wrist, and starts running.

They’d stabled Roach, and he curses their foresight as he rushes through the streets. They can’t leave until they get her, and they’re laden down with their bags and supplies they’d wanted to carry up to their room. Jaskier laments the lost night spent in a real bed as he turns down the main street, heading in the direction of the stables.

Geralt is jogging smoothly alongside him, looking exasperated. “Jaskier, tell me you didn’t sleep with someone’s wife in a town we haven’t even been to,” he sighs, not even winded from the brisk pace. “They’re following us.”

Jaskier huffs, picking up speed. “This isn’t some cuckolded husband,” he snaps. He can’t see Geralt’s face, too preoccupied by watching his footing in the dim evening light, but he can hear the barely suppressed not this time in Geralt’s snort. “He’s Nilfgaardian intelligence.”

Whatever Geralt had been expecting, that’s clearly not it. “He didn’t even see me,” he says, sounding confused. Jaskier can hear the sound of their pursuers now, coming from the direction of the inn. The mob will turn onto the same street they’re running down any second now. They need to get off of the main road.

“No, but he saw me,” Jaskier pants. He grabs Geralt by the wrist again, knowing that the witcher allowed himself to be moved. He hurries them down a side street, just as the torchlight pours onto the road they’d just been following. The street they’re on is too exposed still, and Jaskier turns down another, and then another again, this one barely a sliver of space between two houses. It’s steeped in shadow, the walls of the buildings blocking the last bits of daylight that slip over the horizon in the west. He shoves Geralt in first and squeezes in after him, tucking them both into the darkest area.

Geralt grunts as Jaskier trips into the alley, warm hands coming up to steady him as they both pause, listening. The sounds of the search party in the main street are barely legible to Jaskier, but Geralt could probably hear them crystal clear. “How would he know you?” Geralt asks, voice dipped low. Jaskier blinks at him, and then raises a hand between them - a feat in the narrow space - to point to his own chest.

“I’m Redanian intelligence,” he says.

“Oh,” Geralt replies, his head tilting slightly to the side. Jaskier can hardly make out any of his features in the dark, just the glint of his golden eyes and the line of his nose where a swatch of moonlight falls into their hiding place. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well,” Jaskier stifles a laugh, “I’m retired.”

Geralt has no response to that, just shaking his head on an amused exhale. They stand in silence for a few long moments, Geralt listening to whatever commotion is going on in the main square. It’s quiet around them, the air warm and thick with lingering summer heat, and Jaskier realizes abruptly that they’re standing awfully close. The alleyway truly is cramped, and Geralt is standing with both shoulders pressed up against the wall, Jaskier slotted at his side. Their shoulders brush on every inhale, left to left. Jaskier can feel his heart thundering in his chest, and he hopes that Geralt will write it off as adrenalin.

He wants to put some distance between them, to prevent the feeling that’s rising in him from bubbling to the surface, but he can’t. To either side of them the shadows fade into crisp moonlight; if he steps away he’ll be significantly more exposed. He doesn’t know what the crowd will do if they get their hands on him, but he guesses it will involve some kind of deal with Nilfgaard. Not something he’s interested in. So he swallows around the knot of anxiety rising in his throat, and forces himself to press his hands back against the cool brick wall behind him. He watches the end of the alleyway, trying to focus on the task at hand.

“I think they’re heading back to the inn,” Geralt rumbles. “We can--”

Jaskier turns back to look at him at the same moment that Geralt lowers his gaze, and their eyes catch. They’re so close, too close, noses nearly brushing, and Jaskier’s breath hitches in his throat. Whatever Geralt had been about to say dies. They’re so close together, and Jaskier feels like he’s going to burn up with it.

They stand frozen like that for what feels like hours, mob forgotten, Jaskier digging his fingers into the brickwork to keep himself from reaching out. Geralt’s right hand comes up towards his waist, but doesn’t make contact. It feels like the air between them is suddenly humming with tension, adrenalin bleeding into something else entirely. Jaskier’s never felt like the thing between them was so close to breaking.

When Geralt speaks, his breath ghosts against Jaskier’s lips, and he can’t help the full body shudder that wracks through him. “We should probably go get Roach,” Geralt says softly.

Jaskier nods, swallowing heavily, and forces himself not to look for Geralt’s lips in the darkness. “Sorry I didn’t tell you I was a spy,” he breathes, an apology for the entire situation.

“That’s okay,” Geralt replies easily, and Jaskier doesn’t know which of them moves but suddenly lips are on his and they’re kissing. Geralt pushes him back against the wall and Jaskier’s hands fly up to clutch at the straps of his armor, and he gasps when Geralt’s tongue sweeps along his lip. It’s instantly filthy, and it’s delicious. Jaskier raises one hand to fist in Geralt’s hair, and the groan he gets in answer, pressed directly into his mouth, is enough to make him weak at the knees. He never wants to stop, want to let Geralt keep kissing him forever, if only--

Geralt breaks the kiss, pressing their foreheads together. He does sound out of breath now, panting against Jaskier’s face, and he feels unreasonably proud of that. “They’re going to come back around,” Geralt says, and Jaskier knows he’s right. They have a narrow window. He curses every god he can remember the name of.

“Alright,” he sighs, pulling away with more reluctance that he would have thought himself capable of overcoming. He feels suddenly nervous, even with his lips still tingling from where Geralt had bitten him lightly. Maybe this was just a one time thing, and when they get out of here Geralt won’t want to push it any further. A tense situation and close quarters could rile anyone up. Resigned, he turns towards the mouth of the alley. “Let’s go then.”

A hand on his wrist stops him, and he looks back towards Geralt only to be greeted by a brief, chaste press of lips to his own. Geralt’s bright eyes are intense as he holds Jaskier in place, imploring. “Later,” is all he says, and Jaskier feels hope swell in his chest, all consuming.

“Later,” he agrees, feeling a grin stretching his cheeks even as he steps back out of the alley and into danger once again. “I’ll hold you to that, witcher.”

[officerjennie]

Goodbye Kisses

(Prompted by myself on my birthday because help, I love them so much T^T) (Ko-fi and commission info in my blog header) 

--

It mattered not how many times they said goodbye, each time still broke another piece of his heart.

There were times Jaskier had ample warning. Days or even weeks to steel himself, to play the brilliant actor he prided himself to be. Ample time to remind himself quite sternly what he was to his witcher, his noble white wolf, the man who had swept into his life with all the flair and cheer of a beaten and tired mutt and had promptly and oh so very rudely stolen his heart.

A heart that many had attempted to steal in the past, might he add.

Those blessed days, hours, weeks - whatever time he had to fish his heart back from his sleeves and shove it back in his chest to be guarded like it had never wanted to be - they were all that saved him from certain embarrassment and rejection. For every single time, no matter that he knew it would end, he allowed himself to be a fool and believe that their journey would go onward. That every morning he could wake up bleary and far too late to his witcher grousing over their late start. That every afternoon would find him practicing his lute and songs while he danced his way down whatever trail laid before them, following after Roach’s twitching tail and the regal visage of Geralt, the most dearest man to his heart.

It was not one of those times, however.

“Leaving,” was the only grunted explanation he got as Geralt brushed past him, Jaskier left blinking after him where he stood still in the doorway to the room they’d planned on sharing for the next few days at the very least. It took far too many seconds for his thoughts to catch up to him, the silly grin he’d had frozen on his lips, laughter caught and dying in his throat.

“Wh- hold on, wait! Garelt!” Jaskier danced a little in the doorway, unsure of whether to take off after his companion given his own stuff was still strewn all about their room - everything but the lute strapped to his back and the smaller of his coin purses that he’d kept to collect the connected bar’s patron’s generous donations at his performance. With great effort he stopped staring after him, sweeping wide eyes about the room, already mourning the loss of what he couldn’t grab in the next 30 seconds: the blackberry wine he’d been planning on breaking out this very night would have to be abandoned, as well as much of his clothes - oh, it would cost him a small fortune to replace them all, and his heart cried even as he ran about and scooped up what little he could before stumbling right back out the door, regretting that last pint of ale as it left him fumbly and even dropping some of the precious few things he’d managed to stuff in his arms.

It was a miracle in and of itself that he didn’t bumble into anyone on his rush down the hall and stairs, and another that he managed the door by himself with his hands and arms otherwise occupied. At least no grace from the gods was required to find Geralt, all Jaskier needed to do was head straight for the stable that was attached to the inn.

“Geralt!”

He spotted his witcher just as Geralt was swinging his leg up and over Roach, the mare already saddled and packed and grouchy from being awoken far too early for her liking. She tried her best to reach back and nip at her burden even as Geralt nudged her forward, stopping her only after a few feet when Jaskier stumbled in front of them.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Gesturing with his arms so full of precious belongings was a bad idea but that didn’t occur to him until after he’d already done it, and attempting to catch the turquoise and emerald silk shirt only made him drop something else. “Dropping everything I own in the muck and grime is what I’m doing apparently - that was a gift, you know! A gift from my mother on her sick bed. Sure, sure, she recovered, but that’s not the point of things, Geralt, some warning would have been nice!”

“I’m leaving.”

“Oh, well darling, I didn’t notice, what with the whole storming out and straddling Ms. Nips-A-Lot - hey! No!” Roach knew exactly when he sassed about her and proved the name right, Jaskier barely dodging one of her hard nips that was aimed at his shoulder. It was luck and luck alone that kept all the rest of his things in his arms and far away from the mud below. “I meant advanced warning, Geralt, half a minute is not enough time for me to pack. And the least you could do is help me!”

Geralt grunted at him, and it was only thanks to their years of travelling together off and on that Jaskier could recognize it as his impatient grunt - which only made him want to huff indignantly, considering it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get ready at the drop of a hat. But before he could properly huff at him Geralt slid off of Roach to help him.

Or...not. Instead of taking any of his stuff, or maybe opening one of the packs Roach was carrying, Geralt just oh so helpfully clapped Jaskier on the shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze as he leaned down to meet Jaskier’s gaze - and just that simple act of holding his gaze had Jaskier’s heart in his throat. Melitele help him but those eyes would be the death of him. He could drown in the abyss of them, captured and held prisoner but hardly against his will, lost in a sea of amber and warmth many would think so unlike his dear withcer-

“I’m leaving, Jaskier. Not you.”

Oh.

“Oh,” Jaskier said, the fluttering thing in his stomach dropping like a stone. Well. Just like his witcher to put a damper on things.

“Too dangerous.”

“How is it any more dangerous than what we’ve already been through together?” Jaskier tried to not get too distracted when Geralt’s hand slipped from his shoulder and down his arm, still firm on him, making it unfairly difficult to muster up a decent argument as Geralt took his elbow and started to guide him back to the tavern entrance. “When we met I followed you straight towards a devil, remember? Sure it wasn’t an actual devil but neither of us knew any better-”

“Devils aren’t real, Jaskier.”

“-and I still followed you right along, and ended up perfectly fine! Oh, and remember the dragon? A dragon, Geralt, how on earth could anything out here in the middle of bloody nowhere could be more dangerous than a DRAGON?”

Geralt gave him a look that suggested he was being difficult on purpose. “I don’t slay dragons. There was never going to be a fight.”

Any further protests were put to a stop before they could continue, hardly even a stammered out start passing Jaskier’s lips before Geralt was opening the tavern door for him, giving a squeeze to his arm before dropping the contact between them. “Stay here, and out of trouble if you can manage it. I’ll come back.”

Normally, Jaskier would have made a fuss over the insinuation that he might gravitate towards trouble - because, really, it was the other way around. Not that the end results mattered much which way it worked. It came down to semantics, really, but Jaskier still would not have taken the insinuation without at least trying to set the record straight a little. But…

But his heart had not been normal of late, nor had his mind. And with no time to prepare for Geralt’s rather sudden departure he’d had no time to school his reactions, no time to remind himself how he’d normally do things: what he’d say, how exactly his hand or arm would flourish in gesture, what emotions he should allow into his tone without raising any sort of suspicion.

So it wasn’t exasperation that colored his tone, no played up hurt nor frustration to punctuate his words when Jaskier half-turned to look up at his witcher, breath almost catching at how even on a dreary day like this Geralt managed to look neigh on ethereal in his beauty - when all Jaskier managed to ask him was “When?”

When would he again be allowed to get lost within that heated gaze, time having little meaning, the world fading into the distance? When would his nights end in laughter rather than the drop after a performance, his high from the crowd leaving him at an incredible low, alone without his dearest witcher to keep his thoughts at bay and far away from the darkened sea they went to on their own? When would he know beyond a shadow of a doubt that his Geralt was safe and relatively unharmed, unmaimed at the very least, able to return to him at all?

“When I’m done.”

Ever the romantic to match his thoughts. Jaskier huffed out air through his nose, readjusting his grip on the mountain of things in his arms, Geralt’s blunt honesty cutting through his rather melodramatic mode decently enough. Not well enough to have him rid of all the rather sticky feelings that loved to pop up unbidden, but without the clouds that usually left him dampened in their presence all those sticky feelings left Jaskier feeling rather...wistful, and, dare he say, whimsical.

Perhaps his mother was onto something when she said his moods changed less like seasons and more flittered by like insects swarming in the summer heat.

If he had had perhaps even an hour to prepare for this goodbye, Jaskier would not have done anything so far removed from their normal interactions and behavior. But that time had not been given to him, and the warmth from Geralt’s hand could still be felt on his arm, and Jaskier’s heart was skipping beats in his chest knowing it was concern that had his witcher so set on going it alone - and seeing it clear as the dawn itself in those beautiful eyes of gold.

With as much grace as he could muster with his arms ladened so, Jaskier closed the short distance between him and his friend. He couldn’t tell if it was shocked surprise that held Geralt still or not, or what kept him from jerking away as he’d always expected him to if Jaskier had ever dared to be so bold, but Geralt did not move back - and Jaskier found his lips brushing against the silver stubble on his cheek, rough against his own chapped skin but it barely registered against the thundering heartbeat that sounded in his ears.

A light kiss to his cheek was all he managed, and it amazed him long into the night that he found his voice past it all. “Be careful, darling.” Being so close to him Jaskier saw Geralt’s breathing stutter at the endearment, and like a good storyteller he took careful note of that and squirreled it away for later, leaning back away just enough to look up and catch the way Geralt was looking at him. “I’d hate to be a bard with no company.”

Upon reflection, getting to see his oh so completely and frustratingly composed witcher shift his weight nervously after such a simple thing was more than worth the slip in his own emotional composure. Even the muddied belongings were worth it when weighed against the delayed grunt of response, the flickering gaze towards Jaskier and away again, and the sudden start to Geralt’s movements that finally started him back towards Roach without another word.

Maybe goodbyes weren’t the worst after all if they involved such an adorably flustered boy (and, Jaskier thought, his own gaze flickering downward shamelessly, it never really was a burden to watch him walk away).

[hunflowers]

Cecilia

Word Count: 8k

Requested? Nope, but you always can here :)

Mood Board

A/N: Yay, 70s! Harry is here :D I love it and I hope you do too my loves. And quick note, the song Cecilia by Simon & Garfunkel is basically the anthem of this piece, (*ahem* note the title) so maybe give it a listen while reading or before or after, whatever works! *nose boops*

Murder is the biggest extreme anyone could ever commit. It’s crazy to ever want to kill someone, to wrap your hands around someone’s throat, to stab them in the heart or the back, or maybe put a bullet between their eyes.

It’s extreme.

Yet, Y/N had every urge to murder Harry.

Her night was going just fine. It was going exactly how she wanted, and it was going to end exactly how she wanted. Danny was a super nice guy, a super handsome guy, and was exactly who she wanted between her legs in just a few hours time.

Fleetwood Mac was blaring over the speakers of the crowded club and Y/N was enjoying her third beer of the night as Danny held himself against her, placing sloppy kisses up the side of her neck while she circled her bottom against his groin. 

It was going extremely well until Danny said he was going to get himself another drink. Then the moment one body left her, another soon joined. One, that wouldn’t leave her alone.

“Harry! Back off!” Y/N groaned, pushing his hands off her hips. She noticed him earlier in the night when she and Danny walked in but she quickly avoided any contact with him the moment her eyes laid on him, praying to herself that he never spots her.

Clearly, luck wasn’t on her side when the curly-haired, green-eyed nuisance looked down at her with that infamous smirk. “You should be happy to see me. I’m here to save y’life.”

“Save my life? By cock blocking me?” She huffed, trying to step around him but was stopped when he grabbed her by the waist and turned her back to his front. The button-front of his white shirt was held together by two buttons near the bottom, his revealed chest pressed to the skin of her back as his jeans rubbed friction against the soft material of her skirt.

“He could be a serial killer for all you know. Plus, I’m practically begging you to have my cock, so what do you need his for?” He murmured into her ear, slowly starting to sway themselves to the rhythm of the song playing. Y/N could feel the growing tent in his jeans as they rocked, her breath slightly hitching in her throat when she thought about all of their past… adventures with one another. But that’s all it was; their past.

Y/N saw Harry more often than not, but the last time they had sex was well over a month ago, and she figured he’d get the hint by this point that she wasn’t interested anymore. He’s made it obvious that he wasn’t done with her, but she doesn’t settle for too long and she needs a new taste every so often. And she’s young, she doesn’t have this desire to situate herself with one man no matter how desperate he acts. 

Licking her lips and turning her head to her right to meet his eyes, their noses slightly sweep together as their breaths mingle over one another. “You’re old news, H, get real,” she hissed, her eyes raking over his features as he looks past her and into the deep crowd of the dance floor ahead of them. When she moved to remove herself from his grip, he held her back, one of his hands coming up to the back of her head and pressing his mouth down onto hers in a heated kiss.

She almost got lost in it, and almost let him have his way as she could feel her panties dampen the moment his tongue slipped past her lips. But then she heard, “Y/N?” and her mind reeled her back into reality and she pushed away from Harry in a second, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she looked to Danny who held a confused look in his eyes before he scoffed and turned back around.

“Wait!” She called, quickly turning around to Harry and sneering at him, “You saw him there didn’t you? Leave me the fuck alone.” And without even thinking about it she poured the remainder of her beer over his pants, dropping the bottle at his feet before running off to try and amend what she could with Danny.

When she finally pushed past the final group of bodies and made it outside into the warm Spring night air, she spotted Danny storming over to his car at the end of the parking lot, ignoring her pleas to stop walking. He looked over his shoulder one final time and shook his head before getting into his burnt orange Cadillac Eldorado and speeding off and away from her. Y/N let out a whine, stomping her platform heel into the ground.

Ever since she saw him stroll into her sociology class at the beginning of the semester she knew she wanted him. Not for long, but at least for one memorable night. Every class she noticed the way his eyes raked up the length of her legs and landed on her chest beneath the fabric of her shirts, so it was obvious he wanted her just as bad. But she had a serious roach problem, and she was moments away from snapping completely and snapping his neck.

Marching over to the nearest payphone, she called her roommate to come pick her up with a series of pleas and bargains since it was nearly one in the morning, and unfortunately for her roommate, she has an early morning Friday class. She didn’t expect to be stranded at this hour and she didn’t bring enough cash for a cab ride home. It’s not like Sarah would say no to her, but she sure as hell wasn’t happy about it either.

Sitting herself down on the curb below her, Y/N stretched out her legs in front of her, pulling a cigarette from her purse and her yellow lighter, putting the stick between her lips and inhaling the nicotine as she drew the flame against the tip. She was getting real sick of Harry thinking he could swoop in whenever he deemed necessary. Where was all this affection when they first started seeing each other? He was the one who pushed her away and turned her into who she is. He was the one that told her college and her early adulthood was about indulging in as many people as she can before she had to settle her life away. And now he changed his mind? 

Well, tough shit.

She was tempted to storm back in there and curse him out and knee him where the sun doesn’t shine, but truth be told, she wouldn’t even handle seeing his face again without seeing red or breaking down. This wasn’t the first time he crashed a date of hers, and she just couldn’t understand why he was so insistent on chasing her down. She doesn’t even understand how he always knows where she is, and if he shows up again she’s filing for a restraining order.

They met last year, right around this time when Sarah’s boyfriend, Mitch brought him over to their apartment for a little party. And before he came crashing into her life, she had herself somewhat together, in a happy relationship with her boyfriend of a few months. People like Harry that sleep around with anyone they can were never anyone she interested herself in hanging around. Then he swooped her off her feet, coaxing her to break up with her uptight boyfriend to live her free life, and eventually into his bed. 

Y/N told herself that was going to be the only time, because Harry was bad news, and everyone knew that, and she knew better than to get caught up in his messy life. But, he’s one hell of a sweet talker and whenever he was near she just knew she’d end up right back in his bed after getting out of it that same morning. Then she wanted more and he didn’t. And for some odd reason, the roles have reversed and she couldn’t be bothered to be in a relationship anymore. Especially with him.

Sucking the last bit of her remaining cigarette into her mouth, she dropped it to the street, stomping on it with her heel, picturing it to be Harry’s face instead. She’d already been out here for about fifteen minutes, and she’s surprised he hasn’t come running after her with his drenched pants. She saw his familiar light pink Plymouth sitting across the street, images of them together in the backseat flashing across her eyes before she closes her eyes and shakes her head as if rattling her brain will cause the memories to fly from her skull.

Noticing Sarah at the red light down the road, Y/N stood up, brushing the debris off her skirt and legs, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout as she sulked in tonight’s failure. When Sarah pulled up to the curb, Y/N opened the door, and as if she wasn’t being punished already, she heard Sarah say, “Hi, Harry.”

Snapping her head over her shoulder to the entrance of the bar behind her, Harry was walking out, car keys in his hand as his other ruffled his short curls. Then a petite blonde trailed after him, tripping over her own feet as a giggle left her thin lips, her nails digging into the skin of his arm as she steadied herself. Y/N’s jaw snapped shut after she realized it had dropped open at the sight, her eyebrows furrowing as she imagined stomping on Harry’s foot just like she did with the cigarette butt.

“Oh, so you get to fuck someone, but I can’t?”

“Y/N-”

“Hey, I wouldn’t waste your time on him! It’s really small, and he lasts maybe two minutes tops before he passes out,” she called to the blonde who’s smile wiped from her face in an instant. She scoffed, pushing Harry away from her before leaving his side and heading back in the busy bar. Y/N’s sure she’ll find someone else better and more suiting.

Harry looked to Y/N in disbelief and then to the spot next to him that’s now vacant, and then to Sarah who was rapidly beeping her horn to get her roommate into the car. “What the fuck was that?”

“Karma’s a bitch, asshole,” Y/N sneers, hopping into the car and telling Sarah to step on it.

What goes around, simply comes around.

❊ ❊

A week had gone by and, this time Y/N, Sarah, Mitch, and a few more friends were out. It was a celebratory night that finals week had finally been completed, and a few of them were due for graduation. 

Unfortunately for Y/N, Harry had been strung along for the night as well, but this time around, they were both ignoring each other for the sake of not being thrown out of the bar. When she saw his face pull up outside in his oh so precious car, it took everything in her to not fake an illness and go home. 

There was something about his smug face greeting her friends that had her knocking back shots of tequila quicker than she could blink. They also have some unspoken challenge going on as they continuously flirted their way around the copious amounts of young men and women, eyeing the other to see if they were watching. 

Y/N had actually noticed Danny in the crowd on the dance floor, worming her way over to him to say hello and to see if he still hated her. When she saw him in sociology the last few classes he avoided her when she sat down a few seats from him, and she couldn’t help but feel a little hurt at his now evident rejection. But, with alcohol running in both of their systems she hoped he had changed his mind even just for the one night.

Danny looked to her with a bored expression, hardly listening to a thing she had to say before interrupting her little spiel with a scoff, “Y/N, he told me everything and I don’t want to hear it.”

She froze up at that, pulling her head back in confusion as her brows scrunched together. “What do you mean, told you everything?”

“Look, I’m not a rebound okay? If you wanted to have sex because you like me, cool, I’m down; but I’m not having sex with you just to make him jealous or some shit. I got better things to do, sorry,” and then he patted her on the shoulder before walking away and out of her sight. 

Completely dumbfounded and embarrassed to have been rejected so publicly, Y/N turned on her heel and walked back to the table that her friends were sat at, a puzzled looking face nestled on her features. But, when she made eye contact with Harry who had his eyes dead set on her over the brim of his beer bottle, a little smirk peaking out and taunting her, she stomped over and slammed her hands down on the table in front of him, jolting the whole table to look at her. Harry was hardly fazed, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“What the fuck did you tell him?” She gritted out, leaning her face close to his. 

Again, he hardly had a reaction, jutting his tongue out to lick his lips. “Tell who, what?”

Huffing at his nonchalant attitude, she pulled on the collar of his printed shirt, their noses grazing. If she weren’t so angry, she’d say this was a pretty intimate moment as they kept their eyes locked on one another, their breaths mingling together as their mouths were only centimetres apart. In all honesty, they forgot they had friends just seats apart from them ogling the situation with worry.

To them, it looked like Y/N was about to twist his head in a full one-eighty. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, Styles! You’re not my father, stop trying to act like it,” she spat, pushing him back aggressively against his chair and storming away, again. If anything, she was more mad at the fact that she let him get under her skin again. She should just go up to any guy she chooses and kiss him hard on the lips to prove a point - but instead she’s biting her lip to refrain from screaming into the night and letting the pesky tears welling up in her eyes fall onto her skin. 

The bar wasn’t too far from her apartment this time, and she’d rather walk than ruin Sarah’s night anymore than she already did because of her dramatic ways. Not that she could really drive anyway since she was just knocking back tequila not even ten minutes ago. Maybe when she’s sober she’ll grow a tougher exterior and not let Harry get to her, but as she regains her balance after stumbling in her heels, she’ll sulk and cry the whole way home, and probably as she tucks herself into her sheets.

“Y/N!” Harry called after her, but she flipped him off over her shoulder as she continued her journey down the sidewalk.

Hearing the quickening pace of footsteps behind her, Y/N wiped at her eyes quickly to remove any traces of a broken heart. Feeling a tug on her bicep, she was whipped around to face his sorrowful face, his free hand immediately coming up to wipe the tears away from her eyes that seemed to betray her. “I... I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t help but let out a small pitiful laugh at that, looking away from him and watching the cars pass them by. “Just leave me alone, Harry.”

“Y/N, hey,” he paused, cupping his face in his large palms, trying to get her to look at him. “Baby, please look at me.”

“I’m not your baby,” she hissed, turning to look at him with a scowl.

“Got ya to look at me though, didn’t it?”

It was safe to say Y/N wasn’t amused, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. Harry nodded, realizing now wasn’t the time for joking, looking to his feet for a split second before bringing his eyes up to look at the crescent moon above them, letting out a puff of air before speaking up again. “Let’s split. Just you and me, let me make it up to you for being an ass.”

Y/N’s eyes widen in a fit of fury, her mouth dropping open in a gasp, “I’m not having sex with you! Are you ins-”

“No! M’fucking hungry and want a real meal, not the shit this joint serves. And we need to talk, so join me?” He clarifies, dropping his hands back down to his sides and propping them on his hips as he awaits her answer.

She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as she contemplates her choices. She really doesn’t want to be alone with him, but she’s also starving and if he’s paying then there’s no use in turning down free food. Mulling it over for a few moments, she eventually nods her head in a soft agreeance, causing a bright smile to flash across his face.

“Alright, let’s go to Debby’s, her burgers always taste better late at night.” And with that, he was tossing his arm over her shoulders and tugging her to his side as they walked in sync to Debby’s Diner a few blocks over. They both had been drinking and figured it probably wasn’t safe to drive just yet, plus it was a really nice night, and the moon looked extra bright surrounded by its little star friends.

❊ ❊

It was insanely awkward. 

Probably more awkward then when they first had sex, and even that wasn’t this bad. Maybe it’s because they’ve never really had any heart-to-heart chats and this was new territory they weren’t exactly used to. 

“Cecilia” by Simon & Garfunkel flowed through the empty diner, filling the tense air that could be cut with a knife. Y/N mindlessly hummed along, sipping on her strawberry milkshake, looking anywhere but at the man in front of her. 

“You like this song?” Harry questioned, balling the paper straw wrapper before stretching it back out and then just squishing it again. 

Licking the whip cream from the tip of her nose, Y/N nodded her head, “It’s nice.”

“It describes us.”

She looked at him confused, “Excuse me?”

“I don’t like seeing you with anyone else,” he shrugged, leaning his elbows on the metal table, tossing his straw wrapper to the side. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone, ever, and I just get so tee’d off every time I see you out with someone that isn’t me.”

“That isn’t fair, Harry, and you know it,” she scoffs, leaning back into the booth, and crossing her arms over her chest. “Where was this months ago? When I wanted to be with you?

Poking his tongue at the inside of his cheek and swiping it across his bottom lip to reach the other side, Harry let out a sigh, running his hands over his face and through his hair. He can’t exactly pinpoint when he had a change of heart, or why for that matter, but he did and that’s all that’s important. He remembers her lying beside him, fingers dancing over the skin of his chest while her one leg was hitched over his waist as her exposed breasts were pressed flush against his side. She had asked him if they could be more than just fuck buddies and he easily turned her down in a way that wasn’t too aggressive but made it known he wasn’t one for girlfriends. 

At first Y/N was okay with that, not wanting to hop into a relationship so suddenly after just leaving one, but then she wanted more. There’s something about Harry, the way he presents himself to the world, not giving a shit about anything yet at the same time being so caring towards everyone. Whenever she saw him her heart would flutter, and heat would flood her body at the thought of getting to kiss him and hold him and have sex with him whenever she wants. But, he didn’t see it that way, at least not at first, and Y/N couldn’t put herself through the heartache anymore. So, she broadened her horizons, and put Harry in her past, making him just a friend.

Then his mysterious change of heart became evident, and he’s been hellbent on getting back into her good graces. It’s clear it was sparked by jealousy, but Harry wasn’t so sure that was the only reason anymore. Desire to have her as his, to make her smile all the time, to see her pretty face everyday of his life fueled his need for her. He loathed the idea of any other guy touching her, but he reveled in the idea of her touching him, whether it be sexually or just by holding hands. 

Harry didn’t realize it at first, but when she started pushing him away and going out with different guys from her classes, he knew he was starting to fall in love with her. He grew so used to the idea of Y/N being around and not hating him that without even noticing, he was falling in love with her.

So, if he needs to actually get on his knees to beg for her, then he will.

“I’m just asking for one more chance. Let me prove to ya I’m not so bad, pet,” he spoke softly reaching out to grab ahold of her hand but she pulled her hand away from his reach, biting down on her lower lip and thinking over his words.

“You made it near impossible for me to know anyone else for your own selfish purposes, and now, what, you want to go on a date with me? Why should I?” Y/N stressed, combing her fingers through the roots of her hair, tangling the makeshift curls she spent all day perfecting.

“I know, I know and I’m sorry. It started off as jealousy, I hated knowing other guys were putting their hands on you like I did, it just didn’t sit right with me-”

“But you were allowed to go out with Cindy? And Jenny? And Katherine? You have sex with me a few times and all of a sudden I’m only allowed to be with you even after you tell me you don’t want a relationship?” She spits, tilting her head slightly and glaring daggers into the side of his face as he looked off to the side to gather his thoughts.

Y/N wanted a better answer than jealousy. She wanted a better excuse than some pitiful jealousy that made her look like a pure whore in front of every date she had been on. Harry always swooped in when her date scurried off for a bathroom break or to get drinks or a refill on popcorn, holding her close and kissing her swiftly on the lips when he knew the date would catch them. It was his go-to plan every time, and each time before they left her ass, they would spit slander at her that had her stomach sinking and her eyes brimming with pesky tears. She wanted a better excuse than stupid jealousy that had her feeling like complete and utter shit whenever she ducked under her covers and cried away her pain.

She really liked Harry. She still does, even though he doesn’t deserve that. Whenever he did crash her outings, even though it pissed her off beyond belief, she knew he was jealous and jealousy stems from him caring about her and wanting her, and that excited her, as messed up as it seems. It’s not exactly the most stable mentality, but Y/N doesn’t care about stability, she just cares for honesty. “Be straightforward for once, please. You can’t say you don’t see yourself in a relationship with anyone, then hate seeing me with other people.”

He nodded his head and took a breath before beginning, “I don’t know how to properly express my feelings. I’ve had girlfriends but I always wind up breaking their hearts and they all end up hating me, so I think I’m better off without one. You don’t deserve for me to break your heart, baby, but I’m too selfish to let y’go. So, whaddya say, just one more chance, please?”

“Newsflash, I already do hate you, you prick,” Y/N rolled her eyes, leaning forward to take another sip of her half drunken milkshake. She was even bold enough to steal one of his fries and dip it into the sugar trap, happily munching on it as she processes what he just told her. 

Harry watched her as she looked deep in thought, biting on the tip of her straw as she sucked up the remains of her pink drink. He was nervous to what she was gonna say, because he knows he’s been an asshole and most definitely doesn’t deserve her kindness and rather deserves a slap to the face. When she poured her drink over his jeans, he was surprised she didn’t kick him in the nuts too. But, deep down he was praying that she would at least give him a try, and if she still wants to kick him in the nuts, he’ll let her.

Eating one more fry, Y/N refocuses her attention back on Harry, clearing her throat to say, “So you were jealous. What exactly was it that made you jealous? Was it the idea of them touching me? Kissing me? Or, how about them fuc-”

“Okay! That’s enough!” he scowled, taking the cherry from her shake and biting down on it, removing it from the stem. Y/N laughed, brushing the crumbs from the fries off of her fingers.

Then a brief moment of silence enveloped them, before she spoke up again, “Don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“So, that’s a yes?” He smiles, relief running through his veins as his body relaxes from all of the unknown tension he put on himself.

“It’s a yes.”

❊ ❊ 

Ever since Y/N agreed to giving Harry his chance at proving he’s not a total asshole, he hasn’t left her side. He’s been showing up to her apartment, serenading her to take a drive with him every morning to go to this park just outside of the city, showering her in flowers and breakfast foods to win her over.

And when she had to go to work, he offered to drop her off and pick her up, not wanting her to take the bus like she used to. “Too many looneys out in the world, pet.”

It was just past two weeks from their night at Debby’s Diner, and with time, Y/N was starting to warm back up to him. It was a process considering how they treated each other for months on end, but everyday without fail, Y/N was glad to see him. He wasn’t trying to make passes at her, no sexual innuendos or insinuations that they should sleep together, just two people building up a friendship that had been worn down.

It was a warm Friday night, and Harry insisted they go see a movie at the newly opened drive in a few towns over. They were showcasing The Godfather, a movie on both of their lists to watch, so he figured what better time and place to go see it. For the first half of the movie they sat in a comfortable silence, eating their snacks and popcorn and sipping on their sodas, but then Y/N grew restless with this whole no talking situation, shifting her body to look at Harry rather than Marlon Brando.

Harry paused in his chewing, turning his head to look at her confusedly as she just stared at him. He felt like he had done something wrong as he slowly swallowed his candy, muttering a “What?”

“Why haven’t you tried to kiss me?”

Harry’s eyes widen at the question, his lips rolling into his mouth as his eyes blink rapidly, wondering if he heard that correctly. “Sorry?”

“It’s been over two weeks and you’ve made no moves to kiss me or to have sex, and I’m just confused,” she states, her fingers twiddling in her lap as nerves struck her.

Y/N was just simply confused. Because she’s known Harry for a while, and she knows how he works either with her or with other women. His never ending libido and flirtatious attitude was one of the strongest assets of his personality, not that it was a bad thing, but when he wasn’t acting the way he normally does, Y/N grew more and more confused. Every time he came in on one of her dates, he would kiss her and hold her, and try to get her come home with him, but now as she sits on a date with him, he’s acting like the fucking virgin Mary.

This doesn’t mean she wants him to pounce on her and rip her clothes off every moment they’re together, but there’s this recurring anxious thought flashing through her mind that maybe he doesn’t see her like that anymore. It doesn’t make sense since he won’t leave her side, but she’s wondering if there’s something wrong with her for him to not act like he usually does.

“Is it me? Be straightforward, did I do something?” She murmured, tugging on the hem of her dress that had ridden up from her moving around on the leather seat. “Because, normally by this point you’d be trying to get your hand up my skirt.”

Harry sat and looked at her for a moment, bringing his hand up to pull at his bottom lip as he thought of something to say. Then he let out a giggle that had Y/N spiraling into more confusion as he shook his head mockingly.

“Do you want me to put my hand up your skirt?” He questioned, smacking his hand down on her thigh, giving the flesh of her skin a firm squeeze that had her yelp in response. On instinct, she pushed his prying fingers away, but immediately regretted it since his touch lit a fire stirring in her belly.

“Look, bunny, the thought of fucking you has been at the front of mind ever since you showed up in that tiny little number, but I’m trying to do this right. Need to prove that I don’t want you just for y’body,” he explained, this time resting his hand gently on her exposed thigh, to which she didn’t shove away.

Y/N nodded her head slowly in understanding, pursing her lips as her eyes glanced back at the movie being showcased ahead of them. “What’s going through that head of yours?” He asked, tucking back a piece of hair that had fallen from her ponytail.

Turning her head back to face him, their faces suddenly were only inches part, their noses barely brushing together. Y/N gulped at the proximity, her eyes going back forth between his sparkling green ones, before glancing down to his pink lips that she bets taste like the buttery popcorn he was just devouring.

Without so much of a second thought, she leaned forward pressing their mouths together in a soft kiss, sparks tingling her skin as he didn’t move to break them apart. Instead, he locked one of his hands to the side of her face, pulling her in closer, moving their lips in a slow manner, taking his time to appreciate the true softness of her skin that he had taken for granted whenever they shared heated kisses.

Y/N scooted herself on her knees across the bench, landing on his lap in a straddle, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders, deepening the intimacy of the moment. Nothing about this moment seemed rushed, and it was probably the most tame they had ever been with one another even if their hips began rocking together to gain friction in their cores.

They could’ve stayed like that for hours, completely engulfed in the other, tongues dancing together, trails of spit keeping them connected as they would part to catch their breaths before indulging in another round of making out. Harry’s hands kept themselves nestled nicely on the curves of her ass, his fingers digging into the flesh and most likely leaving bruises in his wake. Y/N lightly tugged at the roots of his hair, pulling his head back from her to trail sloppy kisses down the length of his neck. She even was bold enough to mark his skin with a decently sized hickey; It was only payback for the countless he’s left on her multiple times before and the few he sucked this night.

Departing from his mouth, she rested her forehead on his and took in a couple deep breaths, biting on her bottom lip as she let out a breathy laugh. “That was what was going through my head.”

“Fuck, you’re out of sight, Y/N.”

❊ ❊ 

They still haven’t had sex.

Y/N was overjoyed at first that he wanted to treat her like a proper gentleman, waiting until she was comfortable around him again to make any advances. But, after they shared that kiss from a month beforehand, she was definitely worried something was wrong with him. 

They had done other things, but every time they were just moments away from actual sex, he would pull away and say it wasn’t the right time or place. It was the most extreme case of blue balls, and she doesn’t even have balls. The weird part was that she could feel how hard he would get every time, but he always kept himself at bay.

It was nice at first, but now it’s just plain cruel.

Y/N didn’t want to act desperate, but he was being the ultimate tease and she didn’t know how much longer she could take this. She almost tempted him when they went to a festival and they were both high off their minds. Yet, even under the influence he had a stronghold and resisted the flirty bat of her eyelashes and the stellar handjob he got behind someone’s Volkswagen van.

Now as she sat in his lap, surrounded by friends in her apartment since Sarah and Mitch were having another one of their little parties, she was determined to have sex. Y/N finished off the remainder of her drink, purposefully rubbing her ass against Harry’s groin as she leaned forward to place her cup on the table in front of them. A little hiss could be heard leaving his lips as his fingers dug into her waist, giving her a silent warning to not do anything she’s gonna regret.

Little did he know, that was exactly what she wanted. At this point, she didn’t even care if they fucked in front of everyone, she just really wanted him. Looking over her shoulder, she sent him an innocent look before engaging in conversation with the boy almost completely passed out beside them. And again on purpose, she shifted her body against his thigh, which then in turn pressed her butt on his growing bulge.

While she was talking to Ben - she found out his name - Harry pulled her back against his chest, his mouth pressing against the shell of her ear, warm air fanning over her skin, chills shooting down her spine. “What’re y’trying to do, bunny?”

When she ignored his question, she felt him nip at her ear with his teeth, murmuring, “Act like a tease, gonna get fucked like one,” into her hair, groping at her exposed thigh.

Cursing to herself as Ben gets up to get another drink, she turns her face to look at Harry, bringing a hand up to push a few fallen curls off his forehead. Leaning close to him, she placed a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips replying back with, “Doubt it,” in a feisty tone, bringing her head back to smile at him before getting up from his lap and sauntering off to make conversation with anyone else.

Looking over her shoulder, she watched him spread his legs, elbows leaning on them as he lit a cigarette now between his lips. He cocked his head with a raise of his eyebrow, challenging her to try anything else. He couldn’t exactly blame her for acting the way she is, because like usual, he knows he’s been an asshole and not giving her what she wants. But, in his eyes, all of this built up frustration will only enhance the experience for both of them after not fucking for months.

“What the hell is going on between you two?” Sarah whispered in Y/N’s ear, casually following her eyes to see Harry looking at the little group on the opposite side of the room.

Y/N took the cigarette from her friend’s hands, inhaling deeply and giving it back, blowing the stream of smoke from her nose as she shrugged. “Nothing. Just putting him in his place.”

“I don’t think he got the memo,” she teased back, raising her eyebrows as a gesture that he was walking over. Then without fail, Y/N felt a tug on her upper arm and her back collided with a chest. 

“Mind if I steal my girl for a second?” He asked the group to which he got shrugs in return and one person to say Think it’ll be more than a second.

Sarah waved goodbye to Y/N as she was being pulled away, doing a sign of the cross and praying hands to say she was in her prayers. Y/N rolled her eyes but mouthed a thank you anyway. Before she could comprehend, she was tugged into the bathroom, the door slamming behind her as her back was shoved against it, Harry’s hands landing on either side of her head, his face mere centimetres from hers.

Y/N smirked up at him, gently brushing her nose against his, a sinister look dancing across her eyes. “Y’know, you could’ve just taken us to my bedroom,” she hummed, dragging her finger nail down the length of his exposed chest, stopping where the first button was closed just under his butterfly tattoo on his abdomen.

“What d’ya think is gonna happen, pet?” He murmured into the skin of her neck, peppering soft kisses up until he met her jawline then worked his way back down.

“You’re gonna stop being a tease and fuck me already,” she retorted in a gasp as his one hand came up to grope at her tit in her halter top. His head came back up to level with hers, green eyes boring into hers as he tilts his head in the same challenging manner from before.

“Is that so?”

“Well, if you’re not gonna do it then I’ll get someone who will.”

Then it was like a switch was flipped in his brain, and his eyes darkened, and a devilish smile painted his face before he took her face and smashed his mouth onto hers. His hands grabbed under her thighs and hoisted her up so her legs wrapped around his waist, his front grinding on her center feverishly, both of them letting out light moans at the contact.

“We both know you’re not gonna do that,” Harry muttered between kisses, his left hand leaving her thigh and cupping her throbbing heat over her panties, his palm pressing against her clit and his fingers tapping at the pool of wetness forming on the white fabric. Y/N’s jaw slacked open, her eyes fluttering shut at the slight relief he was giving her. “No one can give it to you like I can, baby.”

Before she could utter out a response, he pushed her underwear to the side before thrusting his middle finger into her fully lubricated hole. He pumped it in slowly, teasing her walls and ignoring her pleas for more, “Admit it, no one can treat you like I can.”

Then he added his ring finger, fastening his movements against her fluttering pussy. “None of those candyasses gave it to you like I did.”

“Every time you were with them you wished it was me. C’mon, Y/N, be straightforward,” he whispered in her ear, thrusting his fingers in at a brutal force, the heel of his palm rubbing harsh circles against her bundle of nerves that had her crying out in pure ecstasy.

“Fuck... O-only you can - shit, Harry please,” she cried out, her ankles locking behind his back and pulling him impossibly closer to her body, her head knocking against the wooden door behind her.

Harry slowed his movements for a moment, bringing his other hand up to her mouth and trying to block the sounds she was emitting at an extremely high pitch. She whined into his hand, bucking her hips to build the friction back up, the familiar feeling of her high dissipating as he stilled himself. “Y/N, you’re gonna ‘ave to be quiet. Don’t want anyone hearing you. Those pretty moans are reserved for my ears only.”

Just to be sure she stayed quiet, instead of muffling her with his palm, he stuck his thumb between her lips, pressing down on her tongue and ordering her to suck. It took a lot of control to not push his jeans and briefs down his body and fuck into her the moment she started swirling her tongue around the tip of his thumb, gently sucking on it and looking at him with her innocent doe eyes. He was determined to get her to come undone now, desperate to see her face morph into one filled with pleasure as he curled his fingers against her sweet spot, thrusting against it continuously. He whispered dirty things into her ear, urging her to cum for him, saying everything she likes to hear that helps her reach her peak quicker.

Y/N’s mouth dropped open again, but this time her moans came out all gurgled and muffled as he kept his thumb right where it was. Her thighs clenched around him as she wanted to close them instinctively, her orgasm building up inside of her until he hit her g-spot one more time and then her body was shaking uncontrollably. Harry helped her to calm down, placing a kiss to her temple and slowly settling her back down on the floor, her legs wobbling a little bit before she regained her balance.

“Need to take you somewhere more private, need to hear you for what else I’m gonna do to you,” he stated before taking her hand and leading her out of the bathroom.

And that’s how they ended up in his car in a deserted parking lot, in his back seat, Y/N on all fours while he thrust into her from behind. The backseat was a bit of a tight fit for the position they were in, but neither of them really seemed to care as they were into a euphoric state of mind.

Harry’s sweaty chest was leaned over and pressing into her back, his face nestled into the crook of her neck as he tugged lightly on her hair in a makeshift ponytail wrapped around his fist. Neither of them were shy about their moans and groans, practically screaming them to the world and putting all pornstars to shame.

Aside from their sounds of pleasure, the steamy car was filled with the sound of his hips slapping against her ass and the squelch of their centers coming together. Harry also left the car radio on to ‘give a nice ambiance while I wreck your pretty little cunt.’

“What -shit, what was that you said about my dick being really small? Or me only lasting two minutes? Could you refresh my memory, bunny?” He snickered into her cheek, delivering a particularly hard thrust into her that had her knees shifting up the leather seat. 

“You’re s-so tight, squeezing down on my big cock just nice. Fit like a glove,” he egged on. He placed his left hand on the wall of his car, stabilizing his balance a little more as he wrapped his other hand around her throat and brought her to a kneel. Y/N’s own hands reached out to balance herself anywhere she could put them,

“D’ya wanna say it again?” he continued to tease, halting his movements, waiting for her to say something back.

Y/N shook her head feverishly, bringing her bottom down against his cock to continue what he paused. “N-no, m’sorry.”

Harry tsked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he released his grip on her throat and flipped them around so she was straddling him now. “Why don’t you put some work in if you want it so bad. Use me, pet, know you can,” he stated with a smack to her bottom that echoed throughout the car.

Y/N never dropped herself down on someone quicker. In one go she sank down on him to the hilt, the tip of his bright red head hitting a spot so deep inside of her. She swiveled her hips in circles, before kneeling up again and then dropping down fully again feeling him at the very pit of her tummy. Her clit brushed against his pubic mound, the tuft of hair rubbing against her swell, urging her orgasm to arrive quicker.

And if that wasn’t enough, Harry leaned forward and took one of her nipples into his mouth, kitten licking it and gently nipping at it before sucking on it. He paid close attention to her pert tits, covering her once bare chest in various bites, all while kneading the flesh of her ass, assisting her in her movements and bringing her down on him harder and faster.

“I’m… oh, I’m so cl-close,” Y/N moaned, her head falling to the crevice of his shoulder as he pounded up into her to meet her thrusts.

“Me too, pet. Hold on a little longer f’me,” he spoke, now brutally fucking up into her to get himself to match where she is. Y/N tugged on his hair like he liked, scratching her nails into his skin and muttering words of encouragement like, “Prove to me how wrong I was… Only you can do this to me, baby.”

Then with a few more sloppy thrusts, they were both hitting their highs, cumming so hard that Harry fell limp against the seat and Y/N against him. The long wait for this was definitely worth it as both of them took in gulps of air, meeting their mouths in a lazy kiss in triumph. Despite the ache of her body, Y/N lifted herself off of Harry and landed next to him instead, her head falling against his shoulder again as her eyes fluttered close.

Now, only the hum of the radio could be heard around them, that same Simon & Garfunkel song on like it was at Debby’s all that time ago. Y/N can remember Harry saying it described them, and as she sits here, completely enamored from the man beside her, she could attest to that.

Without knowing it, Harry was looking down at Y/N, humming the tune of the song as he sat in awe of her figure completely worn out next to him.

Jubilation, she loves me again.

[drowningbydegrees]

I had such a great time writing for @inennui‘s lovely art! Which you should totally check out here. 

A huge thank you also to @goodheavensgwen for approximately all the things, from tossing around ideas to help me make a coherent plot out of this to pom pom waving during my last minute scramble to finish. I cannot say enough how much I appreciate it. <3

The whole thing is a little over 11,000 words, so there’s a snippet here, but the rest is on AO3. 

-

“Is it some kind of prank, do you think?” Jaskier asks, squinting at the noticeboard.

It’s littered with contracts, each more peculiar than the last. Missing people, haunted houses, someone convinced his sister is possessed because she’s acting strangely. The last is vague, giving no indication of what “strangely” even means. It would be weird for a sizable city like Novigrad, but it’s completely nonsensical in a village as small as Hillcrest, which is barely large enough to support an inn. The notices are all quite new, so normally Geralt would be tempted to write it off as someone being a menace. But the writing is different, the paper is different, all of it is different enough that it’s probably not one person.

“Hmm,” is all Geralt says, pulling a few of the notices that seem most likely to call for a witcher. He considers heading to the alderman’s home to ask after them, but it’s long since dark and Geralt generally finds people to be marginally less rude if he at least waits for daylight.

They could go back to camp outside of town, but if there’s any real truth to these contracts, Geralt would rather not spend all night worrying over Jaskier’s safety (not that he worries about Jaskier’s safety, obviously). Roach would probably benefit from a roof over her head for a night anyway, so he wordlessly leads the way to the inn.

The thing is, the inn is as odd as the noticeboard. It looks normal enough at first glance, just like any other run-down building in any other village on the continent. A fire burns merrily in the hearth at the far end of the room. Rough-hewn tables take up most of the floor space. A portly older man dries out a mug behind the bar.

That’s where it stops making sense. This time of evening, the place ought to be full of villagers, laughing and drinking after a hard day’s work. He and Jaskier should barely attract any attention at all. But they walk through the door and all dozen or so patrons look their way. Not the open staring Geralt gets sometimes, but wary, furtive glances.

It’s not that, though. At least it’s not only that. The whole place reeks of human distress. It’s like they’re caught in the middle of a war, waiting for the enemy to arrive.

“Need something?” The innkeeper scowls at them from behind the bar, as if they’re intruders rather than customers.

Traveling with Jaskier can often be an exasperating experience. He talks incessantly. He complains about ridiculous things. He takes up so much space. Not physically, but with his very being. All that aside, Geralt thanks his lucky stars for the bard’s presence in moments like these. Jaskier sweeps in like he hasn’t even noticed the man’s standoffishness with a friendly greeting and a charming smile. The innkeeper doesn’t warm up to them exactly, but by the end of it, Jaskier has secured dinner, an overpriced room, and permission to play for a while. Perhaps things are looking up just a bit.

Read the rest on AO3

You can find my Tumblr masterpost of Witcher fanworks here. <3

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

To Dance With Danger | Jurdan Whump Fic

Anon asked: “Can you write something about how Jude gets hurt somewhere and the Court of Shadows and Cardan go looking for her”

Summary: “The only thing he knew was the weight on his chest, two boulders sinking into the concavity of his lungs. How furious he was with Jude, and how much that didn’t matter. That her favourite flower was the blue bellflower, and its petals were falling from the throne.” Please forgive me.

Rating: T

CW: Mild cursing. Minor mentions of abuse (~) and vomit (*); Paragraphs containing these sensitivities have been marked with the allocated warnings. Major descriptions of pain and delusions.

Part I    |    Part III    |    AO3    |    Masterlist

Part II- Follow You Down To the Red Oak Tree

She’d never considered herself stupid. 

Foolish, maybe once or twice. But Jude Duarte-Greenbriar was never an idiot outright. So it came as a great shock to her when she found herself bleeding out in a cave in the middle of the Milkwood.

Wouldn’t this be a hilarious way to go? All her life, Jude had been worried about time peeling her right out of her own mortal skin. Yet here she was, dying from a paltry cut.

That last thought, she knew was stupid. This was more than a paltry cut. It throbbed like a second heartbeat and burned like her knee was a plate of scrambled eggs someone was pushing around with a fork.

A small pool of spilled blood darkened the ground near her ankles. Sometimes, her vision narrowed, blurred.

Perhaps this was one last way for the stars to taunt her. Give her everything she ever wanted and more than she could possibly hope for; a grand feast befitting of a Queen, spread out just for her; then rip her away from herself like the tablecloth in one of those mortal magic tricks.

Jude was not afraid. 

When you’d lived your whole life knowing the promise of death was the single certainty of your existence, you tended to come to terms with it. So Jude did not fear dying. Only the horrible, yawning oblivion that came after.

☽☽☽☽☽

It was a quarter past one, and Cardan’s feet were flying. Out his chamber doors, down the spiral stairs, right to the little wooden door opposite the library, which he promptly began pounding on.

There was a groan within, some shuffling. Then, “It’s the middle of the day, for Mab’s sake,” a groggy voice came muffled from behind the door. “What could possibly be so—oh.”

The Bomb, all messy-haired, eyes squinting at the brightness of the hall, let the door creak open a fraction before realising who exactly had summoned her from sleep. She opened the door in full.

“Cardan—erm, I mean… Your Majesty,” she said, brows furrowing. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Pleasure?” Another even-more-groggy voice came from inside the room. “I’ve got a mallet hammering at my brain thanks to him. Bloody pusher. You can tell His Majesty to kindly sod off.” The Roach held a pillow over his gnarled green head and a rude finger up in the direction of the door.

“Van,” the Bomb tutted over her shoulder. She pulled her dressing gown tight around her and faced the High King again. Only then did she seem to register the look on his face.

“Liliver,” Cardan said, frantic. His mind was all static, hollow—so very full of nothing. Words felt like they came through a tangle of tree sap and brambles in his throat. “It’s Jude.”

That’s all it took. 

The Court of Shadows was moving, the guard summoned. Even the Roach managed to scrape himself together. The Ghost slipped into their ranks just as they were passing through the throne room, and informed the High King he’d done a sweep of the palace, just to be sure.

“And?” Cardan demanded, pivoting on his heel to face the sharpshooter.

“She’s not here,” the Ghost said.

Cardan’s mouth set into a grim line. He gave a curt nod, but his stare lingered on the dais. Where the pair of thrones sat, a latticework of woven roots and blossoms. They seemed to be holding their breath, too.

From the back of the leftmost royal seat, a deep blue flower petal shivered. Then it was falling in listless swoops and dives, whispering across the seat of the chair.

Hurry.

“Get a carriage,” Cardan said, just loud enough to be heard. The room was silent as a snowbank. “Go.”

There was a beat. Then, the din of metal and rushing of boots and they were all moving again.

The High King and his men took to the forests, guarded with crossbows and swords that might as well be spoons for how much they would protect against the glimpses.

Cardan didn’t know why his wife had decided to catch a glimpse. He had even less of a clue as to why she thought she had to do it alone.

The only thing he knew was the weight on his chest, two boulders sinking into the concavity of his lungs. How furious he was with Jude, and how much that didn’t matter. That her favourite flower was the blue bellflower, and its petals were falling from the throne.

☽☽☽☽☽

Night was encroaching. This, Jude only knew because the game she’d invented—finding pictures in the cracks and shadows of the cave wall to beat back the tide of sleep—was becoming more and more difficult.

She shivered. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there, but the fever had set in.

Jude couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a fever. It must’ve been when she was six or seven. When she was still living in the mortal world, and her mother was still alive to take care of her and getting fevers was the most of her worries.

Eva had climbed into her bed with two washcloths and snuggled up real close. 

She’d sat there for hours, pressing the warm compress to Jude’s forehead when she was too cold and the cold compress to her forehead when she was too warm. Telling her stories of magical places. Feeding her saltines and seltzer.

Jude had wholly forgotten how it felt to have a fever. It was as if she was being filled to the brim with hot wax and dunked in a bucket of ice water at the same time.

She’d only recently rediscovered how it felt to be comforted. She wondered if she’d ever feel that again.

Maybe, Jude thought, she could imagine herself some comfort. She was so very good at lying, after all. Maybe she could lie to herself. Just for a little while. 

She stared up at the ceiling, listening to the woeful sighs of the glimpses ebb and flow from outside the cave.

She imagined lying next to Cardan in their bed in the Royal Chambers. With nowhere to be and nothing to do, Cardan would cocoon them both in satin sheets, trace lazy shapes around her bare shoulders with the tips of his fingers. Pepper her back with nips and kisses. 

He would agree to be the big spoon for once since she was the one in need of comforting.

“Jude,” he would say softly, caressing her cheek, brushing the hair away from her eyes, “You are perhaps the single most important thing in my life.”

She’d turn her head to nuzzle the crook of his neck. “And you, mine, my love,” she’d say. He smelled like fallen leaves. And burnt toast.

Jude crinkled her nose. Odd. He didn’t usually smell like burnt toast. Had they just had breakfast? She couldn’t remember….

“I don’t understand.” Cardan’s voice was dipped in worry, and he paused the soothing circles of his fingers.

“Cardan,” Jude said, rolling her eyes, “We’ve been over this. I want to be here. I want to be with you. I love you.” 

Sometimes her husband just needed a little reminding. Sometimes she preferred to give him that reminder in other, much more wicked ways. Perhaps today she would give him both.

A sinful smile curled the corners of Jude’s lips. She turned around in Cardan’s arms to face him fully and was about to seal the morning off with a kiss, followed by further disreputable behaviour, when she noticed the look on his face.

It was the same one he wore when he’d looked at her from the riverbank after pushing her in a lifetime ago. The same one that had graced his face when she’d first placed that crown atop his head.

Now, in the bed they shared, Cardan looked at her with nothing but cold ire. “How could you do it?” he whispered, and Jude’s brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?” She didn’t know why, but something slick like tar settled in the pit of her stomach. She wanted him to smooth the crease between her brows. To kiss her forehead and call her his darling god.

But Cardan’s face remained a glacial effigy of the man she’d come to love. With nothing but disdain, he looked down his nose at her and asked, “How could you kill him? How could you murder my brother?”

*Jude sat up straight and vomited all over the cave floor. Then, she was pulled out to sea by a riptide of sleep.

☽☽☽☽☽

The High Queen of Elfhame was spinning. Round and round, a circle of fever dreams.

It was like sitting on a merry-go-round and looking in towards the centre where all those mirrors usually hang. Watching whirling versions of things and lights and yourself pass you by in the reflective panels moving in the opposite direction. 

One terrible vision after the next.

Locke’s water-logged body, blue-green and covered in seaweed, standing at the mouth of the cave. Valerian, dirt pouring from between his teeth as he smiled, walling up the entrance with stones, then filling the cave with blood. Balekin ensorceling her to kiss him, then turning into a giant moth right as her lips touched his. Cardan’s head on a pike with upturned eyes, jaw dropped as if mid-warning. A voice in her head.

Heeding requests, even my own, is the singular skill which evades her grand arsenal.

No key fits every lock.

I do not want Balekin dead.

How could you do it? How could you murder my brother?

Perhaps this is what she deserved. Perhaps she was a monster who couldn’t control herself long enough to keep from hurting those she loved, no better than Madoc. Perhaps Valerian’s curse was coming to fruition, after all.

If Jude could have laughed, she would have. But she could not. Dark waves lapped at the shores of her consciousness; and who was she to ignore the sea?

☽☽☽☽☽

Eventually, there was another voice in her head.

Shit, it said. Yes, she really was in very deep shit.

I FOUND HER, it bellowed, splintering her thoughts. She wondered if she should tell the voice to shut up. Though, it probably already knew that’s what she wanted, since it was in her head, and had probably heard her think it.

It was getting crowded in here. Her head was a swollen, throbbing balloon.

Fucking shit, the voice repeated.

Well, she thought, that was quite rude. No way to address a lady, such as herself. Whoever she was.

Something prodded her leg. 

A sudden, violent wave of pain swept over her.  It rose and rose and rose, but never fell. Darkness pulled her to its depths again.

☽☽☽☽☽

Can you hear me?

Stay awake. Stay. Awake.

*The voice was urgent. And constant. And very annoying. It felt like a cheese grater running down her mind. Her throat burned. Maybe the voice had run a cheese grater over that, too. Her hand slid into something wet. It smelled like sick.

Then, there was a cold compress on her forehead.

“Mom?” she croaked, her voice like cracked plaster. She lifted the heavy weight of her eyelids.

A figure was looming over her. It was too dark to see who, but her heart thrashed against her chest, all the same. This was another terrible dream. She was not sure she could take another one of those. Then again, she was in no position to fend it off if it decided to come. She was in no position to do anything, really.

“Not mom, Your Majesty,” the figure sighed, removing the compress. “You’re burning up.” 

Not a compress. Hands.

“Whose Majesty?” she asked through the haze in her mind. Everything was so confusing. Everything was also spinning.

She heard rummaging. Next thing she knew, a match had been struck, and the room filled with warm light. The figure looking down at her was indeed a woman, though it was indeed not her mother.

She had familiar plumes of white hair circling her head like smoke. Full, wine-red lips pressed into a weak smile. “Hello, Jude,” the woman said.

Yes, that must be who she was. She opened her mouth to thank the beautiful woman for the reminder, but all Jude could seem to do was squint. She knew this woman from somewhere.

“I’m going to pick you up now, okay?”

Jude could not muster the wherewithal to reply. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, slid gingerly under her knees. Then, the world tilted, shifted, until she was right up against something warm and solid.

Jude looked up at the woman. “You’re ethereal,” she murmured, staring up at the soft planes of her face. Blush blossomed a stain of pink across the woman’s cheeks. “Are you god?”

The woman snorted, then. Jude didn’t understand what was so funny. It seemed a perfectly reasonable question to ask. Since she was dying, and all.

“That’s quite enough of that, Your Majesty,” the woman said. “Let’s get you home.”

Home, Jude mused. She’d thought she was home, but maybe… she was wrong? Wherever home was, it sounded nice. She should like to go there someday.

☽☽☽☽☽

She was deep inside a cave. She could see nothing, but echoes of conversation pinged off the walls.

Delirious. Didn’t know who I was.

Reckon it’s the fever?

The infection perhaps?

Could be, but you need to keep her awake.

Can I hold her? Please?

The moon was a Cheshire cat smile above her. It grinned, then shattered into one hundred panes of opaline glass—a dragonfly’s wing, splitting her knee wide open.

☽☽☽☽☽

When Jude woke again, she knew she was home. 

She was being jostled around a bit, and her leg felt like someone had set it on fire, but she didn’t mind. She was wrapped in something soft. The sound of hooves on packed earth thundered in her ears.

Her name was being called.

“Jude,” someone said, over and over, a litany. A curse. “Jude, my love, you mustn’t fall asleep. You must stay awake. Can you do that for me, Jude? Please, stay with me.”

She opened her eyes. Blinked slow. The disembodied voice belonged to someone. That someone cradled her in his lap, holding her face between his hands. Everything was blurry, but she’d know those hands anywhere.

“Jude?” he whispered.

She summoned the tattered bits of her strength, lifting her hand to cover one of his. It was shaking.

“I know you,” Jude said, willing her eyes to focus. A keening sound tore from him.

Him. She knew his name. What was it? Her mind was so muddled by exhaustion and the riot of pain in her left leg, she could not remember. She was so angry at herself for not remembering.

Jude frowned. Huffed. Tried to refocus her eyes. It was the most important name, more important even than her own. She was a terrible person for forgetting it. She was pretty sure she was a terrible person anyway, but forgetting his name made her even worse.

She lifted a hand to his cheek. Her frown deepened. “Why is your face wet?”

“Because I’m very worried for my wife,” he said, in a strained sort of voice.

“You have a wife?” Envy billowed, a parachute in her chest. Which was ridiculous. She couldn’t even see this man. How could she possibly know if she was jealous?

He breathed a laugh. “Yes,” he told her, stroking her hair gently. “She is a headstrong, ornery fool who holds a vendetta against my poor nerves.”

Everything was quite difficult at the moment. All Jude could think was how beautiful this man’s voice sounded and how very badly she wanted to go back to sleep.

“Hmm.” She closed her eyes again. “She sounds awful.”

“No,” he said. “She is not.”

☽☽☽☽☽

*Watching his wife being carried off like a rag doll into the Royal Chambers, blood-spattered and covered in her own sick, Cardan Greenbriar had never felt so small.

~He felt smaller now than when Dain had tricked him, and he’d been kicked out of the palace for a murder he did not commit. Smaller now than all the times Balekin had removed his belt. Smaller now than when he was a kid crawling beneath the dining table, scrounging for scraps of food and attention.

The Bomb had explicitly forbidden Cardan from accompanying them further than the ante-chamber.

“If I’m going to heal her,” she’d said to him firmly, pausing outside the bedroom doors, “I’m going to need the utmost focus. Which will certainly not be achieved by you being in there, all blubbering and sentimental. So unless you know anything about mortal biology…”

Cardan had never in his life wished to be mortal; but suddenly, the desire to be one was visceral. He’d never wanted to lie more than he did in that moment. He tried to will the words past his lips, but they snagged in his throat. 

He was unable as ever.

So he’d been kicked out of his own bedroom. Away from his own wife. Who may or may not be dying.

The matter was still inconclusive. Cardan read it on the faces of the cycle of people poking their heads out in intervals to check on him or bring him tea. Sometimes, it was the Roach. Sometimes, the Ghost. Only once was it the Bomb, who had been hard at work for endless hours, and needed a break. 

Her face was just as dour as the rest.

“I know how you’re feeling,” she muttered, sliding down the wall to sit next to him on the floor just outside the bedroom doors. “If you need to talk—”

“What I need, Liliver, is for you to heal her,” Cardan snapped. 

He regretted the words as soon as he’d said them. She was only trying to comfort him. She, too, had once been forced to watch as her beloved toed the line between life and death. Right now, though, the High King did not have the strength to feel sorry for anyone but himself.

The Bomb only nodded. Once, short and curt. She left him to his misery after that. Cardan supposed he’d probably have a lot of apologising to do to a lot of people by the end of this.

A while later, and rather belatedly, he realised he could very well just barge in there and demand to stay. Magical oath or not, he was still High King. They would still listen to him. 

But maybe the Bomb had a point. Maybe it would only make him more anxious, to be in there; he did not want to impede on Jude’s progress. Maybe nothing was the most he could do.

All his life, he’d spent doing most every childish thing. He’d tugged on the tails of cats, threw tantrums when he didn’t get his way, threatened people when they offended him. 

Now, Cardan sat there on the floor with his head in his hands, doing absolutely nothing, and felt more like a child than ever.

☽☽☽☽☽

Jude was a dragonfly hovering over water, dipping in and out of sleep. She was flying and then sinking and then flying again.

It went like this for a while. 

She’d fall asleep in one place and drift to the surface of consciousness in another. Sometimes she felt no pain. Sometimes she felt a great deal of pain all at once. The latter would usually send her careening back into nothingness.

On occasion, she’d awaken just long enough to recognise the faces floating in and out of her vision. The Roach, with his scythe of a nose. The Ghost, with his sandy hair and silent demeanour. The Bomb, who Jude had a strange, vague feeling was blushing every time she looked at her. She even recognised a nurse or two.

Always, there were people. There was one face, however, that she did not see.

“Bomb,” Jude rasped, and the faerie’s eyes met hers. “If I die, would you tell him I hated him? Tell him, that’s why I did it.”

“What do you mean?” The Bomb asked. But Jude was already drifting again.

☽☽☽☽☽

Next Part

Last Part

Masterlist

AN: I am…so sorry. I’ll be the first to say, I am the absolute worst for telling you guys this was going to be a two-shot and then leaving this on such a cliffhanger and making you wait for a third part. Don’t hate me? The good news is, I have a lot of the last part written. The bad news is, the last part is what has been keeping me from updating-- writing it feels more and more like giving birth with each passing day.

So if you enjoyed this part, and would like to give me some writerly encouragement in the form of a comment/reblog/keyboard smash/message/ask, any and all of the above would basically be like giving me a dose of that sweet, sweet epidural and I would be forever grateful :’)

If you’d like to be updated on the next part of this Three-Shot (to come very soon), let me know and I’ll add you to the tag list! Back to the woods now. -em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Follow You Down to the Red Oak Tree by James Vincent McMorrow

Tag List: @velarhysismine​ @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte​ @knifewifejude​ @clockworkgraystairs​ @jurdanhell​ @judexcardanxgreenbriar​ @hizqueen4life​ @nite0wl29​ @mysweetvilllain​ @thesirenwashere​

[abluescarfonwaston]

Shapeshifter Au -8

On Ao3 Now! 

He found Roach. Buried his face in her neck and wrapped his arms around her. She nickered her concern.

He could be something small and unobtrusive. A mouse at the bottom of his saddle bag. A lark nesting on top. A cat keeping the mice away from Roach in the stable.

He could be small and unobtrusive and quiet and a good traveling companion. He could be whatever form Geralt wanted. Would stay that way forever if that’s what Geralt wanted.

But it wasn’t his form that were the problem was it?

Geralt had made it perfectly clear what he wanted.

No matter the form he would still always be Jaskier.

“I love you Roach. Don’t let him be too stupid without me okay?”

Running into Geralt at the bar wouldn’t be an issue. Humans had to follow switchbacks and winding roads. All he had to do was switch back after soaring down the mountain.

Not that he’d felt much like soaring but the falling sensation had been near enough to manage.

One drink and then he’d play and in the morning he’d go. Long before Geralt arrived.

“Here alone familiar? Hasn’t Geralt told you that’s dangerous?” Yennefer sweeping into the seat across from him. “Some evil mage might just snatch you up.”

He’d heard her coming, the singing- ever present around her- growing louder and louder as she approached. Wouldn’t you like to snatch me up Yennefer?

“Is that an offer Yennefer?” That voice sounded a lot more compelling now. Or maybe he just didn’t have any real reason to resist it. ”Because I don’t have any plans for the evening.”

He flashed her a smile and hers disappeared.

“You’re not bound anymore.”

Oh wasn’t that rich. Bound. He rolled his eyes at her. “I’m not the one he wished for Yennefer. I doubt the djinn will heed your breakup.”

Her frown deepened into a scowl before smoothing back into a placid mask. “Then the next round is on you Jaskier.”

Rude. I’ll go as many rounds as you want. He wasn’t even getting another round. He downed another swig. “What do you want Yennefer?”

“I wanted someone to shit talk Geralt with and you were over here looking terribly despondent all alone so I figured he’d ditched you.”

“Can’t argue with that.” He agreed waving down a barmaid for another round. It was a bad idea. Yennefer required a clear head to deal with and a hangover would make leaving tomorrow harder. But she told you to get the next round. So he did. “But I don’t think you’ll find what you’re really hoping for Yennefer.”

She pinned him with her gaze. She wasn’t using magic but he could feel it- feel her- lighting up the veins and electrifying him with her luminescence. She was going for a bored look but he felt the anger rolling like waves.

“And what am I hoping for mutt?”

Mutt. Half-bred. Those were better than what she'd called him at the start. Pet. Thing. Creature. But she hadn't called him those in the last few years. 

Mutt and half-breed were reserved for when she thought him unaware of her power. A broken 'familiar' that couldn't tell how powerful she was.

He suspected he was one of the few who knew exactly how powerful she was. More accurately than even Geralt. It thrummed in his veins and the song beat at his head every time she was near.

Power. It praised. Strong. It rejoiced.

Be hers. It plead, begged and demanded.

He shrugged. “A quick romp? A way to hurt Geralt? A friend?”

Her face settled deeper into boredom and the lightning began to scald his skin.

“Oh and I won’t find any of those here?” She reached her hand out and he moved his face into its grasp. “Never put you down as picky when it comes to bed-mates.”

There was a comment there. About how he was- was something? Those eyes were so purple. His jaw remained lax in her grip.

“I have friends and I certainly don’t need to stoop to your level for one.”

The lightning was so pleasant in his body. Thrumming like a drum. Her nails dug into his cheeks and he welcomed the pricks of pain.

“And I am more than capable of hurting Geralt on my own. Half breed.”

That name was important.

It was.

Right.

“Do you really want another man bound to you by magic?”

Her hand twitched against his cheek and withdrew. A whine escaped him at the loss of contact. He dug his fingers into his legs to stop them from chasing after her.

“What?” She studied his face as if struck. “You can’t sense magic.” She stated. Growing less sure by the consonant.

He leaned away. The song screamed louder at him for it. He grit his teeth and didn’t move.

“And what makes you so sure about that?”                

“You wouldn’t-“ She frowned. “Familiars are drawn to magic.” She explained. He had actually gathered that thanks. “The difference in power alone between Geralt and I should have.” Made me yours. It finished for her when she trailed off.

“Yeah well we were bonded.” He wanted to emphasize that “bonded” idea with the quotation marks it deserved –what did that even mean- but he didn’t trust his hands to behave so he settled for spitting the word out. “So.”

She shook her head. “That shouldn’t have mattered.” He remembered a tapestry burning under his skin when she’d used magic on him.

“Then maybe I’m not what you think I am.”

He felt her taking in the taunt lines of his shoulders. The strain pulling him to her as he struggled to resist. Her face fell- only slightly but- Sad. You’ve made her sad.

“You’re Jaskier.” She said like that explained anything at all.

She drained her drink and stood. Turning.

“Yennifer?” She paused to grab her drink from the approaching barmaid. He leaned over his unfinished drink staring into it like it might have answers. “I would have liked to be friends.”

If the world had been different they could have toasted drinks and roasted Geralt into the long hours of the night. Maybe drunkenly tumbled into bed together or just fallen asleep next to each other. Maybe he’d hate her just the same for hurting Geralt, maybe more because he would know what being human really was. Or maybe he would have fallen for her beauty and written her countless odes and sonnets.

But none of that mattered. Because she had no choice in loving Geralt. Like how he had no choice in loving her. Whatever they felt couldn’t be trusted.

He hated her for hurting Geralt. Respected her for walking away. Loved her for her magic.

Who knew what was real under that?

Does it matter?

It did to her. She wanted something real.

That thought was the only thing that kept him from running after her.

If only he were human.

But then again he’d still be Jaskier.