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callsignfate · 1 year ago

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Fate HC's

(I know this is my own character, so these are technically cannon, but let me have my fun)

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¤ Fate isn't no non-sense, with her gear and mask, you'd think she's serious, but no, she isn't serious all of the time. She fucks around with whoever she ends up working with if she feels comfortable with them.

¤ So you've romanced her? She will take off her mask around anyone she trusts, but you? She will let you take it off of her or even wear it if you want. She will scoff and roll her eyes at you while you do it.

¤ Fate hates chess, she's a God at it and has never lost to anyone because she was forced to play it a lot as a kid but she's not one to play it anymore unless you or someone else begs her to.

¤ She's always serious when needed, her mouth immediately stops and she will listen, although if whoever is in charge isn't hearing her out fairly she will immediately have something rude to say in hopes it will shock them enough to silence them so she can get a word in.

¤ She will eventually tell you her first name, but nothing more if you're together. She wants to tell you everything, she sees you as her world and she wants to share as much as she can with you, but she can't.

¤ Her accent is hard to describe. She grew up in the middle of nowhere town, so it's very country with a strong hint of Canadian because where she grew up was near the border.

¤ She's always the shortest in the room, standing at 5'0 - 5'1 she's always looking up at everyone, if you're the same height or shorter she will 100% give you little trinkets or gifts she finds just because.

¤ Has grabbed a stool or chair, pulled it over to the person who was speaking her in a way she didn't appreciate, and stood on it. She then looked at the person in the eyes and just looked at them silently through her mask in anger. If this intimidated them? Good. If this didn't? She'll do this before she goes off on them for not respecting her as a human.

¤ When Fate first met Ghost and was on base everyone told her to change into a mask like Ghosts or draw a skull on hers to fuck with Ghost. Soap finally convinced her and did it with paint pens (promising her, he had paint remover) and drew a really well done Skull design on her mask before sending her into his office with papers. (He didn't have paint remover, she was forced to look like that for weeks while she tries to wipe it off before Soap finally got some.) She got called mini-Ghost the whole time.

¤ Fate really cares about anyone she comes in contact with, she's been through so much that anytime she meets a recruit or rookie she feels obligated to make sure they make it back, obviously this doesn't often happen and she ends up with their dog tags in her care until she finds their family, if she doesn't find someone to take them she keeps them and makes sure to visit their grave and honor them as much as she can. (Although she will never admit this to anyone.)

¤ Fate steals clothes, always. She's been seen wearing Soaps, Gaz's, and price hoodies around base (They don't care anymore they've gotten used to it).

¤ Fate unironically loves Kate. Not in a romantic way [unless I write a Fate x Laswell thing] She just always feels personally responsible for coming back after a mission with good news or something to try to make her job easier in any way possible. She once made her laugh, and she didn't shut up about it for weeks. She 100% knows anything she can about Kate and will talk to her as much as possible.

¤ Fate and Fae(Her best friend) are always flirting with each other. The whole 141, Kate, everyone, thought they were married, dating, or fucking in some way. They aren't they just like to flirt jokingly, it's their love language for each other. They will also, push, shove, lightly smack, or hit each other then run as fast as they can away. The first time Fae pushed Fate to the ground and ran Price was so confused he thought Fate and Fae were actually fighting. He just stood there.

¤ Fate often uses Fae to speak, only with newer people out of fear that it's her father's men looking for her still and they they'll recognize her voice, (She's paranoid) so she has Fae lie to anyone at first saying her mask muffles her or she can't speak.

¤ Because of Fate's past She's often not good with comforting people. She often goes dead silent and tries to think of something funny to say or something she can say that might distract the person. She's not one for comforting words or touching someone to comfort them, but she'll try her best.

¤ Because of her accent, people often assume she's from Canada or somewhere that isn't America, but she was. Although she did end up moving and living in a few different countries.

¤ Fate will give you the most random nickname, if you frustrate her or you're arguing with her she will give you the stupidest nickname casually "Alright Pookie, calm down" she has 100% called Ghost "Kitten whiskers" once in an argument and ended up sprinting away screaming "THE BRITISH ARE COMING" while laughing.

¤ Any time Soap is doing his whole "Scotland forever" screaming and music thing? She's right there doing it with him. 100% knows the history and everything too. She also has a flag she wears as a cape that Soap gave her.

¤ Never can tell if or when someone likes her, if you flirt with her she always assumes your just doing what her and Fae do so she'll flirt back perfectly, she just won't understand your being serious. If you tell her you are, she will become dumbstruck and won't know how to flirt with you anymore.

¤ Fate doesn't really like movies or shows but she will sometimes walk in to see Ghost and Soap watching something and she'll stand off to the side watching like a dad and any time someone offers her a seat she won't sit just move her weight from one leg to the other. She watched a whole movie like this, then said, "It was alright"

¤ Fate will follow someone around the base quietly, just admiring them and appreciating them for hours. The people she's following on the other hand? Terrified.

¤ Fate will randomly tackle Fae and climb up her like a tower while she's talking, and Fae plays along, acting like it's not happening to the best of her ability. Fae has dropped Fate on accident and then busted out laughing.

¤ This woman is BUILT. She works out every morning she can and will eat boiled chicken some days just to make sure she stays in shape (This worries a few people, but she ignores it)

¤ Will never be seen in anything feminine, would rather die than be seen wearing anything other than her gear or favorite clothes.

¤ She got asked by three recruits if she was "For the ladies" and she just said "I'm for everyone, my middle name is whore." She was called into Price's office to stop saying that and just says "I'm for you, your mom, or your dad." She's waiting to be called into the office again.

¤ Once asked Fae to do her hair, Fae proceeded to the longest and most painful hair style of her life, and Fate never asked again.

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#cod headcanons #cod ocs #cod oc #cod original character

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flowercrown-bard · 4 years ago

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To give without knowing (5/ ?)

word count: ~5k content warnings: mention of blood, sensory overload from potions, alcohol, brief mention of the possibility of drowning Read on AO3 previous / next

The noise reached Geralt before the inn was even in sight. Cheering. Clanking of mugs and the scratching of cutlery on plates. Shouting. And above all singing. Jaskier’s singing.

A small smile tugged at Geralt’s lips even as his head was hammering from all the noise. With every step he took towards the inn it got louder, pressing down on him. Still he forced himself to go on.

By the sounds of it, Jaskier wasn’t exactly pacing their room anxiously in wait of Geralt’s return, but Geralt at least hoped that Jaskier would be happy to see him return from the hunt successfully.

Or maybe it was just Geralt who couldn’t wait to see Jaskier again.

The hunt itself hadn’t been harder or more dangerous than any other, but it had left Geralt feeling drained and exhausted. Any lonely. Always lonely.

Geralt was well aware that he had been the one to insist that Jaskier should stay back at the village and he didn’t regret that decision, but trudging back on his own while the world was too loud and too sharp around him and black blood was splattered on him, he had enough time to think. About how when he brought the young woman he had saved back to her lover, she had been embraced and her lover had pressed kisses into her hair.

No one would ever be there to greet Geralt like this.

And that was alright. He didn’t need hugs and kisses. He had Jaskier. Even if his friend wasn’t truly waiting for him. The thought of his presence was enough to make Geralt’s heart skip a beat and his feet carry him back to him faster.

He knew he shouldn’t hurry like this. He should at least wait until the blood had dried enough to get the worst of it off and for the blackness of his eyes to recede.

As it was, all he did was pull the hood of his cloak deeper into his face and slump his shoulders as if that could make him look less menacing.

It was a valiant effort doomed to fail.

As soon as he pushed the door of the inn open, eyes turned to him and the cheering quieted down to hushed whispers. Geralt should have been thankful for the lack of audible assault as his head was already bursting from the noise, but all he could think of as more and more smiles dropped and voices died out was that there was one voice still going, strong and unafraid and beautiful. Jaskier’s voice.

He was still singing, uncaring of the way his audience didn’t pay any attention to him anymore, as it should have. He didn’t waver, his voice didn’t take on a bitter note as Geralt took away what should have been his.

Geralt had wanted to keep his hood up and his head down and get through this room as fast as possible. It was too crowded. The smell of alcohol, sweat and food was too much. Everything was. If he stayed in here any longer, he would snap, burst, collapse. Every second worsened that pressure in his head. He should leave. He couldn’t risk these people witness him losing control and becoming a snarling and cowering mess when he couldn’t handle the sensations any longer.

But he couldn’t resist, couldn’t leave without at least looking up at Jaskier.

Black eyes met blue ones.

Without meaning to, Geralt froze to the spot. Jaskier’s eyes were always blue, always warm and always breath-taking. But now, as Cat made Geralt’s eyes more hideous than ever, Jaskier’s eyes looked brighter, bluer, more beautiful.

For a heartbeat Jaskier held his gaze, before his eyes left Geralt’s face to rake over his body, taking in every part of him without faltering in his song describing Geralt’s supposed heroics. A shiver ran down Geralt’s spine and goosebumps erupted on his arms.

Then Jaskier’s eyes found his again, a question in them as Jaskier cocked his head to the side.

Geralt understood and he gave a nod so small that no one but Jaskier would have noticed.

Yes, that simple gesture said, I am alright. You needn’t worry.

Jaskier’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his voice became brighter somehow.

Something unfurled in Geralt’s chest. He wanted nothing more than to stay and watch Jaskier. Like this, with Jaskier singing despite the lack of applause and appreciative eyes Geralt could almost let himself believe that Jaskier was singing only for him.

But that wasn’t true. Jaskier thrived at the attention and praise of others and as long as Geralt was in the room with him he wouldn’t get that, not to the extent that he deserved, even though over the course of his song more and more eyes turned back to Jaskier, giving Geralt a chance to slip away.

Tearing his eyes away from Jaskier, he made his way to the back of the taproom where stairs were leading up. Once he made it to his and Jaskier’s room, he shut the door and leaned against it heavily. His head dropped back until it touched the cool wood. It wasn’t enough to shut the world out. It wasn’t enough to ground himself against the onslaught of sensations still coming at him.

He could still hear the sounds from downstairs. He closed his eyes and listened as Jaskier changed from his jaunty tune to a more subdued song, slow and soft and soothing. No cheers and banging on tables accompanied the music.

A shallow breath left Geralt and he forced his muscles to relax. It took him longer than it should to gather the strength to push himself off the door, take off his armour and start washing the blood away.

When a soft knock on the door announced Jaskier’s return, Geralt’s eyes had almost gone back to their normal colour. Not that the unnatural yellow was much better than the black.

“Can I come in?” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt’s pulse spiked up and his throat was too tight to reply. After swallowing thickly, he opened the door for Jaskier. Despite how often Jaskier had already seen him like this, despite the lack of fear he had shown down in the taproom, Geralt still felt a spike of fear shoot through him any time Jaskier bore witness to just how little human was left in Geralt.

Yet as Jaskier let out a relieved breath and slipped into the room as if Geralt wasn’t a threat, the fear subsided as it always did.

Geralt didn’t argue when Jaskier took the cloth he had used to watch himself away from him and started to gently dap at the scratches Geralt had gotten from the fight. Jaskier worked quietly and in concentration – a stark contrast to his usual lack of focus and need to make himself seen.

His barely-there touches were just enough to ground Geralt. Anything more than that would have made the headache flare back to life, and yet Geralt couldn’t help but wish for more, for the touches to linger, for them to be given as a sign of affection instead of just a necessity.

But he was lucky to receive even this much from Jaskier. He shouldn’t ask for more. So he didn’t.

When the pulsing pressure against his temples finally subsided and the colours and noises around him lost their sharp edge, Geralt was the first to speak, giving a vague comment about how Jaskier’s earlier performance had appeared successful.

Jaskier’s face lit up and Geralt felt a pang through his chest when he pulled away.

“It was! It’s been so long since I had an audience so appreciative.” His mouth quirked into a smirk. “Try telling me again that those fae gifts don’t bring luck. I had a wonderful audience, you barely got hurt and by the looks of that bag of coins you have there, the alderman wasn’t too stingy either.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. It really had been a good day. Better still, since he was back with Jaskier.

“Why don’t we celebrate this streak of luck?” Jaskier asked with shining eyes. “It’s been too long since we just took some time for ourselves without worrying about monsters or coin.”

Geralt’s stomach swooped and he was all but ready to jump at the opportunity to watch Jaskier have fun, laugh and maybe lean against Geralt as he joked. But even the thought of going back down to where people would be staring at him unabashedly and shoot him dirty looks was enough to give him pause.

Geralt’s hesitation must have shown on his face for Jaskier’s brows knitted together in contemplation. “Ah, I see,” he said quietly.

Geralt swallowed harshly. “No, it’s fine. I want to.”

Though his insides twisted uncomfortably, he made to grab for the coin bag. Jaskier’s hand on his arm halted him.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jaskier pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he thought. “How about we go somewhere else? Somewhere a little nicer and quieter? I have found this beautiful spot earlier that I wanted to show you.”

A wave of relief washed over Geralt and he nodded, letting Jaskier pull him along.

Jaskier had been right, the place was nice. Just outside the village was a lake, surrounded by a handful of trees, giving them shade from the hot summer sun.

They sat in silence and watched as the dying light of day reflected in the still waters. At least Jaskier did. Geralt wasn’t able to stop himself from glancing at his friend, the way his hair took on an almost reddish note as the sun disappeared behind the horizon and his cheeks glowed almost golden.

He was beautiful. Far too beautiful for someone like Geralt.

As if sensing Geralt’s melancholy, Jaskier produced the bottle of wine he had bought from the innkeeper as they had made their way outside.

Geralt raised an eyebrow when he saw just how expensive the bottle was but he didn’t make a comment and Jaskier didn’t offer up an explanation for why he had spent so much money on this either.

After not even an hour of drinking, Jaskier’s cheeks were turning a pretty shade of red and his lopsided smile didn’t seem to want to leave his face anytime soon.

Geralt had taken to holding onto the bottle so that Jaskier wouldn’t drink it all in one go. That didn’t stop Jaskier from trying to sneakily steal the bottle back. ‘Sneaky’, in this case, meaning that Jaskier leaned over Geralt with all the subtlety of a gossip hunter watching a drama unfold, practically falling into his lap.

Geralt froze, unable to push Jaskier off of him as he should have and fearing that Jaskier’s mood would turn sour if he realised just how close he was to Geralt. The shock was enough for Geralt to slacken his hold on the bottle.

With a triumphant grin, Jaskier snatched the bottle out of his grip, their fingers brushing together.

He took a long swig and when he sat the bottle back down, a few droplets of the red wine glistened on his upper lip.

Geralt couldn’t look away. He was lucky that Jaskier showed no sign of being bothered. Had he been sober, he probably would have squirmed at the intensity of Geralt’s attention. As it was, he almost seemed to preen under it, as if Geralt wasn’t a witcher but a handsome man whose attention was something desirable.

Whether it was the summer heat or the alcohol, it didn’t take long before Jaskier shrugged off his doublet and flung it too the side. It wasn’t the first time that Geralt saw Jaskier in only his undershirt – hell, he had seen him wear far less than that many times – but Geralt felt heat rise in his face nonetheless. His mouth went dry when Jaskier stood up on wobbly legs and stretched his arms high over his head. His shirt rode up a little, revealing a stripe of smooth skin.

Geralt’s fingers twitched and his jaw clenched. Abruptly, he turned away. It wasn’t right to look at Jaskier like this. Not ever, but especially not now when Jaskier was on the verge of being drunk.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said with mirth in his voice. “I am going to do something very stupid and very fun.”

Geralt’s eyes darted between Jaskier’s. Without meaning to he leaned closer. Did he imagine Jaskier doing the same?

He must have, for a second later, Jaskier gave him a wink and a grin and with a “Stop me if you can!” he dashed towards the lake.

At least he tried. Jaskier wasn’t steady on his feet anymore and the fact that he kicked off his shoes and tried to shimmy out of his breeches as he ran towards the water didn’t help either. More than once he stumbled, barely managing to catch himself before he would fall.

Geralt’s hackles rose. In his mind he already saw Jaskier slipping and hitting his head on one of the rocks lying on the ground or worse - falling into the lake and being unable to keep himself afloat, inebriated and disoriented as he was.

A small cry of surprise as Jaskier once again lost his balance made Geralt jump to his feet. He was at Jaskier’s side in a matter of seconds, just as he was tripping and about to hit the ground.

Without thinking, Geralt reached out and grabbed him around the waist, pulling him back up to stand on his feet.

“Careful,” Geralt said in a low voice, too aware of how Jaskier pressed himself close against Geralt in an effort to stay upright. Geralt was suddenly very grateful for the fact that Jaskier was still wearing his undershirt, even though the thin fabric did little to separate them.

A breeze rippled the water and Jaskier shivered in his arms despite the still hot evening air.

“Maybe you should put the rest of your clothes back on,” he said.

“Maybe you should lose your clothes,” Jaskier shot back.

Geralt’s breath hitched.

“What?” His voice cracked on the word.

“For swimming.” Jaskier beamed up at him. Too close. This brilliant smile was too close. Their faces only inches apart.

Geralt’s heart pounded against his chest. “We’re not going swimming,” Geralt said, though his voice was anything but stern. “You can barely stand on your own.”

Jaskier huffed. “Then you just have to make sure I don’t drown.”

Geralt let out a sigh. “Jaskier…”

But Jaskier’s eyes were wide and pleading and his hands had somehow found their way to Geralt’s chest, clutching his shirt. He must have been able to feel his heart beneath the thin fabric.

Geralt’s resolve broke. “Fine,” he relented and slowly pulled away from Jaskier, only leaving a hand on his arm to make sure he wouldn’t fall over.

Having to suddenly stand on his own again made Jaskier’s face twist into a disappointed frown that was quickly washed away when he waded into the water until it reached his waist.

Once Geralt was sure Jaskier was safe to walk on his own, he stayed where he was at the edge of the lake where he could keep an eye on Jaskier.

“Come on in!” Jaskier shouted to him when he finally realised that Geralt wasn’t at his heels anymore.

Geralt shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, a twinkle of mischief in them.

“Alright then,” Jaskier said and took what was probably supposed to be a menacing step towards Geralt.

Within a heartbeat, Jaskier’s mirth was wiped off his face and was replaced by shock. Time slowed as Jaskier slipped, falling backwards. He had just enough time to call out “Gera-“ before he disappeared under water with a splash.

A grin twitched on Geralt’s lips, ready to say “I told you so” as soon as Jaskier appeared on the surface again. The water was shallow, he should come up any second now.

He didn’t.

Geralt’s grin froze. “Jaskier?”

No reply.

The seconds dragged on and suddenly each one felt like an eternity. “Jaskier!”

Panic spiked up in Geralt. Without hesitating a moment longer, Geralt tried to rush to where Jaskier had gone under, but the water made it impossible to move quickly.

Jaskier is a singer, he knows how to hold his breath, he told himself.

Yes, a poisonous voice in his head replied, but he is drunk and it’s dark and who knows what lurks in these waters? You knew this was dangerous and you didn’t stop him from going in the water. If anything happens to him, if he gets hurt or drowns, it will be your fault.

Frantically he scanned the water for any shadows that could be his friend.

Without warning, something burst forth from the water just before Geralt with a loud cry.

Geralt tensed, ready to defend himself, when wet arms wrapped themselves around him, trying to drag him under. Geralt lifted his hands to push the thing off, when he heard a giggle next to his ear.

Jaskier.

A relieved breath escaped Geralt when he realised whose hair it was that tickled his cheek. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Jaskier, needing to hold him close, to feel that he was alright. That Geralt wasn’t the reason why he was hurt.

It took Geralt a moment to realise just what he was doing. He wanted to let go, to take a step back, but Jaskier tightened his arms around his neck, refusing to be let go.

“See?” Jaskier said and Geralt could hear the grin in his voice. “Now you’re already wet. Now you can come swim with me.”

A frown darkened Geralt’s face. “Don’t do that again.”

“Why?” Jaskier said, no less cheerful. “It worked, didn’t it? You came after me.”

An involuntary shudder ran through Geralt and without meaning to, he tightened his hold on Jaskier. “I thought you were drowning. Jaskier, I thought I was about to lose you.”

Saying it out loud was different than just thinking it. It was so much worse. He wouldn’t have been able to say it if Jaskier had been himself right now, but drunk as he was, Geralt could have the hope that he would forget all about this come the morning.

Still, Jaskier must have picked up on the slight tremor in Geralt’s voice, for he pulled back again, just enough to search Geralt’s face.

“But I didn’t. You came to save me. You always do.” A small smile danced across Jaskier’s lips. “Always my hero.”

The words twisted something in Geralt’s chest. “I am no hero.”

Especially not Jaskier’s, though in this moment he wanted nothing more than for that to be true.

“Don’t say things like that.” Jaskier’s voice was small and his brows drew together, looking strangely broken.

Geralt’s throat grew tight. All Jaskier had wanted was to have fun. A nice, relaxing evening as the perfect ending to a good day. And Geralt was ruining it. He couldn’t ruin this for him. He had to make this right.

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he was bracing himself.

“I doubt you’ll be calling me a hero in a second,” he forced his voice to take on a playful note.

“Why?” Jaskier asked, narrowing his eyes. “What happens in a seco-“

He was cut off by his own outraged cry when Geralt bent down low to scoop Jaskier up only to throw him back in the water.

When Jaskier came back up again, spluttering in indignation but with the twinkle of joy returning to his eyes, Geralt felt a low rumble rise up in his chest that broke free in a barking laugh.

At the unexpected sound, Jaskier’s indignation made way for something softer. He wiped the wet hair out of his eyes as if he wanted to see Geralt better. The look he gave Geralt was almost one of awe and wonder, his mouth opened into a silent ‘o’, before his lips stretched into a grin and he joined in with the laughter.

The next time that Jaskier jumped towards Geralt and pulled on his arm, Geralt willingly let himself be pulled under. It was worth it if it meant hearing Jaskier’s laugh again.

When Jaskier finally tired and they trudged back to their spot beneath the trees, Geralt was uncomfortably aware of the wet shirt sticking to his skin. Even worse, he couldn't stop thinking about the way Jaskier's shirt clung to his chest. The white fabric had turned see-through with the wetness and Geralt had to close his eyes to keep himself from looking.

It did nothing to distract him from Jaskier’s presence. If anything, being unable to see him sharpened Geralt's other senses, zoning in on any other part of Jaskier. He could hear Jaskier absentmindedly ripping out blades of grass. He could smell the alcohol and lake-water on Jaskier that by all accounts should have been anything other than pleasant but somehow made a wave of calm and content wash over Geralt. Jaskier wasn't touching him anymore, but he was sitting so close to him that Geralt's skin felt like it was set on fire. The lingering laughter quieted down as the night had grew darker around them. While Geralt remained silent, just taking in the for once peaceful moment, Jaskier began to hum; not one of his usual drinking songs but a softer one. Geralt wasn’t even sure if Jaskier was aware of his own singing or if he was too drunk to realise what he was doing. What he was doing to Geralt. Geralt had heard Jaskier sing so often and yet there was something strikingly different in the way he sounded now. His voice carried something that made Geralt want to live in this moment forever. Just sitting here beneath the stars far away from anything and anyone else, with just Jaskier by his side and his quiet song drifting through the air. But it couldn't last. As more stars blinked into existence above them, Jaskier's song got interrupted more and more often by his yawns and come the morning they would have to head out again, the carefreeness of this moment forgotten and replaced by the promise of danger and angry shouts.

"Jaskier?" Geralt asked into the dark. "Hm?" Jaskier said and Geralt could hear the tired smile in his voice. "We should go back. You need to sleep." Jaskier sighed, but didn't protest when Geralt stood up and pulled him to his feet as well. It was a testament to how much Jaskier truly needed his sleep that he leaned as heavily against Geralt as he did while Geralt made sure he wouldn't trip in the dark. When the grass gave way to the uneven cobblestones of the village’s streets, Jaskier pressed himself even closer to Geralt so he wouldn't stumble. It was so very tempting to just pick up Jaskier as Geralt had done mere hours before and carry him back to the inn. But what had happened in the lake had been a spur of the moment decision. It had only been to get Jaskier out if the gloomy mood Geralt had caused. Jaskier had wanted to have a good time and he had been willing to allow Geralt to be the person to make him laugh. It would be too much to hope that Jaskier would welcome Geralt's touch now that the silly mood had disappeared.

So Geralt was prepared for the moment that Jaskier would come to his senses and pull away again. He wasn't prepared for the way his heart would drop when Jaskier actually did it. Geralt forced himself not to tense up again. It wouldn't be fair to Jaskier. He shouldn't feel pressured to keep touching Geralt for any reason. Jaskier stumbled a couple of steps away from Geralt. He bent down and Geralt was wholly prepared to steady Jaskier while he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the street. What Geralt didn't expect was for Jaskier to suddenly start making weird noises. Were he a generous man he would say it sounded almost like meowing. "What on earth are you doing?" Geralt asked dumbfounded. "Shhh," Jaskier hissed without taking his eyes off of the other end of the street. "You'll chase it away." Geralt followed Jaskier's eyes and landed on a small shadow walking curiously towards them. A cat. Looking as focussed as Geralt had rarely ever seen him, Jaskier creeped forwards until the cat was close enough to sniff at his fingers. Jaskier let out a delighted little squeal when the cat snuggled against his legs and pressed its head against his hand. Geralt crossed his arms and watched in amusement as Jaskier began talking in a high-pitched voice to the cat. "Geralt," Jaskier whispered so as not to spook the cat. "Come here. Her fur is so soft!" Geralt shook his head, refusing to close the distance between himself and the cat. A warm fuzzy feeling spread through his chest as he watched Jaskier continue to pet the cat. Geralt would be damned before he got any closer and chased the cat away or accidentally agitated it enough for it to scratch Jaskier. Jaskier's face twisted into a frown. "Why not? You don't like cats?" he asked almost in accusation. "Got scratched by one as a child? I'd have thought that a big strong witcher like you wouldn't be scared of a little paw with claws." Geralt's lips twitched at Jaskier's teasing tone. "Never got close enough to get scratched. Cats don't like witchers. They run away." Jaskier's amused smile turned into a look of disproportionate pity. "Are you telling me you never got to pet a cat either?" Geralt shrugged. "Not since becoming a witcher. Don't really remember if I ever did before." "But that's so unfair!" Jaskier's eyes widened. "You deserve to pet a cat. Everyone does. They are just so pretty. Cats have the prettiest eyes. When the pupils go all round that's the most adorable thing." Jaskier's voice softened and his voice took on a dreamy note. "And they are such a lovely shade of yellow. Or gold. Like the sun. Or like dandelions." Geralt suppressed a snort. It wasn't Jaskier's fault that he didn't realise the cat still begging for his attention had green eyes. After all it was dark and Jaskier was more than a little drunk. For a long moment Jaskier just looked at Geralt as if he had forgotten what he had wanted to say, before finally sighing, "I just really like those eyes, Geralt. And the hair looks so soft and I just want to bury my fingers in it. And maybe braid it." This time Geralt couldn't stop himself from snorting. "Jaskier, you are already petting the cat. And I think its fur is a bit too short for braiding. It might scratch you if you tried." Jaskier let out a longsuffering sigh and gave Geralt a look so pitiful as if the weight of the world was baring down on him. "I know. 's why I don't do it. Wouldn't want me to. But I really want to." Not knowing what to say to that, Geralt just grunted. Suddenly Jaskier perked up again. "We need to get back to our room!" he announced with unexpected urgency. "If you can't pet the cat then you can cuddle with Friend instead." Geralt blinked at him, his heart refusing to beat a normal rhythm. "What?" Jaskier didn't give any explanation, just jumped to his feet, grabbed Geralt's hand and dragged him in the direction of the inn - or rather, he stumbled next to Geralt while Geralt led him to their destination. Geralt knew that Jaskier couldn't possibly mean what Geralt so desperately wanted him to mean, but that knowledge didn't stop the irrational disappointment that clawed into his chest when Jaskier let go of his hand as soon as they reached the inn and made no move to take it again. Once in their room, Jaskier began frantically searching through his bags before he finally let out a triumphant shout. "Ah-ha! There he is! Friend!" He turned around with a blinding smile and presented to Geralt what he had been looking for. It was the wooden sheep. The bitter disappointment from before was replaced by a wave of fondness for Jaskier that made his heart feel as if it would beat out of his chest.

“You called it Friend?”

“Of course,” Jaskier beamed, “Because that’s what he is.”

When Geralt still made no move to take the sheep, Jaskier wiggled it in his hand, as if tempting a cat to come play. "Take it," he insisted, brimming with excitement. "It's a sheep! All fluffy and cuddly and petting it makes me happy. I want you to be happy." Geralt did nothing to fight the warm smile, abandoning the thought of pointing out that the wooden sheep very much wasn't fluffy. Carefully, Geralt reached out and took the sheep from Jaskier. Jaskier's face lit up as if Geralt had just given him the best gift despite being the one who had been given something. As Geralt ran his fingers over the smooth wood he couldn't help but think about ways he could actually make this sheep fluffy for Jaskier. Maybe the next time they came across a shepherd Geralt could take some of the wool and attach it to the wooden sheep? But for now Jaskier seemed to be more than happy with Geralt's gifts just as they were. When Jaskier let himself fall onto the bed, a pleased expression on his face and snuggling into the pillow, he whispered, "If I'm going to get another gift I would really like for it to be a cat." His words got muffled by the blanket he pulled up to his face. "So you can have a little cat-friend too." Geralt hummed in agreement and joined Jaskier on the bed, though what he really wanted to say was that he didn't need a cat-friend as long as he had Jaskier as his friend. But he couldn't say such things. Especially not while they were sharing a bed and Jaskier kept looking at him with his sleepy blue eyes. Despite Jaskier's earlier yawns and the way he didn't seem to be able to keep his eyes open for longer than a couple of seconds, Jaskier didn't immediately drift off to sleep. Instead he kept studying Geralt's face and began playing with the ends of Geralt's hair that lay on the pillow between them. Geralt didn't have the heart to tell him off for tying a myriad of tiny knots into his hair. He could almost pretend they were braids. -- Not a week later Jaskier found a wooden figure in form of a cat curled into itself. It was impossible to tell if Jaskier remembered what he had said about cats or anything else that had happened that night, but there was no doubt that Jaskier already loved the figure just as much as he did the other ones. Immediately he handed it to Geralt, insisting that he should feel the satisfying smoothness of the wood. More to distract himself from the tight feeling in his chest than out of actual curiosity, Geralt asked for the cat's name. "I don't know. It has to be something nice," Jaskier said. "Something beautiful." He studied the cat in contemplation and uncharacteristically silence. Geralt's heart skipped a beat when Jaskier finally looked up at him with an achingly soft expression and said, "Golden Eyes."

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#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #jaskier #geralt #alcohol cw #witcher #witcher fic #fic #my writing #wood carving

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sarah-bae-maas · 8 years ago

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TO CLARIFY THIS FIC IS ABOUT FEYSAND’S KIDS MEETING FOR THE FIRST TIME. NO PRE-READING REQUIRED.

So @bookocd might like this (the poor thing kinda got spoiled on my fic and I think this might make her feel better) and @sympauny kinda requested this as well, so I decided to post it! I wrote this ages ago at the request of an anon, but then decided it was too spoilery for my fic A Court of Hearts and Darkness. But make no mistake my friends this can be read without having read any of my other works! But if you don’t want to be low-key kind of spoiled on something that was kind of spoiled anyway, don’t read ahead.

If you’d like to see more of my stuff, you can check out my masterlist if you’d like. Much Feysand. Much ACOTAR. Much stuff.

Happy reading!

****

Feyre and Rhys had never had such a perfect moment in all their years. Their tiny little baby boy, who they had been waiting to meet for the last nine months, had finally arrived and he was the most beautiful boy they had ever laid eyes on.

The golden-brown honey tufts of hair, the shocking blue eyes. He was an Archeron through and through.

Actually, the moment wasn’t quite yet perfect, but it would be soon.

“She assured me they’re on their way.” Rhys told her.

No, their perfect moment hadn’t quite happened, but it would when their twenty-two-year-old daughter came to meet her brother for the first time. She had been gallivanting around Velaris doing Mother knows what, likely causing havoc at every possible moment. She was a wild one, and maybe her brother would be the tamer sibling. Rhys didn’t even want to think about what it would be like if he had another child like her. He loved her like the spirts love Starfall - without question and until the end of days – but he had also never worried about another person so much. He guessed it was just another part of being a father.

“I can’t believe this has happened,” Feyre was close to weeping with joy. “Mother, he’s so beautiful. Look at him, Rhys, do you see how beautiful he is?”

Feyre was sitting in bed – she’d only recently left the room she gave birth in – and was clutching her son to her chest, smoothing his sparse hair back. Rhys sat dutifully next to her, his arm around her shoulders and his other hand help captive by the grip of his son.

Feyre was still very hormonal and Rhys suspected the random emotional tangents she experienced during her pregnancy wouldn’t stop anytime soon. He could also tell that she was utterly exhausted. She wanted to stay awake though, they both did, for the arrival of their daughter. That meant that Rhys kept having to answer, ‘yes, of course,’ every five minutes when Feyre asked him if he saw how beautiful their son was. Not that it was a hassle, every time he answered it was true.

“He’s wonderful – perfect. Now about his name-”

“You named Eleana.” Feyre interrupted. She playfully smirked at her mate.

“We both named Eleana-”

“No, you just kept calling her that since I told you I thought she was a girl and it stuck. This one’s mine, and he’s perfect and so is his name and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Okay,” Rhys conceded. He pulled her even closer to him.

“Rhys?”

He turned to face her and saw that tears shone in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He pulled his finger from his son’s clenched fist to wipe away the tears that were streaming down his mate’s face. Just as he thought – she was still very emotional.

“Does the name really bother you? He’s your son as well,” She cried.

Rhys smiled at her and replaced his hand with kisses.

“I was just joking - the name is perfect.”

He kissed her lightly on her lips. Before he had a chance to deepen it, he heard quiet knocks on the door.

“Can I come in?” Her voice was muffled through the wood but it was undeniably his daughter.

“Eleana!” Feyre shouted joyfully.

Their daughter took Feyre’s shout of enthusiasm to mean that she could enter.

Their daughter was the opposite of their newborn son. She reflected Rhys in every way. The thick dark hair, the stunning blue eyes, the devilish smile – the few things she inherited from Feyre were her freckles and magic.

And stubborn attitude, not that Rhys ever mentioned that.

Eleana walked into the room and gawked at the sight of her brother.

“By the cauldron, look how small he is!” She skipped over to her parents and stole the baby from her mother’s arms.

“Eleana, be careful.” Feyre said sternly. Her hand automatically reached for her baby, but she let it drop.

“Oh stop. I’m wonderful with babies. I’ll take first in line for babysitting duty - lovely baby needs to know his sister.” She sung.

She stepped away from the bed with her brother in her arms. She cooed at the small boy and it made Rhys’s heart wrench with happiness. There were days, some far behind him and some still fresh in his mind, that he thought something like this would never happen. That he would never see a day when his wonderful daughter would have a sibling. Or that his children would all be in the same room. There were others he knew that couldn’t say the same thing, and he was eternally grateful to the world that it hadn’t done that to him.

“Eleana, you left me to carry everything,” a gruff voice came from the hallway.

Suddenly a head of bright blonde hair appeared in the doorway.

He had his arms full of clothing and presents (Rhys could see an overwhelming amount of Feyre’s favourite chocolate) and walked to the edge of the room to dump them in the corner. The man, Kaden, was his daughter’s mate and husband of three years.

Once he had dropped the presents in an orderly fashion he made his way over to the new parents.

“Congratulations,” He said as Rhys stood up to hug him. They clapped each other on the back then Kaden leaned down to kiss Feyre’s cheek.

“He’s quite wonderful,” Rhys grabbed Kaden’s arm and pulled him over so they could peer at the little creation in his daughter’s arms.

“What’s his name?” Eleana cooed. She may have been talking to her parents but she only had eyes for the tiny bundle in her arms.

“His name is Elias,” Feyre sighed happily.

Eleana made a choking sound and dragged her eyes away from her brother to talk to her parents.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” She deadpanned.

“What’s wrong with Elias?” Feyre frowned.

“You cannot have Eleana and Elias. It’s too much! Have you told anyone his name?”

Both Feyre and Rhys shook their head at the question. Usually a birth in the Inner Circle was a family affair. This time it had only been Feyre, Rhys, and their healer. The rest of the family had yet to even meet their son - they wanted Eleana to be the first.

“Perfect. Now you can change it and no one will know! I know you both love matching names or whatever, but this is just excessive.” She tried to persuade them.

“Eleana?” Feyre summoned her daughter to her side.

Eleana handed her brother to her mate to hold and went to crouch down at her mother’s side.

“I’m just kidding. Of course I wouldn’t name him Elias! I just knew you’d hate it.” Feyre flicked her daughters scrunched up nose. “His middle name is Elias, though.”

Their daughter carefully stepped onto the bed and climbed over Feyre. She plopped down next to her and laid her head against her mother’s shoulder.

Rhys could see her quietly speaking into Feyre’s ear, but was too enamoured by his son to take notice of what they were talking about.

His daughter’s mate started to slowly rock the baby back and forth. His son’s face was scrunching like he was going to cry, but Rhys didn’t do anything and just smiled at the way his son’s face matched his other child’s when she was that age.

Rhys was still in disbelief. Feyre and him had done many great things during their reign as High Lady and High Lord, but it still somehow baffled him that they had created such wondrous children. His daughter was the light of his and Feyre’s life, so strong and beautiful and confident and Rhys could sing her praises until his last breath. As for his newborn son… he already loved him so much that it ached.

His children would always be his greatest accomplishment.

“Don’t go getting any ideas, young man.” Rhys ruffled the hair of his daughter’s mate jokingly.

“Oh, Mother.” He blushed profusely. It wasn’t hard to get that kind of reaction out of the young Illyrian. It was rather endearing. “Neither of us are ready for this. We’re at the stage where we’re happy to steal other fae’s children and give them back the next day.”

“Yes, it was a stupid suggestion.” Rhys became serious. “Because for you to have children it would mean you were doing certain things with my daughter that I know you don’t do.” Well, serious as far as her daughter’s mate knew. Rhys just liked teasing them.

“Oh – Rhys, um, oh-”

“Stop being awful Rhysand.” Feyre laughed. “Don’t listen to him, Kaden. He’s a cranky old man and it’s past his bedtime.”

“His sense of what is appropriate has dimmed in the past seventy thousand years of his miserable existence. I wouldn’t listen to a word he says.” His daughter added jestingly.

Rhys put his hand over his heart and gasped in fake hurt. “Seventy thousand? I am not even one! The audacity! Tell me, who raised you child?”

“Some High Lord. You wouldn’t know him - he’s never done anything overly notable.” Eleana laughed. She got up from her spot next to Feyre and joined Rhys at his side. “In all seriousness though, he’s quite lovely, isn’t he?” She said, gazing at her brother. Rhys draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her into his side.

“He’s cuter than you were.”

“Well now you’re just taking things too far.” She rolled her eyes and held out her arms for her mate to place her brother in.

He did as she requested and then kissed her quickly. “I’m afraid I have to go, but I couldn’t resist seeing the baby first. I’ll see you in a few days.” He then walked over to say goodbye to Feyre, placing a quick kiss to her cheek in farewell.

“Uh hem.” Rhys pointed towards his own cheek.

“Shh, Rhys, we don’t want to make Eleana jealous.” Kaden stage whispered. He smiled and came over to clapped Rhys on the shoulder, and took the opportunity to kiss Eleana once more.

He waved to the family as he left, once again saying his congratulations while they could still hear him. It wasn’t long before they heard the booms of his wings taking flight, and Rhys looked over to see his daughter looking wistfully out the window.

“How long is he gone for this time?” Rhys asked his daughter.

“I don’t know.” She clutched her new brother tighter to her chest and leaned down to press her face against his. Her dark her fell in a veil that Rhys couldn’t see through, hiding his baby and her expression. “As long as it takes.”

Feyre started to sit up, and Rhys’s eyes widened at the sight and he rushed over to usher her down again.

“I’m not an invalid, Rhys.” She placed her hands on his chest, but rather than pushing him away, held onto his shirt and pulled herself up.

She held onto his shirt with one hand and reached the other out to her two children – effectively dragging him along behind her. She hugged her daughter, trapping her son between them with Rhys awkwardly to the side.

He may not be a part of their little embrace, but he didn’t mind. Why would he when it meant he got to see his family all together? His mate, and his daughter and his son, on a night he would never forget in all his centuries.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he felt the need to remind them.

It may be a heavenly moment, but he could feel Feyre’s exhaustion pulsing through the bond.

“You’re right.” Eleana pulled back, the baby still in her arms. “You should both get some sleep. Cauldron knows you’ve had a big day.”

Feyre nodded, a small smile on her face, and went to take their son into her arms.

“Oh no! That’s, um, I’ll take him. You go sleep. I’ll watch him and you can sleep. Yes. Let’s do that.” Eleana pulled him away with a grin and backed away from her parents. “You two behave now! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She said cheerfully while she whisked the baby out of the room – closing the door behind her.

Feyre’s hand were still upheld waiting for her baby. “Should we let her take him?” She questioned cautiously.

“If she can save the world she can take care of him for a night.” Rhys shrugged.

“He’s only a few hours old…”

“They’re only downstairs. Here,” He gently grabbed her hand and led her back to the bed. He lightly pushed her down so she was lying and then climbed in next to her. “I’ll stay awake and if anything happens I’ll be there in a second. But you need to sleep, Feyre Darling, and I’m not going to leave you. Rest, my love, he’s only a floor away.”

Feyre rearranged herself so that she was draped over his chest and he was holding her tightly. It only took seconds for sleep to overcome her, and Rhys was glad. He knew that he said he would stay awake, but maybe he would just rest his eyes for a bit. Only a minute.

Yes, that was a good idea. He was only going to rest his eyes.

_____

It was dawn when Rhys woke, Feyre still dreaming at his side. The house was silent - the only noise coming from the chirping of birds on his windowsill - and he didn’t know whether to be thankful or weary that he couldn’t hear his son or daughter.

Either way, he carefully extracted himself from his mate and made his way downstairs. He was still a bit bleary eyed from sleep, but the sight he was met with focused his vision.

His tiny son, so very small, was sleeping on the same mat they used for Eleana when she was an infant. He was laid in a makeshift crib Eleana had made from pillows that that the mat and him resting on top. Eleana herself was sprawled next to the crib in an awkward position that illustrated to Rhys that she had fallen asleep while gazing at her brother.

Rhys thought – No, Rhys knew that with a life like this he could never be anything but happy again. All he needed, and all he would ever need, is his wife and two children.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #fanfic #oneshot #acohad #feysand

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