#but they’re usually hot while I’m dying of hypothermia over here

[imaninsanefanboy]

I think in a past life I died by hypothermia bc why the FUCK am I cold ALL THE TIMEEEE

[artsy-hobbitses]

It’s a Snow day! How do the ttb cast react? With child like joy, taking the scene in stride or cursing the very definition of the word.

Most of them will be cursing, I’m ngl. That’s what happens when your creator is a hothouse tropical pansy :’3

Jazz, Hound, Mirage, Skids, Swerve, HotRod, Sideswipe, Bumblebee and Co., Kup and most of her Wreckers as well as Laserbeak and Glit would welcome it with open arms!

Ironhide gets antsy because he used to work on a farm in Texas and sometimes he forgets that he doesn’t have to worry about his cows dying below a certain temperature threshold any more.

Nautica gets annoyed because cold weather usually means more work for her fixing pipes and extra maintenance on the internal machinery of the base.

Nickel USED to like snow days, but her knees ache from the chill these days.

Ratchet’s flinging open his windows over his single malt whisky to yell at the snow-lovers to not even THINK of skating on that damn pond, he knows you were thinking it, he can see from here that it’s not frozen over yet you cold-blooded bastards, if you come in here with stupidity-induced hypothermia, he’s not going to be a happy camper.

Dinobots are. If they’re not actively tearing things apart on missions, they’re huddled indoors. Their ability to withstand cold weather has decreased significantly due to the experimentations done on them so they’ll be gathered around like, three fireplaces and a kotatsu heater.

Windblade and Chromia as Camien natives who have never heard of the concept of winter on Venus and have lived their lives in equatorial hot weather are in for a bit of a shock, and not the kind they like. Cue all the cursing from Windblade while she’s trying to see how many coats she can feasibly put on before she suffocates underneath them and Chromia heading out to strangle whoever used up the last of the hot water in this goddamn weather.

[wingedquill]

a love that makes you shiver

@geraltwhumpweek

Title: a love that makes you shiver

Ships: Geralt/Jaskier

Prompt Day: Day 4, Betrayal

Medium: Netflix

Warnings: Hypothermia and Frostbite, Evil!Jaskier, Unhappy Ending, Emotional Abuse/Manipulation

Word Count: 2,606

Author’s Note: This is the first in what will become a series of one-shots by me and @bamf-jaskier. Watch this space on AO3! Also, I’ve been neglecting to post the past few days’ ficlets on tumblr, so my apologies for that.

The first thing Geralt notices is the cold.

He still feels a bit floaty, when he wakes, like he’s still half-dreaming, and the sound around him is muffled and hazy. But he instantly feels the chill, creeping over his skin and burrowing down to his bones. His lungs stutter in his chest, seizing against the frigid air, and he curls his heavy limbs in closer to himself, trying to preserve his body heat.

A soft, familiar laugh filters through the haze.

“You know,” a voice says lightly, conversationally. “That was the first thing you told me about witchers. That you can’t stand the cold.”

Geralt’s eyes flutter open.

Snow. Trees. Jaskier, smiling down at him like he always does when he wakes up before Geralt. Jaskier, smiling down at him from the other side of a set of heavy-looking bars.

That last detail is what kicks Geralt into panicked motion. He shoves himself up on shaking arms, hissing as his fingers slip across the cold snow, and staggers to his feet. Jaskier watches him with….amusement? Pity? Indifference? Geralt can’t tell. He can’t readhim.

He only knows it can’t be Jaskier.

He spins around in a slow circle, confirming that the bars surround him on all sides, a metal cage in the middle of the snowy woods.

“The perfect prison, don’t you think?” not-Jaskier continues, his eyes shining bright blue against the blur of white around them.

“W-what-“ Geralt starts, and clamps down on his chattering teeth.

“What did I do? Spiked your food last night, dragged you here when you passed out. Well, contacted my associates and had them drag you here. But same difference really.” He waves his hand carelessly. “You won’t be meeting any of my associates anyway. I’m the one assigned to you.”

Assigned to him? What in the seven hells did that mean?

“What did you do with Jaskier?” Geralt snarls. He stalks forward as he speaks, reaching out to grab the bars. As soon as he makes contact, his fingers burn, sharper and brighter and worse than the pain caused by the cold. He yelps and lets go, looking down at his hands to see blisters forming on his fingers.

“That one took you a while to tell me,” not-Jaskier says. “The silver sensitivity. You were so ashamedof it, so convinced it would make me leave you. So sure it would make me see you as a monster.”

He laughs at that, a sharp, unamused sound that Geralt has never heard come out of Jaskier’s throat before, and never wants to hear again. Rage floods him, rage that a doppler would dare steal his love’s face, his voice, his laugh. Dare twist them in this way.

“But darling, I’ve always thought you were a monster,” not-Jaskier says, stepping closer to the bars. “And nothing you did could’ve made me leave you.”

“Shut the fuck up and tell me what you did with Jaskier.”

Not-Jaskier tilts his head, smiling still.

“You think I’m a doppler,” he says. “Oh, that’s rich. What, you don’t think your little songbird has the capacity to hurt you?”

Geralt growls in his throat, low and warning.

“Scary. I’d be terrified, if I were in that cage with you.”

It’s the same sort of insult Geralt has heard Jaskier lob at countless posturing drunks in countless shitty taverns, rolling his eyes as someone tried to drag him into a fight. Dopplers know everything about a person, he reminds himself. That’s what makes them so dangerous.

“But I’m not,” not-Jaskier says. Another step forward. “And I’m not a doppler, either.”

He reaches out and wraps his hand around one of the silver bars. Geralt waits, expecting to hear a sizzle of burning flesh, a scream, a curse as not-Jaskier’s skin melted away to reveal the snow white flesh of a doppler.

Nothing.

“See?” not-Jaskier—or—or—no—says, letting go of the bar to show Geralt his uninjured, unmelted hand. “A hundred percent human.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt chokes. Because this is Jaskier. This is his lover, standing outside a fucking cagethat he’s locked Geralt in, studying Geralt like he’s a particularly interesting beast. “Jaskier, what—why—why the fuck are you doing this?”

Jaskier sighs.

“I wish I didn’t have to, dear heart,” he says.

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

Jaskier clucks disapprovingly, moving away from the bars.

“Vulgar as always,” he sighs. “No appreciation for more elegant language. That’s one of things I hope changes about you.”

“What.”

“Why am I doing this?” Jaskier sighs, sweeping his arms to indicate the cage, the woods around them. “I’m saving you from yourself, my love. That has always been the goal. Saving all you poor, monstrous witchers from yourselves.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see,” Jaskier says. “Everything will make sense in just a little while longer. I just need you to hold on a little bit more, can you do that for me?”

“Do I have a godsdamned choice?”

“Not really,” Jaskier laughs. “Good point.”

Geralt sinks to the ground. His head is spinning. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years of walking the path with Jaskier by his side and he—he locked Geralt up and watched as he froze and called him a monster. He doesn’t know which one of those things hurts the most.

“Don’t worry, dear monster,” Jaskier says, kneeling down in the snow on the other side. The smirk has slid off his face, and there’s sadness in his eyes, like he actually cares about what’s going through Geralt’s head. “I still love you. That’s why I’m doing this. I swear you’ll understand. I swear you’ll thank me.”

“When I get out of here,” Geralt growls. “I’m putting a sword through your heart. Silver.”

Jaskier sighs. He sounds almost disappointed.

“You’ll understand,” he says, getting to his feet. “You’ll understand very soon.”

Geralt doesn’t dignify it with an answer. He just curls up on his side with his back to Jaskier, tucking his hands under his armpits to keep them warm.

“I’ll be back soon,” Jaskier says.

The snow crunches under his feet as he leaves, and when Geralt can’t hear his footsteps anymore, he finally lets the tears fall. They trace hot lines over his frozen face, burning and burning and burning like silver, like frost, like the broken heart beating coal-hot and heavy in his chest. A sob bursts out of his throat and he bites down on his fist, shoulders shaking, trying to muffle any other traitorous noises.

You can cry around me,Jaskier said once, when Geralt was trying to battle back tears over yet another innocent he’d failed to save. It’s okay. You don’t have to be invincible.

Had he laughed to himself later? Congratulated himself on getting the monster to cry for him? On putting yet another crack in Geralt’s armor?

Stop crying, he tells himself as more tears stream over his face. Stop crying, stop crying, stop—

But it’s his lover of ten years, his best friend of twenty, he’s known Jaskier for twenty five fucking years. So he doesn’t stop crying for a very long time. And when he does, he doesn’t feel the relief that usually comes after tears, the relaxed feeling in his chest, the clean peace that comes with letting go of something heavy. He just feels exhausted, and numb, and still so fucking sad.

The numbness might come from the cold admittedly. He flexes his fingers, wincing when they’re slow to bend to his command. If he stays out here much longer, he’s going to get frostbite.

Jaskier would probably like that.

Gods.

He battles off another round of tears and sits back up, shivers running up and down his body as he does so. He needs to keep moving, keep his blood pumping, if he wants to survive this. He doesn’t know why Jaskier would have locked him in here if not to kill him from hypothermia, and Geralt isn’t giving him the fucking satisfaction.

He turns around, facing the front of the cage, where Jaskier had been. His footsteps are already mostly filled in with snow. Hanging on a tree branch some ten feet from the cage, an ornate silver key twirls in the freezing wind. It’s a delicate thing. A pretty thing. The thing that would set Geralt free, dangling just out of his reach.

Jaskier is taunting him.

He can’t hold back the tears at that realization.

***

His hands are freezing.

His hands are burning.

His hands are fucking dying.

***

By the time Jaskier comes back, the air has frozen in Geralt’s throat and he can barely move his fingers. They’ve gone all whitish-blue at the tips, a sure sign of frostbite setting in. Dread coils in Geralt’s throat as he stares at them, as he desperately tries to curl his hand into a fist. It listens to him, but slowly, clumsily.

Fuck. Fuck it all to hell.

“Oooo, that doesn’t look good,” Jaskier says as he walks up to the cage. It’s exactly the same sentence, exactly the same tone, that he had used upon seeing dozens of injuries, before grabbing bandages or a potion and setting to work patching Geralt up.

Don’t cry, Geralt tells himself as he lifts his chin and glares at Jaskier. Don’t you dare cry.

“Well, look on the bright side,” Jaskier says cheerily. “It’ll disincentivize you from picking up a sword again, which is excellent.”

“Is it?” Geralt snarls. Because Jaskier is ripping away Geralt’s life purpose, snatching up his ability to swing a sword and then acting like it’s a good thing, and Geralt still doesn’t know why he’s doing it.

“It is,” Jaskier says. “And don’t worry. When it’s all over, I’ll take care of you, dear heart. You won’t need to lift a finger.”

Geralt stares at him.

“You think we’ll just fall into happy domestic bliss when this is over? After you’ve fucking crippled me for life?”

“Yes,” Jaskier says, like there’s no other possible option. Like Geralt coming home with him is an immutable fact.

“What, you gonna chain me to your fucking bed?” Even as Geralt says it, fear creeps into his throat. He wouldn’t put it past this new Jaskier to do just that.

“No!” Jaskier gasps. “No, no, of course not. After this, after allof this, you’ll be free to go. Go do whatever you want. I just think…I think you’ll want to stay with me, once you understand. I hope you’ll want to stay with me.”

“Then you’re fucking mad.”

“Maybe I am,” Jaskier says. “I wasn’t supposed to fall for you, after all. You were just a mission. A…trial run, if you will. But I love you, Geralt, despite the monster running your life. And I hope that you’ll love me back, properly this time, once you’re free of it.”

There’s so much wrong with that, Geralt doesn’t even know where to start. But his heart takes the reins.

“Properly?” he asks. “Jaskier, I’ve loved you for years, I thought I could love you forever, I don’t understand why—”

“Pretty words,” Jaskier sighs, and there’s regret in his eyes. “But you don’t understand them yet. You don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

“What do you mean?” He hates how fucking small he sounds.

“You don’t feel love. It’s a scientific fact. A sad one for sure, but…oh dear heart, don’t look at me like that.”

The tears are burning on his cheeks again. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Jaskier. Jaskier thinks he doesn’t feel love. This whole time, through Geralt’s shaky declaration, through kisses traded under stars, through dancing together on the coast, through their fucking handfasting ceremony, Jaskier has thought that he doesn’t feel love.

He thinks he might be drowning.

“You’ll feel it soon enough,” Jaskier says. “And then everything will be okay.”

He places a jug on the ground near the bars. It’s small enough that Geralt could grab it and pull it through.

“Drink this,” he says. “Just drink this, and I’ll let you go, okay? And then you can love me, or not, you can stay with me, or not. But you’ll be free. And that’s all I care about, alright? That’s all I’ve ever cared about.”

***

Geralt stares at the jug for a very long time.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to drink it. He doesn’t know what the fuck Jaskier wants to do to him, but he knows it can’t be good.

But the numbness in his hands is getting worse and worse, and if he doesn’t get someplace warm soon, he knows he’s going to lose them.

And no matter what this does, it can’t be worse than that.

So he drinks.

***

It hurts.

***

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes up. But the world is muffled again, muffled and painful and cold.

There’s someone leaning over him.

“Open your eyes, dear heart, that’s it, come on.”

Jaskier.

Geralt opens his eyes with a growl, fully intending to reach up and strangle him. But his arms aren’t listening to him—none of his body is listening to him, it’s all loose-limbed and weak like a newborn kitten—so he barely manages to lift them off the ground before they flop back down.

The world is wrong.

It’s fuzzy and dim, and when he tries to expand his pupils to take in more light it doesn’t work. What kind of drug had Jaskier given him?

Jaskier gasps. He looks delighted, like he’s watching a baby bird emerge from its shell.

“It worked,” he says. “Oh, sweet Melitele it worked, I knew that getting you weak from the cold would be enough.”

“What did you do?” Geralt says. Each word is a battle to get out from his throat.

“I should’ve brought a mirror,” Jaskier mutters. “But that’s alright, you’ll see soon enough. Oh, I have so much to show you, so much to teach you.”

He babbles excitedly to himself as he hoists Geralt to his feet. The world spins around him, but miraculously, Geralt manages to hold on to consciousness. Manages to match Jaskier step for shaky step as they walk out of the cage.

“We’ll go to the coast again and you’ll be able to appreciate how beautiful the ocean is, and we can redo our handfasting ceremony, now that you’ll actually mean the vows, and—”

Geralt throws an elbow against Jaskier’s ribs. It’s weak, but Jaskier still lets go of him. Probably out of surprise more than anything else. Geralt sways on his feet but stays standing.

“You…” Jaskier blinks. His eyes are turning red. “You still don’t love me?”

“I always fucking loved you,” Geralt says. Don’t cry. “Until you locked me in a cage.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t fucking understandJaskier, I don’t understand why someone who claims to love me would do something like that.”

“I see.” Jaskier takes a deep, shaky breath. “I see. Well. Go on, then.”

Geralt takes a slow step away. Another. Another.

Hands don’t close around his throat. A blow doesn’t come down on his head.

“I’ll wait for you,” Jaskier says behind him. “When you see. I’ll take you back. I swear.”

Another step.

Another step.

Don’t cry until you’re safe.

Another.

Another.

Jaskier starts sobbing behind him, but Geralt doesn’t look back.

***

The first thing he does, when he gets to an inn with a surprisingly friendly innkeeper, is to look in a mirror.

You’ll see soon enough.

Brown eyes, human eyes, stare back at him.

[drstone-100-tales]

(i don't know if you do xreader HCs but,, i just love your writing aAAAAA–💖💕💗💓) Out of our main cast rate who do you think woukd be most protective of their significant other? Also some mini headcanons about that if you can? (if you don't do xreaders it's a-okay i just had to try 😚🤗💖)

Hey Nonny, don’t worry I got your back. ;) I’m not usually an x-reader creator but I view x-reader headcanons as things to expand on as well with canonxcanon or canonxoc or whatevs. I like ‘em as writing prompts. So, here’s some headcanons hot off the grill!

Ishigami Senku

- Senku, would look out for his SO, around the lab. He would be on top of lab safety especially if it came to his S/O and not wanting to see them injured. Goggles, coat, gloves the whole 9 yards… While happily ignoring his own safety.

- In the modern day, Senku would be the one to make sure they never had any dates in a place that might be shady… and insist every time on walking his S/O home from said outings.

- In the Stone World, it’s worrying over hypothermia, sicknesses of all kinds.. Be wary of literal Dr. Stone armed with his self made medical tools and poultices. (I’m sure his S/O would laugh it off and even tease him… Before realizing nope. Senku’s utterly serious)

- Or resting curled up around his S/O, keeping them warm. 

- If they were a Stone Statue and Senku came across them, he’d hesitate initially at revival, unlike with Yuzuriha and Taiju. It’s one thing to revive your friends because your worried about them or scared for them… It’s another, to realize that someone you loved, so dearly might not even be conscious. In the end, he would of course choose revival versus risking The Kingdom of Might finding them and hurrying them back to the village. All the while keeping public affection to a grand minimum to avoid giving Tsukasa someone to target. 

- Maybe this would cause a bit of tension, until Senku explains that, his feelings haven’t changed, but he has to choose the group versus his feelings. If they lose even one person, in his eyes they’ve already lost the war. “There’ll be a time and place for this all. But right now, we cannot act like we usually do while Homura’s spying on us.”

Kinrou

-Mr. Rules are Rules would definitely be a protective S/O, focusing heavily on ensuring they can still defend themselves if he can’t. While his job keeps him very busy, they find little moments… Mostly when Kinrou can get someone to watch the bridge… and watch Ginrou for him. 

- If an enemy was attacking, he’d gladly ensure his S/O was covered, while the blows bounced off his reinforced shield…. Before using all of his might to attack. 

- Of course, there’ll be times where KInrou can’t always be there… but he will do his hardest. As far as he’s concerned, the village and those who mean the world to him in it, will always be guarded as long as he breathes.

- Someone’s flirting with Kinrou’s S/O? Cue Kinrou getting between them and ensuring this crap ends right there. 

- S/O’s fighting an enemy WITH the group instead of ducking for cover? Kinrou’s got their back and ensuring they’re fighting as a team not as just him being over protective.

- Though forget competing in the Grand Bout if your his S/O. He’s not going to watch someone he’s dating get beaten up.

Shishio Tsukasa

(This one’s for you Tsukasa fans. Especially you all who’ve caught up on the manga ;) ) 

- He’d hunt their statue down first if they were petrified and do as he said. Bury them and mark it so he can find them later, when victory is surely going to be ensured.

- However, at the same time, he would hesitate. He would very much hesitate before deciding to break his own principals and swearing them to secracy. That no matter what, while he’s trying to fight for his cause that they cannot, absolutely cannot be seen together. “I have enemies even among my own cause. I don’t trust any of them with your life.”

- Of course, this would lead to tension. If Tsukasa’s S/O knew about what he was doing, they would be arguing with him the whole time and maybe even call their relationship off because of this. 

- Tsukasa would of course be devastated but convince himself, it’s for the best. They’ll see to reason when the new world is fully as he envisions it.

 - However, after the Stone Wars and Tsukasa is dying, he only asks for two people to see him before he’s put into stasis. To see those who mean more than life itself to him. His dear little sister and his S/O. 

- Back in the modern age, Tsukasa would be protective and ensure no one was harassing his S/O… However, while they await for Senku and the others to return on the Perseus, S/O focuses on taking care of Mirai and guarding with a silent vigil of Tsukasa’s frozen tomb.

- When their reunited, it’s the best day of all of their lives. Mirai has her older brother back, S/O and Tsukasa can be together… and Tsukasa can work on atoning properly for what he’s done. 

- Not to say the second someone like Magma even LOOKS at S/O wrong, Tsukasa doesn’t punch their lights out immediately.

- He’s teased to high heaven by everyone else about this and Senku threatens to petrify him a second time. “At least I’d be able to watch him!” S/O would chime in, much to Tsukasa’s chagrin.

---

Here ya go! I might not to xreader HC’s all the time, as I’m normally not a consumer or creator for it but I love writing headcanons. XD So I hope you enjoy nonny! Thanks for dropping in!

[summonernoctis]

Send me a number between 1 and 850 and I’ll write a mini-fic based on a Final Fantasy XV screenshot.

Rating: G Words: 658

               Given how hot it was in Lestallum, Ignis figured the nearby climate of Burbost Souvenir Emporium couldn't be much cooler. As it turned out, in what one could only assume was a prank from the Astrals, the cave behind the waterfall Talcott had pointed out was literally covered in ice.

               "Double back for our coats?" Prompto suggested, the other member of their party to suffer from lack of a jacket. Noctis was sporting the new jacket he bought for himself at a trendy clothing shop back in town, and Gladio could probably make snow angels naked next to Shiva's corpse and remain comfortable  ̶  he didn't only walk about shirtless to show off his abs, despite the other boys' teasing. The poor man seemed to be stuck in an eternal hot flash. Unfortunately, Ignis, who usually lacked a problem with temperature, had left his coat in the car. He'd assumed that he'd be sweating right through it after the inevitable battles they'd face.

               True to form, the Shield was unfazed by the unexpectedly cold climate. "What's the point? Little chill won't kill ya."

               Noctis glanced from Prompto, who wore a very thin vest over his tank top, to Ignis, who's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He seemed ready to offer his own opinion on the matter, but Prompto beat him to it.

               "Well, looking at the bright side… Maybe the cold keeps the daemons at bay?"

               Gladio sent a level look in the blond's direction. "Yeah, because monsters like warmth."

               "Ah, sarcasm. Hmm… But what if they're frozen?" Prompto asked hopefully.

               Gladio, experienced from scaring his younger sister with ghost stories around a campfire, was quick to respond, "Encased in ice… waiting for something warm to pass by."

               As if on cue, several Flans rose from the floor, their yellow eyes glowing ominously.

               "And there's our warm welcome." Prompto's gun materialized in his hand. He fired a shot at the daemon Noct had already warped over to, and the cold was forgotten as Ignis rushed to cover his liege's back.

               The ensuing daemon battles on the way to the tomb only warmed the group just a tad, especially when they were forced to slide down a wall of ice that soaked through their jeans. None of them, jacket or no jacket, were dressed suitably for a winter wonderland.

               Ignis' teeth chattered as he rubbed his arms. He wasn't even wearing his gloves, an oddity even despite their excursion into a cave covered in snow. He wasn't aware Noctis had stopped walking until a jacket was thrust into his line of view.

               "Here, Specs," Noctis said. "You look like you could use the extra layer."

               While Ignis was touched by the offer, there was no way in this ice-encrusted hell that he would let his prince continue on in just a white T-shirt. "That's very kind of you, Noct, but I'd feel much warmer knowing you weren't in danger of dying from hypothermia."

               "C'mon, I'm fine," he insisted. "I'm hot, even."

               Although he secretly agreed with the statement, Ignis rolled his eyes. "I would hate for you to have to fan the flames of your ego to keep yourself warm."

               "I-I didn't mean it like that!" Noctis stammered awkwardly. He turned away to hastily tug the jacket back on, failing to hide the red on his cheeks that hadn't come from the cold. "Fine. Last time I try being nice to you."

               Ignis smiled. The years of diplomacy training could do only so much for the bumbling, Behemoth-brand-wearing boy he proudly followed into freezing, dark caverns.

               Some daemons groaned to life a few feet away, and Ignis instinctively slid over so he was back-to-back with the prince. "Pass me some of your 'hotness' and we can make quick work of these daemons."

               Noctis passed him a flask of fire elemancy along with an unimpressed expression. "I hate you," he muttered without venom, then leapt into the fray.

Thanks for sending in a number! ♥

[deztinywarriors]

ES Spectre 2.0 Chapter 6-4