#i just want a mushroom-themed knee brace | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

noladyme · 4 years ago

Text

The Frog Princess. Chapter 8

She had no wish to be bound down to anyone, but Y/N none the less found herself being dragged across the continent; to marry King Foltest of Temeria. Instead of pomp and spectacle; she was accompanied by the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Their travels would bring both monsters, lust, love; and heartache. All sound tracked by an endearing buffoon of a bard, named Jaskier.

TW: Violence, language, sexual themes. Rated M.

We rode for days, due northeast; each mile we put behind us bringing me closer to my inevitable end. At least, that was how it felt. I felt my limbs growing stronger from riding and carrying wood for fires; and though the sun was never shining brightly; my skin grew more tanned by the day.

Geralt had begun to train me with the sword he’d taken from O’Dimm’s man. I wasn’t a skilled swordswoman by any means; but I was sure I’d be able to defend myself in a fair fight. We made breaks for eating, resting, training, arguing, making up; and the occasional fuck against a tree – a least once a day, on a bad day.

On one of these occasions; in his eagerness; Geralt almost ripped the buttons off the breeches Ajvin had given me. “Fuck!”, he growled. “I don’t like these things; they make it too difficult to have you”. “You were the one who insisted I need new clothes”, I laughed. “Besides, practicality over easy access”. I opened the buttons myself, and slid down the breeches over my bottom; before bracing myself against a tree with my hands, and pushing my backside out.

Geralt accepted the invitation, and felt for my wetness; before pushing himself into me, slowly. “I thought you were in a hurry”, I breathed in complaint. Geralt pulled himself back; and slammed back into me, hard. “Shit!”, I cried out. “Too much?”, Geralt chuckled hoarsely. One of his hands held on to my hip; the other found my nub, and stroked it to the rhythm of his thrusts. “W-why do you always ask that?”, I panted. He slid his arm around my torso, and took a light hold of my throat; pulling me flush against his chest. “I don’t want to hurt you”, he said, kissing my neck. “You haven’t yet”, I smiled; before groaning loudly, as he pushed himself hard into me again.

He let me come before finding his own relief – as always; inside me. I suspected it was his way of making his mark on me – even if we both knew there was no chance of a child coming out of it.

After cleaning myself up – with a clean wet cloth provided by an embarrassed looking Geralt – I straightened my clothes. I’d had to make alterations to them – clearly they were Ajvids own old clothing; including the purple shirt that hung low on my shoulders. My new outfit furthermore consisted of dark grey breeches, that I’d adjusted so they hung snugly to my frame – making a certain witcher have to occasionally adjust himself, when I bent over – and a dark brown leather jerkin, without sleeves. I still had my grey cloak; which kept me somewhat warm during the nights, when Geralt had to patrol the area around our camps for sounds he’d heard – and therefore could not lay next to me.

There was a strange domesticity to our days. As if we’d be travelling like this for the rest of our lives. But we won’t, I kept reminding myself.

The man travelling with me – my lover, my friend, my confidant – was transporting me closer and closer to a land further from mine than I had ever been. The man who spent most of his nights between my legs and staring into my eyes; was handing me over to a stranger, who would from then on have a claim on doing those things himself. The thought made me sick to my stomach; but I kept returning to it, to remind myself – so that my heart wouldn’t break as much when the day came that our journey was at an end.

The glade we were occupying was quiet. Food had been scarce for a few days, as we hadn’t come across any villages; and it seemed that most of the wildlife had fled. I sat by the dying embers at our fire, thinking.

“I want to see Mousesack”, I said, catching Geralt of guard. “Why?”, he asked, voice gruff. “He has information for me. The butcher’s wife said so”. Geralt poured a bowl of water over the embers. “He’s going the opposite direction than we are”, he said dismissively. “Who’s eager to reach our destination now?”, I mumbled.

Geralt went to pack Roach’s saddlebags. He still kept our horses apart, for fear that Bayrd should act on his carnal desires towards his mare. “I don’t want to do this now”, he said. “Do what?”, I asked. “Fight”, he answered. “I’m not fighting”, I said, standing to kick dirt into the smoking ashes in front of me. “I’m stating facts. You made a contract to transport me to Temeria. You are acting on it. I’m just surprised you were in such a hurry to get rid of me”. I clenched my jaw.

Geralt grunted, and continued his task, moving on to Bayrds saddle. “I understand it, you know”, I said, putting on my cloak. “You’re a witcher. I age; and you do not. Besides, you’ve already had me every which way you could want”. “Stop…”, he muttered. “It’s inevitable that you were bound to get sick of me at some point…”, my voice broke. “Stop!”, he roared.

He strode up to me; and took my face in his hands. “Y/N”, he said. “You are the furthest thing from easy to be around. You are stubborn; rash; you never listen… and your mushroom stew is bad enough to kill a dead man”. He put his forehead to mine. “And I would have you no other way. I wish I could keep you; but that’s not how destiny has made it”. “Fuck destiny”, I snarled. He chuckled. “If only I could”, he answered. He kissed my forehead; and wrapped his arms around me. My eyes welled up, and I cried against his shoulder.

“I have to see Mousesack”, I whispered through my tears. Geralt exhaled. “I know. But I don’t know where to find him for you”, he said. “We can’t go backwards…”.

He was interrupted by a rumbling of hooves, that almost made the ground quake. He pushed me towards the trees. “Go! Cover your face. Don’t let them see you!”, he hissed, and pulled his sword from his back. I ran to Bayrd, and grabbed my new sword; then fled towards the edge of the trees; crouching behind the largest one I could find.

The riders approaching bore Cintran colors. It was a large group; of about 20 men; all dressed in armor. I saw Geralt glance in my direction, before facing the rider at the front.

“Witcher!”, the man called. “What is your business so close to Ortagor?”. Geralt relaxed his stance. “I have a contract”, he answered. “A bruxa. Near the border of Sodden”. “And your companion?”, the man asked. “I have no companion”, Geralt said. “Since when do witchers travel with two horses?”, the man barked.

Geralt put his sword back in its sheath. “No answer?”, the soldier said. “You’d do best to respect your betters, mutant”. Geralt clenched his jaw. “Right!”, the soldier called to the men behind him. “Take the mare. As a gift for her majesty’s war efforts”. Geralt snarled and went to draw his sword again.

“Calm the fuck down, Thaggert!”, a familiar voice called. “I have enough horses. Besides, I like the stallion better”.

From the middle of the group of riders, strode a tall woman; dressed in intricately decorated armor. She got of her horse, and walked up to Geralt; flanked by two of the soldiers. “Witcher”, she hissed. I recognized her instantly. Calanthe. The Lioness of Cintra!

“Your majesty”, Geralt grumbled; and nodded slightly. Nothing in the world could get him to bow to anyone, I knew that – something that at that moment made me fear for his life.

“You made a promise!”, she snarled. “I did, your majesty. And I am upholding that promise as we speak”, Geralt answered her. “I am here for a contract”. “What contract?”, Calanthe demanded. “As I told your man”, he replied. “Bruxa. Near Sodden”. Calanthe spat at the ground. “Horse shit”, she said. “We were just coming from Sodden; no word of vampires there. Tell me the truth”. Geralt exhaled slowly. “Men!”, Calanthe called. The soldiers drew their swords.

“He’s here with me!”, I yelled; and stepped out from behind the tree. Geralt looked at me angrily. I sent him an indifferent look back. “You? Show your face girl”, Calanthe barked.

I stepped into the glade, and pulled down my hood. Calanthes face lit up. “Y/N!”, she laughed. “What are you doing here, girl?”. She stomped up to me, and took me in her arms for a tight squeeze. “Lower your weapons, men. This is the lady Y/N, my husband’s cousin”, she said; and patted my cheek. “And; the future queen of Temeria!”.

The soldiers on the ground took a knee, and the ones still on horses bowed their necks to me. I felt a strange knot in my stomach. “Where is your guard, girl? Your following?”, she asked. I nodded in the direction of Geralt. “Him?”, Calanthe asked; frowning bewilderedly at me. “He is… my guard”, I answered. Calanthe stepped back, looking from me to Geralt. “What in Hels ass was Eist thinking?”, she snarled. Calanthe was married to a Skelliger, not one herself – but she had taken on some of our profanities; at least the ones she liked.

I walked towards Geralt. “My cousin seemed to find it a necessity to keep my travel arrangements a mystery to certain parties. So, he hired the witcher”. The queen laughed sarcastically. “Oh, I am going to have words with my husband”, she growled.

One of the riders called out to her. “Your majesty; Ortagor awaits your arrival”. Calanthe sighed. “Yes, yes. Someone is always awaiting my arrival”, she groaned. “We take them with us. The lady rides along side me… the witcher takes the back. Keep an eye on him”.

Geralt sent me a poignant look, and went to saddle up on Roach. Before he got all the way over to the mare; Calanthe grasped his arm and looked at him – her eyes ablaze. “If it wasn’t for my cousin-in-law, your head would be rolling on the ground!”. Geralt tried for a mediating expression. “Your majesty…”. “Don’t!”, Calanthe hissed. “If I hear you’ve been asking about the child – even so much as mentioned Pavetta – I’ll personally cut of your bollocks, and feed them to my dogs!”.

My heart dropped. Geralts eyes found mine for a second; before falling to the ground. Calanthe let go of his arm, and went back to join her men.

I went to saddle up, my hands shaking so much in the process, I almost lost my footing in the stirrup. One of the soldiers on the ground grabbed my calf; and helped me up. I could feel Geralts eyes on us.

---

The ride to Ortagor wasn’t long; but it felt like an eternity. I was deep in thought.

“How is my husband?”, Calanthe suddenly asked from beside me. She’d caught me off guard. “What?”, I said. She chuckled at me. “I said, how is my husband?”. I smiled. “Well, last I saw him. No less annoying, no more regal”, I said. “Good”, the queen laughed. “And his bed?”. Her eyes were suddenly hard. “Empty, save for him”, I assured her. She grunted, satisfied.

We rode on in silence for a little while. “And… the princess Pavetta. How does she fare?”, I asked as casually as I could. Calanthes face hardened slightly. “About to pop”, she said. “She’s going the way you came. Eist convinced me she should give birth in Skellige, for some reason”. I felt a rush of blood to my head. “Oh!”, I said. “I didn’t know. Congratulations!”. Calanthe scoffed. I tried to smile. “And the father is?...”. “Not who I would have picked”, she snarled. “But... no matter now. The child will be loved and raised by the right people”. I smiled and nodded; wanting to scream.

We arrived at the fortress of Ortagor to great fanfare; the crowds cheering for their queen. All around people were celebrating the arrival of the Great Lioness; with drink and music. Great, I thought. Another feast. Just what I needed. I was in no mood for any celebrations myself.

We unsaddled, and followed the queen towards the great hall. I suddenly felt a tug on my arm. Geralt was looking at me with hard eyes. “Little frog…”, he said. “Not now”, I stopped him, and pulled my arm from his grasp.

“Witcher!”, Calanthe called from behind us. “Lady Y/N is perfectly safe within these walls. We have no need for you. Go do whatever it is, your kind do”. Geralt clenched his jaw. “My kind eat, drink and rest when we can”, he said. She looked at him dismissively. “You can do that at the other end of the hall; where I don’t have to look at you”, she said. “Come, girl. We have feasting to do!”.

I followed the queen into the hall – having much rather wanted to find a dark corner to calm myself. As the door opened; horns blazed a salute. “Yes, yes. Fuck off. I’m here now”, Calanthe growled, and threw her helmet at a servant. “Music!”.

A familiar voice began a song I had heard before.

“Once a lady from Kaer Trolde fared, with skin so smooth, and beautiful hair. She held the heart of many a man; but mouths stood agape, when she speaking began.”

Jaskier!

“Foul mouthed lady, be kind onto me And I’ll be your thrall, I will never flee. Foul mouthed princess, have mercy, I plea And I shall be ever a servant of thee”

The crowd sang along to the chorus.

“The foulmouthed princess of the Skellige Isles The foulmouthed princess, the foulmouthed princess, the foulmouthed princess of the Skellige Isles!”

Jaskier strummed the last chord to a roar of applause. He bowed and sent air kisses to a buxom redhaired girl standing nearby.

I sat down next to Calanthe at the head table; and soon food and drinks were placed in front of us. Catching Jaskiers eye; he rushed over. “Your majesty”, he said; and bowed so deep his nose was almost touching the floor. “My lady Y/N!”. “You know each other?”, Calanthe asked. I cleared my throat cautiously. “We met in Skellige”. Calanthe grinned. “No…”, she laughed. “You’re the foulbreathed princess?”. “Foulmouthed, your majesty”, Jaskier smiled. “I’m quite certain there’s nothing wrong with the lady’s breath”. I chuckled nervously. “My lady, where is…”, he began. “The witcher”, I interrupted, sending him a poignant look. “He is somewhere in the hall; probably buried in some servant girl’s cleavage”. Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “As he does…”, he said.

Calanthe threw a gold coin at the bard. “Go. Do your work, minstrel. I want music and cheering. It’s been a long day”. Jaskier bowed. “As you wish your majesty”. He sent me a final look, and went back to the makeshift stage in the middle of the room, to play for the dancing crowds.

“So”, Calanthe said, smiling at me. “You’re on your way to Foltest, I’m told”. “I am”, I replied. “You seem… less than pleased”, she continued. I sighed. “Am I supposed to be pleased to be shipped of to a man twice my age? – with an inbred daughter to boot…”, I said; and took a sip from the goblet in front of me. Calanthe tightened her lips. “Temeria is not much different than Skellige”, she said. “Less water surrounding it… The winters are cold as a witch’s tit, but the summers are bearable”. I scoffed. “It’s not the weather that concerns me”.

Realizing the quail in front of me had been served without utensils for carving it; I pulled my knife from my boot, and cut in to the bird – ravished from the last few days lack of real food.

Calanthe smirked. “Travelling with the witcher has made you rough, Y/N”. I looked down at my dirty nails; realizing she was right. “I told Eist to get you your sgian-dubh for your 15’th birthday”. Calanthe and Eist had been sending each other eyes for years before they were married in a small ceremony, I’d heard very little about. She’d visited for my coming of age celebration years before – mostly, I think, to see my cousin. “He wanted to give you a new dress”. I laughed out loud. “Of course he did”, I said. “Yes, well”, she continued. “I would have gotten one for Pavetta, but apparently that is cultural appropriation”, she sneered. I held my tongue.

She looked at me solemnly. “He cares for you deeply, Y/N. I know this isn’t the union you’d dreamt of… but it is the right move”. “For your war?”, I said hesitantly, careful not to look the lioness in the eyes – admittedly, she scared me, and for good reason. “It’s true”, Calanthe admitted. “Foltest has promised his help in the war effort, in return for his marriage to you; and the dowry you bring with you”.

We were quiet for a while. “The witcher”, the queen began again. “He protects you well?”. I half smiled. “He does”, I said. She took a long sip from her goblet. “And in bed?” My face turned white. “I-i… that’s not…”, I tried. “Come now, Y/N”, Calanthe smirked. “I’ve seen how he looks at you”. “And how’s that?”, I said; trying for dismissive. “Like you’re a freshly cooked rabbit; and he hasn’t eaten in a week. Reminds me of how Eist would look at me, before he had me the first time”. She smirked, and took a bite of her quail. “More like a frog”, I muttered. “What’s that?”, she asked. “Nothing”, I answered.

She leant back in her chair, and looked at me seriously. “He’s not a good man, Y/N”, she said. ”I’m beginning to see that”, I answered.

We ate the rest of our meal in silence; only interrupted by the occasional lord coming forward to wish health on my upcoming marriage. I wanted to stab each and everyone of them in the neck.

---

A guard was posted outside the room I had been given for the night. It was larger than the one Geralt and I had shared in Tigg, and much grander in its decorations. A large bed with beautifully embroidered bedding; rich carpets decorated the walls and floor; a table set with fruits and wine; a roaring fireplace, and – thank the gods – a warm bath in front of it.

I shed my dirty clothes, and stepped into the tub; lowering myself into the water, until only my face was above the surface. For the first time in days – weeks – I was alone. And I cried. I wept so long that it felt like there were no tears left in the world. My chest hurt from the contractions of my sobbing; and I was beginning to struggle for breath in the end.

I heard a skirmish outside the door. Someone was banging loudly at it. “You can’t go in. The lady is not to be disturbed!”. “She’s in my charge, and I’ll see her!”. I recognized Geralts voice.

I stepped out of the tub, and put on the clean robe that had been warming by the fire. Opening the door, I saw Geralt pressing his lower arm against the neck of the guard; forcing him against the wall. Two other guards were holding their swords to his back.

“It’s fine”, I said. “Let him in”. “But my lady; Queen Calanthe made it perfectly clear…”, the man against the wall said. “Fuck off, dingleberry”, I growled; earning a gasp from all three guards. Geralt removed his arm from the man, and the three guards slowly stepped back. “Foulmouthed princess, indeed…”, I heard one of them mumble, as they walked away.

I stepped aside for Geralt to enter the room. He looked around; as always ready for an attack from any corner. They’d taken his weapons and armor, it seemed; as he was left with only his plain clothes. “The bathwater is cold”, I said; and sat down by the table. Geralt grunted and went to stand by the fire.

“I heard you cry”, he said. “From where?”, I asked. “From the courtyard”. I covered my face in embarrassment. “No one else heard you”, he said. “Right…”, I mumbled; remembering his enhanced hearing.

Geralt went to take my hand; and examined my face. “What’s wrong?”, he asked. I pulled my hand away from him furiously. “A 15 year-old girl, Geralt”, I snarled. “How could you?”. He looked genuinely confused. “The child!”, I said. “And here I thought witchers couldn’t procreate”. “We can’t…”, he grumbled.

I stood up, and threw an apple into the fireplace; cracking it against the back wall. The juices dripped down, and made the fire sputter. “Then, why…”, I growled, punching him as hard as I could in the chest; “… is princess Pavetta on her way to Skellige to give birth to your child?”.

His face went from confused, to relieved – to finally; angry. “You think I would get a girl pregnant, and then just leave her? A princess, no less?”, he scoffed. “Do you not know me?” “No!”, I yelled. “I don’t know you. At all!”. He took a step backwards. “No”, he said. “It seems you don’t”. He walked towards the door. “We leave in the morning. Your husband will want to see you soon”.

I lost all composure. Picking up the entire bowl of fruit from the table; I threw it at his back; grapes, oranges, plums and apples splattering across his shirt. And then I screamed.

Geralt growled, and sped at me; grabbing my shoulders, and throwing me on the bed. I clawed at his face – doing my best to scratch him – but he held my wrists down. “Stop!”, he roared “Go to Hel!”, I screamed. “You can go right along with me, woman!”, he answered.

I wrestled myself free from his grasp and struck at his head. He narrowly avoided my hand by rolling onto his back; and I straddled him – once again getting my wrists caught in his grasp.

Suddenly the door opened, and the three guards were standing in the opening. “My lady!...”, one of them called. “Get the fuck out!”, Geralt and I roared at the same time; staring at the dumbstruck men. They silently closed the door. “Bloody crazy, that one”, I heard one of them say through the door, as they walked away.

I got off Geralt; and laid on my back next to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”, I said. “There’s nothing to tell”, he answered. “But you have a child on the way with another woman!”, I half whimpered. “And you are marrying another man!”, he grunted. I sat up and shook my head in exhaustion. “I never wanted to marry him!”, I said. “And I never wanted a child”, he muttered. I stood up, picked up an orange from the floor, and threw it at him. He sat up, and looked at me angrily. “Would you stop throwing fruit at me?”, he snarled.

I scoffed. “You never wanted a child”, I hissed. “Maybe you should have thought of that, before you stuck your dick in the 15 year-old lion-cub of Cintra!”. “I didn’t!”, he roared, making me jump. “It’s a child of surprise!”.

He walked over to me slowly; prepared for more flying fruit. “It was an accident”, he said. “I didn’t know she was pregnant, and neither did the father when I asked him for the law of surprise. I thought it would earn me a keg of ale at the most”. I laughed, and shook my head. “A keg of ale?”, I said. “You stupid man…”.

He put his hands on either side of my face. “Yes. Stupid enough to fall for a woman, who by rights belongs to someone else”. He put his forehead to mine. “Stupid enough to want your heart, when I know it’s not mine to have”.

I put my hands on his chest; and grabbed at the fabric of his shirt. “What are we doing, Geralt?”, I whimpered. “Everything wrong, it seems”, he groaned.

He pulled back from me; holding on to my shoulders; and boring his amber eyes into mine. “I can’t help it, little frog”, he said. “You said you didn’t want to be a part of someone else. But you are. You’ve shaped me; and I’ve shaped you. It’s unavoidable”. A single tear fell from my eyes. “But it doesn’t mean you have to lose yourself; or I myself”, he continued. “It only means that we... change”. I sniffled – embarrassed at my own reaction to his words. “But you said you don’t change…” He smiled. “I have changed. You’ve been a part of that change”, he breathed. “You wrote your name on my life, as I have written mine on yours. No matter where I travel and who I meet; you have made your mark on me. We aren’t an entity; but we are two of a whole”.

I put my hands on either side of his face; and laughed through my tears. “Please stop crying”, he said. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”, I sniveled. “Yes”, he admitted. I laughed out loud. “For someone so uneasy with human emotion, you do have a way with words”, I said. “Only for you, my lady”, he whispered; and kissed my lips.

---

We made love softly that night; taking care to not leave an inch of the other untouched. Geralts lips were the nourishment of my being, it seemed; and he let those lips touch every part of me that would bring me pleasure – seemingly finding pleasure himself, in nothing but the moans and whimpers he could draw from me. I came undone so many times I lost count, and the witcher came along with me. We were two of a whole.

When morning came; we hadn’t gotten much sleep – but for some reason, I’d never felt more awake. I knew what needed to happen. I knew that we would continue on our journey to Temeria; that I would marry Foltest; and that it would break both of our hearts when I did. There was nothing else that could be done.

I could not spend the rest of my life travelling with this man. I’d grow old, and he wouldn’t. I couldn’t be chasing monsters around the continent; when I was old and grey, and my bones were creaking. He could not give me children. Not that I was sure I wanted any; but our lives together would never be truly fulfilled – and his job never truly done.

We had each other now. And should we never see one another again; the marks we’d left on the others being would never be erased.

Geralts head was resting on my chest, and I was running my fingers through his hair; when there was a knock at the door. “Come in, Jaskier”, I called – quickly covering myself with the sheets.

The bard stepped inside; almost tripping over a plum. He looked around the room – stray fruit scattered across the floor. “Well”, he smirked. “Nothings changed here; I see”. He sat down by the table; pouring himself a goblet of wine. “So… when do we leave?”.

Geralt and me both looked at him with wonder. “Whose wife did you diddle this time?”, Geralt grumbled; laying back in the bed with his arms behind his head. I chuckled. “Uhm, sister; actually”, Jaskier replied; and took a sip of the wine. “Mmm! 1249; good year”. “Jaskier?...”, Geralt demanded. “Some lord, or another”, the bard said dismissively. “Apparently Jas… Jel… Jissanya, it was. Well, she’d been promised to Aretuza”. He looked at me apologetically. “They are quite fond of their virgins there. But I can tell you right now; that girl was not a maiden!”.

“Hels ass, Jaskier. Are you insistent on getting yourself killed before the end of the year?”, I chuckled at him. He stood up, looked at me; hurt in his eyes. “What if I told you it was true love?”, he said. I raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, you’re right. It would never work”, he chuckled.

I went to get out of bed, and gestured for him to turn around. “What?”, he shrugged. Geralt sat up and looked at him menacingly. “All right, all right. It’s not like any of you have anything I haven’t seen before – right, Geralt?”, the bard smirked; and covered his eyes with his hands. “I don’t want to know what that means”, I mumbled, and went to get dressed behind a divider in the corner.

---

We were met in the courtyard by Calanthe and her men from the day before. “Lady Y/N”, the queen said. “I hear there was trouble in your room last night”. My face reddened. “No trouble, your majesty”, I said. “Just… a discussion on our next move”. “Hmm…”, Calanthe frowned, looking from Geralt to me. “I trust you remember our conversation?”. I nodded and smiled. “I remember it well”, I said. “And I trust you, of anyone, will understand why I must live the life I choose, until I have to live the life I must”. Her face contracted into a smile for a second. “I do, my dear”. She sighed. “I just wish you hadn’t chosen as you have”. I smiled again.

“Thank you for your kind hospitality, your majesty”, I said. “And thank you for sacrifice”, she answered. “This is my war; but part of the burden of it has fallen upon you. If I could, I would undo it”. She looked at me earnestly; and then held my face in her hands; putting her forehead to mine. “If Foltest ever… should he ever be cruel to you; I will come up there; and I will rip his cock of with my bare hands”. I laughed. “I might take you up on that offer”. She chuckled, and kissed my forehead. “Be well, cousin”, she whispered.

Jaskier cleared his throat. “I am very sorry to disturb this special moment, your majesty, but I think one of the lords in there has an arrow with my name on it”. Geralt grunted.

“Witcher”, Calanthe said, letting go of me. “You will protect this woman with your life”. “You have my word”, Geralt said, and nodded at her. She narrowed her eyes at him. ”And go north. There are Nilfgaardian outposts further east”. Geralt frowned, and nodded again. “All right”, she said. “Now fuck off, all of you”.

We saddled up; Geralt and me on Roach; and Jaskier on – a quite unhappy – Bayrd.

On our way out the gates; I turned to the bard. “Jaskier; do you like my mushroom stew?”

He didn’t answer.

---

Thanks for reading.

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

- no lady

Tag list:

@ayamenimthiriel

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher fic #the witcher netflix #jaskier

52 notes · View notes

crown-eater · 6 years ago

Text

Only the Vital Ones, Pt. 1

“In those days, desires weren’t allowed to become reality. So, fantasy was substituted for them–films, books, pictures. They called it ‘art.’ But, when your desires become reality, you don’t need fantasy any longer, or art.”–Amyl Nitrate, “Jubilee”

[ With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence, 3, Pts. I, II. ] [ The Uptake (table of contents)]

The small brushed steel kitchen table of Cecil and ‘Choly’s studio apartment abutted a full-height open-frame modular shelving unit, which doubled as a space divider between the kitchen and the daybed in the back corner that ‘Choly frequented whenever scaling the loft bed proved too taxing. Slumped at it in a dark tank top and his orange leggings, before the ex-stalker lay a quaint butcher-paper and twine parcel, a paring knife, and his reader on a kickstand. With the apartment to himself, ‘Choly surveyed some of the pieces in his drafts and rubbed at his marred face in a dull restlessness. Grazing his recent cheek suture, he flinched and stood, and he paced in the narrow track the length of the apartment which functioned not unlike a hallway.

Two years ago, such incisions would have been made in the spirit of verbot chasing. He sniveled in anger at the impotence of having had to make such a superficial adjustment for sake of his own clumsiness, rather than in the aftermath of risky enterprises. He'd tried several times to contact the Tellurides after the riots and subsequent quarantine, and he knew in his gut that all three of them had gotten walled up with the rest of the Quarter. And the Geek, and Chalcedony, too, for all he knew. His only solace came in knowing that at least his parents had moved back in together downstate before things had gotten especially hairy.

He returned to the kitchen and rinsed out a mug to pour himself a fresh cup of black coffee from the carafe Cecil had brewed for breakfast, and he sat again. Then, he snipped the string on the box and unfurled its wrappings. His horn-rimmed glasses came off and lay across the table from him as he continued massaging at his cheeks and chin and neck marbled with errant scars. He flicked up the messaging app frame and clicked on Augen’s active username, and sighed. Rather than initiate conversation, he produced from the small wax-coated cardstock box a decently-sized chalky pastel ball. He smoothed out the parchment with a detached free hand, and set down the ball of Confec atop it with the other.

The ball bore a mealy consistency somewhere between soap and fudge. A quarter-inch butt fell to the paper, and he stuck it in his mouth to let the hyssop-like bouquet melt on his tongue as he sank into his chair and hesitated on the chat he’d opened.

ketherphorbia: you’re up early 9augen: funny, i was just about to message you. not at the library today? ketherphorbia: no, and i’m not getting anywhere with what i was trying to do so you have my full attention 9augen: how does meeting up for lunch sound? ketherphorbia: i ketherphorbia: i just started in on a fresh confec bonbon, but yeah 9augen: the finnegans across the street from your old place? its on me ketherphorbia: something tells me you’re just looking for an excuse to milk their one-cred goldfinch lunch special 9augen: if you want a few, just say so. can you be there in... say, an hour? ketherphorbia: it honestly sounds fantastic. we can both talk. if you want

Still rattled from the abrupt invitation, ‘Choly put the knife in the sink and rounded the modular divider to rummage in the side-table drawers for something to throw on. First came his back brace, splints, and wrist braces, and he yanked together his salmon button-up, black sweater with the elbows cut out, and slashed jeans over the orange leggings. Taking his jewelry box into the bathroom, he then brushed his bangtails and tucked the right side back with his ABC-gum barrette. He hooked his new black acrylic skull-cutout gauge hangers into his ears, and plucked his balloon animal and saturn-symbol pendants to string around his neck. The spoon pin went in his left collar-point, and he sat on the daybed for his socks. On the way out the door, he tucked the wax paper wrapped Confec into his diamond-shaped cross-body bag and nabbed his cane, retrieved his glasses, and slipped into his mint creepers.

Along the short trip down to Level 5, he shot Cecil a short message:

|| Might not be home when you get off work. Augen invited me to lunch. He hasn’t said hardly a word since it happened, and I get the feeling he needs a friend right now. ||

Cecil replied to him as ‘Choly waved his pass and boarded the toll lift:

|| I can only imagine how hard it’s been for him. Hope he’s doing ok. You two have a good time. Love you. Give him a kiss for me ||

With a chuckle and a fish emoticon, ‘Choly exited the lift and hobbled down the street. He texted Augen that he'd arrived, asking where to meet him, because at first he didn't see him outside. Leaning on the front facade of the Finnegan’s, a tall gothic figure smoked religiously. The young man with dark hair pulled into a low messy bun wore a black button-down and drop-crotch pants, a dark grey knee-length gauzy vest, a large black shawl-scarf wrapped around his shoulders and neck, and mesh boots. Upon closer inspection, the combination of facial body mods--spider bites, gauged one-inch ears and 2ga medusa with glass plugs, symmetrical double brow piercings, and batwing clicker--confirmed for ‘Choly that this was his friend. Somehow, even with his suspicion as to why Augen had initiated the meeting, he’d still expected to find him his old self, and not this anxious chain-smoking human mess. Augen rolled his eyes at him, having just checked his messages.

“Word of warning, I’m a bit thrushed right now,” 'Choly blurted out. Rather than respond, Augen leaned down and steadied ‘Choly’s chin to give him a kiss. ‘Choly smiled strangely and reciprocated with a second peck, then navigated the awkward posture into a hug as he tucked his head against Augen’s chest. It unnerved 'Choly that his friend was no longer cold-blooded, no longer clammy and tepid, but he kept it to himself. “...Hello to you, too.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” Augen rubbed at ‘Choly’s scruff and held the door for him. He eyed ‘Choly’s sweater dully in passing. “Don’t Quit Your Daydream, huh?”

‘Choly looked down at the saying printed on his front once they’d cleared the atrium, and his brows upturned.

“Hah, maladaptive daydreaming. Had it for years. I just kinda threw something on so I wouldn’t run late.”

“Daydream... into a living nightmare...”

With the detached comment, Augen waved down a server to seat them. Marinating in his dissociative veneer, ‘Choly swallowed hard at the prospect of purposefully navigating his mental filter. They settled at a table amid the lunch traffic, and with a series of finger gestures along the tabletop which doubled as a touchscreen menu, both ordered pinzones dorados and got to glancing over their options in silence. The server, a young brunet named Bert, promptly came and left with their drinks, as well as a basket of multicolored meal-rinds and two dishes of salsa. 'Choly sipped at his golden glowing pinzón, a smooth over-ice mix of tonic, hydroponic mezcal, triple sec, and lime liqueur, and mentally praised the facility with which one could get drunk at any hour in this city.

“So... this is a thing now.” ‘Choly got a rind real heavy with salsa and shoved it in his mouth.

Augen knocked back half his liquor in one motion, and slouched over it.

“I’d lived myself so fully, that I’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be human. I’ve missed smoking, if we’re looking for an upside to all this.”

“There’s gotta be a way t’get back what you had. At least some of it?”

“That’s... just about the last thing I want to talk about right now. Past tense doesn’t feel so great.”

They used their mouths to crunch rinds and nothing else. Augen took a hit off the cig around his neck, and with a deep exhale he shut his sunken eyes, the vapors entangling with the odd abstract light fixture over the table. Once they'd placed their orders, 'Choly did his best to people watch behind a zoned out Augen, mostly observing the rotation of three servers popping in and out of the kitchen door with dishes. When a couple that sat on the same side of their far-corner booth thought 'Choly gawked at their unapologetic PDAs and gave him a stink-eye, he coughed, and started trying to read the pattern of scrapbooked web articles which plastered every wall and the ceiling of the restaurant. The theme of all the articles painted up Tri-City's sheer melting pot culture as a fusion city, boasting a collage of articles about people from just about every level in the hyper-metroplex.

Bert interrupted their silence with their meals, and 'Choly squirmed back to give the server the space to lay it out on the table. The teen couldn't hide a sigh of relief as he picked up one plate, and glanced between the both of them.

"Who ordered the wraps?"

Augen gave him a lazy hand gesture, and the plate slid over to him. On Augen’s plate of spring wraps lay six large seared shrimp. Sliced in half both for presentation and facility, the three girthy wraps were stuffed with a combination of mushroom slices, seaweed, and fried mealworms.

"And then, the benedict's yours. Extra sauce?"

"Yes, thank you," 'Choly lauded with a heavily modulated affect, as the other mess of a plate came his way. A viscous pale yellow-green mess blanketed two nondescript mounds of protein and bread, and along its side the cook had scattered soft, colorful citrus gummies. "So glad I can still get breakfast here this late."

"Is there anyth--" Bert broke off, unable not to stare at Augen, as he fished out a pair of napkin-rolled utensils to give them. Augen returned the stare, deadpan.

"...Spring wraps, and a side order of shrimp. It is you."

‘Choly gave the poor boy a glossy smile, about to praise how good it all looked, but he quickly drooped in recognition of the tension.

“So I took a bath today,” Augen dismissed, total fatigue in his voice. “Big deal.”

‘Choly coughed, cataract-bloom eyes wide as he took a stiff sip. Setting the pinzón back down, he tried to smile up at the waiter again, his voice cracking.

"Could we get more rinds?"

The waiter shook his head and shut his eyes, then nodded.

“--Sure thing.”

“And we already need another round of birds.” Augen traced the edge of the faded glass with one black-polished finger and a heavy-lidded, eyelined smirk.

The server flashed him a fake grin, poorly hiding his revelry that the city had defanged the loathsome goth.

“I’ll be right back.”

‘Choly fought with the self-conscious selfishness of directing the conversation to himself, but still he persisted, hoping to distract his friend from getting recognized by his typical order. ‘Choly unrolled his flatware to tuck the napkin beside his plate, and took up the table knife and fork with zeal. He didn’t want to admit it, but as had become typical in the past few weeks, the only thing he’d put in his stomach so far by that time of day was a slice of wax and half a cup of coffee. Augen took precise bites, holding his food gingerly with thoroughly ring-encrusted hands. His face stitched with a faint sweat which could have been from stress, the heat of the food, or even from the start of enebriation. 'Choly observed in distant and fascinated contemplation, unsure whether his friend derived his mannerisms from humanity or the vestiges of having so recently once been a hybrid. Augen shot him a vague glance, and he cringed from getting caught watching. ‘Choly pushed the sauce-drenched larva-hash back up on the one round bready thing he’d been cutting bites from, sheepish.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it, there’s gotta be something you can do to take your mind off it instead? Have you tried... writing, since...?”

Augen finished off the first drink right when Bert swung by two replacements and more rinds and salsa. ‘Choly hadn’t even drunk half of his first pinzón yet, and he nudged his new one his friend’s way, knowing the rate this meal was going. “Most of the time,” the goth mumbled, welcoming the offer, “my writing takes a particular head space. And I sure as fuck haven’t been in it.”

“I mean, like. Not in a carnal sense. Sort of in a carnal sense. An emotional sense? A purgative sense?”

Augen kept his eyes on his food, but his ears patently on his friend. ‘Choly’s hallmark withdrawn posture and tone signaled vague, incumbent rambling. With welcome resignation the goth listened, as he’d aspired from the start. After all, ‘Choly always had been the long-winded one of them.

“You... You remember how I was writing stories about me gettin’ with the Geek, but then I stopped abruptly? The last wip I posted before I stopped was right after I found out that the Geek and the Larva were the same person. Early on, the reasons I couldn’t reconcile with finishing the piece were ‘cause of how badly my first encounter with him went, but then fantasy turned into reality and he... caught me stalkin’ him and. You remember that right?” ‘Choly fished his reader from his bag, and tried to locate a picture in his camera roll. “I know I sent you a selfie of the black eye he gave me...”

“...You couldn’t shut up about it for a month. Heh.”

‘Choly looked up from his reader with a dull gloss to his features, and sniffed. “He even tracked me down, what, five weeks later? An’ things got super weird--" He chewed at his labret. "...I’m still trying to process everything that happened two years ago.”

“This is about the walls, isn’t it.”

“Not quite. And yet. Exactly. I just. I owe it to him to get the details right, don’t I? It feels real lousy to even consider writing a nonfictional account of him, and yet.” He popped an orange gummy in his mouth, and licked the thick, tangy sauce off his swan-splinted fingertip. “I feel like I need to get the very concept of him in print, to get it out from inside of me. I know it’s already been two years since the walls went up, but I don’t think it’s possible for me to forget all that... death, even for a day.” A grapefruit one, this time. “How do you stay motivated to write something that hurts and arouses you, both in ways nothing else has ever really managed to?”

Augen dipped a spring roll in his salsa, and started working on the third drink. Not glancing up from his food, his brows piqued with heavy lids.

“A difficult question. Perhaps a better reply would be another question: Who’re you writing this for?”

‘Choly set down his utensils and stared down his food.

“I’d say it was for me, but I feel like I need to put his ghost to rest. I’d say it was for him, but it’s also in hopes of jamming my brain because something more accurate could exist of him than anything I’ve written of him prior. And I’d... say it was for you, or any of my followers, but I... don’t even know if I can bring myself to post the results.” The dreg sneaked the Confec from his bag and set it beside his plate. “I... I gotta have another slice.”

That got Augen’s attention.

“Mmh. Mind sharing?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

‘Choly sliced through the partial ball a few times with his thumbs against the spine of the knife, and Augen reached over to help himself to one. Wincing at the bitterness, he chewed it up and washed it down with more liquor. 'Choly simply slouched back and let the stringent melt go for a few minutes, thinking it nearly paired with the citrus cubes.

“Cecil knows about us,” Augen began, eyes stitched shut, “but you never did tell Cecil about the Geek, did you? Have you ever wanted to?”

“I told him about Chalcedony. And he may not have said anything, but I know he knows about me an’ the Geek. Can’t not. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how open he is to it all. It’s like he believes leaving me untethered keeps me more faithful. He’s... not wrong, I guess.” ‘Choly looked up when he heard Augen stifle a choke, and suddenly he regretted sharing. His friend’s face was glistening, grey eyes wide. “Are you-- all right?”

“How’s everything tasting so far?” Bert interjected in passing, trying to hide concern when he he paused noticing Augen’s demeanor.

“Don't mind him." 'Choly quickly stashed the Confec back in his bag, unsure whether having it would cause them trouble. "I think something just went down the wrong way.”

The boy frowned at the Augen, who blanched and rubbed at his Adam’s apple a bit. On cue, Augen forced a cough.

“I... It's nothing."

Augen tapped a finger on his glass, not looking to Bert, and the waiter plucked up their empty glasses with a nod and excused himself, shaking his head in delirious incredulity at what had become of their once most troublesome patron.

“Seriously... Are you okay? You know you’re supposed to let that stuff melt slow.”

Rather than reply, the goth took one of ‘Choly’s wristbraced hands in both of his own, and guided it to hold his strained throat. He sustained breathless, tormented eye contact.

“It's wearing off faster than I was planning. Thought for sure I'd at least get to slagging finish eating. I'll... I'll take it.”

On to part 2 »»»

#biopunk #cyberpunk #dystopian #drugs tw #alcohol tw #dysphoria mention #body horror #the uptake #with symbiotic self indulgence #wssi #only the vital ones #melanochro kara #august ritter #hopefully starting to understand what's got choly so bugged out that he needs... medicating

1 note · View note

the-uptake · 6 years ago

Text

Only the Vital Ones, 1

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter 3, Part 1. (Go to Pt.2) Go to next chapter.

TW: Drug use?