#they met the bard day one and a month later they just realized

[owlinahazeltree]

Just revealed to the players in my DnD campaign that the nice merchant whose been giving them tons of strange magic items as gifts is actually the final boss fey who’s stolen their identities

They are slightly annoyed at me and debated whether or not I should be allowed to continue to make cruel storylines like this

[xiaq]

How did you and B meet?

I'm sure I've talked about this before, but here's the Official Story from our reception invitations:

Erica met B through their mutual friend G while rock climbing at the Austin greenbelt in April of 2019.

Erica had just purchased a new camera and 80% of the photos she took that day were of B. She shyly sent B the best ones and noted he was a lovely subject. B said, “thanks bro” and used those pictures for his Bumble profile.

It was an auspicious beginning.

At the time, B was living and working in Austin while Erica was a PhD student in Dallas. She often visited “home” to see her parents and climb, so they met up regularly over the next two years.

When the pandemic hit, Erica moved back to Austin to work on her dissertation, and isolated with a small group of climbers that included B. They also started playing D&D together.

Erica’s character was a chaotic neutral half-elf bard who cast spells and cantrips exclusively via limerick. Her go-to solutions to problems they encountered were seduction, inciting political rebellion, befriending monsters, and stabbing.

B played a lawful good half-elf paladin who found Erica’s character extremely vexing.

In real life, however, they had quite a bit in common, and started spending time alone outside of group climbing and D&D meetups. Later, they would discover they had a mutual romantic interest at this point, but neither acted on it since Erica had accepted a visiting professorship in Colorado. She moved in July.

When Erica returned briefly to Austin over spring break the following year, she spent most of her time with B: climbing, hiking, grilling at her parent’s place, and staunchly denying there was anything happening between them even if she wished there was because honestly, mom, he's never shown the slightest bit of interest in me (her father scoffed loudly from the other room).

She decided to move back to Austin at the end of the school year. When B (and G) came to visit her a few weeks before she moved, Erica decided to be brave and make her intentions known. While watching a UFC fight with B on the couch, she tucked her toes, lasciviously, under B’s thigh.

Shockingly, he did not respond to this unequivocal romantic overture. But he did help her remove all the temporary wallpaper on her ugly rental cabinets before they left, so that was nice.

The following month, when Erica moved back to Austin, B asked if she’d like to come over for dinner after climbing. She agreed because she wanted to procrastinate unpacking and also she was slightly in love with him. The following day, he asked if she wanted to have dinner again. She did.

“Wow,” Erica said to her mother that morning, “I guess B is really lonely since G moved. He’s been asking me to hang out with him a lot.”

“You're an idiot,” her mother said.

That night, B asked Erica if she'd ever thought about them dating.

“I’m thinking about it now,” she said, cavalier, suave, blasé, and not nervous at all.

This wasn’t a lie, but she had also thought about it once or twice prior to that moment as well.

“Great,” B said, “How would you feel if I kissed you?”

And Erica said, “Yeah, I’d feel pretty good about that.”

A few weeks later, B casually showed Erica an empty shelf in his bathroom cabinet and an inviting space in his closet and a couple spare drawers in his dresser and she, equally casually, moved in with him.

Over the next year, the apartment’s decor and Erica’s diet improved drastically. They traveled, they climbed, they spent time with each others families. They lived, laughed, loved and reduced, reused, recycled. Shortly after moving into their new house, combining bank accounts, making each other their medical powers of attorney, solidifying their retirement plans, and discussing whether getting married would have tax benefits, they realized most people got engaged before doing…a good portion of those things. So they planned to propose to each other.

Christmas of 2022, they took a road trip across Colorado. B proposed to Erica on the gondola in Telluride; two days later, Erica proposed to B on the Train to Cascade Canyon in Durango. They both said yes.

In August 2023 they will elope, with their dog Deacon as a witness, to Mt. Rainier national park.

In November 2023, they’ll celebrate with their friends and family at a backyard reception that will include food, drinks, swimming, croquet, corn hole, axe-throwing and a bounce house (the axe-throwing and the bounce-house will be on opposite sides of the lawn; if it's cold, the pool will be heated). They hope you’ll come and share their joy with them.

[thesleepy1]

Bun(s) In The Oven

A/N: What am I doing instead of sleeping? A) Working, B) Writing. or C) Waking Lord Cthulhu from his slumber so that he may reclaim the throne. If you guessed B, then you’d be correct! Hahaha, I really do need sleep. And they call me the Sleepy One! Anon Requested. (Also, I haven’t had the time to sit down and watch season three yet, so please no spoilers.) 

Pairings: Eskel x Reader 

Summary: You were supposed to have nine months to prepare. You were counting on those nine months. You were not a procrastinator by any means, but with something as important as having a baby you were going to make good use of all the available time to prepare for the arrival of your new baby. Nine months. Not six. 

Or, “Could you write something for eskel when his significant other is in labour. I don’t know if he’d be chill and prepared or in total panic mode. Either wait I’d like to read it 😂

Word count: 930

Warnings: birth? 

At six months pregnant you were past the point of still coming up with names for your little one and were well into the process of setting up the nursery. In the beginning, there was fear that the baby would not survive. Miscarriages were common in the village you grew up in and a human pregnant with a witcher baby was unprecedented. Anyone pregnant with a witcher baby was unheard of. There was no way of knowing what to expect.

When you and Eskel had first learned of the little seed that was sprouting in you, you both laughed it off as some practical joke. It wasn’t until months later that you realized there was something going on. The bump proved that there wasn’t some prank being played on you. You were well and truly pregnant. 

First there was denial. That was to be expected. 

Then came the acceptance. 

After that it was just full blown panic. 

You were a bard for heaven’s sake. A baby was not on your bucket list. When you had first met Eskel and decided to tag along on his adventures, you did not realize that having a baby along the way was a part of it. 

But after that…? 

It was quite nice. 

Sure it was unexpected and neither you nor Eskel had planned for it, but it really wasn’t a bad thing. The pregnancy didn’t stop you from doing what you loved. You still performed and sang to your heart's content. In some taverns you even made more coin. Some were from concerned onlookers and some were from others who got off at the sight of you. Either way, money was money. 

And Eskel. Dear sweet Eskel. He grew to love you even more than before if that was possible. It was no worry of yours that Eskel didn’t truly love you. He showed it to you each and every day. But after the two of you had gotten over your panic, he became the most doting and kind and loving witcher possible. It could have been sickening if you didn’t enjoy every last moment of it. 

So yes. You were past the point of panic and name searching. With something around thirteen more weeks to go, you were still working on adding things to the nursery. Most of the essentials were there already. Now was just time to decorate and fill the room with as many toys as you possibly can.  No one was going to stop you, least of all Eskel. 

If anyone were looking for the two of you, then they could find you in the nursery happily sewing up another stuffed animal or embroidering yet another piece of  clothing. Eskel could be found doing the same. Despite his large frame, he had such a talent for needle work. 

You were working on turning shorn wool into wool when you suddenly felt a wetness burst from you followed by intense pain. Before you realized what was going on with your body Eskel leapt up from his seat. 

“I need to get a healer,” Eskel announced, his breaths coming in unevenly. “I can’t leave you here alone—someone needs to get the healer. Lambert! Geralt!” 

That was another thing. Eskel’s brothers were there every step of the way. And they were going to be there for this step too, despite its premature timing. 

“Are you sure? I—we still have weeks, don’t we?” you asked him, face grimacing in pain despite your disbelief. “We-we haven’t finished processing the food for stores or-or finished all the clothes—” You were cut off by an unbearable pain flaring from within. “Dear gods, heavens above. The little one is coming. The little one is coming!” 

“Geralt! Lambert! Vesemir!” Eskel called out to his brothers. His voice boomed in the hallways, sounds bouncing off the stone hallways and carrying towards the other witchers in the keep. Before long, they came running to your aide. 

“Healers. We need to go find a healer.” Eskel was firm. He left no room for argument. Lambert rushed out back the way he came. He was the smallest and fastest of the witchers. He would reach the town at the bottom of the mountain first and hurry back with a healer or two. Eskel had to believe that his brother would. 

“Geralt,” Eskel began.

“Anything you need,” Geralt replied. 

What happened next was beyond you. The pain was indescribable. You knew that you would not remember much of the process. At least, that was what the other mothers had told you. They said that the mind would forget so the body continued.

However, right there and then you were unbearably hurt. And you were vocal about it. 

“Great saints above! Get—” you were screaming. It stung the witcher’s ears but you didn’t have a spare thought to care. “Get them out of me!” 

“T-them?”

It was Geralt who faltered at that.

Years later you would all sit around a table topped with a hearty meal. Roasted elk, mashed sweet potatoes, and mead would be overflowing. Altina and Anna would be given cider that had not ripen into the sort that would make them dizzy and drunk. Everyone would laugh at the way that Geralt had stuttered at the prospect of two. 

Eskel would laugh the loudest. For he was the proudest of the fact. He was a father of two beautiful, healthy girls and he couldn’t be happier. 

No one will bring up the fact that Eskel had almost fainted when Anna's head was crowning and the healer was still twenty minutes away.

[thrumugnyr]

WAIT ITS BEEN THAT LONG IN THE CAMPAIGN??

Patataj and Rahadin have been dating for 1.5 years??? O.O

Idk why am I surprised knowing how time can be in DnD lol but the fact its been a while gives me hope things won't end too bad for them babsba

Altho it's cute Rahadin showed up to support his boyfriend I'm kinda suspicious of his answer GAH

OMG, I should have clarified this better: we have been playing this campaign for 1.5 years - the time passed for Patataj is only about 2 months and that's about the time that they're dating, or, well, know each other at least.

Let me tell you chronologically how he ended up in a relationship with Rahadin (this is LONG and has spoilers for CoS so beware):

Rahadin was the first person Patataj met after he woke up in Barovia (he got dragged in through a dream by, as we would later learn, the Abbot, who was looking for sun god support in his endeavor to fix the curse (of Strahd) and accidentally grabbed Patataj over Senna).

Rahadin was there to check out the newcomers mostly (and because my GM was scared of combat balance haha) and they went through the death house experience together. For Rahadin this meant nothing much, but for Patataj that's an intense bonding experience (also they were holding hands for most of it, as Patataj was the only one without darkvision).

After they made it out of the death house, Rahadin disappeared, but Patataj took up the sending spell on his level up a few days later and thus was able to send Rahadin little messages. That's how he was able to secure a meeting with him as well. That meeting went rather poorly, but he managed to not get killed. You must also know that by this time, Rahadin just seemed like a sulky, shy dusk elf to Patataj. Someone who would be funny to make flustered and drag out of their shell a little. Not much else. He hasn't really seen him do damage or anything.

He does start to ask random people he meets about Rahadin though and then slowly realized that, well, he does not seem to be a terribly well liked guy. Kasimir (the leader of the few surviving dusk elves) tells him to stay away from him, but Patataj doesn't quite know why, because he gets along quite well with him.

So after a few days (and after the party killed the Aboleth in the lake) he asks Rahadin for a second date to make up for the first one and to his surprise, Rahadin agreed.

They have like a romantic little boat ride and Rahadin even brings a scroll for Pataj so he can walk on water (because he mentioned missing being able to run in the open desert and the lake is...pretty big and the next best option). Of course Patataj goes for a run but in the end he can't just let Rahadin sit all alone in the boat so he offers him a ride.

And that's how this picture happened ahaha. YES, IT WAS ACTUALLY A THING not a dream or anything - I know!! Wild!

Centaurs don't just offer someone to sit on them willy-nilly (if at all), so in the end Patataj confesses to Rahadin that he caught feelings. He's a bard after all and centaur hearts beat fast.

Of course for Rahadin it's way too soon to reciprocate such feelings the same way (I mean, they knew each other for....two weeks at this point, maybe one? And he's like 500 years old. Them centaur hearts be moving in hyperspeed to him). But he still admits a certain fondness and they actually do kiss when Patataj asks for one.

Some time passes, Patataj keeps sending those sending messages and they interact like that every day. Just small things, as sendings have a limit of 25 words ahaha.

Eventually, Strahd invites the party for dinner, as he does. Everyone is low key terrified, but Patataj is excited to meet Rahadin again....and it goes well. Our warlock pisses Strahd off majorly because he continuously keeps the appearance of the girl Strahd is into, but Patataj is having a great time, even winning a bard-off against Escher.

Patataj ends up spending some of the night with Strahd, ending in him offering Strahd his blood (and I do not think he was even charmed. We're all still confused as well. Strahd just was very good with words and made Patataj feel sad for him okay?). Rahadin ends up taking care of Patataj for the rest of the night and it all gets very emotional, they exchange gifts, they kiss more, Rahadin starts to open up a little about his past and other personal things.

No, nothing besides kissing happening - but hey, progress.

They are mostly back to sending messages and short meetings for most of the campaign then. This goes on for months in real time you know haha. It does sometimes skew with my perception how much time actually passes.

At some point Patataj manages to convince Rahadin to join a little party at the tavern in Vallaki and it's all very cute. They play like, throwing knives and never have I ever and it's really stupid but fun....thanks to probably the alcohol Rahadin does actually end up comfortable enough to do ....more than kissing that night, too. And that is actually also the last night they managed to spend together until now.

Meanwhile the campaign goes on, we go to Krezk like, twice, kill the Abbot, we do the Yester hill battle, defend Vallaki (where Rahadin was extremely worried). In Vallaki there was also one instance where Patataj almost died and sent some final words type of message to Rahadin and boy, Rahadin was UPSET about it. Mostly mad because the message did not include Patatajs whereabouts and such and it took him longer to find him. He was probably also upset that the whole thing made him so scared in the first place haha. Rahadin is not used to care about anything other than Strahd and maybe Anastrasia (and since they're both vampires, they die far less easy, so not much to worry there).

But yeah, this is how you manage to date Rahadin in Curse of Strahd: You need a GM who puts him in the campaign early enough and PERSISTENCE. It's not easy to make Rahadin care, but once he does, he's very loyal and your chances of survival become very good actually ('You wouldn't want to hurt Rahadins mate' worked very well with the werewolves for example lol) - but also it can be a little terrifying at times. Patataj is trying to come to terms with the fact that all the protection benefit he gets out of this also means that it is very likely that he will end up as a vampire in the end. Also there is no turning back. Rahadin is very unforgiving and I'm sure if Patataj would break his heart, Rahadin would slit his throat, because that's just how he deals with his problems. There is also still a chance Rahadin might follow Strahd's orders to kill Patataj despite his own feelings. It's 500 years vs a few weeks/months after all.

But I do think Rahadins feelings are genuine. He says the most romantic shit sometimes and he really was very supportive in the last session (at least as much as you could expect Rahadin to be). It was actually the first time he said 'I love you' in return! MORE PROGRESS!

And I also do think he doesn't just want to use Patataj for personal gain. He's not a very....scheming guy. Not that Patataj would care either way. He'd do almost anything for Rahadin at this point, aside of things that go against his morals of course. It's quite funny, really. Patataj knows of all the terrible things Rahadin has done by now, but he kind of shoves it aside under 'well he did it under Strahd's orders, he wouldn't have done it otherwise' because he just can't fathom Rahadin is THAT bad/uncaring, since to HIM he is extremely gentle and sweet, even if sometimes a little struggling with showing emotions. Love makes blind, I swear.

But I'm rambling. I hope they get a happy ending. At least Patataj would deserve one after everything (all the suffering and pain of people around him and his powerlessness to help are getting to him), but it IS Curse of Strahd and who knows what will happen. Even at the best outcome, he will have to kill some if not most of Rahadins 'family', in the worst outcome, Rahadin kills him. In the most likely, he ends up a vampire in Strahd's castle, never to see sunlight again.

So yeah, on that depressing note and for anyone who read this whole thing, I'll leave you with two songs from my Patadin playlist because who doesn't have songs for their OC?

Nessa Barrett - Die first

Amber Run - I found

[whoviancumberbunny]

Part Five: It’s All About Soul

Part one: Tentative Love  

Part Two: Small Miracles

Part Three: Leave A Tender Moment Alone

Part Four: Rhythm Of Life

It’s All About Soul

 Scanlan Shorthalt, Kaylie Shorthalt and Other Vox Machina characters Created by Critical Role

  Lucy Collins-Shorthalt and the Shorthalt Children [as well as other characters] Created By Melissa C. Scraper @whoviancumberbunny

Two things were becoming clear to Scanlan Shorthalt, that time passes by quickly and that soon he would be needing to have an awkward conversation with any potential suitors of the now 16 year old, Daphne Juniper. His first Child with Lucy.

 “Scanlan look at me.” Lucy said “You can’t just tell her she can’t date bards. If teenage gnomes are anything like teenage humans, when they are told not to do something they will do it anyway.”

  “But I was such an ass when I was that age, or in fact until I met you.” It was still unclear what his true age was because gnomes aged differently from humans. He had allowed the vanity spell to taper off bit revealing slight bit of grey hair peaking out of his brown hair and thought they no longer had sexual encounters they were still intimate.   He took small origami flower he had been making and tucked it behind her ear “Lulu Bell.” He kissed her it had taken years but Lucy finally stopped flinching away from others calling her Lulu Bell. The fact was only Scanlan who did.

 “I hope I have replaced your negative memories with positive ones.” He caressed her cheek

 “I know you hate talking about death. But I know you will outlive me by decades.  Or couple centuries. When that time comes I want you to eventually find love again.  I wouldn’t be able to rest knowing you are not allowing yourself to be happy.”

 “My angel, you are only 37.   Is this because you see when Vax ushers spirits to the other side.” He quietly utters the polymophr spell so he can cuddle with her on the couch and stare out the window. “Everything is going to be alright.”

 “It is because my father was only 38 when he was killed,  I have been having ominous dreams about the number 38.”

 He rested his head on her shoulder “I was just thinking about the first time you spoke to anyone after you Joined the party.  Everyone wasnlt sure how to act around you.  We drew straws to see who would bring food to you.”

 “I remember that night too.   I think they fixed it so you would get the short straw because they knew you were the least intimidating member of the group.”

 17 Years ago, Scanlan cautiously approaches the bed with the sandwich. “No one is really sure if you can talk.  But I think the idea is that you are not ready to talk.”  He paused, unsure of how to continue this conversation

 “Your name is Scanlan right?” she said quietly “My name is Lucy .”

 He was slightly taken aback, no one had realized she was paying attention to everything around her.  “May I sit on the bed with you? That is my name.”   she nods and he sits down “Lucy is a pretty name.”  he noticed she winced when he said her name was pretty. Had no one had ever given her compliments.

 “is you mandolin only a magical weapon?” she asked, it would take a few months before she would pull away when he touched her. But this is how it all began, this was also why they treasured their moments alone

 “It’s situational I suppose.”   He replied to her inquiries. “When was the last time you ate?”

 “By my calculations three days ago.”  She had given the money she had with her to people who needed it,

 Two years later after their first time making love, the polymorphy spell hadnlt started fading yet so Scanlan was still around 5’7. “Scanlan you didn’t need to stay like I love you the way you are.”

 “Lucy,  you are the stars in my eyes.  I never thought I would be in room at an inn with someone I wasn’t paying to be with. I was unreasonably selfish dick before I met you. It means more being with you. Here tonight.”    He looks into her eyes “You may not think you are strong but it takes different kind of strength to admit you needed help against Gabriel. Or that you didn’t want to be alone in your grief anymore.” He looked at her “My mother was killed in front of me. By an ogre. That was how ended up traveling with doctor dranzel and I was in love once before. But when I finally went back for he she was gone. I never thought I would find love again. I felt like I let it slip through my fingers.”  He takes her hands and as his fingers intertwine with hers, the polymorph fades and he return to his his regular handsome gnome self. “are all your scars from Gabriel?”

 “A few of them are from learning to ride horses.  I think the reason you thought I was only five when you saw me begin held by Gabriel, is that I hay have been slightly malnourished. Gabriel didn’t really like allowing the servants to cook for us when my father was out of the house.”

 “Nothing like that will ever happen to you again as long as I am around. Lucy. I promise.”

 They were broken out of their reminiscing by daphne’s voice “I swear if you two start making out I am throwing water on you.” She looks at Scanlan “Daddy, is it alright if your borrow the keys to your classroom. Neville and I want to practice our duet for the music showcase next weekend.”    She had always had him wrapped around her finger “Please!”

 “I am not letting you stay alone in the school with a teenage bard.” He sighed as he cancelled the polymorph spell “Fine I am coming with you though.  Last time I left students alone the in the school they reorganized everything.” He kisses lucy “I meant what I said before we were married. I will always do my best to be here for you.”  He slips on his beret

 “Before you ask, Dad. I do see and hear ghosts like mom. One of the first spirits I saw was child my age  who was being ushered to the spiritual plain by Uncle Vax’ildan. It was  part of lessons on life and death. That mom wanted Vax and Pike to teach me about.”

 He laughed “Did I ever tell you the story about how Vax and I defeated, Abrysal?”

 “Yes you have. It is one of my favorite stories.  Dad, you do know that I admire the relationship you and mom have.  Your age difference has never mattered in the fact that you love each.”

 Meanwhile at the Shorthalt House. Vax knocks on the door and Lucy lets him in “The oddest thing happened, when I was gathering souls for Our lady of Ravens I met a lost soul, I believe is your brother. He wanted me to deliver a message.  He wants you forgive him for choosing to take over young Quentin’s Body.   He’s gad that you;ve done the one things few members of the Collins family ever succeeded at. Allowed yourself to be happy and let people into your life. I believe it was fate that you found us that day you collapsed in front of the tavern. You may not think of yourself as member of Vox Machina. But you are Lucy, you have been since the first time  Scanlan looked back to make sure you were still with us.” He paused “her Lady of Ravens allowed him one request before joining her.”

 Lucy turns around as the figure of young man approximately twenty years of age slowly appears in the living room “Sister, I think we always knew without being told that Quentin Collins was my father too. I am honored that you named your son after me.   His twin brother’s skills were there before my possession enhanced them.  For Quentin Percival, family is worth defending more than anything else.  Just let them follow their paths.”  He steps forward and hugs her “I always knew you would survive and I have always felt blessed to witnessed the first 18 years of the life of my amazing sister. Don’t worry Gena’s husband will get what is coming to him. He has crossed way too many people with power.  I have to go now. Thank you for listening to the last thing I said to, run and don’t look back.”  As Elijah Collins fades into the ether

 Lucy looks at Vax  and hugs him “You are fate touched Lucy Collins-Shorthalt. “ he said with smile as she started crying “Should be used to this, I have been her Champion  for 17 years. It means a little more in this moment.”  He puts his arms around her “Your strand is strong you won’t be gathered for quite while now. Stop believing there is a family curse. It is self sabotage to do things like that. I have to go see my wife I haven’t been home in months.”  

 “I am glad we don’t all live on building any more. You are louder than Scanlan when you make love.”  She said as she opened the door, as he flies off she notices Vax had placed one of the feathers from his wings in her hair. She tucks it in her pocket as a trio of young gnomes runs in an nearly knocks her over “Is Grandpa home we wanna hear the story about the dragon again.”

 “Gideon, he’s chaperoning your Aunt while she rehearses for the show this weekend.  Go into the kitchen your granddad made cookies in case you lot showed up today.”  She smiled  as the three children ran into the kitchen.

 “Hello Lucy.  I take is Dad hasnlt figured out that Daphne has a crush on my husband’s baby brother.”

 “Come in, Kaylie. Where is your husband.”

 “He’s unpacking our things at the Inn. Sybil, Melissa and Gideon wanted to come here first.”  She looks around “where are my brothers at.”

 “It is their weekly lessons with Percy and Vex.”  The sit down and have some tea “Let me guess, dad is still  on his weird thing about fixated on daphne even dating bardic gnome because he was a right prick when he was younger.”

 “Aye,  I am glad you gave him a chance, Kaylie. Sometimes all you can do is take a lead and wait for the net to catch you.” She looked at her step daughter, “Your dad is my safety net.” They hear something break

 Kaylie “You lot better not be climbing on the counters again. I told you about this last time we came to visit my side of the family.” He runs into the kitchen and see three broken plates on the floor  and Gideon standing on the counter “Gideon Scanlan Newton hw many times do I need to tell you, you are not to climb on things. You nearly got your sisters hurt when you used the knife  drawer as step to get on the counter.”

 “Kaylie they are only plates, I am sure Gilmore can order more.”  She help Gideon off the counter “This little guy is just as much of spitfire as his Uncle Eli. If I could read your Father’s handwriting I would read them the story.”  

 They go into the living room she tells the children the stories she knows that involve Scanlan, as Gideon falls asleep on her lap “My lap is your dad’s favorite place to rest his head, too.” She said

 “Is that story true?”

 “the one about fighting my Uncle Gabriel? Yes. I wasn’t strong enough to stand up to him myself. But your dad and Vox machina helped me. It was the first time since I was child going to stables that I had a friend who just let me be myself.”   She paused “Like your father Told daphne when she was nervous about her first performance in school showcase. You can’t choose your part In the play. All you can do is take the plunge.”

 “Why were you crying?” she could tell her stepmother’s eyes were red

 Lucy “it is complicated.”  Kaylie knew she would only tell her if she wanted to.  

   To be Continued…

Saturday, February 11, 2023

[spacebarbarianweird]

Mortal Bounds. Part 5. The Vampire and the Witch

Summary: Astarion reunites with his adult daughter twenty years after Tiriel's death

Tags: angst, hurt, depression, father\daughter relationship, widower Astarion, adult child of Astarion

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate has sent me requests to post this story at least twice so here you are!

This is the fifth part of the Mortal Bounds series. Tiriel dies and Astarion deals with grief and loneliness along with their daughter.

Alethaine's age: 150

Mortal Bounds. Part 1. Shall We Meet Again?

Mortal Bounds. Part 2. Death, Worthy of a Barbarian

Mortal Bounds. Part 3. Paint it Black

Mortal Bounds. Part 4. Butterfly

Mortal Bounds. Part 6. Tel'Quessira nalme

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion curls under the blanket, hoping he will see Tiriel in his reverie. He wants to see her freckles,her smile, to feel her warmth. He wants to press his ear against her chest to hear her heartbeat. 

But Astarion can't. 

Because his wife is dead. 

She died 20 years ago in a fight like she had always wanted and before that, they had 150 years of life together. 

Astarion misses her. 

He didn't even have a chance to bury her or say goodbye. That dragon just burnt Tiriel to ashes leaving only a small piece of her armor.

Well, if she hadn’t died that day, she would have died a year later. Or ten years later. She was already 186 and her body was aging as it yielded to its human nature. Red hair turned white, wrinkles covered her face.  She would pant after a long walk and fighting became difficult for her.

Astarion would have loved to care for her in the last years of her life – elves who choose spouses from other races went through this all the time. Still young, they end up caring for their old partners who suffer from dementia and blindness. 

Tiriel would have never wanted this. She wanted a fight. She wanted a noble death.

And she got it.

The money Astarion earned from killing that dragon ended up in many bards’ pockets – he forced them to hear about Tiriel so they could make songs about her.

Then came the most difficult part. He sailed to Cormyr where their daughter acted as the High Necromancer, an evil sorceress who people thought had bewitched the court; little did they know she was the only person capable of saving these illiterate goons from demons and dark forces.

Alethaine.

She got him a sleeping potion and also paid a servant, a young woman, to share her blood with him. The small goblet was barely enough to satiate Astarion but he hadn't had blood for months and it was enough to at least soothe the nightmares.

When he woke up, his first thought was to search for Tiriel only to realize she was  gone. Forever.

Alethaine…

They parted ways. She left to the Underdark saying she wanted to join the dhampirs in their Freehold. Poor girl, she had nowhere else to go. The world of short-lived creatures had changed so much she felt uncomfortable. Elves come back home when they become older than a century, but dhampirs have no other place and Alethaine Ancunin is doomed to see her friends and companions grow old and die as she stays unchanged.

And so, she went to join her kind in the Dhampir Freehold.

Dhampirs had become so common in the last decades that no one was really worried about them. They called each other cousins as a slight towards Astarion’s master, the one who forced his spawns to call each other siblings. Now, dhampirs call themselves cousins. Grandchildren of the dark.

Or called.

Something bad happened fifteen years ago. Almost all dhampirs disappeared. The stronghold in Darkwood, once a home to a merciless dhampir guild, was left empty. A castle owned by the Midnight Sisters, blood witches Alethaine would call sex obsessed, was burnt to ashes. 

Within the last few years, Astarion  has met only one dhampir, a gnome, who got a panic attack the moment Astarion asked what had happened.

He would cry and beg not to ask him about the Freehold.

It seems like Astarion has to accept he lost his daughter, too.

The next sunrise meets him in the ruins of a tower. Astarion makes himself comfortable in the darkness and watches the sun taking its rightful place in the horizon.

He sticks his hand out from the shadows and his skin starts burning.

Astarion covers himself in a cape and waits.

When it is dark again, he leaves his shelter and sees something written in blood red on the collapsed wall.

WHERE DID THE DHAMPIRS GO

Astarion stares at the words. They send a shiver down his spine.

He looks below it and sees symbols in the Thieves' Kant 

THEY KILLED THEIR FATHERS AND THE DEMONS TOOK THEIR EYES

Astarion shivers.

There is nothing worse and scarier than a fight between dhampirs. The silence fell as their heart stopped beating and the half-mortal monsters ripped each other’s throats.

There was a period when Astarion barely left his home fearing to cross paths with yet another “nephew”. He made it alive only thanks to the fact real vampire hunters knew Alethaine would make talking skulls out of their heads should someone hurt her father.

Alethaine.

Where is she? Is his princess even alive? Is she safe? Or is she dead along with the others? And if so, where is her grave? 

Astarion would have given everything to see his girls again. To hold Tiriel in his arms, to see Alethaine. Maybe to hold them both like 150 years ago when Alethaine was just a tiny elf and Tiriel was strong and young. 

Now, he has only reveries.

Autumn is getting colder and the days are shorter. Astarion navigates the darkness talking to no one but himself.

He would have been even happy in the company of Theris the Bard, the annoying dhampir tiefling who has a sibling-like relationship with Alethaine.

Did he perish in the Underdark along with the others?

As the winter begins, Astaron spends more and more time outside. He remembers Tiriel warming him in such cold times and he cries himself to sleep mourning the happiness he once had. 

The worst reveries are the ones connected with arousal.

In these memories, Tiriel is his, completely his. She breathes in his mouth, moans, and pants as he traces her body with his tongue and fingers.

Sometimes he wakes up painfully hard because he dreams of Tiriel’s lips around his member.

Yes, always on him. Always gentle. Always playful.

He tries to remember her scent, her voice, her taste as he strokes himself. Orgasms always come with tears and desperation.

Twenty years.

Twenty years without her.

Twenty years alone and lost. 

Forever.

**

… The tavern looks dirty and reeks of piss. Astarion stops at the door sensing the invisible barrier.

He needs an invitation.

“Come in, fairy!” The innkeeper says. “Well, look at you! How come an elf looks like a dirty dwarf?”

People laugh.

Astarion looks around. Blood. Warm blood. But dirty necks averse him.

“I am looking for a job. And a warm bed,” he finally says.

“Hm, we have nothing here. We are peaceful people!”

Liar. Astarion can physically sense the anxiety.

“Tell me the truth,” Astarion whispers. “Who do you want me to kill?”

The innkeeper leans into him and Astarion hopes the exhaustion hasn’t made his vampiric traits show off. He can always explain ruby eyes with elven ancestry, but he wouldn’t be able to explain the fangs.

“We… We have a job… But hush! You haven’t heard from me!”

“I am listening.”

“There is a vampire witch in the swamps! She kidnaps girls to drink their blood! And she makes the dead leave their graves! We once hired a man to kill her, but she seduced him and turned him into a spider!”

Astarion hesitates. Well, killing vampires is his profession, but witches… He prefers not to piss the mages. He has a sorceress daughter, after all.

Or had.

“Thirty gold! No, 40! Hey!” he waves to a man in the corner. “Come here! I'm an adventurer! He can get rid of that… that… thing!”

“Fifty,” Astarion says.

“But we haven't yet paid the tribute!”

“Sixty gold,” Astarion adds. These people are desperate, that’s for sure.

“All right…you …fairy!”

“Call me a fairy once again and I will side with the witch.”

“All right, all right! 60 gold be it! But you need to show us the body!”

Astarion waits till the night starts again. He hears whispers – the demons of the Underdark are twisting people's minds and bodies, darkness falls on the land, elves are going extinct, winters and nights are getting longer, and Baldur’s Gate has collapsed into the sea. 

Unfortunately, Astarion knows at least half of these things are true.

He tries to meditate, but there are very few safe memories to relive. Two centuries of enslavement still haunt him and the things that used to make him  happy now make him even more miserable.

“Daddy, look!” Alethaine, five or six years old, shows him a skull.

“Is it an ogre?” Astarion carefully takes the dirty discovery in his hands.

“Mum won it at the fair. Well…She told me!” Alethaine casts a glance at the bathroom door where Tiriel washes the dirt off herself. 

Astarion returns the skull to his daughter asking her to wipe it clean and enters the bathroom. Tiriel is deliciously naked while she rubs her freckled skin.

“So, where did you get the skull, darling?”

“Someone reanimated a dead ogre. I left Alethaine to watch the fire performers and killed it.”

“And she wanted the skull?”

“Of course she did. It was this or a book on the Great Old Ones which was cursed, I am sure.”

Astarion kisses Tiriel’s cheek. A few years later, they will realize that Alethaine is a necromancer and her love for macabre things is part of her nature.

Astarion returns back to reality in tears. He lost it all. His love and their daughter. It is one thing to lose Tiriel – he knew it would happen. She was a half-elf. And he must be happy for every day they spent together.

But Alethaine…

It’s unnatural for a parent to live longer than their child.

He should have stopped her, he had to make her follow him back to the Swords Coast.

He had to… 

Astarion sits up. He has a job to do. 

He goes down the tavern avoiding the innkeeper’s gaze.

“You can’t go hunting her at night! She is a fucking vampire!” A drunk woman says. “She will be weak in the morning!”

“I know what to do,” Astarion mutters.

The swamps are disgusting and so is the forest. He barely sees anything even with his darkvision and the rain makes it all even more disgusting.

It seems like the witch doesn’t even try to hide. Her hut is visible from the distance, but it’s entirely guarded with necrotic traps and a few raised skeletons who don’t notice the vampire. 

A necromancer.

Astarion feels a knot in his stomach. What if it’s Alethaine? What if it’s her?

He shakes his head. Miracles are rare and he has had enough of them. He will have to fight the witch, whoever she is. Maybe, if she kills him, he will find peace.

Astarion jumps over the fence. He doesn’t sense the presence of a living soul. Is there no one home?

Dhampirs, he reminds himself. Dhampirs are invisible to vampires. No, he shouldn’t give himself hope.

Suddenly the door slams open. Astarion grabs his daggers preparing for the fight.

The evil witch of the swamps bares her fangs.

There is a memory Astarion loves and fears to relive. 

When Alethaine could barely walk, he left for a few weeks to deal with a nasty contract between a gnome prince and a devil. When Astarion went away, Alethaine couldn’t even stand and he kissed her goodbye promising to return soon. The job took him longer than he expected. He was tired and angry when he returned home (the gnome died in the process and he didn’t earn anything from it). When he entered the house, he heard Tiriel’s breathing as if she was sound asleep.

And then he heard tiny steps.

Alethaine rushed to him on her two feet with her open arms. As he lifted her up, she grabbed his ears mumbling “Da-da, da-da!”

The memory flashes in front of his ruby eyes as he stands in the dirt with the dark witch of the swamps in his hands.

“Dad,” Alethaine cries. “I missed you so much… I am so sorry… I should have come with you,” she presses her nose against his shoulder.

Astarion caresses her back and silver hair. “It’s all right, princess, I am here.”

She bursts into tears like the little girl she once was.

“Let’s get inside, all right?” He says, trying to look at her.

“Yes… Come in!” Alethaine sniffs returning to the hut.

Astarion sits by the wooden table. The hut looks awful and so does Alethaine. It’s a dirty and cold place full of dried plants and mushrooms, artifacts and rugs thrown around, and a reanimated rat is chewing a book on the history of gnomes. 

And Alethaine. whom he raised to have standards, who belonged to the fucking nobility in Cormyr when he last saw her, looks like a deranged village witch.

Her silver hair is messy as if she was too lazy to brush it. Her black dress is in rags and nails are bitten. 

“Oh, you need to eat…” she mutters, opening the cellar door. “I have some blood preserved in bottles, it is as fresh as it was when I took it.”

“Don't you tell me you drink blood,” Astarion says, feeling how his regular fatherly concern returns back. Blood makes dhampirs sick and insane, but it’s addictive like a drug.

“No, I don’t. I would never,” Alethaine returns with a bottle of human blood. “I will never.”

Astarion finishes the bottle and feels his body become warm. Alethaine takes a brush and tries to tidy up her hair, but instead, she just pulls out the tangles.

“Alethaine…”

“I am all right, Dad. How are you? What are you doing so far from the Swords Coast?”

“And I thought you were supposed to be in the Underdark! What happened?”

Alethaine turns away, her eyes wide open. Astarion has lived long enough to know such a  stare means nothing good.

He carefully takes the brush away.

“When was the last time you took a bath?” He asks gently.

“I- I don’t remember.”

“Do you have a tub here?” 

“Dad, I am all right! Besides it’s you who is… a widower.”

Astarion sits in front of her. 

“What happened to you? But don't lie, I know when you try to.”

Alethaine sniffs.

Dhampirs murder each other. Profane Abyssal language. Her cousins were without eyes and tongues. Screams, pain.

Death.

And much worse.

“I don’t know what happened. They just… got insane. Started killing each other. My friends, my cousins. It was a purge!” Alethaine clenches her hands. “I survived only because I resurrected the dead bodies. And… that thing… it’s still there, somewhere… And I am afraid it will find me,” Alethaine shuts her ears as if she could still hear the screams.

Maybe she does.

“I have nightmares. I see shadows and darkness. I barely leave the hut, only when I absolutely have to. Sometimes people come to me for healing or prophecies… Damn, everyone knows I have no prophetic abilities…. I am scared all the time.”

Astarion caresses her fingers.

“How long have you been here, princess?”

“Fifteen years.”

Astarion is silent for a few moments. What can he say to her? That everything will be alright? That she can just leave it be? After all that happened?

“Alethaine, I am here.” He makes her look at him. “I am a vampire, if anything bad comes here, they will have to walk past me.”

Alethaine smiles, but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe him.

“All right, so you haven’t told me if you have a tub.”

**

Hours later, when he brings enough water to warm it with a fire spell and Alethaine locks herself in the room submerging herself in the tub, Astarion cooks a stew from what he's found in the hut. It's difficult to say if the food is even edible, but it’s the best that he can do.

From time to time, he calls Alethaine and relaxes as he hears her voice. 

When the stew is more or less ready, Astarion contemplates if he should clean the hut but decides not to meddle with what might be his daughter’s specific order so he gets more water from the well to wash the black dress. 

“Princess, I hope you have other clothes, because I am afraid I cannot repair this,” he finally admits, realizing the dress is little more than a rag.

Alethaine doesn’t answer. 

It’s already sunrise when she finally returns to the kitchen in what looks like another ragged dress, all patches and holes. She starts eating like a starving person.

Astarion takes a pair of scissors.

“Try not to move,” He says as she munches the dinner. “I will cut off the tangles.”

He does it carefully, knowing that elven hair takes centuries to grow back. The tangles fall on the dirty floor.

“Astarion!” Tiriel calls him in his memory. “Astarion, is it normal that they are already so long?”

A seven-month-old toddler sleeps with her hair covering the whole body like a second blanket. 

“She is an elf, it is normal,” He says. “But we can’t cut them.”

“I wasn’t going to!” Tiriel touches Alethaine’s ear making it twitch. “It’s just weird!”

The toddler wakes up, and sits down, her hair covering her fully. And then sniffs.

“Thank you, Dad,” Alethaine says, putting the plate away. “And… for the hair. I just couldn’t make myself cut it.”

“Now sit in front of me,” Astairon orders and takes a nail file out of the inner pocket. 

Alethaine chuckles, noticing it.

“What, princess, I have no idea how I look and my whole image of myself is formed by my hands!”

“Everyone says we look alike.”

“Then I am sure I am the most beautiful elf this world has seen.” He takes Alethaine's right hand and starts working on her nails. Alethaine sniffs again. “I am sorry for what happened there”

“I don’t know. I think it would happen anyway. This cult… There was always something wrong with it.”

“Did they get insane only because they worshiped the Great Old Ones?”

“I don’t think it was the Great Old Ones. It was something more… twisted. More dangerous. They worshiped it and it killed them.”

“So, you think it happened only because of that?”

“I think it was more than enough. But honestly Dad, do you want my version?”

“Hm?”

“We started killing vampires, our own parents. And the gods punished us with madness.”

Astarion pulls away. Alethaine’s gaze is a thousand miles away. Has she always been spiritual? Or is it what happened to her after Tiriel’s death and the purge she witnessed that made her so?

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“Dalyria’s sons, the twins, killed her. They dragged her body to the surface and watched her burn. Ayrin… her father, Sebastian, I think that was his name, she killed him because she just liked murdering vampires. I hunted … spawns and lords… and whoever I got paid for. I rationalized it, like, I was killing the dangerous ones! I was saving mortals! But we shouldn’t have done it. We should have left you all in peace.”

“Princess, your mother made me release seven thousand spawns into the Underdark. And what is worse, like I learned much later, they all were true vampires because our master had died. Most of them were dangerous. Someone would eventually have had to kill them.”

“It wasn't our hunt, though,” Alethaine says. “We don’t breathe. We walk on ceilings. We fear silver. We regenerate. Blood makes us insane. We live so much longer than we are supposed to. It is a sin for a dhampir to kill a vampire and I am sure of it. Maybe I survived only to tell others.”

Astarion touches her pale cheek.

“Princess, don’t look for reasons where there is none. The gods are too busy bickering with each other to punish dhampirs.”

Alethaine doesn’t answer. And then she covers her face with her palms.

“I miss her, Dad. I miss her so much.”

Astarion doesn’t need to ask who she means. Tiriel. Alethaine misses her mother. And she always will.

He takes Alethaine in his arms and places her on his lap. She cradles herself like a little child and Astarion is surprised yet again at how small she actually is. Only five feet tall! And barely eighty-eight pounds to weight. 

Tiny.

“Hush, baby princess, it’s all right. You are safe with me,” he says.

**

Astarion finds special comfort in repairing clothes. Everything Alethaine has is in tatters and he stitches dragons and butterflies, monsters and phrases in Elven like he did when she was little.

Alethaine is way more cheerful. She tells him about her time at the royal court, of her adventures and books she’s read. They discuss necromancy and the undead and also the destiny of the Underdark vampires.

“Dad, how did you find me?” She asks the next evening. 

“Very simple. You’ve scared the shit out of locals and they started looking for a monster hunter.”

“Oh, so you’ve come to kill me?”

“Alethaine, to be honest, I am not sure I could handle you,” he laughs.

“We can pretend you succeeded and earn some money.”

“So, dear, am I getting this right,” Astarion bites off the thread. “You suggest you start scaring the shit out of mortals and then I arrive like a mysterious knight in shining armor to ‘end’ you?”

“Or you scare the shit out of people as a dangerous vampire and I come to deal with you like a dhampir. I can even make a legend that you are my asshole father who is an absolute tyrant.”

“I like it,” Astarion says. “But we will have to move often, otherwise we will be caught red-handed.”

Alethaine sits in front of him. 

“We can travel… Like you did with mum. I just… can’t stay here anymore. This place sucks.”

“Alethaine, it will be difficult. I will have to stay inside in the daylight.”

“Not a problem. I can move as fast as you, we will cover great lengths at night!”

Astarion looks at his daughter. She is not lying. She really wants it.

How will it be? To adventure with his adult child? His beautiful and smart 150 year-old princess?

He is sure it’s going to be fun!

“All right, then pack your stuff! And let’s go earn some money.”

“I need to fake my death,” she says.

“Then do it! The night is short!”

Astarion sneaks out of the hut the moment darkness falls on the ground.

No one in the village believes him without proof so he brings them to the swamp hut.

“You killed her!” The innkeeper exclaims. “We are safe! Thank you!”

Astarion looks at the hut.

A corpse with long silver hair hangs down the roof. The body looks so similar to Alethaine’s that Astarion has an uncanny feeling.

A sack of gold is thrown to his feet.

“Take it and leave,” the men order him.

Astarion bows out and takes their money. 

Alethaine waits for him on the hill. She wears her black traveling armor, and her hair is braided. She looks younger. And more cheerful.

And happy.

“Sixty gold?! Are you kidding?” She says. “I am very much sure I am worth more than that!”

“Next time harass someone richer, princess!” Astarion walks beside her as they leave the swamps.

“So where are we traveling to?” Alethaine asks.

“Where do you want to go?”

Alethaine contemplates for a while.

“Halrua. The land of magic!” Alethaine says. “Imagine the things we can steal there!”

“And the things we can kill!” Astarion bares his fangs and Alethaine copies his expression by showing hers. 

He takes her hand. He doesn’t know what the future will hold for him or his daughter but for now…

This little adventure just feels nice. 

---

Thank you for reading! You know, it's actually the first story I've ever written about Alethaine - but it remained in drafts while I was writing other stories about her!

--

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[princess-of-riviaa]

Just for the Crowd

Cavillmas Day 11: “Fake Dating”

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia (The Witcher) x Female reader

Shoutout to @cavillsthighs for being the mastermind behind this month’s planning of smut and fluff and everything in between 🥰

Summary: Geralt is a protector at heart. Even if that means lying to an entire country.

Warning(s): fake dating, tw mention of rape, reader is a lot shorter than Geralt, dirty thoughts, cliffhanger ending, mean ending (*laughs manically*), neither character is brave enough to confess their feelings, sexual tension

Word Count: 1629

You never stood a chance. The others whispered tales of his kind around campfires, sharing hellish stories of his slayings and instilling fear in every child. Even the bravest of men only dared to mention “his kind” in hushed whispers in the privacy of their homes. Everyone knew the stories and understood that any mention of him in your village meant locking your doors up as soon as possible.

But in the five years you’d known Geralt of Rivia, the most famous Witcher on this side of The Continent, you failed to understand all those stories you had heard as a little girl. He wasn’t who they claimed he was. Geralt was… well, he was everything.

***

You gripped his sleeve tighter. Your knuckles were pale around the thick material of his suit, which was the color of a stormy sea. Sweat beaded down your back. It was difficult to get a steady breath in.

“You know I won’t let anything happen to you,” your witcher assured you.

You smiled at him, knowing it was true. There was nothing—monster nor man—that he would let get to you. Not tonight, at least. Not when he’d sworn to protect you.

But his words drifted to the back of your mind every time you glanced over at Aedion and the other men that seemed permanently stitched to his sides. As the Captain of the King’s Guard, Aedion Whitefeather of Nazair had reason to be arrogant. But no one—not even The Shadow, an honorary title he had given himself—had reason to force their way on others. There were whispers amongst the women at court that he was a skilled lover, patient and attentive even—until you said no to him. Then a switch flipped in him, and he became cruel and rough and unforgiving.

You had been one of a countless line of women who had experienced that side to him. The only difference was that he had shared your body with the soldiers that were always around him. Five men had finished inside of you by the time it all ended.

That had been a year ago. You still hadn’t fully healed from that treacherous night. You didn’t think you ever would. The ball that the royal family held for the upper-class members of their court forced you to finally be in the same room as him. The news had made you sick the first time.

Geralt had come through your city a week later. The two of you had met up—secretly, of course—to steal a few days with each other, something you only got to do every few months. Jaskier had been with him. That wasn’t a surprise to you. The Witcher and his bard had been journeying together for two years now. Jaskier had become like a distant brother to you. The three of you were friendly with each other, forcing you to swallow down the romantic feelings you had for Geralt.

But when they had seen you two weeks ago, they had recognized something was wrong right away. You struggled to get it out. Not just the part about the ball, but also the reason you were completely dreading being in the same place as The Shadow. Geralt had smashed the nearest wall when he heard your story; his Witcher strength sent a rippling crack through the concrete and the three of you had to sprint to the next street before the pub owner realized who had ruined half of his shop. Jaskier had held you, pressing you tightly to his chest as he promised that they would both be at that ball. Promising that you wouldn’t be alone for a single second that night.

Jaskier had come as the evening’s entertainment, mesmerizing the crowd with his voice.

Geralt, on the other hand, had come as your date. More specifically, as your betrothed. Lying with a Witcher was taboo, but marrying one… You didn’t mind the damage it would cause to your reputation, though. Not only would it make The Shadow terrified to go within twenty feet of you, but it would free you to act on your feelings for Geralt without him thinking anything of it. He would simply assume you were a skilled actress.

The band began to crescendo into a new song and Jaskier’s voice filled the room as he sung an upbeat tune. All around you, couples strode closer to the dance floor, moving in movements as fluid as the sea.

“Let’s dance,” you said, tugging on Geralt’s arm.

He didn’t move an inch. He gave a low hmm of disapproval.

You turned away from the dancing crowd, finally looking up at him. His hair, the color of an angel’s wings, was neatly combed and fell just past his shoulders. You glanced at the thin scar on the left side of his neck. It was carefully covered by his hair, but you could see it from where you stood. His golden eyes were locked on someone behind you. You didn’t have to guess who he was looking at. He had been staring The Shadow down all night. You had been grateful at first, and then amused as you watched The Shadow grow more nervous as the night wore on. But now you found yourself selfishly annoyed. You wanted his attention on you. It sounded petty but you couldn’t help it. Tonight was the one night you could act on your feelings and he was playing the stubborn guard dog.

“Geralt.” Your voice was low, his name a sigh on your lips.

The sound of his name brought his attention to you. The coldness in those stunning eyes turned to adoration. Wow. He was a good at this acting thing, too, if he so easily slipped into the role of tender lover.

He called your name in the same tone that you had used. It was sweet, loving.

You couldn’t stop the way your face burned. He had never used that voice with you. It felt like a caress against your cheek, a gentle kiss pressed against your forehead. It left you breathless.

“Can we dance?” you repeated when you finally remembered how to speak. “Please?” you added when you saw the way his expression morphed into disdain.

“I don’t dance.” His voice was a deep rumble, uncompromising.

You licked your lips. That voice… that was what you imagined late at night when your hand was between your legs. Using that tone as he whispered dirty things to you, his warm breath sending shivers down your body as he thrusted deep inside of you—

You shook your head, forcing yourself to shove those thoughts to the back of your mind.

“Please? For me?” You batted your eyes, giving him that look that he could never say no to. “One song,” you promised.

He huffed as he debated it in his mind. “I’m going to step on your toes.”

You smiled triumphantly as you took his hand and dragged him towards the open floor. “It’s a good thing I’m forgiving, then.”

It was a stretch for your hand to reach his shoulder. His fingers wrapped around yours and you tried not to think too long on the fact that his hand was so much bigger than yours. He wrapped his right hand around the curve of your waist and pulled you in closer to him. Your breath caught in your throat. That simple touch made your heart pound faster, louder, and you prayed he couldn’t smell the arousal dripping between your legs.

You forced yourself to move along the floor, stepping along with the beat. Geralt looked painfully uncomfortable. You fought back laughter. He gave you a look that said he wasn’t very happy that you were so amused by his uncomfortability. The music grew louder, steadily creeping towards the apex of the song. You took another step, and then another one, and then Geralt proved himself right—he stepped on the tip of your toes, applying enough pressure that you winced.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he rushed out.

You simply shook your head and continued the dance. “I would be holding a grudge if you weren’t so scary,” you joked.

Amusement filled Geralt’s eyes. He was confident that you held no ounce of fear towards him, though it had taken several years to convince him of it. It took even longer for him to accept it. He wasn’t used to people accepting him, let alone feeling safe and protected in his presence. You and Jaskier were the only two humans in the world who were calmed by his presence, and therefore the only two people he let his guard down around.

Your heartbeat matched the tempo of the music, rising and rising and rising—

Geralt pushed you out of his arms, spinning you around under his arm. He pulled you back into his arms as the band released the final note. Neither of you moved as you stared at each other. The end of the song had put you under some sort of trance. Both of your chests heaved with quick breaths, your mouths parted with words unspoken. There was something in his eyes that you couldn’t recognize—

And then he kissed you. It was soft, gentle, barely a whisper of a touch. One brush of his mouth against yours. Just enough to make you desperate for another taste. He pulled back before you could get enough, and when you looked back at him, that same unrecognizable look was in his eyes.

“That was just for the crowd, right?” Your voice shook with every word. “That wasn’t real?”

He opened his mouth, looking like he was about to confess something, but all he said was, “Right. All for the crowd.”

[elles-writing]

Little Secret

Request: Wonderful! Could please write an escenario in which y/n (half elf and half human) was part of the company cause Gandalf hired her. She and Kili fell for each other and secretly started courting. Once Erebor was reclaimed everything was going back to normal. Thorin asked her to stay for as long as she liked. When Fili & Kili's mom got there, she had lots of meetings with Thorin so y/n was not able to properly meet her. The day that they are actually introduced, Thorin announces Kili's and Fili's arranged marriages which took everyone by surprise. Y/n and Kili try to figure and fix things out in order to convince Thorin to put off the arrange marriage but it does not work. Therefore, y/n decides to leave Erebor and ends up leaving to Dale; befriending/ helping Bard and his kids.  During her time there she finds out that she was pregnant with Kili's child. However, she never notifies Kili nor goes to Erebor to announce it thinking that he had his duty as a prince and it would be harmful for him/ his arranged marriage. So, she makes the decision to raise the baby on her own. Time goes by and on a normal day (when she was 9 months pregnant) that she's walking around Dale  while feeling contractions she bumps into Kili. Thank you so much!❤️ Sorry for the long message 😅 - @just-a-dreamer23

A/N: I know, I know, this is soo long. But, I enjoyed writing this story!! I've been trying to overcome my lack of motivation to write, so maybe it isn't as good in some parts, as my other stories, but I wanted to keep it that way, so I hope you enjoy anyways.

Tags: @guardianofrivendell @just-a-dreamer23 @anjhope1 @lathalea

The afternoon was hot. The best thing to do, was to take a nap. At least, in your opinion.

Nothing would attack in this heat, you thought, as you rested under a tree. A while after, you noticed pointy hat and grey cloak of the same colour. You lazily waved.

"Gandalf, long time no see!" Gandalf smiled at you.

"Good afternoon, Y/N." You stood up and looked at him, waiting. Gandalf never came just...for no reason.

"How are you doing?" Gandalf asked, and you shrugged.

"I'm just wandering around, as usual. You know me. I never stay in one place for too long." You said. Gandalf knew that, obviously. Being a child of an elf and a human, you felt like you never belong anywhere.

Elves felt really tense and quiet, and humans were quite loud for you, because of your hearing. And you aged lot slower than them, so making friends was also quite...not it.

"I've been looking for you, to join an adventure," You curiously gave him a look.

"An adventure? What kind of adventure?"

"Well," he looked at you.

"You know about Erebor and the line of Durin, right?" You frowned at him, and quickly shook your head.

"Gandalf, I can't-I can't join the dwarves! They will hate me! Everyone knows they hate the elves, and I'm half elf!" You said.

"Well, who said they will know? You owe me help," he reminded you. You thought back to when he healed you after orcs attacked you, and you sighed. He was right. This was the least you could do.

"And, who knows. Maybe they will like you," he gave you a look, and you folded your hands on your chest, and let out a sigh.

"Alright then. Where and when am I supposed to be?" He gave you all the information you needed. And you started your way to the Shire, looking at the first evening stars, as the starlight is what the Elves of Mirkwood love so much.

You got to the Shire around late afternoon after three days of traveling, and smiled. The hobbits and their houses were tiny, so you couldn't help, but smile. Maybe it won't be that bad, having perhaps a hobbit friend, after all...

-

You remembered the moment when you first met Kili. You thought Gandalf was there at Bilbo's house, but when you opened the door...

"Are you Master Boggins?" You frowned at the brunette dwarf.

"Do I look like a hobbit to you?" He looked at the other dwarf, then back at you, but there was Bilbo already.

Later on the journey, he found you without your cape on. It was your turn for bathing, but him and Fili forgot some their things at the river.

You just put off your cloak, and put your hair down from your headband. You heard steps, so you quickly turned around.

"You are..." Fili started.

"...an elf?" Kili finished. You huffed.

"Half elf. My mother was...human." you whispered. Painful memories of your early life came up, and you blinked to stop the tears.

"Don't tell anyone, please..." you looked at them. Both Fili and Kili must've seen something in your expression, that made them realize the importance. They nodded. Kili was, however, curious. Lot more than before, and asking you about elves. You talked about it when Thorin was far enought to not hear what was your conversations about, but it wouldn't matter much. Gandalf told them you spent part of your life living with the elves, which was true.

In fact, Kili became fascinated by you. He liked you before, and had a feeling, which he wasn't sure about. Interest, curiousity, the need to protect you, adoration...

In the moment he saw you, he realized you were his One, his love for life. And when you got closer, he asked you to court him. You said yes. From then on, you shared many quiet and stolen kisses and moments together, in the shadows of forests or your bedrooms in pubs.

The moment everyone else (except for Bilbo and the Durin brothers) found out, was when you came into Mirkwood. Thranduil ordered his guards to take your cloak and headband off, and now, everyone could see your pointy ears.

There was a moment of silence.

"What made an elf, to travel with group of dwarves?" You gulped and looked down.

"I'm a-a half elf," you whispered.

"My father was from here." You explained, and the king shot you a glare. He was not stupid. He knew you tried to pull his attention away.

"Take them to the dungeons, except for Oakenshield," he said.

When you made yourself as comfortable as you could on the cold floor, you overheard the dwarves trying to find out who you actually were and what you wanted.

To your surprise, they didn't talk about you in a bad way. Just curiousity. Thankfully.

-

"Do you think she will like me?" You said to Kili. He was writing a letter to his and Fili's mother, Dis, the happy news - Erebor was reclaimed, and they all survived. It's been a week since, and Thorin decided it was the right thing to let his sister know as soon as possible. She was surely worried.

Kili turned to you.

"Like you? Like you? She is going to love you," Kili grinned at you, and you had to smile a little too.

"Yeah, but...you know, I'm not a dwarf," you said your worry aloud. It was true. Being a half-elf, you and Kili started courting in secret. Thorin was not really kind to you, at least the first half of the journey. However, the rest of the Company liked you lot more. Especially Kili. After a while of knowing of what did you feel, you decided to tell him. To your surprise, but happiness, Kili shared those feelings. And since then, you had a tiny braid, hidden in your hair, and Kili as well.

And stole many, many secret kisses.

"I don't think mum is going to have issue with this," Kili stood up, and gently placed your hair behind your ear.

"You're my One, and you make me incredibly happy. I'm sure she won't have problem with you being half elf," You cupped his cheek, and softly smiled, as you looked deep in his kind brown eyes.

"I love you too, my short Prince," He stood on his toes and kissed you, getting a giggle from you. He pouted, when he heard you called him short, but you knew he didn't mind it.

You kissed him, and felt his smile on your lips. You were leaning down, when suddenly you lost balance, and both you and Kili ended up lying on the floor. Kili and you let out a yelp, but then broke into giggles.

"I love you," Kili said, when you finally stopped laughing. You cuddled into his chest and breathed in his scent. Kili smelled like smoke, food and fresh air.

"I love you too," Kili gently stroke your hair, and you got up.

"Where are you going?"

"You have to finish the letter, and I promised Tilda I will take a walk with her before the dinner." You helped Kili to get up.

"Alright my beloved, have a good time," he gently kissed you, and sat back to his desk. You smiled, and ruffled his hair.

"You too, my dearest." You smiled, and left the room.

-

It's been a few months, and you were finally, finally going to meet Kili and Fili's mother, Dis. She has been there for around two weeks by now, but, you haven't got the chance to meet her and be introduced to her yet.

You were officially going to meet her during upcoming celebration. Needless to say, you were freaking out.

Your stomach was tight from anxiety for a few days already, and that afternoon, it felt absolutely horrible. You haven't eaten whole day, just because all you thought about was the evening.

You spent around an hour of putting on and off different dresses from your wardrobe, trying to figure out which one to wear.

"Y/N?" Kili knocked on the door of your chambers.

"C'me in," you said. He came in, and his eyes widened, when he seen you sitting in front of the mirror, your eyes red and the mess everywhere.

"What am I supposed to wear? I have nothing to wear!" You started crying. All the stress and anxiety in past three months got the best of you. Random moments of crying, because of tiny things, were happening on daily basis.

"Dear, what is happening?" He pulled your hair back behind your ears.

"I-I just want-want your mum to like me," you muttered.

"And...it stresses me out." Kili nodded, and shortly hugged you.

"She is going to love you no matter which dress you wear, I promise." He whispered to your ear.

"Now, I think..." Kili looked around.

"I think the...the dark green dress will be perfect."

When you changed into the dress Kili picked you, Kili brushed and styled your hair. He pulled the top section into a clip, and you pulled a few strands, to frame your face. You smiled at yourself in the mirror.

"You ready?" Kili asked. You just silently nodded.

As you walked down the hall, Kili was trying to figure out where his uncle, brother and mother went to. He couldn't see them anywhere, and he was sure he was once in a while not late.

When you entered the huge throne room, you could see Fili, and let out a breath of relief.

"Fili, have you seen-"

"Kili, there you are," A woman came from behind Fili, and looked over her younger son.

"Have you brushed your hair?" Kili huffed.

"Of course I did." He said quietly, so nobody could hear him. He was visibly embarrassed, and you let out laugh. She suddenly turned to you. Her deep blue eyes reminded you Thorin, but they had the same twinkle as Kili and, occasionally, Fili.

"I don't remember I seen you here before," she said.

"Well, I usually spend my time outside of Erebor, so I think that might be it," You nervously smiled. She hummed.

"I-I'm not a part of the royal family," you said, and almost groaned. Now that was embarrassing for sure.

"Y/N, this is my and Kili's mum, Dis. Mum, this is Y/N," Fili said, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

"I-um-" You tried to say something, but she pulled you in short hug.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," she gave you a smile, and then went back between the guests with Fili.

You let out a breath.

"That was embarrassing," you groaned. Kili chuckled.

"No, not at all. She likes you." It suddenly felt like it was much easier to breathe.

"She-she does?" Your eyes widened, and Kili nodded.

"Of course! And you can bet she will steal you to me during the evening,"

"How do you know that?" You turned to him with surprise written all over your face.

"She is my mother. I know her for a long time." He just said.

"She seems to be...different from Thorin," you said, hoping it wouldn't come out as offensive. Kili chuckled.

"Mum and Uncle really aren't that different. Uncle just focuses more on the kingdom and mum, on family," Kili said in low voice, so that only you could hear it.

When you sat down to the table, where the royal family and the Company was, you looked around. You and Kili did secretly hold hands under the table, and you talked to Dis, who was sitting across the table.

"Good evening, everyone," Thorin said, and the people got more quiet.

"It's my pleasure to meet all of you here today. I have some things to say, before the celebration starts." Thorin paused, and Kili leaned near you with a grin.

"It's just a few formalities, don't worry, love." You smiled at him back with tight smile. You felt something was not right. Thorin talked about the kingdom a little at first. The next news was, however, what you were afraid of.

"I'm very happy to say, my nephew Fili is going to marry-" you let out a breath. Kili turned to you with worry.

"Do you feel okay?" He asked, when suddenly...

"And my nephew Kili, who also has already arranged marriage, with-"

Kili stared at Thorin, and you as well.

"Kili-Kili, please-" you tried to stop Kili from going to Thorin. Kili was visibly angry, his jaw was tight, and body tense.

"Kili? What is happening?" Thorin came and let through his teeth. You suddenly felt everyone's eyes on you.

"I need some fresh air," you whispered and walked away, as quickly as you could. When you left, you came in your chambers, kneeled to your bed, and started crying.

You knew it. You should've known before.

Thorin would do this. Even when Fili and Kili were children, he would make sure they had wives already. They were princes. They needed to have a wife.

And Thorin...Thorin would never allow Kili to court you or marry you.

The next day, Kili came into your room. He had dark circles under his eyes, and gave you weak smile.

"I promise we will work this out," he muttered, and pulled you close to his chest.

Kili was asleep - and you let him - but, you thought about your situation, and tried to come up with possible solutions.

However, it was as if there weren't any.

It's been a few days, and you cuddled into your blanket. You fell asleep, and when you woke up, you looked around the room.

This place isn't for me anymore, you thought, and started packing your clothes into your bag. You changed into tunic and trousers, and wrote a letter to Kili, that you were sorry, but it was probably better to have a wife his Uncle would like, that you were leaving and never coming back, so he shouldn't be looking for you.

You quietly left the palace, and walked out in the morning. The air was fresh and nice, and for a moment, you forgot your sadness.

You walked to Dale, and decided to meet Bard. You had nowhere to go, and maybe staying there would be good, before you'd go...somewhere else.

The guards let you in, and as you thought of going to Rivendell, you noticed Bard.

"Bard?" He turned to you, and nodded at you.

"Hi Y/N. What brings you here?" You sighed.

"I'm leaving Erebor, Bard...but the problem is, I need to think about of where-" you suddenly felt dizzy, and Bard catched you. He called for a healer, that's what your hazy mind could catch.

You basically woke up, in a room. On a bed. Comfortable bed.

"Lie still, lady Y/N," the healer said. You frowned a little, when she placed her ear to your stomach.

"I can hear the heartbeat clearly. The baby is most likely around three months old," she said.

"What baby?" You asked, confused. You looked from the healer to Bard and Bard to healer. She took your hands in hers.

"You don't know, my lady? You are pregnant. I can clearly hear the heartbeat of your child," she softly smiled at you. You shook your head, and felt a few tears escaping your eyes.

"I'm...I'm with child," you whispered. You could not believe it. So perhaps, it wasn't just stress...

"Who is the father?" The healer asked, when she helped you to sit up. You nervously looked in your lap.

"Kili. Prince...Kili. Kili Durin." You said, and Bard and the healer shared a look.

"He...he doesn't know. Can we keep it a secret? Please?" You looked at them.

They said yes. Bard was like a father to you, and let you stay. He showed you chambers, that would be your home for next few months at least.

You never went back to Erebor. You thought Kili had to marry the princess, so you just tried to think of the baby you were carrying.

It wasn't that hard, honestly. The baby was often restless, though.

As if it missed Kili as much as you did...

Even if the baby would have to grow up without it's biological dad, you were sure you'd be able to take care of them well.

Some days, you were happy, and didn't think of Kili too much. It pained you, yes, and you knew you had to be strong for the baby, so you often asked someone to teach you something, such as how to prepare different meals, how to knit or how to play piano, to name a few.

Other days, you felt sad. It could be because of the weather, or hormones, some days you just woke up sad, and sometimes it was when something reminded you of Kili. Those days, the baby was the most restless, and the maids told you it was because the baby missed it's father.

You sat down to the armchair next to the window in your bedroom, and looked out on the street. Nobody could see you from here, so it made you feel safe. You looked up and seen Erebor.

"There's your daddy, over there," you whispered to the baby.

The answer you got, was soft kick.

-

"Does it hurt?" Sigrid asked you, looking at your belly. You smiled at her.

"No, it doesn't." You stroke your stomach. You've been pregnant for past almost nine months. Bard was so kind and let you stay, and even offered you bigger chambers, which you gladly agreeded to. The chambers were perfect size, and the baby could have their own small room, overtime.

You let out shaky breath. You wanted Kili to know about all of this. To be there with you, talk to you and to the baby.

But, it was not possible. It would hurt his reputation, and perhaps even his marriage.

You dried your tears, and carefully stood up. Even as pregnant, you were able to stand up yourself, luckily quite easily. You felt very thankful for some of your genes being from the elves, because, as Bard explained to you, humans had it harder.

When you slowly got yourself out of the castle, you breathed in. The air smelled nicely - you smelled fresh bread, old leaves, fresh air from the lake. Mix of summer and autumn. You felt it was one of the last few warm days, before the typical autumn comes.

You looked around, and your cravings were begging you for some freshly baked, soft warm bread with fresh butter, melting on top of it. You thought of the crispiness of the bread's crust, and your mouth started watering. You groaned, when you felt how your stomach let you know some snack would come handy.

You slid your hand to your pocket, and made sure you have enough money.

You started walking, to find some bakery, and as you looked around, you noticed one on the other end of the street.

You let out a breath, and started walking towards the small store.

You were almost there, when you overheard a gasps, escaping a few young girls. You slowed down and listened to their conversation.

"Did you see him?"

"Yes, I did. Do you think it really is the Prince?"

"Of course he is! I mean, look at him. I'd recognize the hair clip everywhere." You frowned a little, when you suddenly realized it. You stopped walking, and felt hot wave running down your back, and liquid running down your leg.

You carefully looked down. It was clear.

You turned around, and - damn it! - your eyes locked with Kili's in the exact moment.

He started walking towards you. You clearly recognized happiness in his eyes, and relief.

"Y/N, where have you been those past months? I was worried about you," He said, and when he was near you, you recognized even the wet shine in his chocolate eyes. You felt sudden rush of guilt.

He must have notice the guilt on your face. Kili frowned a little, when he took a notice of your belly, under the dress.

"I-you..." You noticed it. He was holding back tears. You shook your head, as you tried to hold your own.

"Kili, it isn't like this...please trust me!" You felt another wave of heat running down your back, and stepped forward, but sudden dizzines made you take wrong step. Kili quickly catched you.

"Kili, I-this is, uh..."

"You moved on," he said. You shook your head.

"No, it's...you are the father," you said, but didn't notice what was his reaction, because suddenly, you realized what was going on, as you were holding your belly.

"I need to get back, and find a healer and midwife," you let out through your gritted teeth.

"We will get there quickly," Kili let out, and you had a feeling.

"Don't you dare to faint!" You let out.

Kili helped you to get back. You noticed Sigrid, and told her to quickly find healer. She didn't ask anything, and quickly runned away. You let out a groan and gripped Kili's arm.

"Lady Y/N, we need to get you to the room prepared for labour," the healer said, and checked on your belly.

When you got there, and changed into simple gown, you laid down as the healer told you.

Kili stayed there, and you were gripping his arm and hand.

"I'm not fucking letting you to sleep with me ever again," you said through gritted teeth. Kili took a shaky breath, and you shot him a glare.

"Don't you dare to faint, Kili Durin! You did put this baby inside me nine months ago, so now-"

"This is just the pain speaking from Lady Y/N, Prince Kili. Don't take it personally," Kili gulped and nodded.

"You're doing great, love," he said carefully. You let out a huff.

"I didn't finish! Now you will deal with me breaking your arm, because it hurts!" You almost yelled at him.

"I can see the head, my Lady!" The healer smiled.

"With this next contraction, you will push as much as you can!" The healer said.

"Okay, one, two, three-push!"

"You're doing great, dear. The baby is almost there," Kili tried to cheer you up.

"You have no idea how painful it is!" You screamed.

"My lady, this is going to be your last push, are you ready?" The healer looked up at you, and you nodded.

"One, two, three, push!" The healer let out. You gripped Kili's hand, and suddenly...

You heard a baby scream.

"It's a girl!" The healer said happily. You smiled, and let out some happy tears.

"You-you did it!" Kili said, and you wiped off your eyes.

"No, we did it," you muttered, and he kissed your cheek.

"How do you feel, Y/N?"

"I'm okay," you smiled. The midwife checked on you, and handed you your baby.

"Everything seems to be in order," she said and smiled. You smiled at her back. She was there for you for all those months, and you got close.

"Thank you so much," She nodded.

"I'll leave you alone," she said, and left.

You stroke the baby's cheek.

"How are we going to name her?" Kili whispered, and stroke the baby's chubby cheek. You shrugged.

"Well...I'm not sure. I was thinking of Arina," you said.

"It's...it's beautiful name," Kili said, and you realized he was crying.

"Kili...I'm so sorry for...for hiding it from you," you whispered. Kili shook his head.

"Love...it isn't your fault. Can I...can I hug you?" You nodded, and he slid his arm around your shoulders.

"If anything, it's my fault." He muttered.

"I should've known where did you go, and-"

"Shh," you said.

"We can talk about that later. Arina's asleep now."

You were quietly watching the baby. The midwife came back soon, to check on you and the baby, and when she left, Kili spoken up.

"We talked Uncle the marriges out." You nodded.

"You left Erebor by then already. I was looking everywhere for you, only if I knew-" you subtly interrupted him.

"I didn't know either. I wanted to go to Rivendell, but...then, I found out. It would be risky, so Bard let me stay here," You shrugged.

"Do you still want to leave, though?" Kili looked at you with sad eyes, when he looked away from your daughter. You shook your head.

"No." Kili grinned, and gently brushed his hand over your cheek.

"Just for your information...mum was going nuts when she found out about the arranged marriges. She likes you a lot." You smiled, and took Kili's hand in yours.

"Well...let's hope she likes her too," You looked at Arina's sleeping face.

You came back the next day. Kili had to go to Erebor that evening, but in the morning, he came back.

When you entered, you overheard a strong female voice. You quickly realized who was the woman.

"I don't care my brother has a meeting. Go tell him he has to come here. It's a family emergency," she said, and turned to you and Kili.

"Y/N, where have you-oh, who is this?" Dis turned to you, and noticed the baby. You shared a look with Kili.

"This is your granddaughter," You said carefully. Dis looked between you and Kili, and it seemed like most things clicked to her. She smiled.

"Well..."

"Dis, what does that means?" Thorin's voice came from different hall, and you noticed Fili giving you a knowing smile.

"Thorin..." you said, and he turned to you. He seemed to be confused, but then he looked at Arina.

"What does this-"

"Uncle, let's get some privacy first," Fili said.

When you came to library, Thorin turned to you. Dis stood up, as if she would want to protect you.

"Uncle...Y/N and I started courting on the quest in secret. We planned to get married, but when you announced the arranged marriges for me and Fili, we-"

"I left Erebor, because I thought you would never accept me as partner for your nephew, Thorin. I found out I was pregnant, however, I didn't want to hurt Kili's reputation or his marrige, so I never came back to announce it. He met me in Dale yesterday, and I, um...I went to labour." Thorin has been looking at you and Kili. Your body was tense, and Fili, Kili and Dis were ready to protect you any moment.

Thorin slowly closed this eyes, and placed his face into his palms. When he looked up again, he let out a sigh.

"Fili, Kili, sister, leave us alone."

"But Uncle-" Fili said, but Thorin shook his head.

"I said, leave us alone. It won't be long." They three left, and you were a bit afraid.

"Kili is a prince, yes. But, he is also a dwarf, who needs to have someone who he is happy with." Thorin said, looking away from you.

"I noticed, of course. You make him happy, Y/N. I thought it was just childish love, that you would leave, and it would break Kili's heart. I owe you honest apology, Y/N. For thinking you wouldn't take his love seriously." He looked at you, and you let out a small smile. You nodded.

"Apology accepted, Thorin. Courting Kili makes me incredibly happy, and I am honored to say he is my lover," you said, and Thorin looked at you.

"Well, and when it comes to, um...you staying, you can stay here. If you would like to."

"I'd be very thankful."

A few years later

"Fi, look!" Kili said, as Arina walked towards Kili, again. She was giggling, as her father was dancing with her. You laughed.

"Kili, be careful!"

"Daddy, look!" The little girl pointed to a butterfly, who sat on her dress.

"Yeah, it's beautiful," Kili said, and she pouted.

"Don't move, or it will fly away!" Arina let out, and let the butterfly gently walk on her palm.

"Uncle, look, I got a butterfly!" Arina showed it to Fili, who nodded with nervous face.

"Oh, it's beautiful, Ari. Would you put it, um, a bit away from me, please?" She put the butterfly on a flower, and Fili let out a breath.

"I'm sleepy, mommy." She came to you, and lean her head on your shoulder.

"Ari?" A little boy came, and the girl jumped up with grin.

"Vili!" She squealed, and started tickling her cousin.

"Granny!" Arina gasped, when she noticed Dis.

"You are growing up so fast, Ari!" She said proudly, and you two shared a look.

"Aye, that's what she does," Kili let out a chuckle, and gently kissed your cheek.

[katecake]

Scars

I needed me a Jaskel Soulmate AU where Jaskier knows his soulmate’s a witcher, but he also knows it’s not Geralt. After wondering how that would happen, I finally came up w/ this!!

__

Imagine a world where soulmarks exist. While not exactly rare, they’re still fairly uncommon.

Little Jaskier’s soulmark is on the inside crook of his elbow. The face of a fierce silver wolf. For as unrealistic and stylized as it is, it’s still undeniably a wolf. His parents sneer at it. The servants and teachers are all uncomfortable when they see it. Little Jaskier, though? Oh how he loves it. He doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t know its significance. But he loves it nonetheless.

Jaskier’s only five years old when he learns what a Witcher is. He’s only five years old when he’s taught to fear Witchers.

Jaskier’s twelve and he’s being held down as he begs and pleads and screams. He screams as the other boys bring a knife to his soulmark, laughing all the while. Because, what soulmate could a monster have than another monster?

Jaskier’s twelve when he makes the connection between his soulmark and Witchers.

He runs away less than a week later, wound still fresh, and ends up somewhere outside Oxenfurt. He decides to stay there, study there. The injury scars. He keeps it covered at all times with black cloth. Sometimes, it’s so tight it hurts. He never shows anyone his mark ever again.

–

Jaskier’s twenty-three when he meets Geralt, and he immediately recognizes the medallion. It’s the spitting image of what his soulmark looked like. He feels some residual anxiety from meeting a Witcher, but has learned humans can be just as monstrous as they claim Witchers to be. The black strip of cloth on his arm is proof enough.

So he takes a gamble and follows Geralt. And he continues to follow Geralt for years to come. He learns everything he was taught was a lie (something he’s suspected since the moment that knife touched his mark). He makes it his goal to change the world’s mind about Witchers. And if he hopes, deep down, that if he continues to follow Geralt he’ll meet his soulmate? Well, that’s his secret fantasy.

–

Years pass and eventually Geralt invites him up to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Jaskier says yes in a heartbeat. He’s as giddy as he is nervous and babbles the whole trip up.

When they get there, Eskel’s the one to greet them at the gate, not that Jaskier notices. He’s too busy still babbling nervously about nothing at all and removing his packs from his horse. He struggles to hold everything as he goes over to the two, intent on introducing himself to this new witcher. Except when he finally looks at Eskel, his breath catches and he drops everything he’s holding. He can do nothing but stare, pale and shaky, at the scarred face in front of him.

He doesn’t register how the man shifts so he stands with his scars less on display. He doesn’t register Geralt’s defensive and angry tone. He doesn’t register the third, angry, man who threatens him for making his brother uncomfortable in his own home. All Jaskier can think about is the shape of those scars.

Lambert’s outright hostile to him, not that Jaskier blames him. Geralt’s also cagey and defensive. Even Vesemir, despite keeping the peace between the wolves and the bard, makes his disappointment of Jaskier clear.

It takes another two weeks before Jaskier manages to catch Eskel alone and apologizes. He wants to explain himself, but every time he tries, his throat tightens and the words die on his lips. So instead, he works to befriend Eskel in earnest.

The first time Eskel smiles at him, really smiles at him (an entire month later), Jaskier feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. The way Eskel’s eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his lips curl awkwardly, the way his whole demeanor seems to light up. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. He can’t keep the dopey smile off his own face the whole day.

Eskel smiles more after that, and it seems to be enough for the others. Lambert’s no longer actively hostile and Geralt’s back to himself. Vesemir no longer looks at Jaskier with disappointment either. And if Jaskier scratches at the crook of his arm, that’s no ones business but his own.

Until, one night when Jaskier has long since stumbled off to bed, Lambert asks. It's just the three of them, Lambert, Geralt, and Eskel, still drinking in the kitchen.

“So what’s,” Lambert pauses to hiccup, “what’s with the bard’s arm?” He asks.

“Hmm?” Geralt grunts squinting at the cards in his hand.

“That damn bandage of his,” he continues motioning at the crook of his own elbow. “Wears it when he– when he fucken bathes too.”

“Maybe it’s covering a scar,” Eskel offers, “or a weird birthmark.”

Lambert scowls. “He’s got plenty other scars.”

Geralt snorts. “And weird birthmarks too,” he adds thinking about the vaguely cock shaped birthmark Jaskier has on his shoulder.

Lambert grumbles as Geralt and Eskel continue playing their game of gwent.

“What if it’s a soulmark?” He eventually asks.

“Humans don’t present them as easily as we do,” Eskel says at the same moment Geralt says:

“Not a chance.”

The two stare at him, clearly wanting an explanation.

Geralt grumbles and downs what’s left in his mug. “Jaskier’s a hopeless romantic,” he explains. “Wouldn’t shut up for weeks when he saw mine. And then he wouldn’t shut up for the better part of a godsdamned year after we finally met Yen,” he pours himself another drink and downs that too with a shudder. “Believe me, if he had one, we’d know.”

A few hours later, when Geralt’s fighting to stay awake, Lambert slams his mug on the table. It startles Eskel and Geralt enough that they’re more awake than they were an hour ago.

“I wanna know,” Lambert growls.

“Then ask him,” Eskel says.

Geralt yawns. “He always changes the subject.”

Lambert nods vigorously as Eskel frowns. “Then leave it.”

“But I wanna know!” Lambert complains.

Eskel gets up. “I’m not doing this,” he groans. “I’m going to bed.”

Lambert calls him a bitch as he leaves and grumbles into his drink. He and Geralt continue drinking for a few minutes before Lambert asks, “You grab him and I pull that damn cloth off?”

Geralt, too drunk and too tired to think about all the times Jaskier’s flinched when grabbed by the elbow, nods.

It surprisingly takes them a few days to catch Jaskier alone. He’s confused when Geralt grabs him but otherwise doesn’t struggle. It’s not until Lambert pulls at his sleeve that he panics.

Jaskier thrashes in their grip the moment he realizes what they’re doing. Decades old panic grips him as he screams and begs for them not to hurt him.

Lambert and Geralt stay frozen as Jaskier fleas down the hall. Vesemir is there demanding to know what happened while Eskel runs past them to catch up with Jaskier. Lambert and Geralt can only stare in the direction Jaskier fled, the stench of his fear hangs heavy in the air around them.

Geralt knows what Jaskier’s fear smells like. It’s hard not to when Jaskier often gets too close to a monster, but he has never smelled of fear because of a Witcher before. Not when he’d first seen Eskel. Not when Lambert threatened to gut him right after. And not even when the snow had finally blocked off the path down the mountain and he was subsequently trapped in the keep with four unwelcoming witchers.

They don’t see Jaskier for a solid week after that. They know he’s still in the keep, they can smell him in the kitchen, in the baths, through the halls, but they don’t actually see him. Lambert’s on edge, quicker to anger, and Geralt’s quieter, more prone to get lost in thought.

They both try to apologize, in their own way, standing outside Jaskier’s door. Jaskier doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a sound. The only reason they know he’s in there is because his heart’s racing and he smells of anxiety and residual panic.

Eventually Eskel’s able to coax him out and he tentatively resettles into the routine he’s established for himself. Jaskier now has a constant underlying scent of anxiety to him. He smells of panic whenever someone focuses on his arm too long.

It all comes to a head one evening. Vesemir reaches to touch Jaskier’s elbow to get his attention. Jaskier flinches so hard he nearly throws himself into the hearth they’re sitting around. He doesn’t smell of fear, but his panic is palpable. Vesemir apologizes but Jaskier assures him it’s fine, even as Lambert storms away shouting abuse and Geralt slinks away miserably.

Eskel cracks that night. It’s late, the others have all gone to their rooms in their attempts to avoid Jaskier, and it’s just Eskel and Jaskier in the library. Jaskier’s leaning against him, fighting to stay awake as Eskel simply enjoys his company.

“What…” Eskel asks tentatively. “Happened to your arm?”

Jaskier tenses against him, heart rate picking up as his hand goes to cover the spot. He sits up slowly, stiffly, and Eskel immediately kicks himself. “Sorry,” he says quickly, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

But Jaskier shakes his head. “No it’s okay,” he says weakly. “It’s stupid really. It happened so long ago, almost thirty years,” he laughs shakily, voice impossibly quiet. “But I guess I still get scared someone’s gonna finish carving off my soulmark at times.”

Eskel feels like he’s been punched in the throat. Soulmarks are special. They’re Destiny’s will. All Witchers have soulmarks. Something about the trials make them emerge, almost like Destiny herself is desperately trying to preserve their humanity. Eskel knows his own soulmark all too well. Four little yellow flowers floating down a stream painted on his ribs. At times, if he just focuses on the general shape, they look like music notes. He knows the mark ties him to Jaskier. It’s why Jaskier’s initial reaction to him hurt so much.

“I’m sorry,” Eskel says lamely, because what else can he say? He could demand the name of the people that hurt Jaskier, but that won’t repair the damage. He could go after Geralt and Lambert again for their stupid stunt, but they’re suffering enough as it is and Jaskier doesn’t really hold it against them.

Jaskier barely shakes his head. “Don’t be. I’ve… actually wanted to show it to you for some time,” he admits quietly. His hands shake as he rolls up his tunic sleeve.

Eskel catches his wrist, stills the movement. “Stop,” he breathes. “You don’t have to.”

Jaskier leans towards him, his forehead coming to rest against Eskel’s. “Please,” he whispers.

Eskel reluctantly lets go. He watches as Jaskier halting works the black cloth off. There’s red marks across Jaskier’s skin where the edge of the cloth dug in too tightly. But Eskel’s breath and attention is immediately stolen by the mark. He feels fury and an unimaginable sadness wash over him in equal measures.

It looks exactly like the wolf school medallion. Or it would were it not for the angry scars distorting the right side of its face.

Eskel runs a thumb over it before he even realizes what he’s doing. Jaskier shivers at the touch and Eskel can smell the tears the bard is desperately trying to hold back. “I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispers, voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to upset you when I saw you. It’s just…”

“The scars,” Eskel murmurs. “They’re identical.” He has a sick feeling that Jaskier’s mark was defiled the same day his face was slashed.

Jaskier explains himself fully that night, as he cries in Eskel’s arms. It feels strange to finally show his mark again after almost thirty years. He’s not sure if he’s scared or relieved or if its even good or bad. It just is.

The following morning, he’s understandably exhausted and spends breakfast tucked against Eskel’s side. Lambert and Geralt get to the kitchen and try to leave before the even enter it. Jaskier reeks of tears and misery and Eskel. Eskel asks them to at least stay for breakfast. Lambert still wants to run but seeing as how Geralt pitifully sits down, he refuses to be the only one that runs and sits down too. Breakfast is awkward with how exhausted Jaskier looks and smells, they’re both happy to go off and do their chores for once.

Jaskier spends most of the morning sleeping in Eskel’s room. When he emerges for dinner, it’s almost like nothing’s happened. He’s back to his loud and carefree self. The smell of anxiety is almost unnoticeable now. Vesemir claps him on the shoulder and Geralt’s less quiet.

Lambert’s still unsettled, though, still easy to anger and prone to snapping. He doesn’t believe the bard’s act for a second. That level of fear can’t just be forgiven that easily. It has nothing to do with the fact that it was his plan that caused that reaction and made his brothers upset.

His brothers and Vesemir tell him the bard’s fine. Even Jaskier himself assures him that it’s okay. He doesn’t believe it for a second. No amount of chattering with Geralt, or helping Vesemir in the library, or spending nights with Eskel will convince him.

But maybe seeing how Jaskier lets Eskel settle a hand over his arm helps. Seeing how Jaskier smiles all shy and happy when it happens helps. Seeing how Eskel returns the looks helps. Seeing how Eskel doesn’t shy away when Jaskier touches his scars helps.

Maybe seeing and smelling how happy the two are helps ease the guilt. Because what else could be under that black cloth than a scarred over soulmark?

[babylooneytoonz]

The Vessel

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Summary: You realize you've made a mistake of selling a part of your body to a certain Witcher and his Mage, Yennefer, in return for a lumpsum of coins.

And now, you cannot back out. Instead, you're drowning knee deep into your developing feelings for Geralt of Rivia who belongs to her.

Warnings: Will have 18+ content, and will not follow the storyline, I know that Witchers are sterile but forced pregnancy.

[My Masterlist]

A/N- You can also find this fic on my AO3 by the same name, my account name is @slutforcavill.

Pt. 1

You stared at the happy couple, jealousy brewing in the pit of your stomach. You felt deflated, hurt and angry, but this was how it was. You were just a vessel, for the Witcher, and his lover, the Mage, Yennefer of Vengerberg. You kept watching them, from the corner of your eye, yet you kept a safe distance, lest either of them saw the tears spurting down your cheeks at the sight of them, laughing together— though technically she laughed, and he just grunted, but you could see the not so hidden amusement in his eyes.

It hurt, nonetheless—

If a month back, you knew this is what you would be feeling; one month down the line; you wouldn't have landed yourself into this mess of a situation, just for a pouch full of coin. You would have steered clear from a certain white haired man, eyes bright and somber like the shining sun, perhaps even brighter, and his woman, one of the most powerful mages you had come across.

If only, someone had warned you before—

It didn't help; the fact that you were already struggling to feed yourself, have three meals a day worth grain at your shack, that you called a home [back at Redania].

It all started when one day, Yennefer of Vengerberg, as she introduced herself, ended up at your doorstep, asking for your help, in return for a massive pouch full of coin.

Coin enough to last you for almost two years—

You found yourself lost in thoughts— when a month back, you were tending to your sheep, rearing enough wool so you could knit yourself a blanket warm enough to last the Winters. You didn't know where she came from; it was only later you found out that she was a mage, and she could use portals to go anywhere in the world. What you didn't understand then, and could not understand till date was why they chose you.

Maybe the Mage could feed on your desperation— knowing how badly you were looking for a steady job so the coin could keep flowing. And then, there was a fact that you were a virgin— not yet ruined by any man, and this was exactly what she was looking for.

"Can I help you?" You asked the woman, eyeing her from the corner of your eyes, your eyesight trailing over her richly clothed form. She looked divine and exotic, draped in rich princely colours, red and gold.

She looked right at you, her lips curling into a devious smile. She nodded to herself, although satisfied, and took her own sweet time to finally respond, "You can help me. And I can help you. I heard from the villagers that you are looking for work. Isn't that right?"

You nodded, placing the wool into a basket.

"Well then, I'm here to offer you a job."

A job she did offer, only you didn't know what to think of it. She sat there by a chair next to your fireplace [ that so obviously needed more wood ] , her left leg elegantly draped over her right leg, her posture poised and regal, her eyes scanning your face as it contorted into a series of emotions— shock, numbness, anger, hope.

The job that she so generously offered to you was the job of a vessel. What she wanted of you was your womb, a vessel that she could use to grow her child.

Hers and Geralt of Rivia's child—a spawn that was to be created of her magic.

Neither Geralt, nor Yennefer were fertile. They couldn't conceive, biologically, but magically, this was possible. Yennefer told you everything— how she could finally become a mother, a yearning she had buried into the pit of her heart ever since she had buried the little princess, Queen Kalis' daughter, into the sand that day.

It wasn't until she met the white haired man, and an attraction flared, did her desperation for a babe began strumming into her heart. And she passed on this desire of hers to her lover, like a contagious disease until the two of them wanted nothing more than to bring a babbling young half Witcher half Mage into the world.

Her spell, although, could fertilize the Witcher's seed, turning him potent for this once, however, it wasn't enough to turn her own barren womb into a vessel that could carry their child. They needed a woman, a human— untouched— so Geralt could ruin her, and she could give them what they desired.

Yennefer also knew that no woman would agree to this, unless she offered something of value.

It was easy for you to agree.

Neither did you have a family, nor a lover. Besides, an opportunity had walked up to your door yourself, and you couldn't push it away.

But now, a month later, you regretted it.

When you saw them together, and it felt like your heart was being sliced through, slowly— torturing and burning you from the inside.

“Behold, what a fine view you have here, don’t they look beautiful together?” Jaskier was the first one to have decided to intrude into your private space, so suddenly, you were forced to pull your gaze away from the two of them, and crane your neck to your side so you could subtly wipe your tears away.

“Define beauty, Jaskier.” You grumbled under your breath your words barely audible, and you felt the Bard sit down next to you, his arm now brushing against yours as he swallowed a mouthful of ale before turning his head towards you.

“Like.. my songs? Although, they’re much beautiful than those two over there,” he almost began, but you cut him off abruptly, pushing yourself up to your feet, looking down at him.

“Can we not talk about this, Jas’? I’ve got better things to do.”

“Like what, [Y/N]? Sit in a corner and cry a river like you were doing a few seconds back? Don’t think the bard a dumb brute, I see things.”

Your lips parted in surprise. He had caught you. You sheepishly blinked, running your hand absentmindedly through your hair, shaking your head as you denied it, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He sighed, but didn't make an attempt to stand up. Instead, you watched him sit back, trying to get more comfortable as a smile broke out against his lips, "If I were you, I'd tell him how I really feel. Now I know you've got competition, a pretty fierce one, might I add, but what's the fun if you get everything handed to you in a silver platter, and you don't have to work for it?"

"Jas—"

You had barely begun speaking when a fight broke out in the tavern, between two men that you didn't know, right across from where you were seated, and Jaskier's attention was flung away. You watched, in exasperation, as he began cheering all of a sudden, and Geralt, a few tables away, clenched his fists and pursed his lips in annoyance, leaning and whispering something into her ears.

You watched as the beautiful mage slowly rose from her place, and fixed her gaze on you until she was on her way to where you were.

"How are you feeling, little pet?" She raised an eyebrow, and you bit your lip, almost too hard, the taste of metal strong against your taste buds. Oh, how you fought the urge to bark at her and send her back to her beloved, who had his eyes, unmoving, on the two of you.

"Fine." You muttered, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at her.

You didn't understand why you hated this woman.

No, you did— but you didn't want to acknowledge it— it was because of a certain white haired man, who still had his gaze stilled on you, and you couldn't help but feel like your insides were on fire aching for his touch. You wondered how one look from him was enough to weaken your resolve, what would you do if the man ever brushed his hand against you, or even breathed in a close proximity as the Mage was now in?

Stop thinking about this, [Y/N]. He isn't yours to think of.

"Come on, it's time we keep moving, can't afford to waste two hours as the Sun's already up."

You blinked, cursing yourself for feeling so flustered but what could you do? This was the first time you had heard the Witcher say more words than the occasional hums and grunts directed towards you.

You and Yennefer began walking out of the tavern, Jaskier following the two of you, while Geralt was ahead of the two of you, as you began continuing your journey to the Great Mount in Aedirn, a journey you had been on with them now for over thirty days.

For once, you couldn't stop your racing heart from thinking of what was going to happen between you and the White haired man once you reached this Mount.

[pillage-and-lute]

How about-Hanahaki disease? Gerald/Jaskier? Happy ending please!

Nonny! Darling you read my mind, I’m an ‘angst with a happy ending’ kinda gal. Just so we’re clear, I know nothing of flower meanings and I didn’t research.

TW: Gore

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Jaskier first coughed up a flower at age three.

Poets loved Hanahaki, it was considered romantic, and those prone to it were tragic beauties, destined to languish, delicately spitting blood and rose petals into a silk handkerchief. No one really wrote about how it could be brought on by deeply unrequited platonic love.

Jaskier coughed a violet into his little fist and brought it to his mother, who turned him away.

Fifteen years down the line and having graduated Oxenfurt with honors, Jaskier was old hat at taking care of Hanahaki. His feelings, although often unrequited, were also often fleeting. A night spent coughing tulips into a bowl and a sore throat the next mroning, but rarely more than that.

If it persisted for a week or more there was tea. Any apothecary in even a mid sized city carried it. It was putrid and thick and slid down the throat like a cup of slugs, but in the morning there were no petals, and after two or three days of the stuff, the disease was gone. 

He was almost thankful for being so prone to Hanahaki, it was romantic and lended much to his chosen profession. People gave him sympathetic looks and free drinks if he sang a sad song and discreetly spat a rose petal into a handkerchief. Most of the time he simply didn’t mind it, and considered himself twice blessed with his mobile heart.

Sometimes he had nightmares of what would happen if he found true love.

The notions of true love itself was romantic, but everyone knew that your true love, the one you were fated to, if they didn’t love you in return no tea would save you.

He’d watched a friend, a grad student at Oxenfurt, die of it. It was no delicate coughing into handkerchiefs, no poetic languishing. He’d held her hair back as she threw up petals and blood, crying as she clutched the bucket with skeletal hands because she could no longer force food down a torn throat. 

It had been so slow, she’d said between pulling thorned stems from her mouth. More than a decade of loving the boy she’d had a crush on in her small town village. She’d lived through it all, only occassionally throwing up flowers. Always snow white roses, for him, apparently. It would have been wonderfully artistic if Jaskier didn’t know how they looked covered in blood.

Then she’d gone to his wedding to the baker’s daughter and two weeks later he watched her cough out roots wrapped around a chunk of lung and screamed for a doctor knowing it was too late. The blood stain never washed fully out of the floor.

And she’d said it was worth it. That she wouldn’t have stopped loving him for the world, even as she said it through a throat full of thorns. 

Jaskier never understood it, leaping from town to town, avoiding long term connections while knowing all the while that if fate wanted him to fall in love he would. Denying Destiny only made things nastier, he knew. And then, in a tevern in Posada, with bread in his pants and a hole in his boot, his eyes met pure gold. 

It took a split second, less probably, for him to realize that, although he didn’t love the man yet, for love at first sight truly is a poet’s myth, he could love this man. And if he died for this man, maybe the love would be worth it after all.

The man was a witcher, who punched him in the gut and stank of onion and talked to his horse. Jaskier followed him anyway.

He followed him and coughed up flowers, different blossoms for different people, and he began to fall deeper in love. He wondered sometimes what flowers he would cough, as the bouquets turned into only one kind. 

What flower would represent Geralt? Not buttercups or dandelions, certainly. Perhaps if someone else were to catch Hanahaki for Jaskier those would be for him. Geralt wasn’t a dandelion. He was grumpy and spiky and after ten years wouldn’t even call Jaskier a friend. 

In the dead of night Jaskier feared it would be white roses, like he’d seen once before.

And then Geralt died in a collapsing building only to be alive and fucking a purple-eyed sorceress after nearly killing Jaskier with a djinn. Jaskier vomited flowers not twelve hours after vomiting blood.

Snow drops, tiny and delicate. And from that point forth he never coughed up any other kind.

It didn’t progress so quickly though. Jaskier had expected to die within a month of Geralt meeting Yennefer. He didn’t. Love and sex weren’t the same thing, and his love didn’t go totally unrequited either. It wasn’t the same sort of love, but in the quiet moments just after dawn it was enough. 

Then Geralt made a choice.

He wouldn’t kill dragons, he didn’t hunt sapient creatures, he wanted nothing to do with the dragon hunt, until he caught sight of Yennefer.

And that left Geralt and Jaskier, on top of a mountain, as Geralt screamed into the wind that Jaskier meant nothing to him. Jaskier felt the roots set in.

He wasn’t going to get the story from the others. He could barely breathe, the pain was so sharp and intense and he could feel it growing, feel the flowers growing. Little snowdrops had no right to be so painful.

He wasn’t going to make it off the mountain.

Jaskier took a different trail down, and then wandered into the forest a little way, coughing blood and stems the whole way. He collapsed under a tree, blood staining his doublet. He wished he had a friend to clutch his hand, hold his hair back and rub his back like he’d done more than twenty years ago. 

There wouldn’t be a funeral though. No one would know what had happened to Jaskier the bard. Worse, no one would know what happened to Julian, the person, the man. As he threw up a clump of flowers and blood he felt very much like the scared little boy who threw up a flower for the first time. 

It hurt. It burned and shredded his throat and he wanted a friend and he didn’t have any. He’d thrown all his eggs in one basket twenty years ago and Geralt had kicked that basket off the mountain. 

Jaskier leaned his lute up against the tree. It’d be such a shame to get blood on the lovely girl. He curled up next to it, in a fetal position on his side as the coughs wracked his whole body. 

His friend had lasted two weeks, he thought. But her rejection was a wedding. Not her best friend and the love of her life telling her never to see him again. That he was a burden. That if life or Destiny could give him one blessing it would be to take Jaskier off his hands. And Destiny was going to deliver. She had made Jaskier love Geralt, and she would kill him by it. 

Still, Jaskier would have given anything for the comfort of his friend right now. He began to cry, snot and tears and blood and petals all mixing. He couldn’t even breathe, his lungs burned so bad. 

His vision was blurry.

He could hear noises, tromping through the forest and who knew what awful creatures lurked here. Just like Dame Destiny to have him disembowled while dying of Hanahaki.

It was dark, but it had been noon on the mountain. Black clouds swirled and closed in his vision.

A strangled noise.

No monster made that noise. That was a man-made noise. It sounded very much how Jaskier had felt on the mountaintop. He retched up a flower and tasted pollen and iron.

“Jaskier!”

He didn’t remember hallucinations being part of the final stages, but the brain played funny tricks.

“Jaskier!” There it was again, and he was being bundled up tight to a chest that was not at all comfortable and smelled of horse and leather and sweat and onion. A buckle of Geralt’s armor dug into his cheek. Jaskier’s mouth was full of stems and roots.

GLoved fingers dug in, pulling snowdrops from between his lips and then Geralt kissed him. It was entirely awful and unsatisfying. 

Dimly Jaskier came to the realization that it was not supposed to a kiss, but Geralt trying to blow air into his flowering lungs. A nice gesture but unhelpful.

He lolled his head to the side to throw up another clump of root, not wanting to throw up directly into Geralt’s mouth. 

A shudder ran through the chest he was pressed against, like a tremor before an earthquake. Then a sob.

It was quiet. The worst sobs are. 

Geralt lay Jaskier down on the floor, one hand cupped beneath his head, gently cradling. Then the witcher curled next to him, face pressed against a pale neck streaked with blood, and cried.

Jaskier wanted to comfort him, to stroke a hand through soft white hair one last time and thank him for not letting him die alone. He just didn’t have the strength.

Another wretched, tiny sob, then, “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m so sorry.” Oh that wasn’t fair. A tear leaked from Jaskier’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt continued, face pressed into Jaskier’s collarbone. “I didn’t mean it, I was angry and tired and I’ve hurt you but please,” the voice faded to barely a whisper. “Please don’t leave me, I didn’t mean it, I love you don’t leave me here alone.”

Don’t leave him here alone. Jaskier though. Destiny owed him, owed them both for all she’d put them through. Don’t make him lonely, he prayed. I don’t want to leave him alone.

Geralt held Jaskier tighter, pressing even closer like he was trying to meld them into one. “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I love you.”

The world went white.

Jaskier blinked his eyes open with blood in his mouth. It didn’t seem to deter Geralt, who kissed him so thoroughly his head felt light. Then Geralt pulled him upright. There was blood on the ground around them, some even streaked into Geralt’s hair. 

There were no stems though.

The forest floor had been carpeted for ten feet all around them with snowdrops, planted firmly in earth instead of lungs. They were so close together it looked like a sudden snowfall, trailing to fewer and farther between at the edges of their little pool of white. 

“I...” Jaskier said, letting Geralt pull him to his feet. He wasn’t sure what to say but it turns out he needn’t say anything. Geralt was clutching him like a lifeline and tucking a snowdrop into his hair.

“I smelled blood,” he said, lips brushing into Jaskier’s brown fringe. “I smelled blood and was so afraid. I haven’t been truly afraid in so long and then I found those wretched flowers.” Geralt took a shaky breath. 

“I truly thought it was too late.” He pulled back and looked into Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt’s own yellow ones were dry but the emotion was clear. “I thought I had lost you, my love.” A gloved hand, only slightly bloody stroked Jaskier’s cheek. “I thought I had lost you, my life’s greatest gift. And I wanted to lay down beside you and die as well.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “You overdramatic sod,” he said between watery sniffles. “What a ridiculous notion. And I can’t believe it takes me dying to turn you into a romantic.”

“Almost dying,” Geralt said firmly. There was panic written plain across his face, as if he was terrified that time would slam into reverse just to take Jaskier from him. Another embrace, just this side of bone crushing. “Almost dying, my love.”

“Not dead, my love,” Jaskier responded. 

As they made their way down the mountain snowdrops bloomed in their footsteps, but they were too busy looking at each other to notice.

[bamf-jaskier]

Accidental Witcher AU

Just gonna put this here so I can find it later if I ever start writing again...

...

alright so accidental Witcher Jaskier

which is objectively hilarious. No more angst, no glamour, no memory loss or curse NOPE all we have is an absolutely shitfaced Jaskier, a Geralt who left his bag at the inn and isn't coming back until the morning.

Jaskier starts mixing together Witcher potions, why wouldn't he? He's drunk, they are shiny, what isn't there to like?

So Jaskier mixes these potions and it left with a black liquid, dark like tar. And what does this man do? What does this renowned Bard do? HE DRINKS IT

and when Jaskier wakes up the next morning, he realizes oh FUCK he can say a lot more things than the night before, he can smell a lot more things too, damn he reeks.

He looks in the mirror and thank fuck his eyes are still blue somehow but when he looks directly into the light they dilate just a bit, all Cat-eyed. Well. Okay. Jaskier isn't stupid. Something bad happened last night and now he's a Witcher.

But here's the thing: making himself physiologically a Witcher doesn't mean he's a Witcher now. He doesn't know much about the path (besides what Geralt has told him) and he has NO IDEA how to use that huge ass pointy Witcher swords. And the LAST THING he wants is for people to expect him to run around wearing armor and fighting monsters. He would much rather prefer to follow a Witcher around and perform.

So what does Jaskier do? Pretends nothing happened.

Geralt comes back from his contract that day and there is...something different about Jaskier but he can't put his finger on it. Jaskier meanwhile is desperately trying to get used to all these new sense and after accidentally breaking a door handle finds out that Witchers are just a little bit stronger than the average person. He practices with his lute until he can control his strength (and music is such a good way to practice controlling his strength)

And Jaskier just continues traveling with Geralt pretending nothing has happened. Partially because he doesn't want Geralt to get it into his head that he ought to be "trained" (Jaskier will carry a sword the day he dies) and partially because he's embarrassed to admit he recreated the lost recipe to the trials shitfaced.

Of course, if Jaskier's songs begin to focus a little more on a Witcher's senses and are just a touch too realistic about a Witcher's sense of smell? Well Jaskier needs a coping mechanism somehow and the world STINKS now.

Now, Geralt is smart, but even he wouldn't suspect Jaskier of accidentally becoming a Witcher but he knows something is wrong. So what does he do? He starts testing Jaskier to see what's wrong.

At first Geralt thinks its a doppler but that is quickly proven wrong when Jaskier falls directly into a mud puddle and makes Geralt stop at a bathhouse to change and clean up.

He thinks Jaskier has a secret lover but then he see him sleep with someone in a tavern.

Maybe Jaskier is under a curse, but the medallion doesn't even hum.

Geralt even asks Yen to check if Jaskier is under a glamour or a spell and she tells him no.

Geralt has no idea what to do so he asks Yen to dig and find out.

Yen and Jaskier like to gossip and drink together so while Geralt goes off on a contract Yennefer and Jaskier get together to bitch and stitch a little.

Once more, drunk Jaskier starts talking about how he totally accidentally made himself a witcher and he has no idea what to do now. Yennefer of course, doesn't believe him. She thinks he just fucked up and took some potions with temporary side effects that will wear off eventually.

so OF COURSE Jaskier grabs Geralt's bag and begins making the Witcher potion once more. And he holds up this tar-potion, drunk as all hell and declares he is the maker of Witcher and the god of the skies. Then Yennefer steals the bottle, pushes a drunk Jaskier to the ground and chugs the potion.

She wakes up the next morning with a resounding FUCK as her purple eyes dilate in the light. Yennefer didn't even think mages could become Witchers? What the fuck was in that potion Jaskier made?

Jaskier and Yennefer both freak out. Now they are both in deep shit and Jaskier has definitely discovered how to make more Witchers but can only do it while drunk, sober attempts to recreate the potion have been met with no success.

Geralt returns and now BOTH Yennefer and Jaskier are acting weird and fuck what's wrong with them?

Geralt comes to the COMPLETELY wrong conclusion that Jaskier and Yennefer are sleeping together.

Cue Geralt trying to make weirdly supportive comments about Jaskier and Yennefer and the two of them acting super weird because, "does he know? what the hell is Geralt talking about now?"

Geralt: I would support the two of you no matter your life choices

Jaskier: wait does he know?

Yennefer: is he trying to invite us to go monster hunting with him?

Jaskier: Oh gods, please don't let it be that

For Yennefer, the transition from Mage to Witcher-Mage isn't all that different. She supposes she's a bit stronger now and her sense are enhanced but honestly she's really just shocked that drunk Jaskier managed to recreate the trials.

Witchers put on muscle a LOT faster than humans and are better at retaining it. What does this mean? Jaskier, who previously was tall but not exactly a brick shithouse like Geralt is suddenly getting muscle definition and OH NO he doesn't like that. His doublets are getting too tight and Jaskier basically desperately trying to not build muscle which goes against the biological instinct of Witchers.

Cue Jaskier cutting his protein and doing lots of cardio to stay smaller and more lithe. Jaskier refusing to pick things up or do any kind of arm exercises.

Jaskier: Geralt can I tie my lute to Roach's side, I can't carry it anymore

Geralt: why?

Jaskier: .... because

This is when Jaskier buys his horse Pegasus so he doesn't walk quite as much (he unfortunately finds out that horseback riding give you great thigh muscles)

Meanwhile Yennefer doesn't give a shit and she is building some truly fantastic arm muscles in the corner.

Geralt stops by Yen's place on the way to Kaer Morhen and she is....chopping wood a la Captain America with an ax. When Geralt watches Yennefer rip apart a log with her bare hands he literally swoons. Jaskier catches him.

Of course, Geralt STILL thinks Jaskier and Yennefer are sleeping together so he begins to make comments about Yennefer's new look and immediately apologizing because he doesn't want to overstep his bounds.

Geralt: Yen ur looking very powerful lately

looks at Jaskier and back to Yennefer

Geralt: not that u didn't always look powerful, and not that I care or think that's it's attractive or anything.

Jaskier: what...?

Yennefer: Are you saying I'm not attractive Geralt?

Geralt: no...I'm...fuck

Jaskier: hello fuck nice to meet you I'm Jaskier.

Okay but after a few months of Geralt making pointed comments about Yen and Jaskier they begin to think he is trying to matchmake them.

Jaskier: I think that Geralt wants us to bone

Yennefer: he does keep making comments about us alone together in the bedroom, I thought he was joking but-

Jaskier: he just left the room and told us to 'have fun'

Yennefer: I mean, should we?

Jaskier: yeah, sounds fun

okay but IMAGINE. Jaskier and Yennefer are sleeping together right? and they decide to spend a Winter at Kaer Morhen with Geralt who just acquired a new child surprise and they show up at the Wolf Keep and Vesemir (who knows these things) is like, "what schools are these Witchers from" and Geralt just...blanks

Geralt: these aren't Witchers?? One is a bard and the other is a mage??

Vesemir: No these are definitely Witchers

Geralt: ???

Jaskier: ...

Yennefer: ...

Jaskier: OKAY SO LONG STORY

TL;DR Drunk Jaskier mixes together a bunch of potions, him and Yennefer end up drinking them and becoming accidental Witchers, they hide it from Geralt and end up sleeping together due to Geralt misreading the situation

[eirikaanemo]

That last drabble was very sweet :) So I'm sorry in advance if my request is a bit angsty. How would Venti deal with a person who's had their heart broken by a careless bard before? They love Venti, but his free and playful nature makes them wonder if he'll abandon the relationship when he gets what he wants from them.

Oh my goodness I love this so much! Thank you so much anon for this awesome request! And it's okay that it's a bit angsty. As long as I can write a happy ending, it's all good. I hope you enjoy this, even if I did modify the prompt a bit.

Pinkie Promise

Venti x GN!Reader

1k Words

Warnings: Description of a bad break up and its effects

Notes: I'm sorry if your name is Taylor. I'm sure you're a wonderful person and not a jerk like the person in this story.

You have been happily with Venti for several months. But every once in a while you think back to Taylor. The careless bard you dated before. Venti is very different from them. He plays a lyre instead of a flute. He pretends to be boastful instead of pretending to be humble. He is sincere instead of two-faced. He is everything Taylor was not.

Your relationship with Taylor started out almost sickly sweet and stiflingly caring. As time went on they spent less and less time with you and spent more and more time playing at bars. At first they made excuses. “Well, I do need to make money, honey bunches.” They would say. “It is my job, darling.”

Eventually they stopped making excuses. In fact, they stopped talking to you altogether. It got worse and worse every day. Then, one day, you found out from a friend that they had started dating someone else without having actually broken up with you.

Full of righteous fury, you confronted them about his actions and neglect. All they had to say for themselves was, “I got bored of you. You weren’t worth my time anymore. So I moved on to someone else.”

They could not have hurt you more if they had actually stabbed you. Their words rang in your head as you numbly left the bar they were in. Later you found that their new partner had broken up with them and that bar had banned them for life, as if that somehow made up for what they had done.

You left town as soon as possible and moved to Mondstadt with hope for a better life. Even then it took you a long time to feel ready for a relationship again. Now you are with Venti, and he’s better than Taylor ever was. He makes time for you instead of making excuses. He talks to you when something is wrong instead of avoiding you. He stops other people cold instead of flirting with them.

But on bad days you have to admit that you are just waiting for the other shoe to drop. You’ve been together with Venti for longer than you even knew Taylor. And now you’re simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. You’re waiting for him to get bored of you and leave you too.

For all of his sincerity, Venti’s free and playful manner is as terrifying as it is endearing to you. How long will it be before he decides that you’re not worth it? How long will it be before he hurts you and leaves you too? How long will this spot of sunshine in your life last?

With these worries crossing your mind more and more, you start subconsciously drifting away from Venti. And unlike Taylor, he notices something is wrong immediately. He takes initiative and resolves to confront you about it, in private and with the intention to understand instead of accuse.

It all starts with a knock at your door. You open it to see Venti on your doorstep and nearly shut the door on him with shock. “Hey, are you okay?” He asks you, concerned. “You have been pretty distant recently. And I’m pretty sure you’ve been avoiding me too. Did something happen? Did I do something wrong?”

After hearing his words you freeze, color draining from your face. Distance, avoiding, making excuses, those were all things that Taylor did that you hated. And now you’re doing that to Venti. You’re acting just like Taylor.

You wordlessly open the door wider to let him in and the two of you take seats on the couch. He gives you some space, which you’re incredibly grateful for and feel horrible about all at the same time. After a moment of quiet you take one of his hands in yours a take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you, Venti,” you apologize. “This isn’t your fault at all and I’m sorry I made you feel that way. There’s a story I want to tell you, something that happened to me before I met you. I think my behavior will make more sense after I tell you it. Are you willing to listen?”

He nods. “Of course,” he replies. “I’m willing to do anything that will help with this.” His other hand reaches to cover the back of one of your hands that’s holding his.

Explaining Taylor and what happened takes longer than you had expected and you feel wrung out and so very tired by the time you finish explaining. “When you confronted me at the door, I realized I was acting just like Taylor,” you admitted. “And I’m so sorry, I never meant to do that to you.”

There’s a moment of silence as Venti takes some time to mentally digest what you had just told him. Then he slowly and carefully drew you in for a soft hug, giving you time to move away if you wanted. You wrap your arms around him in return and he gives you a soft squeeze in response.

“Thank you for telling me and helping me understand,” he murmurs in your ear. “I can’t promise to be perfect because I will admit that I do have some commitment issues myself. But I can promise you that I will try. I have learned over the years that some relationships are worth holding onto, despite what troubles may come. And this is one of those relationships.

“You mean a lot to me and I hope I mean a lot to you too. I can’t go back and change what Taylor did, but please know that I would never, ever drop communication with you like that. If something about us comes up, I’ll talk to you about it. Any concerns or troubles or anything, I’ll bring them to you first and we’ll talk it out. Do you think you could do that too?”

You nod, a smile slipping onto your face. “Yeah, I can do that. Pinkie promise?” You say, letting go of his hand and holding up your pinkie.

He grins and entwines one of his pinkies with yours. “Pinkie promise.”

Tag list: @clouds-rambles

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

"I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met." memory loss angst? 👉👈🥺

anon... fam, this turned into an emotional rollercoaster and totally stole my braincell.

3.8k words. angst with a happy ending. 

tw: memory loss, minor anxiety, repressed memories, idiots to lovers, whump, angst with a happy ending, angst with a fluffy ending

---

It’s been three hours, five minutes, and forty-two seconds since the frigid breeze whipped Geralt’s angry words at him, shattering his fragile, stupid heart to pieces. Every syllable rings through Jaskier’s head over and over, slamming into him from all directions and crippling him with a bone-deep pain far worse than anything he’s ever felt before. The ache ebbs and flows, lancing through him with every step. Not even Geralt’s first frustrated blow to his abdomen had been this terrible.

Geralt… That’s the problem, isn’t it? He hadn’t been smart enough to get out of the gorgeous Witcher’s long, silvery hair soon enough. He’d overstayed his welcome, fallen in love in the meantime, and is now very out of sorts (and also alone in unfamiliar territory). The bard laughs but it’s a hollow sound. Jaskier has reached the edge of hysteria, his intelligent blue eyes now vacant and unseeing. Even as he stumbles through the underbrush, all he can picture is the snarl on Geralt’s face as the Witcher yells at Destiny to take Jaskier off his hands. 

Jaskier’s own hands are covered in sap and splinters from pushing tree branches away from his face as he traverses the darkening forest. His hair is full of debris and his clothes are torn and dirty; Geralt has all of his emergency supplies, still. Jaskier is pretty sure that his lute is still strapped over his shoulder but he realizes, with no small amount of surprise, that he doesn’t actually care.

He doesn’t have the capacity anymore. 

He can’t care… caring hurts too much.

If only Destiny had taken him off Geralt’s hands. Maybe then it would be okay. Maybe then, if Geralt was well and truly free of him and his irritating presence, the Witcher could be happy. He and Yennefer will surely come back around, they always seem to, and Ciri will be joining them soon enough it seems. 

There’s no need - no room - for a humble bard anymore.

Only five hours, thirty minutes, and twelve seconds after Geralt’s outburst at the top of the mountain, Jaskier’s delicate human body succumbs to the stress of the day.

He drops to the forest floor without a sound, grateful for the darkness.

---

Yennefer finds the bard in a heap a few miles away from the previous night’s elevated campsite. When she presses the back of her hand to his forehead she yanks it away almost immediately; he’s burning up, and his skin is clammy and sticky with sweat. The feathery bangs he flicks about and preens so much are stuck to his forehead and temples. He’s on the verge of shaking apart and Yennefer tosses her head imperiously, swearing.

“Damnit, Geralt. You and your incredibly foolish need to be alone all the time so you can brood and self-flagellate. Me, an ageless sorceress from one of the greatest magic schools on the Continent? I can handle a thorough tongue lashing. Fuck, I’m older than you and I’ve seen far worse but this… oh, you great lummox. You absolute bastard…” Yennefer mutters to herself as she assesses the bard’s deteriorating state of health, ranting to an invisible Geralt all the while. “You’re absolutely going to be hearing from me about this, Wolf.”

--- Three days, one hour, and fifteen minutes after Geralt dismissed him forever, Jaskier wakes up with a loud gasp and a violent shudder. He blinks slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright light streaming in through a window. Whatever he’s lying on is comfortable and the sheets smell fresh and bright, like lilac and freesia. A hint of gooseberry lies beneath it all, delicate and sweet. He glances around the space and finds it to be relatively bare; a guest room, perhaps. Maybe he’s a servant at some noble house? 

Jaskier only really knows that his name is Jaskier and that he plays music. He’s also rather talented with floral arrangements. 

Shortly after he’s finished purveying his (borrowed?) chamber, the very image of grace, beauty, and terror enters the room. The woman, whose coppery skin and enchanting violet eyes practically glow in the midafternoon sun, smiles down at him in a way that toes the line between Motherly and Shark-like. 

“How are you feeling, Jaskier?”

“I’m alright. And you?”

“Just fine. Geralt really did a number on us, huh?” she asks, a playful grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. He has the feeling that something isn’t right; she shouldn’t be looking at him so kindly. 

Her expression changes from friendly to horrified to confused in an instant, as soon as Jaskier manages to ask: “Who’s Geralt? And, pardon me, but I feel as if something is rather amiss. Who are you, my Lady?”

Whoever the gorgeous and terrifying woman is, she grimaces briefly. Then, as if by magic, the comforting smile returns. “I’m Yennefer, of course. I saved your life a few years ago, remember?”

Jaskier wracks his brain but cannot call the occasion to mind. “Unfortunately no, I don’t remember your no doubt heroic deed. Although I suppose that means I’m in your debt, doesn’t it? Do I work for you? Is that why I’m here?”

The woman blinks a few times, slowly, and then nods. “You’re my gardener and personal musician.”

Jaskier brightens, happy to have found himself in a safe environment. 

“But you’ve had a nasty illness and your mind is clearly fatigued. Rest another day or two and then we can see about getting you back into the fresh air.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Jaskier nods.

“Yen is fine.”

“Thank you, Yen. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he grins. 

---

Yennefer turns away to hide her pained expression. You’d probably still be with your beloved Witcher. 

She makes her way to the kitchen to fix Jaskier something to eat. He must be hungry after spending three days in a deep, healing sleep. She hadn’t been expecting the amnesia, though; it was an unexpected but not unsurprising turn of events. Heartbreak had done stranger things than a little bit of fever-induced memory loss. When she’d delved briefly into his mind she hadn’t seen any sign of Geralt. His face was absent from the bard’s consciousness; she would have needed to dig to unearth those memories. Whatever the Witcher had done was grievous, especially if Jaskier’s mind compensated with something as dramatic as burying Geralt completely to save itself from further harm.

No matter, she decides, the bard can stay here as long as he likes. It’s the least I can do for all the upset Geralt and I have caused him. Where is that idiot Witcher, anyway?

The sorceress quickly clears her agenda and her mind before returning to her guest room with a large tray of food, a bottle of Toussainti red under her arm. “Jaskier, darling, let’s get your convalescence started in style!”

---

2 months later

---

Jaskier watches a strange man ride up the long path to Yennefer’s manor, the hilts of his twin swords glinting in the sun where they’re slung over his shoulder. He has long white hair and the most devastating jawline the bard/gardener (or ‘bardener’ as he says to irritate his darling employer) has ever laid eyes on. He’s clad all in black, from his plain linen shirt to his tight leather trousers; Jaskier thinks he’d also look rather lovely in dark blue or perhaps forest green.

In front of him, wrapped securely against his chest by one strong arm, sits a little girl with ashen hair and frightened eyes. Haunted eyes. Jaskier’s mind fills with ballads, some familiar and some oddly dreamlike, their lyrics half-obscured and hazy. Ciri, he thinks for no reason. Her name is Ciri. And she is a Princess.

The brunette scurries from the garden alongside the house to the kitchen, searching for the familiar cloud of Yennefer’s strong perfume. “My Lady?” 

“Darling?” the sorceress replies, coming around the corner. She raises her perfectly maintained eyebrows and her lips quirk up into a smirk. “Did you sprint all the way from the west lawn?”

“There’s a- strange man- on the- drive!” he huffs. “White hair- horse!”

“Oh,” her eyes go wide with surprise. Then, in a split second, they narrow to slits. “Oh.”

“Do you, uhm, know him?” Jaskier asks, twiddling his fingers. “He’s rather handsome, Yen. Is he a former lover?”

“Unfortunately,” she growls. “I can’t believe it’s taken him two fucking months to get here. He’d better have a damned good excuse.”

By now Jaskier can breathe normally again and he straightens up, shaking his long, shaggy hair from his eyes. “He had a child with him. She looked scared, Yen.”

“Cirilla!”

Yennefer dashes for the front door and Jaskier follows instinctually. They’re always together and he can’t bear to let her confront this man alone. He’s spent every waking moment with Yen since he awoke that first day and she has grown to be his dearest friend; he’ll protect her even unto death. “Yenna, what’s wrong? Who is he!?”

“Geralt of Rivia,” she snarls. The name seems familiar; maybe from a ballad or story? Perhaps Yen has mentioned him before? 

“What about Geralt of Rivia?” a low, rumbling bass asks from the front hallway. Jaskier and Yennefer arrive in the doorway together and the man, Geralt apparently, takes a shaky step back. He recoils a bit, as if he’s been slapped, and Yennefer’s smile grows cruel. His voice, still incredibly low but now with a slight tremor to it, stutters out; “Wha- Yen, what is he- Jaskier? I only came to ask for help with Ciri, I didn’t know- I didn’t-”

Geralt’s stammered speech tapers off into silence and Yennefer’s brow furrows a second time. When the sorceress sets eyes on the child, who cannot be more than twelve years old, her expression softens again. Jaskier watches the most imposing woman in the world kneel, taking one small, pale hand in both of her own. “My name is Yennever of Vengerberg, former Sorceress of Aretuza. I am honored to meet you, Princess Cirilla. Geralt has come seeking protection, no doubt, and it is easily granted. I will do everything I can to help you.”

“Thank you, Lady Yennefer. And, uhm… Ciri’s fine,” the girl replies. Her voice is high and reedy, shot through with anxiety. She’s so young, Jaskier frowns. And yet she seems to have weathered an incredible storm.

“Ciri,” the bard bows from the doorway, low and dramatic. He sweeps his arm out to the side and bends his knees as awkwardly as possible, “I am Jaskier, private troubadour and gardener extraordinaire, under the employ of the magnanimous and dangerous Lady Yennefer, here. It is my greatest honor to make your very mighty and very royal acquaintance.”

“You’re silly, Master Jaskier,” the child giggles, hiding her mouth behind her hands. Geralt’s eyes grow wide and dart between Jaskier and the girl. Yennefer makes meaningful eye contact before nodding toward the door. Jaskier looks down at Ciri again when she asks: “Do you grow lots of flowers in Lady Yennefer’s garden, or just herbs and things for magic?” 

“I grow lots of things all over the property,” the brunette man steps forward and offers Ciri his hand, gesturing towards the front door with the other. “Would you like to come and take a look? I know all the scientific names, you can even quiz me if you like.”

“I know some,” she smiles shyly, accepting the offered hand. “May I go take a look at the gardens, Geralt?”

“Go ahead,” the Witcher nods dumbly. “Jaskier will take good care of you.”

“That I will. Now, let’s take a look at the flowers and let these silly adults have a chat,” Jaskier grins. He winks at Yennefer and disappears out the door, exiled Princess in tow. 

The two lively companions have toured through all the medicinal herbs and are halfway through Yennefer’s large collection of rose variations when the two other members of the party approach. Geralt looks sheepish, his eyes downcast. Yennefer looks triumphant; she is radiant in her victory as always. 

Geralt steps forward, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Jaskier, I’ve come to apologize for what happened when we parted.”

“Excuse me?” the bard chuckles, raising an eyebrow.  "I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, exactly.”

“When I yelled at you after the dragon hunt. It was only two months ago, Jaskier, surely you remember?”

Jaskier blushes, glancing anxiously between Geralt and his friend, whose violet eyes are stormy with emotion, “I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met."

Geralt gasps sharply and takes a step back, as he did in the entryway. Jaskier winces, seemingly on instinct, and shies away from the larger man. “You don’t remember me?”

“No…” Jaskier sighs. “I really don't. Should I?”

“You don’t… You don’t even remember Toss a Coin?”

“Oh, that ditty from town?” Jaskier perks up. “I know that song! It always gets stuck in my head.”

“You… You wrote that song,” Geralt’s face crumples. “About our first adventure together outside of Posada. With the elves and the sylvan...”

“I’ve never been to Posada,” Jaskier laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “They hate bards. They prefer troupes of traveling play-actors. Posada is far too serious for my tastes.”

Geralt seems to be in agony. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if he’s on the verge of tears but unable to shed them. Can Witchers cry? 

How does he know that Geralt is a Witcher? Is it the two swords, the scars, or the strange eyes? How does he know that those are common Witcher traits?

His stomach lurches and he turns away from the group in case he needs to be sick. The ground spins and shivers in little ripples around him, unstable and impermanent beneath his feet. Yennefer is calling his name from somewhere far away and a pair of warm, strong arms are looped around his waist. Still, he can’t seem to breathe. Or focus.

There’s something missing. 

He starts to hum, trying to remember the words of that damned song.

The rest of the world fades in and out around him, finally disappearing altogether.

---

He’s gorgeous. 

Jaskier shoves another roll into his pocket. His eyes are focused on the man in the corner. He has long, snow-white hair and his shoulders are hunched forward protectively, as if he can hold the world out by sitting by himself. He’s glaring the table into submission, one fist clenched around his tankard. 

I want to write him a thousand ballads. I want to know what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning, before he brushes it out again. I want to know if he snores. I want… he stops himself. 

He makes his way across the room with eyes only for the stranger. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

The man looks away and Jaskier notices that his irises are gold. “I’m here to drink alone.”

Gods, his fucking voice… Velvet and gravel all at once. Melitele, does Jaskier want. “Good, yeah. Good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance… except for you.”

The man, the Witcher, Jaskier realizes, rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he wheedles, sitting down across from the gorgeous stranger. “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me, three words or less.”

The man’s face stays stoic, expressionless. “They don’t exist.”

He realizes shortly thereafter that this man is not just any Witcher but the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. He could try to disengage himself from such a daunting character; he could easily make some kind of excuse and disappear back to the troubadour’s path, heading towards civilization, but it’s already too late. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt’s side ever again; he wants to write all those ballads he was thinking about earlier, when he glanced across the room. 

Jaskier has fallen head over heels in love. ---

Geralt cradles Jaskier against his chest and presses his nose deep into those chestnut brown waves. “Wake up, Jaskier. Come back to me, bard, it’s been too long.”

“Don’t you usually go all winter without seeing him?” Yennefer asks from the doorway. 

“It’s hell,” he replies easily. There’s no point in hiding his feelings from her. “I miss him every minute of every day.”

“Verbose this evening,” she remarks, taking a seat by the fire. “He’s dreaming, you know. He’s remembering you.”

“He’d forgotten?”

“He’d repressed it all,” she shrugs. “When I found him that day, feverish and nearly dead on the side of that godsforsaken mountain, he was barely coherent enough to open his eyes. He just kept asking for you, Geralt. Over and over he called for you, reaching his arms up, weak as they were. Gods, it was pitiful to watch.”

Geralt swallows. 

“I thought you were going to come back sooner. I was surprised when his memories didn’t resurface after two or three weeks. Short-term memory loss after a fever isn’t uncommon but repressing twenty years worth of feelings and experiences-” she whistles lowly “-it was impressive and tragic, all at once.”

“He forgot me?”

“Entirely.”

Geralt glances down, shame-faced. He adjusts Jaskier in his arms, holding him close and pillowing the bard’s head against his shoulder. “I deserve it, Yen.”

“He’s remembering now, though. He’ll probably be a little less than pleased to see you when he wakes up, but he knows who you are.”

“When will he wake?”

“Can’t say,” she shrugs again. “After I brought him back from the mountain it took three days for him to wake up. The first day was magically induced but after that it was just him… exhausted and heartbroken to the point of self-induced amnesia.”

“Fuck, Yen,” Geralt groaned, pressing his forehead into the soft warmth of Jaskier’s cheek. “How can I make it up to him?”

“Stay.”

“Hmm?”

“When he wakes up and he’s angry and upset, stay. Don’t stomp off or blow up or freak out,” she instructs. “If he asks you to leave, go, but otherwise… prove yourself, Geralt of Rivia. You wanted to be a knight once, didn’t you? Now’s your chance to play Prince Charming. Get down on your lovely knees and beg and apologize.”

“Hmm. How’s Ciri?”

“Fed, bathed, and put to bed. I’ll take care of her for as long as it takes you two morons to make nice again. Good luck, Geralt, I’m sure he’ll forgive you too easily for my tastes.”

She stands from her seat and leaves just as efficiently as she entered, carefully closing the door behind her. Geralt lays Jaskier back on the bed and takes a seat beside him on the mattress, kneeling just within touching distance, should Jaskier reach out for reassurance in his sleep. Geralt closes his eyes and slips easily into meditation. 

The Witcher is pulled from his trance a few hours later when Jaskier makes a startled sound and tries to sit up. Geralt opens his eyes and splays one warm, broad hand against Jaskier’s chest, forcing him back against the goose down pillows. “Stay still, Jaskier. You’re feverish and weak.”

“I’m still dreaming,” the bard grumbles, reaching to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands. It’s adorable and Geralt grins widely, warmth spilling into his chest from some newly discovered fount of happiness. “You’re being too nice to me, Witcher.”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier, for everything.”

“What’s everything, Geralt?”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away when I was angry and confused instead of communicating with you. I’m sorry for hurting you with my brash words and foolish actions; you have always deserved so much better and I’m so afraid that I can never give that to you. I take the wrong step at every turn, it seems, and yet you stay by my side. I didn’t want to risk hurting you the way I’ve already hurt Yen and Ciri, by tying us together against your will.”

“Darling Geralt,” the bard sighs. The Witcher scoots slightly closer and Jaskier lays a gentle hand atop his thigh. “It has always been my greatest pleasure to travel the Path with you and write of our adventures. I appreciate your concern for my agency and wellbeing, dear heart, but I am quite happy spending my entire human life in your presence.”

“Hmm,” the Witcher frowns. “You’re going to die someday.”

“And? So are you. So shall Yennefer, maybe.”

“Not likely,” Geralt jokes. Jaskier grins and the sight of it is so heartwarming that the Witcher wishes he could break down into tears. At least then Jaskier could see just how deeply his feelings ran. “I’m sorry, Jaskier, for blaming you for things that I brought upon myself. I love you dearly, and I hope that someday you can choose to travel with me again.”

“Excuse me?”

“I hope that you’ll-”

“No, the other bit.”

“I love you?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Oh. Yes, I-” Geralt clears his throat and looks Jaskier in the eyes, gold and blue locked together, “I love you very much, Jaskier.”

“Fuck.”

“May I kiss you, Jaskier?”

“Yes,” the bard breathes.

And then Geralt is lifting him up into his lap, one hand cradling Jaskier’s skull so so fucking carefully. Geralt’s other arm supports his waist, holding him steady. Their lips come together softly, carefully, and Jaskier’s soul spirals up to the ceiling with joy, his body abandoned. He is merely a vessel for the happiness that comes with kissing his Witcher. When they pull apart, both men are grinning like fools. “Oh, dear heart.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Never stop calling me that.”

“I swear I won’t, my love.”

From downstairs, Geralt hears Yennefer mutter, “Fucking finally.”

It takes twenty-two years, seven months, and one day, but Geralt and Jaskier manage to figure things out.

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part III

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost 

The journey to Oxenfurt flew past even as it crawled. The closer he got to his destination, the more he found he was able to shrug off his worries and focus on his reunion with Jaskier. He hadn’t seen the bard in months, and he found his heart quickening in his chest as he finally crested the final hill and looked down upon the city of Oxenfurt.

He’d arrived in the small hours of the morning, just as the sun was starting to peak over the horizon. The water beneath Western Bridge was white gold in the dawn light, small fishing boats making their way down the channel and back to the harbor, ready to sell the first catch of the day. The red shingles of the cramped houses stood out sharply against the grey-green backdrop of the surrounding countryside, layered like some wild confection. To the south, the university sprawled on its own island, its tall towers piercing the early morning mist. Geralt had to push his way through the western gate, fighting for space amongst merchants and traders making their way to the markets that would be opening up in the main square. After so long on the road the smells and sounds of the city bombarded him, but Oxenfurt was nearly as familiar to him now as Kaer Morhen, and he let it all wash over him as he made his way towards one of the cheaper inns.

His intention had been to make his way directly across the southern bridge and into the academy grounds, but he’d arrived earlier than expected and Jaskier tended to be a bit of a late riser when he could be. So instead he got a room and set Roach up in the stables, giving her a good brush down, and packed away his gear. The rest of the morning, he spent restocking his supplies in the market, picking up the herbs he couldn’t easily find on his own and trading some of the goods he’d brought from the north for things he would need over the summer; a new linen shirt, salt for preserving meat, vodka.

Finished with his shopping, he set his mind to breakfast. There was a woman with a stall off of the main market selling baked goods, and Geralt remembered her from when he’d last been to Oxenfurt. He picked up a roll stuffed with warm cabbage and beef, and then doubled back a minute later to buy another, this time swirled through with cinnamon and coated in a sweet honey glaze.

Finally judging the sun high enough in the sky, he headed for the nearest fountain to refill his waterskin, only to be greeted by a familiar voice ringing out through the open courtyard.

Oxenfurt prided itself on its beauty, its history and monuments. The city was a tapestry of rich timber and clean brickwork, of statuary large and small which lined the streets and stately buildings with stunning relief work. The fountains were no exceptions; this one was set against the north side of the square, its semicircular base filling with water from half a dozen spouts set into the mouths of bronze fish. Geralt had no doubt that the entire effect—the square, the fountain, the white stone of the surrounding buildings—was stunning. But his eyes were drawn inexorably towards the sound of lute strings, and the beauty of the masterwork around him couldn’t help but pale in comparison to the man sitting on the raised lip of the fountain.

Jaskier’s hair was shorter than he’d last seen it, not windswept and overlong from months on the Path, and his clothes were cleaner and more lavish than he typically dressed on the road. Though his doublet was scandalously open to his midriff, Geralt had no doubt that it was of the latest fashion. As he approached, he saw Jaskier’s slim fingers fly deftly over the frets of his lute, his voice raised to overlay a bright melody over the simple notes. There was no hat or blanket laid out to catch coins; Jaskier was playing only for himself, it seemed.

Geralt didn’t want to interrupt, but in the end he didn’t have to. Jaskier looked up when he was still halfway across the courtyard, as if he could sense Geralt’s presence. Their eyes met, and Geralt felt relief swim through him as he realized that the bard seemed unchanged from the last time he’d seen him. Jaskier’s face lit up as his shocked expression turned into a grin, and Geralt could see the now ever present crow’s feet deepen around his eyes.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called, not bothering to stand. Geralt made his way through the rest of the square, the bundle of rolls held close to his chest as he pushed through the river of people. He stopped when he was no more than a foot away, finding himself smiling down at the bard. “Fancy meeting you here,” Jaskier said with a wink, brilliant in the morning sun. Fuck, but Geralt had missed him.

“Was gonna look for you at the university. Glad I found you here,” he said by way of greeting. “So short on coin you’re back to busking?”

Jaskier waved a hand, dismissing Geralt’s teasing. “I just wanted some sun, now that winter has finally deigned to withdraw her icy grasp. I was thinking of perhaps going to find something to eat at the market—”

Geralt held out the sweet roll. Jaskier raised his eyebrows, surprised and clearly pleased. Geralt felt warmth spread through his chest at the look. “Figured I’d find you only just out of bed,” he explained, offering Jaskier a thin smile. “You do need your beauty sleep.”

Jaskier gasped in faux injury even as he accepted the roll from Geralt’s hands, still wrapped in wax paper. Geralt sat down beside him, letting his pack fall to the ground as he unwrapped his own roll. It was still warm, soft from the juices of the meat inside. “As if I have ever been anything less than absolutely resplendent,” Jaskier said through a mouthful of roll. Geralt privately had to agree. Out loud he only hummed, noncommittal.

They spent the morning in unhurried company, Geralt giving Jaskier news of their friends still in the north—“Ciri missed you,” he said, and didn’t say I missed you, too—and Jaskier recounting his winter adventures. Apparently he had been privately tutoring a young lady in a court a few days south of Oxenfurt, the child of an old friend. Geralt bit his cheek to avoid asking if it was just a friend, or if Jaskier had spent the winter in the bed of an old flame. It wasn’t his place to ask those sorts of things.

They didn’t head towards the university immediately—Geralt had already stowed his things at the inn, which Jaskier admonished him for. “You could have stayed with me of course,” he said with a roll of his eyes, and Geralt was breathless with it. Even after all this time, he could never truly wrap his mind around the fact that Jaskier wanted him around, would willingingly open his home to Geralt whenever he settled in one place. But the inn was already paid for and Geralt’s things packed away, so they were neither burdened by supplies as they wandered around the city. Geralt carried Jaskier’s lute on his shoulder, the weight of it settling almost as comfortably familiar as his swords.

He’d been to Oxenfurt dozens of times, but he always enjoyed seeing it through Jaskier’s eyes. The bard noticed things, like the new tailor on the corner of the main square, or that someone new had taken over an old market stall, or the new flowers sitting on someone’s stoop. All things that Geralt would have let wash past him. Everything felt new when Jaskier was with him, more vibrant when painted in his words.

Eventually Jaskier suggested that they head back, so that he could get appropriately dressed for the afternoon. He had planned, apparently, to play at a tavern close to the inn Geralt was staying in, though Geralt suspected that he’d had no such arrangements. It wouldn’t matter; Jaskier was popular enough that all he had to do was show up somewhere and people were begging him to play. Assuming he hadn’t slighted the owners of the establishment somehow. It was only early afternoon, but Jaskier gave him a sheepish grin when Geralt asked about the early retreat.

“I’m not quite packed,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think you’d be back on the Path until at least three weeks from now. You always seem so reluctant to leave Ciri.”

Geralt could feel his face tingling with the ghost of a blush, and he scrambled for some kind of explanation that wouldn’t feel incriminating. “I, uh. I’m looking into something. Needed to see Triss.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows rose with interest as he pushed open a side gate in the Oxenfurt walls, leading them onto the campus. Geralt liked it here; it always smelled of rich plant life because of the well kept gardens, and the population was regulated enough that it was generally quieter than the rest of Oxenfurt. All the people smelled of ink and vellum and soft scented oils, and it never failed to remind him of Jaskier. “Is it about Ciri?” Jaskier asked.

“Hmm,” Geralt allowed, thoughts racing. “In… a way.”

Jaskier stopped short, trapping Geralt behind him in the narrow alley they found themselves in. His face was a mask of concern. “Is she alright?” he asked, brow furrowed.

Geralt nodded, waving a hand as if to wipe Jaskier’s worries from the air. “She’s fine, it’s not like that.”

Jaskier huffed out a breath and gave him a stern look before turning to continue down the cobbled path, leading them into the main courtyard of the university. “Don’t do that to me, witcher,” he admonished. “I have a delicate constitution, I can’t handle a scare like I used to.”

“Ah,” Geralt said, pleased with the easy segue. “That’s… sort of the problem.”

Jaskier stopped again, halfway through the doorway that led to the apartments reserved for professors. He blinked at Geralt, once, and said, “Well what in the devil is that supposed to mean?”

Geralt sighed, pushing Jaskier the rest of the way into the building. It was old, as with all of Oxenfurt, wood musty with age and heavy with the scent of the polish that they used on the brass fixtures. The interior was dark and musty, but Geralt’s eyes easily adjusted to the gloom. He forced himself not to chuckle at the way Jaskier’s eyes immediately squinted at him, slower to adapt to the shade after being out in the daylight. “Ciri is… She missed you. She’s—we’re all worried about, well, your.” He stopped, trying to find a word that wouldn’t come off as immediately insulting. “Mortality.”

“Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier said, in a tone that suggested Geralt had missed the mark, “are you suggesting that I am old?”

Geralt winced. “Uh. Maybe we should talk about this upstairs.”

“Oh no, I think we should talk about it right here,” Jaskier said, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking out his chin. The posture was so familiar it made Geralt’s chest ache even as he knew he was about to get taken to task. “Has Yennefer been on about my crow’s feet again? She’s delusional. My skin is flawless.”

It wasn’t, though. Geralt could see the fine lines spreading from around his eyes and mouth even in the dark, the way his hair was less lustrous than it used to be, thinning at the temples. How slowly he moved, how loudly his knees popped when he stood up after sitting for too long. “You look fine,” was all he said out loud. “But Ciri’s lost enough people already. I’m worried about what it would do to her, to lose someone else.”

Jaskier visibly deflated, sticking his lower lip out to blow his fringe out of the way. After a moment, he said, “I’m not planning on dying anytime soon, Geralt.”

And he knew that, he did, Jaskier probably had decades left to live, but— “She’s probably going to live as long as any witcher. I don’t want her to be alone.” As he said it, Geralt realized the truth of the statement. His desire to slow Jaskier’s aging process was a selfish one, but he wasn’t lying about Ciri. Losing Jaskier would be an intense blow to the girl, after already losing one family. She had so few people left in the world who truly cared for her.

Jaskier smoothed a hand down over his face, shifting so that he was leaning one arm against the railing of the staircase. “She has you, and Yennefer, and all of your brothers,” Jaskier said. His lips were pressed tightly together, and even though his eyes had eased from their squint as they adjusted to the dim light, he was looking away from Geralt. “I imagine I’ll fade away easily enough, after a few years.” He said it softly, almost to himself, and Geralt felt all the breath leave him at once at the statement.

“No,” he said, too quickly, one hand coming up automatically to grip Jaskier’s shoulder. Blue eyes turned back on him, wide with surprise. “You won’t.” He didn’t know what else to say, how to make Jaskier understand his own magnitude in their lives—Ciri’s life—his life, without giving away too much. Words were woefully insignificant.

Jaskier brought one hand up to rest over Geralt’s, his lips relaxing into a smile. “Flattering,” he said, lightly teasing. “But anyways, you know Ciri will always have you and Yen.”

“We lead dangerous lives,” Geralt argued, his hand prickling under Jaskier’s palm. “I can’t stop walking the Path, and neither can my brothers. Any year we might not come back. And Yennefer is… she’s made a lot of enemies over the years. Nothing is set in stone.”

“I know you’re worried about this,” Jaskier said slowly, “but there’s nothing to be done about it. Any of you could die at any time, sure, but that’s life.”

“I need to know you’ll be around,” Geralt insisted. “I need to know that you won’t just… die on us.”

Jaskier huffed, removing his hand from Geralt’s and placing it on his hip. “Well, I don’t know what to say. It’s a reality we’ll all simply have to adjust to, unless you’ve suddenly found the secret to immortality.”

Geralt shifted awkwardly in place. Jaskier stared.

“You are not serious—” Jaskier started as Geralt said, “Listen, just hear me out.” Jaskier continued to talk over him, and Geralt sighed up at the ceiling as the tirade began.

“Hear you out?” Jaskier spluttered, incredulous. “Oh, I’m listening, Geralt, because this had better be a damn good one. You can’t show up after being away all winter and call me old and then tell me you want to make me immortal! I will not be subjected to witcher poisons or mages’ spells just because you’ve suddenly had a realization about the inherent dangers of your occupation.”

“It’s not—I’m not going to poison you, Jaskier,” Geralt said, aghast.

If anything that made Jaskier look even more suspicious. “If this is some curse Yennefer wants to put on me I will not allow it. I have heard plenty of horror stories about the transformation process for mages, and I will not be risking the loss of my critical bits.”

“It’s a ritual—”

“That’s worse!” Jaskier exclaimed. “Geralt, we’ve worked half a dozen different contracts that were botched immortality rituals. It went badly, so very, very badly, every time, and now you want to try it because you’re worried about my wrinkles? I’m not even fifty!” He flung his arms out to the side and dropped them sharply, breathing a little heavily.

“You said you don’t have any wrinkles.”

Jaskier glared at him. Geralt sighed.

“It’s not like that,” he explained, sliding his hand down to take Jaskier’s elbow so he could lead them up the stairs. This conversation would be so much easier over a glass of wine. Or better yet, a few shots of vodka. “It should be safe. The elves used to use it all the time to prolong the lifespans of humans.”

Jaskier allowed himself to be moved, shuffling in an awkward half walk up the stairs as he tried to continue the conversation. Geralt let his hand fall away, and his palm was warm where they’d touched. “If it’s so safe and easy, why doesn’t everyone do it?” Jaskier asked.

“It’s… not common knowledge,” Geralt hedged. “And you have to have someone with a long lifespan willing to take part in the ritual.”

“So how did you find out about it?” Jaskier said, tone accusative. “What’s the ritual, exactly?”

“I went to Triss. It’s—” He stopped, casting about for the right words. How to explain, without giving away too much? “It’s an elven ritual, used to… prolong human life spans. It involves tethering the human to an elf, originally. And then the… connection extends the human’s life to closer to that of an elf.” He opened his mouth again, hesitating on the edge of telling Jaskier exactly what the elves used the ritual for. And then he thought about how Jaskier would smile as he dismissed the issue, unconcerned, and Geralt bit back the words. His stomach rolled at the omission, but he couldn’t work up the courage to place this tender thing in Jaskier’s hands only to be crushed.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Jaskier pushed quickly ahead, towards his own rooms. The hall was dimly lit, the occasional window offering slivers of muddled daylight into the passage. Geralt followed after, his footsteps echoing against the stone.

Jaskier pulled a heavy bronze key out of his pocket, frowning as he fit it into the lock. “I don’t know, Geralt. I’m not saying your heart isn’t in the right place,” he said, not looking up. “I’m honestly flattered you would want me around enough to go through all this trouble. But we both know I’m not worth the risk, and this kind of spell, you know they can be—”

Geralt reached out as Jaskier went to push the door open, catching his wrist. The bones there were so delicate, fragile enough that Geralt knew he could snap them without a thought. His hold was as gentle as he could make it. “Jaskier,” he said softly, imploring.

Finally Jaskier looked at him, lips drawn tight. “I don’t want you to regret something like this,” Jaskier said tightly.

“I wouldn’t,” Geralt said, still holding Jaskier’s wrist like a bird in his hand. “I won’t. Can you just… trust me on this?

Jaskier stopped, giving him an unreadable look for a long moment. Finally he sighed. “If you’re sure,” he said, searching Geralt’s face for something. Geralt couldn’t have said what. His fingers burned. Eventually Jaskier must have found what he was looking for, because he suddenly smiled. “I suppose it would be remiss of me to turn down the opportunity for semi-immortality, as you say it. Imagine the heights of artistic mastery I could reach with another fifty years under my belt!”

Geralt rolled his eyes even as relief swept through him. “Of course you would think of that,” he grumbled.

He released Jaskier’s hand, and the bard pushed open the door to his suite. It looked much the same as Geralt remembered it from previous visits. Two rooms, the door to the bedroom ajar just enough to see the end of the bedpost, which had a doublet hanging from it. The main room functioned as a study and parlor, with a low couch and a desk off to one side. Jaskier tended to be fastidious on the road, both with his things and his own personal hygiene, but when he returned to roost at Oxenfurt Geralt found that he let his tidy habits slip. Books and scrolls covered the desk, the couch, and several low shelves, as well as a few spots on the central rug. A few of them were dangerously close to the fireplace. Empty and half full cups of tea and glasses of wine were scattered about. When Jaskier fell into research or writing he didn’t tend to remember basic things like cleaning or fire hazards.

“Sorry for the mess,” Jaskier said breezily, with the assuredness of someone who knew their companion had seen worse. And it was true; this wasn’t even half as bad as Geralt had found it at times, pushing his way into the suite to retrieve Jaskier from a month-long academic fixation.

Jaskier walked over to a waist high cabinet against the western wall of the room and opened it to reveal a honeycomb structure threaded with wine bottles. He produced what looked to be a bottle of Est Est and turned to Geralt, pulling the cork out with his teeth. As the witcher watched, he poured a sizable amount into a mostly clean glass and threw himself down on an unoccupied space on the couch. “Alright,” he said, after swallowing a mouthful of the wine. “Tell me how this is going to work.”

~

The wonderful painting above is by @silvertonguelover​! Such an amazing piece that really conveys the feeling I wanted for this chapter. Find the post of the work here!

[lumosandnoxwriting]

True Love - George Weasley

Title: True Love Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader Summary: George may have married a girl his dead twin brother may have been in love with at some point but it’s really not what it looks like. A/N: this fic is born out of my hatred for a post I saw a few days ago that said George and Angelina only got together as a way to mourn Fred, and that they would eventually get divorced. Requests are open and feedback is always appreciated!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

George is tiptoeing past Roxanne’s partially opened door to get a glass of water when he hears the little girl call out to him.

“Daddy?”

George stops in his tracks and shuffles over to her door, peeking in the crack. The only light in the room comes from a pink everlasting fire Y/N had produced in a jar for their daughter to use as a night light a few weeks ago. Roxanne is curled up in a ball in her bed, drowning in her fluffy comforter. George and Y/N had tucked her in and kissed her goodnight a few hours ago, so he frowns when he notices that her deep brown eyes are open and blinking up at him.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” George asks as he pushes her door open.

Roxanne sits up a little, reaching out to him. “Can’t sleep.”

George smiles at her grumbly voice, sounding so much like her mother does when she’s tired. He enters her room with a small laugh and takes a seat on the edge of her bed. He strokes her mess of curls they call hair and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Well that’s no good, pumpkin. How can Daddy fix that?”

Roxanne, smiles up at him, leaning back into her pillows. “Can I get a story? Please?” she begs.

George lets out a chuckle. “Of course.” He starts to reach for the copy of The Tales of Beadle the Bard that Y/N had placed on Roxanne’s night stand a few hours ago after she had fallen asleep. But he stops in his tracks when Roxanne grabs his forearm.

“Noo,” she coos quietly. “A story from your head, Daddy.”

George raises his eyebrows and chuckles at her demanding tone. Yep, there is no denying that she is Y/N’s daughter.

“Of course, pumpkin, how silly of me.” He brings his hand that had been reaching for the book back and places it on her cheek. “Any requests, darling? I could always whip out the one about the brave knight who lost an ear in battle.” George winks at his daughter while gesturing towards his missing ear, causing her to giggle.

“No, not that one. You always tell that one,” she teases.

George laughs again, tapping Roxanne on her nose. “Well sorry,” he drawls. “How about the one where the three brave knights rescue the King from the dungeon using their flying stead?” George frowns slightly at the memory of his twin, a pang of sadness in his chest. George gives Roxanne a questioning look when she shakes her head. “What do you wanna hear then, pumpkin?”

“Tell me the story about how you and Mummy fell in love,” she asks, looking up at him hopefully.

George bites his lip, contemplating the idea. Y/N and George had never really told their kids the full story of how they met, considering that it was pretty questionable. All they had told Roxanne and Fred ii is that they had been friends while at school, and a few years after graduation they met again and fell in love. They never mentioned the fact that Y/N used to date Fred.

“Well sweetie you know that story. Mummy and I went to school at Hogwarts together, and went our separate ways after graduation and then we got together a few years after,” George explains, trying to dodge the question.

Roxanne rolls her eyes. “That’s the short version. I wanna hear the whole thing. Please Daddy?”

George sighs, he can’t resist her pleas. “Alright, pumpkin. I guess our story begins on the morning of May 3rd, 1998.”

-

George is sitting on the ground next to Fred’s body, mostly alone. There are groups of people scattered around the Great Hall, some mourning the loss of their loved ones, others waiting for Madam Pomfrey and the other Healers that arrived from St. Mungo’s to help them. Everyone seems to be leaving George alone, allowing him to spend a few more fleeting moments with his twin.

He’s looking down at his hands, tears streaming down his face, so he doesn’t realize that someone has joined him until she speaks.

“Hey, George,” Y/N speaks quietly, voice shaking.

George looks up at the sound of her voice. Y/N is sitting on the ground too, on Fred’s other side, tears streaming down her face. She’s covered in dirt and blood and George can’t imagine that he looks any better.

“Hey, Y/N,” he mutters after he clears his throat. His throat feels raw, probably from a mixture of the crying and the fact that he hadn’t spoken in a few hours.

George watches as Y/N stares intently at Fred’s face, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek. They’re quiet for so long that George jumps slightly when Y/N speaks up.

“It’s been years since anything has happened between us and yet I still feel,” she cuts off abruptly to let out a few sobs.

Y/N begins to cry harder and George places a hand over the one she has placed on Fred’s chest. He squeezes her hand tightly, wishing there was more he could do to make her feel better.

-

“Mummy used to be with Uncle Fred?” Roxanne asks, pulling George out of his thoughts. Roxanne and Fred ii had heard many stories about their dear Uncle Fred from both of their parents and various other family members throughout their lives. But George and Y/N made a point to make sure that no one ever mentioned her past with Fred. Not because she was ashamed at the fact that she had once been with Fred, but because she didn’t want to confuse them.

George nods, blinking away the tears in his eyes. “Many, many years ago, they were together. Back when we were at Hogwarts. Your Uncle Fred and I met your Mum when we were all in our first year at Hogwarts. You know we were all in the same house and played on the Quidditch team together. You’ve heard Uncle Harry talk about the Triwizard tournament, right?” George waits for Roxanne to nod before continuing. “We were all in our sixth year when that happened and there was this great huge ball on Christmas called the Yule Ball. Uncle Fred asked your Mum to be his date, and they dated for a few months afterwards.”

Roxanne purses her lips, thinking about what her father has just said. “And when Uncle Fred died, Mummy still loved him?”

“Not exactly,” he answers.

Roxanne groans and rolls her eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

George rolls his eyes playfully. “Maybe if you hadn’t interrupted my story you would know by now,” he teases.

Roxanne sticks out her tongue playfully but doesn’t say anything else.  

“So, I guess our story continues in June of 1999.”

-

“Hey George. The store looks great,” Y/N speaks, shocking George. He turns around from where he had been stocking a shelf, a smile appearing on his face when he sees the familiar girl standing in front of him.

George hasn’t seen Y/N since the day they cried together over Fred’s body. He heard that she came by his funeral briefly, but he hadn’t seen her himself. Now, a little over a year later here she is, and George can’t help but think how beautiful she is. Her hair frames her face perfectly, and she is smiling warmly at him.

“Hey, Y/N. Thanks, it’s definitely getting there. Not quite back at its prime but, it definitely will be soon,” he says wistfully, looking around the shop.

After Fred’s death he hadn’t been able to step back into the store he had started with his brother. It hurt too much, and it almost felt wrong to go back to work without his partner in crime. The store had always been their dream, and George didn’t think he could carry on without Fred. He spent the first six months after Fred’s death moping around The Burrow, spending most of his time in bed, alone.

Everyone in the family had been patient with him, all of them taking time to grieve as well. Until one night, Molly sat him down and with as much love as possible told him that enough was enough. She had reminded him that Fred wouldn’t want George to throw away their dream just because he couldn’t be there with him. That the best way to honor his brother would be to carry on making their dream a reality. George, realizing his mother was right, had started planning new products that very evening.

He spent the next 5 months after that developing new products and perfecting them. 2 months ago, he finally plucked up the courage to enter the abandoned shop for the first time and started to put it back together. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had officially been open again for 2 weeks and running the store has made George the happiest he’s been in months.

“Every time I would come to Diagon Alley I’d check to see if the store was open again, and I’m glad it is. If there’s anything people need these days it’s some Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” Y/N says with a laugh.

There had been mass celebrations after Voldemort’s defeat, but so many lives had been lost that they were short lived, and the wizarding community had needed to slowly heal. Things had been getting back to normal, Diagon Alley was just as busy as it had been before, and George could hear happy voices and laughter every time the door to the shop opened.

George chuckles. “A bit of mischief makes everyone feel better. Things have been crazy since I reopened, I can barely keep up on my own.” He gestures towards the shelf he had been restocking when she came in, and the other various shelves that were missing products. “I never realized how much work it was, it was way easier when there was two of us. Between selling the products, making them and stocking them I’m exhausted,” he admits with a small laugh.

“I didn’t want to say it but, you look exhausted,” she teases, smiling at him playfully. “That’s um, kinda why I came in. I mean I obviously came in so I could see you,” she admits, blushing. “But also, I was wondering if you were hiring? I’ve been working freelance for The Daily Prophet but it’s not enough to keep me busy.”

George tries not to let his surprise show on his face. Y/N had always been supportive of George and Fred’s antics, but had never wanted to actively participate. George scratches the back of his head like he’s thinking about her offer, not wanting to seem too eager. “Yeah actually, that would be great. I could really use the help. I’ll have to get some references of course. Make sure you’re not too difficult to work with,” he teases.

Y/N rolls her eyes, playfully shoving George’s shoulder. “We got paired together in potions one-time years ago and you’re still giving me shit about it, Weasley? Unbelievable.”

-

“Mummy used to work with you? Before Uncle Ron did?” Roxanne asks, interrupting the story again.

George hums as he nods. Once Ron quit the Aurors office and came to work with George Y/N had left. Her and George were beginning to start their family, and she wanted to be a stay at home mum. She started writing again as well and had become a pretty successful children’s book author in the wizarding world.

“Yup. Uncle Ron used to work with Uncle Harry at the ministry, before you and your brother were born. So, your Mummy helped out at the shop, and then me and Mummy got married and decided to have your brother, so Uncle Ron decided to quit his job and work with me,” George explains.

Roxanne has a bewildered look on her face, like she had never thought about the fact that all the people she loves had lives before she was born. “So how did you and Mummy get together then? Fall in love?”

George chuckles. “I’m getting there, missy, don’t you worry about it.”

-

Y/N had only been working for George for a few weeks when he realized he had a huge problem. He was developing feelings for her. He had always found her attractive, but when Fred expressed interest in her during their fourth year he pushed those thoughts away. He was always the more reserved twin and doubted that he would ever act on those feelings anyway.

But now that they’ve been spending so much time together and working together so closely he can’t help but feel those things again. She’s just as beautiful has she had been back at school but there was so many other things too.

Her smile was so bright that it could light up the whole shop. She was always there to offer him a warm smile and a helping hand, staying late into the night to help him restock shelves or coming in on the weekends to help make a new stock for the upcoming week. She was always sending him little winks too throughout the day as they worked. While she was upselling a product to someone, or when he just seemed down and needed a pick me up, all he had to do was look over to her and she’d give him a reassuring wink.

And it certainly didn’t help that she was so damn good at her job. She was always helping him to arrange the store in the best way possible, moving around displays and finding new, exciting ways to showcase their range of products. She was so good with the customers too, always able to help someone, their customers always raved to George about how amazing she was as they checked out.

And her touch, it sent electric waves shooting down his spine. Whether it was a reassuring squeeze on his shoulders as he stirred a new potion late at night, or a hand on his back as she passed behind him his brain seemed to short circuit whenever they came in contact with each other.

It didn’t help that her presence had begun to creep into other parts of his life as well. She had only been working there a few days when Molly popped in to see how things were going. His mum had been so excited to see Y/N and invited her to dinner at The Burrow that night; since then it has become a weekly occurrence. He’s bumped into her at The Burrow more than once during the weekends as well, her and Ginny flying around each other and passing a Quaffle back and forth.

“Morning, George!” Y/N calls as she pushes through the shop door.

George jumps at the sound of her voice, not expecting to see her. It’s early on a Sunday morning, and George figured he’d be alone in the shop all day to catch up on the things they hadn’t finished the night before.

George stands up from where he had been kneeling behind the counter, trying to count out the safe, but mostly thinking of the girl who just entered the store. He smiles as she bounds up to the counter.

“What are you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you,” he stutters, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “But you were here late last night, I didn’t think you’d come in today.”

Y/N smiles at George, taking off her bag and placing it on the counter. “Well we didn’t finish everything last night, did we? You’ll actually be able to go out and enjoy your day if we’re both here working.” George gives her a look, prompting her to continue. “Besides I don’t mind being here all the time. I like being here.”

George’s smile fades, figuring that Y/n likes being here so much because it reminds her of Fred. They haven’t talked about that morning, when she had practically declared her love for his dead brother as they both cried, and George doesn’t plan on bringing it up.

He’s brought out of his deep thoughts as she passes by him, her hand brushing his arm and sending electric shocks up to his neck. He clears his throat to try and get rid of the lump in it. “Well thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem! What do you need me to do boss?”

George looks to the to-do list he had made after closing on Friday. Well the to-do list Y/N had made for him; she really was a huge help around the shop. Even if she did distract him from his work from time to time.

“Well looks like the next thing up on the list is,” he pauses, suddenly nervous. “Next thing up is to restock the love potions. But uh, I checked in the back earlier and we’re all out, so you’ll need to brew up a new batch.”

Y/N nods, heading towards the storeroom to grab the needed ingredients. “Yeah I can do that, no problem.” She pokes her head back through the door. “Or are you still hung up on that whole potions thing and don’t trust me?”

George laughs with her, his nervousness melting away at her playful tone. “Just get to work, yeah?”

With Y/N out of sight George is able to get back to work, and he had forgotten that she was there. That was until she interrupted him while he was stocking the shelves, causing him to shout and drop all of the Skiving Snackboxes he had in his arms.

“Bloody hell, Y/N. Forgot you were here,” he says with a nervous laugh, his cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment. He turns to face her, glancing at the cauldron in her hands. “What’s up?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you Georgie,” she says with a laugh, causing George’s knees to quiver at the nickname. “I haven’t made a potion in ages, let alone Amorentia. Just wanted to see if you could check it? Make sure I did it right.”

“Yea, ‘course,” George says quietly, leaning close to look at the potion. He stirs it with the silver spoon, checking to make sure the consistency is right. He’s a little nervous, leaning in so close to Y/N that he momentarily forgets what Amorentia does. “Forgot to mention, but that new perfume you’ve been wearing smells really good.” Y/N gasps, taking a small step back. George looks up at her. “What?”

“Thanks but um. I’m not wearing any perfume today,” she stutters out, refusing to meet George’s eyes.

George is about to question her, since he definitely just smelled her perfume, when it dawns on him. He wasn’t smelling her perse, but the Amorentia smelled like her to him. And he just admitted that.

“Look, Y/N I. I,” but he trails off, unsure of what to say. He opens his mouth to say something else but is stopped by Y/N stepping close to him and pressing a hard kiss to his lips. It lasts just long enough for George to grip her waist and for Y/N’s hands to tangle in his hair. Just as quickly as she had kissed him her lips were gone and they were just staring at each other.

She opens her mouth to speak, but when nothing comes out she closes it again. And before George knows it she’s rushing towards the counter to grab her bag. “I should go. Yeah I should go. I’ll see you later,” she rambles. And before George can blink again the door is shutting behind her.

-

“So, Mummy kissed you first!” Roxanne says excitedly when George stops talking.

“What? Like it’s surprising?” George scoffs with a chuckle.

Roxanne shrugs her shoulders, playfully smiling at him. “I mean have you seen how pretty Mummy is? And you’re, well you’re alright I guess.”

George can tell that she’s teasing him, and as payback he tickles her sides, causing her to shriek with laughter.

“Shhh,” he whispers, realizing just how late it is. “We don’t want to wake your brother up, or your Mummy.”

Roxanne nods, taking a few deep breaths to settle down. “So, what happens next? You and Mummy kiss and then what?”

-

George is still horrified about what happened the next morning as he opens the shop. He’s exhausted, having stayed up most of the night finishing everything on his list. It shouldn’t have taken him that long, but he kept getting distracted, thinking of how Y/N’s lips felt on his.

He’s about to grab the door handle so he can unlock it and officially open up when the door swings open and Y/N is walking through it. They collide, and George instinctively reaches out and grabs her around the waist so she doesn’t fall to the ground.

A moment later he realizes what he did and he lets go, stepping back. His cheeks are red and he rubs his neck sheepishly. “Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t think you’d come in today so I was just. Sorry, sorry.”

Once he finishes his rambling he turns on his heel and practically runs towards the counter, not even daring to glance at Y/N. But he can hear her footsteps following behind him and when he turns around she’s standing at the counter, an apologetic look on her face.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing to you, Georgie. I shouldn’t have ran out on you like that. And I shouldn’t have kissed you that was… well anyway, I’m sorry,” she says quickly.

George opens his mouth to respond, but the door to the shop swings open and Y/N is off to help the few customers who came in.

“You need help with anything?”

George looks up from the papers on his desk to see Y/N poking her head into his office. They haven’t spoken since their weird moment this morning, and after the afternoon rush George excused himself to his office to work on paperwork while Y/N stocked some shelves and made up a new display. But that must have been hours ago now, as the sliver of shop George can see over Y/N’s head looks dark.

“Just been going over the books. Well trying to at least,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “I let Fred do it the last time. Well no, I didn’t let him, he insisted on it. Some crap about how he needed to know how to do it. But boy was listening to him a mistake,” he admits with a sad chuckle. “I can’t make out half of what he wrote and the half I can is completely wrong.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything, but gives him a sad look. George feels awkward in the silence, so he continues to ramble on.

“And I wanna be mad at him, for not taking it seriously but. Then I get mad at myself for feeling that way. And then I feel sad because he’s not here for me to just ask him what the hell it says and then I try and figure it out and get mad when I can’t and it’s just a vicious cycle.”

Y/N doesn’t say anything right away, trying to choose her words carefully. She comes into his office and takes a seat at one of the chairs across from George’s desk. George runs his hands through his hair again, silently pleading that she says something. A few more quiet moments pass before Y/N speaks.

“That sounds. Well frankly that sounds like hell. But it’s okay to feel like that, you know. It’s okay to be mad at Fred. It’s okay to feel whatever you want towards Fred, that’s a normal part of grieving, George,” she explains, leaning forward in her chair.

“So, years will go by and I’ll still feel,” George mumbles almost without thinking. He casts his eyes downward, not wanting to look Y/N in the eyes or see the expression on her face.

A pink blush flushes Y/N’s face. “You, um, remember that then? You never mentioned it, so I figured you forgot about it, or maybe never even heard it. I was kinda hoping that you never even heard it.”

George looks up at her then, staring deeply into her eyes. “Is that why you came into the shop that day? Why you started working here? So, you could feel closer to Fred? Is that why you kissed me?” His last question is quieter, practically a whisper. He feels ashamed as soon as he asks, he wants to take it back.

But then Y/N lets out a laugh, shocking George. He looks at her quizzically. “What? Are you laughing at me?”

Y/N shakes her head no, but continues to laugh, almost as if she can’t stop herself. It takes what feels like an eternity for her laughter to die down, and once it does she scoots closer to George, reaching out to touch his hand.

“That day, when we were sitting there in the Great Hall, I wasn’t talking about still feeling love for Fred. I never really loved Fred. Not in that way at least.”

George is taken aback by that. “What do you mean?”

“Georgie, Fred and I dated for like 4 months when we were 16. It was nice to have someone to go to Hogsmeade with or carry my books and it was fun spending time with Fred but I wasn’t in love with him. And Fred knew that, that’s why we broke things off.”

George looks at Y/N. He’s trying not to get his hopes up, but he’s still so confused about everything. “So, what the hell were you talking about that day? Because I sure as hell thought you were talking about still being in love with Fred.”

Y/N bites her lip, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I was talking about feeling guilty, George.”

George suddenly pushes away from his desk, beginning to pace back and forth. “Feeling guilty for what, then?”

“Feeling guilty for being in love with his twin brother!” Y/N admits suddenly, causing George to stop in his tracks.

“Come again?” he asks, looking down at Y/N. His eyes follow her as she stands up and walks over to him.

“I was never in love with Fred. And after we broke up I started to fall in love with you. But I never acted on it because I felt guilty. I knew Fred had strong feelings for me, so I never tried to act on my feelings for you. And that day, when I saw you in the Great Hall, even though it had been years all of those feelings came rushing back. How I felt for you, how guilty I felt for feeling those things. That’s why I came over there that day, because I wanted to see you, make sure you were okay. And I hoped that saying goodbye to Fred would make me feel okay to try and approach you.”

Suddenly it dawns on George. “That’s why you came to his funeral, then? To put those guilty feelings to rest once and for all.”

Y/N nods, taking one of George’s hands in hers. “That’s why I didn’t stay long. The second I saw you I wanted to run into your arms and kiss you. But I figured that was probably not the right time or place to fling myself at you.”

George laughs, trying to imagine what he would have done if Y/N had done that. He uses his free hand to reach up and cup Y/N’s cheek. “So that day you came into the shop, it was to see me?”

Y/N rolls her eyes but nods. “I said that, didn’t I dummy? That I came into the shop to see you. I would make excuses to head to Diagon Alley nearly every day to check to see if the shop was open. It took me two weeks to get the courage to actually walk in once you opened back up. And truth be told-“ she stops, letting her gaze drop to the floor. “I didn’t really need a job. I just wanted an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Suddenly so many things started making sense to George. “So that’s why you would stay in late? Come in on days off?”

Y/N nods. “And why I agreed to come to dinner at The Burrow every week, and why I agreed to help Ginny with her Quidditch training.”

“Not to keep the memory of my dead brother alive?” George asks, almost unable to believe everything he’s heard. Y/N shakes her head. “But to be close to me, because you’re in love with me?”

Instead of nodding Y/N grabs George’s face and brings their lips together in a heated kiss. George is frozen for a moment, his brain trying to catch up with what’s going on. Once it does he kisses Y/N back hungrily, his hands gripping her hips tightly. They kiss for a few moments before Y/N pulls away breathless.

-

“And that was that. Your Mum and I got together and the rest is history.”

George stops with his story, waiting for Roxanne to say something. When she doesn’t he looks down, a smile spreading across his face when he notices her eyes have fluttered closed and she’s breathing slowly. He presses a kiss to her forehead and tucks her blanket around her tighter.

He’s closing her door behind him quietly when he runs into his wife, nearly shouting at the scare she gave him.

“Bloody hell, how long have you been standing there, love?” he asks, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist.

“Long enough to hear you spill all of our dark secrets,” she responds with a quiet laugh.

George frowns. “Are you mad? I know we said we wouldn’t tell them, but you know I can’t resist her puppy eyes, just like how I can’t resist yours.”

Y/N doesn’t answer him, choosing to press a kiss to his lips instead. Y/N buries her hands in George’s hair as he deepens their kiss, his hands squeezing her hips tightly. They both can’t help but be reminded of the kiss they shared all those years ago that George had just finished recounting.

“Why did you get out of bed anyway, hm? You were sound asleep when I went to get my water,” George asks a few minutes later when they’re back in bed.

Y/N shrugs, snuggling up into George’s side. “You were gone for ages. Thought maybe you were sneaking some of those chocolate chip cookies I made, wanted to catch you in the act. ”George laughs, throwing an arm around his wife and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“So, you weren’t lying in bed awake, thinking of my dead brother?” he jokes with a chuckle.

Y/N smacks him on the chest lightly, laughing along with him. “You’re lucky I love you, Weasley.”

“You’re right, my love. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”