I cannot believe no one has asked for the honey snippets yet... this ask is for all three!!!!
hehehe thank you anon!
wip tag game
snippets from the next three chapters of honey, coming up~
12 and 13 are more or less finished; I just need to edit them. A lot. 14 I only just started the other day xD so there's less there, but still enough for a little taste~
warnings for (mild) spoilers for the next three chapters of honey~
also as a bonus, because i forgot to mention it in the WIP list, have a little preview of the sweetest indulgence as well~
xii. reciprocation.
Tim keeps his promise.
“Tony,” Tim says back, a smile of his own playing around his mouth. “This is Jason.” He nods at him.
Tony’s eyes flicker briefly toward Jason’s neck before they go back to his face. “Your mate. Was wondering if you were going to bring him around.”
Tim’s foot knocks against Jason’s under the table. Jason barely manages not to startle. He definitely doesn’t manage to suppress the blush creeping up the back of his neck.
“You’ve heard about me?” His voice comes out even, though—he’s proud of that.
“Some,” Tony says. “Mostly just whispers. I thought Vicky was pulling my leg ‘till Fish said he heard Pru talkin’ to the— talkin’ to Tim about it.”
Pru. Jason had his suspicions, but the mention of Pru confirms it for him.
Tim looks amused. “No leg-pulling here.” This time, when his foot touches Jason’s leg, it stays there; resting against his calf. “You’ll be seeing him around more often now, I think.” The words—or maybe the look in Tim’s eyes when he says it—make Jason feel warm.
The conversation continues for a little; Tony asks Jason a little about himself, which is awkward but nice, until another server passes by and he seems to remember he’s doing a job. Then he takes their orders and heads off.
When he’s out of hearing distance, Jason looks at Tim. “This is your restaurant,” he says, pointedly.
“Technically,” Tim says lightly, “it’s my boss’s business.”
Right. Because Tim Draper is one of Revenant’s lieutenants, as far as the rest of his crew knows. Excepting Pru, of course. And someone named Lonnie.
Jason rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches slightly. “Semantics. You brought me here to show off to your employees.” If Jason had been pleased at the idea of being shown off before, he feels almost giddy with it now. This isn’t just Tim showing him off. This is Tim letting him in. After weeks of being in the dark, this is—
Kind of everything.
Tim smiles that soft smile again; the one Jason is starting to think is just for him. “I’m planning to keep you,” he says, stroking Jason’s calf with his toe. “So like I said. They’ll be seeing you around.”
Jason flushes, and wishes he had a drink to hide behind.
Keep him. God, it’s not like Jason didn’t know that. They’d talked about a reciprocal bond, after all! But… He likes hearing Tim say it so bluntly.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he murmurs.
xiii. first aid.
On patrol, Tim runs into a familiar face.
By the time four in the morning rolls around, Tim has stopped two muggings and scared away a john harassing a group of women working near the docks. He also attended both of his meetings; one on the trafficking group, which seems to have mostly withdrawn from Gotham at this point, and one on rumblings of a batch of fear toxin being prepared.
This, Tim tells him, constitutes a fairly quiet night.
Jason doesn’t care for the sound of that. It was hard enough listening to the muggings, no matter how calm Tim’s voice was. Hearing the threats, knowing they were armed, knowing that, no matter how well-armored Tim was, he was still out there, alone, no one to watch his back—
It had all worked out. Only one of them had actually attacked, and as far as Jason knew, Tim hadn’t been hurt in the attempt. Of course, Jason wouldn’t really be assured until Tim was home and he could look him over himself.
“Last street,” Tim says. “If all goes well, I should be home in half-an-hour, maybe—” He stops, and Jason finds himself straightening in his chair.
“Are you okay?” His voice automatically lowers. In the back of his mind, he knows there’s no reason for it, but the way his heart is racing leaves little room for logic.
Tim doesn’t respond immediately. Jason can hear him breathing, just barely, and the shifting of the air that tells him Tim is moving. “Who’s th— Shit.” Another pause. Jason grips the arms of the chair tightly enough that his hands hurt. He realizes he’s holding his breath, and forces himself to breathe out, to loosen the clench in his jaw. “Nightwing. Can you hear me?”
xiv. meet the family.
The Bats have questions.
When Jason wakes up, the nest is empty. He casts his arm out and finds Tim’s side of the bed cold. A soft, disgruntled noise escapes him. He’s not used to being the one to wake up alone. He’s not sure he likes it.
He hears the hiss of something cooking as he enters the kitchen. The air smells warm, earthy; tomato and a hint of spice. Tim is standing by the stove, already dressed for the day. He looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Good morning.”
Jason fidgets, then decides to pour himself some juice. “Good morning. You’re up early.”
Tim hums. “Wanted to make sure Nightwing got out okay.”
Right. “Thought you said he was supposed to leave first thing this morning.” How much sleep did he get?
Tim nods. “After Agent A dropped Robin off at school,” he confirms. And isn’t that a weird thought—Robin at school? Jason— Well, Jason doesn’t know what he assumed. That Robin was home schooled, maybe? “I couldn’t go back to sleep after. I’ve been sorting through the financials of one of my suspects.” He waves a hand. When Jason looks, he sees Tim’s laptop open on the coffee table.
School usually starts around seven. The latest Nightwing could have been out of the house was nine. That leaves Tim with five hours of sleep, max. Jason frowns. “Promise you’ll try to take a nap this afternoon.”
Tim reaches out and gently smooths out the worry Jason is leaking through the bond. “I’ll try,” he says gently.
Jason perches on one of the barstools and sips on his juice while Tim finishes cooking. He serves Jason a plate—eggs and peppers and tomato sauce, served with toast. “Shakshuka,” Tim tells him, before taking a seat next to him. He’s already switched from coffee to water. Jason digs in, humming his appreciation as the flavors burst over his tongue. He makes it about halfway through before finally, he says,
“So. Brothers.”
[indulgence] iii. dawn of a new normal.
The day Jason's heat ends, Tim's POV.
Tim had known that shopping with his pup would be… different, he just hadn’t predicted how different. His hackles are raised as soon as they enter the store. His hindbrain screams at him to leave; too loud, too bright, too open. His mate—young, small, weak—needs to be somewhere safer. It doesn’t help that Jason seems just as uncomfortable as he is, shrinking into his borrowed flannel like a turtle drawing back into its shell.
Still. Tim swallows back those urges.
Jason is safe. Tim is here; he won’t let anything happen to him.
He soothes at least some of those protective instincts by keeping watch, his eyes always focused on where Jason’s back is turned. They don’t draw much interest, the two of them. Jason guards his scent well, Tim’s nearly drowning his out—this helps soothe the alpha hindbrain, too; if no one can smell his mate, no one can find him. Stupid, nonsensical, but Tim will take the reprieve—so they’re mostly left alone as they shop.
Or, well. As Jason shops. Tim has given him free reign to look and pick out what he pleases.
In hindsight, that may have been a mistake.
Not because Jason intends to break the bank or anything, but because his pup keeps watching him. Three times now his pup has looked at a rack of clothing, pawed through the options, one eye on Tim the whole time, only to huff and abandon it.
Or—not huff, not really; his pup seems committed to suppressing as many reactions as he can. But his breath comes out a little heavier all the same. If his scent wasn’t covered, Tim bets he’d catch a hint of annoyance in it.
He knows he can feel it in their bond.
Annoyance-confusion-worry. It’s a tight tangle—makes Tim want to rub his chest to try and get rid of it. Or better yet, draw his omega closer and rub his scent all over him until he forgets whatever made him worry in the first place.
That’s not very productive, though, and he doubts Jason would welcome it either. He wants to prove to his pup that he’s safe.
I was thinking about symbols of commitment between Junhun.
Feeling securely connected to Gihun and that Gihun is committed to him is, like, Junho’s absolute #1 desire in their relationship, so he would always be looking for signs of Gihun’s commitment. One of the passages of my writing I like the most has to do with this.
But Gihun is much more hesitant, for a multitude of reasons.
Something like a collar would be unlike them; a ring is out of the picture (sorry, Junho), but something practical? Something practical could work.
Like his heart, Gihun doesn’t leave the hotel unlocked. Anyone who wants to come in needs his say-so via the security system he controls through his phone. But Junho has already trampled over that boundary multiple times. He breaks in/scales the side about as often as he uses the stairwell. Gihun has awful intrusive fears about him slipping and falling and dying, of one misstep causing him to lose yet another person he loves, and has a come-to-Jesus with himself over it.
He gives Junho a key (a set of them, really; surely he has multiple locks he changes periodically) to the hotel.
An utterly delighted Junho, understanding the significance of the gesture, fucks him stupid exactly eight minutes later, reciprocates. He gives Gihun a key to his apartment, though they don’t spend a whole lot of time there. It’s still important to him, both the symbolism and the incredible swooping warmth he feels in his insides thinking about his key on Gihun’s keychain, always close to him even when Junho is away.
the outsiders, soc au. dallas winston/ponyboy curtis. chpt. 10/?
At the bottom of Jay Mountain lay the town Jasper. It wasn't a very big town — just enough to have its own zip code, a few neighborhoods within spitting distance of each other, more than one store, two movie theaters, three gas stations, two diners, and a host of various other locations solely meant to cater to the tourists that came through whether they be people entranced with the wildlife on Jay Mountain or wanting to indulge in skiing or other pursuit.
It wasn't, of course, the only town near Jay Mountain.
It was just the one that was having the oddest incidents. (@AO3)
link to chapter on ao3- ya gotta be logged in though
Fic Summary: Jaskier isn't helpless. He'd been a shepherd before. He'd killed a wolf before. He'll slaughter again if that's the price of freedom.
Fic Rated M: explicit gore/medical descriptions and miscarriage/abortion aftermath, swearing, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, really gross attitudes towards omegas, abusive relationships, references to fucking, brief suicidal ideation, tbh I'll probably write some actual fucking later
This fic was current up and to part 17 of Honey - Sometimes the Tunnel Only Leads to Darkness and after better not wake the baby- spring part 1. You'll enjoy this fic more if you’ve read them <3
Witcher 3 + Netflix / This part is rated T for contains references to sexual stuff and swearing
heyyo @oldandkinky it's a treat for you and me we've got some plot happening
Drown yourself in crocodile tears
Curse the gods what made 'ye
Pine away for your banner year
But it better not wake the baby
How long will this go on?
How long, indeed?
bang a drum 'till the money's all gone-
but it better not wake the baby
-The Decemberists - What a Terrible World, What a Beautiful World
He'd spent his first weeks on the lam in the wilds and resolves not to fucking do that again- even now that he's got his pack properly filled. It's easier to avoid Geralt in the woods but the constant trapping of game for supper wore on him as quickly as the misery of waiting out the spring rains did.
All told, he was lucky to be in this part of Redania, where itinerant work was a little easier to come by and the locals generally still observed the customs of hospitality.
He emerged from Lettenhove in time for the spring plowing and thanked the lone lucky star watching over him that the local gossips were still chattering over the white haired witcher that left weeks ago.
He was free of outrunning Geralt, for at least a little while.
Geralt was hunting him, he was sure- the scorched garden back home confirmed Geralt's rage even if Jaskier was foolish enough to think the witcher would take his flight easily. Living on the path, however, was not free and Geralt would need to slow his chase for coin.
Jaskier really hoped he wasn't banking too much on gossip to keep him ahead, or behind, Geralt.
He drifted between towns for a few weeks, living just a little better than hand to mouth, taking jobs in the fields and hunting for herbs to sell. The cuts and bruises he accumulated on jobs went away as easily as if he'd wiped them off and, more out of boredom than anything, he forms the sign of igni and a sputtering flame erupts from his fingertips. Which scares the shit of him enough that it's another week before he tries again: the signs have mixed success but he's torn between the terror of his foreign body and the desperate drive to take any advantage he can. He feels unsettled by this life- too close to what he experienced on the path, too close to the little jobs he'd take back home- feels like he's stagnating and mouldering even as he pushes his body farther beyond what he knew he should be capable of.
It's outside of Rinde that the grift begins.
It was raining- a heavy downpour through the night and into the day that seemed to follow Jaskier as he slogged through the muddy roads and only the guess-timate of Rinde being a three hour walk that forced his feet all the way to the inn.
Well, he thought it was the inn, but the unamused Ealdorman's clerk quickly dashed that presumption. The clerk mutters a curse into his ledger before asking if the amount on the posting is enough for him to just get on with it .
"Pardon?" Jaskier can't help but be polite.
"One drowner," the clerk enunciated, like Jaskier was some kind of fool, "I understand that's more a nuisance in your profession," he exaggeratedly looked down at Jaskier's chest, "but Kazimierz finally emptied the orphanage."
Oh. The medallion. The lover's medallion, smaller than Geralt's but, proclaiming an allegiance to the school of the Wolf. He'd nearly forgotten he wore it at all and had kept it around his neck merely to keep it safe for when he eventually pawned it. It must have wrested itself outside of his clothes while he hunched from the rain. With Tomek wrapped and strapped to his back and his gambeson worn to protect him from the cold- he can't even fault the clerk for his assumptions.
Before he can help himself, he's agreeing to the contract.
-----------------------
In retrospect, killing his first drowner wasn't the hardest thing he'd ever done but it was the most frightening thing he'd ever done by choice. The White Wolf killed the others a few weeks back, but the lone remnant had made enough trouble by the bridge that the ealdorman promised him room and board for a week if he'd rid them of it. The room was a barn stall and the board was a meager basket of vegetables and eggs, but he'd been on the road enough that a week with the same roof over his head was plenty.
He's so fucking stupid- but wasn't like trying to outsmart a witcher had really gotten him any progress. He knew a lot about drowners, for all that the witchers griped about contracts for them- it really was because they were a nuisance to a witcher. Hardly a monster and more of giant rancid smelling pain in the ass that mostly got handled by witchers because a crowd of them would overwhelm a normal human by the stench alone.
This was... doable if he didn't act a complete fool.
He went out the next afternoon when the rain had finally abated and found a gnarled yew tree. He climbed up and tested the boughs- swinging himself from a few of them and settling on the one with the best line of sight. He hung his pack on the branch above him and nocked his bow. He waited-
and waited-
well, fuck maybe he should've tried to track it during daylight hours.
At twilight it dragged itself out of the water- happily munching on a bullfrog. Jaskier loosed an arrow and the drowner squealed when it sank into its foot. It squalled as it tried to yank its foot off the ground- the beast didn't even wonder where it came from. He loosed a second towards the other foot but it sailed peacefully into the water. The third trapped the other foot and the drowner had enough mind to rip the fifth out of its chest.
He'd have to get closer then.
Jaskier pulled Tomek from the branch above and hopped down: he tried casting igni but panicked and the sputtering flame just alerted the drowner to his presence- the drowners' fins flaring when it turned to claw at him. It lurched forward uselessly with its feet stuck, but it kept screeching and Jaskier wondered if his ears were bleeding. He threw his whole weight behind a clean aim towards its neck.
His swing went wide and when he rolled to the side to try and not trip he ended up just bashing its skull in with the blunt side. It crumpled to the ground but he frantically hacked away at the corpse until the head was completely severed.
He vomited onto the rocky shore.
The body had stopped twitching: the gills dried out quickly and the revolting smell of rot and fish blood got stronger. Dawn was an hour or two away and Jaskier carefully crept back up the yew and pulled down his pack. He drank a little water and then a little temerian rye when his trembling wouldn't stop. He sat on the bank of the river and by the time daylight had started creeping over the body- he saw that the outside flesh was a mottled blue but the inside of the neck was grey. He stood back up and ambled back to the body, wrenching out his arrows, and kicking it over. It didn't look like a drowned person. It looked like a fish person with fine little scales and fins like a catfish. That-
that made it easier. It didn't really look like a person. if it was once a human then it hadn't been one for a very long time.
The tongue, he remembered, was the traditional proof of the kill for a drowner. Something that annoyed Geralt because of how long they were.
By this point, death had opened the jaw of the drowner's head for him and it was quick if very messy work to cut the tongue out. He panicked again. He hadn't thought ahead about what to do with the tongue. He paced the shore and panicked and panicked and panicked and until he was laughing hysterically.
The great shuddering laughter did make him feel better in a way- it made the bit of flesh in his hand seem so fucking stupid and he did do it, he'd killed a verifiable monster.
Gods he was so fucked-
he'd done it though
-behind his heaving laughter he could feel the smallest reluctant flutter of hope in his chest. no he wasn't a witcher but maybe-
maybe he could go along with the hoax better than he thought he could. Most of their contracts were small like this, right? Maybe his grift wasn't as foolish as he'd thought it was.
-----------------------
He'd persuaded the ealdorman's wife to let him use her wash tub and fetch water from their well: he dragged them into the barn and stripped down. It was then he realized his smallclothes were sticky with drying slick. He felt revolted. He hadn't felt aroused but it must've happened when he was slaying the drowner. He'd been so caught up in the urgency and the terror, he hadn't noticed his body readying for what usually followed. Panic and arousal were tied together in his body. He'd known Geralt had ruined his twinges of lust but this was different. He was disgusting. A wretched example of an omega. A wretched example of a lover. He hated it. Hated his body.
But it was all he had now. His silly dream of being a bard would never happen with his scarred face. Perhaps a wandering worker that occasionally busked, but no true bard could make it without a bit of wooing and he wasn’t feeling so vain as to pretend they were easy to ignore. No good alpha would take him with the bond mark or scarred womb, even if he claimed Geralt's death. He wasn't soft anywhere an omega should be. Not anymore.
He stood above the bath a long time, avoiding looking at his blurry reflection. He tries casting igni again and his (traitorous) body didn’t hesitate to actually call the chaos this time so at least he was staring into a frothy steaming bath instead. The minerals in the water filled his chest in a different way than the well water at home: which now that he thought about it, very rarely steamed with as much fervor either. He's told the air by the sea is salty in a good way, the only things he could compare it to are Kaer Morhen's springs and the Pontar, which sounds so strange and foreign he can hardly imagine it. Maybe he'll go to the coast, it's just as good a direction as any, become a sailor, just because he's playing Witcher now doesn't mean he can't try to wheedle a life aloft.
The water was a bearable temperature by the time he finally calmed his thoughts enough to step in and it was like he cast axii on himself, the hot water sluicing all his thoughts away.
He made up for the lack of payment by winning a few boxing matches: the smattering of scars on his torso and face were enough to convince the local tavern owner that he'll give a good show. The food in the basket left as payment by the ealdorman's wife dwindled quickly- he honestly hadn't planned on staying for the full week- but Zosia seemed to have a soft spot for him because a few more eggs and turnips and even a loaf of bread rolled in.
He paced the fields some- he killed a wolf prowling around and traded the pelt for a pair of boots and a handsome belt. The belt, regrettably and unavoidably, got traded for a fresh quiver of arrows and a proper sharpening for Tomek and his knife.
All told; a week earned him a purse of coppers (perhaps a lean two crowns when added up), Zosia ladling him a secret pot of milk as he leaves, and pointers to a few towns where he might find a little work.
-----------------------
He stumbled his way through the rest of the spring, mostly making coin helping with the tilling and taking on a contract for a warg which wasn't so different from killing a wolf besides the fact that the medallion that earns him the contract also earns him the missive to take his coin and leave before sundown. The same goes for flashing his medallion when he sells to the apothecarist- less bartering on the prices or the quality, but the same directive to leave the damned town the same day.
Town to town he goes and mingles and meets a handful of people who spot his medallion and ask after their friend Geralt . Jaskier briefly, in a moment of near insanity, wonders if there's a second witcher named Geralt of the Wolf School that just never returns to the Kaer for the Geralt they tell him of is gentle and carries a tome of poetry and permits brave children to ride Roach.
But the details remain the same- white hair, School of the Wolf, and a predilection for plums and brunettes- and Jaskier was forced to hold up the possibility that Geralt was a master manipulator of a caliber he didn't even know was possible to have charmed people in so many places into believing he was kind .
He supposed he too once thought Geralt was kind, for an afternoon, and perhaps they just never frustrated him enough for Geralt to lose his patience. The lone exception is an elf in the market who proclaims Jaskier and the other members of his guild "fine enough" but asks him to spit on Geralt the next time they meet as payback for "whatever striga crawled up his ass and died."
He agreed to do it for the both of them and feels vindicated when the elf elaborates that the witcher had been good-natured enough until their last meeting two years ago.
Jaskier traveled, he worked, he met folk foul and fair.
He survived and, for a time, that was enough.
-----------------------
Towards the end of the day, Nenneke was sealing her correspondence with wax, when Anka informed her that "an acquaintance has come by on an important matter." Anka added that it's a witcher but not the same one as last time, she thought, she's not sure. Anka's devotion to the goddess was admirable but her attention for anything but nurturing plants was rather lacking- Nenneke was surprised Anka noticed a visitor at the gate at all. Nenneke sank into her chair a bit, closing her eyes as she drew in a long breath, because she was getting a little done with Geralt breathing down her neck like she was his errand boy.
"Make sure there's a bed available," she finally said, resisting the urge to just turn him away, "and tell him I'll attend to him when I'm done."
Done ended up being close to supper, after the postulant's vows of evening silence had taken hold: so she arranged for Geralt to eat with her in the hall outside the infirmary ward. She was tucking into a bowl of pottage when the witcher arrived but it wasn't Geralt that hesitantly strode across the hall.
It was his little omega who wasn't so little anymore. His frame had thickened out and he was bearing more than a few scars- but the mating mark on his neck was still clear to the world. Anka must have arranged for him to bathe as well because he smelled merely of soap and soft citrusy omega nervousness. She carefully took a long breath and couldn't detect the acrid smell of terror he had last time or Geralt for that matter.
This was going to be interesting.
"Priestess Nenneke," he said softly, taking the seat across from her, his frame curled small as he humbly bowed his head to her, "thank you for taking the time to see me."
"You weren't 'the witcher' I expected to see," she said, leaning back and gesturing for him to accept the bowl across from her, she huffed a little laugh, "I'd be a poor priestess of Melitele if I turned away a traveler."
He gave a little snort and the two ate in silence for a while. If Nenneke were younger, she would've tried to pry more from him: but he wasn't her first battered omega to show up without his alpha and he certainly wouldn't be her last. She wordlessly pressed a second serving on him- he'd bulked up a bit but there was a leanness to his cheeks she didn't like in omegas.
"Has Geralt come to see you?" he finally asked, eyes trained on pulling the crust off his bread.
"Since we last met?" He nodded, "Yes, once. About a month ago- after Belleteyn." She watched him carefully and, instead of a spike of worry, his smell remained carefully nervous.
"Did he take Essi?" he started to press the inside of his bread flat.
"He couldn't if he tried," Nenneke said plainly, his eyes darted to her face and searched her eyes, "her rearing is in the temple's hands now. Besides," she gave an arch smile, "he can't tell her from Embla," there's no mistaking the relief that floods out of him and she started to feel a real fondness for him when his shoulders go slack.
"Is she happy here?"
"Truthfully, I don't see her often," Nenneke gave a little hum, "but we take care of our girls. She's the temple's now and I wouldn't even let you take her."
There was a pause as he took that in, he must have settled on accepting it because he sighed and turned a more serious glance to Nenneke, "Thank you, for taking care of her and easing my mind," he chewed his lip a bit, "I suppose I should tell you I've been traveling and working a bit as a witcher. The Witcher Yulek."
"I don't suppose it's with his permission you are doing this," she said, Jaskier shook his head, "you're too old for Vesemir to try and make a real witcher out of you anyway."
Jaskier swallowed and Nenneke could smell a load of trouble.
"Why are you here, Yulek?" she asked him firmly, "you knew when you signed Essi into our care that she'd not be leaving until she was an adult. Geralt isn't stupid enough to break the peace just to get her away from me."
"Will you tell him I was here?" she could smell anxiety begin to bloom in his scent.
"Is that what you want?" she retorted sharply and wrinkled her nose from his scent bursting with emotions, "I suppose that answers that. My allegiance isn't to him and I'll forgive the insult you'd think it would be," she scrutinized him intensely and saw his hands tighten on his lap like a child getting a scolding- she felt herself soften a bit, for he wasn't yet much more than a child, "my duty is to the people seeking Melitele's help here, now what is it you came here for?"
"My body," he said quietly, "I don't recognize it. Something is happening to me. He was going to kill me: he was going too far. And then I noticed- the changes. You must see-"
He wordlessly took a knife from his belt and cut into the flesh inside his arm- over a spot where she noticed a curious handful of similar scars.
He must have done this before.
She kept herself in her seat and the two sat in silence as the blood quickly clotted- before he could bleed out- far quicker than should have been possible. She cycled through thoughts- a curse, some sort of latent skill for chaos, the trials-
She still wet her apron and tended to it, wiping away the blood as she'd done so many times to so many omegas.
"It's not the food," he continued, "I've been on my own since before Birke- I don't-" he trailed off.
That ruled out going through the Choice like Leo.
"He used to drink something,"Jaskier said, "some kind of fertility treatment, could that have changed me?"
"That doesn't sound likely," she said frankly, "for a draught to do that, it would need to be very concentrated in his body, not yours." Nenneke looked him over again, new eyes examining the way his shoulders had filled out and the thickness of his hair and the scars scrawled across his face, "is there anything beyond what you have shown me?"
"I can cast a sign," he bit his lip, "sometimes."
"May I touch you?" she asked and Jaskier nodded. She patted along his body, the nodes where chaos was prone to collecting, and felt the latent hum she associated with the witcher adepts.
How strange-
"Did you meet Eskel?" she could recall, many years ago, Eskel studying at the temple with all the other Witcher adepts and massaging a lame kitten back to health, "he has more chaos in his hands then the stones of power."
Jaskier's body locking under her hands was answer enough, "we wintered together," he said through his teeth.
"If that is what is changing you," she said carefully, "I think you need to go back to Kaer Morhen to find out- that's beyond the scope of anyone here. They were secretive enough about that before the school fell."
"Was he always like that?" Jaskier gritted out, "was Geralt always like that?"
"I've never seen him take an omega before if that's what you're asking," Nenneke said. She watched Jaskier seem to collect himself, letting out a shuddering breath as he unlocked his jaw and kneaded his palms into his thighs.
"I've met people," he said, mouth full of piss and vinegar, like each word was pulled from his teeth, "who speak of a Geralt I've never met. Kind. Gentle. Funny, even. I can't imagine you being a friend to an arse like Geralt, was he like that once or are they liars?"
"People change," she said carefully, "he's had his shortcomings. But-"
"But?"
"The summer after Blaviken-" she said, "he changed. Blaviken was bad enough- but the summer after was especially cruel to him."
"It's like some kind of poison in his mind-"
Oh. The basilisk.
She hadn't even thought of that.
She needed to think.
She invited the boy, Yulek, Jaskier, Julian- whatever name worked- to stay at the temple while she thought.
-----------------------
Jaskier ended up staying at the temple for a whole week: earning his keep milling medicinal ingredients through the day. Nenneke introduced him to the novice Sorcha, a former Temerian Blue Stripes, who gave him a dirty tutoring in bomb making, battle dressing, and making medicine.
He leaves Ellander with a haircut, a silver dagger, and the dread that he must eventually, actually, realistically, return to the Kaer.
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A/N- Encouragement and kind words will always make me more excited to write stuff <3 and feel free to dash off a message to me! I haven’t really made any friends in the fandom yet :3c
Thanks for reading, friends!
Rough and tumble ragged drafts on tumblr here: Actual Fic Better Not Wake The Baby
This fic is based on OldandKinky’s Honey-verse and you can also find them here: Honey-verse on Ao3 and OldandKinky on Ao3
and if you like my writing, I’ve also got “Varieties of Exile”
I wanted to make him a long time ago so I finally did for a design contest~ For the ones who doesn't know Asriel/Flowey is my favorite UT character-
If you're wondering why there is both an Asriel and Flowey, it's because they're both from a different AU and meet by accident, now they're best friends lol-
I think I'll call my Honey Asriel Royal Bee (but he'll call himself Royal most of the time) and Honey Flowey will be Honeycomb because that's what I based him of-
Royal's royal mantle is based off bee's wings and his horns are based off their antennas-
July-Tier is complete❣ Come over to my Patreon and check it out! With the support of $1 you can get many pretty artworks and Comic Pages to survive the month 💕
You have an otherworldliness supreme sapient. i covet the course aligned to Yours. Stardrenched comeliness drips off Your temples, conflating with the darting depth of reason rolling off Your new beard. i haven't witnessed this vast vision. But i know it. i feel, that this is precisely how it happens. Universes are boldy birthed, behind the flutter of Your lashes, whilst flickers of flying wish paper, still in my hands are turned to ashes. i long to study You, as i would an infinitely melting sky: a cascade of Your sweet words, mellowing me within their kindred goldeness.
