#infiltate

[fourmarksmage]

from here x | @infiltate​

　deadened delirium, 　an onslaught of onset aches and  O B L I T E R A T I O N . 　　　　hysterics. like something jaskier would put in a song.

　no — wait -.. who… .. ….. ?

　AMBER glints against lamplight, casting 　long shadows and longer glances from 　slitted pupils, needle thin to the 　brightness before him, new and old

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 ❝ yennefer …  ❞

　gritted indignant groan, a gutted grunt of begrudging ‘go ahead’

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　❝ I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF.  ❞ 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　❝ YOU DON’T ALWAYS HAVE TO. ❞

　a table turns, a chair tucked under his weary form. 　the witcher rests his silver crown on the maple wood seat back cross hatch rose patch needle thread twisted dread twinge twinge twinge twinge twinge TWINGE 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　R　E　L　I　E　F

　❝ no, drink. wine. ale. spirit. doesn’t matter. ❞ 　　　　　　　( anything from you. )

She waits to get confirmation from him, adept at interpreting the different grumbles and rumblings from the witcher to know which were in the affirmative and which were expressing his opposition. Settling next to him, she works deftly to unwind the old bandages, tossing them in a pile. The dark stain of dried blood on them are easier for her to tolerate than the brilliant bright red of fresh wounds.

A hum escapes her, a smirk twitching onto her lips. She’s deftly applying salves to help the witcher’s already accelerated healing along. “I’ll see what I can find,” she concedes, but only slightly. “But even if I get my hands on something to drink, I’m making sure you eat as well.”

There isn’t room for argument in her tone. Her form of care is forceful, with little room for argument or negotiation -- though it’s painfully obvious to her that Geralt could find what little give she had.

[fckingbard]

@infiltate​ asked: ❝ i am indeed tempted to purchase these for my personal collection … but no . i must exercise restraint . . . ❞ oh, but new tools... a witcher is only as good his tools...

Bright eyes rolled back, a groan of sheer frustration rumbling from the rarely silent bard. Always so RESTRAINED, so quick to push his own desires aside for... What was it? Some sense of duty? Respect? The wish to make full use of his gear before being bold enough to spring for more? No. The coin. He’d travelled alongside Geralt enough to know that coin was few and far between for those that called themselves Witcher. “Well if you’re not going to,” Slender fingers were set on Geralt’s shoulder for balance, his left foot lifted so he could pull off the boot. Stood half-barefoot in the middle of the marketplace, he drew a small dagger from it’s sheath at his hip, slicing along the seam to get to the coins that had been sewn inside, “I will take each and every one of them, and if you open your big mouth to protest, I’ll shove the rest of this fucking boot down it.” 

[fckingbard]

@infiltate​ asked: ❝ i see you intend to be childish about this. ❞

“Childish?!” The word shot from his lungs with an explosive gasp, as though the accusation alone had been a physical blow. Childish. How dare he. It took every ounce of self-control Jaskier possessed to resist the urge to stamp his foot and react in...the admittedly childish manner he might have under other circumstances. “Why is it that we traipse around for WEEKS looking for some sort of beast for you to slay, town for you to save so HEROICALLY for coin,” he continued, the jaw set tight in his fine featured face barely holding back the outburst he might have wanted to shoot the witcher’s way, “But when I’d like to sleep in a place a step or two above forest floor or crumbling fucking village tavern, it’s too far out of our bloody way?!” 

[fckingbard]

infiltate replied to your post: boy oh boy scotland is toasty this week howdy from...

it’s fockin 98*F and 1000% humidity here in new orleans don’t even w me

sheeeeeeeeeit buddy it doesn’t get that hot here ever 

[wantlonger]

infiltate​:   a whimper from rotted, cored throat -- ❛ i’ve done it again... ❜ roughening, steeling, coldening. ❛ i’ve done it again. ❜

“tate?” she hears his voice, but he is distant, sad ... something is wrong. horrifically wrong; “come, come here -- tell me what’s wrong,” her arms extend towards him, and she is an angel all in white. she, a creature of mercy, as she approaches the wretched boy, “... you sound so sad ... tell me what’s wrong. what happened, hm?” with the gentlest of touches, dolores tilts his chin upwards to meet her gaze, “what have you done?”

[malfoiis-blog]

infiltate replied to your post “starter call ! like for one i gues”

idc if u actuall give me on ei just wanted to like this

leave me alone loser

[apaidprice]

❤ !!

♡ — ( PROMPT, ACCEPTING! )

oh man, oh man!! have you ever met someone that you just click with in every way imaginable? that would be @infiltate/@rnarinate for me. misha is probably the great love of my life, and someone i would do anything for. i adore her to death and care about her in all the ways there are to care about someone. i would spoil her and send her flowers every day if i could. she’s an inspiration in so many ways and her academic brilliance is unparalleled (even if she leaves her papers until five hours before they’re due). more than just how great of a person she is, though, she’s a phenomenal writer. every muse she’s ever tried her hand at has been amazing, wonderfully written and understood. it’s doubly amazing given how vastly different each of her characters are. honestly, she inspires me to be a better writer, a more creative mind, and a lovelier person every damn day of my life.

[matarlos]

infiltate

though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death , i will fear no evil , for you god is with me . ────── but ghost will be the first to say , that even the holy word can't help the chill that runs up his spine as the door creaks his welcome . moonlight leaks through dust covered windows , moth eaten curtains wave him a hello . vagabond feet are almost ready to turn him around . but a breezeblock is tied to his ankles with a double knot and a dead mans wish . && * the door is shut behind him with a kick of his heel . an' he enters his paradise for the night . THE price he pays for having an unkempt soul , and a wandering eye that can never hold it's gaze in one particular place ( everything is the sun . stare too long and he'll go blind . that's what the scientist say . ) ; is having to stay in dumps like this ever so often .

the ursa major has made it's mark on his back . black and purples decorate his flesh , bits of yellow forming constellations along the shape of his spine . he doesn't even stop to think twice about walking right in . his bag is left by the entrance . heavy feet waltz him to the first room ; a loft . sofas that have seen better days , look like beds made for a king . a white noise mind tells him to lay right down , and so he does . eyelids fluttering to a close . that second cold front making way through his rib cage , goes ignored .