Jaskier never means to start mending Geralt's clothing, it just...kind of happens.
Geralt rips his last good shirt on a hunt. The shoulder is torn and so is his actual shoulder.
In the heat of the moment, the wound gets the most attention. But after--
"You can't wear that," Jaskier gasps, tugging it out of Geralt's hands before he can pull it back on, bloody tear and all, "give that here."
He fixes it with the same neat stitches he'd used in Geralt's skin.
They don't talk about it, after, but Jaskier buys Geralt more of his awful, boring shirts at the next town large enough to have a tailor.
After that it just...becomes routine.
Geralt will never give Jaskier his ruined shirts but he starts...leaving them out. Especially after Jaskier digs one out of his bag that Geralt tries to hide, tries to make out as fine.
It's not fine. Jaskier will not be seen with a witcher who looks like he can barely feed and clothe himself.
Even if it is a little true.
Jaskier's still working on it, okay.
So Geralt doesn't give Jaskier his clothes to mend and Jaskier doesn't mend them for Geralt so much as he mends them so that he's not an embarrassment to be seen with. It's all...very intricate.
Mostly, he does it for the way Geralt's eyes go soft at the corners when he sees the patched shirt, though.
No one has to know that but him.
Jaskier mends Geralt's clothing and buys him replacements and they just...don't discuss it. Geralt doesn't do anything as nice for him but he also keeps him fed and alive out on the path which...it counts, okay? It counts.
It counts, especially when Jaskier's being hauled back into camp, Geralt's arm tight around his waist as he supports the bulk of his weight.
"Don't close your eyes, Jask," Geralt rasps as he lowers him to the ground, back pressed to Roach's saddle where it rests on the ground to help keep him more upright, "just don't close your eyes, I'll be, fuck, just a minute."
He's...bleeding pretty decently from a slice just above his breastbone. Any deeper and they'd be having a very different conversation. Right now it's shallow it just...hurts.
"Geralt," he starts when Geralt shuffles off to dump his potion back upside down, "Geralt, please--"
He's back in less than a minute, alcohol and a needle and thread in hand. Jaskier gulps.
He's patched Geralt up plenty of times but he's...he's only sat for a needle once, back at the very beginning when he'd just started following Geralt and he'd torn the soft tissue between thumb and forefinger. It had been...unpleasant.
This is going to be worse.
"Here," he says, handing Jaskier the alcohol, and he takes a deep pull before handing it back. It's not enough, he knows. Still, when Geralt removes his ruined doublet and chemise and asks him if he's ready, he nods.
He faints by the third stitch. It's...better that way.
-----
He comes to feeling stiff and achy, and when he goes to lift his left arm, the stitches pull and he freezes.
Oh that's going to be a bitch.
"Geralt?" he asks roughly, pressing himself up to a sitting position with his good arm, "Geralt?"
Geralt's at his side in a moment, easing him backward.
"Rest, Jaskier, you're fine. We're okay, just rest."
-----
It hurts like a bitch, but he gets over it, mostly. He mourns for his ruined doublet and chemise, but it's mostly for the sake of being dramatic--he can buy a new doublet when he's back in Oxenfurt this winter, twice as nice. And the wound is awful but it will make the most lovely scar to serenade lovers with the tale.
Geralt does not find that last point near as funny as he should, considering.
It's nearly healed, the stitches have come out (Geralt did it, carefully, and Jaskier had almost fainted again but it had been...fine...) and he's digging through his pack, rubbing uselessly at the itching, healing scar tissue when he comes across a familiar doublet that makes him pause.
It's...it's the doublet he'd been wearing when he'd gotten the injury, the one with the gash.
The one he's pretty sure he threw out.
He's alone in the inn room they've rented, Geralt downstairs interviewing some local about the contract he's working tomorrow. He sucks in a deep breath and pulls the doublet out of his pack.
The gash is large and the stitching is awkward and cramped, but there's been an effort to fix it. It's even the right color thread which is just...
The chemise is below the doublet, equally poorly mended. Despite himself, Jaskier feels tears well up in his eyes.
Behind him, the door creaks, heavy boots entering the room.
"Jask?"
He wants to say...something. He wants to but his throat has closed and he's afraid opening his mouth will only let out a sob and he's not...he's not sad it's just--
Geralt settles on his knees beside him, pulling Jaskier around slowly, but he stops when he sees the clothes.
"Oh." He looks...he looks uncomfortable, "sorry, I...I know it's a shit job and I had to wait to get the right thread and I..."
"Geralt," he finally chokes out, pitching forward to wrap his arms around his middle, bury his face against his chest. Tentatively, Geralt returns the embrace, palm smoothing up and down Jaskier's back as he fights back sobbing like a child.
"I'm--" he's about to apologize and Jaskier doesn't want him to get the wrong impression.
"Love, you didn't have to. Thank you."
"It's a shit job," Geralt repeats, sounding lost. Jaskier chokes on a laugh.
"You fixed it for me, though, darling. That's what matters."
"I just...you always..." he seems to be out of words though, and he just hmms softly.
"I know, darling. I appreciate it, I do." He's smiling just a little watery still when he pulls back, but he's...fuck he's so touched.
"Hm," Geralt repeats, then, "so it's okay?"
"It's more than okay," he says, smiling.
-----
The next morning Jaskier wears the repaired doublet and chemise. It truly is an awful job and he'll have to see what he can do about it later, but it's worth it for the way Geralt's eyes catch and hold, the tentative, tiny smile that tips up the corners of his mouth.
Testing out putting links on here, one of my more popular works! Featuring A/B/O prompting with bakudeku pairing in an ongoing series. . . Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku . Summary: How do you buy a gift for someone you got in a fight with? how to give a gift to someone you sent to the hospital? How to make someone understand you sorry for breaking their ribs? how do you get a gift for someone you interested in? how to get a Pro Hero a impressive gift? how to give someone a gift when your a villain? . unfortunetly for Katsuki those searches didn’t really have anything useful for him, luckily he’s smart, he’ll figure out what to get the stupid deku
He thought he saw a flash of light, reflected off the metal walls. He spun around, only to be met with a Novakid dressed all in black, pistol held in both hands and aimed carefully at him.
“Don't move.” Their voice was high, surprisingly young. They had no brand. “You're going to put that gun down and put your hands up. Slowly now.”
And what could Tano do but obey?
The Novakid tied his hands roughly behind him with a length of wire, picking up his rifle and slinging it over their shoulder before grabbing his arm to lead him. Tano thought he should have resisted, but it had thrown him completely off guard, and besides, it wasn't like he had anyone to protect. So he let them lead him back to their shuttlecraft, which, he realized, was why he hadn't picked up another ship nearby. Had they known he would come? Had they meant to trap him?
Once they were both on the craft, the Novakid slipped off their mask, revealing the rest of their face; their soft purple glow lit the ship in a way Tano couldn't help but notice. They tilted their head at him, studying his expression: he was neither defiant nor despairing, but calm and resigned.
“You're an interesting thing,” they finally said.
“Why?” was all he said in return.
The Novakid laughed in a kind of hissy high-pitched way (Tano realized he'd never heard a Novakid laugh before). “That's why. That would be why. You're interesting. You're interested, too, in investigating, aren't you? I didn't mean to kidnap you, only I didn't particularly want to be on the wrong end of your gun, and I wanted you to hear me out. So! I'll let you go, I will, after I tell you what deal I have for you. You can explore for me, and bring me what I need, and I'll pay you for it, and maybe a little bit more depending.”
Tano just stared at the Novakid while they talked, trying to process it all. But the words just became noise as they continued, and the purple light from their glow started filling his vision. Fortunately, that didn't last long. The Novakid saw something was wrong, and got out of their seat to shake him lightly. “Hey...” they sounded worried now. “Is everything okay? D'you need anything? Water?”
Tano nodded, blinking to clear his vision. “Water.” He was more than a little worried himself. What if he'd done that in the middle of an important mission, or a dangerous situation? He could easily have gotten himself killed... though he'd never done it in a situation like that yet, there was always a first time. He forgot what the Novakid had said... and when they came back, they decided not to remind him.
“Drink... slowly,” they insisted, putting a hand to his cheek with unexpected gentleness. “Stay calm... this will all be okay. What happened?”
“I don't know...” He cringed a little. “I'm sorry. You were talking a lot, and I guess I couldn't follow.”
“I'll try to be short, then.” They began to untie his wrists. It was clear he wasn't a threat, and if he turned out to be one anyway, well, they always had a way to deal with unexpected problems. “I'm a doctor. Experimental. I need supplies, and I'll pay you well. Some supplies are maybe controlled, which is why I can't just ask in an outpost. I need someone good at finding things people don't want to be found.”
Was Tano good at finding things? They seemed to think so. He nodded, still not all there. “...What's your name?”
“You can call me Doctor Kyrie.” They brushed a hand over his cheek again, and Tano swallowed. Now, he thought, he knew part of why he was so distracted. Everything Kyrie did seemed calculated to lower his guard... and what was worse, he actually kind of liked it.
An experimental piece, written in first person: a moment in the history of Frost and Tiamotu.
I shiver against the chill of the mountain air. I've come to Frost many times before, but I'm born of much warmer lands; my dark skin is no asset here. I don't think I imagined a land could be this cold, before I knew Harmosa.
They greet me at the castle door, the pale sunlight seeming to light their icy skin from within. I lick my lips and try to stay standing. The journey seemed much longer this time than ever before, and all I really want after summoning Ho’e, Piti, and Toru is to lie down and rest. But I can't do that, not now. Harmosa offers me a warm drink, noting that I look tired. I have to assure them I'm fine. I don't think they believe me.
“Saul. What troubles you?” They've sat me down on one of their couches, looking straight into my eyes. They know I'm lying.
Can I risk sleeping now? I don't know, and words come slowly as always. I think I manage to stammer out a few syllables, I'm not sure whether Frost or Tiamotian, before Harmosa takes my hand firmly in theirs. Their grip is stronger than I thought such a small being could have. “I will care of you. Come with me. What do you need? Food? Water? Rest?” I nod readily to the last.
I should have known I wouldn't have enough energy to stay awake, let alone carry on a conversation. I'm lucky - or did Mother know - that Harmosa is so understanding. Briefly, I feel a wave of guilt. I swallow. “Harmosa...”
They pause, turning back. “Yes?”
I open my mouth, but I'm not sure what to say. The words get stuck, jumbled together, and nothing comes out. Harmosa sighs and pats my hand. “You will rest. Then we may talk.” I feel sick, and my steps grow heavy, reluctant. But I will rest.
Briefly I wonder if Mother will care, if I stay here. She still has her powers, and Ho’e and Piti and Toru, if they'll listen. But she loves me, and she'll miss me if I'm gone.
But, I think, I love Harmosa.
As soon as my head hits the pillow I'm asleep, though my dreams are anything but peaceful, filled with fire that immolates even the coldest ice. I don't know how long I sleep. It doesn't matter. It isn't long enough.
Harmosa is still by my side when I wake. “What troubles you?” they ask again, and this time the dam breaks.
“Harmosa- I've- I've sent Ho’e and Piti and Toru, my summons -- they're burning Frost. I'm sorry--”
The room turns cold. Far too cold. Ice begins to form over Harmosa’s skin and clothes. Like armor, I think. I can't stop shivering. “I'm sorry--”
“Why.” Their voice is monotone. Hard. I just saw their heart freeze over, I think.
“I--”
My teeth are chattering. It's hard to breathe. I think frost is forming on my skin. They don't take their eyes off of me. My eyes lose focus, and I can't feel anything anymore.
Harmosa's fists clench, before they summon their ice scythe and slash through the frozen figure. They stand, breathing heavily, for a moment, before turning and running for the door. They're burning Frost.
Vadius steps back from the camera. He obviously made the recording himself. Most seadwellers wouldn't think twice at making a lowerblood do it, but this was... something he wanted only one troll to see.
"If you're watching this, Vilara Fynfal, let me say what I know you would anyway: I've made a stupid mistake. I know I'm an idiot who takes on too many duties and slacks off on what I should be doing, and this probably will kill me somenight. So: feel free to yell at me now. I deserve it."
A pause, ostensibly to let her do so. Vadius swallows, fidgeting a bit, using this period to regain his calm.
"...My point is, this is what I will send to you in the event of my death, so if you are watching this -- I thought you might want to see it. Perhaps not. If you don't, you can delete it. But if you do..." He gives a faint smile. "Then you can yell at me all you want. And I can tell you, I was honored to serve under you, Commander. You've been an outstanding example to me, and one I've rarely considered as important as I should. And I think you're lovely." He starts to look down, breaking character and grinning, as the scene cuts out.
Same backdrop (his office), slightly different decorations, slightly different angle, same uniform, same Vadius. He's serious again, standing a moment before starting. "I suppose I ought to tell you what I've been doing. I started a project, Project Mnemos, to perfect a troll-based version of brainwashing and/or memory erasure. This idea came about when I met a troll with said power. Since then, I've moved on to training their descendant. I believe they are ready to move forward from training into full usage, or will be when you receive this message. My goal in Project Mnemos has always been to further the Empire, though I admit I haven't always done that in the ways I should. So, as of now, I am handing control of Project Mnemos and its protégé Thisna Verent over to you. Do what seems best." He bows slightly, and the scene cuts out.
ENDING 1
A different scene. This part is slightly grainy, security camera footage. Vadius in an office, talking to another troll. A shorter, stocky one, with horns close to their head and hair in a short ponytail.
"You don't touch my friends!" the small one yells.
Vadius remains calm. "I haven't done anything to them."
"Yes you did - you hurt Ischia! That's not okay! And I don't care if you're a fleet general or whatever. This isn't right. Now tell me where Sivert is."
"I don't know. I would imagine at hive with Ischia?"
The smaller troll puts a hand to their belt.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Fuck you," they snarl, drawing their gun. Before Vadius can draw his own it's over. Two shots, and the seadweller is gasping, clinging to his chair. He fumbles for his gun. Husk. Something. Anything that can help. The other troll closes in.
ENDING 2
This part has no video, only audio, a recording that has, somehow, not been released to the fleet. Vilara is likely hearing it for the first time. "Ardent, Captain Vadion. We've encountered a large ship of unknown origin, which seems to be dead in space. No lights,... but we have what looks like two troll life signs onboard. The technology looks to be a fair level. I'm sending out a scouting party."
A pause.
"The ship is pulling us in. Repeat, the ship is pulling us in. Begin evasive maneuvers!"
He curses.
"Our helm systems are not responding. What the hell is this thing?!"
SO UH... how about a nice camp episode with original trio.. (plus hakuryuu i guess), talking about their feels and stuff.. :3c
Aw, this is cute. :’>
I’ll include Hakuryuu for this one!
The clearing of the forest was a perfect place for a tired group to unwind.
The four of them had managed to find suitable material for makeshift beds and eventually prepared a fire for them to enjoy their dinner. Their seats for tonight were larger logs, each one lucky enough to have their own as the flames warmed them. Despite planning for a quick meal to allow their sleepy selves rest, they found themselves laughing and chatting, the night filled with cheerful voices and the aroma of the blessing that happened to be Hakuryuu’s cooking.
“ This is so good! Hakuryuu, you have to teach me how to cook like this sometime! ”
“ Maybe one day. These skills might improve the luck you have at impressing women. ”
“ Huh?! ”
Just common banter between Alibaba and the prince of Kou, despite jabs at the blonde’s character, Hakuryuu wears a smile on his face. In turn, Aladdin sitting nearby couldn’t help but laugh after taking sips from his bowl. He may not look like it from his small size, but being the glutton he is, the bowl happened to be his third helping. Eventually the magi finished off that one, but before he could try for a fourth, his eyes lingered over to where the most silent member of their little team was.
Morgiana was quiet, but even now her silence seemed strange. What was even more strange was how her bowl was still filled to the brim with broth, something Aladdin had to peel his gaze from, lest the fanalis take offense to the threat of her meal being taken. Instead he was much more concerned about what she could be thinking about as she stared up at the sky.
“ Mor, are you okay? ”
A tilted to his head as he stared up at the female whose red eyes suddenly widened in surprise at being taken out of whatever trance she was in, soon returning her gaze to her friend. A tiny smile making way on her face as a way to reassure him.
“ Yes … I was just thinking about something. ”
“ What is it? ”
At this point the other two caught onto Morgiana’s odd behaviour, turning both of their attention to her as well. It takes her awhile to answer, shuffling her feet for a moment and staring down at her food before catching the reflection of what’s been holding her attention this whole time up above her. She raises her gaze once more.
“ … The stars. This is the first time I’ve seen them so clearly. ”
Alibaba is the first to look up after her words. Aladdin and Hakuryuu follow suit. The sky is void of any clouds tonight, leaving them under the starry night. She speaks the truth, until now they had usually been staying at inns or on ships, today was the first time the girl got to spend in the wilderness in the company of companions.
“ Wow, I almost forgotten about them. All those bright lights in Sindria must have blocked them out. ”
The group hums in agreement with Alibaba, all pairs of eyes on the twinkling of lights that was years away from all of them. They can’t help but allow the serenity to bring happiness on their features, each with their own smile. Eventually the quiet kicks in, no one during to talk in order to bring them out of this very moment. Whatever thoughts they’re having at the same time is unknown, but one can imagine they’re nothing but peaceful.
“Ah! Look!”
Pointing a finger, Hakuryuu brings their attention to the what can only be described as a shooting star. Thankfully, the group managed to spot it, with or without the boy’s help. Aladdin gives a small clap of his hands before turning to Morgiana. Alibaba follows up with a wide grin on his face.
“ Mor, hurry up and make a wish! ”
“ Yeah, yeah! What’s your wish? ”
A startled look at his sudden demand, fumbling over her words as a blush shows her fluster. Her cheeks puffing up as she ponders before her voice blurts out her answer. A sudden proud spark in those sharp red eyes as the female’s decided on what her answer is going to be.
“ I wish that I can watch the stars with everyone again one day! ”
The three males nod together at her answer. In truth, they all wished the same thing. If they had the chance again, they wouldn’t mind spending time like this on a day like this.
… Of course, Hakuryuu needed to resist the urge to correct them by saying that wishes were to be kept silent. It wouldn’t be him that ruins Lady Morigana’s night that he hoped would be a special memory for her.
i was really bored at work some weeks ago and wrote a thing about the shitty cowboy in a monster-hunter au
He stood tall, even with head bowed and shoulders hunched under the weight of memories and loss; he cast a shadow across the desert sands that stretched beyond imagining, into memories of faded places. He was a shadow, left behind by bygone eras, a man out of place, out of time, yet he remained–to stubborn, perhaps, to disappear into the sunset just yet.
He had seen many things in the dark. They haunted him, in waking and in slumber alike, lurking in the deep earth tones of his eyes. He knew that as little as he belonged anywhere in the world, that as little as he was wanted, with the brand of a criminal burned into him in both name and in flesh, there were worse things out there yet, that belonged even less to a world kissed by sunlight and wreathed in life.
Luckier people would remain ignorant of those things all their lives. If he could, God willing, he might help a few of the unlucky ones survive the learning, as a six-chambered brand of justice quieted the terrors of the dark.
He’d been only a boy when he’d stepped, brazen and foolhardy, into a twilight world full of creatures from ancient tale. He’d been a boy, fated to die, hung by the noose of his own idiocy, yet fortune saw fit to snatch him from death’s gaping maw. He’d been a boy when he’d witnessed men, stood like giants, cutting down monsters whose names he still dared not speak, and one of those men had taken him, shaken the cold, cloying truth into him til numbness fell away into fear, and offered him the means to fight his fate.
He’d grasped it with both hands, terrified and still so foolish, and they’d taken that boy and shaped him, rough, harsh, callous, into–
Into who he was now. Scarred, haunted, left hollow by the pieces of himself he’d been forced to leave behind, both physical and metaphysical. Yet still standing, despite everything that had tried to put him down.
Some days, it was all that kept him going–when time dragged on, so many infinite grains of sand caught on a blistering breeze, scorching him and leaving him raw to memories he’d never escape, the thought that ‘I’m still here’ drove him on.
'I’m still here. I’m still alive.’
Even if others weren’t who should be.
He no longer walked shoulder-to-shoulder with giants, with men and women who loomed, larger than life, with a presence that brought hope and a sense of safety. Some, he knew, were still out there; they were the true wonders, in his mind, they who despite the things they’d seen, the things they’d endured, despite the pieces of themselves they’d lost, were still whole. Somehow, they were still able to hold within themselves that hope, that passion to fight to the bitter end, without letting it seep out the cracks, until only melancholy filled the void.
If they ever called for him, he’d join them; there was no doubt in his mind of that. Those people, he’d called them friends, and tasted family on his lips when he had. He would die for them, and be glad that his blood-stained hands could pay the price for one more worthy.
But the years he’d spent with them had left him marked, scars on his heart left by those he’d held most dear. Time weathered all things, and the desert wind carried him far, until some days even those old aches seemed distant.
Yet still they remained. Like him.
So he wandered, vagabond, the coyote that skirted lonely on the edges of civilization, watched warily by those who saw danger in him and feared the teeth he hid behind lazy smiles; and in the dark places they never saw, he kept those worse things at bay still carrying out the duties he’d sworn himself to when he’d taken the hand that had offered him salvation.
He was far more than the boy he had been. So much less than the man he could have been. Not good, not bad.
But still alive.
And he’d remain that way until fortune no longer held him in her favour, and the creatures of the night finally claimed what they’d marked for their prey half a lifetime ago. He wouldn’t go down easy; he wouldn’t go quietly into the dark. Whatever monster that came for him would pay more than a pound of its flesh before it laid claim to his. But all things passed with time, and he knew the day would come when his dead eye was no longer quicker than the fangs and claws that reached for him.
But until that day, he was still here. Still alive.
