#mean words

[legendaryvermin]

I know that "demense" is pronounced "domain", but for a long time I pronounced it "de-menz" and always used it in a more sinister context and you know what? I'm right to do so.

[shiroselia]

Also btw calling for pickup doesn't work for me on Any place in Jorvik now so eh. either I'm unlucky or I have some Real stern words for whoever checks QoL per update around here

[mossy-tables]

Remember, when you say mean things, it hurts people. Except for me. When I say “mean” things, it’s because it’s fact.

[dapandapod]

You love things

So I hear it is a little @too-many-fandoms-no-social-life​ ‘s birthday. So a little bird told me. And I so happen to have a wee bit of pining as a birthday gift for this Birthday Cam! 

Hope you had a lovely day, cutie!

There are three or four things that Geralt can admit that he loves. Roach is one. Ciri is another. He loves Gwent and he loves his family. There. Geralt loves things.

Jaskier is still pissed about that fucking farmers wife, letting Geralt kill their problem and send him of with an insult. The audacity. 

If Geralt hadn’t put a hand on the scruff of his neck Jaskier, seen the look in his eye, there would have been words. Many. Words.

But Jaskier speaks Witcher rather well, in his own humble opinion, and the words shall be saved for a more important purpose. Meaning, telling Geralt exactly how much shit that lady was talking.

He can still feel the sensation of Geralt's hand lingering on his neck when they sit by their little campfire that night. Roach is munching happily among the trees and the sounds of the night have settled around them. It is peaceful, but Jaskier is not happy.

“You love things.” Jaskier says suddenly, breaking the silence. 

“Pardon?”

“You love things!” Jaskier repeats again. “Lots of things! And people! Sometimes!” 

He is possibly working himself up into a rant, but this is really bothering him. Geralt loves so much, in all the way that matters.

“This has been bothering you all this time?” Geralt asks with a small smile.  

“Yes!” Jaskier says. “You are not incapable of feelings!”

“No I am not.” Geralt agrees, looking amused. He is fiddling with a small wooden carving, Jaskier is rather certain that he got it from Eskel. 

“Like right now. What are you feeling right now!” Jaskier demands, staring intently at the witcher. The fire crackles merrily between them, a stew bubbling in a pot above it.

Geralt looks up, meets his eye. Jaskiers heart rate picks up, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips. A habit he just can’t seem to shake.

It happens when he feels a little nervous. Rather common when he is around Geralt, to be honest. Sometimes his chest is fluttery with it, or like right now, a gentle ache.

“Curious” Geralt says, tilting his head.

“Why is that?” Jaskier asks, hoping to gods and bog monsters and wyverns or anything that Geralt isn’t picking up on it.

“Why you care so much if I love.”

Ah.

Oh.

See, that is another thing he didn’t want Geralt to pick up on. Because Jaskier knows that Geralt loves. Just not necessarily him. Which is… not all that fun.

“Not if. I know you do. I'm just ranting because that lady.” Jaskier tries to play it off, but he can hear his own words falling flat.

Geralt studies him for another moment, and then shrugs, letting it go, returning to his fiddling with the carving.

Jaskier fantasies about Geralt pushing it. About making Jaskier tell him. Tell him how much he loves him, wants him, wants him to love him back.

But Geralt doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push it.

“I care, because I know that you do.” Jaskier says before he can change his mind. “You love so many, Roach, Ciri, Yennefer, Eskel,  hell you even love that idiot Zoltan. And Lambert and Vesemir and Triss and stupid old Regis. And it is frustrating to me, and I can only imagine how it must feel for you.”

Geralt looks at him again over the fire and Jaskier can feel his cheeks heating up.

“I do.” Geralt says quietly. “But you forgot someone.”

“Oh?”Jaskier says, licking his lips again. He needs to stop that. 

“You.”

Oh.

Fuck. Shit, fuck, bloody-

“You do?” 

Please please please please please-

“I do.” 

Jaskiers lungs burn. He wants to draw in a deep breath and calm himself, but that would be telling. His heart beats like crazy and he is trying to stay composed but it is so damned hard.

He is loved. Maybe not as he loves Geralt but-

“Jaskier.” Geralt catches his eye again. Jaskier can’t breathe. “I love you too.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Jaskeir can’t take it. He stands up abruptly and turns around. He is not sure where to go, what to do. There is a pressure behind his eyes, he can feel his chin do that wrinkly thing it does when you are holding back a sob.

He is clenching his fists, his fingernails biting in hard into the palm of his hands.

A hand grabs his, big fingers prying his fist open carefully. Then the other one. Geralt turns him around and pushes Jaskiers head down on Geralt's shoulder. His forehead connects with Geralt's tunic, and he finally draws in that deep shuddering breath. Geralt's hand lingers on the back of his neck, warm and grounding.

“Sorry.” Geralt mumbles and Jaskier pinches his side.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He grumbles, and then wraps his shaking arms around the witcher. They don’t hug much, but Geralt started it.

“I love you too, Geralt.”

Maybe Geral might not love him the way Jaskier loves him. He would like to think that the soothing thumb drawing circles on his skin means more. He would like to think that the hand Geralt wraps around him and hugging him tighter is more than just friendship. The way Geralt's nose press into neck, the way Geralt’s fingers curl in his shirt.

This love is enough. More than he ever thought he would get.

[dbaydenny]

Dressed Down

Hamlet's daggers thrown

at me and at me alone,

the empty drawer

sent her searching for some more

until all was said and done.

.

D W Eldred

[myinfinitevariety]

Oceans To Part

As Merlin laid on the cold linoleum floor, books scattered around him and his journal still clutched greedily in his left hand, he remembered begging to be kept home. He remembered looking up at his mother and pleading with her to considered calling the school and telling them he wouldn’t be able to make it.

Now, as the rugby players teased him, nudged his legs and sides with their shoes, and dropped a biology textbook on his abdomen, he knew he’d been right about not making it. 

Their words weren’t anything new. ‘Queer’ was a common one as well as ‘poof’ and ‘slag,’ but they were particularly loving the term ‘cock-sucker’ to describe him now. The teasing cut deeper than Merlin would ever admit and within his journal, the book he’d refused to drop, he’d poured out his suffering into ink and paper. 

He closed his eyes now and waited for the bell to ring, refusing to give them a reaction. It would only urge them farther, give them amusement to see the fag squirm at their feet. But as soon as the assault had started it stopped, only one voice ringing out through the hall and footsteps rushing in the opposite direction.

Merlin peeled his eyes open, squinting against the fluorescent lights and stilling at he came face-to-face with Arthur Pendragon. “Um... hi?” He greeted, his voice tentative and his breath shallow and slow.

Arthur grinned, his perfect white teeth flashing and his blue eyes studying Merlin’s prone form with interest. “Hi,” Arthur said, seeming as if he was just musing him instead of truly greeting him. “Looked like you needed a bit of help,” he observed, nodding to Merlin’s discarded books.

“Thank you,” Merlin rushed out, realizing that he hadn’t even expressed his thanks and instead had laid down on the ground like an idiot. He sat up in a hurry, his forehead smashing into Arthur’s and his eyes filling with reflexive tears. Merlin cursed loudly, pressing his hand to his forehead and blinking away the tears in a hurry. “I’m so sorry.”

But Arthur was laughing, even as he rubbed his smarting forehead and held out his free hand for Merlin to shake. “It’s alright. I’m Arthur Pendragon. You?”

Merlin dropped his hand from his forehead, his mouth gaping, and clasped his savior’s hand. The bell rang and neither of them moved, too focused on each other and their still handshake to care.

“I’m Merlin Emrys.”

[deinextraumfrau]

“Never say mean words out of anger.Your anger will pass.But your mean words can scar a person for life.So use kind words or be silent.“

- deinextraumfrau