Prompt: Hugs
Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier
Rating: G
Content Warnings: None
Summary: Jaskier hugs Geralt. Geralt is grumpy about it. For @writinglizards <3
Geralt is utterly unprepared, the first time it happens. They’ve finished a job, everything went smoothly for once, and they’ve both been paid. He reaches out to hand Jaskier his share of the coin and suddenly Jaskier is coming toward him with his arms wide open and a joyful expression on his face.
Geralt steps back and grimaces, holding up his hands to ward off all that bard suddenly in his personal space. “What the hell, Jaskier?”
Jaskier stops short. “I thought you were going in for a hug,” he says, a slight pout to his lips.
Geralt contains a laugh. “Read that one wrong,” he smirks. Though it dampens his amusement somewhat when he sees the way Jaskier’s face falls.
-
Jaskier has been moaning about the lack of fresh meat in their diet for days, and even though Geralt could get by perfectly fine on jerky, he’s sick of the whining. So as they set up camp one evening he lays out some traps, catches a couple of rabbits and sets them roasting.
Jaskier comes back from collecting firewood, sniffing the air with eyes wide. “Geralt!” he gasps, “is that meat?”
Geralt looks at the two rabbit carcasses over the flames and silently raises an eyebrow.
Before he can come up with a suitably snarky reply, Jaskier is flinging his arms around his shoulders and squealing in delight. “You are an angel!” he declares.
Geralt’s nose wrinkles with annoyance and he pushes Jaskier away.
“Get off me,” he growls, showing his teeth. Jaskier doesn’t seem appropriately cowed, happily shuffling over to poke at the rabbit with visible enthusiasm.
-
The thoroughfare is muddy and crowded, but that’s the least of his problems. He’s barely back from a difficult and dangerous contract and now he is being viciously accosted in the street.
“Jaskier!” Geralt hisses. “We are in public.”
It doesn’t deter him.
“Someone will see.”
He feels Jaskier shrug his shoulders. “And?”
“It’s… you’re…” he splutters. Jaskier is still hugging him. “People are staring.”
Jaskier’s chuckle reverberates in his chest. “Let them stare. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
Something hot crawls down Geralt’s spine at that. “You’ll get us driven out of town,” he grumbles.
Jaskier keeps hugging him anyway.
-
They part at the end of autumn, when the last leaves have fallen and the frost is starting to creep in. Geralt assumes Jaskier would be looking forward to the comforts of the academy, but he’s been strangely maudlin all week.
“I don’t like goodbyes,” Jaskier says, lips twisted unhappily. He blinks at the fork in the road with watery eyes.
All this emotion seems rather unnecessary to Geralt. They’ll only be apart for the winter, and they’ll meet again in the spring. He may even be willing to admit that he’ll look forward to it.
He’s aware though that time runs differently for humans. He refrains from making a disparaging comment, and opts instead to grunt in what he hopes is a vaguely supportive manner.
“Honestly,” Jaskier puffs up, and Geralt senses a rant incoming, “that’s all I get from you? A grunt?” He fixes Geralt with a penetrating stare that goes on a beat too long before he deflates, letting out a lungful of air. “You big idiot,” he says, and for some reason he’s smiling. “Come here.”
He holds his arms open and Geralt makes an effort not to shy away. However unnecessary he finds Jaskier’s fussing, he doesn’t want them to part on bad terms. He braces himself as Jaskier steps forward and gently wraps his arms around him.
Geralt stands very still. At a loss for what to do, he pats Jaskier awkwardly on the back.
Then Jaskier buries his face into his chest with a happy little sigh and Geralt smiles in spite of himself. As he relaxes, he notices Jaskier is warm and comforting and he has that familiar scent of chamomile and road dust. It’s actually sort of nice.
He pulls back and Geralt absolutely does not feel any kind of a loss about that. He smiles, very softly, and cups Geralt’s cheek in his hand.
“Idiot,” Jaskier says again, and it sounds unaccountably fond. “See you in the spring.”
Geralt in 21 with partner of your choice for the lingerie prompts!!
I hope we’re feeling Geralt X Eskel tonight bc I wanted to write Eskel v badly.
"Maybe it's a bad idea," Geralt mumbles, twisting to look at his ass in the mirror. Objectively, he looks good, but fear and self-doubt creep into his mind anyway. Outside the bedroom door, Eskel sighs.
"Can I just see it so I can give you an honest opinion? Not one tainted by your horrific self-loathing."
Geralt takes another look at himself, resists the urge to sigh, and steps away from the mirror. If it was anyone else but Eskel, he'd lock the door and undress before going back out, but he trusts Eskel. And tonight, he's hoping Eskel is a better judge than he. He takes a deep breath as he steps out into the living room and as soon as Eskel's eyes are on him, he deflates. He feels stupid.
"I'm just gonna change," he mumbles, but Eskel reaches out to stop him.
"Don't. He'll love it."
"Are you sure?"
Eskel nods slowly, a faint smile pulling at his lips. "You look… incredible. Only an idiot wouldn't love you in this."
Geralt doesn't believe him, but he trusts Eskel's judgement. He slips back into his room, closing the door behind him (although there's not much left that Eskel hasn't seen tonight) and turns to his closet to pick out what to wear.
Lingerie aside, he's looking forward to tonight. Vernon is… something. But it's not like Geralt is going to marry him or anything. He wants to fuck him, though and tonight is the fourth time they've been out, so he's optimistic - hence the wardrobe choice.
He leaves the house just after five with enough time to get to the restaurant before their 5:30 reservation.
By six, he's sat in the underground parking with his head on the steering wheel.
He feels like an idiot to have assumed this was going anywhere. And yeah, maybe he wasn't as into the guy as he should have been, but being turned down outright still fucking sucks. And to make matters worse, all he can feel is the press of the straps digging into his skin. It's irritating, maddeningly so, and only serves to remind him of how fucking stupid he was to think someone might want him. But he can't go upstairs because Eskel will be there and he'll ask why he's home so early and Geralt will have to tell him. And the only thing worse than being stood up and having to come home and take off the lingerie he bought specifically for tonight (an already embarrassing experience) is having to admit to your best friend that it happened.
Geralt groans and squeezes his eyes shut, banging his head against the steering wheel. If he just stays down here long enough, Eskel will never know. He'll think he went out and had a great time and came home. It's what he usually does. But factoring time for dinner, sex, and potential conversation afterwards? He'll be stuck down here for hours. Which is not at all how he intended to spend his night.
He picks his phone up off the passenger seat and makes to get out of the car, but there's one unread message that catches his eye and he opens it quickly, hoping it's Roche. It's Eskel, because of course, it is, hoping that his night goes well. Geralt just groans at the screen before locking it and shoving his phone in his pocket where it can't taunt him.
When he gets up to their shared apartment, he waits again before letting himself in. Only for a few minutes, only to try and hear if Eskel is in the living room. But there's no sound coming from within, so he pushes the door open and sneaks to his bedroom. But as the door is clicking shut, Eskel calls out.
"Geralt?"
Fuck.
"Geralt, is that you? What are you doing home?"
"Uh- change of plans," he mumbles. He wants to make up an excuse, to say he's not feeling well or something came up, but he can't form the words. Instead, he flops onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling, which is where Eskel finds him a moment later.
"What happened?" he asks gently. Geralt shrugs and sighs.
"Don't know." He does know. It's the same thing that happens every time, but he knows Eskel doesn't like when he talks badly about himself, so Geralt keeps quiet. "Just didn't show."
His skin prickles and he shuts his eyes. Just for once, he'd like to be good enough for someone. For someone to want to be with him. He's always the one setting the dates or reaching out to start with and he doesn't know why he bothers because it never goes well for him. The best he gets is Eskel's sympathy and a bottle of gin to come home to.
"Asshole," Eskel mutters, "doesn't deserve you anyway. You can do better." Geralt scoffs, but Eskel persists and eventually, Geralt just tunes it out because one day Eskel will realize that he is inherently unlovable, that he's not worth the time to text and say hey I'm not showing up tonight.
"Thanks," he mumbles, but it's false.
"You wanna watch tv and drink vodka?"
For the first time in hours, Geralt smiles.
"You know I do."
Watching tv and drinking vodka turns into watching Jeopardy and drinking if you get the answer wrong. And the longer it goes on, the fewer answers either of them gets right. It's not until late that Geralt realizes he never got changed when he came home. He peels off his shirt, having spilled his drink on it, and the black straps are there, crisscrossing across his chest and reminding him he's an idiot. Which is a shame really because the piece itself is nice and now he'll never get a chance to enjoy it properly.
"S nice," Eskel mumbles next to him. Geralt looks up to see what he's talking about and finds Eskel looking back at him. "Vernon's a fuckin' idiot turning you down in that." Geralt huffs a humourless laugh.
"You're drunk," he shrugs, "and you're s'posed to say shit like that when I'm having a bad day."
"True though. Wish you didn't think so badly of yourself all the time. You're hot, Geralt, simple as that. You're the only one who doesn't see it." Geralt pauses for a second, decides he's misheard, and shrugs it off. He picks the bottle up off the table, takes a large drink, and passes it to Eskel who sighs, but takes it anyway.
But over the next half hour, he catches Eskel looking at him. And not just glancing over at him, but really looking at him in a way that makes the skin on the back of his neck prickle.
"What?" he asks finally, his anxiety getting the better of him. "What's wrong?"
"Just thought you'd have taken it off by now, thought you'd wanna be comfortable."
"It is?" Geralt says simply and Eskel purses his lips and nods.
"Can I touch it?" Eskel looks up at him earnestly and Geralt would be an idiot to say no to him now. He nods slowly and Eskel reaches out, tracing the lines of the leather. His fingers slip, brushing against his skin, Geralt pretends not to notice.
He shifts to get more comfortable, turning to face Eskel and leaning into the couch cushions. And Eskel grows bolder, slipping his fingers into the rings joining the straps and tugging gently, letting the leather lift from his skin before releasing it. Geralt shudders the first time he does it and that only seems to encourage Eskel.
One warm hand presses against his chest, slipping down to the button on his jeans. Eskel turns it between his fingers for a moment before looking up at him.
"Should take these off," he hums, "let me see the rest."
"You saw the rest earlier."
"Not like this."
To Geralt's drunk mind, it seems like sensible reasoning, so he quickly unbuttons his jeans and pushes them to the floor. He feels suddenly exposed in only leather straps and a lacy thong, but Eskel is transfixed. He runs a hand up Geralt's thigh and Geralt shudders under the warmth of it. The room is cold, his skin breaking out in goosebumps now that he's mostly bare, but Eskel's palm is warm where it slides against his skin and Geralt closes his eyes at the feeling.
He stops where the leather digs into Geralt's thighs, pressing his thumb beneath it and following the line along. Geralt is only partially aware of the way his pulse spikes, the way his skin prickles under Eskel's touch, but he knows that he likes it, so he doesn't tell him to stop.
"Geralt." Geralt opens his eyes and looks up to find Eskel looking back at him, his expression soft. "Can I kiss you?"
Geralt's mind whirls to try and catch up with what it's evidently missed. He doesn't even realize he's nodding, and then Eskel's mouth is on his own, soft and warm, and he can't think about anything else. His fingers slip instinctively into Eskel's hair and Geralt finds himself laid back against the arm of the couch as Eskel fits himself between his thighs.
He's wearing sweatpants and the softness of the fabric feels amazing in contrast to the leather wrapped around his thighs. Geralt nearly groans when Eskel shifts forward, but then his attention is refocused to where Eskel's hand settles on his pec, fingers slipping under the leather straps. Eskel breaks the kiss just long enough to mumble fuck, before pressing into his neck and kissing under his jaw.
"D'you have any fucking idea how you look in this?" he mumbles, "christ Geralt, you're stupid beautiful." Geralt starts at that. No one has ever called him beautiful before. On occasion, he's been called hot, but he knows it's just his body they're interested in. When Eskel calls him beautiful, it feels like something more.
"You're drunk," he accuses and Eskel laughs against his skin.
"But so are you. Drunk and beautiful." Eskel shifts down the couch, pressing soft kisses down Geralt's chest until he reaches his nipples. "Fuck. You just put 'em on display like this?" he groans, "what's a man supposed to do with himself, Geralt?"
Geralt squirms under the praise, but he shuts his eyes, focusing instead of the brush of Eskel's lips, the warm wetness where his tongue peeks out from between his lips. He'd be lying if he said he'd never thought about Eskel this way, but Eskel was always just one more in a long line of people who would rather just be friends. So Geralt doesn't think about it. Much. On occasion, he'll imagine what might have been if they'd met at a different time, or on nights when nothing else is going right, he'll picture him above him as he jerks off, inevitably falling asleep guilty and ashamed.
But he never expected anything like this.
Eskel sucks a nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue at the numb and Geralt lets out a shaky moan, shifting his hips beneath him. The sensation goes straight to his cock and he realizes belatedly that he's half hard. It's not until Eskel readjusts himself that Geralt realizes he's also only wearing a tiny, lacy thong and that it was barely covering him to begin with.
His worries go unnoticed by Eskel who is now sitting sideways, one arm under Geralt's back and the other slipping slowly down his chest, catching on each of the straps as it goes. He stops abruptly and Geralt hears a little hum before Eskel's leaning back up to him, nosing under his jaw.
"You're already so hard," he groans, "can I touch you?"
"Please," Geralt whispers.
There's no hesitation as Eskel's palm cups his cock, first over the lace, then quickly pushing beneath it to wrap a hand around him. He strokes him slowly, working him up to full hardness in no time at all and then he's ducking down and wrapping his lips around the head of his cock. Geralt whispers and bucks and when he looks down, the hand that was on his cock is now shoved down Eskel's sweatpants.
"Let me see," he breathes and Eskel shoves the pants down without so much as wavering in his ministrations.
Once he catches sight of Eskel's cock, he can't look away. He watches the way it slips between his fingers with fascination, imagining his own hand around him, his mouth around him.
"Fuck me," he says and Eskel pulls off his cock to stare at him.
"You want me?"
Geralt nods and leans in to kiss him again, sighing softly against Eskel's lips before pulling away. "Yes. Always, please."
Eskel doesn't hesitate, wrapping his arms around Geralt's waist and kissing him soundly as he pulls him up into his lap. When he shifts his hips, Geralt can feel the thick length of Eskel's erection through the lace and it only makes him want him more. He nips at his lips, kisses him hard and Eskel laughs softly against his mouth.
"Fuck, you're really somethin' aren't you."
"Lube," Geralt grumbles. He shifts to move, but Eskel stops him. When Geralt looks up, he looks embarrassed then he shoves a hand down the side of the couch and Geralt realizes why.
For whatever reason, there's a bottle of lube stashed between the cushions and he offers Eskel a questioning look.
"Full disclosure?" Eskel shrugs, "I couldn't get the thought of you all wrapped up in that out of my head. I was gonna jerk off while you were gone to try and get it out of my system but then you came home."
"Mm," Geralt hums, "good thing I did."
He kisses him again, slow and deep, taking the bottle from Eskel's hands and flicking it open. He pours probably more than he needs to into Eskel's hand then drops the bottle again, uncaring as Eskel's fingers press back between his cheeks. Eskel makes no attempt to remove the thong, just slips his fingers beneath it and presses against him.
Eskel makes quick work of opening him up, fucking into him with thick fingers and kissing the moans from Geralt's lips. When he fucks him, it's quick and hard and neither of them is sober enough to have much finesse, but it's good. It's the first time in maybe years that Geralt remembers genuinely enjoying himself during sex and when they're finished, he collapses against Eskel's chest and just stays there.
Warm arms wrap around him and Eskel kisses his shoulders and slowly, they both drift off to sleep.
In the morning, Geralt wakes up alone with a pounding headache and something digging into his skin. As he looks down at himself, at the straps barely covering his skin, everything rushes back to him and he feels sick. Fuck.
He shouldn't have given in, should have said no to Eskel's advances. But he was in a bad place and he wanted. He still wants him, but evidently, Eskel was just horny and drunk. Mark him down as another who doesn't want to stay. Geralt wants to go back to bed, to call Yen and ask her to drag him out to do anything but stay at home in the apartment, but he supposes this is something that should be dealt with sooner rather than later.
He barely makes it to his feet before Eskel comes downstairs. He's dressed in only his sweatpants, hung low on his hips, and Geralt groans internally.
"I'm sorry," he blurts and at the exact same time, Eskel says "I've got the bath running." To which, Geralt doesn't have a response.
"I'm sorry about last night, I shouldn't have-" he cuts himself off, failing to put his thoughts into words.
"Oh. Right. Yeah. It's just… I've been up for half an hour making breakfast and running a bath and I didn't account for regretting what happened last night." Eskel smiles up at him and Geralt's shoulders slump. Sometimes he hates how well Eskel knows him, but this morning he's glad for it.
Eskel steps up close, reaching around to undo the clasps at the back of Geralt's neck and gently tugging the lingerie down until it falls in a pile on the floor. The thong goes next and Geralt doesn't say a word as Eskel's hands settle on his hips.
"Bath, breakfast, and then we're going to sit down and talk about this," he breathes, "but don't think for a second that I'm gonna let you worry yourself out of this. Last night was good. You were- you are beautiful. Go upstairs and I'll be up in a minute if you want?"
Geralt isn't sure exactly how Eskel thinks he's going to fit the both of them into their bathtub, but he isn't going to let that stop him from trying.
"Okay," he whispers. Eskel smiles and tips forward, stopping at the last moment, but Geralt leans in to close the space, kissing him softly. He loses himself for a moment in the slide of Eskel's lips against his own and he doesn't realize he's being pulled forward until he shifts his hips and presses against Eskel's cock, hard in his sweats.
"Bath, breakfast, talk," Eskel repeats, breathless, "after that I'd like to keep you in my bed for a week."
As far as ideas go, Geralt thinks it's a damn good one.
Ahhhh, I loved this prompt! Have some idiots in love :)
Jaskier was singing. Well, being a bard that was his default setting. When he wasn't sleeping, that was. Or talking.
There was quite a crowd he was entertaining, which was quite a surprise, given the early hour. Normally, Geralt would have detested it. Normally, he couldn’t stand the noise, the stink, the talking. Normally, after a mission that was, with adrenaline and toxins racing through his veins. Normally.
But today there had been no mission. Today, Jaskier had dragged him into town and forced him to stay, despite the lack of a contract. “Come on, Geralt,” he had whined. “Just once.” He didn’t know why he had agreed.
Jaskier spun around and started a new verse. A bright smile spread on his face when he caught Geralt’s gaze. Ah. That was why.
He didn’t know what it was about the bard that made any resolve within him crumble to dust. It took the barest thing, like a smile, a wink, a brush of a hand against his forearm, for his knees to turn into jelly and butterflies to begin fluttering in his stomach. It was extremely annoying and distracting.
And endearing. Which maybe was the most annoying thing of all.
However, the lack of receding panic simmering in his body gave him a most spectacular opportunity: he could enjoy Jaskier’s music. He wasn’t tired or sore, there were no dangers on the road he had to look out for, no contract to prepare for. For the first time, in all the years he had known the bard, he could just listen.
And, to his surprise—it probably shouldn’t be a surprise, given his popularity—Jaskier was actually good at what he was doing. Yes, the lyrics were greatly exaggerated, the heroics embellished, and the innuendos thinly-veiled. But besides that, it was good music. And before long, Geralt found himself humming along and forgetting how much time had gone by.
The performance seemed almost too short, when Jaskier bowed and announced that he would take a prolonged break before continuing. Geralt’s eyes didn’t leave the bard even once as he swaggered over to their secluded table in the corner.
He slid into the chair across from him, his cheery mood almost visibly brightening the dark corner as he grabbed Geralt’s tankard of ale. The witcher just grunted and pushed the half-eaten plate of stew into his direction as well. Jaskier hummed with delight and began scarfing it down immediately. In the beginning, this had been an annoyance. By now, this ritual was soothing to him.
Despite his hunger, Jaskier obviously tried not to bolt down his food too eagerly. Geralt couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sight. That happened more and more often, as well; it was quite disturbing. He had started smiling stupidly at a moment’s notice. And he had begun to blurt out nonsense, too!
“I liked the new song,” he heard himself say. “It’s wiggly.” Like that. For example.
Up to that point, Jaskier had managed to cover Geralt’s slip-ups with excited ramblings of his own. Obviously, this had passed his breaking point. The bard grew red in his face, choking on his food.
Wordlessly, Geralt passed the tankard over to him again. He would hate to see his bard suffocate.
Even after he had overcome his coughing fit, the redness in Jaskier’s face didn’t fade. “Excuse me?” he squeaked.
“Hm.” Well. If he hadn’t felt stupid before, he certainly felt stupid now. Witchers didn’t blush, but Geralt definitely could feel the redness rising in his face. “Forget it, bard,” he mumbled and snatched the tankard back.
“Oh, no! Oh, no, I don’t think I will.” A wide smile spread on Jaskier’s face that was more reassuring than it had any right to be. “Truly, Geralt, I am delighted. You never told me so before.”
“Hmm,” he said again and took a deep gulp. There were a thousand ways to tell the truth racing through his brain. Given enough time, he was sure it would slip through his lips.
Normally, Jaskier would start talking again before anything quite as embarrassing could happen. Normally. But this was no normal day. Instead of what he did normally, Jaskier quietly continued to shovel the food into his mouth. Before long, Geralt’s resolve crumbled again: “You stopped talking about your songs,” he blurted out.
His bard flinched and that—oh, that hurt worse than any injury he had ever sustained in a fight. Jaskier had never flinched from him, not even when he hadn’t known him at all. He had never been scared, not even in the beginning and the beginning had been years ago.
And he wasn’t scared now either. Only hurt. And that was, somehow, maybe even worse. “I didn’t think you cared,” Jaskier said almost too quietly for even a witcher to hear.
“Hmm,” Geralt said again. ‘Fuck,’ he thought.
Again, the bard fell silent.
Again, that coaxed the words out of Geralt’s mouth like nothing else ever could. “I do,” he admitted quietly. “Just don’t know how to talk about it.”
Jaskier’s mouth fell open. It was a nice mouth. A mouth that would nice to be kissed. Wait, what?
Before he could be forced to continue thinking about this disturbing thought, the bard thankfully began talking: “Oh,” was all he said. Then again: “Oh!” Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times, before simply stealing the beer back. After a few gulps, he asked: “Would you like to learn?”
“Hmm.” Would he? Of course, he would. He couldn’t just say that, though. Instead, his leg began bouncing up and down without his permission.
“Well,” Jaskier said and took another gulp, “I’ll be sure to talk about talking about it.” He smiled and winked and Geralt’s knees turned into jelly. “I’m sure you won’t care.”
Geralt reclaimed his tankard to hide a smile behind it. He was sure he would care. And that he would be delighted.
WHAT is the the angsty one with the very rude mage I have to know
This is for an item on a music related prompt list I’m writing one shots for.
canon (Latin: a measuring line, rule, model)a musical form where the melody or tune is imitated by individual parts at regular intervals. The individual parts may enter at different measures and pitches. The tune may also be played at different speeds, backwards, or inverted. ~ twisted imitation
His life for Jaskier’s, he supposes, wondering what sort of death is contained in the bottle. He could still walk away, but even before he looks at Jaskier, Geralt knows the choice he’s going to make. If the last thing he can do for Jaskier is this, the sacrifice is worth it. “Oh, don’t look so maudlin, Witcher. It’s not going to kill you.” As if the mage thinks Geralt needs reminding of the deal, he produces a knife from somewhere within his robes, poised to free Jaskier… or to end his life. “It won’t even hurt you.”
Whatever trap there is in this, Geralt willingly springs it. He drinks the potion before he can second guess himself, and it’s… fine. He feels no different.
Basically, the premise is that the mage has a major bone to pick with Geralt (ultimately not that important to the story). The potion mentioned is intended to force Geralt to act on the things he thinks. The mage makes some incredibly unkind assumptions about Geralt based on their own prejudice about witchers. They observe Geralt being irritable at Jaskier and assume if that’s what a witcher exercising restraint is like, then under a compulsion like this, Geralt would be likely to do real harm to Jaskier. And the only better revenge than hurting something Geralt cares about is to make him do it himself.
WIP title game
Modern Eskel and Geralt take to backpacking/camping as frequently as possible and it's only partly because they both like the woods. Mostly it's because nobody can hear just how fucking noisy Eskel gets when they're out in the middle of nowhere.
This is one that I would absolutely write a prompt for on a better day when I’m feeling up to it, not gonna lie.
Headcanon 100% accepted—
Eskel, when they’re at home, has to have something in his mouth every time they fuck, whether it’s him biting down on a pillow, or a strip of leather, or if it’s him gagging on Geralt’s fingers, because when things get intense Eskel gets loud and the one mortifying noise complaint was enough for him, thank you very much.
But when they go on their seemingly innocent camping trips, “oh, we’re just gonna go into the woods, reconnect with nature. That’s the thing these days, isn’t it?” And nobody is suspicious at all, it’s good that they’re getting out and getting some sun, “plus it’s survival training, right? In case we get stuck in the middle of nowhere at some point in our lives.” And they’re right! So why stop them?
But what nobody knows is that in the woods, at the little camp Eskel and Geralt set up when they hike out to their clearing, late into the night after they’ve eaten and put out their fire, the owls and crickets and other songs at night are joined by one voice crying out with all the sound he doesn’t get to use any other time.
—
😌 This was fun, like I said, I’d write a full prompt for this if my brain wasn’t fucking dead. Anyway, thank you for the ask!!
N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?
Hah, I’m about to really put myself on blast here: but I am such a control freak when it comes to my writing that... no, not really 🙃
There’s so many I’ve got WIPs of, or have planned, or have plans-to-plan, but oof they’re also my babies.
O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters?
Oh this is tricky. Because fic is so heavily character-driven, I start with the characters - but I start with the characters in the same way I start with, like, a blank document and a keyboard, you know?
So - really - I start with a plot. I rarely go “oh I want to explore this part of Jaskier’s character”, for example, it’s more... “I want Jaskier to do XYZ”. So I guess they’re kinda tangled together?
(when it comes to OC, I usually start with plot and then the characters come later)
Hiii! List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box of the last 10 people who reblogged something from you. Learn to know your mutuals and followers 💗
heyyyy! thank you for the ask :D
let’s see...
1. my fuzzy little terror, she just picked my remote off up the coffee table and tried to take off with it; luna thinks she is a dog i suppose
2. my plants, when they’re surviving and not dying. I need to move my christmas cactus to a more full light area so it can give me some pretty blooms
3. my writing, i make myself cackle uncontrollably
4. baking there is just something about making something very yummy that is very satisfying
5. all of you lovely people who listen to my rambling!! <3
