#so I could fix things and let Roach get his happy ending
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With every "Roach is ghosts dead fiance 🥺" or "Roach sent soap for ghost 🥺" I grow stronger. And one day, I will have enough strength to write a purely vindictive fic where SOAP is ghosts dead ex fiance and ghost falls in love with ROACH.
I'm gonna pull a switcheroo on them
Anyways GhostRoachSoap for the win
#listen i'm totally chill with SoapGhost#I myself do enjoy SoapGhost#however i will never enjoy it at the expense of Roach#like genuinely it breaks my fuckin' heart#which coincidentally is why I had to write SiTO#so I could fix things and let Roach get his happy ending#gary roach sanderson#ghost x roach#ghost x soap#also this is definitely a joke I would just appreciate it if people who write those fics would tag them with Past ghost/roach#or#not even tag ghost/roach at all
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Come back for me CH.2
A fic idea sent by an anon who I love ever much <3
Lost work count
Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Game: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 (2009), Canon-Typical Violence, Violence, Blood, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Mild Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Age Regression Little Simon "Ghost" Riley, Age Regression Caregiver John "Soap" MacTavish, Captain John "Soap" MacTavish, rewritten ending of 09, Age Regression/De-Aging, pet regression pet regression pup Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Little Space, Age Regression, Caregiver John Price (Call of Duty), Shepherd is the worst, Gun Violence, Face Slapping, Mocking, Men Crying, Crying, Gaz is dead already remember, i didnt forget him, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
They'd been without contact for hours.
Ghost and Roach were too far to drive to find them. Now it was Price and Mactavish.
And dammit if they were going to let Shepherd kill them. They were the captains’ boys. It would be a death sentence.
So as the call screen loaded, their hearts were in their chests. Then there they were.
Their boys, but in worse condition then they were left off.
Wounds littering Roach's body. A slash across Ghost's thigh, and other minimal cuts. But Ghost was crying. Even with the shitty quality of their video, Soap could see it clearly.
Maskless Ghost was somehow more terrifying than his wounds. It wasn't by his own volition, Mactavish knew that. A sick taste was quick to appear in his mouth.
“Simon! Roach!?”
“Shepherd.”
The both of them spoke in unison. Worry to Soap's voice, while Price was angry about their new target. Shepherd put a target on his head from just being near the boys like this.
The scene was troubling.
Shepherd stood to the side, while Roach and Ghost were on their knees next to each other. Roach uses his weak body to shield part of Simon's.
Johnny’s eyes burned with anger, but didn't unleash it.
The way Simon took the protection from Roach, and had begun to curl in on himself said all he needed to know. His boy was too small to see extra anger.
“You'll see them again if you cooperate.” Shepherd demanded. To emphasize this point, he grabbed Simon by the hair on the side of his head. Pulling and tugging him with it.
“No- no-” Simon was quick to cry out as he was jerked to the side. His eyes squeezed.
“Shut up.” Shepherd hissed and pushed him back to how he was sitting before.
Simon choked back a cry, hiding his face behind Roach's head.
“Get yer filthy fookin’ hands off him!” Mactavish shouted to the screen, his hands shaking from their place on the table as he leaned forward.
There was no attempt of anything from Price. He looked almost proud that Soap was taking care of the boys, and Shepherd. He was capable and hardly held back, Price admired that about him.
“‘friad I can't, captain. I need you two to stop your chase. You're not getting Makarov. It's not in the cards.” Because Shepherd wanted him like a greedy bastard.
“I ahm not yer goddamn dog, Shepherd, ye can't take us off the bloody mission!” Mactavish hissed.
“Well it seems we have a dog here, maybe I'll just have to train him to get you first.”
Roach.
Soap's eyes widened a split second. Oh god, not the two of them regressing. Getting them back safe would be a nightmare without a single clear head.
And speaking of dog… Roach growled and barked up at Shepherd. As if he was trying to prove his strength.
“Down, Roach! Don't fight him.” Price stepped in, finally.
Surprisingly, Roach listened. His focus went to Simon instead. Simon who was fighting off sobs.
“See you've trained him already. It should be easy enough to fix his priorities then. Shepherd threatened.
“Don't you fookin' dare.” Johnny glared. Even though he'd never say Roach was his pup, he still would defend him at every turn.
“I won't, as long as you give up on Makarov.”
Negotiation was one of the few things Soap couldn't stand to deal with when it was with people like this. Assholes who just didn't back down.
“B-bubba…” Simon wearily muttered, his head picked up slightly to see him.
Johnny's heart caught in his chest. Tears glossing over his own eyes. His boy, he needed to save him.
“Deal.” Price seemed to speak for him.
With their boys at risk, it was a no brainer. A deal would save both boys' lives. Even if it gave up their target.
“Perfect.” Shepherd smirked.
That sick grin, Soap wished he could smack it off his face.
“You'll see them at base then.”
That was so far. Too far and he didn't want to wait. Thank god Nikolai was close with their plane.
#call of duty#simon ghost riley#cod mw2#cod#john soap mactavish#ghostsoap#soapghost#09 ghost#09 soapghost#age regression#cod age regression#cod agere
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See Clearer
A lesson in self-love. Jaskier helps Geralt see something.
(general, 1.6k, read on AO3)
Geralt cannot find his glasses again.
It must be the eighth time this week, and he’s getting frustrated. Ever since Jaskier has convinced him to purchase these blasted devices from that eye healer who is not even a healer, he’s spent half of his reading time looking for it instead of having it aid his reading, as it’s supposed to.
“Make it for people with trouble seeing,” he mutters under his breaths while turning over all the blankets on their bed, “but, of course, make it fucking invisible.”
Geralt clenches his teeth and considers cursing a pair of glasses that has the audacity to be made of actual glass.
The bed is a mess, and he’s turned over every corner. Still, there’s no trace of it. He stares at nothing for a second, doubting his reality. In the end, he admits defeat and finds Jaskier in the living room, who is busy fussing over a new painting at his desk.
“Have you seen my glasses?”
Jaskier’s eyes are fixed on the painting, his fingers smoothing down the wooden frame. He’s not even looking up. “Have you checked your pocket?”
“Yes, I’ve checked my pocket.” Geralt is not growling. He’s not. He’d get made fun of for growling in their home.
“And your head?”
“Jaskier.” Geralt lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Will you get up and help me find it? It’s not on my—” His hand catches on something very similar to the metal frame of the glasses, which is resting on top of his head. Has been this whole time, apparently. “Fuck.”
Geralt goes still, standing in the doorway with his glasses safely found, feeling very smart.
“Happy to help, dear,” Jaskier says with a smile and a charming wink, and finally lifting his eyes. “Come here then. Look at this with me, now that you can see again. Where, do you say, we should hang it? Bedroom? Living room? We could use more landscape in the kitchen too, am I right?”
It takes a few long seconds for Geralt to will the embarrassment away and sit next to Jaskier. He puts on the glasses on his nose and looks down through them, and realizes that the painting looks familiar.
Too familiar.
It’s a simple painting, in the grand scheme of things—mountains in the background, a meadow that stretches into the distance, a chestnut mare standing against the rising sun, grazing on some flowers. Geralt’s fingers trace the lines in the same way these brush strokes traced these shapes.
“It’s mine,” Geralt says, surprised.
“Mm-hmm. I asked Eskel to send it over in a parcel. Did you know postage from Kaer Morhen is astonishingly cheap? Although I suppose he carried it to Ard Carraigh first, so really, it’s not that long a journey to the coast,” Jaskier babbles on, his face beaming with joy.
Even with the glasses, Geralt has to squint to make out the ribbon in Roach’s mane, a gift from a little girl, who loved the mare so much she had to leave her with something. It’s the same girl who gifted Geralt the paint and brushes for helping her cat down the roof.
The ribbon ends up being a frantic purple streak in the painting, showing how much of an amateur Geralt was. It’s the first and only painting he has done in his life.
“What do you say, another gem added to my collection?” Jaskier doesn’t wait for a replay before holding it up vertically and measures it against the wall. “Really, it is the most precious of them all. The space above our bed must make way now. Roach looks so dashing in there—”
“Don’t,” Geralt interrupts, frowning.
There’s a beat of silence before Jaskier turns his head, the smile still on his lips. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not good,” Geralt answers with the truth. Compared to the expensive art collection Jaskier has kept since his retirement, Geralt’s roadside scribble is nothing. “It’s ugly and…worthless. We have good art already. Why would you want to look at this?”
The comment slips out of his mouth on reflex. After all, Geralt was the one who kept the painting in a box and stashed it in the basement of Kaer Morhen. He’s always known his creation isn’t worth much, let alone deserving of Jaskier’s attention like his array of fine arts. He’s only speaking the truth.
But, for some reason, Jaskier’s smile fades.
He’s still holding the frame uncomfortably, the wood digging into his white knuckles. All happiness seems to drain from Jaskier’s being, and his scent sours.
“That is, um—” Jaskier swallows, his lips forming shapes before abandoning them. “It’s rather unkind of you.”
Even though Geralt can never miss the change in his scent, Jaskier keeps his face neutral to show no signs of hurt. It’s there though—the cloying smell of hurt and sadness. Geralt has sworn to never hurt Jaskier like this, to never make him smell of heartbreak again, but here they are.
He moves forward to soothe Jaskier, but the word makes him pause.
Unkind. It’s their old argument about Geralt not being kind enough to himself, always putting himself down. Jaskier has accused him of it many times over the years, and sulked at length when Geralt dismissed him.
It doesn’t matter, or at least, the way Geralt sees it. So what if he cannot accept kindness for himself? It doesn’t hurt anyone. He still treats his family gently, treats Jaskier gently, because he loves them so very much.
But then, there is the sour smell of Jaskier’s hurt.
Geralt’s cruelty is nothing new, but instead of himself, its sharp edges have cut into Jaskier deeply.
“Wait,” Geralt breathes. “Jaskier, I—”
“Is it not enough that I love it?” Jaskier’s voice is small, his eyes dimmed and his hands are still holding onto the painting for dear life. “I guess not. Well, then.”
“No, Jaskier.” Horrified, Geralt takes the wooden frame of the painting and sets it down against the wall. With both their hands free, he wraps around Jaskier’s wrists and brings them close. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
The smile that Jaskier forces on his face is nothing like the genuine thing from a moment ago, but he lets himself be guided to Geralt’s embrace, ending up in the space between the witcher’s legs.
“I don’t want to fight,” he says, squeezing Geralt’s hands. “Not over this again. I can’t change your mind, and I should have learned by now. You just—” Jaskier pauses. “—you refuse to see it, even in a painting.”
Why won’t you see yourself the way I see you? Jaskier’s question echoes in Geralt’s memory, overlapping with every iteration of the same fight. Why must you insist on hating yourself? Don’t you know how much it hurts?
Every time, Geralt assumed that the person Jaskier was trying to protect was him, when he failed to see any good in himself and tried to push Jaskier away as a result. He assumed that, in hurting himself, he could protect Jaskier.
How wrong he was.
“Forget it.” Jaskier sniffs, looking away. There are no tears, with Jaskier being stubborn like this. “I’ll send it back. You won’t have to look at it anymore.”
With that, Jaskier tries to pull away. His shoulders sag in the way that speaks of tiredness, of losing a battle too many times to the point of indifference.
But Geralt sees it now.
He doesn’t let go of Jaskier’s hands. Instead, he follows to a standing position so they are eye-to-eye.
“I see it now,” Geralt says, feeling a weight lifted off of his chest. The revelation hits him at full force, and suddenly all those fights turn bitter at the back of his mind. How could he have been so blind? “I was wrong.”
In hurting himself, he cannot avoid hurting Jaskier in the process.
Of course. Of course.
“No, you don’t.” Jaskier shakes his head. “After so many years, you still can’t bring yourself to be kinder. You still don’t know how much it hurts—”
“You,” Geralt adds, and Jaskier’s eyes meet his in shock. “It’s you I’ve been hurting. That’s where I’m wrong. I thought it makes no difference if hate…a painting. It’s only my painting.”
“But I love it,” Jaskier repeats.
“You do. So I shouldn’t have.”
“No?”
Geralt takes Jaskier’s hands and places a careful kiss into his palms. “No.”
“Will you try?” Jaskier asks. “Try to see the beauty in it? The way I see it?”
“Hmm.” Jaskier’s fingers are rubbed tender from holding the wooden frame, so Geralt kisses them again. “Roach looks good.”
“She does.”
He searches his heart and finds looking at his creation for the good in it actually feels nice. He traces each brushstroke, trying to remember that morning, that quiet loneliness that he used to mistake as home.
“And the sunrise,” Geralt muses. “It was a beautiful day. There was dew on the ground, and we were alone. The light looked like gold.”
“My favorite color.” Jaskier looks directly into Geralt’s eyes and cups his chin. “What else?”
“It’d look nice on our wall. Because you love it.”
“I love it,” Jaskier whispers. “And I love you.”
His voice breaks at the last word, shaky and soft, and Geralt hears the plea hidden underneath.
“I can try, Jaskier.” He’d try anything for Jaskier. “To be kinder to myself.”
“That’s all I ask.”
They gravitate towards each other, their forehead almost touching, but there’s a pair of glasses in the way. Jaskier chuckles, his fingers resting on Geralt’s temples. “Close your eyes,” he asks, so Geralt does.
The small weight on his nose is moved to the top of his head once again. When Geralt opens his eyes, he still sees Jaskier, his eyes tender and loving, with his real smile glistening warmly.
Geralt sees Jaskier, clear as the blue sky.
It’s all the reasons he needs to see himself in kinder ways too.
~~
Geralt wears reading glasses here. Well, he's old, and he'd look cute. Plus, he'd act like *a dad* when he can't find them. Imagine him in reading glasses in your free time please.
#geraskier#geraskier fic#established relationship#domesticity#old jaskier#old man geralt#who acts like A Dad
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"i must be hurt pretty bad if you’re being this nice to me." for geraskier please? <3
Let me love you, okay? Because I loved writing this, so thank you for requesting this. I even made a liddle gif and played around, so I couldn't post it before I was finished with this <3
(I’m always happy to receive requests, so if you want to, send some in. If you need inspiration, here are some prompt lists )
Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier | Geraskier
Warnings: angst, a little fluff, blood
Word count: 2172
Time was of the essence, Geralt knew that better than anyone, as he was urging Roach on to go faster, Jaskier in front of him. In one hand, he held the reigns, the other was pressing Jaskier against him, who was sitting in front of him. This served two purposes: one, to keep him upright and on top of Roach; two, to still the bleeding from his shoulder. He'd already lost a lot of blood, but he was still conscious, though Geralt didn't know how long he would still hold on. He'd stopped complaining about the pain just a little while ago, which wasn't a good sign. Jaskier, who usually wasn't able to stop talking, had gotten quiet, and that wasn't a good sign.
“Jaskier, you need to stay with me!” Geralt urged him, trying to look at his face. His eyes were still open, but a little unfocused.
“I must be hurt pretty bad if you're being this nice to me,” he heard the bard say. Was that a smile on his lips?
“What are you talking about?” He didn't want to worry him more than was necessary, but the truth was that it wasn't nice. Geralt was pretty sure that his shoulder was dislocated – which Geralt could have fixed were it not for the other injuries – and his arm was broken. The bleeding hadn't stopped, but it had become less.
“You never let me ride on Roach. Must be something special.” That idiot really tried to laugh, but it ended up in coughing, which made Geralt look ahead to check how far they still had to go. They'd said right before that they would meet Yennefer afterwards, that they would head straight for where she was staying at the moment, but he hadn't expected it to be like that. Get the job done, get to Yennefer, enjoy a nice evening catching up. Now, it looked quite different.
“Yeah well...” What was he supposed to say to this? It was true, he'd never let Jaskier ride on Roach before. He really wished that there was a different reason for doing so right now, but he needed Yennefer's help with Jaskier's injuries – the sooner the better. “A first time for everything, right?” Now, he was trying to lighten the mood, which resulted in Jaskier chuckling again, but his hand tightened around the Witcher's forearm. Laughing wasn't ideal right now, because it was too painful for him.
“Gotta enjoy this ride,” Jaskier said, voice a tad quieter than before, making Geralt nearly panic, but as long as the bard had his eyes open, they were okay. Not good, but okay, but as soon as he lost consciousness, things would turn to bad really quickly.
“Yeah, you better do, because next time, you'll be walking again!” Geralt managed a warm smile. Years ago he'd wanted to get rid of the bard – no, he didn't want him dead, just somewhere else than by his side – but now, he felt lonely as soon as Jaskier wasn't with him. It was quiet, lonely, while before meeting him Geralt had been used to this silence, had even enjoyed it. Sure, he'd talked to Roach, he still did, but that was more a way of getting his thoughts out into the open. Freeing his mind so to say. He'd also talked to Roach about Jaskier, about what was going on with him. Geralt had realized weeks, even months ago, that he felt more for the bard than just friendship, but he was still trying to figure out what to do about it. He'd only felt like this once in his life – among the woman they were going to right now. They'd long decided that they were better off as friends, and it was the truth. Sure, there was banter now and then, and Yennefer would always hold a special place in his heart, someone he loved – like family. Jaskier on the other hand... He really made Geralt's heart beat faster, and even though, he could be aggravating sometimes, Geralt always found himself smiling in the end.
“Jaskier, stay awake. You can sleep later,” he quickly said when he saw Jaskier's eyes drift close. The bard opened them again, tried to keep it that way, because he knew as well as Geralt that losing consciousness wouldn't be helpful right now. And he wanted to help.
“You feel so warm, Geralt,” he mumbled, raising his head a little, turned it to the side to look at the Witcher. “And you smell so good.” Jaskier leaned his forehead against the side of Geralt's face, breathing in deeply. “Makes me wanna kiss you.”
“You're talking nonsense,” the Witcher answered, not moving an inch to keep Jaskier right where he was. His words made Geralt feel even warmer than he already was, his heart pick up its pace, because this was giving him hope. False hope probably, and he didn't want to take Jaskier seriously on what he was saying. Once he was better, he'll have forgotten all about this. “We're nearly there.”
“No nonsense...” Geralt felt Jaskier's breath against his own chin as he spoke, could feel Jaskier's hand on his chest, fingers fanned out right above his heart. “Can I kiss you?” It must have been all the blood loss, the injuries, the pain he was in, because he probably didn't even realise what he was saying.
“Sure,” was all Geralt managed to say, when he already felt Jaskier's lips against the side of his neck. For a moment, he closed his eyes to revel in the feeling.
“Can't reach you lips...” whispered words that made Geralt nearly lose his mind, because all kind of feelings were flooding his body, while he needed to focus.
“You can do that once you're better, okay?”
Jaskier nodded slightly, seemingly happy with that answer, while Geralt was more than happy, when they arrived at the cottage they were supposed to meet Yennefer at.
“YEN!” he yelled for her even before he'd gotten of Roach, carefully pulling Jaskier down, who was still awake, but not far from passing out anymore.
“Why are you yelling at me without even greeting me?” The sorceress answered as soon as she was out the door, but when she saw Jaskier leaning on Geralt, pale, his clothes covered in blood, she knew why the Witcher hadn't knocked and said hello first. This was urgent. “Come on, follow me.” She lead them inside so that Geralt could place Jaskier on her bed, making the bard hiss in pain.
“I kissed him,” the bard managed to say with a little smile on his lips, before his eyes closed. Yennefer only glanced at Geralt, not asking questions now, because she had to get to work now, and she couldn't deal with Geralt watching her every move. He knew that, because he knew her, but he was still a little reluctant when he closed the door behind him.
“He'll be alright.”
Yennefer's voice pulled him out of his thoughts some time later. Geralt had busied himself with cleaning up and putting on some new clothes as well as taking care of Roach, making sure she had everything she needed, so he was still outside with her. The fresh air at least cleared his mind a little bit.
“He'll be sore for a couple of days and he has to be a little careful and use his arm as little as possible.” She stepped closer to him, hearing him scoff. “Yeah I know that won't be easy, but if I have to, I'll strap him to that bed.” Geralt knew how much she cared for the bard, though she would probably deny it outright if he said anything about it, so Geralt simply kept his mouth shut. “So... he kissed you?!” Of course she had to ask that, Geralt had already expected it, because she was too nosy to just leave it at that. “Wait, are you blushing?”
“I am not!”
She was enjoying this, more than she would let on, but the smile on her lips spoke volumes. “Yes you are. Adorable.” The mocking tone in her voice made him roll his eyes, but he much preferred it to the fear that had been with his for the last couple of hours. “So, tell me!”
“He kissed my neck, okay? He asked if he could kiss me and I said yes, because...” Because he thought Jaskier might die in his arms? Because Jaskier wanted to do this?
“Because you wanted him to kiss you.” Yennefer finished his sentence for him. Sometimes, it was scary how much she really knew him, how much she knew what was going on inside him.
“Yes,” Geralt admitted with a sigh, not looking at her. He didn't even know himself how it had happened, how was he supposed to explain it to her?
“Then go in there and let that man kiss you!” Yennefer crossed her arms, but her words had made Geralt look up at her again, a scowl on his face. “Come on, I've seen the way you look at each other. If you hadn't admitted it to yourself, I would have given the two of you a shove in the right direction. Gods, that it takes one of you being injured like this for you two to make a move.” She shook her head smiling to herself. She'd watched them for some time, had known it maybe even before it had been clear to Geralt. Jaskier on the other hand had already confided in her, tried his best to hide his feelings for the Witcher, but after today, there was no more hiding anymore.
“Do I have to repeat myself?” she asked, gesturing towards the front door of her cottage to get Geralt moving.
“No, I'm already on my way.” Geralt couldn't help but smile, as he walked to Yennefer to give her a hug and whisper 'Thank you', before he made his way inside the cottage.
Jaskier already looked a lot better than he'd done before. He was sitting up in Yennefer's bed, leaning against the headboard of the bed. His face immediately lit up when he saw Geralt. The Witcher had no idea what Yennefer had given the bard, all the things she'd done, but he didn't care. Jaskier was alive and he'd be back to his old self in no time.
“How are you feeling?” Geralt sat down on the bed, his eyes never leaving Jaskier, scanning him up and down to make sure that everything was really still where it was supposed to be. Once he was sure, a smile spread on his lips, relief flooded his body, and he felt himself finally relax.
“I won't play the lute for some time, but apart from that, I'm alright. Thanks to you rushing us here.”
“That was mostly Roach's job to be fair.” His words made Jaskier chuckle, and this time, it didn't end in a fit of coughing and trying to stay able to breathe. The bard reached out his hand to put it on top of Geralt's.
“Thank you, Geralt.” The smile on Jaskier's lips was soft, his eyes lighting up as he looked at Geralt.
“I'm just glad you're okay,” Geralt said, turnign his hands around so that he could take Jaskier's in his. “About what you said... The kiss-”
“Oh forget it, I was just...” Jaskier struggled to find the right words, to say what he wanted to say, because right now... that was the right moment to own up to it, to admit what he was feeling, what he'd kept to himself all these months. He looked down at their joined hands, still trying to find the words to say to the Witcher.
Before he could finish what he'd started to say, though, Geralt moved closer, made Jaskier raise his head again by putting a finger beneath his chin. Geralt's lips were soft against his, softer than he'd expected, but then again, he hadn't expected to kiss the Witcher like this at all. When he wanted to reach up his hand to place it on Geralt's cheek, he winced, breaking the kiss. For a moment there, he'd forgotten that he wasn't supposed to use that hand, and the pain had reminded him instantly.
Geralt chuckled against Jaskier's lips, before he pulled back a little bit. “You need to be careful with that.”
“How am I supposed to be careful when you're stealing the breath from my lungs?” Jaskier said in a husky voice, eyes locked with Geralt's.
“I wouldn't call it stealing. Borrowing maybe...” Geralt whispered before closing the distance to connect his lips with Jaskier's again, trying to borrow some of his air again. Now that he'd started, he didn't know if he could stop so soon.
#staffi writes#the witcher imagine#the witcher fanfic#the witcher fic#geralt x jaskier#jaskier x geralt#geraskier#geraskier fic#geraskier imagine#geraskier fanfiction#geralt of rivia#jaskier#asks#I love doing these prompts it's so much fun
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Hi! Could I request 23 + 9 for Geraskier please? 💖
Thank you for the prompt!! This is the first thing I've written and actually finished in a month so that is quite satisfying. Set somewhere before the dragon hunt
23. Post argument & 9. “Listen, I know it’s hard, but I’m not going anywhere.” from this prompt list
Afterwards, Jaskier cannot remember what started the argument.
It was something small, he thinks, that spiraled out of control as they both lashed out like wounded animals. The fight had only ended when Geralt stormed out of the room. Jaskier had fumed for half an hour before panic struck him, realizing that Geralt hadn’t actually brought his things up yet, so he might have just… left. He might be gone. Jaskier has gotten quite good at finding Geralt over the years, but he’s never had to do so with the witcher actively trying to avoid him and he might. Jaskier doesn’t think this fight was enough to merit that, but he also hasn’t ever seen Geralt quite so angry before.
He makes his way downstairs with a great deal of trepidation, forcing himself out of the inn and over to the stable. Better to know now if Geralt is gone, he reasons, than to wait to see if he ever returns to the room.
At the familiar sight of Roach all the tension drains out of Jaskier at once. Geralt isn’t gone, which means there is still a chance for them to fix this. He moves into the stable and leans against Roach’s stall, looking down to see Geralt sitting with his back against the wall. He must know that Jaskier is there, but he doesn’t open his eyes or move. Jaskier considers for a moment before he turns his attention to Roach, crooning compliments to her and waits for Geralt to be ready to talk.
After a few moments Geralt unfolds enough to meet Jaskier’s gaze. “Why are you here?”
“Visiting Roach?” Jaskier offers.
Geralt snorts and rises to his feet. “Not that. Why are you—why are you still following me?”
“You’re my friend, Geralt,” Jaskier says. “I like traveling with you, even if you are an absolute arse at times.”
Geralt considers this for a long moment and Jaskier stays quiet. He knows Geralt well enough to know when he needs quiet, needs time to process. And he knows that he often disregards that.
“I am sorry for pushing,” Jaskier adds, an olive branch.
Geralt shakes his head. “You… weren’t entirely wrong. I could have asked for help. Should have, maybe.”
“The world won’t end if you admit you want help.”
Geralt’s expression is rueful. “Witchers aren’t supposed to want help. It’s… we need to be self-sufficient. It isn’t safe otherwise.”
Jaskier wishes, not for the first time, that he had the power to reshape the world to make it a kinder place. “Maybe. But I want to help, Geralt, so it’s not what you are used to, but it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
“And when you leave?” Geralt asks. “What then? If I let you in, get used to having”—he pauses, looking as if he might not continue. Might have said more than he meant to—“Having someone and then you leave?”
“Why are you so sure I’ll leave?”
“Why wouldn’t you? The Path isn’t kind, you know that. I don’t know why you’ve chosen to follow me this long, but someday you’ll find something better. It wouldn’t be hard.”
“It would be.”
“What?”
“It would be hard,” Jaskier says. “To find something better. Sure, the road isn’t always kind, but I wanted to travel even before I met you. I wouldn’t be happy being kept in some court, like a bird in a cage.”
“Hm.”
Jaskier considers Geralt for a moment, sees the vulnerability in his expression. “Fuck it,” he says quietly, mostly to himself. “I’m in love with you. That’s the reason I’ve chosen to follow you. It’s the reason I’ll keep choosing to follow you. For as long as you’ll have me.”
Geralt doesn’t do anything for a long terrible moment and then he’s across the stall faster than Jaskier can blink. Jaskier stumbles out of the way as Geralt slips out the door and then, when there is only a few feet between them, freezes as if unsure what to do next.
Jaskier smiles at him. “Listen, I know it’s hard, but I’m not going anywhere.”
Geralt reaches out and takes Jaskier’s hand, pulling him closer. “I don’t know how to do this,” he says softly. “Nobody’s ever wanted to stay before.”
“Their loss,” Jaskier says. Geralt rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond and some of the tension leaves his posture.
“I want you to stay,” Geralt confesses. “Despite my better judgment.”
“Rude!”
Geralt hums in agreement and then he leans in and kisses Jaskier, just a gentle touch before he pulls back slightly to rest their foreheads together. “I love you too.”
Jaskier knows he’s probably grinning like a fool, but he can’t bring himself to mind. He knows there are still things to discuss, that there will still be hard times ahead; when Geralt struggles to accept help and when Jaskier pushes further than he should, but he knows without a doubt that it will be worth it.
#geraskier#geralt#jaskier#geraskier fic#witcher fic#my writing#this is not beta read so im sorry for any mistakes#i just wanted to show my terrible brain that i could in fact still write things#asks#prompt fill
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@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo
Prompt: Favorite Food
Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier
Rating: G
Content Warnings: None
Summary: Jaskier gets Geralt a gift, and it makes Geralt realize he doesn't know enough about what Jaskier likes. He forms a plan to figure it out.
ao3
The small cheesecloth package that was dropped in front of him wasn’t necessarily a surprise, but the way that Jaskier hovered as Geralt picked it up was.
“What’s this?” he grunted, sniffing the air subtly. The little package smelled like honey and flour and cream, and the thick, sweet smell of-- “Are those dates?” He pulled the cheesecloth off to reveal a neat little tart, gently browned on the edges, about the size of his palm.
“It is!” Jaskier leaned over him slightly, his arms holding several more packages. He continued, sounding a little nervous. “I know you don’t usually enjoy sweets, but I know the dates are your favorite. Must feed that witcher metabolism, no?”
“No,” Geralt eyed the tart. “Our metabolism is more efficient, not faster.”
“Oh,” Jaskier said, deflating slightly. “Well, if you don’t want it I guess I can--”
“How did you know that date was my favorite?” Geralt interrupted, looking back up at Jaskier. Oddly, he could see the bard color slightly at the question, an appealing pink spreading across his cheekbones.
“You bought a jar of jam from that merchant from Toussaint, remember? You never buy jam, unless it’s for me, so I assumed you must have a preference for it. I mean, unless you don’t, which is fine, I can… Well, not eat it, I hate dates, but I’m sure I can find some mangy child to give it to, or a dog, or something. Do you hate it? You hate it.”
Geralt picked up the tart and bit into it, giving Jaskier a raised eyebrow. It was honestly more of a miniature pie than a tart, the flaky crust filled with dates and prunes covered in a custardy filling, sweetened through with honey. The flavors burst across his tongue, the tart still warm. Jaskier must have picked it up at the market and come directly here to give it to him. Geralt swallowed the first bite, looking into Jaskier’s apprehensive face, and said, “Thanks.”
Jaskier visibly relaxed, shuffling onto the bench across from Geralt and beginning to relay the events of the morning market. Geralt hummed where he was meant to and sipped his watered down ale and ate his tart. If Jaskier noticed his absent mindedness, he said nothing.
Jaskier… knew what his favorite fruit was. The knowledge should not have come as a shock, Geralt knew. Jaskier was often getting him gifts - oil for Roach’s tack, new clothes when Geralt’s last threadbare shirt gave out, potion ingredients when he ran low. Sometimes he bought Geralt useless things, little bobbles or trinkets he saw that he thought Geralt might like or find amusing, and Geralt kept them safely at the bottom of his bag, or in his room at Kaer Morhen. He cherished those things, things that told him Jaskier thought about him when he wasn’t near. It was nice, to be thought of.
But for some reason this little gift felt different. Jaskier had known his favorite food, and Geralt had never told him. Dates weren’t particularly common in the North, and it was rare that they were far south enough to meet merchants who carried them up from Nilfgaard. Geralt could remember when he’d bought the jam, hoping it would last him a while, but he couldn’t recall a single other time in recent memory that he’d eaten dates, or even mentioned them. He didn’t tend to wallow on things that were unavailable to him.
His eyes lingered on Jaskier as he spun a tale about haggling in the square. No, Geralt didn’t make a habit of wishing for what he couldn’t have.
Still, there was a problem at hand, one he had to solve. Jaskier knew Geralt’s favorite food. He might know Geralt’s favorite everything. Did he know that Geralt’s favorite color was blue, the wide, free color of the sky on the first day of spring? Did he know that Geralt’s favorite thing to drink wasn’t wine or vodka, but warm honeyed milk like his mother made when he couldn’t sleep as a tiny child? He certainly knew that Geralt liked the scent of chamomile and sage best in his bathwater, and that he preferred cotton shirts over linen, and that he would pick a song with a sad ending over a happy one. If he’d been paying this much attention, there was probably quite a lot that Jaskier knew about him, without Geralt having said a word.
And he didn’t know a thing about Jaskier.
What was Jaskier’s favorite color? Was it blue, like the doublets he so often wore, or was that just to match his eyes? Did he really like wine the best, or did he just like it better than ale? What was his favorite season? His favorite weather? Did he go to Oxenfurt every winter because it was where he could find work, or did he prefer Novigrad, or Vizima? Geralt could tell how Jaskier was going to react every time someone recognized him on the street, anytime a young lad or lass winked at him, even what he might say if Geralt gave the right sort of hum. But he didn’t know much about him, at the end of the day.
He needed to find out. As they packed up their belongings and set out on the road once again, leaving the small town behind them, Geralt ruminated on what could be done to rectify this situation. He couldn’t very well just ask Jaskier about all these things. After all, Jaskier had figured it all out with nary a word from Geralt. He didn’t need to ask; he was paying attention. Which made Geralt’s chest feel oddly warm and heavy, knowing that Jaskier was watching him, paying heed to his reactions and filing them away. Maybe it should have felt invasive, to know that he was being read so easily without his knowing, but instead it just felt… nice. To be known.
He wanted Jaskier to feel known too. He wanted to know Jaskier.
He would start small. Jaskier had given him food, something he knew Geralt would like. It couldn’t be that difficult to figure out what Jaskier liked. Geralt could start bringing him small things, pass it off as returning the favor, and guage Jaskier’s reaction. It would be simple, he mused, eying Jaskier from atop Roach as they walked side by side. His hair was mussed slightly from sleep, still, and he hadn’t bothered to fix it before heading out for the day. No one to impress, Geralt guessed, just the two of them and the road. He liked Jaskier this way, less pinned up and proper, more open. Letting Geralt see him without all of his armor, because that’s what it was, as surely as the leather on Geralt’s back was his. Right now, Jaskier was an open book. All Geralt had to do was pay enough attention to read him.
*
It was not easy to figure out what Jaskier liked.
The problem, Geralt quickly found, was that Jaskier was enthusiastic about almost everything. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. When he disliked something, he made his distaste abundantly clear. He was dramatic, which should have made it even easier to determine what delighted him the most. Geralt expected that, when he found it, poetic stanzas would be flowing like wine from Jaskier’s tongue, praising whatever it was. He had no reason to expect Jaskier to be subtle about his preferences.
And he wasn’t. The issue was that he seemed to react with the exact same level of excitement about everything Geralt brought him. On the first day they arrived in a new town, Geralt went to the market and brought Jaskier a small basket of strawberries, which Jaskier enthused over for half the morning. Geralt was pleased. Maybe it had been that easy, and he’d intuitively known what Jaskier liked. Maybe he had unconsciously been paying attention all along. He congratulated himself on figuring out at least one piece of the puzzle, and began thinking about how he might approach the next step.
But then he unthinkingly bought Jaskier a few sweetbreads when he was out the next day getting lunch. He’d been getting himself some, he thought of Jaskier sitting in their shared room, composing a ballad about the hunt Geralt had been on the night previously. He’d brought him the extra meats, and Jaskier had nearly the same reaction. Gushing over the gift, thanking Geralt for thinking of him. Lamenting his own forgetfulness, for getting so caught up in his work that he would forget to eat, as Geralt expected he might have. And Geralt was confused, because he didn’t think a few offal from a market stall in a half pint city in Velen was what Jaskier would like. Certainly not something he could call a favorite.
But he’d reacted the same to the sweetbreads as the berries. So Geralt was back to square one.
He reevaluated his metrics. So Jaskier reacted that way to anything he liked, apparently. It was odd; Geralt had seen Jaskier enthusiastically dig into a wide variety of foods over the years, but he didn’t praise them and rave about them the way he had done the berries and the meats. So he must have legitimately enjoyed both of them more than he would any old dish. But neither of them had seemed to outweigh the other. He still didn’t know what Jaskier liked best.
Over the next several weeks of their travel, Geralt bought Jaskier enough tortas and crepes and stews that he knew it was boarding on suspicious behavior. If it was any other situation, any other two people, he knew it might come off like courtship. Every time he offered Jaskier some new morsel, he could feel the back of his neck grow hot at the implications. But Jaskier only ever grinned in delight at whatever Geralt offered him, flushed and pleased no more or less than he had been at all the others. If he suspected any sort of foul play, he never said anything.
It was infuriating. After three weeks of spending more coin that he cared to count at markets and roadside stalls and taverns, he was no closer to figuring out Jaskier’s favorite food than he had been at the outset. It all seemed to go over well, which was gratifying, but he couldn’t tell what Jaskier liked the most of it all. Maybe he just wasn’t as good at reading Jaskier as he thought. He’d thought he was a master of it, at this point - he could tell when Jaskier was tired during a performance, even though his smile never flagged; he could tell when Jaskier was being dramatic about an injury and when he was actually in pain; he could tell the difference between righteous anger versus petty versus hurt. In most respects he felt like Jaskier was an open book, but there was nothing in his reactions to Geralt’s gifts that said he was anything less than entirely pleased to receive them.
He was running out of ideas. Giving Jaskier gifts one at a time was clearly not working; either none of them were right, or Geralt was misremembering Jaskier’s enthusiasm for the ones in the past. He needed to give Jaskier a selection and see for himself what was best, side by side.
It took another week to plan, mostly due to location. They needed to stay in one place for a few days, so that Geralt could collect the things he would need, and it was rare that the two of them were in one town for more than a day. Large contracts were few and far between, and it never took Geralt more than a single night to clear out some ghouls or drowners from an area.
As luck would have it, however, they were only a few days out from Carreras. Geralt pointed them in that direction, claiming that they would likely be able to find multiple contracts in one place there, and that Jaskier could take a few days to play for their small selection of inns and taverns. It wasn’t entirely a lie; there probably would be more contracts posted in a larger settlement, which would mean a solid few jobs to refill Geralt’s pockets. He would need the extra coin to execute his plan.
The first two days of their stay were filled mostly with real work. The city had been having issues with contaminated water, which sent Geralt out to investigate all the wells, and by the time he found the drowner that had fallen into the water supply a full day had passed. He was able to fill another two contracts on their second day, but the triple confrontations over less than 48 hours left him feeling bruised and exhausted.
It was Jaskier who suggested it, in the end. Pulling a comb through Geralt’s hair as the witcher let himself soak in the bath, Jaskier said, “What if we stayed for an extra day or two? The crowds have been good, and Barclay - the innkeeper, I don’t know if you’ve spoken to him - he offered us a discount if I play tonight and tomorrow.” His hand fell to Geralt’s shoulder, warm and comforting. “You could… take a few days.”
It had been his plan to stay, but Geralt felt an ache behind his breastbone at Jaskier’s careful suggestion. Always trying to take care of him, as if Geralt were someone who needed protecting, someone who deserved something like a vacation. He didn’t think he did, but it was nice, as always, to think that Jaskier cared. “Hmm,” was all he said, a soft sound of agreement. His eyes slipped shut as he basked in the quiet content of Jaskier’s company, and they said nothing else on the matter.
The next day he felt rejuvenated, the burn of overexertion in his muscles faded after a hard night’s sleep. Jaskier had played after getting him out of the bath and settled into bed, but he’d returned later, smelling of sweat and rosemary and catgut. Geralt had slept well with his solid weight by his side, pressed into the too-slim bed.
He spent most of the day preparing. The market was busy and bursting when he found it in the afternoon, though not as packed as he was used to seeing in larger settlements like Novigrad. There was a bakery on the corner from which the rich scent of fresh bread spilled out into the square, and the people at the stalls were standing around amiably, chatting about local affairs and peddling their individual wares to one and other. It was a homey little trade network, and despite his strangeness, Geralt didn’t feel unwelcome.
He made several minor purchases before he found his way to the bakery. It wasn’t as crowded as he’d feared, and he waited until the one or two customers before him had made their way out. The woman working the counter was twig thin despite her occupation, thin blonde hair tied up away from her face and covered by a light cloth, probably to keep flour out of it. Her eyes were blue, pale as diamonds. Geralt couldn’t help but think that Jaskier’s were nicer.
He made her nervous, it was easy to see, but she quickly warmed to him when he told her what he was looking for. Whether it was his gold that excited her or his plan, he couldn’t say, but regardless she helped him pick out his desired items with enthusiasm.
“If you’re planning to use them later tonight, I can make up a basket and have it ready for you. So nothing goes cold,” she explained, her forearms resting on the counter. “The pies are really best that way.”
Geralt nodded, and handed over her coin.
Jaskier would be back soon from where he was playing the lunch crowd at one of the taverns. Geralt rushed back to their room and put the purchases he had with him at the bottom of his pack, a blanket spread over them. Jaskier returned not fifteen minutes later, flushed and grinning. A successful performance, then. Good. When Jaskier was in a good mood he was more amenable to doing what Geralt said. “When do you play this evening?” Geralt asked, not looking up from where he was cleaning his sword at the small table they’d been provided.
Jaskier set his lute case down gently against the wall and then flung off his doublet with much less care, flopping down on to the bed. Geralt forced himself to keep his eyes on his work, though the image that awaited him - Jaskier, spread out, his shirt falling open to reveal the smooth line of his throat and his sharp collar bones - burned against the back of his eyes anyways. “Not until nightfall,” Jaskier answered with a content sigh. “After the dinner crowd. Why? Do you have plans?”
“Do you remember where we stopped on the first day, the hill just before town? By the brook.” He set his steel sword aside and reached for the silver, which was the one that truly needed attention. So many contracts in a row had left her chipped in a few places, and dull all around. Geralt set his whetstone down, but didn’t draw it across the blade yet. Waiting for Jaskier’s answer. He felt his stomach twist with something like nerves, which was ridiculous. This wasn’t anything risky, anything that Jaskier would read into - probably. Probably.
“Sure,” Jaskier answered easily.
“Can you meet me there?” Geralt asked. “An hour or so before you have to play?”
He heard Jaskier sit up, could feel the bard looking at him curiously. His gaze warmed the side of Geralt’s face, and he refused to look up and meet those bright blue eyes. “Did something happen? Do we need to get out of town?”
Geralt rolled his eyes, amusement bubbling up within him. “No. Nothing bad. Just… meet me?”
Jaskier was silent for a long moment, long enough that Geralt gave up and turned to look at him. He was regarding Geralt with a curious expression, almost guarded. But all he said was, “Alright. I can do that.”
Geralt nodded, satisfied, and returned to his task.
*
He left before Jaskier, stating the need to drop by the herbalist's shop and that if he wasn’t back - as he didn’t intend to be - that Jaskier should go to the meeting place on his own. Geralt made his own way back to the bakery, where his basket of goods was waiting as promised. He tipped the girl well, and set out with his pack containing the blanket and other purchases on his shoulder, and the basket on his arm.
It was a nice evening, warm and thick with the last hints of summer. It would be fall soon; he could taste it in the faint hint of decay that lingered on his tongue whenever he took a deep breath of the air beyond the city. But for now it was still hot enough during the day that the evenings were comfortable. Geralt found his way back along the road to where they’d stopped to water Roach at the nearby stream, just before the landscape dropped down into the shallow valley that held the large town. He made his way off the path, far enough away that they wouldn’t be obvious from the road, to a raised patch of earth that looked down over the fields as they spread out below. It was a lovely sight, the landscape rich in the evening light, the dying sun casting the rooftops of the city in rich gold. Jaskier would appreciate the scenery, at least.
Geralt quickly set up, laying out the blanket and pulling out the supplies from the basket. He’d maybe gone slightly overboard. There was a meat pie, several stuffed rolls, a hearty cabbage stew in two small bowls kept covered by plates tied to them; a loaf of fresh rye bread, with cheese and jam and honey to go with it; berries and apples with cream; a plethora of desserts, including an entire apple pie, along with little marzipan candies and several little cakes. Two bottles of wine, one white, one red. As he laid out item after item, Geralt felt unease stir within him. It was too much, he realized, seeing it all together. That had been his goal, after all, to see Jaskier eat as many things as possible, to get a sense, at least, of where his preferences lay. But this was overwhelming. Jaskier would realize something was amiss. A picnic, laid out in perfect detail, in the warm light of the evening, fields spread out beyond them and the forest to their back. It was obviously, sickeningly romantic, he realized. So very obviously beyond what one might do to spend an hour eating dinner with a friend. Panic rose in his throat, choking him, and he grabbed one of the wine bottles, thinking to put it away. If he could put some of it back, maybe it wouldn’t look so much like--
“Geralt?”
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting the desire to curse, and turned around. He hoped none of his apprehension showed on his face.
Jaskier was a few feet away, carrying nothing but his lute on his back. He was looking down at the spread with a shocked expression, eyebrows pulled up nearly into his hairline and eyes open wide. “What’s… all this?” he asked, his gaze flickering back up to meet Geralt’s.
“Dinner,” Geralt grunted, putting the wine bottle down. In for a penny, he thought grimly.
He watched several different expressions flicker across Jaskier’s face, too quick to parse. For a moment Geralt thought he looked almost… sad, or maybe anxious, but then he broke into a wide grin. The honest delight pouring off of him made Geralt let out a slight sigh, relief blooming in his chest. “Oh, well isn’t this just wondrous,” Jaskier laughed. He pulled his lute from his shoulder and set it in the grass beside the blanket, and folded himself down amongst Geralt’s offerings. A hand reached up towards him. “Are you going to join me?” Jaskier asked, raising a playful eyebrow. Geralt grumbled, but carefully sat down next to the bard and began dishing out the food.
It was good, all of it, but Geralt hardly paid it any mind, focused entirely on Jaskier’s reactions. The constant flow of conversation was interrupted every time Jaskier took a bite of something new - “This is delicious, have you tried this yet?” and “We must find out what spices they used for this stew, it’s absolutely the best I’ve had in months” and “Geralt, where did you find marzipan? Look at these little things, the details are impressive.” Throughout it all, Geralt watched his face, listened to his words, paid attention to what he returned to and what he didn’t.
And by the end, he was ready to tear his hair out.
Jaskier seemed to enjoy everything. He finished every helping he took, praised every dish, thanked Geralt for each and every selection he’d made. Even with so many choices, it didn’t seem to matter. Jaskier liked them all, but Geralt couldn’t tell what he liked the best. Not the way Jaskier apparently could do for him.
Finally Jaskier flopped back into the grass, one hand on his stomach. “I don’t think I’ve been so full in years,” he groaned, staring up at the sky with heavy eyelids. “Probably since the last banquet I played at. You really outdid yourself, my dear.”
Fuck it. He had to ask. “Anything you liked in particular?”
Jaskier hummed, closing his eyes. “Mm, how could I choose? Everything was so lovely.”
Frustration clawed at him. Before he could stop himself, Geralt heard himself ask, “Do you even have a favorite food?”
Immediately he clamped his mouth shut, jaw clenched hard. He hadn’t meant to ask that. He wasn’t supposed to, he was supposed to--
“Oh, I don’t know if I have a favorite favorite,” Jaskier droned, blinking his eyes open to peer up at the sky again, this time with a thoughtful expression on his face. “There’s just such a range, you know. I suppose when it comes to desserts, there’s these custards that they make in Toussaint, have you had them? Tiny things, very sweet, with saffron and cinnamon. Delicious. We’ll have to get some next we go so far south.”
Geralt was hardly listening, even though he knew that had been the entire point. He’d failed. Jaskier had told him the answer to his question, which meant he was never going to have the chance to prove that he could learn Jaskier as Jaskier had learned him. He couldn’t prove his friendship, his affection, through his actions. Jaskier would never be interested in Geralt the way that Geralt was in him, but he’d hoped he could at least let some of his true feelings bleed into his actions, into the careful way he paid attention. Jaskier had already done so as nothing more than Geralt’s friend. Now he would never be able to pay him back in kind, not truly.
Jaskier turned his head to look at him, brow furrowed curiously. He must have been silent for too long. Geralt quickly schooled his features into neutrality, but some of his distress must have peaked through, because Jaskier frowned at him. Geralt could feel the incoming conversation before Jaskier even opened his mouth. He tried to get ahead of it, talking over the beginning of Jaskier’s soft inquiry. “We should head back,” he grunted, rising abruptly to his feet. “You have to play.”
“Geralt,” Jaskier said, in a tone that made Geralt’s stomach fill with dread. That was Jaskier’s no nonsense, absolutely-you-will-not-be-getting-out-of-this tone. He turned back towards Jaskier, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The bard had clamoured to his feet when Geralt stood up, and was now stepping around the blanket towards him. Geralt wanted to retreat further, to shove the remains of the picnic back in his bag and hide the evidence, but he knew it wouldn’t save him. He was being too obvious, and Jaskier knew him too well.
The bard eyed him suspiciously, but there was a note of concern in the way his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked, this time a bit softer. “I thought we were having a lovely time.”
“We… It was. It was nice. I just think it’s time to go.” Jaskier gave him a shrewd look. Not buying it then. Geralt sighed. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s not you.”
“I certainly hope not,” Jaskier chuckled. The sound was thin, like that was exactly what he had been worried about. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks. I wondered if-- Well. But if it’s not about me, it’s something else? Are you trying to butter me up for something? Is there a big scary adventure you’re about to tell me I’m not allowed to come on?” His gaze turned sharp again, but this time there was something like fear underneath it. “Are you leaving me behind?”
“No,” Geralt said quickly, his hands rising in a placating manner. “I’m not leaving you, Jaskier, I swear it. It’s just…” He petered off, unsure how to continue. How to explain.
“It’s just what?” Jaskier demanded. “Why have you been so damnably nice to me lately? Are you dying?” His eyes widened. “Am I dying?”
“No, Jaskier, of course not, just--”
“Then why the gifts?” Jaskier spread his hands around their little picnic, an easy example of exactly what he was talking about.
Geralt’s resistance shattered. “I was trying to figure you out,” he snapped. “I don’t know you, not like you know me. You know everything about me. You pay attention, even when I don’t say anything. You knew I liked dates because I bought jam months ago. You know me better than anyone, but I don’t know you. I don’t know what your favorite food is, or your favorite color, or what you like to wear, or what your favorite kinds of songs are, or your favorite season. I’ve been looking. I tried to figure it out, I tried to bring things I thought you would like and see what you liked best, but it seems like you like everything. You don’t always… say what you mean. I can’t tell when you’re faking and when you’re not.” Geralt was tense, fists clenched at his sides, jaw hard. He knew he looked angry. Jaskier probably thought he was mad at him, for some reason, but all Geralt felt was fear. He wasn’t good enough. Jaskier had to see that now. Geralt had known him for years, and he couldn’t even say whether Jaskier preferred blueberry jam to strawberry. What kind of friend was he?
A hand took his, gently pulling his fingers apart. He jerked his head over to stare as Jaskier stepped forward to slip their fingers together, squeezing softly. When he looked up, Jaskier was regarding him fondly.
“My favorite color is yellow,” he said. “I wear the silk doublets a lot, because they’re in fashion, but I prefer a linen shirt because it’s not as sweaty. I like songs about adventure, but books about romance.” His other hand lifted to brush a bit of hair away from where it was stuck to Geralt’s warm cheek. His expression was difficult to look at, earnest and painfully affectionate. Geralt was trapped by those blue eyes, like falling into a clear sky. “And my favorite season is spring. You could have just asked.”
Geralt swallowed. “You never had to. I just didn’t want you to… I don’t want you to think that I don’t pay attention.”
“Oh,” Jaskier said, laughing a little, “I know you’re not always paying attention. I’m talking constantly. There’s a lot to keep up with. I know you tune me out most of the time, it’s fine.”
“I’m still paying attention to you,” Geralt insisted, because it was important, critical that Jaskier know that even when he wasn’t listening, he was still attuned to Jaskier. His presence, his voice, the sound of his heartbeat always in the back of Geralt’s mind. Whenever the bard was around he could scarcely focus on anything else.
“Knowing my favorite color or food or what have you isn’t what proves that you’re my friend,” Jaskier said, still smiling. “You know me. It’s alright.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me if you didn’t like the things I brought you?” Geralt asked, feeling unmoored. “You acted like you loved everything.”
Jaskier rolled his eyes, but his chuckle was nervous. The hand he held in Geralt’s was sweaty, and his heartbeat, always in Geralt’s ears, was a bit fast. “Well, they were from you,” he said with a half shrug. “Of course I loved them.”
“But they weren’t--”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jaskier interrupted, soft but firm. There was a slight, bitter twist in his lips that Geralt wanted to wipe away. “I just… like to know that you’re thinking of me.”
They were standing so close together. Jaskier’s hand was in his, palm to sweaty palm. They were nearly of a height, but Jaskier was just the tiniest bit shorter, so he had to tilt his chin up ever so slightly to meet Geralt’s eyes. Now it was Jaskier who was tense, his shoulders squared as if to absorb a blow. He nervously dragged his teeth over his lower lip, leaving the hint of an impression in the soft flesh. Geralt watched raptly, swallowing against the urge to soothe the spot with his tongue. “I’m always thinking of you,” he finally said.
Jaskier took a shuddering breath, and Geralt watched as his eyes dropped down to flicker over Geralt’s mouth before they dragged back up to meet his gaze again. “When I saw all of it spread out like that, I thought maybe it meant something,” he said, nearly a whisper.
“Jaskier,” Geralt said, helplessly. He lifted the hand not clutched in Jaskier’s toward his neck, tracing his fingers along the delicate line of Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier’s other hand came up to fist in Geralt’s shirt, inhaling sharply at his touch. It was an intoxicating sound, making his head spin more than the bottle of wine they’d consumed between them.
“Did it mean something more?” Jaskier pleaded, his eyes bright. His hand clutched at the fabric over Geralt’s heart, the fingers between his own tightening in a deathgrip. “Did it?”
“Yes,” Geralt said, and leaned forward to kiss him.
Jaskier gasped at the first press of their lips, opening for Geralt easily and without hesitation. He tasted like sweet white wine and meat pie and marzipan, and Geralt greedily mined the flavors from Jaskier’s tongue. He tried to pour all of the things he found himself unable to say into the press of his teeth against Jaskier’s lip, into the flick of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and the way his fingers tangled delicately in Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier gave as good as he got, humming encouragingly into Geralt’s mouth and hauling him closer by the hand in his shirt. He didn’t release Geralt’s hand from where he held it in his own, and Geralt made no move to extract himself.
Finally, Jaskier pulled back, panting against Geralt’s lips as he set their foreheads together. His eyes were closed, and Geralt watched them flicker open, savoring the dazed expression on his face. “I think I’m going to be late to play that show,” Jaskier rasped, and a thrill went through Geralt at the sound. And indeed, the sun had begun to set, dipping over the edge of the mountains in the far, far distance, coloring the air around them in rich purples and reds. Jaskier’s face was soft and ethereal in the glow, and Geralt never wanted to let him go, never wanted to leave this moment.
“Why spring?” Geralt found himself asking.
Jaskier smiled, and his face softened even further. “Because it’s when I get to see you again, of course. You should have known all along; you’re my favorite.”
It was a corny sentiment, and by Jaskier’s grin he knew it, but Geralt couldn’t help the way it warmed him up from the inside out, radiating out from within him and making his lips pull into an answering grin. He leaned in and kissed Jaskier again, and again, and a third time, in quick succession, each more soft and lingering than the last. When he was finished Jaskier had that dazed looking expression back on his face, and Geralt decided it was a good look on him. “Want to know something?” he asked, teasing. Jaskier nodded, the hand on Geralt’s chest snaking up to wrap around his neck, holding the both of them close. Geralt leaned in to press his lips just behind Jaskier’s ear, to press his secret against the soft skin there.
“You’re my favorite too,” he rumbled, and Jaskier laughed, bright and joyful, and both of them knew that it was true.
~
This is my last s&s fic!! So excited to be done with the challenge, and happy that I was able to finish! Thank you to all those who encouraged me over the last two months, your kind words and support mean more than I could say <3
tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire, @theamazingbard
#geraskier#geraltxjaskier#the witcher#witcher#witcher fic#fic#fanfic#my work#sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo#s&s#fluff
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Wound By a Key
I was given the opportunity to collaborate with the marvelous, amazing, talented, fantastic @spielzeugkaiser for this story/piece and it was SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for drawing something so amazing, thank you for sharing it with me, and thank you for this fun collab!
Based on “The Music Box Song” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
---
The first thing Geralt noticed, as he led Roach down the main road of the little hamlet, was how oddly quiet everything was. There were a few people meandering in the marketplace speaking in low tones, but otherwise the midday streets were empty. It was unusual. Especially for springtime.
He heard the small pocket of villagers speaking as he passed them, their curious and nervous gazes following his every step.
“Do you think that’s the White Wolf?”
“Look at his hair! Who else could it be?”
“Do you think he’ll be able to break the spell?”
He reached the door of the town’s only inn and tied Roach’s reins to the hitching post outside. He gave her an affectionate nuzzle and a few quick pats before ducking through the low wooden door, the villagers’ pointed conversation pushed to the back of his mind for now.
He needed food and lodging, first.
“Afternoon,” the innkeep nodded. Geralt nodded back and took a seat at the bar. The rotund, middle-aged man turned to face him, not a glimmer of fear or apprehension tainted his welcoming expression. “What can I do for ya, traveler?”
“I’ll have a tankard of ale, please; and stew if you have it. I also need a room for the night and a stable for my horse.”
“Two full pieces of silver will get you all of that and a bath to boot,” the man offered. Geralt gave a small, grateful smile and pulled two silvers and a copper from his purse, setting them on the counter directly in front of the beaming innkeep.
“As a thank you for your unexpected but welcome kindness.”
“Appreciated, sir.”
“Hmm.”
Geralt was just bringing the first spoonful of venison stew towards his mouth when his gaze caught on something behind the bar. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the food suspiciously. Perhaps the man had been a little too kind to a Witcher. Maybe the kindness in his eyes really was just a well-practiced act, after all.
“Where’d you get that lute?” Geralt asked. He’d almost asked - Where’d you get Jaskier’s lute? - but that would have revealed too much.
“Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten about the lute,” the man frowned and shook his head. The Witcher caught a whiff of relief and sadness drifting off the stranger and grew even more confused. “That’s a tragic tale, really. Not good for a traveler’s appetite.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a Witcher. I’ve seen and heard a few unpleasant things in my life.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” the innkeep chuckled. “But that’s just because I’m not a very observant person. If you’re a Witcher you might just be able to help the lad out. Would you care to hear the bard’s tale and see if it’s something your Witcher magic could fix?”
Geralt nodded and took a bite of stew, convinced that the man wasn’t actually trying to rob or kill him (or both). “Go ahead, then. Who is this bard and what horrible fate befell him?”
“A few weeks ago, just after the second thaw, children from the village started going missing at night. They’d come back at midday, their faces pale and their limbs heavy like lead weights. They would sleep for days before they could get out of bed again, and they were incredibly weak. When that bard wandered through on his way to find his friend, he heard of our blight and followed a child into the woods one evening, determined to solve the mystery and stop the madness.”
“Hmm.”
“Turns out it was the Fae -” Geralt’s head snapped up. “- And they were making the children dance all through the night for their entertainment. The faeries would make them dance until the poor little dears were totally exhausted and only had enough strength to wander back home. The bard offered to dance and play for them for two full days in exchange for the childrens’ freedom… and they agreed.”
“Fuck.”
“You sound invested in the lad’s wellbeing,” the innkeep raised an eyebrow. “I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”
“He’s here?”
“Sort of,” the man rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck and the scent of anxiety spiked through the air. Geralt shook it off, determined to finish his meal before attending to his foolish friend and companion. “The Fae weren’t exactly happy about his interloping, you see. They accepted his terms and let him play for the full two days, and the children have been safe ever since, but they didn’t return him the way he left. Apparently the faeries decided that it would be more fun to curse him a little bit and watch the aftermath play out.”
“What is a little bit, exactly?”
Geralt had never heard of just a little bit of cursing. There were either dire consequences or death on the other end of curses and neither one were fitting ends for Jaskier’s colorful, too-short life.
“It would be best if you finished your food, Sir Witcher. If you’re as close to the bard as I think you are, it’ll spoil your dinner to see him like this.”
---
The alderman ushered his two impromptu visitors inside and closed the door quietly behind them. He gave Geralt a slow, calculating once over. “So I take it you’re a Witcher, eh?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve come to break the fae’s curse on this bard?”
“Depends on the curse.”
“Apparently he knows the lad,” the innkeeper added helpfully. Geralt glowered and pulled his hood back away from his face.
“I haven’t actually seen him yet, but it’s very likely that this bard and I are acquaintances.”
“Right this way, then. I’ve kept him out of the children’s hands. I didn’t know if the singing and dancing routine would still make him tired or not and I wanted to be safe; for all the help he did to rescue them from those dastardly faeries, the villagers certainly seem to enjoy turning the key and making him perform.”
Geralt grew more and more worried with every word that passed through the alderman’s lips. Singing and dancing routine? Turning the key? Making him perform? What had the faeries done to his stupidly caring friend in return for his bravery? What kind of curse had they placed on the silly, fun-loving human?
The three men crossed through the manor’s sitting room and dining room and into a clean, empty storage room that ran against the very back of the building. Positioned in the center of the floor was an enormous, intricate music box. The figure standing up from the top was facing away from them, so Geralt took a moment to inspect the stand itself.
The square box was carved around the bottom edges with buttercup blossoms and had paintings across all four sides, depicting the childish, storybook version of Jaskier approaching the Fae in the woods, his two nights of dancing and singing, his transformation, and, as they came around to the front panel at last, his imprisonment. The doll on top of the stand was Jaskier; or it had been, once upon a time.
The bard looked only slightly different in his current accursed form, but it was enough to unnerve the usually stoic Witcher. The blue of Jaskier’s eyes was misty and glazed over. Glass, Geralt realized. He suppressed a horrified shudder at the thought. His eyes look like they’re made of glass. His skin was pale and when Geralt reached out to caress his arm (bent stiffly at the elbow much like a jointed doll’s would be) it felt waxy and too-smooth. Inhuman.
Jaskier’s body was bent slightly forward at the waist, both arms resting oddly at his sides with the elbows bent at ninety degrees. Two circles of rouge brightened his cheeks and his eyes had been lightly lined to make them seem wider and more doll-like. A wreath of colorful flowers had been pinned into his hair and the blue silk doublet Geralt had last seen the bard wearing was nowhere to be found.
The Fae had clearly taken their time with dressing and decorating him. His waist was cinched into a colorful corset-style vest that tied up the front with little blue silk bows and his legs were outfitted in tight-fitting, navy blue breeches that buckled just below the knee. His hose was off-white and complimented the shapely curve of his calves and ankles. He was wearing the buckled, heeled shoes of a nobleman and they shone with polish. There was nothing holding Jaskier up, which meant that the curse itself was keeping him upright and in place.
The Witcher turned to glare at the alderman, his emotions finally boiling over at the sight of his bard’s transformation. “Did the Fae tell anyone how to break the curse?”
“We think the answer is in the song.”
“The song?”
“When you wind the lad up he sings a little song. He’s standing on a music box, after all.”
“Hmm.”
The alderman approached the side of the box and wound the large key jutting out, twisting until he was red faced and the bronze-painted peg would turn no more. He released the key and stepped back to join Geralt and the innkeeper where they stood with their backs against the far wall.
A few soft, tinkling metallic notes played through the room before the doll came to life. Jaskier’s back straightened and his arms reached out towards his audience in jerky little movements. Every time one of his joints extended or shifted there was a loud wrenching sound as the inner workings of the music box manipulated his limbs in time to the melody.
Jaskier’s bright, lilting tenor flowed forth as he danced mechanically atop his pedestal. He turned in a slow circle, his arms reaching up and around as if seeking an embrace as he sang:
“What do you see,
You people gazing at me?
You see a doll on a music box
That's wound by a key.
“How can you tell
I'm under a spell?
I'm waiting for love's first kiss!”
Geralt blushed as the doll-Jaskier reached directly out towards the space where the Witcher happened to be standing, almost as if he was reaching out for the true love he sought to break his spell. Geralt’s eyes met briefly with the wax figurine’s and he felt his heart skip a beat. Jaskier is so close and yet he still doesn’t see me. The Witcher gave a heavy sigh and shook his head as the bard continued his automatonlike performance.
“You cannot see...
How much I long to be free,
Turning around on this music box
That's wound by a key!
“Yearning, yearning
While I'm turning around and around…”
The tune faded away into nothing again and Jaskier fell silent. His torso drooped forward. His hair fell into his eyes and Geralt reached out to move it away without thinking, letting his fingers brush the bard’s painted cheek as he pulled back. “So do you know anyone who could possibly free him? He only has a few days left.”
“What?!” Geralt snapped. He spun to face the innkeep with a thunderous look on his face. “What do you mean!?”
“The curse has to be broken before the end of the month or he’ll be stuck like this forever.”
“Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me that first?” the Witcher snarled. He gazed hopelessly at his friend and clenched his fists at his sides.
It was so much easier to kill monsters. It was so much easier to break curses when they were placed on princesses or nobles or foolish peasants who had meddled where they shouldn’t. But Jaskier had been doing a good deed without being prompted and he had done it all alone without Geralt there for backup or protection. The stupid bard had rescued an entire village’s children by offering himself to the fae and now… now…
Geralt sighed and shook his head. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.
“I’m going to contact some friends and see what we can do,” he finally said. “But first I need rest. May I return to my room at the inn?”
“Aye. Good luck, Witcher.”
“Hmm.”
---
Geralt tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
Two glassy blue eyes kept following his every move, searching for him in the dark.
He knew he had to rescue Jaskier, the only problem was finding someone who loved him enough to break the curse. The Witcher rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Dawn was only a few hours away and he’d failed to get any sleep or meditate deeply enough to rest. He kept hearing those words, high and breathy, echoing through his head over and over:
“You cannot see...
How much I long to be free,
Turning around on this music box
That's wound by a key!”
The thought of anyone else kissing Jaskier sent a tight, angry buzzing sensation flickering beneath his skin. He bristled. He frowned. He… He was jealous. The moment Geralt tried to picture Essi Daven or Priscilla or that one foolish Count with ashy-blonde hair and broad shoulders he’d caught the bard with late one night even coming close to kissing Jaskier, the Witcher felt the urge to growl and bare his teeth. He wanted to curl around the music box and snarl at anyone who came too close for his liking. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and keep him there forever, where he could hear the bard’s heartbeat and feel his warmth.
An unnerving thought.
He’d always been a very possessive lover.
Fuck.
But what if he tried to kiss the bard and the spell didn’t break? Then he might lose Jaskier regardless of whether or not he woke up. If Jaskier’s curse dissipated at the hands of another and he knew that Geralt had kissed him, had acknowledged his love for the bard and faced it head on and failed, then the Witcher might break down forever. Without Jaskier, what reason was there to return to the inn or the campfire at night? Of course there was Roach, but once she died he didn’t have to seek out another…
He could just disappear like many of his Witcher brethren often did.
Geralt groaned and rose to his feet, slipping on his boots and cloak as quietly as possible. He crept through the sleepy town under the blanket of night and snapped the lock off the alderman’s back window. He gripped the lower sill and took a deep, steadying breath before heaving it open.
He had to try, at least.
He had to know.
The Witcher climbed silently into the storage room and walked in a slow circle around the music box. Jaskier was standing perfectly still, the painted smile on his face and the silk flowers in his hair looking as brilliant as ever, even in the darkness. Geralt stood in front of his cursed friend and sighed quietly.
“I wish you didn’t have to find out just how much I care about you like this, Jaskier. I wish I could have told you about my rather prominent and passionate feelings before any of this nonsense had happened. If I fail you now, if you don’t wake up because this love is one-sided, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m so incredibly sorry for not being able to love you enough to save your life.”
With his soul bared and his confession carefully whispered into wooden ears, Geralt reached up and placed his palm against the bard’s waxy cheek. He had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Jaskier’s mouth with his own and the position made him feel strangely vulnerable. He tried not to think about it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the smooth, painted wooden mouth of the music box doll that had once been his most faithful friend.
He pulled away after a lingering moment of contact, shaking his white hair out of his eyes. A few terrifying seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The Witcher was about to cry out in frustration and disappear out the window again when he heard a shallow breath being drawn. His worried amber gaze snapped up and met, for the first time in far too long, a pair of bright blue irises that flashed with recognition and confusion.
Geralt held out his arms and caught the bard just as he went limp, his body exhausted from being held upright for so many days on end. He felt like a pile of crumpled laundry in the Witcher’s arms, all deadweight and no control over his limbs at all. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”
“Hnn.”
He was still waking up from the spell and likely had no memory of what had happened. Geralt bit back the pang of bitter disappointment that threatened to echo through his heart; he had no real claim over Jaskier and it wasn’t fair to make one now. Not if the bard didn’t remember his declaration.
“Let’s… Let’s get you back to the inn and get you taken care of, Jaskier. I can tell the others about the broken curse in the morning.”
“Do you mean it?” Jaskier rasped. His head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder and he glanced up with tired but frightened eyes, “Do you really love me?”
“Hmm. Yes.”
“Good,” the bard managed to shift closer despite his full-body exhaustion. “I love you, too.”
“No more running off and trying to save people by yourself.”
“Well you aren’t always around to help, Geralt, what am I supposed to do?”
“I’ll be around from now on,” the Witcher asserted. He pressed another quick kiss to the bard’s lips and watched as Jaskier blushed and stuttered in his firm bridal carry. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
---
“Geralt please stop humming that song.”
“I can’t help it! It’s so catchy, it just keeps getting stuck in my head. Will you sing it for me? Maybe that will help.”
“Fine,” the bard muttered, settling down next to the fire with his lute. “Just once.”
“Thank you.”
Geralt sank into his meditative kneel and closed his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips and Jaskier pretended not to see it.
“What do you see,
You people gazing at me?
You see a doll on a music box
That’s wound by a key.”
#geraskier#geraskier fic#geraskier collab#THIS ART MADE ME CRY#geraskier chitty chitty bang bang au#music box jaskier#cursed jaskier#doll jaskier#witcher geralt#geralt to the rescue#jaskier whump#fae curse#true love's kiss#geraskier getting together#art and fic#geraskier fluff#kissing#first kiss#geraskier soft#soft geralt#love confessions#chitty chitty bang bang au#bouncey's endless au collection
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S3 ep5
Current emotional status: FEAR
Cthulu Max has been on the rampage for a whole week!?
Ew, the narrator
Oh man, are they sending the airforce after him?
I really like Cthulu Max's design
Momma Bosco 💗
Oh hey, Norrington and Papierwaite are alive.
Superball are you saying you tried to send the Maimtrons up Max's--
Also he's acting president while Max is... deposed of.
Superball is only giving Sam until 6am :(
Featherly!
"Wandering around the moleman tunnels is no fun without Max."
"You got it all wrong, we're trying to help Max." "We will help him... to a generous serving of ass whooping."
"That is one rabbit who will be multiplied... into 2,000 smoldering pieces."
Carol ran off with Blustet
"I only want her to be happy, is all." Aw, Curt
Superball just admitted to having separation anxiety from Max
Ok Momma can't come but Papierwaite and Norringron can.
I like Norrington :)
GASP
Is it?
It is!
SYBIL!!!!
RETURN OF THE QUEEN
Oh, she is very pregnant
She was a wizard at one point?
She's gonna help!
Superball there's no such thing as acceptable losses
Abe has his body back
"Four score and seven tons of raw power"
HE CAN FLY NOW!?
Sybil, I love you, but why did you mod someone else's car???
Grandpa Stinky I love you
Oh, he just handed us the recipe for once.
Asdfff the spore maxes swarming Grandpa
They stole Grandpa's hotdogs
"We must feed the host! Piglets and sphinkters make us stronger!" "We regret nothing!"
Grandpa hasn't slept in three years
Sam just casually taking the last of Grandpa's corndogs
The spores are trying to get it
Lol Sam slapped them
Sal's alive!
He's hiding from Sam :(
Lol we can control Cthulu Max with Corndogs
Ew, the cornstarch got mixed in with the giant puddle 🤢 Looks gross
Love how Sybil completely ignores the Flaming Max head
Also the look of disappointment on the spore's face made me laugh
Fifth trimester???
The way the one Max spore by Grandpa's truck is bobbing in circles with his mouth open is making me laugh.
Sam showing concern for Sybil because she’s preggers 🥺
Her being pregnant with Abe's child implies that statues have working genital in this universe
She put a weiner scented airfreshener in the desoto
At least Sam and a Max spore seem to like that (of course they do)
"Sybil you're the best!" Hell yeah she is!
Sam's mind went to the color bar codes to prevent being traumatized by Sybil's oversharing
We drowned the desoto
Asdfgh Sam just botched slapped one of the spores for trying to say "that's none of your damn buisness."
Ew, Max's spine is pointing out
Oh hey, Satan and Jurgen
Why is Jurgen wearing his old fashioned clothes instead of his emo clothes?
Lol Sam snuck into frame to shout "Go Mets! New York rules!"
"--besides it's just a good and noble thing to do." "You're not familiar with my previous work, are you?"
"Sam, what happened to you to make you so cynical?" Gee, Jurgen, I wonder what could have possibly happened.
Oh so the water tower counts as vegetable oil because Momma did something to it
Pfft we can replace Satan's microphone with a corndog
Omg they jumped off the building to avoid Max
Oh, they're fine, and the oil is in the giant puddle.
I'm thankful to Featherly for giving us an egg but I'd have preferred not to watch him lay it. Granted it was just in a cartoon way but he still made weird noises
Also TRANS FEATHERLY 2021
"I desperately wanted to see that, sir. Ask him if he'll lay another one."
Oh hey, the Flaming Max heads helped heat up the giant desoto corndog
Since I'm playing this in 2021 the Maimtron's song references are super dated, which defeats Superball's efforts
Oooh! A unique opening sequence???
Oh this music is jazzy af
Sam really doesn't like the Max spores
Sam how do you already know what Max's insides look like???
"Even when he's not a collasal monster Max's food comas can last for weeks."
Ok we wake Max up with the coffee beans, right?
Yup!
The gi Max spore is so sad he doesn't get to come 😢
"But I'm a horrible monster!"
"I suppose Max's brain always looks like a living room?" "Well, Max is host to all kinds of weird parasites, and he likes to he a good host!" WHAT
No really, this brings up so many questions about lagomorphs. Are they some kind of Symbiote or something?
And a previous episode confirmed Max is amphibious
Max has tumors!!!
It shocked Sam!
"Eugh! Get away fake Max!" "Do you find my warmth... alarming, Sam?"
"What do nightmares taste like, anyway?" "Pepsi"
Max wants to be author 💗
He also writes fanfiction about Flint 🤣
I'd unironically read his books.
Tina Belcher voice: Friend fiction
Max has an experimental fusion jazz band???
"He just killed a great white shark--"
Max being completely unable to describe a woman is very gay of him. Good for him.
Max's brain teleported everyone to different parts of the body.
Found Sybil in the gym/legs
The brain is broadcasting Sam's thoughts???
Sam couldn't think of a joke for the medicine balls :(
"Wow Max is looking pretty buff. Would it be too weird if I asked him to turn around?"
Sam! Stop thinking bad things about Sybil's pregnancy she can hear you you putz!
She's upset with him now
"Can you believe this guy?" "I find the entire situation to be very contrived and misogynistic." Same spore Max, same.
Sam stop being so mean omg!
"I changed Sybil, I totally get the whole parenthood thing now." "Really now?" "Tax deductions."
In Max's inventory now
Y'know, I never really thought about it as a storage house
Hit The Road reference :3
Baby roach hatched in
"Pa..papa?" "Now I am little champion, now I am!"
Max has a Maximus shrine
Sam turned into a roomba!
Aw, he named it Sam Jr 🥺
We won Sybil back through his love of Sam Jr
Found the conjoined twins
Huh, Max lost as eye. Does that mean he has a glass one, or do lagomorphs have regenerative abilities?
Pfft we have to play twister to control his arma
The brain is messing with things again
Oh, we need a roach to operate the game because of radiation
Well, let's kidnap Sal
Oh, poor Girl Stinky. She's really going through it
Aw, Sal feels bad
Sal?
Honey, are alright?
He's dying???
He's not immune to irradiation!?
Oh no, he's gone
I'm so sad 😞
Gotta pick up Sam Jr. Before I control Max
They mad Max do a magical girl pose
Ugh the narrator is back
Wait, what?
He's Max's brain??? SUPEREGO???
WHAT
"I was always ignored" Yo if my super ego was as pretentious as you I 'd ignore it too 😤
He wants to kill himself and Max???
I know Max had a self loathing complex but holy shit
The super ego is perfectly fine with destroying half the east coast what a jerk
Just noticed Sam's tie is red. Had no idea about this while drawing PI!Sam lol
We have to help Max get his memories back to use the ASTRO projector
Skunkapes has three Sam clones imprisoned
Sam had canon ocd?
Gasp Gordon???
No, it's Sammun Mak
I love him, little child tyrant
Just make him a mobile brain in a jar and let Sam and Max adopt him
Why is Grandpa here?
He isn't talking like Stinky
Too polite
Sam sees it too
He's a space gorilla
They switched brains?
Found the cloning g chamber
Let's go to Momma's first
CONE OF SHAME CONE OF SHAME CONE OF SHAME
Superball is "wracked with guilt"
"Keep it together Superball. Sam will be able to save the day. He always does."
Ok, let's go to the cloning facility
I'm still thinking about poor Sal yo
FLIIIIIINT!
He's punching space apes!
Girl Stinky really playing up the evil Mistress role
The doggleganger has a bomb on him!!!
Wait so Girl really is a mermaid??? I thought that was just her aestetic
God I love Flint
Haha we tricked Skunkape with scooby doo villain tactics
Got the robot
Her water broke... and it was pennies
Max wants to save Sybil! 😭🥺💕
Super Ego is here
Oh now he wants to save Max
The only thing here are those records
Super Ego waved goodbye
Cthulu Max is cute when he cries
Wait What?
His head is on fire!
The maimtron hit him!
He waved goodbye... and teleported away.
He exploaded!!!!
He promised he'd take Sam with him and he didn't!!!!
AAAAAAH
I thought the dead Max thing was popular angst fanon fic thingy!
We're cloning Max?
It didn't work 😭😭😭😭😭
Superball ran off crying
Oh God the credits are just Sam walking sadly what the hell
He's not even stopping to fight any crime 😢
💔💔💔
God the way he's clinging to himself
What?
The elevator???
MAAAAX
he's back???
Past Max???
He blew his Sam up???
Wait hold on I'm glad they're together again but this doesn't fix anything
There's so much trauma from this season
All the horrible things that happened during 301-304 happened in like 3 days tops, then Sam had to deal with Max being a monster for a week before watching him die!
And the new (?) Max had BLOW HIS SAM UP!!!
And they left the franchise like that for a decade????
What the hell?
I want to be happy but this shit is going to consume my brain for the next week at least what the hell
Aaaaaaah!
Like maybe they really do just brush it off but it feels unlikely
I know Max has a connection with his other selves so it'll be easier for him to adjust but certainly Sam is going to notice the discrepancies since he doesn't get the same deal
Someone told me there were multiple endings hold on
Aw, they walked off into the sunrise together
But still
AAAAAAAAH
#sam and max#freelance husbands#sam and max freelance police#sam & max#sam & max freelance police#freelance police#lee plays sam and max#305#what the hell#flint paper#agent superball#momma bosco#sybil pandemik#sal s&m#general skun ka'pe#girl stinky#sammun mak#don't @ me I'm crying
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Flora and –yikes! - Fauna
pairing: Geralt/Jaskier
word count: 3k
read on AO3
thank you @kitcatkim for letting me use your idea with the two flower crowns <3
summary: Jaskier is making flower crowns, naturally. Too bad no one warned him that bugs like to swarm around flowers
Content warnings: bugs, insects
---
"Geralt, wait!"
Jaskier didn't give Geralt the chance to protest or grab the scruff of Jaskier's neck to keep him in place. As Jaskier ran towards the wildflowers blossoming in a patch next to the road he could practically hear Geralt rolling his eyes in the way he grunted.
"Jaskier, we can't keep stopping every other minute just for you to gather flowers." Despite his words, Jaskier could hear him bring Roach to a halt. "What are you even going to do with them? Don't tell me you spent your last coin on a vase."
Jaskier huffed indignantly but didn't bother turning around to fix Geralt with a glare.
"Of course I didn't. If you please to remember, I used it to buy some more bandages because someone didn't bother to restock before rushing into a hunt."
"I remember," Geralt grumbled but there was something strange in his tone. Something that wasn’t gruff or dismissive at all. Something that might have even been the exact opposite of that. Jaskier couldn't name it but it made his heart skip a beat. "But fine. We can take a break. Roach could use it anyway."
She didn’t. She was stubborn enough to make it known when she wanted or needed to slow down and she had done no such thing since the last time Jaskier had made them stop.
"Make sure she doesn't eat my flowers," he called over his shoulder.
His smile widened as he plucked the most beautiful blue flower and added it to his already impressive collection. Maybe he had gathered too many flowers, but how was he to know how many he needed? He had never done this before. It wasn't as if he could just pluck flowers out of flower pots at Oxenfurt and he would rather not dismay a town's residents by raiding their gardens.
Besides, no garden could grow such beautiful flowers as blossomed on their own in the wild. At least that's what Jaskier hoped Geralt would think. He never seemed to appreciate the carefully cultivated beauty of cities when instead he could have the open road and woods.
Jaskier eyed his flowers critically. Though most of them had differently shaped and shaded blossoms, most of them were blue. Perfect to bring out his eyes. Hopefully. Surely.
Satisfied and a little giddy, Jaskier marched over to Geralt and thrust the flowers into his hand.
"Hold this," he said, fighting the unreasonable blush that crept up his cheeks.
Geralt's brows pinched together in confusion and he looked almost flustered. Still, he didn't hesitate to close his hand around the flower stems, perhaps a little too tightly, as if he was afraid of them falling if he didn't clutch them in a death grip.
"I-Jaskier, what are you-"
"I need both hands to do this," Jaskier explained and began searching for the best flower to begin with. Not that he had any idea what constituted as a perfect starter flower, but as long as he scrutinised the bouquet, he surely looked competent and there was nothing more attractive than a person who knew what they were doing.
Geralt frowned. "And what exactly is it you need both hands for?"
"Why, making a flower crown, of course." Jaskier beamed up at Geralt and randomly pulled a flower out of Geralt's grip to begin. "I mean, really, it's a shame that I haven't thought if this before. But a bard out there in the wilderness without flowers on his head? That's just wasted potential."
Geralt gave an amused hum. "Are you sure you want to put flowers on your head?"
"Absolutely." Jaskier's voice left no room for argument. "I am going to look beautiful with it."
Geralt is going to look at him and think him beautiful.
"What does it matter? There's no one here to impress."
Jaskier's hands faltered and just for a second his eyes darted up to glare Geralt.
"Who says I want to impress anyone?" His voice definitely didn't waver and there was no way to interpret his words as defensive. "Can't I just want to be pretty for the sake of being pretty?"
Geralt grumbled something dismissively. It was wishful thinking, but to Jaskier is almost sounded like "You don't need flower crowns for that."
More to hide his burning face than anything else, Jaskier turned his attention back to the flowers and started weaving - or rather chaotically knotting – them together.
Geralt let him work in silence, but whenever Jaskier glanced up to pull another flower out of the bouquet, he found Geralt's eyes on him. It made his neck feel hot and his chest tight.
Somehow, as if by some miracle, he finished the flower crown. It wasn't stunning by any means, but it was passable. Kind if pretty even. Actually, for a first try it was downright amazing.
Filled with excitement about his craft, Jaskier hopped the crown around his arm so he'd have both of his hands available again and made to work on Geralt's crown.
"Looks like you got too many flowers," Geralt said, lips twitching up.
"Don't be ridiculous." Jaskier rolled his eyes good naturedly and bound some more flowers together. "I'm making a second crown."
"You know Roach will eat the flowers before you'll be able to put them on her head.”
Jaskier's hands froze and his heart jumped into his throat. He had forgotten to ask Geralt if he even wanted a crown. Judging from how he didn't even think about wearing the crown himself, it was quite clear just how much he didn't want it.
Jaskier's eyes went to Roach, silently begging her for help, but the horse was just munching on some grass, giving him an unimpressed and perhaps slightly judgemental look.
"It's not for Roach." Jaskier blurted, thoughts stumbling over each other to find an excuse. "It's for me. They’re both for me. Obviously. Why would I wear just one crown if I could have two and be doubly pretty, am I right?"
He grinned at Geralt in a way that begged please kill me now and let this embarrassment be over. But Geralt didn't grant him that mercy but at least he didn't call him out in his nonsense either. Instead his lips quirked up and he handed Jaskier another flower, unprompted.
While working on the second crown, Jaskier started talking again. One might also say he was rambling. Anything to distract Geralt from the way Jaskier's cheeks were bright red and he was still cursing himself for his stupidity on the inside.
He told Geralt about how he had always wanted to wear flower crowns ever since he had read a story book about a princess with flowers in her hair as a child.
Occasionally, Geralt would grace his tale with a hum or a barely noticeable upwards quirk of his lips.
Jaskier took that as encouragement. He continued to talk about how his sisters used to wear flower crowns when they were young, about how Jaskier had always been envious about how pretty they looked with pink, blue and yellow flowers in on their heads. He reminisced about all the times he gifted flower crowns to his dance partners during Belleteyn and never got any in return.
More than once it looked as if Geralt was going to open his mouth, but then he always thought better of it and contented himself with listening to Jaskier.
It was only when Jaskier eventually ran out of flower related things to talk about that Geralt spoke up again.
“You’re getting better,” he commented, nodding towards the now finished second crown.
Jaskier’s face lit up but he forced his voice to sound nonchalant and teasing. “Why Geralt, is that a compliment?”
Geralt’s lips twitched. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Oh, that’s exactly where it’s going.” Jaskier winked and put both crowns on his head.
He felt a little stupid wearing both of them, but the sheepishness was quickly overshadowed by the giddy excitement of finally making his childhood dream come true.
A small giggle escaped Jaskier and he didn’t care how silly he probably looked; there was just too much joy bubbling up inside him that needed to be released somehow. He twirled and threw his head back laughing. Quickly he realised his mistake, when the crowns threatened to fall off. His hands flew to the flowers to hold them in place.
When he came to a stop, he found Geralt’s eyes fixed on him with an unexpected softness, though he quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression when he caught Jaskier’s eyes. It wasn't fast enough for Jaskier to miss and try how he might, Geralt would never be able to hide such a fond look from Jaskier.
"So?" Jaskier made a point of fiddling with the crowns as if he was righting a fancy little hat. "How do I look?"
Geralt contemplated him a long moment with a complicated expression. "Happy."
Jaskier's moth went dry. The way Geralt had said it made it sound like he meant so much more.
"Geralt-"
He let go of the crowns, but the universe saved – or damned - him from doing something stupid like take Geralt's face in his hands and kiss him. Now that he wasn't holding onto the flower crowns anymore, they immediately fell over his eyes.
Jaskier let out a little noise of surprise that very much wasn't an undignified squeak.
Geralt chuckled and had Jaskier not been squeezing his eyes shut to avoid having leaves poke them, he would have glared at Geralt.
As if was, he found that he couldn't be upset even when Geralt was making fun of his misfortune. Geralt's laugh was too beautiful a sound to ever want him to stop. Especially if Jaskier was the one making him laugh.
"Guess there were too many flowers after all," Geralt said and Jaskier could practically hear his smug smile.
Jaskier tried to lift the crowns, but he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began and he absolutely wasn't going to risk them falling apart because he tugged on the wrong one.
"I just miscalculated a little," Jaskier grumbled, but his own lips were stretched wide grin. "You know you could do the noble thing and save me from my predicament."
Almost immediately he felt the lightest touch on his cheek. For a second, Jaskier's heart sped up at how tenderly Geralt was touching him. But then it hit him.
Even if Geralt ever were to caress his cheek softly, he would not be able to do it that softly. In fact, the touch was so light it almost tickled.
Jaskier furrowed his brows and his heart began racing in earnest for a very different reason.
"Geralt?"
Something buzzed right next to his ear. Something that sounded very big and very crawly.
"Geralt!" Jaskier almost shrieked, but all the reply he got from Geralt the traitor was another laugh.
Another light touch as something landed on his skin, this time on his hands.
Immediately, he pulled them away from the flowers and clutched them protectively against his chest. He needed his hands. He couldn't let some insect sting his fingers.
He wanted to call out for Geralt again, demand that he help him, but the bug on his face chose that moment to crawl closer to his lips.
Jaskier snapped his mouth shut and held his breath.
"Now there's that blessed silence," Geralt teased as if he didn't even notice the danger Jaskier was in.
Mentally, Jaskier took back everything he had thought before. Right now he wanted to wipe away the smirk that undoubtedly was on Geralt's face. And if Geralt didn’t stop laughing, Jaskier was going to write the most scathing song about him, once he could open his mouth again.
Oh gods, but what if keeping his lips pressed together wasn't enough? What if one of those crawling things decided to go up his nose?
The buzzing around his head got louder. More insects landed on him and Jaskier could do nothing but keep his eyes and lips shut and pray none of the insects were dangerous.
He was tense as a bow string and his heart was thumping like a rabbit’s foot hitting the ground.
He could feel tiny legs all over him, could hear nothing but that horrible buzzing.
He couldn't stop the whimper that escaped him.
"Jaskier?" All traces of humour were gone from Geralt's voice. In fact, he sounded concerned.
Oh. Oh no. If Geralt was worried, that could only mean that something truly bad was happening. Maybe one of the bugs had a venomous bite. Maybe one of the things on Jaskier's head was the larva of a giant centipede. Maybe one of them was a were-bug and Jaskier would get turned into a disgusting insect himself!
Jaskier wanted to leave. He just wanted to go back to civilisation where he was safe from those tiny monsters. Adventure be damned. Inspiration be damned. Flower crowns be damned. He would be happy if he'd never have to see another insect again. If being pestered by swarms of insects was the prize for walking the Path, Jaskier would not shed a single tear abandoning it. Good riddance.
If only that didn't mean that he'd also lose Geralt...
"Jaskier?" Geralt repeated, softer this time. He sounded closer.
Strangely enough, the touch if the insects disappeared and got replaced by another sense of tickling, but this was one warm and almost glowing. It washed over his skin and spread wider around him. Slowly, the buzzing grew more distant until it disappeared fully.
A warm hand brushed Jaskier's temple and the crowns were pushed back onto the top of his head where they belonged. Well, we're one of them belonged.
Carefully, Jaskier opened his eyes again. He let out a tiny gasp and then his breath got stuck again for a different reason. Geralt was standing surprisingly close to him, their chests almost touching. The hand not occupied with the flower crowns was twisted into an uncomfortable looking shape.
Quen.
A dome of warm golden light surrounded them. Jaskier hadn't known the sign could be used to keep bugs at bay, but as far as he was concerned insects did definitely count as fiendish enemies and he wasn't about to complain about the protection. Especially not since Geralt was looking at him with his brows knitted together in soft worry and his hand left the crowns to caress his cheek instead.
"I take it the story about the princess didn't warn you about the bugs?" Te corner of Geralt's lips twitched into a half-smile.
Jaskier shook his head and swallowed. "No, definitely not." He leaned into Geralt's touch. It was warm and comforting and Jaskier never wanted him to let go again.
Maybe... Maybe if this touch was the reward he got for bravely withstanding the terror of the insects, he could face the bugs again sometimes. Maybe. Perhaps being in nature wasn't too bad if he had Geralt with him.
"There's one thing the story did teach me, though."
"Oh?" Geralt's brows rose a little.
"At the end the hero gets a kiss." Before his bravery or foolishness could leave him, he leaned forward and pressed the softest kiss against Geralt's lips.
He expected the kiss to be over quickly, little more than a brush if lips, but Geralt's hand on his cheek travelled to the back of his head, holding him close.
Jaskier lifted his own hands, burying them into Geralt's hair. Geralt let out a soft sound and then a second hand found its place at the small of Jaskier's back.
Jaskier pulled back, just enough to speak, his lips nearly brushing against Geralt's with every word.
"Geralt, put the damn Quen back." His eyes narrowed. "I am not kissing you with bugs crawling all over me."
"Perhaps you could give one crown to me and share the burden?"
Jaskier drew back suspiciously. "You mean that?" he asked slowly, his insides twisting in excitement. "You would really wear my flower crown?"
Geralt shrugged. "I don't want you to complain about the bugs and the leaves in your hair," he grumbled, but his eyes shone with a fondness that made Jaskier's heart swell. The hand on Jaskier’s back gave a small squeeze and tugged him closer. "And I happen to like my hand right where it is."
Jaskier lifted his chin defiantly, mischief and another, softer emotion lighting up his eyes. "You can pretend not to like my voice all you want, but you just traded your blessed silence for my comfort. I know where your priorities lie."
Geralt hummed quietly, the smile on his lips getting wider and his thumb caressed Jaskier's cheek, coming to rest at the corner of his lips.
"Maybe I don't mind your voice too much when you're talking about something you like. Or when you're singing. Or laughing." He leaned forward, too fast for Jaskier to react and stole a quick peck. "And I prefer keeping you silent by kissing you."
Jaskier rolled his eyes and snorted. "Who knew you could be such a romantic," he deadpanned and shook his head fondly. "Truly, you know how to charm a man with your words."
"It's working isn't it?"
"Perhaps."
With a mental strength Jaskier didn't know he possessed, he let go of Geralt's hair and lifted one of his flower crowns off his head to put it on Geralt's instead.
For a long moment, he just stared at Geralt, admiring him. The colours of the blossoms contrasted beautifully with Geralt's hair. But that wasn't what took Jaskier's breath away. It was the fact that Geralt actually looked happy like this. Happy to be with Jaskier. Happy to make him happy.
"You know" Jaskier said with smug satisfaction as a bug with shimmering green wings landed on Geralt's forehead, "you're lucky I love you more than I hate bugs."
Geralt snorted. "Now who's the romantic?"
Jaskier could have answered with a quip if he wanted to. He most certainly had multiple quick-witted responses to that.
Too bad that he too liked kissing Geralt's words away.
And so that was what he did.
They only broke away again when Geralt's crown fell into his eyes. Jaskier burst out into a well-deserved laugh at Geralt's dumbfounded look. As much as Jaskier liked kissing him, he found that he also rather liked the way Geralt's eyes lit up when he joined the laughter.
He could get used to this. In fact, as he buried his face in Geralt's chest to stifle his giggles and could feel Geralt's heart beneath him, he knew that he could battle any creepy crawlies if it meant that he got to keep this.
---
tag list: @snowfea @diedfromembarrassmentlikeasim @thebloodletter7 @eleos-fawn @palefuckingmeme @irongal21 (sorry for tagging you unasked, but you seemed to like the idea when I posted it a while ago so I figured you might like this too)
#geraskier#geralt/jaskier#geraltxjaskier#flowers#flower crowns#fluff#i think#witcher#witcher fic#fic#my writing#jaskier#geralt#bugs#insects
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Leverage Season 3, Episode 2, The Reunion Job, Audio Commentary Transcript
Jonathan Frakes: Hello everyone I'm Johnathan Frakes.
Michael Colton: Michael Colton.
John Aboud: John Aboud.
Aldis Hodge: This is Al Hodge.
Chris Downey: Chris Downey.
John Rogers: Am I sexual chocolate if you’re Al Hodge?
[Laughter]
John Rogers: It's John Rogers.
Aldis Hodge: Sexual chocolate is coming up.
John Rogers: Executive Producer of this particular episode, along with Chris Downey. And those other gentlemen are the writers and director down at the end. Welcome to The Reunion Job. Boys, which we always ask in the opening sequence, where'd this episode come about?
Michael Colton: The- initially you guys told us you wanted to do a high school reunion episode. And I think all you had was ‘they go undercover at a high school reunion’ and I think you had the end beat of the dancing.
John Rogers: Yes.
Michael Colton: At the dance.
John Rogers: Right, yeah.
Michael Colton: And so from that we started thinking, you know, who would be a good villain for this episode? Someone who high school meant a lot to.
Jonathan Frakes: You talked over my Bourne Identity opening!
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Sorry. Frakes why don't you tell us about the-
Jonathan Frakes: No, I got my-
John Rogers: Where'd that particular opening come from?
John Aboud: Bourne Supremacy.
Jonathan Frakes: I'm kidding. Bourne Supremacy.
John Rogers: Bourne Supremacy.
Jonathan Frakes: Carry on.
John Rogers: That was a very aggressive style.
Jonathan Frakes: Where’d you get the rest of this story?
John Aboud: Well as nerds, we were able to channel the rage of a software magnate. Why would a software magnate be bad in the Leverage universe? Well maybe he's supplying his software to some very bad people overseas.
Michael Colton: Well right at the time we were writing this, there was the Irianian- the aftermath of the Iranian elections, so it was actually in the news that this kind of thing could be happening.
John Aboud: And this episode aired on the one year anniversary of that election. And around- and the protests.
Michael Colton: There was enough propaganda.
John Rogers: It was actually funny, we did get one phone call that's like ‘are we gonna get in trouble for like- can we be open to litigation?’ I went ‘if one of the most evil regimes on earth wants to sue us, I don't really see that as a problem.’
Michael Colton: That would be good press for the show. Iran sues-
Jonathan Frakes: Any publicity is good publicity.
John Rogers: Exactly. Now who's playing our victim here? Did a great job.
Jonathan Frakes: That's Ricki Bhullar.
John Rogers: Yep, fantastic job. And now Frakes, why don't you tell us about that opening? What- cause it was a very different opening than what we usually do.
Jonathan Frakes: Well I think what we try to do with each of our cold opens is to either pay an homage or, in other words, steal stylistically from a show.
Chris Downey: Yes.
Jonathan Frakes: From a Hitchcock show, or from you know-
John Rogers: It lets you know what the rest of the shows gonna be like.
Jonathan Frakes: Well- hopefully. Or that you just feel like the story of this show is in this particular style. That was a Bourne Supremacy rip off.
John Rogers: Yes.
Jonathan Frakes: How many shots can we get? How fast can we cut it? How fast can this action happen? And it has that vibe of international espionage.
John Rogers: Yep. Also that room was great, it was built totally on set. That was actually just a two wall set, wasn’t it?
Jonathan Frakes: That was a three-wall set, but we shot the shit out of it.
John Rogers: Yeah.
Chris Downey: And then so you put your energy into that and the rest of the episode you sort of coasted? Is that- you sorta let it…?
Jonathan Frakes: Yeah it's an approach I've found very useful.
[Laughter]
Jonathan Frakes: Now.
John Rogers: Now.
Jonathan Frakes: Who do you think that- oh!
Everyone: Woahhh!!!
Michael Colton: There we go.
Chris Downey: And reveal.
John Aboud: Didn't see that coming.
Michael Colton: That worked really well.
John Rogers: It did; it did. Johnathan Frakes knows what he’s doing. Yeah and this was also part of the mandate for the opening of the third season, where we wanted to start opening it up into international stories. Kind of open up the Leverage universe in a way that, you know, this is a fictional universe wherein certain rules apply. And it’s close to ours but you know we wanted to start seeing the ramifications of crime world and politics.
Jonathan Frakes: It also suggests the backstory of a lot of these characters has been, in fact, international.
John Rogers: Yeah.
Jonathan Frakes: So that they have experience with all these things. It makes them look, or appear to have more experience than-
Michael Colton: Right.
John Rogers: And sometimes people ask where we get the cases, and we’re kinda establishing here there's a lot of-
Jonathan Frakes: ‘I'm inside your head!’
John Rogers: ‘I'm living rent free.’
Aldis Hodge: Yeah, haha.
John Rogers: You know, kind of establish there's a community of people out there who take freedom of software, the internet's role in being free of government regulations and rules and internationalism very seriously, and Hardison is part of that group. That's part of the hacker group he fell in with.
Aldis Hodge: Yes indeed.
John Rogers: And that's how he knows this guy. That's his background.
Jonathan Frakes: ‘Yeah that's right, we are here to inspect your restaurant.’
John Rogers: Also based on a real spy safehouse that came up in research. But with better locks I think that one had. Ah this is crazy. How'd we get the roach?
Chris Downey: That’s a digital roach.
John Aboud: Digitally inserted.
Michael Colton: It's a real roach, but that plate was not there, it's like the whole thing.
Jonathan Frakes: More discussion about this cockroach than there was about the script!
[Laughter]
John Rogers: We tried to be a little robotic cockroach that went poorly. It went actually too well because it killed.
Jonathan Frakes: What about the real cockroach that we had that nobody liked? Cause it didn’t-
Chris Downey: Oh look at that! Boy that's great.
John Rogers: I think the close up was the real one, that one digital.
Chris Downey: Is that one digital?
John Rogers: I love this, and the little.
Jonathan Frakes: Yeah, this tees up later.
John Rogers: Yep.
Jonathan Frakes: They don't get much to do together, it's nice to see those two have a little beat.
Michael Colton: I feel like there's a lot of improv in this scene with you guys.
John Aboud: Absolutely.
Aldis Hodge: Yeah this- you know, anytime you get me and Christian in a room together it's over.
[Laughter]
Aldis Hodge: It's like ‘script, what?’ We just talk.
John Rogers: Yeah, we’re just pretty much superfluous. Maybe next year without writers.
[Laughter]
Jonathan Frakes: That was how-
John Rogers: And that was a great way of using Jessie by the way.
Jonathan Frakes: How to make an entrance.
Chris Downey: We’re running out of ways for her to get out of a duct. I mean I feel like is there-
John Rogers: You know what? I just I may be speaking for-
Jonathan Frakes: Cirque du Soleil in town next year.
Chris Downey: We need to watch and take notes, cause there needs to be something new.
John Rogers: I may be speaking for a certain percentage of the audience, but anytime we have her in black jeans and that leather jacket coming out of a duct it's a good day. Really, the dismounts- really now you're really.
Aldis Hodge: I'm glad you said it, cause I was about to.
Jonathan Frakes: How about this shawarma?
John Rogers: I love the shawarma, by the way.
Jonathan Frakes: Who doesn’t?
Aldis Hodge: That shawarma was disgusting though, it was cold and greasy.
John Rogers: You can't shoot around hot shawarma.
Chris Downey: Prop shawarma was not?
John Aboud: Prop shawarma.
Aldis Hodge: Prop shawarma.
John Rogers: Don't eat the prop shawarma.
John Aboud: Don't recommend.
Jonathan Frakes: Not much room to move in this location as I recall, remember this place?
John Aboud: It was very narrow.
Jonathan Frakes: It feels as narrow as it was.
John Aboud: Hard to maneuver.
John Rogers: What was it? Was it a real restaurant we redressed?
John Aboud: It was a Hawaiian barbeque restaurant.
Jonathan Frakes: Real restaurant, Hawaiian barbeque.
Michael Colton: That's right.
John Aboud: And the production had to buy them out for the day, so there was a lot of the-
Jonathan Frakes: Are we happy with the yellow choice on the inside of the van?
[Laughter]
Michael Colton: It's a little late to be asking that.
John Rogers: Yeah, I think we might want to change that. Could you fix that in post? Could you just go and… And yes it's the first time- when do we air this? Episode two or three?
Chris Downey: This is second- this is first night.
Michael Colton: First night.
John Rogers: That's right even though we shot it- did not shoot it second, it aired second. And that was re-establishing- that was establishing the new Lucille.
John Aboud: That's right. Near and dear to Hardison's heart.
John Rogers: This is also fun is that- it always amazes me the amount of international espionage that is actually kept in notebooks.
Jonathan Frakes: Yeah.
John Rogers: No, the people-
Jonathan Frakes: Old school.
John Rogers: Old school. Yeah, but people-
Aldis Hodge: It keeps them off the radar.
John Rogers: Yeah. You can, you can burn it. You know it can't be hacked, it can't be stolen.
John Aboud: Now that dishwasher, I believe he was also in the prison- in the Jail Break Job?
John Rogers: Oh so this is the jail- it's the job.
John Aboud: In my mind the backstory is: he's on a work release.
John Rogers: Oh that's right.
Chris Downey: Already fell into the wrong element.
John Aboud: Yeah, right away.
John Rogers: Well he doesn't know, they don't tell him.
Chris Downey: His parole officer is not doing a very good job.
John Aboud: Right away, right away.
Jonathan Frakes: The victim. Now we get the villain Arye Gross. Very reliable character actor, been doing it for years.
Michael Colton: You worked with him…?
Jonathan Frakes: I worked with him on Castle. Recommend him to the gang and he nailed it.
Aldis Hodge: Nice.
John Rogers: Your career is banterific. Eliot, of course, learned to make amazing tea, and that is English Breakfast from his samurai master when he studied for 18 months. [pause] Wait no that was Wolverine.
[Laughter]
Jonathan Frakes: Now whose idea was this to add this whole sequence?
Michael Colton: Well this is all based on NLP which means neuro linguistic programming. And all this is actually based on a guy named Derren Brown, who is British. And what would you- what would you call him? A magician slash-
John Rogers: He calls himself a mentalist, but he uses like a quotation marks around it because he duplicates the effects of charlatans by using psychological techniques.
Michael Colton: You can look him up on YouTube. Look up Derren Brown and NLP and there's stuff he does that is, we sort of basically ripped off for this episode.
John Rogers: Yeah ‘D-e-r-r-e-n’. Yeah, the primary one being he hires two advertising guys to come to his office and give him a campaign- a possible campaign for a children's zoo. They do the sketches and then he reveals his own sketches he did hours earlier and they're almost exactly the same. And then he reveals the visual cues he planted along the way into their head. And that really was the crux of this whole thing.
Michael Colton: And the one where Simon Pegg from Shaun of the Dead has- sits him down and asks him what he wants for his birthday, and he says he wants a bike.
John Aboud: BMX bike.
Michael Colton: But earlier he had written down he had wanted something completely different.
Chris Downey: A leather jacket, I think.
Michael Colton: A leather jacket! And throughout this whole discussion he was just doing cues to get him to say bike. It's kind of amazing.
Aldis Hodge: Wow.
John Rogers: It was also fun to kind of get into the mechanics of- it's easy with a grifter character to say they're just natural at it. To get into the intellectual work that Sophie does in her job.
Chris Downey: And also the idea of hacking into someone's head. I think that's what made this-
John Aboud: Wanted to establish that up front.
Jonathan Frakes: How infuriating it was that it was this character who [unintelligible].
John Rogers: Yeah, and also the fact that once you guys came up with the whole hacker/villain- the whole hacker theme, that really led us to the other material.
Jonathan Frakes: And here we are, Dubertech.
Chris Downey: And this a great location too, this is very-
Jonathan Frakes: On the campus of-
John Aboud: The community college.
Jonathan Frakes: The community college in Portland.
John Aboud: It’s a great building.
John Rogers: The digital overlay on the sign.
John Aboud: It's a theater, actually.
John Rogers: A lot of digital signage.
Jonathan Frakes: It's the theater department, ironically.
John Rogers: It looks evil.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Got an evil vibe to it. This was a lot of fun and this was one of the- one of the times that we took something we could do in a beat, and turned it into almost the entire act. We have broken into someone's office in like half a scene.
Jonathan Frakes: Yeah.
John Rogers: But sometimes you just.
Jonathan Frakes: What we go through to get the fingerprint.
John Rogers: And it's great. And sometimes you find ways to do- you find stuff you want to do, you want to explore and kind of revel in, and that's the fun of this show. You know there's no real template to this show. So if you have an act where you have a bunch of cool stuff you wanna showcase, you can. Yes, tons of fun.
Jonathan Frakes: Boom.
John Aboud: We wanted this to be a real showcase for Hardison.
John Rogers: Yes.
John Aboud: Because obviously we're dealing with his world. We are in the world that he knows well, and we really liked the idea of him confronting this 1980s technology. I think that was one of our initial pitches to you guys-
John Rogers: Yes.
John Aboud: For an episode.
John Rogers: I think that- you pitched that as a freelancer.
Michael Colton: Our pitch was Hardison hacks an ENIAC.
John Rogers: Yes.
John Aboud: In a museum.
Michael Colton: And that became a TRS-80.
Chris Downey: An abacus really.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Yeah a giant, giant vacuum tube. Yeah and that blended right into this. No, that was- and by the way, if you're gonna pitch a Leverage, pitch a high concept, don't come in with a procedural. You know, ‘he has to hack a 60 year old computer’, I love it, you know. That was an easy one.
Chris Downey: And this is great, I mean how great did they dress this set?
Jonathan Frakes: I love that we [unintelligible].
John Aboud: The music was-
John Rogers: It's the music.
Michael Colton: The set’s great but it’s the music that put us over the edge and sold it.
John Rogers: Yeah Joe LoDuca again giving us that 80s synth pop vibe. It was fantastic. And Aldis you’re great here just the total shock and horror.
John Aboud: This take is wonderful.
Aldis Hodge: This took me back a couple years. I mean, this stuff was older than me but still.
John Rogers: Thank you, thanks for reminding us of that.
Chris Downey: We love to confront Hardison with old technology. Audio tapes things like that.
Jonathan Frakes: He’s appalled here.
John Aboud: His horror.
Aldis Hodge: He's offended, he's insulted.
Jonathan Frakes: And there it is!
[Laughter]
Aldis Hodge: This takes me back to when-
Chris Downey: Look at that.
John Rogers: Five and a quarter right there, baby.
Aldis Hodge: I used to run off of floppys though, I still remember those.
John Rogers: You were a baby though.
Aldis Hodge: It took like 10 hours to upload a page.
John Rogers: Yep.
Michael Colton: We used to use the war games. The phone doesn’t-
John Aboud: War dialer.
Chris Downey: They used to be on cassettes too.
John Rogers: Yeah they used to be on cassettes.
Jonathan Frakes: What was this computer called?
Michael Colton: TRS-80. Although I don't think we could say that.
John Aboud: We weren't allowed to.
Michael Colton: Yeah, it's just generic 1980s computer.
John Aboud: For clearance reasons.
Jonathan Frakes: I remember part of our prep was the ebay version of the TRS-80 that we shopped for, for two weeks trying to find the one that was actually going to be programmable.
John Rogers: Yeah. Yeah apparently Tandy Corporation has a problem with us saying that freedom is oppressed in Iran through the use of their product. Oh we’re the bad guy? That’s some sort of brand infringement I guess.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: I love the caricature- oh the caricature kills me!
Chris Downey: I didn't even notice that! The caricature of him winning the chess trophy.
John Rogers: He was twelve!
Michael Colton: Well they had photos all around of Arye Gross from that era.
John Aboud: From his personal archive.
Jonathan Frakes: With the hair. When he had that big John Hughes hair.
Michael Colton: The pre-Soul Man. Old stuff.
Chris Downey: That is pre-Soul Man]. He's great in Soul Man, by the way. Soul Man is-
John Rogers: That's a great little shot, by the way. That's kind of an iconic shot of Hardison being distracted and annoyed while Parker quietly freaks out next to him. It's just a nice vibe.
Jonathan Frakes: ‘How much time are you really gonna spend in here after I told you that the bad guys are on the way?’
John Rogers: Yeah.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: But they saw the bad guy in the sweater vest on the way in. I mean, they're not that intimidating.
John Aboud: They knew they could take him. They knew they could take him.
John Rogers: What do you think the origin for the- oh that's great.
Chris Downey: Oh that’s great!
[Laughter]
John Rogers: A locked off comedy frame people!
Chris Downey: It's a locked off comedy frame.
John Aboud: Yep.
Jonathan Frakes: The third in three shows!
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Can't go wrong. This was fun, by the way, the- this one when he says ‘it's adorable you still think there's privacy’.
Jonathan Frakes: Isn't this where some of our regulars drink when we do the 360?
John Rogers: Yes, yeah, we drink and we shoot it, too. But you guys had found out- who- was it Albert cause he was a journalist he knew that you could buy people's yearbooks?
John Aboud: Well he did that all the time at People.
Michael Colton: That’s what it was, yeah.
John Aboud: As a celebrity journalist he would go buy people's yearbooks. And it was the easiest thing in the world.
John Rogers: And there's actual services out there that will help you buy the yearbooks of different high schools. There's an enormous amount of creepy shit in this episode.
Aldis Hodge: Your embarrassment is on sale.
[Laughter]
Michael Colton: Here's where we bring up the Roman Room, which a lot of people thought we made up but is just another-
John Aboud: By a lot of people you mean Tim Hutton.
Michael Colton: Yes.
John Aboud: Thought we made it up.
Michael Colton: Just another curious thing from the mind of John Rogers.
Chris Downey: It's just one of your many hobbies.
John Rogers: One of my many hobbies.
Michael Colton: Memorizing everything.
John Aboud: Memorizing disconnected pieces of information.
Chris Downey: What was last season, whaling?
John Rogers: It was whaling. I remember I made you that scrimshaw-
Michael Colton: What, you memorized famous whalers?
John Aboud: Wow.
John Rogers: No. I am- a hobby of mine is memory techniques, and I use the Roman Room, and we wound up using it here. And it was just a great way- if we're gonna hack- the big problem was why do we need to go to this high school? We can go to this high school without this guy. Well no, we need context. Well what's the context? Well… It was interesting how this episode kind of organically came up. It was the flashback, it was the 80s thing. And that was that he was using, like I do, he was using his Roman Room for his passwords. And the- actually yes they did not believe this. I was up visiting them and I wound up doing the complete works of Shakespeare based on my high school gym in order to convince Tim that I was- that this was a real thing.
Aldis Hodge: Right.
John Rogers: Aldis you were in the limo that night, that's right. The- we didn’t take Colton or Aboud with us.
John Aboud: Well it coincided with Comic Con.
John Rogers: There you go that's right. Yeah this is, by the way, a really easy memory technique, you can learn it really quickly and with a little bit of practice and imagination. The key is making everything as filthy as possible.
Jonathan Frakes: Seriously?
John Rogers: Has to be obscene.
John Aboud: Ahh, there you go.
John Rogers: Actually Chris Downey made me not use him in my Roman Room techniques because he was distrubed by the fact that I was having him have sex with people and things.
Chris Downey: Yeah.
John Aboud: Well he knows what goes on in that room.
John Rogers: He knows that the Roman Room is a horrible place.
Chris Downey: And John you'll be at the Allentown Marriott this week doing the Roman Room technique, won’t you? Doing it on your tour.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: If you'd like to advance yourself in business or socially. If you’d like to amaze salesmen and other people in your company.
[Laughter]
John Aboud: Whenever you see those signs on a light posts that say ‘make money from home’ the number rings at John Rogers home.
John Rogers: I'm not just running a TV show. I'm running a lot of small businesses out of my garage. Oh was- was that the Psych yellout?
Michael Colton: Oh that was- it in this scene where we talked about what's on his Netflix queue.
John Aboud: That show Psych.
Michael Colton: I wanted Turk 182 to be on his Netflix queue but that was rejected.
Chris Downey: It’s a little too meta.
Jonathan Frakes: I thought it was Rockford?
Chris Downey: It is Rockford.
John Rogers: Well it is Rockford, we went with Rockford and Psych- we added Psych in the end cause Psych had given us a nice little shoutout in their show.
Michael Colton: I think Sex and the City was thrown out there.
John Rogers: Why Sex and the City?
Michael Colton: I think it was an improv, wasn't it?
John Aboud: Humor?
Aldis Hodge: It was an improv.
John Aboud: Humor. Cause it was funny.
John Rogers: Nothing funny about Sex and the City.
[Laughter]
Aldis Hodge: Very serious show.
Jonathan Frakes: Not that Gina likes to do accents.
John Rogers: This was a lot of fun.
Chris Downey: This was the tour de force.
John Rogers: And the difference- and what's great is watching this with the sound off is watching her physicality change and the smile, yeah, that character smiles and the other one is angry, yeah. It's lovely. And this is also one of those ones where it originally started much more complicated and turned into ‘let’s just have Gina talk, she can do the accents’.
Jonathan Frakes: We cut it all together, let her do the two characters.
Chris Downey: In, sort of, the Facebook era, one of the things I think helped this episode was that you are kind of confronted by people from your high school all the time that you have no recollection of.
John Aboud: Right, right.
Chris Downey: So it really sort of helped the idea that they could actually bomb into somebody's high school reunion as other people and they would just be accepted.
Michael Colton: Yeah this is kind of The Social Network of Leverage episodes, I think it's fair to say.
John Rogers: But before The Social Network- they stole this from you right? The Social Network is stolen from you.
John Aboud: And Facebook, the idea for Facebook.
[Laughter]
Michael Colton: We came up with Facematch.
John Rogers: This is the skype of evil.
Chris Downey: We got the finger pyramid of evil going too.
John Rogers: He's got the finger pyramid of evil.
Aldis Hodge: That was scripted right? Finger pyramid.
John Rogers: The finger pyramid of malfeasance I believe, this is the Skype of evil.
Jonathan Frakes: Wait heavies right, there's heavies in dark clothes behind him.
John Rogers: Yes exactly I like to think he prepped it ‘alright let's Skype this- wait turn off the lights!’ I can't.
Chris Downey: Oh I love this.
Michael Colton: This turn here is fantastic. After he hangs up with them.
Jonathan Frakes: Unafraid to milk.
John Rogers: And also one of the things I like about- that you guys did in the script just wanted the general attitude you want to give the villains - ahh there you go - is nobody’s a villain in their own head.
Michael Colton: ‘Larry Duberman?’
John Aboud: ‘Larry Duberman?’
[Laughter]
Michael Colton: It took so long, but it worked.
Jonathan Frakes: And we stayed on it! We kept it all in.
John Aboud: You did.
Jonathan Frakes: Confidant actor.
John Rogers: Yeah somebody said if schadenfreude is the pleasure of other people doing worse than you, what is the German word for delight in doing better than everyone else but not being able to come out and say it? The Germans should have a word for it. Yeah it's pretty impressive- that's a great match for Tim by the way, was that an actor or did we pick an-?
John Aboud: Stock. It was stock.
John Rogers: It was stock, wow.
Aldis Hodge: Now whose stock photos because there were some fugly people in there.
John Rogers: We went to fugly.com.
Aldis Hodge: All right.
John Rogers: That’s where we got that stock.
Aldis Hodge: I'm just saying there’s a select few you didn't know exactly.
John Rogers: Well it's also 80s hair.
Aldis Hodge: There’s that.
John Rogers: 80’s hair was just a nation making a bad choice.
[Laughter]
Michael Colton: Evil speech of evil.
Chris Downey: Oh here it is. It's the slow push in on the evil speech of evil.
Aldis Hodge: You gotta get in his nostrils, nice and tight right up there.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Well it's a 40 ft screen; it's a different look when they're on TV.
Chris Downey: And now here we go!
John Rogers: Now where was this?
Chris Downey: And now we're off!
John Aboud: Actual high school.
Michael Colton: This was an actual high school.
John Rogers: They let us redress, and yeah fantastic.
Jonathan Frakes: This is the gym of- what's the high school called? Hall? James T Hall High School?
Chris Downey: Now how many days were you here at the school?
Michael Colton: We were there-
John Aboud: Three days.
Michael Colton: Three, I think.
John Rogers: You managed to get all this done in three days?
Jonathan Frakes: Well the exterior was stock, and not our greatest effort.
John Rogers: Still pretty good.
Jonathan Frakes: This is- here we go!
John Aboud: Here we go.
Michael Colton: Now this was unused-
John Rogers: This was unused footage.
Aldis Hodge: Unused footage from the first season.
John Aboud: Season one.
Chris Downey: Using every part of the animal.
Aldis Hodge: Yes indeed. It’s probably one of my favorite scenes I've shot.
John Rogers: By the way, that is fearless of you. Not a lot of actors would go in the braces and throw on the-
Jonathan Frakes: Aldis is fearless.
Aldis Hodge: Very much so.
John Rogers: Throw on the hat. You really did manage to spot-weld Will Smith and the other guys from Fresh Prince into one character there.
[Laughter]
Chris Downey: Alfonso Ribeiro, you mean?
John Rogers: Alfonso Ribeiro. That's the Fresh Prince of Alfonso Ribeiro right there. And this is great that we-
Jonathan Frakes: Eliot pre-hair.
John Rogers: Eliot pre-hair.
Jonathan Frakes: Like wait a minute.
John Aboud: Still the same guy, he looks to camera.
John Rogers: Well it's a flashback.
John Aboud: He looks to flashback camera.
John Rogers: As one does.
Chris Downey: That's good man, that's a good match.
John Rogers: I also like the dialogue fix. Cause it was originally the dialogue-
John Aboud: Brutal punch.
John Rogers: Where we actually lay in that he learned about the knives in context not from a murderous Guatemalan, but from a sexy Home Ec teacher.
Chris Downey: Sexy home ec teacher.
Jonathan Frakes: He's the one who doesn't get to go to the high school.
John Rogers: Ooh yeah that was fun.
Jonathan Frakes: It was easy to take that guy out with one shot.
John Aboud: Little minion did not deserve the brutality of that one punch.
Chris Downey: But it's also nice like-
John Rogers: You know what he knows he's screwing the Iranian kids. He's an accessory after the fact.
John Aboud: It's true, he's complicit.
John Rogers: Absolutely more than complicit, he's an accessory. And therefore worthy of scorn. Ah this was again the Joe LoDuca score. Amazing.
Aldis Hodge: This the song that's playing in this scene right now is the band that Dean Devlin was in.
Chris Downey: Oh that's right. What’s the name of Dean’s band?
John Aboud: What was the name of that band?
John Rogers: Nervous Service.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: This was Dean’s band from the 80s.
Aldis Hodge: Sure it wasn't Dean and the Devlins?
John Rogers: No, no, that was his 50s band. And that's Beth in the badger suit right?
Aldis Hodge: Yeah.
John Aboud: Yes.
John Rogers: Yeah that is Beth.
John Aboud: Yes, spoiler warning.
Chris Downey: Well they've seen it already.
John Aboud: No, they haven’t.
Michael Colton: This is like their sixth viewing.
John Aboud: I only watch Leverage with the commentaries on.
John Rogers: Really? Interesting.
John Aboud: Yes.
Michael Colton: You don't know what happens in this one?
John Aboud: Nope. No clue.
John Rogers: That would explain why your pitches were so weird first year.
John Aboud: Well then Rogers drinks, right? And we do a zoom to see he pours the alcohol into the glass.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Oh yeah this was a lovely bit of scripting, by the way, on the NLP on this, guys. Very subtle.
Michael Colton: Yeah it's subtle it’s incredibly tight knit it’s-
John Rogers: And great dress. Is this Aboud or Colton on this scene?
Michael Colton: It's mostly Colton.
Jonathan Frakes: It's Grace Peltz! Look at Peltz in the middle of that shot.
John Rogers: That was a nice frame up on that shot.
Chris Downey: Look at that right there.
John Aboud: That's an actual Arye Gross high school photo in the row below.
John Rogers: Are you really?
John Aboud: Yup Lawrence Duberman, first one on the second row.
Aldis Hodge: Yup.
Jonathan Frakes: And here’s how it happened.
John Rogers: All you have to do is insert one page. Who doubts the evidence before their eyes? Where’s Arye Gross?
John Aboud: He's cross eyed. First one on the second row.
Aldis Hodge: That's really him?
John Aboud: That's really him.
Michael Colton: Now what kind of alphabetical order is this? Grace Peltz above Larry Duberman.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Oh, the honor society had their own photos.
Michael Colton: Oh there you go. That’s computer club.
John Rogers: One of these days you gotta learn to just lie quick.
Chris Downey: You know how to retcon.
Michael Colton: Most of those names are from my high school. Jack Lebowski. I used my-
John Rogers: Don't say that, people have to sign forms for that.
Michael Colton: My high school girlfriend is in there.
Jonathan Frakes: Boom.
Chris Downey: Here we go.
Jonathan Frakes: Don't always get a ninja zoom into the socks and sandals.
John Rogers: He's enjoying that way too much.
Chris Downey: He is. Cleaning pools. I love that- I love that about him. Former quarterback now cleaning pools.
Jonathan Frakes: Tim owned Drake.
John Rogers: Yes.
Jonathan Frakes: He totally owned Drake Macintyre.
John Rogers: He really was enjoying that. There really was a moment you saw Tim kind of like ‘I wouldn’t mind cleaning pools. It’s nice and quiet’.
Michael Colton: Mandy Babson.
John Rogers: Yep.
Michael Colton: What do his pins say?
John Rogers: I don't remember.
John Aboud: One of them said ‘I'll wash first’.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Wha- why? Why would you have a pin that said that?
Chris Downey: Not blondie or something?
John Aboud: That's the kind of guy you are. They were all slogans. Oh my voice is really giving out.
Michael Colton: Maybe you should stop talking.
John Aboud: Apologies to the home viewer.
John Rogers: Just let Colton- he’ll be honest about who did what.
Michael Colton: Yeah.
John Rogers: There's no way he’ll-
John Aboud: How can that go wrong?
John Rogers: Yeah. And it was also fun coming up with the idea that: of course there's a villain. Everyone has a narrative in their head, everyone had the villain in high school. You know the person who made their life hell. Unless you were the villain.
Jonathan Frakes: There he is! ‘Oh Doucherman!’
John Rogers: I'm glad we got that past Standards and Practices, cause Doucherman really was-
Michael Colton: The whole episode was built around Doucherman.
Jonathan Frakes: Whole episode.
John Aboud: It really would’ve fallen apart.
Michael Colton: It's the first thing we started with.
Aldis Hodge: All you thought about at first, and then you built the story around it.
John Aboud: It came later.
Aldis Hodge: ‘Doucherman, hmm we need to write a show’.
John Rogers: And she anchors it with a touch every time, nice acting, nice use of space.
Chris Downey: Who's that guy?
John Aboud: That guy was wearing a kilt! That guy was wearing a kilt.
John Rogers: I know, I saw him in the opening shot.
John Aboud: In the opening shot you can see he was wearing a kilt.
Chris Downey: Good variety of alumni characters.
Michael Colton: You know when I was on Twitter when this was airing to watch it, and Tim was- I thought it was very flattered he was just repeated ‘Douchermans got lady parts’.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Yes over and over again. He loved that. This was also fun showing Hardison scrambling. There's just some stuff you can’t prep for.
Aldis Hodge: Well Frakes, that was the first scene we shot for this episode, but it was also in the middle of shooting another episode the same day.
Jonathan Frakes: Same day in the van, here’s what’s gonna happen.
Aldis Hodge: I remember all that banter.
Chris Downey: That was the violin stuff.
Jonathan Frakes: Well this was the double up day.
Aldis Hodge: Double up day. All that banter was- I'm not even gonna lie I learned that right then and there in like ten minutes. Because I was on the other episode-
John Aboud: It worked.
John Rogers: You were on the other episode.
Michael Colton: Well you were on the violin.
John Rogers: Other episode was a giant part.
Aldis Hodge: Really shoot five pages just straight out? ‘Ok guys!’
John Aboud: Who’s this guy?
John Rogers: And there's our line producer!
Jonathan Frakes: There's our producer Paul Bernard as Schmitty!
Michael Colton: Star of the show.
Jonathan Frakes: I will tell you, he did have the 80s hair, that's not a haircut.
John Rogers: That's just what Paul Bernard looks like.
Jonathan Frakes: He works in that hair.
John Rogers: He works, he plays in that hair. That’s not stunt hair people.
Michael Colton: Is it true TBS is interested in a Schmitty spin off? Is that happening?
John Rogers: Yeah I think we might do ‘Here’s Schmitty.’
[Laughter]
John Rogers: ‘We’re up to our necks in Schmitty.’ We haven’t decided yet.
Chris Downey: I think there was a reality show in which somebody- they had hidden cameras and people led-
Michael Colton: Someone made like a 2020 special about someone who- some woman who didn't want to go to her thing so she hired a- I think it was a stripper.
Chris Downey: I think it was a stripper.
Michael Colton: To play herself.
Jonathan Frakes: At her high school reunion?
Michael Colton: At her high school reunion.
John Aboud: She coached the stripper through an earpiece-
Chris Downey: Yes.
John Aboud: As she was watching on a video feed.
Michael Colton: While she was watching Hardison-style in a hotel room.
Aldis Hodge: Doesn't it seem like it takes a lot more effort than just showing up?
John Aboud: Just go to your reunion.
Jonathan Frakes: Here's the Roman Room!
John Rogers: Turns out not. See you're young, you still remember what these people look like. You have to remember after 20 years everyone's kind of- what's the great line from Grosse Pointe Blank? Swollen? Everyone just doesn't quite look like what they used to.
Aldis Hodge: I'm young, but I'm an actor, but I don't remember a damn thing past 5 minutes ago.
John Rogers: ‘I don't remember other people, I'm an actor’.
Aldis Hodge: Hey.
Chris Downey: It's fun, too, seeing Eliot typing stuff.
Michael Colton: Ten go to twenty stuff.
John Rogers: It was- and this was actually fun too, we were originally developing this trying to figure out what the hell Eliot was doing and then we realized just put him over there. For once he's gotta- yeah. Also allowed us to do the fight in an interesting way. This- god all high schools do look alike.
Jonathan Frakes: Yeah this high school is perfect. The shiny floors, the lockers. We said, ‘We’re looking for a broom closet.’ They said, ‘Well what about the broom closet?’ We said ‘Good, that'll be fine.’
[Laughter]
John Rogers: ‘That'll absolutely work!; And by the way Gina seems to really enjoy when her character doesn't like Tims character. She seems to be digging in a little bit more, I'm just saying. Yeah the utter scorn of the good looking asshole is fantastic. Oh we're past that. That was the-
Michael Colton: This is fun also ‘cause so much- I mean just ‘cause the nature of the show often Tim’s or Nate’s character is playing the shady businessman and this is totally opposite.
John Rogers: Yeah this is a low status character.
Chris Downey: He doesn't do a lot of low status.
John Aboud: He's not worn a hat like this on previous jobs.
Aldis Hodge: I just saw one of the other buttons said ‘I’m a handyman’.
Chris Downey: Is that what it said?
Aldis Hodge: One of them yeah. The yellow one.
Chris Downey: ‘I’m a handyman’.
John Rogers: The bright green one says ‘if you can't be handsome be handy’.
Michael Colton: There's very few of his characters where he can wear that necklace.
Jonathan Frakes: ‘I should give you my card’.
Aldis Hodge: The necklace is questionable.
John Rogers: Questionably- is it a surfer? Or what is that?
Aldis Hodge: It's a surfer, man.
Chris Downey: Oh is that what that is?
John Rogers: He's still a Boston guy, so I don't know what he's wearing that for.
John Aboud: Well he's around water all the time.
John Rogers: That’s true.
John Aboud: Pools.
Chris Downey: That's right.
Aldis Hodge: He's a great surfer in his mind.
John Rogers: The great surf pools of Route 9.
Aldis Hodge: Surfer in his mind.
John Aboud: Uh-oh what is this?
Chris Downey: Someone is coming down the stairs.
John Aboud: What’s this what’s this?
John Rogers: Oh yeah, the lovely Kari Wuhrer.
Chris Downey: Now uh MTV? I mean best known-
John Aboud: Oh absolutely.
John Rogers: The sliders, the-
Michael Colton: What’s it called?
John Aboud: Class of ‘96.
Michael Colton: Remote Control.
Chris Downey: Remote Control, that’s right.
Michael Colton: That was a formative influence on me. So I was very happy when I got to work with her.
John Rogers: Yeah, she's fantastic, by the way. She’s really sweet, worked her butt off and just-
Jonathan Frakes: Also happens to be married to our UPM [Editor’s Note: Unit Production Manager].
Chris Downey: But certainly we’re not giving away parts to people connected to the show!
John Aboud: No no.
Jonathan Frakes: Otherwise Jeanie Francis would be on the show by now.
[Laughter]
Michael Colton: I did not know-
John Rogers: She didn't want to work with you, that's the problem. We called here and-
Michael Colton: I did not know she was married to the Leverage team until after she was cast. Her audition was great.
Chris Downey: She was.
John Rogers: Well that's the- Jim Scoura, her husband, the UPM, plays of course the assassin in the finale, in the summer finale.
Michael Colton: It's a double assassin household.
John Rogers: In our heads actually they are married in the Leverage verse; they’re like the bad Mr and Ms Smith.
John Aboud: Neither one of them can actually complete a kill.
John Rogers: They just- but they work hard, they get a lot of-
Jonathan Frakes: Watch them roll down these lockers.
Chris Downey: Was Jim here for this sequence?
Jonathan Frakes: He avoided this scene.
John Rogers: Interesting.
John Aboud: Stayed in the office.
Michael Colton: Stayed with the kids this day.
John Rogers: Having your improbably hot wife all over a good looking actor is just-
John Aboud: Why improbable? Why improbably hot?
Jonathan Frakes: Watch this, watch Tim with these- is this where he does the-
Michael Colton: That’s coming up.
Chris Downey: Oh man.
Jonathan Frakes: The stuff with the-
Aldis Hodge: Did this in one take right? Just one take.
Chris Downey: Jeez she's devouring him. This is like an episode of V!
[Laughter]
John Rogers: She’s gonna unhinge her jaw any second now.
John Aboud: And here we go.
Jonathan Frakes: Oof what a surprise that she'd have it there.
John Rogers: It's a warm key.
Jonathan Frakes: Look at Tim! Look at Tim working those props!
John Aboud: Battling the brooms.
Chris Downey: Nothing like-
John Aboud: And then he stands back up.
John Rogers: Come on the doors right there.
Jonathan Frakes: Come on, come on. Tried and true.
John Rogers: ‘And now I'm gonna go kill a dude.’
Jonathan Frakes: Lucky for us, Beth is in the building.
John Rogers: Yep. This is a real broom closet, that's great. How did you have room to shoot in there?
Jonathan Frakes: Went for the big broom closet.
John Rogers: Ah there you go, as opposed to the little one. Also this is a recurring bit: how Parker will just dump food everywhere. It actually turns out to a plot point in the Rashomon episode.
Chris Downey: Apparently we can have food.
Michael Colton: We can if it's chicken wings. They had like three giant trays of chicken wings.
John Rogers: Ahh good spark welding effect. Thank you, thank you props and special effects, appreciate it.
Jonathan Frakes: This works great, actually.
John Rogers: Yes that was better than the lightsaber through the door in the Star Wars prequel.
[Laughter]
John Aboud: That’s a low bar sir.
John Rogers: Well it's still- it's a feature bar I'll take it.
John Aboud: Feature bar.
Michael Colton: ‘I’m for clean fun’. That's another button,
Chris Downey: Is that what it says?
John Aboud: That’s another one, another button.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: The one on the left is haunting me, I can't quite make out the one on the left.
Aldis Hodge: It says- wait.
Michael Colton: Can we enhance?
John Rogers: Stop and enhance, enhance, push in.
Michael Colton: Push in.
John Rogers: And yeah,this was a lot of fun just zooming in on- cause lets face it, not a lot of women can edge Gina Bellman out of that situation.
Jonathan Frakes: I know, and throw wine on her!
John Rogers: Yep.
Chris Downey: And the fun of this was having them revert to their high school personas and being offended by the cheerleader muscling in on her. I mean right? I mean this is- that's what-
Michael Colton: It's called subtext.
John Aboud: Seeing Sophie confront a mean girl.
Chris Downey: Yes.
John Rogers: Yes. It's great everyone had- everyone had their thematic little hook in this. One of the reasons we originally were attracted to the idea, even a year earlier, was because high school is that period where just the shell isn't on yet.
Chris Downey: And a high school reunion-
Jonathan Frakes: Had you done this before where the con men get conned in the middle of their con?
John Rogers: We play around with it, but rarely in this particular thing. Rarely this particular style.
Chris Downey: You mean an assassin showing up late in the episode?
Jonathan Frakes: No, no, no, I mean two con- our con and another con trying to duke it.
Chris Downey: Oh right.
John Rogers: Intersecting? Two Live Crew kinda.
Chris Downey: Well Order 23 we had a guy pretending to be a Marshall and he was an assassin.
John Rogers: Yeah but not a- those are the crucial- the crucials of surveillance photos.
Jonathan Frakes: Oh, she's on Interpol!
John Rogers: You need a half turn, you need a glasses-
Chris Downey: By the way you never see somebody eating spaghetti in surveillance photos.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Well what are the odds that when you see that person they'll be eating spaghetti? You really don't want that on the wanted photo. That you can't recognize a killer without the spaghetti. You want a spaghetti free context.
John Aboud: ‘Here, eat this.’
John Rogers: ‘Oh, you're that person!’
John Aboud: ‘We've got our man!’
Jonathan Frakes: Mission Impossible.
John Rogers: Yeah great little three way walk, nice.
Jonathan Frakes: Boom. ‘You go this way I'll take this way’. Taking a long time to get through that door.
Chris Downey: Really is. It's a really thick door.
John Aboud: Very secure door.
Michael Colton: They stopped for a break.
Jonathan Frakes: Thick door they established that early.
John Rogers: This, by the way- this is great. Not a lot of guys could land this joke. ‘The health inspector?’
Michael Colton: Was that in the script or was that?
Jonathan Frakes: That was on the day.
John Rogers: That was on the day, that was an improv, right?
Michael Colton: Yeah, Chris did a lot of improv in this scene. Entire fight was improvised.
John Rogers: And that was fun, too, is coming up with the- I remember ‘ok what’s- what’s from the 80s you can hit people with?’
Chris Downey: Oh that's great.
John Rogers: This is a great fight.
John Aboud: First take on that smash.
Chris Downey: Oh that's great.
Michael Colton: Oh I know, ‘they give trophies for chess’ was Christian’s.
John Rogers: That's right.
Chris Downey: Yeah.
[Silence]
John Rogers: Sorry mouthful of Irish whiskey.
[Laughter]
Chris Downey: Yeah this is a great fight oh and the bowling trophy.
John Rogers: The bowling for chess.
Jonathan Frakes: There’s no prop he doesn't flip!
[Laughter]
Aldis Hodge: He flips everything.
Jonathan Frakes: Am I right?
Chris Downey: Or twirl.
Aldis Hodge: He’ll flip a table.
Jonathan Frakes: Never found a prop he couldn't twirl.
John Rogers: And that's interesting, because on the big screen, you cut from the dude sort of cracking his neck behind Christian, and it's a slam cut into two people kissing. For a second I'm like ‘what the hell? Wait what the hell is going on here? Oh alright.’
Jonathan Frakes: Here's something we've all looked forward to. The fox fight in the girls dressing room.
Michael Colton: Well that- when we were writing the high school show and we came up with this character we knew we had to have a girl fight in the locker room.
John Aboud: And where was that silencer?
Jonathan Frakes: Gina resisted, and then ended up saying, ‘When can I do this again?’
John Rogers: She loves fighting, you see.
Chris Downey: She does.
John Rogers: You're always worried you're going to get hurt fighting, but the stunt people know what the hell they're doing, everyone’s super safe and you wind up just having fun. And also that was a big thing, you know Sophie’s character is not a killer, she has to cheat.
Chris Downey: Oh and the shoes!
John Rogers: The shoes come off.
Jonathan Frakes: Now it's real. Boom.
[Laughter]
Chris Downey: And there's another locked off comedy frame!
John Rogers: And then the cross.
Jonathan Frakes: Locked off comedy!
John Rogers: The cross cutting between the two fights was a lot of fun. And yeah, she could probably take her if she didn't have the fire extinguisher. It- Kari’s frustration in ‘what the hell are you talking about’ here is hilarious, actually.
Jonathan Frakes: These stunt doubles are quite good, this is intercut nicely.
John Rogers: Yup it is. And-
Chris Downey: Oh and she uses a gun, look at that.
Jonathan Frakes: Yeah, look at that.
Michael Colton: Yeah, but she missed.
John Rogers: Yeah that's the problem, silencers are really useless anywhere over 10 feet. She should've unscrewed it but by then she'd be gone.
Jonathan Frakes: Woah, woah, woah.
John Rogers: And this is a great- actually of the early episodes this season this was one of my sort of favorite sort of character twists is that Drake actually has an arc.
John Aboud: Right.
John Rogers: You know no person is without redemption, including Drake. Oh yeah.
Aldis Hodge: And the taser!
John Rogers: And the taser. Again, crucial for the finale for us to plant it that soon.
John Aboud: Her weapon of choice for the season.
John Rogers: Yeah catering. We originally had her lowering from the ceiling, and then that was just crazy. Used the taser. Oh the hug, that's nice.
Jonathan Frakes: Oof.
John Rogers: Oh the- and then the double turn this, is this is dense. This one’s actually got a lot going on in this act.
Michael Colton: I have no idea what's happening now.
[Laughter]
John Aboud: Truly lost.
John Rogers: Is this the fourth act? This is the fourth act
John Aboud: I think we're in act nine.
John Rogers: Yeah this is the fourth action act, and there's an awful lot of story going on here.
Chris Downey: Oh here we go.
John Rogers: And what I kinda like here is where Arye Gross is playing not just angry, but hurt.
Michael Colton: Yeah.
John Rogers: It's like ‘I thought all my high school dreams had come true and now you're lying to me.’
Michael Colton: He's great in this.
John Rogers: Genuinely never- can't go wrong with a shot down the gun.
Jonathan Frakes: Nope. Reliable.
John Rogers: Gonna react to it? Nope, just go to the reverse.
Jonathan Frakes: Go out number one.
Michael Colton: Bang.
Aldis Hodge: Commercial, people.
John Rogers: Remember, a guy pulling a gun for the act break is always better than a guy leaving with a gun. And now we do- what's sad is this was the plan. That's- when you think about it this is the most convoluted possible way to get this information in this guy’s head. I don't mean sad in a bad way, I mean this guy really just has no chance whatsoever. And yeah the mixture of like ‘I’m a villain’ and- this may be the saddest villain we’ve ever had.
Michael Colton: Well I was watching this with my sister, who said- this scene happened, she's like ‘oh I feel bad for him’ then he has a line about ‘cause you brutally beat the Iranian’ then she's like ‘oh now I don’t feel bad for him.’ It was the perfect-
Chris Downey: You're like, ‘Ooh I'm glad I put that in there.’
John Rogers: It's a little- it is sometimes a little funny that you know you realize television very much leads you through the emotions of the show. So it’s- you sorta feel like an idiot resetting the emotions as a writer but it’s important. You know you're in a contract with the viewer.
Jonathan Frakes: Well we’ve been in the school for two acts.
John Rogers: Yeah.
Jonathan Frakes: Absolutely true. And the hacker getting hacked we've forgotten about that.
John Rogers: Yeah 42 minutes is- what is it, average American attention span is like 10 minutes? Which is why act length is probably just about right.
John Aboud: ‘Nice try fake Drake’.
Chris Downey: Fake Drake.
John Aboud: And he pointed out that that sounded a little like a Batman villain.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Fake Drake.
John Aboud: ‘Very well Fake Drake.’
John Rogers: The- and again, these are people- these are professional spies. These are people who are hired to take care of people like Eliot.
Aldis Hodge: So it's okay for them to get hurt.
John Rogers: So it's okay for them to get beat up.
John Aboud: For his arm to bend that way.
Aldis Hodge: Yeah we don't feel bad for him, no.
John Rogers: I love the ASCII art there.
John Aboud: Yep, yep.
John Rogers: I love that he would go to the effort of making an ASCII manticore. Cause that's not easy. And you can't have an intern do that cause it's your secret logo.
Chris Downey: Yeah.
John Aboud: I think that probably took Derek all of five seconds. And then it even animates! It even animates when it dies.
John Rogers: x o x o x o yeah. Again, he would've had to do that. So at some point Arye Gross' character had to have gone, ‘What if somebody hacks this? I should put a death animation in just in case.’
Chris Downey: Yeah well you want to know that it's gone.
John Rogers: Yeah exactly. Made unaware.
Jonathan Frakes: This is the fifth Beatle, played strong in this show.
John Rogers: Yeah Derek Frederickson. And of course manticore based on various intercept methods that you can use. And that's kinda tricky is social media is both a tool of insurrection and makes you vulnerable. As soon as you network with other people it's a weakness.
John Aboud: We talked about Carnivore I think wasn’t that the-
John Rogers: Yes, that was the FBI one.
John Aboud: Was the decryption.
Chris Downey: Now how long did it take to ‘Badger 85’? ‘Cause you had to find ways to implant it.
Michael Colton: That- actually that was kind of fun because we had to figure out ways to use the word ‘badger’ or ‘85’.
John Aboud: For this.
Michael Colton: Yeah.
John Aboud: For this sequence.
Chris Downey: For the flashes.
Jonathan Frakes: There was a wonderful alliteration in this.
Chris Downey: ‘Five years’.
John Aboud: ‘Wasn't all bad-ger brain hold onto every detail’.
John Rogers: And there's the badger. You gotta remember that badger.
Aldis Hodge: AKA Beth.
Michael Colton: ‘I already ate, five months’.
John Rogers: I've had this dream so many times.
[Laughter]
Michael Colton: ‘You hacked me?’
John Rogers: And now the meltdown. We don't really give them a gloat here, we don't really give them a gloat.
John Aboud: He pre-gloats.
Aldis Hodge: With the Fred Flinstone run out.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: That’s a chess club run.
Chris Downey: He was in the chess club.
John Aboud: Schmitty.
Jonathan Frakes: Can’t believe we’re out of beer.
Chris Downey: ‘Out of beer!’
Jonathan Frakes: Never happened to Paul.
John Rogers: I don’t think that was a line, I think we just ran out of beer on set.
[Laughter]
John Rogers: Oh Larry Duberman, millionaire, the stress has gotten to him, he's melting down. I'll take him away.
Jonathan Frakes: Here's where we toyed with having our favorite FBI guys in this.
Chris Downey: We almost did but the scheduling didn't work. But we tried to have-
Michael Colton: Yep.
John Rogers: Again always the pain but real humans are attached to these roles. They don't wait around for us.
Chris Downey: Taggert and McSweeten.
John Aboud: Doucherman!
Aldis Hodge: Doucherman.
John Aboud: So disappointed.
Chris Downey: Gave him a nice shot there.
John Aboud: So disappointed.
Jonathan Frakes: He's a friend, he gets a good close up.
John Rogers: That's good.
Jonathan Frakes: And this- I love this end. I love this.
Michael Colton: This is what the show started with.
John Rogers: We held onto this end for two years.
Michael Colton: This was all we had.
John Aboud: This is the image from which the episode sprung.
Michael Colton: From whence it sprang.
John Aboud: Yep.
John Rogers: Like the head of Zeus.
Aldis Hodge: It's a red party cup.
[Laughter]
John Aboud: I love that shirt. I love that shirt. I do love that shirt.
Chris Downey: Is that what that is?
Aldis Hodge: Yup yup.
John Aboud: Red party cup.
Michael Colton: Which is a line-
Chris Downey: Oh I want that.
Jonathan Frakes: And he gives it up to. This actor gives it up again.
John Rogers: Yeah, well didn't we put cayenne pepper in his eyes?
Jonathan Frakes: No we did not.
John Rogers: Oh we don't do that anymore? Alright. No he was-
Aldis Hodge: It's how we motivate our actors. They go hard.
John Rogers: Absolutely fantastic work.
John Aboud: I made him cry.
Aldis Hodge: It’s cause you called him fat right before you shot it.
John Rogers: That's a big part of the show by the way, the victim isn't just pathetic.
John Aboud: It was the insults that did it.
John Rogers: That was a spinoff, too, we talked about - Mandy and Schmitty.
John Aboud: Mandy/Schmitty.
John Rogers: Unwittingly getting involved in cons.
Michael Colton: Schmitheads.
Jonathan Frakes: Mandy was thrilled to get to play a girl with big boobs cause she had just had a baby, so she never had boobs like this before. So she was thrilled to be asked-
Chris Downey: I'm sure she can enjoy hearing that on this.
[Laughter]
Jonathan Frakes: Lana[?] told me this for sure.
Michael Colton: They look wonderful.
John Rogers: The- and this was fun. The whole idea that they were so convincing at the con and so charming-
Jonathan Frakes: Yeah that they become-
John Rogers: You could've done an entire subplot like that.
Chris Downey: Oh look at that.
John Rogers: I think that's you know that's a good day for Schmitty, he really lost track of his friends, and he's just happy to know Drake’s doing okay.
Jonathan Frakes: And you can't miss the beer bowl, John Hughes. Thank you very much.
John Rogers: No he- and this is Joe LoDuca giving us- and we originally wanted words and then he gave us the melody as a sample before he put the words on and realized we don't want words.
Chris Downey: No, yeah, that's perfect.
John Rogers: This is perfect. This sounds exactly like an 80s tune.
Aldis Hodge: Now which one of your guys' high school dreams is this, here?
John Rogers: Dancing with Gina Bellman?
Michael Colton: Dancing with Tim Hutton?
[Laughter]
Aldis Hodge: Becoming prom king after like 85 years.
Jonathan Frakes: I love the callback to these two characters, in these costumes, in this place. I think this is lovely, actually.
Michael Colton: Magical.
John Rogers: This is fantastic. This is one of my favorite endings. It really is.
Aldis Hodge: Bit of redemption for what they’ve gone through.
Jonathan Frakes: No, but it’s in front of all these people. Their pasts-
John Rogers: Yeah, and she's not gonna tell him the name, but she's-
Chris Downey: And high school reunions like we said are full of, like, emotion. I mean it's just that’s what's- it kinda takes you back so it’s-
John Aboud: Well and of course what we liked was that Parker never experienced this stuff. So to her it's an alien world and by the end-
Chris Downey: And here's the shot.
John Aboud: This is it.
Jonathan Frakes: Well the metaphor of her feet being off the ground. Here we go bring it on.
Aldis Hodge: Yup.
Michael Colton: Oh yeah.
John Rogers: Yeah, just never actually touching the ground.
Aldis Hodge: I'm just that strong, I'm holding her up.
[Laughter]
Chris Downey: That is great.
Aldis Hodge: Oh yeah.
Chris Downey: And of course look! The one who- the one guy who didn't get to have any fun.
Jonathan Frakes: ‘I don't get to go.’
John Rogers: ‘Did anybody ask if Eliot's okay? Is Eliot alive?’
Jonathan Frakes: Sorry buddy.
John Rogers: Pissed off Christian is a funny Christian. And then pan up and then find both of them. Oh I love this shot.
Jonathan Frakes: Excellent use of the crane.
John Rogers: This is kind of the whole reason to do- yeah. And-
John Aboud: Fan favorite, gonna call it.
John Rogers: Fan favorite, yep.
Chris Downey: Yeah.
John Aboud: Calling it yeah.
Chris Downey: Both of your episodes guys have endings of real-
Michael Colton: The rest of them are shit, but the endings really land.
Chris Downey: But I'm saying-
Michael Colton: Stick the landing.
John Rogers: Gotta hold on for the ending of Colton and Aboud episode.
Chris Downey: I’m trying to pay you a compliment!
Jonathan Frakes: Makes you wanna put in another DVD doesn't it?
John Rogers: Yes, yes, you should go-
Jonathan Frakes: Let’s watch another episode!
John Rogers: You should go watch another episode right now.
Jonathan Frakes: Go run to the fridge, get some stuff, put another one in.
John Rogers: Get some stuff. If you're pantless that's cool we’re pantless.
Michael Colton: You’re saying for douchbags to go hard.
Aldis Hodge: If Hardison-
Michael Colton: We wrote two endings-
John Aboud: Fake it- we fake it well.
Michael Colton: That are actually heartwarming.
Chris Downey: Very heartwarming.
John Rogers: Well you were given one of them.
[Laughter]
Jonathan Frakes: Thanks for watching.
Aldis Hodge: Peace people.
#Leverage#Leverage TNT#Leverage Audio Commentary Transcripts#Audio Commentary#Transcripts#Parker#Alec Hardison#Elliot Spencer#Nate Ford#Sophie Deveraux#Season 3#Episode 2#Season 3 Episode 2#The Reunion Job
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Yanno what'd be funny? Dead fiancé GHOST reboot au where Soap and Ghost were engaged, but he died and Soap is learning to love again with Roach BUT NONE OF THAT ICKY SAYING THE WRONG NAME STUFF
We could always kill off Soap but i feel like killing off Ghost is funnier
~👑
NO BECAUSE I'VE ACTUALLY THOUGHT ABOUT THIS BEFORE AND I LOVE IT
You guys don't understand I've had so many ideas on how to reverse this AU in a way that either makes none of them suffer (more than necessary) or makes someone other than Roach suffer (Apologies Ghost and Soap but you'll be fine with like one less Ao3 fic about you two and one more that focuses on someone else).
I've thought about Ghost dying where he was Soap's fiance. Then Soap can get promoted to liutenant and be Roach's liutenant. Lots of struggle in that the two could have lots of interactions that are similar to moments between Soap and Ghost. Because Soap losing Ghost would for sure make him a bit more like jaded and a bit more like '09 Soap because of what happened.
So you get that (minus all the toxic calling the other by their dead lovers name) where Roach slowly helps Soap recover and regain some of that life that he lost when Ghost died. They get to kiss and be in love and you can have conflict when they start dating of Roach nearly dying on a mission (as he does) and Soap flipping the fuck out because he doesn't want to lose another lover.
Roach getting to know Ghost (dead) through Soap and, though he never met him, he comes to love and appreciate him for what he was to Soap and what happiness he gave to Soap (let's get rid of that icky almost "competition"/resentment aspect that people tend to include in their dead Roach stuff because its fucking weird to have Soap in competition/hating a dead man)
Other ideas I've had for how to fix this dead fiance stuff is GhostRoach where Roach believes that his fiance, Simon Riley, dies in Mexico (like many people believe), and Ghost doesn't tell him that he's alive because he's worried that it will come back on him and end up with Roach getting killed (he's also terrified of Roach's reaction)
But Ghost doesn't move on either. He keeps he and Roach's engagement ring on (or around his neck/on a necklace during missions). He keeps up with what Roach is doing through the internet, essentially torturing himself because he can tell that Roach is struggling but he can't bring himself to reveal anything.
Then you have Soap who kinda falls for Ghost, but pieces together that Ghost is in love with someone else. Similar to my "Ghost's Dead Fiance" thing, he believes that Ghost is mourning a dead lover. He doesn't press Ghost and, in fact, tries to get over him.
How does Soap try to get over him??? A dating app where he ends up connecting and chatting with an American man named Gary Sanderson who goes by Roach. Roach was convinced to make the account by his family and therapist who didn't want to see him in constant mourning and finally convinced him to at least try.
Soap and Roach hit it off and they essentially start dating online. Then you have Ghost who starts getting upset because he can tell that Roach is with someone new through his posts online (not knowing who), but he also feels guilty about being upset because how can he expect Roach to just mourn him for the rest of his life and never live.
Anyways then you get drama of Roach eventually coming to visit Soap and (since he never knew Simon as Ghost) he doesn't recognize him. So you have Ghost who is forced to watch the man he loves be all sweet and lovey to his Sergeant.
And we all know Ghost is shit with emotions and is still too scared to tell Roach who he is, especially now. So Soap misleads the situation and thinks that Ghost hates/is being rude to Roach for no reason. It eventually comes to a head in a big argument in front of the 141 where eventually Ghost says something that just clicks for Roach on why his voice sounds so familiar (that or he sees the ring) and he just goes "Simon?"
And boom even more drama that eventually ends with all three of them dating and together and happy 😊
#thoughts with luke#you asked luke#gary roach sanderson#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#soaproach#ghostroachsoap#soapghost#ghostsoap#call of duty
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heartbeat on the high line / fred weasley
unresolved angst for freddie because i felt like it <3
summary: fred broke your heart a long time ago and a walk through diagon alley brings up old memories for the both of you
word count: 2.9 k
warnings: post-war timeline, mentions of torture sort of?, mentions of being underweight because of said torture, fluff sort of if you squint?, angst, open ended, tiny mention of death, let me know if i missed anything!! <3
let me know what you think <3
this is based on the song “cardigan” by taylor swift but it’s not a song fic <3
Skies of dark grey released heavy sheets of rain onto the cobblestone streets below, the pitter-patter of the torrential downpour barely muted the sound of your high heels against the all too familiar stone street. A stark black umbrella held primly above your head shielded you from the typical English weather as you strutted through Diagon Alley.
Truthfully, you hadn’t planned on showing your face in the magical hotspot, not so soon after the war anyway. Years worth of memories haunted every twist and turn of the street you seemed to own in the moment, light grey stones darkened and slick from the rain completely devoid of any feet other than your own.
You recalled all of the significant moments, each bookmarked by a certain area of the various alleys. Flourish & Blotts; where you’d met your first love all those years ago, at the age of eleven you’d been so bright eyed and sure of the future, sure of him. In the distance you could make out the bright orange exterior of Weasleys’ Wizard wheezes; where you’d walked away from your first love, all those years later however not so long ago that the sight of his legacy, as vibrant and joy inducing as it always had been, didn’t elicit an uncomfortable pang to spring in your chest. As you progressed past Olivander’s, your lips quirked up ever so slightly as the aging paint of the shop expelled all misconceptions you had about the boy who still haunted all of your “What If?”s, the lightly rusting windows screaming at you as if to remind you that, actually, he hadn’t been your first love. Olivander’s Wand Shop had been the true site of your first love and you’d found that first taste of true, pure, untainted love in the form of your phoenix feather core, thirteen inch, English oak wand.
A wistful giggle left your lips, your feet unmoving, rain lashing down aggressively and sliding off the edges of your umbrella, creating streams of water that fell around you but never got close enough to you to so much as dampen your outfit. Losing yourself in the joy of recalling how happy you’d been upon being chosen by your fateful wand, you failed to notice the familiar frame who had made his way to the doorway of the shop. The creaking of the old door pulled you from your thoughts, a dazzlingly grin broke out on your face as Mr. Olivander himself leant against his propped open door, keeping himself dry inside the comfort of his warm shop.
A grin similar to yours adorned his lips as he called out rather loudly over the rain, “I do recall that smile getting you out of quite a bit of trouble, back in your Hogwarts days,” your smile only widened at his recollection.
“To this day it’s the secret to my success,” you beamed jokingly as Olivander shook his head and released a low chuckle. He had no doubt that you’d be going places, ever since the first moment he’d clapped eyes on you he knew you were destined for success, of course, it was also no wonder that bewitching smile of yours had helped you get there. Like your wand; you chose your company carefully, held nothing but passion for the things you craved, were fiercely determined and surprisingly flexible without breaking your morals.
“I also recall thinking you’d grow up to become one of the brightest witches this country had ever seen. It seems as though you proved me right, dear girl,” he spoke with such reverence that you almost wished to cower away from his gaze, however, you held your confident stance and let your smile melt into an adoring grin once more.
“Don’t act as though you had nothing to do with it, sir,” your voice carried through the wall of worsening rain between yourself and the older wizard, “If it hadn’t been for your encouragement during the war, I think I’d have simply given up in the cellar of Malfoy Manor,” it was a dark time, of course it was, it had been a war after all. You supposed, the love you held for your coveted wand extended to the man who had supplied it to you in the first place; Mr. Olivander, he was more than just the slightly daft wand shop owner, he had been- for longer than you cared to remember- your cellmate, the man who had slid you his rations from across the dungeon when you’d faded to nothing but skin on bones, the one who encouraged you to pursue your dreams of becoming a journalist with the hopes of shining light on issues far more important than the ones covered by that roach Rita Skeeter. He was a lot of things, but above all else, he was your friend.
“Now, now dear,” he chastised teasingly, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes as lively now as it had been on the day he was born, and, every day since, “You better be getting to Gringotts. Lots of galleons and sickles to collect I’m sure. Being the head of the Daily Prophet surely keeps those money bags heavy, eh?”
Your laugh echoed through the street one again, your lips which were painted black, supplied him with the very best smile you could possibly muster. “I suppose I should get going. Look after yourself.” Olivander shot you a wink before retreating back into his shop.
A familiar lamp caught your attention, the ghosts of your past passions rising as brutally as the rain fell. You could remember it, clear as day.
His laughter mingled with yours, the hearty belly laughs bellowing through the darkened street as the pair of you stumbled out of The Leaky Cauldron in the early hours of the morning, systems altered by the copious amounts of fire whiskey you’d managed to consume. His hand held yours in a tight grasp, he swung your interconnected arms childishly.
One second you’d been walking and the next he was twirling you around beneath the spotlight of the flickering post above you. Drunkenly, you’d spun your little heart out, spurred on by his slightly slurred, yet somehow sweet, singing. He admired you as you shimmied ahead of him, completely free, fresh out of school and not yet weighed down by the darkness that loomed in the distance. When your eyes caught his you shot him a smile, he knew it well, it was the smile, it shun like sequins when they caught light and he knew it was worth more than all of the gold in Gringotts. You beckoned him over to you with a finger, taking his hand when he got close enough you spun him around and laughed weightlessly.
The feeling of his hands gripping your waist would be imprinted on your skin for as long as you lived, you’d thought, charmed by the look in his brown eyes when you internally swore that you would’ve loved him for a lifetime.
What you didn’t know, as you shook off the phantom hands on your waist, was that he’d seen your eyes that night and despite his heavily intoxicated state, he noted your devotion and even now, when he’d lay awake and think of you; it was that look and that sequinned smile that haunted him. Just as the streets of Diagon Alley haunted you.
Thinking of the sequence of events that led you to walking away from the person you’d honestly believed to be your once in a lifetime, perhaps even your once in twenty lifetimes, or infinite lifetimes, did nothing but torment your already scarred heart. He was always hard to pin down, how could he not be? With a face like his and the world wrapped around his finger, he knew he didn’t have to settle for only one of each thing.
Chasing two girls excited him, at the time. All of the secret keeping, high stakes secret meet ups, illicit affairs and sensual politics had kept him energised. Until the novelty wore off and he was left with nothing but a side-piece whose favourite colour he hadn’t bothered to learn. But he’d known yours, he knew everything about you, he still did. He knew you, he remembered how you’d stared at him, eyes heavy with betrayal and filled to the brim with tears the day you’d confronted him, your bags already packed as you made it clear that; yes, you love him, but no, he couldn’t fix this. No matter how hard he’d fought to change the ending to your fairytale-esq love story, you’d slipped through his fingers like water.
Various knick knacks that had once been yours still lived in his flat, above the shop you’d encouraged him to open, back in school. For weeks, your scent lingered like a tattoo kiss on his skin, his clothes, his bedsheets, his everything as a constant reminder that he’d forced you away. He’d practically paid for your ticket for the last train out of London that day. He told himself that he was only seventeen; what on Earth did he truly know about love? And again he reasoned; he knew you.
Months before the war he swore time and time again that he’d seen your face amongst the busy, condensed crowds of Diagon Alley. On countless occasions he found himself chasing down strangers like a madman, hoping for nothing more than to catch even a glimpse of the woman who made his heart smile as beautifully as she herself did.
Chin tilted upwards as you passed his renowned joke shop, you walked with a sense of importance willing your feet not to stop, but you couldn’t deny the urge you had to check up on him.
The last time you’d seen him, the world around you had been in complete chaos. You’d only just been saved from the months of endless torture you were forced to endure. Nothing like now, you’d been frail and weak and hollow. But still, you’d saved his life. Without a word you’d saved him from being crushed, as if he had been just another person to save, as if he hadn’t shared the most intimate of moments with you, before rushing back off, back into the fray until the battle had been won. That was the last time he’d seen you in the flesh and he ached to see you again- so he could thank you, so he could tell you that he was grateful to be alive but his life wouldn’t be worth half as much if he never got to hold you in his arms again.
The rain smashed unyieldingly against the windows of the shop as he worked on the tills, the shop was unusually empty, nobody willing to do any sort of shopping on a day so miserable. With a bored sigh, he stared out the large window before him, only one woman walked the street, an umbrella struggling to fight off the rain. The raindrops that accumulated on the window blurred his view of the lady’s face but there was no amount of rain in the world that could hide your signature strut of defiance from him.
Quickly he scampered out from behind the counter, “George! Watch the counter!” He screeched, bombing it out the front door while George released a tired sigh, hoping his twin wasn’t regressing back to his chasing strangers phase.
As soon as he’d entered the open air, he was completely soaked to the bone. Your heels clacking like the countdown on a ticking time bomb as Fred stood frozen as few meters behind you. His hair sopping wet, his shirt sticking to his body and his face completely desperate as he called your name.
His heart was beating so aggressively that he was positive you could hear it from up the street. You’d stopped in your tracks upon hearing his voice, your stomach erupting with butterflies while simultaneously dropping in anticipation when you turned to face him.
“You’re here,” he stated dumbly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he took you in. As beautiful as you’d always been, he carefully inched towards you, you stayed rooted in your spot but let him advance on you. The phantom feeling of his strong hands on your waist clouded your judgment and made you long to have him come back to you.
You nodded your head, “I’m here.”
Fred nodded too, exhaling a deep breath now that he was sure he wasn’t imagining your presence as he had countless times before. Before either of you knew it, you were standing within arms length of each other, however, far too unsure to touch. The rain was roaring and Fred began to blink rapidly, the water hitting his eyes ruthlessly before you took a single step forward and saved him from the onslaught of droplets. You were close now, so close Fred could smell your perfume and see every detail of your face. The handle of your spacey umbrella rested in between the both of you, acting like a barrier so he wouldn’t tug you against his shaking form and hug the daylights out of you.
“You never let me say thank you,” he started, tears very quickly forming to mix with the raindrops that slid down his freckled face. “At the battle. If you hadn't been there, Y/n, I would’ve died.”
“Don’t say that,” you begged, you’d mulled the scenario of “what if I’d been too late?” over in your mind, more times than you were willing to admit, and the image of Fred cold and dead, despite how terribly he’d hurt you, made your gut wrench so violently that you thought you might be sick. “I was there. That’s all that matters.”
His brows furrowed and suddenly the hands on your waist weren’t that of a past ghost anymore, they were his; very real and in the moment. “Why didn’t you stay? After you saved me you just ran off, I couldn’t find you after it was over-“ his voice was so vulnerable, it cracked and hitched and you forced yourself to cut him off, your umbrella shaking in your hand.
“Because I didn’t want you to see me like that- the way I was after Harry got the others and I out of Malfoy’s,” you told him honestly, biting back tears as you offered him more elaboration while he shook his head in a frantic sort of disbelief, “I was weak and skeletal, I couldn’t face you. Not when I saw the way you looked at me.”
“I looked at you the same!” He exclaimed and you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth.
“Exactly, Fred! I was vulnerable and damaged beyond belief and even after everything- every screaming match, or slammed door or horrible words that we wish we could take back you still looked at me like I was your favourite thing!” You rambled, chest heaving painfully as you tried, uselessly, to keep your building tears at bay. Fred didn’t waste a second before he was pulling the umbrella from you and tossing the thing, that had become more of a hindrance than a help, away from you before he cupped your cheeks urgently.
Rain enveloped the both of you and Fred knew he shouldn’t have been thinking it, but merlin, you seemed to glow in the rain and he acknowledged the fact he’d been aware of all along; you were truly an angel.
“Because you were! You are,” his voice was dripping with honest desperation, “I might not have known anything else back then but I knew I missed you, I knew that hurting you would be the worst thing I ever did and when I saw you that day I knew I still loved you and my life wasn’t worth living if it wasn’t spent with you!” You were at a loss for words at his shouted, emotionally charged confession. His eyes searched yours for the look that haunted him, the promise to love him forever that was hidden beneath your irises and after the next words slipped from his lips, he thought that maybe he’d uncovered it.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make things up to you. You’re quite literally the only reason my heart is beating and I’d sooner actually die than let you go one more second thinking that you aren’t the greatest thing that has ever happened to me in my stupid, idiotic life.”
#fred weasley x reader#fred weasley#fred weasley imagine#harry potter x reader#harry potter#fred weasley x you#fred weasley x y/n
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Good as Gold pt.23
[part twenty-two] | [part twenty-four]
[prostitute!jaskier masterpost]
thanks for all your patience and support guys, this chapter was a menace.
As soon as the snow starts to melt, Geralt itches to be on his way. The others must notice it, but the only one who brings it up is Lambert. He's constantly smirking and asking what's so important back in the real world, despite knowing exactly why Geralt is so eager to leave.
He holds out until it's warm enough to sleep outdoors, but he's still the first to leave and it doesn't go unnoticed by the others. Geralt doesn't mind much because Lambert is, again, the only one who speaks of it and Aiden smacks him on the arm when he does. Geralt says his goodbyes to his family and heads out onto the Path once more.
As soon as he reaches the end of the valley, Geralt makes for Hagge.
He makes good time, travelling through the night whenever he's able, and he gets to the city much sooner than expected. It's early evening when he arrives, still early enough that he doesn't feel bad about visiting Jaskier. A little voice in the back of his head reminds him Jaskier is usually happy to see him whenever he visits, but he's still relieved that it's not too late. He's certainly not patient enough to wait until morning.
His stomach churns and his skin prickles with anticipation and the only thing that keeps him from bursting apart completely is the knowledge that he has to apologize to Jaskier. Even if he doesn't share Geralt's feelings, Jaskier deserves better than his behaviour before he left for the winter.
He's nervous for the first time as he steps into the brothel.
immediately, he's approached by Vivienne, hands on her hips and the scent of fury surrounding her. He can't even blame her; Jaskier told him he was important to him, Geralt knew that and still left for almost five months without saying anything. Five months when the longest it's been in over a year was weeks and then Geralt just... disappeared.
"Oh no," Vivienne laughs humourlessly, "you're not welcome here."
"I just want to talk to him. Briefly." It's not all he wants, but it's the least Jaskier deserves.
"You're not seeing him ever again if I have anything to do with it." she stares him down, hands firmly planted on her hips, and it's easy to see why she and Jaskier get along so well. He tries to apologize, but he's interrupted as the madame comes over, clearing her throat pointedly.
She's never been happy to see him and she takes delight in kicking him out now. The worst part is, he can't even blame her. If someone had treated his brothers the way he did Jaskier, Geralt would be furious with them.
He walks aimlessly through town because it's too early to turn in for the night, but he doesn't want to leave, either. Roach is stabled and fed and she'll be fine for the night now, so he has a lot of time to think about what he wants to do. And what he should have done already, all the things he should have said. He's not about to give up just because they won't let him into the brothel, but he does wish things had been different, starting with the way he left.
Firstly, he wishes he'd told Jaskier he was leaving, that he wintered in the north, anything. It seems so easy with time and distance between now and then.
He wonders if Jaskier thought about him.
As he considers and regrets, Geralt wanders, and it doesn't take him long to wind up at the field Jaskier took him to before. It's not an intentional choice, but he's not disappointed either. The sun is beginning to set and Geralt has spent enough time in Hagge to know the locals don't take kindly to people out and about after sundown, so he climbs the fence and plops himself down in the middle of the field to watch the sunset. He'll still have to return to the inn later, but for now, he can relax in peace.
He lays his cloak out on the grass and lies down with his arms folded behind his head and he considers how to fix this. The easiest option would be to go to Jaskier's house, but he's not sure Jaskier would even want to see him right now and he understands that. So he sits and contemplates and just before the sun slips behind the mountains, he hears footsteps coming toward him in the grass.
Geralt looks up with a sigh, expecting someone coming to shoo him away, but as he turns his head, he catches a whiff of perfume - Jaskier’s perfume - and his heart stops. The scent is suddenly overwhelming and he wrinkles his nose against it as Jaskier approaches. At first, the intensity of the scent was confusing, but when Jaskier gets closer, Geralt realizes the perfume is a mask against his own scent. But Geralt can still pick it up, even smothered in lavender.
Jaskier drops down on the grass a couple of feet away and Geralt’s fingers twitch against his stomach, eager to reach out to him, but Jaskier is justly angry and he holds himself back.
"So," Jaskier says slow, short, "you were just going to stop by to what? say hello and fuck off again? Pretend like nothing happened?" Geralt winches at the sharpness of the words, but he knows it's what he deserves. He doesn't know how to respond, so he keeps quiet. Evidently, it's not the right choice because Jaskier lets out a heavy sigh. "Right," he says, "guess I'll be doing all the talking then."
"You left me here," Jaskier says, "and I know you've said again and again that it's too dangerous or whatever, but you didn't even-" he pulls in a breath and Geralt clenches his hand to keep from reaching out to him. As much as he wants to comfort him, he's sure it wouldn't be appreciated. "Fuck, Geralt, I thought you were dead. You couldn't have even mentioned the last time that you wouldn't be back?"
"I'm sorry," Geralt whispers. It's not enough, not nearly, but he doesn't know what else to say.
"Yeah. I just-" Jaskier pulls his knees up to his chest and Geralt hates himself for doing this to him. The scent of anger dissipates, and Jaskier's pulse quickens as he speaks, the mingling scents of fear and anguish rolling off of him. Geralt grits his teeth against it. He owes Jaskier a chance to speak - among other things. "I thought that I- I thought that this-'' he inhales sharply and Geralt feels very small. Jaskier has a way with words unlike anyone he's ever met, so for him to not be able to finish a sentence is... worrying. "If it wasn't worth coming back, If I wasn't- Geralt, what the fuck?"
"You are," Geralt says quickly, "I didn't intend to hurt you. I don't deserve you."
"For fuck's sake, Geralt," Jaskier snaps. He shifts and turns his body to face him and for the first time, Geralt brings himself to look at him properly. Jaskier's only in his robe and smallclothes, presumably having left the brothel in a rush. And he looks sullen. His skin is pale, his eyes dull and yet too-shiny - the cause of which Geralt hates to even acknowledge. "I thought you knew that I want you? That this is more than just a godsdamn transaction for me. So what if you don't think you deserve me? You had me anyway."
Had. Geralt winces at the word. He sits in silent contemplation for a moment before Jaskier lets out a shaky breath.
"Geralt, the least I deserve is a godsdamn explanation. I didn't know where you were, if you'd been hurt, or-"
"You're right," he breathes and Jaskier seems a little taken aback at that. His eyes go wide, but he remains quiet, expectant. Geralt sits up and shifts over a little, making space on his cloak for Jaskier. Surprisingly, Jaskier gets up and comes over to join him.
"I'm sorry," Geralt whispers. He wants to touch, to feel, to hold Jaskier and promise him everything will be okay from now on, that he'll never hurt him again - but he doesn't think he's allowed. "We- my brothers and I winter up at Kaer Morhen, a keep in the mountains northeast of Kaedwen. It's where I was trained, where I grew up. I- I should have told you."
"Why didn't you?" to his credit, Jaskier doesn't sound angry any longer, only disappointed or maybe sad.
"I was afraid." Geralt hesitates, hating the way the words feel on his tongue, but he doesn't know what to follow them up with. "I didn't think you'd really want me coming back."
Jaskier sighs softly and shifts to settle on his side next to Geralt. "You're an idiot," he says softly, his tone just edging on fond. Geralt's heart soars, but he tries not to get his hopes up.
"I know."
"And a dick."
Geralt huffs a laugh and when he turns, Jaskier is looking up at him, a faint smile on his face. "And a dick," Geralt agrees. Jaskier's eyes drop to the space between them and he picks at the hem of his robe.
"I was afraid you were dead," he whispers, "I didn't know what to do. I had no one to ask, no one to send word, to make sure you were okay-"
"I know," Geralt says and he can't help but lean forward, cupping Jaskier's face in his hand.
He runs his thumb softly over his cheekbone, relishing the softness of Jaskier's skin under his palm. He's missed him desperately and now he aches to think he ever could have jeopardized this.
"Whatever it takes, I'll make it up to you if you'll let me."
"They won't be happy to see you back at the brothel," Jaskier mumbles, "but I'm sure I can sway them. Viv’s overprotective and she’ll get the others on her side, but she'll get over it. And the madame will let you in if I ask her to-"
"I don't care about them," Geralt interrupts, "just you. If you'll have me."
"Geralt," Jaskier breathes, low and exasperated, "of course I'll have you. You did a stupid, thoughtless thing and scared me half to death when you didn't show up for months but that doesn't stop me from caring about you. I was only worried because I do care about you."
Geralt shuts his eyes against the ache in his chest, wishing there was some way to make everything better. "I'm sorry," he whispers, brushing his thumb over Jaskier's cheek. "I never wanted you to suffer."
"I know, love." Jaskier leans up, pressing a soft kiss to Geralt's forehead before settling down against him. "Let's not talk about it any longer, alright?"
"Jask-"
"I'm glad you're back, Geralt and I'm happy to see you again. And I don't have the energy to think about the rest of it any longer. Why don't you tell me about your winter?"
"Okay," he says slowly, considering his words carefully. "But it's just the four of us most of the time. There's not much to tell." Not, at least, that he would be willing to share just yet.
"Sounds lonely."
"It's not that bad. No lonelier than the Path."
"Geralt," Jaskier huffs, "I'm sure you can find something interesting to say. You were gone for five months." There's a humour to his voice, but the wariness hasn't subsided and Geralt hates it. He'd do anything not to hear it again, but he doesn't know what else he can say.
"I..." he shuts his eyes and lets his fingers press into Jaskier's skin. "I thought about you while I was gone."
"Oh? Tell me?"
"I dreamt about you."
Jaskier hums and when Geralt opens his eyes, he's wearing the first genuine smile he's seen tonight. Jaskier props himself up, running a hand up Gerslt's chest, fingers slipping under the fabric of his shirt to trace along his collar bone. Geralt drops his head back and relaxes into the touch, relishing the soft brush of Jaskier's skin against his own. He's missed this, missed him, more than he should.
It's not until Jaskier's leaning into him, nosing against his neck, that Geralt comes back to himself. He gently curls a hand around Jaskier's wrist, lifting it off of him.
"I can't," he says, "I don't have the coin."
Jaskier doesn't hesitate, even for a second. "I don't care," he breathes and when Geralt meets his eyes, there's nothing but soft sincerity and something that looks like hope. "Geralt, all winter all I wanted was just for you to come back. Don't think I'm going to let anything stop me from being with you now."
Jaskier shifts and Geralt can't take his eyes off him. He knows he doesn't deserve any of this, but he wants it and he wants Jaskier to know that. Without thinking, he reaches out, curling his hand around the back of Jaskier's neck and tangling his fingers in his hair. Smiling softly, Jaskier shuts his eyes and leans into the touch.
Geralt draws him close, pressing their foreheads together and Jaskier hums softly. The overwhelming scent of perfume has partially worn off and Geralt can better detect Jaskier's natural scent beneath it. He focuses on it, breathing it in as Jaskier's hand slides up his chest. He can feel his own heart thudding heavily and Jaskier's is just as frantic and Geralt tips his head, lightly brushing his mouth against Jaskier's.
He stops breathing entirely but it hardly matters because as soon as Jaskier's realized it, he’s pushing him over onto his back and kissing him hard. Jaskier shifts so he's above him and Geralt's free arm slips around his waist, pressing him against him and Geralt's entire world narrows to Jaskiers lips on his own, just the soft press of his mouth and the little moan that escapes him as Geralt deepens the kiss.
His lips are soft and taste of wine and something sweet and Geralt commits the taste to memory. He tries to focus on everything, but it's too much all at once. Jaskier shifts to straddle his hips, reading his elbows on the grass and pushing his fingers through Geralt's hair. He grips tightly like he's afraid Geralt might pull away, but Geralt is just as unwilling to let go.
Geralt raises one knee, sliding one arm around his lower back as his other presses upward, fingers tangling in Jaskier's hair. I love you, his body screams, but his mind isn't cooperating and his mouth is otherwise occupied.
Jaskier only breaks away to breathe, holding himself up on one hand as the other continues running through Geralt's hair. He's flushed a deep red that carries on all the way down his chest and he's entirely breathless, but to Geralt, he has never looked more beautiful than he does now.
He's overwhelmed by Jaskier's scent, the thick spicy sweet of his growing arousal but there's something else there, too. It's a softer scent, sweet and flowery and it’s somewhat familiar, but Geralt can’t place it.
He lays panting for only a moment as the realization of what he’s done settles over him and as Jaskier's lips curve into a smile, Geralt drags him back down. There's a soft groan of surprise, but Geralt nips at his bottom lip and Jaskier goes limp against him, the scent of lust erupting like a cloud.
"Oh," he breathes, muffled against Geralt's mouth, "oh, Geralt." His hips give a little twitch Geralt slips his hand lower, coping Jaskier's ass and encouraging the gentle roll.
Any misgivings he may have had about fucking Jaskier outside at the edge of the forest are silenced with a quick flick of Jaskier's tongue against his own. He feels it all the way down to his toes and his responding whine only encourages Jaskier further.
When he shifts forward into Geralt's touch, Geralt can feel the way Jaskier swells against him, pressing his hips down against Geralt's. He gets a knee between his thighs, steadying himself as Geralt's hands pull back to cup his face.
Geralt kisses him again, quick and hot, but even as Jaskier rocks against him, it turns slow and heady. His eyes drop shut as Jaskier's weight settles against him, his fingers running lightly over his skin before tangling in his hair once more.
They find a steady rhythm and Geralt's body sings with lust and relief and love, his skin tingling with every minor touch. And Jaskier barely takes his hands off him for a second. He's aware of his own arousal - and of Jaskier's - but it's almost a background thought to the warmth of Jaskier's mouth on his own, the absolute thrill of it after what feels like centuries of deprivation.
When Jaskier moves, he has to stretch to keep from breaking the kiss, lifting himself off of Geralt and settling between his legs instead. He keeps one arm on the ground as the other slides down Geralt's chest, eventually reaching the hem of his shirt and slipping beneath it. Jaskier's hands are warm and he maps out Geralt's body like it's the first time, fingertips sliding into the valleys of his chest.
Jaskier hums against him and his fingers slip downward, fiddling with the buttons on Geralt's trousers. It's only playful, but when Jaskier's knees nudge under his thighs, he presses up close and Geralt can feel the thick line of his cock pressing into him. All at once, he's overcome by the need to have him closer and he wraps his legs around his waist and hauls him closer.
Jaskier is jostled in the process and he laughs lightly as he presses his face into Geralt's neck. Soft kisses are pressed into his skin and Geralt squirms, far more affected by it than he reasonably should be.
But that's Jaskier, isn't it? That's why he's here right now instead of on the Path where he was supposed to be. Jaskier is different. He takes things and flips them on their head without a second thought. Jaskier cares for him when no one else will look at him. Jaskier loves him.
The thought nearly breaks him and Geralt tugs him back up, kissing him deeply. When he pulls back, he's breathless and Jaskier is staring back at him with the softest, most beautiful smile Geralt has ever seen.
"I want you," he breathes and Jaskier's grin spreads as he leans up.
"Here?" he asks, "Geralt if I didn't know better, I'd say you were becoming a romantic, wanting to make love in a field under the stars." Yeah, he thinks, that's exactly what he wants, but he doesn't say it.
"Jask," he prompts and Jaskier smiles down at him, dipping to kiss the tip of his nose.
"Of course, my darling, anything for you."
He hovers barely an inch above Geralt's lips and knowing he's allowed to kiss him, the urge is too strong to resist. Jaskier laughs as he's tugged down again, but he quickly regains control, pushing Geralt's arms above his head. He draws back just enough to speak, the words a soft echo on Geralt's lips.
"Let's get this off, hm?" He curls his fingers around the hem, dragging his knuckles over Geralt's skin as he lifts the shirt up and over his head. It's tossed to the side, forgotten, and Jaskier returns to Geralt's neck. "I did miss you, you know," he breathes, lips dragging hot and wet against Geralt's skin, "when you were gone."
"I'm sorry," Geralt breathes, lifting his hands to tangle in Jaskier's hair. "I didn't want to leave you." Jaskier's only gotten as far as his collarbone when he stops and looks up at him.
"Then stay, next time," Jaskier hums, "if you need somewhere to stay, you can stay with me." Jaskier sits up pushing his knees under Geralt's thighs and he runs his fingers down Geralt's chest to the hem of his trousers. He gets them undone swiftly, tugging them open and folding the fabric back on itself to give himself room to touch.
Jaskier slips his hands down, pressing his thumbs into the vee of Geralt's hips and Geralt groans. He's been trying not to let Jaskier's touch affect him, but the lower he goes, the harder it is to keep from getting hard. After everything they've been through together, it shouldn't matter but this feels important somehow and Geralt isn't sure this is totally appropriate.
Not, at least, until Jaskier's fingers slip inside his trousers. Geralt gives in as soon as Jaskier's fingers brush his cock, groaning as they slip around him and tug gently. He drops his head back, looking up and as soon as Jaskier's eyes catch his, their mouths crash together again. Geralt grasps at him, pulling him closer as Jaskier strokes him.
The angle is awkward, but Jaskier shifts to make it easier for them both and when he's kissing him, Geralt can hardly think of anything else. He keeps his hands tangled in Jaskier's hair, keeps him close because he can't bear the thought of losing him, of even coming close again. The thought of it is too much to bear after coming so close already. Jaskier eases back, pulling from Geralt's mouth to kiss his jaw.
"Relax, my love," he breathes, humming against his skin. "I want this just as much as you do." Geralt tries to relax, but there's still the lingering fear that afterward, Jaskier will leave him here alone again.
Jaskier sits up and it's enough of a shock to bring Geralt back to his senses and he reaches for him again. Jaskier just smiles and dips to kiss his nose before shifting so he can tug Geralt's trousers down. As soon as they're off and out of the way, Jaskier pulls off his own shorts and slides back between Geralt's thighs.
He's hard already, his cock peeking through the split in his robe, and Geralt can't keep his eyes off him. Jaskier's hands smooth up his thighs and he presses closer until his cock settles in the vee of Geralt's hip. He rocks forward gently and Geralt's hips twitch up to meet him. It's been so long and he's wanted him so badly, but he doesn't want to fuck this up - not if Jaskier is willing to give him another chance.
Jaskier slips a hand into his pocket and produces a familiar corked bottle. Geralt isn't one to be presumptuous, but either Jaskier was anticipating this, or he always carries a bottle of oil around with him - he's not sure which is more likely. Geralt watches his hands as Jaskier pours a little of the oil into his palm, spreading it around with his fingers. He wraps the same hand around Geralt's cock, stroking him steadily. Geralt's head drops back against the ground with a dull thud as he groans softly as Jaskier's fingers curve around the head of his cock.
"Fuck," Jaskier breathes, "that's it darling, relax for me." The words have barely left his mouth before a slick finger presses back behind Geralt's balls, slipping between his cheeks. Geralt tenses for a moment, but as soon as Jaskier presses against him, he settles.
Jaskier's touch is warm and familiar and Geralt's legs spread involuntarily to give him space. Jaskier hums approvingly and presses further. His other hand moves to Geralt's hip, fingers slipping gently against his skin.
Under his touch, Geralt goes limp, relieved to know that for now, at least, Jaskier is still happy to be with him.
Jaskier presses into him tentatively and Geralt does his best not to tense up again. He needs this, wants this more than he ever has before and yet he's terrified of fucking it up. Jaskier's hand moves against his skin and Geralt's only half-aware of it until Jaskier is on his knees leaning over him, smiling down at him.
"You're in your head, love. Tell me what's bothering you."
"I don't want to fuck this up," he breathes, his words catching at the end as Jaskier brushes against that spot within him.
"Don't leave me again and we'll be fine." He smiles down at him and as Jaskier's lips brush against his, Geralt can't help the little smile that tugs at his lips.
"Never," he whispers. He groans as Jaskier presses deeper and Jaskier drops his head, bumping his forehead against Geralt's.
"Okay?" he breathes. Geralt nods. "You're very sensitive." He bumps his nose against Geralt's and shifts to breathe against his ear.
"Five months," Geralt mutters and Jaskier huffs a quiet laugh. He works into him, letting Geralt adjust to the intrusion before rubbing around his rim with a second.
Geralt rolls his head back, groaning at the stretch. Jaskier touches him gently, steadies him with a warm palm against his hip. Without it, Geralt feels like he might explode. He can't breathe with Jaskier's fingers inside him, can barely think straight. Somehow, over the winter, he'd forgotten how exceptionally talented Jaskier is with his hands and he's been missing this for months.
"Please," he whispers and he doesn't even know what he's asking for, but Jaskier crooks his fingers, rubbing against his prostate, and Geralt arches off the ground.
He's already pushing dangerously, embarrassingly close to the edge. Clearly, he's been more desperate than he thought. And he knows Jaskier can feel it, knows he'll do what he can to bring him off first, but tonight he wants Jaskier inside him, wants to wrap around him and never let him go. Not that he's going to argue with this, but-
"Not yet," he says, but his voice comes out rough and needy, clearly giving away his desperation.
"Oh darling, if you think you're only coming once tonight, you're mistaken," he leans down, letting his lips brush the shell of Geralt's ear. "It's been months for you and I've been stuck here with ancient farmers who can barely get it up and stable hands who come too soon and fuck right off. No darling, I think you and I are both deserving of a good fuck."
Jaskier thrusts into him again, shifting so his cock slides against Geralt's and all it takes is one well-aimed thrust before Geralt is coming. His eyes nearly roll back in his head and he bites down on his lip as he works through it, Jaskier's fingers still working slowly into him.
"Oh," he breathes, reaching up to lace his fingers through Jaskier's hair. He tugs his head up, earning him a cheeky smirk that's quickly wiped away as Geralt kisses him. Hard.
Jaskier moans into his mouth, slipping his tongue between Geralt's lips and dropping so he's pressed against his side. He doesn't let up, thrusting steadily into him even as his cock digs into Geralt's thigh. He's clearly wanting, and yet he's still giving Geralt pleasure first. Part of him wants to soak it all in, to bask in his continued affection, but he wants to give it more. He wants Jaskier to know he's repentant, to know exactly how he feels without having to stumble over the words to say it. Because words he's bad with, actions he can do.
Wrapping both arms around Jaskier's waist, he pulls him up onto him, lifting one knee to hold him in place. Jaskier chuckles softly, nipping at Geralt's bottom lip before drawing back.
"Impatient, darling?" he teases. Geralt just hums, reaching up to curl a hand around the back of his neck.
"Let me make you feel good."
"Oh, Geralt, you do." Jaskier dips, kissing down his chest until he's forced to readjust. He smiles up at him and Geralt grabs him again, hauls him down against him.
He gets a hand between them, wrapping around Jaskier's cock and stroking him gently. He's slow, steady, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's shoulder and squeezing around the head of his cock. Jaskier's breath is hot and wet where he buries his face in Geralt's neck and Geralt has fought soldiers and monsters alike, but he's never felt as powerful as he does with Jaskier in his arms, panting and moaning into his skin. Not as powerful and certainly not as wanted.
Jaskier shifts against him, bringing one hand up to tangle in Geralt's hair. He tugs lightly, apparently pleased with the guttural groan he gets in response, even if Geralt is embarrassed by his own neediness. Jaskier rolls his hips, pressing himself between Geralt's fingers with soft, muted moans. But when Geralt let's free his hand slip, cupping Jaskier's ass and encouraging the roll of his hips, Jaskier stutters to a stop. Geralt's head jerks up as Jaskier rises up off his chest, but Jaskier's expression is still soft when he looks down on him.
"Darling I appreciate that you want to make me feel good, and you do - gods, do you - but," he whispers, shifting onto all fours love him. Jaskier tips his head down, just low enough that his nose bumps Geralt's and Geralt could kiss him if he tilted his head just so. He doesn't, even when Jaskier's lips brush his own. "I want to fuck you tonight. I've been thinking about this for weeks and nothing is going to take you away from me now." He presses the softest kiss to Geralt's lips before drawing away and straightening up.
Knees press under his thighs and Jaskier lifts them, settling so Geralt's legs are draped over his own, spread wide and open for him. Even after so much time, he feels like he should be embarrassed to be seen like this, but Jaskier just makes him feel warm and safe and comfortable.
It feels like an eternity that Jaskier touches him, brushing his fingers along the insides of his thighs and slipping his fingers in and out, driving Geralt to madness. Then, just when he thinks he can't take it any longer, Jaskier relents. His cock is thicker than his fingers, smooth and hot and so fucking good after months of denial.
He presses in slow but steady, holding Geralt's hip with one hand and soothing him with the brush of his thumb against his skin. It's sweet and much-appreciated, but entirely unnecessary. Geralt is needy and wanting, desperate for Jaskier to just get on with it. His skin prickles as Jaskier sinks into him. He reaches up to him, wrapping his arms around his neck and drawing him closer.
As Jaskier settles, he shifts his hips, pressing against Geralt's prostate as he adjusts. Geralt's breath catches and there's a flash of something in Jaskier's eyes. He does it again. This time, Geralt groans loudly and when he arches off the ground, Jaskier slips an arm around the small of his back.
He lowers himself, holding Geralt close as he rolls his hips, slowly at first, but as Geralt reaches for him, grabbing at his shoulders, Jaskier picks up speed. He presses closer, kissing Geralt as he rocks into him and it's so good.
Geralt draws him close, hooking one knee over Jaskier's hip and wrapping his arms around him. Jaskier's body is warm despite the cool night air, soft under his hands, and Geralt's chest swells with an emotion he still barely recognizes in himself.
"Oh, love," Jaskier breathes. He kisses Geralt's jaw, nips at his lips. His breath is hot against Geralt's skin and it's what he focuses on to hold himself together. He feels like he's floating, so overwhelmed with emotion that he's not quite sure what to do with it. And when Jaskier whispers, "I've missed you," so soft and sweet and genuine, Geralt shatters.
He kisses him then, wrapping both legs around Jaskier's waist and pulling him against him. It doesn't matter if Jaskier can move or not, Geralt just wants him close, wants to be able to feel Jaskier's body against him, to know he's there.
They stay like that for some time, Geralt wrapped as tightly around him as he can be and Jaskier still rocking into him slowly. He's resting on his elbows now, fingers tangled in Geralt's hair as he kisses him all over. His cheeks, his jaw, his nose and, eventually, his lips. Jaskier moans as Geralt kisses back rough and desperate, the sound of which only serves to deepen his arousal.
He's already nearing the precipice again and when Jaskier pushes back up to his knees, the new position has him bumping up against that spot with every thrust. Geralt rolls his head back, hair tangling as he bares himself to Jaskier. He keeps one hand around Jaskier's neck, loathe to let him get far away and the other drops to clench around his cloak, groaning with each of Jaskier's thrust as pleasure zips up his spine.
Jaskier's fingers dig into his thighs and Geralt slumps back against the ground. Fuck, he'd forgotten how good it could be with someone you care about - not that he's been with anyone else. Jaskier slips one hand up, bracing himself on Geralt's chest with the other stays on his hip, squeezing and holding Geralt steady as he pounds into him.
He's mumbling, muffled by the way he bites at his bottom lip and drops his chin against his chest, but even through the buzzing in his head, he catches little bits of it. It's nothing out of the ordinary; just Jaskier telling him he's beautiful, that he missed him, that he's so fucking good, darling. But it hits differently tonight, knowing how close he was to losing this wonderful man and fucking up everything they've been through.
When he realizes Jaskier is close, Geralt reaches up to him, cups Jaskier's face in his hand with the last of his remaining strength. Jaskier lets out a little whine and turns into the touch, kissing the palm of his hand.
"Fuck," he groans and his hips stutter. Jaskier presses deeper, leaning over him, and their eyes meet for the briefest moment before he drops to kiss him.
It's rushed and sloppy and Geralt can feel the way Jaskier comes down from the rush as his kisses become slower, more precise. Geralt's fingers slip up through his hair and Jaskier hums as he eventually draws away. He settles against Geralt's chest, pressing his nose into his throat.
The warmth of his breath is calming and Geralt finds his eyes dropping shut. He slips an arm around Jaskier's waist, holding him a little more firmly against him. He won't let himself take this for granted again, he won't let himself do anything more to jeopardize whatever this is - even if it never goes further than this. Geralt is right on the verge of sleep when Jaskier slips away from him, chuckling lightly when Geralt groans at the loss.
"I know my love. As lovely as this is, the nights are still quite cold and the chill will set in soon." Geralt groans softly, making a half-hearted attempt to pull Jaskier back down. "Not yet, love. Come back home with me." He presses a kiss to Geralt's shoulder. "It's warm there and we can relax."
"You're not supposed to be back at the brothel?"
"I'm sure they'll get by without me for one night."
Jaskier rises up to his knees and Geralt shudders as the silk of his robe slides against his skin. His cock gives a twitch of interest and his eyes flutter shut again.
Despite his resistance, Geralt lets Jaskier coax him to his feet and he dresses quickly, picking his clothes out of the damp grass. Jaskier is already half-dressed and he watches Geralt closely as Geralt tugs his trousers up and struggles to get them laced up around his still-hard cock, the intensity of which does nothing to make Geralt's task any easier.
Once he's dressed again, albeit sloppily, Jaskier slips up close again, kissing him softly as he takes Geralt's hand. Jaskier leads him from the field through the streets, but Geralt could find his way around blind by now. He's spent more time in Hagge than any other city on the continent and he hardly needs to be given directions. But he likes the warmth of Jaskier's hand in his and he likes being able to step back and let someone else take the lead.
Jaskier is oddly quiet on the way there, but his scent and his demeanour tell Geralt that he's not upset, perhaps thoughtful. When the house rises up before them, Jaskier pauses and Gerlt halts with him. He waits as Jaskier comes around to face him, twisting the fingers of their free hands together.
"I want to make something clear," Jaskier says, meeting Geralt's eyes in a gesture that seems difficult for him. Geralt remains silent, fighting back a creeping fear that seeps into him. "I know you're a smart man, Geralt, but I also know that sometimes certain feelings stop us from thinking clearly. And after the winter, I-" he exhales slowly and looks up at him with more conviction. "This isn't about sex for me Geralt and it certainly isn't about getting paid. I- I've put aside every mark you've paid me. I haven't spent any of it in case you ever changed your mind about taking me with you."
Geralt's head swims. It's not about the sex for him, either. It hasn't been for ages if he's honest. He loves Jaskier, cares more deeply for him than he has for anyone in a long time. He wants to take him with him. But he doesn't know how to say any of this to Jaskier, so he lets his actions speak for him.
He surges forward, wrapping his arms around Jaskier's waist, and kisses the little oh of surprise from his lips. Jaskier laughs against him and winds his arms around Geralt's neck, using him as leverage to bring himself closer. He lingers for a long time before walking backward up the path and pulling Geralt with him.
They finally break apart just inside the door and Geralt's chest swells when he sees the flushed grin on Jaskier's face.
"It's not for me, either," he breathes and Jaskier seems to understand because his grin only broadens and he tugs Geralt close enough to shut the door behind him.
They stumble upstairs together, still wrapped up in each other, and the only reason Geralt lets go is because Jaskier's hands wander to his trousers and Geralt is eager to be rid of them again. He does his best to relax, but it's difficult with Jaskier's hands all over him. By the time Jaskier has him naked again, Geralt is fully hard again. He squirms as Jaskier presses up from behind, resting his chin on Geralt's shoulder.
"I hate to be the one to ruin the mood, darling, but I can't feel my toes and I'd very much like a bath right now." He kisses his shoulders and slips away. He shoves his shorts down over his hips tauntingly as he steps away and Geralt turns to watch him.
Jaskier is elegant, even when he's being a tease and he makes a show of filling the bath, bending low so that his robe slips up over his ass. It takes all of Geralt's control to keep from picking him up and taking him to bed immediately and he still finds himself drawn close before Jaskier is finished, winding his arms around his waist and bending over him. The robe has slipped from one shoulder and Geralt hums as he kisses the bare patch of skin there.
He moves one hand down, slipping beneath the hem of the robe to run up Jaskier's thigh and he gets a laugh in response.
"Okay," Jaskier grins, turning around to slide his hands up Geralt's chest, "come on then, impatient, let's get you into that tub."
Geralt doesn't need any more convincing than that and he climbs into the bath, sloshing the water as he sits down a little too quickly. Jaskier gets in after him, settling between his legs and leaning back against his chest. It's all Geralt can do not to rock up against him, especially when Jaskier leans back and kisses his neck, but he restrains himself. Instead, he slips his hands between Jaskier's thighs, running his fingers along the smooth skin there.
"I'm sorry I left you," he mumbles. "Really."
"I know," Jaskier says, "It took me a while to realize it, but when I saw you tonight... Don't leave like that again."
"I won't."
"But I suppose you'll be leaving again soon."
"Shortly, yes. I have to take care of something important for a friend. I'll be heading to Skellige."
"Oh wow, that's... far," Jaskier falters. There's a hesitancy in his voice that Geralt dislikes more than he should.
"Yeah, but I- I don't have to leave right away. If you like, I could stay? If you'd have me?" Jaskier pushes off of him and for a moment Geralt thinks he's overstepped, that he's said too much. But then, when Jaskier looks at him with big, shining eyes, he realizes that for once he might actually have done something right.
"My darling," Jaskier whispers, wrapping one hand around the back of Geralt's head. He tips forward, letting their lips brush just lightly before leaning into it and Geralt lets him despite his eagerness to know what he has to say. When he finally pulls away, he's smiling again. "My darling Geralt," he tries again, "it would be my absolute pleasure to have you stay with me."
#now presenting: the chapter that nearly killed me#idk what's going on#but i can't make the link work rn#I'll fix it after#for anyone else who's forgotten what happened last time#geraskier#geralt x jaskier#jaskier x geralt#prostitute!jaskier#good as gold#rex writes
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of stolen shirts and sorrow
4.5k hurt/comfort, happy ending. read on ao3 here.
Blood bubbles up between Geralt’s splayed fingers. He presses down as hard as he can without risking causing more damage. Jaskier moans faintly, and Geralt tries not to panic.
He fails.
It wasn’t supposed to be Jaskier that was in harm’s way, it was supposed to be him, should have been him lying on the ground with his blood seeping into the dirt, but they had been caught unaware, and there had barely been time for Geralt to unsheathe his sword before Jaskier had cried out beside him.
Jaskier had stayed standing long enough for Geralt to dispatch the werewolf with a vicious slice of his sword, blood spraying from its carotid as it fell to the ground and twitched. There wasn’t time for anything with more finesse. Geralt took a moment to feel sorrow that he had to kill it when his intention had been to come here to cure it, but it had been snarling and advancing towards Jaskier again, and Geralt couldn’t take any more chances.
Geralt whirled to Jaskier, and Jaskier dropped to the ground, sitting down hard and looking pale. Geralt’s eyes shot down to where he was clutching his stomach, blood dripping through his fingers and staining them red. Geralt whipped his head around to be sure there wasn’t anything else waiting for him to drop his guard before he sank to his knees beside Jaskier, helping him lie back.
Now, Geralt takes a deep breath, trying to center himself, before scrabbling at Jaskier’s clothes, ripping his shirt open so that he can better assess the damage, and he can almost hear Jaskier making a quip about it, pouting that he liked that shirt, Geralt! But Geralt’s not sure that he’s ever going to be hearing Jaskier’s voice again, because the wound is even more severe than he thought now that he’s looking at Jaskier’s bare torso.
A grunt comes from Jaskier again, determined to prove Geralt wrong even with the color starting to drain from his lips, and Geralt’s mind races, thinking about how he’s ever going to fix this. This is too much for him to solve alone, he thinks. He eyes the growing pool of blood worriedly, knowing how much blood someone can lose before they teeter off the cliff of no return, and Jaskier is closer than Geralt would like to admit. There’s no sign of the bleeding stopping anytime soon, so he further rips Jaskier’s shirt into wide strips to tie around the wound, hoping it’ll help staunch the bleeding.
He bites his lip and picks Jaskier up, hoping he’s making the right choice, and not one he’s going to regret while staring at a tombstone, but Geralt tries to block out the worry. Jaskier needs him right now, and Geralt has to focus on that.
He clicks his tongue, and Roach approaches him skittishly. Geralt drapes Jaskier over her rump, settling him so he won’t fall off or be jostled too much, because Geralt knows that is the last thing he needs right now. He wants to mount Roach and gallop away to help, but he has to go about this the right way. If he’s not fast enough, Jaskier will die, and if he’s too fast and Jaskier’s wound doesn’t manage to start to clot, he’ll die, too. Geralt takes a deep breath and absent mindedly runs his bloody hand through his hair, taking Roach’s reins in hand and leading her along the path at a fast walk. They’re close to the outskirts of Temeria; the proximity of the werewolf being why there was a contract in the first place.
It had been killing a farmer’s sheep, but Geralt regrets coming here in the first place. Farm animals were certainly not a fair trade for Jaskier, who’s cool and clammy to Geralt’s touch, his breath coming in rapid wheezes.
Geralt speeds his pace.
By the time he makes it to the walls of Temeria and shouts to the guards that he needs help, he needs their mage, Jaskier’s face is white and bloody covers Roach’s flank. It seems like the bleeding has slowed, so Geralt allows himself to take heart. “Go!” he shouts at the guard closest to him, who’s just standing there and staring uselessly.
The boy startles, because now that Geralt has taken a closer look, he can see that that’s what he is, a boy, and he’s probably never seen this much blood before. He turns on his heel and runs, and Geralt desperately hopes it’s for help and not to flee.
Geralt lifts Jaskier gently from Roach, who’s now prancing anxiously, and sets him flat on the ground. He takes a second to stroke Roach and murmur reassurances, and she settles a bit before he turns his attention back to Jaskier. He presses his hands over his hasty bandage, reapplying the pressure. He hears shouts in the distance, and he hopes Triss is on the way with her potions.
He looks back down at Jaskier, who has blood that’s starting to trickle out his mouth. He makes a wet gurgling noise, and Geralt wishes he could do more. All of his elixirs would be toxic to Jaskier and only make things worse, and he desperately hopes the metaphor doesn’t extend to himself, even though he thinks it does.
This never would have happened if Jaskier wasn’t with him. Geralt had argued with him, said werewolves were unpredictable, but Jaskier said he would be fine at their camp, thank you very much. Geralt could go and try to shove the potion down the werewolf’s jaws, and Jaskier would work on his latest ballad.
Jaskier had cut off his protests with a kiss, and Geralt found himself powerless in the face of that. The tangled threads between them had become even more twisted in the last month, with Jaskier finally getting fed up with Geralt and calling him an idiot before pulling him in and kissing him.
Geralt had been shocked. He had never dared to hope that Jaskier would ever return Geralt’s feelings, because who would love a mutant, but Jaskier had said that he’d say it however many times Geralt needed to hear it.
And now he might not ever hear it again.
All of a sudden, there are soft hands pushing Geralt out of the way, and Geralt resists until he realizes that it’s Triss, here to help Jaskier. Geralt slumps in relief and backs away, watches Triss hover her hands above the wound and pull small glass bottles from her satchel. He wraps a hand around his medallion, vibrating as Triss begins her work. He looks on helplessly while she mutters incantations and pours the contents of her bottles on the would until she takes a step back after what seems like an eternity. Jaskier’s breaths seem to be coming a bit easier. There’s no bloody foam around his mouth anymore, at least, so Geralt will take it.
“That should stop the bleeding and stabilize him for now. Let’s get him out of the street,” Triss says, pointing to the cart she arrived on.
Geralt swallows hard and leans down, pushing some of Jaskier’s soft hair off his sweaty forehead before gathering Jaskier in his arms and lifting him into the cart, settling him on the straw. Geralt climbs in after him, sitting down and ignoring the way the straw scratches at his skin. Jaskier moans and clutches at Geralt’s hand.
Geralt’s heart clenches. “Hey,” he says, uncharacteristically soft, “it’s okay, all right?”
Jaskier squeezes his hand weakly. Geralt raises their linked hands to his mouth and kisses Jaskier’s knuckles. “You’re going to be fine.”
Geralt looks towards the front of the cart, and Triss jerks in her seat, caught staring. “I’m going to take care of him for you, Geralt,” she says softly.
The words get stuck in Geralt’s throat. He grunts and runs a hand down his face. Damn it. This is all his fault.
“What happened?” she asks.
“We were… fuck, we were trying to cure a werewolf. I should have never let him come with me, but I was going to make him stay well away from its hunting grounds, and it was supposed to be fine.” Geralt waves his hand, his eyes catching on the blood caked underneath his fingernails. “It was supposed to be fine,” he repeats helplessly.
Triss puts a hand on his shoulder, and Geralt lets himself draw comfort from the touch. His heartbeat has finally started to slow again, but he can still smell the sour scent of his own distress, mixed with the metallic tang of blood. He slumps against the side of the cart.
By the time they make it to the castle, Geralt’s adrenaline is starting to crash, but he still gathers Jaskier in his arms again and carries him where Triss directs. He waves off the offers of help; his clothes are already bloody, anyway, no one else needs to ruin theirs.
He carries Jaskier up a spiral staircase before he reaches Triss’s chambers and settles Jaskier on the bed. “Can you undress him for me?” Triss asks, as she bustles around behind Geralt, her fingers flying as she mixes herbs and other ingredients together.
Geralt swallows hard. His fingers hover over the buttons of Jaskier’s shirt, but it feels wrong. They haven’t got this far yet, and Geralt doesn’t want this moment to be the one he associates with shedding Jaskier of his clothes.
He sighs and takes Jaskier’s shirt off, pinching the bloody thing between his fingers and letting it crumple to the ground. He’s going to burn it, if Jaskier lets him. Well, even if he doesn’t. Geralt doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to see it again without flinching, no matter how well of a repair job Jaskier does.
He undoes the laces of Jaskier’s trousers, so Triss can take a look at where the wound extends down his torso, but it stops at his waist, so that’s as far as Geralt goes. Triss hums her thanks as she starts to gently rub a poultice over the wound. “This will lessen the pain and keep him unconscious until his body regenerates enough blood,” she explains.
“How long will that be?” Geralt asks, resolutely not giving into the urge to fidget.
“A few days. Maybe a week. You’re lucky you got him here when you did.”
Geralt lets out a heavy breath through his nose. All his fault. “Hmm.”
Triss straightens up. “He’s going to be fine, Geralt. The wonders of magic, huh?” She nudges his shoulder. “He just needs rest, now.”
Triss leaves them, and Geralt takes a seat by the bed, looking over at Jaskier’s motionless body, save for the slight rise and fall of his bare chest. Geralt runs his fingers down Jaskier’s chest curiously, before jerking away like he’s been burned. He’d always wanted to know what Jaskier’s chest hair would feel like under his fingertips, but this isn’t how he wanted to find out.
Jaskier might have expressed his enthusiastic support for the idea of them while he was still able to walk and talk, but Geralt thinks he might have changed his tune by now. Why would he want to be around Geralt when all Geralt’s brought him is suffering and pain?
Jaskier could have had a very comfortable life by now, but instead he insists on traipsing around after Geralt. And look where it’s gotten him.
Geralt stands up, thinking very hard. His eyes drift to Jaskier’s ruined shirt on the floor, but he lets it lie. It’s unfair of him to do this to Jaskier. He’s keeping Jaskier in a sort of limbo, stopping him from having the normal life that he deserves. Jaskier should have someone who can take care of him better than Geralt. Geralt’s been doing a piss poor job of it so far.
Geralt steps towards the doorway before hesitating. This is for the best, but… He’d like a reminder of this, something he can look back on and remember just how full his life was, once. He remembers what it was like before Jaskier came along, and it’s almost unbearable to think of going back to that, but he has to. For Jaskier’s sake. What if the next time he dies? Geralt wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
Geralt steps towards Jaskier’s pack, which has somehow migrated here. He supposes Triss brought it; she’s good for things like that. He digs through it until he finds a doublet that Jaskier doesn’t wear very often but is Geralt’s personal favorite. Geralt reasons that it’s the tales of his adventures that paid for the shirt, anyway, so really, Jaskier owes him this one small thing.
Geralt brings it up to his nose. It smells like Jaskier.
-
When Jaskier wakes, he’s alone. He tries to sit up, but there’s a sharp pain in his side that feels like someone tried to carve out his spleen. It gets even worse when the door opens, and there’s no sign of Geralt, just a woman he doesn’t know. Generally speaking, these sorts of things don’t tend to work out for him.
“Where’s Geralt?” he croaks, and it comes out as an accusation.
She casts her eyes upward, before looking back down at Jaskier. “He left.”
“What? Without me? Why? When is he coming back?” The questions bubble out of him without his permission.
The woman hesitates. “I… don’t know.”
“Come, he surely must have said something.”
“Geralt? Say something?” She gives him a wry grin.
Jaskier shakes his head. She’s right. “He didn’t say anything about returning?” he asks again, just to be sure before his heart sinks all the way to his feet.
She shakes her head.
This is all Jaskier’s fault. If he never would have gotten hurt, they would have still been travelling together, and Geralt wouldn’t have thought he was too much of a burden to drag along any longer. Melitele's tits. What is he going to do now?
-
Geralt scuffs his boot against a tree trunk while Roach looks on disapprovingly. “I know, I know,” he grumbles. “You miss him. But this is for the best.”
He’s not sure who needs more convincing: him or Roach.
He putters around, setting up his camp for the night and trying not to think of what Jaskier is doing now. His brain decides to seize on the werewolf instead, and Geralt sighs, sitting down heavily with his back against the tree. The bark is scratchy, and there’s a stone digging into his ass, but he doesn’t move. It’s just the start of what he deserves, anyway.
The werewolf should have been cured, it should have been them that Geralt rushed to town for care, not Jaskier. But now, because of his ineptitude, the werewolf is dead, and Jaskier almost died. The cure that sits in his satchel mocks him. He had mixed it together hopefully, with the best intentions, but it was worth fuck all in the end.
Roach paws at the ground, and Geralt knows his distress is making her nervous, but he just doesn’t have the energy to sort out his feelings right now. He pulls his cloak over his head and tries to sleep.
He’s unsuccessful, of course. His thoughts won’t stop stampeding through his head, and his ears are picking up on every sound of the night. This is one of the times when Jaskier would do his best to distract him.
They’d barely been together for a month before it all went awry, and this, this is why Geralt doesn’t get close to people. There’s nothing but misery in his future, and he dragged Jaskier into it.
Geralt smells a storm on the horizon, and he sighs. Typical.
-
Jaskier watches the rain outside, running his fingers over the droplets that race down the window. Triss had left him a few hours ago, telling him he could stay until he felt fully healed. He traces his fingertips over the wound; it’s hard to believe that it was life threatening with how well it’s looking now. Pink and tender to the touch, but a far cry from gushing blood like Triss had told him it was.
Triss had also told him that he woke up not fours hours after Geralt dumped him on her and fled. Triss didn’t put it like that, of course, but Jaskier can read through the lines well enough. He racks his brain back to the last thing he remembers. He can dimly recall teasing Geralt, sneaking Roach a sugar cube, and then things start to get blurry. There was a...snarl? He knows they were looking for a werewolf, but Jaskier wasn’t supposed to get anywhere close to it in the first place.
No wonder Geralt didn’t want him slowing him down anymore, if Jaskier’s intestines are just going to spill out of him at the first sign of danger. His side throbs at the reminder, and Jaskier gets up to rustle through his pack and find a shirt so he can cover his wound.
He’s looking for a particular shirt, one Geralt had always liked, because Jaskier’s not above a bit of self-flagellation when a breakup is still so fresh, but he can’t find it. Great. He had always saved it for special occasions, because life on the road tended to not be great for the longevity of his clothing, and now he’s gone and lost it.
It’s probably for the best anyway. He doesn’t need to dwell on the memories. But, it’s too soon for him to completely move on. Heartbreak is the best muse, and all that.
Jaskier unties his bundle of parchment and pulls out a clean sheet, along with his quill and inkwell. He dips his quill in ink, but no words come. He wants to write something scathing about Geralt, for leaving him behind like he’s worth nothing at all, but the lyrics don’t come as easily as the other ballads he’s written singing Geralt’s praise.
Jaskier stares at the page for a few more minutes, but all he manages to write is The. He scratches it out and sighs, pushing his paper aside.
-
Geralt drums his fingers and looks skeptically at the paper that’s just been slapped in front of him.
“There’s a pack of ghouls, right along the path to town. We’ve lost two supply wagons trying to pass through already!” the man tells him.
Geralt looks up at him, raising his eyebrows. “How do you know they didn’t just pocket your coin and disappear?”
The man throws up his hands in exasperation. “Are you going to take the job or not, Witcher?”
“Fine. I’ll look into it.”
In the end, it turns out not to be ghouls, but a graveir. Similar to ghouls, but larger, nastier, and venomous. Geralt rustles through his satchel, looking for the elixir that will cure it. He was off balance and too slow the entire fight, and now he’s paying for it. Geralt downs the elixir and yanks his fingers through his hair, trying to get rid of some of the guts. He attempts not to think of Jaskier.
When he makes it back to the inn where he’s staying, he takes a bath before he makes his way outside to the stables to check on Roach. He gives her a solid pat along her flank before he rustles through her saddle bags, where Jaskier’s shirt lives.
He brings it up to his nose. It smells like both of them, and now Geralt finally knows what it would have smelled like if he had let Jaskier get close enough for the scents to meld together. They’d been on their way there, for sure, but Geralt had had too many hang ups for it to truly go anywhere in the short amount of time they had where they both knew how the other felt before it all went to shit.
He takes it back up to his room and puts it beside his pillow, letting the scent soothe him to sleep.
-
Jaskier looks down at the ruined shirt in his hands. Money has been tight since Geralt left and all Jaskier’s inspiration followed him. He hasn’t written any new songs in months, and he thinks the crowds can pick up on his melancholia no matter how many cheerful songs he performs, because his takes have been pitiful. He supposes part of the problem might be the fact that he refuses to sing about Geralt, and those had always been his most well liked songs. Jaskier always skirts around any requests for them.
He scrubs at the shirt, trying to get the last traces of blood out of it. Once he’s successful, he pulls out his needle and thread. It’s so tattered that he’s going to have to patch it, but he’s always been good at starting new fashion statements. He replaces the ripped off buttons and pokes his tongue between his teeth as he selects the fabric for the patch.
-
Geralt’s not sure how much time passes before he allows himself to bring the shirt out again. Time seems meaningless, and he’s taken as many contracts as possible, trying to keep busy. Roach hasn’t been happy with him, and he knows he should let her rest, so that’s why he’s packed it in for the night. The break will do him good, as well, he supposes. Assuming he can actually manage to fall asleep, which is by no means assured.
He stares out at the swamp for an hour before he breaks down and pulls out the shirt. He takes a deep sniff. It smells like him. Only him. He flings it back down in disgust.
He gets up and pauses for a second before stooping down to pick up the shirt and stuff it back in the saddlebag. He ignores Roach’s snorts of displeasure as he gets her ready to move on.
-
Jaskier walks along the road, trying not to cough as carriages pass him, kicking up dust in their wake. It’s not good for his vocal cords, but he hasn’t been doing much singing at all, these days, so he doesn’t let himself worry about it.
He trudges along, lyrics swirling through his mind, but the urge to stop and write them down doesn’t come to him. His toes throb from where they’re trapped in his shoes, adding to his body’s cacophony of complaints against him. He’s not sure what the next town is, but he’s more than ready to arrive.
Jaskier squints into the distance as he sees a bit of dust somewhere farther down the path. It’s moving towards him, but it’s not big enough for a caravan or even a singular carriage. It’s someone else walking alone, and Jaskier’s immediately put on guard.
His hand slips into his pocket, where he keeps his knife. He keeps his hand on it as he’s just able to make it the outline of a person dressed in all black in the distance. It feels like someone’s turned his knife on himself as it makes him think of Geralt.
The person is leading a horse, and Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat.
It can’t be… but as he gets closer, Jaskier can tell it is. He smooths his hands down his clothes uselessly and resists the urge to tame his hair into something that doesn’t look like a squirrel’s den.
He debates what to do. Geralt’s the one who left, so he must not want to see Jaskier, must be upset at this unhappy little coincidence, even if Jaskier is desperate for any sight of Geralt he can get.
Jaskier’s set to walk past him, his eyes on his feet, just a fleeting glimpse up to satisfy his curiosity—it’s plausible to say he didn’t recognize Geralt, right?—when a hand lands on his elbow.
“Why in the fuck are you wearing that shirt?” Geralt asks, and it’s such an odd question that it stops Jaskier in his tracks.
“What?” He looks down at himself.
He’s wearing the shirt he patched, and he huffs in offense. He thought he did a fine repair job. He shoulders Geralt out of the way and keeps walking.
“Wait, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and it’s the closest to a plea he’s ever heard Geralt get. He stops.
“How are you?” Geralt breathes.
Jaskier just stares at him in confusion. He’s not sure what Geralt’s aim is. How is he? “How do you think I am?” he snaps.
Geralt looks cowed, and Jaskier feels bad for a fleeting moment before he remembers Geralt is the one who should be contrite. It was Geralt who left him high and dry when he needed him most.
Geralt swallows hard, and Jaskier follows his line of sight to see that Geralt’s focused on where the scar in his side is.
He lifts up his shirt so Geralt can see, forgetting to be angry for a second. “It’s healed up very nicely, if I do say so myself.”
Jaskier looks back at Geralt, but Geralt’s just staring at the scar with a haunted look. “I’m fine, Geralt,” he says in exasperation. “If it wasn’t for you, I would have been dead.”
“If it wasn’t for me, you would never have been in that situation in the first place.”
A realization starts to dawn on Jaskier. “Did you—is that why you left?”
Geralt glances down.
“Geralt, if it wasn’t for you, a cuckolded husband would have most definitely done me in before then.”
“But—”
“I’m serious,” Jaskier says, putting his hands on his hips. “You don’t get to make choices like that for me. We make them together, okay? I’ve been miserable.”
“Me, too,” Geralt grumbles, and Jaskier’s surprised at the admission.
“Good. I’m glad that’s settled, then. You didn’t have to drag it out for so long, you know.”
It seems like Jaskier shouldn’t be letting Geralt off the hook this easily, but he’s been nothing but desolate since Geralt left. He’s sick of waiting.
His magnanimity only extends so far, though, so Jaskier brushes past Geralt to pet Roach, trying to contain his smirk at the look on Geralt’s face. Jaskier pets the soft velvet of Roach’s nose, and she bumps his hand when he stops.
He rustles around in Roach’s saddlebags, looking for a treat for her. His hand brushes past some soft fabric. That’s odd; Geralt doesn’t keep any of his clothes in this saddle bag. He pulls it out, gaping at what’s in his hand. “What’s this?”
Geralt scratches the back of his neck. “I wanted a reminder of you,” he admits in a small voice.
Jaskier’s grin turns smug. Geralt was always saying how impractical his clothing was. “I thought my shirts were foolish?”
If Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say there’s a blush on Geralt’s cheeks right now. “I never said that.”
“You absolutely did. Do you take it back?”
Geralt grunts, stepping into Jaskier’s space and wrapping him in a hug. “No.”
Jaskier pouts, and the resulting laughter from Geralt is something that he wants to keep hearing for the rest of his life. He hopes Geralt gives him the chance.
thank you @witcher-and-his-bard for the idea and the read over! <3 it is definitely your fault that this got so angsty, i take no responsibility
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romtober day 16: right person in front of them the whole time
Rating: T
Ship: Geraskier
Word Count: 2019
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier do not have the best luck when it comes to dating. At least they have each other there to make up for bad attempts.
read on ao3
“Oh no,” Jaskier said in lieu of a greeting as he answered his phone. “If you’re calling me, that must mean things are not going well.”
“Her wallet is filled with pictures of her cats,” Geralt answered with a huff.
“You love cats!”
“She has at least ten. She lost count.” Geralt did not sound amused, but Jaskier could not hold back his snicker. “She told me all of their names, and each one was more ridiculous than the last.”
“Okay, you can’t judge her on that. You’ve named every cat you’ve owned Roach,” Jaskier countered.
“I’ve owned two. At different times!”
Jaskier snorted and, though Geralt couldn’t see him, he rolled his eyes. He leaned back into his couch and balanced the phone on his shoulder as he tried to eat the noodles he had prepared. It wasn’t going well, but he hadn’t expected it to.
“So, are you coming over, or what?” Jaskier asked with a mouthful of noodles, which mostly made it to his mouth. Who was going to judge him? Geralt?
“Yeah. Open your door.”
Jaskier jumped a little at the rap at the door. As he got up, and put his dinner down, he ended the call and fixed Geralt with his best withering stare as he pulled the door open. “You know, it’s a little suspect that you manage to get inside the security door every single time without my help,” Jaskier said, though he stepped back to let Geralt in.
“You spilled something on your shirt.”
Jaskier huffed, but it was largely for show. Seconds later, they were sat on the couch together, their bodies so close they touched every time either one of them moved. Geralt moaned about Jaskier eating messily, and Jaskier ate even messier just to bother Geralt. It was nice. It was far better than Jaskier’s plans of a night to himself watching trash T.V.
“So, she wasn’t the one?” Jaskier asked, some time later. Geralt only snorted in answer.
--
Jaskier was more than a little drunk. And more than a little sad. And setting his drop-off address for the Uber to be his best friend’s apartment probably wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but it also wasn’t the worst. The jury was out on which of his decisions was the worst, but Jaskier was sure Geralt and Yennefer both had a few ideas, and it was definitely not this particular decision.
It was the decision that made him feel the most comforted, however, and that was what Jaskier needed right now. Even if Geralt took a little too long to open the door after Jaskier knocked. He grew anxious, in that time, and began to bite on his thumb nail as he considered his options. He couldn’t call another Uber--his phone was about dead. He couldn't walk home, it was entirely too far. Jaskier knocked again.
Geralt’s glaring face greeted him a second later.
“It’s the middle of the night, Jas--”
He barely got the words out before Jaskier forced himself past Geralt and into the apartment. Jaskier stopped, though, because really his plan had only gone as far as to get him inside, and now that he was standing in the entryway he didn’t know what to do with his hands, his body, anything.
“I think I’m going to be alone forever,” Jaskier finally said, and his shoulders slumped.
Geralt hesitated a second, then Jaskier heard the door close. “Come on,” Geralt said, taking Jaskier’s forearm and pulling him to the couch. He sat Jaskier down on it and handed him a blanket. The only way he could have made Jaskier feel more like a child would have been by laying the blanket out for him, but Jaskier found himself comforted rather than condescended to. It was nice.
“You and Virginia broke up?” Geralt asked some time later as he sat on the couch beside Jaskier and handed him a cup of tea. Jaskier nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
So they didn’t. Instead, Geralt told Jaskier all about Ciri’s middle school drama and the dog he had helped rehabilitate that day. Jaskier didn’t tell Geralt about anything of consequence, only listened quietly--unless the story called for an interruption, as middle school drama often did--until he drifted off to sleep.
When he woke up, he was in Geralt’s bed, and the apartment smelled like pancakes and syrup.
--
He hasn’t shown up.
Jaskier didn’t often use punctuation in his texting--that was more Geralt’s bag. But this situation called for punctuation. Of course his first attempt at a date after his breakup would result in Jaskier getting stood up. It only made sense. Still, it was embarrassing, and Jaskier kept ducking his head to avoid the pitying glance his waitress gave him.
When were you supposed to meet? Geralt sent back.
Jaskier huffed. Half an hour ago. This was stupid. I knew it was too early, too unlikely. He could probably smell the desperation.
Where are you at? The restaurant still?
Yeah. Though I’m about to leave. I can’t take the shame anymore.
Give it ten more minutes.
When the waitress came back, Jaskier offered her an apologetic smile. “No, sorry, still not here. Might as well just--”
“Sorry I’m late.”
Jaskier looked up, astonished, to see Geralt sliding into the chair across from him. Geralt hardly looked at Jaskier, though. Instead, he smiled at the waitress and ordered a bottle of wine and an appetizer Jaskier hadn’t even looked at.
“Geralt,” Jaskier said, once the waitress had left. There was a bit of a spring in her step now, as if she was pleased at the way things turned out. “What are you doing here?”
Geralt shrugged, then took a sip from the water in front of him. All the ice had melted and it was close to overflowing. “No sense in wasting an evening. I was hungry.”
Jaskier beamed at his friend and rolled his eyes, but let the matter drop entirely. This was a far better way to have dinner, anyway. Jaskier probably wouldn’t have wound up liking the guy. And Geralt had much better taste in appetizers, Jaskier was sure.
--
Geralt didn’t even bother knocking before he opened the door. Jaskier only just barely masked his shriek with a gasp, but didn’t manage to do the same with his jump, and as a result banged his head on the cabinet he had just opened. He wasn’t sure which look was more unimpressed--Geralt’s or his own.
“Who just walks in like that, Geralt?” Jaskier demanded, crossing his arms.
“Who just leaves their apartment door unlocked?” Geralt countered.
Jaskier shrugged, and instead of pulling out one plate for himself, he pulled out two. He put his dinner--a pasta dish, and really he needed to figure out cooking something other than carbs, but they had to stop tasting so good--and held it out as a silent offer to Geralt. As Jaskier suspected, he took the plate, then sat at Jaskier’s very-unused table. Ugh. That meant Jaskier would have to sit there, too.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Jaskier asked as he sat across from Geralt. “Didn’t you have a date tonight? I thought this one was promising.”
Geralt shrugged and didn’t even look up from his plate. “I cancelled. It didn’t seem worth it. The last four dates haven’t gone well, why would this one?”
“You didn’t even give him a chance,” Jaskier said, pointing his fork at Geralt. “What if he was the one?”
Geralt snorted and finally met Jaskier’s eye. “I highly doubt he was the one. I’m taking a break from it all. I only signed up for the stupid app in the first place because you and Yen wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m just… not interested.”
Jaskier sighed dramatically, but pressed no further. Geralt seemed as if his mind was made up, and nothing Jaskier said at this point would change it. As he thought on it, though, Jaskier wasn’t sure he even wanted to change Geralt’s mind.
--
Geralt was definitely ignoring him. Jaskier was standing there, dressed up, holding dinner from Geralt’s favorite restaurant and a bag of goodies, pounding on the door, and Geralt was ignoring him. Jaskier refused to let this happen, however.
“Geralt, I know you’re in there. Ciri told me you were home tonight!” Jaskier called through the door. He had paused his knocking just long enough to say that, but he started up again, this time with far more force than was necessary. So much force that when Geralt swung the door open, Jaskier staggered forward, caught off guard.
“Jesus, Jaskier, what?”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Jaskier asked, straightening up and grinning at Geralt.
Geralt glared at him for a moment, but eventually he stepped back and motioned for Jaskier to enter. Jaskier set down his bags of goodies and turned to Geralt, suddenly flustered beyond belief.
“Right, well…” he started, then trailed off. He hadn’t let himself think of his speech--it made him too nervous. But now that he felt woefully underprepared, he wished he had run through it in front of the mirror a few times.
“What, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. His eyebrow raised and he looked over at the bags, then up and down Jaskier himself. “Are you okay?”
“I brought--” Jaskier started, then paused. He cleared his throat, then motioned toward the bags. “I brought food. And. Some other things. To make this… big gesture. But, I have to get something out first.” Jaskier stopped, then met Geralt’s eye. Geralt just watched him expectantly. “You’re not dating anyone.”
Geralt clearly hadn’t expected that, judging by the way his face scrunched up in confusion. “No, obviously I’m not.”
“Do you--want to date me?” Jaskier asked, then winced. Fuck. That hadn’t been part of even his hasty planning.
“Jaskier, what--” Geralt asked, his eyes wide, but Jaskier barrelled on.
“You’re my best friend. And. And I love spending time with you, and things are so easy between us, and whenever I’m upset, you’re the only one I want to see. Whenever I’m happy about something, I want to tell you first. Nothing has ever worked, no other relationship I’ve had, but this one always works. And for the longest time, I was afraid that… pushing things further would ruin things for us. That if we brought feelings into this, that we’d lose what we have.” He paused, and took a deep breath. “But I’m not afraid anymore.”
Geralt watched him, but his face betrayed nothing to Jaskier. Except maybe a bit of disbelief. That was okay, Jaskier could give him time to process this. After he finished.
“I think I love you. I think I’ve loved you for a really, really long time. I think you love me, too. I think that’s why you decided to stop dating.”
Jaskier stepped closer. He walked right up to Geralt, then stopped when there was just an inch between their feet. Geralt could close the gap, or not, with very little effort. If only he took it.
“That’s… an interesting conclusion to come to,” Geralt answered, and his voice was the picture of calm and collected. The way his eyes darted around Jaskier’s face told Jaskier a different story. Jaskier grinned.
“It’s the right one.”
“You sound sure,” Geralt answered. Jaskier saw the barest hint of a smile, right there, at the corner of Geralt’s mouth.
“I am.”
Geralt stared at him a moment longer, and Jaskier let out a huff.
“Geralt, I don’t mean to push you, but I kind of bared my soul there. If you could throw me some kind of bone, or kiss me, or--or do something other than just stare at me like a--”
Geralt’s answer was to cup Jaskier’s face between his hands and drag him in for a kiss. Jaskier didn’t mind being interrupted. He also didn’t mind that their food grew cold; he barely even noticed. All that mattered was that he was right, and Geralt was a fantastic kisser.
#geraskier#geralt x jaskier#jaskier x geralt#geraskier fanfic#geraskier modern au#geraskier au#geraskier fanfiction#my writing#romtober
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Robin — Prologue
Pairing - Joel Dawson x reader
Word Count - 2,756
A/N - and here is the prologue! this series is going to be so much fun and I hope everyone enjoys it as much as me! comment how you think it’s going so far and any theories you think may happen during the series!
if you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know!
R O B I N
Robin Series Masterlist
⭒❃.✮:▹ PROLOGUE ◃:✮.❃⭒
"I didn't really have your typical upbringing. I mean, I did at first, but then the world ended. I mean, I don't think anyone was really shocked. We always thought it might, and then it just finally happened. But how it happened, now that's where it gets interesting."
"Agatha 616."
"Hey! I wanted to be the one to say that. You totally just stole my thunder, Robin. As disappointing as that just was, she's right. Yep, an asteroid heading straight for Earth. I know. So obvious. So, humanity came together, and we did what we do best."
"We shot a bunch of rockets at it!"
"And we blew it up! And it was great!"
"But it wasn't."
"Once again, she's right. You see, the thing that makes rockets rockets. . .chemical compounds, a lot of 'em. Which rained back down on us, and everything changed."
"And by 'everything,' he means cold-blooded creatures. And by 'changed,' he means mutated and started eating us to death."
"Ants, lizards, roaches, crocodiles. You name it. There's a lot of 'em. Actually, we knew this one kid who was eaten in his sleep by a goldfish he won at a carnival."
"Poor Todd."
"He loved that goldfish."
"And that cat of his that got eaten."
"Rest in piece, buddy. So, for most of human history, if you wanted to kill a cockroach, right, all you needed was a shoe. Well, suddenly you needed a shotgun. And sometimes even a tank. And sometimes even that doesn't work. Especially if you don't stay in the tank, Bob."
"Bob?"
"I was just saying a random name. I don't know if his name is actually Bob."
"Then why—?"
"Y/N."
"Right. Your speech, not mine. Sorry."
"Eventually, the really big creatures and our military took each other out. We lost 95% of the human population in about a year. That's a lot of Bobs."
"And a lot of Todds."
"Exactly. Those of us who survived we hid anywhere we could — bunkers, caves, panic rooms, all around the world. So for the last seven years Y/N and I have been living in an underground bunker. And it's not as bad as it sounds. Really. It's a great group of people, and we all love each other. You know, it's kinda what I imagined college would have been like."
"Definitely not, but believe what you want. Anyways, like Joel said, we've been living in an underground bunker for the past seven years. It's not always been the best at times, but we do what we need to in order to survive. But for you to understand our story, we need to go back to the beginning. . .to the day it all happened."
"Seven years ago, back when we were sixteen."
- - -
Seven Years Ago
Fairfield, California
The last thing Y/N wanted was to wake up at 5:30 on a summer morning, yet that was exactly what happened on the day the world ended. The annoying beeping sounds filling the air were all Y/N could focus on as she came to, her eyes squeezing shut as she groaned in annoyance and shoved her face into the pillow she was laying on.
She lazily shot her hand out and attempted to reach for her alarm clock, but hesitated when her hand hit what she knew to be the lamp that sat on the table in her living room. Y/N let out a sigh before slowly opening her eyes and looking around. It took a moment for her to realize what was happening, but once she saw the tv that was still on, the pizza box laying on the table with only one slice left, and the figure beside her on the couch Y/N knew what had happened.
Groaning as she looked towards her best friend Joel Dawson who had passed out on the couch beside her, the girl lifted up a pillow before saying, "Joel. Joel, wake up." The boy didn't respond, the only noise escaping his lips being the sound of his own snores. His watch was beeping on his arm, but he didn't seem to be fazed by it.
Y/N frowned before taking the pillow she had picked up and whacking Joel with it. The boy jumped in surprise and fell off the couch and onto the floor. Y/N fell back with a satisfied sigh while Joel groaned on the ground.
"What was that for?" Joel complained, lazily sitting up and rubbing at his eyes while the two looked tiredly at each other.
"Shut that stupid watch up before I do it myself," Y/N murmured. "And by 'do it myself' I mean I'm going to destroy that little fucker so it can never beep again."
Joel cracked a small smile at that before looking down at his watch and turning it off. His eyes flickered over the time and he frowned. "It's 5:30 in the morning? Wasn't it just midnight?" he asked.
"I think we fell asleep during the middle of Civil War. That's what we get for trying to watch all the Marvel movies in a row with no sleep," she said with a yawn as she closed her eyes once again.
"We were behind anyways," Joel pointed out as he pulled himself up off of the ground and back onto the couch so that he could put on his shoes. "We wouldn't have finished before I had to leave. Speaking of which, I've got to go. Aimee should be picking me up soon and I smell like pizza and tears."
"It's not my fault you cry during almost every movie," Y/N retorted.
"They're just so good!" Joel argued making Y/N smile softly as she let her eyes open up long enough to admire the boy. He was tying his last shoe, so didn't seem to notice as she slowly ran her eyes over the features of his face. However, the moment he was sitting back up, Y/N closed her eyes to make it seem like she wasn't watching him.
Joel looked towards her and stared at her for a moment before smiling and reaching out for the blanket that was already falling off of her and onto the floor. He picked it up and shook off the crumbs from the food they had eaten before laying it on top of the girl.
"Why do you have to leave?" Y/N whispered, opening her eyes up a bit while Joel finished fixing the blanket and kneeled onto the ground in front of her. He leaned against the edge of the couch so that the two could be face to face. The lack of distance was enough to make Y/N’s heart skip a beat, but she knew Joel wasn't thinking anything of it.
"I'm just going to go see Aimee for a little bit so that we can watch the sunrise. I'll be back after, okay?" Joel said. Y/N studied him for a moment before nodding her head. The boy grinned and pulled away to get up onto his feet again. "You try and catch up on some z's while I'm gone." Y/N nodded again and Joel leaned down to press a quick kiss to her forehead, an action that made the girl close her eyes in a moment of pure bliss. "I'll be back soon, Robin."
Y/N smiled softly at the nickname Joel had given her. He liked to refer to themselves as Batman and Robin and seeing as he had insisted he was Batman in their friendship, Joel had grown to call her Robin so much over the years that it now flowed off of his tongue naturally. Y/N had never bothered arguing with Joel about who was actually Batman, instead relishing in the way Joel would flash her that goofy grin of his when he called her Robin.
Y/N got too lost in her thoughts to notice Joel walking away until she heard the sound of the front door opened and closed. She opened her eyes for a moment, her heart sinking slightly as she thought about how Joel was leaving to be with his girlfriend Aimee. However, not wanting to dwell on the fact for too long, Y/N just closed her eyes and willed herself to go back to sleep.
Even after she fell asleep, her dreams were filled of nothing but her best friend who she had found herself falling for more and more since the second grade. Not that she was complaining. This was what her life usually was like. Y/N secretly pining over Joel while he dated other girls. It was hard to see, but Y/N knew that as long as he was happy, she would be happy even if it meant they didn't end up together.
Y/N slept for quite a while, hoping she would wake up to Joel returning and hopping back onto the couch with her. However, what she wasn't expecting was for the sound of an explosion to send her jolting off the couch while her whole house shook around her.
The girl fell to the ground with a groan, but her eyes shot open wide as the ground shook again and another explosion filled the air. "What-?" she whispered before slowly pulling herself up off of the floor and looking out the window. Her eyes widened at the sight of fire in the horizon and she felt a surge of panic wash over her as she heard the screams of people filling the air as families started running out of their houses.
"Mom! Dad!" Y/N called out, her parents running down the stairs not too long after that with their pajamas still on and their eyes still fighting away the sleep that had taken over them only a couple of moments before.
Y/N could barely process what was happening after that. The next thing she knew, they were all dressed and throwing their stuff into their car. Her parents were running around and arguing over what they actually needed, so the brunette took the time to look next door where Joel's house stood. Her eyes flickered over the scene, attempting to find her best friend but only seeing his parents.
"Y/N!" Mrs. Dawson exclaimed as she caught sight of the girl. She frantically ran across the yard to her, her hands grabbing onto Y/N’s arms as she asked, "Where's Joel? Where—Where is he?"
"I-I don't know," Y/N admitted, her eyes wide with panic as she still tried to process what was happening. "He left to go see Aimee earlier this morning. He didn't tell me where they went."
Mrs. Dawson frowned and was just about to say something more when a red jeep came barreling down the road and stopped in front of the house. Mrs. Dawson released Y/N immediately while the girl let out a sigh of relief as she saw Joel stumble out of the car.
"I'm sorry!" Joel exclaimed, barely getting his feet onto the ground before Y/N was running at him and practically jumping into his arms for a hug. Joel didn't hesitate to hug her back, his grip tight as he looked towards his mother.
"Thank God! Where have you been, Joel?" his mother asked.
"We have to go right now. Say your goodbyes, get in the car," his father told them.
Y/N then seemed to noticed Aimee who was watching her warily as if she could see right through the girl's facade. She let go of Joel and squeezed his arm before nodding towards Aimee. "Go say goodbye to her. I'm going to finish packing up and then we can talk," she told him.
Y/N didn't give Joel time to respond before she was running back over to her house where her parents were now throwing the last of their things into the car. She helped toss a few more things into the car before closing the trunk with her father. "Go say goodbye, Y/N. We need to leave. Now," her father said causing Y/N to blink in surprise.
"Goodbye? Aren't we going with the Dawsons?" she asked.
"Honey, we don't know where we're going. Our priority is keeping you safe, not trying to stay with the Dawsons," her mother told her.
"But—" Y/N began.
"Y/N," her father sternly said. Y/N frowned slightly and then with a shaky breath turned to begin her way over to Joel who was staring after his girlfriend as she walked towards her jeep.
"Aimee!" he called out causing Y/N to slow down her steps as she caught sight of the look in his eyes. "I love you."
Y/N went rigid at that, the sound of Joel saying those words to someone else making her feel like she may be sick. Tears begin to spring in her eyes and she desperately tried to stop herself, but she couldn't help it. She knew Joel had dated other girls before, but hearing him proclaim his love for one was something she had never had to witness.
And it hurt.
"I love you too," Aimee told him.
"I'm gonna come find you," Joel assured her.
"You better," Aimee said before hopping into her jeep and driving away.
Y/N was still frozen in place, her tears now falling freely down her face while Joel looked her way. His heart broke at the sight of her and he didn't hesitate to run over and wrap her up in his embrace. "Hey, we're going to be okay," he whispered, thinking that her tears were because of them having to say goodbye and not because of the interaction he had just had with Aimee.
Y/N seemed to snap out of her trance at that and she gripped onto Joel tightly, her tears becoming worse as she realized this could potentially be the last time she saw her best friend. "Joel," she whimpered. "This can't be goodbye."
"Hey, hey," Joel said as he pulled away enough to wipe way her tears, his hands cupping the sides of her face. "It's not. We've survived everything together. I'm not about to let this stand in our way either. We're Batman and Robin, remember? We'll always find our way back to each other."
Y/N let her eyes flicker over Joel's face, a few more tears rolling down her cheeks before she held her hand out. "Batman," she said with a small nod.
"Robin," Joel whispered, nodding back at her as he clasped her hand with his own. They held onto each other tightly before Y/N hugged him one last time.
"I love you," she whispered, knowing very well that he didn't understand the true meaning of her words.
"I love you too. We'll find each other, okay?" he said before he noticed Y/N’s parents anxiously staring at the pair. Sighing, Joel squeezed her tight one last time before pulling away and leaning forward to press a small kiss to her forehead. "Bye, Robin." And then he gave her that small goofy smile of his that only made her heart ache more.
"Bye, Joel," she whispered, allowing herself to look at him one last time before turning and running to the car her parents were already climbing into. Y/N didn't dare look back, knowing that if she did it would only make it that much worse.
We're Batman and Robin, remember?
We'll always find our way back to each other.
- - -
"Long story short, I was right and we did find each other again. Granted it took two weeks, but—"
"Well, sorry. I didn't exactly have the colony there to pick me up when my parents died. I had to find you guys all on my own."
"And I see my mistake and I apologize. You did better than I ever could and I love you for it. You see, Y/N’s been my best friend since we were in kindergarten. Some jerk named Harley thought it would be funny to shove me off the swing set and take the swing from me. Y/N thought differently and punched him so hard he flew off the swing as if he had purposefully jumped off."
"I got sent to the principal's office right after, but I gained Joel as my best friend, so it wasn't a complete loss."
"We've been practically inseparable ever since and not even the apocalypse was able to keep us apart for too long."
"And now that you all know how our story began and a little bit about us, we can skip ahead to where we are now, seven years later in an underground bunker."
"This is where our story really begins.”
#love and monsters#love#and#monsters#joel dawson imagine#joel dawson#joel dawson x reader#dylan o’brien x reader#dylan o'brien#Aimee#Clyde#minnow#boy#apocalypse
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