Here there be whump

So, @toosicktoocare and I are doing a collab Witcher fic!!! Ki is an amazing writer and an even better human, and I’m so excited to be collaborating. So, basically, we’re planning a 4 chapter fic in which I wrote the first chapter, Ki will write the second, and so on and so forth until it’s done. And I’ve finished the first!! I hope it’s okay and I’m so excited to see where this goes!! <3

(P.S. I always write in past tense, but Ki writes in present, so I decided to do that so that this time. So there very well might be errors because it’s been so long lol, but I actually found that I really enjoyed present tense! no one cares about this but me lol)

There are few things in the world, Geralt believes, that can break his focus, and he hadn’t known until he’d met Jaskier that irritation was one of them. 

Jaskier likes to sleep late, though Geralt rarely lets him. Geralt rises with the sun, often before it, and when he is ready to start traveling, he doesn’t see a point in waiting around for Jaskier to be ready, too, because Jaskier is just a ride-along. Because of this, every morning begins in much the same way: Geralt wakes Jaskier, who moans and gripes about having JUST fallen asleep and wanting to stay that way. Geralt tells him that if he’s not ready by the time their supplies are loaded onto Roach’s back, he’s leaving him behind. Jaskier never actually moves, though, until Geralt finishes cooking breakfast, and even then, it’s only to lay claim to a bowl of whatever he’d cooked before Geralt finishes it all. With some food in his stomach and the sun fully risen, Jaskier is always in a much better mood, and Geralt tells himself that the only reason he lets the bard tag along is that it would be more trouble to try to convince him to leave than it is simply to allow him to stay. 

Keep reading

Chapter 2′s here! (hard to follow up @taylortut‘s phenomenal writing, tbh, but i hope everyone enjoys!)

“Funny. A Witcher seeking out a healer. Never did I think I would see the day.”

Geralt’s eyes follow the salesman’s lips, each puffy purse, the uncomfortable snark that clings to each word, and he’s slow to drag his eyes up until he’s meeting humored green eyes with his narrowed, amber ones.

“Is there a healer in this town, or not?” he growls, tone colored more so in an aggravated exhaustion then anger. He’s spent the better half of the day moving from seller to seller in search of a healer, a mage, even someone who has the slightest ounce of medical knowledge, and all he’s gotten in return are scoffs, fearful stares, and colorfully harsh words tossed toward his kind.

The salesman raises his arms wide, stretching left and right across the greenery littering his small, wooden booth, and Geralt cocks a single brow, unimpressed at the meager selection.

“Well, they call me the Medicine Man.”

“I strongly doubt that,” Geralt mutters, a quiet challenge, and the salesman drops his arms to his sides, huffing out an exaggerated sigh.

Keep reading

Finally, chapter 3 is done!!!! :) I hope y’all like it and I’m sorry it took so long!! 

Jaskier is out of breath by the time he reaches the door of the inn. The heavy tightness of his lungs hasn’t eased a bit, but he can’t clear it, now, not with Geralt so close behind him. Instead, he pushes forward towards Roach, who is docked by the stables, where he knows he can kneel beside her and catch his breath while acting like he’s checking her horseshoes before they get back on the road. 

“Ah, ah,” the innkeeper calls after him, “stop right there. Just where do you think you’re going?” 

Keep reading

And here we are! A week later than I meant! (i’m sorry!) Here’s the final chapter of one of the funnest things I’ve ever written on this site! @taylortut I had a blast working with you, and I can’t wait for the next one! I hope you all like the final chapter and enjoyed the series! :)

Geralt’s counting time in his head, seconds pulling to minutes and minutes fading to hours. His mind is trained on the steady, rhythmic counting, yet his eyes are focused on Jaskier, on the sporadic rise and fall of the bard’s chest, on the way his eyes press wildly against closed lids, on the sweat beading at his furrowed brow.

It’s been two hours and fifty-seven minutes since he whisked Jaskier away from the tavern, the blood that pooled from Jaskier’s head now a dry, dark red splatter against his gray tunic. Two hours and fifty-seven minutes since he’s last seen Jaskier’s glassy, blue eyes open, since he shared a wordless conversation with Maeve, her sharp, knowing eyes arguing with his muted plea. She caved when she brushed gentle fingers to Jaskier’s burning brow, and he’s been waiting with Jaskier ever since.

“Wake him every three hours,” Maeve had told him when she brought in a basin of cold water, cloths, bandages, and a few mugs of fresh water, “to make sure he’s still himself if he wakes,” and Geralt’s hung to that “if” ever since, his mind counting time in ifs.

At the three hour mark, he leans forward in his chair, cupping a cautious hand to Jaskier’s boiling cheek. “Jaskier,” he grumbles, hoping his cool touch and low voice would be enough, but Jaskier only jerks away from his touch with a hiss, and Geralt moves his hand to Jaskier’s shoulder, shaking it a few times. “Jaskier, open your eyes.” He’s not doing well hiding the concern that’s been a growing pit of pressure pushing against his stomach, and the shaking becomes a little more frantic until Jaskier’s eyes fly open and he shoots up into a sitting position, curling in on himself against deep, wet coughs.

Jaskier’s lungs are filled with rocks that rumble with each, thick cough, and he grabs at his shirt right above his chest with one hand and blindly reaches to the side with his other, for whom he’s not sure, but he clings to large, rough hand that finds his like a lifeline.

“Breathe, Jaskier.”

Keep reading

So, @toosicktoocare and I are doing a collab Witcher fic!!! Ki is an amazing writer and an even better human, and I’m so excited to be collaborating. So, basically, we’re planning a 4 chapter fic in which I wrote the first chapter, Ki will write the second, and so on and so forth until it’s done. And I’ve finished the first!! I hope it’s okay and I’m so excited to see where this goes!! <3

(P.S. I always write in past tense, but Ki writes in present, so I decided to do that so that this time. So there very well might be errors because it’s been so long lol, but I actually found that I really enjoyed present tense! no one cares about this but me lol)

There are few things in the world, Geralt believes, that can break his focus, and he hadn’t known until he’d met Jaskier that irritation was one of them. 

Jaskier likes to sleep late, though Geralt rarely lets him. Geralt rises with the sun, often before it, and when he is ready to start traveling, he doesn’t see a point in waiting around for Jaskier to be ready, too, because Jaskier is just a ride-along. Because of this, every morning begins in much the same way: Geralt wakes Jaskier, who moans and gripes about having JUST fallen asleep and wanting to stay that way. Geralt tells him that if he’s not ready by the time their supplies are loaded onto Roach’s back, he’s leaving him behind. Jaskier never actually moves, though, until Geralt finishes cooking breakfast, and even then, it’s only to lay claim to a bowl of whatever he’d cooked before Geralt finishes it all. With some food in his stomach and the sun fully risen, Jaskier is always in a much better mood, and Geralt tells himself that the only reason he lets the bard tag along is that it would be more trouble to try to convince him to leave than it is simply to allow him to stay. 

Keep reading

Chapter 2′s here! (hard to follow up @taylortut‘s phenomenal writing, tbh, but i hope everyone enjoys!)

“Funny. A Witcher seeking out a healer. Never did I think I would see the day.”

Geralt’s eyes follow the salesman’s lips, each puffy purse, the uncomfortable snark that clings to each word, and he’s slow to drag his eyes up until he’s meeting humored green eyes with his narrowed, amber ones.

“Is there a healer in this town, or not?” he growls, tone colored more so in an aggravated exhaustion then anger. He’s spent the better half of the day moving from seller to seller in search of a healer, a mage, even someone who has the slightest ounce of medical knowledge, and all he’s gotten in return are scoffs, fearful stares, and colorfully harsh words tossed toward his kind.

The salesman raises his arms wide, stretching left and right across the greenery littering his small, wooden booth, and Geralt cocks a single brow, unimpressed at the meager selection.

“Well, they call me the Medicine Man.”

“I strongly doubt that,” Geralt mutters, a quiet challenge, and the salesman drops his arms to his sides, huffing out an exaggerated sigh.

Keep reading

prompt: “ Hi! Could you please write a fic where Jaskier tries to help Geralt to find something to eat, and accidentally eats a slightly poisonous fruit before Geralt could stop him, and now he have to deal with the aftermaths?”

Four days in the woods, and their food is growing sparse. Jaskier’s beginning to feel the ill effects of not having eaten anything substantial in two days. He feels weak, exhausted. He can only stand for a few minutes without feeling faint, so he’s stuck to sitting on a fallen log, back leaned against a large tree, while Geralt grows frustrated as his fishing net comes up empty each time.

Jaskier’s eyes drift closed at the rhythmic sound of the net splashing against the small, running stream, but Geralt’s loud groan has his eyes flicking open to see Geralt starting away from their small camp.

“Geralt,” he starts quickly, getting to his feet. The ground tilts beneath his feet, and he leans with it, blindly reaching out to the closest tree for support. His ears are ringing, and Geralt’s footsteps toward him sound muffled. He can see Geralt’s mouth moving, see the faint furrow of his sharp brows, and then Geralt’s in front of him, one strong hand on his shoulder, and sound comes back in a loud wave.

“Jaskier, sit down.”

“Where’re you going?” Jaskier slurs as he’s gently pushed back down onto the log.

“Food,” Geralt grunts out.

“I’ll help–”

“–you’ll stay.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes and gets to his feet, willing his vision to remain clear despite the pressing urge to chase the dizzy sense spiking through his inner being. “I’ll help,” he presses, doing his best to mimic a tone that leaves no room for argument. He watches the flicks of conflict tug at Geralt’s strong, worn features with a frown. “You are tired and hungry too, you know.”

“Yes,” Geralt agrees, nodding toward the strong grip he’s got on Jaskier’s arm. “But I can stand.”

Jaskier pulls his arm away from Geralt’s grip, pausing to see if he can remain upright, and after a few moments of standing firmly on two feet without tilting toward the ground, he turns a sharp smile toward Geralt.

“As can I.” He crosses his arms. “Now, shall we go search for food?”

“You aren’t going to give this up.” Geralt says this as a statement, but Jaskier still responds with a wide smile.

“Nope.” He starts passed Geralt, ignoring the low grunt from Geralt as he leads the way deeper into the woods.

They search for forty minutes. Jaskier’s not sure how he’s even able to still be conscious right now. Perhaps it’s Geralt’s pressing gaze that seems to follow his every move despite his near constant reassurances that he’s not going to drop dead.

He wanders a little far from Geralt when he spots a bush they haven’t checked yet. As he stumbles closer to it, he can see bright yellow berries littering the green shrub, and hunger pushes past instinct as he gets close enough to pluck a single yellow berry from the tree. His hand is shaking as he looks longingly at the small berry.

“Geralt,” he calls out behind his shoulder. “I’ve found some berries!”

He drops the berry between his teeth and bites into it, sucking on the sweet yet slightly bitter juice that spreads out across his mouth. His focus is solely on chasing his hunger away, so much that he doesn’t hear Geralt shout his name, doesn’t hear the Witcher running toward him until he’s being knocked to the ground with a harsh grunt.

“Geralt, what–” his words fall short when Geralt shoves two fingers into his mouth, and he spits and sputters against the rough pads of fingers swiping across his teeth and tongue until Geralt draws his hand back, a look of fire coating his amber eyes.

“Did you eat it?” Geralt’s voice is far too low yet still frighteningly demanding.

“Of course I ate it!” Jaskier shoves at Geralt’s chest. “What else would I do with it? Play it a lovely tune?”

Jaskier’s pulled roughly to his feet. The grip on his arm is starting to hurt, strong fingers digging deep into his flesh, and then he’s being lead back to their camp. “Geralt,” Jaskier tries, sparing a longing look back to the abandoned berry bush. “What on earth is wrong?”

“It was poisonous.”  

Geralt’s growl rings deep within Jaskier’s chest, and his longing for food is replaced by a grip of fear. His knees grow weak, and he allows himself to be pulled harshly back to camp. Once back, he’s shoved onto a log, and Geralt makes to gather clean water.

Jaskier watches, taking mental account to how he feels, which, at the moment, is surprisingly fine. No pain, no dizziness, no hunger…

“Why do I no longer feel hungry?” He asks, more to himself, but Geralt still whips around from the stream with a deep frown.

Jaskier meets the Witcher’s eyes, tries desperately to read what’s never verbally said, but then a burning cramp pierces across his stomach, and he staggers away from the log, one arm curling around his abdomen. He makes it a few steps away before he falls to his knees and vomits, muscles convulsing against waves of nausea that pull at him from all directions.

He doesn’t hear Geralt approach him over the sounds of his own, echoing gags, but he feels an uncharacteristically gentle hand drop onto his back. He tries to focus on Geralt’s hand, on the way Geralt slowly smooths his thumb in rhythmic circles, anything to distract him from the sharp pain ripping across his stomach. He’s shaking from head to toe, yet he feels uncomfortably warm despite the shade from the trees, and his stomach hurts terribly.

He doesn’t mean to whimper Geralt’s name in between burning gags, but he does, and he can feel Geralt’s hand tense against his back for a brief moment. He wants to ask Geralt if he’s going to die, if he will live to see another morning, but his graying vision is answering his unspoken questions. He looks back to Geralt, a single tear slipping down his cheek, then succumbs to the darkness plucking at his mind.

He’s disoriented when he awakes the first time. There’s a bottle being pressed to his lips, and he turns his head away from it. He’s too nauseous. His stomach feels like twisted knots.

“Jaskier, you need to drink something.”

“Mmm, no,” Jaskier mumbles. He tries to curl away from the deep voice. He wants to go back to sleep, to get away from the pain. He wants to dream of ice, anything to cool his overheating body.

“You’re dehydrated.”

For a brief moment, Jaskier thinks that that makes sense; however, sleep is tugging at him, and he doesn’t fight it.

When he wakes the second time, he’s only aware that he feels considerably worse. He’s freezing, yet his clothes are damp and clinging to his skin. It’s uncomfortable, and he cannot stop shaking. He grits his teeth and curls into himself. He hears shifting, and then he feels warmth at his back, warmth wrapping around him, encompassing him, and he leans back into it with a shaking sigh before nodding off.

His eyes open the third time when something surprisingly soft and warm presses against his lips. He parts his lips and frowns at the warm water that rushes down his throat. He coughs and sputters and tries to move away from the hands gripping his shoulders. He cannot see straight, everything is glassy and hazy. The water works with the muted nausea, and he groans against the pain, too weak to say anything.

“Jaskier, please.”

There’s desperation clinging to the deep voice, and he wants to chase it, but he’s fading. He reaches one hand out, feels a strong hand cup his shaking one, then everything goes black.

He wakes the fourth time to a single, repetitive string being plucked over and over. He pries his eyes open. The sky is a soft, quiet pink that’s warming toward a new day, and he keeps his gaze trailing up until he sees Geralt frowning at his lute and plucking at a string. It takes him a moment to realize his head is resting atop Geralt’s thigh.

At his small movement, Geralt turns his eyes from the lute to Jaskier, and Jaskier, though having to crane his neck to meet Geralt’s eyes, locks a faintly hazy gaze to worried amber eyes.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier can physically feel the relief bleeding from Geralt’s voice. It coats him like a warm blanket, and his lips curl up into a soft smile. “You may be many things, Geralt of Rivia, but you are no musician.”

“I do not understand how you play this.” Geralt continues plucking at the same string, and Jaskier breathes out a faint laugh.

“Maybe one day I will teach you… when I don’t feel like I’m two moments away from a grave.” Jaskier shifts his gaze back to the sky, listening as Geralt sets down the lute, and when a large hand drops to his forehead, he breathes out a deep sigh at the cool touch.

“You’re through the worst of it.”

“I suppose I should thank you,” Jaskier starts, words pausing at Geralt’s low grunt.

“Thank me when you are back to pestering me like normal.”

Prompt:  The night before graduation, A doesn’t reply in the group chat with their friends and S/O. The next day, the group finds A, who looks pale and shaky but still smiling, and then the group spots the hospital bracelet around A’s wrist.

Fandom: Teen Wolf/Sterek 

Setting: Modern AU (no wolf shenanigans, lol) 

Note: I’ve never written for Teen Wolf ever, so excuse this if it’s trash, lol

TW: Car Accident 

For @lugiadepression! 

Derek rolls his eyes when his phone chimes off six times in a row, all messages from Stiles in the newly-created ‘graduation time baby!’ group chat that’s been consuming Derek’s phone for the last week. 

But, with graduation only one night’s sleep away, Derek will have dominance over his phone once more, no longer being over run with message after message, even if some do have him smiling a little. 

When it goes off a seventh time, he groans and tosses his phone onto his passenger seat before peeling out of the grocery store parking lot a little too fast, his tires screeching against the pavement as he whips out onto the road. 

He’s tired, and he kind of just wants to get tomorrow over with. He almost opted to not even walk, but Stiles fought him hard on that, scolding him for not being proud of the work he’s put in considering…. 

Derek shakes his head, ridding his mind of any thoughts of the fire. He doesn’t need to bog down his mood with that, not now, not when his life is finally falling back into place thanks to Stiles’ persistence. 

Still, he’s gripping the wheel a little too hard, his knuckles fading to an off-white against his tan skin, and he breathes out a deep breath he was unaware he was holding as he rolls up to a stop sign. 

He watches the car across from him go first, and in just seconds, that car’s being slammed into by someone who ignored the four-way, and Derek can only blink in stunned surprise at the hit car toppling toward his car. 

He manages a breathy “shit” before a loud crunch of metal shoves him into darkness. 

Keep reading