DressedtotheNines



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  1. Public Bookmark 81

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    The witcher kept his iron grip firm even as his eyes widened slightly, watching the blacksmith Jaskier had thoroughly ridden scramble off the bed to get his clothes.

    “He is-”

    “Damned useless in bed!”

    “Alive.” The witcher stoically stared at the human as he dressed and scrambled out of the room.

    The poor human wasn’t having the best day, Jaskier thought as the door slammed shut.

    “You thought I killed him!” The smaller man whipped around to face the witcher, “What part of ‘friendly neighborhood incubus’ do you not understand?”

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    24 Jan 2021

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    It’s still dark; though if he spotted the sun, he wouldn’t be surprised. He wouldn’t put it past the Witcher to fuck someone all through the night—

    And there’s a thought. A stubborn thought that nestled into and buried itself into his brain, and something that he cannot shake off no matter how many times he tries to beat his own head with a stuffy tavern pillow. When he gives up, just because of his body waning that he probably has to sleep before the long walk to Toussaint tomorrow, he lets himself stare at the rafters. The quiet that has settled over him now is deafening.

    The thought lingers.

    --

    Jaskier wants to test out a theory that a Witcher's stamina extends to the bedroom.

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    05 Jan 2021

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    Geralt wakes up and immediately misses the bliss of being passed out. From blood loss, probably. He doesn't really remember, but his sword arm is completely numb and he has a headache that must have been caused by an angry god. Opening his eyes is not a priority.

    Yes, but waking up means you are alive which is the preferred state for a Witcher to be, Geralt.

     

    Or:
    Geralt loses his memory and needs to figure out how he acquired a bard of all things. Most importantly, he must figure out how to keep him.

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    29 Dec 2020

    Bookmarker's Notes

    So sweet and beautiful

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    "Jaskier, how drunk are you?" he asks, and Jaskier breathes a laugh into Geralt's shoulder.

    "I am excellently drunk, Geralt, I've done a very good job of it. I am as drunk as a Skelligen skunk."

    "There are no skunks on Skellige."

    "I am as drunk as a Skelligen monk, then."

    Which is fairly drunk, all things considered; Skelligens don't fuck around about that sort of thing.


    Geralt has been foolish about many things in his long life, and every time to his detriment; he'll not make the mistake of deluding himself that someone like Jaskier, with all the world open to him and everything to offer in return, would ever really choose Geralt's company in that way.

    (Geralt may not be a reliable narrator of his own life.)

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    28 Dec 2020

    Bookmarker's Notes

    So beautiful

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    She'd been his contact, his handler, and if he had to admit, not much had changed. Except now she was his jailer, his benefactor; despite all his protests and, admittedly, her better judgment.

    Surviving the Steadfast, Hux's only hope was to barter his First Order knowledge for his life. It's not a trade the Resistance wants to make. He's a killer of almost unimaginable magnitude, and if he'd been a turncoat once, he'd be a turncoat again.

    Only Rose, who had been coordinating with the spy unaware of his true identity, believes he deserves a second chance, even if Hux himself disagrees. Buried under all the pain she's endured, some at the hands of Hux himself, is her belief that he can help rebuild a galaxy he once tried to slaughter into submission.

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    30 Nov 2020