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jamiesfootball · 11 days

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i would LOVE to see what you do with “when will you learn?” for the prompt drabbles MWAH

All Rebecca had texted her mother that morning was, "Hope things are well [heart emoji]."

And then this shit.

"Again?! Mother, that's the third time this month."

"You know your father. He just gets a bit whimsical when things are going well."

"No. He's trying to buy you back. That's what he's doing."

"Well, they've all been lovely gifts!"

"Of course they are, mother. Because he's a miserable, shriveled up cock who thinks he can buy your affections because you let him get away with it."

"I'm not naive, Rebecca. I know exactly what kind of man your father is. You're the one who seems to need the reminder. Honestly, Sausage, when will you learn?"

"Argh!" Rebecca smashed at the middle finger emoji, the frustration only growing when she hit a pink heart instead and her handbag slipped out of her arms. "Shit!"

"Um. Everything alright?"

Rebecca swiveled on her heels; her coat slipped off, fluttering to the ground to join her handbag.

Standing next to his car, Jamie Tartt watched wide-eyed as his boss made a silly little fool of herself.

Perfect.

"Here, I can get that for you," he offered, already jogging towards her before she could respond.

Rebecca closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Thank you, Jamie. Sorry, this whole morning has been a disaster."

"Not a problem," he insisted. He picked up her coat and, in an oddly solicitous gesture, gave it a little shake before holding it and her handbag out towards her with a formal, "Here you go, Ms. Welton."

"Rebecca, please," Rebecca corrected out of habit. She shuffled the items in her arm, trying to figure out how to free a hand. She had her keys, her scarf, a briefcase-styled handbag that she hadn't had the time to swap out that morning but that didn't work with the outfit she had on, her gym bag because Keeley insisted they move Pilates to after lunch this week, a to-go cup she'd impulsively asked the driver to stop for-

Her phone dinged. She jumped, nearly dropping the whole lot of it on the ground. "Shit."

"Do you need to get that?" asked Jamie. As if anticipating standing in for her coatrack, he carefully clutched her coat and the handbag that did work with her outfit against his chest. It did not match his iconography at all.

Rebecca waved him off. Flicking her phone over to silent, she complained, "No, no. My mother's just lost her fucking mind this morning."

She attempted to juggle everything again. Eventually, she noticed the silence. When she looked up, she found him staring at her uncomprehendingly.

The thing was that between Keeley's love of girl talk and the promotional materials Jamie regularly did for the club, Rebecca had an entire encyclopedia of knowledge about him stored in her head that she'd never even asked for. Jamie Tartt. Richmond's newly returned striker. Debuted at eighteen. Preferred whites over reds, evening showers, and knew a surprising amount about high-end cars. He also, somehow, regretted none of his tattoos.

It just felt like she already knew him.

Meanwhile back in reality, they'd only spoken a handful of times, and most of that had been contract negotiations and welcome schmoozing.

Probably not a good icebreaker then- maligning one's own mother at half-eight in the morning.

"Not that I speak to her like that," said Rebecca, the need to defend herself overriding any foot-to-mouth filters. "She's just been going through a rough patch with my father, and I think she's being stupid."

Well done, Stinky.

"Right. Um." He opened his mouth. Closed it. Held his arms out and asked, "Do you want help carrying all this in then?"

Gratitude filled her chest at the change of subject.

"Yes. That would be lovely, thank you."

Jamie smiled, lips and opinions kept tightly to himself. He popped off ahead of her to grab the door. With one more glance down at her phone, Rebecca found that at least one heart had flung free, sailing itself into her mother's waiting arms.

Her mum had sent one back in return.

The walk up to her office passed in relatively painless silence. She'd always assumed -- from the everything she knew about him -- that Jamie would be more of a talker. But then in the handful of months since he'd returned to Richmond on a permanent basis, he'd made himself eager to please and keen not to make waves with anyone whose name wasn't Roy Kent.

This was bad news for Rebecca, who personally could have used a small wake to clear the embarrassment lingering in the air. Where was Ted when you needed him?

Driven by mad compulsion and lack of Lasso, she found herself volunteering, "Really, I normally get on with my mother."

"It's alright, Ms. Welton. You don't have to explain anything to me," he answered. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. Then with a small grin, his eyes flicked towards her. "Besides, I wouldn't want to be judged on how I talk to my parents either. Doesn't make sense to judge anybody else on how they talk to theirs, you know?"

"Ooh, I like that. That's practically wisdom." She offered him her own commiserating smile. "I take it you don't get on with yours?"

Jamie shifted like he was about to put his hands in his pockets, only to remember at the last moment that he was actively carrying stuff. He settled for a half-hearted shrug. "I do with my mum, yeah. When I see her, that is."

"Does she live in Manchester?"

Jamie snorted. His eyes lit up. "Always. She'll never move either. Won't even let me buy her a new house or nothing. I tried to surprise her with a new car a while ago, and she asked me how I thought I'd be getting back to London with two cars."

"She sounds like a firecracker."

A fond smile broke out across his face, only to be reeled back in, dulled down into something wistful. "Yeah. She- yeah, she's great."

Without any flourish, he stepped ahead to open a door for her. She could see what Keeley meant when she described him as 'thoughtlessly sweet.' When he wasn't trying to push people's buttons, he was easy to like.

Not that he'd ever tried to push hers. Oh, no- she just hadn't liked him because Rupert had liked him.

Her heart stirred. That kind of behaviour she wasn't proud of anymore.

Pushing down the emotion knotting in her throat, she asked, "Does she have any plans to come see you play at any of our upcoming matches?"

"Nah," Jamie huffed. "No plans for any upcoming matches, no."

"Well then perhaps you should invite her." When he turned towards her with a question written in his furrowed, handsome face, she elaborated, "You know we always have spare tickets set aside for friends and family."

"I do know that, yeah." His eyes darted away from her. Some of the excitement faded from his expression. "Really, I appreciate the offer, but she doesn't come out to my games in Manchester either. She's good with catching me on TV when she can."

All signs indicated that she had hit a sore spot. She shouldn't interfere. Really, that would be the height of hypocrisy- her telling anyone what they should or shouldn't do about their parents. But with her hand gripped tight around the heart in her phone-

She was trying to do better.

Her mother had chosen gladly to stay in the ivory tower her father built. Rebecca might not be able to talk her into coming down, but perhaps she could convince Jamie not to leave closed a door that served him better open.

So she pressed, "How about you invite her to our semifinal match at Wembley?"

He froze up next to her.

"I know that we're playing against your old club, but really, it's a huge accomplishment for the team to have made it this far, and we wouldn't have done it without you," she told him bluntly. His ears caught pink. Emboldened, she continued, "And even if she doesn't care for football, I'm sure she'd love to see you. You can make a special occasion of it. Treat her to a night in London. I know two weeks is rather short notice, but I'm sure Higgins can help arrange some wonderful accommodations-"

"That's not going to happen," he cut her off sharply.

No. No, it wasn't a door at all. Rebecca knew that icy chill. For more than five years, she'd wake to find it haunting the cracks of her reflection in the mirror. Attention focused his straight ahead, not from awkwardness at the situation but in pure dismissal. Every one of Jamie's expressive features was schooled in position of bland indifference, a perfectly sculpted shell made out of a person.

Tower or not, he dawned his armour all the same.

"My apologies," she spoke softly. "I shouldn't have pushed."

They continued their walk up the stairs in silence.

When they arrived, he held up her coat and bag and asked in a nonchalant tone that bordered on boredom, "So where do you want these, then?"

It was exactly the attitude she'd expected from him at the start. Disappointment crawled into her chest and made a home.

"Right there on the tree by the door is fine," she sighed.

His brow furrowed. "Right there by the what- woah." He took a step back, eyeing her coat rack tree up and down appraisingly. "Nice. That's fucking mint, that is. You've got good taste."

A sharp laugh escaped her. "Why thank you. I happen to think so as well."

He hung her bag up. Then, gingerly, he arranged her coat on the other, smoothing out any wrinkles.

Guilt and care made for a strong mix at half eight in the morning. It would take a crueler person than her to leave things on such a sour note when he'd been nothing but darling company before she opened her mouth.

Willing to make a fool of herself one more time, Rebecca called out before he could leave- "Jamie."

He halted, already halfway out the door.

"I- apologise, if my earlier remark made you uncomfortable. I truly didn't mean for it. I only meant to say that-"

She took a step towards him. He stepped back, one foot out of the office.

Her heart felt positively chilled.

"The door is always open," she finished, defeat numbing her ears to her own pitch. Nonetheless, she perserved, determined to say her part even if the wind stole it away. "If you ever do change your mind, talk to Higgins. He'll see to it that she's treated like a VIP. Anyone important to you is important to this club."

A shadow crossed over his face; some dark presence moving in the tower just out of sight.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said cautiously. Then, as simple as snapping his fingers, he closed back up. The armour latched shut, and in it's place was the usual cocky arrogance -- the one she found herself growing reluctantly fond towards. He gave her a wave. "Thanks, Ms. Welton. You've been a help."

She frowned. Gathering the only name she'd never shared with disappointment to her chest, she shouted after him, "It's Rebecca!"

He was already gone, the sound of his footsteps on the stairs the only response.

#please someone take this away from me #I started this before I got sick and since then I don't know if I've recovered enough to word correctly #anyways #here's wonderwall #and by wonderwall I mean #Rebecca and Jamie have a brief discussion about mums #(while dads linger in the shadows)#rebecca welton #jamie tartt #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #writing prompt #technically #whump prompt #thought nothing super whumpy came from it #whoops

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myosotisa · 2 months

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sometimes I look at the dash and think: damn y'all live like this?? that's wack

#anyway #here's wonderwall

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sweetfirebird · 7 months

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Feeling crappy (mood, not physical sickness), go to website to at least remember to change the Coming Soon!s to Out Now!s and I think I... deleted a space or an image, but fuck if I can remember what went there before so... whatever I guess.

Good start to things.

Anyway, it's release day

#here's wonderwall

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sequencefairy · 8 months

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(Under a cut so people can skip if they want but I have Opinions™ about some of the Watcher shows)

So, I am one of those people who stopped watching Puppet History fairly early on in it’s run. I watched the first season, and I think probably most of both the second and third seasons, and then I’ve just fallen off entirely. I was talking to a friend about why I dipped, and initially I posited that the reason was that I got busy and got behind and just never caught up, but there’s plenty of things that I miss when I’m busy and still manage to catch up on, so it’s clearly not a priority for me.

I thought about it some more, and wondered if maybe it was the songs. I don’t like them. Never have. They’re not my thing, I usually turn the episodes I have watched off before I get to them. They give me wicked bad secondhand embarrassment, which is totally a me thing, and my own baggage, and not the fault of the show. So that’s probably a contributing factor to why I never bothered to catch up, but it’s certainly not the reason why I stopped watching, since I was quite happily just skipping them in the early seasons.

The next thing that came up has been the increase in amount, depth and complexity of the Other Story that is happening behind the puppet show about history. And to be quite frank, this is the primary reason why I think the show used to be a good show and now it isn’t and hasn’t been for a while.

PH currently suffers from the same problem that AYS has long suffered from - they don’t know what they want to prioritize in the show and so none of the competing options get the time or attention they deserve. AYS seems to want to both be funny and spooky, but Watcher already has a funny spooky show - that’s TMS. AYS should lean into the spooky aspect, but because the format demands that Ryan and Shane break the atmosphere and tension of retelling of the spooky story, it doesn’t work as a spooky show, and because, let’s face it, riffing on a horror story is not really the best subject matter for jokes, it’s not that funny either!

Similarly, PH used to be a show about history, told a bit irreverently, with a game show aspect associated so they could have a reason to have guests. It had the vibe of Ruining History, extrapolated, and I loved it. I love learning about historical events that we don’t usually hear about, especially ones that are a little salacious and a lot silly. Unfortunately, PH is now a show that is not actually about history anymore and has become a show that is about this ongoing backstory that requires you to pay attention and watch episodes in order and keep up.

This is why I don’t watch anymore.

Even if the bulk of the ‘lore’ is kept to the ends of the episodes, they still cut in and out in the episode, so there’s no way to just watch the history bits that I like, without also watching all the other nonsense, which just feels like the hot daga with more money. At least the hot daga had the decency to be attached to the PMs, so I didn’t have to skip through BFU episodes in order to watch the show that I want to watch.

If they want to make a show about the puppets and their rich internal lives, by all means, Watcher should do that. But like, not at the expense of what used to be one of their flagship shows, and is now something I fully ignore for the six weeks it’s on youtube every year. I don’t think I’m alone in this either, there’s definitely folks in my regular circle who have dipped on this show for reasons similar to mine, and I’m sure that means there are others out there.

I’m happy that Shane’s having fun telling this story, but I also think that because of this, the history parts of the episodes have gotten shorter and less well done and I’d love to see them re-focus and re-prioritize. If the show isn’t going to be a history lesson anymore, then fine, let it not be, but just like AYS is undercut by the way they don’t seem to be able to decide whether it’s supposed to be funny or scary, and so it ends up being neither, PH is neither a good history show or a good show about a time-travelling puppet.

#things jess says #i've been ruminating about this for a while #and decided it can live on my blog instead of just in my head or in my dms with certain likeminded people #i don't really want to argue about this with folks #and i completely get that just as much as i don't like the direction the shows have been going #other people love it #and that's fine #but just like you are entitled to like things #i am also entitled to not #anyway #here's wonderwall

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bugs-are-the-future · 2 years

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anything waynosa related? :00

#hylics #request #i got carried away #anyway #here's wonderwall #i don't like how this turned out lol

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polzkadotz · 9 months

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#gonna be venting I guess lmao #this is what happens when you delete your twitter account I guess lol #I'm getting real tired of being me but above all of being someone struggling with substances. it's hard to be kind to myself #especially because I feel like I dont deserve it #I'm burying myself in debts I barely talk to my friends I'm trying to build routines but it all falls apart the MOMENT I relapse #I've self-harmed for the first time in years I've been more suicidal than ever and I can actually see my body breaking down #and it's hard to care about me cuz well. I've never cared about me. and every time I talk to the people I love I try to put on this front #bc I don't want to upset them or make them worry about how unwell I actually am #and honestly...... I'll be so surprised if I survive until the rest of the year. I honestly don't see myself surviving past my nephew's bday #and that's... two months away? how can it be two months away already wow time really flies when your a piece of addicted shit #not the best way to refer to myself but Oh Well lmao #I'm sorry I'm not a good person to be around friendos. And I'm sorry if my death is gonna affect you/traumatize you but like #me dying would make the life of a LOT of people better. and I think it'd make me happy to go out by doing a good deed I guess lmao #anyway #here's wonderwall

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dna-d2 · 2 years

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So yesterday I heard about Oneshot getting a port to Switch, coincidentally about two or three days after I pulled this game for my random fanart kick and drew this

Coincidences, I must say

Anyway here’s Silver

#Oneshot #Oneshot Game #Silver #I have no clue what other tags I can put #So anyway #Here's Wonderwall #DNA-D2 #Fanart #My Art #Art #Clip Studio Paint #CSP #Me: I have no clue what other tags I can put #Also Me: Proceeds to add more tags

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hivebreed · 2 years

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@irkvader asked: "Hey TAK, would you rather punch a baby Koala or a Mattah Baby?"

and just like that, she falls into his trap. brow furrowing in confusion, she asks, “what is a... mattah baby?”

#irkvader #{ v ;; a moon escaping her eclipse }#anyway #here's wonderwall

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jonesyjonesyjonesy · 2 years

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y'all ghostwriting is no joke i'm so tired omg

#literally the fact creative occupations are like #not paid well?#very confusing #anyway #here's wonderwall

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alikestory · 12 days

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mostly rambling about writing my webcomic...

i was doing the typesetting for the next chapter and there's this one part where i was like, i need to explain what this person is referring to for this scene to have any weight. i'll just write a quick backstory thing~

anyway it's. as long as a normal chapter nowwwww :'^) INEVITABLY. i still have one little scene left to write dfghj

generally this arc keeps getting LONGER ;___; i know how it ends and i'm like "wait is this going to have any impact if i don't write something about that??" and in general there are lots of things i know about the characters that aren't in the comic and i'm like DOES IT MATTER???? i don't know.... :'3 (like, not stuff that's going to be revealed later just kinda mundane things that happened before the story starts. but then i hate it when a manga has an entire volume dedicated to one side character's backstory and i'd like my webcomic to END ONE DAY.........)

okay so i wasn't like "i'll just write a quick backstory thing~ tee hee~" I SAID IT BLEAKLY. RESIGNED TO MY FATE.

it is mostly the character in question narrating some stuff so i thought okay i'll do it nagata kabi style and i can totally finish this and another 21 page chapter in two months. i mean her manga is in a simple kinda sketchy style and there's a lot of narration but it's interesting....... anyway that's my current plan. basically how shitty can i get away with this looking..... and what if i made it pink like my lesbian experience with loneliness.......... but i don't want people to see it and think of nagata kabi necessarily i just like pink. MY WEBSITE IS ALREADY PINK. IT'S FINE. NO ONE WOULD EVEN NOTICE. also being like "hey remember this completely unrelated and also way better manga???" at the very beginning of a 30-40 page update. :'^) BAD IDEA.

anyway i own (i can't think of a way to abbreviate this title sdfg why is it so long) my lesbian experience with loneliness but i want to read her newer books too. i think i read exchange diary at a library and found it kinda boring tho? .-.;; ig it's not as sensational as long title. less sex appeal. (that is a joke.)

SEEING THE NEWER TITLES IS. bleak. this poor woman what the hell. like reading long title you'd expect things to get better for her and it's not like her manga hasn't been successful either..... it's kind of depressing, i put them on hold at the library but DO I REALLY WANT TO KNOW???

also somewhat self-conscious about my library holds u__u;;; having three volumes of manga in the first place. whenever i put manga on hold i worry they'll think i don't read real books..... (because i DON'T. i put left hand of darkness & house of leaves on hold too but i've had both of them out before and just never actually read them........ THIS TIME I'M GOING TO. I SWEAR.) i also took impossible people out a few months ago so what if they can see my reading history and are like "why do you read so many comic books about alcoholics??" BUT NEITHER OF THOSE THINGS WILL HAPPEN. i just have an anxiety disorder :v

aaaaa i also don't even know if this backstory flashback thingy is enough.... I MEAN. I GET IT NOW. I KNOW WHY THEY DRAW AN ENTIRE VOLUME OF VILLAGER E'S BACKSTORY. (actually when i think of this phenomenon i think specifically of fai from tsubasa orz;;;; I'M SORRY.) AND. OKAY. IT'S SO EMBARRASSING.

nothing i'm saying or will continue to say is helping my case for Dear Library Employees, I Swear To God I Don't Just Read Comic Books (about alcoholics. i also read comics about other stuff.)

there was some comedy/romance shojo manga i read back in high school and i think the offenders here were by the same author but i don't remember who for sure :v anyway there were a bunch where something serious was about to happen or the characters were finally going to be honest with each other and then they'd have some kinda joke and it would always annoy me bc as we have established i love some sensational drama :v

BUT I GET IT NOW ;_____; THAT IMPULSE...... it's hard to write a sincere and emotional moment and be like WHAT IF IT DOESN'T LAND????? it's so obvious what i'm trying to do that if people go "i don't buy it" then i'll just DIE I GUESS?????????

but you have to try u__u you HAVE TO.

#anyway #here's wonderwall

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irkentierr · 10 months

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looking back at some of the posts on this blog from the last time i actively used tumblr for a lengthy span in like, 2015, is a fucking trip. it’s like the world’s shittiest time capsule. it’s nearly been a damn decade since then. i can’t imagine telling the me who first decided to reblog those posts everything that has happened in that span. the good and the bad, the personal and the general world events. i genuinely think he wouldn’t have believed a word. well, maybe here and there.

#but anyways #who really wants to hear me wax poetic #enough about me #here's wonderwall

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sequencefairy · 2 years

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[Me working on character voices in my scratch doc while I figure out how I want them to sound in the big WIP: what if I throw the bard off a cliff?]

[MCD + angst, no comfort here, undefined geraskier, set somewhere nebulously in a timeline where the making up was done properly]

Jaskier’s teeth are bloody when he licks his lips. He shudders, and groans, hands fluttering uselessly against the ground. His weight in Geralt’s lap is insubstantial, a gossamer thing, barely noticeable against the weight of dread that has wrapped around Geralt’s ribs in a crushing grip. It’s stolen his breath and all coherent thoughts out of his head.

“G’lt,” Jaskier slurs, eyes fluttering open, their blue hazy and dimming. His mouth works, but the words don’t come and soon the only sound in the clearing is the thickening silence left in the wake of the passing.

Later, after Geralt has built the cairn with his own hands, fingers scraped raw and nails torn ragged by the rocks he’s piled around and over the broken body of his friend, he leans the body of the lute, caught under Jaskier when he’d fallen and smashed, in front of the stones. It’s a poor resting place for someone like Jaskier, a hidden overhang of a cliff, roughly broken rocks for company and little else of note. There’s no field of wildflowers, no willows hanging softly over the banks of a wide river, no family mausoleum of bones to keep Jaskier company in his rest.

Geralt wishes he could have done better.

It’s too late in the day to attempt the trek back up to the trail where he’d left Roach. She’ll keep; his one remaining steady companion. He hopes she’ll forgive him in the morning for leaving her tacked and alone, but tonight, he’ll stay here, at the base, in the growing shadows next to the cairn and keep the vigil. In the morning, he’ll figure out how to send word to the Academy so they can send word where it needs to go. There’s family somewhere, but for all that the bard had rarely shut up, there were things he didn’t feel the need to speak about and family was one of them. Geralt had never pressed, some instinct guiding him away from the wound at the heart of Jaskier’s silence.

In the morning, he’ll figure out how to put one foot in front of the other and leave Jaskier behind, in the most permanent way that Geralt’s ever left someone behind.

Now, he kneels next to the cairn, head bowed, hair hanging forward, and stares at nothing, watching the world slide from colour to grey as the sun sinks and the night starts to cling. He won’t sleep, he knows, he couldn’t, not with Jaskier sleeping alone in his crypt, blood staining his lips because Geralt had nothing to clean his corpse with.

So, Geralt settles on his knees, and he waits for the sun to rise, on the first morning he’ll face in nearly thirty years that doesn’t have Jaskier in it.

He’d known as soon as Jaskier had joined him on the Path, that losing him would be inevitable.

At first, Geralt had thought the lifestyle itself would drive him off. The hard miles would send the pampered poet running back to warm firesides and soft woollen blankets and the comforts of a roof and four walls, but Jaskier had surprised him over and over, with his delight at spreading a bedroll under the stars, at learning how to set a snare and how to clean and dress what he caught.

Then, Geralt thought, Jaskier would leave because he’d had enough adventures to fill songbooks until he died. There was a tenured position waiting for him at the Academy, Geralt knew, a post of no small amount of prestige, but Jaskier had eschewed it year after year, in order to follow Geralt out into the wilds of the Continent, to eat hardtack bread and poorly cured sausage and wait out rainstorms under the spreading branches of old oak trees. He’d followed Geralt over hill and dale and through swamp and meadowlands. He’d sung for their supper and bitched about people cheating Geralt out of his pay and crowed in triumph when Geralt had slain the hideous beastie of the day.

He’d patched Geralt up when he needed it, and sometimes when he didn’t.

Geralt had been sure that once Jaskier’s fortieth summer had been upon them, that Jaskier and his crow’s feet and the silvering hair at his temples would leave the Path for a hearthfire and the shaping of young minds. Instead, Jaskier had continued to follow Geralt up and down the Continent, with his quicksilver smile and eyes the colour of a summer morning.

Even still, the inevitability of their final separation weighed on Geralt. Jaskier was a human man, strong and hale and hearty, but deceptively fragile all the same.

There’d been a time, in their first decade of travelling together. that they’d passed through a village beset by a plague, and though Geralt had hurried them through, Jaskier had sickened at an alarmingly rapid pace. He’d turned feverish and delirious, sweating through his clothes and gasping for breath in between a hacking cough that wracked the bard’s body.

The fever had burned itself out finally, leaving Jaskier weak as a kitten and glassy-eyed with exhaustion. It had taken days before he could stand on his own, and the cough had hung on for weeks, the fits leaving Jaskier’s eyes streaming and his hand pressed to his chest against the ache in his lungs. When Geralt had left him in Oxenfurt that fall, the winter hard on their heels, he’d thought it would be for the last time. Surely, the bard wouldn’t want to keep on after nearly dying with only a Witcher to minister to him.

Instead, Jaskier had found Geralt in the spring, the sickness entirely behind him, his lung capacity never better.

It stood to reason that even if some monster or thug or sickness didn’t take Jaskier down, then the long march of time would see to it herself. Geralt had no illusions that he was destined for any kind of an immortal existence. He’d die bloody and violent, in the way that Witchers do, and Jaskier would write a dirge and he would mourn and take himself home to Oxenfurt and his Academy robes. It was not supposed to end the way it had, with Jaskier’s misstep and Geralt’s too slow reaction.

The night was long and chilled, but Geralt stayed.

#geraskier #the witcher #witcher fic #this is not especially resolved in any fashion but i am actively collecting bits that need posting in my scratch doc #so i figure i can post this #and then at some point i can post the bigger thing that i am so close to finishing #anyway #here's wonderwall #sequence fairy's fic

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