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#the witcher

Originally posted by witches-ground

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: You’ve woken up being hunted by an Alghoul. You were in a death race and hollered for help. Though, it seems like the human you’ve first seen didn’t exactly appeared to look human all through out as his eyes glowed beneath the moon light. You’ve talked to him but he didn’t seem friendly at all except for his awakened friend. The words coming out of their mouth seemed baffling because they were acting like they didn’t live in earth, and deep inside you were in denial because they really weren’t.

Warnings: Monsters? The word ‘whores’ and cusses? Blood? A lot of modern references because reader lives in modern day era in earth.

Words: 3,800+

A/N: Hello! Yes, this is my first Geralt fic! There will be eventual smut in the future chapters. I can just tell. LMAO. I ain’t good with medieval things but I’m trying! I hope this isn’t a failure nor a disappointment, spuds! 😅 Reader lives in modern day earth in this fic but magically woke up in The Witcher’s dimension, alright? This turned to be comedic because of the modern references from the reader. 😂🤣🤣 I had fun writing this! FOR REAL! 

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@the-winter-witcher, I wrote you a thing and I hope you like it. It’s not quite the Flowers of Evil, but I didn’t have a clue what to do with Geralt so he’s not in it… Sorry 🙊

Disclaimers: I don’t write often anymore (this is the second thing I’ve written in three going on four years), I’ve never written reader inserts, I’ve never written Jaskier. Geralt seemed such a challenge I left him out altogether 🙊

Feel better soon my sun ♥️


“Dear heart?” you hear Jaskier’s gentle voice carry down the hallway. “My sun?”

His gentle footsteps are coming closer. 

A falter in the steps, his ears must have picked up the patter of water from the showerhead. 

A soft knock on the bathroom door, the slight creak as it opens. 

You feel the moment his eyes land on you, Jaskier may call you his sun, but his gaze feels like the soft caress of moonlight, the twinkle of stars in the night sky. 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks as he opens the door to the (quite frankly ridiculously sized) walk in shower. He had insisted at the time, stressing the point that without it, you would not be able to shower together, and he has the money anyway so why not spend it? 

He does not care if his clothes get soaked, preoccupied with reaching you and ensuring you’re okay. 

“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” He asks, eyes sparkling with a smile, through a cloud of concern. 

You give him a half-hearted smile back, trying to reassure him you’re fine. He sees straight through it. 

“It’s a sitting down in the shower day, huh? Come on. I have a better plan. Cuddles and music and candles and blankets and tea” he says, it gives you a brief glance into his musical mind, the endless melodies whirling around in there. They sometimes come out without him meaning them to, his words following a melody only he can hear. 

Jaskier helps you to your feet and wraps his arms around you, standing under the large rain showerhead until not a single part of him is not as soaked through as you are. He gently hums something in your ear as he sways both of you where you stand. It’s not a tune you’re familiar with, something he picked up on his travels, or a new song he’s working on. It’s both soothing and cheerful, calming and uplifting. 

Before you know it he has turned off the shower, wrapped you in a huge soft towel and is leaving his drenched clothes in the shower to deal with at another time. After wrapping a towel around himself, he wraps your hair in another towel and tries to help you dry. All the while, he keeps humming this new tune. 

Once he deems you dry enough he leads you through to the bedroom, helping you into your softest PJ’s and tucking you under the duvet. 

“I’m going to grab you a drink, give me a second,” he murmurs as he strokes your hair before leaving the room.

You close your eyes and focus on the tune that carries Jaskier to the kitchen. It gets lost in the sound of him puttering around then kitchen, the banging of cupboard doors, the fridge opening and closing, the kettle being put on. Before long, it carries him back to you, holding a tray with a large glass of water and tea in your favourite mug (chipped, seconds away from breaking into many pieces, but you’ll use it until it does). 

The tune is interrupted once more: 

“Here we go, dear heart, drink the water first the tea is very hot,” he hands you the water before resuming the tune and turning to the bathroom and deal with the mess in the bathroom. 

You sip your water, the tune your companion while Jaskier is in the bathroom. You let out a big sigh, feeling close to content, rather than the anxious feeling that had been eating away at you for most of the day. 

Jaskier gives you his brightest smile, brighter than the north star on a moonless night. He lights the scented candle on the dresser. It had been a personalised gift, he’d gone to a shop that creates candles based on what you tell them. It’s a subtle scent, fresh but woody, a hint of flowers. It has become the scent of home, a bit of you, a bit of Jask. 

The tune carries him back to you, where he sits down on the bed next to you and pulls your head into his lap, where the melody gently drags his fingers through your hair. 

As you’re drifting off to sleep the tune gives you its words: 

Saying ‘I don’t know, but I’m here, oh dear god, dear heart don’t cry’

Cos I will wait and hope

Your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep

But a place for crows to rest their feet

And I will wait and hope

And rest my head at night content

Knowing where my marbles went

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New idea:

Jaskier being a bard and traveling around is just his way of escaping his past

Because you see not all of us are what they seem to be

For instance Geralt pretends to be heartless when really he is the most human person on this world

So really is it any different if Jaskier pretends to be a bard when all he is is an assassin trying to escape the revenge of his victims families?

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After 3x06 of “Broadchurch” I’m no longer surprised watching it inspires me to write “The Witcher” fic, as weird as it may seem (for my defence, it’s a modern AU). In both we have Emotionally Repressed Good Dads.

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Lan Zhan wasn’t originally from here. He used to belong far beyond the edge of the Continent, down east, all the way on the other side of the world, whereupon the people there were smaller, who smiled with soft features and dark hair and darker eyes. 

Now that he thought about it, Lan Zhan’s eyes were already shades lighter than normal in comparison to others - perhaps it was a sign, fate, whatever they called it, something decided by Destiny’s hand before his parents even knew.

His taking happened so long ago that Lan Zhan could barely even remember it. Witchers lived for a long time, and he doubted his fellow brothers and sisters kept track of everything that went on in their near everlasting years. Between eating and killing and fucking, there was actually little flaire to their lives. Not much worth remembering that they didn’t already practice everyday to earn coin to survive. 

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Summary: You’re sad, and Henry isn’t having it.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 632

Rating: G - Fluff, Sad, melancholy, Feelings, Emotions

Related: Happy,

Inspiration: I did the Senses Collection, so now I’m doing the Emotions Collection.

Author’s Note: We’re all craving Henry lookin’ like Walter Marshall fro Nomis, so that’s what Mr. Cavill is going to look like throughout the collection.

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @laurenmw815, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @agniavateira, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @klaine-92, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond​, @cleodoramer​, @captaingothgirl1996


Originally posted by jonathanmorgensterns


I’m just feeling a bit sad today.” You confessed, biting your lip. That’s all.”

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Did I start another chapter fic? Yes, yes I did. Did I intend to? No, no I did not. It was supposed to be a short thing but it didn’t turn out that way because I’m just like that.

It is also available on my ao3 at chronically_obsessed so please leave kudos and comments there too. Do enjoy this, courtesy of your emotionally starved writer <3


Summary: A crazy sorceress intended the obedience curse for Geralt but she’s dead and now Jaskier is cursed to do anything and everything Geralt says. This is a problem


Chapter 1

“He is my responsibility!” The sorceress screamed, her lovely face twisted in rage and insanity. “My child!”

“You are not healthy,” Geralt said firmly, yet diplomatically, “you shouldn’t be taking care of a child in this state, he is not your son. I will not permit you to use magic on anyone like this.” The child previously mentioned cowered behind an overturned table, the boy’s house was in shambles around the him, his father was probably off doing heaven knows what under some or other spell.

The deranged woman shrieked. “Permit? You will learn, Witcher. I do not intend to take orders from you, she grabbed a vial from the mess on the floor and poured its contents on the floor before Geralt’s feet with a psychotic laugh, he didn’t dare take his eyes off her. She started an incantation and wind raced through the chamber, taking the shambles of the house with it, wooden splinters and shards of glass embedded themselves Geralt’s skin one for one, like he was a morbid version of a throwing knife target.

He lunged for her, but found he couldn’t move further than a step, he looked to the floor. The salt had multiplied, it crept in a circle around him, a thick line of white around him. Shit. The child cried out as the circle formed. “No,” the boy screamed. “Get out!” His words were hard to understand through his tears, when Geralt processed the message the circle had sealed around him. He was trapped.

The sorceress finished chanting and took a step forward.

Geralt wrenched a dagger from his belt and before thoughts could cloud his instincts, threw it at the grinning sorceress with an aim of pure reflex. It struck true with a sickening thump. The woman’s grin froze, then melted slowly off her face as the room calmed, even her unruly dark curls seemed to deflate as a shocked expression crept over her face.

“You said you wouldn’t kill me,” she said in childlike surprise, clutching the dagger in her chest. Blood soaked her light brown fingers, slender and lovely even now. Geralt breathed hard, somewhere behind him the boy was sobbing. He crawled to the edge of the circle, the splinters, the debris lodged in his skin making the movement difficult. He looked her in the eye, the least he could do.

“I’m sorry.”

The sorceress started sobbing, she screamed through her tears. “No!” She crawled closer to Geralt until she was nearly in his face. “I was supposed to live! I am not finished!” Only the line of deathly white salt separated them.

“You were supposed to live,” Geralt agreed and her anger melted to sorrow and she clutched her chest, blood stained her hands, her dress as it flowed to the floor. The sorceress braced a hand on Geralt’s shoulder as her strength gave out. Geralt held her hand and soon she fell on top of him, barely breathing, he moved her, trying to get her into the comfortable position, as comfortable as one could be when dying. Her head lay against his chest.

She stopped sobbing, breaths coming slowly. She clutched Geralt’s hand in hers, both now soaked red. Geralt stroked her hair in a way he hoped was soothing.

“I’m sorry,” she said as her hand released its grip on his, going slack. She gazed at nothing now, Geralt closed her eyes. He hoped it gave her some peace.


That’s when Jaskier came bursting through the open door. “Geralt!” he screamed, “Geralt, are you-“ his eyes slid to the dead sorceress in his arms. “Oh,” is all he managed. The room was quiet. A few sniffles came from behind the ruined table, Jaskier instantly hurried to the source of the sound, his eyes widened when he saw the terrified boy.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The boy nodded mutely, wiping away his tears with his expensive looking sleeve.

That being enough for him, the bard turned back to Geralt. His eyes seemed full of grief. Grief for the dead woman in his arms whom he barely knew. Who had tried to kill him. He still held her limp hand in his, his eyes staring at nothing.

“Geralt,” he tried gently.

Geralt seemed to come back to himself and met his eyes. Jaskier stepped closer, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Jaskier.” He said it as if he only recognized him now.

“Come on,” Jaskier urged and picked a thick splinter from Geralt’s cheek, “we need to get these out.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. He drew the dagger smoothly from the sorceress’ chest and wiped it on his own shirt instead of hers, probably lodging a dozen splinters deeper into his skin but Jaskier didn’t reprimand him.

He moved the woman aside and stood up, eyes searching. Jaskier grabbed a wine stained tablecloth from the wreckage on the floor and handed it to Geralt to drape over the dead body. Blood mixed with wine, it crept slowly in a morbid fashion over the pale cloth until the blood couldn’t be distinguished from the wine.

A voice shouted from downstairs. “Mikolaj!” Heavy footsteps raced quickly up the stairs. “Mikolaj!”

“Father!” The boy shouted and suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway.

“Mikolaj,” the lord sank to his knees in relief as the boy ran to him and enveloped him in his arms, ignoring the two men completely. They stood awkwardly to the side as man and his son blocked the doorway.

Finally, the lord lifted his head and in his first bout of common sense in probably quite a while, demanded “Who are you?”

“They saved me, Father,” said Mikolaj. “They saved me from her.”

The lord’s eyes widened as they drifted to the body under the quickly reddening tablecloth.


The lord had given them a frankly outrageous sum to thank them for their deeds. Geralt had looked so uncomfortable that Jaskier was worried the ground would swallow him, but before he could refuse Jaskier had jumped in and thanked the lord politely. They had needed the money.

He had however refused the offer to stay the night. The forest floor they were sitting on was still warm with the setting sun as the bright day turned slowly to twilight. Jaskier chattered away to fill the silence as they removed their sleeping mats from Roach’s saddlebags. Geralt mumbled something about firewood as he made to take off into the forest but Jaskier was having none of that.

“No, come back here and sit down. You are not impaling yourself with any more splinters.” Geralt grumbled but did as he was told. Jaskier retrieved some dried meat from their packs and shoved some into Geralt’s hands with a simple order, “Eat.” Then he took off into the forest to collect the wood himself. Geralt grudgingly began gnawing on the meat.

When he came back, arms full of wood, he found Geralt shirtless and mournfully inspecting the state of his shirt. Jaskier stared at the amount of glass and wood embedded in his skin and thanked the God’s that he wasn’t a Witcher.

He soon found his eyes skimming over the wounds and instead lingering the muscle and skin. He blushed and looked away. He knelt down, his back toward Geralt and busied himself with making the fire.

Jaskier laid out the wood carefully, hyperaware of Geralt at his back. He tried and failed to get the fire going. His fingers were clumsy with the spark stones, so when he nearly split his finger open by missing the other stone Geralt sighed and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Move aside.” Jaskier moved instantly. How odd, he’d wanted to refuse and then… He moved without question and let Geralt cast a sign on the fire which had it instantly blazing. He chose to ignore the strange feeling.

“Alright,” he said with determination as he stood up, “let’s get it over with, shall we?” He fetched the medical kit from Geralt’s bags and moved to the Witcher’s back, tweezers in hand.

He took a deep breath and got to work. Geralt sat perfectly still as Jaskier focused on pulling the large glass pieces out first. He laid them into one of the any cloths they always carried for good reason.

Geralt flinched when Jaskier accidentally pressed down on wound. “Sorry,” Jaskier winced.

Geralt only hummed and let him continue. The process was slow and probably painful but Geralt didn’t complain and soon his back was clean and Jaskier moved on to his arms. He moved the injured Witcher around gently, either letting Geralt brace an elbow on his own knee for balance or holding his wrist in place as he worked on his forearm.

Geralt didn’t look at him, he just stared at the fire as if the memory of the sorceress in his arms wasn’t quite gone yet. Jaskier let him be but once or twice he found his attention slipping to the way his muscles flexed and relaxed. He brought his focus back quickly before he hurt the Witcher.

“I can do the rest myself,” Geralt offered but Jaskier ignored him and motioned form him to lean back on his elbows. Geralt did so with a sigh, baring his chest and stomach to Jaskier. Oh. Oh the gods must have been particularly proud of this masterpiece. He almost drooled at the expanse of sculpted muscle carved into tanned skin.

He hoped the near darkness hid his blush, before remembering that Geralt had Witcher eyes and it wasn’t dark yet anyway. He hoped he had ignored him.

“Umm.” He shuffled around, trying to find a good angle to work at and finding none. “Do mind if…” he stammered.

“Just do it,” Geralt ordered unceremoniously. Without Jaskier’s conscious consent, his body moved to straddle the Witcher who looked pointedly away. That was odd, he frowned at himself. But at the wide expanse of Geralt’s blood splattered and splinter covered torso, all thoughts of oddities flew out the window. A large gash on his stomach looked gruesome, Jaskier’s insides clenched at the thought of disinfecting it. He hated disinfecting.

“You know,” he said as he leaned down to work with another piece of debris, just to fill the awkward silence with something, “I don’t know what you were thinking running into that house. She could have killed you and now you look like… I don’t know what. This is why we need each other. What were you thinking?”

“This is why we need each other?” Geralt asked and of course ignored the rest of what Jaskier had said. This is what one called ‘selective listening’.

“Well, you know.” Jaskier shrugged, not looking away from where he was wriggling a stubborn splinter out even though he could feel those yellow-golden eyes on him. “I’m your impulse control and you’re mine.”

Geralt snorted and finally looked away. “Hmm. You’d have been dead at twenty-one. You’re very lucky to have me.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said softly as he finally pulled the stubborn piece free and laid it on the cloth, “I am.”

The quiet was heavy as Geralt looked at him. Jaskier avoided his eyes, fucking Witcher hearing and seeing and gods just fuck the Witcher. He nearly laughed at the thought, wouldn’t that be nice.

“So am I,” Geralt said softly. And then, “Were it not for you I’d have to seduce some sorceress to wrench glass from my back.”

“Wouldn’t take much for you,” he said offhandedly. His face burned as he realized what he had said. Fuck, he really needed to focus.

“Hmm,” he said as if he were making a note in a diary. He had that expression on his face, Jaskier could hear the smirk. “Because I get all the women?” He wished he had told the stupid Witcher to move into literally any other position, at the moment everything just screamed fuckable.


He looked stubbornly down to where he was working and did his best to ignore the eyes on him. “Just shut up I’m almost done.”


Geralt dutifully shut his mouth and let him work. Even though he wouldn’t admit it and Jaskier didn’t mention it, killing the sorceress had left a mark. He couldn’t stop thinking about it but the fact that Jaskier was right there, safe and sound and alive and not insane in any way that was serious made him feel a bit better and soon the dead sorceress faded from his mind.

By the time his torso was once again free of foreign objects, Geralt felt obligated to mention that his leather pants had saved his legs from being impaled. He was somewhat reluctant to mention it because, see, the thing was, he’d recently come to the realization that he wouldn’t mind Jaskier taking his pants off. It was a serious problem.

That left only his face. Jaskier sighed as he finally, willingly this time, looked him in the eye as if the task was daunting but he’d made up his mind to do it anyway. Well didn’t that just sum up his own situation just perfectly.

“Alright, sit up,” he said and Geralt’s heart almost stopped dead in his chest as he sat up. Jaskier’s face was barely three inches away from his own, his lips were right there and gods, now he noticed how Jaskier was practically sitting in his lap. Oh heavens, his eyes were a very bright blue.

Logically, Geralt knew that the bits in his face would hurt a lot more than the rest but it still came as a shock when Jaskier pulled the first one free. He flinched at the sting. Jaskier’s face contorted into a pained expression for him. He nearly wanted to tell him to stop tugging at his newly discovered heartstrings but then he’d have to admit that Jaskier was tugging on his heartstrings.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier winced as if this was as painful for him as it was for Geralt. Actually he had already forgotten what there was to be sorry about so he said nothing. Jaskier fumbled with the tweezers for a moment before continuing.

The process was slow but the pain was far from his mind as he stared at the blue of Jaskier’s eyes, the tongue peeking through his pink lips as he concentrated, the neatly groomed eyebrows and the furrow of concentration between them. It was cute.

“Stop staring.”

“Where else should I look?”

“I don’t know. Close your eyes,” Jaskier suggested sarcastically, not looking away from the piece of wood he was gently easing from just below his lip

“Hmm,” he pretended to consider. “No.”

“Oh you know what? The universe has decided to torture me. You have been sent to test me,” he claimed dramatically. Geralt smiled in amusement.

“Right, brace yourself. There’s one in your lip.” Jaskier put his fingers hesitantly on his lip to hold him in place and Geralt’s eyes slipped shut. Jaskier’s fingers were cool on his lip.


There was a quick sting and the splinter was out but the fingers stayed and Jaskier was still sitting in Geralt’s lap. Geralt opened his eyes.

“That’s all of them,” Jaskier murmured, looking at his lips. That was unfair. Did he even know what he was doing?

“You’re speckled with blood. And that cut needs disinfecting and dressing.” Neither of them moved.

“You still need to eat,” Geralt said and only because it was all he could come up with. Then Jaskier jerked away as if he’d been burned and cleared his throat. He got up, leaving Geralt feeling cold.

He grabbed a piece of cloth and the waterskin and started cleaning Geralt up like he was a helpless child and couldn’t do it himself. He bandaged the few wounds that were looking prone to infection. The last deep cut on his stomach seemed to smile at them as f it knew it was rather inconvenient.

Jaskier awkwardly returned to the previous position of straddling him to get a decent angle to work at. It was even worse than the first time. Geralt wished something would come and eat him alive just to save him from this misery of seeing and not being able to touch.

Jaskier cleaned the blood away with a wet cloth and took another to douse in disinfectant. He took a steadying breath before he started.

The disinfectant burned on the cut as Jaskier touched it down gently, Geralt flinched and groaned in pain, his whole torso tensed but the cloth was already gone, Jaskier removed it as if it had burned him. He’d forgotten how much it hurt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Geralt,” he rambled and scrunched his eyes up as if he really could feel Geralt’s pain. Gods why did he have to be so damn… Jaskier.

“Just put the cloth back on,” Geralt ordered through clenched teeth.

“No,” Jaskier protested but his hands instantly put the cloth back where it was, so quickly Geralt nearly doubled over in pain. “No what the hell tell me to take it off, Geralt. Right now.”

What? Why? “Fine,” he said, “just do as you see fit then, why don’t you?”

The cloth with the disinfectant was instantly gone, thrown away into the trees somewhere. Jaskier was heavily, his eyes were wide and frightened. He stared at his own hands in horror.


Thank you for reading! Please leave likes and comments. With the rate I’m going at the next chapter should be up very soon, like tomorrow maybe idk.

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okay, so i’m sat here during this quarantine, and because i have nothing better to do, i’ve been rewatching the MCU movies. i’m watching Thor The Dark World (Which I love don’t come for me) 

and this side character who is in a Uni I believe, is looking out the window when Jane tells them they need to leave and his one line in the movie is 

“Are you mad? That’s Thor out there with his hammer!”

And i’m here like “i know that face. who the fuck is that?”

i did a little digging

and it is Istredd

is now an awkward time to mention i have a witcher oc on my facebook rp chat who’s fc is Chris Hemsworth?

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Did you know that buttercups are called „jaskier“ in polish? Aka the language the books were originally written in, even though I didn’t read them, so no idea if that’s what he was called in them, as he‘s called Dandelion in the english version

Yes! In the English translation of the books, and later in the games, they used “Dandelion” instead of the direct translation of “buttercup"🌼, simply because it sounded "more masculine” to them. Hah! Silly, when you think about Jaskier as an epitome of masculinity, it suddenly doesn’t make so much sense, now, does it? :D

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Completed commission for @thren300 of Eskel and my OC Lyron (and Lil’ Bleater, of course); jumping over a ritual fire after their handfast Thank you so so much for your support and commissioning me to draw one of my own characters! It was an absolute blast and I hope you love it as much as I do

Betho’s Commissions | Ko-Fi

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Fic recs where Jaskier has abandonment issues?

OOOOH, I’m currently subscribed to a fic that is EXACTLY THAT, so if you don’t mind WIPs I can try to find the link again :D

For the rest, I’d have to dig back in my bookmarks because I read a *lot* of fic and I don’t really order them beyond what I’ve done so far on the masterposts (I’m busy and tired and occasionally lazy, sorry xD)

Rn I’m massively late on my Superbat reverse bang fic (and technically working, still) so I won’t be able to get to it before the 6th of April at best, but I’ll see what I have then, scout’s honor ^^

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