✧ / LIVING FAIRYTALE.

“And yet for as much as I’m sure you wish the opposite was true, you’re not dead yet,” Keira quips, and despite the brusqueness of her tone, her lips tug upwards into a small, catlike grin. “I’ve only so many herbs, and I’ve used most of them to keep your wounds from infecting. Unluckily for you, we’re still a day’s ride from the crypt, so for as much as I’d love to watch you sleep the day away, I’d love it even further if we could keep moving.”

                         not so fast, geralt. no humble plea? no offering for the witch?

posting this here for me to reference later but fallout au keira is a raider princes ee hee

He doesn’t notice the goose immediately, for the major wedgie that his stripper thong is giving him occupies his mind more than he should like. When the goose hönks at him, beady black eyes challenging Geralt’s acumen (and his ass—his asscumen, if you will), Geralt’s lips—infinitely kissable as they are—purse. Speaking of purses, Geralt pulls out his own. (Is it Gucci? Of fucking course it is.) “You,” he begins, in a voice so primal that his asscheeks vibrate at the tone, “Move. I must retrieve what they call “apples” from this “Trader Joe’s”.”