#amzngdevil writing

Based in this post from @halbarryislife and this comment from @a-hearts-a-heavy-burden, here it is: a Geraskier Superman AU! Please forgive any mistakes, English isn't my first language 😬

CW: violence, blood, swearing.

Come on, Julian, don't look down... Remember how much you want this job...

The newly-graduated photojournalist Julian Pankratz muttered to himself as he climbed the building using the fire escapes outside. Through the walls, hysterical screams and sounds of struggle reached him as he tried to get to the right floor.

It all started half an hour earlier, when Julian saw a post on social media saying that Superman had been seen in that building. There was no further information on the case, but Julian decided to take a chance. He needed to meet Superman. If he could get enough good pictures, he could start his plan to show them to the Daily Planet's editor-in-chief and become part of the paper's payroll.

Why Superman? Well, he was the biggest seller in Metropolis. And maybe Julian just wanted an excuse to photograph him.

When the sounds seemed to come from the wall beside him, the boy pushed against the window and threw himself into the room before he had time to give up. Luckily, any noise was drowned out by the kick Superman took in the stomach.

Julian had fallen behind a desk in what appeared to be a small office. Unnoticed, he watched the man of steel lying on the floor mercilessly beaten by a well-known figure in the city.

Lex Luthor.

How's that motherfucker managing to beat him up like that? Julian thought for a moment until he noticed a greenish glow on another table on the opposite side of the room, behind Luthor's back. Kryptonite. A piece of homeworld soil and Superman's only weakness. Where the hell had Luthor gotten that? The sound of Superman's head being slammed against the wall roused Julian from his reverie and made him make a decision.

He would not photograph Superman that day. He would save him.

Gathering the little courage he had inside, Julian crawled across the office, crossing it with hardly any breath. For a brief moment, his gaze met the Kryptonian's, who spat out some blood. Julian signaled him for silence, and went on.

"You... Won't... Make it..." Superman said with great difficulty, holding Luthor's attention even more and buying time for that boy who had appeared like a miracle to help him.

"I've already made it, Kal-El!" Luthor started another one of his megalomaniac monologues.

Neither Julian nor Superman paid any attention. The boy crawled the last few inches, sweating cold as he felt the texture of the rock against his hand. Without thinking straight, he slipped it into the camera case that was hanging around his neck. He thought about retracing the path with the same calm, but a new look in Superman's direction made him change his mind.

His face was completely red with blood, his eyes were almost purple. A twinkle in his eye was practically a request for Julian to give up what he intended to do, but he didn't care. He scrambled to his feet and ran across the office, flinging himself from the window he'd entered. Luthor heard footsteps and glass breaking, but all he saw was a blue coat blurring past.

When he returned to face Superman, he received a punch in the face.

As he fell, Julian heard the fight resume in a more Superman-friendly way. Now that the kryptonite was farther away, he was regaining his strength. Julian felt the impact of the garbage bags break his fall, and he was grateful that no one had thrown away pieces of glass or wood that day. His clothes were ruined, but he'd only escaped with a slight sprain in his ankle.

He heard police sirens minutes later, still huddled next to the garbage. He felt the weight of the kryptonite in the camera case tugging at his neck, and he smiled in disbelief at what he had just done. As the squad cars drove Luthor - or at least he hoped - the sound of slow footsteps and muffled breathing startled him.

"You can get out." Superman's deep voice was a little more like normal, despite a trace of pain. "I would like to thank you."

Slowly, Julian emerged from the rubbish, but he stayed a few steps away, 'cause the kryptonite was still with him. Superman was staring at him with a slight smile at the corner of his mouth, handsome even with all the dried blood on his face.

"Why did you do that? Thank you very much, but it could have gone very wrong."

"Oh, I know!" Julian's desperate tone made Superman hold back a laugh. "I didn't come here for this, you know? I just wanted to take some pictures of you in action, then take them to the Daily Planet and finally get a job."

"But they already have Mr. Kent to cover my actions." the smile widened. "Do you want his job?"

"No! No way! We can work together! I take the pictures and he does the interviews. I just want to work, you know?"

There was a lot about that boy that intrigued Kal-El, but he decided not to ask any more. If all went well, he'd soon be Clark Kent's coworker, if he could convince his editor-in-chief to hire a new photographer for the newspaper.

"Look, as for the kryptonite, I ask you to stop by the Daily Planet tomorrow and deliver it to Mr. Kent. He will know what to do with it."

Julian sighed, letting his shoulders slump.

"I'll do it. I wish I could have gotten some pictures to enjoy my visit, but I'm glad I could have helped you."

"You didn't help me. You saved me." they held eye contact for long seconds. "Thank you very much."

Superman raised an eyebrow, asking wordlessly.

"Julian Alfred Pankratz. But you can call me Julian." what the hell was he doing? Alfred was a horrible name, why did he say it out loud? "Or Jaskier! You can call me Jaskier too. It's a childhood nickname that my friends still use to this day when we play DnD..."

Shut up, Julian. Just shut up.

"Alright Jaskier." he began to fly, lifting himself a few inches off the ground. "Don't forget to talk with Mr. Kent tomorrow, and maybe you'll have a surprise."

"What?" Julian shouted, but he was already gone.

Even with the pain throbbing in his ankle, Julian felt happy. The day hadn't gone as planned, it's true, but in the end everything had worked out.

And he had finally seen Superman up close. Had spoken to him.

Fandom: The Sandman

Pairing: Dreamling (Dream of the Endless X Hob Gadling)

Warnings: none

Notes: just a little oneshot inspired by Not Yet by The Amazing Devil. Hope you like it, and feel free to come into my askbox to send requests or just talk 😁

Hob was having a nightmare. Again.

Morpheus didn't know what was happening, but he could feel the different vibration whenever the human blessed (or cursed?) by his sister fell asleep. He hadn't spied on any of Hob's incursions into his realm – no, there was a part of him that kept him from doing that, however much his curiosity grew each night. But this time, it was too much. The terror emanating from Hob's mind was such that it chilled the Dreamlord inside. Concentrating not for the sake of the task, but because Hob was able to get him to focus with little effort, Morpheus slipped into the human's unconscious.

And he was surprised to find him lying curled up on the cold floor of his own mind.

Hob muttered rambling words in the various languages ​​he had learned up to that time. Tears flowed through his closed eyelids that marked his face, twisted in so much pain that Morpheus almost reached out to wipe them away. Almost. Morpheus understood much of what Hob was whispering. He regretted himself so much, blamed himself so much for the mistakes he had made in his never-ending life, that even in his dreams his failures haunted him.

At this point, human and Endless were more alike than they'd admitted. Both struggled to forgive themselves.

The scream of agony that escaped Hob's throat made him open his eyes and see Morpheus standing beside him. Neither of them said anything. The human got up slowly, seeming to fear that this was a hallucination of his brain and not the Dream itself there. Morpheus remained silent, for he knew that words would never be enough at that moment. Hob approached, his tear-streaked face millimeters from Morpheus's.

"What did you come here for?" the question came shyly from his lips.

"I came to hold your hand."

Morpheus's cold fingers intertwined with Hob's as their lips touched.

Sorry for the late! That's just an amazing prompt but I was also a little terrified to do it (couldn't resist to made that joke). Thanks for sending, I hope you like it!

"It terrifies me what I would do for you..." he moans.

Geralt felt Jaskier's kisses going down his back. They had made love minutes ago, but the bard didn't seemed completely satisfied yet.

"Hmm, really?" the witcher teased, now shivering with the feeling of Jaskier's teeth covering the way that his kisses have made.

"I would face every monster on the Continent... I would fight all your witcher friends from Kaer Morhen..."

Jaskier turned him onto his back against the bed, and continued his journey through Geralt's skin.

"I would steal all the riches of the courts I have passed through... I would give up even poetry and music..."

Geralt pushed him lightly. Jaskier's face was pure confusion, while the witcher's only conveyed shock.

"You should never do that." his husky tone was more accentuated. "Your music, your poetry... It's what makes you who you are, and it lights up the world. It's what made me love you, Jaskier. You must never give that up."

The bard smiled, marveling at Geralt's rare statement. It had been something so spontaneous that the witcher didn't even seem to have noticed what he had said.

"Oh Geralt, I would do anything for you... But for tonight, just more love might be enough."

Based on this prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting.

Pairing: Geraskier (Geralt x Jaskier)

Warnings: just a little angst

Jaskier didn't know how long he'd been sitting there. He didn't care. He had found that field after a long walk, and he felt that he should stay there. The day had dawned hours ago and along with the sun had come the sudden urge to compose. He hadn't composed anything for years, he just repeated worn-out melodies.

Where was his inspiration? Deep in his heart, he knew. The witcher was gone, taking with him the art that inhabited the bard's soul.

Jaskier had decided to walk in search of anything that might generate a verse or two. Not even the hours in that flowery field had any effect. Closing his eyes, he mentally begged for the help of some angel who happened to be fond of human music, asked that at least some unpublished harmonies would be played again on his lute.

And then he heard.

"You're not exactly the type of person I could see running across a field of flowers. It would more likely be a battle field."

Geralt didn't respond. Jaskier recognized him without even looking, but not because of the smell or the sound of his footsteps. The witcher's mere presence quickened his heart, made her skin crawl, and gave her a feeling akin to the joy of writing a ballad.

"I heard you were in town." Jaskier heard him sit beside him. "I've been looking for you all day."

"Why, Geralt?" the bard kept his eyes closed, fearing he would lose his mind as he stared at the witcher.

"Because I love you, Jask. I always have. And that's why I left."

The bard felt the calluses on the wizard's hand as it entwined with his. He felt the strands of white hair brush his face as he approached. He felt, as if in a dream, the soft touch of Geralt's lips against his as he spoke.

"I was wrong. I ran away from you hoping to run away from my own feelings, from everything I thought I never deserved. But in those years when I was distant, something happened."

"What?" Jaskier's voice was barely a shadow.

"Ciri. I found her. And I love her as if she were my own."

Jaskier finally opened his eyes, startled to realize that Geralt was crying.

"Having her with me made me realize what a silly thing I'd been doing. Yes, I wanted a family. I wanted a life surrounded by love. I always did."

The bard's tears mingled with the witcher's.

"I came to ask your forgiveness, Jaskier. And also to ask if you would like to meet Ciri."

The words came into his mind like magic. The magic of seeing the love of his life after long years without music.

And I know the kindest thing

I pray to God it's the kindest thing

I know the kindest thing

Is to never leave you alone

Their lips met for what seemed like the first time. The flowers covered them while the bodies sweated together and love confessios were whispered. The sun left and the moon replaced it, shinning in the sky up above while they calm their breaths.

After a moment of silence, Jaskier stood up. Geralt too. Their hands embraced each other. And the witcher heard the words he dreamed to hear since he left.

I was thinking about how Geralt and Yennefer deal with their own emotions and traumas differently than Jaskier and this idea came to me. Hope you like it 😊

Fandom: The Witcher

Warnings: mention of animal death; mention of flood.

"Why do they always do that?" tears flowed like rivers down the girl's sweet face. "Why don't they understand?"

"Oh no, dear heart! Don't cry!"

Jaskier pulled the girl onto his lap and wiped away her tears. Ciri was a force of nature — she was always running, knocking things over and screaming with a high pitched timbre louder than any instrument the bard had ever heard — and it was also revealed through her emotions. Ciri felt deeply, no matter the nature of the feeling, and never crossed her mind to hide such emotions.

That's where the problem began.

"I don't understand why they fight me over this." the girl sniffed. "I know it was just a little bird, but..."

"But you cared about him, just like Geralt and Yennefer care about you."

"No, they don't!" she shook her head vehemently, her hair flying. "They don't care about me, or the bird that died, or anyone else but them!"

Jaskier wiped away the new tears that sprang up. Stroking the girl's head now resting on his chest, he said:

"You know, Ciri, there's a lot of cruelty in the world."

"I know, Jask." Her eyes darkened for a moment, memories of Cintra flashing through her mind. "I know."

"And there are different kinds of cruelty. There's the thunderous cruelty you've faced, as loud as a storm."

Ciri breathed quietly as she did when the bard put her to sleep.

"But there's another kind of cruelty, and that's both Geralt and Yennefer face from a very young age, younger than you."

Jaskier touched the tip of the girl's nose.

"When a quiet rain falls for several days, it doesn't bring lightning and thunder; it barely makes a noise; but, little by little, it fills the rivers and make them overflow, destroying everything in front of them."

Jaskier caressed the girl's face and realized the tears had stopped.

"Some cruelties, like these rains, leave deep and lasting marks. And these marks can harden one's heart, but not out of malice; only out of protection, for fear of being hit again by such cruelty, of having the house destroyed again by the flood."

A deep sigh came out of the girl.

"That's why Geralt and Yennefer fight with you. They're afraid you'll suffer like they did, because their hearts were once as pure and light as yours." Jaskier turned her so that Ciri could face him. "Try to be patient. They mean no harm. It's just their way of trying to protect you."

Seconds passed, carrying eternities of feelings and unspoken words, until finally Ciri shrugged.

"I don't need protection."

The bard can't help but laugh.

"I'm sure of that, but what about the boy who killed the bird? He'll certainly need an escort so he doesn't get another beating from the lady!"

The fox passed in a blur through the window, and even in the dim candlelight, the girl saw the calling in the short second the animal's eyes met hers.

The rain lashed at the lack of skin exposed by her coat and pajama bottoms, but the girl didn't care. That fox appeared to her simce the first day in that new house by the river. She didn't want to move, didn't want to leave the town, but her father – a lovely man, yes, but suffocated by the monotonous exertion of adult life – told her it was necessary. There she was now, slipping out her bedroom window in the rain to follow the orange-haired, sly-eyed animal.

The fox led her to the river, which despite the rain, wasn't flowing violently. Surprising the girl, the creature leapt into the water, eyes gleaming against the darkness as it silently bellowed its calling again. Without thinking straight, just following an instinct from the bottom of her soul, the girl entered the river. The rain slowed drastically, becoming just whispers and caresses against the sobriety of the night. Looking at the water, the girl was startled to see a woman's reflection instead of her own. The eyes were the same. The mouth too. The girl understood that the woman in the waters was an older version of her.

And the two of them talked.

No one knew the content of that conversation until the years passed and finally turned the girl into the woman, who followed the craft that had been abandoned by her father and went on to write stories, each containing fragments of the words she had heard from herself across the waters.

And in all these stories, there was a scene where a bright-eyed fox appeared.