#poooooop

Jaskier was neither mutant nor Witcher, and he was perfectly capable of suffering all of the above problems, sometimes simultaneously.

“I’m dying, my dear Witcher,” he bemoaned, rubbing his belly through his high-waisted trousers as he came back from what had been his third shit in less than a half hour. “I’m afraid my entire life essence is being leeched out of me via my poor, abused backside and for once, you’re not the reason for its abuse.”

Geralt snorted but kept an eye on the bard, sure that it was just diarrhea related to the amount of rabbit they’d been eating lately. Geralt’s own stomach had been gurgling a little here and there, but he was accustomed to a meat-heavy diet. It was easy to hunt his own food while living in the wild, while most townsfolk and travellers ate meals heavy in bread and vegetables because it was inexpensive and abundant. Meat in winter was almost considered a luxury.

The last thing Geralt needed was Jaskier grumpy and suffering–because he was already slightly bothersome, if also handsome and a decent lover–but remedies for diarrhea were something Geralt never carried. He needed hawthorn and it only grew in the South, and also only in spring and summer.

“You can be sure that I won’t be abusing your backside while you’re suffering the shits, bard,” he said lightly, a smile on his face. The weather had warmed considerably and they’d at least stopped to make camp before dark, giving Jaskier a chance to sit for a while and maybe stop jostling his guts about by walking. “Consider it a respite.”

Geralt got up from his log and fetched what he needed to prepare their evening meal, choosing something other than meat. They had jerky enough for a month’s travel, but also a sack of ground corn meal and a pot of honey. Geralt had paid dearly for the honey, but it was good for both use as a food and as a salve base. Better than the rancid sheep’s fat he’d used for Jaskier’s hip injury some weeks earlier.

He mixed up a pile of thick dough with the meal and cold creek water, added a touch of the honey, and then made small patties of the dough. Wide, damp leaves from the wild river grapes, a plant whose leaves didn’t always fall off during the winter, were wrapped around the patties and they were then buried in scooped coals from the fire.

Jaskier watched with interest; he wasn’t feeling well, but he was hungry. Geralt lifted an arm in invitation for Jaskier to come closer, offering some easy comfort as they waited for their corn cakes to cook. “Come sit.”

“It’ll barely be for a moment, Geralt. I’ll only have to get up for another shit.”

“Then I’ll let you up at that time and every time after, until your body’s finally rid of it.”

Jaskier gave a light chuckle and took the offer, cuddling against Geralt’s side and tucking his face against the Witcher’s neck, giving Geralt a chance to wrap both arms around him and place a firm kiss to Jaskier’s hair.

“I forgot that you humans are prone to meat sickness. Too much and you basically shit yourselves. We’ll stick to corn cakes and maybe potatoes for the next few days since we’ve still got some potatoes in the saddlebag. I know the town we’re headed to next grows a lot of squash. That’ll be nice for a change, hm?”

“Hmmm, sure,” Jaskier hummed, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the comfort of Geralt’s hold and the warm crackle of the fire. “It’s a shame, too. I really enjoy rabbit, but perhaps too much of a good thing isn’t good for me.”

“Too much of anything is bad for anybody.”

“Unless it’s your cuddles which are always appreciated, dear Witcher. Except..for..right now. Oh Melitele’s tits, Geralt, let me go. I have to go again.”

Geralt held fast and didn’t let Jaskier go just yet, amused as hell as the bard began to struggle in his hold. 

“You’ll be sleeping alone tonight if you let me shit myself, you beast!”

Geralt let go with a light laugh and watched Jaskier already working at his trouser laces, as he ran for the downstream spot they’d chosen as their outhouse. Jaskier came back a decent amount of time later, looking less angry and a little more relaxed. 

“I may have gotten the last of it out. My guts suddenly feel immensely better.”

Geralt nodded as he fetched the corn cakes from the fire, peeling them from the leaves and piling them on their shared plate, the surfaces slightly toasted on both sides but also steamed all the way through. “Come eat, then. Starchy food could help, but I’ll keep an eye for hawthorn next time we visit a dry market. Dried or fresh, it’s best for stomach ailments. I just don’t have any right now.”

Jaskier was already sitting and digging into the cakes, nodding as if Geralt’s words mattered. He didn’t know shit about potions and poultices, or any other healing remedies. Visiting a healer was Jaskier’s method of medicine.

“Mmmm, good. We’ll see if this works first, because these are delicious, Geralt. Very well done.”

“They’re just corn cakes.”

Jaskier nodded. “But they aren’t meat.”