#seacache

Shame makes her footsteps falter. 

Jane remembers a time when they were friends, and when they understood each other. Now, the thought of being in a room alone with Raphael fills her with dread. How is she supposed to fill all that silence with things he’ll actually listen to, and find sincere? Lately, whenever she says anything to him, she’s met with silence, or open disdain. Today, he appears to have opted for a smooth blend of both.

But in Raphael’s defence, lately she has exclusively spoken to him about her husband, or to ask something of him. She hadn’t realised that it had become that obvious, or that he would be offended by this new dynamic; after all, if he won’t be her friend anymore, then he has to accept his role of just the help, and see if he likes that any better. Secretly, she hopes it’ll make him change his mind, forcing his forgiveness. Deep down, she knows he’s too proud for that.

“Do I have to need something to come and find you?” she asks. They both know that she’s just putting off her real request. 

Jane trots further into the room, swamped by an over-expensive dress that hardly even suits her. She has decided not to think about how her husband makes the money that keeps her in such fine things, which explains why she tries her hardest to not look Raphael in the eye, even as she asks him for something.

“I want to learn how to navigate, and I’d like you to teach me,” she says. Sensing refusal, she continues. “All the maps I have of this place, they’re... Well, none of them are the same, and so I can’t make sense of them.”

I just wheezed so loud my cat jumped owiskrjjejdnd

DREAM ME IS COMING AND IS ALSO MUCH MORE GOTH I LOVE IT

Oh Snap

There wasn’t any real rhyme or reason for Molly’s feet to have been pointed to Geralt’s tent--and less still for why she’d entered in the first place. Her mind was heavy, her shoulders tense and aching from the weight and expectation of her title, even here in the encampment, where they were little more than refugees and fugitives. She was still looked to for the final word, for guidance and reassurance, and frankly...Molly was exhausted. For just one moment, she didn’t want to be the Queen. For just one moment, she hadn’t wanted to think.

While there was still very little Molly knew of the Witcher, she knew he was safe. With Geralt, she was no more simply the Queen than he was simply the Witcher, however they’d been taught to believe otherwise.

So, she’d snuck inside the tent, kissed him, content to lose herself with what felt Safe. Egged on by the touch, Molly had leaned back, finally leaving the responsibilities to the outside world--

At least until he’d halted her hands. She did stop, then, breathless as she looked down to him.

You aren’t okay.

She huffed out a laugh, mirthless. “And you are..?”

He was right, of course. This wasn’t the way. This wasn’t any way, least of all for her. Naturally, the rejection stung, as did his perceptiveness, but that was something for her to mine through alone in her own tent. Not while she sat straddling the Witcher. She’d simply...misread. Her hands moved to cover her face for the moment as she inhaled, and began to withdraw.

🎁 – a kiss as a reward [ i have NO braincells rn so pls give to me a randomized muse smooch? ]

8. Jaskier 14. The Iron Bull

(I had to do this twice because the first time it was like THE SERPENT and RABBIT and I was like aww that’s nice but also not as exciting as RANDOM)

The bard is tiny and, as far as the Iron Bull can tell, belongs to someone else. Someone beefier, someone who would put up a good fight if need be-- but not for small slights. Bull had playfully harassed the bard in the tavern, requesting songs in ways that weren’t exactly requesting.          (Chief, you’re gonna make the man piss himself)

Ahhh, Krem.       Always looking out for the state of another man’s pants.

But after the third round of the same bawdy ballad that made a few of the tavern’s regular’s ears turn red, Iron Bull laughed and leaned forward to pat Jaskier’s cheek with giant hands before leaning down to press a firm (if chaste) kiss to the bard’s lips.

            It would no doubt taste of the paint thinner-esque alcohol Bull and his chargers had emptied from it’s barrel.

“If you wanna do some real work away from Creepy over there, you know where to find us.”

HAVE A THREE MINUTE RAMBLE

Key Points: Sawyer likes Riona’s fidgets, her nose wrinkles when she’s in thoughts, and the way she bites her lip. Riona likes that she’s His Exception (TM) to a lot of things, how soft he is with her, and that he pulls her into his left side to cuddle. She also very much enjoys her nickname from him.

Philip scowls, but he has no retort this time around. Tears of frustration well up when he can’t snap back at Isaiah, and instead opts to kick something nearby as an outlet, as well as a show of how upset he is.

i dare truck to kiss harry or raphael bc they all deserve it

"Just gonna go in and do some of the cleaning,” Truck mused. He’d rather do that than sit and wait; it would be nice to have something to occupy his hands and mind. He leaned over and kissed Harry, who was trying to coax a small bird to come a bit closer, before getting up and brushing the grass off his clothes. “Come in before it gets to cold,” he reminded him.