#whitehairedwitcher

jaskier makes his way over with little fuss , the witcher huddled in a corner as he so often is. the fresh drink in his hand will just be drunk by him if geralt doesn't fancy it , but he offers it wordlessly as he sits. knows he isn't as skilful at being quiet when tipsy ramblings take over , and so his head rests against geralt's shoulder as he says it soft. tries to keep the delicate worry from his tone but it doesn't work. never does.

' are you alright? ' a breath. ' please tell me the truth. ' @whitehairedwitcher

@whitehairedwitcher

Xaria flew by around town, disguised as a crow. It was time to find something to eat (or at the very least, something to steal to sell to get food.) Though she may have to move on soon. It seemed the people had noticed her in animal forms stealing from them, though they blamed it on a nonexistent witch, so they may still have time.

They observed the people making their way around the market from a nearby tree, not noticing they were being watched in return. They zeroed in on a particular man. he was paying for some food. Quickly Xaria took to the skies, before diving down on the man. They snatched the pastry in one claw(partially squishing it but really, what can you do?) and the coins he was handing over to the owner. Their prizes in hand, or rather claw, they flew off towards their little home in the woods, leaving a rather frustrated man yelling at their back as they flapped their wings away.

𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧-𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. which is why kar'niss is fretfully trying to wash himself off in the shallows , the precious moon lantern a mere arm's reach away. stowed in one of the torch brackets that would normally hold the warm glow of fire , but he simply doesn't trust that enough. nothing else will keep him safe , than her light.

another ... disagreement , with ketheric. he had been undisciplined , he knows. chasing the wretched oblodra alchemist through the halls of moonrise , threatening to drain her of every last drop of her blood if she wanted the fate of a vampire's bite so terribly. when he'd begun crawling up the high walls in an attempt to get ahead of her and cut off her path , is when the general had stepped in.

and ketheric does not punish lightly. the blood that stains him now is his own , a wound at his shoulder where a spear had lanced through his carapace. while the pain would drag him from his actions , so single minded until suffering , there is no doubt that general thorm likely makes it hurt just because he can.

'Will They, Won't They?' Prompts

@whitehairedwitcher

"I won't try to hold a candle to a vineyard retirement," Regis chuckled, before his timbre softened into sincerity alongside his expression, "but this is a gift nonetheless." He could already smell the flowers, before they were even in sight; no doubt Geralt could too.

Regis led the way into a broad, colorful field surrounding a cottage. Shoots of white arenaria - some beginning to sprout their blood-red berries, a sign of the turning season - stood stiffer against the breeze. Clusters of periwinkle agapanthus and golden melilote swayed more freely, lending the air their delicate sweetness. The cottage itself looked new, though an overhang to shelter firewood already had pink honeysuckle twining round its posts. Close to it were shrubs of damiana as well, leading to a cherry sapling and a carved stone bench.

It was the latter where Regis guided Geralt first, watching his dearest friend's expression all the while. "Every inch of this place is yours, if you wish." Every inch of the home he'd built for Geralt's safety and comfort. Every inch of the field he'd planted and nurtured for Geralt's happiness and peace. Every flower that bore regard for practicality, for simple beauty, for how they mirrored his feelings for the Witcher. Damiana was not there by accident, nor was honeysuckle only present for its use in certain potions. Those feelings refused to be set aside, in this moment, a hunger for reciprocation gnawing in Regis' chest.

Knock-Knock Prompts

@whitehairedwitcher

When the tinge of shed blood colored the bouquet of his poultice, Regis paused, tracking the scent to his front door. It grew clearer with each inhale: fresh wounds, seeping past leather; a Witcher's acrid potion; Geralt's blood.

His dear friend needn't even knock, much less reach for the door. Regis was there already to open it, all the sooner to support Geralt over his threshold. Questions of what happened could wait. For now, Regis guided the other man to the extra bed he kept for such emergencies.

' 𝐧𝐨 , 𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐭. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 , you need to find her , don't stay here , ' despite concussion and the gnawing nausea it holds over him , it seems jaskier still has priorities. and they're much more pressing than geralt sitting here with him while ciri is still in such danger. captured and at the mercy of emhyr and his court and she must be so , so frightened ----

' i can stay here , with zoltan and percy , i'll be fine , i'll find you. ' jaskier huffs , rolling onto his side almost clumsily despite the fact he doesn't even leave the ground. dazed and how it slows him , usually so persuasive in his arguments but now it feels like he's fighting against a tide.

“When did you get here?”

She’d stirred the moment she’d heard the bathroom’s door open, surprised anyone could find her back in the maze of hallways and rooms. She’d wound herself as deep into the house as she could manage without feeling too lost herself. It felt safer, somehow, especially when the house was empty.

And it had been, when he’d left. A perfect storm of responsibilities meaning she’d been left behind — again. Which was fine, really. She understood. But that didn’t make it any easier to sleep. She’d been trying for days now, it felt like. Hunkered down against endlessly chilly porcelain walls. She only relaxes when he settles in with her. Warm, and somehow both solid, and soft at the same time. At least more comfortable than the tub, anyway.

𝖆 𝖘𝖔𝖋𝖙 𝖘𝖓𝖔𝖗𝖙 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖛𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊. he doesn't think he's ever been called decent in his life , save for this little character he's put on. all comes tumbling down now there's a silver blade to his throat and a witcher growling in his ear about how noble he is. and this idiot wouldn't have a chance in hell of being able to kill him given what he is , but he'll let him dream for one reason alone.