Anon: i Hope You Update Soon! I Can Assure You, Every Fanfic Writer Ever: 

character: *has frost powers* me: your backstory is family related trauma isn’t it

There is nothing funnier to me than Bruce deciding to go to a circus to have fun for once in his miserable brooding life only to relive his childhood trauma and adopt a child

Have Mercy

A/N: A tribute to the absolute best sitcom ever. Young John Stamos, I miss you.

Title: Have Mercy

Summary: You’re the eldest Tanner child, and things haven’t been quite right for you since your mother’s death. However, your Uncle Jesse always knows how to make things better.

Words: 4602

When Jesse had first moved into the Tanner household alongside Joey, the one thing he had to admit he’d been the most surprised at was exactly how much you had grown up. And it most certainly wasn’t change in looks, because you still had your mother’s beautiful, glossy locks, and your father’s beaming smile, and his taste in music… rather, you had changed immensely in attitude. As soon as he’d walked in the door, he’d been expecting three of his nieces to bombard him with hugs, not two. And he definitely hadn’t expected the one who hadn’t to walk up to him and linger behind your sisters for a moment before he grabbed your head and pulled you to his chest. That had been the beginning of his suspicions. Never once had you not raced up to him and jumped into his arms as soon as he walked through the door to the house. It was always you first, never mind the two younger ones. He had to remind himself to be prepared for you whenever he was about to open the door, for Christ’s sake, so why did you act as though it was so different now?

Seeing you hanging back, fidgeting absentmindedly with your sleeve and only waiting until D.J. and Stephanie had moved out of the way before you even considered taking a step towards him was completely unreasonable and, honestly, he was shocked. Sure, the last time he’d seen you was only a month back for Stephanie’s birthday, but it wasn’t like you’d never given him bear-hugs after a shorter time gap…

The thought that maybe it was down to something bigger than just you not wanting to hug him properly didn’t really cross his mind until you began to show other signs that perhaps things weren’t exactly… right with you. For starters, since when had he said you were allowed to call him by his actual name? “Uh, that’s Uncle Jesse to you, Bug,” he’d said, a frown on his face as you – accidentally, he hoped – missed out the ‘Uncle’. You hadn’t said much about it, though he thought he’d heard you mumbling somewhat of an apology as you moved to walk out of the kitchen.

It was only really when he saw how much you seemed to have taken on a more adult role to your sisters that he had an idea of what was going on. Truthfully, he wanted to slap himself for having not thought about it before. You’d just lost your mother, and though it was extremely hard for the whole family, how difficult could it possibly be for you, the eldest who’d spent every waking moment with her mother, learning from her and aspiring to be her? The girl who’d been alive longer and would remember her mother when Michelle and Stephanie wouldn’t? The young teen that loved to play mom and help her parents around the house? Jesse could see that part in you so plainly – every little thing you did now seemed to revolve around your father or your sisters. Though he’d only been living in the house for six days, not one minute had he seen you smile, or spend some time alone… everything you did seemed to be moulded around what Stephanie wanted for breakfast, or how much help D.J. needed with homework, or what clothes Michelle should wear that day. Truthfully, he couldn’t even find the point in him and Joey coming if this was how it was going to be.

However, he knew it wasn’t healthy. In essence, you seemed to have derived the belief that you were to step up and become the matriarch of the family from somewhere or other… he wasn’t sure where, but the idea definitely hadn’t sprung from nowhere. You were acting more like a housewife than a fifteen-year-old kid, and Danny had even begun to comment on it, asking you to please sit down for a minute and let Joey put Michelle to bed, or give the laundry over to Jesse so he could fold it… when he’d asked him about it, your father had explained that you hadn’t stopped from your mothering tendencies at all since Pam died, and it seemed to be getting worse. What’s more, he just couldn’t get you to talk about it. Every time he attempted to bring the subject up, you were gone from his sight in seconds. He’d tried to arrange a therapist to speak to you, but you’d refused the help. Nobody seemed to be able to knock hard enough on the protective wall you’d built around yourself to break it down. Really, Jesse was surprised he hadn’t noticed the change during the last times he’d been to visit, but he supposed, since he’d only stayed a few hours before bouncing off, he’d never really been around long enough to figure it out.  But, all in all, the Y/N Tanner he last remembered was not the one currently bustling about the house, that grim and determined look on your face, and he silently made the decision there and then that he was going to fix it.

“Hold it, Mom.” He quickly stepped into your way as you walked out of the kitchen, Michelle in your arms. “Can I have a word with you a moment?”

You frowned, bright eyes analysing Jesse’s face before you glanced over at your baby sister. “I have to change Michelle.” You moved to dodge him, but he immediately stuck his arm out, thwarting your escape.

“Joseph!” he called, all the while keeping his watchful eyes on you. Michelle babbled, pulling slightly on your hair, but you remained still, standing in front of Jesse’s arm. He had half a thought that you might decide to barge straight through him, but, thankfully, you stayed where you were until Joey came in from where he’d been working on fixing Stephanie’s bike in the back garden.

“You called?” he asked. Jesse nodded, motioning towards the baby.

“Can you take little nugget over here upstairs and change her? Me and Bug are gonna have a chat.” He gave him a meaningful look, and Joey’s eyes widened in realisation. He reached over for Michelle and snagged her out of your arms far too quickly; God only knew how long he had been waiting for someone to force you to speak to them about this, and he was all too happy to take the baby away for a while to give this someone their much needed space and time.

“Gladly,” he said, noticing how you weren’t entirely eager to relinquish your hold on your sister. “Have fun, kiddos.” Jesse waited as the tell-tale thump of Joey walking up the stairs moved into Michelle’s room and the door shut before he let his arm hang limply at his side. You didn’t move, choosing to stay exactly where you were, eyes fixed on the front door opposite you instead of meeting your uncle’s gaze. He sighed and turned around, stepping towards the couch in the living room.

“Let’s sit down,” he said. Thankfully, Danny had taken both D.J. and Stephanie out to a soccer game that afternoon, and there was about an hour left until they’d get back, so he had plenty of time to discuss this with you. He sat himself down on the couch and pat the spot next to him, watching as you dejectedly began to make your way over. It seemed as though you couldn’t deny him and walk past him as you did your father, maybe because his face told you clearly that this was the time that someone was going to discuss it with you. Nobody could really argue with Jesse, though everyone knew that often didn’t stop you.

Silently, you sat next to him, scooting back and lifting your legs up so you could tuck your knees into your chest. Jesse sighed, turning slightly. “I know what this is about,” he said, and you glanced at him.

“You do?” you asked, eyebrows furrowing, before you quickly recovered and turned your head away from him. “I mean… what? You know what… what is about?”

Jesse rose an eyebrow, a tell-tale smirk on his lips. He could see that your cheeks were slowly beginning to get dusted with a soft red hue, and he shook his head slightly in fondness. No matter what anyone said, no matter how grown-up you acted, you would forever be that sweet baby girl he remembered holding in the hospital. “Don’t act all oblivious, now,” he gently scolded, dipping his head a little. “You know what I’m talking about. All this… housewife stuff. It’s not normal, kid.” The man turned, lifting one leg up to tuck under him while he rested an elbow on the couch and leaned his head against it. “Look… I know that things have been… tough recently. We’ve gone through hell as a family, and it won’t get better for a while, but… Buggo, I haven’t seen you sit down once since I came here. Do you even sleep? When do you eat? Go to school? Do you go to the toi-”

“Okay, okay! Jeez, Uncle Jesse,” you frantically shook your head as his smile grew, not thinking about the fact that it was most likely because you’d reverted back to calling him your uncle in your slight aggravation. It told him clearly that you’d been doing it on purpose… you hadn’t somehow forgotten he was your uncle, thank God.

His smile faded a little as he shifted on the couch. “Seriously, though,” he said, voice calmer. “We need to talk about this. Your dad’s already tried, and you completely avoided it, so I know it’s not an easy subject to discuss, but… we’re gonna make some sorta break-through today, alright?” He rose both eyebrows, waiting for you to respond. There was the obvious fact that you may avoid his questions, too, and run off, but he had a feeling that this time would be different. That, this time, you would truly listen to what he had to say. He felt a current of pride surge through him as you turned a little in your seat and looked up at him with big, bright eyes, waiting for him to speak. “Kid,” he began, “we’ve all noticed how you’re acting kinda… not you. You run around the house, looking after all three of your little sisters and stepping in when one of us try to take over… you don’t actually sit down and speak with any of us anymore, or tell us about your day at school, or smile, or laugh, or, oh, I don’t know, actually look happy.” The man’s face was becoming more and more concerned as he went on, eyes brown pools of worry and lips a grim line. “Why’re you acting like this, huh?” he asked. “Why’re you pretending to be this crazy work-obsessed nanny instead of the kid that you are?”

Somewhere along the line, you’d cast your eyes down to the couch, not daring to meet his own anymore. Of course you had an answer to it, and of course you wanted to tell him so that he could help you, but if he helped you, then you wouldn’t have a reason to continue doing what you were doing. It was a question with both advantages and disadvantages to it, and yet, somehow, the former far outweighed the latter. “Because…” you said after a little while, though your voice was a mere whisper. “Because I promised Mama…”

Jesse’s frown deepened. He licked his lips, staring at you intently. “Promised her what?”

“That if- that if anything were to happen to her, I’d look after everyone.” You briefly shut your eyes, the feeling of tears welling in them almost becoming too much for you. Jesse, meanwhile, had changed his expression to one of more or less confusion. When, exactly, had you promised this to Pam? Her death had been so sudden, and she’d had nothing in her life before that indicated the possibility that she could die. His confusion seemed to be mirrored perfectly on his face, and you thankfully decided to look up at that moment and noticed it before explaining more.

“It was a little while before she died,” you supplied helpfully. “Dad was away on business, and I couldn’t sleep so I went to Mom and slept with her. We… we talked for a little while… about a lot of things. And, I don’t know how, but we ended up on the topic of what would happen to us if she or Dad ever, well, you know…” You took a small break, sniffing and blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. “She asked me if I could do her a favour and help Dad if anything happened to her… look after my siblings and help him around the house. I never believed it would actually happen and I’d have to do it, but it did, and so that’s what I’m doing. I promised her I would. I said to her ‘I promise, Mama, with all my heart’, and I can’t back away from that now. I c-can’t. I just can’t.” You squeezed your eyes shut, and found that you didn’t quite care when a tear slowly made its way out from under your lid and trailed down your cheek, more following soon after. You did not have the fight in you to resist against your uncle as he reached over and pulled you to him, situating you somewhat on his lap and somewhat on the couch while ensuring your head was comfortably resting against his chest. One hand reached up and cupped the side of your face, thumb rubbing tentatively across the wet skin, and the other wrapped itself securely around your trembling frame, holding you to him.

“Aw, Bug,” he found himself mumbling into your hair while you sobbed into him. “I should’ve known it was about your mom.”

You shook your head, opening your puffy eyes. “S’not your fault,” you told him quietly. “I did-didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Yeah, we gathered that,” Jesse said. He cocked his head to the side, resting his cheek on top of your head. “You know… I don’t think this is what she meant when she asked you to look after your family. She definitely would not want you to do what you’re doing. Definitely not. Sure, help change Michelle once in a while, and teach D.J. math when she needs it, and play with Steph when she has nobody else to, but every damn second? Sweetheart, Pam wouldn’t have wanted this. You don’t need to be an adult. Sure, at the beginning, that was great of you to step up and help your dad… but, babe, this is why me and Joey’ve moved in, isn’t it? To care for you girls. All four of you, not just your sisters.” He poked your back as a way of showing he was including you in all that he was saying. “Step down a bit, Y/N. You’re fifteen, and you’ve just lost your mother. Allow yourself some time to be looked after. Your dad’s here, Joey’s here, I’m here. We’re all here, and we’re more than capable of looking after you lot by ourselves, okay?”

“But… but what about the girls?” you asked, still sobbing. “They lost Mom, and now they come to me with a lot of things… I feel as though I’m responsible for them.”

Jesse frowned. Somehow, that made sense. He could understand why you’d let D.J. and Steph hug him first; because you believed they’d needed it more than you did. And, of course, it seemed to be only natural that they’d go to you… you were the only other woman in their life, now, and things they felt as though they couldn’t go to their father to, they would go to you. He figured that would feel more like an honour to you if you weren’t so crowded by all these other responsibilities you’d added on unwillingly. He shook his head. “Honey, you’re not responsible for the girls. We are. Yes, they lost their mom, and they may sometimes need you there for them, but do not, under any circumstances, feel as though you don’t deserve as much support as them. Though they may be younger, you’ve lost the exact same as they have. It’s hard on all of you, not just Steph and Deej. Don’t feel afraid to come to any of us if you’re ever feeling down; like I said, that’s what we’re here for, okay? Got it? Capiche?”

It didn’t take you long to absorb everything he’d said. Truthfully, you’d been waiting and longing for someone to say those words simply so you could stop wearing yourself out and actually truly believe that this wasn’t what your mother meant when she’d asked you to help around the house. Her death did not require you to take the role as matriarch of the family. Her death did not mean you had to give up your life to care for your sisters and your father. Her death did not mean you had to replace her. Swallowing thickly, you nodded, sniffling. “Capiche.”

Jesse smiled. “Alright,” he said. “Come here and give your Uncle Jesse a hug.” He moved both hands to hold you at your sides and lift you up into a sitting position, pulling you onto his lap where you leant down and wrapped both arms around him, nestling your head into the crook of his neck. You couldn’t help but breathe a laugh when he continued. “And, yeah, I said ‘Uncle,” he admonished, “’cause no matter how old you get, I’ll always be your Uncle Jesse. Even if you’re eighty-five and I’m ninety-four, hobbling around with a walking stick, I’ll still be able to catch you if you miss out that word.” He rose an eyebrow as you turned your head up to him with a soft smile, chin still resting on his upper chest, and he mirrored it almost immediately, reaching a hand up to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. “I love you so much, Bug,” he said, shaking his head slightly.

Your smile widened. “I love you too, Uncle Jess.” It was silent for a moment, the only sound being the faint voices of Joey and Michelle upstairs and the occasional sniffle which emanated from you. Jesse’s hand was cradling the back of your head as you lay on him, ear pressed to his chest, the soft thump, thump, thump of his heart almost lulling you to sleep. “I don’t think you’ve ever actually told me why you call me that.”

“Hm?”

“Well, is it ‘cause you wanna kill me?”

Jesse lifted his head from yours and furrowed both eyebrows. “What kinda question is that?”

“You’re an exterminator,” you said with a shrug, the corners of your lips curving upwards, “you kill bugs and rodents and pests for a living. A little ironic that you call me ‘Bug’, right?”

The man rolled his eyes and leaned back, staring at you unamusedly. “Ha, ha,” he said, voice utterly emotionless, “very funny.”

“So… it’s not because you want to kill me?“ You yelped as Jesse growled lowly before grabbing you and turning you over, pushing you back on the couch and hovering over you. He shook his head as you lay there, panting from the sudden exhilaration, giggles moving past your lips every once in a while. Reaching out, he cupped the left side of your face with one hand and smiled.

“I remember seeing you for the first time,” he said. “Danny called my parents up the moment Pam went into labour, and by the time we reached the hospital, there you were. A little baby munchkin, wrapped up in the same white blanket all your siblings were swaddled in the moment they were born, those huge eyes staring up at your mama as she held you. I came in, and she immediately passed you into my arms, and, lemme tell you something, kid… I have never been in such awe since then. I was nine years old, and I had a niece already – can’t even tell you how much I bragged about that at school.” You laughed, and his smile widened. “Honestly, I think at the time I started calling you ‘Bug’ because it just sounded sweet, and, come on, I was nine, don’t blame me for not coming up with something better…” You giggled at that, staring up at him with those exact same eyes he remembered gazing into fifteen years ago. “But, then, as you got older, it got to the point that you just wouldn’t stop following me around everywhere. Whether you were crawling, or toddling, you followed after me like a damn shadow. So, ‘Bug’ proved to be kinda fitting in the end.”

You frowned. “How?”

“Because you were irritating, and I couldn’t get rid of you.”

Mouth falling open in both surprise and offense, you reached up and lightly punched your uncle’s shoulder. He laughed, pearly white teeth showing as he grinned and ruffled your hair. “I’m kidding. You know I love getting attention from girls, no matter how little they are.” A wink was thrown in your direction and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you did so. Of course he would say something like that. You redirected your attention as Jesse lowered himself a little, somehow tucking in next to you on the couch and leaning on his elbow. Tentatively, he pressed a kiss to your temple, and when he raised his head back up again, that small smile was still there. “Whatever the reason I call you that, it doesn’t matter. All that does matter, is the fact that it’s something special between just me and you. You’re my first ever niece, my Bug, my Buggy, Bugsy, Buggo, Bug-a-boo-” He chuckled as you breathed a laugh, the long list of names derived from the original nickname all having been directed at you at least once in your lifetime- “and you’re my entire world, babe. You and your sisters mean everything to me, just as you do your dad, and just as you did your mom.”

Your face fell the slightest bit at the mention of your mother, but the warm look on Jesse’s face was enough to not let you linger on it for too long. His words had caused your heart to melt the tiniest bit and the smallest amount of tears to return to your still-red eyes once again, yet the smile on your face held them back. “And you’re my world, too,” you said. “Though I still think you call me Bug because you wanna stick one of those gas things in my room and-”

You heard the growl again, and Jesse leapt into action, moving so he was hovering over you once more and wasting no time in digging his fingers into the sensitive skin of your sides. “Stop quizzing me on my own nickname!” he roared playfully, your giggles immediately filling his ears.

“Buhut it’s my nihihihihihicknahahame!” you squealed, attempting to roll off the couch. Your uncle trained his devilish fingers up to your stomach as you did that, rendering you weak and defenceless again so your attempts were utterly futile. He scoffed at your words, shaking his head and tutting.

“You know what I mean, crazy lady.”

“HEHEHEY! UHUHUHUNCLE JEHEHESEEHEEHEEHEE!” Tears were now pooling in your eyes for a totally different reason, yet you couldn’t help but bask in what was most likely the happiest time you’d had since the death of your mother. Jesse was grinning and chuckling almost evilly, apparently in full tickle monster mode as he lingered over your squirming body, tickling wherever his fingers could reach. After a few seconds, he quickly moved his head down, pushed up your shirt and blew a loud raspberry right over your belly button. “AHHHHHAHAHA!” you practically screamed, and the man looked up, resting his chin on your stomach and poising his hands at your ribs.

“What do we say?” he asked expectantly, laughter evident in his voice. You lay, panting, attempting to regain both your breath and composure, but it didn’t last long as your uncle wiggled his fingers again and you fell back into a pit of giggles. “What do we saaaaay?”

“HAHAHAHAHAVE MERCYYYYYYYYYY!”

Jesse laughed. “Alright,” he said, pressing a kiss to your quivering stomach and snorting when your residual giggles rose an octave simply at that. “God, you’re adorable,” he said, grinning up at you, and you somehow managed to roll your eyes between the contagious smiles and laughter before shuffling back and sitting up. You leaned against the couch, shutting your eyes, mouth parted slightly and hair a dishevelled mess.

“Not,” you managed to breathe out.

Jesse rolled over and sat up, the corners of his lips still curving upwards. He turned to look at you. “Oh, you so are, Bug-a-boo. Come here.” He reached over and snagged your arm, pulling you over to him and letting you drape yourself across his lap. He glanced over at the clock on the wall. “Your dad and the girls will be home soon,” he told you, pushing hair back from your face, and you nodded.

“I think I owe him a hug,” you said quietly, and you felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.

“He’d like that. Joseph, too.”

“Deej has science homework to do… do you think Dad’ll help her?”

“Of course he will.” The man gave you a look, one that was a mixture between worry that you’d revert back to busying yourself, and pride for the step you were taking towards normality. “And, if he’s too busy, I will. Or Joey. There are three adults available for her. You can stay here and watch the movie I taped for you the other day, or do something that doesn’t involve your sisters and the house.”

You made a face, glancing over at the TV. “What movie is it?”

“Uh, some romance, I think,” he said. “Danny said you like those sorta things.”

“Will you watch it with me?”

Jesse smiled. “Will I have to tie you to me to stop you from running off every time Michelle cries?”

You shook your head, sitting up and resuming your place on your uncle’s lap, leaning against him and tucking your head under his chin. “No, I think I’m good.”

“I’ll watch it, then. How are you feeling now, huh?” He craned his head a little to see you, and you turned your own to smile faintly at him.

“Better.” And, honestly? You did. Somehow, you felt that this discussion wouldn’t have gone down the way it had if it’d been Joey or your father that you were talking to. Despite what people said, Jesse really did have a way with kids, especially if that kid was his own flesh and blood, and most definitely if that kid was the one person on Earth which he felt he had a relationship with like no other, including his other three nieces. He guessed it was something about being the firstborn.

“Atta girl.” Jesse kissed the top of your head and rubbed your back, the two of you sitting in silence for a little while, just relishing in each other’s company.

Sure, Pam was gone, but she had left behind four of the most beautiful gifts of all, and Jesse couldn’t help but silently thank her, wherever she was, for giving him a bigger purpose in his life.

oh my gdO CAN YOU DRAW GODZILLA MOMMA CARRYING LIKE A HUNDRED LIZARD BABIES ON HER BACK FOR TAKE YOUR CHILD (lizard) TO WORK DAY

oh SHOOT well i cant swing 100 but how bout

whoever’s spinning the wheel on what’s gonna be revealed this week, keep spinning. this shits getting interesting

You’ve heard of sharing a bed. Now get ready for sharing a brain cell.

you're through fucking with me

A (slightly salty) alternative ending to Witcher season 2. Geraskier/Geraskifer, 2k, rated T.

The thing that is not Ciri smiles at them with a mouth full of sharp glass.

“You know what I want,” she says, filling the cold depth of Kaer Morhen’s great hall with her venom. It washes over Geralt and Yen, then Jaskier and Vesemir and the other witchers behind. Geralt feels pins pricking up his spine. "I want your pain."

She cocks her head at Jaskier.

“That one.” Her voice is like nails being driven into a coffin. “I want that one.”

Geralt snorts, dismissive. “That’s just Jaskier. He’s of no interest to you.”

“No?” She turns deep green eyes on Geralt. “But he is so delicious. I can taste his pain from here.”

“He’s just a bard,” Geralt says, disbelieving. “The worst thing that’s happened to him is someone not liking his songs.”

“Gods, Geralt, you really are a fucking wanker sometimes,” Yen snaps, stepping forward in front of Jaskier. As if she wanted to protect him. As if she could, without her Chaos.

The thing wearing Ciri’s skin laughs, high and pointed, like daggers in the night. Then she takes a deep breath, and the room dissolves.

-

The first thing Geralt is aware of is a smell in the air like roasting meat, but wrong somehow. The next thing is the screaming.

“I don’t know where they are,” a hunched figure says, voice hoarse from pain. “Please. I don’t know anything.”

Then a spark, and a flame, and more screaming.

The room is washed in pale red and sepia light, unnatural and undulating. The roasting smell is human flesh being burned away. The figure hunched in the chair is -

“Jaskier,” Geralt calls, and the name sticks in his throat like a wishbone.

“He can’t hear you,” a voice says from next to him. He turns to see another Jaskier, this one whole and well but with a sickly look on his face. Yen stands next to him, squeezing his elbow in support.

“This is a memory.” Understanding dawns on Geralt. “We’re in your memory.”

Jaskier won’t look him in the eye. “Yeah.”

“They were trying to find Ciri.” Geralt swallows down the bile in his throat. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, cause you didn’t fucking ask,” Jaskier raps back, and beneath the hurt is iron-hard fury.

Not-Ciri’s cackling, cruel laughter reverberates through his skull.

-

There’s a twist in the air and the sepia image snaps away, replaced by a rank jail cell. Geralt recognises it as the one he took Jaskier from, when he’d been tunnel-vision focused on finding Ciri.

This time he sees more clearly. He sees the yellowing bruises which still mottle Jaskier’s face and neck, and the defiant tilt of the chin which barely conceals cold, dead fear. A sharp intake of breath from Yen tells him she sees it too.

Geralt sees himself enter the cell. Himself as Jaskier sees him: Like marble, like ice, like a force of nature. Like something you can be swept along with or crushed by.

He sees the wobble of Jaskier’s lip when he’s asked for help. He feels the twist of misery deep in his chest as Jaskier pushes his feelings aside and says, simply, “Fine.”

How had he been in this very room and not seen this before? How had he been so blind?

“I’m sorry, Jaskier,” Yen says, “for what you’ve been through.”

“I’d do it again,” Jaskier says to her. “To protect you.”

Yen’s face goes soft and she takes Jaskier’s hand. This new dynamic between them feels like the ground has shifted beneath Geralt’s feet, like they have moved forward and built something beautiful out of ruins and he’s been left behind in the rubble.

Geralt knows he should apologise as well, but words seem hardly enough.

There are no words, Ciri’s voice echoes, but twisted and wrong. You’ll never make it up to them. Because you are unforgivable.

-

As the scene changes, Geralt feels the biting wind and knows where they are before the darkness even clears. King Niedamir's mountains. The dragon hunt.

It’s not the moment he’s expecting though, the one he’s been dreading. Him sending Jaskier away, calling him a burden. Wishing to be rid of him.

Instead, it’s a quiet moment from the day before. Sat on a rock overlooking the skyline with its jagged peaks and dusting of snow.

“We could head to the coast,” Jaskier says, voice soft and gentle. “Get away for a while.”

Geralt barely remembers that conversation. His head had been full of guilt over Borch and worry over Yen. He’d hardly noticed Jaskier sat next to him.

That’s the problem, isn’t it? He’d hardly seen Jaskier at all, even when he’d been right there by his side.

This time, he sees. The tired set of his eyes. He feels the ache in his chest, the physical toll it takes on him to be kind. Geralt has always assumed that kindness comes as naturally to Jaskier as breathing. It never occurred to him that it was a deliberate and effortful choice.

"I've been a fool," he says, but Jaskier only looks at the floor.

In the background, the hideous laughter of not-Ciri washes over them.

-

The scenes come thick and fast. Jaskier coughing up blood from the djinn's curse. A punch to the gut, the first time they ever met. The cold, cutting note in his voice every time he says, “We’re not friends.”

Geralt never realised he sounded so cruel.

“Damn it, Jaskier.” The guilt is so thick it could suffocate him. “Why is it whenever you’re in pain, I’m the one dishing it out? The djinn. The mountain. All of it.”

Jaskier looks at him, finally, regarding him with weary resignation. “I made my own choices.”

“Why did you stay?” Geralt can’t help but ask, honestly bewildered. “Why did you keep coming back, when I caused you so much pain?”

Jaskier’s lips twitch into something which is not a smile. His eyes are brimming with unshed tears.

“You know why,” Yen says, an accusing note in her voice. “You must know.”

“I don’t.” He’s getting desperate now. Yen raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. He turns back to Jaskier. “I don’t. Please. Help me understand.”

Jaskier shakes his head minutely, and turns to Yen. She nods, slowly, and the two share some unspoken conversation. It seems to give him strength. He squares up his shoulders and stands up straight. He’s as tall as Geralt when he does that.

"Because I've loved you for as long as I've known you," Jaskier spits, like a curse. "Because I love you even now, even when I wish I didn't. Because you're under my skin and lodged in my heart. Because no matter how far apart we are, I'm carrying you with me all the same.'

The words hit harder than a blow from a basilisk. Geralt staggers back, struggling to stay upright, a thick, sickly feeling filling his gut.

That can’t be right. That can’t be true. He’s not worthy of that, and he never has been. Yen might have been drawn to him by magic, through a wish that she had no choice over. But the idea that Jaskier has cared for him, has loved him, despite all he’s done...

The mist around them thickens, filling his lungs, toxic and corrosive, wrapping itself around his chest and stealing his air.

Not-Ciri flits in and out of his vision, but her voice continues sounding in his ear. As if it wasn’t bad enough to hurt him when you were friends, she hisses, you got to wound him even deeper with your thoughtlessness.

He’s flailing in the darkness, red mist closing in.

He’s a walking wound because of you, she says. I should thank you for providing me with such a feast. Loving you is like grating sandpaper over the soul. You bring nothing but pain, and it tastes so good.

His vision is almost blanked out entirely, the mist opaque around him. There’s nothing he can do, and he has caused this, has been at the heart of all this pain -

“Fuck this!” Yen’s voice calls out, strong like tempered steel, with a stubborn refusal to accept defeat. She is, in this as in all things, extraordinary.

“Jaskier,” she says, voice firm and true. He can’t see her but he feels her nearby. “We’re in your mind. You can control this. You can make a doorway.”

“I can’t.” Jaskier’s voice is mournful. He sounds very far away. “Yen, I can’t.”

“You can. You can get us out and we can banish this bitch from our world. You just have to see the doorway in your mind. You can do this. I believe in you.”

There’s a sound that might be a sob.

Words have never been Geralt’s strength, but he thinks - he hopes - that perhaps words aren’t the important thing here. “I’m here, Jaskier. You’re stronger than you know. All you’ve survived. All the love you carry. You can save us.”

“Okay.” There’s a sound of a deep inhale. “Okay. Showtime, Jask. Let’s go.”

The mist ripples, thinning out slowly, inch by painful inch. Geralt sees them in outline: Jaskier, shaking with the effort, Yen with her hand on his shoulder.

He steps closer, his arm upraised, wanting to touch but unsure -

And then behind him, a portal bursts into life, glimmering brightly, and he can see the hall of Kaer Morhen on the other side.

The thing which is not Ciri screams, and the mist swirls and forms into her body. Her fingers elongate to sharp claws, her face twists into something monstrous. “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” Her voice drips with hatred.

“Go!” Geralt yells, heart pounding desperately fast. He tries to push the two of them toward the portal. “You two go, and I’ll stay here and hold her off.”

“No,” Yen says. “You’re not doing that. You don’t get to throw yourself at danger without us and call that a gift.”

Geralt searches for the words. “But that’s all I have to offer.” Fighting monsters. Taking injuries so that others don’t have to. Sacrificing his life. What else can he give?

“You can live, and learn to do better,” Jaskier says, planting his feet next to Geralt.

“But it’s not enough. You two deserve more. You deserve to be happy, and all I ever do is bring pain and suffering on those around me.”

“It’s not about you!” Jaskier roars, and Geralt has never heard him so angry. “It’s not about what you think is best for everyone else. You don’t get to make that decision for us.”

Geralt feels the white-hot flame of anger burst into life inside his chest, and it's a relief to have something solid to hang onto, even if he knows it will burn everything down. In the back of his head, he hears not-Ciri whispering that’s right, it’ll feel so good, push them away like you always have, you know that what you truly want is to be alone. He opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what -

"We're not doing this," Yen says, in a tone which brooks no argument. She stands in front of both of them, radiating power even without her Chaos. "We are not hating each other."

Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest. “And we’re not going anywhere with you.”

The whispering in his head is getting quieter, drowned out by the force of will radiating from the set of Yen’s jaw and the stubborn twist of Jaskier’s lips.

Yennfer steps closer and takes Jaskier's hand in her left, and then, to his utter astonishment, she takes Geralt's hand in her right. "We do this together," she says with that unshakable self belief that Geralt has always loved about her, "Or we die here alone."

The thing in his head shrieks and rages, telling him that you’ll fail again, you’ll bring nothing but pain, you always do, but her voice is wavering now. He feels the firm grip of Yen’s hand in his own, sees the way Jaskier looks at him with a distant hope, buried deep but not so deep as to be unreachable.

The thing that is not Ciri coalesces from the mist and screeches, pure rage and animal violence.

They have a monster to slay. They have their family to protect.

Geralt draws in a breath, breathing in hope and love and empathy. Drawing strength from those still willing to stand by his side, even having seen him at his worst. He wants to do more for them. He wants to be better.

He steels himself, and nods. “Together.”

Original comic by @coolfrogdude​

ok last one i'm okay i promise