#Born to be a lover forced to be celibate and alone

[goingtobed]

what's crazy is that love should be easy and fun. And it should NOT be me not getting over my ex for 2.5 years, reaching out, reconnecting, having an amazing time for a little under two months, having sex for the first time with ANYONE since we broke up, and then getting dumped over text because things got hard. That should NOT be my love experience and yet. Here we are.

Welp. Back to being single and still not over him, I suppose

[taeilskitty]

Hii

I noticed your request is open

I'd like to request celibate doyoung smut with arranged marriage au!

Would appreciate it if you could add a lot of nipple play!

Thanks!

Thank you so much for the request!! I really enjoyed writing this so I hope it was good enough. Enjoy love <33

You hadn’t known Doyoung for long.

He was nice enough, he was respectful and pretty funny, good company too. It wasn’t such an issue that you were going to have to be together for, well, ever.

Forever is a long time. In all honesty you’d always dreaded your wedding day because you knew there was no chance of marrying someone you actually loved; that’s a fantasy you knew you’d just have to live out in your next life. But the first time you were introduced to your future husband, you realised that maybe, just maybe, you could make the most of it.

You weren’t best friends by any means, let alone lovers, but at least you were on the same boat. Both living with parents who had a plan since before you were even born, a prophecy they’d already written out for you. Whatever.

Maybe the knowledge of your fate was the reason for it, but you were never overly concerned with love. Of course you wanted it, but you’d learned to be your own person too. And that was great. Doyoung had once admitted that he was relieved about that; “I was worried you’d be disappointed,” he’d told you, “because I can’t do… any of that.”

It sort of warmed your heart. He was fairly open with you, and for that reason was sure not to cross any of your boundaries. You liked that about him. You could certainly get used to seeing his face everyday. And honestly it helped that he was… really fucking hot.

Your wedding was actually really nice, what with all things considered. You made the most of the celebrations and he seemed really calm as opposed to you who was frankly scared shitless. His family liked you, your family liked him, and most importantly you liked each other - or at the very least you tolerated each other.

“I can’t believe you’re my husband,” you laughed once it was all over. “Thank you for making the day a little less scary.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Y/N. Honestly.”

You smiled at Doyoung and looked back out across the moonlit sky. It was proving to be an emotional night, a surreal one at that.

“Before we met I was scared you’d be some creep, like, a total weirdo.”

“You seriously think your parents would let someone treat their kid like shit?” Now he was the one laughing; you both knew your parents were a lot of things, but they’d never want to see you get hurt.

“Okay, fair,” you agreed, and turned back to face him. “I’m surprised they didn’t dump me with someone crazy ugly though.”

Doyoung smirked. “Oh?” His eyes darted away momentarily. “So you do like me. Huh.”

Something told you he was only half kidding, but the giddiness in your gut made you wonder if this was the feeling all the blockbuster romance movies tried to convey. You weren’t in love. But you sure were glad it was him next to you right then.

“Don’t get so cocky.” He gasped sarcastically in response to your playful rejection. “I’ll put up with you.”

“I give it a week before you’re head over heels in love with me.”

Standing up, he looked back sort of expectantly.

“You wish. I think you just want me to be in love with you.”

“You’re married to me,” Doyoung scoffed. “C’mon. Let’s head inside.”

You stood up and looked at him for a moment. He still had that glint in his eye that suggests something isn’t quite right, like he’s waiting for something.

His beauty is… almost unfair. There’s no way your parents’ taste in men was this good, especially when picking some guy out for you. It made no sense - how was he so attractive? You knew it wasn’t just the light because, let’s face it, anyone can see how hot he is.

You sighed, and you shook your head when he asked if something’s wrong.

Doyoung placed a hand on your shoulder. He seemed far more nervous than he did before, particularly when you stepped in just a little closer. He could practically feel your breath mixing with his; your lips almost brushing against each other.

“What?” You ask when he breaks eye contact. “Never kissed anyone before?”

“Actually, no…” He let out a nervous chuckle. “I wanted to wait till I was married. It just feels weird that now I am…”

You weren’t sure why this shocked you, but it kind of made sense. Of course he’d waited, he was so angelic. Not even necessarily innocent by any means, and honestly it wouldn’t have bothered you if he’d slept with 1 or 100 people before. But somehow this made him… cuter?

You vowed not to laugh. You wanted to, not because it was funny or anything, but because it was just kind of endearing. You smiled at him.

“That’s okay, I’m no expert at it.”

Doyoung was silent for a second, but he looked back down at you with confidence in his eyes.

“My parents made a good choice with you.”

The space between your lips finally closed.

-

Despite having no experience, Doyoung knew how to draw whines out of you and kiss you in a way that sent butterflies to your stomach. He tugged on your bottom lip and held you with just enough force to make you feel the perfect amount of helplessness. It came naturally. The kissing, the touching, the clothes coming off. He even took the time to admire your body. How the fuck did he get so perfect?

“You’re really gorgeous, Y/N…” he muttered against the skin of your neck, your hands wandering into his hair. “I’m so glad we found each other.”

“Mmh-” A gentle moan escaped you when he grazed his teeth over your sweet spot. “You’re - you’re so hot.”

Doyoung chuckled a little bit and lay back on your now-shared bed. You’d clambered on top of him nervously, adrenaline coursing through your body, excitement chasing after it. He couldn’t hide how hard he was, not in those boxers - and there was no way you could ignore how big his cock felt strained against you.

“I - are you okay with this?” He asked, pulling away for a moment. The look in his eyes was sincere.

You nod. “God yes.”

That’s when he pulls you back into the depths of his kisses and hisses when your hand tugs at his boxers. He’d waited so long for this moment, and it was happening with someone he couldn’t believe he was so lucky to marry. The pair of you were nervous of course, but the mutual understanding you had was enough. The fact that Doyoung had already asked if you were comfortable made you want him even more for some reason.

“Ride me,” he breathed. “Please.”

Doyoung’s cock felt so fucking good. It stretched you perfectly, which hurt a little more than you’d like to admit but the feeling of him inside you just felt… wow. He threw his head back as you moved on him slowly.

“God, fuck, keep doing that baby,” he moaned.

Baby. The pet name sounded incredible coming from him.

“Yes sir,” You mocked, but the way he cursed under his breath when you said that told you he was into it. “Oh you want me to call you that, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” He was blushing just a little, and brought your lips to his again. “Don’t try and tease me, I can’t take it. Not this time. Seriously.”

Something in Doyoung’s voice sounded desperate. You wanted to taunt him so badly, but despite the fact that he’d never done this before, it made you wince with pleasure to think of all the things he could do to you when you get more comfortable with sex. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed up and down your collarbones, bucking his hips up into you. He mentioned how tight you were, how good you felt around his cock and how bad he wanted to cum in you. The rasp in his voice sent you reeling, and you tried to reply but when he took your nipple into his mouth you almost started crying with pleasure.

“F-fuck!!”

It was one of the most incredible sensations, his tongue lolling around the bud paired with his cock deep inside you. The way his teeth nipped against the sensitive skin was enough to make you both cum. You felt… amazing. Clenching around his cock, you dug your nails into his back and whined far louder than you intended; a hand began to play with your other hardened bud and sent your mind into oblivion.

“So good…” He moaned, kissing along the width of your chest to switch sides. The sudden cold air against your spit-sodden nipple made you shudder but the coolness was a part of what made it feel so much better. Doyoung’s tongue flicked and played with you to an unconscious rhythm played by the fingers opposite, not at all in tune with his hips now snapping against you but fuck it felt good. He sort of whimpered, not in a submissive way but in a way that sounded overwhelmed with pleasure. He was clearly enjoying what he was doing, his cock buried in your hole and his mouth on your chest; it was like he’d dreamt of this moment. He’d never admit that he had, not yet anyway, but the anticipation leading up to him finally getting to fuck was a lot for him. As for you… you were no stranger to fantasising. You’d wanted sex for a long time. It felt so much better than you could have hoped; it sure helped that Doyoung actually took the time to focus on how you felt too, but really you were perfectly happy grinding on his huge cock alone.

It slowly built up. The friction was unbearably good. The sensation of his mouth against your chest, his hand gripping your waist for dear life, his cock sliding in and out of you -

“Fuck, fuck--”

You came, hard, clenching and panting and grabbing fistfuls of his hair as you did so. “That’s it,” Doyoung breathed, “cum for me baby.”

You rode your orgasm out on him and tried so hard not to let your entire body jerk with each thrust he made after you came, until finally he followed suit. He moaned into your skin and god, he sounded perfect. The noises that came from the man’s mouth were nothing short of beautiful. This was heaven, or at the very least Earth’s closest replica to it.

“Ah,” he panted, still inside you, allowing the both of you to come down from your high. “Thank you, love…”

“No, thank you,” you laughed. “That - I didn’t think it would feel so good.”

The smug look on his face was pretty hard for him to hide. “Hah. Well. Me neither, to be honest.”

The two of you looked into each other’s eyes once more and you just felt so comfortable. A kiss came so naturally once again, and you realised that maybe, just maybe, spending the foreseeable future together wouldn’t be so bad.

You hadn’t known Doyoung for long.

But it would be a lie if you said you couldn’t see yourself falling for him.

[sageclover61]

It’s Only A Myth Witchers Don’t Need Family

@geraskierweek

TITLE: It’s Only A Myth Witcher’s Don’t Need Family

AUTHOR/ARTIST: @sageclover61

PROMPT DAY #: Day 6, Found Family

SUMMARY: The general population is wrong about a long of things. Witchers have feelings, Mages have feelings, and Bards are more than the shenanigans they get up to. Geralt might think he doesn't care what others believe him to be, but he's more than their hatred and their fears. Over time, he learns a valuable lesson about his pack.

WORD COUNT (if applicable):4881 

BOOKS/NETFLIX/2002 SHOW/VIDEO GAME: Netflix

TRIGGERS/WARNINGS: NA

RATING: T

ADDITIONAL NOTES: AO3 link https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828018

Everyone knows that Witchers don’t have feelings. They don’t form attachments, they can’t feel anything , and they’re no better than the monsters that they hunt. Those who believe in souls would say that Witchers don’t have them, can’t have them, because they’re too inhuman for a thing as human as a soul.

  Some say that Witchers were born without souls, and others would say that they were cut out of them. Either way, they were inhuman.

  They’re wrong. Witchers didn’t do families. Or attachment. But it’s a choice, a rule, a law . They’re sterile, and the only thing that separates them from the monsters that they hunt is the choices that they make. But not because they were incapable of attachments or feelings. Rather, they felt everything too strongly, and used the coldness they displayed as a means to protect themselves.

  They could live forever. No one around them was going to. Human lives were a single grain of sand in the hourglass of the universe.

Everyone knows that mages trade their capacity to feel things for the enhancements that make them beautiful and immortal and powerful. It makes them cold, and petty, and amoral. They’re human, anymore. They’re something greater.

  Humanity fears them for it, and uses them, and craves to be like them in the same pretty sentences they weave to use to abuse them. 

  Mages don’t want families. They sacrifice their ability to have children in exchange for power. They don’t need anyone. Not to depend on, not to be dependent on them. They did live forever. Even the lives of the Witchers were but a grain of sand.

Everyone knows that bards aren’t to be trusted. Their words hid too much behind them, charming wives away from their husbands, husbands away from their wives, and running away before anything could be done about it.

  But there were whispers, in dark corners of taverns at night, when no bards were around. Rumors of clandestine meetings, from which only the bard would leave alive and of coin trading hands as quickly as daggers sinking into hearts, and strange concoctions being tipped into drinks when no one was watching, leaving the drinker dead by morning.

  They didn’t have families. They didn’t need families, all the bastard children running around unclaimed. They didn’t have time for them. Lives too short, too many places to visit and epic ballads to write, and deaths to be gleaned at the hands of jilted lovers.

They’re wrong, about Witchers. Witchers are less than human, but they’re more, too. If humanity is defined by their capacity to feel, then Witchers are defined not only by their infinitely greater senses, but also their infinitely greater capacity to feel .

  Geralt can’t speak for all the Witchers, but he finds that their disdain for him makes everything, easier, somehow. They hate him, so they send him on his way once he’s helped them, often without paying all that he’s owed, and it’s easier to keep himself from getting attached to them. He says little, cloaking himself in a facade of whatever the fuck they need to keep from desiring to get closer to him.

  He pretends so well and for so long, that he forgets that he’s pretending. Opinions of him decrease and decrease, until he didn’t know they could get any worse, and then it does get worse.

  “You say that you can’t choose but you had to, and you’ll never know if you were right. Your reward will be a stoning and you will run. You will try to outrun the girl in the woods and you cannot. She is your destiny.”

  She does not tell him that the stoning is his reward for caring so much, but it is. He cares deeply, and impossibly, and being able to do so is supposed to be against the way of the Witcher.

He kills neither the girl nor the mage, but the whole town of Blaviken is dead.

  Geralt uses a Witcher Sign, and he wonders if anyone else had ever thought of such a use for it. He uses Axii to wipe the knowledge of the curse of the black sun from Stregobor’s mind, and force him to forget about Renfri.

  He manages to convince Renfri to stop hunting him, and move on with her life. She’s safe, now. She doesn’t have to run unless she wants to, and she can discover for herself what she wants.

  She’s 16 and she has never had peace. But she can have it now, she deserves it.

  Renfri trails after him for 3 days, and then, she is gone, having chosen for herself what comes next.

  She was the first of Geralt’s pack, though she did not know it.

Jaskier was, in all probability, the sluttiest slut who had ever been a slut. If not, he was definitely the sluttiest bard who’d ever existed. He who would happily charm into his bed anything and everything that could possibly consent to joining him there. The husbands, the wives, the elves, the monsters, even those who believed themselves to be the most celibate of priests and priestesses allowed themselves to be charmed into his bed.

  He loved this life of performing for the masses, and running from vengeful cuckolds. Jaskier had always craved some more adventure, and this was as fun as it got.

  But then, the great Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, walked into the bar while he was playing, and he knew that even greater adventure awaited him.

  His first adventure, and he even ended up with a brand new, elven crafted, lute. From Filavander, the king of the elves. He didn’t think it could get any better than that, but then he was falling in love with the Witcher who didn’t use enough words, and, who despite his course addressing of him, treated him well.

  Tumbling into Geralt’s bedroll with him, there was no place on the entire Continent that he would rather be.

  He was the second member of Geralt’s pack, and followed by his side, faithfully, for twenty three years.

Yennefer did not have a choice. She had a series of impossible decisions, and a destiny that led in a direction she did not wish for, so she broke it. No longer was she the little girl to accept the hand of cards that had been dealt to her. No. She needed no one. She was as alone as she had always been, but she chose power over being a wife or a mother. She did not know that was her choice.

  She did not know that humanity despised mages, even while demanding their services to fix their messes. Yennefer had the potential to be the greatest mage to ever exist, and yet for thirty years she was nothing more than a royal arse wiper.

  Nobody. She was nobody. She was hated and despised by the same people whose very lives depended on her. It was not what she had envisioned, nor was it the power she’d so desired.

  But then she was escorting the queen and the new darling princess the queen didn’t even want, and she could not allow her to so callously attempt to bargain with the assassin for her own life, with the life of her child.

  What mother was willing to allow a fiend her child if it meant that she could live?

  The assassin kills the mother with a single blade, but Yennefer is willing to risk her own life to save the babe, and the magic accepts her desire without requiring her life.

  The baby wasn’t born of her blood, but she realizes that’s okay. She doesn’t know what Kalis named her daughter, so Yennefer names the baby Ksenia.

Yennefer hates being trapped in a gilded cage for a stupid mayor of a stupid town in a stupid country that she hates infinitely. But she must provide for the little girl she’s raising as her own, and this is the only way, now that she’s left the Aedirn court.

  Ksenia is almost ten, and Yennefer loves her more than she's ever loved anyone, and if the mayor so much as touches a single hair of her head, she's burning this town down.

  She was entertaining herself with a masked orgy when a Witcher brought her a pitcher of apple juice and a dying bard. What wish did they make, she wondered, as she mixed the antidote for the tumor in the throat.

Could she use the Witcher to get the mayor off her back? She didn’t want her daughter growing up here. It simply wasn’t the best place for her to be. So what to do…

In retrospect, using the Witcher to attack the members of the council she hated the most, especially before she knew all of what was going on, was an incredibly stupid mistake. She was lucky Ksenia hadn’t suffered any harm, once the djinn had set its sights on the house they were all in.

  So was the fact that Geralt had made the third wish silently. It could be anything. But whatever wish he’d made, Ksenia was safe, and so was she. It had to be good enough.

  “You know, you could have just told me that you wanted to get yourself out of this place.” 

  Yennefer turned around quickly, seeing the Witcher standing behind her. “And how do I know you truly would have helped us? Your kind isn’t so fond of my kind, as I recall.”

  She could hear the bard speaking with Ksenia, but it wasn’t important. Whatever Geralt was about to say, however, she could feel that it would be one of the most important things she would hear for a very long time.

  “Contrary to popular belief, Witchers aren’t all heartless beings. Regardless of my feelings towards someone, I will not ignore a child in danger, especially when there is a chance I can help save them.”

  Yennefer didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent, watching her daughter. The daughter whose life she had risked foolishly, because she had been too selfish to ask for assistance.

  Ksenia was laughing at something the bard had said, she wasn’t sure what. When had she last seen such a carefree expression on her child’s face? Had she really spent so much valuable time with this worthless situation, when there were so many more important things? Like whether or not her daughter was happy ?

  There was a sigh from Geralt, then, as he moved to leave. “I will not keep you from your child any longer than I already have. All I ask is that should anything happen, you ask for help, before it is too late.”

  “Ksenia.” She did not raise her voice, loathe as she was to separate her from what she was finding so hilarious, but she also needed to know that the child really was okay after all that had happened.

  “Yes, Mama?” Ksenia turned her head in recognition of her name being called, but she didn’t move the rest of her body, and she was still grinning, eyes still laughing. She somehow looked younger than her nine years. Smaller and more innocent, but not unhealthy. Not injured . 

  “It’s time to go, My Heart. There’s another home waiting for us elsewhere.” She didn’t know where, but there would be somewhere . Anywhere would be better than this place had been for them.

  Yennefer and her daughter were the third and fourth additions to Geralt’s pack, and neither of them had any idea.

“And what does a Mage like you want with a dragon hunt?” Jaskier asked the next they saw Yennefer. “Don’t you have a daughter to be looking after?”

  The expression of sour hurt that spread across Yennefer’s face was almost enough for him to regret his taunt. But it wasn’t until she said, “Ksenia is dying from dragon pox, I need the dragon’s heart to cure it,” that he really regretted it.

  Even after so long, he could still remember the fear in his sisters’ eyes as they heard of a mysterious plague sweeping through the land, and the horror in his parents’ eyes when the youngest had fallen ill with it. He could remember watching helplessly as it spread from one sister to the next, as his parents locked his sisters away in a room, unable to watch as the sickness slowly stole away their lives.

  “Jaskier-”

  It had been the strangest, and deadliest plague. A wasting illness, a horrible rash, an ever rising fever. It had left them bedridden, lost in waking nightmares. Famished, but unable to eat, and sweating more than they could possibly hope to drink. He could still hear their screams, as the disease had taken weeks to run its course. Though he had been told to stay away, he just couldn’t. He’d snuck into their room, laying with them, and holding them as they shook and cried, praying to any god who would listen to spare his baby sisters.

  But it had all been pointless.  A month after the first signs had been noticed, they had all been stolen away from him, leaving him alone to face his parents.

  “Jaskier!”

  Jaskier found himself blinking, staring at Geralt in confusion. When had the Witcher moved in front of him? “Geralt? What’s the matter?”

  Golden eyes stared back at him, narrowed in concern. “You were speaking with Yennefer, but froze. I’ve been trying to get your attention for several minutes now.” he paused for a moment, eyes searching for any unseen wounds, but Jaskier knew that he wouldn’t find any. “What happened?”

  He shook his head, trying to calm his heart as he put on the same fake smile he’d been forced to wear all those years ago. “It’s nothing, I was just distracted for a moment.”

Jaskier might have missed the whole of the battle sleeping in, but the fight he’d missed had nothing on the scene he witnessed now. The whole of the dragon’s lair was littered with blossoming flowers in a pale blue, yellow, and dark purple, and in the back of the cave, alongside the massive body of the green dragon, a golden egg was glowing .

  He’d never seen this kind of flower before, but even from where he was standing, he could feel the magic emanating from the petals, so thick it was almost impossible to breathe.

  His sisters would have loved it. A sunny meadow would have been prettier, but even a cave full of flowers in their favorite colors would have been a hit.

  Despite himself, he reached down to pick one of the pale blue ones. Even as he bent now, it felt like blasphemy to vandalize it, but he just wanted to get a better look at the flower that reminded him so much of his youngest sister.

  Even as he severed the stem, the flower crumbled into dust.

  “Humans have all but wiped the dragons out, believing them to hold all manner of cures for their ailments. Fertility, blindness, lost limbs, even to hold the secrets of immortality. They’re wrong. There is no cure that can restore your womb.”

  Jaskier glanced to where Borch was standing in front of Yennefer. Borch was holding a handful of the flowers that he’d just tried, and failed, to pick.

  “These flowers only grow where dragon fire has burned, but they’re most common where we hatch our young. I give these to you freely. My heart will heal yours.”

  “ Dragon’s Heart,” Yennefer gasped.

  Jaskier swallowed heavily. “Borch,” he said, quietly. He did not think he could speak louder, but he also did not think the gold dragon would have any trouble hearing him. “Would flowers like these… have saved them?”

  “Perhaps, Julien Alfred Pankratz.”

  His insides burned at how ironic it was that flowers in their favorite colors might have saved the lives of his little sisters. There was a very sad, very epic ballad in there somewhere.

  A dragon’s fire breathes new life.

  “You may take these with you, Bard.” Borch handed him a bouquet of three flowers, one in each color. One for each sister. “They will not wilt, and if you were to plant them, they would grow.”

  “Thank you.” There were no words that Jaskier could say that would convey his gratitude. But his heart burned, too. These were the flowers that would have saved the lives of his little sisters, and he was only holding them too many decades too late to be of use. “Yennefer, may I come with you?” He was intimately familiar with dragon pox. At the very least, he could help Ksenia feel more comfortable while Yennefer prepared the medicine to cure it.

  “Jaskier.”

  Jaskier turned around, and walked towards where Geralt was standing outside the cave. He hugged the witcher. “I need this,” he whispered, brokenly, even as Geralt kissed his forehead. “I need closure. And you need to go find your Child Surprise. She needs you.”

  “I know you do.” Geralt’s voice was soft, almost softer than Jaskier thought was possible. “I’ll find you, or you will find me, when you’re ready. And by then, I may have my Child Surprise, ready for you to meet.”

Yennefer made the cure for dragon pox, and Ksenia lived.

  And Jaskier found himself in a place he’d never ever thought he’d return.

  There were three marked graves in a meadow in Lettenhove. The pox had been believed too contagious for them to be buried in the family graveyard, so they had been buried here instead. This was almost easier, however, because it meant that he could carry out his task without any witnesses.

  He planted the baby blue flower over the first grave, the purple flower over the second grave, and the yellow flower over the third.

  “Answer your calling,” his eldest sister had said, her dying words to him, as he’d held her hand and fervently wished that she would live. “Go be a bard.”

  He had spent his entire childhood trying to be the very best big brother that he could be. He’d learned to braid their hair, and had played dress up with them, and stolen their mother’s makeup, and cooked with them. He’d also sung an infinite number of songs, and read bedtime stories or made them up, and all in all, they were his fondest memories.

  But they had been gone for decades, and he’d left very soon after their deaths, unable to cope with their absences in a house in which the ghosts weighed more than the air they breathed.

  There had been no joy, and the pain had not only been emotional.

  “In a house of too many secrets

There’s no people, only their strife.

At the end of dying meadows,

A dragon’s fire breathes new life.”

  He sighed. “No, no, that’s not right. There needs to be something about the memories in that house. It was… rife with them.”

  “Excuse me. I’m sorry, are you desecrating those graves?”

  Jaskier spun around. A brown haired woman was leaning against a tree at the edge of the meadow. She looked young, but looks could be deceiving. “Excuse you, I would never . If you must know, they’re family.”

  “Sometimes our blood is the people we want to hurt the most. I’m Renfri. You’re… Jaskier, the bard, right?”

  She was armed, but she hadn’t drawn her blade, nor did he think that she was about to attack him. Or at least, he hoped not. He was armed too, at least. If it came to that. Not that he was very useful with a blade.

  “They died of dragon pox. I wish them no ill will, I’m simply here for closure. What brings you to the graves of three Lettenhove daughters who didn’t even have the respect of being buried in their family graveyard?”

  “I had heard that the bard who traveled with the white wolf of Rivia was traveling this way, and I wanted to meet you. I’m on my way to see Geralt again, it’s been… a number of years since I saw him last, and I thought it would be polite to ask if you cared to accompany me.”

  Jaskier looked back at the graves. The flowers seemed… healthier, than when he’d planted them. Taller, perhaps, if that was even possible.

  “As I’m sure you know, there’s an inn not that far from here. I’m leaving in the morning, but we can stop here as we leave.”

  He didn’t have his closure yet, but he did also greatly want to go back to Geralt. He’d been feeling lethargic for days.

  It was possible the woman was using him as a trap to get Geralt, but if that was the case, then she had no idea who she was dealing with. If she was telling the truth though, and he really thought she was, then it meant he didn’t have to travel to Cintra by himself, and he liked that idea.

  “I’m not ready to go back to the inn yet, but I will travel with you back to Geralt.”

He sang a few ballads in the tavern at the inn, including a new one in his rotation about the White Wolf. Songs of heartbreak and the lonely Witcher were popular with the masses, even if it was mostly an exaggeration.

  He loved Geralt, and maybe Geralt loved him back, but while his heart did feel broken, it has nothing to do with Geralt and everything to do with three little girls.

  He still channeled it into the song.

  "Did Geralt break your heart?" Renfri asked when he joined her after his performance. "I would be happy to knock some sense into his skull for you."

  Jaskier shook his head. "We both had things that we needed to take care of, and we'll see each other again when we're done. But some audiences prefer songs like that one and I like the coin they'll part with when they're satisfied."

  "I couldn't help but overhear you in the meadow, were you writing a new ballad?"

  "I'm hoping it'll bring me closure. Anyway, I think I'm going to head to bed."

Travelling with Renfri was nice. She let him ride double on her horse, and they made really good time.

  They chatted about their adventures, telling various stories or just making idle chit chat. She was infinitely more talkative than Geralt.

  But it didn’t help with the emptiness he was feeling in his chest. It was growing. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but now, Renfri’s random diversions of dialogue was the only thing distracting him away from it.

  “Tell me about the bards who assassinate people with poison while wandering around the bar with no one ever the wiser.”

  He blinked. “What?” He supposed it wasn’t exactly a secret that some bards used the opportunity provided by their ability to wander around mostly unnoticed to perform more nefarious acts, but he’d never done it himself. He’d never… felt that urge. “There’s probably good money for those with the skill and inclination. But why commit murder when the greatest pleasures in life comes from sleeping with them?”

  It occurred to him that he’d slept with a lot fewer people once he’d started sleeping with Geralt. The Witcher had a lot more stamina than your standard human. Needed less sleep, too. Meant the best of both worlds.

“The call of the White Wolf is loudest at the dawn

The call of a stone heart is broken and alone

Born of Kaer Morhen

Born of No Love

The song of the White Wolf is cold as driven snow

  Bear not your eyes upon him lest steel or silver draw

Lay not your breast against him or lips to ease his roar

For the song of the White Wolf will always be sung alone

For the song of the White Wolf will always be sung alone

  Cast not your eyes upon him, lest he kiss you with his sword

Lay not your heart against him or your lips to ease his roar

For the song of the White Wolf we'll always sing alone

For the song of the White Wolf we'll always sing alone”

  Jaskier was singing in the bar of an inn somewhere north of what was left of Cintra, and he was beyond exhausted. Sleep did not come easily, and what sleep did come was plagued by nightmares of losing what little family he thought he’d gained.

  He was about to beg off because even just lying restlessly on a bed sounded better than staying down here any longer, when who but Geralt walked in, Ksenia and a younger girl he didn’t recognize on his heels.

  The younger girl was the spitting image of Pavetta, and he realized it could be none other than Princess Cirilla of Cintra.

  “Geralt!” he exclaimed, barely noticing as Renfri made a beeline after him as he hurried over to embrace the Witcher. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, standing up on his toes so that he could kiss Geralt.

  “And I you,” Geralt answered, after kissing him back. “Ciri, meet Jaskier.”

  “Hi,” the little girl said.

  “Geralt.”

  “Renfri?” Geralt smiled at Jaskier’s traveling companion, who was standing behind Jaskier. “It’s good to see you again. This is Ciri, and Ksenia. And I guess you’ve met Jaskier?”

  “Ran into him in Lettenhove. Geralt, I would be happy to see that the girls get something to eat, and a room.”

  “You should do that,” Jaskier suggested, before kissing Geralt again. “I think Geralt and I have… some things to, uh, talk about.”

  “We do?”

  “We do,” Jaskier repeated, dragging Geralt in the direction of the room he and Renfri had already rented for the night.

They stayed a few days longer than Geralt had intended, but Renfri and Jaskier had enough coin, and Ksenia and Jaskier both needed a few days of rest before making the long journey to Kaer Morhen.

  Once they left, Ciri and Ksenia, who had been riding double on Roach, took turns riding double with Renfri so that the horses could rotate who was carrying the weight of two. Sometimes Geralt would insist Jaskier ride as well, which was new, he’d never let Jaskier ride Roach before.

  It took them weeks to get to Kaer Morhen, but Vesemir was waiting for them when they arrived.

  The eldest witcher stared at them, and then he rolled his eyes as he opened the gate to let them in. “The others didn’t bring their packs this year,” he said. “But Lambert, Eskel, and Coen are all here.”

  “Thank you,” Geralt said, and with that, he led his family into the home that would always welcome him.

Destiny would bring Yennefer back to them, and time would allow Ksenia a full recovery from her time bedridden by the dragon pox. Yennefer would have to come, someone had to teach Ciri control of her volatile magics.

  Vesemir wasn’t going to say anything, but he really hoped it was before Ciri managed to dismantle the entire keep with a single shout.

  The other Witchers learned to enjoy having some women in the keep who could remind them to stop eating traveling rations all winter long. It was a reminder, really, that they deserved good things too.

  And Jaskier… wasn’t just a bard. He taught Ciri and Ksenia, with Renfri’s help and using Geralt’s long hair, all of the courtly braids he’d learned to make of his sisters’ hair. He also made a mean chicken noodle soup.

  He also worked on his newest ballad, an ode to the memory of his sisters.

  “Jaskier! You have to play a new ballad! A sad one, those are my favorites,” Ciri begged, one eaving after supper when Geralt’s pack and all the Witchers had gathered in the main living room, in front of the warm fire. She was sitting at Jaskier’s feet, watching out the window as it continued snowing.

  Jaskier hummed, and plucked idly at his lute as he considered whether or not he was ready to play the ballad that would bring him closure. “100 years ago, the dragon pox took my little sisters away from me. I haven’t finished it yet, it’s not really telling the story I want to tell.”

  “That’s okay,” Ciri said. “I want to hear it anyway.”

  Jaskier smiled, sadly. He couldn’t deny her anything, and he didn’t want to.

“At the end of the old road

In a house built on a foundation of strife

There’s too many secrets, too many memories

Too many necessaries after too many centuries

All the things of which it was rife.

  Far too much that was all but owed

And yet, a dragon fire breathes new life

Into what first appeared a dying meadow

Being that which is not a rough

But all it ever needed was that new life.”

  He plucked a few more chords, but he didn’t resist when Geralt tugged the lute from his idle fingers. “You’ll be happy with it when you finish it, and it’ll bring you the closure you’re still seeking.”

“I’ll help!” Ciri exclaimed. “It’s just a matter of finding the right words, right?”

“Something like that.” He leaned against Geralt, and let himself find comfort in that.

[romana73]

WHY REY CAN’T BE A SKYWALKER: LOGIC REASONING

Post written by ME. The animated gifs shown, however, AREN’T MINE and DON’T BELONG TO ME IN ANY WAY. Sorry for mistakes, but English isn’t my first language

Some recent leaks have brought to fore theory that Rey is a hidden Skywalker, probably Luke’s secret daughter, but none of SW characters knows that. Pablo Hidalgo, author and executive creator, member of Lucasfilm Story Group., Who works for Lucasfilm ine Star Wars franchise, answered on his Twitter profile to question about if Rey was a Skywalker, writing:

“NOTHING in The Force Awakens suggests that and THERE’S NOT MUCH ELSE to go no”

https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/182205643541/qua-una-seconda-risposta-data-su-twitter-da-pablo

I tried to make logical reasoning. To be a Skywalker, Rey should be daughter of Anakin/Vader or Luke:

A) Hypothesis Anakin/Vader scrap now ‘cause Rey has been abandoned as a young girl...how many years have she had? 10? Considering Rey is younger than Kylo of 10 years and Kylo was born in peacetime, when Vader and Emperor were dead and Galattic Empire destroyed, Rey was born for sure AFTER Kylo. Time gap is TOO LARGE ‘cause Rey is daughter of Vader. Again, Hidalgo informs, in another recent tweet, Rey ALREADY WAS ON JAKKU when Kylo destroyed Uncle Luke's Jedi temple:

https://romana73.tumblr.com/post/182205356416/pacificwanderer-heres-a-great-article-in-which

Let's admit Darth Vader (NOT Anakin) had a woman, a lover and made her pregnant by manipulating Midi-chlorian, it seems HIGHLY improbable, after losing Padmé's children (remember Vader believed Padmé was pregnant when she dead, until Obi - Wan didn’t pull Luke out of the magic cylinder), Vader would have let this son escape. In my opinion, Vader would have ensured his child was born safe and would have taken him or her with him immediately, if only to have an Sith heir. This would make fact, for two films, Vader attempted to persuade Luke to give into Dark Side, allying with him. In the event, Vader could count on a third child, faced with Luke's repeated refuses, he would simply concentrate on new offspring. Anyway, if Vader had a secret child, this would be older than Kylo. So, Rey can’t be Vader’s daughter:

B) Rey could be a daughter of Luke Skywarker? I say NO and I will explain reason. In Star Wars expanded universe (comics and books), after defeating Empire, Luke marries Mara Jade, a former Hand of Palpatine and has a son by her, called BEN SKYWALKER. In 2012, entire Star Wars Expanded Universe was declared NON CANON, including Mara Jade, her story, her marriage to Luke and Ben Skywalker:

https://film.avclub.com/whatever-happened-to-mara-jade-12-unfortunate-excisio-1798286502

So we are back to a Luke single and Jedi convinced. We admit, however, Luke had a woman, a love, from whom he had a daughter. All this would have happened in relative PEACETIME. Yes, there would have been, perhaps, Snoke’s threat, but if Supreme Leader had tried to bribe Luke's daughter or son, do you really think Luke wouldn’t have noticed and he wouldn’t fight Snoke? We make point: Luke has closed himself to Force, only AFTER his failure with Ben and AFTER his nephew had destroyed Jedi Temple. Before that night, Luke was a well-rounded Jedi. He would have had NO LOGICAL REASON to ABANDON a son or daughter. Wanting to disappear as he did after Jedi’s Temple’s destruction by Kylo, ​​I don’t think Luke would ever allow his offspring to be left to alone, in a lost place like Jakku. I believe he would try to put him/her safe as Yoda and Obi Wan did with him and Leia. A second possibility, it would be someone, for whatever reason, kidnapped Luke's daughter, abandoning her on Jakku. Possible, but Luke would look for his offspring sifting to last star in Galaxy. Recall,  first Kylo Ren scene in "Star Wars. Episode VII. The Force Awakens" movie is when he lands on JAKKU, where he kills Lor San Tekka and captures Poe. If Kylo, First Order and Resistance know Jakku, same applies to Luke. In any case, if Luke had a son or daughter, his affair with Kylo would have lost strength and importance. Certainly, though wounded, Luke wouldn’t have disappeared, abandoning his offspring, unless his son/daughter had chosen to spontaneously ally with Kylo or had been killed by Kylo night he destroyed temple. In event Luke's son chose to follow Kylo, ​​he would no longer be other star of Star Wars, but this role would have been Luke's offspring. Last possibility is Rey is result of Luke's “stand alone night”, of which Luke never knew anything. This seems to me if not impossible, unlikely. Luke has a character too serious to be a butterfly in love and, then, even dont knowing about a daughter’s existence, I think something, through Force, Luke would have perceived. Let us assume, by hypothesis, Luke didn’t know he had a son or a daughter. In "Star Wars. Episode VII. The Force Awakens" movie, Kylo captures and interrogates Rey, shamelessly reading her mind, looking OPENLY for Luke. In "Star Wars. Episode VIII. The Last Jedi", Ben/Kylo and Rey are joined by a connection, they join hands and have visions ... in all this, I believe Kylo, ​​who is using his skills at 120%, would have noticed at least he would have felt if Rey had Skywalker blood! Finally, safest argument leads me to think Rey ISN’T A SKYWALKER and she ISN’T Luke’s CHILDREN is: Rey is 10 YEARS younger than Kylo. Looking at how small Rey was in "Star Wars. Episode VII. The Force Awakens" vision, at time Kylo was still Ben Solo and had to be an adolescent:

C) All this also EXCLUDES Rey is Obi-Wan Kenobi’s daughteri: only woman ever loved by Obi - Wan when he was a young Padwan is Duchess Santine, a 3D OFFICIAL cartoon character "Star Wars: The Clone Wars", to which he RENOUNCED to follow the Jedi rules to LETTER, CELIBATE rule too. Later, Obi - Wan hid on Tatooine to watch over Luke ... can you explain where Obi - Wan would have found the time to have a daughter? Look, it's little Rey in "Star Wars. Episode VII. The Force Awakens" vision, Obi - Wan should have had it when he was already on Tatooine but, in "Star Wars. Episode IV. A new hope", we are informed Obi - Wan lives under Ben Kenobi false name, like a semi hermit in desert ...

[femininesuperpowers-blog]

‘I was addicted to love and toxic relationships’

Life coach Michelle Zelli spent 40 years going from one painful, toxic relationship to another before finally realising she was addicted to love – this is her story. Join Michelle on a self-development workshop this Saturday

In my 30s, having carved a life and reputation as a strong, successful woman, few people knew the truth: an off-the-scale addiction to love and toxic relationships was ruining my life.

Only later in my 40s, after much heartbreak, relentless self attack and diligent therapeutic research I became consciously aware of destructive deep wounding and scars that were causing it – I was being silently sabotaged by the legacy of my chaotic start in life. Love addiction – going from relationship to relationship, intoxicated by the high of early romance – was yet another way to beat myself up, destroying any semblance of my self-esteem. A vicious cycle of intense love, obsession, destruction and craziness had begun.

I cannot recall a time I was not ‘madly in love’ or ‘madly in pain’

Back then, of course, love addiction was unknown. Like so many women, I simply assumed I was wired wrongly and the fault was all mine. I just chose the wrong guy and couldn’t do relationships.

The roots of my love addiction

I was born to a hard drinking, hard living Prize Fighter and his glamorous Playboy Bunny. Unbeknown to me, their toxic but passionately exciting and highly volatile union became an invisible blue print for my own romantic encounters in years to come.

They soon realised they were not ideal parents and gave me up for adoption.

By the age of two I was legally handed over to a couple within the family and there the real trouble began.

The stories surrounding my adoption vary widely from ‘You were starved and left in the cold to die’ to ‘You came with a six bedroom house and monthly payments.’  Neither, from my little person’s perspective, felt ideal or loving. I was an unwanted lodger and an obligation, it was a tough upbringing devoid of love, affection, protection or care.

But you don’t need to have a dark story to suffer a lifetime of fractured relationships, what feels like a constantly broken heart and shattered dreams. Love addiction can result from much lighter and less obviously wounded beginnings.

The impact of early relationships

My first relationship was at school, with a tearaway who’s mane of rock star hair and affected swagger induced my first obsession.

Looking back at the carnage and cruelty he dished out to my young, already broken heart, is a dismal reminder of what I believed I was worth. He broke every rule in the ‘nice boy’ book but I was desperate to feel loved and kept returning for more. With every bounce back I let him know I would suck up whatever he dished out.

I ran the cycle over and over, trapped in a toxic cocktail of destruction and hope.

This pattern became my norm. I came to normalise the not-normal treatment I was getting in the relationship. What else did I know?

Sobbing for hours, I felt bereft and alone in my misery. Then, buoyed by false optimism, when he’d return, I would think: ‘It will be different this time.’ I ran the cycle over and over, bemused and trapped in a toxic cocktail of destruction and hope.

Throughout my teens, twenties and thirties I jumped from one relationship to another.  I can’t recall a time I was not ‘madly in love’ or ‘madly in pain’ but I did my best to contain the inner hysteria which ruled my life.

I had a well-worn list of ways I self-medicated the pain and avoided deep despair such as sex, drugs, work, sugar, exercise, learning, TV, food …. you name it, I tried it. I cycled through the list in such a way that few people had any idea I was an addict.  After all, if you only do something for a few weeks and move on, you can easily look like a high achiever! But out of control behaviour- whether it’s drugs, sex, love or eating –  is designed to protect you from the pain.

Wind forward forty years, I met my real father and had a breakdown as a lifetime of internal turmoil and stagnant emotion poured out, rendering me fit for nothing. This unexpected tsunami, and subsequent melt down, highlighted the importance of understanding my life’s purpose. My inner workings were complex but I vowed to become an expert in this condition we call being human.

Discovering a path for healing

Years of therapy, with dozens of well-meaning professionals, proved largely ineffective and I felt compelled to take my healing further afield.

Eventually I created my own coaching processes which are spiritual and psychological and run deep, but are also directive and with clear goals. I spent years creating the work I needed for myself, which is now my signature work helping others.

At 42, I quit my Board Level Blue Chip role, with only faith to guide me. I vowed to people around the world who could help change my patterns and quash my inner demons. Jumping on a plane and heading for America I sought out people with extraordinary reputations that could help me. Wyatt Webb, therapist to Oprah Winfrey and other Hollywood stars took me under his wing as both a client and a mentoree.

My purpose soon unfurled like a magic carpet. As I healed, my life was reinvented. Within a few years I built a thriving coaching practice purely on reputation and referral. Clients came from around the world as word spread fast.

By magnifying the best parts of our new partner, we  unconsciously edit out the bad so our fantasy can be sustained

When your man picker is broken it can feel like the end of the world, or at least the beginning of your destiny as the local crazy cat lady.  But love addiction can be overcome. Though I see an increasing number of smart, sassy and fabulous single women shutting down to the possibility of a loving and healthy relationship, I’m living proof it doesn’t have to be your destiny.

Understanding what love addiction is

Understandably the term love addiction turns people off before they’ve had a chance to look at the symptoms and the often devastating impact to their lives. This destructive and painful pattern leads to catastrophic endings, celibate decades and a deep mistrust of the opposite sex. Understanding love addiction can provide a light at the end of this dark, derailing tunnel.

Unlike sex addiction, love addiction is not listed as a recognised Psychological Disorder by the medical profession in the U.K. or America. Instead it’s become a generalised heading for a common set of behaviours to help us understand an all too common dilemma when embarking on a romantic expedition.

Love addicts have a deep, often unconscious, yearning to feel lovable

Love addicts have a deep, often unconscious, yearning to feel lovable, understood and connected to another human at the deepest level. For many people the early part of a relationship – those goosebump, butterly- inducing ‘in love’ feelings – is an exciting time of growth and emotional nourishment.

For the love addict, however, meeting a potential Mister Right can be the start of a pattern of imploding, self hatred and sheer, off the scale fantasy. We are most terrified by the intimacy involved in relationships; of letting people see who we really are, so we shy away from the very thing we want most in life.

Why you’re always attracting the same type of man

For 15 years I have practised dynamic psycho-spiritual coaching with hundreds of clients. My own self professed love addiction took me around the world to learn about this underrated disabler from the inside out. Which in turn has led me to help women understand their proclivity for love-rats, narcissists and man-boys. It can feel as though an invisible force is at work, magnetically drawing the same type of men towards you, albeit in different guises.

Love addicts often find themselves in a cycle of short lived romance and candlelight,

I see successful women a crumble into a hole of self-doubt, self-loathing and disrespect under a cloud of love addiction in the early stages of obsessing about their new lover if he pulls away. This is alternating with the high, induced upon receiving a ‘Good morning gorgeous’ text from our new love interest, whilst flying amongst the stars when your new beau makes you feel special and adored.

Love addicts often find themselves in a cycle of short lived romance and candlelight, big dreams and Disneyesque wishes. All too often the fairy tale comes crashing down. Within a few months well worn dreams dissolve as old, familiar behaviours burst love bubbles and pee on romantic parades – she gets needy, he pulls away. She finds someone else to comfort the pain, and it all starts again.

Love addicts magnify the best parts of our new partner and carefully, unconsciously edit out the bad, to ensure their fantasy can be sustained. It isn’t easy to keep the promo alive and kicking but we have an array of strategies to eek out the life span of this dangerous attachment.

The turning point that led to change

Just when I thought I was out of the woods, at 45, a grand finale of a heart, mind and body blow came in the form of a smart, sexy Jack the Lad type.

We met online and instantly connected with a myriad of things in common. He noticed the slightest things and never failed to make me feel appreciated, adorable and smart.

Within a few messages I was ���fizzing’ at the thought of our pending date. We met in the swanky bar at The Mandarin Oriental Hotel, drank and drooled our way through a magnetic attraction and an intense eight hour date.

To this day I get misty eyed recalling the impact when he touched the inside of my knee – my eyelids closed, I melted. He knew he had me.

I remember looking at myself in the mirror in the luxurious ladies loo and mouthing to my reflection ‘This is your last irresponsible love affair’ and it really was!

The eighteen month rollercoaster of a relationship brought highs and lows which made my previous relationships seem balanced.  Oh my, the sex was cosmic, the connection other worldly and well, the fighting…. I truly channelled my inner banshee.

I became the old insecure, obsessive, crazy addict. He matched me at ever step. We eventually parted after months of taking chunks out of each other. It took everything I had, and a little bit more, to extricate myself. I spent months pining for the way he would make me feel and revelled in the memories of the fantasy we shared.

Like all addictions, we’re never cured, we simply understand how to manage ourselves and our old habits

Many more years were spent working with world experts to dig through the romantic rubble to fully understand how the hell I had fallen foul of my old demons yet again. Today I thank my last Jack The Lad for making ‘love’ so painful that I was forced to take action, get help and abstain until I could trust myself.

This catastrophic heartbreak gave me the final shift I needed to go where I had never been before! Soon I found my way to Pia Mellody’s work – she’s known as a leading world expert in love addiction and at that time was head clinician at a well known rehab in Arizona. Mellody is also the author of many books about love addiction including the global bestseller Facing Love Addiction: Giving Yourself the Power to Change the Way You Love.

The list of ‘gurus’ that helped me was long and expensive but I was determined to stick to my pledge.

I absorbed a myriad of processes, first for my own betterment and soon to practice professionally, using my own experiences to light the way. I now consider myself a master curator, ensuring clients receive the right process at exactly the right time for them to illuminate their emotional patterns and ignite their healing.

Getting help for love addiction

SLAA (Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous) provides a safe place to go and meet like minded people, to understand more about their wounds in a group setting based on the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. I was lucky as already having a successful coach I was able to jump on that plane, and seek out world experts to illuminate and eliminate old patterns. Like all addictions, we’re never cured, we simply understand how to manage ourselves and our old habits which, given half a chance, will quickly reel us back in.

by Healthista Expert