#GOD DAMMIT MARX

[bennwazzhere]

GOD DAMMIT

[redshoes-blues]

The Worst period drama trope is when the revolutionary/radical socialist character “learns from their ways” and just…becomes a status quo lib. Or even worse: an actual member of the aristocracy

[marxximoo]

HELP

[cryptvokeeper]

I will never get off my soapbox of Hamilton never stopped being good you guys were just ashamed of having un-irony poisoned fun in a post-2016 world and needed to distance yourself from what you perceived as cringe

and I don’t even just mean as a musical either remember how leading up to the 2016 election the cast of Hamilton did a campaign being like “hey fucking VOTE”? Remember how after the election when Mike fucking pence went to see Hamilton the entire cast came out on stage and said (with total poise btw) “hey as a cast made up of the children and family of immigrants, people of color and LGBT people that your administration is hostile toward we want you to remember who’s show your watching”?

Like I’m not saying Lin Manuel Miranda is Karl Marx but god dammit that show and its cast did things it was not just Broadway 1%-er rich people crap

[elegybeatty]

top five final kirby boss battles

5) Marx, absolutely iconic

4) Galacta Knight, same reason, but also the music just fucks and I felt like a god when I first beat him

3) Star Dream Soul 0S, all the amazing nostalgia filled Star Fox gameplay of the original fight, but now with an extra section with normal gameplay, extra nostalgia, horrifying implications for Haltmann, and that STUPUD OHKO MOVE AT THE END, GOD DAMMIT-

2) Drawcia, adore her vibes and animation, the music is amazing, and she's a girlboss

1) Fecto Elfilis, sick as hell dynamic music and how fantastic the set up and presentation all are, the amazing call and response combat of Forgotten Land at its best, insane lore implications, and YOU RAM A TRUCK INTO THEM, WHAT MORE IS THERE TO SAY!?

[totopopopo]

When I realize that because we’re reading Marx for my religious theory class I’m almost definitively going to end up in an argument with the Person in my class over communism vs capitalism

[thedreadvampy]

god fucking dammit I hate Theory People like YEAH theory can be necessary to inform change but that doesn't mean the more you've read the lefterer you are. and I'm reet sick of people who have literally never made less than £35k talking down to working class organisers about Well I've Read Marx Pretty Classist Of You To Think Poor People Can't Read Marx

ok but consider. you have to actually make people want to read Marx not just treat them like they're ignorant if they don't. or. you could just fucking talk about the ideas because some people learn well from reading and others learn well from discussion and Capital isn't some sort of fucking immutable holy text it's a collection of ideas which, if they hold up and if you understand them, you should be able to Fucking Explain Them In Relation To What You Think They Apply To instead of just going READ MARX AND THEN YOU WILL SEE

like you can moralise about reading theory all you want and you can talk about how Communist revolutionaries have always read theory but ok so what are you doing to make theory accessible? reading groups? discussing the ideas? building space and time for people to read and comprehend at their own pace? or are you just assuming that people should read theory because Obviously Reading Theory Is Good.

like. a) fuck me a lot of leftists have no interest in selling their ideas they just think everyone should de facto recognise that it's good in and of itself and b) leftist spaces are real full of the sorts of people who find non-fiction reading fun, easy and unintimidating and sneer at the idea it would be hard work for others. and like. I'm a person who's very comfortable with academic language and with reading in my down time (although I'm also someone who takes a year to read a short nonfiction book bc digesting takes time) but it isn't CLASSIST to recognise that a lot of the people who most need leftism have been made to associate reading something and not immediately understanding it with feeling stupid, worthless or overwhelmed. bc academia is fucking abusive to a lot of people and leaves them without any confidence in their ability to read and understand theory. that's not a failing on their part it's not calling poor people stupid to say Academia Is Deliberately Dense And Exclusive And That Leaves A Lot Of People Struggling.

if you want people to usefully read theory it goes beyond making books accessible. it means helping to tackle the things that make theory intimidating. adult literacy support. discussion groups with the books available to read but not mandatory for entry. finding ways to present theory separate from dense academic nonfiction. getting people to a place where they already know they're capable of understanding and applying the content BEFORE they pick up the book.

what DOESN'T make break down the barriers to Reading Theory is repeatedly explicitly saying that people who don't read and understand theory easily are stupid, lazy or uncommitted, or that nobody could possibly be finding it difficult bc Vietnamese peasants read theory. the Vietnamese communists fucking. worked to build literacy and group infrastructure that dealt with barriers to theory. whereas you're just reinforcing the exact systems of academic exclusion that stop people wanting to read theory in the first fucking place.

if you want people to Read Theory you've gotta be saying: here's the ideas and if that interests you this is more in-depth. you've gotta be saying: you're capable of understanding this and it's normal and ok if it doesn't make sense right away or if you need to reread chunks or come back to it or take years to get through it, and if you're confused or don't get something you can always ask. you've gotta be saying: this isn't Instead Of your lived experiences it's a tool to understand and frame them. you've gotta build space and patience and flexibility and let people be and stay equal participants in the conversation before and during as well as after they've read Kropotkin or whatever.

you've got to understand that getting useful information from academic nonfiction reading is a set of skills that some of us have had the opportunity and confidence to develop without noticing and others of us are still working on.

you've also got to shut the fuck up about theory being the be all end all when a lot of people who've read 200 academic works on class consciousness are still very capable of coming into organising spaces and immediately demonstrating they understand precisely jack and shit about what the fight is actually about.

I agree that theory is good but theory is a tool, not the point, and if you understand that then you should understand it's worth taking the time and space to understand how it can be more useful to the people it exists in service to. and stop framing it as if saying 'poverty and disability pose barriers to the Just Read Theory approach' is the same as saying 'no poor or disabled person is capable of reading.'

Many poor and disabled people read a shitton of theory, that doesn't mean many OTHER poor or disabled people aren't excluded on the basis of their distrust or discomfort with an actively exclusive academic language, their literacy levels, their comfort with reading, their time and energy, or the fact that YOU KEEP MAKING THEM FEEL IGNORANT AND STUPID IF THEY DON'T IMMEDIATELY READ AND UNDERSTAND 20,000 WORDS OF ACADEMIC TEXT.

oh boo fucking hoo not everyone immediately dropped everything to spend all their free time slogging through a book they neither enjoy or understand just because you said they needed to. maybe you should try actually communicating some ideas and working to build accessible routes to theory. but that would require understanding that other people might have different experiences and needs and feelings than you and working to address those needs and what could be less communist than that? 🤷‍♀️

[sexysilverstrider]

idk whats cuter the fact that marx hid the egg behind his back or the fact that he PAINTED an egg just so he could give it to the summoner

[quotes-of-dreamland]

Random Cop: You're under arrest for reckless driving, it's not safe to have three people on one motorcycle like that.

Marx: Dammit!

Magolor: Wait... three?

Susie: OH MY GOD, TARANZA FELL OFF-

[bennwazzhere]

GOD DAMMIT

[cosmiccandydreamer]

Insecure chapter 2

( I do not own these gifs)

Paring: Otis Driftwood x Reader

Masterlist is here. Please see warnings ⚠️

Otis knew it, was a done deal; you were his forever, he already. y knew that he would never want anyone else but you at the moment you too became a couple. It was just different; no woman had ever made him feel this way before.  He remembers You and his sister running around like teenagers and how you didn't have a mother at home. You had an inattentive father on the road a lot, so you spent most of your free time doing your schoolwork here and trying to get Baby to do hers. Nothing seems to frighten you, even the occasional scream from the basement. No one lied to you about what was going on, but no one was outward sincere about the truth either. 

,

Otis back then looked at you like a little sister, helping you with your homework and on occasion ranting about how everything is wrong. He knew you were different on Baby’s 18th birthday when all of you were out. She ended up hitting someone with the glass bottle in the parking lot, killing him instantly. You said we got to hurry and bring them into the trunk of my car and into your basement. Otis was shocked at how you handled the situation despite the fact you seemed nervous; you kicked into high gear and took care of shit. 

After leaving to go to college a couple of cities over, he started to think about how much he missed you tagging around the house. When you showed up on a summer break asking him for his help with your political science homework, he knew he was hooked, but you were so young, just 21 years old; what would you want in this old man?. He remembers like it was yesterday when you came back at the giant smile on your face that you had gotten an A on your paper because of him but also some weird comments from your teacher. You sat on the roof laughing, sharing a bottle of Jack Daniels. He told him you were worried that your father was not going to be around much; what. You were going to have to sell the house. Suppose you can't find somewhere to move. In that case, you're probably going to have to move to California to live with distant family members. Baby heard that as she was coming up the stairs to the roof and said, no, you're not; you’re moving in here. Later that night, Baby eventually wandered off to go do fucked up shit in the basement, and you decided it was time to turn in; he insisted that you were too drunk to head home, and he helped you to his room. You knocked out, instantly curling up on the bed. 

As he stared at you for a good 30 seconds before leaving the room, he knew he was in trouble. That whole night while working in the basement, he couldn't stop picturing your beautiful face, fuck what were you doing to him. He felt this longing desire to cuddle with you right then and there. Still, he knew it wasn't right to make a move when you were shit faced, he wasn't a gentleman about many things, but he was going to do this right; hell, he wasn't even sure wh; hee was assuming was correct; he had a feeling you liked him, he saw the lingering looks you gave him, the way you made special trips to the house even when Baby wasn't there just to see him, the way you never seemed disinterested in anything he ranted about. You always asked what art piece he was working on. After a couple of hours, he headed back upstairs; he passed Baby in the hallway " Otis, where's y/n? She’s not in my room; she didn't drive home, did she ?!" " Naw, she passed out on my bed n? She’swer your god damn voice before you wake her up always fucking screaming and shit," he huffed, walking past her looking very confused, " I can take her to my room that's.." " No, you ain't you won't wake her up she's tired now go on getting dammit" he shooed her away toward the bedroom, she stared at him for a while unsure what to do, she didn't think he would hurt you, but this was strange for him to be so insistent. " Ok then .." Baby said, walking into her room. 

She had a feeling there was a little spark between you two even if neither of you wanted to admit it; she smiled while closing her door and happily pictured you as one of the family. Otis took his seat next to the bed; he planned on drinking some more than passing out in the chair; he began to nod off when he heard heavy distressed breathing that stirred him out of his sleep; he looked over to see you in what seemed to be an awful night terror, he quickly went over and shook you awake, " y/n hey hey sweetheart wake up it's alright" he shook you a little harder until you jolted awake and stared at him, you were breathing heavy and shaking 

" Otis I was having such a bad dream I got scared something happened to you I.. I.. I can't imagine that you're my best friend. I hated seeing you get hurt".. your voice started to crack and shake. He was moved; you had a bad dream/terror about him? Did you give that much of a shit about a crazy dick like him? This was crazy! " I think that's the first time you've said I'm your best friend out loud," he said, sitting next to you on the bed; you steadied your breathing and turned to look at him " well, you are. I mean, I've known you as long as Baby and we'll there are things I've told you I haven't even told her" " well shit mamas I think you’re my best friend too you're the only person I don't wanna punch in the face" this made you erupt in laughter which was a welcomed change from the horrible feeling you had just felt from your night terror, " well that's good to hear," you said earning a small chuckle from him, "I'll let you try and go back to sleep I'll be right there in the chair if you start to get spooked again" " wait for Otis'' you gripped his arm before he could exit the bed causing him to sit back down " can you tell me a story maybe your theory about the complexity of karl marx?" " You wanna hear that?" He asked, turning to look at you; you nodded and lifted his arm to cuddle up next to him, he froze; he wasn't sure if he wanted you to breathe, afraid this would ruin this moment; needless to say, he thought about you being so close many times especially when he had his hand in his pants, he leaned back. He got comfortable, " so in theory that's what I .." after about 15-20 minutes, you had fully knocked out against his chest, slowly snoring against his chest; oh man, he was in trouble now. It wasn't long after that that you, too, were a couple.

 You had come over the next day asking him to take a look at your truck when you lifted the hood and stood over the engine standing on your tippy-toes and your adorable butt poking out in your short jeans, he couldn't take it anymore when you lifted at your head up to say "I think it's this part.. " he lifted you and sat you on the hood of the nearest car, he confronted you about wearing such a cute outfit around someone like that does to him. You smiled  "well, I think it's doing exactly what I was hoping it would'' his eyes darkened, and a smile crept across his face. You admitted that you had feelings for him; there was a dark beauty to him that you had become addicted to and no one else would do. No one your age could satisfy you mentally the way he could, and given his stature, you assumed physically too. Needless to say, no work was done on your truck that day; he had lifted you into his arms and carried you into the house. A few weeks later, you were living in the house permanently.

Downstairs after the lovemaking and that unexpected show from you, Otis was doing well.. what he did best and was causing horrible terror and mayhem to what unfortunate soul happened to cross their path in the basement. Now In the past, when he's "working," nothing can distract him.. not even you, but something was different this time. He didn't like the look that you had given him earlier, the face of insecurity and doubt; he never wanted that kind of shadow to cross your mind again while with him.

 He decided it was time to finally make it official and marry you into the family. Of course, it would be unofficial. They were not once to go near any courthouse or any kind of compliant facility. He also didn't want you tied to him legally if, unfortunately, in the future, shit did hit the fan, and they had to flee.  He pondered this idea with a smile that old-fashioned slowly crept over his face. He liked the idea of you officially announcing to the universe that you were his, and he’s yours; he was a southern boy; after all, maybe some of those aches for the traditions still lingered in his subconscious. 

The idea of you being after that he comes home smiling made him feel a kind of warmness that he never thought possible. He walked down into the kitchen and saw you talking with momma while making dinner; yeh, this was the time. You were the one, you fit in with his family so well, and you hadn’t run out the door screaming yet; when mama walked out of the room to grab more supplies for the pies you two were making, he hugged you from behind, holding both your boobs in his large hands. " That was amazing  y/n guess you ain't mad no more " you placed your hands on his large ones, squeezing them a bit " I love you, Otis, so if this is something you want, I'll try and make it work it's just I gotta know you love me above all those things I don't wanna feel I gotta complete or I can be replaced" " nothing can replace you" he squeezed you a little harder he let you go walking back out the kitchen, he knew he had to do something soon to show you how serious he was about you, the idea that you felt this way and possibly had doubts means that you could have perhaps considered trying to leave and we can't have that he thought, the idea of losing you started to make him slightly panic, would you ever run off? Hell or try to too? Although he never said it, if you tried to run away from him, he would hunt you down and drag you back to the house, tie you to a chair until you explain yourself about how you could break his heart like that. I mean, granted, you two get into little spats here and there; he wasn't an easy person to live with. 

Even tho you would say you're sick of his shit, you always were there in his bed later that night, usually after talking shit in Baby's room or going to the backyard to hide out in the truck for a while. That night in bed, he watched you sleep, seeing your bare chest rise illuminated by the moonlight peeping in through the window; he couldn't believe that such a beautiful thing was willingly letting him touch it, love it, and keep it close; he had to do something soon to get this insecurity out your mind, he never wanted to see the doubt in your eyes again.

[prettyboy-parker]

the gradebook

hello everyone, i have risen from the dead to post my fic for the geraskier holiday exchange.

this is for the lovely max, eileentide​ , who requested ta!jaskier and security guard!geralt. 

i hope you enjoy!

***

It’s the second time this week he’s gotten locked out of the building.

All Jaskier needs is his damn grade book- why he doesn’t just switch to online grading escapes him.

He jiggles the old English building’s door handle once more, kicking the freshly painted wood in frustration. He can’t believe Professor Marx won’t give him a key to the main building; this could have been avoided. But Marx is stubborn and doesn’t believe he’s done enough to be deserving of a key. Almost every day, he curses the gods for landing him a snobby, asshole professor to assist.

“God dammit!” Jaskier shouts, exasperated. He feels a presence somewhere behind him, almost like someone is watching his little predicament. He glances over his shoulder and jumps; someone is standing on the steps.

He immediately recognizes the man. He’s one of the campus security guards, named Geralt, who helped him the last time he was locked out of the building. He doesn’t have his usual blue security uniform on. There’s a very expensive looking leather jacket draped over his broad frame, paired with worn skinny jeans. He looks-well, he looks damn good. Jaskier can even see the tip of a tattoo peeking out from underneath his shirt.

“Good sir!” He exclaims, wiping his clammy hands on his sweatpants. Geralt raises an eyebrow- a slightly different facial expression than his usual grouchy scowl. “Could you, uh, help me out?”

“It feels like we’ve been through this before, yes?” Geralt grunts, unclasping his ring of keys from his belt. Jaskier stands awkwardly next to the door, tucking his hands into his pockets.

He watches as Geralt fiddles with the keys, picking out the one for the English building. His hands are huge, Jaskier notes, and he wonders how big they are compared to his dainty ones.

“You’re lucky I happened to be here,” Geralt says as he slips the key into the door. It opens with a soft click, revealing the darkness of the main hallway.

“Well, I’ll just have to thank you somehow,” Jaskier says with a wink, which makes the bigger man flush red. His stomach twists with satisfaction. “Would you mind walking me through the building?”

Geralt looks back to his security golf cart and then down to his watch.

“Sure- I have time.”

Jaskier beams and steps into the building.

Geralt stays quiet the entire walk through the desolate hall. It’s so odd; for a big, muscled man like him, one would think he’d be less awkward. His combat books clunk on the linoleum floor and echo through the area.

“My office is right over here, at the end of the hall. You’re welcome to come inside,” Jaskier says, fumbling with his keys. Geralt hums in response, looking around at the decorative plants and motivational posters that surround his office door.

“I- I’ll stay out here,” He decides.

Jaskier gives him a gentle smile and steps into his office. Before he looks for his grade book, he wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans. Why he’s so skittish around the security guard escapes him. He supposes it’s because Geralt is very handsome; it’s not out of character for him to get flustered around attractive people.

Jaskier finds his gradebook quickly, and locks up his office one more.

“That was fast,” Geralt gruffly notes.

“Well, I’m quite quick in most regards,” Jaskier says, tucking his keys into his pocket. “Important to note that it's most regards, not all.”

If Geralt gets what he’s saying, he doesn’t see, because there’s a loud crash from down the hall.

“Shit,” Geralt mumbles, staring into the darkness. Jaskier’s heart starts to beat faster; even though he has Geralt with him, he would prefer not to be robbed.

Geralt raises his flashlight and turns it on.

There’s…. a cat.

“Oh,” Jaskier says. “It’s a cat.”

The cat, a little tabby, stretches, and plops on the ground.

“How did a cat get in here?” Geralt asks, keeping his flashlight pointed at their four legged friend. Jaskier wonders the same, because he’s sure Geralt closed the door behind him.

“He must’ve followed us in here; could’ve thought you were a giant scratching post,” He quips, squatting down and outstretching his hand. “C’mere, kitty.”

The cat just blinks.

“Even he thinks you’re annoying,” Geralt grunts. Jaskier scoffs: offended.

“You’re getting a little bold there, my friend,” He mumbles, turning his attention away from the cat. “Too bold, I think.”

Geralt smirks, oddly pleased with the quip.

“Come on, let’s go. The cat will be fine in here for the night.”

Jaskier quietly agrees, and the two exit the building. The night air is cool against his flushed skin, giving him some relief from his nervous sweating. He watches as Geralt’s breath puffs into the air, visible against the dark sky. His facial features are sharp, a lot like his personality.

Sharp and biting.

“I presume I'll be seeing you again,” Geralt hums, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.

Jaskier smiles.

“I’m sure of it.”

***

A few days later, the cat is still in the building.

Jaskier thinks his eyes look just like Geralt’s.

***

@geraskierholidayexchange

[ecoamerica]

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[hardrockerhippie]

Witcher HC

Jaskiers post mountain breakup song is cruda amarilli from Monteverdis 5th madrigal book. You will not convince me otherwise.

The text and style are just too perfect. I don't even care if the witcher fantasy setting is the right kind of medieval adjacent to fit an early 17th century music aesthetic.

Valdo Marx would obviously be the Artusis to Jaskiers Monteverdi in the sense that he is a traditionalist and honestly, Jaskier. That sounds horrendous! That is not how music is done!

And he is right. But THAT'S THE SOUND OF HEARTBREAK MARX GOD DAMMIT

[resident-beekeeper]

When I like things i have a tendency to link them no matter how painful it is. So here, have a scene from the 1928 play Journey's End only with characters from the witcher. Warning: there is no happy ending. 

Geralt had just turned back round to the table when Marx came rushing back into the dugout. He turned quickly.

"What is it, Marx?"

"Mr. Pankratz, sir"

That didn't sound good. "What?"

"Mr. Pankratz's been hit, sir. A bit of shell's hit him in the back." No. No, he couldn't be hurt. It was Jaskier. There was no way.

"Badly?" This wasn't happening. 

"I'm afraid he's broken his spine, sir. He can't move his legs." Fuck. 

"Bring him down here"

"Down here sir?"

"Yes! Down here — quickly!" Geralt yelled. Jaskier was lying up there with a broken back and Marx was dithering. And wasting time and —

Marx left hurriedly. A shell exploded near him, and he tried to shelter himself with his hand, as though a human hand could ward off the hot flying pieces. He stumbled on into the trench, and Geralt lost sight of him.

Geralt went over to Vessemir's small bed, and placed a blanket over it. With trembling hands, he rolled up his jacket for a pillow, and put it on the bed too. He picked up his own blanket, and turned as Marx came down the steps carefully, carrying Jaskier like a child. God he looked so small. 

"Lay him down there" he snapped, gesturing to Vessemir's bed.

"He fainted, sir," Marx said. "He was conscious when I picked him up." 

Geralt ignored that. Of course that was important information. It was crucial to know exactly how Jasskier had been hit so that he could be treated properly. But every reminder of what had happened was like a knife in Geralt’s chest. Only he couldn’t feel the knives fully because he wasn’t in his body quite.

Marx laid him down gently on the bed, and wiped blood off his hands on his trousers. At least he had the decency to look ashamed as he did.

Geralt covered Jaskier with his blanket, and looked intently at him.

"Have they dressed the wound?"

"They've just put a pad on it, sir. Can’t do anything more."

"Go at once andgoring two men with a stretcher."

"We'll never get him down, sir, with the shells falling on Lancer's Alley."

"Did you hear what I said? Go and get a stretcher!" Geralt roared. Jaskier was dying and Marx was being a bloody fool. He needed help now.

"Very good sir."

Marx left slowly, too slowly, and Geralt turned to Jaskier again. He went to the nearby table and pushed his handkerchief into the water jug harder than he probably should have to wet it. He brought it over to Jaskier, still dripping water everywhere, and started to bathe his face. He had to do something, anything, to help. He just wished he could do more. Because a wet forehead was never going to save Jaskier. Of course it wasn't. But he had to do something. Anything.

Jaskier moaned and opened his eyes, turning his head to look at Geralt 

"Hello — Geralt"

"Well, Jaskier, you got one quickly" Geralt tried his best to smile. It almost worked.

They sat in silence for a while, Geralt continuing to wipe Jaskier's face. Jaskier looked dazed, like he didn't know where he was or what exactly was happening. 

"Why — how did I get down here?" He asked, his forehead furrowing in confusion. 

"Marx brought you down."

"Something — hit me in the back — knocked me clean over — sort of— winded me I’m all right now." He mumbled. He tried to sit up, but couldn't manage more than a pathetic rise and fall of his head.

"Steady there Jask. Just like there quietly for a bit."

"I'll be better if I get up and walk about. It happened once before — I got kicked in the same place at rugby. It — it soon wears off. It — it just numbs you for a bit." He paused for a few seconds. "What's that rumbling noise?"

"The guns are making a bit of a row."

"Our guns?"

"No. Mostly theirs."

They fall silent again. Dammit, there's so much Geralt should have said. Wanted to say back before any of this happened. When they were both carefree kids at school together. And even now. Even these past few days. He should have been so much more. Those things he said. 

Don't Geralt me! Mayena's my name! We’re not at school!                                     I resent you being a damn fool.                                                                          You bloody little swine!

He should have —

"I say — Geralt."

"Hmm?"

"It — it hasn't gone through, has it? It only just hit me? — and knocked me down?"

Jaskier looked up at Grealt, so desperate to believe everything would be fine. And he still looked to Geralt for that. As if he'd learned nothing at all from the last few days. After seeing Geralt like — that. With the whiskey. 

"It's just gone through a bit, Jask." A lie.

"I won't have to — go on lying here?"

"I'm going to have you taken away." If Marx gets help soon enough.

"Away? Where?"

"Down to the dressing station — then hospital — then home. You've got a Blighty one, Jask." Another lie. For Jaskier to go home, he would need to live. And once again Geralt had failed him.

"But I — I can't go home just for — for a knock in the back. I'm certain I'll be better if — if I get up." He tried once again to sit up, and got slightly further this time, before falling back with a sudden cry. "Oh — God! Geralt! It does hurt!"

"It's bound to hurt, Jaskier."

"What's — on my legs? Something holding them down."

"It's alright Jaskier; it's just the shock — numbed them."

It wasn’t alright. Not even slightly. Even if Jaskire miraculously survived he would never walk again. And that was such a monumental ‘if’, it crushed Geralt’s entirety with its weight.

"It's awfully decent of you to bother, Geralt. I feel rotten lying here — everyone else — up there."

"It's not your fault, Jask." It was all Geralt’s fault. If he hadn’t come back at the start, before everything became too much always. Back when he was proud to inspire people to fight. Back when he didn’t know. Maybe then Jaskier would have been spared this. And would have been spared knowing Geralt like was now.

"So — damn — silly — getting hit." He paused briefly "is there — just a drop of water?"

"Sure, I've got some here."

Geralt quickly got up and poured some water into a mug for Jaskier and brought it to him.

"Got some tea leaves in it. Do you mind?"

"No. That's alright — thanks."

Geralt lifted the mug to Jaskier's lips, and helped him to drink it.

"I say, Geralt, don't you wait — if — if you want to be getting on."

"It's quite alright Jask."

"Can you say for a bit?"

"Of course I can."

"Thanks awfully."

They sat in silence for what felt like a long time. Geralt didn't know exactly how long it actually was. His head felt far away from what was happening. The shells falling above them were far off and distant, despite the shudder each one caused. It was far too quiet, but the crushing quiet came from the silence from Jaskier. Jaskier who was always so loud and never shut up. And now he was struggling to even breathe.

"Geralt"

"Yes, Jaskier?"

"Could we have a light? It's — it's so frightfully dark and cold."

"Sure. I'll bring a candle and get another blanket."

Geralt got up and quickly went to the other room in the dugout to get another blanket. Jaskier was left alone on the bed, very still and very quiet. Through the open door of the dugout, faint light came in; an angry red with the rising sun. 

As Geralt stepped into the room, a tiny sound came from Jaskier, barely audible especially over the rising sound of the guns. Something between a sob and a moan. Geralt picked up a candle from the table, and brought it over to the bed, fumbling badly with matches in his haste to light it and bring at least some warmth to Jaskier. He put it down next to the bed and draped the blanket over Jaskier’s still body, taking his hand and rubbing it. Vessemir used to do something similar when Geralt got cold, the thought bringing a tightness to his throat.

"Is that better, Jaskier?" He made no response at all. Not even an eye movement to show he had heard anything.

"Jaskier."

Still, Jaskier was quiet. Geralt sat for a long time, holding Jaskier’s hand and saying nothing. His vision was blurry and he wasn’t sure if it was his brain failing to process his surroundings, or tears. Until a drop of water fell onto Jaskier’s hand. 

Geralt gently lowered Jaskier’s hand onto the bed, and closed his eyes. He sat there staring listlessly at the boy on Vessemir’s bed. He was alone now. Alone and with nobody to turn to.

Above him, the thudding of the shells rose and fell like an angry sea.

He picked up his helmet, (which had done nothing for Jaskier or Vessemir, as his brain pointed out), and walked up the steps to meet the chaos awaiting.

I apologise deeply if this ended up being too out of character, bit I couldn't bring myself to change the dialogue too much.

[some-stars]

Could I suggest a fic where Jaskier gets mad at Gerald and decided to only fuck him if he’s doing reverse cowgirl. Thanks!!!

ok at first i was like “this is slightly too silly for me” but then i consulted discord and it turns out it’s JUST silly enough. like, jaskier is pissed at geralt over something stupid--maybe he caught geralt humming valdo marx’s new song that’s sweeping the continent, and when he threw a fit geralt was like “it’s not that bad, actually”--and jaskier coldly and dramatically exited the room, and now he won’t speak to him. 

except he still wants that dick, dammit, so he’s like “fine, we can fuck, but i don’t even want to SEE your FACE” and he mounts him and reverse-cowgirls away. and meanwhile geralt is teasing him, calling him pet names and faux-begging for his forgiveness--”c’mon, sweetheart,” he says, hands on jaskier’s hips helping him lift up and down, enjoying the flex of his muscles, “forgive me, darling,” and jaskier growls and tells him to fuck off and goes at it even harder. and geralt is stifling laughter and eventually jaskier is too as geralt breaks out the truly ridiculous names--”awww, sugar buns, i’m sorry, you know i am,” and finally jaskier cracks up and is like “oh my god, i hate you, fuck off” as he laughs hysterically. and after they both come he snuggles up to geralt and is like, “i do NOT forgive you by the way,” and geralt kisses him and says, “i know, sweet cheeks”

[theimpossiblescheme]

If you're still doing the ask thing Can I get Rumpleteazer and Munkustrap? 🥺

Of course you can! <3  Let’s start with Rumpleteazer...

Why I like them: She’s the most cheerful little hellraiser who’s always so much fun to watch, and she’s so bubbly and surprisingly affectionate to the cats she cares about.  Rumpleteazer is the feline embodiment of sunshine and chaos, and I adore her for it.

Why I don’t: Yet again, I cannot imagine why you wouldn’t like her--I can only assume that you also hate happiness.

Favorite episode (scene if movie): As much as I love hers and Mungojerrie’s song, watching her during Skimbleshanks’ song is always completely adorable.  She just loves Train Dad so much, even if she sometimes gives him a headache.

Favorite season/movie: It’s always a toss-up for me between Jo Gibb, Shonica Gooden, and Anna Carina Buchegger as my favorite Rumpleteazers, so I gotta go to bat for the ‘98 movie, the 2016 Broadway revival, and the 2015 Tecklenburg production (I haven’t seen any of the Vienna production, but I hope to soon!).

Favorite line: “AND! Ruuum-pleteazer!”  She always sounds so indignant, and it’s hilarious.

Favorite outfit: Another toss-up for me, this time between her Broadway Revival look and her Mexico Tour look!

OTP: Victeazermile is an underrated OT3, and it is a ship I will absolutely go down with because Teazer has two paws, dammit.

Brotp: Besides Mungojerrie (whom I headcanon as being her twin brother), I love the idea of Tugger being like a big brother to her who enables all of her mischief.  They give Munkustrap all of the headaches together, and it is glorious.

Headcanon: She has two scars on her face from Macavity that are hidden by her stripes--one across her cheek and the other running up her chin almost to her lower lip.

Unpopular opinion: Regardless of productions that have her do the fangirl scream, I don’t think Teazer has a crush on Tugger so much as she wants to be just like him.

A wish: Let Teazer Kiss Girls 2KAlways

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: I just hope she and Jerrie never get left out--like I said before, the show just wouldn’t be the same without them.

5 words to best describe them: Irreverent, bouncy, mischeivous, affectionate, daring

My nickname for them: Teazer!

And now for Munkustrap...

Why I like them: MY GOOD GOOD PROTECTOR BOY.  There’s that one post saying that if Munkustrap’s actor doesn’t make you feel safe and cared for, he’s doing it wrong, and that’s absolutely true.  I love his dedication to his family, how sincerely he cares for every member of it, and how even as annoyed and frustrated as he can get he still takes that duty of care very seriously.  Plus, I am historically a sucker for the Team Dad character type.

Why I don’t: There are some actors who can come across as overly cold and confrontational (Robert D. Marx comes to mind), and I’m not a fan of that characterization at all.  Munkustrap’s the one who brings the audience into the cats’ world, and if it doesn’t feel like he even likes his job, there’s a huge emotional disconnect.

Favorite episode (scene if movie): The Macavity fight and the Old Deuteronomy duet with Tugger... I have Feelings (TM) about both.

Favorite season/movie: The ‘98 movie, the 2002 closing London matinee, and the 2015 Tecklenburg production--Michael Gruber, Jack Rebaldi, and Armin Kahl are my all-time favorite Munkustraps.

Favorite line: “At the sight of that placid and bland physiognomy/When he sits in the sun on the vicarage wall...”  Especially when the actor hits the note on “sun” in his head voice--it’s absolutely gorgeous.

Favorite outfit: Jack Rebaldi is the face of Munkustrap for me--just pick any of his costumes over the years, and you have it.

OTP: Demestrap will always have my heart--they both deserve to be happy. <3

Brotp: Alonzo is his best friend and greatest support, and Munkustrap can’t imagine his life, let alone his duties as Protector, without him.  I need more of their dynamic in productions.

Headcanon: He speaks with that Mid-Atlantic “not quite American or English” accent because that’s the accent his mother had, and you can gauge his mood on whether he sounds more American or English at the moment.

Unpopular opinion: I think he has a healthier work-life balance than fandom jokes about his sleeping schedule and stress levels would have you believe.

A wish: ...You know, Lis, you’ve actually converted me to Team Let Someone Other Than Munkustrap Be The Next Leader.  Not that I don’t internally weep at the end of the Tecklenburg production, but I like the idea of him abdicating so he doesn’t have to become this distant venerated figure even more.  Maybe a production could have a moment of him giving someone like Jemima or Mistoffelees his blessing to take his place.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: No more harsh and combative Munkustrap actors who try to fight Tugger during their duet--nothing breaks my heart more.

5 words to best describe them: Compassionate, responsible, anxious, courageous, eager-to-please

My nickname for them: I call him Munk, but I headcanon that Tugger calls him Straps and is the only cat who can get away with it. XD