#I am extraordinarily Unwell

[girlbossblackbeard]

how are we feeling besties

[krikidilly]

Oh to be pampered like a prize pet..

[johannwolfgangvongoethe]

Hello valued mutual-in-law (I am the twitter mutual of Matt’s whose friend is long term essaying with him over curiouscat, for context); I just wanted to say I just read your writing on disability within enstars you linked in reply to one of the curiouscat exchanges (which I’ve been reading bc I like seeing what both people involved have to say) + the post about guardianship re: the Merus that it linked to. Just wanted to say thanks for writing it all because it was really insightful — particularly the Sakuma segment, because I’m not very well-versed on the two of them and especially not with Rei, who I’m mostly acquainted to through being a casual enjoyer of the oddballs’ group dynamic, as well as a 2winkP (the latter of which provides sort of complicated feelings on him based on Setsubun & its aftermath, or general lack thereof that’s only really brought up in Nightclub from what i’ve seen do far;;). Like I did know to a basic degree about the Wagahai & Orei selves being personas but the detail in which you went into them + the way his disability affects him & his relationship with Ritsu really gave me some new insight on him & a motivation to learn more up on him.

Tldr; I enjoyed your thoughts and writings on the mixed bag of disability representation in enstars, thank you for writing all that it was nice insight, and it helped me understand the Sakumas — particularly Rei — better. Good posts op

HIIII holy shit, thank you so much for reading them. JUST HOW FAST WERE YOU.... i am really happy to hear you liked them!!! its just a lot of rambling but i love to yap + i love when others yap and it introduces me to a new perspective...... in my mind were holding hands and dancing in a meadow <:)

genuinely, i think no one can be immune to the oddballs, right. theyre just good. see.... my partner is a shuP and my bestie is a natsumeP and matt is a wawaP and i am a rei guy by necessity and ..... THIS IS HOW I KNOW NOTHIONG ABOUT KANATA.... i feel like often orienting oneself around enstars as a series is extremely about picking like a handful of charas to major in and knowing people who are into everyone else so you experience enough secondhand lore LOL

i extremely get you though, rei is not sympathetic. i am on pc but what i mean is 2winkP handshake emoji kogaP = Fuck That Guy

i could talk about rei (and ritsu for that matter. tho i havent read that much about him) in the context of disability forever.... and it feels important because it is an angle that discussion about him is just EXTREMELY lacking. it often feels like barely anyone bothers to think about how much being ill shapes his person, his relationships, his job, his actions.... and i cant really blame people either because they probably havent made the necessary experiences to really internalize how big of a deal that is...

and narratively..... there is a big trend of characters being very lenient with him and basically thanking him for being.... extraordinarily condescending, nosy, emotionally unavailable, and actively a danger for everyone involved. the worst examples that instantly come to mind for me are repayfes, setsubun (as you mentioned), and dont even get me started on hidden beast.

+ often hes some sort of deus ex machina plot device for lazy writing and its SO obnoxious.

setsubun specifically is so weird because i understand and support his weird cartoon villain act (as in, its engaging to read and an interesting manifestation of his issues) and obviously i LOVE the drama of characters being unwell and causing issues for others that way... conflict is great... but the way the twins react to it purely positively at the end is just a really disappointing. like i dont expect them to truly nail that hinata almost died an hour ago but come on. (ig sandstorm tries to pick up there....) also sort of why i never brought anything in there about being "monstrous" and how "monsters are created" up in my disability post.... really really fits the topic and a lot of it is coming from the horses (reis) mouth but the context hinata and yuta experience it in is just an entirely different one. hm....

its sort of a similar deal with himeru, right. narratively i am disappointed. they dont get chewed out by the people i want. and hes doing evil shit. but then i see him and i go :( thats my funny menhera man.......

[areyoudoingthis]

there are BOOKS floating underwater on the cover of wasteland baby I am extraordinarily unwell

[uranialeilus]

"Royalty"

Learn more about me.

Adelyne Diana Patel-

•36 years old- Birthday 01/24.

•French (Fluent in Both french and English)

•Professor in Biology and Geology,Researcher in Pathological Microbiology, Navigator.

•Has a deep passion for Astronomy.

I was born in a Family of fine wine makers from Bordeaux. My father is a very wealthy man thanks to his business. I have 3 sisters. I know only two of them. The other one...she is in England,With my mother. I think her name is Sara and she has a son...I'm not really sure though. It's been more than 20 years now.

At A young age, I discovered my passion for Science. And decided I wanted to make a living out of what I love.

It was really tough. Being a woman in this field. But I succeeded, graduated. Got my Bachelor, Master and even Doctorate in BGSEU (Biology and Science of The Earth and Universe), Wrote 3 books: "Crystallography","Pathos" and "The mechanics of our Universe".

Of course my Job pays extraordinarily well, but, It requires lots of really long hours of research. I was too tired to do everything on my own.So I hired a maid to help me with my home duties.

Her name is Persephone Berthy.

She's been with me since she was 5. Of course at the time she wasn't working. I met her on my way to work one day. She was alone and looked unwell. She explained to me, with her 5 year old words, thatxher mom would not take care of her, and her dad was sleeping away with other women all the time.

I took her with me, gave her an education and hired her as my maid when she turned 14.

I must confess, it was more of a way to keep her with me...

You see, I am not married. And I have no children of my own. Which in some way, was really something I needed in my life.

I still have no husband, but I can work with this.

Thank you for reading. Do not hésitante if you have any questions. I will be more than happy to answer them.

(Ps:I got the Signature Idea from @thedoctorlivesey ,credits to him for this!)

[some-cold-and-some-violence]

I’m really sorry about your dog; losing a pet is awful. If you’re ok with talking about him I’d love to hear about him

I'd love to talk about him! He was a great dog, and as sad as I am that he's gone, I'm so glad that I had such a long time with him.

So, he was a jack russell terrier, named Cooper. We didn't buy him from a breeder or pick him out at a shelter. He just turned up at our house one day, refused to leave, and when we found his owner she let us keep him (he had been getting attacked by the neighbour's dogs so she thought he'd bee safer with us). He and our other dog, Oz, immediately became inseparable. Best mates. Oz was a heeler/kelpie mix and so MUCH larger but he was always the one to follow Cooper around. They were both very clever and VERY energetic, as you'd expect from two working-type (although Oz was extraordinarily lazy for a cattle dog lol), and one of their favourite games involved climbing. They'd climb up trees to get onto the shed roof and then jump down again. Cooper was doing this up until he was SIXTEEN! He embodied the true nature of a terrier, he was completely without fear.

He was nineteen years old, which is a remarkable age for a dog. Oz died some years ago (he was 16). Oz seemed to try to stick around at the end of his life; he was so old and so ill and so tired but he seemed to cling on like he didn't want to leave everyone behind. Cooper didn't. He seemed a little unwell yesterday, spent the afternoon and night resting, then in the morning just slipped away. I think the reason he went so easily was because he knew his old mate was waiting for him.

Here he is in his "youth", doing what I reckon he's doing somewhere right now.

[secretcircuit]

those asks are so good i love these lol; 2, 3, 5, 7, 14, 21????

ahh yay thanks 4 the asks !!!!

2 - thoughts on veganism?

truthfully i dont give veganism itself much thought, & on a personal level, it doesnt resonate with me for various reasons. overall i think that critically approaching how we (at least... we in the imperial core) interact with (or are alienated from!) food production is key... i always think about how many fruits, veggies, etc, are cultivated and harvested by workers who are extraordinarily exploited and in precarious positions... like how do we make sure everyone is fed and no one is exploited? i dont think ppl have to be vegans to start answering that question.

3 - a specific color that gives you the ick?

hard to say !! nothing immediately comes to mind tbh. maybe like a vomit-y yellow? but what seems gross in one context might work perfectly in another. i never took color theory tho lolol

5 - favorite form of potato?

very difficult question. probably mashed. i also really like french fries (i am a simple creature). or roasted w/ onions and garlic....... DINER HOMEFRIES ...... maybe it is easier to list potatoes i DONT like

7 - what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?

OCTOPUS !!!!! also JELLYFISH !!!!! honestly have not gone to an aquarium in a Long time. i also love rays... sweet sweet rays <3

14 - do you think you’re dehydrated?

like in general or right now? in general, im pretty good at staying hydrated! right now i am dehydrated lolol

21 - a number that weirds you out?

i dont really have a specific number in mind, but i saw someone else say that the significance given to "angel numbers" wigs them out, and i have to agree -- any sort of Magic Number or w/e is just... very weird to me. (also i have ocd that is very Magic Number focused, so it just feels like falling into patterns of being unwell for me personally haha) imaginary numbers also weird me out but thats just bc i was never very good at that sort of math lol

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Event! 沐野拾趣: Charlie’s BDAY 2021 Event! Pickings in the Wilderness Translation (Chapter 2)

"The most enchanting sight is now standing before you. And you’re holding onto him as he spins you around.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Charlie’s Personal Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Join my Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Event story tag will be #For Light and Memories

Charlie and I lapsed into mutual silence as we both stood in front of one of the recommended sightseeing locations to visit, as listed in the leaflet of the “Suburban Farmhouse Tour”.

MC: Charlie? Do you think we were…

Charlie: Yes. We were absolutely scammed.

He took off his sunglasses, glancing back and forth at the lush, green, bamboo forest depicted in the leaflet and the sparse mini bamboo garden before us. He let out a long sigh.

The asphalt pavement radiated hot air under the scorching sun. It was so hot that even the sparrows that flew past didn’t dare to make their landing.

MC: The sun's blistering.

I raised both my hands before me, covering my eyes. It was only then that I managed to open my eyes under the blinding light of the sun.

MC: You know the saying. How about we walk around and admire the scenery since we’re already here?

Charlie: Are you certain?

MC: What do you mean?

Before I could react, Charlie had already put his sunglasses back on, striding towards the bamboo garden.

Charlie: One, two, three...

Charlie muttered under his breath as he entered one end of the bamboo garden.

He reappeared not long later, walking back from the other end.

Charlie: This bamboo garden is 10-steps long. I’m done here.

MC: What!? THAT small?

❖☆———————————★❖

I quickly ran into the bamboo “forest”, only to stop after a couple of steps in.

Charlie: There aren’t any real bamboo trees beyond these 3 meters.

Charlie: Only this… fake bamboo background poster.

A warm wind blew past, making the bamboo poster before us waver slightly with an almost inaudible sound.

MC: It pains me to say this, but I believe we were truly scammed.

MC: This scam is bigger, and on an entirely different level from that takeaway call of yours.

Charlie: Are you questioning my ability? I warn you, I’m still the best conman in the world when it comes to scams.

MC: ...Am I supposed to compliment you for being the best conman? You want to compete… in this aspect as well?

Charlie: No. This is different. I should be regarded as the best in everything in my fiancée’s eyes.

MC: You don’t need to be the best in scamming… Man, we came all the way out here for nothing.

Charlie: What did you say you wanted to come to the bamboo “forest” to do, again?

MC: Walk around and admire the scenery...

MC: But there’s no scenery worth looking at here.

A curious smile glinted within the depths of his eyes.

Charlie: Now, who said there isn’t?

He suddenly leaned closer, placing a hand on my waist. The ground beneath me suddenly disappeared as he swept me up from my feet. Despite that, I allowed him to hold onto me, swinging me around and around on the spot.

The gentle breeze lifted my hair, evaporating the sweat on my neck with its cool and refreshing touch.

Charlie: How about now? See it?

Charlie held me close. So close, that I could pick up the sound of the heart beating within his chest.

Charlie: The most enchanting sight is now standing before you.

Charlie: And you’re holding onto him as he spins you around.

I could vaguely feel my face heating up. I quickly lowered my head, placing my fingertips onto his chest and pushing him away.

MC: I’m dying of heat.

MC: Can you give me a little space?

Charlie: Sure.

Charlie retreated a couple of steps backwards and the heat between us slightly dissipated into the air.

Charlie: Why are you always squinting?

MC: Huh?

Charlie bent down, his brows slightly furrowed into a frown.

Charlie: Come here. Let me have a look.

He brushed my bangs aside, his voice taking on a serious tone.

Charlie: Doesn't seem like there's anything wrong. Are you sensitive to light?

MC: If you absolutely must put it that way, then I suppose so?

Charlie: It’s probably eye fatigue. Spend less time at the screen and look to the far distance more often when you can.

Charlie: If you still feel unwell once we return, then come find me at the hospital. I’ll go register with you.

Charlie: And, wear this.

MC: ?

Suddenly, all I could see was darkness. Charlie had plopped his sunglasses onto my face.

The frame was a little loose on my face, and the inlaid gems were also heavy, further contributing to its downwards descent on my face.

Charlie rushed before me, reaching out to press the nose pads of his sunglasses back onto my face.

Charlie: Careful…

A pair of large hands fussed about me for a while. I felt Charlie tying something around the back of my head.

Charlie: Okay. This will help fix the sunglasses in place.

A little confused, I reached to feel something silky and smooth on my head; silk twill with meticulously done edge hemmings…

MC: Is this a silk scarf?

Charlie: No. It used to be a normal high-quality silk scarf, but now… Now, it is an extraordinarily magical strap to fix sunglasses in place.

MC: A strap?

I touched the area behind my ears, only to find that he’d used the silk scarf to fix the sunglasses in place and tied both ends of it in a criss-cross manner at the base of my head.

The excess fabric was haphazardly flipped over, covering the top of my head.

MC: Charlie, as a Fashion Designer, I’d love to give you a little advice.

MC: Don’t you think this looks a tad familiar?

Charlie: Similar to your company’s Spring-Summer Couture?

MC: I’m no different from the old lady over there.

Charlie closed his eyes and shook his head, a rather proud look crossing his face.

Charlie: Many people wear it like this, which goes to show that this style has the potential to become an up and coming fashion trend while also being practical.

Charlie: Besides, I tied that scarf on for you. So, how would it ever be the same as what the others are wearing?

❖☆———————————★❖

He patted me on the head, seemingly in an act of reassurance, before turning to walk forwards.

Charlie: Come on, stop getting all caught up about it.

Charlie: Being healthy is the best fashion.

MC: Ugh, okay.

The sun shone upon the duo in front of the garden. The two silhouettes, one tall and one short, moved in tandem, despite one lagging slightly behind the other.

Although this trip with Charlie didn't go according to plan at all, things seem to have taken a slightly interesting turn once more.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Memories⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 1) | Next Part: (Chapter 3)

[h-sleepingirl]

Scenes from a Hypnotic Skype Call 4/22/20

I text him in the morning like I always do, before I go back to sleep for a little while. He texts back, “Call at noon?” and I get so happy despite not really being awake, replying eagerly before I catch my last hour.

I have been feeling everything incredibly intensely for the past few days. We have been so on. Our long weekend call was so amazing. Afterwards I was completely fucked. The next day I was fucked. The day after that I was fucked. And the day after…

We have talked so much about the potential for truly long-term trance. Days. Waking up into hypnosis in the morning. I never really believed it would be possible without us being in the same place.

But I spent Sunday dumb because he took advantage of me feeling unwell. Monday we had a call. Tuesday afternoon I realized I had been in trance all day.

Now Wednesday. I wasn’t sure in the morning if I was in trance or not. But god, was I excited and needy for him.

We get on and I see myself on the little screen and how bouncy I look, hear how squeaky I sound. Our babble is stupid and flirty and inane. But watching myself, seeing the way I look and hearing the stupid desperation in my voice makes me feel something, like I’m in over my head.

“I keep having this feeling, like, are you proud, are you happy about what you’ve done to this girl?” I ask, and it’s thin, and it feels like I’ve started on this small thread that I have to unravel.

He gives me a big smile and a thumbs up. “Should I not be?” he asks, so high-spirited, reducing my little outburst.

“I feel like you should be a little… sad…”

...Because you’re changing her. Because you’re destroying her original personality...

“Why should I be sad?”

The energy has shifted. This chat is a farce. I know it. But I’m too deep into it, feel a strange confidence that is like there is nothing I have left to lose.

“You’re ruining me,” I say, plainly, almost pleading. “Really…”

It’s a pornographic conversation. Straight out of a story. I feel like a character, like text on a page, but I can’t stop it. I remember other moments like this, a date where I whispered, ‘You’re changing me…’ The way he responded…

“Yeah? And I should be sad about that?” His voice has started lilting, gotten softer, acknowledging the way my eyes have softened.

All I can do is make a tiny noise. I’m slipping…

-- He’s trancing me hard and my consciousness truly feels like it’s slipping away, I’m losing myself, vision swimming, body swaying, can’t express the way that I really feel like I’m going away, really…

I realize that I’ve lost my ability to understand the words he’s saying, I really have no idea… Not suggested, just spontaneous, I feel so confused and at the same time I can’t bring myself to exert any effort to change it. This has been happening more and more often, to varying degrees… It feels futile... Too far gone. So far gone. His words wash over me and all I can do is sink into them and sink into the knowledge that I don’t have enough brain left anymore, like a young child, like an animal.

He wakes me up and I have no idea how long it’s been, no idea what he did to me.

“I really, really couldn’t understand you,” I breathe, and I’m shaking with the force of that. I’m still in trance.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly.

He keeps trancing me, and I keep not being able to comprehend it.

--

He wakes me up. All I can do is blink dumbly at him, burning with obsession, but completely subdued by thick trance, thick pleasure and surrender.

“So is that kind of the topic?” he asks, and his voice is so sweet, dangerously, venomously sweet. “The thing that’s been happening, the feeling of being perpetually caught in this trap, that you walked into like a fucking moron?”

My throat tightens as I try not to cry out in delicious anguish.

--

“Do you remember when you first noticed that I was making it harder for you to understand what I was doing to you?”

“Not exactly,” I whisper. “But I remember the first time I thought that…”

“Yeah,” he says. “And it’s kind of sad, right? You don’t like that you’re not able to analyze it anymore?”

I nod, pained.

“That’s why we record the calls, right?” he says. “To give you some sense that there’s something you can go back to later?”

I’m holding my breath.

“But then what happens when you listen back?” Patronizing. Knowing.

I make a horrible little high-pitched noise.

I go away when I listen back. It doesn’t matter. I’ve tried time and time again, listening and helplessly going into trance, sometimes able to catch things, sometimes they slip away… My memory and my intelligence in this so faulty…

“That’s right,” he says. “It’s awful. Because that was something I took away from you.”

My body tenses hard in the terrible pleasure of that and I remember again my favorite date and the long interrogation of what he could take away from me permanently… Realizing that this is it, that this is a thing that he found that he could, that he kept his promise… How long it took me…

--

“Be porn,” he says, turning away from my screen and focusing on his computer. “I have to do some work.”

My brain short-circuits. I blank out. My body begins moving automatically, far more graceful and erotic than I ever can acheive consciously, my hands delicately moving across my body, fingers over my collarbones, teasing at the front of my shirt. My shoulders cock seductively. I am in control of none of it, but find what’s left of me just observing helplessly what I look like on the screen, and extraordinarily focused on him, absolutely needing him to respond to me, but at the same time having an infinite patience until he does.

He’s busy typing for a moment as I start teasing my tits, pulling at my shirt, and he looks over, and just stops and stares.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he says, suddenly ragged, and I know immediately there is no pretense, no show for me, I can hear and see so clearly the way I’m affecting him, so genuine. His response is the hottest thing in the world to me, even as my vision comes in and out, and I feel myself smile, bring a finger to my lips and suck obscenely on it.

I never would be able to do this normally. Not like this, not without shame.

He wrenches his vision away from me to turn back to work, and I feel nothing, no disappointment, no decay in eroticism. I am just porn on his screen. I am just here to get him off. It is my entire purpose and I keep performing even when he is not looking.

I suck two fingers this time, feeling the drool start leaking just a little bit out of my lips, making perverse suction noises, and I notice that that makes him look over at me, and feel myself learning that.

He looks like he is in trance watching me. I love that face, it gets me off so much, and it has been so long… I feel my body adjust with that little thought, how to make my motions more hypnotic, more alluring. I am dynamic, learning porn, programmed for so long to turn him on and hyperfocused on becoming even more totally perfect in every single moment. It uses all of my conscious knowledge to do it.

I feel completely disconnected from my body. I want to stare at the image of myself to see what I look like but I can’t, really. Sometimes I glance. But I imagine she looks like a dolly, totally blank-eyed and docile even as she moves like a seductress. It is impossibly good.

The cycle repeats, over and over, him turning to look, the shift of his feedback, and me being perfectly distracting until he wins the struggle and can look away. He is so, so turned on, it is completely palpable to me, more important than anything in the world.

Sometimes the sucking blanks me out. I’ve been so conditioned for so long to go away when I have fingers in my mouth. It is purely instinct, purely muscle memory. (Now, I think of Pavlovian conditioning and get upset that I didn’t talk about this idea of when a conditioned behavior approaches the same level of base responsiveness as unconditioned behavior...) But I know I must look immensely dumb, immensely mindfucked, vision just nonsubstantial and tongue moving rhythmically.

He loves it. I could talk about it for pages and pages, the back and forth, the true exchange of energy and power that happens in such a casual way, over miles and miles apart. For me, I exist only as a creature of the moment, seconds ago forgotten so easily. At one point, he shifts his focus entirely on me and trances me hard after he pulls himself out of trance.

Finally, he snaps, and it is so jarring, far too instant, far too different than the bliss object that I was.

I breathe heavily. I feel broken and I feel thrilled, like we just did something otherworldly and precious.

He looks about as fucked as I do.

The first thing I am able to say, shaken, but excited, is, “How long was that? Do you know?”

He takes my request seriously. “I can look,” he says. “...Just about ten minutes.”

I look back on the past ten minutes in my memory and find a blur of sexuality, impenetrable when I poke at it.

“Oh, my god.”

We talk about it for a long while.

--

@hypnokinkwithmrdream

[sule-skerry]

Also because I won't have to hedge my bets by appealing to heaven much longer, here are the medals I've worn every day like dog tags as I interacted with ~60k strangers during a pandemic.

I don't want to be self-aggrandizing. I am extraordinarily lucky to have lost only people with a few degrees of separation from me. The friends I was most worried about, including the ones who got sick, have survived and seemingly without severe after-effects. But I also knew every day that I had no room for error. That if I brought it home I would probably be fine, but my family would not be. Every time I thought about treating something like it wasn't a big deal I would think, "We only have to be lucky once. You will have to be lucky always."

377 days after I got an email saying work would be closed for a minimum of two weeks "out of an abundance of caution" and I got my second vaccination. Which is currently making me extremely unwell. But I am also overwhelmed with the possibility of not feeling so desperately conscious all the time and the knowledge that so many people are not safe yet, we can only start to face what the pandemic has done to us and to our collective lives, and we have so far to go still.

[kirk-spock-in-the-impala]

Between You and the World (4 of 6)

CHAPTER FOUR: SIGHT - Mid-Summer, Year 1253

Chapter Summary: Geralt clears out some foglets for a village with a shockingly pleasant Alderman and Jaskier and Geralt have some soft time watching fireworks.

Story Summary: Geralt's senses are extraordinarily acute, allowing him to perceive far more than average. As necessary as those senses are for his profession, they can become overwhelming.

Or

Five times Jaskier helps Geralt through sensory overload, plus one time he didn't have to.  

CW: Battle scene, mentions of blood and injury (minor), Geralt's headspace, mentions of brothel prostitution (canon typical, brief, non-explicit mention), prejudice from villagers toward Witchers, witcher potion toxicity

LINK TO AO3

Approximately 6500 words under the cut.

SIGHT – Mid-Summer, Year 1253 

 As summer reached its height, the sun beating down on the land and sending drought racing across the continent, Geralt and Jaskier reached Lindenvale, a small, impoverished village in Velen.   Surrounded by swamp lands and devastated by the epidemic that followed the ever-northward march of the Nilfgaardian army, Lindenvale had the air of a village for which survival had become the goal, and thriving an unattainable dream. 

 Geralt had received word from Vesemir about an unusual increase in the number of traveler deaths in Velen, especially for this time of year when drought restricted the territory of the native drowners.  It was rare for Vesemir to dictate a Witcher’s Path, and the rarity of the order made clear its urgency.  So, immediately upon receipt, Geralt and Jaskier had packed up Roach and changed course for Lindenvale.   

 As they walked up the road to the village, Roach led between them, Geralt scanned the swampland on either side of the road, eyes narrowing as he took in the unusual stillness.  No birds chirped in the trees.  No bugs danced across the stagnant water.  No village children scampered about looking for frogs.  It was as if the world had died, leaving only the swamp.  

 Geralt felt unease fill him and stopped to mount Roach, pulling Jaskier up behind him.  Without a word, he kicked Roach into a gallop, anxious to put as much distance between them and the dead swamp as possible.  He would come back to investigate, but he would not put Jaskier or Roach at risk doing so now. 

 Jaskier was surprised at the sudden change, but seeing the tension in Geralt’s face, kept quiet, holding on tightly around Geralt’s middle as they raced over the narrow, dirt road toward Lindenvale.  

 As the gate to the village came into view, Nilfgaardian guards flanking it, Geralt slowed to avoid causing undue alarm.  As they reached the gate, he stopped, dismounting and offering Jaskier a hand down before nodding to the guards and leading Roach through the gate.   

 “You’ll be wanting to see the Alderman, Witcher.”  One of the guards called after them.  “Bad times afoot.” 

 Geralt looked over his shoulder and nodded sharply before continuing on.  

 “Damn freak.”  The other guard muttered, just loud enough for Geralt to hear.  

 “Shaddup! We can’t afford to refuse his help!” The first said, elbowing his mate.  

 Their bickering faded even from Geralt’s hearing as they continued deeper into the village seeking the Alderman.  As in most villages, the people they passed whispered and pointed at Geralt, fear and revulsion in their eyes.  But, unlike in most villages, that fear and revulsion was tempered with a grudging relief.  That edge of relief told Geralt just how bad the monster problem must have become for the average villager to feel that way about a Witcher. 

 Jaskier frowned as he picked up on the usual whispers.  He’d been doing his best to improve Geralt’s reputation through songs and stories, and this village clearly needed a dose of his best.  With as dire as the problem was rumored to be, the villagers should have been delighted to see Geralt, not barely tolerant.  Jaskier glanced over at Geralt, checking in but knowing any public display of concern would be unwanted.  As usual, Geralt’s face was impassive, seemingly unconcerned about the reception he received.  But after their years of travelling together, Jaskier could see the small lines of tension, the way his eyes lost their brightness, and vowed to do whatever he could to show people here, and everywhere, that the Geralt he knew was very different from the horror stories told to children about feral Witchers.  Far from stealing children in the night, his Witcher was a noble protector who would shield them from harm with his very life. 

 Within moments, they reached the Alderman’s house, a relatively large two room thatched hut in the center of the modest village.  Geralt tied Roach to the hitching post outside, giving her a pat and making sure the water in the trough was clean before approaching the entrance.   

 Outside the Alderman’s door, a large notice was posted, “Witcher needed!  Dangerous specters about!” it said in roughly scrawled letters, charcoal on an old linen cloth.  Geralt hummed as he looked at the notice, trailing his fingers over the frayed edges of the cloth.   

 “They must be desperate to ask for a Witcher.”  He said quietly.   

 “Don’t most contracts?”  Jaskier asked, confused by Geralt’s surprise. 

 “Hm.”  Geralt dropped his hand away from the notice.  “Not so explicitly.  People always hold out hope that someone else, someone human, can save them.  It’s why they’re always so disappointed when I show up.”  He said flatly, pushing open the Alderman’s door before Jaskier could respond to the layers of wrongness in that statement.  His heart clenched for Geralt, but he shoved the issue aside.  Now was not the time. 

 The Alderman jumped to his feet when they entered, startled by their sudden appearance.  The village accounting book was spread out on the table before him.  He was an older man, stooped by age, as most Alderman were, but his watery eyes were free of the usual distrust, and he greeted Geralt warmly. 

 “Ah, Witcher!”  He said, smiling broadly, “I’m so glad to see you!  Judging by your hair, you must be the famous White Wolf of Rivia!”  He thrust out his hand and vigorously shook Geralt’s. 

 Geralt blinked at him, taken aback by the rare welcome, hand trapped in the Alderman’s enthusiastic grip.  Jaskier grinned from behind him, pleased to see someone finally greeting Geralt properly. 

 “And you must be his bard!”  The Alderman dropped Geralt’s hand, grabbing Jaskier’s instead in both his frail hands.  “How wonderful to finally meet you both!” 

 Geralt was frozen, unsure of how to respond to such a warm, joyful greeting.  Was it a trap?  Was it genuine?  The indecision paralyzed him.  Jaskier saw Geralt’s discomfort and immediately stepped in, placing his other hand over the Alderman’s gnarled ones and smiling down at him. 

 “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well! You are correct, this is Geralt of Rivia and I am Jaskier, his humble, travelling bard.” Jaskier released the Alderman’s hands and bowed with a flourish. 

 The Alderman beamed, displaying the deep smile lines around his aging eyes.   

 “How delightful!”  He clasped his hands in front of his chest.  “I’ve heard your songs, Bard, but I never dreamed to have the chance to meet either you or your famous subject!”  The Alderman sighed happily, simply staring at Geralt and Jaskier, grinning.   

 After a moment, the Alderman came back to himself, shaking his head as if to clear it.  “My wife will be so jealous she missed you!  Her sister is unwell, so she’s off caring for her, you know.” 

 Jaskier could barely contain himself from cooing over the adorable old man.  It was always nice to meet a true fan.   

 Geralt had no idea how to react.  He’d never been faced with such naked admiration, with someone so genuinely chuffed to see him.  He wasn’t sure if he should feel pleased or alarmed, so he fell back on the set pattern of picking up a contract from an Alderman. 

 “I hear you have a contract for me, Alderman.” He said, attempting to direct the Alderman back onto familiar footing. 

 The Alderman clapped his hands together decisively.  “Quite right, quite right.”  He shuffled over to the desk and pulled out a piece of thick parchment.  “Right here, Master Geralt.”  He said, handing it over. 

 Geralt eyes widened, shocked again by this diminutive man who treated him like a favorite friend.  He’d never been called “Master Geralt” in all his long life, that courtesy, that familiarity reserved only for humans, not mutants.  The closest he’d ever heard was “Master Witcher”, but that was always said with a note of disdain, making it clear the nominal respect afforded by that title would only be extended as long as Geralt made himself useful.  It was the rare person who even called him by name.   

 Geralt forced himself back to the present moment, relying on his training to carry him through the interaction with this perplexing man.  He took the contract and read it over carefully, Jaskier looking over his shoulder.  It was a dispatch from the Nilfgaardian Army, given to the Alderman to execute.  It described a vague threat in the swamps, lights in the fog, travelers led astray to their deaths in the muddy water, large parties of people and horses ripped apart.  It was breaking down supply lines and must be stopped, the contract said.  The pay was appropriately generous for such a vague and dangerous assignment.   

 Geralt hummed over the words, considering them carefully.  “Sounds like foglets,” he said after a moment.  “Nasty bastards.”  He folded the contract and placed it in his pocket.  “I’ll get to it now before nightfall.”  He nodded to the Alderman and turned to leave.  Jaskier reached out to shake the old man’s hand. 

 “Wait!”  The Alderman said.   

 Geralt turned back, raising an eyebrow.   

 “You’ll need a place to stay for the night.  There are no inns here, but I have a small hut on the ridge overlooking the village.  I used to use it as a hunting base, but I’m far too old for that now.”  He said as he rummaged through his desk drawer, finally pulling out a large, rusted key.  “Here we are, take this.” He handed over the key.  “If you go to the village gate and look eastward and up, you’ll see it on the ridgeline.  I’ll send one of the boys to stock it with food, water, and firewood for you now so it’s ready when you return.” 

 Geralt handed the key to Jaskier, who placed it safely in the inner pocket of his light blue doublet.  “Thank you, my dear sir!”  Jaskier said brightly.  “Shelter for the night is always much appreciated!” 

 The Alderman smiled at him.  “It’s the least I can do, my boy.  We’ve no inn and I’m full up with visitors already or I’d offer you lodging here with me. You see, the Nilfgaardians are supposed to be putting on some sort of fire and light show on the lake over yonder tonight, something to cheer us up, I suppose, and folk have come from all over to see it.” 

 “A fire and light show?”  Jaskier asked. 

 “Aye, Bard.”  The Alderman shrugged.  “Not sure what they mean by it, but I suppose we’ll all find out.”  He sighed, stress showing on his face for the first time.  “If they really wanted to cheer us, we’d rather they lower the tithes than give us a light show.  It’s been a hard enough year without them taking our grain stores for the Army.” He shook his head at the thought, before smiling up at Geralt.  “But at least they gave us the coin to hire you, brave Witcher!  Once those devils are gone from the swamp, we’ll be able to forage safely again and that will be a great boon.” 

 Geralt gave him a firm nod.  “I can’t change the taxes, but I will clear the foglets from your swamp, Alderman.”  

 The Alderman dropped into a deep bow.  “May the Gods bless and protect you, Master Geralt.” 

 Geralt felt utterly stunned.  He had no idea how to react to this open gratitude, this deep respect, so he kept his focus on the job.  “I’ll return when I’ve completed the contract.”  He said, bewilderment coloring his voice, before striding out the door.  Tasks and hunts he understood, this unusual old man he did not.   

 Jaskier watched him go before placing a hand on the Alderman’s bowed shoulder.  “Thank you, Alderman.”  He said, feeling a gratitude so deep it almost hurt.   

 The Alderman straightened up.  “Whatever for, dear boy?” 

 “For treating him kindly.”  Jaskier smiled sadly, looking out at Geralt unhitching Roach and checking the fastenings on her tack. “He’s always used to deal with people’s problems, but no one ever thanks him for it.” 

 The Alderman sighed deeply.  “Aye, Bard.  I know the Witcher’s plight.  One came to our village when I was but a child, not Master Geralt, a different one, older.  He took care of a pack of drowners that had killed several of us, but the elders ran him back out of town as soon as he collected his payment, didn’t even let him stop to rest.”  The Alderman was lost in the memory, face pinched in remembered regret.  “I think he was wounded, too.  But he didn’t object, just took the coin and left.  I couldn’t do anything about it then, but I promised myself that if I ever saw a Witcher again, I would thank him.  Even if he didn’t do anything for me, I would thank him for what he did for our world.” 

 Jaskier placed a hand on his heart and bowed slightly to the Alderman.  “You are a rare soul, Alderman.  I only wish there were more like you on the Path.”  They shared a look of understanding before Jaskier followed Geralt out the door. 

  _________________________________________________________

  Geralt and Jaskier found the Alderman’s hut right where he said it would be, high on the eastern ridgeline over the village with an unobstructed view of the lake below.  Geralt tied Roach to the hitching line outside, leaving her with ample room to graze and filling her trough with fresh water from the nearby stream before untacking her and bringing their packs inside. 

 The hut was small, but well kept.  The Alderman’s boy hadn’t arrived yet with the provisions, but Jaskier went through the usual motions of settling in, laying out their bedrolls by the cold hearth as Geralt buckled on his armor.   

 Finished, Jaskier moved to help Geralt with his armor, securing buckles and checking to make everything was perfectly in place.  “So, what’s the story with foglets?”  He asked, “I haven’t seen you fight those before.” 

 Geralt hummed as he turned to his alchemy bag, armor in place.  He selected a bottle of necrophage oil and sat with his silver sword, rubbing the oil carefully into the blade.  “Nasty things.”  He said finally.  “Hunt in packs.  They can create a cover of fog and use it to lure travelers off the path by flashing a light.”   

 Jaskier sat back on his bedroll, watching Geralt.  “My mother did always say to never follow a light in the fog.” 

 “She was right.”  Geralt said, finishing with the oil and sheathing his sword.  “They’re tricksters.  They can appear and disappear at will, and they like to make copies of themselves.  The copies can’t do much damage, but the distraction is dangerous enough.”   

 Geralt selected three bottles from his store of Witcher potions: Cat, for vision, Swallow, for health, and Thunderbolt, for attack.  “Fucking hate them.”  He muttered, tucking the three bottles carefully away.  The deep scar on his left side ached.  Foglet’s claws cut deep. 

 Jaskier saw the tension in Geralt’s face, knowing those three potions meant Geralt expected a tough fight.  “How can I help?”  He asked. 

 “Stay here.”  Geralt said simply, strapping the swords to his back.  Jaskier immediately moved to object, but Geralt stopped him with a sharp glance. “I can’t fight them fully if I’m worried about keeping track of you in the fog.” 

 Jaskier frowned, but relented.  “Fine, but I’m coming to look for you if you’re gone too long.”   

 Geralt shook his head firmly.  “No, it’s too dangerous.  I don’t know how many there are or how long this will take.  I have to know you’re safely away.”  Geralt sighed, softening his tone as he looked at Jaskier’s mulish expression.   “I appreciate the concern, but Foglets are dangerous, and I can’t afford to stop and question whether the movement in the fog is friend or foe.”  The thought of striking Jaskier, even unwittingly, made Geralt’s blood run cold. 

 Some of that imagined horror must have shown on his face, because Jaskier gave in, accepting the logic offered.  “All right, but I’ll have bandages and food waiting for you when you get back.  I don’t think there’s a bath here, but I’ll heat some water for washing.” 

 Geralt offered a small smile.  The thought of a warm return bolstering his courage.  It was a dangerous thing to rely upon, but Jaskier had proved a constant all these years, and Geralt was finally starting to believe he might stay, might continue to offer Geralt his exceptional care and companionship.  “Might need some White Honey too, for the toxicity.”  He said, “it’s the white bottle in my bag.” 

 Jaskier blinked up at him, startled that Geralt would offer him access to his potion stores.  He never had before, and the directive was a display of trust.  A smile bloomed across Jaskier’s face.  “I’ll have it ready for you.”  

 Geralt nodded, offering Jaskier one more small smile before heading off down toward the swamp, the mid-afternoon sun lighting his way. 

  __________________________________________________

  Geralt stood knee deep in muddy swamp water, sword raised in a defensive hold as he strained his eyes, scanning the deep fog for any signs of movement.  The bodies of six Foglets already littered the ground, but he had tracked at least three more in the dense, unnatural fog surrounding him.   Adrenaline thrummed through him, muscles poised to explode at the slightest sign of movement.  Blood dripped from a deep cut on his shoulder where a Foglet’s claw had made it past his defenses.  He’d been fighting for hours, chasing the Foglets around the vast swamp, pushing them hard to force them to retreat to their nest so he could find it and destroy it. 

 As dusk fell, visibility dropped and Geralt quickly tossed back the Cat potion with his free hand.  Adding that to the Swallow and Thunderbolt already in his system sent a painful wave of nausea through him as his blood toxicity reached dangerous levels.  His eyes flooded black, skin paling as the delicate veins under his eyes darkened, clearly visible through his near-transparent skin.  The pale skin came as a result of his body concentrating blood on his heart and liver, keeping him alive at the expense of his extremities and causing a head rush that would be fatal unless Geralt could keep himself under control.  Geralt’s head swam briefly, sword tip wavering, before his training kicked in, his body sublimating the pain and the vertigo to steady his sword arm and sharpen his concentration. 

 Cat allowed him to see through the dark as if it were high noon, pupils blown out to capture as much light as possible.  This heightened sensitivity made the Foglets’ bursts of light stand out like a beacon through the thick fog. 

 Geralt caught sight of a burst of light on his right side and spun, sword raised to parry the Foglet’s long, sharp claw, feet planted firmly beneath him.  He caught the Foglet’s claw on his silver blade, rocking back in his stance to absorb the force of the blow before lunging forward, throwing the Foglet to the ground and stabbing his silver sword through its heart. 

 Another burst of light appeared on his left, too close for him to raise his sword in time, but Geralt ducked under the swipe and rolled away, pulling his sword with him, jumping back to his feet just in time to spin out of the way of the Foglet’s follow up charge, dealing a fatal blow to the Foglet’s back as it flashed past him. 

 Swamp water streaming into his eyes, head spinning from the toxins and the acrobatic moves, he took a harsh breath in and out, forcing his muscles to still and he waited, straining all his senses for the third, and hopefully final, Foglet.  They had stopped running, so the nest must be close.   

 He heard a chatter behind him, whirling around just as a Foglet’s false double bashed into him, throwing him off balance.  Knowing the real Foglet would be nearby, he cast the sign of Quen as he stumbled back.  Before he could regain his footing, the real Foglet struck, claws slashing across Geralt’s exposed back.  The Quen shield protected Geralt from most of the damage, exploding outward and throwing the Foglet back.  Geralt gasped for breath, the wind knocked out of him.  He heard a splash to his left and quickly cast the sign of Aard, hoping his aim would be true.   

 The Foglet screeched as it was knocked back into a tree, propelled by the powerful blast.  Geralt forced himself to lunge forward, breathless still, and thrust his sword into the Foglet’s heart, pinning it to the tree.  The double disappeared.  

 Geralt panted, leaning on his sword, swamp water and blood dripping into his blown-out eyes.  His muscles ached.  His head swam.  His blood burned in his veins.  With sheer will, Geralt straightened, pulling his sword back out of the Foglet and the tree with a push from his foot on the trunk.  The thought that he’d have to sharpen his sword later flitted through his mind.   

 Geralt strained his ears and eyes into the fog, searching for any sign of additional Foglets.  After several long moments of silence and stillness, Geralt relaxed his stance, sheathing his sword.  He pulled out his dagger and set to work harvesting the Foglet corpses.  With the valuable parts safely retrieved, Geralt pulled his steel sword (no need to risk further damage to the valuable silver blade) and swiftly decapitated the corpses, stuffing the heads into the thin sack he’d brought with him.  Harvest completed, he picked up the sack and moved to the next task.  

 With the death of the last Foglet, the unnatural fog had slowly dissipated.  With his eyes enhanced by Cat, Geralt could easily see through the darkness to the Foglet’s nest.  Hefting a small bomb, he strode toward the nest, lobbing the bomb into its center from a safe distance.  After the bomb discharged, sending wooden shrapnel and dank swamp water through the air, coating Geralt yet again, he carefully inspected the site to ensure no piece remained that might host another Foglet.   

 Satisfied, he hefted the bag of heads and began the slow trek back to the Alderman.  Fortunately, despite all the running about in the swamp, the nest wasn’t far from the village.  Geralt knew the walk wouldn’t take long, barely half an hour, but he felt as if he were wading through thick molasses, exhaustion weighing him down even as the potions burning through him caused his limbs to shake with the need to move.  Geralt’s eyes ached and his head felt disconnected from his body, blood still concentrated in his overworked liver and heart as his body attempted to process the toxic potions. His left shoulder burned from the deep cut, blood coating his armor.  He desired nothing more than to collapse on the ground and sleep. 

 But he was used to ignoring his body’s demands and continued to place one foot in front of the other, hoping the deathly pallor and black veins would ease before he returned to the village.  The Alderman had been uncommonly amenable to his presence, but showing up looking as monstrous as he did now would surely put an end to that.   

 Geralt thought of Jaskier waiting for him as he trudged along, warm dinner and clean bandages at the ready.  It was enough to invigorate him and he stood a bit straighter, stride lengthening as he caught sight of the village gate.   

 Seeking to avoid causing alarm, Geralt waded through the swamp and entered the village by hopping over the Alderman’s back garden gate.  Dropping the heads well away from the house, he rubbed at his face to remove the worst of the blood, and knocked on the back door.   

 As the door opened, Geralt braced himself for the usual shock and vitriol his post-battle appearance caused, knowing he looked no better than the Foglets with his black eyes and white skin, soaked in blood, viscera, and swamp water, but the Alderman again surprised him.   

 The Alderman smiled broadly, no hint of hesitation in his face.  “Welcome back, Master Geralt!”  He said warmly.  “Are you well?” 

 Geralt averted his eyes from the bright lights behind the Alderman, pupils still too blown out from the Cat to tolerate anything but darkness. He said gruffly, to the wall.  “The hunt is complete.  It was a Foglet nest.  I eliminated it.”  He gestured to the sack.  “The heads are there as proof.” 

 The Alderman must have realized Geralt’s discomfort, because he stepped forward, closing the door behind him and leaving them in darkness.  Geralt quickly yielded, stepping back to give him room.  He didn’t understand the odd, tight expression on the Alderman’s face when he did that.  It almost seemed sad, but that couldn’t be right.  His head ached too much to give it any more thought. 

 “You’re a treasure, Master Geralt.  Thank you for saving our vilage.”  The Alderman said, bowing deeply to Geralt again. 

 Geralt had no idea how to react, so he didn’t. 

 The Alderman straightened and smiled, holding out a bag heavy with coin.  “Your coin, Master Geralt, plus a little extra from the village fund to express our gratitude.” 

 Geralt took the bag, tucking it away.  Still looking down, he thanked the Alderman, unsure how to react to his generosity or his kindness.  It made him vaguely uncomfortable, but he didn’t know why.  

 Geralt nodded to the Alderman before turning back toward the back fence.   

 “Be safe, Master Geralt, and go with our thanks.”  The Alderman called after him.   

 Geralt looked briefly back over his shoulder, blackened eyes pits in the darkness, before raising a hand in acknowledgment and hopping over the fence. 

  ____________________________________________

  It was full dark by the time Geralt returned to the small hut.  Exhaustion made his legs shake beneath him as he climbed up to the door.  His head pounded, any speck of light sending a sharp pain shooting through his eyes.  The toxins in his blood caused fever to burn through him.  It took an extraordinary exercise of will to keep his spent body moving. 

 Jaskier must have been watching out for him, because the door opened before he could touch the handle, and Jaskier was immediately there to support him, slinging Geralt’s uninjured right arm over his shoulders.  Geralt squeezed his eyes shut against the firelight in the room, dim as it was, and trusted Jaskier to lead him. 

 Jaskier led him to the corner by the roaring hearth where a basin of steaming water was waiting, delicately scented with chamomile oil.  Jaskier pressed gently on Geralt’s hale right shoulder, urging him to sit on the small stool he’d set out.   

 As soon as Geralt was settled, Jaskier pressed the vial of White Honey into his hand, knowing that the black veins he could see under Geralt’s closed eyes meant his toxicity level needed to be brought down as soon as possible.  Geralt took the vial and swallowed down without even looking at it.  Despite his concern for Geralt’s state, the trust inherent in that gesture warmed Jaskier through. 

 Geralt grit his teeth as the potion hit his stomach, curling in on himself with a breathy whine as the White Honey seared through his veins, neutralizing the Cat, Swallow, and Thunderbolt with brutal efficiency.  Just as rapidly as it came on, the searing pain stopped, and Geralt gasped at the abrupt change.  His awareness narrowed to a point and an intense feeling of vertigo overcame him as he clung desperately to consciousness. 

 His heart raced in his chest, breaths coming in labored pants, as he slowly came back to awareness of his surroundings, breathing in the comforting scent of rosin and honey emanating from Jaskier’s shoulder where it supported his aching head.  Jaskier’s strong hands rubbed gently down Geralt’s back as he shook through the comedown off the toxic high. 

 Even a year ago he would have pulled away at this point, ashamed to need the support, but Jaskier had worn down his resistance with his steadfast companionship.  Geralt let out a sigh and relaxed into Jaskier’s hold.  Jaskier would decide to leave him one day, everyone did, if they ever stayed at all, but Geralt would allow himself this indulgence of care until that day came. 

 They sat together for several long moments, Geralt’s breathing and heart rate returning to normal as Jaskier supported him.  When Jaskier felt Geralt relax completely, he sat back, keeping one hand on Geralt’s knee, and reached for the warm basin.  He dipped a soft cloth in the warm, scented water and carefully rubbed the blood, viscera, and swamp water from Geralt’s face and neck.  The water was black by the time he finished. 

 “Geralt?”  Jaskier prodded, “are you all right if I go refill the basin?” 

 Geralt nodded, reaching up to unbuckle his armor.   

 “All right, but call me the moment you need something.  And keep those eyes closed!  I can’t smother the fire until I’ve finished with the water, so we’ll have to work around it until we can make it dark enough for you in here.”  Jaskier instructed firmly before heading out to dump and refill the basin. 

 Geralt’s hands were frozen on his armor.  He hadn’t realized Jaskier had taken notice of how long it took for his eyes to return to normal after he used Cat.  Usually, after White Honey got rid of the worst of it, he’d just push through the pain until his pupils started to adjust properly to the light again.   

 He shook himself and went back to his task.  Jaskier’s thoughtfulness would never cease surprising him both in its breadth and in its application to one such as him.   

 Having completely removed his armor, laying it out by feel away from the fire, Geralt chanced opening his eyes briefly to examine the damage done to it by the water and the fight.  Squinting against the light, he mentally catalogued the repairs and maintenance he’d need to complete before the armor was ready to use again.  As he looked, the pounding in his head increased steadily until the intensity made him sway where he sat as nausea flooded him again. 

 Jaskier walked in just as Geralt slammed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his hands to them in an attempt to ease the agony.   

 “Geralt!”  He said, concern sharpening his tone.  He quickly placed the refilled basin over the fire and grabbed a clean cloth.  Gently pulling Geralt’s hands away from his face, he tied the cloth firmly around Geralt’s eyes, blocking all light.  Jaskier smoothed the cloth with his hands and pressed a gentle kiss over the fabric.   

 “Let me be your eyes for now, dear one.”  He said, tone as gentle as it was commanding.  Geralt startled at the kiss, covered eyes following Jaskier by sound.  No one had ever done that before.  Whores would never kiss him, they would barely consent to lay with him even for the premium he paid, and the few experiences he’d had where coin had not been required had been quick and impersonal.  It seemed there was no end to Jaskier’s undeserved benedictions. 

 “I can hear you thinking, Geralt.”  Jaskier said wryly.  “Tell me what about while I look at the mess you made of your shoulder.” 

 Geralt wordlessly pulled his bloodied and torn tunic over his head, dropping to the side of the stool to wash and mend later.  He sat quietly while Jaskier wiped the blood and gore off his chest, paying careful attention to the wound on his left shoulder, working away while he waited patiently for Geralt to gather his thoughts.  

 Once Geralt’s chest was clean and the shoulder wound carefully flushed out, Jaskier rummaged through the pack containing their medical supplies, pulled out a soothing poultice and wrapped it around Geralt’s shoulder.  The wound, while painful, was not terribly deep and thankfully did not require stiches.  With a Witcher’s metabolism and healing power, it would be mere scar by the end of the next day.  Satisfied that the wound would heal well without further intervention, Jaskier began wiping down Geralt’s hair, pulling out the worst of the detritus and blood.   

 “You’ll need a real bath, or at least a stream, to get this totally clean, but I’ll do my best.”  Jaskier said as he worked.   

 While Jaskier worked on his hair, Geralt pulled off his sodden boots and pants, leaving himself only in his small clothes, and held out a hand for a cloth.  One was immediately provided, and he started wiping down his legs and feet.  It felt hopelessly indulgent to have Jaskier help him like this, but Geralt was starting to believe, just a little, that Jaskier did not see helping him as a burden. 

 When he felt he’d gotten off the bulk of the swamp water and blood, he dropped the soiled cloth on top of his tunic and pants for washing.  He took a fortifying breath, choosing his words carefully.  “You always care for me so gently,” he said, sounding almost lost.  “Why?” 

 Jaskier’s hands stilled in Geralt’s hair before pulling away.  For a brief, terrible moment, Geralt felt as if he’d said exactly the wrong thing, exactly the thing that would finally wake him from this dream and send Jaskier running away.  His breath stilled in his chest as cold pain gripped him.   

 He must have made some unwitting noise of distress, because Jaskier was there immediately to soothe him, embracing him from behind and nuzzling into the nape of his neck, mindless of the filth that still clung to him. 

 “My dearest friend, after all these years, you must know that you are the most important person in my life and that my greatest pleasure is to see you cared for and happy.” Jaskier tightened his embrace, pulling himself flush with Geralt’s broad back.  “I want nothing more than to show you how much I care for you, and I hope one day you’ll believe it.” 

 Geralt raised his arms and covered Jaskier’s as much as he could, given the angle of the embrace, squeezing his hands on Jaskier’s bare forearms.  He opened his mouth to speak, lost his words, and fell silent.  He felt Jaskier’s warmth against his back, his hot breath against his neck, and felt safe in a way he’d never felt before.  His voice unlocking, he said, “I’m starting to.”   

 He felt Jaskier’s smile and his embrace tightened once more.  Jaskier placed a fleeting kiss to the side of Geralt’s neck before stepping back and returning to his task, careful not to jostle the cloth protecting Geralt’s eyes as he worked the battle’s detritus out of Geralt’s hair. 

 The silence between them was soft and comfortable, and Geralt felt himself drifting.  After a long moment, the silence was broken suddenly by a loud boom from the direction of the lake.  Geralt startled badly, thrown out of his peaceful doze, and jumped to his feet, eyes darting behind the blindfold as he sought the source of the unnatural noise.   

 Jaskier ran to the door and thrust it open, peering into the night.  Another boom and Geralt spun toward the source of the noise, a snarl rising in his throat.  He was startled out of his battle stance when Jaskier laughed with unrestrained delight.  

 “A fire and light show!” He said, smile evident in his voice.  “They meant fireworks!” 

 Geralt relaxed immediately.  He’d never seen fireworks before, just heard of the new invention in passing, but if Jaskier was unconcerned, then he was unconcerned.  He felt around the packs for his own, pulling out a fresh tunic and pants and putting them on before joining Jaskier at the door.   

 He peered out into the night, seeing nothing through the blindfold, but he listened to the booms and Jaskier’s exclamations of joy and wonder.  Geralt wanted to resume their closeness from before, but wasn’t certain he would be allowed.  He swallowed hard and gathered his courage.  Not even daring to breathe, he gently placed his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders from behind, moving to embrace him completely when Jaskier let out a happy sigh at the contact.  When Jaskier leaned back into him, Geralt let out a sigh of relief, relaxing into the contact and resting his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder.   

 Jaskier huffed a laugh at his big sigh and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s temple.  “I enjoy your touch, dear one, no need to be nervous.” 

 “But you’ve never done that before.”  Geralt said, meaning the embrace, a note of awed confusion in his voice, like he’d been given a great treat he couldn’t possibly deserve.   

 Jaskier knew that a heavy discussion would be too much for Geralt, who struggled to express himself at the best of times.  Asking him to have an emotional talk while exhausted and hurting would be unfair.  Besides, his actions spoke louder than he ever could. 

 Jaskier kept his tone purposefully light and affectionate.  “Then we’ll simply have to make up for lost time.” 

 Geralt hummed and fell silent.  He didn’t understand why Jaskier would want to touch him, let alone want any sort of physical affection from him.  Geralt had no prior experience with gentle, affectionate touch to guide him, but if he mirrored Jaskier’s gestures and stayed within those boundaries, he thought it might be all right to try and reciprocate what Jaskier offered.  He’d matched Jaskier’s embrace from moments before and that had been well received.  Maybe he didn’t need to understand it.  Maybe he could just follow Jaskier’s lead and enjoy whatever Jaskier was willing to give.  He still felt a pull in his gut telling him it was selfish, it was improper, that there was no way Jaskier truly wanted to care for him, much less touch him, but years of Jaskier’s steady affection had muffled that pull.   

 As he stood quietly, listening to the booms of the fireworks and Jaskier’s delighted reactions, he decided to chance one more request.  “Will you describe them for me?”  He asked quietly.   

 Jaskier beamed, leaning his head into Geralt’s and letting him feel the smile that lit up his face at the simple request.  “It would be my pleasure.”   

 And so, they stood there in the doorway of the simple hut, Jaskier held in Geralt’s warm embrace, Geralt’s chin tucked over Jaskier’s shoulder, listening as Jaskier described the colors that burst and danced across the sky. 

 Warmth filled Geralt’s chest and this time he was certain it was joy. 

  REQUESTED TAGS FOR UPDATES: @thesunshinemanman @animaniac1017

[ladylillianrose]

Extraordinarily Star-Crossed a Max Richman/Zoey Clarke Fanfiction

A/N: A big thank you to all of you who are reading, commenting, and enjoying this story! You guys are what drive us to continue to write! @clarkemanotp​ and I do appreciate you all!

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 3

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 2

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 1

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 6

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 5

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 4

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 3

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 2

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 1

4 months later

Elena smiled as she walked past the marketplace with Magdalena at her side. She paused as she heard the soft sounds of a lyre being played, the melody unknown to her but captivating nonetheless. She stood there listening as she memorized the tune, before turning to Magdalena. "What an interesting song,  I've not heard it's like before."

Magdalena looked puzzled, "Song, m' lady?"

"Yes, the one just being played on a lyre from somewhere nearby. The tune was," she hummed the notes, "like that."

"M'lady there was no music playing, and that is the first time I've heard that tune," Magdalena explained, looking concerned.

Elena was confused,  "You mean you didn't hear a lyre playing?"

Magdalena shook her head. Elena felt light-headed, reaching out for her nurse's hand she clutched it as the world spun slightly before her eyes. 

"Perhaps you've been out in the sun too long. Let us make our way to Master Lucian's so you may rest," Magdalena urged.

As the world stopped spinning, Elena agreed, unsure of what had happened. What was it she had heard, and why had she suddenly felt ill?

She allowed her nurse to guide her the rest of the way, her mind occupied with thoughts of a song only she could hear.

Lucian heard them arrive and raced down the stairs to greet his love. Magdalena had seated Elena down and poured her a glass of wine.

Lucian dropped a kiss in greeting on her head, "Are you alright my love?"

Elena smiled at him, "I'm fine. Just a little tired." She shook her head discreetly at Magdalena, asking her not to mention the song.

Magdalena nodded and moved away to give the couple space.

"If you are tired, you shouldn't have exhausted yourself by coming. You could have come another day," Lucian said worriedly taking her hands in his.

She smiled fondly at him, "And miss my time with you? Never."

Lucian kissed her hands, "I ache when we are apart my dearest, but if you are unwell…."

Elena placed a finger on his lips to silence him.

"If it will cease your worries, I will go upstairs and lie down for a spell."

Lucian nodded, rising from the table and offering her his hand.

Elena stood, grasping his hand as he led her upstairs to his bedroom. Though he had come to think of it as theirs since he first brought her to it.

She lay down smiling at him, "I love you," she said as he placed a soft kiss on her lips.

"And I, you," he replied, leaving her to rest as he returned to his studio. 

"So what really happened?" Nunzio asked Magdalena, once both their charges were occupied.

"I'm uncertain. She said she heard a melody being played on a lyre, but there was no one nearby," Magdalena frowned.

"Do you think that perhaps she is starting…"

"It is a possibility that has crossed my mind," she replied.

"Would such a thing make her dizzy though?" Nunzio mused out loud.

"I believe the dizziness to be another situation entirely," Magdalena explained.

"You mean?"

She nodded, "I believe so."

Nunzio placed his head on the table and groaned, "Lord, what fools these mortals be."

Magdalena frowned at him, "Fools they maybe, but it is your job to help them. Do you not recall?"

Nunzio nodded his head wearily, "I remember, I will do what I can." He waved his hand in the direction of the bedroom and muttered a few words.

"She should dream now of him, not as he is, but how he was."

Magdalena nodded her approval and sighed, pouring them both some wine while they waited.

"Do you intend to tell her?" Nunzio asked.

She shook her head, "She is a smart young woman, it won't be long until she discovers it herself."

Elena smiled in her sleep as she saw the man she loved in her dreams. She would know that smile anywhere, though strangely enough he was garbed in unusual attire, something resembling broadcloth belted at the waist. Glancing down at herself she saw that her attire was similar to his, pinned at the shoulders, soft and flowing, allowing for much more movement than what she normally wore.

"Zoie, my love," Maximos smiled at her, placing a kiss on her forehead. "Just think, in a few short months we shall be wed."

"I wish it were tomorrow," she found herself saying. "I long to be your wife, Maximos," she leaned up to kiss him, savoring the feel of his soft lips.

Elena frowned at the words coming from her mouth, why was he calling her Zoie? And why was she calling him Maximos? What a strange dream this was.

Maximos groaned, "Believe me, my love, I long for that too. But your mother is planning quite the ceremony. "

She sighed, "I know. Must you remind me of how long we have to wait?"

He tilted her chin up to face him, "I would wait until the end of time for you, my dearest. You hold my heart, and no amount of time or distance will change that."

Elena awoke from her nap, finding her cheeks wet from tears. She had no idea what that dream meant, it seemed familiar in a way that she could not quite put her finger on.

Rising from their bed, she headed to the studio where she found Lucian sketching new ideas on vellum.

She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, grinning as he stopped his work to return her embrace.

"Did you sleep well, my love?" Lucian asked as he shifted for Elena to sit on his lap.

Elena nodded, "I had a strange dream where we were in some old clothing discussing our future. You called me by a different name, as I did you."

Lucian smiled, "Perhaps it is a sign that this is not the first time we have met."

Elena placed her finger on his lips, "Must you be so blasphemous, dearest?"

He grinned kissing the finger placed on his lips. "Would you have me any other way?"

An impish look crossed Elena's face, "Oh, I would have you many ways."

Lucian's groaned as he placed his head against her chest. "You mustn't tease me so when you are unwell."

"I feel much more  invigorated after my nap," she ran her fingers through his hair, causing him to shiver.

"Though perhaps a return to bed is just what I need," she stood walking towards the door. She turned and held out her hand to him, "Offer a lady an escort?"

Lucian was out of his chair in an instant, grabbing her hand and racing back to the bedroom as Elena let out a shriek and then a giggle at his eagerness.

The ladies returned home that evening, surprised to find Pietro waiting for them.

"Where have you been?" He demanded when they came through the door.

"I was at my portrait sitting, and we stopped to browse the market," Elena responded calmly.

"That painter still hasn't completed it? I would have thought he'd be done by now," Pietro scoffed. 

"M'lord, if it pleases you," Magdalena interrupted. "I've been told by the nurses of other homes, that these things take time, sometimes up to a year."

"Hmph," he replied. "Well, it better be worth it then."

"I wasn't expecting you home, otherwise I'd have arranged a dinner for us," Elena apologized.

He waved his hand dismissively, "No need. I am only home to inform you that I will be going on an extended trip."

Elena looked surprised,  "A trip?"

"Yes, there are some new ships coming into Venice that I am to inspect. If their goods are satisfactory I shall return with them on their voyage back. I hope to negotiate a handsome offer with them.to bring their supplies here instead of Venice," he explained.

Elena nodded, "How long do you expect to be gone?"

"If all goes well I should be back in ten months’ time," Pietro smiled at her. "So in the meantime, it is your responsibility to attend our social engagements in my stead."

"As you wish," she replied, looking down at her feet. She loathed the engagements he would have them attend, too many people, flashing their wealth with no real desire to know one another apart from what they could do to advance them socially.

"I am off to rest. It's been a long day and I find myself fatigued," Elena excused herself, walking to her bedroom.

She breathed a sigh of relief once she shut the door behind her. Ten months without Pietro was the most wonderful news she had ever heard.

There was a knock on the door, and Magdalena entered with a small pile of rags.

Elena smiled at her, "Ten months free of him! Can you believe it?" She danced happily around the room.

"The timing is very fortunate," Magdalena replied.

"Timing? What do you mean by that?" Elena asked puzzled.

Magdalena gestured to the rags in her hands, "M'lady when did you last bleed?"

Elena wrinkled her forehead in confusion, "I don't recall… why do you ask?"

"My dear, the timing of your husband's trip is fortuitous because you are with child," her nurse explained kindly. 

"With child? But that's not….." Elena blushed as she realized whose child she carried. 

"By the time this babe comes along, we will have a plan in place. At least with your husband gone, he will not suspect anything when you begin to show more," Magdalena nodded at her waistline.

"I'm showing?" Elena grasped her middle, feeling the slight swell of her stomach. 

"Only to one who knows what to look for," Magdalena replied. "Thankfully your clothes have hidden it so far."

"Lucian," Elena whispered. "I must tell him, oh Magdalena what shall we do?" She buried her head against her nurse's shoulder in tears.

Magdalena ran her hand down her back soothingly. "Hush child. I know you love him, and he loves you. We will figure something out."

Elena nodded, a small smile on her face as she pulled away. "We do love one another, and we will love this child." She rested her hand on her stomach, "Do you hear that little one? Your mother and father love you and each other very much."

She began humming the tune she had heard at the market as she stroked her belly tenderly. 

"Don't worry, we will find a way for the three of us to be together. I promise."

[amataclysm]

.

Being so roughly tossed into a small, cold, hard, barren, but easy to clean bathroom whenever I was sick or bleeding {"germy"}, even having the tiniest scraps of potential soft comfort - like towels and rugs - taken away from me to "protect them" from "contamination" because I could not "control my body" well enough for anything to be "safe" around me...

...has culminated in me developing a very deep-rooted, paranoid fear of being near nice things that happen to be made of porous materials {like soft fabrics}. I am irrationally afraid that my body is going to somehow fail suddenly, and without warning, and ruin those nice things with bodily fluids and/or bacteria. Ruin them so badly that they will never be able to be truly gotten thoroughly clean again.

I buy stuffed animals, and soft blankets and pillows, craving the comforting tactile sensation of hugging those things or wrapping myself in them. And then I am too anxious to do that. So they merely sit neatly on a shelf for me to wistfully admire, from a distance well enough away that potential unexpected "contamination" would be unlikely to reach them.

The rare times I get brave enough to touch these objects, to actually use them even if only briefly, is when I am 100% certain that there is no possible way I could be sick without realizing it, and there's similarly no way I could be bleeding anywhere. And even then, I'm often holding my breath or covering my mouth and nose or both, and the anxiety builds so quickly that I have to put the object back after a few unsatisfying moments anyway.

And what's worse is that, when someone feels extraordinarily good, perfectly fine all around...that is not when that person needs a source of comfort. But I've been so utterly convinced that it is selfish and reckless of me to seek comfort when I am unwell - the only considerate thing to do is lock myself up in that damn waterproof and easily-sterilized tiny bathroom.

Now, I am a very neurotically clean person. I live in a filthy house, this horrible person who raised me is a hoarder. An animal hoarder, even. She has so many cats crammed into this tiny building. So I can never actually get my surroundings clean - there are too many of "her things" {often mouldy festering garbage} that I am not allowed to touch for any reason. So I wash my hands until they crack and bleed. I meticulously clean my own room unreasonably frequently. I am constantly afraid that these wretchedly nasty surroundings are going to make me sick, and cause me to "lose control of my body" and ruin everything around me. {Which is almost a valid fear - this place does indeed make me terribly sick very often. The dust sets off my allergies, if nothing else. And I've been tricked into eating spoiled food that my mother did not want to throw out repeatedly, poisoning me.}

And yet...I would never impose this irrationally high standard I hold myself to upon anyone else. If a loved one of mine were ill, the very first thing I would do would be - well, it depends on which is quicker, I would want to bring them some kind of medicine as soon as possible, but I would also want to immediately make them as comfortable as possible. I would want to bring them pillows, those can easily be replaced if soiled anyway. I would want to bring them a soft blanket, blankets can be washed - I even have black ones, that can't be stained! Even stuffed animals can be washed, even if I end up having to replace all of their stuffing to get them really good and clean. I know how to sew. I've even made plushies before. I can certainly mend and restore them. All of these things...can be cleaned! And I'd be happy to do it!

Yet, for myself personally...I just cannot shake the deep fear instilled in me by all those times my horrible mother read The Velveteen Rabbit to me as a small child, which she pointedly did in order to justify why I was not allowed near any fabric when ill. All the threats of all of my beloved plush toys having to be burned if I came near them while sick. Those terrifying old memories are just too strong. It doesn't matter that I know now that this behaviour was both deeply cruel and irrational.

[toptrendinglifestyle]

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[impracticaldemon]

(Text Meme) 💌no.10 from kazama to chizuru

A loving text letter from Kazama to Chizuru ♥

Note: Contribution to the Inaugural KazaChi Ship Week hosted by @hakuoukishippingweek !

My dear Chizuru-sama,

The cool autumn wind blows the leaves along the streets and reminds me that I am back in Edo after several months in the far south. I may one day learn to call this city Tokyo, but more likely I will not bother.  I have no need to appease the sensibilities of the human Emperor, after all.  (Ah, I can see you smile with fond disapproval at that comment - quite a feat! You continue to believe that my views on the empty vanity of humans are themselves vanity, I’m afraid.)

I will not ask after your health, as I saw you yesterday and an Oni of your lineage is unlikely to be unwell.  Nevertheless… I was sorry to see you looking rather tired and thin.  I do not dare comment that this is the result of trying to live a lonely, human life, for fear that the lovely but overly-belligerent Sen-hime will descend upon me with her fan, despite being miles away in Kyoto.

[Ed.’s Note:  It is remarkable how often people say that they won’t comment while in the midst of commenting. Also, such comments are rarely favourable.]

I will visit you again later today, so that we can continue to discuss what our next steps together should be.  You will note the use of the word we, which is intended to assure you that I have not forgotten that although you appear to be demure and rather shy, you prefer to be consulted about certain matters (i.e., most things!), rather than leave decisions to your husband-to-be.  I suppose that you believe this to be a reasonable preference, and I am more disposed to agree than I was in the past.

I am not always good at expressing myself, Chizuru.  Moreover, I am not a sentimental man, and that makes me appear cold to you. The Shinsengumi of whom you were so fond were undeniably sentimental men, which I believe appealed to you. Nevertheless, after all of the months that we spent together searching for those overly-sentimental fools men,** I cannot help but know that you embrace sentiment with fervour and are an immensely empathic creature. Therefore, I will allow myself the indulgence of sentimentality for a moment to say that I have come to admire you greatly.  You show the true courage and steadfastness of your family.  I believe that your Clan would be proud of you.

[Ed.’s Note:  Kazama-san followed in the steps of the Shinsengumi for an extraordinarily long time for a non-sentimental man.  Even supposing the journey to have been in part on Chizuru’s behalf, which was not the case at the beginning, the Editor must admit to skepticism regarding Kazama-san’s claim to only marginal interest in the Shinsengumi.  There are different types of sentiment, after all.  Even Kazama-san’s determination to marry Chizuru strongly suggests a significant depth of sentiment, at least for traditional Oni beliefs.]

Six months ago, I kissed you to remind you that we had developed a bond, something quite apart from any requirement to marry for the sake of our people (as real as I still believe that to be). Strangers may wed, and often do, but I hoped to convey a particular understanding of and affection for Yukimura Chizuru.  

Yesterday, I kissed you because there was such joy and relief in your eyes when you turned and saw me.  You are utterly transparent, Chizuru!  Perhaps I should not have taken advantage of such a moment, but I cannot truly regret or even condemn my actions, especially as it was extremely pleasant to eat dinner and spend the evening in your company afterward.

What I am trying to write is that I hope that our true first kiss is not long delayed.  That is, I look forward to the first kiss that is neither an assurance nor (as some would see it) stolen from you.  A shared kiss.  I can hear you now, Chizuru, saying that this is sentiment!  Perhaps it is. I would call it the logical next step, although… honesty impels me to confess that I wish for it with more emotion than logic can reasonably explain.

I will see see you in the early afternoon at your father’s home.  Tea is more than acceptable to drink, since it is clear to me after yesterday evening that you keep little decent sake on hand and have neither the head nor the palate to enjoy it. [Ed.’s Note:  The brusqueness of this final comment suggests that Kazama-san felt impelled to restore a less “sentimental” tone to the letter.]

Most sincerely,

Kazama Chikage

** The Editor notes that only modern restoration techniques were able to uncover the original word.

References:

♥ ~ A Mutual Kiss ~ Needed Here ~ ♥

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[thedruidsforest]

How to be a witch in the urban? I mean, how does one concentrate on it or practice it if there is not enough nature environment to connect with?

It can be difficult, but definitely done!

Not all witches do work with nature, though. But if you are one of them, it can be harder. I definitely suggest getting some houseplants to bring nature a little closer, even if its just a handful of succulents.

You can still practice witchcraft though! It doesn’t all have to take place in a nature preserve or among trees.

(Sorry for my incohesive answer; I’m extraordinarily unwell today and am trying my best I promise lol!)