Family doing baby Ciri's hair
I think everyone agrees Geralt is the "messy pigtails" kind of dad and there's really nothing else to discuss.
Meanwhile Yen allows Ciri to choose a hairstyle every morning (and she can do incredibly complicated ones if her daughter wants her to) and Ciri decides to match with her mommy every. single. morning. So Yen ends up always doing the same hairstyle twice: one for herself and one for Ciri. She never shows how she feels about it, but Geralt can see her teary smiles when she turns away from Ciri.
And Jaskier is the uncle who lets her go crazy with her hair and she comes home to her parents with a ton of sparkly hair clips and a couple of strands dyed in bright colors. He's not allowed to be alone with her for the next month after that as Yen is still planning his murder.
Uncle Eskel totally loves to braid her hair. Vesemir tells Ciri to do her hair herself because she is a big girl after all and Ciri agrees.
After a day spent with uncle Lambert literally no one can tell he brought the wrong child before all the mud is cleaned and there's a random kid instead of Ciri.
And no, sorceresses are NOT allowed to see Ciri. Even Triss. The girl betrayed her "little sis" more than once why would anyone trust her again. The lodge of sorceresses is like a bunch of evil godmothers who no one chose to be godmothers but they decided it themselves and now they are here.
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5 years ago, I was in Rehab.
10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.
But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.
One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.
Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.
For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.
But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.
Happy.
It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.
Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.
It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.
A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.
5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.
It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.
Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.
I’m a Rescue.
She gave me a Home.
And, so, I gave her a Family.
It seemed fair
This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.
don’t give up yet, ok?
It could get good, even.
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