#and we will ask Geralt to describe him things or ask him to read stuff aloud

[spielzeugkaiser]

How you feel about blind Jaskier au??? 👀

I hadn't thought about it honestly, but...

I think I like it! I pictured Poppy as some kind of samoyed, looks-like-some-kind-of-wolf mix and Jaskier had her since he was 14. Overall it's pretty much the same; I think Geralt speaks and hums and grunts a bit more. (Also Poppy absolutely adores him.)

[maximumninjavoid]

Mining for Unobtanium rewrites part deux

and a ZILLION thanks to @indigosaurus because she's amazing and puts up with me and actually reads my stuff and helps me make it better

Spirit is a smaller airfield a bit west of the city that caters to smaller private planes, flying lessons, corporate jets, that sort of thing. Ok. I officially have no idea what he is up to, but, as sure as one third of Geralt’s lines are “Fuck”; he’s up to something.

Upon arrival at Spirit, I am driven to a passenger lounge. It’s not busy at all, since flying charter out of St Louis must not happen a great deal or perhaps not at this time of day….Everyone is exceedingly pleasant and I imagine for the money he’s spending, they ought to be. I’ve never flown that way. Someone grabs my bags and we walk out the door on the runway side and into a hangar. I remind myself to fix my face, and try not to gawp. It’s a jet. A personal pan pizza of an aircraft. The stairs are down and there’s a person at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the plane. Waiting on me, apparently. Good thing I dress to travel.

Look, when I started traveling, as a child, one dressed to travel. It was a big deal getting on a plane and I simply cannot travel in jeans. The gentleman at the foot of the stairs takes my coat, and offers me a hand. I take it and walk up the stairs into a what’s it called? A business jet. There’s club chairs, a sofa, tables, a kitchen ( galley, right) and me. I put my carry on in the seat next to me and fasten my seatbelt. I am informed that Todd will be my cabin crew and Jess and Mark are the pilots. The pilots actually come say hello. Odd doesn’t even begin to cut it.

Todd asks if I want anything and I tell him I would love a beverage. Todd comes back with a No1 Mint water in a beautiful crystal glass and says” oh, right. I have something else for you”. He comes back with a bouquet of lavender roses. I don’t know how he knew. It isn’t anywhere, not on social media, we have never talked about it. But they are my absolute favorites. Not only for their unusual color, but they are the most fragrant of all the roses. Todd puts them in a vase and sets them in a recess I had not seen in the table.

I look over my shoulder, wondering where the other people are. Todd is also a mentalist, because he says” Ma’am, we will be wheels up in a matter of moments. We’ve been cleared to take off and in approximately four hours we’ll be at our destination.” Ohhhkaaay. I am the only person who isn’t crew on the plane. And true to their word in minutes, we’re down the runway and in the air. This business jet has some oomph and I’m pressed back into the wide leather seat as we climb to 45,000 feet. As we reach our selected elevation, Todd returns from a seat somewhere behind me I gather and begins to speak about the safety features. I’ve never had a personal flight safety brief and ask him to sit across from me. Reluctantly he does and after the exits have been pointed out and the safety features of a Gulfstream 650 have been described to me, I have questions. I ask Todd about the range, and how fast she goes and what the upgrades from a Gulfstream G200 were. We have a lovely aviation related conversation and then Todd asks if I want something to eat. “ I suppose, sure. What are my options? “

He explains that the galley has been stocked to certain specifications, and that there’s vitamin water, marcona almonds and charcuterie. I tell him that would be lovely but what think is I really want is a cigarette. He returns with this beautiful charcuterie board and a crystal ashtray. I look at him. He looks at me and smiles. He puts down the ash tray and produces a pack of Dunhills and a lighter. He smiles and says” Charter is a beautiful thing”.

I arrived in New Jersey, and was met on the tarmac by another gentleman in a suit who gathered up my things, and took me to another jet , and I’ve got my passport in my hand, carrying these lavender roses, and this gentleman behind me with my suitcase and my carry on. He steers me toward another set of stairs and again, someone is there to take my hand. I think I rolled my eyes behind my sunglasses so hard, I checked out my own ass. I thank the man, and I don’t have to go through security; this is all quite strange, you know? I remember when you could smoke on flights. Always in the back of the plane, cigarettes and pipes. No cigars. I’m pretty sure I flew on one of the last commercial flights you could smoke on, and I think I smoked almost a whole pack of cigarettes, because I could. This was an Embraer Legacy 650, and and I’m on a jet headed to London. I have always wanted to go to London, and now I am…..

Under quarantine. Fourteen days. No contact. Just to make certain I don’t have Covid-19.

I get settled in my seat, and Avery comes by to brief me on the safety equipment on the Legacy. She also informs me that the galley has been stocked, and that several of the seats can be made into lay flat beds and she would be more than happy to bring me linens and a duvet, and assures me that there is a shower in the aft cabin so that “should I require I can arrive refreshed”. Between Ashley and travel knit, at this moment I am not certain for whom I am more thankful.

I take my medication, send two or three texts, and send one picture. Captioned “ Almost in the same time zone. What day is it?” I figure that the best thing I can do is sleep. Otherwise, I’m going to begin to spend time in my own head, and that’s never a good idea. It’ll start innocently enough with ‘are you barking mad? You have just left the country, on no notice, with only one human vaguely aware of your whereabouts?’ and will quickly change timbre and tone to sound a great deal like the woman who called herself my mother; and then we get to the part of the internal interrogation that goes like this ’ of course you’re being irresponsible. What should I expect? Going off on some crazy thing, and how much are you wasting on this, that could have been put toward your future. You aren’t getting any younger…..’

Blessedly the insomnia medication began to take effect before the ghost of my first ex husband arrived and started in on my “perversions, and the endless parade of freaks and weirdos” I had chosen to surround myself with. Have I mentioned how much I love sleeping? It’s like being dead, without the commitment.

A gentle shoulder shake. “Ma'am? We’re About an hour out from London you had mentioned you might want to freshen up?” I complied, prayed to every deity I could think of that I hadn’t snored or drooled, and went to the back with my bag to shower. wiped my face with a tea tree wipe from my bag, and brushed my teeth, finger styled my hair, redid my lips and offered up a heartfelt prayer to the women who invented travel knit. HAD to be women.

You can crumple that stuff up, shake it out and look put together. It mixed and matched like garanimals for adults, and then you just accessorize.

It’s my home training. Remember, I’m (age) and when I grew up, you dressed to travel. It was a big deal. I can still remember wearing what can best be described as a little suit. Shift dress, matching jacket, patent leather Mary Janes, gloves and a hat. I STILL have issues leaving the house without a hat and gloves. In my world, some things are timeless. I am literally unable to travel in pajamas like I see some folks do. It took years for me to be able to wear jeans. If you have a friend who works for an airline, or did;

I’m not trying to pour salt in a pandemic wound, ask them what the requirements are to travel on one of their *buddy passes* the dress code, if you will.

I told you.

My roses had been put in water, and were handed back to me as I got ready to deplane. I hoped I wouldn’t have to surrender them at customs. I had my tote over my shoulder, carry on rolling behind, just the picture of cosmopolitan travel….. Oh stop laughing. See how cute YOU look getting from one half of the world to another on short notice. Handed to me from somewhere in the jet is my bag. Queued for customs. But when you fly Charter, there’s not really a line. Is the purpose of my trip business or pleasure? Probably not a good plan to joke with customs officials. That went poorly in Toronto. I actually got to see the room with no doorknob. From the inside. It’s not likely to work better here. I have my documents ready, negative Covid test, passport, declaration, purpose of my stay? Business and pleasure I decide is the most honest answer. The length of my stay? Oh. I’m not certain. No, nothing to declare, well, my flowers. They were a gift. They look a little bedraggled, as I am certain I do, but we are granted entrance by The Crown.

Apparently I walked right past the person who was sent to collect me and that ‘simply isn’t done’.

I suppose you aren’t supposed to be so fixated on a cigarette that you walk right by a human with an 11 x 14 sign, with your fucking name on it. Apparently, that causes consternation. Makes phones buzz and shit. I’m thinking there’s no reason for my phone to buzz; no one has any idea where I am, hell *I* don’t even know what day it is, and I JUST want to smoke.

No. The buzzing becomes more insistent and I pull my phone out of my pocket to find five texts and two missed calls. I start to read the texts when the phone rings. “Hello?” “ Ms. L/n ? Are you all right? This is the contract transport service and you gave us quite a start. Our client is most distressed that we may have misplaced you… ”. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I apologized profusely, blamed it on my need for nicotine, and being an uncivilized colonist and had them laughing with me in no time. We confirmed my current location, I promised to assure their client I was fine and they said they would be right around to collect me. I sent a text to Henry, explaining how I had walked right past them, I was safe and sound, that it was very sweet of him to worry but shouldn’t he go disembowel a mythical creature. I smiled. He’s a love. They just don’t make them like that anymore.

We pull up at a beautiful building in what looks to be in the heart of London. If I didn’t know better, if think it might have been The Continental; I fully expected to see Winston, or Charon. The check in is seamless. Fortunate, because I’m not really paying attention. I’m trying not to gawp at the architecture and the decor. This hotel is lovely. Furnished perfectly, elegant but still comfortable, this is what you get when your country is MORE than two hundred years old. Bell staff takes me to my room, opens the door, and, it isn’t a room. It’s a suite. There’s a sitting room, and a bedroom, a luxurious bath, ASHTRAYS, and books. Not just any books. My favorite books. And a letter on the desk addressed to me.

I thank the bellman, try to tip him, which he refuses, and as he closed the door behind him I turn around in a circle trying to take it all in. This is too much. I know he’s at work, and I can’t pester him. But I do feel possessed of a need to protest, and I don’t want to unpack. I sit gingerly on the edge of the club chair and open the envelope.

^^

Y/n,

I only wish I could have been there to greet you. I hope you’re not displeased at the accommodation, and if I am not mistaken, you’re more than likely cross, and think I’m being excessive. There is a method to my madness however. You’re unfortunately going to have to be here for a fortnight. By yourself. And you’ve come such a long way, it was the least I could do. I want you to be comfortable, and be somewhat entertained.

Yes, I had to send someone to go and get the surpriseI have left for you. I would have gladly done it myself, but, I’m otherwise engaged at Kaer Morhen. I did all the hunting, not the procurement. I just wanted to show you in some way that I am invested in this, in you, that I’m paying attention, and I’m trying to learn how to court you.

I have tried to think of the things that you have to have, cigarettes, books, I assume you brought music. I had the pantry stocked with things I pray you’ll like, and other tidbits in the fridge. You may uncover other surprises while you’re here. Make yourself at home. Get comfortable. Rest. Read. Relax. Take advantage of anything this hotel has to offer. I will see you in my dreams, as I have every night. I ache for you. You haunt me, but in the most delicious way,

H

^^

And just like that, I am undone.

I take out my phone and send a text.

++

You are starting to grow on me. This is amazing, too much. Thank you.

Sweet dreams.

++

I don’t remember getting in bed, or even getting undressed, but I must have, for when I awoke, I was naked, in the most comfortable bed, sprawled out like a starfish. I tend to do that in hotel beds. I have no idea why.

I remember my dream. Like it had actually happened. I was on the balcony, in a dressing gown ( which I have never owned) and there’s a knock at the door. I open it, and it’s him. He damn near takes up the whole door frame, he’s so massive. Shoulders out to there…first three buttons on his blue oxford shirt undone, tormenting me with that chest hair, sleeves rolled up, biceps barely contained, tucked into jeans that leave very little to the imagination… Trim waist, thick powerful thighs, and OH. YES. he is packing. I can feel my core clench, my pussy getting wet, and he hasn’t even crossed the threshold.

That face. Those eyes. And he’s staring. At me. I’m not even sure I’m moving under my own power, my hands reach those pecs, slide up to either side of his face. He looks down at me and I am caught. Prisoner of that gaze. His arms go around me and he pulls me in angling his head slightly. His lips meet mine, gently at first, then more insistent, as he grabs me tighter, picking me up and out of the way of the door and closing it with his foot. My hands twined up into his hair and I ran my hands through those curls, feeling his hold tighten and God help me, I moaned. Our tongues met, the kiss became even more intense…I was going to burst into flames.

More. I needed more. In order to get more I would have to stop kissing him, or take my hands out of his hair and I wasn’t willing to do either one of those things. I needed to keep kissing him like I needed air. One of his hands reached up to cup my breast, heavy in his hand, he expertly tweaked and rolled my nipple, sending a red hot jolt of current straight to my clit and my knees buckled. One of those powerhouse arms came around me and steadied me, and with the other; well he stopped playing with my nipple and put his arm beneath my knees and scooped me up like I was one of those little girls. I tell you, I was shocked. I’m no single digit prime number dress size, never have been….. But that training……. He carried me like I was a bit of dryer fluff….. And I assure you, at a not standard size, I ain’t dryer fluff.

Goddamned dreams. Why couldn’t it FINISH? So, I’m on another continent, in this magical suite at the Corinthia, and it’s light out. I have no idea how long I slept, but there’s a coffee maker in my room and I located one of my surprises. Whole bean coffee and a bean grinder. Oh, someone was paying attention. Magical bean juice brings me back to life and reduces my homicidal rage. I start some coffee and head to the shower, which is large enough to hold a party.

Good to know. THAT might come in handy. I toss on some yoga pants a t shirt and trainers, a hoodie and my mask and set off to find the fitness center. I’ve got my tablet, so cardio theater it is. If I get involved in watching something, then I forget how long I’m on the dreadmill. Yes, I said dreadmill. I despise the fool thing, but it works and I won’t fall and harm myself. Constantine later, I’m ready for another shower and some food. I’m trying to stay away from everyone and everything as much as possible. I find a few protein bars in my carry on and look at the books. Actual books. He had someone go and get them and bring them, and that earned him a “you’re going to see God blow job”…. Henry just didn’t know it yet.

You know EXACTLY what I’m talking about. You put your hair up in a pony tail, either undress him or half undress him; ease of access as it were; get comfy in front of him, look up at him in ~that way~ through your lashes and he starts to get hard, just from that look. You run your fingers up his thighs and stick your tongue out and lick around the head of his cock, and then put the head in your mouth and twirl your tongue around it and then put one hand around the base and stroke the silk covered titanium that is his dick and lick the underside of his stiffening length and then look up at him again, and he smiles, because he KNOWS exactly what he is in for. Swirling your tongue around his dick again till you get back to the head and slowly, ever so slowly slide your hot warm mouth down his cock until he’s at the back of your throat and you make up the difference with your hand(s) and you begin to fuck him with your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks, and steadily speeding up. You reach down to cup his balls and he growls in the way you love to hear and it makes you wet. You KNOW he’s loving this….because he can’t form words anymore, and just to drag it out you slow down and he tenses up, and you’re edging HIM, as a payback for the times that he has done it to you…… bringing him to the brink of cumming and then slowing down, over and over so that when he finally does cum, the top of his head will come off and he WILL see God. Your hands working in sync with your mouth and your tongue, he arches his back up off the sofa and you know he is so close. A deep breath and down you go, past where a normal human’s gag reflex would be; if you had one; and your nose is at his pubic bone and he practically screams and ropes of cum shoot down your throat as he empties his balls into your throat. Feeling him pulse. You slowly lick your way off his cock, licking him clean , making sure you don’t miss a drop, and his heightened sensitivity makes it sweet torture as you lick and suck your way back up his cock. You look up at him and he has his head thrown back smiling.

THAT kind of blow job.

The books. I had proof he really paid attention, because he really didn’t seem the type to have ‘people’ for that. Ok, someone put them here, in this suite, but Amazon is an amazing thing. Paperback copies of Not For Glory AND Hero. They’re hard to find. The author is deceased. I buy them wherever I find them, because paperbacks don’t last forever and I’m pretty sure they were never in hard cover. Higgins’ Solo. Those were the lay ups. The Oathbound books? That was a delightful surprise. I re-read those books on a regular basis, they’re like old friends. All of the Witcher books, and he had gotten them autographed. I actually clapped my hands and squealed in glee! Andrew Vachss’ Burke series. Now that was a bunch of books that begged for a movie….but, I make better movies in my head.

I sent another email, figuring he would see it when he had some down time.

******

Hero,

You’ve really gone and outdone yourself. Thank you for the books. The feel of an actual book in my hand is incomparable, and while I like the convenience of an e reader, it isn’t the same. You picked the perfect ones! However did you guess? I shall have to come up with a manner of suitably expressing just how grateful you have made me.

Although, surely there was a room under some stairs someplace you could have stashed me? It would have been less extravagant…..Been biding my time on the dreadmill, and watching your interviews. Now, no cringing.

If I had a superpower, it would be to let people see themselves the way other people see them. We are so hard on ourselves, you know? And living in the public eye can just make it more difficult, but, darling….I’m one you were talking about scrolling through social media, and “ there’s a bad picture, and another one, and” Baby, who hurt you? I swear I will jump on my broomstick, scream “ I’ll get you my pretty! ” and drop a fucking house on them. I don’t think you have ever taken a bad picture. Ever.

I’ve seen photo shoots, out takes, family photos, you obviously intoxicated, you being silly or adorkable, and no bad shots. Stunning, in every one. Sweaty in the gym? Women go mad. Tom Ford party? Women go crazy AND men begin to question their sexuality. You show off that physique you work so hard for? Gay men faint, or hit the gym, or both. You should see the porn fakes. They’re good fakes, by the by.

And I have lost count of how many people gush about how nice you are. “Wouldn’t say shit if he had a mouth full of it, that one”. Makes me want to get you ALL riled up so you’ll talk dirty to me…. Oooohhh yes. That very proper Mister Cavill saying the filthiest things…..

I seem to have become quite aroused thinking about you, I could go and alleviate some of this …..tension.

Or….

I could let it build and save it all for you.

However, fair is fair. Sauce for the goose, as it were…. That would mean you would have to be willing to go without until quarantine was over…..

What say you?

******

And before I could over think it, I hit send. I went and did the necessary at the Temple of the Dreadmill, but Deadpool made it less horrid, and if I was *training to kill Francis* that was some sort of motivation. If only fat cells would scream as they died. I wanted to go outside, go sightseeing, be a tourist. But quarantine is quarantine, and honor is exactly that. So, other than my rooms, it was the dreadmill and that was it. I read, I wrote, I worked, looked out the windows, put my mask on and went out on the balcony, and dreamt of the days passing faster.

Two days later I hear a tink tink tink on my window. I look at my watch, and it’s afternoon. It must be a bird or some. I go back to my book. “ tink tink tink” and I get up and walk across the room , open the curtains and look out and internally shriek. He’s standing, RIGHT THERE. Tossing pebbles at my window. I side eye the mirror praying I don’t look like a gorgon, and go to the balcony and step out. “ You there. Young man. Are you in the habit of throwing stones at random windows? ” With a big smile on my face, and he looks up, and my heart forgets it’s job. Stops dead in my chest. He’s so much better looking in person.

"What light from yonder window breaks?“

Oh we are not doing Shakespeare on a street in midtown London.

"Have you lost your mind, or are you just lost?”

" I just….. Dammit, I’m coming up. I’m tired of waiting. “

"You most certainly are not. You have forty eight more hours. Surely you can last that long”

He looks up at me, with this cheeky grin and waggles his eyebrows. “I don’t think I can last twenty minutes at this point, but I’ll make damned sure you don’t complain.”

" You would tempt a saint. You know that, don’t you? And I , am no saint.

Write me a letter of intent. On real paper, with a good pen. I know how you usually prefer to approach a seduction, but, from the other side of the equation, if you please. And if you can manage a seven foot leash, I would be delighted to invite Kal for a visit tomorrow. He doesn’t have to social distance. Now, be gone, or I shall be forced to taunt you a second time”.

I smiled, blew him a kiss, turned around, walked back inside and closed the balcony doors behind me. My pulse was racing and I cursed, because I always know when I’m doing the right thing. The right thing is hard.

That night’s sleep can best be described as fitful. I tossed and turned, my dreams tormenting me with what I turned away. Henry’s kisses and caresses, that massive cock splitting me practically in half, one of my legs up over his muscular shoulder, his hands leaving bruises where he gripped my hips…The only way I was going to start this day was hot coffee and a cold shower, and several cigarettes; all at the same time. What? You’ve never seen “All That Jazz”? Where Fosse is taking speed, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee in the shower? Twenty seven years sober, and I still have some skills. I can have a phone conversation at the same time….

One. More. Day. I can do this. I am a capable confident Dominant Woman, and I can do this. And when God created Cavill, the angels wept.

An envelope appears under the door. I pick it up, walk over to the chair, light a cigarette and open it.

^^

Ma'am,

I am somewhat out of my element, and I do wish to please you. I spent probably more time than I should have, but, I do tend to be quite particular and I strive to do my best in everything that I undertake. I believe it is part of who I am, and part of that which I can say is why I am where I am.

I would love to take you out, and show you a fantastic time. Dinner, perhaps? And as I think about the conversations we have had, I want to take care of all of it, as service to you. I will have apparel delivered, arrange transportation, make certain that the place is perfect, order for you, My Lady will want for nothing.

I have some other notions of how best I might seduce you, but I feel that those may be lost in translation. Allow me to show you?

Henry

^^

I smiled. I leaned back and sighed. Oh, he gets it. He’s not really very submissive, but switchy as all get out and he really wants to learn; from the ground up, as it were.

There was a knock at the door. I looked through the peep hole and didn’t see any one. I opened the door a crack, and heard a snuffling noise. I looked down and there’s Kal the Bear Dog, American Akita, and at the other end of the leash, sitting cross legged on the floor, is his daddy. I did the only thing that made sense. I said hi to Kal and sat down in the doorway. He sniffed me, checked me out, walked back to his dad, came back over to me, sniffed me some more, I wasn’t going to reach for him until Kal decided it was ok, or until Henry said I could. We just looked at one another, across the hallway.

I spoke first. “Thank you for the lovely letter”

“ Was that ok? ”

“It was better than ok and well you know it”

And there’s that smile, and those fangs….. Those inhumanly blue eyes…

“ I’m glad I passed the audition”

“Well, you got a call back. Don’t get too cocky”

Kal laid down in front of me and nosed my hand.

“ He’d like for you to pet him”

“ Any place in particular? ”

“He likes ear skritches”

“Coming right up, I live to serve”

And he laughed.

“ WHY does everyone laugh when I say that? What exactly is so fucking funny? ”

He tried to stop laughing but can’t control his face. Kal finds it all very entertaining and dashed back and forth between us, playing.

“You don’t appear intimidated by him”

“I’m not. I’ve had dogs larger than this baby bear….And he is just adorable!” I cooed burying my face in Kal’s fur and petting him. “ I bet you’re a great listener, and you never tell a soul, do you? And I bet you don’t steal covers”

It was easy, in the hallway, while I was getting to know Kal. No pressure. Sure, there was sexual tension. I wanted to launch myself at him, instead I got to know his best friend. I could hold out a smidge longer, there was only a little time left. I stood. I bent to hug Kal. “ Please, good sir, if you would convey my respect and admiration to your daddy, I would be ever so appreciative. Tomorrow? What time? ”

“Seven,” he said and his eyes were ablaze. Was it passion, denial, frustration?

“ Sweet dreams, ” and I went back to my room.

I shouldn’t have been so cocky. My words came back to haunt me. I tossed and turned, I fought with every pillow. The bed that had been sheer bliss previously had somehow transformed itself into a veritable bed of nails. I couldn’t go for a walk, I tried the couch. The tv aggravated me. I could find no comfort in books.

I started an email instead.

****

I have been hoist upon my own petard it seems, and while mathematics has never been my strong suit, I feel that somewhere it should be taken into account that time zones have been traversed, and that three hundred and thirty six hours has surely passed by now.

To be so close and yet so far away…… I had calculated the shooting schedule improperly, and had you not come beckoning at my window, I might have been able to continue to fool myself that this wasn’t real, or that I had created it not of whole cloth, and somehow managed to remain in idiotic bliss that we weren’t coming face to face…..

That face…oh the Gods they smiled on you, didn’t they darling? Like they were having a contest, giving their gifts….I shall give him the gift of mesmerizing beauty, but he will have to grow into it, so he also gets the gift of humility. And the other Gods applaud. Well played, old son. Not to be outdone, another bestows ambition, but tempers it with diligence so that you are graced with good fortune, that you have earned. Another gifts you with charisma, women want you, men want to be you, everybody wants to hang out with you, and damned if everyone doesn’t find you sexually appealing. “My wife has the hots for Henry Cavill, and I’d drive her to him. Maybe he’d pick me.” I shall make him chiseled, with a profile that hasn’t been seen since the heyday of old Hollywood. I’ll make him look good in LITERALLY ANYTHING. Covered in mud, hot. In a suit? Oh look out. White hair and yellow eyes? Panties dropping all over the world….

And I get to have dinner with you. IN person. Here’s something for you to ruminate upon. I’m frightened. I adore talking to you. I look forward to it. I look forward to it too much, actually. The sound of your voice gets a physical reaction from me and I KNOW there’s going to be combustion. I just want to burn.

And that scares me. Complete and utter lack of self preservation.

One touch. One kiss, one look and I fear that I will burn like a supernova.

Come, set me on fire…..

****

At eleven packages arrived. One was from a lingerie shop I had browsed at online, Bordelle. Their stuff was exquisite, really, cutting edge fashion, and wickedly sexy. I assumed he either knew or guessed my sizes. I had already done my due diligence on the dreadmill, hoping some of this whatever this was would dissipate, but even an hour at an incline of three and a half didn’t settle the starlings in my stomach. Those were no butterflies. I spent an indulgent amount of time in the bath, lotioned everything that could be with almond oil, touched up my cuticles, decided my pedicure was in good shape, exfoliating, buffing, it was madness. Nervous, I suppose. I mean, wouldn’t you be?

I began opening boxes. Stockings, of the most fine denier that you could read a newspaper through, and a Cuban heel with a seam up the back. A suspender belt of black straps, almost like an open bottom girdle, with six garters. A matching balconette bra that would really display my decolletage. There didn’t seem to be any panties. Hmmmmmm. There was a beautiful pair of shoes with a low heel and an ankle strap, which was amazing, because I don’t have the grace or the talent to wear heels. The dress that accompanied it was simple and elegant, well made, and also rather retro in it’s styling. Fitted bodice, sweetheart neckline, sleeves that ended just at the elbow, rather fit and flare in its styling, and the skirt was voluminous. My God, there was even a hat with a little veil and gloves. He didn’t miss a trick. I began to dress.

Fortunately two weeks in a hotel had not been all that bad for me. The circles under my eyes required minimal spackle, a bit of blush, a swipe of contour here and there, with my contacts in, eyeliner was out of the question and it hadn’t occurred to me that I should pack lashes. Mascara it is then. Lip stain, blotted, fixed,reapplied, blotted again, this was NOT coming off, on my mask or on a shirt collar. I spritzed some scent in all the proper places and I hoped he wouldn’t recognize it, and that it would please. I’ve never been one for traditional women’s fragrance. It smells artificial on me. I like darker notes, spice, leather, and they’re much better balanced in men’s fragrances. I get lots of compliments, and never find myself wearing the same scent as anyone else. Seams straight. Pearls. Hat. Bag. Gloves. Aaaaaand it’s 6:45. I’ve got fifteen minutes to make macrame out of my internal organs. And now, for entertainment, our brain will show a selection of every possible disaster scenario it can conjure, no matter how ridiculous. And I pace. I look at the clock again, and I swear it’s moved backwards and now says 6:40. That cannot be correct.

I shake my head. I pace some more. I pop breath mints like they’re drugs I did in the eighties. I am not going to smoke. I might pass out.

There’s a knock on the door. My heart pounds. I walk to the door and try to breathe….{internal voice; don’t lose your shit} I open the door and there he is. In a suit. Not just any suit. I mean, you can’t. Not when you’re built like a brick…………house ( apologies to the Commodores).

I could write epic poems that would put the Iliad to shame just describing his fair countenance….but I would be doing him a disservice if I didn’t spend some time on just how much style he possesses. Tailoring is one thing. Fit, proportion, but he has raised style to high art. Like old Hollywood meets English Nobility, and unless I miss my guess, that’s a bespoke Huntsman suit. Made specifically for him. To his precise measurements, by HIS cutter, who has a file on him, and all their other clients; about their preferences, in colors, fabrics, linings, how they want their trousers, best preferences, THE WHOLE NINE YARDS. Did you see *The Kingsmen*? That place. It’s actually Huntsman. I think they have been on Saville Row for over 100 years. Might even have a Royal Warrant.

The suit is perfection. Fits literally like it was made for him….. Because it was. And it took twelve weeks and multiple fittings. Charcoal grey, with a hint of a chalk stripe, very subtle, crisp white shirt, double breasted vest, with a watch chain no less, and the trousers are perfectly tailored, break at the perfect spot, and his tie is a perfect four in hand, and the tie is splashy, but flawless. Me? Oh I’m taking this all in, trying to remember to breathe, and he takes my hand, bows a little, brings it to his lips and just as his mouth is almost at my hand he turns my wrist and kisses the bare skin above my glove, and looks up at me with that smirk he has. “Ma'am? Shall we?” I put my finger under his chin and raise him to his full height . “ A moment, please. ” I step toward him and slide my hands up each side of his chest and lean in toward him. “Before we leave, I wanted to thank you for your excellent taste. Your gifts were lovely and I hope I do them justice” and I pressed my lips to his. He pulled me in closer and wrapped his arms around me, his tongue sought to part my lips and I allowed it, my hand reaching up for the side of his face, as our tongues explored each other’s mouth, tentatively at first, quickly catching fire. I didn’t want to stop.

But I knew if I didn’t, we’d be rutting in this doorway and whatever he had planned would be for nothing.

Difficult as it was, I pulled back and smiled. “ I could do this all night, happily. And more, or did you want to keep our original plan? ” He adjusted himself ( I don’t think he knows I saw that ) and took my arm in his. “Do you have everything?”

"Thank you, yes. I have my key, my bag, I am in your hands" . He closed the door behind us and walked me down the hall. We exited the hotel through a side door and got into a car with tinted windows. “ Please tell me I’m not wearing your lipstick” Smiling again, I remarked that he wasn’t but if he wanted to… And he laughed and pulled me in for another kiss. We made out. Like teenagers. In the back of this heavily tinted car, and I couldn’t get enough of his kisses.

We drove for a bit, I’m not certain how long, I frankly was too caught up in kissing him, and occasionally pulling back to look into those eyes. We could have driven off the cliffs of Dover, I’d never have known. We turned down a side street, then an alley and stopped in the back of a building. He got out of the car and said he’d be around to get me. Ok. I’ll behave. He opened my door, offered me his hand to help me out, said something to the driver, then took my arm and we walked the few steps to the door in the back of this building. Henry was grinning like the cat that ate the canary, and I couldn’t figure out why. He knocked on the door and after a minute or two, it opened, and we went down a short hallway into a kitchen where there was a booth. IN. THE. KITCHEN.

It was all I could do to not scream and go completely fangirl, for at that moment I realized where we were. This was the imagination station; the chef’s table at Gordon Ramsay’s restaurant on Royal Hospital Road. I turned to my dinner date and threw my arms around his neck, peppering his face with kisses. “ How did you know? How did you manage this? You realize that this might just kill me….oh, right, we have a provision for that. ”

He bowed from the waist “ My Lady is pleased? ”

“Oh, darling, pleased is not the word! ”

Dinner was spectacular. Course after course of the most deliciously ingenious things the chefs could create, with pristine service and just the two of us. Sharing bites, oh you must taste this, ooh! This, taste! Stealing kisses in between courses, and such easy conversation. We talked about books, and we talked about music, and he ribbed me about my ‘frozen in amber’ musical taste and I told him I had checked out some of the bands on his running playlist and liked quite a few of them. We sat close to one another, thighs touching, holding hands between courses, I kept getting lost in those eyes, but I did manage to hold up my end of the conversation.

I asked him if he was disappointed about not drinking during dinner and he countered with “ I haven’t seen you smoke”. We agreed that kissing was worth some sacrifices. Truth be told I did want a cigarette, but not as much as I wanted him. Dessert, coffee, more conversation, and I asked what else he had up his sleeve. He smiled. “ There is that American expression about the gun show?” I threw back my head and practically roared. “ I have this well in hand. Shall we?” And he took my hand and we got up and walked out the same back way we had come in, to the waiting car.

We arrived back at The Corinthia, and I was hoping against hope that the evening wasn’t over, but, I hadn’t planned it, so I didn’t want to presume.

“I suppose you’ll need to go walk Kal. Not having thumbs, it isn’t as though he can walk himself…."

” Trying to shake me already, are you? “

” No, of course not! “

” Kal has a date too. Later we might compare notes. But he never tells" he said with a slightly tilted head and a smirk.

“ Then I suppose I should invite you up? To see my etchings? ”

“Or your tattoos…”

[thecowardwrites]

The Coward’s Winter Fic Recommendations 2020

I haven’t been writing a lot in the past few months, but I sure have been reading a whole bunch so here are my favorite fics for your holiday reading pleasure. (I was going to choose winter-themed ones but then I didn’t get to include a lot of my favorites so we will pretend they’re winter/holiday themed)

***I want to reiterate this is a recommendation masterlist, none of these works are mine I just really loved them a lot. (I will also be reblogging them on my other blog)*** 

The Witcher: 

 Hot Cocoa by @cap-n-stuff [Geralt x Reader] Summary: Geralt can never seem to get enough of your hot cocoa I really really really loved this! It was so cute, it made me feel all warm and fuzzy - I love these domestic fluff fics 

Come Away With Me by @krysalla [Geralt x Reader] Summary: Geralt comes home to you after a four month separation.  This was so beautifully written! The language, the little descriptions. I loved it. It’s definitely one of my new favorite comfort reads!

A Humble Favor by @onthepageoftears​  [Jaskier x Reader] Summary: Jaskier asks you to attend a banquet with him, but there’s a catch.  This reminded me of a holiday romcom kind of thing which I love! I think it fits the season pretty well and it has one of my favorite tropes in it (fake dating anyone?) So so good <3

The Marauders: 

I Loved You by @cunningambitousdetermined​ [Sirius Black x Reader] Summary: “Sirius Black was in love. That was the fact of the matter...” Okay this one didn’t really have a summary with it, but I thought the first line summed it up really well. I really loved this and it totally fits the wintery theme because there’s a snowball fight!  --- Here’s part two for this! I haven’t read it yet but i’m about too I love it

 To Be a Chocolatier by @unnecessarywriting​ [Remus Lupin x Reader] Summary: “Chocolate cures everything you know,” you said, still savoring the sweet taste....“Not everything,” he responded bitterly. You glanced over at his features....“Well, maybe those things that it isn’t curing don’t need to be cured,” you offered.  This one also didn’t have a summary with it, so I just picked out the first line in the fic that made me squeal into my pillow like a banshee. Like seriously this one is so good please read it for the love of everything. 

Mistletoe by @dogweedanddeathcaps​ [James Potter x Reader] Summary: James Potter is nothing if not persistent. Okay here’s a Christmas themed one! Absolutely adorable, absolutely amazing. I guarantee you the person that wrote this can do no harm in the world and if they did I would look the other way. Absolutely fantastic! 

Haikyuu: 

Fifty Kisses by @kodzurin​ [Kuroo x Reader] Summary: “I know I already kissed you like fifty times, but can I have fifty more please?”  Yes, I am biased what about it? This one is by my best friend here on tumblr and I might have requested this from her, but we aren’t going to acknowledge that though because this is amazing anyways! 

The First Rule by @thegreatk1ng​ [Sakusa x Reader] Summary: Life’s not easy when you’re a spy. Especially when you’re paired with Sakusa Kiyoomi for a mission that could change both of your lives. First off: SPIES! Like spy au? spy au! Sorry I get excited. But this is a really great series I think - I’ve only read Chapter one so far. Either way it is amazing the writing is absolutely gorgeous and I am so excited to read more! I think I found a new favorite haikyuu writer <3

Stay by @toshijimafarms​ [Daichi x Reader] Summary: “There’s my girl. How are you feeling?” No summary on this one so I just grabbed a line of dialogue from Daichi and called it a day! I love the “one of them is sick” tropes and I’m not really sure why. But this is so cute, so adorable, so fluffy! Literally anything you can use to describe a really amazing fluff fic. Awesome stuff here I’m in love with Daichi 20x more now. 

Okay that’s all for now! These are just of my favorite fics that I’ve read in a while and seriously recommend all of you going to follow these amazing writers ASAP because they are doing gods work out here. 

Check out my second blog @thecowardbutmakeitpersonal​ where I reblog some of my other favorite fics (i just made it so there’s not a lot on there yet) and other stupid get-to-know me type things! 

That’s all! Happy Holidays to everyone celebrating something this winter season (I’m excited for the winter solstice) I hope it’s been great to you. 

[rallamajoop]

The Witcher: The Games vs The Books

Coming to the fandom this late, I can only assume the relationship between the Witcher games and the original novels has been long since talked to death by others. But I'm far too fascinated by the whole glorious mess that is this canon not to want to get down some of my own thoughts about how it all fits together.

See, on the one hand, the games (Witcher 3 especially) are arguably only too dependent on the novels to stand alone. They do a wonderful job of picking up a number of unresolved plot points the books left hanging, and a woeful job of explaining so much a player coming in cold would really like to know – Ciri's history with Geralt, Yennefer, her powers and the Wild Hunt itself just to begin with. This is an issue that only increases as the games go along: cliche as Geralt's amnesia may be, it's used to good effect to introduce the world to the player in the first game. By the third, Geralt has all his old memories back and two extra games worth of new experience, and good lord is it all alienating to the newcomer.

On the other hand, so much about the games (again, the third especially) contradicts the novels in painfully irreconcilable ways. That wouldn't necessarily bother me – adaptations are allowed to rework and reinvent, stories can and should evolve in the retelling – except, well, see point one above. So you're bound to come out of the games with a lot of unanswered questions if you haven't read the books, and just as many if you have.

Spoilers to follow, of course, for both the books and the games.

Here's one of the big ones: just how did the world – Ciri included – discover that one of her long-presumed-dead parents was actually alive and well and now ruling the entire empire of Nilfgaard? Fucked if I know. Neither the games or the novels have any explanation. In the novels, in fact, the world at large believes Ciri is married to the emperor of Nilfgaard. Naturally, this 'Cirilla' is a fake, but the scandal were the full truth ever revealed would redefine Emhyr's reign. Yet somehow, in the games, everyone seems to know he's Ciri's father, and that whole awkward incest angle is never mentioned. Continuity has been tweaked pretty significantly, and it's left to the player to guess how. If that wasn’t bad enough, the games apparently still included a Gwent card of the fake!Cirilla (artwork above) just to ensure maximum confusion.

Before I get too sidetracked with all that stuff that doesn’t add up though, there really is a lot to be said for what does work about how the games expand on the plot of the novels. The Wild Hunt itself is the big one. The spectral cavalcade appears several times through the novels and hunts Ciri across multiple worlds in the final book before apparently losing her trail and vanishing to make way for the 'real' big bad, never to be mentioned again. While TW3 left me pretty underwhelmed by the revelation that the spectral Wild Hunt were just a bunch of dark elves in skull armor, the books had introduced the Hunt and let us spend some time on the dark elves' world before we get the reveal that the two may be one and the same. So for all the ranting I could do about missed opportunities regarding the Wild Hunt, they're the natural candidate for the games to pick up on as their new big-bads.

To my surprise, Geralt and Yennefer's "deaths" and subsequent recovery in pseudo-Avalon also comes straight from the novels. That everyone thinks Geralt dead at the start of the first game isn't, as I'd first assumed, a convenient excuse to have him reappear with amnesia, but simply how the novels end. Why Ciri leaves them and goes world-hopping isn't clear, but "because the Wild Hunt was after her again" is as good a theory as any. So, another point to the games there.

And there's so much more. The Catriona plague has only just appeared at the end of the novels, but we know it's posed for a major outbreak – one that’s in progress by the time of the games. The second game in particular does a terrific job of taking the ambitions of the expansionist Nilfgaardian Empire and the still-relatively-new Lodge of Sorceresses and building an entirely new conflict around them – even taking two of the least developed members of the Lodge (Sabrina Glevissig and Síle de Tansarville) and expanding them into major players. Dijkstra similarly ends the novels on the run from those in power, and having already taken the same assumed name 'Sigi Reuven' he's using in the games – while the books assure us that prince Radovid will grow up to pay back his father's assassins (ie. Phillipa) and become Radovid the Stern.

The twisted fairy tale origins of the novels are something the games actually seem to have gotten better at as they went on: the 'trail of treats' to the Crones is the great example, the monster-frog-prince and the land-of-a-thousand-fables of the expansions are two more, and many more are hidden in sidequests. And I'd be remiss not to mention that in again asking Geralt to pick a side in the conflict with the Scoia'tael, the first two games not only recreate a scenario Geralt repeatedly deals with in the books, but a major theme. It's interesting too how much the broad structure of the third game feels like an homage to the books, with Geralt searching for Ciri, interspersed with sections from her POV. You can nitpick the detail of any of these examples, but the intent is unmistakable, and a lot of credit is due for it in the execution too.

Some of the detail that's gone into translating the world of the Witcher books into the games is just insane – not just in the geography and history of the place, but right down to the names of the wine you can pick up. There's the fact the Cat potion makes Geralt see in black-and-white, or the fact the basilisk and cockatrice monsters are clearly based on the same model, but the basilisk is reptilian where as the cockatrice is more avian – which is exactly how Geralt describes the difference between them in The Lady of the Lake. There's a point where Book!Regis recounts a detailed list of all the lesser vampiric species, ending with the only two violent enough to tear apart their victims: almost all can be encountered in the games, and the last two (Fleders and Ekimma) are indeed the most animalistic. This kind of thing is everywhere.

My favourite examples tend to be those that blend into the background if you haven't read the books, but will get a grin from those who have, such as a peasant in Velen who will call out to Geralt (paraphrased from memory, alas) "Sir, sir! We be up to our ears in mamunes, imps, kobolds, hags, flying drakes... oh, and bats!" – which is a lovely little reference to a couple of conversations from Edge of the World wherein Geralt explains that most of the monsters the locals want him to take care of don't actually exist. Or all those soldiers chanting "Long live King Radovid!" – natural enough, but it takes on a whole new life if you've read the passage in Lady of the Lake where the young prince Radovid grumbles internally about having to sit and listen to the city chanting 'long live...' to every other notable figure present except him.

Really, it would be faster to list the things the games introduced that don't come from the original source material in any obvious form, because it's a struggle to come up with very many. The villainous Crones of Crookback Bog and Master Mirror of the Hearts of Stone expansion are the biggest ones that come to mind, along with a great deal of the vampire mythology from Blood and Wine. To the witchers themselves, they’ve added mostly game mechanics: the use of bombs and blade oils, the names of most of the potions, and three new witcher schools (all with their own specialised gear). There are a number of new creatures and monsters – Godlings, noon-and-night-wraiths, botchlings, shaelmaars and so on – and though trolls are mentioned in the books, the games take credit for giving them so much character. Obviously, there are new characters, like Thaller and Roche – but not technically Iorveth, because a Scoia'tael commander of that name is mentioned in the books, if only in passing. And already, short of just listing off every new character the games introduced, I’m running out of ideas. Credit where credit’s due on that front: most of the new characters and locations they’ve created feel authentic enough that Kalkstein or Thaller would be right at home in the novels’ world.

But for all their dedication to the detail, it's hard to feel like the games have really managed to capture the spirit of the books in their storytelling: the mundanely corrupt bureaucracy that does so much to bring the world to life, or their cheerfully cynical sense of humour, or the flamboyant wonder that is book!Dandelion, or their enthusiasm for putting women in positions of power, or the bigger themes about the differences between the story that gets sung by the bards and what really happened – or so much else from the novels that came as such a surprise to me when I started getting really sucked in.

And if we’re going to talk about all the little things they got right, it’s only fair to point out there are just as many little things they got wrong, and sometimes pretty glaringly at that. "I thought you bowed to no-one" says Emhyr to Geralt – almost as if book!Geralt doesn’t happily bow in most every situation where it would be polite or diplomatic to do so. "This would never have happened if the council was still around!" says Geralt upon finding a sorcerer's lab full of human experiments – as if none of his experiences with Vilgefortz or the wizards of Rissberg ever happened, back when the council was very much still around. In TW2, he mocks the idea of a woman like Saskia leading a rebellion – almost as if women like Falka and Aelirenn haven't led some of the most storied rebellions in history (and we can't even blame the amnesia, because Geralt himself mentions Aelirenn later – oh yeah, this one annoyed me particularly).

 Book!verse 'Lady of the Lake' is basically just Ciri being surprised while bathing

Yennefer's studious aethiesm and willingness to desecrate Freya's temple is entirely in character – but only if we forget that she had her own personal religious experience with the goddess Freya herself in Tower of the Swallow. And then there’s the fact the Lady of the Lake is now a literal lake nymph who distributes swords to the worthy, as if no-one writing for the games ever got past the title of that particular Witcher novel (let alone got the joke). And the list goes on. It's easy to get overly caught up in contradictions like this – it's hardly as if Sapkowski's novels don't contradict themselves in places, as almost any long-running series eventually will – but it's going to stick out to those who’ve read the novels nonetheless.

While we're talking about how the games pick up where the books left off though, the big contradiction that has to be touched on comes in bringing Geralt back at all, at least in any public capacity. There's plenty to suggest that Geralt survives the novels' end and even goes on to have further adventures, but it's also pretty explicit that the history books record his death in the Pogrom of Rivia as final. The last two novels by order of publication (Season of Storms and Lady of the Lake) go so far as to feature characters far in the future with an interest in Geralt's legacy, and they discuss the matter in some depth. As far as the world knows, Geralt is dead.

  Book!Geralt fanart by Diana Novich

But it's hard to blame the games for ignoring this – true, thanks to Geralt's longevity, they could have set their conflict many more years after those future scenes – maybe even used Ciri's established time-travel powers to let you pop quietly in and out of the past (and, okay, now I've thought through all that, I'm kind of sad they didn't). But there comes a point where that kind of slavish devotion to preserving the source material really doesn't do a story any favours, and I'm not sure I could name any other successful adaptation that's bothered.

Besides bringing Geralt back at all, most of the bigger changes pertain to Ciri. In fact, as much as I'm about to get deep into the nitpicks below, you can make a surprisingly good case that the games have made only one really big change, and that's in simplifying the prophesies surrounding her. See, in the novels, all those world-saving prophesies aren't technically about Ciri, they're about her as-yet-unborn child. Who gets to impregnate her is the big driving force behind most of the villains of the books – one that all the main contenders seem to see as more of an awkward necessity rather than the inspiration for violent lust, but even so. To Emhyr, having to marry his own daughter is a bug, not a feature – but he's willing to do it to become the father of the savior of the world. But if Ciri is capable of fulfilling those prophesies herself, then Emhyr is already the father of the savoir of the world, and the revisions to his relationship with Ciri start to make a lot more sense.

Ciri's history with the Aen Elle elves seems to have been similarly revised – if not quite so cleanly. Avallac’h and Eredin are, naturally, both book characters – in fact, a lot of personality has been left behind in the books, since Avallac’h originally had a rather camp flair, and Eredin is less the power-hungry kingslayer you might imagine. When Geralt meets Avallac’h in the books – which happens briefly in Toussaint, for one of those "everything you're doing is going to make everything worse because prophesy" conversations – he's busy decorating a cave with fake prehistoric paintings in the hope of confusing future explorers. (Surprisingly, there does seem to be official art of this moment on one of the gwent cards – see above – though the Avallac’h who jokes about adding erect phalluses to the picture and admits his vanity won’t allow him to resist signing it hasn’t entirely survived the transition to the new medium).

We also meet the former Alder King, Auberon, whose death we see in flashback in the game. (Fun fact: Auberon is actually blowing bubbles through a straw in a bowl of soapy water when we first meet him in the books, hence the straw in the illustration below. The books just have more whimsy than any of the games would know what to do with.)

Ciri spends some time in the final book as a prisoner on the world of the elves, who are as keen as everyone else for their king to father her unborn child. Avallac’h eventually convinces her that this is all for the greater good: her child will be able to open gates to allow the people of her world to escape when the apocalyptic White Frost arrives. But their king, like most older elves, is impotent, leading to multiple nights where Ciri allows him to take her to bed (in some of the frankly more disturbing scenes of the series) to no result. Eredin, moreover, doesn't appear to have intended to poison the king: the vial that kills him was supposed to contain some sort of fantasy viagra, and even Eredin seems genuinely shocked to learn its actual effects.

Regardless, Ciri eventually discovers that Avallac’h and the Aen Elle have deceived her, and intend to user her child's powers to invade her world, not save it. Neither world is threatened by the White Frost for at least several millennia, it's just a pretext to make her cooperate. And so she flees, and Eredin (already leading his Red Riders aka The Wild Hunt long before he was crowned king) pursues her.

With the books as context, why Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h is very hard to understand. It's a little easier if that whole awful episode with her and the former king is subtracted out – Ciri's child is no longer necessary for Eredin's goals. So it's odd that the game still references the deadly vial Eredin gave to the king. Are we to suppose the vial genuinely contained poison in this version of continuity? I'd rather it didn't – Avallach's ruse is far more interesting if he underwhelms Eredin's support by revealing a half-truth – but the games aren't telling us.

And then we have to factor in that one last detail I'd forgotten when I originally started playing with this theory: TW3 does contain one last, dangling reference to the time the old king spent trying to impregnate Ciri, when Ge'els very reasonably asks why on earth Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h now. It's a damn good question, and the game offers no real answers. So in Avallac’h, we're left with a character who is vital to the final chapters of the games, who comes out of nowhere without the books as context, but whose role makes no sense with that backstory in mind. Frankly, the writers would have been much better off avoiding the whole mess altogether and inventing some new character to take Avallac’h's place.

The treatment of the White Frost is even more confusing. The books are ultimately fairly explicit about just what the White Frost is: a ice age, most likely caused by the same mundane climactic factors that produced the real ice ages of our history. The only escape is intergalactic emigration, as Ciri (or her children) might some day enable.

In the games, the White Frost has instead become some sort of nebulous, free-floating apocalypse which will eventually reach all worlds, which is basically fine – up to a point. We briefly visit a dead world that the Frost has decimated, and even the Aen Elle are now supposedly planning to invade Ciri's world because it threatens theirs as well (I mean, apparently – their motivations are so underdeveloped you could miss them by accidently skipping just one or two lines of dialogue). When the Wild Hunt appears, it's always in a haze of cold. Their mages can invoke its power still more dramatically through portals which can freeze you in your tracks. So obviously, the Frost has already reached their world, and time is running out, right?

Well, no – you visit their world too (again, briefly – to meet a character who has never been mentioned before and won't be again, for reasons which have also never been mentioned before if you haven't read the books) – and there's no Frost in sight, apocalyptic or otherwise.

So why does the White Frost follow the Hunt around? No idea. It's never explained.

At the very end of the game, a second "Conjunction of the Spheres" occurs (possibly because of the Wild Hunt's appearance?), and the Frost begins to invade (or possibly Avallac’h summons it, so Ciri can go into it and destroy it?) It's all painfully unclear. The game is too busy pulling a bait-and-switch over whether Avallac’h's betrayed you to tell you what's actually going on instead.

But if Ciri could destroy the Frost completely (at great personal risk, but still) why is this not more clearly set up? Why did the Aen Elle think that escaping to another world (which will ALSO eventually be destroyed by the Frost) was a better solution than sending Ciri to face the Frost directly? For which matter, why do the Aen Elle need Ciri at all if sending enough ships to carry an army is no problem? Why does Ciri spend so much of the game questioning Avallac’h's true intentions, if they were ultimately so noble? When did he tell her the truth? If Avallac’h did summon the Frost, why did he pick that particular moment? And if he didn't, and it all just happened spontaneously, we're back to questioning why invading that world ever seemed like a good solution to Eredin – it all collapses in on itself.

None of these questions couldn't have been answered with a little creativity, but then the game would've had to dedicate some real time to explaining its backstory and developing its core conflict – something it's bizarrely reluctant to do. And if you think I may be drifting from the point a bit in the name of getting all my gripes about the ending down in one place, you're not wrong, but I feel Avallac’h and everything surrounding him is pretty much the ur-example of what doesn't work about the way The Witcher 3 depends on the novels: the backstory the writers are building on doesn't actually exist in any format available to the rest of us.

There are plenty of ways TW3 could have incorporated its backstory into its own narrative (yes, even excluding the method "by expecting people to read many many more pages of text from in-game documents", because that's bullshit and always will be). There are times it does this brilliantly, such as in the quest ‘The Last Wish’: everything you really need to know is covered in Yennefer and Geralt's conversation in the boat, and without ever making the dialogue sound unnatural. In fact, TW3 has even more options here than many works with the same problem, because Geralt is famous and people already think they know his story. You could have bards singing Dandelion's ballads, you could have characters confronting him with misunderstandings about his past to force him to correct them. You could also have Geralt visiting people and places he knows Ciri remembers fondly because of the time they spent there together, or include playable flashbacks similar to the time you spend playing as Ciri. You could stick chunks of backstory in optional sidequests or scenes old-school fans can skip through quickly. So many of my questions (how did Ciri get so close to Yennefer if they were never at Kaer Morhen together? Why has no-one tried training Ciri in her powers before? What does the Wild Hunt even do while it's not hunting Ciri? Why is Ciri princess of Cintra if her father is Emperor of another country altogether?) could have been answered so easily.

Seriously, summarising the Witcher books is not that hard. Lots of things happen, but only a fraction of it is really relevant in retrospect, and you could hit all the major plot beats in a handful of paragraphs. (Heck, I’d do it here if this post wasn’t already ridiculously over long.)

But then, TW3 has a bizarre problem with leaving so much of its best material off screen, even from its own story. It's criminal that we never get to see any of Geralt's time (or Yennefer's) with the Wild Hunt, even in flashback or dream sequence. This is material that directly sets up the relationship between the main hero and the main villain, and the most we ever hear about it is a few vague allusions to it being like a strange nightmare. Really? That's it? What was it like? Was Geralt in a trance, unable to control his own actions – was he brainwashed into believing he belonged there, or was he merely unable to escape? What atrocities might Eredin have forced him to commit? Did he visit other worlds? Was he paraded among the Aen Elle as a captive? There is no way this isn’t a part of the story worth talking about!

We never see the moment Ciri rescues Geralt from the Wild Hunt. We never see how Avallac’h convinces her to trust him, we never see the moment he was cursed, or any of her efforts to save him – all these big, story-defining moments are left off-screen, to be vaguely recounted to you later in dialogue. Then there's the entire political situation in Nilfgaard – you hear about it second-hand, and it's all resolved off screen. And the list goes on. Yet you and Ciri still have time to run around Novigrad so she can thank a bunch of throwaway characters you've never even heard of before, nor will again. The priorities on display here are baffling.

The Witcher 3 was such a wildly successful game that it’s obvious these sorts of issues didn’t seriously hold it back, and it’s such a big game that I could have sat down and written just as many words focusing only on the parts that do work without much difficulty. It boasts stunning visuals, addictive gameplay and some truly wonderful characters, and so many parts of the story work brilliantly in isolation that it’s strange to come out of it feeling that it ultimately adds up to so much less than the sum of its parts.

I’m glad TW3 exists – if it hadn’t been such a runaway success I doubt I’d ever have discovered Sapkowski’s universe at all, but for myself, TW3 will probably always be remembered as a somewhat-overlong introduction to the really good stuff, in the expansions and the original novels it came from. I looked up the novels after finishing TW3 in large part because I’d been left with so many unanswered questions – and I’m glad I did, but I’m honestly surprised more people weren’t turned off by TW3′s scattershot approach to its own narrative. You’re allowed to change and rework in moving to a new medium, but I can’t imagine it would’ve hurt games’ success to tell a complete story in the process.

[alittlebitmaybe]

making concessions

so i, uh, maybe wrote the nichest, dumbest cracky au ficlet in the world. i blame @yoursummerfrost who is possibly the sole audience for this. i hope you’re happy.

anyway, this is what i described in this post, aka “Geralt and Jaskier meet at a Magic: the Gathering tournament that Jaskier has no business being at but somehow he beats Geralt and then they try to have sex in the bathroom”

featuring a complete disregard for like, legal cards or real decks or any actual knowledge of MTG tournaments beyond living with someone who plays it a lot

rated M for like frottage and marking and stuff

--

“Fresh meat,” Yen mutters, perched against one of the folding tables, knees spread. She punctuates it with a snap of her bubble gum.

Geralt folds his arms across his chest, eyebrow raised. “This is a low-tier Magic tournament, Yen, not a grade school playground.”

“Doesn’t make him not fresh meat. He’s gonna last five minutes, tops. Someone is gonna OTK that poor bastard.”

“We’ve all got to start somewhere.”

“That kid, Geralt,” she says, “is starting nowhere.”

The man Yen calls that kid does look more like he should be at Coachella than at a Magic: the Gathering tournament—bandana, loose tank top, cuffed jean shorts, and all—but, Geralt thinks, clearing his throat, he’s definitely no kid, not with the definition in his arms and the chest hair and the light scruff along his jaw. He is, though, going around and asking people to show him their decks, which he takes from them and riffles through clumsily while oohing and ahhing.

“Good for me, at least,” Geralt adds. “One less actual competitor to knock out.”

Yen punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Sure, if you can keep it in your pants. You just went all googly-eyed. Those baby blues suck you in already?”

He drags his gaze back to her. “He’s alright. If he touches my cards like that I’ll kill him. They’re worth more than his life.”

“I know, dear. I know. Well, gird yourself, because if you both win your first matches you’re against each other.”

Geralt smiles. “No problem. I’ve been playtesting against every meta deck for weeks. My win ratios are favorable against almost anything. This whole thing is mine.”

“Nerd,” says Yen.

Geralt tugs at the hem of her vest, and she kicks out at him with her boot heel. “You’re literally a judge here. You’re certified.”

“Exactly. I’m in a position of power, but you’re just here to show off. Nerd.”

“Keep it up and I won’t share the prize.”

“Half the prize money would barely buy me dinner at Applebee’s, but thanks anyway, darling. You can keep it, I think I’ll manage.”

And well, that’s fair, actually.

“It’s not about the money,” Geralt protests.

Yen snorts. “Obviously, or no one would be here. We all just bow to the whims of MTG. And thank them. And hand over our credit cards.”

Coachella man has dropped someone’s deck all over the floor and is apologetically gathering the cards back into a haphazard pile. The spectacle has drawn stares.

“Who’s the fool, really?” Yen asks. “Him, or us?”

“Hm,” Geralt replies.

--

“Geralt,” says Geralt. “Bant ramp.”

“Jaskier,” says Coachella man, smiling brightly and taking the proffered hand as he settles himself across the table. “Was that last bit English?”

“It’s…my deck,” Geralt explains dubiously. “Bant ramp? Green, white, blue?”

Jaskier pulls an impressed face. “They’ve got names for things like that? You really know your stuff, Geralt.”

“Uh,” says Geralt, nonplussed. “Yeah, thanks. What are you playing, then?”

“Oh, I’ve got this great deck! It’s got all the colors because I couldn’t pick just a few, and all the cards have such pretty art, you know? I had to put in the best ones. A few of ‘em are even shiny. She’s treated me well so far, this deck. I love her.”

Geralt scans down the list of players on his tourney pamphlet. Next to Jaskier’s name it says only Five color aggro???

Geralt huffs out through his nose. That is nonsensical, and—most importantly—not something he ever playtested against. But no matter what is in that deck, Geralt’s got this in the bag. There’s no way this Jaskier guy has the land base needed to support five colors. Especially if he chose his cards, apparently, based on the art.

Jaskier begins slowly pile shuffling his deck of utterly unsleeved cards. Not even inner sleeves, much less double sleeves. Geralt’s blood pressure ticks up.

“So, uh,” he begins, “you’re new to this, huh? What got you into Magic?”

“Ah, my friend Essi plays here and there, she mentioned this and it seemed like it’d be a lark. New experience and such. And hey”—Jaskier looks up and grins—“maybe I’ll win!”

Geralt thinks about the hours and weeks and years he’s spent studying cards and losing games and analyzing pro matches. “Good luck,” he says.

“Thank you, you’re sweet.”

Jaskier continues placing each card meticulously on its own stack. Geralt shuffles his own deck again and again as he waits.

“Do you want me to, uh.”

Jaskier looks up and says, “Oh, would you? That would be so helpful. I’ve never quite got the hang of the—,” he makes a riffle shuffle gesture, “—whole shuffling thing.”

--

He loses the coin toss, which, he realizes a few turns later, is not an auspicious beginning. But even with Jaskier on the play and him on the draw, certainly it won’t make that much of a difference. Not when Jaskier has to squint at his hand like he’s reading all the card texts for the first time ever. At one point he even goes “Oh, that’s an interesting one,” as if surprised. It cannot make that much of a difference to go second.

And it doesn’t. Because he can’t draw shit to save his life.

While Geralt draws white mana after white mana, Jaskier throws down creature after creature, ignoring effects and the stack entirely in favor of big numbers and building a “board aesthetic.” Whatever the fuck that means. He drops a land on every turn and his mana costs curve out perfectly, despite the stretch over five fucking colors. It’s nothing short of miraculous.

Finally, Geralt is staring down a board of attackers against the lone creature he’d managed to play, and Jaskier says “Ooh, I’ve got enough of the land thingies to play this fella!” and drops—of all fucking things—a Craterhoof Behemoth. Like Geralt isn’t already nearly dead on board.

Geralt eyes the board wipe in his hand that—for fuck’s sake—requires blue.

A single blue mana needed, and a stack of Plains in front of him a mile high.

“It resolves,” he grumbles.

“Woooooo,” says Jaskier. “I mean, that’s good, right?”

“Yes,” says Geralt. “For you.”

He’s got one more draw step to try to dig for an Island. One fucking Island, a fetch land, a mana-producing artifact, anything. He’s spent way too much money on his mana fixing for this to happen.

On his draw, he takes into hand a worthless green creature.

“Fuck!” He scrubs a hand over his face, drops his hand onto the table. “That’s the game. Good one.”

Jaskier looks confused. “What do you mean? You mean I win? But I didn’t get to, you know.” He mimes pushing his attackers across the table like an advancing army. “Kill you.”

“I’m dead on board and have nothing.”

“But I wanted to attack with my big fella!”

Geralt sighs and faintly hears Yen laughing her ass off down the table. And they play out Jaskier’s turn. In which Geralt immediately dies.

As Jaskier celebrates and gathers his cards, Geralt levels him with a tired stare. “Look, be straight with me. Is this a fucking hustle?”

Jaskier laughs brightly. “What, didn’t think I could play, eh?”

“You can’t,” Geralt says. “Obviously. Unless it’s a hustle.”

“No hustling here!” Jaskier then wiggles his eyebrows lasciviously. “Unless you’d like to hustle me later. If you catch my drift.”

Geralt does. “That is not a real come on.”

“Sure it is, since you know I’m coming on to you.”

“Let’s just play out the match,” Geralt says with finality.

He’s down one, but he just needs two wins. Two wins against a deck that will, eventually, be inconsistent and impractical. He shuffles his own deck—tested and massaged until its consistency holds up to real life statistics—four times, just to make sure.

Then Jaskier holds out his deck and Geralt begrudgingly shuffles that, too.

“You have nice hands,” Jaskier comments, following his fingers on the cards. “Big. Strong. Capable.”

“Shut up,” Geralt mumbles, and pretends to ignore it when Jaskier says, Yes, sir.

--

He loses the match on game two, and it’s his own damn fault, this time, because Jaskier drops an infinite combo and doesn’t even realize it until Geralt opens his dumb fucking mouth.

“There it is,” he groans, resigned, as Jaskier lays down the last combo piece. “Lucky draw.”

“Eh?”

“You comboed out?”

“Eh?” Jaskier says again, fingers still on the card like he’s thinking of taking it back, face utterly perplexed.

“You—holy fucking Christ.” Geralt throws his hands in the air. “You don’t even know you have that combo, do you.”

“I—do not, per se, know that, no.”

“That effect will untap your artifact, which lets you—oh, who cares. Fine. You win. Congrats.”

Jaskier’s expression brightens. “I win? Really? But I didn’t even attack!”

“You win. Really.”

Geralt wants a beer.

“Oh!” Jaskier is now beaming. He glances at his watch, a gold-trimmed gaudy thing. “Well, that was quick. We’ve got some time before the next round, if you wanna—uh—”

“Yeah,” sighs Geralt. Heat curls in his belly alongside the mingled anger (shame? embarrassment?) and disappointment. “Whatever.”

Might as well.

--

Geralt shoves Jaskier back against the bathroom door as he locks it, and Jaskier promptly wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist. Without a moment of hesitation Geralt leans in, biting at Jaskier’s lips, feeling arms circle his neck and hands weave themselves into his hair. Their bodies align perfectly and when Geralt thrusts forward, Jaskier gasps into his mouth.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, like that.”

A growl leaves Geralt in response, frustration with this stupid, clueless man bubbling up within him. Jaskier tastes like red Gatorade and smells like that body butter Yen keeps on her bathroom counter.

It’s less off-putting than it should be.

He keeps going like that, not because he was told to but because it’s infuriatingly good, Jaskier’s body warm and firm and pliant against his as he rolls his hips.

“Oh, God,” Jaskier groans on a thrust that results in a particularly good drag, which separates their mouths enough for Geralt to redirect his attention. With one hand he drags down the idiotic bandana tied around Jaskier’s neck and starts to suck harsh marks into salty skin. Jaskier keeps up a noisy litany of gasps and muffled, bitten-off encouragements. “Oh, that’s—good, fuck—your mouth—like it rough, don’t you…”

Geralt doesn’t particularly like it rough, actually, when he hasn’t been fucking hustled at his own game, but Jaskier still doesn’t seem to have caught on to the part where Geralt is sort of fucking furious about this whole situation.

Instead of explaining himself, he just bites down on Jaskier’s pulse point and curls his hand around Jaskier’s waist where his shirt is rucked up, nails digging in.

“Yeah—” Jaskier says, and tugs at Geralt’s hair, and then there’s banging on the door.

“We can hear you, assholes. There’s a line out here and we gotta piss,” an angry voice calls from the other side.

“Use the ladies’!” Jaskier yells hoarsely. “There’s never anyone in there. This one’s occupied.” Geralt moves against him again. “Oh, that’s—more.”

“No,” says the angry voice. “No more.” Another round of banging. “We’re calling property management. They’ve got a key.”

“Shit,” Geralt says, dropping Jaskier, who makes an indignant noise. He unlocks and opens the door.

There is, in fact, a small crowd around the men’s room, headed by a red-faced man half a foot shorter than Geralt.

“Can’t you mind your own business?” Geralt says.

“Can’t you keep it in your pants?” the man sneers back.

“Technically,” Jaskier pipes up, straightening his bandana and swiping at his hair, “nothing ever came out of any pants.”

“Jaskier,” says Geralt, “don’t help.”

An official-looking group of people rounds the corner, accompanied by Yen, who spots Geralt and nearly falls to the floor in a mirthful fit. He rolls his eyes.

The officials don’t like that at all.

--

A few months later, Jaskier kneels on the other side of Geralt’s coffee table, considering his hand. He licks his lip and taps a few lands to place an enchantment, which Geralt promptly counters.

“You and your fucking—control decks,” Jaskier sighs. “Let me play one some time.”

“Make your own,” says Geralt. “You can use my collection.”

“Ah, maybe I will, and then you won’t be able to play anything at all, ever, and how would you like that?”

“Do you have anything to get rid of my flyers?”

“Unfortunately, no, Geralt, I do not, or I would have played it by now.”

“Then you should probably concede.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He picks up his cards, sleeved properly, and slides them over to Geralt’s side. “Shuffle please.”

Geralt shuffles them.

“Shame we can’t go to the tournament today,” says Jaskier wistfully. “Banned. What rot. We didn’t even get off that day. Rudely interrupted.”

“Yeah, well, someone had no business being there, anyway.”

“I still think I could have gone all the way. Beat you, didn’t I?”

“Haven’t since.”

“Only because you learned my tricks.”

“Jaskier, you don’t have tricks.”

“Exactly.” He smiles, and Geralt can’t help but smile back. When he places Jaskier’s deck back on the table, Jaskier’s hand rests on top of his. “I am, though, Geralt, absolutely thrilled that we met. Whatever the circumstance. Or consequence. If it needs saying.”

It doesn’t, but Geralt meets his eyes and says, “Yeah, me too.”

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1  part 2  belongs to this

i think I should warn you. This is an old!Jaskier fic. Meaning, eventually Jaskier will lose his memory and there won’t be some magic spell to bring it back. He isn’t immortal either, so eventually there will be major character death. Neither happens in this chapter (it won’t happen for like 6 more chapters probably).

On the bright side, this story isn’t heavily plot-based, so if at any time you want to stop reading, you won’t be missing any big revelations or something. I will give content warnings when we get to the heavy stuff, but be warned that it will come to that eventually.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It should have been strange. Sitting in a tavern simply because he wanted to and not because he needed to look for the next contract. It should be strange, unsettling even. It hadn’t been for a long time. Though it took weeks getting used to, Geralt came here with Jaskier time and time again, for the sole reason of enjoying themselves.

It should have been strange. A witcher and a bard – travelling no more, but collecting sea shells on their window sills, taking walks along the shore, hand in hand and without the pressure of knowing they’d have to leave soon, going to taverns like normal people did. Geralt was never going to be normal and as far as he was concerned, Jaskier was as far from ordinary as it could get. And yet. There was something beautiful, something soft in the simplicity of the life they were building here.

There was something so fiercely right about the way people referred to Geralt as “that lovely man’s beloved” instead of as a witcher.

Still, Geralt couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over the patrons, couldn’t keep himself from straining his ears. Even Jaskier’s arm around his waist wasn’t enough to counter decades of training and drilling instincts into him. As much as Geralt wanted to only feel Jaskier next to him, only hear his voice, whispering sweet nothings that were everything to him into his ear, he couldn’t help but pick up what he was trained to hear amidst the laughter of the crowd.

“It’s true, there is no way for me to bring my wares over to Blackrocks.” The voice was relatively new in town. A travelling merchant, probably. Though he forced his words to sound frustrated rather than scared, the hidden emotion was obvious to Geralt. Too often had he met people desperate to hide their fear. “Ol’ Olek – may his soul find rest in Melitele’s amble bosom – tried weeks ago and I’m not stupid enough to follow in his steps. Bandits and the occasional arsehole tollkeeper I can handle. But a griffin? I’d rather sit on a scorpion bare-arsed than coming across one of those.”

Immediately, Geralt tensed, but willed himself to remain seated. Years of being low on coin and desperate for any contract he could get were hard to shake off. He forced himself to relax. He didn’t need a contract. He didn’t. His place was with Jaskier. He didn’t need to go. He couldn’t do that to Jaskier, to them.

“Are you alright, love?”

Geralt closed his eyes when Jaskier’s concerned voice interrupted his desperate thoughts. As it should. Jaskier was what mattered most. He should always be at the forefront of Geralt’s mind. Not some merchant whose livelihood was threatened because of a monster that Geralt was trained to slay.

Geralt managed a grunt, not confirmation, merely acknowledgement of Jaskier’s words.

“Oh, dearest.” Jaskier twisted in his arms to face him, laying one hand on Geralt’s cheek and softly guiding him to look at Jaskier. “Ah,” he said after a moment, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “I know that face.”

Geralt let out a long breath, surrendering to his fate as Jaskier continued to study him as if he were a child’s poem, easy to read and easier yet to analyse.

“That is the face you make when you tell me ‘no’ before I even told you what I want.”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “Because most of the time I already know what you want.”

“Which is?” Jaskier lifted his chin in playful defiance.

“To come with me on a hunt.”

Jaskier laughed, freely and loudly and oh so beautifully. “Is there a hunt to accompany you on?” He asked as though they hadn’t talked about this before. As though Jaskier’s admission that he wouldn’t be able to go on hunts with Geralt any more hadn’t already broken his heart. As though the promise of a quiet life together hadn’t mended it faster than any spell had been able to heal his wounds before.

“No. There isn’t one.”

Jaskier cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. A few heartbeats passed and Geralt held his breath praying that Jaskier wouldn’t see, that he wouldn’t know –

“Geralt,” he finally said in a tone that suggested Geralt was a student who had been caught sneaking alcohol into the classroom without sharing it with the teacher. “May I remind you of how often I have seen you react to mentions of monsters near-by? The fact that I couldn’t hear whoever was talking doesn’t change a thing – it never has, whether it’s me being old or you having superhuman hearing. I know you.” His thumb brushed over Geralt’s cheek and his tone became fond once more. “So, what is it?”

“Griffin.” Geralt forced his eyes to let Jaskier in, needing him to understand. “I am not going.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a new one. Isn’t it normally ‘you are not going’?”

“What we have isn’t normal.” It’s so much better. It’s too precious and fragile to worth risking.

Jaskier sighed, his hand falling from Geralt’s face and dropping down to his chest, coming to rest on his heart.

“No, it’s not,” Jaskier said and undoubtedly he could feel the skip in Geralt’s chest as the relief of Jaskier’s agreement seeped through him. “But that doesn’t mean you have to give up your old life for me completely.” A sly smile stole onto Jaskier’s face and there was something in his eyes that Geralt couldn’t begin to name. “My eyes might not be the best and whatnot, but I assure you, my mind and memory are still sharp as ever. You might pretend it didn’t happen, but I very vividly remember having this talk before.”

Geralt’s shoulders sagged. “I know.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said softly, filled with a heart-shattering amount of fondness. “We both know you can’t just sit around doing nothing forever. Spending every day with you being idle was wonderful, but it is not who you are.”

“It’s who I could be.”

Jaskier didn’t answer. His look, tilted head and eyes so knowing said more than even a poet could express with words. Geralt might have that face he always made when he was going to deny Jaskier his request – his scary face, as Jaskier so fondly and teasingly called it -  but Jaskier had this one expression, the one he would always use shortly before Geralt would relent and grant Jaskier his wish. Who was he to deny a bard in need of inspiration to come with him? And who was he to deny the man he loved and who so desperately needed to feel like he didn’t stop Geralt from being himself to give him that freedom to leave him?

“I will come back to you,” Geralt said and the smile Jaskier gifted him was almost worth the clenching of his heart at the thought of leaving him behind, however briefly.

“Of course you will.”

“Blackrocks isn’t far. Only three days on horseback. Two if I’m fast.”

“Don’t be.” There was an inexplicable strain to Jaskier’s word, an edge that didn’t cut, as his hand gripped Geralt’s shirt tighter. “Don’t be fast. Don’t rush. Don’t let the world pass by in a flurry. Take your time.”

“I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

“And I don’t want you to miss out all the details.” His tone was back to teasing, but the unknown weight was still there. An unspoken need that Geralt wasn’t sure he’d ever be allowed to understand. “You do know that I will pester you for the grand tale of your adventure, don’t you?”

Geralt’s mouth quirked up involuntarily. “Naturally.”

Jaskier pointed a finger at him. “I am being serious about the details. Don’t just tell me about the griffin. I need to know about how the people you helped looked at you when they realise that they are safe now. I need you to stop and notice the different shades of the sky at dawn and the smell of the wildflowers. Try to find strange shapes in the clouds for me, will you? Promise me, you will see all of that.”

Something in Geralt’s throat grew tight. He gently took Jaskier’s hand that was still pointing at him and held it close. “You’d be far better at describing those things.”

“I don’t need you to describe them like a poet would. Just… see them. Can you do that for me?” Desperation coloured his voice that Geralt vowed to himself he would do anything he could to banish from Jaskier’s life.

“I can.” His voice, barely a whisper grew stronger. “I will.”

How could he not? To Jaskier, the world was so big and bright and beautiful. Geralt would not stand between Jaskier and this beauty that he deserved to breathe in with every inhale and feel with every heartbeat. Jaskier might be unable to leave, confided to the coast like the mermaid in his story was to the sea. Every step father from home would pain him, but staying in his confide unable to know what he was missing would hurt his soul just as much. Geralt would not subject him to this fate. He would do his best to make Jaskier see the world, even if it meant learning how to paint pictures with words instead of showing it to him first hand.

He lifted Jaskier’s hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against his fingers, a silent vow.

Jaskier understood. He always did. His eyes brightened and his smile grew warmer. The look he gifted Geralt with was so tender it almost hurt and Geralt knew what he had started to learn years ago; that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to see that look on Jaskier’s face.

Jaskier needed him to be himself and do what he did. Geralt still needed to help people. And Jaskier still needed stories. almost as much as he needed arms to hold him close and whispers telling him that there was nothing as important as him.

He gently gave Jaskier’s fingers a squeeze and stood up to talk to the merchant.  

---

“The sunrise was more pink on the third day than on any other day. It was… the colour looked like that one doublet of yours. The one you wore on midsummer in White Orchard.” The words were awkward and nowhere close to the vivid descriptions Jaskier no doubt would have found, but Jaskier’s eager eyes were worth it. The familiar scratching of a quill on parchment accompanied Geralt’s words, lulling him into a sense of comfort. “When I told the people I had slain the griffin, one woman cried and the merchant looked like Bieberfeld did when he had realised that Dudu actually knew what he was doing with his money.”

A grin spread across Jaskier’s face at the memory. “Who would have thought. You do know how to tell a story after all.”

“I am sure you will find better words for it when you make it into a song.”

Jaskier tilted his head and gave his notes a long look, before setting his eyes back on Geralt. “No. I think I quite like the words as they are.”

He lay the quill to the side. Ink-stained fingers of parchment-skinned hands found Geralt’s hand. “Thank you, love.”

Warmth blossomed in Geralt’s chest as he looked at their intertwined fingers. Maybe this was good enough. Maybe life could continue to be like this. Maybe it could be that simple.

----

Against all odds, against all the rocks destiny was known to throw in his way, it truly was that simple. Despite everything, Geralt was allowed to have this.

He continued to bring Jaskier stories and Jaskier in turn would tell him what he had done while Geralt had been away. Somehow he managed to make the most mundane things sound like the biggest adventure. The knowledge that this was the life that they had, that when he returned from his hunts, they could experience these ordinary, domestic adventures together, made Geralt’s heart swell in his chest.

He brought Jaskier descriptions of the sky and Jaskier told him about the unruly sea.

When Geralt finally made true on his promise to go to the harvest festival in Corvo Bianco, he brought Jaskier a bottle of wine and a summer jacket and Jaskier in turn gifted him with the sight of immediately donning the garment and grinning at him with a flush that the alcohol was only partly to blame for.

“What do you think?” Jaskier asked, twirling around as much as his joints allowed him to.

I think I never want to give up what we have here. I think you are gifting me with the best life. “You look good.”

“Good?” Jaskier huffed. “Come on, Geralt. I taught you better than that. You were doing so well describing the world to me.”

Geralt sighed, but it held no annoyance. “I think…you look like you could make the flowers jealous.”

Jaskier threw his head back laughing and if Geralt were a poet, he would have thought that somewhere out there, a rose was seething with envy that she would never be able to give a lover the same indescribable feeling that Jaskier’s laugh gave Geralt.

[mypoisonedvine]

Hiya! Could you maybe write a sad/angsty Jaskier imagine where the reader is dying from an illness or something, but when she dies she kinds of a transformation (like yen) where not only does she come back to life, but she’s even more beautiful. After years she eventually finds Jaskier and Geralt again and they reunite ect ect. Could you please make it really emotional? I’m in the mood to cry 😩

Hoo boy, I really ran with this one, because I actually had a vaguely similar idea before I got this ask and I ended up sorta frankensteining the two together into something hopefully enjoyable!  Sorry it took so long, but with a word count of 6k it’s not too shocking that it took me a few days!  Hope you’re still in the mood to cry!  I took a few liberties with the original prompt although I actually had a second idea that followed it more closely in some ways and less so in others.  Maybe I’ll write that one up someday as well but I don’t want to be known for killing readers lol so I’ll need to get some normal stuff out there in between.

Quick disclaimer, I sort of made canon squishy in this one… it’s supposed to be set after Jaskier breaks up with Geralt after the dragon hunt.  Theoretically, he heads straight back home and that instigates this whole plot.  The thing is that he and the reader would be 40 for that to really make sense.  So, I kind of left it vague…. depending on your age, feel free to imagine that less than 22 years have passed lol.  So, just a heads up on that.

WARNING: major character death, in fact it’s the reader and it is depicted graphically.  I would not recommend this story to someone struggling with suicidal thoughts because it does straight up describe you dying, all in second person.  If you think you would find that really disturbing and/or really enticing, please don’t read this!  The good news is, as is made clear in the original request, there’s a happy ending!

Never Really Over (a Jaskier x Reader oneshot)

Rating: T (violence but only implied smut)Word Count: 6kTaglist: never had one of these for an ask before but lol @100percentamess you asked to be tagged in everything so here’s your first!

You were cleaning out an old closet when you found it, tucked away under a floorboard.  When you saw the small decorated chest, you instantly remembered what was inside.  Throughout your childhood you had written him a number of love letters, confessing your undying commitment to him every few years like some kind of triennial tradition.  None of the letters ever made it to him, because you knew better than to dream of him ever returning the sentiment.  Even knowing that, you felt embarrassment burning in your chest when you remembered some of the ridiculous things you had written.  Julian, you’re the love of my life and I know that we’re meant to be together, shit like that.  

You had always wanted to get out of this town, see the world, experience life, but you never got your chance.  That made it sting all the more when you found the letter from him under your door so many years ago.  You didn’t even need to open the box to read it, you remembered it like you had it right in front of you: You’ve been my best friend my whole life and I’ve loved you like a sister.  I hope you won’t be hurt that I’m leaving, but I can’t stay in this place.  I need adventure, and I plan to find it while I tour the Continent with my songs.  If I ever return I’ll be sure to stop by… and if I become a famous bard, you can always say you knew me back when!  -Julian

When you heard a knock at the door you jumped, having lost yourself in the memory.  You slid the floorboard back quickly, and moved a rug over it to cover the cracks.  Running to the door, you swung it open and what you saw made you sure you’d gone mad.

It was Julian.  He’d barely aged, so much so that at first you thought he was some sort of corporeal memory of the day he left.  

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he remarked casually.  

~

“Julian-” you began.

“I go by Jaskier now,” he corrected.

“Unless you’re here to perform, I’m not going to call you by a stage name,” you frowned. 

“It’s not just a stage name: I’ve reinvented myself,” he boasted. 

“Jules, I’ve known you my whole life, and you’re the same you’ve always been,” you shot him down with an eye roll.  He smiled at you and it made your heart ache.

“You’re the same, too.  But you look different,” he observed.  You must have made a face of disappointment because he instantly corrected himself. “Not older, necessarily.  Well, not old.  You look different…” he paused, “but it suits you.”

“Don’t sound so hesitant,” you laughed.

“It’s just strange!” he defended. “But it’s good to see you again.  I missed you greatly.”

You sighed, looking away. 

“You don’t hate me for leaving, do you?” he asked nervously, taking your hand in his.  His touch shot through your entire body, and you wished he wouldn’t do things like that- things that were so unimportant and nonchalant to him but meant so much to you.

“I only hate you as much as I ever did,” you answered quietly, looking back at him.  He looked like he really needed to believe that you didn’t hate him, which was strange: normally he seemed to either not care what people thought of him, or maybe even thrive on negative attention.  He was always meant to be a star: a firm believer in the idea that there’s no such thing as bad publicity.

“Strangely, I don’t find that comforting,” he replied with a chuckle.

“You best not come to me for comfort, don’t you remember how mean I am?” you smiled back.

“Yes, but never to me!” 

“Well, you left,” you responded, and the mood was dampened.  Regretting to have lost the energy, you piped up quickly with a question. “How were your travels?”

It didn’t seem to help.

“Oh, lovely,” he said, but his energy didn’t match the words. “Saw all sorts of wild things.  You’d have loved it.  We were going to make it to the coast- we never did.  But you’d have loved it,” he reflected somberly.

You sighed, imagining how incredible it would be.  To think that he thought of you in such interesting places made you wonder if he would be willing to go with you, like you’d always wanted.

“Maybe we should go,” you suggested hesitantly.

“No, you’d have a terrible time,” he deflected.

“But you just said I’d have loved it,” you remembered.

“I meant being there, but travelling?  You don’t have the constitution for it,” he scoffed.

“What I don’t have the constitution for is staying here,” you countered, sadness palpable in your voice.

“Well, now that I’m back I’m wishing I’d never left,” he groaned.

“Don’t be ridiculous.  Please tell me you won’t be staying long,” you replied incredulously.

“Best not to, I suppose.  Maybe I’ll go to the coast on my own-” he began.

“Take me with you,” you pleaded, gripping his doublet, having lost all sense of dignity, “I need to leave this place.  I can’t die in this town, Julian.  I need to see the world!  I’ve never seen the ocean, the mountains-”

“No,” he repeated.

“Please,” you begged.

“I don’t do that anymore,” he grumbled, turning away to pick up his bag and starting to walk away. “It’s over, alright?”

“What?”

“I was travelling with someone but… I guess I drove him as crazy as I always drove you.  And he told me to leave him alone,” he sighed.

You felt guilty for pressing on it, not realizing it was still a sore spot.

“You didn’t drive me crazy,” you comforted, “not really.”

“I think I’m just too much.  I’m too intense for most people,” he explained.

“Most people are terrible,” you groaned. “Remember how we talked when we were young?  How everyone was so pompous and ridiculous and fake?”

“Yeah,” he smiled a little at the memory.

“Well, we were right.  I mean, I know we were whiny little brats,” you smirked, “but this town hasn’t changed much.  All gossip and nonsense.”

“It’s not this town, it’s the whole Continent,” he corrected.  “Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of it, and people are the same everywhere.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

“Except you,” he added, “of course.”

You smiled but it hurt when he said things like that.  All the “love you like a sister” crap that made being his friend so painful, and now more than ever you couldn’t escape from it.  Of course a part of you was glad to see him again, but now that he was in front of you, it was like not even a day had passed since he left: you still loved him so completely, so desperately, and so pointlessly.  

~

You heard him singing, ever so quietly, from around the corner.  You always thought he had a lovely voice but he’d never liked to play for you.  He said it gave him stage fright, something he failed to experience on actual stages.  You figured he was just holding out on you, for whatever reason.  You didn’t want to spy but also you couldn’t really help it, since you were visiting his family’s home and he had been silly enough to play a song with the door open.  He started and stopped and started over a few times, but once he got going for good, you were close enough to be able to hear the words…

She is the sun, bright and unforgivingBurning the grass and drying the rainI never looked at her, afraid to go blindI loved her light though she brought me such pain

She is the sun and when she walks awayThe world gets colder though the sky is in bloomAs the sun sets I ask if I’ve lost my chance foreverBut she could never stay and to the night I am doomed

“Ah, fuck, doomed doesn’t really rhyme with bloom, does it?” he interrupted himself.  You jumped a little, not realizing how entranced you were by the song, and you reached up to wipe a few stray tears from your cheeks.  You couldn’t be mad at him for singing a song about another woman when he didn’t even know you could hear, but you were angry regardless.  Moreso than angry, just sad.  Wasn’t love supposed to make you feel good?  Loving Julian was a thankless job, certainly.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, and you jumped again, not even having noticed he’d turned the corner.

“Just mopping,” you blurted out.

He looked around for a moment with a raised eyebrow.

“…where’s your mop, then?” he (fairly) queried.

“Still in the kitchen,” you explained, “I’m planning where I’m going to mop.”

“I figured you could sort of just wing it with mopping.  Didn’t realize there was a pre-mopping phase.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you nodded, “it’s really important.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you.  Get on with it,” he encouraged, starting to go back into his room.

“Wait,” you prompted.  He stopped, turning back to face you. “I liked the song.”

“I was hoping you hadn’t heard that,” he replied nervously.

“Why?”

“I didn’t want anyone to hear it until it was finished,” he explained.

“And when it’s finished, will you play it at the local pub or something?” you asked, remembering his earliest performances when you were fifteen or so.

“No, too personal for that: I was planning to play it for the subject,” he explained.  You winced.

“I’m sure she’ll love it,” you responded quietly

“Yeah, the Countess is fickle and all but she usually spreads her legs for a good song,” he smiled mischievously.

Thinking of him with someone else, especially like that, made you want to vomit… then you would actually need to mop.  

“Why did you come here?” you asked him, finally, after wanting to understand for so long.

“I… I needed some time at home,” he answered, but you didn’t buy it.

“Why now?  And why did you come to my door?” you growled.

“Are you offended by that?  Am I not allowed to visit a friend?” he responded in confusion.

“I didn’t even realize we were still friends!” you admitted.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” he asked like it made no sense at all, and you were thankful you weren’t holding anything because you likely would’ve thrown it.

“You left without a proper warning, I didn’t hear from you at all for… a long fucking time, and now you have the audacity to come back!” you barked.  “I already gave you everything, and you threw it away, searching for adventure!  What could you possibly want from me now?”

"It’s just my selfishness, I suppose, but I wanted to know there was someone out there who still cared for me,” he defended.

"You’re asking me if I care for you?  Is that really what’s on your mind?” you asked incredulously.  He didn’t respond, seeming confused.You felt tears sting the back of your eyes, rage burning through your chest.  You were tired of lying, tired of running around and being his pet all so you could be near him when he wanted nothing from you but a reminder he wasn’t totally alone in the world after he’d burned every bridge- including the one you had been standing on, waiting, for all these years.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, I will love you until the day I die.  I promise you that.”  You tried to say it with the anger, hatred even, that you felt, but most of it was lost as your voice wavered from crying.  You turned away and walked outside, sobbing so hard you weren’t sure that you would be able to walk home properly.  You did, eventually, and immediately crawled into bed and cried yourself to sleep.

~

Maybe it wasn’t even noon yet, but it felt like time for a drink.  The pub was empty, at least at first; halfway through your fourth mug, an old acquaintance, Viktor, walked in and sat beside you.

“Bit early for that, isn’t it?” he frowned.  

“Then what are you doing here?” you asked.

“Looking for you,” he answered.

You chuckled, considering how disappointed he must be to find you like this: eyes still swollen from crying, half-drunk, more cynical and calloused than ever.

“So, listen, I’ve been thinking,” Viktor began, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.  Despite being nearly an old maid at this point, Viktor had always sought you.  You’d known him your whole life and he was always a pest: rude, aggressive, dull.  Dumb enough to think you hadn’t realized his feelings for you.  He had proposed marriage twice, never having much of a better reason than “we’re both still single and it would make our families happy if we married.”  And now here he was, bothering you while you were trying to have a drink in peace, presumably so he could do it all over again.

“I’m not here to ask you to marry me,” he clarified, as if reading your mind.  You perked up a bit at that.

“I’m finally too old for you?” you scoffed.

“Don’t be like that,” he frowned, “you’re not old.  It makes perfect sense to me that you’re unmarried at this age, even if everyone calls you an old hag and a spinster.”

Viktor had a way of trying to be nice but it always ending in an insult.  Not that it was news to you that people talked about you that way.

“And why do you think I’m unmarried?” you pressed.

“Because you haven’t gotten to know anybody well enough,” he posited. “Look, I’ve known you my whole life, so I always figured I knew you well enough for marriage, but I see that you’re right now.  We don’t really know each other that way.”

You nodded. “Good, you’ve come to see reason then.”

“There must be some way that we could, though,” he added. “A date; courting.”

“Courting?  I’m not fourteen,” you grimaced.

“Whatever you’d want to call it.  I’d come by tomorrow and we’d go for a walk.  And we’d talk about whatever we wanted to, and we’d see how we get along when it’s just us,” he offered.

“Sound boring,” you mumbled.

“Don’t be so mean,” he requested.

“I was always mean and you still fell for me.”

“I was always nice and you still ignore me.  If you would just stop chasing something you’ll never get-” he began, but as you looked at him he stopped and started over.  “You have to stop hurting yourself over people who don’t care about you,” he explained. “If you gave me a chance, you’d appreciate how nice it feels to know someone cares for you.”

I wanted to know there was someone out there who still cared for me, you remembered Julian saying.  Apparently everyone else wanted to be cared for, but you were too busy caring to consider your own feelings.  You were so tired of fighting for Julian and rebuffing Viktor and shouldering the burden of spinsterhood in a conservative town like this one.

“Alright, come by tomorrow, then,” you acquiesced.  Viktor smiled.

“You won’t regret it- you’ll learn to appreciate me,” he predicted as he stood up to leave.

“The beginning of every successful relationship,” you replied sarcastically, but he seemed to take you literally.  What a moron.  At least he was nice enough- and actually had the integrity and honesty to tell you how he felt… not that you felt particularly integritous after your confession to Julian.  But you were optimistic; maybe this was a step in the right direction.  So why did the idea of letting go of him, even when you had known you needed to for years, hurt so deeply?

~

You stayed drunk through the afternoon but stopped drinking after a while, so you could go to bed sober.  You stayed up later than normal, avoiding sleep and the torturous dreams of love that it always brought.  It had started to rain- downpour, actually- and the thunder would’ve kept you up anyhow.

You heard a knock at your door and answered hesitantly, unsure who would be coming by so late.  When you opened it you saw Julian, soaked through with rain, looking like a lost puppy.  Of course you wanted to invite him in from the rain but you were still angry so you let him stand out there a bit longer.

“What are you doing here?” you asked.

He looked at you, and when you looked back into his eyes, you saw it.  You understood instantly what was really going on.

“Oh, oh no,” you reprimanded as you stepped back, wagging a finger at him. “No, Julian- don’t you dare.”

“I can’t help it,” he defended.

“No, no, don’t you dare love me now!” you ordered.

“Why can’t I?” he asked quietly, stepping towards you, through the doorway and out of the rain.  You stepped back again, running into a wall and bracing against it.

“It’s too late.  Jules, after all these years…” you trailed off, but then shook your head. “It’s too late,” you repeated.

“It can’t be too late,” he refused, “there has to be another chance.”

“You ran out of chances,” you explained, starting to cry, “it’s over.  Julian, it’s too late.  At some point, it has to be too late.”

“There has to be another chance for us,” he asserted.  You sobbed when you heard him say that word, ‘us.’

“Jules, no,” you wept, “I waited for so long.  I thought that if I loved you hard enough, that you would have to love me back.  And you left.  Julian, you left.  I had to give up.  I had to let it go.  I had to stop loving you.”

“But you didn’t,” he remembered, and you watched as a tear ran down his own face.

“Because you’re my fucking curse!” you screamed. “You’re my ghost!  You fucking haunt me!  Loving you has taken everything from me!”

“I never asked you to love me all those years!” he countered, his voice raising but not matching yours.

“But you’re asking me to now,” you scoffed.

“I’m not asking for anything.  I just need you to know the truth,” he explained.

“Bullshit,” you spat. “You came here because I was always your back-up plan.  You tired of whoring around, and you decided to come back because I was the stable option, the safe option.  You never wanted my love, you just wanted my attention.”

“For a long time, I didn’t understand the difference between love and attention,” he responded with a quiet, somber tone.  Your anger subsided partially.  “I didn’t understand the need for loyalty or reliability.  And then I lost everything.  The first thing I thought of when I considered coming here wasn’t my family, my house, my culture.  It was you.  I wanted to go home,” his voice began to waver tearfully, “and coming back to you was coming home.  I lost everything and all I had left was you.  And it’s not because you were my second choice.  It’s because I’m a fucking idiot who couldn’t see how much I needed you until-”

“Until it was too late,” you finished.

“Don’t say that,” he pleaded, stepping towards you again, this time touching you, grabbing your arms gently but with urgency.  His hands were warm, even when they were wet with cold rain. “Gods, don’t say that, please.”

You looked up at him and cried; you cried because you knew that there was no ending for you but heartbreak. 

“The day I met you, when I was just a few years old, was the day my life was ruined,” you whispered. “Cursed forever to live a life at your beck and call, because I loved you with everything I had.  I’ve never been able to stop, even when I hated you and even when I needed to let you go and move on so that I could live.  Julian, I waited my whole life for you…”

“You don’t have to wait anymore,” he whispered back, leaning down as his face moved closer to yours.  You whimpered weakly, your crying beginning to soothe.  His hand wiped your tears away, and you rested your face into his palm.  His touch was so warm, delicate, comforting.  

“I love you,” he confessed, examining your face.  You nodded, still crying partially from the initial hurt and partially from a solemn joy of everything you ever wanted suddenly right in front of you.  He was so close now that his face was just a few centimetres from yours, you could even feel his breath, see every drop of water running down from his hair into his face.  “Tell me it isn’t over,” he begged.

“It was never over,” you reassured, closing the distance between you and kissing him softly.  You were both still crying, just a little, perhaps mourning all the time lost that you could never get back.  And yet, all the anger of the past and the fear of the future washed away, and all that was left was being together in this moment.  The hand on your face moved to hold your head and neck, and the other pulled you closer at the waist.  Feeling his body pressed against yours was like cozying up to a warm fireplace, his presence a golden glow against the cold, dark world outside.  You wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss and starting to fall back into his arms.  He held you tightly, the wetness of his clothes soaking through yours quickly.  You didn’t even gasp when he picked you up, too lost in the kiss and trusting him too much to be afraid of falling.  He carried you down the hall, kicking the bedroom door open but setting you down onto the quilt gently.

~ 

You awoke to sunlight streaming in through the window, and the feeling of Julian’s fingers running through your hair.  You turned to face him, appreciating how lovely he looked washed in the sunrise.  You indulged yourself in looking at his muscular shoulders and chest where they weren’t covered by the bedsheets.

“Good morning,” he smiled.

“I can’t believe that really happened,” you whispered, mostly to yourself.

“I can,” he replied. “It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you answered, feeling yourself blush a bit. 

“We should go somewhere,” he suggested suddenly.

“Where?” you asked.

“Wherever you’d like,” he shrugged.  You ran your fingers down his chest, admiring the thick layer of dark hair, imagining all the places you could go.

“Take me to the ocean, then,” you requested.

“The middle of the ocean?  Or is the coast alright?” he smirked.

You laughed.

“I’m serious!” he defended. “I’m not opposed to sailing.  It’s rather peaceful.”

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?  The water?” you imagined.

“Nothing quite like it,” he smiled serenely.

“Promise you’ll take me,” you demanded.

“I promise,” he whispered as he moved a stray lock of hair out of your face.

“Soon?” you pressed.

“There’s nothing keeping us here.  We could leave tomorrow if you’d like,” he offered. 

“Not planning on running off without me again, are you?  This wasn’t all some convoluted ploy to get me into bed?” you asked, mostly joking.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he laughed, sitting up and pulling you closer.  Soon he was hovering over you, and your legs wrapped around his waist before you could even think about it.

“Twice in a night didn’t satisfy you?” he smirked.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be satisfied,” you replied.

“And to think you accused me of wanting to run off!  I’m not sure I’ll ever get out of this bed, if you have your way,” he teased, leaning down to kiss your neck.

“I waited so long for this,” you explained, “I suppose my patience has run thin.”

“Then I won’t keep you waiting any longer,” he growled, and you bit your lip as you smiled.

You startled when you heard a knock on the front door.

“Who’d be coming by at this hour?” Julian asked with confusion.

As if to answer, you heard Viktor’s voice coming from across the house: “Are you all right?” 

“Fuck,” you whispered, rolling out from under him and hopping out of the bed.  Despite the commotion and the events of the night previous, Julian still took a moment to look you up and down as your naked form was exposed.  “I forgot he was coming over today,” you hissed.

“Tell him to bugger off,” he scoffed.

“Alright, but I need to get dressed and you need to stay hidden,” you commanded.

You searched for your clothing strewn about the floor, slipping back on your wrinkled dress and attempting to make some sense of your hair.

Dressed enough to answer the door, you shooed a half-clothed Julian into a corner where he couldn’t be seen from the entryway.  You dashed down the hall and opened the door, and Viktor was waiting on the other side.

“Viktor!  Good morning!” you said cheerfully, holding the door only enough to fit your body into it, hoping he wouldn’t see much of the messy room behind you.

“Isn’t that what you were wearing last night?” he noticed instantly.  You sighed, not realizing your plan wouldn’t last even through one sentence.  What you especially didn’t realize was that, upon understanding what most likely had happened, Viktor would push past you, entering in a rage.

“Wait, stop!” you protested, but it was too late.  Viktor stormed towards the bedroom, from which Julian had emerged and then immediately started to run away. 

“You,” Viktor growled as he pointed to the topless bard.

“Hey, long time no see!” Julian cheered weakly.

“Bastard!” Viktor bellowed, chasing Julian down and pinning him against the wall. 

“Stop!” you demanded, rushing towards them.  Viktor released Julian only for a moment to grab you by the collar of your dress, and you yelped.

“I’ll deal with you next, whore!” he spat, the back of his hand slapping you across the face so hard that you spun onto the floor.

Julian launched at Viktor, the two falling next to you on the ground and wrestling in a flurry of punches.  You tried to kick them off of each other but the fight grew more brutal quickly.  Soon Viktor had forced Julian onto the ground and was punching him over and over, each hit bloodying his face more and more.

“Stop, please!” you begged, but he wasn’t listening.  You were sure that he was going to kill him, and you scrambled towards your bedside chest.  Opening it, your dagger was laid right on top, and you wasted no time grabbing it and running over to the two of them.  You grunted as you swung the blade down, stabbing Viktor in the back.  He cried out, falling onto his side on the floor.  Julian weakly sat up, sliding along the ground to get away from his attacker.  You watched Viktor struggle for a moment and then relax, a large pool of blood already forming under him.  You rushed to Julian’s side on the floor, examining his face.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured before you could even ask.

“It looks pretty bad,” you winced.

“You saved me- I thought he was going to kill me,” he groaned.

“I couldn’t let you go that easy,” you smiled.  Julian closed his eyes, leaning his back against the wall as he sat in the corner of the room.  You looked at him with a smile: even bloodied and beaten he looked like everything you’d ever wanted.

You stood up and turned around, hoping to be able to care for Viktor’s wound, and everything happened so fast that you were on the floor before you realized exactly what had occurred.  You looked up just in time to see Viktor topple to the ground and die, a trail of blood behind him.  The wound in his back was empty, and you looked down to see your own dagger plunged into your gut.

“No!” Julian yelled, crawling towards you and examining the wound before grabbing your face. “No, no, no, no,” he rushed, tears running down his face as he scrambled around you to try to decide what to do.

“Julian,” you tried to soothe him, feeling a burning heat radiating from where you’d been stabbed.

“Oh Gods, I’ll go get someone- there must be a healer nearby-” he began desperately.

“Julian, look at me,” you requested, your voice weaker.  You felt so tired.  He obeyed, the fear in his expression clear even as you couldn’t see him that well through your tears.

“It’s over,” you whispered.

“No, no, it’s not,” he reassured as he shook his head, “it can’t be.  You’re going to be okay.  And we’re going to be together.”

"We were together, and it was beautiful,” you remembered, stopping to cough which sprayed blood from your mouth.

“It’s not over,” he repeated, but the way his voice wavered made it clear that he didn’t believe it entirely.  “I can’t lose you again.”

It was getting harder to fight to stay awake, and you didn’t want to fight anymore.  You felt like if you just let go, you could fall back into something warm and dark and peaceful.  And you were ready to let it wrap around you and take you home.  He grabbed your hand and held it in his, planting a kiss on your knuckles and holding your fingers against his forehead.  His touch kept you lucid a bit longer, but your fingers were already so cold…

“I kept my promise,” you whispered, a warm tear rolling down your cheek as you felt everything blur and soften, your vision narrowing down to a point even though you couldn’t tell if your eyes were closing.

“No, no, please don’t go…" Julian’s begging faded away into the quiet static of sleep.  

~

You startled awake, and instantly you couldn’t see or breathe.  Your body flailed against the oppressive darkness and you felt it moving against you, felt that there was something to struggle against.  Pushing back against the weight, your hands were suddenly cold and you remembered the feeling as air.  Sitting up, you were freed, coughing hoarsely as you breathed for the first time you could remember in a long time.  Opening your eyes, you saw you were on the beach, surrounded by and covered in sand.  You looked behind you and observed the hole you had just crawled out of.  Just above where your head must’ve been lay a pile of rocks, and remnants of dead flowers.  This was a burial ground.  Your burial ground.

You vaguely remembered dying, the sensation of holding Julian’s hand as you slipped away.  You could imagine it so clearly that it almost felt real, like you’d only let go of him a moment ago.  You reached down to your stomach where the knife had been, and found a bloodied hole in your clothes but no damage on your skin.  

You touched your hair and it was braided.  You looked through the sand and found flowers everywhere, even a bouquet.  You began to cry as you realized that Julian had kept his promise to take you to the ocean, and even gone so far as to prepare your body for a funeral and decorate your sandy coffin with flowers.

There has to be another chance, his words from the night before you died rang in your head.  You stood up, your legs still a little wobbly as you got used to walking again.  But quickly you were running, determined on your mission to find Julian and fix this for good.  You weren’t sure how you were alive, but you knew why: he and your teenage self were right.  You were meant to be together.  And now not even Death could stop you.

~

“Tell me the date,” you demanded as you swung open the door to the mage’s office.  He motioned to an astrological calendar on the wall, and you examined it.  

“It’s been exactly a year,” you realized aloud.

“Since when?” the mage asked curiously.

“Since I died,” you said casually.

The mage stood up, pulling out a chair and gesturing towards it.

“Please, have a seat,” he requested.

~

“I’m not sure I came back from the dead,” you groaned as you looked at yourself in the mirror.  You saw some features that you shared with your memory of how you’d looked before, but you saw yourself as a stranger.  Everything you’d hated about your face and body (and there was a lot) was gone.  No pockmarks from your childhood illness.  No wrinkles around your eyes and mouth.  Stronger jawline, bigger eyes, fuller lips.  Your hair was fuller as well, and even the colour was different.  It wasn’t like looking at an entirely different person necessarily, moreso just yourself with several minor changes that really added up, but it was quite the shock regardless.

“In my experience with resurrection, a physical change is normal,” the mage explained.

“You have experience with resurrection?” you asked incredulously as you turned to him.

“No,” he frowned.

You grimaced, looking back to yourself in the mirror, tugging at your skin as if the mask would peel off and you’d look like the old you again.

“So, you don’t know how or why you’ve changed?” the mage interrogated.

“Yes, of course,” you sighed.

“And you don’t know how or why you’re alive?” he asked.

“I don’t know how,” you answered, “but I know why.”

The mage waited for an explanation.

“Love,” you stated plainly.  “Do you think love can create miracles?”

He pondered for a moment before he replied. “Destiny gets her way,” he decided, “and even Death bends to her will.”

“I’ve always known he was my destiny,” you remembered.

“I have to say, I’ve had quite a peculiar day,” the mage admitted.  You glared at him.  “Not quite peculiar enough to compete with yours, of course, but peculiar nonetheless.  I don’t usually spend all day talking about destiny.”

“I thought that was normal fare for a mage.”

“Most people come here asking to either lift a curse or cast one.  Destiny is a rarer issue.  Just before you came in, I was discussing it with someone else- a witcher, if you’d believe it,” he recalled.

“I’d believe anything now,” you smirked.

“Say, do witchers normally have travelling companions?”

Your face dropped and you stood up from your seat.

“Tell me where they went,” you demanded.

“I try to offer my clients privacy, a sense of discretion-” he began, but he choked when you grabbed him by the collar.

“Tell me where they were headed, now,” you repeated through your teeth.

~

“You’ve aged more in the past year than you did in all our travels together,” Geralt observed.

“I lost everything,” was all Jaskier said.

Suddenly he looked to the horizon, not for any reason, just a feeling that he should.  Staring ahead he saw a silhouette begin to emerge from over the hill.  You looked back at him and you prepared to explain who you were, what had happened, why you changed (not that you understood all of that yourself).  Instead he started to run to you, and you couldn’t fight back your ecstatic smile as you began to run to him as well.  When you met in the middle he embraced you, spinning you around and pulling you into a kiss that made you feel properly alive again, more than before.

“It was never over,” he told you quietly as he pulled back from the kiss.  

“How did you know it was me?” you asked, running your fingers down his cheek. “You buried me.  I look completely different.  I don’t even recognize myself.”

“I could just… tell,” he shrugged.

“But how?” you demanded.

“Because it’s you,” he answered simply, using his hand to brush some hair out of your face. “It was always you.”

You kissed him again, with enough passion to make up for the all the time lost, and yet, brimming with hope and excitement for the future.

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Or read here:

Geralt chooses not to ride, Roach needs a rest after carrying something far too heavy for several miles. He didn’t see a place to get her any kind of treat, and if he’s being honest, he didn’t much feel like looking. He wanted to leave. Eskel walks Scorpion alongside him, not leaving much room for the bard. Dandelion tries to stuff down his annoyance, but he can’t quite hide it.

The two witchers talk quietly, catching up and their voices are so soft he can’t hear any of it. Determined not to cause a scene, he thinks of several unflattering verses to describe their new companion. At least the addition is temporary. Eskel frequently reaches out to touch Geralt as they talk, and at one point slings an arm over his shoulders and keeps it there for what feels like ages to the irate bard.

“I don’t understand the problem here, Geralt. You’re doing the same thing you used to do when we were boys.”

“No, I am looking at a hopeless situation and choosing not to make it worse. That is almost the opposite of what I did when we were boys.”

“You didn’t make it worse trying to save that rabbit.”

“I prolonged its pain.”

“Not for long, and you know it. Besides with Axii it’s not as if it felt much. It spent some of its last moments calm while you tried to see if there was anything you could do.”

“We hunt and eat rabbit.”

“True, Geralt, we do. But we don’t always frequent upon one that had clearly been hurt and was suffering. You’ve never liked to see anyone or anything in pain.”

Geralt looks away, unwilling to continue to debate the point.

“You’re pig-headed and stupid, do you know that?”

“This is clearly going to convince me to do what you want? Insulting me?” Not that he’s surprised. He lightly jabs Eskel in the ribs and debates getting up onto the horse where Eskel can’t keep touching him. He misses having this kind of easy camaraderie. Nothing to be lost and nothing to be gained. He has no romantic feelings towards his friend, and never had, in spite of all the things they’d done together. They can hug, touch, huddle together for warmth, share things, and it feels safe because there’s no expectation. It’s not like sharing the bed with Dandelion and desperately wanting to do more than sleep.

“He won’t live as long as we do, anyway. And if you’re right, and he leaves you after a few fucks at least the question was answered. Don’t think I can’t smell the lust on you both.”

“I would rather have him as a friend than not at all,” Geralt grits out.

“How long until that longing ruins the friendship for you both? How long until your resentment of all his paramours gets in the way and you turn on him?”

“It’s how he is. His cock leads him where it wills. He’s got to stick it in something or he’s a nuisance. It need not be me.”

“But you want it to be,” Eskel grins and Geralt curls his lip to show his teeth in annoyance.  Determined to annoy his friend a bit more, he puts his arm around him again, pressing his palm to Geralt’s head to force him to lean over a bit before kissing his cheek. It will make the bard near apoplectic and will make Geralt far easier to rile up. He’d forgotten how much fun it was to drive his more stoic friend mad. “For luck,” he says to justify it. Geralt simply snarls.

“Will you harp on something else?” he asks.

“No, but I’ll be silent for a while, I think I’ve done enough to upset you.” His tone adds ‘for now’ which makes Geralt want to hit him.

They travel in relative silence until near dark. Eskel hangs back as Geralt and Dandelion automatically move together to look for a place to camp. It’s obvious they’re used to traveling together and working together. Their movements are well practiced and they fit together as a unit. When a place is chosen camp is made without any need to communicate. He adds his bedroll later and uses Igni to light the fire once wood is brought.

“I’ll hunt up some supper,” he offers. When no one disagrees he moves off to see if he can find a game trail.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asks Dandelion, fairly sure what he’s seeing is simmering anger.

“You won’t let me kiss you, you hardly let me touch you. But you’re so comfortable with him. We’ve been travelling together off and on most of my life now.”

“He doesn’t want anything from me that I can’t give,” Geralt says simply, staring at the fire.

“I am not trying to take anything from you,” the bard points out.

Geralt privately disagrees. Dandelion would like his heart, his affections, and then the minute someone else came along he would return them, ill used and unwanted. “We became friends my first day at the keep,” he says heavily. Perhaps sharing something of the situation will be enough to stop the anger and the acrid smell of it rising from his companion. “I did not understand my mother intentionally abandoned me near the walls. I thought we had become separated,” his jaw clenches and he has a hard time saying anything more for a while. For once, Dandelion is completely silent. “I also did not understand I could not go look for her. Or that having a tantrum, as children do, was ill becoming of a witcher. Even one in training. I was punished appropriately for the transgression and disobedience.

“He was the first boy there to show me any kindness. He hadn’t been there much longer than I, and while we would bond with the others, too…it wasn’t the same. I tried a few times to leave and find her, determined she wanted me back and was worried. She was not. I again suffered through quite the spanking and could not sleep. He stayed with me that night and kept me out of more trouble.” Geralt does not add Eskel crawling into his cot and keeping a hand over his mouth to muffle the sobs so he wouldn’t catch another round with the belt. Witchers do not show their emotions. Eventually, they will not have them, and it is better to give them up early. He does not add that he could not sleep for several days unless he was holding Eskel’s hand at night. How can he? “He showed me how to fit in better. When I was less of an annoyance the other boys warmed to me. Things improved.”

Dandelion still stinks of anger, but Geralt has the feeling the bard is no longer angry at him. He fidgets with his hands for a while, debating something with himself. “I am glad he was there,” he says simply. It will do Geralt no good to hear how unfair the whole situation sounds. He won’t care and as it is it won’t make any difference now. “I am glad you had someone to share that with who made it easier.” He leans over and gently kisses Geralt’s cheek and pulls away. He won’t push. “I would share whatever burden you asked, if it would help things improve,” he says quietly before standing. “I’ll gather some more firewood, and I’ll stay close to the camp. And don’t worry, I’m sure the town over will hear the screams if I stumble upon one of your friends in the dark.”

And so Geralt is left utterly alone by the fire.

Dandelion comes back with plenty of firewood to find Eskel and Geralt quietly skinning a few rabbits.

“Did you bring anything we could use as skewers?” Eskel asks hopefully. The bard shakes his head. Geralt hands him a rabbit and a knife.

“I’ll go,” needing to get up and move again for a few minutes.

Dandelion efficiently finishes skinning the rabbit and reaches for another. “You found quite a few.”

“Stupid things hopped out of their warren right in front of me. I don’t know how many still live there, but all I’ve done is thin the herd a bit. I just can’t believe they popped out a few at a time, it was almost too easy. I feel practically cheated,” Eskel says. “How long have you known Geralt, again?”

“Almost twenty years now, I think,” Dandelion says absently.

“You must know so much about him,” Eskel presses. For all he knows the bard had said Geralt tended to the taciturn.

“I know of his life from when we met forward. He won’t tell me much of the past. And most people know about Blaviken, whether they want to or not. But I know him, and I doubt it was his fault or anything he could prevent.”

“I haven’t heard of Blaviken,” Eskel says. That doesn’t sound good. At least, he hadn’t heard of Geralt and Blaviken together.

“The locals would tell you he just showed up and slaughtered a bunch of people at market for no reason. I’ve passed through and tried to get more truth, but it’s been so long I’m not sure anyone even really knows what it was. I feel like he wouldn’t kill anyone for no reason.”

“No, and if he had Vesemir would have put him in the ground,” Eskel says firmly. He knows he will ask Geralt about it, later. He will know the truth. And he will find out why the bard does not. “Have you never asked him?”

“I mentioned the moniker he was given after, and he sucker punched me in the gut.”

“Ah.”

“It sounds like you both had a bit of a rough upbringing,” Dandelion fishes. “I know that the witchers jealously guard the secrets of the Trials and everything else to do with being a witcher. Their code, their learning, how to train to fight with a sword like they do…It just be quite intensive.”

“We can’t guard secrets we no longer hold,” Eskel says heavily. “The keep was sacked. The secrets lost. We hold some of it still, but not like what people think. Of course, we’re not much like what people think. I have yet to steal the breath of babies or drink the blood of virgins.”

“Some people are bloody stupid,” the bard mutters, fidgeting with the knife a bit. He’s laid his rabbit on its skin while it waits for Geralt to return with some sticks. “I know I probably shouldn’t ask this, and I have a feeling I will regret it, but I’m going to. Geralt can tell you my curiosity is more curse than anything else. It leads me into more trouble than anything else in my life. So if you’re going to kill me for asking, you’d best do it quickly because I have substantial training as a bard and I can be very loud. I will scream quite a bit if you kill me slowly.”

Eskel snorts and raises an eyebrow. “Did they also train you as a Player? You’re quite theatrical. Just ask.”

“Were you his first?”

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“His first, his first kiss, his first… everything,” the bard bursts out, waving his hands to make up for the words unspoken.

Eskel looks at him and snorts. “No, not the way you would think. We shared things with each other, and we had a fair share of firsts, but no,” he laughs. “There are no women at the keep, and while we did some of our book learning at the Temple of Melitele, we were far too young to be chasing skirts.” He debates tormenting the bard with some of what he does know.

He remembers the horror they’d felt when they first experienced puberty changing their bodies. Terrified when they woke with an erection that it wouldn’t stop. It hit them all at different times, and none of them had been prepared. None of them knew what to do to make it stop, and thankfully for many, the terror and panic was usually enough to stop it. Most young boys can’t keep their hands away from their genitals even before there’s much reason to play with them, and eventually curiosity also broke into the fear and some of them began experimenting. The first boy to ‘figure out’ what to do had eagerly shared with them his experience.

Soon enough they were all trying it, not realizing it was by ‘normal’ standards something meant to be private and never spoken about. They had been trained collectively to watch each other’s performances in regards to sword fighting, hand to hand combat, and the various traps and training arenas in the keep, and to them this was no different. They had shared advice, and even shown each other things they liked. If they had known how the outside world would have seen that, they would have died of shame.

It had become a game once they realized it could be triggered on purpose. To play chicken, almost, and see how much you could arouse your fellow in a public place before he stopped you.

“What’s got you so amused?” Dandelion asks Eskel, looking up when Geralt comes back.

“Do you remember the games we used to play when we thought Vesemir wasn’t looking?”

“Which one?” Geralt asks as he sits down and starts preparing the rabbits for the fire.

“The one that made us all blush before the mutations changed us too much for that to be possible.”

Geralt looks away, deeply uncomfortable. He has learned shame in his lifetime. And embarrassment over what they’d done as boys. They hadn’t known better, it had been innocent. Harmless. But he knows the way it would be seen now and rather than an amusing memory it’s something he’s shoved away inside himself as something that shouldn’t have happened. Just more proof he isn’t the witcher he’s supposed to be.

“Oh come, surely you haven’t forgotten,” Eskel leans forward. He grips Geralt’s knee and looks at him. “I could show Dandelion, spare you the trouble of explaining it,” he offers.

Geralt glares and then looks at his friend. He knows that there’s no getting out of this now. “When we were old enough to change from boys to men, we learned we could torment each other under the table,” he says flatly. “The point was to see how far you could take it before you were stopped. If I recall Eskel won, completely. I rarely made it very far in.” Once a hand was on his thigh he could barely handle it. Not many of the boys made it up very far because he always caved, afraid of the consequences of angering Vesemir. It wasn’t that he didn’t mind when it was in private, but at the damn dinner table where the whole point was to not get caught had made him edgy.

“And how did you win?”

“You got stroked off without letting on and somehow not getting caught,” Geralt bites off, still glaring angrily at Eskel.

“Geralt was always worried Vesemir would catch on and so you could only get about halfway up his leg before he tapped out,” Eskel grins, demonstrating on Geralt’s leg and laughing when his friend pushed his hand away. “Just like that.”

Dandelion can see Geralt’s discomfort but when he sees the way the witcher won’t look at him he knows it’s more a fear of judgement. “We had something similar at Oxenfurt. Only there are women there and they were the ones tormenting us at the table. We also weren’t told about it until after. The girls had a hazing process, and it involved getting ahold of some poor lad’s cock and getting him to do something strange at an inappropriate time to get him into trouble and embarrass him. I quite ruined a singing lesson because of an especially brave young woman whose name currently escapes me. I have to give her credit for the spine it took to do what she did.”

“What did she do?” Geralt asks, grateful for a change of subject and the show of solidarity.

“Put her hand right down the front of my pants.”

Eskel snorts and then laughs. Geralt smiles faintly, he can well imagine how loudly his friend would have yelped. “How did no one see?” he asks.

“Oh, the desks we had. And we weren’t in the front row, either. She got me again once, standing because again we were near the back. The second time I was more ready for her and caught her arm so she couldn’t withdraw it right away. She was sweating like mad and she never did it again.”

“Did she make good on it later?” Eskel asks.

“Oh, in spades,” the bard grins brightly. “I enjoyed her company quite a bit, but never in public,” he chuckles. He watches with a bit of confusion as Eskel sets his hand on Geralt’s leg again, only for it to be pushed away. And then again. He expects to see Geralt looking furious, but there’s a sort of odd tolerance and almost amusement on his face that the bard has never seen before. At some point Geralt seems to get fed up with the game and elbows Eskel in the side. The attack was apparently out of bounds in some way, because it results in a full-on scuffle.

They’re quiet about it, but it seems like the game ends when one of them is on top, only neither one of them is willing to let the other win and be done with it. When Eskel gains the upper hand with a grin, Dandelion expects that to be the end of it. He does not expect Geralt to swing his legs up and flip them both over so that he’s on top. Something about the way Geralt works to pin Eskel under him makes the bard’s mouth go dry and he presses his thighs together.

“Alright, alright, enough,” Eskel says and Geralt releases his wrists to sit back on his haunches. He looks down in irritation at his friend, still straddling him. “I’ll leave you be,” he holds up his hands to show they’re empty and he has no intention of attacking again. Geralt takes them for a second and Eskel automatically pushes and Geralt uses the leverage to get up, and then pull Eskel to his feet after.

“The rabbits are cooked, I think,” Dandelion coughs awkwardly, trying to look anywhere but at Geralt. He rather thinks he wouldn’t mind being pinned under him, white hair falling around his face, fingers entwined, hips moving together, and he jerks himself out of the reverie. He can see Eskel watching him in the firelight and knows the witcher is aware of his desires. He swallows hard.

“They look done,” Geralt comments, pulling one skewer away from the flames to check if the meat is cooked through. No sense in spending days shitting yourself out in the woods because of undercooked coney. He pulls off a piece of the meat to check it first, and the texture seems fine. They move aside the extra so it won’t burn and start eating. Geralt, in spite of the earlier tussle, settles against Eskel’s chest as they eat.

It doesn’t seem to bother Eskel that Geralt’s mostly in his way as he tries to eat, and he just shifts to open his legs so Geralt fits between them. He leans his back against the broken bit of log they’d dragged to the camp so that he’s not supporting both himself and Geralt with just his torso. Dandelion watches as Geralt shifts to drape a leg over Eskel’s shifting slightly to make it easier for him to eat. They gnaw the rabbits to the bones before tossing them into the fire. While there’s extra, neither one of them moves to take more and Dandelion wonders if they’re making sure he has enough, first. Or if they’re simply not that hungry.

“Geralt, you usually eat more than that, we have plenty…” he offers in a strange voice he almost doesn’t recognize as his own. He doesn’t realize it’s because he would give anything to trade places with Eskel.

Geralt grunts as he leans forward awkwardly, shifting his leg to make it easier as he takes up another skewer and looks over his shoulder before selecting another. He passes one back and keeps the other for himself before leaning back into Eskel’s chest. He takes his time to settle comfortably and Dandelion finds himself reminded of a dog turning ‘round in circles before settling into bed. Or a cat kneading the blanket before settling into it. Amused, he tries to fight away the jealousy. For all some part of him absolutely hates the idea Eskel had been able to touch Geralt in ways he cannot. Or that Geralt might have been willing to touch back.

Some part of him, under the jealousy, is pleased to see Geralt had someone through what had clearly been a difficult time. He’s gladdened, even, to know that there is someone with whom Geralt has very few barriers. It’s good that he can be himself with someone. He hasn’t seen Geralt and Yennefer while their relationship was going well, or he’d know that the witcher also found refuge in the witch at times. He sincerely did not understand their relationship but he’d only witnessed her temper and selfishness on the mountain. He hadn’t seen her pain, or her joy, had never seen the way she giggled like a girl when Geralt teased and flattered her.

He’d also never seen how she just accepted him. Refused to allow him to talk about himself as an aberration or a monster. He had no idea how much that cut the witcher to the quick when people did that. Or that when he did it himself, some part of him wished someone would disagree with him. She always did. Perhaps if Geralt had any way of explaining that to him, he could do some of the same. But to him when Geralt talks about being a mutant, well, he is. So what does it matter? He loves Geralt as he is, mutations and all. He doesn’t understand Geralt doesn’t want to feel like a mutant, he doesn’t want to feel other than human because that’s what causes most of the problems in his life.

When their stomachs are full, Dandelion carefully cleans his hands of any lingering grease and goes over to Roach to carefully get his lute from where he’d tied it to her saddle. He ignores how Eskel slips his hands around Geralt’s middle to hold him closer as they settle into each other. Eskel leans forward to rest his chin on Geralt’s shoulder so that their bodies balance each other. It’s so rare Geralt looks that comfortable and content that Dandelion’s heart aches.

He checks the strings to make sure they’re all in tune but realizes he’s at a loss of what to play. It’s a peaceful night, and something rousing or epic feels wrong. A lullaby also feels out of place, too. Perhaps a love song…Dandelion sings and Eskel shifts back and forth slightly to the music. The bard has a beautiful tenor voice that he could listen to for far longer than a few songs. Geralt initially tries to fight the gentle rocking, not sure what’s happening and then relaxes into it. They haven’t done this before, that he can recall. He’s always liked Dandelion’s voice, even if he hasn’t said it. The night he’d spent with Dandelion and Essi, the way their voices had blended had been wonderful.

He starts awake some time later, and Eskel snorts and pulls away. “I didn’t want to move you, I’ve never known you to sleep so much. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Geralt tells him. Dandelion had put his lute away and climbed into his bedroll at some point and Geralt can’t believe he slept through it. “Is he angry with me?” he asks softly, ashamed.

“No, he seemed almost pleased you fell asleep. Did you notice he enjoyed watching us wrestle?”

“No,” Geralt pulls away, tugging off his boots and making sure his swords are easily accessible before settling into his own bedroll.

“How are you so oblivious to him?”

“If you want to bed him so much, you’re welcome to try. I’m sure he’d be willing,” Geralt turns his back to Eskel.

With a shake of his head, Eskel looks around the small clearing. The horses are calm, and he doesn’t hear or smell anything amiss. With his swords near to hand, and boots off, he slips into his bedroll and shifts it enough that he can press his back to Geralt’s. If there is any reason to wake suddenly, they’ll be able to watch each other’s backs and fight more efficiently. It would make no sense to face the same direction on purpose.

             The sun rises to shine down on the trio. Geralt wakes first, feeling oddly well rested. He notices the arm around his middle first and feels a moment of deep confusion when he sees Dandelion a few feet away from him. As he wakes up more he remembers Eskel is with him again. Oddly comforted, he almost goes back to sleep. It’s been good to not have to be on guard so much, knowing that there’s someone else just as capable and deadly as he is, only they won’t try and hurt him. He stretches out and feels his spine pop a bit. Eskel shifts and pulls away, sitting up to rub at his face and look around. He’s glad to have Geralt acting more like the person he knew before they’d finished their training. It had hurt when he’d been pushed away.

             Geralt watches as Eskel tugs on his boots and buckles on his swords before disappearing into the trees. Aware of his own full bladder, he is unwilling to leave the bard unguarded and waits for Eskel to return. When he does, Geralt gets up and finds a secluded spot.

             Eskel watches as the bard wakes up slowly, looking around for Geralt. He stretches out uncomfortably and looks at Eskel. They are not enemies, the witcher knows, but he’s not sure they’re friends, either. Tempted to make the situation worse, or to try and make it better, he doesn’t. Simply stares until Dandelion looks away.

             “Is there running water around?” he asks as he starts neatly rolling up the bedding.

             “How should I know?”

             “Witcher senses?” Dandelion asks irritably. “Can’t you hear or smell these things? I know Geralt can. Typically.”

             “Our senses are enhanced, but his are… more.”

             “What?” he freezes, tying off the last few knots to prepare the bedrolls to be secured to the saddle. “How do you mean, more?”

             “He really doesn’t tell you much, does he? He travels with you, cares for you, and yet keeps everything to himself. I don’t doubt it’s a lack of trying on your part to pry at all, is it?”

             “He tells me what he wants,” Dandelion says stiffly, not liking the implication Geralt doesn’t trust him. Even if maybe that’s true. Perhaps the witcher still worries about what might find its way into song. He’s been careful about that, only things it would hurt no one to know. “I know he can see in the dark, I know he can control his pupils, I know about how far he can hear, and smell, I know his palette, while not refined, is also quite sensitive…I know his preference for dark haired women,” he snorts in disgust.

             “She gives him something no one else does.” Eskel wonders if part of Dandelion’s open hatred of Yennefer is another reason Geralt doesn’t confide in him much. “Have you ever asked him what he sees in her? Or why he goes back, if she’s as horrid as you’re acting.”

             “No, I haven’t. I’ve met her, I was there when they first met. She almost got him killed,” and he idly wonders what is taking Geralt so long to get back, or if he’s listening and waiting.

             “What do you know about Geralt, really?” Eskel asks stretching out and starting to pack up his own things.

             “What’s that supposed to mean?” Dandelion asks snippily.

             “It seems like you have plenty of judgements and very little information to base any of it on.”

             “Fine. He likes history tomes, and philosophy -although I think that’s more because he thinks it’s ludicrous rather than something he believes in- he knows more about the monsters he faces than I could possibly imagine. He is reticent at all times about sharing anything with anyone, he flinches when strangers touch him, and he thinks the mutations make him truly hideous and abnormal. I know he’s twisted and torn about inside, but he won’t tell me why, I know Blaviken cuts him to the bone still, years later. I know every life lost he thinks he could have saved he carries in his heart. So I might not have the facts of all of it like you’d like me to, but I know him. I know he’s good, and kind, he cares for his horse even if he says he doesn’t. Cats hate witchers but I think if one was friendly he’d tolerate it. He’s good with children,” the bard adds defiantly. The few that aren’t told to be afraid of him by their parents, at least, he’s good with. They ask him all sorts of questions he answers somewhat carefully. Mindful of telling them things that would upset them.

             “There was a little girl once, she’d gotten lost picking posies for her mum. She’d been crying a fight and we happened to be passing by her on the way to a contract. She’d fallen and scraped up her knees and crushed one of the flowers she’d found, and was having quite the fit. Geralt had her calm, cleaned and bandaged, and up on his shoulders in minutes. And rather than keep her posy for her mother as she’d planned, she braided bits of it into his hair and he let her. The second we were past the town and there was no way she’d know, he took them all out of course.” And had slipped one of the flowers into a pouch at his belt, the rest he’d left carefully scattered in the grasses where even if she came down the road she’d never see them.

             “I know whatever was done to him, he struggles with himself, and pretends to be stupid and unfeeling when he doesn’t want to face a situation. He’ll do just about anything to wriggle out of an emotional confrontation, including claiming witchers don’t have feelings.”

             “We do,” Eskel says softly. They are taught to manage them and keep control. They had hoped to burn feeling out of Geralt entirely. Clearly they had not.

             “I know you do! I know he does! I might not have his story, but I know him!” the bard snaps, hating the idea Eskel thinks he doesn’t know his traveling companion at all just because he can’t understand what Geralt sees in some witch. Or doesn’t know all the details of his childhood. Suffice to say it must have been deeply unpleasant overall for him to be this incompetent with managing his own feelings. “I know the stories of the scars, I hear the names he says in his sleep. I’m the one at his side day in and day out.”

             “But not night in and night out, I hear,” Eskel offers idly, as though commenting on the weather.

             “He doesn’t welcome me in his bed, and so sometimes I go elsewhere.”

             “You’d stay if he let you?” he asks shrewdly.

             “He never would. What else am I to do but quench that pain somewhere else? I can’t stay night after night and wish for something I can’t have. Better to find a distraction.”

             “Why stay at all if it pains you so much?”

             “Because I love him,” Dandelion says simply. “Better to have him in any part than not at all.”

             Eskel stands up and starts checking Scorpion’s tack and hooves. Everything looks to be fine. “Perhaps he thinks the same as you, but doesn’t understand you’re leaving because you can’t bear to stay for want of him. Perhaps he thinks it’s because that’s all it would be to you. Bedded to boredom and left behind.” He doesn’t especially want to involve himself in this. There’s other dynamics at play and he knows it’s not his place. “I wouldn’t want to bed someone I loved knowing they would up and leave the minute they’d worked it out of their system.” He looks around and doesn’t see anything amiss as he comes over to kick dirt over the logs of their fire. It had burned down, but better to be safe than sorry.

             “Where is Geralt?” Dandelion frets.

             “He’ll be back soon enough, I hear him now.”

[diamondcamefromhell]

Jaskier x Fem!Reader pt.2

PART ONE

I dont think you need to read part 1 to understand this one, but if you want, you can. i woke up wanting to write about this lil bard so much, i might write more today (requests are open) i just love him so much, send help lol, but either way, enjoy this part

Warnings: none, just some play fighting, but nothing too violent

Word count: 2000

After I was saved by Jaskier and Geralt, I felt different. I was free, but that also made me realize I am weak. I don’t know how to fight, and unlike bard, I can’t even provide entertainment. I spend my whole life cleaning up piss and vomit, now out in the real world, I was just a tag along.

And the more Jaskier sang about their adventures, the more scared I got. Bard tried to calm me down, ensuring that he makes things more dramatic for ballad purposes, and Geralt agreed, saying half of the stuff in his songs didn’t happen. My anxiety didn’t give in, but I couldn’t exactly back out now.

I was anxiously petting Sky when Geralt came saying he has a beast to slay. Apparently this townspeople have been attacked at night time, by an ‘angry wolf’ as they described it. I had no idea where we even were, as my world always was so small. Sky anxiously neighed.

“It’s okay boy. You stay here.” I say, petting his muzzle.

“As will you.” Geralt exclaims, and I don’t even try to argue. The last thing I want is to get in a way.

“We can’t leave Y/N alone, Geralt.” Jaskier argues. “She must come with us.”

“Why don’t you stay with her.” While it was supposed to be a question, Witchers tone tells me the discussion is over. I am glad. Jaskier, however, presses his lips tightly together, eyeing Geralt for a few moments, before giving up and sitting down on the grass.

He seems to possess an infinite wardrobe as he is now wearing moss green matching set. It makes his hair look beautiful and his eyes shine even more. I catch myself staring, so I clear my throat and focus back on my horse.

Jaskier was a flirty man, I noticed that. I found it scary, a little harmless flirting for him went right into my heart, nestling there and making it a home. I didn’t want to be disappointed or taint what could be a good friendship.

But my heart wouldn’t shut up.

Geralt pets Roach, silently, before turning on his heel and walking off. Not even a grunt for goodbye, but I gotten used to a rather quiet Witcher, and never quiet bard.

“Are you scared, Y/N?” There he goes again. I look at Jaskier who has a playful grin on his face. My heart races.

“Yes.” I decide to be honest, and his expression softens. “My world consisted of the inn and a barn where me and Sky would rest. My biggest monsters were the men. Not… whatever Geralt has to fight all the time.”

“Geralt knows how to handle a beast, you mustn’t worry.” I nod, but Jaskier can tell I am not convinced. “He will protect you.”

“For how long?” I bring the sour topic on the table, whenever I mention leaving, Jaskier get’s so sad, my heart breaks. I avoid looking at the bard now. “He can’t babysit me forever.”

“He babysits me all the time.” Jaskier jokes, but I don’t crack a smile. “Don’t let him know I said that.”

“I bet you still are better fighter than me.” I say, mostly under my breath, but bard jumps on his feet, gently placing his lute down.

“Then let me train you. We can train together is what I mean.” I look at him as he winks at me, stretching. “We could do that while Geralt gets his coin.”

“I don’t know…” I say, worrying what this play fighting might do to my already fragile heart, but bard insists.

“It will be good.” He stops stretching, looking me directly in the eyes. “And I promise not to hurt you. I’ll be gentle.”

I would much rather he hurts me, because gentleness leads to butterflies in my stomach. I sigh, stepping away from Sky who proceeds to munch on some grass.

“Let’s pretend we’re in a physical fight.” Jaskier has his playful grin back on, and part of me wants to smack it off his face, and other part… well. “Don’t go too hard on me, lady Y/N.”

I roll my eyes, my heart fluttering. However when bard jumps towards me, I manage to get out of the way just in time, but he is surprisingly fast, grabbing me from behind. He lets go almost immediately, giggling. He scores himself a point.

As he is still distracted, celebrating his point, I rush to the bard, slamming him against the tree. I did try to be gentle but he still let’s out a grunt. I thought I actually hurt him, but he laughs, giving me a point. I step away, my cheeks blushing from us being so close.

Jaskier then decides to pick up sticks, for daggers, and see who can get more hits. I didn’t realize we were playing with points, but he was keeping track.

So we continued, for a while. We kept breaking even and our tired giggles filled the forest around us. I was so lost in the moment and so happy, I couldn’t stop smiling. We decided on one final round, as we broke even once more. Whoever scores, wins. I felt competitive spirit grow over me as mischievous smile covered Jaskiers face too.

We circle each other, smiles on our faces. He is the first one to try and jump me, but I move out of the way, turning on my feet, before he attacks me from behind. He smirks, noticing I learnt from the first round, and charges me again, but I manage to get away. This time I don’t hesitate, chasing after bard, as he laughs, moving out of the way – barely though. But that was his plan, before I can find my footing and regain balance, he jumps me, knocking me to the ground.

With that, Jaskier is on top of me, looking down, holding the twig-dagger at my throat. My heart is thumping so loud my ears ring, and I am almost sure he could hear it too. I stare at him, not sure what to do. His usually neat hair is now messed up from all this play fighting, his green suit has some mud stains on it. A couple more buttons are undone now too, but I try not to stare. Somehow, looking like a mess makes his more attractive.

Our eyes meet and I feel like my cheeks are about to catch fire, as bard continues smiling at me, removing the twig from my throat. I am well aware that he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, that’s why he’s so slow to move away from me. His grey eyes grill mine.

It is unusual to see him so relaxed and mischievous. With Geralt around, he’s just loud and talkative and I guess that’s his way of trying to break all of Witcher’s wall. When it’s just us, he is always more relaxed, more playful, but still, just as annoying. I like that about him, often wondering why he acts this way around me, but then I realize I know why.

Jaskier knows he already knocked all of my walls down.

“I win.” He finally says, and I see his eyes, for a split second, drop to my lips. But he lifts himself up, extending his arm to help me get up too. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.”

“Only my pride.” I try to joke, but my voice shakes, giving away my nerves. Jaskier smirks at that. He drops the twig to the ground.

“We should do this more often.” If possible, I blush even more.

“Sure.” I stutter and he laughs.

“You’re cute.” I can’t give a reasonable response to that so I just turn around, walking back to Sky, who acts my emotional support whenever I get frustrated about Jaskier. “I mean it, Y/N, you’re dangerously cute.”

“Shut up.” I whisper to myself, smiling but praying he can’t see it. “You’re dangerously good at this.”

“What was that?” Jaskier asks, playfully. I know he couldn’t hear me, I was quiet enough, but my heart still drops. I glance at him.

“Nothing, Jaskier.” I manage, as Sky neighs, as if laughing at me. I glare at the horse. “Next time I will win.”

“I will remember this.” Jaskier approaches me, landing his hand on the horse. Sky loves this attention, as he playfully snorts. I stare at the bard, somehow feeling sad in this blissful moment. I knew this could never last forever.

“I’m scared.” I say out of the blue, and Jaskier’s face softens, all playful grins disappear, and I can tell he’s ready to listen.

“You aren’t such a bad fighter. You went against the greatest bard the world has ever seen, still lost, but you scored some points.” He smiles, his hand landing on my shoulder. I close my eyes.

“No, Jaskier. I’m scared to be alone again.” I don’t want to see his expression, so I keep my eyes closed, leaning on Sky’s barrel.

“You don’t have to be alone ever again.” He tightens his grip on my shoulders and I look at him. He smiles, not his usual grin, but a genuine soft smile. Sky neighs as if to agree with him.

I realize I am not ready for this conversation yet. I don’t have to break my own heart at this very moment, I can wait a little while longer. Enjoy the good things, the playful things.

My eyes drop, and I remember Jaskiers weight on top of me just minutes ago. That playful smile and my heart racing the winds. Knowing one day I will have to give that up, was unbearable.

“Don’t be sad.” His hand lands on my cheek, making me jump. He has a small playful grin on his face. “Next time I will let you win, if that will stop you from leaving.”

“Shut up.” I giggle. He doesn’t remove his hand from my face, and I close my eyes yet again, enjoying the moment. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Well, I thank you, for being my creative muse too.” He steps back, his hand sliding off my cheek. “There is only so much creativity one can get from mighty Witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”

“There is only so much creativity one can get from me.” I playfully say and bard giggles.

“Nobody is infinite.” I nod, agreeing. I feel tears prick my eyes and I don’t know why. Is it happy or sad tears, I couldn’t tell. I am so overwhelmed by everything and I guess I do try to keep it all in, and moments like this make me go over just enough to break. “Did I make you cry again, Y/N?”

“No, Jaskier. It’s just… I don’t like crying, it makes me feel weak.” I try to catch the tears, wipe them away before the water works turn to waterfall.

“There is nothing weak about being human.” I know he’s right but I still cant stop the tears from coming.

“I’m fine, I swear.” I whimper. “I don’t know why I am crying.”

“Happy tears, I hope.” Jaskier pulls me into a hug. “It’s okay tough, Y/N, even if they’re sad.”

“I don’t like it when people see me cry.” I say to his shoulder.

“I must be special then.” I giggle, pulling away. The tear wave came and went. I take a deep breath in.

“Next time, let me win.” I joke and he laughs, making my heavy heart feel ever so slightly lighter.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. You are a winner in many other ways.” I smile at the ground, blushing again.

“You are so sneaky, I hate you.” I say, jokingly pushing him away. Sky snorts at that, disturbed by sudden movement.

“Yet here we are.” Jaskier says, and my fragile hearts gives in. This bard now owns it. I sigh.

“Yeah, here we are.” I agree and Jaskier gifts me a smile again, that same genuine one.

PART THREE

[justablobfish]

Giving subtle hints of what one would like to get for Christmas

Day 7 of my Advent Calender. A new drabble or oneshot everyday until Christmas, following the Continent’s favourite found family and what they’re up to in the winter season. Based on this prompt list

Read on AO3

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

______

"What ya got there?" Jaskier asked on that fateful day a week ago as he carelessly dropped himself into Geralt's lap. And that's how it all started. With a letter and Jaskier’s unquenchable curiosity. 

"Summons from the Prince of Attre," Geralt answered, a fact he much regrets by now. "He's got a contract for me." 

"Ooh, it's made out 'To the White Wolf'", Jaskier beamed as he shamelessly skimmed over the letter. "You're famous enough now that people request you personally! I'm a genius and you're very welcome!" 

"For some reason the prince wants me to catch the Ur alive, though. I'll be needing Yennefer's help to put it down without killing it," Geralt pointed out. "So you'll have to stay here and watch Ciri. We'll prepare and set off in a few days." 

"Ugh, fine," Jaskier whined. "But don't complain when the house burns down again. What noble did Yennefer mind control that we can stay here again? I'm sure they won't mind having to redecorate a little!" 

"I know what you're doing, Jaskier, and it won't work. With Yennefer's portals we won't be gone for longer than two days. I'm sure you'll manage to control yourself and the little menace till then." 

"See, darling, that's what I love about you. Despite much evidence to the contrary, you never stop believing in my abilities." 

Geralt snorted at that. 

"Wait a second, though, the Prince of Attre. That means you'll be close to Cintra, right?" 

"Hmm," Geralt confirmed, and then added the one little word he still regrets uttering to this day: "Why?" 

And Jaskier had told him at length about this flower that supposedly only grows in the region near Cintra. When Ciri appeared to drag him off to sword training, he had been more than relieved to escape the lecture. 

Unfortunately, that wasn't the last of it. From then on out, Jaskier used every opportunity he could find to gush about this stupid flower. It's unparalleled beauty, it's lovely aroma, the intricate symbolism connected to it. Geralt started dreaming about the damn thing, his mind producing a perfect picture of the stupid weed from Jaskier’s descriptions alone. 

He wasn't the only victim, either. One night, when he headed back to his room after he had taken advantage of their luxurious temporary home and enjoyed a lengthy bath, he nearly ran into Yennefer, bursting out of the library and clearly agitated. 

"If I hear one more word about that stupid flower I'm going to murder him!" she snapped as she disappeared around the corner. "And now I'm running late for my lesson with Ciri!" 

And yet, now that he and Yennefer are actually on the trail of the beast they were hired to catch, he can't help but look out for those little white flower buds Jaskier described. 

"What even does he want with that stupid thing?" Geralt mumbles under his breath. 

Yennefer seems to have heard him, though. She clicks her tongue in annoyance and replies: "I hear it works as an aphrodisiac. Some people use it in perfumes." 

"Great, " Geralt deadpans. "As if we didn't have enough problems on our hands. I haven't seen Ciri smile in weeks for some reason and all Jaskier can talk about is some weird sex plant." 

"It's the winter solstice that has Ciri in a bad mood," Yennefer explains, her voice going soft. "For most people it's just a day of amplified magic, but in Cintra it's traditionally a celebration to honor one's family. She misses them a lot and it only gets worse around this time of the year." 

"Fuck," is all Geralt can think to reply. He wishes he had some sort of solution, some way of cheering Ciri up. Usually he and Yennefer turn to Jaskier for help with the emotional stuff, since they both don't deal with such topics all too well. But when Jaskier has his mind set on a project, it's hard to get him to focus on anything else. 

Geralt brushes aside yet another curtain of leaves, still dripping wet from last night's rain shower, and suddenly finds himself at the end of the monster's trail. 

Glowing red eyes stare back at him. Despite standing on four hooved legs, the Ur is at eye level with Geralt. It's huge, even for its kind. Thick skin covered in short black fur stretches over a massive bulk of muscle. The forward protruding horns are easily as long as Geralt's forearm and Geralt has no doubt that his armour will be of little use if the creature decides to gore him. 

For a moment, they stare at each other in equal surprise. Then the monster lets out a puff of hot breath and charges at him. Geralt quickly dodges out of its way, pulling Yennefer to safety with him. 

"Keep it distracted while I cast the spell!" Yennefer orders as he spins around to face the beast again. 

Easier said than done. The monster has turned back around as well and is pawing at the rain-slick ground with its hoofs, ready to pounce. 

That's when he sees it. Smack in the middle between the angry Ur and himself there's a tiny fleck of white sitting between the lush greens of the forest. One of Jaskier’s dumb plants. And the creature is just about to race over it. 

Geralt curses and throws an Aard sign in the direction of the monster, just as it comes running at him again. 

The bulky mass of muscles is unimpressed by his weak spell though, and doesn't slow down in the slightest. Geralt barely manages to throw himself to the side and avoid being trampled to death. 

There's nothing he can do for the flower though. And as if that weren't enough, his evasion manoeuvre landed him smack in the middle of a mud puddle. Just great. 

Merely a heart beat later, there's a loud crash and a tremor that shakes the earth. 

Alarmed, Geralt jumps to his feet, brushes the mud-greased hair out of his eyes and tries to make out the source of the disruption. 

It seems his Aard sign had some effect, after all. It has thrown the Ur off course enough that it collided with a nearby tree with so much force that it split the thick wood in half. 

His task is taken care of. The monster lies at the foot of the tree, dazed and unmoving. 

"Good thing you brought me along!" Yennefer sighs, exhausted. 

Geralt turns around, ready to snap at her that being caked in mood isn't how he had planned to finish this contract, when he notices that Yennefer's attention is neither on him nor the beast. 

He follows her gaze until his eyes fall on the little white-petaled flower that still stands in the middle of the forest, surrounded by deep, heavy hoof prints in the mud, but the flower itself is untouched. 

A bubble of crackling energy glimmers around it for another moment, before Yennefer drops the spell. 

It seems that no matter how ridiculous Jaskier’s requests are, neither he nor Yennefer can deny the bard his wishes. 

"I don't suppose he told you what part of the damn thing he actually needs?" Geralt grunts. 

At Yennefer's "no idea" he sighs and uses his dagger to remove the entire plant from the ground, roots and all. 

They deliver the knocked-out monster to the prince, who takes one look at Geralt's muddied appearance and the thick carpet he's dripping on, and practically throws them out of his estate. 

He does pay full price though, and even a little on top, so Geralt certainly won't complain about not having to exchange pleasantries and about getting back to their temporary home a little sooner. 

When they return, the house is still standing, despite Jaskier’s threats. 

The bard comes to meet them in the hallway and squeaks delightedly at the sight of the flower Geralt is carefully holding cupped in his hands. 

A moment later, Jaskier is gone again, vanished through one of the many doors in a colorful swirl of silk even Geralt's eyes barely manage to follow. He gapes at his now empty hands, where only a layer of grime and earth remains. 

"What the fuck was that?" Yennefer curses. "We go through all this trouble and he can't even muster a thanks?" 

"Hmm," Geralt replies as he slowly lowers his arms. "He never actually asked if we could get it either." 

"Oh, that little bastard! When I get my hands on him I'm gonna…" 

Yennefer doesn't specify what exactly she intends to do to Jaskier, though the way she trails her finger over her throat speaks for itself. 

"If you can wait till I've washed this all off myself, I'll be happy to assist you," Geralt grumbles. 

"Fine," Yennefer sighs dramatically. "I guess I should check on Ciri anyway.” 

An hour later, when Geralt is finally clean, dry and warm again, they meet up to go on search for the bratty troubadour. 

He's not in his room though, and not in Geralt's either. Furthermore, Geralt's alchemy tools seem to be untouched. If Jaskier wants to use the plant for some weird sex perfume, wouldn't he need the alchemy tools to prepare the plant? The mortar and pestle are clean, though and haven't been used recently. 

"Think he's hiding?" Yennefer asks after glancing over his shoulder. "He's gotta be somewhere. Let's keep looking." 

But Jaskier is not in the library or the study or Yennefer's room and in the dining room they only find Ciri, perched over a thick tome and looking as miserable as the days before. 

"Why are you studying here?" Geralt asks, confused. "Isn't it more comfortable in the library?" 

"Jaskier told me to wait here," Ciri replies without looking up. "Said he has a surprise for me." 

In that moment, Jaskier enters, through the door to the kitchen, of all places. 

He doesn't look at all like he just created an enticing perfume. The checkered apron with frills on the rim Jaskier wears is the last thing Geralt would describe as sexy and his hair is lined with strands of white. It takes Geralt a moment to realise that Jaskier hasn't aged ten years in the past hour, but that there's flour stuck in his hair. 

"Ciri! There you are!" Jaskier calls out and holds out a small, round box made of sheet metal. 

Curios Ciri inspects the contents of the box. 

"Are those Cintran winter solstice stars?" she gasps. "Oh, Jaskier, you shouldn't have!" 

"You mentioned eating them at the solstice with your grandmother the other day, so I just had to make you a batch," Jaskier returns with a self-satisfied grin. "Go on, have one!" 

Ciri picks out one of the cookies, which are indeed star-shaped, and carefully nibbles on it. Then her eyes go wide with surprise. 

"They taste just right! How did you do that?" she exclaims. "I bought imitations in nearly every bakery on the Continent during our travels, but they never tasted quite like they did at home!" 

"Well, you see, there is a secret ingredient," Jaskier offers. 

"I know!" Ciri blurts out. "It's love, isn't it?"

She presses a quick kiss to Jaskier’s cheek as she wrestles the box from his hands. 

"I'm not sharing, they're all mine!" she yells and darts past Geralt and Yennefer and out the door. 

Geralt doesn't miss the bright, happy grin on her face, though. The first of its kind in weeks. 

"So, what are you two doing here?" Jaskier asks as he runs a hand through his hair, further spreading the flour. "And why do you have that look on your faces like I'm in trouble?" 

"Oh, you're in trouble, all right," Yennefer purrs as she launches herself at the bard. 

"Ugh, what did I do to deserve such terrible treatment?" Jaskier huffs, his voice muffled by Yennefer's embrace. 

Geralt scoops up a stray bit of cookie dough that found its way to the tip of Jaskier’s nose and tastes it, before he joins in on the hug and wraps his arms around Jaskier and Yennefer. The dough tastes very sweet, though not at all like sugar or honey. 

"Thanks for getting me the vanilla plant, by the way," Jaskier chuckles. "Ciri really needed that reminder of home." 

[jlf23tumble]

Help, I am freaking out about rent i need a distraction from his hell month, what new things did you love (any fandom), fic rent is due, give me some power!

oh, GOD, yes, I’m happy to help! I sat on this ask for a couple of days so I could include anything that came in up to the wire, so here’s hoping nobody releases anything today!! This would be the stuff I read/loved in March, and it’s surreal to compare the beginning of the month to today, yikes a yikes. Come on, April, pull through for us, jesus christ:

First of all, you know I gotta rec each and every single one of the pubefest fics because they're outstanding in terms of characterization and writing, they're all so short and great, and this fest got some real star power. SWOON!

Reconnected, @star55, G, 1.5k, 1d, louis/harry. One of the very best girl direction fic writers out there, and how is this one possible, so much emotion, an ot5 reunion, zouis angst, an upbeat ending in less than 2k words, unrushed???

from winter sun to summer snow, objectlesson/ @alienfuckeronmain, E, 2k, the witcher, geralt/jaskier. SPEAKING OF PEOPLE WHO DO A LOT IN A LITTLE, this one, yeah, WOW, absolutely nails Jaskier's voice and character (Geralt, too, but his mouth is occupied).

No Control, thegirlwthekittentattoo, E, 2.6, 1d, louis/harry. I follow the ao3 tag for a laff, but every once in a while, an absolute GEM pops up and makes it all worth it, and this made my entire month!! It's all about the hids and how Harry uses them to tease Louis and some self-discovery comes in along the way (as well as some amazingly described bras and other looks). LOVED IT

Pregernante, Blake/ @newleafover, E, 2.8k, Star Wars, finn/poe (stormpilot??). I tell you what, without fail, my very fave birthday presents for the last three years have been fic gifts from Phoenix and Blake. In this one, Blake managed to squeeze an mpreg kink into the least-mpreg-kink-seeming pairing possible? THEIR POWER!

Next Exit, Jaerie, E, 2.9k, 1d, louis/harry. Someone sent me an ask for pregnant girl direction pee kink fics recently, but sadly, they do not exist...enter Jaerie, going for at least part of that brief, and it's the combo I never knew I needed.

Every Drop of Rain, haemophilus/ @h-influenzae, E, 3.3k, 1d, harry/taylor. The amount of gender exploration and dynamics (and Taylor's inner monologue) are simply stunning, I wish I could shake the shoulders of people who can't quit 2013 because the modern era is amazing, and it looks like there’s more to come in this one? GOOD!

Mon Petit, coffinofachimera, E, 3.5k, 1d, louis/harry. I love the entire concept of Harry wearing his fuzzy chick sweater while Louis films him mid-bj on their private jet. The kind of canon I deserve!

revolution, SunshineandLou, E, 3.8k, 1d, louis/harry. I am already prepared to love every single fishnet!harry fic that comes my way, and this one's no exception.

No Light of Day, objectlesson/ @alienfuckeronmain, E, 4.2k, Man from UNCLE, illya/napoleon. FUCK ME UPPPPPPPPP, this entire Tom of Finland series is so goddamned good, and this was a birthday surprise for me that blew my mind (partially because I randomly sent Phoenix a link to a Tom of Finland exhibition that morning), but yeah! In general! Very much yeah!!

into joy i'm sailing, @hereforlou, E, 4.6k, 1d, louis/harry. This was on tumblr as a drabble, and i am SO GLAD it's here now, too, archived! The setup of Harry wearing a dress at home and Louis accidentally seeing him and the aftermath of all that, simply gorgeous, soft.

Steaks High (Bitch I'm a Cow), objectlesson/ @alienfuckeronmain, E, 4.7k, 1d, orville/harry. I thought about this fic about 30 times during the recent Orville youtube living room concert (I’ll think about it in tonight’s, too), it's so tremendously on point with all the dirty talk, I legit hope they've read and loved it.

Will We Talk, gayumbrella/ @hypersoniclesbian, E, 5.1k, 1d, louis/sam. I don't know Sam Fender too well, so I don't know if this is perfect characterization or not, but wowwowowowow, is Louis well done here! And it's such a treat to see him outside of the bbc1 radio dj squad, too, ha.

Have a Nice Trip, @kingsofeverything, E, 6.3k, 1d, louis/harry. I swear to god, this should be in the pubefest rec pile, Harry's OBSESSION with Louis's pubes here is everything.

like sweat dripping down your dirty laundry, objectlesson, E, 8.6k, cars universe, doc/lightning. Best use of a Niall Horan song title outside of a 1d fic? MAYBE SO. But honestly this fic, with all the scent kink throughout, you practically live it.

canon-ish series, by @moonshinelouis-archive, E/M, 8.8k, 1d, louis/harry. MAnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, this is some great kink discovery (BDSM in the first one, body worship in the second, 10 for 10, would recommend 'em both, can’t wait for more).

Whoever, However, Brooklyn_Babylon/ @twopoppies, E, 8.9, 1d, louis/harry. JESUS CHRIST, the dirty talk in this is so fucking good (the way Harry reacts to Louis talking about H's pussy, chef's kiss). I loveeee all these fics related to current photoshoots, bring 'em on! 

(And if you’re into the dynamics of sexy sweet camboy/very interested filmer/more angst/any fandom, As Sweet as Blood Red Jam (cars universe) updated this month, too, god, this story kills me, I wanna hug Doc tight!)

Tangled Up Again, QuickedWeen/ @becomeawendybird, E, 14k, 1d, louis/harry. Technically, I read the third chapter in this specific story, but it feels like a new installment in a series? That's a fine line, I guess, but this is a GREAT girl direction series, and the descriptions of this outfit and the entire tennis competition/aftermath are so visual, gotta love pillow princess harry!

Second Spring, vondrostes, E, 88k, 1d, louis/harry. I tend to read all of Terran's amazing fics through patreon, but meanwhile, my fave is slowly drawing closer to her end on ao3. This is a thorough look into a transition and how it affects multiple people (the way all the characters change and grow, niceeeeee).

[the-third-bard]

Story summary of "the voice of reason"

Aka the titty girl story

This one had way more parts than any other so this post will be pretty long

Part one

Part one is the one page at the very beginning of the book where the girl sneaks into Geratl's room when he's "sleeping" and rubs her titties all over his face. "The voice of reason" takes place before the striga so there really wasn't any point in having this be the Very First Page except to hook horny straight men.

Part two

Part two starts with Geralt waking up in the temple of Melitele after having implied off-screen sex w titty-girl (Iola, who's a apparently a water nymph and talented with magic and is psychic? Or smth?)

Nenneke is introduced and scolds Geralt for being reckless in the fight with the striga. They seem to have kind of a mother-son relationship. (Nenneke has apparently known Geralt since he was a child? Which would make her Old As Fuck).

Geralt visits this temple once or twice a year.

Most of this part is about introducing religion and the cult of Melitele. The temple he's in seems to be part-church part-school? Theres a lot of younger girls and even children who learn stuff here and then go on working as midwives, teachers, healers (specifically women's and children's diseases), etc.

Dandelion is mentioned, he doesn't believe in Melitele. Dandelion is explicitly called Geralt's friend.

Nenneke wants Geralt to go into some sort of trance with the help of Iola? I guess this will be explained in later parts.

Part three

I loved this part, the best part of the book so far.

Some White Rose dickheads have visited the temple just to tell Geralt to fuck off. (White Rose is basically nazis mixed with scientologists, and they hate all non-humans) (later they will become the flaming rose, i think, and thats like the white rose lvl 100, with like full on genocide and shit)

Anyway, these tools show up and want Geralt gone and insult him and Nenneke, but ofc Nenneke won't have that and verbally beats the shit out of them. One of the dudes, Tailles, challenges Geralt to a duel for his insults and Geralt mostly laughs it off.

There's not a lot of plot here, the whole chapter reads as if it was an imaginary political argument Andrzej Sapkowski was having in his head where he was winning and he decided to put it in the book. I allow this because any form of dunking on nazis is good.

Part four

This part is LITERALLY Geralt just? Going on a 4 page rant? He literally does not stop talking once during the whole thing. It's a solid wall of just Geralt talking at this poor girl (Iola, the tiddy girl, who can't talk)

He talks about, in order; religion (*), swords, kaer morhen, parents, the trials, his first monster (**). Witchering, the "code" (***), Blaviken (****), and Ciri (*****).

Throughout this whole this Geralt like, answers questions? That I'm pretty sure he makes up to keep talking? He's like "... Vesemir- oh, who's Vesemir, you ask? Well he's my dad obviously-" Cus Iola is mute and she's never described to like, look questioning or even interested in what Geralt is saying. He does this 9 times.

* Iola has taken a vow of silence for Melitele and Geralt respects her decision. He tells her there is power in faith and that his own lack of faith holds NO POWER, which I thought was really neat (especially for a 20 year old Polish book).

** it's the story he told Renfri in ep one! (saving a girl from being raped (also 13 years old :/ ) He also says he did what be did because he wanted the girl and her father to be grateful, and not because it was the right thing to do. He'd been raised to fight monsters and he'd romanticized the idea in his head that he'd be so cool and appreciated, which I think is really interesting. It also shows his growth as a character from then to now, and the fact that he admits to this is also very neat.

*** Geralt totally just made up this "code" and apparently said it so much that everyone fucking thinks all witchers have a code when it literally is just Geralt. I really wanna know what the other witchers think of this.

****

Geralt needs therapy

***** Geralt berates himself for doing the law of surprise, and says he'll never return to Cintra and will just, avoid it forever I guess. (Yennefer and Ciri are apparently born around the same time in may!)

Part five

Geralt is in the library in the temple, he appears to be failing to read a history book.

Dandelion comes in the door and Nenneke absolutely destroys him.

She leaves and Dandelion and Geralt talk.

The world is changing, and witchers' work is becoming hard to find. Geralt is being negative about it and Dandelion tries to cheer him up a bit, distract him from his woes.

He says Geralt should adapt to the new world, change careers. He says that if the demand for poetry and music dwindled he'd become a gardener.

Dandelion gets pretty deep, and it was more than it expected from Sapkowski if I'm honest.

/... /

After this Dandelion changes the subject to make Geralt feel better.

Part six

Geralt and Nanneke is in a grotto that Nenneke uses as like, a greenhouse for magical plants. There are glowing crystals in the ceiling.

(Nenneke talks a bit about how the sun has changed? And the rays are deadly and kills plants and how it's "too late" to save people from it?)

Nenneke talk about how pissed Yennefer is at Geralt for some reason, and Geralt seems to be avoiding her (Yen) at all costs.

For the striga contract money Geralt has bought some precious gems, and gives some to Nenneke for the temple and wants to give Yennerfer the rest. He wants Nenneke to keep them for him until Yennefer comes to the temple looking for him so that she can give them to her? While he's ran away to somewhere else cus he's a little baby.

Nenneke refuses to help him with it because she's way too cool for that and calls Geralt out on being a big baby.

This is where Yennefer's infertility is mentioned, and Geralt says she can use the gems to (partly) pay for "the treatment".

They talk a bit and we find out that some sorceresses have "atrophied" ovaries and that that is because pursuing magic apparently fucks up your endocrine glands? Which would fuck up significantly more than just your ovaries (also this shouldn't be a thing just for female magicians? Why are all the male magicians totally fine?)

(Nenneke is hinted to be fertile as well as Geralt's mother in picture 1)

Nenneke is still trying to get Geralt to do some telepathy therapy stuff with Iola and he's also a big baby about this, even though he's absolutely TRASHED right now and doing the therapy would heal him up so that he can use his signs and fight again.

(it seems like after a near death, witchers lose their witchering skills? Nenneke says Geralt's reflexes aren't what they're supposed to be, his pupils don't dilate properly, his heartbeat is faster than normal aka 'normal human speed' i guess, they can't do signs. Would Geralt be human if he just let it be?)

Part seven

As Geralt and Dandelion leave the temple, they run into a whole bunch of guys. It's the dudes from part 3, expecting a duel. If Geralt refuses to fight, he'll be hanged, but if he injures Tailles, he'll be punished. They want him to give Tallies the fight to raise the dude's street cred. They explicitly want Tailles to "nick" Geralt's skin.

I thought Geralt was gonna like, prick his finger and yield but what actually happened was funnier and more clever. So kudos to Sapko for this.

They start fighting and Tailles sucks, obviously. The boy puts his sword in front of himself defensively and Geralt just, smacks that thing with his own sword so that Tailles' sword cuts him in the face.

This way, Geralt's sword never touched him and he can't be punished. I thought that was real neat.

(Geralt is totally banned from Ellander now but it was worth it)

Geralt and Dandelion leave, and Will Not Tell Nenneke About This.

The part splits and we see what happened as Geralt and Dandelion were leaving the temple.

Geralt and Iola touch hands and this triggers a vision. It's a vision of death and blood and monstrous paws. Iola collapses and has a seizure.

Nanneke saw it too, and begs Geralt to stay in the temple, but because he's Geralt he obviously decides to ignore the whole thing and leaves.

This is how the book ends

[thursday-knight]

3, 19, 22 for the meta writing asks please ^_^

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway) "It was for you," Geralt groans, pain seeping through the cracks in his words Jaskier knows Geralt will never admit exist.

"What? What was? What for?" Jaskier's voice comes out pitchy, off-key and breathless in a way he hates as he presses his hands to Geralt's chest. Fat lot of good being magical is now. There's nothing he can do about this. 

"The curse." There's blood on Geralt's lips now, too. "It was to protect you."

"Why?" Jaskier practically screams, pressing his hands to the big, gaping, sucking wound in Geralt's chest so hard he hisses. Not that it does either of them any good, Geralt's blood keeps slipping out past and between his fingers and Geralt groans in a way that Jaskier thinks might mean, "Because I love you, you idiot," in that special language Geralt has invented out of grunts and groans and particularly well placed looks. The language that's always driven him a little mad--mad because he needs Geralt to say it, to say the words--I love you.

But instead of that, Geralt's eyes slip shut on this big, rattling exhale as underneath Jaskier's hands Geralt stops moving, stops breathing and Jaskier is about half a second away from just opening his mouth and wailing when there's suddenly the sharp crack of a portal opening quickly followed by Yennefer saying, "Can't leave you two alone for five minutes, can I?" And Jaskier turns to her, intending to spit venom, intending to throw acid and to howl viciously, but instead what comes tumbling out of his mouth is a squeaky, "Help him! Please!" that sounds like it's barely just holding back a floodgate of tears, because suddenly, it is.

Yennefer rolls her eyes dramatically as she closes the distance between them and kneels on Geralt's other side. Quickly she assesses the damage before putting her hands above Jaskier's and barking, "Move your hands. Now," as sharply and concisely as Jaskier's always wished he was capable of being, always wished and never once managed to pull off. But he does as asked, he moves his hands and sinks back and away, watches Yennnefer's magic work it's well, magic for a grand total of two entire seconds before he's overcome with the unearthly need to scream, to howl and it's a need he manages to hold off, at first, but then--

But then--

But. Then. It tears out of him, tears through him in the worst, most vicious way, tears through him like a cannonball not through the bow of some great ship, but through his actual blood and flesh and bone, absolutely decimating everything it touches. He screams, he howls, he roars and the sound he makes isn't human. It's inhuman. It's monstrous. Ciri was right, he isn't human, he's--

He's--

"Ah, fuck," Yennefer curses and Jaskier manages to look down, to open his eyes --he hadn't even noticed he'd closed them--and he sees her sink back on her knees, sees her looking a certain type of way he isn't sure he's ever seen her look before, sees her look defeated. Sees…He looks down at Geralt and sees he still isn't breathing, sees he looks less and less alive and Jaskier howls, but this time the sound is a human one, one born of grief and agony as Yennefer says, "I knew it." And suddenly Jaskier feels himself fill with that rage he's always been looking for. 

"Knew what?" he bites out, chewing through the words until they're absolutely shredded. 

"You're a banshee," Yennefer says, leaving Jaskier to think the word, to let it slip through his fingers and glide under his skin. It fits. Too well.

"But wait..." Jaskier says, his eyes once again landing on the deathly stillness of Geralt's body. Banshees scream when someone's died, don't they?

He can't manage to say the words out loud, can't manage to reach out and touch Geralt, either. Can't handle knowing for sure, so he just sits there, watching, silent and feeling like his own heart might just stop if Geralt's has. 

Yennefer, of course, tells him regardless of his readiness to hear the information. "He's not dead," she says. "I couldn't heal him, the curse he's under got in the way, but I did manage to suspend him."

"What?" 

"It's like he's asleep," Yennefer says. Without waiting or asking for permission, she grabs Jaskier's hand and drags it up to Geralt's neck and leaves it there and at first, Jaskier feels nothing, at first, he feels his heart start to shatter little by little like a crack spreading in a pane of glass, feels the tears overwhelm him and spill over, because he feels nothing, nothing but cold, lifeless skin, feels nothing, nothing, nothing, but then--

Oh, but then. Then there's a twitch, a movement, a beat and he waits, he waits with baited breath and tears free flowing in a mad dash to his chin and there's another beat. And another. And another. Slower than even Geralt's usual heartbeat, so slow and so subtle it's easy to miss, but it's there. It's there and Geralt's alive. 

"Oh, thank god," he breathes. He lifts his tear-stained and heavy eyes to Yennefer. "Thank you."

Yennefer bristles under the praise and uses it as a reason to get to her feet. "Yeah, well, now we have to get him out of here," she says, looking down at Jaskier in a way that requires and uses no subtly to get across the point that she expects him to be the one to pick up Geralt's sleeping (and heavy) body. She waves her hands in that way she does and opens a portal, still looking at him, still expecting so he does his best and half carries, half drags Geralt through the portal. I planned out an 8 chapter witcher fic I never wound up writing for this scene. It involved a curse and Jaskier being a Banshee but I couldn’t really figure out what the curse Geralt was under was for so the fic never really happened. 

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?) Stuff that is commonly in my work: -things being unraveled like a mystery

-memory issues

-multiple worlds/timelines

-miscommunications that could easily be solved if people would just TALK to each other!

-long, rambling sentences

-guys that are emotional idiots

-mentioning time, like something taking a moment, or a person pausing for a second

-mental illness

-asexuality

22. Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them? Yes! Not all of them, but I have a few favorites. "As certain dark things are to be loved" I go back to scenes from every now and then. And the shorter stuff I go back and re-read sometimes. I probably re-read my own stuff more than other people's, to be honest and for the stuff I like I'm sometimes like ooh, I coulda changed a word there, that sentence could be better, but mostly I'm like, man! I can't believe I actually, really wrote this! It's so cool! 

Thank you so much for your questions!  

[mootmuse]

This post gave me some thoughts about the difference in the way netflix Witcher and book Witcher treat the character and the way that effects fandom, and I tag rambled about it at first but my thoughts took up too much space even for my tag rambling and I didn’t want to take over the post itself, so here we are. Thoughts under the cut.

First off I have a deep need to not be seen or acknowledged in any way, and this directly contradicts my urge to fandom ramble where people can see so I’m just going to compromise with this, and if anyone else has any reply feel free to make it but I’ll probably just post this and run off to hide instead of replying.

SO. That said. I did notice that the netflix Witcher fandom seems to explore Jaskier’s character in ways I didn’t expect, so when I watched the netflix episodes I watched with an eye to the differences between the show and books - not the differences in plot, but in storytelling. And I can easily see, now, why ‘Jaskier can be a badass’ is a popular fandom trope when it wasn’t back when the book/game fandom was the only one that existed, when we only knew the version of him that I’ll be calling Dandelion. It’s all in the storytelling.

For one thing we don’t get ‘he is averse to violence’ quite as clearly in the netflix version as we do in the books. In the books - as the post I linked to mentions - there are scenes where, for instance, someone rescues Dandelion and Geralt by slaughtering the bad guys right in front of Dandelion. A man inches in front of his face became a corpse and he looks at their rescuer, gives her a shaky bow, and then promptly throws up. There’s more where that came from, but it’s not the events themselves that makes up the majority of the difference - in the show, for example, in the dragon episode when the guy who tried to steal Geralt’s stuff is murdered right there in front of Jaskier he’s visibly shaken, so although that quality isn’t as stressed in the show it does exist. The main difference is how the storytelling treats it.

The example with Dandelion, from the books: 

Milva and Geralt talk after this, mostly ignoring Dandelion, but as well as a dramatic, unmistakable reaction to the violence, there’s this very matter of fact tone to the scene. Dandelion throws up and the other two leave him to it until he can be a part of the conversation again.

The example with Jaskier, though - there’s a clip of it here (from 0:35 until about 1:30, warning for a guy getting his neck broken) where Jaskier does have a clear negative reaction to the violence, followed by the camera pushing him out of the screen in favor of the more confident, more violent characters, after which Geralt mocks him, comparing Jaskier unfavorably to the more violent characters in a way that nothing in the storytelling of the scene contradicts. Jaskier is disturbed by violence and nonviolent by nature, and I think the audience is just supposed to find it amusing, at Jaskier’s expense. If it’s a joke we’re supposed to see Jaskier as the butt of it, and even putting the question of humor aside, we’re getting told to see him as pathetic in comparison.

In that same episode Jaskier, as a matter of course, gets dismissed by another character (clip here, from 0:50 to 0:57) in favor of the more stereotypically masculine character when Yarpen doesn’t want to shake Jaskier’s hand or even look at him - which is treatment I would find interesting if the show was trying to make a statement about how less stereotypically masculine guys get treated, but the show never makes any hint toward making that statement so scenes like that, to me, end up feeling like they’re written in concert with the way the storytelling sidelines Jaskier in general - for instance, this bit in Bottled Appetites (1:48 to about 1:53, warning for blood and that horrible wheezing noise Jaskier makes) where the contrast between Jaskier’s pain and fear and the halfhearted effort of Geralt’s try at reassuring him is - I assume - supposed to be read as a joke. We can contrast it with the moment in the books, during an already tense scene where Geralt has been barred entry to the town and any healers inside it until dawn, where the same character tells Geralt about the damage that’s been done to Dandelion:

I don’t say this to comment on the different versions of Geralt’s characterization so much as I say it to point out that an audience generally learns a lot from how the main character acts. How a main character treats someone and how the storytelling describes that treatment can say something about that character’s place in the world. What do the two different narratives of the same plot moment say about the way the the world itself, its writing, thinks about Jaskier, versus the way the world of the books thinks about Dandelion? That moment, and a couple other scenes in the episode (Geralt’s casual normal conversation with the humorously naked man while Jaskier struggles to talk casually too, between his horrific wheezing, Jaskier’s obviously-wrong-to-the-point-of-humor declaration, while he’s supposedly grieving Geralt’s assumed death, that Geralt always said he had a lovely singing voice) show that Jaskier’s pain isn’t something an audience is supposed to take seriously, that his experience isn’t one that gets treated with respect, and it’s natural for a fan to want to turn that around, and to want to explore how that might happen. ‘Dandelion proving he’s worthy of respect’, regardless of the method he proves it by, isn’t much of a thing (that I’ve noticed) in the book/game fandom because it doesn't have to be. book Geralt respects him (exasperation from Dandelion’s lack of common sense nonwithstanding) and the narration of the books itself respects his fear and his pain, and allows them to be described seriously.

Between Geralt’s derisive comments and the show’s tendency to turn Jaskier’s personality and issues into jokes, I feel like netflix Witcher is creating a world with specific rules as to how people are seen and why they are seen that way, rules the show itself does not question. Guys like netflix Geralt, solemn, gruff badasses who know 50 different ways to commit murder with just a toothpick, get treated with respect, and guys who do not seem violent or dangerous and who have flamboyant mannerisms like Jaskier don’t. They get treated that way both by the other characters and the narrative itself, without question, as a matter of course. As a fan of those characters, I know my first instinctive response to that is wanting to see Jaskier prove he is worthy of respect, and within the rules laid down by the show’s storytelling, the one way he can do that is to be confidently violent. Comfortably violent.

We can contrast this with an example from how Dandelion is treated in the books - we’ll look at chapter five of Time of Contempt, when Geralt is injured and in the care of some dryads who guard their territory so fiercely that the fighting men who escort Dandelion near are all talking about how they’d never get close, how dangerous it is, how brave (or stupid) Dandelion must be to risk it himself. There is some humor in the fact that the brave words Dandelion quotes to them about how he feels about risking death are, unbeknownst to the soldiers, from an epic poem written by someone else, but the other men are hugely impressed with what he’s doing, and as he goes on without them he is clearly terrified because no human who’s tried to cross that territory has lived, but he still does it. He has a plan - a nonviolent plan, involving a song he’s translated and adapted to the language the Dryads speak, if he can survive long enough to charm them with it - which he perseveres with even while he’s terrified, to the point of wondering what it’s going to feel like when he dies. Once he does find Geralt again Geralt asks if anyone else knows Geralt is there (because he needs his location to be secret) and we get this exchange when Dandelion answers him:

Dandelion was afraid but we see from the way other characters treat him, and from the matter of fact tone of the storytelling, that it isn’t a shameful thing. We see him solve a problem the soldiers couldn’t have solved with their violence and we see him praised by the main character for doing it. Dandelion’s approach to violence and stereotypical badassery is treated by the narrative he exists in very differently from the way Jaskier’s approach to it is by the narrative of netflix’s story, which in turn effects the way fans of the different versions of these characters respond to and explore the same personality trait.

I do not have the strength of will to do a review and rundown of the whole of these two sets of canons, and naturally all of this is a matter of interpretation, but I personally get the distinct feeling overall that in netflix Witcher, respect - even the respect the audience is supposed to give the characters - is measured by combat ability. Paired with the distinct feeling from the show that whether or not Geralt likes Jaskier he doesn’t seem to respect him, it would be natural for a fandom to react by wanting to see Jaskier prove that he too is worthy of respect, and it’s natural to want to see him do that within the rules the storytelling of the show itself has set up.

So. ‘Jaskier can murder like a badass’ is a place I can totally understand wanting to take the version of him that exists in the netflix universe. It’s the kind of exploration of a character that’s normal for fandom. ‘What if this character could do the thing that other characters don’t respect him for not being able to do?’ Trying to do the same to Dandelion, however, would require twisting him into something else, it would have to be something of a dark story to really be in tune with the character and the narrative he exists in, and from what I’ve seen it isn’t common in the book/game fandom.

Although it might be clear that I don’t care for some aspects of the netflix Witcher, this isn’t a value judgement. Even before I watched the show I was always more interested in its fandom anyway, and from what I’ve seen some of the netflix Witcher fandom feels the same way XD The difference in the way Jaskier and Dandelion get treated is even recognized in netflix Witcher fandom, with all the art of ‘Jaskier meeting book Geralt and getting treated better’ that goes around, so maybe I’m not saying anything new. I just think ‘why do different fandoms evolve the way they do’ is a very interesting question, and comparing fandoms for two different versions of the same basic canon is a great way to explore that question.

[gayregis]

Hi, just wanted to ask, how did you get into the witcher franchise (did you read the books before you played the games or vice versa?). Love your blog, byeeee :)

ty for the ask!! i hope you dont mind if i go too in-depth because i was legit thinking about this earlier today... 

tldr: i played tw3 and liked it, then read the books

i got into the witcher because one of my favorite gaming youtubers was doing a playthrough of tw3 on youtube in around i think september 2017. i liked this specific gaming youtuber for being shit at games and not caring about it... but tw3 was a different game. it felt like the decisions mattered, that there was an actual story here, that when this youtuber made shitty decisions and didn’t really care about the characters involved, i got frustrated because this game seemed really good... so i picked up the game myself and played it though, it was magnificent. not to r/witcher “the witcher 3 is literally the best game created in this history of ever” but it was sincerely good... not only does it have a great story, characters, and graphics, but it is genuinely comfortable to play as a game, even if you’re not great at games (i like playing video games but i’m not good at them when it comes to combat, i literally just would prefer to hack and slash through). so, i played through tw3 and the fact that it made me cry multiple times i found to be really interesting... but it was still just a game to me, it wasn’t something i thought about when i have time to daydream headcanons. i had read i think the witcher (short story) halfway through playing, just to get a feel of what tw3 came from, but from that, i realized the books and the games were incredibly different entitities, and i decided to not read the books until i had finished the game, or at least until i had more free time on my hands (mind i was in high school and was a senior, and during this time was when i was submitting college applications... exceptionally stressful, and the reading/writing part of my brain was absolutely fried from essay writing and reviewing). i was particularly struck by geralt and ciri’s relationship and the isle of mists quests fucked me up pretty bad. 

then around later 2017, i was really enjoying tw3, and had finished tw3′s base game and hearts of stone, and was now making my way into blood & wine. i was just playing it like normal, then came the part when geralt met regis. at first i wasn’t too interested (i mean, i was, but in the story of blood & wine, not in the books) until the little journal text pop-up appeared on my screen. you know, the one about quests you just received, or characters you just met. it was going through the motions of saying i finished this quest, picked up this new one, i was all like fine, fine, okay, alright, and then it just fucking puts regis’ long-ass name on the screen taking up a good amount of my FOV and i am immediately like, what? what the fuck? who the fuck? that’s the name? of the guy we just met? that guy??? he didn’t seem like someone with a name like that? who the fuck IS this guy.

so i head over to the wiki page for regis. i thumb through the basic information, i’m pretty interested, this quest stuff to find ciri sounds interesting. i decide to give the witcher books another try, because i have more free time now and am way more invested as everyone here as characters. also, i want to find out more about yennefer, because she was being badmouthed by everyone i saw online, and i wanted to read more about her and see if she was really so bad (spoilers: she’s not at all, the internet is just misogynistic).

i don’t think that i’m going to actually really care about these books, i just want more flavor and explanation about how in hell a witcher met a vampire and these two somehow became friends. so, i don’t care about reading them in order. i go online and find fan translations of every book, i open baptism of fire and i just start reading the bit about the fish soup. i’m suddenly just laughing my ass off, really interested in who these other characters are, milva and cahir, and how dandelion seems to actually be the best friend to geralt that he was said to be in tw3. i also notice immediately that geralt... oh my god, geralt’s such a cranky bitch. i’m SHOCKED at how annoying geralt is. i realize that this is probably what geralt’s been like, this whole time, and tw3 just gave me a sterilized version of him. i’m trying to decide if i like this change or not, at first i HATED it... but then realized it actually gave him a character, where in tw3 he feels a little more... empty, waiting for the player to project a personality onto him.

so, i just read all of the hansa bits of baptism of fire, skipping over anything i don’t understand. i am saddened when i can’t find any more, so i move onto tower of the swallow. and then lady of the lake. “oh, so that’s why geralt was surprised to see regis in blood & wine...” feeling at a loss after reading stygga, i start at the beginning and make my way through the books chronologically, like they should be read. i soon realize that this series really isn’t about killing monsters at all, and i’m thrilled. i thought the series was just going to be about geralt killing things in a swamp and reporting back to whoever hired him, like in tw3... and i was wrong. this series is about personal connections! relationships! ... and fatherhood. [see read more for personal junk]

i can’t remember when i started disliking tw3. it must have been around the time that i finished the books (im using the word finished loosely... i still havent finished some scenes because theyre too violent to read and continue with my day in peace, and i also read tos/lotl by skipping around, so i never got the full experience of reading them as full novels).

i just distinctly remember returning to my tw3 new game+ save after rereading the fish soup scene, and thinking about how lonely the game felt... i just felt so dispairingly alone, this loneliness that i hadn’t felt while playing before, that i had to put the game down. i returned to the game again, but i had just reread edge of the world... and i felt so alone again. 

so reading the books ruined tw3 for me, not out of malicious intent, but just because i think i realized geralt isn’t meant to be the lone wolf. the novels center around him and his family and friends, and i just genuinely missed that when replaying tw3. plus, i began to realize a bunch of things, like ciri’s scar is supposed to be bigger, geralt’s supposed to wear his hair in a headband, yennefer’s hair is actually curly, dandelion’s supposed to actually be in the game. there were so many inconsistencies with the characters i had imagined while reading the books that eventually i just stopped playing tw3 (i already played it once, so nbd) and got really into the books. 

sometime later i saved up like $80 to buy the paperback versions of the books (UK versions including season of storms) because i knew i was in really deep lol and i wanted the official translations super badly, also we were doing an assignment in class that allowed us to do something with our favorite book, but we needed to have it in-person and not as an e-book, so it was the perfect excuse. much time spent on hansa headcanons later and... here we are today.

a read-more, because this is more personal. 

the witcher series picked me up at an eerily appropriate time. two things in it stood out to me: 1) geralt’s relationship with ciri 2) regis’s alcoholism. 

i distinctly remember an event where i started crying in front of my parents because my dad was being so absent in my life or maybe it was because they were arguing, something like this... and i remember referencing tw3 isle of mists quest actually by saying “i shouldn’t have to learn it (good parenting) from a video game” ... lol. it wasn’t an epic burn from a 17 yo, but it was just a painful remark made in anger. i still think back to it because of how first watching geralt hug ciri made me feel and how i was actually really bitter because i was jealous of ciri for about a week after completing the quest. then i kind of pushed it out of my mind and didn’t think so much about it, until the night i mentioned it.

in late march of 2018, something very bad happened in my family. that’s probably the best way to describe it. the situation ended in my parents finally separating. my mom and i were pretty afraid and lost after that. after i had collected my thoughts and everything and went back to as “normal” as i could, about a month later, when the creative part of my brain finally began to function again and wasn’t inhibited due to fear, i clung to the witcher more than i did before... and this time, actually particularly to regis, because guess who has a whole redemption arc relating to not being alcoholic and being a genuinely good person who speaks gently and heals the vulnerable?

[kattahj]

Thoughts on Witcher rewatch, episode 6: Rare species

I started reading this story in Sword of Destiny and got so acutely embarrassed that I had to stop after a few pages. It was like being invited to Sapkowski's middle school locker. Lots of bare thighs, giggling, and hints of bathtub orgies. It's not so much that it's sexist but that it's so adolescent. I'm not saying that the show's portrayal of Borch, Tea and Vea is unproblematic, but it's a little easier to ignore the leering bits. But don't worry, I will return to it eventually!

I know there are Class fans who watched this for Jordan Renzo, and I'm rather amused at how disappointed they must be. He plays an idiot and a douche who is killed off in a most unflattering way halfway through the episode, and we all cheer it on because fuck him for killing that poor hirikka.

The subtitles say that the hirikka "sort of looks like a faun", but surely it should be "fawn"? Because that's what he looks like. And he IS rather cute in a pitiful way, that poor starved creature.

"You overgrown cockhair" is a great insult.

So the dwarves see what's going on with Nilfgaard before anyone else does. And Borch suggests that Yennefer could have stopped it. Ah, the possibilities of alternate timelines!

Dara's a smart cookie. If only he had been smarter and not come with Ciri at all. :-( And he walks away in the end. Why did I remember him dying? Maybe because he's been knocked out so many times. Or does he die in a later episode? I find I barely remember eps 7 and 8 at all. I suck at arc-heavy stuff.

Geralt has such a nice smile. I'd wish to see it more, but honestly I think part of the reason I like it may be because it's so rare. Yen has an even lovelier smile, when it's genuine. So often it's just a sneer, but in bed with Geralt when she looks so radiant, she's so cute and I love it.

I can understand dragon hearts hypothetically curing a barren woman if it's just pcos or something, but Yennefer doesn't even have her reproductive organs. What would the dragon do, regrow them? Or just plant the seed in her womb? If she has a womb; I can't remember if that was taken too. (She could keep the foetus in a box... Sorry.)

Geralt's "uh" face when he let slip the Child Surprise thing is so great. :-D

"I can take care of myself." "You don't always have to." Well, she’s nowhere near the point of accepting that, is she?

Yen has a way of staring into the distance.

Ciri's finally getting a bit proactive, asking the right questions and then using the knife to attack the Doppler. Not that it does her much good.

I would NOT walk on that mountain path EVER. Then again, most of what happens on this show is stuff I wouldn't do ever.

Geralt is such a giant pile of fluff. It's funny, in one of the Man from UNCLE interview, Henry Cavill describes his character as "a steel fist wrapped in a velvet glove" and Armie Hammer describes his as "a puppy in the body of a wrecking ball", but here, Geralt is most definitely the puppy. (Yen’s too vulnerable to be the steel fist, though. If anything, she’s a puppy inside a steel fist inside a velvet glove. And that’s a weird image.)

Jaskier has genuinely been crying for Borch, Tea and Vea. Aw. You don't have to, they're fine!

Yennefer actually conjured up furniture for her tent. And look at the ornamentation on the tent poles! If this was modern times, she'd have a trailer with shower and everything. :-)

A bunch of little flashbacks showing the various times they've banged. I wonder what happened the other times between Rinde and this.

She expects him to be gone in the morning and then he's not gone and I'm emotional.

The Doppler/Cahir fight would have been more effective if I had the first clue which is which.

Yennefer can just freeze people in time. Yen, that's cheating! But why doesn't she use it again during the fight? She's very hands-on, Geralt does the only magic bit.

When push comes to shove, Yennefer can't just let another baby be harmed to get hers.

I understand Yen's need for independence, and why she's upset about the wish, but at the same time, there's only so far you can push people away if you want someone to be with you. (Then again, I'm like Yen in this respect, don't get too fucking close but don't let me die alone.)

Their parting is so sad, but if we compare it to the Istredd/Yennefer breakup it's not half as nasty. There's nothing truly unforgiveable said on either side. If anything, they're both right about each other. If it weren't for the destiny angle rankling Yen so much, it would be barely more than a tiff.

Interestingly enough, in the book Yen likes the thought of being bound to Geralt. The versions are quite different in some ways. (And I do need to finish reading this story, for proper comparison, embarrassment notwithstanding.)

And then he takes it all out on Jaskier instead. I think fandom's desire to fix this, more than the Yen/Geralt fight, is in part the inclination towards boyslash above all else, yes, but also that it has a more obvious solution: Geralt is out of line, he knows he's out of line, and if he wasn't so emotionally constipated he'd apologize.

In comparison, the Yen situation requires either breaking the bond, or Yennefer accepting it, and neither one of those is a minute's work.

(Sidenote: This is one reason I feel like I need to write Yen's version of my fic. I put her and Geralt back together without explaining how that happened, and I need to. But I also need to rewatch first to get the details right, especially since I’m so hazy on the last two eps.)

I hope we get more Fringilla and Cahir next season, I'd like to see what makes them tick beyond just religious fervour.

I feel like Netflix played themselves by waiting so long to deliver the soundtrack, because by now, I actually likes Joey Batey's songs with The Amazing Devil better than the ones he sings as Jaskier. I mean, Her Sweet Kiss is nice and all, but compared to the raw bitterness of Elsa's Song? Pass.