#i just imagine fen atm

[cepheusgalaxy]

Gwilym pressed himself into the corner of his cell, tucking his limbs into his body as close as he could. His bony knees pressed into his chin. His thin arms were squished behind him. His wings were held down with the band around his chest anyway, but the exposed parts flattened completely against his back.

He might have accepted what Yorath was going to do to him and prepared himself for it, but that didn’t mean he would make it easy. 

Still a fighter. Yorath had muttered that last time. Gwilym held those words close and took them for his own. 

Still a fighter. 

“Do you know why I hurt you, Gwilym?” asked Yorath. 

“Because I tried to kill you twice and blew up three rooms and you like it when I scream and you especially like it if you can make me beg,” said Gwilym, his voice quiet and raspy from disuse and dehydration. He had learned to speak despite the discomfort it caused him. 

He had learned a lot of uncomfortable things. 

“Do you know why I enjoy hurting you specifically?” 

Gwilym shook his head. Because he healed fast? 

Anything to keep him talking and delay the pain. 

“Because through hurting you I hurt Eirlys,” said Yorath. “You burn. Far away, safe at home, Fen screams. Eirlys is powerless to do anything about it. You, as a person, are insignificant. You don’t matter. I’d have killed you within days if not for your connection to Eirlys. Your Fen wouldn’t have been allowed to go home if he were anyone else’s son or were you not soul-bonded. Your crimes merit execution, but I let you live for this.” 

“Why Eirlys?” 

Keep him talking. 

Yorath rested the flat of his knife- not iron this time, thank Brân- against Gwilym’s cheek. “If someone caused the death of your child, wouldn’t you do anything you could to make that person responsible hurt?” 

He sliced down. 

Gwilym didn’t scream. He never screamed at the first cut. Yorath knew this.

Every time, they played the game of finding out at what point Gwilym would scream this time, at what point his survival mechanism of going limp and hiding inside himself would kick in, if and when he would start begging, at what point he would stop begging to preserve his little remaining strength and give up completely, at what point he would pass out from the pain and the constant use of his magic. The game of finding out how many times his body could be destroyed and he would still come back from it.

It was a game for Yorath, at least. For Gwilym, it was a repetition of the most traumatic things to ever happen to him, an exercise in self-control, a discovery of what exactly his magic could do and what his body and mind could take. A discovery of at what point he would try- fail- to kill himself this time.

He hated his magic. He hated how it kept him alive. He hated how it healed him so fast, over and over, and gave Yorath more opportunity and time to inflict pain.

He wanted to die. He wanted it to end. 

The second cut came. Precise, measured, planned, removing skin from his face while preserving the wasting-away muscle beneath it. “Right now, Fen will feel his face stinging. He’ll know what’s coming next. He’ll know or guess that you’re being skinned again. He’ll cry and scream and curse his inability to do anything to save you. Eirlys will hold him and think of me and know what I’m doing to you and why.”

Gwilym still didn’t scream, but he was breathing fast now, too fast, his chained hands shaking violently behind him.

He pushed his face into his knees, slicing himself on the knife against his cheek as he moved. The small, bleeding, skinless portion stung when it touched his grimy pants.

It was already healing over.

This would be the second time his skin would have to completely regenerate. The second time Yorath skinned him alive. 

Maybe it meant the iron would come out. He grabbed for even the smaller bit of hope now, things like maybe he’ll forget or maybe it will only be blunt. 

Yorath twisted his hand in Gwilym’s hair and pulled his head up, horribly and deceptively gently. “Hiding already? We’ve barely gotten started.”

A broken sob came from Gwilym’s chest.

Yorath sat down in front of him, crossing his legs, a cruel grin on his face. He spread out his tools between them. 

[Image description: A reaction image. It shows a drawing of an emoji-like guy beating their fists on the table and banging their head to it too, excitedly. /end ID.]

omg.....................hes crying...............

[elibeeline]

Good Natured, a Geralt of Rivia x Original Character fic - Part 1

(Oh boy please don't hate this!) (Although constructive criticism is great and I'll work on any issues someone has!)

I'm Esmeralda, a bower and a blacksmith. My father was a weapon maker, my mother… I'm not sure. Father never explained, but if I ever get particularly emotional, well… it wasn't pretty. It's a form of supernatural, or at least a mutation, so my father made sure it was kept a secret.

Since my father died and I took over his store, I take to the pub most nights. The beer is warm and the music is more of a comedy act than a jig, but I met my apprentice there, so it wasn't entirely awful.

Fenrin is a young soul. He's barely eighteen, but the barman lets him drink under my surveillance. These people trust me, my weaponry makes them feel safe.

Sometimes, my good work even earns me and Fen a beer at the end of the night. Or him a water and me a wine, in this instance, since the person ordering is being presumptuous. Fen rolls his eyes but I make him drink it anyway. "You can't work with a hangover." I tell him.

"You drink mercilessly and yet you're always awake before me." He points out. "How come you don't get a hangover?"

Because my body heals itself before I wake up. "A simple method, really. A skill."

He stares with wide eyes. His enthusiasm towards achieving new skills is charming, and it's why I picked him as my apprentice. "A skill?"

"Easy to gain and yet not many people have it." I sigh.

"What's the skill? I can get it!"

"It's the skill of not complaining."

He pouts and huffs, then nods. "I'll work on it."

I grin and clink my wine against his water and the bard starts singing again.

"You'd be wise to beware,

The pike with a spike,

That lurks in your drawers,

Or the flying drake,

That will fill you with horror!

Need old Nan the Hag,

To stir up a potion,

So that your lady may get an abortion!"

"Abort yourself!" The bearded man sat by the fire barks out, and I snort as people start throwing their food at him.

The bard's eyes lock onto something apparently more interesting than free food, and I follow his gaze to a lone man in the corner. While the bard seems more focused on how brooding he is and the apparent factual inaccuracies in his song, I can't take my eyes off the bag next to him.

"Look at that sword, Fen." I nudge him to pull his attention to it too.

"As close as we are, Ez, I don't want to know that all you see in men is the stick between their-" he cuts himself off with a wheeze after I punch his gut.

"Get your mind out of the stream, Fenrin. The swords next to him. I thought my swords were good, but those are…" I wipe my drool. "Angel's work."

"I know who you are." The bard announces like it's a secret, and I stiffen until I realise he's not talking to me. The brooding loner gets up to leave. "You're the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia!"

I feel a tingle down my back. Witchers take great care with their swords, getting from the best smiths on the continent. But word about Geralt in particular hasn't been positive. The Butcher of Blaviken.

"Ez, I know that look. Please don't." Fen sighs, but I completely ignore him and get up anyway.

I stand in front of the witcher and open my mouth to speak, but he just pushes me aside and leaves.

"Yeah, he doesn't seem to like conversation. He came to drink alone." The bard says, mimicking the Witcher's deep, gravelly voice. "Y'know, I see you and that boy here all the time and yet I've never heard your names."

"I'm Esmeralda Fletcher, and 'that boy' is my apprentice, Fenrin Glenn."

"Oh! You're Kentin's daughter, right? He used to tip me every night."

I smile. Dad was charitable. "You sing every night and you've never introduced yourself."

He smiles too. "I'm Julian Alfred Pankratz-" he frowns. "It's a long name. Just call me Jaskier."

I nod. "Did you see his swords?"

"Yes, no wonder no one sat near him! Scary things."

"Do you think he'd let me get a closer look?"

"Only when he's pressing it against your throat." Fen hisses and drags me back to our seats. "Have you drank more than I've seen?"

"Are you suggesting I'm drunk, Fen?"

"You've definitely had enough for tonight. Let's go home."

I sigh. It appeared that Geralt was able to push me away easier than it should have been, and we have been here a few hours now. "Okay."

"Good." He leads me out with a hand on my back and we walk back to the shop.

Until I spot the Witcher again. Fen tightens his grip on my shoulder, but I still shove him away and make a beeline to the pair of swords. "Excuse me, good sir, I can't help but notice those two magnificent swords you own." I tell him as he ties his horse to a post.

"Don't touch them." He replies.

"Please? I can sharpen them first thing in the morning. I would do it tonight, but I was in the bar for a while and I don't want to ruin them."

He hums, but that's the only response I get.

"I'll even lower my prices for you. Quarter off. Pretty please? You'd be doing me a huge favour just letting me hold-"

I'm cut off by Fen clasping his hand on my mouth once he's caught up. "I'm sorry about her." He pulls me back. "She doesn't tend to get this drunk, it's the wine, you see."

Geralt hums again. "My swords do need sharpening."

I almost burst with excitement. "Thank you! I'll do the best job, I promise!"

"Don't forget the quarter off." He mumbles, then goes inside the inn and that's that.

I turn and hug Fen with a squeal. "I get to touch the swords, Fenny! This is the best day of my life!" I can't control the grin until Fen stares at me in horror.

"You're um…" he gestures to his face.

I feel sharp teeth poking my lip and notice that my hair has turned a dusty green. I don't need a mirror to know that my eyes are plain white and surrounded by thick turquoise veins.

The panic is enough to make it all disappear and I look human once more. I guess I got a little too excited. I breathe a silent sigh of relief and he frowns. "Maybe I've drank too much too. Nevermind. Let's carry on."

"Yeah, let's get you to bed. Don't worry about work in the morning. If it's bad enough to make you hallucinate, you should sleep off as much as you can."

He should sleep so I'll be able to remove his memory. Dad explained how mom used to do it, but it's an exhausting process so I use it as sparingly as possible.

If Fen remembers, and if he tells anyone, I could be killed. At the very least, I'll be forced out of town. Out of my shop, my home, away from everything I have of my family. I can't let that happen.

I keep my hand on his shoulder and we go back home. He goes straight to bed and drops to sleep quickly, and I press my fingertips to his forehead. I mumble the Elder under my breath and imagine untying a knot. A space for memory now free to tie again, to be adapted.

I take my fingers away and feel a new, heavy wave of tiredness overcome me. I would fall asleep just there if it wasn't for a knock at the door, so I trudge down and see Jaskier with a bag over his shoulder.

"Sorry to disturb you at such a late hour I um… the barman kicked me out. Apparently my singing wasn't good enough for him to let me stay any more." He mumbles. "Is the blacksmith's daughter as charitable as the man himself?"

"I don't have a spare bed, but there's a sofa in the back room and a blanket." I shrug.

"I would be happy to sleep on the rug." He replies. "I cannot thank you enough." He steps in and sees the wide array of swords, daggers, knives, and arrows on display. "I won't be a problem, I promise."

I smile and lead him to the back. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm gonna go straight to bed."

-------

Ho boy there it is, thank you so much for reading! I'm working on part 2 atm and it'll come up when I'm happy with it!

Also if anyone knows how to add a 'keep reading' button on mobile I would greatly appreciate it, I'm not smart 😭😭

[butyouvealwaysbeenthecaretaker]

Boy am I uncomfortable with how fashy the pagan/folk/nationalist currents around me are. I keep finding myself way, way too close to this content for comfort - I don't know how many degrees of separation is the right number to be, but I'm going to go with "as many as possible". Idk, I think it should be perfectly possible to evoke love of your landscape and folklore, without that being a racist dogwhistle which calls the crazies in. But perhaps I'm being naive? I don't know. But in the word cloud of my pagan writing atm, the word "land" looms really loud, and im starting to think about how I can stay true to the intent of what im writing, while also proactively making the space uncomfortable for racists.

Right now, I've got a brief chapter explicitly saying this, and talking about how immigrants and their gods and stories are part of the overlapping heritage of the land; and wherever possible, I'm using stock images with people of colour in (harder to find than you might imagine; one website is nappy.co which provides free stock images specifically of people of colour to fix the problem of how few there are)

But if this gets traction, it ain't going to be enough, and honestly part of me is thinking that...maybe if you're making something you know fascists are going to relate to, maybe you should look twice at yourself and what you're creating and reconsider. Or is that just "thought crime" levels of self surveillance, and it should be perfectly reasonable to evoke a love of the forests and the fens and the hidden mythology in the barrows and little rivers and the lost gods of the landscape, and not abandon that imagery to the worst of us?

[worthyfate]

2. NOTP(s) for your muse? - Teren, Fenris, Warren

laughs you picked some of my muses that i’ll ship with most people tbh xD

the one main thing for teren is that he’s gay, so. no ladies. but he’ll flirt with just about anyone tbh, any gender, he’s just only interested in pursuing guys. i don’t know if there are any canon guys i wouldn’t ship him with?

fenris is a little harder because like... my main love will always be fenhawke, but i also adore fenbela. annnnd i have a guilty pleasure ship in fenris and dorian, because i think that’s hilarious. but the only person fenris would probably never be with is merrill? like with the right anders, it can work, but with merrill he just... he’s so disgusted by her, and i just can’t imagine getting over that. but with fen it’s not so much notps as... most people aren’t going to be able to convince fen to trust them so shipping will be hard.

with warren -- the big thing with warren is that he’s generally not interested anything sexual. like sex is cool and all, and he does want to be a dad eventually so like.. sex has to happen there, but like. he couldn’t be with someone that wanted to have sex a lot or was very openly flirtatious or someone who likes lots of pda. he’s also bicurious atm, because he’s only ever been with ladies, so i’m not entirely certain his stance on guys, which means i can’t definitively say no to anyone. with warren it’s gonna be all about interactions before i can determine any notps, really. but yeah he probably couldn’t be with someone like bull, unless there was an agreed arrangement that like. bull got his sex somewhere else? because ren is fine with open relationships and poly things so. uh i guess this is an answer?