#i should look through my drafts

[wren-of-the-woods]

Hello hello hello, it has been a while since we last chatted but you are still my resident Witcher mutual and I know you have impeccable taste in fanfic - so I was wondering (if you wouldn't mind) if you could rec any fics about Jaskier's family? Either blood-related from Lettenhove or found family from bard-ing, I'm really unfussy! I'm just very invested in where the bard came from before meeting his Witcher...

Anyway, hope you're doing alright and no worries if this isn't something you're interested in!

Hello Fae!! It's lovely to hear from you! I absolutely do not mind and was delighted at the chance to make another reclist. I hope you find some fics you like!

As always, I would love to hear if anyone reading this has their own recs. Do you know a fic that fits the category? Want to promote one of your own stories? Go for it!

Without further ado, here are a bunch of lovely fics featuring OCs for Jaskier's family!

his hair was like the strands of gold by underlay Rated G, 6k  The Count de Lettenhove has been away from home for several months. Meanwhile, a Witcher has arrived, part of a new protection deal between the Witchers and the Northern Kingdoms. When the Count gets home, he finds a lovesick Julian and a Witcher who isn’t quite what he was expecting. (I have yet to read it, but this one has a sequel that also looks very good!)

for she had done mischief by @whatkindofnameisvolta Rated T, 43k After unexpectedly becoming a father to a demi-god, Jaskier returns to Lettenhove for much needed parental support. There he finds half-a-dozen of his niblings, all with far too much curiosity for their own good. Meanwhile, on the run from Nilfgaard, Geralt, Yennefer and Cirilla also make their way to Lettenhove, to find sanctuary amongst Jaskier's family.

A Mother of One's Own by ohnoesidontknow Rated M, ~1k (one of multiple ficlets posted as the same work) Jaskier's mom adopts Geralt.

enough to drive a man mad by @contemplativepancakes Rated T, 6k Jaskier convinces Geralt to pretend that they’re dating when they visit his parents.

So Inviting (I Almost Jump In) by @happyjuicyfruit Rated G, 5k Geralt accompanies Jaskier to his sister’s wedding. Jaskier’s family is not what Geralt expected.

You, Forever by inanoldhouseinparis Rated G, 16k Geralt and Jaskier pretend to be engaged in Lettenhove.

You've Been Deprived, Haven't You My Dear? by Bedalk05 Rated T, 7k  Jaskier is a shifter and Geralt finds out. (Featuring Jaskier’s mother! I have yet to read the rest of the series, but it looks wonderful.)

Kingdoms Come and Kingdoms Go, Rivers Run and Rivers Flow by @dancinglassie Rated T, 62k Jaskier's start in life was unfortunate, but sadly not unheard of. He was put in a sack, less than an hour old, and chucked in the river. For many in his position that would of been the end of it, but the Yaruga heard his cut off wail and swept him into her loving embrace. Less than an hour old and Jaskier had already died and been reborn as the newest child of Mama Yaruga.

Wicked Things (orphaned) Rated M, 101k  This is the story of how Jaskier helps to save the world. Jaskier is twenty when a rift opens and an army of Fae pour through it. Bloodthirsty and mindless, they sweep across the Continent, devastating human settlements and pushing them into smaller and smaller communities. Jaskier finds himself trapped in Lettenhove, having to deal with his father's gradual decline into madness and protecting his family and his village from the threats outside their walls. He meets a Faerie, trapped in a Faerie Ring; the rest, as they say, is history. (Jaskier’s family is there a lot, especially in the beginning, but heed the tags! There are a lot of other things going on here and a lot of them are horror-y.)

Now, here are a few AUs where Jaskier is related to someone from canon.

of music and motion and love by WriteThroughTheNight Rated T, 12k Jaskier comes from a far humbler background, and would really like to know why Yennefer never came back for her youngest brother. (The sequel is also wonderful!)

Soft Deceitful Wiles by boopboop  Rated M, 23k  Jaskier is Renfri's son, and ten years is plenty of time to prepare a suitable punishment for the Butcher of Blaviken.

Bonus: this one isn't really what you asked for, but it has brief appearances from Jaskier's parents, beautiful found family vibes throughout, and I love it far too much not to mention it!

speak the language of love (like you know what it means) by @restmyheadatnightcontent Rated T, 35k Julian Pankratz, one of the Continent's most famous playboys, always invited to the hottest parties, always seen with the best of the best, is enjoying his lavish life in his huge Cintran apartment when he suddenly gets cut off by his parents and is sent to live in the middle of nowhere. It might turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

More of my reclists can be found here.

[jamietwat]

Roy actively having a stress reaction and being noticeably weird about his phone after sending a risky text (he literally just sent Jamie something that was too nice to not be embarrassing, but now Jamie has evidence that he said it)

[crystalpallette]

get you a girl who can give you everything

this started a long long time ago when I made a joke about how sega should put ringo in more dresses, and then my friend reminded me that oh yeah!! I can do that instead!!! and then one thing led to another and we joked about punk ringo and I drew that too. using ringo like a dressup doll is so cathartic it's kinda crazy

some bonuses (original designs, timelapse) under the cut bc I like these designs!! I might do some more with them!! please disregard the band poster in the first second of the timelapse that's something else!!!

[unordinaries]

presented without comment

(chapters 280 + 344)

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

hhhhhh i was gonna write a stsg fic next but. depending on when his phanpara banner drops i might have to post smth for sugu 😔

[dreamieparadise]

Momina's hair gets easily messy, and it's why she has a tendency to run her hands through her hair a lot. She will pull and stroke her bangs without thinking.

In fact, Momina is someone who can appear rather sloppy despite her fashion sense. She can't seem to get her bows or ribbons straight. She pulls on her sleeves, and her shoelaces tend to get untied. She is also a messy eater despite also being very motherly/nurturing. It can paint a conflicting image.

Kyoko is someone who takes it upon herself to adjust Momina's appearance. She sees her brother in Momina, and it initially leads to her to Momina. Although her eventually adoring Momina is also because of who she actually is.

Another who ends up fixing Momina's appearance is Hayato. Unlike Kyoko, he doesn't ask permission and kind of just does it while scolding her. "How'd you even get the bow like that?!" Momina, who can be petty, will sometimes go: "Sorry, dad...!" Which only angers and embarrasses Hayato. It especially annoys him because Momina never reacts like that when Kyoko does this. She simply thanks her and gives her a big hug. [I wonder why the difference in treatment...!? Clearly a mystery...!]

Jojo and I like thinking that Haru ends up in the same high school as everyone else, and so she ends up picking up this habit with Momina as well. Hayato and Haru fuss over her the most, with Haru going as far to wipe and dab at Momina's face for her. It embarrasses Momina but because she knows she means well she doesn't really say anything. [However she does tell Miruku later over the phone. Sobbing, "these two girls at the Cafe snickered at me after Haru did that!!!"]

Parentified and infantilized at the same time... truthfully, this is one of the reasons Momina's favourite person is Miruku. Miruku understands Momina's health issues but doesn't infantilize her. Always listens to her and is understanding of her anxiety and [over]protectiveness as well.

I've gone on tangents but wanted to speak on why Momina's hair tends to have messy strands strewn about or her ribbons are loose and angled funny. If I could draw shoes properly her shoelaces' bow would be verticle!!

[quadrantadvisor]

What if I scripted Stephanie Meyer's "The Host" into a TV show, and I kept all the rad as fuck sci-fi concepts and the messaging about human love and resilience, but I removed all the nasty bioessentialism and openly advocating for teen girls to date adult men. What then?

Probably would keep the focus on Wanda and Melanie's relationship, rather than the love square/jealousy plot. I never liked how after Melanie started "fading" in the book she basically became a nothing character. Also the way she completely lost all sense of self and/or rationality whenever her dude was around was uh. Dumb.

Also the cast of the human survivors are so potentially interesting, but we never spend any time with them. They could have sub-plots! We could get to know them! The funeral scene of that one guy would be way more emotionally effective if he like. Actually had a character before dying.

We're keeping all the alien species as they were described, like the telepathic underwater plants, or the polar bears with hand blades, or the bats who communicate entirely by singing. Also benevolent parasitic communism. That's good as is.

But yeah every scene with Jared or Ian needs to be at least slightly reworked, so we can get them to the level of "flawed yet compelling" instead of "irredeemable assholes". And we're aging Melanie up a few years, that's going to solve a lot of our problems from the get go.

Uncle Jeb and Jamie are mostly good, they can stay. And the basic plotline of the human characters being rightfully terrified of Wanderer because of what her species has done to the human race, but as a result mistreating her, since there's no way for her to adequately communicate she's not a threat to them, and then slowly learning to accept and to trust. Honestly that slaps. I love when characters get the shit beat out of them because of Circumstances. I love when people who think that they have to be enemies, because they have every reason to be, because not only are they on opposing sides but they have actively harmed one another already, decide to become family instead. Favorite storyline, has the same vibes as that one ATLA fanfic where Zuko's taken captive on a water tribe ship, y'all know what I'm talking about [you likely do not know what I am talking about].

Basically The Host would be one of my favorite books ever if it didn't suck so bad. Also no one ever cared about the movie adaptation. A TV show could be so kickass. Thank you for attending my ted talk.

[silver-horse]

Divine Victoria certainly has her priorities right

[nocentis]

Black Arum ┆ Siegrain

Content warning: main character death, cannibalism, gore, toxic/unreliable narrator, highly canon divergent character portrayal. Read at your own risk. You will probably take psychic damage from this.

╳┆A lure was stuck in the soot between his lungs. Many times he'd felt the tug — enough that the wire fray had worn a rut where his ribs met — and many times he'd found her on the other end, reeling for remnants of him that no longer existed. She would aim to break him open, sift around in the cinders for those specks of him she wanted to confiscate, keep for herself, so that she could finally be rid of him. Once those flecks were washed and panned, the remains would reek like plough mud closure. For that reason he would come to her whole, every whit of ash accounted for.

A cherry little game they'd play. Her with flint and steel, eager to reignite that paltry spark of "good" that flickered freely for a lapse before he remembered himself. Him with tinder and kindling, letting it light only to call on the rain again. Her with just enough hope. Him with just enough time.

That resolve was so very compelling. More than her beauty, her candor, and even that glow he so loved to bask in — that luster he wanted to hold between his teeth and bury under his nails — more than that, her tenacity was a toothsome temptation, and he wasn't keen to deny himself anything.

So when he felt the pull, he caved to the beck and spooled the lisle. That day, the line seemed lighter, thinner, than it ever had. It should've been strong. Tensile. Instead it felt gossamer fine and just as frail, poised to tear at an ill touch, and he wasn’t exactly renowned for his gentle hands. Still, he gathered it with both palms and wrapped it proudly around himself like a ceremonial sash, grin scrawled across his face something devilish.

╳┆He found her lying in the shade beneath a long-lived magnolia, still and silent as she never was, with the color of her namesake spread around her head in halo streaks. Battle-torn, as she so often was, and yet uncannily... passive.

Anything he'd planned to say went out the airlock. Instead, he stood there with an anchor in his stomach, reaping the benefit of doubt.

Not a frown nor a sigh when he darkened her sanctum, only heavenward eyes tearless and unblinking and a resigned breath just short of peaceful. That worn tether waned phantom thin, light as helium, and the tension in his chest went slack.

There was no definite snap. No dramatic severing or ear-popping moment of clarity. Only the vague sense of loss so fresh a wound that denial was a numbing salve.

“Get up,” his voice a command, sandgrit against whetstone, thickened by an unnamed antigen.

The silence felt like mockery. A placid scene void of chittering fauna, clouds' drum, or even the most timid breeze. It wanted him to hear the absence of her breath and the stillness of her chest. It wanted him to hear the hollow. The empty. The nothing. Wanted it to resonate; to find the furthest reaches of his mind and clean them out until all that was left was this icy, clarifying silence.

He knew the end when he saw it. This was something much worse. It was robbery.

Her life wasn’t for the world to take. It was for him to hold in his hands. 

Something wet and pathetic slicked his tongue — some whiny, pleading thing — and it was stubborn as oil. The authority slid to the back of his throat and left him choking, “You are the indomitable Titania. You’ve laced fingers with Death time and again only to rise and slay and conquer, so get up.”

Her warmth was set to a slow drip, spilling from her in tired beads and seeping soundlessly into her chosen ground. Little whispers of her lost to greedy loam, sullied, never to be returned.

A waste of precious love. The sod won’t drink of her as he will. It will take of her and give back what? New “life” so fragile and fleeting? A feeble weed will take root, bloom its days few, and curl itself inside out? Pathetic. An insult to her legacy. An insult to the diamond-split sharp of her bladesoul.

His heart boiled over — popping, sticking, simmering sicksweet saccharine. It colored him cloying, flooded his mouth, and forced him to kneel at her altar.

"Please," he keened, hollow and morose, and his own pleading sickened him, “Say something.”

The sun trickled through the leaves like ichor, lighting up her black-blown eyes and the thin ring of honey surrounding them. Dim, distant, and dead as the moon.

His hand carved a path to her face, fingers featherlight against her fading flush. He brushed her bangs from her eyes and forced an unbroken breath through his quavering mouth. He traced each scar too faint to see and the parts of her skin their star kissed. Memorized the map of her face — each curve and crease, each fine hair, and every eyelash. He would carve out a space in his mind in her shape and fill it with the thousand sweet nothings he kept in his pockets.

He gathered her hand and threaded it with his own. When he opened his mouth, a rickety twine escaped from the deepest point of his chest, so he forced his jaws shut to keep the grief corked. He uncurled her fingers and pressed his cheek into her palm, trapping her there against his own scarred skin. His eyes fell shut as he breathed in this borrowed touch — this moment fated, stolen from him by this world's insatiable avarice.

He kissed her palm directly in the center; held it against his mouth and felt his own ruined breath echo back to him from the deepest grooves of her skin. Again, he begged, “Please, Erza.”

Of the armors innumerable now haunting this hallowed ground, this one least befit her. 

He revered Death. If there was a god, surely it was Death, he thought, for Death asks for nothing but life. The dead don’t know that they’re dead. They know a split second of euphoria and then a sharp, definite end. Isn’t that the work of a gracious god? One last stroke of color whether in peace or peril, and then eternal rest. Back to the dust you sprouted from.

But now he couldn’t see any of that beauty he often waxed poetic about. All he could see was change yet to come. All he could see was her, and he wanted her back.

He wanted her back, yet he knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as resurrection. While Death might be gracious, it was not generous, and it was not to be reasoned with.

The thought of her buried deep, bathed by the dark and abandoned to rot — it washed his mouth acid sour. It ate straight through his tongue and lingered in the roots of his teeth, burning, raging redhot in his jaws’ marrow.  A grave didn't suit her anymore than a pyre.

Soon she would be cold. Stiff. A feast for flies and their insatiable young. In the days to come, she would bubble and bloat and sallow. Her skin would loosen and slough off. The sun would bleach her bones. The meat of her would melt into oil and fat and bogspit. She would mix in with the soil, the groundwater, and this thankless magnolia would thrive.

It was tall, thick, with branches spread in all directions. The lowest of its limbs showed off the varied deep greens of its large waxy leaves, their undersides a chalky brown. A few white flowers bloomed, palm-shaped petals open in praise like they'd come to witness and worship. There was no question why she'd chosen to crawl here. It must've reminded her of home.

Despite its beauty, it was hardly worthy of her. Nothing in this ravenous world was. Her grave should be carved within his chest. There, he could keep her warm. He could host her in his veins. One day, they would wade the waters of woe together. Until then she could live under his skin.

He wouldn’t allow her to spoil. Wouldn’t place her gently into time’s whittlesome hands only to lose her peel by peel by rotting peel.

This world has taken much from you. Do not allow it to take her too.

A carnal ache etched itself into bone, a depth of passion he hadn't felt since he wrought for a false Heaven.

She is a fruit, ripe as a plum and twice the taste. Peel her open. There is a seed at her core. Plant it in your soot-field chest and watch her bloom anew.

What are these hands for if not this?

Flesh like sheets of silk. Muscle like rope. Blood like honey. Bone like an ivory trove. The splitting, the squelching, the straining, ripping, snapping; it burrowed marrow-deep and lingered there. Her chest peeled apart like jagged teeth, jaws croaking their rusted tune, and inside that redslick maw was the center of the universe.

The heart upon its throne, still as she, shielded by her precious lungs. It slid into his palm like it was always meant to be there. Raw, rich, and so very scarlet. Its sinews strained against his pull — those hollow vines that fed even the furthest parts of her — so he wrenched them free and draped himself in them like matchless finery.

Eat. Eat ‘til you’re sick. There’s a hole the size of her in the pit of your stomach. Eat until you fill it. 

What are these teeth for if not this?

Tough as leather; smooth as rubber. His teeth slid right off the rind and clicked together with nothing but metallic sheen between them. He gnashed at that ink-dripping muscle until he found a spot weak enough to tear apart. It tasted of rare meat and iron; a heady gore thick enough to drown in. He swallowed, gasped, and that first new breath felt like a blade.

The child inside him saw her split-open ribs as his cradle. He wanted to crawl inside, curl up, and die. He wanted to paint himself her color.

He lost his vision to the hot, angry wash. His own sobs were a distant sound, muffled by meat and blood and his own desperate fingers. He was numb in the mouth and in the shake of his hands, but he forced himself to eat, eat despite the choking, the gagging, the wet, weeping remorse.

Don’t you dare throw her up. Be grateful. Swallow and say thank you and finish what you’ve started.

He bit into his own palm, indistinguishable from her core, and he cried out in sour relief. His hands spread raw grief over his face, through his hair, and down his neck.

You’re no better than this starving world.

He curled into himself, hands clutching his own aching chest, and despite the cloudless sky, he called upon the rain.

[toytulini]

saw fanart yesterday that i was ehh on

but it brought me to the conclusion that, if shrek was a lesbian, if shrek was a woman, i think she would be exactly the same as canon movie shrek, actually, and in fact. to the point, she would be so indistinguishable, that i can no longer be convinced that canon movie shrek isnt a he/him lesbian, and im excited to rewatch all the movies through the lens of percieving shrek this way. i think it will be based. excited.

[nogitzune]

My Top Ten Movies, tagged by @beaconfeels

No particular order to these, and most of these made the list because they're comfort movies rather than my thoughts on how GOOD they are. (Twister, Volcano, and The Core being particularly questionable tastes, tbh, but i cannot help being comforted by natural disaster movies.)

1. Twister

2. Volcano (1997)

3. The Core

4. A Knight's Tale

5. Ladyhawke (1985)

6. Star Wars: A New Hope

7. Star Wars: The Phantom Menace

8. Star Trek: The Voyage Home

9. Jurassic Park

10. Into the Spiderverse (and also Across the Spiderverse)

tagging @adrianfridge @kordyceps and @trickster-shi

[stunie]

i fell asleep but there r nine more recs in my draft sit tight!

[zevrans]

i dont think ill ever get used to the drastic difference in both coloring distortion and quality drop of how your gifs look on desktop vs mobile

[fruitybashir]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C9wHlM2xAZL/?igsh=MTljYnN0bjg3cHo1eA==

The Bojan

link

SCREAM?????? i guess i do write it like that huh...........

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

the seventh virtue drafting journey is soooo crazy to me bc I did the 10k day in may 2021 & then exactly a year later I was 60k into the manuscript & then from august 2022 to early march 2023 (a tiny bit over 6 months) I wrote the remaining 138 000 words LOL

[pizzaloops]

Just wanted to apologise for the current silence gwahahah we DO see your asks and you have many and they are all good and smart and lovely and i want to answer them all so so much GWAHAHAH i've just been a little busy but !! i'll answer them as soon as I can <3

In the meantime? have a bonus Pizzahead drawing