#i think the fairy is the size of a hummingbird and had to ring the bell by bopping into it midflight

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

but how did the walrus knock

[ohvalleyofplentyyy]

Life, Death, and Between

100 Followers Celebration One-Shot

A/N: This is the male reader insert! 

If you want the female reader insert click here :)

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p.s, i’ve linked specific words like flowers and outfits so you can see what i was picturing if you want or if you don’t know what a specific flower is :)

“Jasky Baby! Geraaaaaaaaaaalt! Get up!” You yelled running up the steps of your cottage with a newfound spring in your step. The boys were both snug in the two beds you had set up in the attic once you figured they would be staying for a while.

You lived right at the bottom of a huge mountain that was surrounded by a very dense forest, how these two idiots were able to stumble upon your home in the middle of the night 3 years ago still befuddled you.  

You pulled the blankets off the boys and ripped open the curtains, letting light stream in. Jaskier moaned and put his pillow over his head to shield his eyes.

 “Y/N, why are you doing this to me?!” He whined. “Come on! You have to get out of bed and see this!” You yelled. Geralt slowly sat up and watched as you ran amok through the room, throwing clothes at them trying to make them move faster.

He chuckled and eventually got out of bed, grabbing the pillow off of Jaskier and whacking him with it. “Come on, we better go before he decides to send you out of the house through the window.”

Once the boys were fully dressed (though Jaskier’s shirt was buttoned… interestingly) you ran down the staircase and zipped out the door. “What’s up with him?” The bard mumbled, trying to tame the creature that was his hair.

You appeared in front of them wearing a flower crown made up of daisies, baby’s breath and pink kinnikinnick, in your hands were two extra flower crowns which you quickly placed on the boy’s heads and then motioned for them to follow. The two followed you until you stopped at a small body that a waterfall ran into from the mountain.

It was a sight to behold. The water was a serene blue, and the light danced upon it like stars in the night sky. Small water Nymphs skittered on the surface, moving what appeared to be small boats to the center of the pond. These boats were made of wood branches, large leaves and some were mushrooms flipped over. But the best part about them was the fairies sitting in them.

All at once, fairies seemed to appear at the pond. So many colors and types, some wore petal clothes and others wore nothing. Wings varied in size, ranging from the size of Geralt’s hand to nail on your pinky.

The three of you watched in awe as a special ceremony was performed on the water. The fairies lined up in two rows on each side, making a pathway from the edge of the pond to the center. In the center, the boats had been enchanted and now floated in the air, sparkles of the pixie dust making them shimmer in the light.

Then all the chattering from the fairies ceased and they turned to the water's edge, floating in from the treeline was what appeared to be a floating carriage made from an old bird nest and flowers. Sitting in this carriage was the most ethereal fairy you had ever seen. She had long flowing lilac hair that flowers were embedded into.

Her dress was made of rose petals, mostly white, sans the bottom hem that was purple tulip petals. It trailed over the carriage side it was so long, making it appear like a wedding veil, floating behind the bride. 

Her wings though were the most gorgeous you had ever laid eyes on, they weren’t very large, about the length of your palm to your index finger. But they seemed to be translucent, the only way you would know they were there is if the light reflected through them, creating a small rainbow effect on the other side.

Once at the edge of the pond, faint music started to play, you looked over to the source and saw several fairies with mixture versions of violins, lutes, and a flute. As the queen of the fairies crossed over the water, the others started to bow as she passed. You immediately did as well when she glanced over to the three of you. Geralt slowly bowed his head and Jaskier did a full bow when you tugged on his tunic.

The band of fairies died out as the queen flew from the carriage. In a somber voice, you heard her speak.

“Thank you all for coming today, this ceremony has been long overdue since many have treated our kind unfairly, we have had no reason to have it. But now, a true friend has stepped forward and ofter their unconditional love to us. It is with great honor that I present our new guardian of the forest.”

Jaskier whispered to Geralt, “Do you know who it is?” With a small smile, Geralt answered. “Yes, I do.” This greatly intrigued you, so you bent over, “Who is it then?” Geralt made a motion to look forward.

There were two small fairies in front of you, one of a lime green and the other an ivory. They both wore white tulip tunics and were holding a long shawl out. It was very thin and resembled the queen’s wings. There were small symbols etched into the edge all around it with pixie dust.

“It’s you.”

You watched in awe as the fairies draped the shawl over your shoulders and led you to the edge where the pathway of fairies floated. You took a step into the water, the sweet cold tickling your bare feet and soaking the bottom of your pants. But it did not matter, as you walked down the path of magical creatures.

You noticed others that had come to watch the ceremony. Some deer with on the opposite side of the pond, small hummingbirds flitted to a branch overlooking the water. Even butterflies flew around, watching the scene unfold.

Once at the center of the pond, the queen flew down to you a bowed her head.

“Thank you for always doing what is best for the forest. Your caring nature has shown us that there are humans that are worthy of knowing our powers. You shower us with loyalty and never ask for anything in return, only a friendship. Now that you have proven yourself to be a true friend, it is with great honor that I bestow you, Guardian of the Forest and Creatures.”

With a wave of her hand, a flower crown made of twine, lavender, baby’s breath, poppies, and everlasting floated over and took the place of your other crown that two fairies took off your head. Then, with a kiss to your forehead, magic flourished.

You fell into a small slumber as Geralt and Jaskier watched in awe as you were lifted by magic from the water. The fairies flew upwards and circled around you, dancing and singing a magical chant.

Oh, our Guardian,

Protector of all

Loves and cherishes

Anything big or small.

Oh. our Guardian

Whom we adore

Let us celebrate

This moment they are reborn.

As they sang, the water rose from the pond and incased you in a sphere of magic. Lights flashed through it and sparks of pixie dust sprinkled down from the circle. It was like fireworks were going off inside this magical womb made from the pond. They chanted and sang until the water started to tremor and then, bursted out.

Light flooded the area, coming from you. Gently, you were lowered down to the pond’s surface, only this time, you were able to stand on the top and not sink through. Your once wet clothing was now replaced with a new outfit.

The fabric flowed down your body like ripples of water. You were wearing a white billowy shirt that had gold designs etched into the collar like the shawl did. Speaking of the shawl, instead of being draped around your shoulders, it had transformed into a cape that connected at your shoulders that flow behind you. Instead of the old, worn-out pants that you used to wear, you had a royal blue pair that seemed to glimmer in the sunlight. On each hand, two gold rings anointed your index and pinky finger. You now had a crown of baby’s breathe on your head of newly fluffed hair.

But was most awe-inspiring, were the new wings that adorned your back.

Beautiful blue morphs wings now fluttered out from behind you, stretching and glistening in the light. It was surreal, you touched the wings as they curled around you, now another piece of your body and mind. The queen smiled at you, “Thank you so much for being in me.” You said to her. You brought your hand up to her and she hugged it, making you grin.

“Y/N!!! Y/N!!” When you turned, you saw Jaskier jumping up and down on the side of the pond, Geralt smacking him up the back of the head as the bard quite reasonably freaked out.

“You may go to them, you are now the bridge between the fae world and humans.” With one last smile to the queen, you walked on the water’s surface until to stepped foot on land. Jaskier bounded over to you followed by a fast walking Geralt.

You floated a few feet off the ground and spun for them. “Well, what do you think?” The bard gasped, “You, you! You’re a spirit now! You, you, you have wings!!!!!” He spoke very quickly, trying to process his thoughts and emotions on what had just conspired.

As you lowered to the floor, Geralt took your hand and gave it a small kiss on the back of it and then did an elegant bow in front of you. “He’s the Guardian of the Forest, not a spirit you idiot. We wouldn’t be able to see him if he was.”

You chuckled, “I can see so many things now that the human eye cannot, the world is so beautiful! There are so many lives that we cannot see with the naked eye, it’s amazing.”

Jaskier walked around you and trailed a finger down your left wing, “Well, if anyone was going to watch over the forest it would definitely be you. You spend every day tending to nature and it’s inhabitants.”

“Including us.” Geralt added, leaning against a tree.

With a wave of your hand, the train of the cape shorted to your knees and you took each of your friend’s hands, walking back to the cottage.

As you walked, Jaskier asked a question. “Will this change everything? Will you leave and live in the forest? What happens now?”

“Oh Jaskier, I’m not going anywhere. I’m the bridge between magic and humans remember? I’ll always be here for you now, I just have a broader approach to the world around us and some added abilities. I understand that I will have to live up to my title as Guardian and sometimes leave to protect the creatures I love, but I’ll never be gone forever. I’ll always come back to my dearest friends if they want me too.”

Geralt put an arm around you, “Of course we want you to.” 

You gasped, “Is the great Geralt of Rivia saying that he wants me around? Gee Jasky, did he wake up this morning feeling ill? This is very peculiar for a Witcher…”

Jaskier threw back his head and laughed, Geralt just shook his and smiled.

Then you got a bright idea, “Hey, now that I’m not just another damsel in distress for Geralt to protect on journeys like Jaskier—“ “Hey!” “—maybe I can come with you guys when you leave for adventures!”

“Are you sure that would be safe Y/N?” The Witcher asked. You nodded, “I think that maybe the fates led us to each other because they knew we would be able to help each other. It’s destiny!” Geralt groaned, “Dooon’t say that.”

You nudged him with your shoulder, “I’m not such a bad destiny to have am I?”

“No Y/N, you’re the best destiny to have.”

With that, the three friends walked through the forest, back to your cottage. 

Some say that many songs were created that day, the day Life and Death and Between came to be friends for eternity.

Toss a coin to your Witcher

O’Valley of Plenty

O’Valley of Plenty

O’

The tales of three are whispered

In the dead of night

As life and death, became friends

And joined the quest to fight.

To save mankind from its horrid greed

Greatest of friends, and seldom foes

A human also accompanied thee.

Toss a coin to your Witcher

O’Valley of Plenty

O’Valley of Plenty

O’

And a friend to Guardian of humanity.

<3

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[thesweetblossoms]

Conversations at Night

🎹Last week, a newly immigrated Jordanian Uber driver, Omar, drove me to work, he mentioned that he studied Arabic literature and was curious about by name. When I told him, it was indeed an Arabic word, chosen by my father, he readily shared his research and knowledge, to tell me more about its meaning. He relayed to me that the name derives from one of the oldest tribes in the Arabian desert, that the root word means hardworking as well intelligent. Although I had known that my name meant, intelligence, since I was a little girl, after learning the actual root word, “Sammar”, I researched further, discovering it also means “conversations at night”. This is such a haunting meaning, since I often think and write at night, and it pleasing to think that my name might indeed be a self fulfilling prophecy.

If I were to list seven elements that contribute to a women’s appeal, that carry the impression of compelling, interesting and unforgettable femininity, that strengthen a ladies ability to exert a magnetic pull, sex appeal, as well as attraction, my list would include grace, intelligence, wit, confidence, imagination, style and vision. For each dispenses the charms, extracts the best elements and leaves faint traces of the women’s soul into the atmosphere she inhabits and colors all her encounters.

A graceful women is one that may be counted on to examine the hand she has been given and find the only way to play would be to create, envision and design, a charming, memorable and beautiful life. She would notice that a hand painted thank you note and homemade lemon zested madeleines would be a happy gift to send to an elementary school teacher, or a message to an author, after reading a book may increase the power of both written and unwritten works, or that dealing with multiple obligations yet remaining unfazed is the key to carrying out each endeavor well. A graceful women is often a reliable friend, somebody who has kindness and strength to spare,

who is generous and open hearted in providing ideas, advice, new ways of thinking, perspectives and insights that open channels, clarifying problems, dilemmas or troubles. By confronting issues with a high level of ability, sharpness, composure and calm, she inspires faith in outcomes as well as a sense of security in others, for she reminds us, that the universe readily furnishes us with necessary tools and the awakened among us may cannily use these to create gardens, or start companies, write books, raise children or steadfastly and relentlessly chase any dream.

Intelligence is an irreplaceable tool in a women’s arsenal. While appearances satisfy many evolutionary prerogatives, people are often attracted to the components of a persons personality, character and energy. Thus ones ability to think, to make connections, to gain and use knowledge, to envision new and different worlds, to find patterns, to look minutely at details, to be able to grasp the universal horizons, to simplify the blinking space between birth and death, to detect humor or to ideate a world without pain and suffering, may be intoxicating to others, just as newly opened ivory roses, are to an orchid pink desert hummingbird.

The wittiness factor adds a sparkle to drifting breezes, ticking minutes and to the light filled hours of experience, for any encounter is more pleasurable when the conversation is amusing, interesting and articulate. The epitome for wit may be Jane Austen’s, Elizabeth Bennet, a heroine that is able to duel with the most bedeviling of men, who is able to enchant all around her with her kindness, intelligence and passion. For eons, I thought that being witty meant the ability to think fast and return a volley with ferocity and brilliance, yet it may actually embody a larger context, as being witty may be a certain kind of sensitivity, of knowing the correct words to appease a tense situation, perhaps with a gentle surrender, or a thoughtful offer, or it may be the priceless skill, at a dinner party or even, an attorneys break room setting, perchance, to extract the most vivacity from another person. A witty disposition unleashes the exuberant and sardonic ability to ascertain the humor inherent, even within the bitterest of dilemmas and unsavory intervals, it persuades the sleepiest of senses to savor the intrinsic qualities of reality, of the funny, cute and precious elements of quickly changing and developing children, or of noting the romantic opportunities of lounging in candlelight, when the power goes out, or in taking rain showered tree and blossom perfumed walks in less crowded sidewalks, or of knowing that what is truly relevant is how much you laughed, or lingered in beauty or dwelled in love.

Confidence is a narcotic quality, it opens ones experience to manifest the most fruitful results. It relies on an innate sense of place, an ability to see through many of the artificial blocks that prevent us from enjoying the present. I am awed at the way certain individuals carry themselves, the plus size models, or the plainly dressed and unassuming tech founders, or little children who have not been conditioned to compare themselves to media and cultural archetypes. Confidence arises from a comprehension of the value that one may add to the situation, knowing that the simplest gestures may tint the quietest hours, or even the most hectic ones, it is the calling card of the person, who introduces themselves and gains a new friend, or the individual that sweeps aside other peoples narrow viewpoint by example, or who seldom worries about how the audience regards them, as long as they adhere to high principals, values and modes of conduct.

Creating imaginary worlds, or parallel dimensions is a satisfying and alluring anecdote to navigating life in our present form. Therefore, a wild, creative, whimsical, exuberant, fantastical, energetic, ephemeral or any other type of imagination allows us to wonder into other realms that may exist in the vastness of eternity, like invisible moons, beguiling us unawares. An imagination could spark an ambrosial love affair, by sensing possibility in a potential partner, despite the blindingly obvious shortcomings, leading one on a romantic journey that could be thrilling despite the gaping variance from previous amorous notions. Or it could lead one to design and create an incandescent and disarmingly magnificent garden, laden with peach hydrangea, royal purple forget me nots, green tea dogwood blossoms, pink sapphire peonies and a hanging rope swing, knotted to a stately fairy light strung oak tree, to softly glide upon, while caressed by honeysuckle perfumed drifts, lashings of tenderness from ripening pink moons and lulling gold silk threaded clouds. It could create worlds that linger in our shared literary world, enthralling readers over generations with indelible characters and themes, such as J.M Barries, Peter Pan, or A Midsummers Nights Dream by William Shakespeare. An unfettered imagination could birth an enthusiastic and charming story about a mischievous giraffe in Paris, or a lonely starfish who longs to escape the coral reefs, or a striking, haunting and unforgettable love story set in the English countryside.

Words are more permanent than thoughts, as thoughts dissipate unerringly into the atmosphere, so just as writing encodes symbolic meaning, accelerates and defines the future as well as leaves greater tangible traces than musings alone, personal style is also an imprint of ones personality into reality. Sometimes the simplest ideas beguile me, the idea that a dress as ephhermal as a chiffon piece protects, shelters and conceals us from the part of reality that is separate from our selves, yet also exists as a work of art, or that how we dress impacts our energy, attitudes and moods, wearing floral patterns reminds us of the healing potential of nature, a black studded dress advertises that we must not be trifled with, or a nude halter silk dress evinces a desire for frivolity, sensuality and celebration. My thoughts often dwell upon an inking, an ominous sensation or a persistent thought cloud, that there is scare time as well as opportunity, to express myself to the farthest limits of possibility, to sit quietly to read and think about manifold subjects that render illumination, or even to savor the wondrous scenes occurring across time and space, as it entails a sacrifice of other pressing matters to notice, contemplate and mull the mysterious unfurling of the hours. I feel this way especially poignantly regarding style, that there isn’t enough time to wear the clothes that have come across my path, that I may not have adequate chances to choose different earrings to compliment my outfits or wear lovely shoes that would enhance a carefully chosen scarf. Just as the way an exquisite platinum ring sets of a twinkling emerald gem, this dearth of time influences me to both savor as well as thoughtfully consider the ritual of dressing in the morning for work, or selecting a caramel and gold beaded party dress to wear for a date night, or collecting another white cotton dress to linger in the garden.

Ones vision far exceeds the artifices and false boxes of sex, status or upbringing as vision is an element of our soul, it is a masterful and ecstatic gift, one that many lucky people possess, yet only to squander it in half sleepy lives, leaving a handful to scale the heights of awareness, or risk the temptations of insanity, topple precariously over the edges of reason as great visual artists such as Vincent Van Gogh, Claude Monet or Georgia O Keefe. For vision is a subtle ecstasy, enabling us to be charmed by overwhelmingly gorgeous vistas such as lilac clouded rainforests in Costa Rica, or Balinese, glimmering beach temples, a misty pine tree cove in Vancouver, a small town waterfall in Connecticut with groves of blossoming plum trees, a hilly glade ripe with nigella, cosmos, asters and lace flowers in Colorado, a moonshot Taj Mahal with night blooming jasmine and tuberose, a concealed hydrangea, rose and clematis ivy and moss draped reading bench in a garden in Cotswalds, or a white chiffon gown and black tie soirée at the Hall of Mirrors at the Versailles. Yet, the boundless gift of vision includes the ability to create imaginary worlds, perhaps, the talent to create a Parisian rooftop soirée with pink champagne, piano music, shadows of darkness and light, a setting for an overture, for the mischievous heiress in a backless black silk dress with emerald earrings, and the tall, captivating, yet, impecunious gentlemen in a patched up tweed jacket, both, serenaded by the musical notes and lilac dusk breezes floating over pooled pillar candles, strung Japanese lanterns, multiple riveting conversations and hinting at a momentous rendezvous, by star struck water fountains in the rose gardens below. But, vision unwavering burnishes the magic of the ordinary, common place or even mundane, like a spell or incantation, it charms us when we are at leisure, maybe, when we see the tiny spiders performing gymnastics over the blossoming tomatillo plants, or the shadowy outline of cosmos on the pavement, or a black thrasher bird feather, of the slowly whirling pink grasses in the inundating light.

During a spell of neglecting to refill my hummingbird feeders with handmade nectar, I diverted my spare time to planting seeds, fertilizing and watering my garden consistently. On Saturday afternoon, while lazying in the balcony garden with cups of Irish coffee, I noticed a hummingbird fly into the covered garden with pots of jasmine, tuberose, black eyed Susan’s, flowering basil, cosmos, roses, sweet alyssum and Mexican sunflowers, and sip greedily from the roses and cosmos before flying away. I was bewitched by the sight, realizing how much I miss seeing the fast beating whizzing petite birds visit my garden, yet enthralled that by growing flowers they may still frequent my space and imbibe in the nectar they find therein.

By looking again, more carefully, calmly, methodically at the possessions we already have concealed away in delicate pouches or miniscule ceramic bowls, or barely holding up in creased envelopes in oyster pink Prada purses, we might be delighted, intrigued and captivated by what we discover. I recently took out my Elsa Peretti teardrop necklace out and considered the fragile silver chain and the evocative shape of a single drop of water, borne of insidious joy or recalcitrant sorrow. I hadn’t worn it for many years as there were two tiny knots in the chain that I couldn’t untangle and was too busy to take to Tiffany's to repair. Yet, once I took it out again, with a degree of maturity or skill that is the gift of growing older, I was able to focus on the minuscule tangles and unknot them slowly with concentration and patience. With the years, we gain talents, perspectives and abilities that are not immediately apparent. So it is with pleasure that I wear my long ago acquired and conscientious stored necklace, hoping it charms the seductive flow and cadence of the present time, to symbolize our physical ability to transform energy when we cry and to take the tears and alchemize it to realms of imagination, wonder and beauty.

Often during breaks between work, I succumbs to islands of fancy and I scribble shards of fancy and nonsense; I seek alchemy in every leaf and discover magic in every blossom, I leave secrets in the open meadows and plant revelations under the shadows of cedar trees, I traipse into comedies in the coffee beaned darkness and escape tragedies in the mirrored light, I linger in the borders between moments, in the beats between the notes and the spaces between the lines.

One is able to measure the healing quotient of a house by the vibrancy and the lushness of its plant inhabitants. I am aware of this co-relation, whenever I enter a space with emerald, jade, arsenic green, oyster or polka dotted pink, or hues of deep Provençal lavender, that appear content, peaceful, well tended, happily imbibing light showers, fending off the dusty cadence of windows, rising tenuously, joyously or even arrogantly from black pearled soil, that itself, is verdant, sufficiently hydrated, evidently fertile, and with lilting stems that have been either left to its own devices, or that been thoughtfully sculpted with the gardeners hands with a pair of much used, oiled and sharpened bonsai scissors. There is a tangible loving energy that emanates from these spaces, where the subtlest creatures are cared for and honored. For our lives are akin to sheafs of fragilely stroked watercolor botanical paintings, tied loosely with a nude pink silk ribbon, each offering a daily experiment in alchemy, practiced, by cutting off a branch to allow another, greater access to light and air, or by gently pulling off dried leaves, so that another might sprout from the green stem below, or to take a flourishing limb from one plant to embed into another pot so that it may root and create an independent plant. These houseplants allow us to deepen our connection to nature, to entwine with it unwavering flow, recklessly, by attempting to manipulate and control living entities, by inviting other species and personalities into our midst, by examining the visible patterns, arcs, shapes, forms and manifestations of botanicals, to attempt to understand its quiet language and to bind ourselves to them, within our own scant hours, upon this pale dot, that is planted itself, by some unknown gardener, into eternal space.

Spend the day looking at the shadows and the night looking at the stars. For there is magic and mystery in the hidden spaces that the illumination conceals, while there are truths, beyond the blatant solar flares that the softly lit moon shyly gives away. I linger in the early November breezes while the crescent moons silver filters indolently through a congress of palm tree leaves, into my Paris cup of chamomile tea. I lull in the lantana, basil, chrysanthemum, rose, tuberose, orange leaf and jasmine perfume. I am soothed by the abstract and bewitching melodies of the wind chimes, the song of the flowing water in the fountain, of old memories lingering within the fabric, weavings and leaves; of the faded firoza, mustard and cream kantha blanket, ivory paint chipped rattan chair and the new marigold plants. These ameliorate the current time, by reminding me of my grandparents garden, as a little girl, even though, the textures, fragrances and lyrics are carefully, and irreversibly separated, by a handful of decades from my contemplations, here, bathed in the heady new moon and the gently biting desert winter winds. But perhaps, there is more to consider, for garden perfumes, night nectar chasing moths, fluttery eucalyptus branches and the tricks of the heavenly bodies, might allow frames to shift and flirt unbeknownst with each other.

Can you hear the wondering butterfly and the prancing bee, whispering gently through the lavender breezes, follow me, follow me? 🌊