#i will always accept witcher people!

[m-affliction]

RADOVID WAS SO CLOSE TO LEAVING!! SO CLOSE!! 😭

[christophernolan]

Where are the people who hated Matt Smith from the moment his casting was announced?? There’s no better man for this role. He has the rang, the power, the way he carries himself with this character. He’s a masterclass, he’s charismatic, and he knows what this character demands.

[bimrwolf]

Healing Hands by the Fire

geralt of rivia x afab!reader words: 3,684 warnings: smut !! 18+ (minors dni) ; squint and you may see a casual plot summary: Geralt visits Reader, a healer, with severe injuries. a/n: very out of my comfort zone. however, i promised my friend to write this as her christmas present because writing fanfics are my love language. good thing i know basic things about the witcher heheehe.

How did she always end up here? Months without a word or seeing him. She had accepted the peace. Only occasionally did she perk up when there was a knock on her door, secretly hoping it was him. But only one could be so lucky. Instead, it was travelers from all over the Continent who heard word of her abilities.

She couldn’t complain. Healing others in exchange for seeds, food, and sometimes money. Not that it was required for her service but she couldn’t complain about the gratuity.

In fact, she enjoyed helping others. However, it was nearing winter and there were less travelers. They were most likely home to prepare for the violent winter storms that damned the Continent. 

It was one of the first snow falls of the season. She had finished feeding the chickens and her horse Atticus. That was always her nighttime routine. Feed the animals, make some tea, study until all the tea is drunk, and finally get ready for bed. 

Some might think the routine would get tiring, but there was never any guarantee. It was the one consistent thing in her life at the moment. She was content. 

However, some nights, she heard the enchanted chimes outside that let her know someone was approaching. But before she made it to the door, it swung open, snow flurries drifted inside. The cold was sharp and pricked her nose, making her sniffle. 

In most cases she would be alarmed. There was no telling what creatures or people were harmless and which ones weren’t. She clutched the nearest thing to her— a broom that always gave her splinters when she used it. 

His snow white hair peeked from under his hood and she recognized the distinct low grumble that could be mistaken as a quake. He slowly closed the door, ensuring it was locked this time. “You startled me.” She said, releasing her grip from the broom, checking her hand for any loose wood. 

“You should keep the door locked. What if I was a dangerous man breaking in?” She played it off as a joke, not seeing the concerned look on his face. 

“Some might say you are dangerous.” She smirked. She never expected him to react to her jokes, but she could feel the warmth blanket around her when his shoulders relaxed. “Are you going to stand there all night?” 

He limped further into the cabin. She could see the snow melting on his cloak, dripping on her floor. “You made a mess,” she huffed. 

His head lifted and cat-like eyes met hers. It was known his abilities and job forced him to lack showing how he felt. But, she noticed right away how his eyes drooped that he was in pain. 

She ran towards him, immediately untying his cloak so that it dropped to the floor. She gasped at the large claw marks scratched into his chest. He could withstand most injuries but the cuts had broken past the many layers of skin. 

“Fuck, Geralt. What happened?” Her finger ghosted over the wound on his shoulder. Almost immediately he grabbed her wrist. But she didn’t pull away. 

“I’m starving.” He took a moment to look her up and down before letting go of her wrist and walking past her. 

Unbelievable. She scoffed and followed him into her den. “Are you serious? Geralt, you’re hurt and need to be healed before you get an infection.” 

“I smell meat pie. Do you have any to spare?” He left no time for her to answer. He grabbed the plate on a table and began to shove them in his mouth. He groaned in satisfaction. 

She wanted to be annoyed, but she had never seen him act this way. So instead she watched as he stuffed his face. He sat down slowly in a wooden chair. His large body mass made it creak, rocking it with the sound of the crackling fire. His spastic breathing mellowed out into a deep sigh.

He was definitely hurting from his wound but there was something else. She could sense that something was bothering him. Yet, she didn’t pry for an explanation. Instead, she let him watch the fire as she gathered her supplies of elixirs and jars. Then she picked up the pot full of water hanging above the fire and poured it into a bowl. The steam warmed her face that was still cold from earlier. 

“Are you still hungry? I think I only have bread.” She sat her things on the table next to him, but not looking in his direction. However, she could feel his piercing eyes watching her every single move. “If you’re not feeling like bread I can stay up and make you soup.” 

His hand flew to her wrist. She jumped, nearly knocking over a bottle with green shiny liquid. She turned her head slightly, sighing deeply. “It hurts,” Geralt mumbled. 

His wound was red, inflamed, and looked worse in the light. And if Geralt says it hurts then it was worse than she had imagined. “Take your tunic off while I prepare.” Although it was her giving the instruction, she couldn’t help the heat on her cheeks arise. Especially when he did what he was told. She had only seen his bare chest a handful of times, but each time made her stomach knot up. 

He took a heavy breath as he settled back into the chair, wincing when she placed a hot cloth on his open wound. His nails dug into the chair. His teeth clenched as he threw his head back. She couldn’t help but giggle. In return, he snapped his head to look at her, visibly annoyed. “What?” 

She swatted him for the rash reaction. “No need to be hot headed, Geralt. I was only laughing because I’ve never seen you act so dramatic.” 

“I’m not being dramatic,” he argued. He winced again when the cloth touched his skin once more. He rolled his eyes when he noticed the smirk she tried to hide from him, her hair covered her face. Not thinking, he took his finger and pushed it out of the way so he could see her more clearly. 

She tried to ignore the knot in her stomach or how her chest was breathing differently. She even tried to look away subtly but the only thing she could look at without being suspicious was his bare chest. “How’s Yennefer?” 

The change of subject was almost as if she had poured salt into his fresh wounds. He yanked his hand away and turned his head to face the fire, jaw ticked. She should’ve felt guilty for bringing up his on and off lover. Instead, she felt relieved his attention was no longer on her and probably wouldn’t be the rest of the night. 

That’s how it always went. He would get too close and right before she fell under his spell she would mention the other woman. She had only met the sorceress once. They neither liked or disliked one another. Yet, she could tell there would not be any attempts to go frollicking in a field like they were the best of friends. 

In some ways, she had been jealous of Yennefer– she was interesting and traveled the Continent and had fought in many wars. She was beautiful and cunning. Of course Geralt would pick her as a lover. 

“Ow.” Geralt grimaced, shifting in the chair. Her fingers were touching the wounds, and spreading them apart. “Are you about done? I’m tired.” 

She continued to inspect his wounds closely, having to push between his legs to get a closer look. “I have to ensure there are no severe damages so I know what to make.” His huff made her roll her eyes. She wanted to swat him for still acting like a child. “Whatever got you, got you good, eh?” 

He looked away then back at her, swallowing. “Yes, I suppose.” 

There was a beat of silence. Only the fire was popping. 

“I thought I was goin’ to die.” He said out loud in a low whisper. Almost like he didn’t want her to hear him.

She stopped briefly to look up at him. He was serious. “Well, fortunately whatever it was missed your heart by a hair.” She pointed to where his heart was and traced a line to the start of one of the scratches only millimeters away. She got up, leaving him with a witty smile as she started to pour the many different potions into a different bowl. 

“Me and Yennefer haven’t spoken in months,” he admitted. 

It was hard not to react, but she had never seen him willingly talk about the woman before. “Oh.” 

“We wanted different things I suppose,” he continued. “If it weren’t for Ciri’s letters, then I wouldn’t even know if she was still alive.” 

“You miss her?” It was meant to sound like a question, but it came across as a statement. 

He looked down at his hands, ashamed. “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to miss someone.” 

“Are you not allowed or are you unsure you know what it’s supposed to feel like?” 

He didn’t answer. 

She walked back and found her place again between his legs. “Missing someone feels like always looking at the door when there’s a knock, and your heart skips a beat, hoping it’s them.” She dipped her finger in the cream she had made and started to apply it to the open wound. 

“I don’t live in a cottage with a door.” His hands creeped to his thighs so they brushed her as she moved. 

She finished with the first cut and moved onto the second, which was much deeper and longer. “Well, missing someone can also feel like wanting to cry even when you’re happy.” 

“You do know I have emotions?” He quizzed her. 

She smirked. “Of course I do. I was only trying to help you figure out if you miss Yennefer.” 

He hummed, running a finger over the first wound she had treated which was starting to already heal. His skin attaching itself together again. “I miss her, but not in the way you think I do.” 

“Then in what way?” She raised her brow, clearly confused as to what he meant. 

He didn’t answer her right away. “Not in the way I miss you.” 

The bowl in her hand nearly clattered to the floor. She froze, replaying the words over and over as if she hadn’t heard him. Did Geralt really admit to missing her? No, he doesn’t actually mean it. He was messing with her. “That’s not funny.” Her breath was shaky. In fact, her hands were shaky too as she tried to continue healing him. 

“Did I make a joke?” His tone was unwavering. He placed his hand on her warm cheek, brushing his thumb over her soft flesh. He had never touched her so intimately like he was now. 

She shook her head, using her free hand to brush him away, focusing on the rest of his injuries. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’re delusional.” 

“I thought your potions helped with that?” 

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, briefly, before averting them back to the bowl. She swooped the last of the cream on her finger and spread it slowly over the last scratch. The others had closed up but one could make out the red scar. “Those will go away in due time,” she mumbled. 

As she tried to get up he caught her arm, standing up with her, and in doing so their chests were against one another. He could feel her heavy breathing. And she could feel the warmth from his body electrifying hers. 

“I should go make your bed. You need to rest.” She tried to walk away but his grip never left her arm. “Geralt.” 

He took the bowl from her hands and placed it back on the table. “How much longer will you deny it?” 

She swallowed the gasp that had almost escaped her, shaking her head. “What do you mean?” Finally, she had pulled away but made no efforts to leave the room, only stepping back to make space between them. And of course he could probably read her like an open book while she only had his stoic expressions to decipher. He opened his mouth, but closed it, sighing loudly. “Thank you, Y/n.” 

Her face softened. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what I would’ve done if it weren’t for you. In fact, I don’t know what I would do without you.” His jaw slacked, watching her intensely. 

She could feel the pull, like a magnet, all too familiar when it came to Geralt. Normally, she had to ignore it. But at that moment, it felt like a boiling pot of water, steaming and bubbling, unable to contain itself. And as she looked into his piercing eyes, the knot in her stomach told her it was time to say something. “Geralt.” Her voice was above a whisper. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yes?” His expression never faltered. 

She shifted her feet, uncomfortable. “I… I um… I’m making oat porridge in the morning.” She had decided it was best to hold back what she really wanted to say. “I’ll go prepare your room.” 

His yellow eyes narrowed, searching for hers. She knew he was watching the emotions swirl through her mind. She knew that he knew that wasn’t what she really wanted to say to him. “No.” He was assertive and the growled vibrations dragged along her back like a dagger, giving her chills. 

Ignoring the goosebumps along her arms, she ran her hand over her face. “What do you want me to say?” She felt like a twig that had snapped. “Why are you being mean? You stand there forcing a confession out of me. A confession you will never get because there’s nothing to say.” Her tears burned in the corner of her eyes. She hated how foolish she looked in front of him. Crying and blubbering because he decided to dig deeper. 

They had a routine. He would knock on the door and she would heal his wounds. Their deep conversations were rare, and sometimes he wouldn’t speak at all. Sometimes he would leave in the morning without a word. So why must this time be any different than the others? 

“You’re angry.” 

She scoffed. “Yes, I’m angry.” Unable to face him, she turned to look at the fireplace, shaking her head. “That’s the most frustrating part of all of this. I’m angry that you’re here. I’m angry that I don’t see you for months with no word if you’re even alive. I’m angry that you show up when I’m missing you the most.” Her eyes caught his, her nostrils flared. She had had enough of it, storming up to him and putting a finger against his bare chest. “I’m angry that you sit there and touch me and talk to me like we’re lovers. I’m angry that you won’t go to someone else for help. Because I can’t do it anymore, Geralt. I can’t do it.” 

And there it was. Years worth of bubbling water, spilling over the pot and all over the floor. She had made a mess that she wasn’t sure if she would be able to clean up. 

Geralt’s jaw ticked, his eyes scanning her face. “You wish to not see me anymore? Would that be easier?” 

Her finger fell slowly from his chest. Her voice trembled. “It’s easier than caring about you.” 

Geralt brought his hand up slowly to her cheek, brushing his knuckle against a tear. “I am angry at you too,” he whispered. Her brows furrowed, unsure what he meant. “I told you I have feelings too. Yet, you assume I don’t. You assume I don’t care about you either.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Do you?” 

“Why do you think I keep coming back?” His jaw slacked. 

The tension between them was thick and palpable. She wasn’t sure what else there was to say. Her heart was torn. Even with the confession, there was no guarantee. He was a Witcher with responsibilities that were not suitable for the life she wanted. She pushed it away, cracking a smile. “Are you saying that you got injured on purpose? So you could see me?” 

“Perhaps.” The corner of his mouth flickered, leaning his head down towards her. 

“You could’ve died.” She stepped closer to him, tracing her finger of his scars, looking at his lips.

“But I didn’t.” He said against her mouth, finally closing the gap between them. 

He wrapped his arms around her, strong and sure, deepening the kiss. It was gentle but fierce, full of longing and tension that had been built up along the years. It tasted like all the warm tea she had made for him over time. 

When she moaned, Geralt took the opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth, gliding it tenderly and carefully against hers, groaning in satisfaction. He somehow managed to pull her closer as if their bodies weren’t already meshed together.

It was her who broke away first, both of them gasping for air, chests heaving from the heavy kiss. Geralt’s eyes had turned black, his senses heightened, craving more. 

Without a word, she unbuttoned her blouse, freeing her chest as she dropped it to the floor. She kissed Geralt again on the mouth, his neck, and then his chest. She whispered in his ear, “I think I should go prepare your room now.” 

He nodded, allowing her to take his hand to lead him to her room, rather than the room up in the attic that her guests normally stayed in. It was full of knick knacks and books scattered. Her bed was unmade, but neither one of them cared. 

She pushed him on the bed, straddling his lap, peppering kisses all over his chest. If she was smart, she would savor all of it– every kiss and touch. But fuck all of it. She had waited too long to savor it.  She grinded herself against his hardness, smiling against his ear when she felt him jump through his trousers. Something had told her it was too long for him too. 

The rest of their clothes had found a new place on the floor of her bedroom. She was now laying down, Geralt hovered over her, his chain dangled over her face, and his hands roamed over her bare body as she whimpered under his touch. His lips attacked her neck, trailing down her body, relishing every inch. 

“Geralt,” she mewled. 

She felt the vibrations of his chuckle, revitalizing her, the warmth between her legs now ached. “Yes?” He came back towards her mouth, placing a life-wrecking kiss on it. 

She nibbled his bottom lip. “You know.” 

“Mm, I don’t think I do,” he teased. His hand was between her legs, fingers gliding, taunting her. 

She thrusted her hips upwards, forcing friction against her swollen clit, gasping when he slid a finger in her. “I need you.”

The pitiful look in her eyes convinced him enough to give her what she wanted. And because any longer, he felt like he would combust. Geralt pushed her legs apart and then guided his girthy length to her entrance, sliding it in slowly. 

She gasped as he sunk deeper inside her, finally able to marvel all of her. It was sweet like the honey she snuck in his tea. Rich like the pastries she packed in his knapsack whenever he left in the mornings, without saying goodbye because he was afraid he would never leave if he saw her golden smile in the mornings. Yet, he wasn’t strong enough to never come back. 

At first, his thrusts were slow and tender, slipping so deep that his tip reached as far as it could. She gripped his shoulders, nails forming crescents, back arching as he picked up the pace. She wanted to hug him with her thighs, but his hands were sure to keep them open and spread for him. 

The sounds of their sticky skin crashing together blended with their moans and grunts, forming a delectable melody. She pulled him into an open-mouth sloppy kiss, humming. The bed rattled beneath them, his pace was dangerously close to cracking the frame. 

In a swift move, he pulled her up, so that she was straddling him. Their bare chests flushed together, her face in the crook of his neck, whimpering as she bounced on his cock. “I’m… fuck,” she breathed, unable to make the words as it hit her sweet spot. 

“Me too.” He slightly pushed her shoulders back, wanting to see her. His palm cradled her face, swallowing the thickness stuck in his throat. He knew he looked destroyed. He didn’t show how he felt often, but the pent up tension over the year had finally arisen. 

“G…Geralt!” She shouted as her walls closed around him, releasing her orgasm around him, resting her forehead on his chest as he continued to move her up and down. She clutched onto him as if she was about to float away. 

He threw his head back as his cock twitched, finishing, He thrusted through his climax, panting as he slowed to a halt. His senses were still high and could hear the fire still crackling in the den. He could feel her breathing still rugged and hot, sticking to his chest. 

She couldn’t see it but Geralt let a small smile briefly appear as he stroked her bare back. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. She looked up at him, running her fingers through his snow-white hair. “Will you stay one more night?” 

He tilted his head, brows knitted together. “Are you still angry with me?” 

A mischievous glimmer crossed her eyes. “If I am, does that mean you’ll stay?” 

He snickered, placing a peck on her lips, lingering, scared if he were to break away she’d disappear. 

Angry or not, he was going to stay one more night.

[olderthannetfic]

Something that frustrates me about the Harry Potter conversation is a lot of people missing the point behind the motivation to boycott it. They seem weirdly focused on the content of HP when it's actually... not that bad? It's not perfect, in fact a lot of aspects are pretty fucking problematic and worthy of discussion, but not uniquely so by the standards of the fantasy genre. Yes, I know the goblins are clearly drawing on anti-semitic tropes. Yes, the house elf situation is fucked. Yes, lots of not-like-other-girls-style misogyny. Yes, Cho Chang was a fucking disaster of racism. I KNOW THIS ALREADY! I'm not an idiot and Harry Potter fans were talking about this for far longer than JKR has been a TERF. But I'm also a fan of the Elder Scrolls and Dragon Age and the Witcher and a shitton of isekai anime and tons of other fantasy medias which are so much worse. Harry Potter is only moderately problematic by the standards of most popular fantasy media, especially for the mainstream standards of the time period it was written. Worthy of criticism, but not dropping it entirely. And actually reading HP and looking back at JKR's behaviour at the time, much of it seems largely unintentional, just that JKR drew on a lot of fantasy tropes that she didn't properly examine as well as her own unexamined biases and she had some flawed understandings of progressivism that were fair for its day but don't fly now, but doesn't seem malicious. The actual authorial intent at least seems to be pretty progressive at least, even if the execution wasn't the best. And sure, it's not a masterwork but there's a reason it connected to so many people, even if a lot of it was luck and timing. We don't have to ignore that and doing so feels dishonest.

I'm just so annoyed when people try to shit on the contents because they're missing the point and confuse the actual problem in a way that weakens their argument. I don't give Harry Potter money anymore because JKR crossed some lines for me in real life, totally separate from Harry Potter as a piece of media, and I don't want to fund her bullshit because she is so influential it is hurting people. The content of her books is utterly irrelevant to this decision. She could have penned a goddamn magnum opus and it wouldn't have mattered. So I'm sick of people bringing up books that are "better" or ragging on the contents of Harry Potter because none of that is the point and never was the point and it comes across as just taking advantage of a shitty situations to dunk on a popular thing or those who enjoyed it. Yeah, it was a mediocre fantasy series. But it hit the right emotional escapist buttons in a lot of kids even if it had the moral nuance and depth of a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles anti-drug PSA. Having to drop it sucked for a lot of people because it can't be replaced and yelling about how bad the writing was doesn't change that because it never was about quality. JKR's TERF transformation was in many ways a betrayal of JKR's intended audience considering how the text preached acceptance and love and starred an abused, unwanted child getting to go to magic school where he's special. Pretending Harry Potter should be dropped because its content has issues obscures the actual problem of a raging transphobic having money and influence and that not everything created by bad people is poor quality so boycotts might require giving up access to things you actually like or are valuable and that's not always an easy decision to make.

JKR was a probably decent person with fairly liberal politics when she wrote Harry Potter. The books, while imperfect, are not more horrible or full of problems a dozen other popular fantasy properties. JKR become a TERF later in life and while she may have had ingrained transphobia prior to this when she wrote Harry Potter, that is not the same as the virulent hate-movement she's part of now and we should recognize how easy it is for people to get drawn into hate-movements. Any argument to boycott should be about how she's using her money and influence to affect real life laws and attitudes unless you want to try and get people to also drop half the fantasy genre.

--

[hanzajesthanza]

“what does geralt get from that friendship…”

another post examining the weight of geralt and dandelion’s friendship… because i don’t think people recognize how painful and debilitating loneliness can become.

the witcher as a deconstruction of the genre takes fantasy tropes to their most logical ends—it asks us to consider what The Lone Swordsman feels, looks into the humanity in a Cold-Blooded Killer. and it turns out he’s not cold-blooded at all.

that despite some superhuman abilities, he laments and worries and curses himself, just like any other worker of any other profession. just as the farmer is scorched by the sun, the washerwoman’s back aches, and the scholar goes half-blind studying, a witcher deals with all of the pains and annoyances and dangers of his job in a mundanely human way.

but the farmer, the washerwoman, and the scholar have something the witcher does not have—they’ll always be seen as human and part of their society. at the end of the day after enduring all of their labor, they have their wife to caress, festivities to attend, and taverns to frequent. but for a witcher? after the killing is over, what does he have? no one and nothing. not even a thank you. he is met with fear and hatred everywhere he goes, baseless bigotry and dislike.

I did my job. I quickly learned how. I’d ride up to village enclosures or town pickets and wait. If they spat, cursed and threw stones, I rode away. If someone came out to give me a commission, I’d carry it out.

so he faces not just loneliness, but being deliberately ostracized and cast out from society. geralt can’t even find a polite word in most settlements, much less a friend.

‘(…) Tell me, where should I go? And for what? At least here some people have gathered with whom I have something to talk about. People who don’t break off their conversations when I approach. People who, though they may not like me, say it to my face, and don’t throw stones from behind a fence. (…)’

this kind of loneliness is not a mere inconvenience. it’s completely altering to your self-perception and ability to see the positive in the world.

each day is not lived, but endured.

day in, and day out—forced to the most difficult and lowest labor in order to survive, and knowing that were you to die, no one would search for your body, few would miss you, hell, they might even spit “good riddance”.

in this situation, to find a friend, is not only friendship, but a rescue.

without dandelion, geralt may have drowned—drowned in solitude, amidst a sea of strangeness.

‘(…) And I’m alone, completely alone, endlessly alone among the strange and hostile elements. Solitude amid a sea of strangeness. Don’t you dream of that?’

No, I don’t, he thought. I have it every day.

because dandelion is not only a bright soul, characteristic rippling laughter and the strum of a lute, but someone who will intently listen to geralt, someone who mutually enjoys his company.

‘(…) you almost jumped out of your pants with joy to have a companion. Until then, you only had your horse for company.’

someone who doesn’t see him as strange and at the fringes of society at all, but as an utterly normal man.

and doesn’t impose demeaning, sappy sympathy onto him, but sobering and realistic “quit your bullshit” which ridicules the very thought that he should internalize societal hatred.

Do you know what your problem is, Geralt? You think you’re different. (…) [You don’t understand that] for people who think clear-headedly you’re the most normal man under the sun, and they all wish that everybody was so normal. What of it that you have quicker reflexes than most and vertical pupils in sunlight? That you can see in the dark like a cat? That you know a few spells? Big deal.

dandelion isn’t “willing” to accept geralt for himself—he already has accepted him. and to him, it’s no difficulty, it’s nothing worth discussing, because he sees no abnormality and no strangeness in him.

while others “prefer the company of lepers to witchers,” dandelion has already offered geralt to share his room and board. not out of sympathetic pity, not out of fetishizing curiosity. because… they’re friends.

and what else does this friendship save him from?

not only from others, but from himself.

worse than enduring others’ apathy and hatred is one’s own thoughts—the darkness and negativity which builds from witnessing and experiencing such behavior.

dandelion’s ability to counter and dispel geralt’s pessimism and self-flagellating tendencies—again, not out of pity, but out of friendship—is undeniably invaluable. someone to rescue you from your darkest thoughts, when you begin to spiral.

and in this darkness, all you can do is cry. you cry, beg for someone to help you, please—

Help! Why doesn't anyone help me? Alone, weak, helpless – I can't move, can't force a sound from my constricted throat. Why does no one come to help me? I'm terrified!

to be alone, the saga reminds us, is worse than a death sentence. to be alone is to “perish; stabbed, beaten or kicked to death, defiled, like a toy passed from hand to hand.” to be alone is to suffer, and to be with someone is to save them from that suffering.

'(…) I wouldn't like anything bad to happen to you. I like you too much, owe you too much-'

'You've said that already. What do you owe me, Yennefer?'

The sorceress turned her head away, did not say anything for a while.

'You travelled with him,' she said finally. 'Thanks to you he was not alone. You were a friend to him. You were with him.'

it is true that geralt has saved dandelion countless times, helped him, gotten him out of some scrape… but to ask what did geralt get in return? are you kidding me?

did you ever consider that it is dandelion who saved geralt?

by being with him. by being by his side. by being his friend.

indeed, dandelion has rescued geralt, countless times, from the yawning jaws of endless loneliness. he’s helped him, chased away the danger of geralt’s own rumination. and he’s gotten him out of scrapes, his own insecurities and bitter helplessness.

so what does dandelion give geralt? what does geralt get from their friendship?

an amusing question. what one gets from friendship is the friendship itself. and that is more than enough.

[podcastenthusiast]

Three little drabbles featuring Geralt "Horse Girl" of Rivia and different animals, from Jaskier's POV.

---

1. Horse

Jaskier realized it a few weeks into this new witcher-following, song-composing venture. Specifically, when he went to eat the last apple and was told in no uncertain terms that it's for Roach, even though their food rations were running worringly low and they were a day's ride from the next village. Even though he's a fragile human. Even though she could literally just eat grass.

The mare outranked him. She had seniority.

He tried to befriend the horse, with middling success.

He tried to befriend the witcher, too.

At least Roach could be bribed with a carrot or a handful of raisins.

People project a lot of their own feelings onto animals, he supposed. It's a relationship designed to be unequal. As complex or as simple as a person wants it to be.

For a while, he had started to resent her a little, as pathetic as that may sound. That is, until he woke in the middle of the night and overheard a murmured, rather one-sided conversation.

"I worry about him, though," Geralt was saying. "Can't exactly just find a new bard and start calling him Jaskier if something happens, can I."

What?

"Wish he'd shut up sometimes, but... I guess it's been kind of nice having someone around who talks back."

Jaskier's heart felt like it might burst or break. Or both.

"Not that you aren't good company, old girl."

Roach gave a quiet snort.

That was all years ago, now. The horse is different, but still somehow Roach.

He is different, too, but somehow still Jaskier. Still the reliable bard his friend needs him to be.

Now, he watches from his spot by the campfire as Geralt brushes through Roach's mane. The witcher's got drowner brains in his own hair but gods forbid he has a wash before his trusty companion is completely tended to. He's very gentle with her, which is probably why she tolerates it as well as she does. He's heard tales of stablehands losing fingers to routine grooming before.

Jaskier wishes he could write a ballad about this without potentially damaging his fearsome reputation-- the unbreakable bond between a witcher and his horse. The unexpected tenderness of hands made to kill.

He reaches for his quill to jot down a few ideas. Something something the mighty wolf and the wild horse, loyal and brave companions defending their forest home together. Keep it vague enough. Maybe a folktale vibe.

Besides, Jaskier thinks with a touch of bitterness, the wolf's tongue is the real danger. His jaws that snap at anyone foolish enough to get too close, to offer help when he's caught in a trap.

...Maybe he still has some feelings to work through.

The wolf also has a heart he tries so hard to bury. Jaskier can see it. Always has.

"You spoil her rotten, you know," he remarks lightly, plucking on his lute strings. "She eats better than we do."

"It's like sharpening my swords. I have to keep Roach in good condition, or we don't eat at all."

"Mhm. And it's very sweet."

He no longer begrudges Roach her well-earned place at Geralt's side. The witcher had been alone out here for such a long time before he came along, probably will be again after he's dead and buried. Even if Jaskier does wish that he could be the one Geralt trusts with his innermost thoughts and secrets and sleepless night fears, he is glad the man has someone in whom he can confide.

They all have their roles in this story. Perhaps he ought to accept his as its scribe, and let that be enough.

But Jaskier's greatest fault, he knows, is an always has been his refusal to accept things as they are.

-

2. Cat

"Oh, look at that. Someone's cat has gone missing. Poor thing."

"We're here for real work, Jaskier," Geralt says, scanning a contract notice. Recent plague. Graves disturbed. Ghouls. See alderman for details. Bit dull.

"They're offering a reward. See?"

"Somehow I doubt a small child has enough coin to justify ignoring the ghouls."

"Says here you'll get their eternal gratitude and-- oh! The lady of the house will darn your socks free of charge for a full year. Any additional mending at a discount. Now that's a good deal."

"Hm."

"Geralt, as you know my favorite doublet is in a sorry state after that minor werewolf incident--"

"I told you to stay with Roach."

"--All water under the bridge now, of course, and what an adventure! Worthy of a fine ballad--"

"Jaskier."

"--as this would be. Can't you at least keep one keen witchery eye out for the cat?"

"And risk a ghoul catching me off guard? Sure."

"Well, now you're just being silly. Don't tell me you're a dog person. Or are you allergic?"

Geralt sighs, realizing now that only the truth will free him from this conversation.

"Don't mind cats," he mutters. "But they don't like me."

"Sorry, what?"

"Cats don't like me," he repeats. "They start hissing whenever I get too close."

Jaskier's expression is caught somewhere between disbelief and sadness. "Why?"

"I insulted their king. Why do you think? They've got more sense than certain humans, I guess."

It's a veiled remark. Jaskier sees right through it.

"You're not a monster, Geralt," he says, achingly sincere. Then, in a lighter tone, "Does that mean you've never pet a cat before?"

"I don't know. Maybe when I was very young. I can't remember."

Jaskier mercifully drops the subject after a quiet and thoughtful walk back to the village's tavern.

He doesn't fail to notice Geralt buying extra scraps of meat from the innkeeper, or how he sneaks away at night to set them like snares in promising locations near the village. He'd probably say it's for the ghoul contract if asked, but Jaskier knows better.

Even if he didn't, there is really no other explanation for Geralt returning to the inn on the second night, covered in claw marks, carrying a ghoul's severed head in one hand and a bag containing one squirming, hissing feline in the other.

-

3. Spider

"GERALT!"

Every witcher in Kaer Morhen hears the bard's scream, but Geralt reaches the room in moments, his silver sword already drawn.

"Jaskier, what--"

"Kill it!"

The bard is standing on his bed, pointing frantically at something. Geralt follows his panicked gaze and sees--

"Really, Jaskier?" He sighs.

"What are you waiting for? It's a monster! Kill it!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's not a monster. Just a spider. Not even poisonous."

"How do you know?"

"I read." Geralt crouches down for a closer look at the spider. "Might look scary but it's harmless. Probably sought shelter from the cold."

"Well, then it can go right back outside."

"Jaskier, be reasonable."

"I am. Either the spider goes or I do."

The witcher looks thoughtful. Says nothing.

"Oh, thanks, Geralt! I feel so loved."

The spider crawls onto Geralt's hand and Jaskier almost screams again, shrinking back even farther. Gods, it has so many legs!

"Pretend it's a kikimora or something," he pleads. "Why won't you kill one little spider for your very dearest old friend in the world?"

"Because kikimoras have no niche. They're invasive, and need to be dealt with to maintain balance in the ecosystem. Spiders aren't like that; they do belong. A monster, fundamentally, is any creature that doesn't."

Jaskier just stares at him, speechless. He's not sure he has ever heard Geralt say that many words all at once.

Geralt's eyes remain on the spider. "Witchers aren't sent out on the Path not knowing why we kill; we're not soldiers."

"I never thought of it like that," Jaskier admits. "That spider's still fucking terrifying, though."

"Hm. I'll take it outside."

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"I know what scared, stupid people say about witchers sometimes. But I-- You do belong. You're important. Just want you to know that."

"...Thank you, Jaskier," he says. Then, quieter, "You too."

[askaalaska-vdeppressed]

Eskel X Reader Kinktober: Face Sitting

Frost covered the glass panes of the old castle. Light shining through the clear window was trapped into refracting into a rainbow that painted the inside of the rooms. Kaer Morhen sat high upon the mountain, the deteriorating facade tricking the outside observer into believing it was abandoned. And any sane group of people probably would have abandoned it, Witcher’s however were not sane. Eskel had tried to make that very clear to Y/n when he invited her to stay for the winter. That they were a bunch of off kilter men– giant mutated boys if you asked Vesemir– that would be going stir crazy by the third week. Even with Eskel making the faults and tendencies of would witchers blatantly apparent, she still insisted on staying. 

Now don’t get him wrong, Eskel wanted her to stay. With how close the two of you had grown, being away from Y/n for multiple months at a time seemed akin to torture. However the last thing he wanted to do was trap her for an extended period of time just to make him happy. Little did Eskel know there was probably nothing he could have said that would have changed Y/n’s mind . She would take torment for years if it meant he was happy. Not that Eskel would ever accept that he was worthy of such devotion. Y/n was working on it though, slowly but surely. 

It was one night where he and Lambert had been having some… amorous discussions about pleasuring women that lit a fire in his abdomen. It felt dubious what he was plotting, especially when he planned everything out. He needed you sequestered. Trapped in the castle with no good excuse to go outside. Next he needed to prep you. Not physically but mentally. While the two of you had never explicitly broached the topic, Eskel knew you were self-conscious about your size. You always insisted he didn’t need to carry you whenever he picked you up to be romantic. If he touched or kissed your stomach you would seize up. You insisted on changing privately even though he had seen you naked more than once, and all tight fitting clothing had been banned from your wardrobe. 

Eskel didn’t understand it, Y/n was perfect in his eyes, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t respectful of it. If she wasn’t ready to speak with him about it, then that was okay, he would be here with quiet encouragements and affirmations until she was. 

A blizzard hit the next week giving him his golden opportunity. As the halls were damn near frosted themselves most everyone was spending their time in their private rooms by the fire, Eskel and you were no exception. You were laid out like a dream in front of him on the rug in front of the fireplace. On your stomach you had a pillow underneath your chest, pushing your full breasts forward and your low cut lounge shirt downward. An oblivious smile plastered on your face as you had your head down reading. 

The book Eskel had chosen had long since lost its appeal and sat dormant next to him on the floor. His eyes instead choosing to hone in on the way the shadows cast by the fire flickered over and caressed  the smooth skin of your chest. He shifted himself so he mirror you laying on his stomach. His head leaned against your shoulder, nose nuzzling your neck. 

“Can’t I help you?” You giggled, feeling Eskel playfully run against your neck and nibble at the skin. 

“You can stop reading for a bit” he suggested, sneaking an arm around your and he moved his mouth to suck on your jawline. 

“Hmm but I just started this chapter” you halfheartedly protested, feeling warmth crawl across your skin from more than just the fire. 

“I’ll read the chapter to you later” Eskel knew you’d take the offer. You adored cuddling up while he read to you. You turned on your side, facing Eskel properly now as you met his gaze. 

“Promise?’ you asked, a small sensual lit to your tone. Eskel braced an arm under your head and pushed you onto your back. His hair fanned over his face, blocking off any sight to the sides of him. 

“Promise” he affirmed before leaning in to kiss you. Hands wandered well worn paths on each other's bodies, as the kisses quickly turned deep and desperate. Your hands played with the hairs at the base of his neck, little whimpers and mewls coming from you as he began to grind into you. 

Eskel pulled away, sitting up and  scooting back so you could do the same. Once you were both on your knees Eskel began undressing you. That sinfully low top was the first to go. Follow swiftly by all of the other offensive clothing that dared to hide you from him. Once you were bare he ripped his own shirt off before his hands caressed your hips. One snuck up to grab a handful of your chest while the other snuck down to begin playing with your folds.

You braced yourself against Eskel’s shoulders, even on his knees he was so much taller than you and his hands were doing sinfully pleasant things to you, his eyes were staring at you with carnal hunger. 

To your dismay he withdrew his hands, leaning back and propping himself on his elbows. 

“Come over here” he beckoned lowly, you crawled over to him on all fours, trying your best to look more predator than the prey you knew you were. You kissed him slowly, focusing more on the way his chest felt underneath your hands. The warm rough skin carpeted with dark hair felt like heaven under your fingertips as you made your way lower and lower until you made to rid him of his pants. 

“Mmm not yet” Eskel grabbed your hands, pulling you forward till he was more eye level with your chest. 

“What?” you questioned, sitting back up on your knees. He leaned up on his elbows, eyes sinfully half lidded. 

“Want you to ride my face” her purred, his mouth ajar as he looked up at you slightly through his lashes. “Please?”

“Oh, uuhh, Eskel I don’t know I mean I don’t think I’m-” you were cut off as you felt a kiss on the side of your knee. He side-eyed you, looking you up and down, the question still in his gaze. His arms caressed your hips, rubbing little circles into the skin. You worried the skin on your lip a moment, looking back over to the fire. Damn it all you couldn’t tell his man no. 

“We can try it, just this once” You looked down on the satisfied smirk on his lips as he lowered himself under you even further. You maneuvered your legs around him, and lowered yourself so you were hovering over him. 

Eskle kissed the skin of your thighs as he peaked up at you. Your gaze was anywhere but where the action was and your brow was furrowed. Just as he had suspected you were too caught up in your head. He would need you to loosen up your strict mind grip for a moment. 

“I’m a witcher honey you’re not gonna hurt me.” He murmured in between sloppy kisses to your thighs. “Let alone kill me. Though…” His hands moved to caress your legs, running his palms over the tops of your thighs. “If I did, what a way to go.” Eskel monitored your expression closely, seeing you bite your lips trying to fight the smile as joked about passing away from pussy. “Tell my brothers I died doing what I loved. Grant an old man his dying wish will you?” You were fully smiling now and little giggles bubbled up from behind your cheeks. 

“Oh cut it out” you playfully smacked at this head. There was his chance, as you were still fighting giggles he pulled you down all the way. He listened with glee as your sounds turned from amusement to shock to pleasure in a span of a breath as he began to lap at you like a man starved. 

It was no secret that Eskel was fond of treating himself to a taste of you rather frequently. However this was different. This was pure enthusiasm, pure lust as he lapped and sucked into your folds like it really was the last thing he was going to do. You began to pant as his pace was nonstop. Your legs twitched, itching to move and rock your cunt against his face, but you held back. However your witcher was much too perceptive and there would be no holding back on him tonight. He began to pull your legs back and forth. The first few thrusts were such a deadly mix of the skill of his tongue and the friction of his face that it killed any sense of reservation you had in that moment. 

One hand in his hair you began to rock against him in earnest, modesty long gone out the frosted window as you let your moans fill the air. The spring in your winding and winding. Eskel could feel you getting slicker and slicker on top of him, could feel the shake in your legs that he knew meant you were close. Were his mouth not busy working he would have smirked as he pulled his lips back. He closed around your clit and rolled his tongue sinfully, finally feeling that cord in you snap as you painted his face in pleasure. 

You pulled up as you caught your breath, a hand on your chest as you looked down at a blissed out Eskel. You stood up, reaching your hand out to him and surprising both him and yourself as you were able to pull him up. You pushed his chest harshly to back him up against the bed. As the back of his knees hit the side he fell back and you were on him immediately. Fingers sliding under the waist of his pants. 

Who sleeps during a blizzard anyway? 

[shylemon0]

Geralt dating an Autistic!Reader would include (Headcanons)

Hehe

Warning: implied violence, Autism things, hinted (?) autistic Geralt, judgement from ignorant people, meltdown

(Gn)

———

· The few people you knew would probably be worried about you and the Witcher being a thing, and they’d think that maybe he was using you in some way, but you’d shut that down quick since you know the stigma Witchers get for simply just living · Him not caring if people think he’s rude so he’ll just grab you (or notion with his head) and leave any conversation if they are making you uncomfortable in any way

· Even though generally Geralt isn’t a physically affectionate person, he always happily accepts your touch when you feel comfortable enough with doing that · He lets you play with his hair whenever you want, he loves how it feels having you braid and brush his hair(especially if you are gentle), it’s a way for you to let him know you love him without saying ‘i love you’ outright

· I think that either his eyes would be easier or harder to look into, if they are easier then you’ll probably just stare into his eyes without a bother because his eyes are just so pretty, but if they aren’t easy to look into, you’ll probably still try to give quick glances here and there and Geralt would understand the discomfort of having eye contact, he finds it uncomfortable sometimes too (though he is a glarer, sometimes he just generally doesn’t like it) · He loves traveling with you since you both are comfortable with silence, he just enjoys your presence, it’s pretty comforting to him

· If anyone were to threaten you to get to him he’d be pissed off, like really pissed off

· He’d be so concerned when you’re having a meltdown, especially if its a really bad one, he’d do whatever he could to comfort you and make you feel safe, if it was in public he’d glare at anyone who’d give you a weird look before you two got to somewhere quiet and dark, he’d let you grab ahold of him and cry into his shirt if that’s what you needed or let you just sit curled up without him touching you at all if that’s what you needed, whatever you need he’ll do it, all for your well being · He understands finding it difficult to show people how you feel and being perceived as unemotional/apathetic but also feeling too much at the same time 

· Him constantly being worried about scaring you away whenever he has to do his work (you probably don’t even think about it as a ‘bad’ thing since it makes sense to you that he has to do things like that because he’s a witcher)

· As a way that you show him that you love him is, being caring and just generally helping him in any way (pretty much babying him lol), like you’ll wash his dirty clothes when he finally gets to sleep, you’ll take care of his hair, you’ll make him food sometimes, and just help him out when he’s exhausted after a long day · He loves listening to you talk about your interests and will listen intently, he loves to see how happy it makes you, and listening to you rambling is an easy way for him to get in a good mood

:)

(I have a taglist now! It’s on my pinned post if you want to know more about it!)

[loki-is-my-kink-awakening]

I wanted to talk about Extraordinary Things and the Geraskier and Radskier elements in the song.

Forgive me if this has been done or is rather obvious. This is just me musing over the lyrics.

Keep your words on ice

Your gaze lights the fire

How many campfires did this happen? Jaskier doing his best to drag even a few words from Geralt while the witcher glares at the fire as if his eyes are stoking the flame.

But eyes of fire really speak of Radovid, too. He may speak more than Geralt did when Jaskier first met him, but there's a lot he doesn't say in words that he says in his eyes.

They say, "Keep on playing nice"

But I have no desire

Jaskier cannot be contained. It's why I love him. He will not be forced into a box. He contains multitudes.

But these lines speak of struggle. Jaskier could be at court if he wanted to, he's a viscount, but he has no desire to be that person. He needs the freedom of the wild.

And the two people that represent this struggle are Radovid (a life at court) and Geralt (freedom/out in the wild). It's kinda obvious who Jaskier is going to choose even without considering what Joey said in interviews (that Jaskier will have a choice, but it isn't a choice for him, he will always choose his found family).

Jaskier has no desire to stay at court, even for love.

Why waste our words

When lips were made for extraordinary things

Jaskier can talk. He can express himself in his songs and with words. But there's some things that can only be truly communicated through a kiss.

And let's face it, Jaskier has waited so long to communicate his feelings for Geralt. He wouldn't waste words any longer, he'd want to show his feelings.

It also links to the later lyrics of unspoken words between them.

With Radovid, there isn't any need to talk because it becomes clear how he feels about Jaskier through singing his song.

But also there is so much they cannot discuss because Jaskier needs to protect his found family.

Kissing Radovid is safer. Jaskier can communicate his feelings that way and can feel Radovid's feelings for him in deeds, not words.

It's not a want, it's a need

It is paying no heed to what others say to sing

Jaskier has never paid any heed to what others said of his songs or singing. But that is also a mask to protect himself.

Geralt told him not to write any songs about him. Jaskier did it anyway.

There's probably others who have told Jaskier not to write songs about them or Geralt that I've forgotten.

But "it's not a want, it's a need" is just so evocative of his heart the love he gives freely, and of him letting his creativity flow through him.

That creativity is something Radovid greatly admires. And I think Radovid also wants to play no heed to what others want him to do; he just isn't as free as Jaskier (the pretty songbird).

Ultimately, what Jaskier really wants is for someone to see him, like he sees others, and for that person to still have a visceral want for him once seeing him.

People have wanted him, his body, his time, his usefulness. Loved ones have finally accepted him as a friend and family member. No one yet has wanted all of him, the magnitudes he contains, the bad parts and the good, the real him. Mainly because he's never had someone pierce his armour.

And if Radovid is using Jaskier I swear to the gods I will rain merry hell on him.

The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love

Of them I have had enough

All of Jaskier’s songs contain some element of his love for Geralt. He is his muse, after all.

We all know Her Sweet Kiss and Burn, Butcher, Burn contain it most obviously.

And it's interesting here that we get Jaskier saying he's had enough of writing his love for Geralt. There's only so much you can continue to pour out and not get anything back.

And so, Jaskier has decided that his love for Geralt is platonic as a way to protect himself. If he's not wanting, he can't be hurt.

But we all know when Jaskier said that his love for Geralt is platonic, that it is a lie he is telling himself. Vespula wasn't fooled.

But it's interesting that we clearly see Jaskier longing for the real love he craves in these lyrics. And I don't want to take away the amazing aromatic headcanon for Jaskier or Geraskier having a queen platonic relationship, but there is a longing that is unfulfilled, whatever way you interpret that to be.

That longing can be fulfilled with Radovid.

With you, I have enough

With you, I am enough

I am enough

Again, I see Jaskier saying he is enough with Geralt just to be his friend. After all his years struggling to be his friend and also wanting more, it's interesting to see this friendship now settled as soon as Jaskier stops seeking more.

And a big part of that change between them has to be down to Geralt becoming a father and learning to open his heart to caring about those around him.

But with Radovid, Jaskier gets to be vulnerable, properly vulnerable with his heart. He does feel enough in Radovid's eyes, and that is truly for the first time.

Vespula knows Jaskier, but he doesn't let himself be truly vulnerable with his heart there. He lies about his feelings for Geralt to her (and himself). He gives his body, but does he give his heart? I would say no. They are close in many ways, but not emotionally, not in vulnerability.

Drop the sweet disguise

Your heart's beating too loud

The fairy tales and little lies can't drown out all the sound

We all know about Geralt's disguise: that witchers don't need no one or that they don't have feelings. In S3, we see this façade lift. Geralt shows his true self to Ciri as her father, Jaskier as his friend, and Yennefer as a partner when he forgives her.

Radovid wears a disguise. He's the drunk fool to those who cannot see it. But Jaskier can, because Jaskier also wears a disguise, something Joey commented on in at least one interview.

And I feel like this disguise is definitely shown on screen when Jaskier is with Vespula. He has feelings for her, obviously strong ones, but they aren't the same as his feelings for Geralt or Radovid.

He definitely tells Vespula more than he tells his other lovers. But Vespula isn't looking for Jaskier to be "the only one" for her. She is still pretty switched on about Jaskier’s heart.

So take this heart

And break this heart

For extraordinary things

Geralt has broken Jaskier's heart already. And now Jaskier seems to be settled into the role of friend with his "platonic" love.

And Geralt is an extraordinary thing to Jaskier. Nothing will take that away, not even heartbreak.

But the thing is, Jaskier isn't ready to give his heart truly to Geralt completely. In pieces, yes. The clear barrier of "He's my friend, that's it" has been set (for now).

But with Radovid we see Jaskier let go of his mask, drop down his armour and allow Radovid in. It could very well break his heart, but that won't stop him from loving Radovid.

He has become an extraordinary thing to Jaskier.

For all the years we have watched Jaskier longing, to finally see him with someone is amazing. I don't want his heart broken, but I know we have to accept that it's going to happen.

And here, for the first time since The Mountain, we have Jaskier willing to have it broken again.

Because without taking a chance on being fulfilled and happy, what are we?

Thanks for reading.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Kingdom

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia X Reader

Word count: 1.8 K

Summary: You were on your way to Blaviken when you stumble upon a Witcher in the woods.

{The Witcher Masterlist}

The miles you walked in these woods are long. These cold, terribly silent woods... Until they're not silent anymore.

A voice reaches your ears, low, deep, being carried by the wind. You're not sure exactly what makes you follow it, despite that old man's advice. Go straight to Blaviken, he said, don't stop. A pretty girl like you should avoid talking to strangers.

But you've always been a little naive, something your parents always told you while they were alive. So here you go, following the sound of his voice – because you know it's a man, another red light you ignore –, until the sound is gone. He was talking to someone, but it seems like that someone is gone.

It takes some minutes until you see a horse, and soon after you catch a glimpse of a man. With... White hair. “You're not as silent as you think you are.” He says, startling you a little.

The man has a bowl in his hand, crushing something in it. “I wasn't trying to be silent. Where's your friend?” You ask, looking around for anyone, fixing the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

He looks up at you. “No friend.”

“Then who were you talking to?” Making your way over him, you sit on the trunk, keeping some space in between the two of you.

The man has an eyebrow raised when he turns to set his gaze on you. He seems confused. “Are you some kind of creature?”

Ouch. “Uhm... No, not since the last time I checked. Why?”

“Because you're a small, beautiful young woman and you shouldn't be this easygoing. Might get you in trouble.” And he goes back to crushing herbs.

It's not the first time someone commented on your height. “I'm not sure if that was a compliment but...”

“It's an advice.”

Nodding, you look forward, sighing and fixing the skirts of your dress. The thick fabric has been keeping the cold away when it gets chilly, but you hope to find some new clothes in Blaviken. “I'm (Y/N), by the way. And I have bread and cheese. Some fruits as well to exchange for the warmth of the fire.”

“Hm.” He mutters. “Geralt.”

“You're not... Entirely human, are you?” You say, gesturing at his eyes. “Eye colors, hair... A very nice but curious medallion.”

“You're very perceptive.”

“I am.”

“I'm a Witcher.”

“Oh.” Of course, you know what a Witcher is, you heard awful tales about them. But standing right next to this one, you can tell Geralt isn't like those from the tales. “Interesting.”

“Why aren't you running or throwing something at me?” He sounds genuinely confused.

“Why would I do that? You're like... One out of a thousand men because trust me, I know how stupid it is of a woman to approach a random man in the woods. But... It doesn't look like you'll hurt me so...” Shrugging your shoulders, you put the bag down, searching for it and reaching for a smaller one, in which you keep the food.

“I talk to my horse.” Geralt suddenly says, and it takes a while for you to understand he's answering the question you made a while ago. And you understand why. People don't really like Witchers. “And don't do that anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Go on and start chatting with the next man you find in the woods. Be careful.” At that, you only nod. “I have rabbit. Going to roast it. Would be nice with some fruits.”

Smiling, you show him what you have. Grapes, blackberries, and raspberries, more than enough for both of you.

Geralt goes to fill both your canteens as you take care of the rabbit. Once it's ready, the two of you eat in silence. After, you put a blanket on the ground and lie down, looking at the top of the trees.

“Why are you going about all by yourself?” He asks, seated on the trunk and drinking more water.

“I used to live with my aunt but she suddenly decided I should marry a very cruel, disgusting man. I said no and she said I was welcome to leave if I didn't accept the marriage. And here I am.”

“Was it a smart choice?”

“Yes. The plan is to see if there's anything good for me in Blaviken. Some kind of job, a place to live... Not sure if I'll find it though, but I can manage some more traveling.”

“I hope you find a place for yourself. You're a good girl.”

“More like a woman.” You smile to correct him, and he does the same. “It's getting dark. Can I share camp with you tonight?”

“Well, you already made your bed.” Geralt gets up, takes his stuff, and sets his bed near yours. Emphasis on near. Geralt lies down ten inches away from you. “Nights are usually boring.”

“I guess you're quite used to boredom. Since, well... You did say you talk to your horse.” He chuckles, and you like the sound. “You can talk to me now. Maybe it'll be a good change.”

“It sure is.” When you feel his stare on you, you turn your head to look at him. Geralt's eyes are beautiful, and the unnatural color only adds to it. “What are you looking at?”

"I like your eyes, that's all.” And you look up again.

“Yours are nice too.”

Giggling, you roll your eyes. “Thanks.”

From that moment on, you start talking. About many things, great, small, unimportant. He's very talkative after a while, and he makes you laugh every now and then. You tell him about your life, and about the small family you were traveling with until earlier today, when you took separate ways. He's more reserved about his past but opens up about some of the monsters he killed.

At some point, you both fall asleep, and in the morning, you have to say goodbye. It makes you a little sad, so you make it quick, shaking his hand with a smile as you start walking away.

•••

When you reach Blaviken, you visit some places, at first just checking them out, seeing if there's anything you could work with. After, you go to the market to buy some new clothes.

You're walking around town, already looking for a place to spend the night when you hear a commotion. Angry voices and yelling. You're wondering if you should satiate your curiosity, mostly after you were told something happened on the market a short time after you left. But when a louder voice says something that sounds like we don't want your kind here, you have a quick guess at what kind they're talking about.

Then you're moving, walking fast, and following the voices. You quickly find a mass of people, and you have no choice but to push your way through it.

All air escapes your lungs when you see Geralt, on one knee on the ground and sword in his hand, head lowered, trying to get some protection from the rocks people are throwing at him.

“Stop!” You shout, not thinking twice before stepping inside the circle. It takes less than a second for a rock to hit you, on the left shoulder. “Stop it! What the hell are you doing? Stop!” Turning to face the crowd, you raise your hands in front of your body.

But these people are as rude as they seem, because not even a newcomer, a girl, makes them stop. Two more rocks hit you, on the thigh and your left side.

“Go away! The two of you!” A man yells, and you see a rock aimed at your head.

Before you can even think of moving away, you feel an arm embracing you from behind, lifting you, and spinning you to the other side. You hear a rock hitting the back of Geralt's shoulder.

“Let's get out of here.” He says, his chest pressed against your back.

As you move, people get out of the way, but Geralt keeps you close, protecting you. The angry faces follow as you move, and the crowd comes behind you until the gate.

Once you're out of town, the people making a human gate to keep you from coming back, Geralt's grip loosens, his hand now resting on your stomach, under the ribs.

“Why did you do that?” He asks, deep voice right on your ear. “That was very stupid.” You almost trip on a rock, because walking like that, pressed against him, is very difficult. But Geralt lifts you, quickly, setting you down soon after.

“What did you expect me to do?” You say, and he finally let go of you. But you both stop, now far enough from the town entrance, standing face to face. “I couldn't just watch and do nothing.”

“That's exactly what you should have done. Those stones were meant for me, not for you.”

“Those stones were being thrown by a bunch of assholes who misjudged you. I knew better, so I'd do it again it I have to.” Crossing your arms, you sustain his stare.

He's about to say something else when his expression changes. And you know what that is. Pain. Witchers can feel it as much as the rest of the non-mutated folk. Geralt softens, looking down before his eye meets yours again. “I was just trying to-”

“You don't have to explain it, Geralt. I've only seen a tiny, little part of you, but it's enough to know you're not the man those people think you are.”

A low, heavy sigh comes from him, eyebrows furrowing slightly above the yellow eyes. “Nobody ever did that for me. I'm not saying it wasn't stupid but-”

“No need to thank me.” Smiling, you hook your arm with his, pulling him back to where he had his camp set because you know he left his horse there. “And since I can't stay in Blaviken anymore, I might just follow you for a bit, maybe defend you from another angry mob.”

“I'll pick you up and get the hell away next time.” He says, a hint of a smile in his voice.

“You did that already. But maybe next time make sure to sweep me off my feet?” Chuckling, you look at him, finding those beautiful eyes already set on you.

“I'll make sure of it, princess.”

The name makes you blush, quickly looking away from him and suddenly having to focus a bit more on putting one foot in front of the other. “Oh, I'm not a princess, I assure you.”

“You are in this kingdom.”

“What kingdom?”

“Mine.” He simply says, and you bite your lip, heat spreading through your skin. “I'll keep you safe for as long as you need until you find a place you'd like to live.”

“...What if it takes some time?” You decide to ask because the idea of parting ways with Geralt doesn't feel very appealing.

“For as long as you need.” With that, you reach his small camp. You both get on Roach, and so the journey begins.

[for-lovely-things]

domicofo commissions | OPEN!

I would be really happy if you would commission me or signal boost this post!💕 Please read the following rules!!!!

What I WILL draw:

Your OC

Canon characters

Real people

Pets (only together with person/character)

NSFW & SFW, nude

Preferable fandoms: Cyberpunk 2077, Winx Club, The Witcher, Dragon Age, but I can draw on every other fandom you’d like ^^

What I WON’T draw:

Mechs, hardcore gore (blood & injuries ok), furries

Inc*st, r*pe & anything else that feels weird (kinks are ok)

Some ships, which make me uncomfortable

NSFW art rules:

price on NSFW drawings from now on is indexed on 10% from full price

nude doesn't count as NSFW, I love drawing naked people

masturbation (1 char) and sex (2 chars) count as NSFW. Kinky stuff too

And some more things you need to know:

Every additional character +75% to the price

+5$ to the price for detailed clothes and tattoos (I won’t charge extra for Kerry’s tattoos, but if any other char has complicated tattoos you:

a) give me their tattoos as flat png images so I can slap them on their body;

b) pay extra for me to draw them by hand

c) don't pay, but I simplify them)

+10$ to the full price for complex background (I won’t do something too complex like complicated perspective, only nature, rooms, blurry townscapes etc.)

The style of fullcolor may vary from lineart+color to color-no lineart (you can request the preferable one)

Line art can have one/two spot colors

I'll send you a sketch of commission if I won't be sure about composition

I can draw you traditional art commission too, if you want it :) It will cost the same as digital one though (i do watercolors and pencils)

I accept payment by Boosty, 50% of the price no refund ahead, the rest 50% after I finish. FOLLOW THIS TUTORIAL ON HOW TO USE BOOSTY or WATCH THIS STEP-BY-STEP VIDEO

Tell me, if I have any deadline to which I should hurry up, but usually commission takes me 2-4 weeks

Price can always be negotiated ;)

NEW! Character sheet

Consists of one character full body, 8 quick sketches of outfits (OR sketches of poses OR sketches of facial exressions)

Can consist of more elements like turns, rendered face and etc, but the more you add the more it will cost

PLEASE let me design you an OC from zero (moodboard or description) I can do that!!!!

If you wanna commission me please DM me here on this blog, write to my e-mail likorzhan@gmail.com or contact me via Discord - Domicofo#0080 . I’ll need descriptions of what you want to see and as many references as you can provide~ Would be perfect if your references would be collected in one Google Drive folder beforehand.

DM me or leave a comment below this post if you still have more questions. You can see more examples of my works by the #my art tag, for more examples of NSFW works stop by at my Twitter

Stay tuned, gonna announce more fun stuff soon ;)

[asnowfern]

Til Forever Falls Apart - Chapter 3

Summary: The great kingdom of Ye was not always held captive by Hybern and their three suns. Up until over a year ago, the kingdom still teemed with life but the invaders came with their unholy deal with the heavens and entrapped their lives in an endless cycle of heat waves and forest fires. Faced with the ultimatum to either fight or perish with the world, Feyre agreed to be a spy within the Moonstone Palace. There were just two people she had to look out for: Raven, her ally and fellow spy that she was to assist in the rebellion efforts, and Prince Rhysand, the cruel prince that betrayed their country.

A Chang E/Moon Goddess inspired tale🎑

Read on AO3 | Master List

A/N: LNY might be over but the story is still progressing well! ☀️☀️☀️ Once again, the biggest hug and thanks to my lovely betas, @reverie-tales and @witch-and-her-witcher for the never-ending kind words and encouragement! I love the both of you!💕💕💕

Chapter 3: We are the wolves that swallow the sun

Rally the people. We strike three nights after the wolf swallows the sun. 

It was a folded parchment that opened up to less than the size of her palm. The curve of the scrawl was decisive, almost dismissive in the enormity of its content.

Feyre’s eyes darted around, stormy blue searching for any evidence of the spy’s presence in her room. Even though she knew, as always, that there would be none to be found. He knew how to avoid suspicion in more ways than one, as she had bitterly learnt.  

She carefully folded back the note, fingers idly tracing along the crease line of the paper. She tucked it deep within the lapels of her plain dark robes, her hand stilling in the robes that she still wore to sleep out of habit. Even though there was no real need to wear them anymore. Not when there were no more night jaunts around the mountain.

A familiar knot twisted in her stomach, sending acidic bile up her throat at the memory of the public execution of the guard. Bloodied beyond recognition, stepping into the gallows with his sister. Even from her spot far into the crowd, the crystal clear sight of streaming tears and terrified eyes would forever haunt her. 

It’s time you accepted the new reality we live in.

Licking dry lips, Feyre swallowed heavily. She hastily extracted her hand and pushed aside crimson stained guilt. She redirected her focus back to devising a way to deliver the message — even as the memory of wide, teary eyes that turned glassy and vacant continued to weigh heavily on her mind long after.

***

The content of the note remained a flowing stream in Feyre’s brain for days, blue grey eyes traced the words she had memorised by heart, eroding and reshaping until it was the only thought.

Rally. 

Strike.

There was one word missing — as if just a mere mention could curse the entire operation. A word that would have Feyre’s heart beating wildly. The start of an end. 

Revolution. 

She lowered her gaze to the ground immediately, not wanting to catch the eye of any wandering patrolling soldier for an unnatural display of jubilance. 

Feyre fixated her stare at the hem of rough fabric on the gatekeeper. Her hand peeped out with a slightest glimpse of a fair wrist as she passed the man a simple wooden plaque, the dips and grooves etched into its surface denoting her exit pass and her lowly status as a palace maid. She pocketed it a couple of seconds later, her mouth locked in a tight polite smile.

The door creaked open in protest, streaming in harsh light so bright Feyre bit back a hiss. She winced, attempting to adapt to the change in environment. 

The gentle creep of orange lanterns were eclipsed by the blazing assault beams of the four suns that presided over Ye. The cool flow of the mountain air overtaken by the oppressing heat waves.

The umbrella spread open over her with a crack. She pulled the brim of her straw hat over her eyes, fingers tugging on the soft cloth covering her face until nothing but silvery blue pupils were all that could be seen. She soon felt the familiar heat radiating off the cracked ground through her slippers. Her lungs tightened, the heavy air no longer something they were accustomed to. 

Feyre followed the cracked path out of the mountain, cloaked in the anonymity of the working class. She huffed through the fabric now sticking uncomfortably to her face. Despite it all, a pressure loosened in her chest, facial muscles relaxing as lips curled upwards when the sight of her beloved city came into view.

Her brows furrowed as she walked through its streets. A knot twisted in her belly. People were hunched below straw mats, forcing their bodies to shrink under the paltry cover. Their most treasured possession, the gourd shaped clay bottle, clipped at the belt closed to them. The stink of despondency ruled the air.

How had things gotten so bad in a mere number of weeks? 

Feyre took a turn into the alley of master crafts and ducked into the shelter of the upscale tailor. She blinked twice, pupils dilating in adjustment. Her head swivelled around, taking in the rolls and rolls of silk of various shades and beautiful patterns. 

To her left, behind the counter, someone cleared their throat, drawing her attention. She whipped her head towards the sound, only to be greeted by an unexpected but definitely welcomed face. 

Dark brown hair, a freckle splashed nose, and chocolate eyes that glint in warning as he greeted her, “Welcome, miss. Are you picking up an order?” Play along. 

Feyre didn’t hesitate to retrieve a note from her sleeves, unfolding it on the dark surface of mahogany and said in a no-nonsense manner, “Yes, I’m picking up a order from the Moonstone palace on behalf of Lady Amarantha.” 

Jurian picked up the paper, humming in feigned satisfaction as he scanned through the contents. “Ah, yes.” He disappeared underneath the countertop, “We expected you days ago.”

She pressed her lips into a line, brows knitted. She had only received the order earlier this morning. What was he driving at?

She racked her brain, replying only after a few belated seconds in what she had hoped to be a humourous and harmless manner, “The order might have gotten detoured along the way. Lady Amarantha has been awfully preoccupied recently,” she wrinkled her nose in distaste, “especially with Prince Rhysand.” 

His head popped back up, the muscular triceps of his arms flexing through the loose material of his sleeves to place a large box on the counter with a gentle thud. 

He asked lightly as he carefully took out the elegant folded robes, “Prince Rhysand, huh? I heard they are close.” 

Feyre swallowed back a grimace at the convergence of two of the most feared people under the mountain. “Yeah, they seem to have gotten even closer since the escape of the two prisoners.”  

She looked pointedly at the rebel leader who levelled a stern look at her. Don’t go there. 

She raised a brow. Make me. 

He tutted and lifted his hand away from the paper wrapping to rest it dramatically on his chest, “Terrible incident that was. The city was on lockdown for days. Practically every house was raided.” 

Her heart picked up a beat, her saliva turning tacky as she forced out evenly, “Was anyone taken in for questioning?” 

Blue grey eyes told a different story, shining desperately. My sisters?

Jurian’s face softened in understanding. “There was some rough housing at the Archerons just as there were at a few other homes but nobody was hurt and the soldiers always left soon after.” 

Her eyes squeezed tightly in relief and she exhaled with a shuddering breath. “I’m glad.” 

He stacked the last of the wrapped clothes and pushed it towards her across the table, flashing her a warm, reassuring smile. “Here’s the order for Lady Amarantha. Always a pleasure doing business with the palace.”

She took the package from him, subtly sliding the note from Raven into his waiting palm underneath. “Likewise, mister.” 

With a final nod at the not-quite shopkeeper, Feyre inhaled deeply before stepping back out of the shop, her eyes narrowed into slits to direct her sight at the sandy floor and avoid the blinding light. It was only when the signature crack of a horse carriage sounded from behind in warning that she made to shuffle to the side, her head raised slightly and noticed the young child squatting in the middle, playing and tossing around little stones. 

Her limbs surged forward, her mind propelling her with blinders, nothing but a single thought: get the girl out of the way. 

The package slipped through her arms as they wrapped around the kid, yanking her snugly into her middle and rolling them away from the path. The carriage didn’t even slow, the gust of wind it generated as it passed them shoved her back, her feet shuffling to maintain balance, her grip tightening around the scruffy girl. 

A rock dropped in her stomach and anchored her damningly into an ocean’s floor when she let the kid down with a gentle smile and glanced back out onto the road. She ran over to her fallen trampled package, fingers trembled as she gingerly pulled the fabric out. She traced lines down the torn material for the fitted dresses, her body shivered in anticipation. 

And to think she had been so careful to avoid the “Amarantha orientation.”

***

Feyre couldn’t help the pathetic whimper that escaped her as a cracking whip inflicted liquid fire ran down her back. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her nails digging deeply into her own arms, drawing blood — an ant bite compared to the agony growing in her back. Her body flinched at the sound of the next crack, in awful anticipation of the next stroke to split tender skin. 

A silky drawl pulled her away from the all-consuming pain, “Oh, Amarantha. I didn’t realise you had other activities going on.” 

She unwittingly lifted her head just an inch. Just enough for blue grey eyes to meet violet. Just enough that she caught a glimpse of icy fury that overtook violet eyes and flashed dangerously. She didn’t question what her pain-addled brain might or might not have concocted. With her petite frame still keeled over where she remained prostrated to the lady of the palace, her lips shaped into a silent desperate plea. Help. 

The redheaded lady surveyed her long nails with cool detachment, the gold and turquoise detailing of her acrylic nail extension glittered in the interior light. Her pitiless black gaze lit up in amusement. “Rhysand,” she purred, “Please, join me. We have just started.” 

The prince blinked and the gleam in his eyes dissolved into indifference. The smooth hem of the prince’s robe swished past Feyre, his slow yet graceful movements were a blessed reprieve. He settled into the armchair next to Amarantha, raising his hand to summon a plate of delicate confectioneries.

Dread coiled within her, there was no help to be found. She shifted her gaze back to the cold, hard rock floors.

The guard next to her raised his punishing device and sent it flying towards her once more. The strike on her already torn back rendered her unable to hold back pained cries. Not that it mattered to the two nobles carrying out casual conversation, the sound of their chatter rising above its tortured counterpart.

“Oh, the clumsy thing,” the lady tutted, condescension and disdain leaking with every word, “she had the nerve to tear up my newly tailored dresses. Imagine that! One of them is worth at least a year of her salary.” Her cruel smile could be heard rather than seen, “A whip for every month’s pay seemed to be the most logical exchange.” 

There was a crunch of nuts with the cool reply. “Indeed, it’s so hard to find good help these days.” 

Tears rolled down her face the next time the thick leathered coil hit her back. 

“I’m bored,” There was a shuffling of heavy fabric falling to the ground as the prince proclaimed with heavy intent,  “Amarantha, finish up and come find me after. We have affairs to discuss.” 

The Hybern official lifted a hand to command the guard, “Hold.” Picking up the folded paper fan from the outstretched hand of one of her attending ladies, she flicked it open, covering a portion of their faces as she whispered into Prince Rhysand’s ear. 

Prince Rhysand gave a brief nod before he walked away from Lady Amarantha, his lips curled in disgust for a brief second.  

It was with sweet merciful relief that Amarantha ended the punishment without any further strikes and let Feyre get dragged back to her room. Her will folded in an instant as she draped herself over her bed, the entirety of her front pressed into its firm surface. She allowed her heavy eyelids to fall closed and the darkness to swallow her whole.

***

She drifted in and out of consciousness, eyelids at a constant flutter. At first, alternating between quiet bliss and scorching burn. But even that small mercy was taken away as the torment started to seep in like water through dense soil.  

Night had fallen and held her room in its dark grasp when she next opened her eyes. Feyre rounded her back to prop herself on her elbows, groaning as her muscles screamed in protest at the movement. Shakily, she reached for the pitcher of water on the table. 

Unreliable muscles gave way and sent her crashing towards the ground, only to be stopped by strong arms that wound carefully around her — holding her front firmly while avoiding pressure on her back. 

“Careful there,” he murmured. 

Her traitorous heart stuttered at the familiar baritone voice. “Raven?”

The spy didn’t reply, opting to lift her gently back on the bed. He slid the stiff pillow beneath her armpits, rolled up towels just below her breasts and beneath her waist so that the entirety of her back was elevated. 

“I am going to cut your clothes open now.” Raven announced flatly, the signature clicks of scissors bounced around the room. 

“W-wait,” she weakly protested even as the scissors smoothly slid along the length of the fabric. The slicing stopped immediately. 

With a different type of heat blossoming over her cheeks, she remained silent, acutely aware of the large hand that still remained at her side. 

“Feyre? Is everything alright? Did I hurt you?” He asked in audible alarm. 

“Feyre?” He repeated in slight bemusement when he realised she hadn’t said anything. 

Feyre huffed despite the pain it sent spiralling through her, embarrassed by her reaction, “Just do what you have to.” 

The spy emitted a sigh as if the sight of the red marks splashed across her back pained him just as much as it did her, and the scissors glided along her back once again. She whimpered as he peeled the sticky cotton away from the coagulated wound. His hands never shook or wavered, a quiet but gentle strength that applied salve and wrapped clean bandages around her torso. The double agent murmured soft apologies and soothing encouragement whenever she hissed at the contact. 

“Thank you,” she muttered in relief after her wounds had been wrapped up, the pain now much more muted beneath snug bandaged covers. 

“Shhh, I’m not done.” A mild amusement laced through his voice. 

She stiffened for a moment when thick fingers began to skillfully release the multiple pins holding her hair up and send matted curls cascading down her sides. A splash of water and a warm towel began wiping her hair, careful fingers skillfully teasing out the knots. 

Feyre felt a tension in her release with each untangled knot. The next sound that escaped her mouth was no longer a whimper or a hiss but a content sigh. 

“Relax,” the spy murmured, his hand sliding skillfully through tresses to rub at her neck. 

Feyre did the opposite, stiffening at the sensation. “You don’t have to—”

“I don’t have to do anything.” He cut in sharply, “but I want to. So just keep quiet and relax.” 

Raven was quick to stifle any further noise of protest climbing up her throat, moving skilled fingers to press into the corded muscle of her neck and elicit another relieved breath.

She should still be mad, still angry. At him for manipulating her, at her own naivety to assume her actions would have no consequences. 

But just for tonight where her back was torn apart and comforting hands combed through tangled curls and glided smoothly over tired neck and shoulders, she couldn’t find the strength to pick up the anger and resentment. She found herself melting into the pillow instead, helpless against the ministrations. 

“I’m still upset,” she grumbled, the tone petulant even to her. 

“So be angry with me,” he agreed easily, his fingers in a constant motion, weaving locks into a simple braid, “I did what needed to be done but it didn't get easier. Or maybe, it shouldn’t get easier.” The last tortured word was a drop into the ocean, a self-reminder perhaps. Or a secret confession?  She wasn’t sure.

Feyre expected the seasoned spy to make his move after his fingers made a parting reluctant caress and secured her hair into an easy braid, but he remained still, a hovering presence. 

She twisted slightly, hissing at the movement, and asserted quietly, “There is always another way. It’s up to us to find it.” 

The demonic mask jerked away, the moment shattered, splintered glass falling down. Raven said harshly, “There is no more us. You should leave the palace. Take your sisters and head west to the Illyrian camps. You’ll be safe there.” 

“Leave?” She asked, her mind unwittingly drawing up the contents of the note once more. “And you?” 

“The plans are already set in motion.” He drew himself to full height, brushing his hands along the neat lines in the front of his robes. “You should leave while you can.”

Her lips pursed into a line at the dismissive tone. “You’re not answering me.”

“There is nothing else for you to do here.”

Despite the burn that each move revived, she pushed herself off the bed to sit upright to meet the black mask head on. She challenged, echoing his words, “And when the wolf swallows the suns? Is that the day the tide turns? Where we take back what we are owed?” 

“The palace will be a bloodbath, Feyre. Until Cassian and Azriel succeed in taking over the city and storming the palace, this place will be nothing more than a battlefield. It’s not,” he shot out, full of agitation, before taking a breath as if he needed the moment to collect himself, “it’s not what you signed up for.”

Feyre snapped.

“I signed up to fight against Hybern, to drive them back to whatever hellhole they spawned from! Exactly what I’ve been doing since the day they conquered Ye!” She jabbed a long index finger at him, chest heaving. “So don’t treat me like a child.”

She held his gaze unwaveringly. “I can help. Let me stay and fight with you.” 

The beat stretched between them, then the mask sucked in a breath.

“Don’t make me regret this.” 

***

The bandages loosened and dropped into its usual mess at her waist, tacky with the hours old salve. She gathered it aside and stood in front of her desk. Using her handheld mirror sat in the heart of her outstretched palm, she bent her knees in varying degrees trying to catch a glimpse of the status of her back in the letter-sized mirror propped on her table. 

The criss-crossed lines had scabbed over with significantly less red inflammation. The skin was tight, the telltale healing itch crawling like ants around her back. 

It had been mere days, all too fast for her to have recovered so much, and there was no doubt in Feyre’s mind that this was largely due to the salve stored in the shallow cylindrical container fancier than anything in this room. A healing salve that exceeded the capabilities of anything one could find on the open market. 

She tried not to dwell on it: the salve or the man who first applied it on her. 

After awkwardly but gingerly wiping down her back, she refreshed the wound with a fresh application of balm and a new set of bandages. Shrugging on her robes and neatly tying the knots of the cord around her waist, Feyre noted her much improved back mobility and left the room. 

Servants were typically allowed no more than two days of bedrest after receiving a corporal punishment. However, the work responsibilities would unofficially be lighter for at least a week — a sort of solidarity amongst the peasants who were nothing more than cogs in the machine. 

It was with this privilege that Feyre could have the luxury to squat over the wash area, relishing the refreshing sensation of cool water travelling from the bamboo tubes to her opened palms to her cheeks, in the middle of the afternoon. 

She hummed contently as she raised the water pooled in her palms to her lips. The thud of the bamboo tubes swinging from one to another with the weight of the travelling liquid was a warm rounded noise, pleasant to the ears. 

Then a spark of movement from her peripheral ensnared her attention. A snaking manoeuvre in the corner of the cavern that felt distinctly familiar. 

She maintained the minute distance between her mouth and her palms, her face hidden by her hands. Subconsciously, the maid crouched lower so that she remained out of sight, her frame hidden behind the water conveyance system. Stormy blue eyes tracked the action until they widened as she registered the all too recognisable cut of aristocratic lines on beautiful brown skin.

While still dressed in dark silks, the robes he wore today clung to his body, fitted to give its wearer better mobility. The prince had a bow slung over his chest, a quiver of arrows was secured around his shoulders. Shrewd violet eyes gave the space one last look over before he slipped away. 

It was none of her business, really. As a wearer of the crown, the heaven blessed royal could behave in any way he wanted and nobody would or could question him for it. 

Still, this meant nothing to Feyre as her palms relaxed to let clear water splash back into the large receptacle and she followed after the prince. Keeping a healthy distance between the both of them, she curved herself and melted into the shadows of the dips and divots of the rocky surface that she now knew intimately.

Rhysand led her through a long tunnel that Feyre vaguely recalled wound to the upper caves out of the mountain. Up and up they climbed. So single minded in her focus to escape notice that she pushed away other thoughts, including the nagging feeling that she was missing something important.

Then she spotted Rhysand slide a dark shimmering cloth over his eyes, drew back the bow and sent an arrow flying towards the blinding sun. The image was a striking blow in her mind. 

Raven?

Rhysand?

Raven.

Rhysand.

Could Rhysand be Raven?

With the prince’s face obscured, even by nothing more than the flimsy fabric, there was no denying her gut that demanded her to recall the same muscular silhouette, the same way he moved through the tunnels earlier, the same wordless power he commanded. 

But it couldn’t be, could it?  

Even as self-preservation demanded her to stay hidden, Feyre felt her limbs stretched to reach out to the prince (or spy?) as he collapsed onto his knees, arms visibly shaking in effort to get back up on his feet. 

A pressure closed around her throat as she saw how the tremors ran through his body when he pulled back the bow once more, lightning blue crackling around him. She breathed with him only when the second arrow speared through the sky once more, now in a different direction. 

Lightning split down the sky through the prince and the bow clankered against the ground, taking its archer with it. 

To hell with it.

Feyre moved frantically, muscles acting on their own accord, too late to halt his crash to the ground.

“Rhysand!” She cried out, decorum thrown off the cliff edge they were on, shaking his spasming body into her lap. 

A low groan escaped him, eyelids fluttered beneath the clothed surface. “Feyre?” 

Her stomach lurched at the distinctly familiar lilt. “I’m here.” 

Rhysand closed an iron grip around her arm and despite her sputters, continued to tug on her sleeve sharply in a bid to pull himself up. He explained in between pants, “All three suns need to be down or all of this will be for nothing.” 

His now upright chest rose and fell rapidly, his body still racked with spasms. He barely managed to draw back the bowstring when more lightning blue sparked from the bow and into his body. A guttural growl escaped his throat, muscle feathering at his jaw. 

“You can’t,” she whispered in dreaded realisation, watching as more sizzling energy swirled around him, a sickening singe of smoke filled the air. 

Sure enough, the bow clankered against the ground once more, next to the unconscious prince. 

Her heart thundered, pounding drum beats in her ears. But gently, gingerly, Feyre pried the bow from his hands and untied the sash from his face. His brows were creased, frantic micromovements of eyeballs fluttered long, dark lashes and bellied his distress. 

She shifted her gaze to the weapon, fingers tracing lightly over the archaic symbols etched into the hard yew surface of its limbs. 

Drawing the final arrow that laid on the ground, she darkened her world under shimmering fabric, astounded at how it transformed into the sparkling outlines of the suns above. 

With a shuddering breath, Feyre released the bowstring and sent the third arrow spiralling towards the sky. 

A/N: Soooo the cat's out of the bag👀

[wot-tidbits]

Fixing Robert Jordan

Disclaimer. This post has no point to change minds. Your mind is already made up and no one will change it. This is written for the sake of my own mind.

I have watched dozens of fantasy adaptations in the last 24 years starting with the Lord of the Rings movies. My expectations with every adaptation for every book that I have read were simple - finally I will see these scenes and these lines which I love to be shown on screen. I worried what and how much they will change. I never prayed how the adaptation will fix anything from the source material. This was so alien thought - if I am a fan, then why I would want something to be fixed? I am fan which means that I understand why the source material works in the first place.

All of the above doesn’t translate as equal to "I hate changes" or to "I want 1 to 1 adaptation". On the contrary, my most favorite scene from all the 8 Harry Potter films is the scene where Harry and Hermione are dancing in the tent. Scene which definitely DOES NOT exist in the books. In Game of Thrones - there is the masterpiece of “Chaos is a ladder”. One more scene which is not in the books. In House of the Dragons - the masterpiece scene of 2021 is the boring 2 minutes of walking by decaying dying old man. 2 minutes of nothingness which is not in the books. But these two minutes are my best adaptation experience of 2021.

Of course adaptations make changes. The question is not if they make them, but why they make changes. I have never seen fantasy adaptation to make changes with the intention to fix the source material - always to enrich it or because production problems or just because the writers did not care.

For some reason this experience was not mine alone. I have talked with friends, I have talked with strangers and I have read strangers through the years. For 24 years for every new adaptation - Harry Potter, Game of Thrones, the Witcher and so on, no need to list them all - I notice one thing and one thing only: I was not alone in my expectations. And not only I was not alone, I did not witness any alternative. For 24 years. For dozens of adaptations. No, I do not live in a cave. I have never heard the phrase “I cannot wait the adaptation to fix it!“

So it was big surprise to find out the first place where people…. No, actually people who are masquerading as fans, to use the phrase is the adaptation of WOT. If you do not like WoT you would want things to be "fixed" so you could like it, of course. I can expect that from haters of the books. What I do not expect is to hear it from "fans". You are a fan, you know the bigger picture, you know why it works. I do not expect fans to wish the story to be changed because they know it already and it is boring.

My personal view of expectation is to see the story which I read to be shown on screen. That is what I have always dreamt - my favorite scenes and my favorite lines to be heard and to be seen, not read. This is said with the obvious remark "as close as possible" as adaptations cannot, and I cannot stress this enough, cannot be 1 to 1 with the books. Did you have the same expectations for "boring" or "oh, I have already read that" when you watched Harry Potter or Game of Thrones? Why I doubt that to be the case… So why you are doing it now?

The confusion is not about the mere existence of the phrase, of course. Different people, different expectations. And I cannot stress it enough, I am not saying you cannot have different opinion than mine. You are free. The confusion is not that, oh Saint Bela, my bigoted mind cannot accept that my opinion is not the only valid.

The confusion is when it changed? The confusion is why people in the fandom mock with glee a behavior that has been completely normal and accepted for the last 24 years and more. Of course, everyone expects the fantasy adaptation to follow the source material as close as possible, everyone expects the adaptation to honor the source material, everyone judges adaptation to be good or bad based on this merit. What process of adaptation the production decided to take is completely another topic. We talk about audience here.

Why for the Wheel of Time we flipped expectations on their head? Now it is bigoted and disgusting to expect any of the above. The people who have done, again the complete normal socially accepted behavior, now are being ridiculed and mocked that somehow after 24 years they lost the ability to understand how adaptations work. Who decided this to be changed? Why people, who presumably are having common sense, decided that such madness is ok to manifest to normal behavior?

Ok. Fine. You want the books to be fixed. I can accept that. You are free to want it. Again, the confusion here is not to oppress your freedom. The confusion is why you oppress others in the process. Why you act with such arrogance and thirst for blood that you are having the only valid opinion and everyone else are bigots? How I am supposed to react to that sudden illogical and nonsensical change out of a clear blue sky? Why the expectations for the WoT adaptation got them differently?

You are completely aware that 24 years ago people knew that changes are essential and practically unavoidable, mandated both by the constraints of time and medium, but how much is always a balance on thin ice.

Nothing changed in the approach of making adaptations since then. Hollywood makes the same adaptations over and over. The same audience goes to watch them over and over. Meanwhile no new argument, no new information has been discovered that people from 24 years ago have not known it till now. What changed?

Let the Light keep you safe. LightOne

[dapandapod]

Please tell me more about ace Jaskier 🙏

Hohoho hello love, yes, this one is close to my heart and I wrote like.... 2k in a day?

Basically, what if Jaskier acts like he always does, doing exactly what people expect of him. But what if he doesn't want that? And Good Friend Geralt is right there by his side, and what if they figure it out together, and what if they fall in love? Because projecting is important, and yes, feelings! It is so hard to write, but I am enjoying it so, so much!

Here! Have some feels!

“I don’t want to fuck them, or them to fuck me. I don’t want them to touch me. I want to want it, I really do, but I don’t? People have this expectation of me, how they want me to be and I pretend, because it is easier to do than to accept that I am fucking broken, Geralt, and I hate it. Because what if nobody wants me as I am? What if I will be alone forever, what if that is the one thing about me that ends up being too much? Because that is such a big part of it all, isn’t it? They all want me to touch them, not once has it been enough to just be and I’m tired of feeling like this.” It pours out of him, and Geralt’s heart aches for the bard. “Have you ever been in love?” Geralt asks quietly, and Jaskier sucks in a shuddering breath. “I don’t know,” he says, fingers twisting around each other in his lap. “I don’t know what it is supposed to feel like, and it terrifies me. Because if I can’t love either, what does that make me?” “Human,” Geralt says without hesitation, and Jaskier finally glances up at him. “You are not broken. You are you. If being your friend taught me anything, it is that self worth doesn’t come from what you can do for other people.” The corner of Jaskier’s mouth ticks up a notch, despite his hopeless expression.  “I knew I would get through to you eventually,” he mumbles, and Geralt smiles back.

Emotional about this? Me? Never.

Thank you for asking, love!

.... Bonus under the cut, because it's important...

It’s cozy, and they crawl into it with feet sticking out on one end, because there is only so much an oilcloth can do for two men their size. Laying shoulder to shoulder is a bit cramped, so Geralt turns on his side, facing the cloth.  “By the way?” Geralt says quietly, as he listens to Jaskier shuffle around behind him, every now and then bumping into him. “I don’t think you are broken. You are one of the best men I know, and if people think all there is to a relationship is sex, it’s frankly their loss.” Jaskier doesn’t respond, he is actually not doing anything at all. He has frozen behind Geralt, and the witcher is too much of a coward to turn around and face him. His own pulse is beating hard, as if he stepped off a cliff and is free falling. After a minute of silence, Geralt murmurs a good night and pretends he can’t feel Jaskier’s shoulders shake.

[thelostgirl21]

So, apparently, there's an actual short story called "A Little Sacrifice" where a Prince falls in love with a real mermaid in The Witcher's universe...

And Netflix is supposed to release an anime called "Sirens of the Deep", where Geralt and Jaskier get involved in the situation.

My question is: will this be happening before or after the events of Season 3?!

Because having a freaking Prince (Radovid) hearing Jaskier's songs, finding them "irresistible", and becoming heavily drawn to him as a result gives off crazy strong Prince/Siren vibes.

And metaphorically speaking, the whole song follows their story arc in Season 3 right down to the "twilit red horizon" (Redania's color is red, so is obviously blood and its association with death and murder...) and the Prince sadly immediately "sinking to darkest night" on his very first attempt to swim.

So, if Jaskier and Geralt had already met a mermaid and a Prince that had fallen in love with each other before the events of Season 3, and Jaskier had already written a whole ballad about it (that Ciri ended up learning) before he met Radovid, I'm thinking his own situation would have felt like such an insanely strong case of déjà vu!

[Note: In the short story, it's the Siren that swaps fin for foot, not the Prince. If the song is about "Sirens of the Deep", this means that either the ending of the short story has been changed...

... or something bad happened as a result of the mermaid's choice, and Jaskier decided to give them a different ending where the Prince attempts to become a mermaid, but finds himself sinking and needing the Siren's help (to embrace him and the choice he made, regardless of its consequences)?]

Otherwise, that means Jaskier composed that ballad with Radovid in mind in Season 3.

And then, on his travels with Geralt, winds up meeting an actual mermaid that fell in love with a freaking Prince - essentially facing the same dilemma he's been going through with Radovid - and probably would be going "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?! Is the world trying to fucking tell me something?! Unbelievable!"

I can already imagine the conversations...

Sh'eenaz: You couldn't possibly understand what it's like to -

Jaskier: Save it! I wrote a fucking song about it! And you know what? It was a pretty good one, too! Filled with plenty of symbolism and poetry... But you two just had to show up and turn it into a literal thing, didn't you? Now, each time people will be singing my song, they'll just believe it's all about Prince Aglobal -

Sh'eenaz: Agloval

Jaskier: Whatever! And forget I had already seduced a Prince with my songs, and been offered to go live with him in a castle before you two even met! Oh! And by the way, my Prince is now the King of Redania - the most powerful nation of the Northern Kingdoms - the only one that might be able to stop the Nilfgaardians! He's way more important than -

Sh'eenaz: So, did you accept?

Jaskier: Accept what?

Sh'eenaz: To give up the life you had before to be with him?

Jaskier: *Forgets all about his rant and lets out a heavy sigh.*. It's complicated... *Hesitates* I think I might have? Especially if Ciri had decided she wanted to go to Redania to unite it with Cintra, and become the Queen she'd always dreamed of becoming... But then, Ciri went missing, the Second War began, he actually did offer to come with me instead, but then his brother was brutally murdered and he was crowned King instead...

Sh'eenaz: So, he was willing to sacrifice his world for you?

Jaskier: I guess... I mean, I think he meant it...

Sh'eenaz: Well, at least you two breathe the same air, and you can both walk... And Geralt's mate, from what I've heard, is a powerful sorceress that knows how to create portals. It's not like you can't quickly travel between your two worlds when you miss your family, thanks to her, and he can't accompany you on those visits at times, too...

Jaskier: ...

Sh'eenaz: ...

Jaskier: Yeah, I think your Prince should definitely follow you at sea. Humans are idiots.

Sh'eenaz: Well, if he does, maybe you could write a ballad about us; make it one where a Prince falls in love with a dashing travelling bard, then chooses to renounce his throne to accompany him on his travels?

Jaskier: Yeah, you wait right here in your *motions at the bay surrounding them* little pond; I'll go see your Prince and either convince him to come here and join you, or grab and throw him right into the sea myself! After that, I've got a King to catch...

[oivsyo]

Hyūga men chilling on the hot springs [censored|sfw ver.]

For uncensored version go to my Twitter =)

ok, let me introduce them>>>

this is an adult Neji who survived the war, hope it is obvious bc of his scars. Along with Hinata Neji is the main POV in my HC.

Kō Hyūga with my redesign. I got so used to this appearance on him, so I have to remind myself that he doesn't look this way in the canon and other people may not recognise him.

He is 2,5 years older than Neji. In my HC his B-day is on 31 December because this day is Bertolt’s (AoT) b-day and my HC Kō has many things in common with Bertolt. His temper is soft  and is much like Hinata's, only that he is rather strong and is confident in his skills. His problem is the unhealthy desire to meet other people's expectations, the fear of accepting himself as he is.

He was the younger son in one of the main house’s families, but his elder brother was killed during Orochimaru invasion, his eyes torn out and stolen. It happened 2 weeks before Kō’s 17th birthday, so he didn’t get the seal. But it makess him miserable, he would happily bear a hundred seals if only it could turn his brother back to life. He has always been on good terms with Hinata, he looked after her and was supposed to be her guard. After the events of OG Kō gradually makes friends with Neji and eventually becomes one of the closest ppl for both Neji and Hinata. Kō is one of 4 POVs in my HC.

Kō is a sweet cinnamon bun and just perfect, I want to marry him but he is 2D and gay :(

Hiashi Hyūga. My fav part of this art.

Hiashi is DILF.Don't judge me.

I hc him being rather young, so that he is around 31-32 yo during Chunin Exam Arc I gave him background story and better developed personality in my hc so he turned out to be a very interesting and contradicting character.

Hiashi is one of POVs in my HC, through his character the clan’s story, traditions, political relations with the village, with Uchiha clan and inside the clan are told.

Tokuma Hyūga a.k.a Neji's main rival for the title of the most handsome Hyūga man. In my HC Tokuma looked after Neji when his father died and his mother was away on missions so he is kinda brother for Neji even tho they are not that close related. Tokuma has a rather difficult and heavy character, Neji picked some of his traits up. He is not too tall, around 175cm, and looks really young being one of the eldest among Neji, Kō and the next character. 

This one is my OC. His name is Yojiru.

At first I wanted him to be more like RtN Neji, but gradually he switched to Dandelion from the Witcher saga. He is Neji's first cousin, their mothers were sisters, so they look alike. He is almost 10 years older than Neji. He is a poor fighter and  medic-nin, but is rather well-read and knows a lot of things. He is also a talented musician, he plays some musical instruments, sings and even writes songs. He likes to tell jokes and fool around, he has a playful and carefree nature.

In the time skip period between OG and Shippuden he gets acquainted with Ko, they quickly become friends. Yojiru teaches Kō to live for himself and not to look back on other ppl opinion. Later they become lovers.

Hoheto Hyūga. He was a background character in the canon and for now he is only a background character in my HC. He is the oldest man on this art, he is around 5-7 years older than Hiashi I think he is a real clan's patriot judging from the scene with him on the war. Probably he is Hiashi’s guard and assistant.

This one is a rather new OC that is based on one of background Hyūgas from the anime. I HC that he is Natsu's older twin brother. They are from the main house so he doesn't have a seal, and Natsu being the younger twin has it. At the moment I don’t have any ideas about his personality, I'm choosing a name for him from Aki and Haru.

****

This is my first drawing for Naruto Horny ASK, that I've joined recently, and it is kinda redraw of this mangacap. I liked the composition I decided to finally draw all my handsome white-eyed men together