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igni-ard-bladeandbard · 5 years

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Bottom!Geralt!

Because even witchers get tired of topping sometimes…

‘It’s been forever since he’s fucked another man like this and he’d never even dared to fantasize about Geralt like this, not until they were literally in this bed tonight. If this is the last and only thing in his entire life that’s given to him it’ll be more than enough to let Jaskier die with satisfaction....’

“Come on, Jask…I’m tired.” He tilts his head just so, his eyes rolling languidly to the side as his head falls back further into the pillow. His voice is thick as syrup and heavy with a note of pleading. The sound of it alone warms Jaskier from the inside out. He knows he’s going to give his companion whatever he wants already but he can at least pretend he’s got restraint.

The room is warm and quiet, the sun is falling and the evening growing thick outside the window. The witcher looks like some sort of wild king reclining there on the humbly furnished bed. He sinks further into the bedding, a soft rumbling mmm comes from his throat. He obviously bathed just before Jaskier came back to their room and he’s only in his soft breeches and shirt.

The bard looks down at him with put upon skepticism. “And what did you do’ today that was soo hard? I’ve been at the Seven Cats Inn all day busking…wait” Jaskier looks at the fresh cut on his arm, looks at his armor with mud on it strewn on the chair. “Did you go on a hunt today?”

“This afternoon. Man in cart stopped me on the road outside town. He’d lost his wares in a ditch, had some trouble. A hag, namely.” The witcher closes his eyes restfully. “Took awhile to find her.”

Jaskier’s shoulders relax. His face softens. “I didn’t know. Well, you didn’t tell me so how could I. Alright, ok,” he sighs. “I’ll get dinner- and yes I’ll go check on Roach.”

“What would I do without you,” Geralt purrs at him. Teasing. Jaskier can’t handle Geralt’s teasing. The teasing is somewhat new. It was serious at first, he thinks? The comments and insults that became playful, became suggestive. Now Geralt could flatter him jokingly and Jaskier would still roll over for the witcher without hesitation. Geralt doesn’t look all that tired as he raises his arms and rests the back of his head in his hands, the pose accentuating his biceps ridiculously.

Jaskier can hardly look straight at him.

He transforms his lustful gaze into a harmless glare before the witcher can see it and goes out the door.

When he returns Geralt is where he left him, eyes shut, chest rising and falling in gentle rhythm. He sets down the tray of food he’s scavenged and goes to Geralt’s side. He sings the witcher’s name quietly as he leans over the bed.

And Geralt opens his eyes. They stare at one another before he reaches for Jaskier, grabbing his shirt and pulling him so that Jaskier has to put his hands on the bed in order not to fall on top of him.

“Hungry?”

”Yes,” the witicher’s voice is a seductive growl slipping through his sly smile.

“Hmm, “Jaskier says in a vague impersonation of the man he’s come to know without words.

When Geralt tilts his head back Jaskier takes what is being offered. Lips brushing against lips just lightly, not giving too much. Then he’s standing up straight, taking a piece of fruit off the tray, sucking it into his mouth even as he watches Geralt sit up and peel off his shirt like he’s unavailing a statue, his muscles flexing and elongating as he drags the material up over his head, down off his arms…

Jaskier drinks him in, skin pale but glowing warmly in the candlelight, watches as Geralt hesitates before leaning back to unlace his pants.

“Perhaps the food can wait…”Jaskier says sauntering to the table near the bathing tub. While turned away from Geralt, he reaches around to the ties at his lower back, pulls them free with practiced fingers and the back of his pants come loose, exposing skin beneath the patterned silk fabric as he pulls his shirt out of the waist of them. The pants all but drop to the floor. He hears Geralt make an appreciative sound and he looks over his shoulder to simper at him.

The scent of lavender, and crushed herbs- and something almost spicy, escapes as he unscrews the cap on a jar he’s taken from the table. His careful fingers find their way into the oil. He crawls onto the bed with the witcher…puts the jar aside…

his hands reach for Geralt’s pecs first. Geralt watches him unblinking with hot embers in his eyes. Jaskier’s long daring fingers splay across the broad chest in front of him, oil coating their skin, he drags them down pressing into the firm flesh, feeling the rise of scar tissue beneath his fingers tips and the brush of hair as they slide all the way down the firm stomach. And he guides them up again over the curvature of Geralt’s sides, ribs beneath muscle, muscle beneath skin, skin hot beneath Jaskier’s touch…

Geralt arches just a bit into those hands, thumbs brush his nipples, press into the tender places beneath his collar bones. He reaches for Jaskier’s bare thighs, the bard is straddling him but not sitting on him and his shirt hangs down between his legs hiding everything there, but not very well. The shape of his member jutes through the cotton fabric.

Geralt’s pants are off almost to the knee. Jaskier wipes his hands on Geralt’s thighs leaving the excess oil there before he grabs his shirt gingerly with fingertips to avoid staining it and pulls it over his head letting it fall away somewhere half off the bed, and then he takes Geralt’s breaches and pulls them down, down, down, until they are lying on the floor. Until they are both naked but for a medallion, a set of gold rings, and one earring.

Geralt’s cock commands Jaskier’s attention now where it lays thick and ruddy against his stomach. He goes down until their bodies are pressed one to one.

And Geralt groans in gratitude. “So good…” he mumbles, his hands finding Jaskier’s back.

“Yes…”

The aches and the weariness all melt away into hazy pleasure and heat.

“I think I’ll let you do the work tonight,” the witcher says with a smile and half lidded eyes as Jaskier writhes against him, trying to somehow feel every inch of his body with every inch of his own, legs tangled, thighs and calves caressing.

“Work, you say? If you mean what I think you do it won’t be a very difficult job to preform.”

Geralt smiles at him and the smile doesn’t go away until they kiss. And they kiss slowly, in rhythm together, everything smelling like herbs and lavender and hot skin.

Geralt’s movements are unhurried tonight, his hands don’t wander overmuch, but he keeps a firm hold on Jaskier’s hips, squeezing softly, holding him down firmly in place as if he might slip away and escape. Sometimes they wander over to clutch at the roundness of his buttocks, fingers digging into soft thick muscle.

Jaskier has a feeling it was a potion imbibed earlier that’s subdued his witcher, his strength and energy accelerated in the frenzy of battle, now ebbed away leaving him slow and languorous like some large restful panther after having vanquished it’s prey - but Jaskier feels now that the prey might be him, fallen to the witcher’s lethal grasp by much more subtle means…

Geralt’s thighs part trapping Jaskier between them and Jaskier’s cock twitches against the crook of Geralt’s hip. The witcher is looking at him with something like expectation -so Jaskier grabs the oil again and this time his slick careful fingers wrap around the other man’s cock, pumping it’s length with long intentional strokes. He works a relieved moan out of the witcher. He bites his chest. He tugs at Geralt’s nipples with his hot mouth. He’s thankful that Geralt enjoys it when he does these things because he doesn’t know if he could ignore this part of his body if he wanted to. He’s encountered many a buxom woman but never a man with a chest so broad, so plush, with muscles that swells like this, giving him so much to grab and taste and suck.

The stubble of Geralt’s jaw is sharp on his tongue. Geralt’s legs tighten against him and force him closer, his hands grabbing Jaskier’s ass to pull him in, coaxing, demanding. And it’s Geralt’s turn to grab the oil and slather it on Jaskier’s rigid shaft. Jaskier shudders as his whole body convulses, he’s forced to pull away from the witcher’s hand holding him tight like the hilt of his sword. He doesn’t wanting to lose himself too quickly with what’s about to come. He nestles down further and his cock finds it’s way instinctively to the heat between them. He feels Geralt’s sack against his shaft heavy and warm and he presses further behind the weighty flesh of his balls , smearing oil along the way. And when he finally brushes the ring of muscle within all this heat and soft flesh Geralt moans behind closed lips. Jaskier strokes him as he continues to prod and rub with his hard cock, now leaking and sticky, adding to the slickness.

Soon Geralt is breathing hard, lips parted, pupils dilated his eyes are locked on Jaskier as Jaskier uses every drop of self control just to do what he’s doing. The head of his cock is barely breaching the tight ring of muscle that’s threatening to devour him but he can feel Geralt’s body giving way to him even more, opening up to his cock hungrily-

he’s never been allowed to have something like this! It’s all he can do not to let himself slip into him now and burst like a dam in a tight waterway. “Gods…it’s torture..” he gasps. “Geralt..”

“Yeah. Yeah that’s good…slow…”Geralt urges him but even while he’s saying slow he’s forcing Jaskier deeper- gripping the bard’s hips and pulling him further…

Jaskier has to drop his head to Geralt’s chest as he feels the head of his cock fully slip into that hot ring, and he bites his own lip. It’s just the head and Geralt’s fingers are like a steel vice on his hips, keeping him from going deeper or pulling away. He cries out absolutely senseless. It’s not fair.

Geralt is grabbing his own shaft with one hand, still gripping Jaskier with the other, he strokes it as Jaskier is trapped unable to thrust.

“Please Geralt…pleeease…” he wraps his arm under one of Geralt’s muscular thighs.

And Geralt finally releases him and his hips move of their own accord.

“Slow…slowly,” Geralt pants softly… “Yes.” His head falls back against the pillows, yellow eyes closing. “Oh yeah..uhn…”

Jaskier’s thighs are quivering as he urges his cock into Geralt as slowly as he can manage. Geralt doesn’t seem a stranger to this kind of pleasure. He wants to ask if anyone has ever done this to him. He wants to know, but he can’t speak and wouldn’t try if right now if he could.

It’s been forever since he’s fucked another man like this and he’d never even dared to fantasize about Geralt like this, not until they were literally in this bed tonight. If this is the last and only thing in his entire life that’s given to him it’ll be more than enough to let Jaskier die with satisfaction.

-which is a lie of course. Tomorrow he’ll want more and he’ll want it even more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life but in this moment- this moment is all that exists.

“Fuck me,” Geralt says -

and Jaskier has to close his eyes and think of the most disgusting monster he can possibly conjure in order not to cum right then. He breathes deep and steady and sits back. He holds onto Geralt and fucks him as much as he can without losing control. It’s an impossible task because he can see Geralt’s fingers wrapped around his own cock moving in time to Jaskier’s thrusts, and he’s making sounds that Jaskier hasn’t heard before…

There have been similar noises but not the same. These moans are unbound, indulgent, aching. These moans are light in his throat. They aren’t the deep grunting moans of him fucking Jaskier so hard that his soul takes leave of his body.

These are different.

Geralt’s brow is furrowed and his expression is almost pained but his mouth is open in silent pleasure as he stares at the bard and Jaskier’s expression must be similar he thinks. He knows his own mouth is open and he can’t fucking close it because he’s too far gone.

He doesn’t know if he can handle it and he he finds words tumbling out breathless and mindless-

“Hit me- slap me! I can’t- take it- Geralt- please”

and Geralt does, but not too hard. Stinging heat flares across his pretty face and it helps for a second, the shock enough to let him fuck Geralt faster, but the second time Geralt does it Jaskier has to stop completely and blow out a breath as he holds back his orgasm.

Geralt pushes him off and suddenly turns over, and Jaskier is dizzy and incoherent, and unable to even appreciate how incredible Geralt’s perfect ass looks before he’s fucking him again- before he can even register what happened. And he knows he’s fucking a good spot now because the witcher starts cursing. Maybe it’s only minutes or seconds later but it feels like he has been lost for hours when Geralt tells him he’s going to cum.

“Please…” Jaskier begs needing Geralt to cum so Jaskier can finally stop holding back. He uses his last shred of will power to fuck Geralt hard until the man is shaking and his muscles are clenching around him and he can tell Geralt’s over the edge. Jaskier’s vision goes white as he releases inside Geralt with a whimper and moan.

And slowly but suddenly times resumes. Geralt stretches out with a groan on his stomach and doesn’t move. Jaskier very slowly pulls his cock out from between the sticky muscular cheeks with a shudder, and then he lays on top of Geralt.

After he’s caught his breath he says deliriously, “What just happened?”

Geralt’s chuckle is smothered by the bed.

“Wow.” Jaskier sidles over and grabs a pillow for his head. “Can we do that again sometime?”

Geralt slowly raises himself to look at the bard. His smile is tired and satisfied. He lets out a heavy breath as he adjusts himself so that he’s on his side with the pillow under his head. “We’ll see, but first” he lets his hands flop over towards Jaskier. It’s covered in his own sticky seed and Jaskier is almost tempted to lick it. He gets them a cloth and and when they’ve cleaned themselves and the bed as best as possible they lie close together. Geralt puts a heavy arm across the bards chest and is soon fast asleep. Jaskier has so many questions and feelings but they’ll have to wait until another time. It isn’t long after he’s dragged the covers across them that he drifts off to sleep along with his witcher.

#bottom!geralt #I had to do this #i haven't read any bottom!geralt even though I know it exists now #hopefully there are no typos or at least not many #writing #smut #my own #drabblet #geraskier #gerlion #geralt x dandelion #geralt x jaskier

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somethingtowrite · 4 years

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The Amazing Devil: solsticio musical. The Amazing Devil: musical solstice.

Guiada por la inspiración que TAD me despierta, escribiré sobre cada canción y lo que me genera. Si alguien se atreve a leer este horror de palabras juntas sin mucha coherencia y cohesión, muchas gracias. (Primera parte: Elsa`s song)

Guided by the inspiration that TAD awakens in me, I will write about each song and what make me feel. If anyone dares to read this horros of words without much coherence and cohesion, thank you. (First part: Elsa`s song)

(Gif: tenor.com)

Versión en español:

Introducción:

“The Amazing Devil”, lo que podemos traducir como “El increíble o asombroso diablo, demonio”. Las voces, las canciones, las letras, la energía que transmiten, hacen justicia a su nombre; con ellas, hacen relucir tus demonios internos, y al hacerlo…sientes. Sientes felicidad, euforia, llanto, nostalgia, amor; lo que te imagines.

Sería muy llano definirlos como una banda, son eso “amazings devils”.

¿Cómo llegué al punto de escuchar (y revivir en el proceso), en repetición TAD desde que lo descubrí, hace ocho meses?

Desde hacía ya tiempo, la música que solía escuchar, a excepción de algunas canciones, no me generaba más que realizar un zapping continuo en mi lista de reproducción. Por primera vez en mi vida, estaba aburrida de escuchar música.

Y esas son palabras que nunca pensé pronunciar.

Desde que tuve mi primer casete (sí, soy así de anciana) hasta ahora, escuchar y vibrar con la música era pan de cada día. Cada canción era un mundo diferente, un videoclip nuevo, o un recuerdo disparado en la letra que escuchaba. Jamás pensé aburrirme de ella, jamás.

No quiero decir que los artistas que escuchaba hasta el momento me resultaban vacíos, excepto que era así.

Hasta que encontré TAD.

Como muchos, llegué a ellos a través de la serie original de Netlfix, The Witcher. Los libros y los videojuegos me eran más que familiares, y ansiosa esperaba el resultado de este “live action”.

Jaskier, era uno de los personajes cuyo cast me generaba ansiedad. ¿Quién lo interpretaría?

Entonces, entonando una canción de abortos, monstruos y Posada, apareció Joey Batey.

Así comenzó el proceso de “stalkear” a un actor, necesitaba escuchar más de su voz. Joey me llevó a The Amazing Devil, y el resto, es historia.

Esto no se tratará de realizar un análisis exhaustivo de sus canciones, mucho menos musical (pues poco sé de eso, más de lo que me hace sentir), simplemente, guiada por la inspiración que me despiertan, escribiré. Es una forma de expresión de mi parte, y si alguien lee esto, siéntase libre de comentar sus opiniones y pensamientos.

Sin más, comienzo.

Primera parte: Elsa´s song.

Cuando tuve la necesidad de escribir sobre TAD y sus canciones, la primera gran pregunta fue: ¿Cómo lo organizo y por dónde empiezo? Podría bucear en la interrelación existente entre sus canciones, siguiendo el hilo de las historias, que en su conjunto, cuentan. Sin embargo, no me convencía, por lo que empezaré por la canción que me funcionó de tela de araña: Elsa´s song.

Fue la primer canción que escuché de TAD, y las primeras imágenes que a mi cabeza vinieron, fue un campo destruido, cubierto de niebla, y un sentimiento de tristeza y nostalgia me invadió.

Rápidamente se convirtió en mi favorita.

Lo primero que escuchamos no se trata de nada proveniente de un instrumento conocido, es simplemente viento. Un viento fuerte, cargado, y así, sin más, ya estamos ubicados en un espacio; el primero que se venga a tu mente, un acantilado, un páramo… Y después de unos segundos, los necesarios para que comiences a vivir esta historia, comienza a cantar Joey.

La letra:

Con una voz conmovida y lúgubre, escuchamos: “I can hear the cannons calling, as though across a dream.” Esto, puede traducirse como “Puedo escuchar el llamado de los cañones, como si cruzaran un sueño.”

(Las traducciones, son casi que heréjicas en este caso. Suenan hermosas en inglés.)

¿Recuerdan la ubicación espacial de las que les hablaba? Aquí toma forma en lenguaje verbal. Toda esta primer estrofa cumple esta función, la descriptiva y de localizar. Se menciona el llamado de los cañones, el olor del infierno, el barro, y el silencio de lo que no podemos escuchar, los gritos diciendo “No me olviden.”

Si con esto no sientes ya, como los vellos de los brazos se erizan, aún falta mucho. A continuación se nos narra algo así: (No es una traducción literal, aquí hay también información e interpretación)

Una voz, tú voz, lleva consigo tarareos y alborotos, pintando en lo alto, en el cielo, círculos. Gritarás “No te olvidaré”, pero fingiré no escucharte, tapando mis orejas frías. Lo que dices, no puede ser una mentira, si nadie la escucha.

“No te creo”, la persona que canta, no le cree al otro esta promesa de romper, evitar el olvido. ¿Cómo evitar el olvido, después de todo?

La voz de Joey comienza a tomar fuerza, y débilmente se escucha al fondo a Madeleine, como si fuese un fantasma o un recuerdo.

¿Por qué el protagonista no cree esta promesa de “no te olvidaré”?

Porque más allá de que me desees un buen día, sé que no pertenezco a ese tipo de días. Porque, aunque me hayas dicho te amo, mientras sostenías mi mano, sé que te equivocas. El amor no existe aquí. En este jardín no hay sentimientos. Además, repites tanto estas palabras, que apenas puedo reconocer su significado. Entonces, cuando todas las flores se pudran, y los cañones disparen, te gritaré, pero no me escucharás. “No me olvides”

Mi parte favorita. Aquí, o aguanto la respiración, o derramo alguna lágrima, pero no soy indiferente a la letra. Es conmovedor, y real.

¿Cuántas veces decimos “te amo” en el día? ¿Cuántas de esas veces las decimos por inercia y cuántas con real significado? Por esto, el olvido es fácil, cuando ya todo se daña, pedir al otro que no nos olvide, es inútil.

A esta hermosa parte, la acompaña un tambor, lento y pesado al fondo, en conjunto con las voces de Joey y Madeleine, que suben y bajan, dando fuerza y tristeza a las palabras.

¿En toda esta letra el protagonista acaso se está hablando así mismo? ¿Se dirige a su yo del futuro?

Así, llegamos a la última estrofa, que nos cuenta: En los años futuros, vendrás a deambular a nuestro sitio en la colina. Llorarás a nuestro cielo pintado “La amaba entonces, la amo aún”. Dejarás unas flores en el sitio donde me pudro. De entre todas las flores que elegiste, sabría que olvidarías. Olvidarme, no.

Esta última parte, siempre me genera dudas, especialmente al final “Of all the flowers you picked, I knew you´d forget. Forget me nots.” Siento que hay algo, un significado que no entiendo, pero aún así logra conmoverme: ¿qué has olvidado que me hace sentir tan triste?

Finalizando:

“Elsa´s song”, es una canción que se encuentra entre la vida y la muerte, entre el olvido y el recuerdo, entre las promesas y las mentiras: en el lugar en medio de todas ellas, está esta historia. Un amor ya fantasmal, un sitio embarrado, el silencio y los tambores, y los recuerdos.

Así describo a Elsa´s song, la primera canción que The Amazing Devil introdujo en mi cabeza.

Si hay alguien leyendo por ahí, muchas gracias.

English version:

Introduction: (keep in mind, that English it´s not my first language. Sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes.)

“The Amazing Devil”: it´s simple unfair to call them a “band”.

Using their voices, their poetry and energy, they make justice of the name choose.

At the same time you listen their art, they pull out your demons, and in the process, they make you… feel. You feel happiness, euphoria, nostalgia, love. You´ll cry, dance, laugh and scream.

You just cannot call them “a band”, they are amanzings devils.

How did I get to the point of listening in repeat TAD (and revive with it), since I discovered it, eight months ago?

Months before the discovery of TAD, the music I used to listen, with the exception of a few songs, only made me do an endless zapping through my reproduction list. For the first time in my life, I was bored of music.

And that are words I never thought to say.

Since I got my first cassette (yes, I am that old), until now, listening and vibe with music was the bread and butter. Each song was a different world, a new video clip, or memories trigged by the lyrics. I would never think I will bore of it, never.

I don´t want to say that the artist I listen then were meaningless, except that that they were.

Until I find TAD.

As many of you, I get to them thanks for the adaptation of The Witicher, by Netflix. Both, the books and videogames were more than familiar to me, and anxious I was waiting the result of this “live action”.

Jaskier was one of the characters which cast I was expecting the most. Who would play it?

Then, singing a song about abortion, monsters and a place called Posada, Joey Batey came in, with it, the stalker process begun. I needed to hear more of his voice. Joey leaded me to The Amazing Devil, and the rest, it is history.

This will not be an extensive analysis of their song, nor less the musical part of it (I know little of it).I will write just simply by the inspiration that TAD awakens in me. It is a form of expression, and if anyone reads this, be free to share opinions and thoughts.

Without anything left to say, shall we begin?

First part: Elsa´s song.

When I had the necessity of write about TAD and what inspires in me, the first big question was: How I will organise it and what song I should begin with? I could dive in the existing relation between the songs and the story they tell together. However I was not convinced, so I will start with the song that captured me first: Elsa´s song.

It was the first song I listen of TAD, and the first pictures that came up to my mind were a destroyed field, cover in fog, and a feeling of sadness and nostalgia invaded me.

Quickly it became my favourite.

The first thing that we hear , it´s not music itself, but wind, a strong one. So TAD places us somewhere windy, whatever it is. After a few seconds, Joey starts to sing.

The lyrics:

With a moved and gloomy voice, we hear: “I can hear the cannons calling, as though across a dream.”

Remember the space location that I talked early? Here it`s take form in verbal language. This entire first strophe has this role, describe and locate. It is mentioned the cannons calling, the smell of hell, a muddied lot, and the silence of what we cannot hear, the scream saying “Forget me not”.

A beautiful start, that cause shivers in my heart, and we are only in the beginning.

Joey´s voice get stronger; meanwhile Madeleine joins weakly, as she is a ghost or a memory.

And then, we hear the second strophe:

“Your voice it carries over

The hubbub and the hum

And it paints the sky and circles high

Like the beating of a drum

You will scream “I won`t forget you”

But I`ll cover my cold ears

It cannot be a lie

If no-one hears.”

“I don`t believe you”, it`s what protagonist think. I don`t believe that promise of avoid the forgetfulness. How to avoid it, after all? Why the protagonist don`t believe this promise of not forget?

Because:

“Cos although you say good day to me

I know I don`t belong

And although you hold my hand and say

“I love you”, you are wrong.

Because love does not exist here

In this garden there`s no feeling

And you say this words so often

That I barely know the meaning

And when all the flowers are rotten

And all the cannons shot

I`ll scream, but you won`t hear.

“Forget me not.”

My favourite part. Here, I hold my breath o spare a few tears, but I am not indifferent with the story. It is shocking, and real.

How many times we say “I love you” in the day (or other care expressions)? How often we say this words by inertia and how many with real meaning? For this exacts reason, forget it easy. When everything is damaged, asks somebody to not forget, it is useless.

In this part, we hear a slow and heavy drum at the back of Madeleine and Joey`s voices, which go up and down, giving the lyrics strength and sadness.

It is possible that the protagonist it`s talking to him/herself? Is he/she addressing to the future version of him/herself?

Finally, we get to the end of the song, where it says:

“And in years to come you’ll wander To the place up on our hill And then you’ll cry to our painted sky ‘I loved her then, I love her still’. And you’ll strew some sage and lilies, And roses where I rot Of all the flowers you picked, I knew you would forget Forget-me-nots.”

This last part, it is strange to me. I feel like I am missing something in that three last verses. However, it still touches me. What is that thing that you forgot, that makes me feel so sad?

Arriving to the conclusion:

Elsa`s song, it is between life and death, oblivion and remembrance, between lies and promises: in the centre of all this, we found this story. A ghostly love, a muddied lot, the silence, the drum and the memories.

That`s how I describe Elsa`s song, the first lyrics that TAD put inside my head.

If there is someone out there, reading this, thank you.

#the amazing devil #the witcher #joey batey #madeleine hyland #jaskier #folklore #music #tad

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