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spookyspecterino · 8 months

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Grunt Work

Sam Coe x GN! Reader

GN! Reader. No pronouns, no use of Y/N, or reader descriptions used. Reader is referred to as Captain sometimes, like in the game.

Canon typical violence: blood, injury, mentions of death, guns, language, romance, kissing. All PG-13.

Spoilers for the “Grunt Work” Quest

It’s the very first UC Vanguard quest. If you haven’t played it yet, I highly recommend it. Out of my 20-ish hours playing it’s my favorite so far.

No spoilers for the end of game (I haven’t even gotten close to it yet) or anything to do with Sam Coe’s romance questline (I haven’t finished that either).

Non-spoiler summary for this fic/quest:

Reader and Sam Coe go to Tau Ceti II to check up on the settlers in the Tau Gormet Production Center.

More descriptions of the fic with a more specific summary below the cut. I’m being very specific about spoilers because for most people, myself included, we’ve only had the game for a week.

More specific summary of this fic/quest:

The UC Vanguard sends you on a routine mission to check in on a settler colony on Tau Ceti II—it turns out to be anything but routine. With Sam Coe at your side, your first Vanguard mission is a baptism by fire.

Characters: Hadrian, Sam Coe, Vasco (mentions of other characters: Cora Coe and Barret)

“Vasco, do a quick comms check for me. I want to make sure it’s working after it glitched out on the last planet.”

The tall robot makes some beeping and whirring noises. The way it stares into nothing bothered you at first, but after some time you’d gotten used to it—even appreciating how it followed commands without hesitation. Over by the ships on and off-boarding ramp, Sam says goodbye to Cora. A smile spreads across your face as you watch them.

The Frontier’s external lighting illuminates the surrounding landing site. An otherworldly moon hangs in the night sky. You take one more moment to do a last check of your pack’s contents. This was going to be a routine check-in mission, but it never hurt to be safe than sorry.

“Comms are operational, Captain.”

“Thank you.” You wave goodbye to Cora who smiles and waves back before returning to the Frontier. “Comms are good Sam, ready to go?”

Your companion saunters over with that signature ranger’s confidence. “Always.”

“Great. I think I’ve got everything. Vasco, have I got everything?”

“Scanning now.”

Sam shifts from foot to foot. “Storm’s rolling in.” He comments, looking into the distance. “I’d like to get there before it starts raining.”

Sure enough, muted thunder rolls on the horizon and the wind picks up a touch.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses, cowboy.”

“I don’t even know what a horse looks like.” He mumbles.

Vasco beeps affirmatively. “The necessary items are present, Captain. However, you are carrying more than the recommended amount.”

You sling your pack over your shoulder with a grin, ignoring the second part. “Thanks Vasco. You know, for a second there Sam, I thought you were going to say something about your joints hurting.”

“Ha ha. I’m not that old.”

You make a teasing face at him as you start heading toward the compound’s lights in the distance. The trek isn’t bad, mostly flat terrain with a few rocks here and there. The wind continues to pick up, carrying the scent of rain.

Sam hops over a rock, taking his place by your side. “Not to sound too over-eager to get this Vanguard busy work out of the way, but, where’s our next stop after this?”

“I was thinking we could explore the rest of this system. How’s that sound?”

“You know me, no complaints here.”

A radio tower comes into view, red lights along the sides flashing periodically. Beyond it is the main compound.

“Oh, Cora asked to keep an eye out on books specifically about ship reactors. She thinks she can fix ours.”

You hike your pack higher on your shoulder, already feeling the soreness. Blast your incessant need to carry every type of weapon part with you at all times. “I’ll be on the look-out. If she can save me a few credits and fix it herself, she’s welcome to try.”

“She’s a brilliant kid, but let’s do it on a planet with an actual mechanic who can make sure it works after. I have faith in her, but she’s 11 and you can’t learn everything from books—”

“Hold up. Sam. Stop.”

He freezes, noticing your stock-still posture, eyes fixed on the wide-open doors of the radio tower. Bright light filters out into the night.

“Does that look like a body to you?” you ask him, pointing toward a slumped over shape laying against a supply crate.

“Sure does.”

Unholstering your pistol, you both crouch and move closer. The grass underfoot sways in the wind.

It’s a grisly scene. Multiple bodies litter the area. All settlers—dressed in civilian working clothes. Blood splatters dot the concrete, some trail back to a body. Sam whistles, short and low, to get your attention. He’s looking inside. On the table is a settler, face up, arms splayed out and gutted. Clothes stained a vibrant red. Deep claw marks gouge out sections of the floor.

“No bullets, no casings in sight.” He murmurs close to your ear. “And it’s all fresh.”

You don’t need to look at him to know he shares your particular anxiety. “Let’s check out the main compound.”

Moving out of the small building and down toward the tar mac, you’re about to say something about the wrecked ship when an alien scream interrupts you. It sets every hair on end. Never have you heard a sound like that, even on the many planets you’ve explored.

In little to no time after the scream, a sharp static crackles over your comms, making you jump. Sam shuffles closer, crouched low next to you. If the situation wasn’t so tense, he may have chuckled, but he stays frozen and somber faced.

“I am so glad to see you.” The voice, a woman’s, sounds heavy with relief. “I think it knows you’re here. Hurry up to the second-floor office, I’ll unlock the door.”

As you make your way into the compound, it feels like walking straight into the lion’s den. Every sense is on high alert. Lightning flashes, making you see things in the shadows that aren’t really there. Only Sam’s presence behind you keeps you level-headed.

The brightly lit, glass windowed office only makes you feel worse, like a sitting duck on display.

“I’m Hadrian.” The woman introduces herself curtly while holding her side. “Are you my saving grace?”

“Not exactly. I’m UC Vanguard—sent to check in on the settlers.”

“Well shit.” She leans against the table, eyes closed in pain.

“Please don’t tell me we’re dealing with a Terrormorph here.” Sam asks, beating you to the punch.

She sighs. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Shit. That’s bad news, Captain. Real bad.”

“Listen,” Hadrian starts, moving away from the table, “I know you’re just two people, but you have to help me kill this thing.”

“And why’s that? Why don’t we all just leave now?” You ask.

“It’s unique. It showed up way too early. Tau Ceti’s only been colonized for 20 years. If this is a new kind of Terrormorph that matures faster and shows up earlier, we need to know.”

“Damnit.” You hiss. “Terrormorphs that show up after only 20 years of colonization could wipe humanity off the map.”

“Exactly.”

Rain begins to fall on the large windows with a clatter. The rolls of thunder were becoming booming clashes now. Visibility was already reduced at night, but now the storm made things worse.

You relent, giving up any notions of leaving. “Alright. I’ll help. Got any ideas on how to kill it?”

Sam’s eyeing you particularly hard from where he stands.

“Yeah, turrets. But we need to bring them back online and get them powered up. The terminal’s on ground level at the far end of the warehouse.”

Sam grunts. “So, closer to the Terrormorph?”

“I’m not sure where it is right now. My best guess is it’s still around the outer edge of the facility. But there’s a tracking system you can use on one of the terminals.”

You run a hand over your face. “Ok. Tracker and turrets. That’s better than nothing. I can make do”

“Radio me when you’ve reset the system and I’ll calibrate it from here. Thank you for helping and good luck.”

You and Sam sneak out one of the office doors into the warehouse. Fat raindrops fall on the metal roof, amplifying the sound into a loud drumming. It doesn’t come close to the volume of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Vasco, come in.”

“Reporting, Captain.”

“Initiate full lockdown on the ship. Tell Cora we ran into some trouble and are taking necessary precautions. If she seems worried, give her a book from my locker.”

“Yes Captain.”

You shut off comms and sling your pack from around your shoulders, attempting a commanding tone that you’ve always needed to fake. “Sam Coe.”

His usual raspy, low voice is layered with apprehension. “Captain?”

You’re pulling out weapon pieces from your pack for your rifle. They’re big—heavy duty—and add a decent amount of weight to the gun. “Go back to the ship.”

“I had a hunch you were gonna pull something like this. No. No way.”

“That’s an order—”

“Don’t try that with me. You know it ain’t gonna work.”

You pause, just as you’re changing out the rifle’s .50 Cal magazine with a 9x39mm eight round clip. “Sam.”

“I’m staying.”

His eyebrows are furrowed. Mouth slanted in a stubborn, almost angry frown. You’d have to dig deep. “Cora can’t lose you.”

“You always pull that card. It’s lost its affect.”

“…I can’t lose you either.”

You’ve never used that before and quite frankly are surprised to hear it come out of your mouth. Maybe it’s too soon. Up until now, you and Sam have only been flirting—no real feelings or moves have been made. It’s a bit of a jump, but you’re sincere.

His eyes hold yours unflinchingly. The crease on his forehead lessens a little. “Then you know how I feel and why I’m staying right here.”

He’s one-upped you and you weren’t prepared for it. You murmur a “Damit Sam” and go back to modifying your rifle. Fighting is pointless, and his admission has your nerves shaken more than you’d like. “Stay glued to my side unless I say otherwise. If things turn sideways and I order you back to the ship, you’d better listen. Got it?”

“Understood, Captain.”

“I mean it.”

A hint of his familiar smile returns. “I heard ya.”

“And Sam…”

“Hm?”

“No heroics.”

He doesn’t respond, his brows pinch together again. It’ll have to do.

Moving through the warehouse went excruciatingly slow. At all times you wished you could just get up and run instead, but it would signal the monster almost immediately. The whole situation made you feel like you were prey, scared and small. The addition of Sam’s presence put a heavy responsibility on your shoulders and that made you even more careful.

Hadrian was on your comms as soon as the system was reset. She directed you to the tracker frequency tuner in the same room. While finding the frequency, the system went into high alert—detecting the major threat. Your watch begins beeping steadily, and then rapidly speeds up. The Terrormorph was getting closer to your position.

Your eyes met Sam’s just as the alien appeared on the roof of the building outside. Right in sight from the room’s windows you were in. A rough hand yanks you down to the ground. Sam is crouched damn near on top of you, shotgun aimed up at it. However, it doesn’t notice you two in the dark room. You slowly cover the watch face to try and muffle the beeping sound. Maybe it was the rain, or the creature was just playing games, but it moved on past to a different part of the facility. Loud footsteps fading as it leaves. The radar lessens to a low, steady beat.

“Hadrian, come in.”

“I read you. The turrets are going to need their power sources reset with the security system in lockdown.”

“Great.” Sam sighs, lowering his gun. His shoulder leans into yours as he gets closer.

“We’ll find them. Out here.”

Reaching for your rifle, your hands visibly shook. You can feel Sam’s watchful gaze.

“Last chance to leave.” You whisper, aimlessly checking over your gun. You feel his hand squeeze your shoulder reaffirming.

“Not happening.”

The first power source wasn’t hard to find. You took the slow route, keeping an ear out for any changes in the radar frequency. The power switch was like a beacon, a big red switch on a yellow panel—it stuck out like a sore thumb. When you flipped it lights came on, loudspeakers announced to stand back…and the radar went nuts.

“Out, out, out!” You hiss, pushing Sam toward the far end door. He doesn’t need to be told twice as he beelines it.

With Sam leading, you follow him, scrambling up onto the roof of the building near the turrets. Two of the six are online now. Two more switches and you’ll have a fighting chance. Maybe.

Behind you, further in the facility, things crash. For now, it seems you’re safe.

You huff, lightening the death grip you have on your rifle. “Ok, here’s the plan. We’re going to split up.”

“I’m not gonna like this am I?”

“Take the watch. Find the power sources. I’ll create a distraction.”

“No.”

“Sam…” you exhale, closing your eyes. Despite the sheer terror you feel, you manage a chuckle. “We’re not going to get anything done if you keep arguing with me.”

“Let me create the distraction.”

“No.”

“Now who’s arguing?”

“Your shotgun has no range—it’s effectively useless, you’d be dead in two seconds.”

“Fair point. Then give me your rifle, I’m a good shot.”

You’re already unclasping your watch’s band from around your wrist. “I’m not taking the risk.”

“What if I wanna take the risk?”

Shuffling over while still crouched, you bring his arm closer. The watch slides on and you make sure to fasten it tightly. “You already know I won’t let you. At least now you can radio Vasco if…”

It didn’t need to be said.

He looks at the device and back to you. “Why is this startin’ to feel like you’re on a suicide mission?”

You can’t look at him or you’d lose the last of your nerve. “I’ll be on that walkway over there. It’ll have to run through the turrets to get to me and they’ll still have a shot when it tries to climb up.”

The way Sam chews his cheek really underlines how unhappy he is with this plan of yours. “Remind me to have a word with you about your savior complex when this is all over.”

“Hm. I’m looking forward to it.”

A gentle hand wraps around your arm. His eyes are soft, pleading. His other hand cups your face, it’s rough and calloused, but warm. “If you need to run, then run. You don’t have to die for some Vanguard that sends you on a ‘routine’ mission they were too lazy to check first—or for a colony full of dead settlers. Ok? I want you back, with me, alive, and in one piece.”

You don’t trust yourself enough to speak, something sappy or cheesy may decide to come out, so you simply nod.

It isn’t enough for him. “Please, say you’ll come back to me. I need to hear you say it.”

If he wasn’t so close, he may not have heard you through the pounding rain. “I’ll come back to you.” You pretended that you meant it, that you believed it.

“Thank you.” His hand falls away to hold his shotgun. “Now let’s kill this thing.”

“Be safe.” You manage before turning and heading toward your position. The chill of the rain creeps through your spine, but the warmth from Sam’s hand lingers on your cheek. You try to hold onto that feeling.

The steel walkway is sturdy and grated, giving you a good vantage point of the surrounding area. Once in position, you set up your rifle and lay flat, adjusting the scope. Lightning flashes, the crash of thunder isn’t far behind it. Water runs down your face and you wipe it hastily to keep it from your eyes.

The bright fire of the flare casts everything in red. With a good toss, it lands directly in the middle of the kill lanes. Bringing out your pistol you shoot once, twice, up into the air. The alien screams and the sound of wrenching, tearing metal draws near.

The hulking creature appears at the far end of the kill lanes, focused on the flare. It’s huge, big enough to fill your scope’s sights. You breathe deep and exhale slowly as you take your first shot.

The round hits the Terrormorph square in the back leg, crippling it for a moment. Blood leaks out onto the ground below. It lurches before regaining balance on its five other legs, letting out an enraged roar.

More lights come on in the facility. Sam’s already found one power breaker. Two more turrets begin to flash and come online.

The monster’s head swings in a different direction. Toward Sam, no doubt. The realization fuels you with a cold fury. You crank the rifle’s bolt-lever, a long bullet casing flies out of the chamber with a cling. Sliding the lever back with a heavy clunk you even your breath and prepare to take another shot.

You take it, aiming for its other back leg, but miss—the shot glances off the ground. Six shots left.

The thing’s giant head swings back to stare at you directly. Through your scope it’s as if you’re staring it directly in the eyes. Its front legs stomp the ground, and it roars. It ambles forward right into the kill lanes. Four turrets open fire, knocking it off balance and sending it sprawling momentarily. You take another shot, this time severing its thinner front limb.

The thing howls, ear splittingly loud and shrill, but claws its way back onto its feet. The turrets are doing damage, but it isn’t enough. It lurches toward you with surprising speed. The turret fire follows. You take a shot and miss. You exhale and your breath comes out shaking.

It's at the base of the building your walkway is on as Sam flips the final switch and the last of the turrets power up. The Terrormorph slows down a little, struggling to climb the building with two of its limbs missing. You have another 130 seconds, maybe, before it reaches you.

Your fifth shot hits it in the back, effectively doing nothing. The thing is bloody and losing steam from the constant onslaught of all six turrets. You start to feel hopeful. There’s movement to your left. It’s Sam on one of the rooftops. You’re about to give him a thumbs up when lightning flashes—some of the facility machines spark, an alarm sounds, and all lights except for auxiliary backups flatline. An unlucky power surge from the storm.

The Terrormorph has reached the base of the walkway below and is trying to make its way up, now free from turret fire. This would be your chance to run, but something holds you there. A false hope maybe.

You hold your breath, take a shot, and hit it square in the face. It doesn’t stop, clawing at the thin metal for purchase. Pulling the bolt lever and sliding it home, you fire again, chipping its other back leg and causing it to stumble. Metal rails groan and collapse under the monster’s weight. It falls to the ground with a metallic crash. You don’t fire, yet.

Sam is still on the other roof. You wave him off, pointing to the ship. Trying to make it clear that this was the order to run. A clashing sound below snags your attention back to the monster. It’s testing out the strength of the rail supports.

You’re aiming again as it springs up and begins throwing its weight at the steel rods. The vibration of the metal groaning and shifting with each impact reverberates through you. This is your last shot.

You fire and miss entirely as a section of rails to your right collapse and bend, tugging your section down. You’re forced to let go of your rifle to hang on. It clatters to the ground below.

More support beams collapse and you can feel the structure groan before you even hear it, vibrating hard enough to numb your hands. Trying to climb up the tilting walkway was a mistake as the shift in weight caused the whole thing, with you attached, to fall entirely. The feeling of falling was short-lived, something sharp sliced at your leg as you fell into the railing and walkway debris below.

For a moment, you lay dazed and in pain. The sound of rain patters around you on metallic surfaces. The whole walkway and railing fell over, the area was littered with jutted angles and metal parts. Something shifted under the debris. Something big enough to toss heavy metal away with ease. Any hope of the Terrormorph getting crushed by the impact was gone as it reared back and screamed. Its eyes, all six or seven of them, landed on you.

There was no way of escaping, debris had fallen over you. A particularly large beam held you in place on your back. Your pistol, the last line of defense, dug into your hip uncomfortably.

Sensing it had you trapped, the creature took its time closing the distance. Your leg was devoid of all feeling except a vague sensation of warmth spreading around it. The rails on top of you pinned you down, but you managed to free your measly pistol.

Only three or four of your shots made contact, others glanced off the Terrormorph’s armored shoulders or missed entirely. Either way, the low caliber did nothing to it. With an empty mag, and nothing else to defend yourself with, your arm fell to your side. You just hoped Sam was smart enough to listen and go back to the ship.

A loud blast caught the monster on the side of its head, snapping it away from you, and causing it to stumble.

Apparently, he wasn’t.

Sam emptied three more shells into the creature before reloading with cool, practiced ease. One blast dislocated the Terrormorph’s other back leg. Chunks went flying.

It howled and thrashed as he kept unloading shells into it. When he was completely out, he dropped the shotgun and picked up a long rod of metal with a jagged, broken end. The sharp tip sliced clean into its ribcage. When the alien still tried to pull itself up on its remaining two feet, Sam pulled it out with a yank and drove it home into the thing’s head, right above the mandibles. It gave one final spasm and finally fell dead.

At last, the only sound around you was the rain.

Sam dropped the crude spear with a clatter, eyeing the body a few times as he rushed over through the debris.

“You ok?” he panted, kneeling down. His hands cupped your face, bringing the familiar warmth with them.

“Holy shit.” Was all you were able to say.

It made him laugh with relief as he moved to check you over. “And you said a shotgun wouldn’t do anything.”

His hands moved debris from your legs, and he hovered as you yelped in pain. “You’ve got a nasty gash here. We need to get you back to the ship for medical attention. Let me see if I can get this off you.”

With a grunt of effort, he pushed the beam up enough for you to pull yourself out. Your leg was bleeding badly, but nothing you couldn’t fix with some TLC and bed rest. The pain hadn’t set in yet, thankfully.

Near you was a chunk of the Terrormorph’s leg. Feeling oddly disconnected from yourself, you grabbed it, staring at the gross thing, and put it in your pocket for Hadrian.

Sam started taking out bandages and doing what he could to wrap your leg. You could see his hands were shaking now.

Against all odds you both were alive; you started to laugh.

Sam gave you an odd look. “Don’t go loopy on me.”

A giant smile broke across your face. “Wasn’t expecting to live. There goes my chance at a cool memorial or bragging rights.”

“Going face to face with a Terrormorph and only losing a chunk of your leg gets bragging rights. Believe me.”

“Nah. All the credit goes to you on this one. That was just badass.”

He grunted, throwing more debris out of the way, and trying to clear a path. “Wasn’t thinking about how cool it looked when I did it. I was just trying to save you.”

“You know I’ll be telling this story forever, right?”

He chuckles, helping you up, slinging your arm over his shoulder and wrapping his around your waist. “I can see Barret’s expression now.”

“‘Sam Coe, my hero’ is how I’ll start it.”

He groans playfully. “Please don’t.”

“It’s true.” You looked at him as your feet touched even ground. Your faces were close. You could see the rain drops clinging to his hair and beard. “You saved my life.”

When he looked over, his nose nudged yours from close proximity. He didn’t shy away from the contact. Your paces slowed to a stop. “I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again, either.”

Your grin was slow to spread as you glanced at his lips more than once. “Would you prefer a quippy one line as thanks?”

“Mm—no. Maybe something else though.”

You feigned ignorance as his eyes trailed down your face. “Oh? And what would that be?”

“I’ll let you think of it.”

“A hero’s song?” you joked, voice softening.

“Nope.”

“How about a poem?”

He faces toward the room Hadrian’s in with a low laugh and begins to walk again. “You know, if you were as much of a smartass to that Terrormorph as you are to me, it would have keeled over on the spot.”

You put your good foot down and hold it, halting any forward progress. “Ok, ok. I think I’ve come up with something.”

He’s still smiling as he looks at you. Your noses nudge again. “If you suggest a book or a short story—”

His surprised breath as your mouth presses to his is an award in itself. He stays motionless for a moment, as if his brain had short-circuited, before his lips move and mold to yours. Slow and tentative at first, exploratory. Soft and gentle as if he’s afraid of hurting you. His hand on your waist moves to your lower back, gripping your clothes. He leans into you, beard scratching the skin of your face. Your fingers slide through and tangle in his wet hair. It makes him pant into your mouth before kissing you again, more eager this time.

Breaking apart, you both linger close, hot breath mixing together. His forehead leans to yours, eyes still closed.

That raspy voice of his you love so much is the first to break the silence. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting you to do that.”

“You could have made the first move. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Was never sure if you were just being quippy and flirtatious for fun or not.”

“It is fun, but it’s also because I care for you.”

He hums, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Good to know, we’re going to have to find time for this more often.”

You close the distance enough to ghost your lips over his. “We have time now.”

He hesitates, so tempted with the offer, but exhales instead. “You’re hurt and bleeding all over the place, I need to get you some medical help. Plus, Hadrian needs her damn samples.”

“Pshh. I’ve got plenty of blood left—and she can be patient.”

He starts walking again, bringing you with him, and pressing the gentlest kiss you’ve ever felt against the corner of your mouth. “Just wait until you’re healed. You won’t be able to keep me away.”

#Sam Coe x Reader #Sam Coe #starfield #gn reader

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yanderes-galore · 2 months

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I have brainrot and must get out another HOTD fic. NOT PROOFREAD, I WAS COOKING WITH THIS. THIS IS AN ADULT AEGON II FIC, WHICH MEANS IT MENTIONS PLOT POINTS FROM THE BOOKS.

Spoilers For HOTD and Fire & Blood

A short story based on this idea I had.

Baptism By Fire

Yandere! Aegon II Targaryen Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Mentions of intimacy, General Mature Content Warning (This is HOTD/F&B so-) Obsession, Murder, Violence, Possessive behavior, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Adultery, Consensual turned Forced relationship.

Aegon never liked his older half-sister. In his eyes Rhaenyra was a usurper to the throne. In his younger years he never liked the thought of being king... but now, as an older man, he has grown into such a role.

Since he was a young boy, Aegon had always had his fill of pleasures. However, he did have one true love... which was surprisingly not his wife, Helaena. A maid that served his elder half-sister, you....

You were Rhaenyra's personal handmaid. You were around his age, a maid who came from a family of servants. Originally you were just another target of his unusually insatiable libido.

However, Aegon felt he could cast aside his responsibilities with you. In you he found companionship he wasn't expecting. It wasn't just when he had you in his chambers... it was whenever you were around.

Your "relationship" was kept secret from both his mother and elder-sister. He had a feeling they'd both hate him if he admitted to growing fond of you. As a result of your nights together Aegon always had Moon Tea prepared to hide the "evidence".

Aegon always felt you reciprocated his advances. Up until he was married he saw you as at least a friend, if not lover. However, all good things must come to an end.

Reluctantly he was forced onto the throne as the event known as the Dance of The Dragons began to culminate. Ever loyal to Rhaenyra, you stayed her handmaid. An action Aegon found resentment towards....

Aegon had Helaena to give him heirs, but he didn't particularly enjoy it. Aegon always found himself lusting over other women instead. Oddly his choices often resembled you.

As king during the Targaryen Civil War, it was expected he'd go through many hardships. Even with his golden mount, Sunfyre, by his side... The Blacks still proved to be formidable opponents. He still hated the idea of you being loyal to them... even after everything you shared together.

Aegon's thoughts about you never left his mind. Helaena was not blind to the infatuation in Aegon's eyes. The king, even as a fully fledged adult now, still thought of you. Fate had been cruel... and kept getting crueler.

Aegon wondered if he'd even see you again. Throughout his time as king he had witnessed, assassinations, and the death of his children. He suffers all while you tend to Rhaenyra and Daemon.

He finds himself yearning for you.

His hate for The Blacks grows when he fights Rhaenys. Upon dragon back he was struck down, Sunfyre unable to win against Rhaenys' mount, Meleys. As a result he was left burned and twisted.

By the time the king reunites with you, his face and body are marred. He feels mixed feelings when he sees you stand beside Rhaenyra during the attack on Dragonstone. Even more so when he sees you with Rhaenyra's son behind you.

Aegon feels no remorse when he orders guards to pull you and Rhaenyra's son away. He doesn't give a damn when he orders Sunfyre to sear and consume the false queen. That woman has taken enough from him.

Her death brings a grin to his face.

You're all his.

While many suggested he kill Aegon The Younger, the king turns down such suggestions. The boy, and you, already seemed traumatized enough. Instead he takes the boy prisoner.

Which makes you his new handmaid.

You didn't dare look at him after that. You looked so broken after seeing the death of Rhaenyra, your queen. The Dance of Dragons was not quite done, as resistance still brewed within Black supporters.

However, Aegon could care less currently.

He spared the boy partially for you. He may look different now... but his infatuation for you never left. You stare at his burned and scarred face in fear.

Despite such fear he finds himself embracing you. He struggled to walk and is nowhere close to how he was when he was younger. Even just in his 20's he looks like he's seen hell.

You don't move in his grip. He merely holds you tighter against him. He has waited a long time to have you again.

You still look just as beautiful as the last time he's seen you, a young woman in your 20's who hasn't been through war.

He still wishes to kiss you and share that much affection and intimacy with you. Yet, he settles with easing you into it with a kiss on your forehead. He even tries to cultivate the old feelings you had with advances... even allowing you to visit Aegon the Younger.

Your relationship may not be like it was before... it may never be...

But Aegon is determined.

He has you all to himself now... in his eyes he's won....

The war isn't over, many still support the prince he keeps prisoner. But for now he'd like to ignore all the warfare. He's tired of the fighting...

All he needs is you now...

With you in his arms... he'll take on whatever they throw at him.

He doesn't care if he dies now... as long as he has you by his side during it.

#yandere house of the dragon #yandere a song of ice and fire #yandere fire and blood #yandere westeros #yandere aegon II targaryen #yandere aegon targaryen

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docholligay · 2 months

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I love this as a baptism of sorts for Mizu. She comes up, and she is a completely different person. A child went into the water, wide eyed, trying to be something, trying to be hard, and that is what came out of the water. A hard, determined thing, a perfect weapon, she has taken herself through the fire and come out pure steel. But what has she left behind, and what can she be used for when revenge is no longer there to give her nourishment?

Before you comment: Spoiler policy and basic assumptions!

#Doc watches Blue Eye Samurai #Blue Eye Samurai Episode 2

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miqo-tales · 7 months

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You got FFIV in my FFXIV

So for anyone that has never played FFIV, I wanna touch on some of the more interesting references to that game in FFXIV 6.1-6.5.

This won't be everything. Just some things that go beyond names.

And tossing it under a cut since there will be some 6.5 spoilers.

Durante

There isn't a character named this in FFIV. Apparently this is the baptismal name of Dante, the author of the Divine Comedy, where the names of the Archfiends (and some other stuff) comes from.

All that said, I'm surprised this character is not called Cecil, after Cecil Harvey, the main protagonist of FFIV. But Durante being a Dark Knight is probably a nod to Cecil, who starts FFIV as one.

Troia

The Fell Court of Troia is named after Troia Kingdom from FFIV, and the music here is an arrangement of Troian Beauty from the FFIV OST.

In Troia, women were the leaders of the government and the soldiers of the army. This is probably why they had Beatrice be the ruler of it in FFXIV, and it's referenced in Beatrice's triple triad card.

And also, in FFIV, Troia kept the Crystal of Earth. And in FFXIV, there you fight Scarmiglione, the Archfiend of Earth.

Hiss Hiss

Speaking of Scarmiglione, after you defeat him the first time and the group is exploring Troia Castle, there's a hissing sound that Varsahn mistakes for someone speaking. That's a reference to Mt Ordeals in FFIV, where occasionally there would be a hissing sound, and Porom would blame her twin brother Palom for it. Turns out it's actually Scarmiglione, who's been following the party up the mountain.

Red Moon

In FFIV, there were two moons. In Troia, you can find an astronomer who mentions that one of the moons is turning red.

The moon of the Thirteenth being red is probably a reference to this.

Lunar Subterrane

Few things here:

Lunar Subterrane is an area in FFIV. But the early part of this dungeon feels more like the Lunar Core area instead.

The music that plays here is not the theme for either the Lunar Subterrane or the Core. Instead, it's Kingdom of Baron from FFIV. Since most of the dungeon takes place in a memory of going through Baron, it does fit.

Lastly, from the name of the second boss, it seems that in the memory, Baron is being attacked by Damcyan. If so, this is the reverse of FFIV, where Baron bombed Damcyan and stole its Crystal of Fire.

Archfiends Reborn

In FFXIV, Golbez summons shades of the defeated Archfiends to stall you. In FFIV, the Archfiends are fully revived by Zemus, and you have to fight all four at once (sort of).

Kain, Jump!

Estinien fighting Barbariccia's shade may be a nod to a mechanic from her FFIV battle. During that fight she'll shift to a different form where she's spinning, and she cannot be hit and will counter any attacks. The only way to stop this is for Kain, the Dragoon, to use his Jump attack on her.

Zero

Zero accepting the Light and becoming a Paladin near the end is a pretty direct reference to Cecil. But there's a bit more to it.

When Zero sees her reflection in the Flood on the First, I think that's a reference to the chamber at the top of Mt Ordeals in FFIV. In there is a room with a mirrored wall. It's also where Cecil becomes a Paladin, and so Zero trying to draw Light into herself may also be a reference to that.

Additionally, Zero winning over Golbez without fighting him feels like a small reference to the battle in that same chamber. After Cecil becomes a Paladin, he's attacked by his reflection, which is still a Dark Knight and represents his darkness. You defeat it by not attacking it.

Zeromus

Most of Zeromus' attacks are named for attacks it had in FFIV (even using the FF2US name of Bio instead of Virus). Most are different, but there is one similarity. Big Bang does big damage to all and gives you a few effects that go off later, and in FFIV, it did big damage to all and gave all characters a HP Drain. Visually similar as well, with lightning bolts striking in multiple spots.

I think at 20% Zeromus shifts to its final phase (maybe 25?). The music changes from The Final Battle to The Red Wings. Not sure why the music change, but Zeromus does turn red, so... maybe?

Additionally, in FFIV, Zeromus also changed to its final phase when under 20% HP. In this phase, it only casts Meteo.

#ffxiv #ffiv

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hanzajesthanza · 2 years

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announcing a witcher books-centric discord server

This is a server created for the discussion of the Witcher (Wiedźmin) books series written by Andrzej Sapkowski (Original Polish 1993 - 1999, English trans. 2007 - 2017). This discussion involves talking about favorite characters, passages, or scenes, analyzing the themes and messages, or theorizing about the politics and lore of the series.

This server was also created for the purpose to create community amongst the Witcher book fans, spurred by a lack of book-centric online spaces in the Witcher fandom within the past few years.

All are welcome to this server, including if they have not read the books, read the books recently, or finished reading the books - but know that this server is not spoiler-free for the Witcher books.

(Note that this server takes a negative perspective on the Netflix “Witcher” series created by Lauren Hissrich in 2019 and invites criticism of it into discussion. Positive discussion of the Netflix series should not be an expected encounter in this server.)

This is a public server, so anyone may join! Please take a minute to read the rules, send an introduction, and select roles.

https://discord.gg/tWBAsEG8Ea

Feel free to reblog this post to share. If you'd rather use Twitter, there is a tweet version of this post to retweet.

(image descriptions for accessibility under cut.)

All graphic images used are from the Polish 1st edition, 3rd version covers illustrated by Tomasz Piorunowski and published by SuperNOWA. The covers of Miecz przeznaczenia and Chrzest ognia have been edited from their original depictions of the characters.

[Graphic 1.

Image: A green background. The cover of Miecz przeznaczenia (EN: Sword of Destiny). An 8 year-old Ciri, a girl with green eyes and messy, leaf-strewn, ashen-grey hair, stares uneasily at the viewer. Geralt, a man with long white hair and a black leather jacket, stands in the background. He rests his sword on his shoulder.

Text: Witcher Books Discord Server. Join today! https://discord.gg/tWBAsEG8Ea

]

[Graphic 2.

Image: An orange background. The cover of Krew elfów (EN: Blood of Elves). An anonymous young man rears up on his black armored stallion. He wears a cloak, black Nilfgaardian armor, and a helmet deocrated with the wings of a bird of prey. He holds a sword in his right hand. Fire artistically engulfs the rear hooves of the horse.

Text:

Book-canon centric

Not spoiler-friendly

Must be 18 or over

]

[Graphic 3.

Image: A cool grey background. The cover of Chrzest ognia (EN: Baptism of Fire). The archer Milva dynamically takes aim at an unseen target. She has tawny brown hair and wears a leather cuirass and dark green shorts. She is standing amidst overgrown forest greenery.

Text:

Discussing characters

Analyzing passages and scenes

Looking at themes and messages

Chatting about headcanons

Sharing art, writing, and OCs

Watch parties (if there is interest!)

]

[Graphic 4.

Image: A cool off-white background. The cover of Czas pogardy (EN: Time of Contempt). The young unicorn foal Ihurraquax stands over a 14 year-old Ciri collapsed in the heat of the desert. Ciri wears a yellowish-green jerkin and leather riding boots.

Text: Dedicated channels for:

fancontent:

general shipping

geralt x yennefer

geralt X dandelion

geralt X regis

char dynamics:

geralt, yen, & ciri

the hansa

wolf witchers

calanthe & court

meve & court

lodge of sorceresses

aen seidhe

aen elle

vampires

shipping:

art

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music

and more...

]

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limerental · 6 months

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ficletvember 2023 - day 5

After accept the witcher's company into her ranks, Meve has no idea what to make of them. But she does find cause to relate to bed-bound Milva.

contains spoilers for the end of Baptism of Fire, referenced miscarriage, stillbirth, and focus on child loss. also, implied past marital rape and a moment of explicit sex.

Meve could not make head nor tail of the freshly-recruited witcher's company.

Sir Geralt was stronger and faster and cleverer than any ordinary fighter among them. Even Reynard, who was unfailingly critical of every new recruit, had nothing but praise for his discipline and skill. But the witcher seemed distracted by his own private business, asking often during military briefings how directly that road or another led to the druid camp he sought.

The soldier who'd arrived in Nilfgaardian armour claimed to have pillaged it from a corpse, but nevertheless, he spoke with a far southern accent.

The poet had so far spent each night drinking to excess with the Mahakam detachment and had submitted an official request to the quartermaster for an alarming amount of parchment, claiming he had designs to write a detailed account of the Lyrian army's valiant fight against its oppressors.

And the fourth man in their company had been the source of strange unease. Gascon himself had expressed his distrust of the man, claiming the rangy mutt ever at his heels had not once been wrong about someone's nature. And the dog's hackles stood on end, a low growl rumbling in its throat, any time the seemingly pleasant barber-surgeon was nearby.

She had far too many other things occupying her to spend much time puzzling them out.

Only the girl's plight seemed simple to her.

As the dust had settled after the battle, her men had dithered around an explanation for the bed-ridden girl's difficulty, but Isbel had said it simply, uninterested in dithering.

"A lost babe, Your Grace," Isbel explained outside the haphazard row of infirmary tents. "Not far along. Some risk of infection but the main ailment now may be of the mind."

"I know," said Meve, and the old sorceress lay a hand on her arm.

Only her late husband and the court physician knew that Villem had not been her firstborn. There had been three others, two lost early and one born still. Her firstborn babe had had a crown of hair soft and pale as cornsilk, still flushed pink when the body was pressed into the cusp of her arms, fading grey and cold as the silent moments passed. A girl.

Meve had not named her. The girl would be notated in no family lineage. History would remember only her sons, though how charitably was yet to be seen.

She understood. What such a thing cost.

Though her mountain of responsibilities should not have allowed it, each night Meve visited Maria Barring in the infirmary. If asked, she aimed to give the excuse of her own healing injuries for her presence there, but none ever asked.

Given there were few of her sex among the partisans (barring the dwarves who were apparently equally divided despite the seeming lack of notable differences), the girl had been given a tent all to herself.

Maria strongly disliked being addressed as such, insisting on Milva. Her accent was hard to place. She cursed in mumbles of Elder Speech and seemed to hold no knowledge of courtly decorum, addressing Meve so informally that the queen could only laugh with no attempt made to correct her.

If Milva were an ordinary citizen, she may have wondered why the queen herself deigned to visit her sickbed, but she seemed to think nothing of it. She greeted her each night with an informal handshake and clasp of her shoulder.

"Have my lads embarrassed themselves yet?" she asked, grinning.

"That poet of yours had to be asked to stop sarcastically heralding the witcher's every move," said Meve. Notably, a tipsy Dandelion had announced a lilting declaration that the most honourable Sir Geralt of Rivia was off to take a knightly dump.

Milva cackled. "I reckon he's mopin' over the lack of soarin' praise for his role in that battle."

"He claims sole responsibility for your company's morale and vigour."

"I'll show him some vigour. Once that old bat lets me out of this bed."

Meve did not bother to remind Milva that she should have her lashed for such disrespect toward the sorceress. She knew that Milva's insults arose from frustration rather than maliciousness.

And perhaps sorrow. Though the girl had yet to speak of what had happened to her.

On the fifth night, Meve finally endeavoured to address it.

"Isbel said your body is healing well," she said, voice low.

Dark had fallen only a short while ago, curfew not yet called, and the sounds of the army carried from around dozen of campfires beyond the thin canvas of the infirmary tent. Moths fluttered against the magical lantern that hovered near the ceiling.

"Your mug's not lookin' so bad yourself," said Milva, smiling almost flirtatiously. "Still a beauty."

Meve's stomach warmed. It no longer pained her to speak, and she had adjusted to the stiff twist of her mouth. Without Isbel's involvement, she may have still been laid up in bed, head swaddled in bandages.

"How are you faring otherwise?" she asked. "Some may claim there's no cause to mourn such a small thing, but I don't agree."

Reginald had said so. His advisors had declared that it would not do to announce a time of royal bereavement. Not so close to the harvest. Meve had agreed, seeing the logic in it, and may have agreed the same even if she were sole ruler.

There was no sense in such an interruption for a child who had never drawn breath. Her daughter had been quietly laid to rest in the royal plot, her stone bearing no inscription.

"You?" asked Milva, her face changing only a little.

"Yes. Many years ago now," said Meve. "I must confess that I haven't spoken of it since. But sometimes, I've found myself wondering if she–"

She would have just aged seventeen years. A nightmarish age for a young girl. Precocious and opinionated. Flaxen-haired. Beautiful.

"They'd have had to leave me somewhere if things had–" Milva took a steadying breath. "If things had continued. I'd have been left behind by the company. It's better that–"

"It's not better or worse," Meve said as she lay a hand on Milva's trembling arm. "It's alright to grieve."

Quietly, Milva told the story then, though Meve had the sense that many details of the conception had been carefully left out.

"Part-elf," Milva admitted with unusual bashfulness. "A bastard. Elven father likely long dead to boot. Even if I hadn't– Life would have been cruel to a child like that."

"Imagine a kinder world then," said Meve.

"I didn't want it," Milva whispered. "Do you think that might've caused–"

"No," said Meve, thinking of her cold marriage bed. Her sworn duty. Her fear as her body changed. Her grown sons, all but strangers.

Would history claim that her failure as a mother had doomed her kingdom? Perhaps if she had wanted it more, had more innate maternal softness, then–

"You've done nothing wrong," Meve said, and that was at last what inspired the hitch of the girl's breath as she gave to sobs. Though it was improper, the queen leaned close to hold her close through her fit of tears. Damn any potential intruders who questioned her.

Seventeen years past, she had been alone with the grief in the dark of her chambers. It had been only a fortnight before Reginald came to her. The pain and grief then had fought to eclipse one another.

Meve took far greater care with Milva.

Hushed and gentle, they embraced in the dark. Their slow kissing was cautious of Meve's fresh scar, and she caressed Milva's body with a tenderness she had no longer thought herself capable. The girl's hardened body had not had a chance to soften at the middle, but her breasts were achingly tender, forced to clutch a hand against her mouth as Meve's tongue worried a nipple.

She had learned how to pleasure a woman, had learned that a woman could feel such pleasures at all, in a Cintran bedchamber tucked close to Calanthe, to her Cali. That memory carried its own sort of grief. To think that both she and her dearest friend should lose their kingdoms and their children to the same cruel power.

It was said that young Cirilla had been betrothed to the Emporer.

As surely as her Villem was.

It was a cruelty.

That for all their efforts to distinguish themselves as capable, independent rulers, both she and Calanthe may be remembered not for their own achievements but for the products of their wombs.

The next night, Meve had been busy debating whether or not to return once more to the infirmary, what excuses could be made for her momentary lapse in judgement that did not diminiah its weight, when she received a report from the flustered quartermaster that his stores had been raided by the deserting witcher's company.

"Shall we pursue them, Your Grace?" Reynard asked, hand on his sword. "I'll go after th' bastards myself."

"No need," Meve demanded. "We have greater worries than the loss of a few soldiers and a mule."

"Very well, Your Grace." Her general was clearly displeased, having had hopes of utilizing the witcher strategically. And perhaps being a touch enamoured with him as well.

She waved a hand in dismissal.

Meve had had her own hopes of the chance to fight at Milva's side. Her ferocity and skill would have proved useful in battle, her lack of decorum would have scandalized Reynard in amusing ways, and her nightly companionship would be sorely missed.

To a kinder world, she thought, raising a quiet toast to that dream.

May you find that world in this life, Milva Barring, Meve thought, knowing how unlikely such a thing truly was.

#my fic #ficletvember #meve x milva #thronebreaker #the witcher books

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fangirleaconmigo · 1 year

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maybe weird and mybe vague, but if you ever have the time and inclination, would you talk bout your opinion on Geralt and *religion*? I haven't read the books in a very long time, and i only am halfway though the series, but sometimes geralt says something (' for it is the **holy** and irrefutable right of every woman.') and i'm left thinking, because he doesn't seem to believe in much but at the same time he does?

Religion and Spirituality in The Witcher Books: What DOES Geralt of Rivia Believe In?

Hello my dear! Sometime you guys will send me an ask that just makes me go...HOW DID YOU KNOW I LOVE THINKING ABOUT THIS AND WOULD BE DELIGHTED TO RAMBLE ON ABOUT IT.

VERY MILD BOOK SPOILERS AHEAD

VERY LONG, EXTRA, GEEKY POST AHEAD

So. For those who missed it, this is in reference to my "abortion in the witcher books" post, where Geralt calls abortion a "holy and irrefutable" right, both words that imply either spirituality or at least moral beliefs that surpass reasoning and rationality.

Yet, we know that Geralt does not believe in the existence of 'the gods', (I'll pull the quotes for that and show evidence as we go) so why would he use such language? What DOES he believe in? Does he have a guiding spiritual system of beliefs?

A lot of people interpret Geralt's attempts at political neutrality as wishy washy or cynical or apathetic, and believe, as a result, that he does not have a particular driving moral system of beliefs. In fact!! On my abortion post there was a guy on twitter actually trying to fight with me, saying that it doesn't matter what Geralt thinks about abortion, because Geralt doesn't value human life. (lmaoooooooooooooooo)

I am here to say that this is incorrect all around. (to the conservative dudebro I told him that he was conflating 'has killed' with 'does not value life', two very different things.) Anywho. Geralt actually has an incredibly strong system of morals and ethics that are VERY clearly laid out in the books. We can even name that system of beliefs. It just gets complicated!

So, let's talk about that. First, let's lay out his beliefs.

Disclaimer: I'm working with English translations of the books, and as I get very precise about words, just please be aware of that limitation. Many times I wish I had a Polish friend who had copies of the book and wouldn't mind me (the dreaded Geraskier shipper and twn fan) pestering them every time I had a question about wording. If anyone doesn't mind being that friend for me, please let me know.

Now. Onward.

For those who did not read my abortion post, Panur is referring to the fact that In Sword of Destiny (p 345), when Geralt is discussing his mother with Calanthe, this is what he calls abortion:

“A choice. A choice which should be respected, for it is the holy and irrefutable right of every woman.”

There are two words that Geralt uses here, "holy" and 'irrefutable" and both imply something 'higher' than reason. Holy is religious in nature, while irrefutable is along the lines of "inalienable" which is the word Dandelion uses, when speaking about the right to abortion. In Baptism of Fire (p317), Dandelion refers to abortion like this:

It’s obvious that only the woman can make a decision like that. It’s her inalienable right.

Inalienable and irrefutable are words that describe inherent rights, which are not subject to rational debate.

Many would describe that as sacred or untouchable. So even though it is not as directly religious as the word 'holy', it implies a value that is higher than logic or rationality.

AND YET, we do know that Geralt does not believe in the gods. It is a point of discussion between him and Nenneke on multiple occasions. In The Last Wish (p37) Nenneke is worried about Geralt and is trying to convince him to let Iola, one of her priestesses, put him in a trance. He resists her idea. Here is what Nenneke says.

"Iola isn't a medium or a mentally ill soothsayer. That child enjoys the goddess's favor."

Geralt's face does something in reaction to this that indicates his disbelief, and Nenneke responds.

"Don't pull silly faces, if you please."

So whatever his face did, it wasn't good. She continues.

"As I said, your view on religion is known to me, it's never particularly bothered me, and no doubt, it won't bother me in the future. I'm not a fanatic. You've a right to believe that we're governed by Nature and the Force hidden within her. You can think that the gods, including my Melitele, are merely a personification of this power invented for simpletons so they understand it better, accept its existence. According to you, that power is blind."

So, Nenneke describes his belief system in regard to the gods as...they don't exist, at least not in the way people view them. There is magic and chaos and monstrous beings, sure. But there are no 'all powerful' gods enacting their will on the world, there is nothing so predictable or organized.

Those beliefs are repeated elsewhere in the books, but I won't pull every single quote. This one does the trick. Geralt believes that people invented the gods to explain the world around them.

We also know that he believes humans invent monsters in order to seem less monstrous themselves. He says this to Dandelion in The Last Wish (p167).

"People," Geralt turned his head, "like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, staar an old woman, when they kill a trapped fox with an axe or riddle the last existing unicorn with arrows, they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is more monstrous than they are. They feel better then. They find it easier to live.

So. In Geralt's world view, human beings are the creators. They create gods. They create monsters. And when they blame the gods or monsters, it is a false powerlessness engineered to escape accountability. But Geralt holds people accountable anyway.

So, if Geralt does not believe in the gods, does that mean he believes in nothing? Does that mean he does not have a moral code?

Actually, it is the opposite.

If people are held accountable for their actions, when they have no gods or demons or monsters to blame, the standard for morality is much higher.

Geralt if often called self righteous for this stance. In The Last Wish, (p160) when Geralt is complaining about how hard it is to make a living as a witcher, Dandelion even tells him he should be a priest, saying the fact that he doesn't believe in gods shouldn't be any barrier.

"Whatever. Become a priest. You wouldn't be bad at it with all your scruples, your morality, your knowledge of people and everything. The fact that you don't believe in any gods shouldn't be a problem. I don't know many priests who do. Becomes a priest and stop feeling sorry for yourself."

But without spirituality, where does Geralt get his system of morals? How does Geralt decide what is right and what is wrong?

Well, once again, Geralt puts human beings (instead of gods) at the center, in the position of power and importance.

Let's start with the moral quandary Geralt faces most often. Which monsters are ethical to kill, and which are not ethical to kill?

Geralt has arguments many times throughout the books with people who want him to kill a monster that he does not want to kill,

AND conversely

he has arguments with people who judge him for killing monsters that they believe should be protected.

Those people are on the extremes. Some people see all monsters as inherently without worth. At best, they think they are subhuman and can be murdered for money making schemes or potions, or at worst, they think they should all be exterminated.

The other kind of person (mostly druids and academics) see them as part of mother nature, sacrosanct and untouchable, and accuse Geralt of being immoral for killing even one.

But for Geralt? It isn't so simple. There is no 'one size fits all'. He doesn't 'other' monsters like that. So he has to decided each and every time. And as a nonbeliever, Geralt does not have a holy book or god to consult with to tell him what is right. And yet? He always has an answer.

In reference to the monsters he does not want to kill, here are a few passages of Geralt explaining his reasoning. In The Last Wish, he tells Dandelion he won't kill mecopterans because:

I'm not going to kill mecopterans. Nor any other harmless creatures."

Then, in Sword of Destiny (p42) when when Yennefer and Dorregaray are arguing about dragons, Geralt speaks up. What he says explains why he doesn't kill them:

"Dragons aren't man's enemies," Geralt broke in.

Then later, Yennefer challenges him.

"...And what do you know, witcher?"

“Only," Geralt said, ignoring the sudden warning vibration of the medallion around his neck, "that if dragons didn’t have treasure hoards, not a soul would be interested in them; and certainly not sorcerers...

Later on in the book, Dandelion says that Geralt doesn't kill night spirits because they are "sweet". There are a lot of other examples, but basically, that is always the test. Did the monster harm a human?

Now, on the other extreme, there are people who think Geralt shouldn't harm any monsters. These are people who are big on theory and environmentalism, druids and academics. Here are two examples.

First, we have Dorregaray in Sword of Destiny (p40) he says that Witchers calling killing a vocation is "loathsome, low, and nonsensical". He says:

"The world...is in equilibrium. Natural equilibrium....The extermination of the natural enemies of humans, which you dedicate yourself to...threatens the degeneration of the race."

Geralt responds with his reasoning.

"Do you know what, sorcerer?" Geralt said, annoyed. "one day, take yourself to a mother whose child has been devoured by a basilisk, and tell her she ought to be glad, because thanks to that the human race has escaped degeneration. See what she says to you."

Basically, he's like...tell that to the people who are killed.

Then, in Blood of Elves, Geralt is talking to an academic called Linus Pitt. (it's actually a really funny story, I summarized it here) Geralt has been hired to defend the boat from a monster, and this academic has struck up a conversation with him. They are discussing sea creatures (aeschna) who have been pulling people from decks and eating them. This man offers a similar argument to Dorregaray.

"...It was wiped out a good half-century ago, due -- incidentally --to the activity of individuals such as yourself who are prepared to kill anything that does not instantly look right, without forethought, tests, observations or considering its ecological niche..."

Now, we as the reader know, witchers do consider ecological niches, because Vesemir teaches Ciri about them in the previous chapters in this same book. But for witchers, ecological niches ultimately do not outweigh human life. So after briefly considering just telling the man "where he could put the aeschna and its niche," Geralt responds, trying to appeal to the man's love of theory and scholarship and his college (Oxenfurt, natch)...

"Master Tutor," he said calmly, "one of those pulled form the deck was a young pregnant girl...Theoretically, her child could, one day, have become chancellor of your college. What do you have to say to such an approach to ecology?"

That doesn't work. Master Tutor Pitt is still snooty.

"Nature is governed by its own rules and although those rules are cruel and ruthless, they should not be amended...And nothing can justify the extermination of a species, even a predatory one. What do you say to that?"

So, Geralt reverts to his truth.

"I'd say it's dangerous to lean out like that. There might be an aeschna in the vicinity. Do you want to try out the aeschna's struggle for survival on your own skin?"

Linus Pitt let go of the railing and abruptly jumped away.

The point is always always always...idk man do you want to die? Do you want your family to die?

The test is always:

Harm to humans, vs no harm to humans.

At this point, we can comfortably say that Geralt's system of beliefs has a name.

Geralt does not exist, he is a literary device. But in as far as we can gather evidence and apply it to canon, his state beliefs fit the definition.

A system of belief that attributes the good and evil in the world to choices of humans, rather than gods, and that assesses good and bad based primarily on whether they harm or help humans, has a name.

Geralt is a humanist.

Here is the definition for humanism from Oxford dictionary:

an outlook or system of thought attaching prime importance to human rather than divine or supernatural matters. Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings, emphasize common human needs, and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems.

There are, of course, many ways to define any philosophy you could possibly discuss, but at it's most basic, humanism does not source morality from a holy book or a god. There is no higher power or authority.

It asks one simple question:

Does this do harm to humans, or does it help humans?

That may seem obvious, but a whole lot of morality based on religion falls away when you use this. Premarital sex? Is it bad? Welp? Are you harming the person you're having sex with? No? Ok, you're good! Homosexuality? Again, are you harming the person you're dating? No? Then you're good! Most sex based ideas about immorality just sort of goes away.

So is this just a decision making tool though? Or a system of morality? A way of life?

Well, for Geralt it is a way of life. This man is extra as fuck about his code of ethics.

I mean, there is no witcher code of ethics. But you'd better believe his extra ass made one, for himself! He calls it the witchers code, instead of Geralt's code, because that sounds fancier, and people respect it that way. If he just said, "I don't want to do it," no one would listen to him.

I did a post on his code.

So this guy is so in love with ethics that when no one gave him a code, he WROTE HIS OWN, and THEN! THEN he went out on the path as a young witcher, hoping to rescue innocents. He came out of the gate being driven by the value of human life.

When he is in the temple, talking to Iola, the priestess, (p115)about himself as a young witcher and what motivated him out on the path, he says this:

"...when I left Kaer Morhen and took to the road. I'd earned my medallion, the Sign of the Wolf's School. I had two swords: silver and iron, and my conviction, enthusiasm, incentive, and....faith. Faith that I was needed in a world full of monsters and beasts, to protect the innocent."

Geralt's entire personality is based on his initial desire to just...help people. Do good. It has nothing to do with gods. It has everything to do with the way he values human life.

Does this take a massive beating every day he wakes up? yes. Does he always live up to it? No. But it doesn't change the fact that it's there, that it is the underpinning of his character.

Also, I have to add, it informs his entire approach of political neutrality.

Geralt gets a bad rap for his ideas about neutrality. I'm not saying his idea about neutrality is the ideal or always correct. But people tend to see it as based in apathy or self interest and it very much is not.

He explains it to Ciri in Blood of Elves.

Geralt, Triss, and Ciri are traveling with Yarpen Zigrin and his men in Blood of Elves (p122) . Yarpen is transporting (smuggling) something crucial for the war effort on behalf of King Henselt of Kaedwen.

Triss is ill, so Geralt has begged Yarpen to allow them to join the caravan. Geralt says he will help out to pay them back for their kindness, only, Geralt has one thing he will not do. Since they are an official caravan, fighting would essentially make him an official soldier. So, if they are attacked by Scoia'tael, he will not fight. He says:

"Please don't count on my sword. I have no intention of killing those, as you call them, evil creatures, on the order of other creatures whom I do not consider to be any better."

Later, Ciri rides ahead and comes across some elven ruins. Geralt catches up to her and tells her what happened there. They are the ruins of an elven castle called Shaerrawedd, where humans mercilessly massacred a huge number of elven youth.

Geralt says that he has seen some elves about, but he isn't going to warn the caravan because he knows the elves are only there to visit their sacred place. He explains his neutrality to Ciri further.

"Do you know now why the Scoia'tael were here, do you see what they wanted to look at? And do you understand why the elven and dwarven young must never be allowed to be massacred once again? Do you understand why neither you nor I are permitted to have a hand in this massacre?....Do you understand?

She nodded.

"Do you understand what this neutrality is, which stirs you so? To be neutral does not mean to be indifferent or insensitive. You dont' have to kill your feelings. It is enough to kill the hatred within yourself. Do you understand?"

It isn't that Geralt doesn't care.

Geralt cares so so very much, and is so distrustful of power and political and religious institutions that he believes getting involved with them will end in him being used as a tool to do something to harm others.

Geralt does not want to be used as a tool to kill someone else. He has a lot of experience with that. He believes that the only response to a rigged game is to not play it.

Of course it is so much more complicated than that. Geralt has a lot to learn over the course of the series and he is tested sorely, and brutally. He is challenged over and over again. Is it even possible not to play? Are you playing by not playing?

But this post isn't about the relative ethics of political neutrality. It's about Geralt's spiritual and/ or moral beliefs.

The point of this post is, that Geralt is very passionately driven by his well defined system of beliefs, and that belief system is humanism.

Ok, let's go back to the words holy and irrefutable. Even though Geralt does not believe in the gods, he sometimes uses words that sound religious to describe his beliefs. Let's also go back to the word Faith. He uses it twice with Iola to describe his belief that he can help the innocent and do good in the world.

That is because, you don't need anything supernatural to value human life, AND YET sometimes that act of valuing human life feels sacred.

It is not logic. It is not reason. It is love.

I'm editorializing here. This is just me talking, my opinion. Humanism involves believing in the worth of human beings, and that requires a massive amount of faith, especially when people are out there doing evil to each other every day. Some days, love feels like a miracle.

Sure, you CAN make 'rational' arguments about why being kind to one another or valuing one another is the best way to live. It results in a high quality of life, it builds a healthier, more peaceful, world. It's all true.

But ultimately, most humanists are probably not humanists because of rationality. They value human life because they value it intrinsically. They believe that it matters, against all fucking odds. They just love for love's sake.

A know I do!

And having a protagonist like Geralt, who, no matter what horrors and evils he sees, not matter what abuse and trauma he endures, who never ever stops just fucking HELPING, who never stops CARING never stops TRYING, who exemplifies everything to love and cherish about the human spirit, just because he thinks HUMAN BEINGS are worth defending, it is so important to have, and for me, so fulfilling to read.

So, call him a humanist, don't call him a humanist, it doesn't matter. But watching him him go through hell, yet refuse to stop trying to help other people, it makes me feel better about being a human.

#the witcher #asks #geralt of rivia #the witcher books #thinking about geralt of rivia yet again #thinking about the witcher books yet again

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