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boxofbonesfic · 1 year

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Title: Tonality [2]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

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Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: oop, another addition to the story. i hope it both answers some questions and then raises more, lol. as always, mind the warnings, and please enjoy! 😊🥰

By the time someone comes to fetch you to break fast, you are already awake. Helped into your cumbersome new gown by your lady’s maids, you pace in front of the cold fireplace. You pray the prince avoids the meal entirely, you’ve no wish to face him after—

Your face heats, and you press your hands to your warm cheeks. You don’t want to think of it, but you can’t help it, your mind conjuring images of the prince staring at you with flushed cheeks and dark eyes, his lips curved in that cruel smile—

Better to avoid him altogether.

A soft, almost nervous knock comes upon the door of your chambers, and upon opening it, you discover Kassandra on the other side. She sinks into a deep curtsy, bowing her head.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Awkwardly, you incline your head in return. “Her Majesty requested I fetch you to break the fast.” She chips happily at you, and you wonder if her good mood is true, or if she has created it for your benefit.

“Lady Kassandra,” you say, edging out of your room and closing the door behind you. “I trust you are well this morning.”

“Oh yes, Your Grace.” She threads her fingers together as a blush reddens her pale cheeks. “I did dance quite late into the evening.”

“I’ve no doubt you must have secured many a betrothal,” you say, and she giggles, covering her smile with the palm of her hand. “You did look quite lovely.” For a moment, you are not princess and lady in waiting—it is almost as though you are friends. Friends. Here in Rivia, you are surrounded by more people than ever before, and yet you find yourself lonelier than ever.

“You are too kind, my lady.” Kassandra seems to find her way easily through the castle’s labyrinthine halls, and it makes you wonder how long she has been here. “Twas you that bewitched the court—if you don’t mind my saying so, Highness.” Her words almost make you stumble, your foot catching against stone.

Your cheeks smart with heat, and your brows knit together in disbelief. “I—It was my mother who married the king.” You do not take yourself for a great beauty, not like your mother, but frustratingly, Kassandra shakes her head.

“Her Majesty was a sight to behold,” she agrees. “But I expect, had you not retired early, Your Grace might have received another offer of betrothal.” Kassandra casts a sly look in your direction. “Or two.” You look away, embarrassedly recalling Lord Olthar’s proposal, his skinny, red-faced son peeking out at you from behind his fathers robes. The thought of allowing him any closer than that turns your stomach, and you shake your head.

“One was quite enough.” You’ve no wish to be married, especially not to Lord Olthar’s spawn. “I should hope to remain in Rivia longer than a week before a match is written in stone,” you say dryly. You’re due a betrothal, that much you know—your eighteenth summer had come and gone without one, and just when your mother’s nattering had reached its peak, the fevers had come for your father. And then, a betrothal was the last thing on anyone’s minds.

”I am glad the king did not accept Lord Olthar’s proposal,” Kassandra admits with a small, secretive laugh. She leans in conspiratorially. “They say his son is rather… over fond of horses.” Her words illicit a gasp from you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth.

You laugh too. “I dare not imagine the wedding.”

“Fit for a queen.”

“The Queen of Horses, perhaps,” you retort, and the two of you dissolve into a fit of quiet giggles.

“I imagine His Majesty will have much higher standers for your betrothal, princess.” She smiles at you reassuringly. “I do not think Lord Olthar will try again.” You nod in return, grateful for her good humor.

“Hopefully I shall not have to think on mine own for quite some time.” Your thoughts are preoccupied enough these days without adding ones of a husband to the array.

“Not inspired by the ceremony?” The low, dark voice makes you turn. Lead forms hot and fast in your stomach at the sight of Prince Geralt. Even during the day, the prince strikes an intimidating figure, wide shoulders and barely tamed silver-white hair. Today, it is partially pulled back behind his ears, loose strands framing his chiseled jaw. Kassandra goes red as she curtsies, blushing deep crimson from the roots of her pale hair to the collar of her dress.

More out of habit than respect, you bend your knees as well, inclining your head. His appearance is sobering, the jovial mood instantly darkening.

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” It is all the politeness you can manage. His face looms still in your mind’s eye, his hair falling across his dark eyes as he drove into her, his hand curled in the hair at the nape of her neck—

You suppress a shiver.

“Apologies, Your Grace!” Kassandra rushes to appease him, striking a chord of frustrated irritation within you. “We simply—”

The prince waves a dismissive hand. “It is only be expected, I suppose.” He says silkily. “I know few women who do not await their wedding day with thoughts of bliss.” When his molten amber eyes rest on you, you shiver. His voice takes on an amused lilt.

“Perhaps things are different in Redania, little sister?” You do not like the way the word drips from his tongue, as if another were in its place, one you don’t know, but that makes the the flesh at the back of your neck prickle just the same. His familiarity irks you as well—Prince Geralt speaks as if he knows you, as if he has spoken more than five words to you, not counting the ones uttered while he had been… otherwise engaged.

You swallow against the tightness in your throat. “Perhaps,” you say. The words are clipped, as if you have bitten off their edges. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t help it, the barb slipping from your tongue before you can pluck it. “In Redania, one must wait until after the wedding to consummate the marriage. Does that policy hold true here as well?”

Prince Geralt does not give you the satisfaction of a reaction, his features schooled into cool impassivity.

“I believe so, princess.” There is a dry sort of amusement coloring his words, as if to tell you the blow you’d tried to inflict was meager at best. “It appears we are not so different after all.”

You grind your teeth.

The prince falls into step beside you, setting the pace. To your frustration it is a leisurely one; walking with his arms clasped behind his back as he drags the conversation out. You wonder irately if he is doing this on purpose—you had walked with Kassandra to the hall the previous morning, and it had only taken half the time, you’re sure of it.

”It was a great honor to attend such holy proceedings.” Kassandra’s voice seems to make the prince’s lip curl, and he cuts his eyes at her, sparing her only the barest of glances from the corner of his eye. You know, though, that the words are meant for you.

“Yes, truly.” The prince hums. “And how wonderful our Queen should be fortunate enough to experience them twice.”

Outrage bubbles up in your chest at the insult of his implication, and it takes all of your strength not to respond in kind. You glance at Kassandra, her passive expression evidence that the prince’s sly remark has either been absorbed without question or gone unnoticed entirely. For a moment you imagine his smile goes smug and self-satisfied as your own lips press together into a thin line. Your mind races as you try to formulate a response—this is not a game you are used to playing, one of guileful words wrapped in loose pleasantries, and you feel woefully unprepared for your part in it.

“Fortunate indeed,” you reply, forcing yourself to keep your tone light and airy. By now, the great hall is in sight, servants bustling through the busy corridor as you approach the hall. “A wisely made match, would you not agree, Majesty?” A gaggle of nobles surround the king and queen, their heads swiveling at the sound of your voice. The satisfaction you feel as Geralt’s lips curl into a scowl is a new feeling, one you are not sure you like. —he cannot continue the game, not now, not without open insult. You can tell he does not enjoy being called to heel, least of all by you.

A chorus of good morning’s and your grace’s assail you like raindrops until you are practically dripping with them. You are familiar with only a select few of the faces surrounding the king and your mother, but not many. You recognize Lord Strom, Kassandra’s father, who shares the same sallow features as his daughter. He is flanked by a woman with a pinched, irritated looking expression; you had been introduced just before the wedding ceremony had begun, but you cannot recall her name now, only her relation to the king. A great-aunt—you think.

As you enter the hall, you note that it is already clean, all evidence of last night’s festivities gone, save for your mother, standing before you. Small tables have been set out for the visiting nobility lucky enough to be granted this brief audience with the king. The large table on the dais is already heavy laden with food, servants flanking the table on either side of the king’s chair as they wait for orders. Breakfast at home had been a family affair, gathered around the table in the hall. This, like every other event you have witnessed since arriving, is public spectacle.

Your mother preens at the attention. She flits from person to person, accepting their congratulations with regal grace. Once upon a time, behind the dusty pages of books she wished you would not read, you and father had called her the Pretty Peacock, the way she bustled about the manor and clucked her orders at the matron and her staff. Here, though, it seemed less amusing, and more… purposeful.

Though your mother seems to move amongst these people with ease, you struggle to follow her example, weaving serpentine through the crowd of courtiers, which parts like butter to a hot knife in her wake. Her gown is of a similar color scheme as yours, pale yellow with silver and gold embroidery embellishing her hem and sleeves. The crown of delicate silver and black leaves rests atop her head, the black jewel at its center sparkling. She turns to you with a smile, embracing you warmly.

“Trust my daughter to appear as her name is mentioned.” Your mother’s delicate, feminine laugh makes you want to curl in on yourself as the eyes of her fawning lady’s maids fall to you. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Though you cannot see him, you can feel the prince’s eye upon you with almost physical sensation. The hair at the back of your neck pricks up.

Why does he watch me? You chance a look over your shoulder, and your back stiffens. There are people between you still, a safe barrier, but there is no mistaking it—the prince’s eyes are locked on you, and he makes no effort to hide it. You turn quickly back to your mother as he produces a slim knife from somewhere, and spears an apple from the table with it. The crunch as his teeth break the skin rings uncomfortably in your ears.

“T’was fine,” you answer her quickly, hoping your small, curt smile is enough to convince her. “I danced, some.” It is a lie, but one she either does not recognize or one she cares little about. One set of eyes is appeased, and falls from you. The others bore hot holes in the back of your dress. The king approaches, and you note the affectionate pass of his hand over your mother’s arm. You curtsy low, again, more out of instinct than conscious thought.

“Come now daughter, we are family now, are we not?” He laughs. “Rise.” His expression is warm, but you feel the word roll inside your skull like a loose marble, or a pebble in your shoe. It is unfamilitar and uncomfortable coming from his lips, but you bear it as best you can.

“Y-yes. Family.” The king walks with his hands folded behind his back, a habit you cannot help but note that he shares with his son. You have dreaded this, the game of getting to know one another over the cold corpse of the man who had raised you. It stings, as you knew it would. It feels insane to you, to behave as if all the years of your life prior to this were but a footnote, and this the true story. Perhaps it is you who are insane, the only madwoman adrift in a sea of sensibility.

“Your mother tells me you’ve a great love of books,” he continues, unaware of the rolling turmoil that rocks your stomach. He casts a long glance sideways at you and at first, you cannot tell if there is reprisal or approval in his words. Then, he offers another smile, this one warm, genuine. “I trust you’ve found the archives enjoyable.”

Your mother’s laughter cuts through the moment like a knife. “Oh, don’t encourage her, my love,” she says. “We shall surely lose her in yellow old pages.” The gallery of painted faces behind her titters with amusement, and at the same time, you feel your cheeks begin to smart. Perhaps it is the syrupy sweet my love tacked to the end of her sentence that makes your eyes burn with hot, frustrated tears, or her casual disparagement, you are torn for choice. You shake your head, forcing another smile as you blink them back. Perhaps you are simply being oversensitive, seeing what is not there.

“Thank you, Majesty.” You fold your hands together as you follow the king and queen up to the dais, and move to take your seat. “I shall have to bring Kassandra along with me. Perhaps if I am buried in parchment, she may yet dig me out again.”

You are relieved when the conversation shifts from you, allowing you to stare sullenly at the spread before you in peace. It is startlingly familiar, your mother’s need to ensure that every eye is upon her at all times, and you find that you are perhaps glad for it. It is exhausting to play at happiness and not feel it, and every second you do not have to keep up the pretense is one you are grateful for. Even if it comes at the expense of a little of your pride.

That gratefulness dissipates like smoke in the wind as Prince Geralt seats himself next to you. However intimidatingly large he had felt as you and Kassandra had made your way through the halls, he feels doubly so now. Though he has his own chair and place at the table, it feels as though it is too small to contain him, and he spills over into your seat anyway. His thigh is pressed tightly against your own through your gown, and no amount of subtle shifting on your part seems to remove him. You grimace, and the servant who is pouring water into your goblet gasps, and bows her head quickly.

“Apologies, Your Grace, I have offended you!” Her distress begins to turn heads, and you hurriedly attempt to placate her, shaking your head with a weak smile.

“No, no, it’s nothing—”

“Yes, princess,” the word drips from your stepbrother’s lips like black honey. “Whatever is the matter?”

You glare at him. He is pushing you, trying to force you into a confrontation for no reason you can discern—other than his own blasted amusement. You are tempted to give him what he wants, your own accusations waiting eagerly at the tip of your tongue. And you have your pick of poisons to dispense; his foul behavior the night before, his insult to the queen—

But as you look down the table, you see few allies. King Vesemir looks at you with an apathetic sort of curiosity. And your mother… her doll-like expression appears concerned, but you can read it for what it truly is. The way her eyes narrow, her mouth tightened just so at the corners—

She is angry.

You can hear her without her speaking, and your mind conjures her reprisal perfectly, even without her input.

You are making a scene. You know that is what she would tell you. Be silent. Be seen, not heard.

“Nothing.” You wish you could slap Prince Geralt, slap the concerned facade right off of his wretched face. “Nothing at all.”

—

The grass beneath you is brittle, and you can feel it crumbling into dusty nothing as it crunches beneath the soles of your bare feet. The low-cut hedges have grown out crooked and gnarled from neglect, their roots erupting thirstily from the baked earth to choke the narrow pathway. The garden is different now than it was when you had left, but you know it still—home. The manor looms gloomily above the garden, sticking out of the barren hillside like a jagged tooth, glaring angrily down at the cracked flowerbeds and baked earth.

Everything is dead here.

The icy wind that whips at your cotton shift, tangling it about your legs is dead, carrying with it the sound of grinding bones and last breaths. From the parched fissures in the dead, hungry dirt, you can hear whispers, and you press your cold, shaking hands to your ears to block them out. You do not know the reason, but nevertheless the knowledge remains in your bones as if you were born with it—

I mustn’t listen. I mustn’t hear the dead.

You press your palms against the sides of your head until it aches, dragging your feet through the dead, overgrown grass as you make your way through the garden. You want to leave, to turn around and leave this place, this terrible mirror, but your body will not obey. Instead, your unwilling legs carry you further and further into the spiral of dry, overgrown hedges and cracked pavement. The ghostly voices continue to rise in pitch until they are screaming, tortured cries leaking up from below as you approach the center of the garden.

It, like everything else here, is wrong, gleaming as if polished in the dim light of the dead sun. It is white like bone, and black, sluggish muck leaks from the trumpet of the nymph carved there. The sly, mysterious smile carved on her marble lips has been replaced by a grimace of abject terror, and when you follow her stone gaze, your eyes widen with the same emotion. Your hands leave your ears then, covering your mouth to try and dampen the horrified gasp that leaves your lips.

Your father stands before you.

He is still a distance away, walking slowly toward you through the garden. His eyes are blacked out, but not completely, black wriggling over the whites like a child’s scribble, black thread weaved through the skin of his lips, suturing them shut.

He is horrible.

He begins to open his mouth, and it yawns wide, the threads snapping—

You sit up, a hand clutching at your chest. You stare around the room, panting as your mind attempts to place you in your still unfamiliar surroundings. Your heart is still races from the dream, your hands clammy and trembling. The taste of dry earth coats your tongue, and your throat feels cold and parched, as if you had walked the cold gardens truly, and not only in your dreams.

You can still see it, the rotting black threads holding your father’s withered lips shut, the black writhing ink scribbles across his eyes—

“No.” You mutter the word softly as you press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, pushing hard until colored spots dance in your vision. You do not want to think of your father that way, his body moldering in the earth, rotting away like he had never been in the first place. It had felt so real, the cool distant glare of the white sun, the arid earth beneath your feet—

“A nightmare.” You say it aloud to no-one. “Nothing more.”

The morning sun paints a bright stripe across the blankets through the curtains of the four poster bed, and you tug them further open, squinting. Everything in your chambers is as it was the night before, though the fire in the hearth has gone down to cinders, and a copper tub has been set before it. You step out and into your slippers, noting the steam that still rises from the water. They must have brought it in as you slept, though you had not heard them do so.

I slept… unusually deeply.

You disrobe, stepping into the water with a grateful sigh. You sink in until you are mostly submerged, your nose hovering above the surface as you stare pensively at the window, studying the gray, muddled shape of the buildings beyond it. You do not want to think of the dream, or your father, but both seem intent at crowding at the forefront of your mind.

You know your father would tell you not to ignore it. Dreams mean things, he would say. What did it tell you? But there is no meaning you can discern from your nightmare, other than that you miss your father, and you wish he were still here, with you.

After you finish in the bath, you dress yourself. Instead of the multi-layered gown set out for you by your lady’s maids, you rummage through the wardrobe for one of the loose, flowy dresses more typical of your warm countryside home. You find one at the back, and as you slip into it, you feel more settled, more yourself. The creamy, peach colored fabric has one long, bell sleeve, and drapes modestly across your chest, exposing the top of one shoulder. It is less cumbersome than the heavy, three piece set they chose, and when they enter to help you, you can see the surprise written on their faces.

To their credit, they say nothing, simply helping braid and pin your hair, before setting the small silver circlet you wear at your mother’s insistence upon your brow.

It is long past time to break fast, but nevertheless, your request for a scone with butter and sweet cream is met without fuss down in the kitchens. As you eat, Kassandra marvels at your dress.

“I quite like it, Majesty,” she says, clapping her hands encouragingly as she circles you. “No corset? I do wonder if my father might permit me to have one made in its likeness,” she moans rather piteously. “Though I doubt he shall be pleased by my asking, it is quite bold, if you do not mind my saying so, Highness.” You look down at yourself, and then raise an eyebrow.

“Why should he find your request offensive? I mean no insult, but I do believe our dress more…modest than those of fashion here in Rivia.” Even Kassandra’s low cut gown exposes the tops of her breasts, the bodice molding to her body,pushing them out and up before rising back up to play at covering her shoulders. She laughs behind a hand at your ire.

“I suppose it is all a matter of personal opinion, my lady. I do find Redanian fashion quite lovely, if this dress should be a fair representation.”

“ ‘Tis.” You reply, finishing your biscuit. From your place by the windows, just outside the kitchen, you can see down into the gardens. Though the sight of them is sullied by the memory of your stepbrother’s wanton behavior, the glint of colored glass catches your eye. “What is that?” You ask, pointing at the colored shafts of light as they seemingly beam upward from the ground, the source blocked by lush greenery.

“The roof of the chapel,” Kassandra says. “It is made of stained glass.” At your confused look, she continues. “The chapel is beneath the keep, Majesty, it’s roof is the center of the maze. It is quite beautiful, should you wish to see it, my lady.” Intrigued, you nod.

“Yes, thank you. I would.”

Kassandra leads you down into the bowels of the castle, and you feel the walls grow cold around you as daylight through the arched windows is replaced by the soft glow of candles. The construction looks much older down here, the stone pitted and smooth not from polish but from the passage of time. Upstairs, the corridors had been crowded with courtiers, lords and ladies all seeking the king’s approval, or waiting for their opportunity to serve at his request.

Instead, you take note of the priests in their pale robes, black ink sigils drawn onto the skin of their foreheads and the expanses of their cheeks beneath their eyes. They keep their heads bowed and shoulders stooped as they shuffle through the halls in penitent silence.

“Why do they paint their faces?” You ask quietly.

“So that the gods might receive their prayers.”

The chapel’s carved doors bear images of the gods you do not worship, the wood branded with the sigil of the king—the head of a wolf, it’s mouth open in an eternal snarl. Inside, the air is thick with incense, and it takes you more than a few labored breaths to grow used to it. The inside of the chapel is long and narrow, its walls lined with alcoves featuring enormous statues of the gods. Kassandra gestures to the ceiling, trailing her fingers through the shafts of colored light that stream down, bathing the sullen atmosphere in muted color.

“Is it not beautiful, lady?”

“Yes, it is.” You speak truth—the glass is beautiful, unclouded and the colors true. Images of faith are splashed across the colored surfaces; a great wolf standing beneath a full moon, devouring a beautiful maiden, the three-faced Mother bathed in the golden light of the sun, and the Spider, sitting in the center of her silver web. You watch as Kassandra makes a sign with her right hand, her middle finger and thumb pressed together. She brings it reverently to her forehead, before dropping it to her chin, and then the center of her chest.

It is a quiet, sullen sort of reverence, one you see mirrored in the bowed heads of the priests, and in the quiet, droning chants the monks at the pulpit continue without pause. But there is no joy here. No voices lifted in worshipful, devoted song, nor dances with arms stretched to the bright and brilliant sky. Those are the rituals of worship you know, the ones your father taught you. This place, like the garden in your dream, feels dead.

If there ever were gods here, they have certainly gone, now.

“Who is this?” You ask, pointing to the wolf. It’s golden eyes seem to follow you around the room as you trail after Kassandra, and it makes you think uncomfortably of the prince. She stops in front of it’s stone copy, and she makes the sigil again, finger on thumb, forehead, chin, chest.

“Father Wolf.” She says as she rises. “It is said that he devours the moon each night, so that it may be reborn in the morning, as the sun.” She cocks her head. “Do you not know the stories, Majesty?”

“She would not.” You turn to see one of the priests. In his hand, he holds an incense box, sluggish white smoke pouring from the gold painted slats. “Her Majesty hails from Redania. They hold to the old faith there.” You watch his eyes narrow as they drop to your gown before traveling back up to your face. His lips curve into an unfriendly smile. “I did not think to see Your Highness here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “In my experience father, it is a poor monarch who expects to rule people she knows nothing about.” Kassandra ducks her head, covering her mouth to hide her smile at your diplomatically worded impertinence.

His cheek tics. “Of course, Highness.” He bows his head in a manner you know is meant to be respectful, though the acid that drips from his words is anything but. “The people shall be pleased that you are so…familiar.” He drums his fingers against the incense box, before fixing you with another small, curt smile. “They do not react well to the southland’s…” He pauses to search for a word. “Heathenistic rituals.”

The words fly to your tongue before you can swallow them back, flying from your lips with righteous indignation.

“Are you quite sure the heathen rituals you fear are not your own, Father?” His mouth twists with anger, but you do not cower in the face of it, jutting your chin out stubbornly. You have taken little pleasure in the shifting of your station, but his brazen disrespect sets a blazing fire in your chest. You are a princess, and you will not be spoken to this way.

“Father Rame.” Your belly fills with hot iron at Prince Geralt’s voice, his tone warning. So irate were you with the priest that you had taken no notice of his approach. The prince leans against one of the stone pews, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You would do well to hold your tongue, lest my father remove it.” The priest drops into a low bow, his lips curling into a scowl. “I do not think he would take kindly to your… implications.”

“Apologies, My Prince, I meant only to—” Geralt raises a hand, and Father Rame’s words die in his throat.

“Go. And perhaps I will… forget to inform the kingsguard of your offense today.” You can tell the priest is unsatisfied, his hands clenching into tight fists in the sleeves of his robe. Nevertheless, he issues you another stiff apology through his clenched teeth, before he turns on his heel, his robes billowing behind him.

“Thank you.” You spit the words out as if they have burnt you. “For your assistance.” Geralt’s amber eyes dip the way Father Rame’s did, and you hate the way they drag across every inch of you before coming to rest on your face. Instead of scornful disapproval, you find something else there. Something darker you refuse to name.

“My pleasure, princess.” He purrs the words, and you feel them like a physical caress. You try to hide the shiver that travels down your spine, gooseflesh erupting on the back of your neck and arms in its wake. He glances at Father Rame’s retreating back. “I would pay him no heed. The good Father can be… Zealous.”

“That is certainly one way to put it.” You remark dryly.

“He will not bother you again.” He says it with a finality that makes you shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“I hope not.” You brush a speck of imagined dirt from the bodice of your dress, and the prince’s eyes follow the movement.

“Your gown is lovely, sister.” He says, and you swallow against the sudden lump in your throat. “I have not seen its like since last I was in Redania.”

“Thank you.” You stiffen as he moves towards you, slow steps carrying him in a small circle around you and Kassandra. You force yourself to endure his inspection.

“Oh yes.” He fingers the hem of your sleeve before you step back, a little. “I hope you do not mind me imparting a bit of… Rivian wisdom?”

Do I have any choice? You force a smile. “Please.”

“This is a married woman’s color, Sweetling.” His eyes are molten honey.

“W-what?” You do not know which words you were expecting to fall from the prince’s smug lips, but it was not these. “I—”

“I hope you take no offense,” he drawls, though the expression on his face says otherwise. “I only mean to inform.”

“H-how interesting.” You force a small smile, before turning quickly to Kassandra.

“My head aches from the incense,” you say, turning away from him and striding toward the door. “We should take our leave.” With a stiff, reluctant bow, you turn from the prince. “Excuse us, please.”

“By all means.”

Kassandra squeaks, hurrying after you with her skirts gathered tightly into her hands. As you push angrily through the entering group of priests and out into the corridor, you can feel two sets of eyes on your retreating back—

Geralt’s, and the wolf’s.

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

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fangirleaconmigo · 2 years

Text

It's time again to play...

I Can't Believe It's Not Fanon

otherwise known as:

Witcher facts that sound like Geraskier fic writers made them up, but that are, in fact, book canon. The subject of this post is...(drumroll please)

In fic, Geralt is often extremely, over the top, protective of Jaskier. Is this is a bit of an exaggeration invented to please Geraskier shippers?

Well, folks...

It is canon, my friends. And I think you guys are going to really like this one.

Geralt is especially protective of Jaskier/Dandelion, thinking of him first, even in war zones, and even when he has others to protect.

Now, to review, my previous post was about how Dandelion is protective of Geralt. I've written here how he mocks people who are bigoted against Geralt. I wrote here about how He puts his pride aside to take a job he doesn’t want to do because Geralt is hungry and gives him the equivalent of puppy eyes. He also withstands torture for Geralt and lies to his employer Dijsktra (essentially becoming Geralt’s spy rather than the other way around)

But now we're going to talk about:

Geralt as a Protector of Dandelion

When we think about Geralt being protective, we tend to think sword fights and bar brawls. And that is true, for sure. Geralt is absolutely fine with killing anyone who threatens someone he loves.

But it’s not just grand gestures and homicide, folks, it’s day - to - day devotion.

Geralt is a bit of a mom friend and considers it his job to protect Dandelion’s from his own trademark curiosity.

Dandelion has little restraint when he gets it into his head to examine, grab, question, taste, ANYTHING that he discovers. (I think Joey shows this very well in TWN when he’s in the Kaer Morhen lab sticking everything in his mouth!!) Everything fascinates him!

And this comes up a lot.

Once again Geralt quietly cursed the bard’s irrepressible curiosity.

Baptism of Fire Ch 2

and

Dandelion, who had never been able to reign in his curiosity, urged Pegasus on…

Baptism of Fire Ch 3

Geralt takes it upon himself to protect Dandelion from the effects of his unfettered passion and interest in the world. Here is a funny (to me) scene in Sword of Destiny. Dandelion insists on going with Geralt on this job to look for a sea monster. He’s hoping to see a mermaid.

They spot some underwater steps and immediately Dandelion wades out too far.

"...they are steps," Dandelion whispered in awe."

Uh oh. Geralt tries to warn him.

"Dandelion! That's a trench! You'll slip off!"

Dandelion dismisses him of course. He has already seen this new cool fuckin thing, and won’t be dissuaded.

"...See it's shallow here, barely waist deep...as wide as a ballroom.."

Until

"...Oh, bloody hell."

Yeah, that’s what I thought. Bloody hell. Geralt intervenes.

Geralt jumped very quickly into the water and grabbed the bard, who had fallen in up to his neck.

Dandelion, of course, isn't fazed. He just ignores it and prattles on about the pretty mollusks he's found. (Is Geralt still grabbing him?)

"...It's a pretty color don't you think? Grab it and shove it into your bag, mine's full already."

LOL he’s filled his bag with sea shit and expects Geralt to now take up space in his bag. Poor Geralt. He tries again.

"...Get back on the shelf this minute, Dandelion, this isn't a game."

I laughed when I read that. ...this minute, Dandelion. See, it's no wonder he's such a good dad to Ciri. He just acts like that all the time. Then, sea monsters come out of the water (like they do) and Geralt and Dandelion run away. But Dandelion...

"...suddenly stumbled and fell...Geralt caught him by the belt and hauled him out of the foam, now seething all around them."

Sword of Destiny pp 221-226

I just love that visual of Dandelion trying to keep his head above water and Geralt hauling him out by his belt. I picture him like a flailing yowling wet kitten being scruffed. But anyway, they drag each other out and Geralt lives to fight another day.

But not before Geralt says RUN DANDELION SAVE YOURSELF and Dandelion says NO I’M NOT LEAVING YOU.

That is a habit of theirs. You’re gonna see that a few more times in this post.

Dandelion’s physical safety is always in the back of Geralt's mind. He thinks of it when making any decisions.

In Baptism of Fire, when they are about to go into a scary forest with a whole company of friends, Geralt’s first thought is for Dandelion:

I’ll have to keep Dandelion on a short leash, and make sure he doesn’t touch anything. Particularly since there’s no shortage of plant life that likes to supplement its chlorophyll diet with morsels of meat, plants whose shoot are as deadly as a crab spiders venom when they come into contact with skin. And the gas of course… Baptism of Fire Ch 7

I just picture Dandelion on a little short leash and I cackle.

Now, what about when Geralt has more people to take care of? Does he still think of Dandelion first before anything else? Yes.

In Baptism of Fire, Geralt is traveling with a company of friends (the dearly beloved hansa), Zoltan Chivay and his crew, war widows, and war orphans. (Don’t ask how he gets himself into these things...it’s usually bc his heart is squishy shh don’t tell him I said that)

But holy shit! What’s this??? Nilfgaardian troops appear out of nowhere! (Well, not nowhere, they are traveling through an active war zone). Shrieks from the refugees pierce the sky.

“Nilfgaaaaaard!”

Cavalry from the West! Nilfgaard are attacking! Every man for himself!

There is utter pandemonium. Milva (archer friend, love of my life) calls out to Geralt.

“Our horses!...Our horses, Witcher, follow me!”

Milva is the biggest horse girl in all of the saga (Geralt is merely a second rate horse enjoyer, world’s okayest horse dad next to her) and she’s like COME WITH ME.

Now, let’s look at what Geralt does. Let’s review. There are civilians. War widows. War orphans. Several other dear close friends. Horses. And what does Geralt do? Well, actually let’s start with what Dandelion does...you know, what he always does...shriek for Geralt.

“Geralt!” Dandelion shouted. “Save me!”

If there is one thing Dandelion will do every time he is in trouble, it is shriek for Geralt. Again, this is well represented in the show by Joey when he tells Yen: "You don't get to be the damsel in distress. That's my job." (I really wish I knew which lines were improv'ed bc I loved that one)

But ok, so back to the passage.

“The crowd separated them, scattered them like a great wave and carried Milva away in the blink of an eye. Geralt, gripping Dandelion by the collar, didn’t allow himself to be swept away...”

So. He didn’t think long about that one. He already has him by the collar when shit starts happening. Then Geralt tries to get his bearings but he can’t because:

The Witcher could no longer see anything, but neither did he have any time to watch since he was busy rescuing Dandelion, whose legs had been swept from under him again by a stampeding hog. When Geralt bent down to pick the poet up, a hay rack was thrown straight onto his back...

Ouch. Now he’s on the ground and Dandelion is up.

“Get up!” the troubadour yelled. “Get on your blasted feet!”

“I can’t,” the Witcher groaned...Save yourself. Dandelion.”

“I won’t leave you!”

Baptism of Fire 166-167

They are again, in the midst of danger, shouting vows to not leave the other. It’s their thing.

When Geralt comes across Dandelion in Sword of Destiny, he is fleeing the war and once again asking Geralt to deliver him.

"...Geralt, don't leave me here! I'll never survive by myself! Don't leave me!"

"You must be insane, Dandelion," 'the witcher said, leaning over the saddle. "you must be insane with fear, if you think I'd leave you. Give me your hand and jump up on the horse..."

Sword of Destiny p 368

So. They are just Like That.

Ok, onto the next dramatic Geralt rescue where he is so impressive and gallant in Dandelion’s defense it blows Cahir’s balls off. (Not literally. Also, if you’ve only seen TWN please forget everything you know about Cahir before proceeding. They are friends here).

Anyway, it’s near the end of Baptism of Fire, and the hansa is caught in the crossfire between Nilfgaard and Lyria. Dandelion is trying to get the Lyrian's attention to tell them they are on their side...ie...they are Nordlings, not Nilfgaardians (quick somebody hide Cahir). Someone shouts at him to get down. He...doesn’t listen.

The poet, as usual, rather than listen to the warning, wanted to know what it was all about. And right then, arrows whistled through the air...Two flew straight for Dandelion, but the Witcher already had his sword in his hand, leapt forward, and deflected both of them with swift blows.

“By the Great Sun,” Cahir grunted. “He deflected two arrows! Remarkable! I’ve never seen anything like it...”

Baptism of Fire 328

I mean COME ON. Gallantry. Can you hear me clapping and whooping? Geralt, buddy, you are magnificent.

There is SO MUCH MORE OF THIS. In fact, my first canon or fanon post was about him slaughtering a whole room full of people to rescue a kidnapped Dandelion.And I still haven't covered everything. I can only include so many examples. But you get the idea.

Ok, but you could say...he always defends Dandelion because he’s the most hopeless one. And Dandelion usually is the least warrior-y person around. But not always! Sometimes there are war refugees.

But more importantly, the thing is, we KNOW why Geralt saves him. The story tells us that it enrages Geralt when people harm Dandelion. It is his emotions. He just reacts. Here are two examples.

First example of Geralt feeling rage when Dandelion is harmed:

In this one, the people who harm Dandelion live (or more correctly do not live) to regret it. So, in Baptism of Fire (can you tell I just reread this one) Geralt and Dandelion are fleeing the noose (long story) and Geralt steals a horse.

"Jump on, Dandelion! And hold tight!"

They are fleeing soldiers but end up surrounded. Arrows start flying through the air. Dandelion has his arms around Geralt.

Dandelion yelled, this time very loudly indeed, and dug his fingers into Geralt's sides. The Witcher felt something warm dripping onto his neck.

"Hold on!" he shouted, catching the poet by his elbow and drawing him closer to his own back. "Hold on, Dandelion!"

They lose balance and both fall from the horse. Dandelion hits the ground.

The poet thudded onto the dirt and lay still, groaning pathetically. His head and left shoulder were covered in blood, which glistened black in the moonlight.

Geralt does not take this well. Like. At all.

The Witcher sprang up, feeling a wave of cold fury and hatred inside him. He jumped out to meet their pursuers, drawing the horsemen's attention away from Dandelion. But not because he wanted to sacrifice for his friend. He wanted to kill.

So Geralt felt a wave of cold fury and hatred. He sprung up, not to sacrifice himself because he had no intention of doing so. He was going to kill. And reader, he does exactly that. He kills them all.

Then when he gets Dandelion back to camp, Regis offers to help. Regis is a barber surgeon and can do field dressings. The only thing is, Geralt has just FINALLY realized that Regis is a vampire. So even though Regis has saved his life and been a fucking amazing friend, Geralt is a TAD TENSE. Also, he is still emotional from seeing Dandelion get hurt. So when Regis says the following:

"Your blood smells nice, poet."

Geralt does not react well to this.

At precisely that moment the Witcher did something Milva would never have expected. He walked over to the horse and drew a long Nilfgaardian sword from the scabbard fastened under the saddle flap.

"Move away from him" he snarled, standing over the barber surgeon.

Now, Regis meant that Dandelion's blood wasn't infected, and was also poking at Geralt (the way he does). But we do see Geralt becoming enraged in that scene when people harm or when (he thinks) they threaten Dandelion. He's like, get your blood licking vampire mouth away from my fave boy. (Never to worry, they do all make up with best boy Regis)

Here's the second example of the story telling us literally that Geralt feels rage when Dandelion is harmed.

In The Last Wish, we are told how Geralt feels when Toruviel breaks Dandelion’s lute. More specifically, we are told how Geralt feels when he sees Dandelion’s lips quiver.

Here is Dandelion's response to seeing his lute smashed.

The poet turned as white as death. His lips quivered.

The very next sentence after "His lips quivered." is this.

Geralt, feeling a cold fury rising up somewhere within him, drew Toruviel's eyes with his own.

Geralt doesn’t feels fury when Toruviel kicks him. He is calculating. Smart. But now that Dandelion's lips are quivering, it's cold fury time.

Next, we get typical Geralt ‘kill me, not him’ gallantry. Filavandrel comes in and informs them that he has to kill them. Geralt says:

"Spare him, at least," Geralt indicated Dandelion with his head. "No, not out of lofty mercy. Out of common sense. Nobody's going to ask after me, but they are going to take revenge for him."

I have to include the next part because it’s hilarious. (even though I’ve talked about it before). Filavandrel says...I can’t, because if I spare the poet, he’ll come back and avenge you.

So Geralt is having a ‘save yourself Dandelion’ moment, which as fucking always, Dandelion will. not. let. him. have.

"You can be sure of that!" Dandelion burst out, pale as death. "You can be sure, you son-of-a-bitch. Kill me too, because I promise otherwise, I'll set the world against you. You'll see what lice from a fur coat can do! We'll finish you off even if we have to level those mountains of yours to the ground! You can be sure of that!"

"How stupid you are, Dandelion," sighed the witcher.

The Last Wish, pp 190-200

But there is an even greater reason why Geralt defends Dandelion with such constancy and devotion. There is the single most important thing of all. Geralt tells us exactly what it is with his own words. So let’s let him tell us.

In the djinn story in The Last Wish, Geralt is in the tent with Chireadan explaining why he needs to get Yennefer to help Dandelion with his throat, and he says,

“…this only concerns Dandelion. He suffered at my side, in my presence. I didn’t manage to save him and I couldn’t help him. I’d sit on a scorpion with my bare backside if I knew it would help him.”

The Last Wish pg 236

Geralt values his friendship and appreciates his loyalty. Plain and simple.

And ultimately that is why Yennefer comes to value Dandelion too, despite the fact that he can be a complete nightmare. It is his sheer loyalty and steadfastness that wins her over. In Blood of Elves when she is explaining why she wants him to be safe, she says:

“...Do as I ask. I wouldn’t like anything bad to happen to you. I like you too much, owe you too much--”

“You’ve said that already. What do you owe me, Yennefer?”

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

“You traveled with him,” she said finally. “Thanks to you he was not alone. You were a friend to him. You were with him.”

The bard lowered his eyes.

“He didn’t get much for it,” he muttered. “He didn’t get much from our friendship. He had little but trouble because of me. He constantly had to get me out of some scrape...help me...”

She leaned across the table, put her hand on his and squeezed it hard without saying anything. Her eyes held regret.

Blood of Elves, p37

The fact is, both Yennefer and Geralt have had long lives filled with people using them as tools. Exploiting them. Wanting to use their power in the service of things they don't care about or actively despise. They both have a metric shitton of trauma plus some serious self worth issues.

So what both of them need more than anything is someone who values, likes, and loves them simply for who they are. That is why they both end up as parents to Ciri. They both make the decision to fight for her. To fight for the chance to love her as a child, not as a Source or a Chosen One or anything else. They realize they need humanity and to embrace their inherent worth as people.

That is why Geralt loves Dandelion. That is why Yen grows to love him. That is why he fits right in.

Because in a continent full of people with agendas who are thirsty for power and don’t hesitate to try to use them or Ciri, Dandelion is just there because he loves them. That’s it and that’s all. And what is more important than that?

I would fight to defend that too.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #gerlion #the witcher books #canon or fanon #i can't believe it's not fanon

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artistsfuneral · 6 days

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Hello! My current project is a ciri x Roche- lol sorry, I couldn't resist, what is with this girl. 😂 I'm working on a jaskier/Geralt fic today, or I will when I'm permitted to move. Right now my labor is required to pet a very good cat. He is orange and very fluffy. Do you have a current project you're excited about? If you're still taking prompts, how about something with cutagens? :3 Do you think cat wtichers, or witchers in general, scent mark the way real cats do? Now I'm picturing Geralt rubbing his jaw against Roach lol. Or you could do something with Jaskier discovering that wolf witchers all sleep together in piles in the winter, like puppies. Whatever you feel like. Have a good day!

VERY THIN ICE my dear 😂😅 [they had us in the first half, not gonna lie]

I hope you got into safety from your hostage situation and managed to work a bit on your fic!

My creativity is a bit all over the place right now, I'm doing lots and lots of things. I returned to journaling, did a lot of crocheting, drew a bit, wrote a bit, got into fantasy map making, consumed a lot of Gab Smolders horror Let's Plays, started learning norwegian for no reason, etc. etc. Chaotic, but I'm having fun!

Fandomwise I'm also all over the place, but maybe returning a bit to the witcher? Honestly I just love this fandom so much, that's why I keep coming back. So many talented people. ❤❤❤

I have SO MANY cutagen thoughts. So many. So, so many. Have you read my stories? You should totally (re)read my cutagen stories! My main... focus? when I think about how different schools interact with each other is to think about how each school should have different cutagens to make them unique and kind of to keep things interesting? (a cut here because this got long)

See, I've had cats for most of my life and currently we have one cat and two doggos, so I can get a bit particular about cutagens. So whilst I definitely love the thought of all witchers purring when they're happy, part of me says NO! only kitties purr! (which would include Griffins and Manticores) What do wolves do then? Dogs and wolves have this kind of happy growl that's not really a growl just a kind of noise they make that varies from dog to dog. Some have a barky-howl, a soft awuu, others whine or huff. It's a bit hard to describe if you never heard it, but if you watch enough funny dog videos you know what I'm talking about. Especially some of the more vocal wolves just growl constantly which sometimes sounds like a dangerous growl, but they just have these... gravely growly voices.

Cats playing versus dogs playing is also super interesting. Both chase each other around the house, swat and paw at each other, biting is on the table but cats will just use their paws a lot more and dogs definitely bite more. If your cats get loud while playing, 60-70% of the time that's an angry noise. Dogs are almost always loud when playing rough and they're having the time of their life.

I actually fell in love with dogs when my friend took me out to walk two of them and she let them off leash and they immediately started playing like two feral viking gods- It looked so rough, they were so loud and fast and you could see the power behind it when they tackled each other with their full body weight. Absolutely chaotic. But they were having the time of their lives. (they were very well matched strength and size wise and had known each other for years, so it was totally normal for them to play this crazy)

Okay getting off track, you did this to yourself nonny. ❤😂

My favorite wolf witcher cutagen headcanon is that they have hackles. Just- a row of really dense, thick fur that starts just above their shoulder blades and grows along their spine/neckline up and into their hair. And it first starts to grow in when the mutagens slowly settle into their genes (there's this whole eating magic mushrooms thing before the Grasses) and some of the wolves decide to shave it off (especially those that spend more time in cities - makes them appear more normal) butthe hackles actually help a lot with communication. A raised hackle means distress of some sort and depending on how high it's raised the higher the level of stress is. But it's also great for character design- A dog's hackle depends on their fur texture and length. Really short hair means a spiky little hackle, icredibly long hair means you can't really see it rising and some dogs (like my own :3) have a type of fur that makes their hackle look like a hyena/dinosaur monster. Very prominent, very obvious and easy to read. (Lambert would have one of those.) I actually drew you some fanart that I will add to this post if I remember, where you can kind of see what I mean. 👀😁

Scent marking is a dominant trait in the cat cutagens. Everything and everyone has to be marked as someone's. No argument here. I don't really know if wolves do it as much as the cats, but at least a little bit. (I do like to write it into my stories because it's the right kind of possessive behaviour *swoon*) I think from a logical standpoint the big difference would be that dogs/wolves smell very strongly when wet and that anything they use a lot (like a favorite blanket or Jaskier) equally starts smelling like wet dog when wet. Can't say I noticed that with my cats. Also wet dogs are more prone to rub themselves against you? Don't know if that's a scent thing or a "you make a great towel" thing.....

Yeah, I think I will leave it here for now 😂😂😂😂 kudos if you've come so far. If you have anything else cutagen wise that you need my opinion on let me know XD

#rambles #the witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #cutagens #witcher #ask answered #witcher headcanons

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lucigoo · 2 months

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Weekly round up: 1st April - 7th April

NGL, i was at a 6th bday party yesterday and just forgot it was Sunday, whoops lol. So, i wrote 17,728 words last week, with 3 uploaded stories. As always, recs first, then mine. Im also adding summarys and going to sort out my rec list so bare with: Home - SunnyRose - The Hobbit (Gen fic, Written by the wonderful @sunnyrosewritesstuff an adorable look at Uncle Thorin. )

Summary: Being an uncle doesn't come instinctual to Thorin. He loves his nephews with all his heart, but he doesn't quite understand them. However, when Dís needs a break with the death of her husband so fresh, she leaves to travel as a blacksmith and Thorin is left to mind the colony, Fíli, and Kíli. If they all manage to survive to the end of the five months, Thorin will consider it a success. The Fluttering of All Your Wings - whisperedstory - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geart/Jaskier, i had a bit of a fae Jaskier binge and this one is top tier) Summary: Jaskier has never really fit in anywhere, not with the fae and not with the humans. His mother always warned him to hide his heritage, especially from witchers. But then he meets Geralt and starts following him around the Continent. He finally learns what it's like to feel like he belongs somewhere, which makes keeping his secret even more necessary—and difficult. Of Bookshelves and Baby Carriers - poppunkpadfoot (StormVandal) - Harry Potter (Sirius/Remus, one of my fav muggle Au fics) Summary:

The customer standing in front of him is quite possibly the most beautiful man Remus has ever seen. Like, he looks like a model or something. He has long, black hair, flattened by water, and just the slightest amount of scruff on his face, and…

And a baby strapped to his chest. The Gift of Hobbits - MoroseBarnacle - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin, and its just SO good!) Summary: The gift of hobbits is a secret not known to dwarves. Bilbo’s gift saves the Company—repeatedly—and they don’t even know it until after Smaug is dead. But by then, just about everybody knows there’s a hobbit in Erebor, and the invading orcs decide to keep Bilbo and his otherworldly gift for themselves. Let's Play Pretend - MsAlexWP - Harry Potter (Sirius/Remus, muggle Au and fake dating, whats not to love?) Summary: After James and Lily died, Sirius Black's therapist told him not to date for a year. And that's just as well. He's got a 13-month-old baby now and quite enough to deal with, thanks. But the nosy neighbors in his building keep trying to set him up and won't take no for an answer. Enter Remus Lupin, another single dad who pretends to be Sirius's boyfriend, just to get the old lady brigade off his back and nothing more. Nothing more at all. Guardian of Kings - SunnyRose - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thorin, another excelent work by @sunnyrosewritesstuff, and im sure most bagginshielders love a bit of BAMF Bilbo and cultural misunderstanding, I know i do!) Summary: The Company has been having a good laugh as the story of their quest spreads through the mountain and more and more retellings makes Thorin out to be Bilbo’s damsel in distress. It stops becoming funny when Thorin’s honor is challenged, and it’s up to Bilbo to defend it. Thorin may be ready to smuggle his hobbit out of the mountain, but Bilbo will do it. For Thorin, he would do anything. Hope theres something to others to enjoy, if not see you next week for more.

Now, for my uploaded fics:

Far over the Misty Mountains:A hobbit with a heart (Past Bilbo/Thorin, for the KCAWS 30-days-of-feelings prompts) Summary: Bilbo's home is suddenly invaded by a troop of dwarves. He would be bad, should be mad, but that song .... It's a good job I love you! ( Bilbo/Thorin,written for #247 - Blindspot for @flashfictionfridayofficial) Summary: Bilbo sees that Thorin has once again forgotten to take the rubbish out, bloody husbands, he thinks exasperated. And finally This is real, but it isnt ME! (Jegulus and background Wolfstar, based off a prompt from a friend about Regulus being in a crop top and not happy about it) Summary: Regulus loves his brother, something he has to remind himself, because right now he wants to murder him. This is all Sirius fault!

#Bagginshield #The hobbit #Wolfstar #Jegulus #Marauders #geralt/jaskier #The Withcer #weekly roundup #Enjoy

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sassaffrassa · 11 months

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First lines meme

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!

tagged by @deerna and tagging @kuwdora @bomberqueen17 @bittylildragon @eatingcroutons @witch-and-her-witcher if any of you feel the urge 💕

(ok so i have an unholy number of drabbles so i stuck to works with a word count over 500)

pattern: i love to jump straight into the action, in media res with the least amount of context possible to start, especially if i can do it in a way that subverts the readers expectation for what's about to happen. the more distant the POV, or the greater time frame that the story's describing, the more background info i'll add. (drabbles tend to start with a line of dialogue, turns out lol)

Taste the Rainbow

Witcher | Geralt/Jaskier | T, modern au, 3.8k

Geralt flinches when something comes at his head, but when his hands fly up to catch it, he finds he’s got one of Ciri’s wrists in each hand, and a string of bright colors laced between the two.

Blossoming

Witcher | Vesemir/Mignole | E, daddy kink, 4.8k

She can’t sleep, despite her best efforts. The blankets tangle around her legs as she tosses and turns, feeling hideously ashamed of herself.

Putting the 'FUN' in Dysfunctional

Witcher | Roche/Jaskier | E, spies, 9.1k

Roche has never had much time for music in his life. As a boy there has been fêtes in the market square and bawdy minstrels who came through the house, paying with their entertainment to draw custom before heading upstairs to get their own, and not much else.

A Hangdog Look

Witcher | Iorveth/Roche | E, animal transformation, 10.3k

The bed shifts beneath him, just enough to startle him awake, and Iorveth draws a knife before his eye even opens against the dim light of his rooms. He lurches upright when the weight of whatever is attacking him lands against his back, heavy and startlingly cold and Roche whimpers, ducking his head between his paws.

Roach

Witcher | Geralt/Roche (& Roach) | T, drug use, 2k

Geralt leans his head back, blowing a stream of smooth blue smoke into the air. It clouds around his head, hazing over the bright pinpricks of stars in the night sky.

Your Hand in Mine

Sherlock Holmes ACD | Holmes/Watson | T, remix, 500

Holmes had been standing by the window for a quarter of an hour at least, turning the necklace over and over in his hands. Watson looked down again, reining his focus back to the treatise in his hands.

you've got a friend in me

Witcher | Kiyan & Gaetan | T, possession, 2k

When a Cat goes missing, they usually stay missing, for one reason or another. There’s already too few of them, fewer by the year, witchers of all schools declining as the mages get more and more power hungry, and the caravan has to go further and further out of its own way to avoid Nilfgaard’s expanding territory. They make it hard to find them on purpose, and sometimes that means Cats can’t make it home, if they been gone too long.

the wonders of the universe

Torchwood | Ianto Jones | T, aliens, 3.1k

The first one he brings back to the Hub, he really actually does think it’s a cool looking rock at first.

Team Building Exercise

Witcher | Roche/Blue Stripes | E, sex pollen, 12k

There’s an elven shrine somewhere in the woods, and bloody Roche is the one who stumbles onto it.

Safe Harbor

Witcher | Roche & Anaïs | T, TLOU au, 900

They’re still two miles out from the township when Roche spots the first tripwire. He jumps to yank Anaïs out of its path.

#my writing #in my defence i have no self control #writing memes #the witcher #torchwood #acd holmes #fanfic #temerian trash can

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animangalover-writes · 2 months

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#2, 3, and 11 for "a present from the soul" for the writer ask game! -lizzy

You're too sweet sending me this ask😭 This is actually one of my favorite fics that I've written so I am THRILLED to talk about it.

You can read A Present From The Soul here if your interested.

I'm very tired when I answer this so excuse any rambling and typos lol. ANYWAYS.

2. What scene did you first put down?

I think the first scene I actually wrote for this fic was Jaskier giving Geralt a rock(basically the first scene in the fic lol). I've heard people with gift giving as a love language love giving/receiving little things like rocks or leaves, because to them, it means something. I knew I wanted to make Jaskier's gifts be small but meaningful, and what better way to start off the fic then by having him give the person he loves a something as simple as a rock? Especially when, to him, it reminds him of pearls and the color of Geralts hair.

3. What's your favorite line of narration?

This one was hard because there are actually quite a few lines in this fic that I loved. But if I had to choose, it'd probably be this:

"He loves doing this for her, allowing her even a moment of reprieve. So she can be a child again. Just a child enjoying a story told by a bard."

I really liked this line because we rarely get to see Ciri just getting to be her age. And the idea that Jaskier, a bard, can give her that joy, that freedom to just listen to a grand story being told by a famous bard. UGH. ITS SO SWEET. Definitely one of my favorite parts to write.

11. What do you like best about this fic?

I loooove exploring dynamics in fics, whether they be platonic, romantic, or familial. Especially between characters who never or rarely interact. So exploring the dynamics between, not only Geralt and Yennefer, which is already throughly explored in many other fics, but also with Istredd and Ciri was such a blast!

Love languages was a really fun way to explore these dynamics individually, but I loved going in depth on how I imagine Istredd and Jaskiers dynamic would be. I mean, two sarcastic scholars in one room? How could you not want to explore that? And I'm such a sucker for Jaskier and Ciri having their own father daughter dynamic, especially because they both come from wealth and understand the shallowness that can come with that. The idea that Ciri gets to be a little kid with him(and the others, but mostly him) is so precious to me!

Thank you for sending this ask, it was such a lovely surprise and was so fun to talk about! Now I have to send one back 👁👁 I'm so curious about yalls thought process when writing your own fics!

#not me having a fangirl moment when i received this ask lol #LMAO #half of this probably makes no sense but im TIRED so its FINE #im actually so happy you chose this fic to ask about because i loved writing thos one #exploring the dynamics and the love languages was so fun!#im curious if you actually read the fic and also enjoy witcher or just chose a fic randomly? LOL #it doesn't matter either way cause this was such a fun excuse to ramble about this fic #if you did choose randomly #how did you know i loved the process of writing this fic so much? 👁👁 are you psychic? 👁👁#once again kicking my feet at having these conversations with yall lol #aml speaks #aml asks #the witcher #fanfiction #fanfiction ask game #jaskier centric #tbh might edit/change this later cause it probably looks like a mess lmao

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befuddledmackem · 6 months

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Twenty questions for fic writers

I saw @alightbuthappypen do a writing meme and I wanted in, dammit.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

92, apparently. I could not have begun to guess this amount without checking. I would have said that I’ve posted way less than that to AO3, but it does include everything I ever posted on livejournal.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

406,924.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I am belatedly realising that writing this will be an exercise in revealing the daft ways my brain works. I was about to say “I tend to only write one fandom at a time,” but that simply isn’t true; I tend to write whatever my distractable brain presents me with, and I feel like I have little to no control over what my brain latches on to. I am currently editing a few fics from The Witcher, specifically the Netflix show, though I can’t help but mix some game canon in too. I have previously written about Good Omens (both the book, waaaaaaayyy back when, and then also the show kicked off some fic years later), the IT movies, Our Flag Means Death, Teen Wolf, Star Trek, The Musketeers, The Untamed a little bit… and a lot more I'm forgetting. I gain and drop fandoms quickly, and never end up writing an awful lot in each.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Number one by a country mile is a Teen Wolf fic that I refuse to link to because I just don’t like it any more. One day I’ll orphan it. Kudos: 8915.

Number two: Build Our Kingdom (Good Omens). Kudos: 6884.

Number three: One Big Bed (Our Flag Means Death). Kudos: 1239.

Number four: I’m Falling And I Don’t Know What To Say (Our Flag Means Death). Kudos: 1219.

Number five: Desire Dividing Me (Good Omens). Kudos: 1100.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

It depends when they catch me. If they come in within a week or so of me posting, then I gleefully respond. After that, it depends. I read all of them, obviously – I read and re-read comments when my mood needs a boost – but if a little time has passed, I either feel weird about replying (?why? I can’t figure it out beyond brain daftness), or I simply forget (my memory is a joke). I literally always love a comment, though.

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh, hmm, I’m not much for writing angst. Uh… I’ve just scrolled through all my fics and I’m shrugging. I guess there’s an X-Men Charles/Erik fic called Cold Reunion where they meet after the divorce and bitch at each other a bit… that might be the closest I get. Oh, or the only Witcher fic I’ve posted so far (The Song of the White Wolf) is very much about Jaskier being in what he believes to be unrequited love with Geralt, and nothing gets resolved at the end, because it is just slotted into a gap between episodes.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I will write and re-write “and then they get together” a billion times, because I’m such a sucker for it. I’d say either Build Our Kingdom, my version of the obligatory Good Omens picnic scene, or maybe L’Appel du Vide, in which Eddie Kaspbrak does some learning and changing in his forties. God, I miss Eddie and Richie.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

LOL one comment on the aforementioned Eddie/Richie fic was about how I’d written Richie to be particularly woobified, I think? But it came, like, eight or nine chapters into a very wordy ten chapter fic, and it cracked me up for how long they’d persevered before snapping. I don’t think it was hate so much as disappointment. I laugh every time I think about it. I can’t think of anything else which comes close to hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I used to write smut quite often, but I don’t feel like I’m especially good at it, or that I present it in an interesting way. I don’t think the world is missing out for me not writing it anymore.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I was about to say “no, I haven’t,” but I definitely have. My goddamn memory! I started a Star Trek/Teen Wolf crossover that I did not finish. Whoops! Retroactive apologies to anyone I pissed off by doing that. I have since learned not to post fics until I have finished them completely. I have so many damn WIPs that I have all but abandoned.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nah. Wait, have I? …I have a vague memory of raging about this while I was at university 20 years ago (!) but that’s the only thing I can remember (joke of a memory).

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah, a few. Cool!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have! Not for a long, long time now, but there have been a couple.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Uh, that’s a big question. I feel like I’ve been pretty clear about how quickly I go into and drop out of fandoms at this point. I guess the one I’ve come back to most often is Crowley/Aziraphale? But I don’t love it any more than I love any of my other OTPs, it has just snared me back into writing it more often than the rest. Others of note: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Wangxian, Yennefer/Jaskier/Geralt (and every permutation therein), Stede Bonnet/Edward Teach (but I haven't even seen season 2 yet), Aramis/Porthos.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

God, I’ve got a Stranger Things Steve/Eddie fic that I just need to sit down and edit properly, and make some decisions about, and it’d be done. And yet here we are, with it still unfinished. Also I have a 14K Crowley/Aziraphale fic that I’d love to actually finish one of these days, but my ideas for it petered out. Probably if I really did some thinking I could write an ending for it, and just be done with it, but it is set after season 1 of the show, and would no longer jive with the canon… I don’t know. Would it be worth it? Who knows?

16. What are your writing strengths?

Uhhhhhhhh. Well, I’ve done Nano twice now, so I guess I can pump words out when I really push myself. And I feel like writing dialogue comes pretty easily to me, though I suppose everyone else is free to disagree!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Description uuuuugggggghhhhhhh. Keeping track of limbs or objects or facial expressions. I feel like I struggle with endings in that I always think they feel abrupt. I’m also fucking terrible at motivating myself and tend to work better with outside motivation (for example, committing to a certain number of words a month – but then how do I make myself edit afterwards? Would love to know!).

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I’m barely coherent in English, mate. Everyone else can do as they wish, but if I have to keep scrolling down to see what things mean, I’m clicking away. My attention span sucks.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Oh god. The Beatles, with a sort of dizzy sense of, “Wait, this is allowed?”

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Oh wow, an even bigger question! Uhhhhhhhhhh…? Fucking hell. Probably either L’Appel du Vide, because it basically did everything I wanted it to, or maybe Build Our Kingdom, because I managed to write it clearly enough that I can actually see it happening in my head, which is usually not the case. Does that make sense? I’m not very visual, but I can picture them through my own words more easily than I managed to do in other fics. Stupid! Those fics are certainly the two I re-read most often.

Bye!

#long post #writing #meme #my fic

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abeautifulblog · 2 years

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gremble watches a hexer: episode 3

So this is the episode in which Geralt meets Renfri, and the vibes are very different from TWN.

It really changes their dynamic to have him be brand new on the Path, and for Renfri to be, in essence, his first extended interaction with a human. He's still trying to figure out what humans are like, he clearly wants to be able to put people in neat boxes -- but there's Renfri complicating the narrative by being undeniably a victim, but also eager and willing to immediately turn around and become a villain in her own right.

It also changes their dynamic that none of Geralt's decisions re: Renfri are motivated by wanting to fuck her. (I'm pretty sure he doesn't, anyway.) Like, she makes that play, when she's looking for a hook that’ll give her a way to control Geralt -- same way we saw her make that play with the thugs planning to kill her in her introductory scene -- but there’s no sense that it’s motivated by desire, just cold calculation.

(And when Geralt's like “uhm, no,” she taunts him and asks if he's incapable of it. She's not a nice person.)

There's no guarantee that they won't fuck later, because compulsory heterosexuality, but she is definitely not being set up like a love interest.

She's quite unlikable in this, and I get the impression that she's supposed to be—that you can pity her, to be sure, because she has indeed been wronged, but she's not a sweet and blameless “ideal victim.”

idk, it's just interesting.

FROM THE TOP!

Not a fan of threats of sexual violence being used as a plot device, but good on this girl for straight-up stabbing the dude!

(I assume the girl Geralt rescued is Renfri, since the dudes claimed she was a mutant before he killed them.)

Hm, and here is Vesemir telling Geralt he shouldn't have stepped in to kill the would-be rapists: “And if there were witnesses to this, what would they think of a crazed witcher cutting down half a dozen people?”

Foreshadowing for Blaviken, much?

Vesemir is ~banished~ from Kaer Morhen, wot? How does that even work? Seems like if you did something bad enough to get “banished” it would be bad enough that they wouldn't trust you on the Path anymore.

lol these subtitles are calling the path “the route,” which doesn't quite have the same ring to it.

Not really a fan of Renfri's actress or characterization in this one, she comes off like a spoiled child.

...A very mercurial and manipulative child.

Hah, I like that Roach has been trained to ignore commands from non-Geralt people. That vibes with my headcanon for why he likes Difficult horses.

...lolol okay I did enjoy the bandit jumping out to try to scare them, and then Renfri just bitchslaps him.

Renfri: TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER.

Bandit: I--

Renfri: SILENCE, YOU FUCKING SWINE, I TOLD YOU TO TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER.

Bandit: ...yes ma’am. 😞

100% A+ that Geralt carries his saddlebags with him when he goes into town! Yes! As he would! Same as you don't leave your purse sitting your unlocked car!

PFFT.

Hooray for Geralt saving a dryad from a basilisk or whatever, after she'd been shot with an arrow!

Oh no the arrow was poisoned!

It's okay, Geralt will suck the poison from the wound!

...It is awkward that she got shot in the tit though.

*facepalm*

It doesn't feel that sleazy, because Geralt doesn't feel sleazy—he's quite utilitarian about the whole business—but that is still a Choice someone made.

Oh no, Geralt is about to look “”hideous”” from taking his potions!!

Will it be less of a cop-out than TWN???

Answer: not in the slightest, he just looks like he’s on MDMA.

I do wish they would stop trying to force love interests on Geralt every episode, especially since they are developed so staggeringly shallowly, and we all know they're not sticking around anyway.

Also this actress looks VERY, VERY YOUNG, like, that is a child young, like, that could be a boy-child young, because they look the same pre-pubescent.

lolol Queen of the Dryads looks like Scully in camo facepaint. Welp, no one better for the job!

“I am a witcher, a mutated human. We are not allowed to love; maybe we cannot.”

THIS IS THE KIND OF CONFLICT I'M HERE FOR, BABY. 😎

lol I do like the “mama with a shotgun” vibe for the dryad queen. Like, Yes thank you for saving my girl, I appreciate it a lot, and now you are going to let her down gently, and you are going to leave. 🙃🙃🙃

The subtitles have definitely gotten better, and despite the excruciatingly tedious compulsory heterosexuality, this episode was a lot livelier than the previous episodes. Would recommend starting with this one, I think. You really don't need any backstory from the first two.

#gremble watches a hexer #witcher shit #the hexer

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semperbucky · 2 years

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HEWWO you gotta tell me this, and it's more important than the ACTUAL questions: but does the following make a good fruit salad?

favorite character(s)- 🍋

favorite quote(s) from a fandom- 🍐

favorite costume/outfit: 🍇

favorite finale episode: 🍓

aaa tysm!!!!

first & foremost (the most important question): i think these would make a p good fruit salad! maybe have the lemon be included as lemon juice instead of slices & that fruit salad would be tasty af

(full disclosure i have so many blorbos rotating around in my head at any given moment these are less 'favorites' & more 'the ones that are in my head the most' but i guess that's kind of what favorites are? but i digress) (also apologies for any formatting weirdness - i'm on mobile & never get asks so i have no idea what i'm doing lol)

🍋 favorite character(s): bucky barnes has my whole entire heart (hence the blog name) but i also adore geralt & jaskier from the witcher, entrapta & scorpia from she-ra, basically every character from m*a*s*h (except frank) especially radar, jack (& bitty) from omgcp, & cullen, alistair, dorian, fenris, & josephine from dragon age. i've also been watching a stupid amount of cr recently (trying to catch up on campaign 1 so the references in campaign 3 make more sense - got up to ep72 so far) so i could go through my favorite character from each campaign? it'd probably have to be keyleth (is she endearingly awkward? yes. could she kill me with one look? also yes), caleb (liam o'brien tears my heart out once again), & imogen (we stan a horse girl w terrifying moon powers & a fun scary girlfriend). there's approximately a million more & i've definitely left some out but those are the ones that are popping into my head rn.

🍐 favorite quote(s) from a fandom: the funny thing is that for someone who prides themselves on their brain consisting mostly of quotes/references, i'm drawing an absolute blank. maybe it's a contextual thing? like you have to say the right words in the right order before the quote part of my brain kicks in or something. "'til the end of the line" comes to mind bc of what it represents & everything they've been through together (we gleefully ignore the last bit of endgame). or "it's love that makes people." (alternatively: "life needs things to live.") if you want something even cheesier, i met hayley atwell in london a few years ago & asked her to write "have courage & be kind" on a piece of paper & i plan on getting it tattooed on me somewhere when i finally get the courage to spend money on non-essential things lol

🍇 favorite costume/outfit: it's so basic but i very distinctly remember being entranced by arthur's everyday look from bbc merlin?? like just the simple red shirt & leather pants w the boots & a jacket sometimes. looked so comfy. maybe it was just thinly veiled gender envy disguised as appreciation for the outfit lol. & any time they put morgana in green or her witchy outfit i just 😍

🍓 favorite finale episode: idk if this refers to a season finale or a series finale, so we're gonna pick series finale. i don't usually like finale episodes of any variety bc they mean something is ending, but there are a few that end with just the right amount of closure to make it satisfying. the one that comes to mind rn is the finale of exandria unlimited: calamity (yeah it's not a tv show but it's still a "series" so it counts). brennan lee mulligan is a godsdamned fantastic dm & the whole cast knocked it out of the fuckin park. it hurt like a motherfucker but it was so beautifully done & it was the best tragic but hopeful ending to a series i've seen in a while, possibly ever.

thank you again! hope u are having a lovely day 😊

#semperbucky #asked & answered #that awkward moment when you realize you have so many fandoms picking a 'favorite' becomes near impossible

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cashweasel · 2 years

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OC ASK STRENGTH OF 10,000 SUNS These are for that dark, broody and mysterious Hyacinth 👀👀👀 🧠👂😍🔥💐💘

🧠 : What is your OC’s most mentally attractive attribute?

He’s a strategist and he’s exceptionally great at reading people (whether that be body language or mind reading, demon things ig lol)

👂 : Does your OC have an attractive voice?

Well,, I’ve always thought is voice claim would be corpse or geralt so yes, definitely attractive 😂

😍 : What does your OC find irresistible in others?

A good sense of humor 👌🏻, banter (especially if it comes with combat practice or sth 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻)

🔥 : What’s a surefire way to make your OC get flustered?

People showing him genuine affection lol, all you need to do is get him a warm cup of tea, brush his hair out of his face and look at him cute, and you’ll instantly have one giant scary demon army commander blushing at u

💌 : How would they plan a romantic evening for a significant other?

Hmm.. ideally they’re watching the sunset from a rooftop, or hill, an elaborate romantic picnic, always has to involve some kind of nice chill time

💐 : What is their courting style? How would they woo someone?

Uh straightforward (?) 😂 but it takes time to acknowledge them feelings and then once he does he makes his intentions clear. Involves a lot of showing them off, flowers, so many cute (kinda awkward) compliments. But my favorite, pre exile, would be the passionate kisses and love confessions before he heads out to battle or sth (it’s the holding of the helmet under one arm, caressing a cheek with the other and the tender eye contact for me 😩)(although I’m not sure if you would call this a courting style but.. eh it’s there lol)

[oc ask game]

#whew that took a lot of thinking #thanks for the ask kade UvU❤️#ask #oc: hyacinth urrun

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whereismymonsterlover · 5 months

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I used to be on this tag religiously from the first season till the second, then I just fell out of love with the series.

However, I watched the first 2 episodes of season 3 and I noticed we have a new writer!? If I'm correct.

From what I've seen, I'm enjoying it. I think the writing is okay! Rarely, some dialogue seems a little off and I've noticed especially the camera shots at times seem low production. But overall I've really liked coming back into this universe. I actually find myself valuing Geralt and Yennifer's relationship and the family unit with Ciri this season. Call it growing up, call it letting go of my jaskier obsession - I no longer feel like geraskier is the OTP lol

The conflict is so messy and all over the place in-universe, yet it's written well and I'm following it which is a great feat to manage! 💀

I'm just interested in other people's vague opinions on season 3 without spoilers preferably! Since I wasn't here when it came out.

"I'm not angry. Just disappointed" made me die.

#the witcher #the witcher season 3

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

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Number 16 - “It could be worse.”

My writing method is just chucking prompt phrases into a mixing bowl with Cool Historical Artistry Facts, a pinch of aesthetic, and a dash of lore, baking it in a pressure cooker and seeing what we get and I love that you encourage this.

16. “It could be worse.”

wc: 1738

Thunderstruck

Geralt and Jaskier come face to face with a violent lightning storm and hide out in a cave. Jaskier is afraid of thunder and lightning. Geralt helps him through it.

Zeniths were a spectacle. To be present in the height of a storm, to be in the midst of its power and bear witness to its thrall is a mighty thing, even in its horror. It served as a reminder of one’s insignificance, and what a magnificent blessing it was to be thus. Jaskier stared out at the storm in awe. He jumped back from the mouth of the cave with a shriek as a bolt of lightning crashed down, splitting the bark from a tree not fifty paces away. Strong arms reached out to catch him as he went stumbling backward.

“It could be worse,” Geralt joked.

The thunder’s echo still rumbled through the cave’s walls, dying under the crash of another, and another, the cave never silent. Jaskier covered his ears and scowled at Geralt. “Oh really?” he asked, raising his voice against the deafening noise. “I feel I’m inside a war drum! I’m jumping out of my skin!” There was a crackling in the atmosphere that stood his hair on end. He’d never experienced anything more frightening in his life, and he’d had to drag Geralt from the edge of death with a mad nightwraith on the prowl.

He shouted and buried himself under Geralt’s arm as another bolt of lightning touched the earth, the sound following not a fraction of an instance after the light flashed. “Why is it touching the ground?” he panted, heart racing in his chest like a frantic horse. His skin was pale in the darkness, almost white, illuminated by the flash of lightning. He shook, his eyes wide with fear. “It’s so close. I swear, a god is trying to smite us, Geralt.”

Another crash outside and Jaskier tucked his head, hands flat against his ears. He whimpered, and Geralt had never known him to show such fear. The fear he knew was comical at times, more urgency or discomfort than any true terror. But this—this was a fear Geralt knew in others. Jaskier reeked of it, and it burned to breathe it in.

Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier, leading him back into the depths of the cave where Roach waited. He set to work making camp, removing the saddle and setting out their bedrolls. With a tug, he pulled Jaskier down onto one, then positioned Jaskier so he lay with his head against his arm. He placed his own hand over Jaskier’s other ear so the sound was twice as muffled.

“Close your eyes,” Geralt said. He then made a sign with his hand and a bright purple glow spread over them. The storm seemed to disappear, only the low bass rumbling through. It sounded distant as if their heads were under water.

Jaskier opened his eyes, blinking in the odd glow. He slowly pulled his hands away from his ears, squinting at the pulsating barrier in a dome around them. “Is this …?”

“Quen,” Geralt answered. “It … dampens the noise.”

Jaskier turned his head to look at him. “You used a sign for me? But you said using signs outside of battle was frivolous.”

Geralt did not meet his eye. He shrugged, putting his hands over Jaskier’s ears once more. “It’s a precaution. In case the storm collapses the cave,” he grunted.

“And covering my ears as we lay together?”

“Would you rather I cover your mouth?”

Jaskier managed a nervous laugh. His heartbeat began to slow—cautiously—and his trembling to cease. He closed his eyes once more. To Geralt’s surprise, Jaskier rolled over, tucking his head beneath his chin. Geralt’s hand fell over his shoulders, cradling him.

For a moment, Geralt felt uncertain. But as Jaskier nestled, breathing gently against him, he wrapped his arms more securely around his form. Though there was little need with the barrier in place, he flattened one hand over Jaskier’s exposed ear and used the motion to tuck his head closer. They lay together until the storm passed, the hours fading into sleep.

Geralt followed the faint hum of his medallion in the early dawn. His boots crunched over the splinter of charred wood. The fragments littered the area, and the tree had collapsed in the night. He found the place they’d been camping before the rain broke over their heads. The wood of their campfire now lay in a soaking pile, barely blackened. Beyond their camp lay the sandy shore of the lake, and it was there that his medallion led.

Upon the yellow sands he crouched. He brushed the sands carefully as he searched. It was something he’d read about before, something left in the wake of powerful storms when the sky reached down to touch the earth. In the old tales, it was meant as a gift from the gods; a promise that no storm should ever again harm the one blessed with it. The stories were so old, he thought they had no true merit, but the medallion made him rethink his position. He felt a solid bump on the surface of the sand and dug around it. As he dug, a strange tendril emerged. Then another, like the root of a tree in its shape.

Geralt dug the lightning from the earth, made solid and harmless. The glass was explosive, its many branches reaching outward, smooth in places where the lightning melted the sand best, grainy in others. He turned it in his hands, struck with wonder. Touching the thin ends of one branch, the glass snapped free. Upon examination he found that it was hollow within; the lightning had escaped its vessel.

Fishing out his dagger, Geralt selected a wide tendril and scored one end. He tapped it with the handle of his dagger and it fell free in his hand with a clean line. He scored it again, tapped, and a ring fell from the glass. After a bit of searching in his bag, he found a sanding block, pasted with dogfish. He sprinkled a pinch of sand over the block and rubbed the sharp ends of the glass ring over the abrasive surface, smoothing them away.

He washed the ring in the lake and tested its edge carefully. When he was sure the edge was dull, he fished a length of leather cord from his bag and looped it around, tying off the ends. He wrapped the rest of the glass in his spare clothes and carried the lot back to the cave.

By this time, Jaskier was beginning to stir.

Geralt tapped his shoulder. “Hey,” he coaxed. “Wake up, I’ve brought you something.”

Jaskier turned over groggily. “Is it breakfast?” he asked. “If it is, you can leave it by the fire. I’ll get to it. Just … twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes indeed. Geralt chuckled and pried one of Jaskier’s eyes opened. “It’s not breakfast. It’s something rare. Something I think you’ll find fascinating.”

“Can’t I be fascinated in the late morning for a change?” Jaskier complained. But in spite of the early hour, he sat upright and rubbed his eyes. “Alright, I’m up. What’s so rare and fascinating? Are we off to see some nigh-extinct bird that only comes out at dawn in this isolated range of the mountain? Some magical fish that walks on land two days of the year during mating season?”

“Give me your hand,” Geralt said.

Jaskier squinted at him in suspicion. “Geralt of Rivia, I swear: if you’ve woken me up to put a bug in my hands, I will spit in your eye.”

Geralt sighed as he reached into his bag. “It’s not a bug. Will you just do it?”

Cautiously, Jaskier held out his hand, still keeping it rigidly close to snatch away should he spy any hint of a creepy crawly thing, whether by leg or antenna. Geralt rolled his eyes and pulled his hand forward. He dropped the ring into his palm, letting the cord drape over the side.

Jaskier’s eye widened and he picked up the ring, inspecting it in the early morning light. The glass was a marbled yellow and white, speckled with flecks here and there of brown and tiny black particles. “Oh,” he whispered in admiration. “Oh, what is it?”

“Fulgurite. Lightning glass.”

“Lightning glass?”

Geralt nodded. “When lightning strikes sand, it melts it into its shape. There are stories of it, though I’d never seen it before. In some stories, the lightning becomes trapped in the glass, released only when it is broken; a punishment from the gods for those who wished to claim their power of nature for themselves.”

He opened his bag and removed the hollow glass for Jaskier to inspect. “There are friendlier stories,” he explained, “wherein the glass is a blessing. After difficult storms pass, a mass of fulgurite is left behind. He who finds it and carries it with him is blessed with fair weather all his days. The hollow in the glass is the eye of the storm, the one place of calm amid the chaos.”

Jaskier poked a finger through the eye of the ring. “Fascinating doesn’t begin to cover it. Song worthy better hits the mark.” He passed Geralt the ring as he packed away the glass once more, but Geralt stopped him, closing his hand around the ring.

“I want you to keep it,” he said. “To protect you. Lightning will never strike near you so long as you wear it.”

Jaskier stared down at his fist, opening it slowly to reveal the cold glass ring within. “I thought you didn’t believe in stories like that,” he replied.

Geralt picked up the ring by its cord and lowered it round Jaskier’s neck. “Some stories—some superstitions—are facts forgotten by time. Whether or not it truly will guard you from storms, we’ll learn in time, but I can feel that there is magic in this. There are charms in this world, if you know where to find them.”

Jaskier pressed the tips of his fingers to the ring, a small smile tugging his lips. It rested against his collar with a comforting weight. When he looked at Geralt, his eyes were bright and crinkled at the corners.

“Thank you, Geralt.”

He stood up, one hand on Geralt’s shoulder for balance. As he did, he leaned in and pressed a grateful kiss to his cheek in passing, then went to see about getting breakfast started.

Geralt knelt frozen on the spot.

Thunderstruck.

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thebibliosphere · 3 years

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So I'm currently unemployed because I got fired for taking too much sick leave (it was legally sketchy blah blah blah but in the end I just can't work and take care of myself and investigate my mystery health problems at the same time). So I've been spending more time writing!

I really admire your writing and loved Hunger Pangs. I'm looking forward to the poly elements developing and I'm wondering if you have any advice for writing about poly. I've made one of my projects a snarky take on "write what you know" ... Apparently what I know is southern gothic meets Pacific northwest gothic, chronic illness pandemic surrealism, and falling back-asswards into threesomes.

I know this is a very open-ended question and I don't expect an answer, I'm just curious about it if you have the energy. As a writer, trying to write honestly / realistically about polyamory/enm, I'm curious if you have any thoughts on what's different about portraying monogamy or nonmonogamy in books, romance or erotica or otherwise.

I'm trying to read examples but it's hard to find examples that fit the niche I'm looking at. Excuse me if this question is nonsense, it's the cluster headaches.

I'm sorry to hear you've been dealing with all that and solidarity on the cluster headaches. But I'm glad you're finding an outlet through writing! And I hope you're happy with an open-ended ramble in response because oh boy, there's a lot I could talk about and I could probably do a better job of answering this sort of thing with more specific questions, but let's see where we end up.

There's definitely a big difference between writing polyamory/ENM (ethical non-monogamy) and what people often expect from monogamous love stories.

Just even from a purely sales and marketing standpoint, the moment you write anything polyamorous (or even just straight up LGBTQIA+ without the ENM) you're going to get considered closer to being erotica/obscene than hetero romances. It's an unfair bias, but it's one that exists in our society. But also the Amazon algorithm and their shitty, shitty human censors. Especially the ones that work the weekends. (Talking to you, Carlos 🖕.)

So not only do you start out hyper-aware that you're writing something that is highly stigmatized or fetishized (at least I'm hyper-aware) but that you are also writing for a niche market that is starving for positive content because the content that exists is either limited, not what they want, or is problematic in some fashion i.e. highly stigmatized or fetishy. And even then, the wants, desires, and expectations of the community you're writing for are complex and wildly varied and hard to fit into an easy formula.

When writing monogamous love stories, there is a set expectation that’s really hard to fuck up once you know it. X person meets Y. Attraction happens, followed by some sort of minor conflict/resolution. Other plot may happen. A greater catalyst involving personal growth for both parties (hopefully) happens. Follow the equation to its ultimate resolution and achieve Happily Ever After.

But writing ENM is... a lot more difficult, if only because of the pure scope of possibilities. You could try to follow the same equation and shove three (or more) people into it, but it rarely works well. Usually because if you’re doing it right, you won’t have enough room in a single character arc to allow for enough growth, and if ENM requires anything in abundance, it’s room to grow.

And this post is huge so I’m going to put the rest under a cut :)

There's also a common refrain in certain online polyam/ENM circles that triads and throuples are overrepresented in media and they may be right to some extent. Personally, I believe the issue isn't that triads and throuples are overrepresented, but that there is such minuscule positive rep of ethical non-monogamy in general, that the few tiny instances we have of triads in media make it seem like it's "everywhere" when in actuality, it's still quite rare and the media we do have often veers into Unicorn Hunter fetish porn. Which is its own problematic thing. And just to be clear, I’m not including this part to dissuade you from writing "falling back-asswards into threesomes." If anything, I need more of it and would hook it directly into my brain if I could. I'm just throwing it out there into the void in the hope that someone will take the thought and run with it, lol.

I’d love to see more polyfidelitous rep in fiction, just as much as I’d like to see more relationship anarchy too. More diversity in fiction is always good.

Another thing that differs in writing ENM romance vs conventional monogamy is the feeling like you need to justify yourself. There's a lot of pressure to be as healthy and non-problematic as possible because you are being held to a higher standard of criticism. Both from people from without the ENM communities, and from the people within. Granted, some people don't give a shit and just want to read some fantastic porn (valid) but there are those who will cheerfully read Fifty Shades of Bullshit and call it "spicy" and "romantic," then turn around and call the most tooth-rottingly-sweet-fluff about a queer platonic polycule heresy. That's just the way the world works.

(Pro-tip for author life in general: never read your own reviews; that way madness lies. I glimpsed one the other day that tagged Hunger Pangs as “ethical cheating” and just about had an aneurism.)

And while that feeling of needing to justify yourself comes from a valid place of being excluded from the table of socially accepted norms, it can also be to the detriment of both the story and the subject matter at hand. I've seen some authors bend so far over backward to avoid being problematic in their portrayal of ENM, they end up being problematic for entirely different reasons. Usually because they give such a skewed, rose-tinted perspective of how things work, it ends up coming off as well... a bit culty and obnoxious tbh.

“Look how enlightened we are, freed from the trappings of monogamy and jealousy! We’re all so honest and perfect and happy!”

Yeah, uhu, sure Jan. Except here’s the thing, not all jealousy is bad. How you act on it can be, but jealousy itself is an important tool in the junk drawer that is the range of human emotion. It can clue us in to when we’re feeling sad or neglected, which in turn means we should figure out why we’re feeling those things. Sometimes it’s because brains are just like that and anxiety is a thing. Other times it’s because our needs are actually being neglected and we are in an unhealthy situation we need to remedy. You gotta put the work in to figure it out. Which is the same as any style of relationship, whether it’s mono, polyam or whatever flavor of ENM you subscribe to* And sometimes you just gotta be messy, because that’s how humans are. Being afraid to show that mess makes it a dishonest portrayal, and it also robs you of some great cannon fodder for character development.

Which brings me in a roundabout way to my current pet peeve in how certain writers take monogamous ideals and apply them to ENM, sometimes without even realizing it. The “Find the Right Person and Settle Down” trope.

Often, in this case, ENM or polyamory is treated as a phase. Something you mature out of with age or until you meet “The One(tm).” This is, of course, an attempt to follow the mono style formula expected in most romances. And while it might appeal to many readers, it’s uh, actually quite insulting.

To give an example, I am currently seeing this a lot in the Witcher fandom.

Fanon Netflix!Jaskier is everyone's favorite ethical slut until he meets Geralt then woops, wouldn’t you know, he just needed to find The One(tm). Suddenly, all his other sexual and romantic exploits or attractions mean nothing to him. Let's watch as he throws away a core aspect of his personality in favor of a man.

Yeah... that sure showed those societal norms...

If I were being generous, I’d say it’s a poor attempt at showing New Relationship Euphoria and how wrapped up people can become in new relationships. But honestly, it’s monogamous bias eking its way in to validate how special and unique the relationship is. Because sometimes people really can’t think of any other way to show how important and valid a relationship is without defining it in terms of exclusivity. Which is a fundamental misunderstanding of how ENM works for a lot of people and invalidates a lot of loving, serious and long-term relationships.

This is not to say that some polyam/poly-leaning people can't be happy in monogamous relationships! I am! (I consider myself ambiamorous. I'm happy with either monogamy or polyamory, it really just depends on the relationship(s) I’m in.) But I also don't regard my relationship with a mono partner as "settling down" or "growing up." It's just a choice I made to be with a person I love, and it's a valid one. Just like choosing to never close yourself off to multiple relationships is valid. And I wish more people realized that, or rather, I wish the people writing these things knew that :P

Anyway, I think I’ve rambled enough. I hope this collection of incoherent thoughts actually makes some sense and might be useful.

----

*A good resource book that doesn't pull any punches in this regard is Polysecure by Jessica Fern. It's a wonderfully insightful read that explores the messier side of consensual non-monogamy, especially with how it can be affected by trauma or inter-relationship conflicts. But it also shows how to take better steps toward healthy, ethical non-monogamy (a far better job than More Than Two**) and conflict resolution, making it a valuable resource both for someone who is a part of this relationship style***, but also for writers on the outside looking in who might have a very simple or misguided idea of what conflict within polyam/ENM relationships might look like, vs traditional monogamous ones.

** The author of More Than Two has been accused of multiple accounts of abuse within the polyamorous community, with many of his coauthors having spoken out about the gaslighting and emotional and psychological damage they experienced while in a relationship with him. A lot of their stories are documented here: https://www.itrippedonthepolystair.com/ (warning: it is not light material and deals with issues of abuse, gaslighting, and a whole other plethora of Yikes.) While some people still find More Than Two helpful reading, there are now, thankfully, much, much better resources out there.

*** Some people consider polyam/ENM to be part of their identity or orientation, while others view it as a relationship style.It largely depends on the individual.

#long post #writing #ethical non-monogamy #relationship styles #relationship models in fiction #also that kindle link is an affiliate link #because fuck giving amazon free recs

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 3 years

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Okay so here's a lil' prompt for you

How about some rough foreplay between a jealous Geralt and Jaskier being all "fucking finally you dumb sack of potatoes"

my darling nonie, thank you for your patience, im sorry it took me so long to get my writing vibes back, but we're finally back in business!

Warnings: horny, lil bitey/manhandle-y but nothing past netflix canon consistent roughness, grumpy dumb geralt and jaskier doing his best to get him to use words, lol and swearing.

_________________

“You don’t scare me, Geralt,” Jaskier huffed, leaning back against the footboard of Geralt’s bed. They’d been sitting on the floor by the fire in his room for hours now, enjoying the warmth and reveling in the rest that the last few weeks of winter provided. Geralt, of course, had been getting a little antsy, ready to pack up and go, but also reluctant. So of course he had expressed this by being a bit of an asshole.

“I don’t want you scared…” he grumbled, picking at a hangnail and feeling a little bit like an idiot. He couldn’t exactly tell Jaskier how he wanted him, and that was probably the most frustrating thing on his mind that night. No matter what, he was going to keep the bard around as long as Jaskier would suffer his foul moods and emotional illiteracy. But it hurt to have him so close but so far out of his reach and he was constantly angry with himself for continuing to want.

“Then how do you want me? Hm?” Jaskier asked, flailing his arms about, expressing nearly as much frustration as Geralt felt, “Are you looking for a fight? Someone to hold your hand? Would you like me tied up instead? For fucks sake Geralt just fucking spit it out.”

Clenching his jaw, Geralt growled as he did his best not to picture his best friend tied up and desperate for him, “No.”

Jaskier got up on his knees and shuffled a little closer to where Geralt was leaning against the opposite wall, looking something like a praying monk, “Mellitelle, Geralt. I don’t think I can get it through your thick skull that I will absolutely not run and hide or abandon you if you tell me what you’re thinking. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Especially if it’s uncomfortable.”

As Geralt tried to find a way out of the corner he’d backed himself into with words satisfactory to the bard, he made the mistake of glancing at him. Jaskier looked like a romanticized painting in the firelight. His hair glowed in an orangish warmth and the low golden tones made his blue eyes sparkle even in the fading light. It really wasn’t fair. How the hell was Geralt supposed to say anything other than what he truly wanted?

Fear. Fear of rejection, or worse, of Jaskier, thinking it was some ridiculous joke and laughing him off like that couldn’t possibly be what has Geralt so worked up. That was plenty to keep Geralt from telling him exactly what he felt and thought. So he stayed quiet.

“You absolute-” Jaskier grumbled, almost to himself before starting in on a lecture, with animated hands and everything, “Here I am, quite literally on my fucking knees asking you to tell me what’s bothering you - which appears to be about me, so I think I have a right to know- and you just fucking look at me. What the ever-loving fuck makes you think I’m shivering my ass off in this haunted keep for, not getting laid in a warm castle - or even by your brothers down the hall- for anything other than a pathetic devotion to your grumpy ass?! Are you blind? Are you really so self-loathing? Do you just not care? For fuck’s sake, Geralt. Tell me so I can make it better because I’m not allowed to make the leap here! I’m not a sorceress! I can’t just probe your mind to-”

Geralt lunged, not a single thought in his head, just a frustrated need to tell Jaskier what he meant and an inability to do so with words. ‘The first leap..’ Fuck he hoped he’d read that right. If years traveling with the bard and constantly unraveling his riddles was anything to go by, he absolutely had. But the chance of rejection still hung in the air and pushed him near the edge of tears.

His hands gripped the front of Jaskier’s chemise and yanked him closer, so he was almost hovering over Geralt, and he recklessly mashed their lips together. Jaskier had to brace himself on Geralt’s shoulder and for a moment the witcher was terrified he was being pushed away. He was about to let go and quite literally tuck tail and run when Jaskier’s other hand laced its way through the hair at the back of his neck and tilted his head for him, deepening their kiss and adding a little intent to the passion.

Geralt groaned and hauled Jaskier up with him as he clambered to his knees, only breaking the kiss out of necessity but sealing their lips together whenever he could. He’d been given permission. After years of wanting and wishing and guilt-ridden fantasy, he could finally taste what he’d been longing for and self-restraint was rather hard to come by. So he didn't bother.

He crushed Jaskier to himself, needing to know this was real, not just one of his many dreams. In turn, Jaskier hooked one leg around his hips, an awkward position for the two of them standing on their knees on the cold stone floor, but it spurred Geralt on nonetheless. He lifted one knee so the bard was practically sitting on his thigh and rose to stand, kissing and sucking dark red marks on the bard’s jawline and neck. Without a second thought, he used his momentum to slam Jaskier against the wall, trapping him against his own body. Exactly where he wanted him. The bard let loose a soft grunt on impact but dug his nails into Geralt’s back regardless.

“Sorry,” Geralt murmured before leaving a set of angry red crescent teeth marks on the bard’s exposed collar bone.

“None of that, I’m in heaven,” Jaskier gasped, rolling his hips against Geralt as he rested his head back against the wall, “Fucking finally.”

Geralt made a confused grunt, not entirely too concerned with the conversation as he worked on untucking Jaskier’s shirt, clumsily and forcefully yanking it over his head.

“You thick sack of potatoes, I’ve been flirting with you for years. Fucking claim me already,” Jaskier gasped, gripping Geralt’s hair and pulling him back to him in a punishing kiss.

If there’s one thing Geralt was good at, it was following orders. And he followed this particular order with hitherto unmatched enthusiasm, in Jaskier’s words, “going above and beyond the call of duty.”

#geraskier #geraskier getting together #the witcher #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfic #the witcher geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #jullian alfred pankratz #comfy answers #jask likes it rough #i just see it in his feral blue eyes okay #today at least #tomorrow he might be a pillow princess lol

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