#it's more about acknowledging neither is particularly a basket of roses

[hazmatmaid]

Long post incoming!

If you think about it, Spade King and Cyber Queen have a lot in common with their arcs and goals, though some of their key differences lie in their methods, and the way in which they each handle them:

Lightners (also goals):

Spade King feels wronged by Lightners because they haven't interacted with him or his subjects for what's likely years (and this kind of neglect appears to take a serious toll on Darkners' mental health), so of course he doesn't want his kingdom (his son especially, who has apparently never met one prior to Chapter 1) to experience that same pain. Problem is, said kingdom doesn't appear to care whatsoever about this, and in their eyes he's just forcing more work on them, or replacing them with incompetent morons after he fires or imprisons them (more on this later!).

On the other hand, Cyber Queen seems familiar enough with Lightners to at least try trapping them in a prison of their own interests (if not locked cages and rooms), and she wants to be their savior (though this appears to have some roots in a need to be worshiped herself).

She seems to care about the happiness of Noelle in particular, though for much of Chapter 2, Noelle wants nothing to do with her.

Subjects:

Spade King's subjects don't appear to be huge fans of him, largely because he makes them babysit his son, or he fired or imprisoned (and subsequently replaced) anyone that dared oppose him, so logically, they wouldn't be happy with him as a ruler or boss (not including Rouxls, who still was quick to talk shit about him once he felt like he was going to lose).

If you didn't attack anyone in Chapter 1, you gain the support of every Darkner in the kingdom, simply because you were nice to them. Though on the flipside, deplete the HP of just one, and they'll all be frantically trying to save their King (so they probably don't want him dead).

Cyber Queen's subjects are more of a mixed bag: they either don't know or care what she's doing (the Addisons and most of the enemies, from what I gather), or they know and oppose it (Sweet Cap'n Cakes and that one aspiring rebel trying to join them), or they're in full support of her actions (all of the butlers and a select few others).

I'm not quite sure how much of the in-universe support of her is genuine, and how much is the mind control (or the fear of it).

Methods:

As previously mentioned, Spade King's main method of carrying out his plans throughout Chapter 1 involved firing or imprisoning dissenters (including his fellow kings), which left them more displeased with him than they previously might have been, which obviously did him no favors.

He also sent Lancer after you, who seemed quite determined to stop the heroes until he formed a friendship with them (which Spade King didn't appear to anticipate would derail things).

In her introduction, Cyber Queen mind controls two people/turns them into Werewires right in front of you, and everyone else before them is cowering in fear that they'll be next (although some of them don't appear to be bothered by it, and some that haven't been assimilated even wondering if they're missing out).

As Parents: I'm sure people were anticipating this one.

While Spade King's treatment of Lancer is honestly concerning (to put it lightly), there's some tidbits prior to Chapter 2 that might suggest he's not a complete asshole of a dad.

He always has someone looking after Lancer, whether that's Rouxls "Lesser Dad" Kaard (who seems to be Lancer's favorite if the moniker is any indication), or any other random Darkners he's the boss of. Even then, Lancer still has a sort of capable independence about him.

The fact that he sent Lancer to stop the heroes already might indicate he trusted he would be able to do it, though arguably there wasn't anyone better available (or willing) to take up that mission.

The way Lancer speaks of him suggests his dad wasn't always a tyrant, and he's genuinely concerned that his new friends and his father might kill each other, and he doesn't want to lose either of them that way. I think it was mentioned on the Undertale 6th Anniversary Stream that the Fountain might have been messing with his head, so he likely wasn't in his right mind during Chapter 1 (which Lancer seems to acknowledge as him being "cranky" if you get the "bad ending" of that chapter).

In Chapter 2, Spade King appears to want Lancer to be happy in his absence (as he tells both the heroes and Queen herself to take good care of him and how), which I know is kind of the bare minimum, but it deserves a mention.

Cyber Queen seems to be some sort of all-adopting motherly figure to anyone she deems "Foolish Children," which appears to be....everyone, basically. It kind of makes sense then that she'd want to take the whole world as her own in that sense.

Here's the caveat though: "god i wish that were me" aside, let's explore her intentions with Noelle. Queen's mothering was unwanted by Noelle, who largely wouldn't have minded Cyber World if it wasn't for Queen being overbearing, and insisting that being her peon would be cool & fun. Though ultimately she understood this when Noelle called her out, and backed down almost immediately.

It's sort of an interesting parallel to Spade King telling people to take good care of his son in his absence; both of them are respecting the wishes of their children (or people they treat as such) after learning a hard-taught lesson in parenting.

just some thoughts, really.

#deltarune #deltarune analysis #spade king #king deltarune #deltarune king #queen deltarune #deltarune queen #cyber queen #long post #haz says a thing #not sure who's interested #i probably missed some bits #this isn't really about which one is my favorite #it's more about acknowledging neither is particularly a basket of roses #nor are they completely irredeemable #so please no calling of 'total asshole' in any further discussion

[doctors-star]

Can you stay still for the next 20 min? (If this was meant as a prompt ask 😅)

“Okay - have you got it?”

“Yeah, you can - shift it to the left a bit, yeah - is that right your end?”

“Looks good to me.” Peter leans back very carefully, eyeballing along the length of the beam with half of his face scrunched up in a squint. Alex resists the urge to fidget the cold, heavy wood between his hands; there is a strong likelihood that, in seeking a better grip on the slippery, paper-like bark of the skinny silver birch trunk they are using as a rafter, he will in fact fumble with numb fingers and drop it through their half-built structure. Peter straightens up and grins at him. “Right. Now, you just hold that there, perfectly still, while I drill and fix this end - shouldn’t take too long, anywhere between-” he tilts his hands mock-thoughtfully, “-two minutes and three days. All right?”

Alex sends him a withering look, somewhat weakened by the smile he is valiantly attempting to fight from his face. “You may have twenty minutes, maximum,” he says sternly.

“Why twenty?” Peter asks, casting about him for the auger they’re using to bore holes in the rafters and peg them together. “And - I mean you no offence, mate, but you keep shifting the beam - can you stay still for the next twenty minutes?”

Peter starts to descend his ladder to hunt down the drill and Alex takes pity. “You tucked it in your belt.”

“Ah! And you told me it was a bad idea,” Peter acknowledges with the point of a finger, scrambling back up and fidgeting the large, curling length of very sharp iron out from the small of his back.

Alex tilts his head slightly. “I meant because you might fall on it and die, but yes, fine, also because you have no object permanence and would lose it.”

Peter snorts and aligns the auger carefully over the crossed beams, perpendicular to their length, before beginning to twist the handles that form the T-shape of the drill. They’re down to their loose white shirts, despite the biting cold, what with the hauling and lifting and boring and pegging. Alex can see the muscles across Peter’s shoulders shift and pull under the thin linen.

“Anyway,” he says, dragging his eyes away and fixing them on the birch between his palms. The wood is scarred and knotted by the vagaries of Welsh weather but straight and sturdy; the bark is peeling in tight coils of ghostly parchment. It judders in his hands with every wrench of the auger, so he focusses on simply holding it still. “You can only have twenty minutes, because lunch is at one and that’s in about twenty minutes - whereupon I will abandon this whole project, because I’m hungry.”

Peter huffs a laugh, silver in the winter air. “Oh, right,” he says, as though this is quite reasonable, “I understand. Twenty minutes it is, then - although you’ll have to count it out in your head, what with us being Stuart farmers in rural Wales and therefore not having access to such newfangled things as watches.”

Peter looks at him out of the corner of his eye, biting his lip. Alex assumes a suitably innocent expression in the face of this challenge. “Mm,” he agrees.

“After all, I assume that’s how you know it’s twenty to one - you’ve been counting the minutes since dawn.”

“Oh, no, I can read the time in the sky.” Peter looks sceptically at the thick duvet of cloud overhead - the light has remained the same weak greyness since the sun technically rose, though they’ve not seen it. Alex shuffles the log into one hand, moving his foot up one ladder rung to support its weight on his thigh, and fumbles the other hand in the small leather pouch attached to his belt. He lifts the modern stainless steel watch up to the sky and makes a show of squinting at it against the clouds, and then puts it away. “Twelve forty-five,” he says decisively, slowly creasing into a smile when Peter abandons the auger to put his face in his hands and laugh.

“The director’ll have your head for that,” Peter points out, amused, as he goes back to the drill with a fond shake of his head.

Alex shrugs. He can, it turns out, do without most modern conveniences: he’s become used to candlelight and going to bed early, he likes the food, he honestly hasn’t thought about television for about three months. They’re allowed enough bits of their old lives to keep them all healthy and sane, like toothpaste and regular phone calls to friends and family, but other than that they’ve been keeping to the period fairly religiously and Alex wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s just - it turns out that, like how an explorer might like to keep a compass on them to know which way is north, Alex likes to know what time it is. Not for any particularly rational reason. There’s just a sort of comfort in knowing where he stands, temporally.

“Should have got you a pocket sundial for Christmas,” Peter says wryly, jimmying the auger back out of the wood with effort.

“A sundial? In Wales?” Alex objects mildly. “Peter, be serious.”

“Hah. Well, Stuart Welshmen managed somehow,” Peter points out, trotting swiftly down the ladder and fishing about in a basket for a peg long enough to pin the beam to the apex.

Before Alex can respond, there is a call from the farmhouse, and Ruth is waving at them as she picks her way through the frosted garden towards them. “Hello, boys - oh, this is going up well.”

Peter smiles shyly at her and pats the nearest upright of the latrine. “It’s good, yeah,” he says, turning the peg in his fingers with the other hand. It’s terribly sweet, this nervous adoration Ruth seems to inspire in him when she catches Peter off-guard. Sweet, and slightly embarrassing on Peter’s behalf, and very slightly inspiring of jealousy, as though Alex were five years old and sulky over Ruth stealing his best friend. He doesn’t like to examine that much.

“Slightly roofless,” Alex points out.

Ruth smiles, tilting her head back to look up the ladder at him, and the niggling, uncomfortable envy fades somewhat. “It’s al fresco,” she corrects cheerfully, and he grins. “It’s got walls, anyway, and this looks like your last roof beam, so it’s only slightly roofless.”

“You won’t say that when it rains,” Alex foretells, and she laughs.

“All right. I came out to tell you lunch will be in a minute, so if it’s at a point where you can leave it-”

“I’m letting go of this beam,” Alex tells Peter firmly. “I’m doing it.”

“You said twenty minutes,” Peter corrects, scrambling up the ladder.

“I said until lunch,” he says, steadying the beam carefully so that Peter can jam the peg in and shove at it with the heel of his palm. “It is now lunch, and I am no longer holding this beam for you.”

“Two minutes,” Peter pleads, shoving at the peg and then looking around him, patting his belt and where pockets might be on jeans but definitely are not on breeches. “Where’s the - thank you, Ruth.”

Ruth’s eyes slide sideways to Alex in amusement as she passes Peter a sturdy wooden mallet. She’s always pleasingly entertained by their antics, even if Alex and Peter are being more than slightly unhelpful, and it absolutely encourages them to further bouts of silliness. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says warmly, folding her arms and looking delighted around the edges of a stern expression. Alex basks in her indulgence.

“Alex wouldn’t really abandon me for lunch,” Peter says, deliberately overwrought and self-pitying, as he secures the peg. “He wouldn’t destroy all our hard work just to eat, not after the hours we spent working on it - and the years we’ve been friends, and all the nice things I’ve done for him.” Ruth laughs and Peter, beam now secured, leans on it slightly to look plaintively in Alex’s direction. “You wouldn’t leave me just for food, would you?” he says, with his best puppyish eyes.

Alex looks back at him. He’s given up a lot to be here with Peter for this year - they’ve not been out of uni that long, all things considered, and are definitely in that stage of academia in which a person is supposed to work extremely hard and get all the funding available to become very specialised and useful - essentially, they are not supposed to be going on a year’s sabbatical to wrestle pigs and plough fields and become bizarrely knowledgeable about early seventeenth century agriculture, which is something neither of them are aiming to specialise in at all. He has no idea if this is a good career move, or a sure-fire way to never be taken seriously again. On top of that, he’s given up on all the comforts and joys of modern life, and on seeing his friends and family particularly often, and on starting or maintaining relationships with anyone other than Peter and Ruth and the rest of the cast and crew. He had been worried, when he and Peter had been discussing whether or not to go for this opportunity, that he would be constantly miserably cold and lonely - but Peter had promised him good company and all of Peter’s spare layers and blankets, and had reminded him of all of the things they would get the opportunity to do and try, and all the experiences they could have out in the valley that they might never have again. And Alex had allowed himself to be convinced, and had followed Peter onto the farm and into Stuart life. He is yet to have cause to regret it; he has loved it, and Peter and Ruth and all his new friends, to excesses.

He fixes Peter with an unimpressed look. “I would leave you in the mud for an unripe tomato.”

#thank you for prompt! apologies for the delay! #bbc historical farm #based on green valley events which i can only half remember so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #this is your captain speaking

[crimsonrae]

Across the Road, At the Brothel

Chapter Ten

Summary: Jaskier fell in love any day that the sun rose in the East. It was a trifling, pleasurable experience for him. Even when he was jumping out a window to avoid cuckolded husbands. So what happens when his trifles start to become more significant? Jaskier/OC. Some Yennefer/Geralt

A/N: Jaskier is just too adorable not to write about. This is a relationship development story with an OC. There will be smut in later chapters and plenty of angst.

Rating: Mature

Simple and Complex

"Twas early one morning a fair maid arose,

And slipped away with her lover's clothes,

And off to the fields a sure she goes

With naught e'na kiss in the morning early."

An unwilling smile pulled at Lyrra's lips as she smothered a sigh and attempted to pay her bard no mind. She finished hanging a few freshly laundered shirts and trousers as she listened to his approach. She had slipped out of her cottage long before Jaskier had woken. A basket of laundry in hand as she went to the stream – Geralt had roused enough from his place by her hearth to note her exit but seemed incline to rest longer himself. She was grateful for the solitude. It gave her a chance to gather her thoughts and calm the whirlwind that Jaskier had incited in her. She needed the distance and the time to figure out -

"Are you really just going to ignore me?"

Him.

Lyrra glanced around the shirt she was pinning up with a raised brow to see him standing proudly with his hands on his hips, "Did you say something?"

Jaskier narrowed his gaze at her in an odd mix of exasperation and amusement, "Lyrra."

"Jaskier." She intoned and bit back a smirk as he huffed.

A sly glint entered his eyes as he began to sing again.

"The bard arose and he discovered her sin,

His heart and his song composed quite the din."

Lyrra could not help the faint laugh that left her as she listened to him. Puckish amusement danced in his blue orbs as he sidled up next to her and slid an arm around her waist.

"And he had the will for to greet her so slim

With a kiss in the morning early."

She didn't need the last line of his song to see the kiss coming. A quiet sigh left her as she welcomed his familiar embrace. Her skin still tingled with the memory of their coupling and the calm she had achieved was swiftly thwarted by his touch. Reluctantly, she pulled away.

Jaskier smiled contentedly at her, "Good morning."

"It's afternoon, you slept the morning away." Lyrra replied lightly as she moved her basket under the tree her clothesline was tethered on, "And I'm rather sure those aren't the words to that song."

"Ehh, I'm a bard, pretty much gives me free rein to change the words." Jaskier shrugged. His keen eyes cataloged her every move, "You should've slept the morning away too. You were up as long as I was."

As if to prove his point, Lyrra found herself swallowing a yawn. In all actuality, she had been up longer than he had. Her mind had not been able to let the events of the night settle and her dreams had taken a dark turn once she had drifted off. She still wasn't sure what had come over her in that bathing chamber, she was never that bold. Yet, bold was the only way to describe her actions from the time he entered until...well. A blush rose to her cheeks and she could see a salacious grin crossing Jaskier's lips from her periphery at the sight. He knew well where her mind had gone.

"Stop it." She murmured lowly, refusing to look in his direction.

"Stop what?" His tone dripped with quiet laughter.

"You know what." She glowered faintly at him and wished that she still had a few shirts to pin to the line, if only to have something to do besides stare at him.

He tilted his head and his mirthful smile continued to tease her as he said, "You are adorably shy in the light of day. I do hope that I never make you stop blushing."

It was her turn to huff, "Jaskier."

He chuckled quietly and reached for her again, "Now what happened to the woman who had her wicked way with me last night, hmm?"

Lyrra was sure her face was scarlet now at his words as she allowed him to draw her close again, "She came to her senses."

"That sounds...not good." Jaskier murmured as he tilted her chin up and frowned bemusedly at her, "I suppose it's time we actually have that talk."

Lyrra shifted awkwardly under his gaze as she ruefully wondered which talk he was referring to, their tryst or her back. Neither was a conversation she particularly wanted to have, if for completely different reasons. She had been grateful when the topic had fallen to the wayside upon returning to her cottage.

She forced a smile when she realized she was taking too long to respond, "That talk."

"Yes, the one you've been trying to figure out how to avoid since I brought it up last night." Jaskier uttered faintly amused as she looked away somewhat sheepishly and bit back a sigh, "Believe it or not, not a conversation I want to have either, but as fun, as our little dance has been... we do need to -"

He waved his hand about as he tried to find the right words. Lyrra took pity on him as her smile turned a little more genuine, "Clear the air? Create some boundaries? Form an understanding?"

Jaskier nodded, "Yes, that. That would be good."

Lyrra stifled a giggle as she saw her nerves reflected in his expression. It amazed her how he could go from unerringly confident to uncertain in a matter of seconds, especially around her. She was not someone to be nervous around. Her fingers itched with the need to touch him, reassure him. The impulse to soothe his quiet anxiety was strong and unexpected. She wasn't a tactile person by any means, she usually went out of her way to avoid being touched. Jaskier was her opposite in this manner, he felt everything, like an overgrown toddler. He picked up, played, listened, and sometimes tasted everything with which he came into contact. He took comfort in touch, she knew this implicitly.

As if to prove her unspoken point, he seemed to sense her reluctance and reached out to caress her cheek, "What is it? Talk to me."

"It's nothing – I just...I tend to get carried away with you."

Jaskier raised a brow as he prodded her to continue, "And that's a bad thing?"

"It's not like me." She mumbled quietly and resisted the urge to fidget. She didn't know how to explain to him the maelstrom he made her feel. How she found him both comforting and disconcerting. How she allowed him more liberties than anyone since...since ever.

"Again, that's a bad thing?" He was more curious now than concerned. Jaskier had been far from surprised when he had woken to find her gone... simply disappointed. He was quickly beginning to learn that avoidance was his lover's instinctual response to anything that made her -

"It's an uncomfortable thing." Lyrra grimaced.

Uncomfortable. He smiled gently at her, at least she was somewhat aware of her tendencies, "You know, I typically don't do serious."

Lyrra blinked at the strange segue, "Really? Hadn't noticed."

He bit back a laugh at her dry tone as he made his point, "Serious is complicated and boring and messy. I like easy and fun, simple... but you, my lovely Lyrra, you are very complicated and serious. But I can say with absolute certainty you are not boring. You make me curious."

She merely stared at him still unsure where he was going with his little lecture.

"Curious. Confused. Uncomfortable." Jaskier answered placing a special emphasis on that last word, "No, strike that – you don't make me uncomfortable; you make me uncertain. None of that is necessarily a bad thing, you know?"

"Hasn't been my experience." Lyrra replied softly.

"No, I suppose it hasn't." His fingers brushed across her back and the brand he now knew rested there and she tensed at the reminder, "I don't think that I make you uncomfortable, either. I think it's that you enjoy yourself with me that discomfits you. Tell me you didn't enjoy yourself last night."

Her cheeks burned and she couldn't meet his eyes as she fumbled for a response, "I... you know, I did."

"Do you want to do it again?" He asked quietly and linked his fingers with hers.

Lyrra felt her stomach flutter at the question as she tried vainly to ignore the heat that rushed through her veins, "...yes."

"So do I." He murmured softly and unconsciously leaned into her, "Is that really so unsettling?"

Her grey eyes were drawn to his lips, "...yes. You unsettle me, Jaskier."

"How?"

"I crave you. I've known you barely a fortnight." Lyrra whispered, not missing the desirous look that entered his eyes at her words, "And I crave your kisses and your touch... even your voice. I don't crave people. I don't know what to do with you."

"I think you know exactly what to do with me." He couldn't help the tease that left his tongue even as she hit his arm, "Ow."

Vaguely annoyed, she attempted to pull away from him again, but he refused to let her step back. "Alright, okay. I'm sorry. I don't do serious, remember? It's just... this doesn't have to be hard, it can be simple."

Lyrra sighed frustrated, "Nothing about this is simple."

"Only because you're making it complicated." Jaskier pointed out somewhat humorously, "We already agreed to not get married and after last night, I think we're agreed we can't be merely friends. Especially, since we both admitted we want a repeat..." His words slowly caught up with him and he offered her an acknowledging nod, "Right, we may be a little complicated."

Lyrra snorted and shook her head at him. He was utterly ridiculous and she adored it despite herself, "Let me make this simple. I like you, Jaskier. That's simple. You like me back, that's simple too. Last night was great and yes, I want it to happen again, but I'm not sure that it should."

"Why?" He breathed the questioned startled.

The possibility of them not continuing their affair had not occurred to the bard, she could see that plainly and sighed again, "In a day, a week, sometime rather soon you're going to be gone, Jaskier... And I don't - I don't want to miss you."

He looked like he had been struck and Lyrra tried not to wince under his stare or to follow after him when he stepped away. She felt cold at his abrupt distance. Perhaps, she had worded that too harshly. Guilt twisted in her gut as she silently pleaded with him to understand what she couldn't say.

"Right." A bitter laugh escaped him, "Oh, avoidance should really be your middle name, Lyrrana."

"Jaskier-"

"No." He shook his head and cut her off, "You don't want to miss me? That's shit, if ever I heard it. Let's reword that, shall we? What you really mean to say is: Jaskier, you're going to hurt me, so let's not even bother."

A stone sank with a ferocious crash in her stomach as his words and gaze scolded her like an unruly child. She wanted to be angry with him, but he wasn't entirely wrong. She stared helplessly, not sure how to respond or even if she should.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I really should've rented that room for us last night." He murmured almost sadly, "I'm not going to hurt you, Lyrra."

She swallowed tightly, "I know..."

"Do you?!" His disbelief seared her and she found she couldn't meet his gaze any longer, "Do I scare you, Lyrra? Last night did I -"

"No. No, Jaskier." Lyrra interrupted before he could finish his question, "I wanted last night. You didn't push me or force me."

Jaskier stared at her as he replayed everything he had said and done in that bathing chamber. A slow realization began to creep on him, "But I did scare you."

"No."

Despite the certainty in her voice, he knew it was a lie. It wasn't physical intimacy that was causing Lyrra's hesitance over their affair, it was emotional, "I did. When I saw your back. When I demanded you let me in, I scared you."

Lyrra's lips tightened into a thin line as she glared at him, "No."

Jaskier didn't seem to hear her as he muttered, "How am I attracted to the most emotionally stunted people on the bloody Continent?"

"Jaskier." She sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose, "Can we forget this conversation and go back to where you kissed me good morning?"

He looked as frustrated as she felt as he, in turn, uttered, "No. I promised you last night we go at your pace, not mine... I'll see if I can get my room back at the inn."

"You don't have to." Lyrra started softly.

Jaskier forced a smile at her and she hated it, "Yeah, I do. I think we both need our space. Simpler this way."

She went to protest further, but he cut her off once again.

"Oh...one more thing." A determined expression marred his visage as he swept back into her space and pressed his lips to hers. Lyrra gasped faintly at the sudden contact and he stole the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Unconsciously, her hands rose to tangle in his hair as he backed her against the trunk of the tree. A fiery thrill rushed through her veins as coherent thought left her and all she could do was cling to him as she simply felt.

She felt his warmth and the subtle strength in his body as he pressed against her. She felt his almost desperate grip on her hips and tasted his passion as he took his fill. He hadn't kissed her like this before... He was usually gentle, curious, searching, but this was demanding, almost possessive, it was dizzying. It wasn't until she completely melted into his touch that he pulled away and pressed his head to hers.

A smug gleam sparkled in his eyes, "That's what I thought too."

Utter confusion descended on Lyrra as she stared at him, "What?"

His smile was even smugger, "The thing about having this talk is that declaring our intentions goes both ways. I'll stay at the inn, but I fully intend to end up back in your bed and if I happen to fall into your heart, all the better. You don't get to ignore me. You don't get to be afraid of me, Lyrra. I'm not that scary."

No, he was terrifying.

He stole one more kiss before starting his trek to the cottage. Lyrra was left bewildered to stare after him. She shouted out the only thing that came to mind before he got too far, "This is far from simple!"

Jaskier spun on his heel and grinned, "Yeah, but I already told you – you're complicated. And I like you. Besides, I'm not that easy to get rid of, ask Geralt."

He disappeared around the bend a second later and Lyrra covered her face in disbelief, "He's absolutely mad."

»»————-　　————-««

Geralt felt a headache coming on as he headed back towards the woods. Enough time had passed since he had last checked the clearing that whoever had created the mutated fleders would have had the chance to find their corpses. He hoped anyway. Otherwise, he would need to figure out another way to track down those creature's creator and that meant spending more time in the Toussaint countryside than he was comfortable. Especially, now that Jaskier and Lyrra were...

He didn't know what the fuck those two were doing.

Which in part was why he had a headache now. Jaskier had been gathering his things when he had left the cottage, muttering under his breath about being drawn to emotionally constipated people.

Geralt didn't ask.

He would really rather not know.

What he had gleaned was that they were getting rooms at the inn. Despite his earlier protestations about overstaying their welcome in Lyrra's home, he wasn't looking forward to dealing with the general populace again. He pushed the thought aside as he moved quietly through the brush. The smell of rot had only become heavier in the days that followed and he no longer needed to follow his tracks back to the clearing. The other change was the faint buzzing of flies that filled his ears. The fleders decomp had attracted more insects. His teeth clenched as he resigned himself to the fact that the creator of the two beasts either had not bothered to look for them or the corpses hadn't been discovered yet.

There certainly hadn't been any talk amongst the locals about the discovery of two fleder corpses. He sighed as he stepped fully out of the woods and casually observed the clearing again. The flesh was almost completely gone from the fleders now... wait...fleder. One. Geralt tilted his head and eyed the shadows behind the first corpse. He wasn't mistaken there was only one body now. The other was gone.

He strode forward and bent to study the ground. There were drag marks, but that could have been from an animal dragging the body away for food. Yet, he found that scenario unlikely. Most scavengers could sense a potentially dangerous meal. The venom the fleder created would likely have made it toxic to any creature that attempted to eat it.

More silently than he had entered the clearing, he exited following the tracks. Even then, he could have followed his nose the stench was so bad. Whoever or whatever had come to claim the body had done so recently. It wasn't long before he stumbled onto a narrow path.

The trees had thinned and he could make out neatly organized rows of barren grape vines through the foliage. He must have been on the edge of one of the vineyards. Frowning, he continued on his hunt. Geralt noted the unnatural stillness in the air as he walked. He heard no birds or little critters scurrying through the brush. There were no distant sounds of farmhands, not even a breeze of wind to stir the leaves. A familiar twinge in his gut had him ill at ease, he wasn't the only predator afoot.

He must have walked a quarter-mile when he did finally hear it. It was low and shrill like an out of tune string on a lute. A song. Someone was singing. His twinge turned into a solid sinking instinct as he had a good assumption of what he was about to discover. His hand twitched for his sword as he dimly realized he had not brought the silver one with him. He had anticipated a human threat, not a monster. Geralt knew he had a choice to make – he could continue on and have his assumptions proven correct, but be ill-equipped to deal with the threat or he could head back and return later to a threat that had potentially disappeared.

Sighing quietly, he drew his sword and bent to pull a small silver dagger from his boot. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. He skirted to the edge of the path as he moved like a stalking cat around the bend. His golden eyes missed nothing as he took in the dilapidated ruins of an old manor. Past the tumbled walls he could make out the form of a woman. Her singing was louder now as she hunched over the rotted form of the missing fleder. A bruxa.

He watched for a moment as the bruxa continued to sing. Her head tilted back enough that he could see what appeared to be tears streaming down her cheeks as she caressed the festered corpse. Geralt frowned in confusion.

Had the bruxa made the fleders? Was that even possible?

It wasn't unheard of for bruxae to hunt in packs, but he had never known a bruxa to bother with a fleder. The creatures were usually too stupid and wild to be of notice to the high order vampires.

A low grumbling sounded behind him and Geralt stiffened. It seemed fate had taken his choice from his hand. He whipped around to see a very alive, very hungry looking fleder. The commotion had garnered the attention of the bruxa and her song turned into a screeching cry.

"Fuck." Geralt muttered.

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#the witcher #witcher fanfiction #jaskier #jaskier fanfiction #jaskier x oc #Geralt #yennefer #fanfic #fanfiction

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Chapter 114: Family Feast 1

Hi everyone! I’ve somehow managed to translate an entire chapter almost in one sitting?? Yay for progress!

So this is the family feast that was mentioned in the Yunmeng date (chapter 126) I translated before. This chapter is actually the very first extra which takes place after the end of the main story and the plot continues in the two following chapters (which I will strive to deliver).

As always, do not hesitate to point out any mistake and feel free to gush with me about Mo Dao Zu Shi!

٩(◦`꒳´◦)۶

Family Feast 1 / Family Feast 2 / Family Feast 3

Lan Wangji told Wei Wuxian, "Wait for me."

Wei Wuxian asked, "How about we go in together?"

Lan Wangji shook his head, "If you go in, his temper will be worse."

Wei Wuxian thought for a bit, it was that true that if Lan Qiren caught sight of him, he would have another stroke that would leave him gasping for breath. It was best to be merciful and remain out of sight, out of mind.

Lan Wangji gave him a look as if he wanted to say something but Wei Wuxian immediately said, "All right, I know. Do not run, do not make noise, do not blah blah blah, right? Don't worry, I returned with you this time so I'll definitely be careful of this and that and everything, I won't break a single rule that was written on your Sect's Wall of Discipline. I'll do my best."

Lan Wangji said unthinkingly, "No matter. Even if broken…"

Wei Wuxian sharply prompted him, "Mmh?"

Lan Wangji realized he was about to let slip something very improper, he turned his head away for a moment before turning back and saying solemnly, "… Nothing."

Wei Wuxian stared at him blankly, "You were saying, even if broken, then what?"

Lan Wangji knew that he deliberately asked the question while already knowing the answer. He repeated gravely, "Wait for me outside."

Wei Wuxian waved a hand, "Fine, I'll wait, how mean. I'll go play with your rabbits."

As a result, Lan Wangji went alone to brave Lan Qiren's flying spittle while Wei Wuxian was dragged by Little Apple to run wildly. Ever since Little Apple came back to the Cloud Recesses, it seemed particularly excited and every bit obstinate. Wei Wuxian kept dragging it, pulling it by force to the lush greenery of a meadow.

In the meadow, numerous fluffy snowballs were quietly gathered, pink nuzzles twitching, and long pinkish white ears occasionally quivering. Little Apple lifted its head and forced its way among them to find itself its own patch. Wei Wuxian crouched on the ground and grabbed a rabbit in passing. He thought to himself while scratching the rabbit's belly, "How many were there when I last came? Is this one male or female? Oh… it's male."

While having such thoughts, Wei Wuxian had an unexpected realisation, up until now he had never noticed whether Little Apple was male or female. Consequently, he couldn't help glancing towards its direction. But just as he was about to take a closer look, the sudden sound of movement made him turn round.

A young woman of petite stature holding a small basket was hesitating whether to come closer or not. Seeing Wei Wuxian suddenly turn towards her, she was momentarily at a complete loss and a shy blush spread across her face.

The young woman was clad in the robes of the Gusu Lan Sect. Carrying herself upright, she wore a plain white forehead ribbon without the rolling clouds pattern embroidered. Wei Wuxian exclaimed inwardly, "No way! I actually ran into a real one!"

It was a female cultivator. An actual female cultivator from the Gusu Lan Sect.

Gusu Lan Sect was renowned for its stringency and keeping a separation between men and women for all things. As the adage goes, men and women should not touch hands when they give or receive things [1], this was the kind of severely-enforced rules that went without saying. Young disciples grew up hearing endless recitations of Buddhist scripture about it. Male and female cultivators had their classrooms and private quarters strictly separated, they did not put a single foot outside the prescribed limits and seldom ventured beyond their own designated domain. Even during night hunts outside, men and women were slit up, in some only the men participated, in others only the women. In general, there were no circumstances in which men or women were allowed to mix together, this stiff enforcing was enough to make one bristle with anger. During the time when Wei Wuxian was studying at the Cloud Recesses, he had harboured doubts whether there were truly female cultivators there as he had never seen any girl in the premises. He had thought several times that he had heard the voices of female cultivators attending lectures. Curiosity would compel him to go take a look but he would immediately be found out by the sharp eyes and keen ears of the disciples on patrol who would then call out Lan Wangji. So each and every time, Wei Wuxian's enthusiasm would be abruptly dampened and his hopes for further exploring would be dashed.

But this day, he actually met by chance a real female cultivator in the Cloud Recesses. A real. Female cultivator.

Wei Wuxian straightened up at once, a twinkle in his eyes. Just as he was about to spontaneously come over, Little Apple had already risen and nearly knocked him over in its rush towards the young woman.

Wei Wuxian was stupefied.

Reaching the young woman's side, it lowered compliantly its head to nudge its ears under her hand.

Wei Wuxian was even more stupefied.

The flushing young woman was still staring blankly at Wei Wuxian, not knowing what to say. Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes, finding her vaguely familiar. After a moment, he suddenly recalled, wasn't that round-faced young woman precisely the one he had encountered on the road just after he had just left the Mo household and again at Dafan mountain?

Even if that woman was a complete stranger, he would still have wanted to strike a friendly conversation. Now even more so after he recognised her as that gentle young woman from before. At once, he went to her waving a hand and called out, "Oh, it's you!"

He had evidently made a deep impression on her, whether or not his face was washed clean [2]. Shyly fiddling with the basket in her hands, she let out in a muffled voice, "It's me…"

Wei Wuxian let go of the rabbit he was groping to determine its gender, abandoning what he was doing. He took two steps towards her and caught sight of the carrots and cabbages in her basket. He asked with a smile, "Did you come to feed the rabbits?"

The young woman nodded. As Lan Wangji wasn't there and Wei Wuxian had nothing to do, his interest was piqued and he suggested, "Do you want me to help you with that?"

The young woman hesitated over the right course of action before finally nodding. Wei Wuxian took out a carrot and the two crouched together on the grass. Little Apple extended its head to rummage inside the basket but finding no apple, it had to make do with a carrot and nibbled dispiritedly at it.

The carrots in the basket were freshly-picked, Wei Wuxian took one bite himself before handing them over to the rabbits. He inquired, "Are you the one always coming to feed these rabbits?"

The young woman answered, "No… I've only started coming here recently to feed them… When Hanguang-Jun is there, he is the one taking care of them. When he is not there, it's young master Lan Sizhui and the others who look after them. If they are not there either, then it's us who come to lend a hand…"

Wei Wuxian thought to himself, "How come Lan Zhan is feeding rabbits? How old was he when he started raising them? Does he come holding a little basket like this?"

Putting these overly cute images away from his mind, Wei Wuxian had another question, "You're now a disciple from the Gusu Lan Sect?"

The young woman shyly answered, "Mmh."

Wei Wuxian, "The Gusu Lan Sect is pretty good. When did you join?"

Stroking the white fur of a rabbit, she replied, "Not long after the events of Dafan moutain…"

At that precise moment, the two of them heard the faint sounds of boots treading on the grass. Wei Wuxian turned round to look and as expected, it was Lan Wangji who had come.

Flustered, the young woman rose at once and respectfully greeted him, "Hanguang-Jun."

Lan Wangji slightly inclined his head in acknowledgement while Wei Wuxian was still sitting in the grass, smiling at him. The young woman looked terrified of Lan Wangji… that was quite normal, there were none among the young disciples that didn't fear Lan Wangji. In a panic, she hurriedly raised her skirts to flee while Wei Wuxian called out to her several times from behind, "Miss, little sis! Your basket! Hey, Little Apple! Come back, Little Apple! Where are you going? Little Apple!"

Neither girl nor donkey answered his call. Wei Wuxian had no choice but to set aside the basket with its remaining carrots. He addressed Lan Wangji, "Lan Zhan, you scared her away."

If Lan Wangji hadn't wanted his footsteps to be heard, how could the two of them notice his coming?

Laughing happily, Wei Wuxian brandished a carrot at him, "Want to eat one? You feed the rabbits and I feed you."

"…" Lan Wangji looked at him from above, "Get up."

 Wei Wuxian tossed the carrot aside and lazily extended a hand towards him, "Pull me up."

Pausing a moment, Lan Wangji reached out to pull him but Wei Wuxian abruptly clasped his hand to forcefully pull him down instead.

Seeing their territory being invaded by a stranger, a colony of rabbits approached the two persons tangled on the ground as if facing a formidable foe and ran around them haphazardly. As they were all well acquainted with Lan Wangji, they pounced over on him, seemingly anxious over their master's sudden fall. Lan Wangji gently drove them away and said calmly, "Rule number seven of the Wall of Discipline of the Cloud Recesses, do not disturb female cultivators."

Wei Wuxian retorted, "You said it wouldn't matter if I broke a rule."

Lan Wangji, "I did not."

Wei Wuxian, "How can you be like this? Just because you didn't finish your sentence, it means you never spoke at all? Is that the Hanguang-Jun who is always true to his words?"

Lan Wangji, " 'Everyday'. " [3]

Wei Wuxian stroked his face and asked with a pitying tone, "Did you get scolded by your uncle? Tell me, let Gege comfort you."

Despite the obviously deliberate change of subject, Lan Wangji did not pursue and replied, "He did not."

Wei Wuxian, "He really didn't? Then what did he say to you?"

Calm and composed, Lan Wangji embraced him, "Nothing much. Gathering together is difficult and we hold a family feast tomorrow."

Wei Wuxian smiled, "A family feast? Well, well, I'll be on my best behaviour, I won't make you lose face." All of a sudden, he thought of Lan Xichen and asked, "What about your brother?"

Lan Wangji replied after a momentary pause, "I will go and see him later on."

Zewu-Jun remained in perpetual seclusion as of late and Lan Wangji was bound to have a long heart-to-heart discussion with him. Wei Wuxian put his arms around Lan Wangji to embrace him and patted him gently on his back. A long moment passed before he said, "By the way, why haven't I seen Sizhui and the others since we returned?"

In the past, the young disciples would have already encircled them at the main gate, chattering noisily around them. Hearing him mention Sizhui and the others, Lan Wangji relaxed slightly and said, "I will take you to them."

When he brought Wei Wuxian to Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi and the others, the young disciples uttered a few joyful exclamations but otherwise did not make any further move. It was not because they did not wanted to but because they could not.

A dozen of them were in the same handstand position under the eaves of the corridor. Each of them had shed their outer robes and wore their light snow-white garments, head upside down, legs in the air, facing several sheets of white paper spread on the ground and an ink stick. They used their left hands to support themselves and their right ones to painstakingly write a long list of black characters on the paper.

As they could not let their forehead ribbons trail on the ground, they all had to bite the ends of their ribbons while perspiring abundantly. As a result, they could not talk freely either. The aforementioned "exclamations uttered" were more akin to bright-eyed whimpers. Seeing these trembling figures on the verge of collapse, Wei Wuxian asked, "Why must they do a headstand?"

Lan Wangji replied, "Punishment."

Wei Wuxian, "I know they're receiving punishment. I can see them copying the chapter on 'Rites' of the Gusu Lan Sect rules which I could recite from memory. What did they do to get punished?"

Lan Wangji intoned, "They broke the curfew of the Cloud Recesses."

Wei Wuxian, "Oh."

Lan Wangji added, "They went to night hunt with the Ghost General."

Wei Wuxian, "Hey! You guys sure have guts."

Lan Wangji, "This is the third time they broke the rules."

Wei Wuxian rubbed his chin, thinking to himself that resentment was a crueler punishment coming from Lan Qiren. Just doing a handstand while copying could already be considered a light sanction.

He squatted down in front of Lan Sizhui and asked him, "Sizhui, is it just me or your pile of paper seems especially thick?"

Lan Sizhui, "It's not you…"

Lan Wangji, "He was the leader."

Wei Wuxian wanted to pat Lan Sizhui on the shoulder but had nowhere to place his hand. After a pause, he finally lowered his hand and patted him from below, he said understandingly, "I already knew that."

Walking around the group of disciples while casting a glance to inspect their writing, Lan Wangji addressed Lan Jingyi, "This character. Improper."

Lan Jingyi bit his forehead ribbon, his muffled mumbling tearful, "Yes. Hanguang-Jun. I'll copy again."

Those that were not called during the inspection let out a sigh of relief. After the two left the hallway, Wei Wuxian recalled that miserable period during which he had to copy the Sect rules himself as punishment and felt in his heart deep sympathy for the fellow sufferers, "Holding this kind of position is hard enough, if you made me do a handstand, I don't think I'd be able to write. Even sitting down, I'm not sure I could write properly."

Lan Wangji glanced at him, "That is true."

Wei Wuxian knew that he was also remembering the days when he watched him copy as punishment. He asked, "As a child, did you have to copy as punishment like this?"

Lan Wangji, "Never."

That was as he thought. Lan Wangji had been a model for all the disciples of his generation since childhood. His every word and action was the standard to which others were compared, how could he commit a mistake? If he never committed a mistake, how could he ever receive punishment?

Wei Wuxian smiled, "I thought that frightening arm strength of yours came from that training."

Lan Wangji, "It was not punishment. But it was trained that way."

Wei Wuxian asked disbelievingly, "If it wasn't punishment, why would you do a handstand for no reason?"

Gazing fixedly ahead, Lan Wangji answered, "For meditation."

Wei Wuxian took this opportunity to lean close to his ear and whispered provocatively, "What could actually bring turmoil in the heart of the icy cold Hanguang-Jun?"

Lan Wangji looked at him without speaking. Wei Wuxian was inwardly quite pleased with himself, he said, "So you said that you trained your arm strength like this from childhood, can you do anything while doing a handstand?"

Lan Wangji, "Mmh."

Seeing him lower his eyes as if too bashful to answer, Wei Wuxian was all the more inclined to shoot his mouth off, "Do you think you can do me upside down?"

Lan Wangji, "Let us try."

Wei Wuxian, "Hahahahahaha… What did you say?"

Lan Wangji, "Tonight, let us try."

Wei Wuxian, "…"

Author's notes

Not the end. I don't know either what kind of position is upside down, I'll let you all imagine for yourselves.

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There's something I want to say = V = First of all, thank you everyone for loving this piece of writing. However, there are objectively many shortcomings in this writing, some very obvious. Even with new revisions, I can not guarantee everything. I can only try my best to make up for the regrets that happened during the serialisation. So I hope that if you hear different voices in the comment area or somewhere else, you don't have to care about it. After all, literary taste is something very personal, just like you can't convince a person who doesn't like blue to like the colour, you also don't have start a debate with a person who doesn't like noodles, "Noodles are delicious. Why don't you like noodles?". Not only it's meaningless, sometimes it can be counterproductive.

There is another very important thing, please do not ever compare my writing with that of another author. If there is contrast, there will be praise and criticism. I am happy to be criticised, but I will never be happy to be praised. This kind of behaviour is very embarrassing for the two writers concerned and make things difficult for them. It also brings  unpleasant feelings to readers from the two sides involved. So, if you like my writing, do not compare it with another writing or other author. Promise me this, thank you :)

Translator's notes

[1] 男女授受不亲: Proverb from Mencius, Chinese philosopher from the Confucianism school.

[2] At the beginning at the novel when they first met, Wei Wuxian was wearing garish make-up as if he was a ‘hanged ghost’.

[3] Same 'Everyday' as in chapter 111.

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