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lilith-of-rivia · 3 years

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The Bards Sister Geralt XFemale!Reader Part 1

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Masterlist

Summary: Geralt of Rivia and his long time travel companion Jaskier find themselves in Jaskiers home land. A place geralt had not only never seen nor heard of. Jaskier is ready to reunite its his family after traveling and exploring the world for 20 years. The one person he missed the most was his baby sister (Y/N). Who he hadnt seen since she was 5. The journal is long, but the pay off is grander then they would ever be able to predict. I know i am trash at summaries.

Trigger warnings: NONE a lot of Geralt and Jaskier in this first part. Your charicter doesn’t come in till closer to the end.

Pairings: GeraltxReader JaskierxSister!reader

Word count: 6,095 longest fanfic I’ve ever written!!

A/N: hello my loves!!! I got my Insperation back!! I’m hopping i will be regularly posting agin!!! I ove you all so much you consistent love and supoort has not gone unnoticed. The constant likes and reblogs truly means the world to me. I love every single one of you so much. Thank you for believing in my writing the way you do. All my love -Lilith ps. I have reviewed and edited but I will be doing a more in-depth review soon!

“Where are we going, Jaskier.” The Witcher’s brooding voice echoed threw the flowered valley. His horse trotted not far behind his companion. Jaskier looked back at him and just rolled his eyes.

“How many times have you led me on endless roads, towards the middle of nowhere speaking little to no words to me no matter how much I ask?” Geralt said nothing. Jaskier snorted looking back towards the road.

“Exactly. No shut up, your brooding is giving me a headache.” The bard was giving the witcher a taste of his own medicine. The idea that Jaskier was leading him to somewhere he had no idea of the location, made him uneasy. Did he trust his bard? Absolutely without a doubt. Would he ever admit it to him? No never.

Their travels continued till the sun was barely hanging in the sky. The air had grown crisp replacing the harsh burning of the full summer sun. Jaskier pulled his mare to the side of the road, climbing off her, tying her to a tree. Geralt followed, realizing they were stopping for the day.

“We still have a couple hours of daylight left.” Geralt said as he took Roach’s saddle and tack off.

“We don't need a couple hours, we are nearly there. Maybe an hour and half.” Geralt cocked an eyebrow at Jaskier.

“Then why did we stop?” Jaskier pulled his saddle bags off his horse, putting them beside a log as he gathered some sticks for the fire.

“Because I have to debrief you as to who we are going to see and you must bathe before we do so. The stream here will do the trick.”

“Gods Jaskier, will you just tell me where we are going? The secrecy is bullshit.” The broot of a man was losing his patience with his friend.

The duo had been on the trip for nearly two weeks. They left Tramieria and headed east. Much further east than Geralt could ever remember traveling. Yet the bard seemed to know exactly what turns to take and when. The closer they drew to their destination the more the witcher could hear his heart beat faster.

“Jaskier if this is some stupid plot for me to protect you from some man who’s wife you slept with again-“

“It's not Geralt-“ Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose, his stress causing a minor headache. “Just go bathe then I’ll tell you everything.” Geralt studied his friend, his eyes searching his face, his ears tuning into his heart beat trying his best to figure out what he was getting himself into.

With a low grunt the witcher grabbed his last set of clean clothes and the bar of soap from the bard's hand before stomping off to the river.

“Clean EVERYTHING!” Jaskier yelled over his shoulder. Only getting an unfriendly finger in return.

Nearly an hour later, the sun was completely hidden behind the canyon, the glow of the fire Jaskier started illuminating their small camp. Jaskier’s fingers strummed mindlessly at his lute, his eyes fixed on the stars that were making their presence known more, humming to himself softly. He heard his friends footsteps as he approached, his hair was wet at his shoulders. A fresh white Cotton tunic hugged his muscular build, black trousers hugging his legs. He smiled nice for once. All thanks to the lavender and honey soap Jaskier had received as a gift.

“Now don't you look better.” Jaskier said with a chuckle. The witcher sat down across the fire from him, his golden eyes staring heavily at the bard.

“Spill your guts Jaskier.” Jaskier rubbed his hands over his face and nodded. His eyes looking anywhere but at his friend.

“I haven't been completely forward about my family life.” Jaskier’s eyes landed on the moon above them. It was nearly full, he was doing well with time. He knew they would reach their destination well before the next full moon.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s harsh voice broke the silence. With a loud sigh Jaskier finally looked his friend in the face.

“I’m royalty Geralt.” The Witcher’s expression did not change. He just looked at his friend. He could hear Jaskier's heart beat become uneven and unsteady. At first he thought it was a joke but the nervous energy radiating from his long time friend made him think better.

“My family, they are wonderful people. My mother, bless her, taught me everything I needed to know about writing and music. Convinced my father to let me train at Oxenfurt Academy. My father is a noble and loyal king. He served our people well. Still does to my knowledge. I haven't been back in nearly 20 years…” the bard trailed off, his eyes fixated on his hands, his fingers twildilling with a ring he had on. The ring was that of his family. Their crest engraved into the gold.

“I was never meant to be a noble. I lived for adventure, for more than just sitting on a throne and watching people come and go. I was never fit to be king. My parents knew that. They understood. Understanding people they are.” His voice trailed off again, hopping his friend would say something. Ask a question. Anything. He didn’t know where to go next.

“Why didn't you ever tell me?” Geralt finally asked.

“Because it never came up. My family never needed me. I never needed them. I love them all dearly of course. But we were never the closest people in the world. Well, my sister and I were.” That caught the Witcher’s attention. His eyes narrow slightly, he made sure to not let his expression scare the bard into not telling him more. He was genuinely curious about his family. But he couldn't lie and say he wasn't disappointed that in the 7 years they traveled together he never heard of them.

“You have a sister?” The bard's eyes lit up. His memory raced with images of his tun little sister chasing him around the courtyard screaming, yelling his name. Her giggles and laughs pulling at his heart strings.

“Yes. Her name is (Y/N). She is about to be 25. Big age for a princess. I havnt seen her since she was very little.” His heart started to break softly. His neglect to his baby sitter weighting heavily on him.

“I write her often, as much as I can. She was...well, a surprise to my parents to say the least. I was 15 when she was born. I left home at 20. I was only around for her toddler years. I never got to see her grow, blossom into a young woman. I missed so much.” Jaskier had to fight back the tears, his throat becoming tight and dry. His body filling with regret.

“I just kept pushing it back Geralt. I alwasy said I’d make it home. I alwasy had it in the back of my mind to go back and see her. But I never did.”

“Why now?” Geralt asked.

“She wrote me a few months back. It was nearly a book. It was filled with tales of her new travels around our country. She had been training heavily with an unmanned matester of combat. She traveled the countryside with the man. She referred to him as an uncle. In the letter she asked me if it was true that I’d been traveling with you. She said the songs and tales of Jaskier the Bard traveling with the White Wolf made it to her ears.” Jaskier stopped talking for a brief moment, rummaged around his rut sack and pulled out a notebook. He untied its string and a large pile of papers fell out into his hand. He unfolded the parchment and scanned the writing.

“I wrote her back that week. Only to receive this in return.” He began to read;

“Oh dear Jaskier!! I cannot believe its true. I thought he was only a legend. The white wolf. Please tell him he is a hero here. We love his stories. Many have written books of him. Children run round calling themselves the butcher of Blaviken here to save the damsel and distress. I love his stories, mainly because they involve you. Please come visit me this year. I miss you terribly. I want to hear of your travels with the wolf. Mother said he is more than welcome to stay if he wishes to travel with you. I do miss you Jaskier. More than I think you know. I do not mean to guilt you or make you feel bad as i know you are traveling the world to your heart's content and would never want you to feel as though I do not support you-“ Jaskier stopped reading for a brief moment. A small tear dripped onto the page he was reading. Geralt listened to every word he read. He couldn't help the small tug of his lips when he read about the children pretending to be him. It was a breath of fresh air for the witcher. He had constantly been told he was a monster. To hid your children from him. Yet here was an entire country that loved him, yet he had no idea. Jaskier cleared his throat and continued. “But i miss my brother. And maybe, just maybe. I could come with you. If you deem me fit. I have been working tirelessly with a friend of fathers. He trains me in not only swordsmanship, but Herbology, and monsters as well. I can name nearly every monster that has inhabited the Continent and how to slay it. He thinks I’m ready to leave the nest and I think mother and father are getting a bit tired of me as well. I cannot stand another somber, dull, dinner party with nobles who look at me like a piece of meat. So please. Visit me soon. Come and stay a few days. Catch up with your dear sister and maybe, if he isn't too busy and if it doesn’t inconvenience him, bring the Wolf with you. He’d be a welcomed hero. All my love dear brother. Xoxo Love always, (Y/N) Irene Pankratz

Jaskier folded the letter, placing it inside his notebook before safely storing it inside his sack again. He ran a hand over his face, his eyes slowly moving from his hands to his best friend. They sat in the silence for a while. Geralt’s brain replaying the words he had heard from his friend.

“You could have told me about her Jaskier. Why didn't you? You’ve been in contact with her all this time, planning to see her and your family again. Bringing me along for the ride, yet not a single word in 7 years. Do you not trust me with such a secret Jaskier?” Jaskier was taken aback by his friend's words.

He never knew his secrecy would have such an impact on his friend. When it came to Geralt he learned long ago, the little words, the better. The witcher can only handle so much before he loses interest and stops listening or walks away. He never in a million years would have thought he cared about his life that much. It warmed the bards heart to know his dear friend, the only brother he ever had, cared that deeply for him.

“It has nothing to do with not trusting you Geralt. Is has everything to do with the shame I hold for not seeing her sooner. For treating her like a dirty secret form the world. There is no logical reason for me to keep my family such a big secret. Yet I have. For 20 years.” Geralt’s hands rubbed together softly as he listened to his friend. He understood the secrecy. He was a box full of secrets that nobody could get into.

“Its okay Jaskier. I understand the secrecy. Is that where we are going tomorrow?” Jaskier nodded, a smile appearing on his face.

“Her birthday is the next full moon. I’m hoping my gift will be a good start in time lost.” Geralt looked at him curiously. He hadn't noticed any major item in Jaskier’s possession that could make a good gift for a young princess.

“You’re her gift Geralt. I wrote her back after that letter and told her I’d be back for her next birthday. But that you simply were to busy with your work. I told her that you greatly appreciated her support and that youd consider writing to her in the future. She has no idea your coming with me.” Geralt didnt know how he felt about being a gift. He never ever saw himself as a gift to anyone. More of a burden the a gift. He shook his head at Jaskier and tutted at him.

“Jaskier if your that broke you could’ve asked me for a few extra coins for a real gift.” The witcher attempted to joke with the bard. It made Jaskier smile more. Geralt could be funny, but his humor was incredibly dry, much like Jaskier’s father.

“Geralt! Did you just try and joke around with me??” Geralt rolled his eyes, laying down stretching his muscles as he looked up at the starts.

“Best get some sleep Jaskier, you’ve got a rather big family reunion tomorrow.”

The next morning Jaskier was up and awake before Geralt, a rare sight. He truly hadn't slept more than a couple hours that night. His nerves kept him awake. He feared his sister wouldn’t be as loving as he pictured, she had every right to be mad at him, hate him even. By the time Geralt was up, Jaskier had bathed, changed and had his horse completely ready to go.

Geralt had to do everything in his power to not laugh at his friend. He looked rather ridiculous. His normal bright attire was replaced with a royals outfit. A green and blue velvet tunic and some extremely uncomfortable looking black trousers. His hair was combed back and his face was freshly washed. He even cleaned under his fingernails. He looked rather ridiculous in Geralt’s opinion. He couldn't help the low chuckle that left his lips as he put his bed roll away.

“I don't understand why you're laughing. I have some clothes for you to put on as well.” Geralt’s expression changed instantly, from humorous to angry.

“No. Absolutely not. What I’m wearing is perfectly fine. I’d wear it to meet any king or queen.” A bag was chucked at him, he barely caught it before it smacked into his face.

“This isn't any normal king and queen Geralt. This is my family. And besides, you are no ordinary witcher in my kingdom, you’ll be treated as royalty there. You may as well look the part.” Geralt huffed and threw the bag of clothes back at his friends feet, glaring daggers at him. He hated dressing up with a burning passion. Everything was too tight, not easy to fight in. If anything happened he’d have to rip the seams on every piece of clothing to be able to maneuver his weapons properly. And fancy clothes dont have space for weapons. He didn't like that one bit. Jaskier looked at his friend. His eyes pleading with him.

“Please Geralt. Just for today and her birthday. I couldn't care less what you wear at any other point on this trip.” He had walked closer to Geralt now. About a meter away from him. He extended his hand, the bag in his hand. Geralt looked from the bag to his friend. His teeth and jaw clenched.

He let out a loud huff and grabbed the bag from the bard.

“Fine.” He said through gritted teeth and began taking off his clothing. Jaskier smiled before turning his attention to Roach, getting her stalled and tacked so when Geralt was dressed they could leave.

“If we move with a bit of a haste we could make it there before breakfast.” Jaskier said as he mounted his horse, looking at his friend. His hand slapped over his face. The witcher looked utterly ridiculous in his new attire. The bright red and orange vest a-top a cream tunic, his legs tight in some disgustingly ugly corduroy pants. The pants were obviously smaller than the seamstress he bought them off claimed them to be. The ends of the pants came nearly mid calf on Geralt’s legs. His pasty white ankles and feet shining in the early morning sun.

“Jesus Geralt. Those are worse than the ones I got for Pavetta’s party.” The bard could no longer hold in his laughter. Did Gerarlt look like a nobleman? Sure, but his size, white hair, and bright yellow eyes really didn't help the situation.

“Jaskier, I will kill you for this.” Geralt grumbled angered as he pulled his socks up his feet and over his calves. Luckily for him (and Jaskier) his boots went higher than his pants, making it harder to notice that the pants he was wearing were way too small.

“At least I’m not making you wear a big hat with a feather, those are truly hideous.” Geralt mounted Roach, more carefully then he normally does in fear his pants could bust at the seams.

“I had to wrap you up nice and pretty to present you to my sister.” Jaskier commented as he led his horse; Napoleon to the main road, Geralt and Roach in tow.

The two men rode in a comfortable silence for some time, but as they got closer and closer to Jaskier’s home, all Geralt could hear was his frantic heartbeat. Jaskier’s palms get sweaty and his throat dry, no matter how much water he drinks from his water skin.

“Jaskier. You need to calm down. Your fucking heart beat is driving me insane.” Geralt hissed. They could see the end of the valley they had been traveling in. Geralt looked out in the distance, his eyes saw the castle first. It was very far, but he could tell how beautiful it was from where they were.

“Maybe you just shouldn’t listen to it then.” Jaskier barked back.

“You know I have no control over it, idiot. Take a deep breath. I know you're scared, I understand. But from the sounds of it your sister desperately misses you, I don't think she would ask you to come see her if she was going to hate you.” Geralt didn't talk much at all, that everyone knew. He was a man of few words. But when he did speak it was wiser than most people ever expected. People tended to forget the age of the white haired man, as he stopped ageing physically in his late twenties.

Jaskier smiled softly at his friend's words, he listened to him and took a few deep breaths, calling himself down. Geralt was right. His sister seemed eager as ever to see him again.

The two men approached the entrance to the city. Geralt was more than shocked. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen a city so beautiful in his entire life. The streets were lined in beautiful stone, flowers, vines, greenery all around every corner. The banners that were hanging on the outside of the main gates caught Geralt’s eyes. The crests on them were brightly colored in greens and blues, a very large diamond in the center. Their horses rode into the entrance of the town. Jaskier’s heart was calm, steady, his face was bright and had a smile Geralt had never seen on him before. He was finally home.

“Welcome to Inritha (In-Rithe-A) the capital of Unthya (Un-The-A) Geralt. Welcome to my home.”

Their horses traveled down the stone brick road slowly, the city was buzzing already even with it being the early hours of the morning. Geralt was surprised to see everyone look so...happy, care free. Enjoying their lives. They looked as though nothing was a fret, no monster looming. Geralt was mesmerized by the city. The buildings were built out of what looked to him like limestone, a building material he so rarely saw in other parts of the Continent. The buildings were being taken over by vines and moss, flowers all over. He’d never seen so many butterflies in his life.

“Jaskier-'' his voice was barely a whisper, the bard turning to look at him as they rode side by side. Jaskier couldn't help but smile as his friend admired the beauty he himself had so easily forgotten over the years.

“I know, it's beautiful. I've forgotten myself.”

The two men continued riding their horses up the road closer and closer to the castle. The longer they road tho more attention they got from passer buys. Geralt could hear their whispers.

It couldn't be. Could it?

THE Geralt of Rivia? Here in Inritha?

Mummy look! It's the butcher!!

Has Prince Jaskier finally returned home?

For the first time in what seemed like his entire life, the hushed whispers Geralt heard as he rode through a city were not of hate and disgust. But of admiration and curiosity. The entire time Geralt and Jaskier rode through the city, he never once had the urge to grab either of his swords that were at his side.

The two men approached the gates of the castle, four armored guards stood outside. The put their hand up in motion for the men to stop. One who looked as tho to be the commander of sorts stepped forward poking between both men. Eyes lingering for a long while on the two.

“State your name and what business you have in Inritha at this early hour.” Jaskier dismounted his horse, waking a few feet forward.

“My name is Jaskier Alfred Pankratz son of Dastrill and Alvere Pankratz. This is my companion Geralt Of Rivia, we are here on behalf of my sister, (Y/N) Irene Pankratz’s 25th birthday.” Jaskier bowed his head lowly, keeping eye contact with the commander in front of him.

“Prince Jaskier?!?” The man clearly looked flustered and embarrassed for not recognizing the prince of his own kingdom. All four men quickly bowed their heads.

“Please accept my apology your highness, we welcome you home. As do we welcome your honored guest.” Jaskier smiled and told the men to not trouble themselves with an apology. Geralt continued to watch from atop Roach, still not use to being idolized instead of feared. Honored guest. Geralt thought to himself. He could get use to the new treatment. Jaskier remounted Napoleon the gates to the castle walls opening. The both road threw, all four men bowed their heads as the two walked threw. Not once did they threaten Geralt’s life. They were led by a guard to the stables where they left their horses.

Geralt could hear Jaskier heart beating again in his chest as they were led inside the castle. Geralt tried to concentrate on his friend, to be there for him but he couldn't help but let his eyes wander all over the castle's walls, it was a bright exterior. The walls polished, candles everywhere. Large windows allowing for natural lighting. Nothing dark or gloomy about the castle at all. He felt uplifted..cheary almost. As they neared the entrance to the grand hall where the King, Queen, Princess along with some others were. Geralt could hear the light conversation, and the clicking of silver on plates, they were eating breakfast. But he could still hear Jaskier’s heart beating in his chest. Geralt placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder as they walked, giving it a soft squeeze. The action made Jaskier more worried if the witcher was feeling alright, as it was abnormally out of character for the man. But he said nothing, appreciating the gesture.

They got to the door and just as the guard was about to push the doors open Jaskier grabbed his arm.

“Could we maybe skip the loud over dramatic announcements of my arrival? I have not seen my family in years.” The guard only nodded, bowed his head and walked back outside to his post. Jaskier looked over at his friend, as he put his hand on the door ready to push it open.

“Now or never.” Jaskier said as he opened the door. Both men walked into the large room, the talking stopped almost instantly. Geralt stood at the door, not wanting to impose on the important reunion of his friend and his family. He followed Jaskiers gaze to the table ahead of them in the front of the room. The room was lined with huge floor to ceiling windows, the light of the early morning sun shone brightly making the marble floors glisten.

“JASKIER!!!” The loud scream of a girl nearly made Geralt jump out of his skin, his hand reaching back for a sword that wasn't there in instinct.

It made Jaskier jump but the smile that covered his face was even bigger than the one he had seen as he walked through the city. Geralt followed Jaskier’s gaze to a young woman. The sight of her alone made Geralt want to pass out. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen someone so beautiful in his entire life. Her hair was the same chestnut brown that Jaskier had, but it was long, hip length. She had it pulled back slightly out of her face, a few baby hairs framed her face. Oh her face. Geralt thought as though he was looking at a living breathing angel. He heard her chair scrape roughly on the ground before it loudly crashed on the floor. She raced around the long table from her mothers side and sprinted to her brother. She practically threw herself on him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He quickly wrapped his arms around her, stumbling back a few steps. Everything was quite as the two embraced. Geralt's eyes went to the king and queen who were now standing. The queen looked just like (Y/N) but her hair was black, long stripes of grey peeking through her hair. The crown atop her head glistened in the light. Her right hand was tightly around her husband's arm, her other hand placed softly over her mouth as she looked at her children. Her husband looked much like Jaskier. His hair was the same color as both of their children, but much like his wife’s, much of it had turned grey. His eyes were the same cornflower blue that Jaskier had.

Minutes passed in silence before Jaskier put his hands on his sisters shoulders, pulling her away from him. He put one hand on her cheek as he examined her features. Her pale cheeks were damp with tears. But not sad tears. Tears of joy.

“My sister, how you’ve grown.” Geralt could hear the tears in the bard's voice. He couldn't see him but he could hear everything.

(Y/N) fingers gently brushed over her brother’s face as she smiled at him.

“My brother, how you haven't aged a day. You look just as I remember you. Maybe a few more wrinkles.” She teased. He laughed softly. Wiping his eyes with his hand before pulling her into another bone crushing embrace. She was much shorter than Jaskier, barely shoulder level with him. Geralt was shocked to remember she would be turning 25 in two days. She was still young in the face, beautiful. He wanted nothing more than to see her more up close.

While the siblings spoke their parents moved from the spots at the table, standing behind (Y/N). Alvere was the first to pull him into a tight embrace after her daughter let go. Her fingers gently combed through his hair as she inhaled his scent deeply.

“My dear son how I've missed you.” She whispers slowly into his ear. Geralt was starting to feel bad for eavesdropping. Not that he could help it. He was still standing at the entrance to the grand hall yet he could hear everything.

Jaskiers father hugged him next, it was not nearly as long as the outer two but both men were okay with it. Understanding that their relationship had never been one for long father son hugs.

“It is good to see you again my boy.” His hand clasped down on his son's shoulder.

The four of them stood close together, smiling more than Geralt ever thought possible. It almost made his heart turn. Deep, deep, deep, down the witcher longed for a family that would look at him the way they looked at Jaskier. He often cured the universe for not giving him an option when it came to what he had become. He clung to the few memories he had of his mother. But as years passed they became harder and harder to remember, more painful. But he had. Made a new sort of family over the years. From Jaskier, to his brothers at Kaer Morhen.

“(Y/N), mum, dad, there is someone I’d like you to meet.” Jaskier turned his head towards the door to the hall. Geralt stood tall, shoulders pressed back, his hair framed his face gracefully. Even in the entirely ugly attire he was in, he made himself as presentable and as proper as possible. (Y/N)’s eyes grew bigger when her eyes met his. He once again was taken aback by her beauty. Her eyes were a powerful emerald green matching similarly to the color of her brother's tunic, but brighter. Her mouth fell slightly agape when she realized who it was. The eyes were a dead give away that he was in fact a witcher, but once she saw the silver medallion that rested on his chest, she knew.

Jaskier nodded his head for Geralt to walk forward and he did, his footsteps were light, his pace slow and steady as he walked closer to the royal family. (Y/N)’s hand gently covered her mouth in excitement. Her eyes flickering to her brother who grinned at her.

“A bit of an early birthday gift.” He winked. Once Geralt was closer to the group Jaskier turned so he could introduce them, at his sister's side. All eyes were on him. Even the few people who were still seated at the table were looking at him. He started to feel a bit more uneasy. He started to remember how far away his swords were if he needed them. This alone was beginning to make him panic. He was not used to being welcomed into royal courts unless it was specifically for a hunt.

“This is Geralt of Rivia, one of the most feared, renowned, and skilled Witcher’s the content has to offer. And also my best friend.”

Geralt's eyes were back on (Y/N)’s, his worries dropped more when she smiled brightly at him. Her eyes gleamed.

Geralt bowed his head to the three of them, “ it is an absolute pleasure to meet you, your highnesses.” (Y/N) was nearly blown over by the sultry sound of his voice. She had only heard stories of the witcher. Never see him for herself and definitely had never heard him speak. She never expected a monster hunter to be as handsome as he was. She admired every feature he had. Her eyes fixating on his chiseled jawline, the light gray stubble across his chin and cheeks.

“My, what a pleasure it is to meet such a famed warrior as yourself Geralt!” The king spoke before (Y/N) could, which she was happy about as she did not trust her voice to not waver at his beauty in that moment.

“You my dear are very popular around here. Your stories are legendary. The school children even host yearly plays, Reenacting your most beloved stories.” (Y/N)’s mother added her finger pointing light hardly at Geralt. Her hand came out gracefully from her side to shake the Witcher’s hand. He gently took it, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His attention returned to (Y/N).

“I’m terribly sorry I’m the birthday gift from your brother this year.” She shook her head almost as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Do not be sorry Geralt-'' the way she said his name made him feel as though he could keel over. “I would like to thank you, for protecting my brother for the years you have. He never skips on his gratitude for you in his letter to me. For that we are all eternally grateful for you.” She reached her hand out. Geralt wasted no time in grabbing her hand, shaking it gently. He was dying inside, but he couldn't let her or anyone else see. He took a gentle step towards her, his head lowering softly, his soft lips were placed on the back of her small hand. The small action made the young girls' faces burn red. Her eyes flicked to her brother who smugly smiled, knowing danm well his gift was going to take the cake.

“Well, you both should come join us, we just started eating.” The king said with a smile, with a quick wave of his hand two more places we set.

(Y/N) gently removed her hand from Geralt’s. Walking towards the table, both men in tow. As she reached her spot she moved her plate and glass to the middle seat that had been prepared, leaving Jaskier a seat next to their mother and Geralt a seat next to her. They all sat and waited as food was served to them. (Y/N) could feel Geralt watching her as she ate, her brother deep in conversation with her parents about his most recent travels. But she wasnt listening. Her attention was only on the man seated to her left. She looked over at the man, eyed him up and down then turned to her brother. For the first time she noticed how ugly their attire was.

“Gods Jaskier who dressed you two?” She asked as she sipped her orange juice. Both men looked at her. Jaskier looked a bit hurt and Geralt only snorted.

“I told him the clothes were horrendous.” Geralt said beside the young woman making her giggle. The sound made his heart beat faster. This was also when he realized how sensibly everyone else in the room was dressed, and how much they stood out. (Y/N) was in a thin white cotton dress, it was around knee length and a light sweater was on her shoulders. Her mother and father dressed similarly. Their clothes looking normal, comfortable.

“Oh my dear brother. What have you done to the poor witcher.” She laughed, turning her attention to him. She could see how uncomfortable the clothes made him. The vest was way too tight and he was practically bursting out of his pants, not that she minded, she gladly enjoyed the view.

“He is torturing me. That's what.” Geralt scoffed and she couldn't help but giggle again.

“You're so dramatic Geralt it's truly not that bad.” Her head flicked to her brother.

“Jaskier don't be rude.” She tutted him like a mother, it made Geralt snort under his breath as he took a bite of his eggs. She stood and walked behind him. He was stiff at her movements.

“Do you mind?” Her fingers were on the strings of the vest. He shook his head no and she quickly untied the tight strings, and it fell from his shoulders. She took it off and handed it to one of the maids

“You can burn that horridly ugly thing.” She said as she sat back down.

“I do not remember you being so rude, little sister.” Jaskier quipped.

“What I think is rude is how you made sure you got the more presentable clothing and dressed your poor friend in those horrendous colors. Have you seen his pants, Jaskier?? It's a miracle he can still breath.” Her eyes looked towards the witcher who was already looking at her with a cocky smirk on his face, glad she was putting Jaskier in his place for the ugly outfit choice.

“I can take you to the seamstress later today, if you’d like Geralt.” Her smile was like a drug.

“I’d appreciate that m'lady.” He said softly.

“And I can show you around the city, both of you. But in return I would like to hear some of your stories, first hand if that’s doable.”

“That sounds like a reasonable trade.” Geralt quipped back.

“Then it's a date, Witcher.”

“A date it is.”

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thearvariblues · 3 years

Text

A Man of Easy Virtues

Just another ‘I’m so sorry but I couldn’t resist’ fics I wrote instead of, you know, doing the important things I should be doing.

This time it’s based on @likecastle‘s post about the kind of pants Jaskier should be wearing (and isn’t wearing, obviously) in the show and all the fanfics.

Warning for almost underage slutty bard (don’t worry, though, he’s eighteen, so definitely not a kid) and no Geralt in sight.

And yes, there will definitely be a part 2.

“You don’t understand,” Jaskier sighs and looks down at the tiny, fat tailor in front of him. “I just need a pair of pants that stays up without a hundred tiny ribbons.”

“They aren’t ribbons, young man,” the tailor says. “They are actually called–”

“I don’t care what they’re called. I don’t want them anywhere near me.”

“How would your pants stay up, then?” the tailor frowns.

“I don’t know. You’re the expert!”

The tailor sighs and lifts his hands to fix Jaskier’s partially unbuttoned doublet.

“Young man. How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” Jaskier mutters.

“Eighteen,” the man repeats. “Are you aware, young man, that what you’re asking for is very inappropriate?”

“But very practical. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get into appropriate clothes when you’re in a hurry?”

“There are things you cannot hurry up, young man. This is one of them.”

“Have you ever tried telling that to an angry cuckold?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier bites his lower lip. “Could you at least consider–”

“No.”

“I will pay you double–”

“Still no. There,” the man smiles, straightening Jaskier’s collar. “Much better now. Your chemise is meant to be hidden. You wouldn’t want people to think that you are a man of easy virtues, would you?”

“Oh, no,” Jaskier mutters. “That would be horrible…”

“Fuck, yes,” Jaskier moans as a pair of eager hands slip into his doublet. “Please.”

“Mhmh,” his lover’s deep voice answers, impatiently tugging at Jaskier’s chemise. “More skin. Right fucking now.”

“I actually don’t think,” Jaskier murmurs between the kisses, “that it will be possible to… Oh, yes.”

The hands slip lower and try to get into Jaskier’s pants. They don’t succeed. The man – the Witcher, for fuck’s sake – growls.

Which is fair, Jaskier assumes, because while the young student’s fingers are roaming freely over the scarred torso and firm buttocks, Jaskier is still fully clothed. And it is going to take forever before he’s naked.

“Drowner’s shrunken ball sack,” the Witcher swears, tugging at one of the points holding Jaskier’s clothes together. “I’d sooner get into a noonwraith’s rotting cunt than your asshole!”

“Yeah, it’s a little complicated, but if you let go for a little while–”

“Oh, fuck off,” the man grunts and before Jaskier even blinks, there’s a long knife in the man’s hand. And before Jaskier manages to open his mouth to protest, the man makes short work of all the points and unceremoniously throws Jaskier onto the bed, grinning.

“Well, fuck me,” Jaskier whispers, feeling his blood rush straight to his crotch (well, at least the tiny amount of blood that wasn’t there already).

“That’s the plan,” the man nods, cutting Jaskier’s chemise open. “The name’s Lambert, in case you forgot. Because I expect you to scream it until your voice is fucking raw.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaskier purrs.

The Witcher smiles.

“Good boy.”

“Melitele’s tits!” Jaskier swears, staring at his pants in disbelief.

Lambert lifts his head from the pillow and raises an eyebrow.

“Problem?” he asks.

“There is, actually. You completely ruined them!” Jaskier growls and throws his currently useless pants at him. “How the fuck am I supposed to get back home?”

“Oh, come on. I was careful not to cut anything but those motherfucking tiny ribbons. It’s not the end of the world. What do you need them for, anyway? I mean apart from driving potential lovers insane with lust.”

“Well, for nothing important. Just holding the fucking thing up,” Jaskier sighs and puts on his doublet, which is his only piece of clothing that’s intact. He’s slowly coming to terms with walking home with his ass bare. Again. Third time this week.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Lambert frowns. “Shit. Sorry, I guess. Would you like my spare pair?”

“Does it have the points, or did you cut them off when you urgently needed to take a shit?” Jaskier smirks.

“I honestly don’t know what the fuck are you even talking about.” Lambert gets up and after a few seconds of rummaging through his bag he pulls out a pair of worn-out leather pants and throws them to Jaskier. “Here. Take them. Guess what. They stay up on their own.”

“They… do?” Jaskier whispers, his eyes going comically wide.

“Honey, when werewolves attack your camp while your Cat Witcher boyfriend is balls-deep in your ass, you don’t have time to tie some fucking ribbons.”

“Cat Witcher…” Jaskier blinks.

As if on cue, the room’s door open and a lean, long-haired blond man rushes in, slams the door closed behind him and starts dragging a large chest in front of it.

“Oh, you’re done. Good,” he says to Lambert. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Aiden, I swear by Vesemir’s flaccid cock…” Lambert groans. “What did I ask you – no, beg you not to do tonight?!”

“I swear I didn’t cheat this time!” the man says, leaning with his full weight against the chest just as someone starts to bang on the door. “It’s not my fault I’m so fucking good at gwent, is it?”

“Good at gwent my ass. I could beat you drunk if you didn’t have another whole pack stuffed into your sleeves.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lambert. It’s not a whole pack. Just like… twenty cards or something, usually.” The man grins at Jaskier. The doorknob rattles. “Hey, Lambert’s fuck of the day. I’d suggest you start getting dressed.”

“Just how many did you manage to piss off this time?” Lambert asks, already pulling his shirt over his head.

“Not many. I could deal with them in a matter of seconds, but you always say your brother doesn’t like it when Witchers murder innocent citizens.”

“You mean my brother the fucking Butcher of Blaviken?” Lambert laughs.

Jaskier looks up from fastening his (well, Lambert’s) pants and gapes at the two Witchers.

“Your brother,” he whispers. “Your brother is Geralt of–”

“Not now,” Lambert says. “We’re in a bit of a hurry. Tell me, Jaskier, have you ever jumped out of a window before?”

“Four times just this week. Mostly to escape jealous husbands. A jealous wife, in one case.”

“Good,” Aiden nods, letting go of the chest supporting the door and grabbing his bag. “Let’s jump.”

The tiny, fat tailor is staring at the pair of worn-out black leather pants laid out in front of him with polite disgust.

“Not possible,” he says for the fifth time.

“Let’s be absolutely clear here,” Jaskier smiles and his voice holds just a hint of a promise of some very unpleasant things that could hypothetically happen to the tiny man. “Do you know my name?”

“No, young man, and I wouldn’t care even if you were–”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove,” Jaskier says calmly.

“Oh,” the man replies and he suddenly seems even smaller than before.

“I am willing to pay you twice your usual fee–”

“Sir, what you’re requiring is outrageous–”

“Three times.”

“I couldn’t possibly sully the name of my shop with such an immodest–”

“Four times your usual fee, and an opportunity to start a fashion revolution.”

The man closes his eyes and nods slowly.

“Four times my usual fee. You can keep the revolution. It’s not as if you can find another man willing to wear something so scandalous…”

In a month, almost every young man in Oxenfurt (and several young women) wears the same model of pants Jaskier does. It’s much more comfortable, and also much easier to get into if you happen to get caught naked in a bed you shouldn’t be in, making it an instant hit among the students.

When Jaskier jumps, completely dressed, out of yet another window, this time running from a father whose two sons he just fucked into the bed, he thinks that he definitely has to thank Lambert and Aiden properly the next time he sees them.

Or any other Witcher he meets until then.

They basically saved his life, didn’t they?

#the witcher #witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #lambert x aiden #lambden #because when i write about lambert i just can't NOT include aiden okay?!#also jaskier can't keep his pants up #quite literally #my fics #attempt at humor

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Text

He Had It Coming

Also on AO3

Geraskier - Chicago inspired Fanfic. Rating: E. Word Count: 2165

Warnings: implied weapon kink, masturbation, general spiciness

_________

Geralt scowled as he peered up at the building in front of him. On the outside it just looked like an ordinary house but the rumours about town said something different. Brothels weren’t unusual in a town like this, but for some reason that Geralt couldn’t quite work out, this one was talked about in hushed tones, whispers in ears, and flushed faces. He hummed and tugged at the strap holding his scabbard in place on his back. His medallion was still on his chest but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of danger.

He sighed and shook his head. The rumours said that a certain bard had taken up residence at this address. Geralt had been chasing Jaskier around the Continent for months, heading south from the mountains, weaving across the map getting ever closer to Cintra and to the looming threat of Nilfgaard. Geralt’s heart felt tight in his chest, worrying about the bard that he’d tossed aside. He had a remarkable talent for getting in trouble, but this time Geralt wasn’t around to protect him.

With one last sigh he knocked on the door.

A lady answered, the door ajar, but even through the small gap Geralt could smell the scent of sweat and sex, barely masked by the familiar incense of a brothel. She had short dark hair cropped above her ears, dark skin with thick muscles, more than he would have expected from a whore or a madam. She had silky black bands wrapped around her biceps, a lacy black corset and her skirt, if you could call it that, was shredded. It wasn’t completely unusual for a whore but… there was a dangerous glint in her eyes that put Geralt on edge.

“Yes, witcher?”

Geralt frowned. “I’m looking for Jaskier.”

“Funny place to come looking for a flower,” she narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t close the door.

“I’ve been told he’s here.”

“The interesting thing about buttercups, witcher, is that despite their pretty appearance… they’re toxic,” she hissed, dark brown eyes challenging and strong.

“I know, I’ve come to apologise.”

She laughed and pushed the door open. “Well don’t say I didn’t warn you, Geralt of Rivia. He said you’d come for him.”

Geralt hummed but moved inside. It was dark inside too, barely lit with candles. The air was thick with incense and he grimaced. He’d never enjoyed the stronger perfumes preferred by whores in places such as this. Now he was inside he could see why his sense had been alerted him to danger. Every one of the whores had daggers sheathed in holders on their thighs. They were all draped in lace and silk, some corseted some not, and high heels that could easily be used as a weapon in the right hands.

Geralt swallowed, looking around the room for his colourful bard amongst all the black lace, but Jaskier was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s getting ready for his performance. Take a seat near the back, witcher, and don’t touch my darlings, they bite.”

Geralt did as he was told, watching her as she glided through the room with enviable grace. The whores, if that was what they were, were of all different races and gender. He noted a pretty blond elf sat in the lap of a client on the opposite side of the room. He had fishnets covering his arms and long hair covered a sheer chiffon chemise, embroidered with flowers, his underclothes were tight and leather, barely covering the man’s cock as he moved sensually in the client’s lap. Geralt tore his gaze away, he wasn’t here for sex, he was here for Jaskier. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think of anything that could distract him from the heat pooling at his core.

He was so deep in thought that didn’t notice Jaskier appearing on the stage, not until he started to talk. Geralt’s eyes snapped up, Jaskier was partially hidden in the dim light by a set of prison bars. He gripped the bars, one long leg stretched out above his head…

Geralt’s breath hitched. Jaskier was wearing long high heeled boots, and like the elf, he had fishnets covering his arms. Geralt had seen Jaskier shirtless countless times but this… this was something else. His forearms looked like they would rip the netting apart as he gripped the bars. Thick, dark chest hair disappeared into a silky black corset, tied at the front. Geralt adjusted his eyes so he could see better in the darkness of the brothel, and he was not disappointed. There were buttercups shimmering on the black fabric and the corset cinched in his waist. His hair had grown out, now just tickling his chin and he looked… he looked like a nightmare; Dark, dangerous…. perfect.

“My witcher, Geralt and I had this double act,” Jaskier’s soothing tenor took command of the room in an instant. The background hustle and bustle faded to silence, and Geralt heard a steady rhythmic beat of heels, tapping against the floor. The performance had begun. There was a quiet soft chanting in the background, from the performers all around the room; he had it coming.

Jaskier’s leg slid down the bars and he sauntered out from behind his cage, hips swaying, blue eyes lined with dark kohl. Geralt’s cursed under his breath as Jaskier’s eyes met his in across the room, and the bard winked, licking blood red lips that took Geralt’s breath away.

My witcher

Geralt hardly deserved that title anymore. He wasn’t anyone’s witcher, he was alone… as he deserved to be.

“And this sorceress, Yennefer, traveled round with us,” Jaskier’s blue eyes watched his audience carefully as he strutted around the stage. It was only then that Geralt noticed the holsters strapped around Jaskier’s thighs, twin daggers sharp and lethal, jewelled hilts glittering in the candle light.

“Now, for the last contract together,” Jaskier tilted his head and smirked as two performers joined him on the stage, the blond elf and a pretty young girl with long raven hair, a silk ribbon tied around her neck.

“We were summoned to join a terrible hunt. There were knights,” Jaskier put his hand on the blond’s shoulder, “dwarves,” one hand landed on Jaskier’s waist, “Reavers,” legs interlinked,”monsters,” the fake Yen put her hand on her hips “dragons,” the elf’s hand linked with Jaskier’s above his head, and the bard’s eyes closed, his head tilting back, bearing his neck… and it took every ounce of Geralt’s self control not to fight his way to the front of stage to claim Jaskier as his own.

“sword fights, Hirikkas, mages, one right after the other,” Jaskier turned back and smirked at Geralt.

Jaskier gently pushed the two dancers away and strolled casually to the edge of the stage, hands sliding down the inside of his thighs as he dropped seductively, shimmying back up again, fingers toying with the hilt of a dagger. Geralt couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to look away, this was Jaskier; his bard. There was no use fighting the arousal anymore, he was hard in his pants, and his growled as he palmed himself through his trousers, never taking his eyes off Jaskier.

“So this one night before the hunt we were sitting around the campfire, the three of us, drinking, having a few laughs, until it was time for bed, so.. I settle down on my bedroll,” Jaskier slowly ran his hand through his hair, lips parted, he pulled one dagger from its holster flipping it expertly in his hand. “When I woke up, I went to Yen’s tent…”

He crossed the stage, the flat of the dagger pressed against his cheek carelessly, the elf and the raven haired beauty were in shadows behind him but Geralt could see they were close, his heart dropped. He knew what was coming… knew by his own memories and the ice in the bard’s eyes.

“And there’s Yennefer and Geralt, in each other’s arms, fucking around!” Jaskier’s voice was like thunder; harsh and unforgiving.

Geralt winced, looking away from the stage, guilt surging through him. He’d known Jaskier loved him, the bard hadn’t been subtle, and yet… he hadn’t allowed himself the chance to be happy with Jaskier, choosing the icy embrace of the Djinn wish instead of listening to his heart.

The dagger in Jaskier’s hands brushed the bard’s throat in a clear threat. “Well, I was in such a state of shock, I completely blacked out, I can't remember a thing,” the dagger returned to its holster and Jaskier turned around, as a dancer crossed his path, when he faced Geralt once more his fists were clenched. “It wasn't until later, when I was washing the blood off my hands, I even knew they were dead.”

Red ribbons fell from Jaskier’s hands, a sinister grin on his face. The chanting got louder and Jaskier joined the song. “They had it coming!” He growled as he sang, and fuck it shouldn’t have been so hot. Geralt knew he should feel bad but all he wanted was to drag the bard from the stage and fuck him until neither of them could remember their own names.

The dance routine was like fire in his blood, hands were all over Jaskier’s body, in his hair, on his arse, hips, thighs… It wasn’t fair. It should be Geralt, but he’d missed his window. All he could do now was stroke his own cock to the sight of his bard dressed like sin, confident, calculating, deadly. He bit his own hand as he came, the candles in the brothel extinguishing as Jaskier returned to his ‘cell’.

“Fuck,” Geralt growled as he wiped his hand on his trousers, grimacing at the mess. This was not why he’d come to the house… how could he face Jaskier now?

“Oh dear, witcher…” Jaskier’s voice whispered, light and teasing, in his ear. He shivered and closed his eyes.

“Jaskier.”

“Why are you here, Geralt? In case you hadn’t noticed… you aren’t exactly welcome.”

Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Not dead either,” he groused.

“Hmm, true… but that’s hardly a good story,” Jaskier chuckled, his hands brushing along Geralt’s shoulders before he straddled Geralt’s lap. “You never answered my question, witcher.”

Geralt swallowed, unprepared for the lapful of bard. He’d expected Jaskier to keep his distance, but this was more torturous, to have what he wanted so tantalisingly close, and yet out of reach. “I came for you.”

Jaskier laughed. “I can see that, Geralt, but why are you here?”

Geralt snorted. “To apologise, I, I miss you.”

“Go on then,” Jaskier cooed, his hands wrapping around Geralt’s neck. “apologise.”

Geralt tried, he really did, but Jaskier was rocking against him, soft moans falling from his lips. Geralt groaned and buried his face in Jaskier’s neck, hands gripping the bards arse. He could already feel himself getting hard again as Jaskier moved so delightfully in his lap. “Jask,” he hissed.

“Yes, darling?”

“I need you,” he panted “I need you in my life… but right now, fuck. Have you got a room?”

Jaskier laughed and brushed his lips along Geralt’s jaw. “I do, do you deserve an invitation?”

Geralt moaned and shook his head. “No, gods, I fucked up, Jask. I don’t deserve you, want you though, need you.”

Jaskier’s lips ghosted over his, never quite kissing him. He smirked and pulled away with a tilt of his head, sliding from Geralt’s lap and extending a hand. “Come along, witcher. We will talk about this properly in the morning, I want a full apology or else we’re done. Is that clear?”

Geralt nodded as he was pulled from his seat.

“But, I have been dreaming about this since I was eighteen, so I’m allowing myself one final night of self-indulgence,” he winked. “then it’s judgement day, witcher.”

“One night?”

Jaskier laughed, fingers wrapping around one of the daggers strapped to his thighs. “We’ll see, darling, depends how good your apology is,” the teasing glimmer fell from his eyes. “I loved you, you know that?”

Geralt nodded glumly. “I knew yeah.”

“Good, I wanted you to know,” Jaskier shook his head. “bit masochistic of me, but I needed you to know someone loved you, without destiny or magic, without any expectations.”

Geralt hummed, unable to say the words that were stuck in his throat. So instead he pulled his bard into a kiss, pouring his love into it, hoping Jaskier would hear the words hidden behind his actions. Jaskier seemed startled but soon kissed back, moaning as the kiss deepened, pulling Geralt towards the stairs without letting them break apart. A warmth spread in Geralt’s chest. Jaskier had said he loved Geralt, but he knew now that he still did. It wasn’t too late, it should have been but someone somewhere thought that Geralt deserved a second chance, and it would try his hardest not to fuck it up this time.

________

Tag list (18+): @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @slythnerd @hailhailsatan @thecomfortofoldstorries @gelos @moonysourenza @00qtee @honeysuckletook @elliestormfound @sleepy-thief @artistsfuneral @kittynannygaming @stinastar @fontegagrilledcheese @baka-yu @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @kueble @love-more-today-than-yesterday @kozkaboi @wherethewordsare

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fanfic #witcher #Post-Mountain #wolfie's witcher writing #slightly nsft #rated more for the kinks and general level of spice

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childoffantasy · 2 years

Text

2021 Year End Fic Review

@stinastar has tagged me in like 2 of these now haha so I’m finally Doing The Thing

How many stories did you complete?

Posted 23 works on AO3 plus uhhhhh about a dozen assorted fics Not On Main

What is your total word count for the year?

81,063 on AO3 (and I just had the shocking realization that if we count the Not On Main stuff I’m almost certainly up over 100k for the year which is fucking me up)

What fandoms did you write in this year?

The Witcher, Lord of the Rings and one work in my crossover between Tamora Pierce’s Tortall and the Witcher that I keep swearing I will work on more, rip. Oh and I haven’t written any yet, but I did have a few ideas bounce around for The Locked Tomb

Did you write more, less, or roughly about what you expected?

Wayyyyy the fuck more, yeeha. I have been writing fic for years, but most of that amounted to half-finished wips that rarely if ever got posted, so I’m still getting used to thinking of myself as a Fic Writer even after a year and a half of writing stuff in the Witcher fandom.

What's your favorite story of the year?

What, you want me to pick a favourite child??? Ye gods. I’m gonna say The Herald Announcing at least in part cause it’s recent so I still remember the details lol. But it’s Éowyn and Faramir and Éowyn being very gender and Faramir being very sweet and I love them a lot your honour.

What is your most underappreciated story of the year?

Mmm I’m torn again rip. I think in terms of kudos compared to how much I like them, my Ciri/Coën fics (so get up to get some action and I like it between my...) are what I think deserves more attention. However, I am aware that’s a pairing that would set off the warning bells for a lot of people, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (Psst if anyone’s curious, Ciri is grown in the fics and it’s not a mentor/student kinda deal at all)

Biggest fanfic-related surprise of 2021?

Passing 100k posted on AO3, hands down. Two years ago I would never have expected myself to be capable of writing that many words, let alone a single 23k long work. thats-growth.gif

Something you look forward to working on in 2022?

God I have so fucking many fic ideas all of the time and I am so excited about all of them always. I’ve got a couple more LotR WIPs on the go, and a Tortall wip that I’m trying to bully myself into working on and plans to write some fix-it following season 2 of the Witcher, the list goes on, and my ideas word doc keeps expanding help

Uhhhhhh tagging people. @gendzl @storyranger @machtaholic if any of y’all feel like it go ham! Anyone else who wants to talk about their shit also go ham!

#fanfic #fic writer meme

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writinglizards · 3 years

Text

Fanfic Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @drowningbydegrees!!!

How many works do you have on Ao3?

64, not counting the works I’ve anoned, for a variety of reasons.

What’s your total Ao3 word count?

518k.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Between the Fights (I Still Need You)

This was my first fic in the witcher fandom??? And still the most popular??? We all really love our post mountain angst, don’t we?

Tell Me Honestly--How Could I Love Somebody Else?

AKA the “Jask flirts with Geralt when he’s drunk” fic. I desperately want to do a redux on this trope, it’s so much fun to write.

5 Time Geralt Deliberately Botched a Hunt so Jaskier Would Touch Him (and 1 Time He Didn’t Have To)

God. This is probably one of my favorites, honestly. Only time I’ve really done a proper 5+1.

Sorry (When You Leave Me)

AKA the mpreg fic. I’m still baffled why yall like this one so much??? It was 100% written in a fit because I’d just finished an mpreg fic that was...uh...not...great...and was overcome with “I could do that better” so I did. And I haven’t been able to stop since, ugh.

All We Need (One Last Chance)

Corvo fic, my beloved!!! I still have another idea for an adjacent fic, I’ve just gotta...find the time. Corvo vibes and oranges, anyone?

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I used to. Now I generally don’t? There are so many of you and only one of me, unfortunately. If I responded to everyone it’s all I’d ever do lmao.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Genuinely, I have no idea. Most of what I write is happy ending because I like the catharsis of happy endings. Personally I’d probably say All We Need (One Last Chance) is the happiest, though. They’re both retired and in love!!! What more could you want?

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Oh, this feels like an even split between The Last Sense to Go and There isn’t Actually. On the one hand, main character death. On the other hand, extremely painful one sided relationship in which the other party is completely oblivious to the other’s feelings.

Do you write crossovers?

Not??? Exactly??? I think the closest is the daemon fic I did. I like taking traits from other genres and throwing them in, but not full on crossovers.

have you ever received hate on a fic?

I’ve never gotten blatant hate on Ao3, but I did when I was on fanfiction dot net as a teen just getting started, yes.

Do you write smut? if so, what kind?

Yes, and just about everything. Yall know this.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yep! I did a few train fics with friends a while ago and I’ve got a co-fic in the works with another friend we haven’t touched in awhile, but will eventually be done...some day...

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I am capable of one focus at a time, so right now? Geralt/Jaskier.

What’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

RIP to I Said Some Things I Wish I Hadn’t (I Wish That We Could Talk About It). Maybe someday, but no time soon, that’s for sure.

What are your writing strengths?

Lengthy, long winded nonsense.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Short and concise nonsense.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I am not bilingual enough for that, but it is VERY cool!! I love when others do it.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Naurto, as a wee baby middle schooler.

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Probably Take Everything from Me (Take Time). I wrote it for Alex for her birthday but it was genuinely one of the most delightful stories to tell. I had a great time writing it.

Tagging:

@greyduckgreygoose @contemplativepancakes @witcher-and-his-bard @julek

No pressure, only if you want to! <3

#tag game #how has it been over a year of writing nothing but these idiots???

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henrycavillobsessed · 3 years

Text

Porcelain

Characters: Henry Cavill x Anwen Evans (fictional fiance)

Summary: Henry and Anwen’s life was perfect. Until one day, one phone call, changes everything.

Words: 3,444

TW/CW: Death, car accident, description of injuries, hospital, grief. Slight mention of implied sex; some bad language.

Notes: So here it is, my latest fanfic. It’s been a while, due to a bit of a mind block. The idea for this came to me, after being inspired by the song Porcelain by Emarosa (link below in case you’re interested). This one is different to my other fics, for one it’s not the usual Henry x reader narrative. I have created a character this time to act as his partner. Also this one is LONG (3,444 words). I have enjoyed writing a longer and more complex story and I hope you enjoy reading it. (As a warning, it’s SAD. I am not ashamed to admit I cried just writing it.)

Link to song: https://open.spotify.com/track/7rk8cH53nI8ffb5ZccjfpT?si=QMVvEmA3TK-3WuQXJanMmQ

“Oww! Shit!”

Henry looked up from the book he was reading in bed. Anwen was rubbing her forehead and looking very wounded. She’d clearly just walked into the doorframe. Again. Henry laughed out loud.

“Don’t laugh at me!” A pillow flew through the air and missed its target of Henry’s face by a considerable amount. He laughed again.

“I can’t help it. You are so clumsy!”

Anwen climbed into bed, still massaging the sore spot on her head. She scowled at Henry. “If I remember correctly Mr Cavill, it was because of me being clumsy that meant we met for the very first time.”

“Hmm,” Henry reached over and gathered her up in his arms, leaning back against the headboard. He kissed her gently on the faint bruise that was blooming on her pale skin. “I do remember,” he said fondly.

It had been over five years ago now. Henry was out with his friend and colleague Simon Pegg, drinking their way through some of London’s best nightclubs. It had been a great night so far, with both men enjoying their freedom; they’d recently finished filming their latest movie and were celebrating. Henry was feeling happily tipsy, and when Simon offered to go to the bar for another round, he didn’t refuse.

“Get some shots too!” he shouted at Simon’s back as he left their table. Simon waved a hand in response; Henry took that as a yes and smiled. He was just checking his Instagram on his phone when something- someone- crashed into him and he felt the cold wetness of a spilt drink over his shoulder and down his shirt. He looked up incredulously. A woman was stood there with an empty glass and an equally shocked expression.

“Oh, my go- I am so sorry!” she said in a very attractive Welsh accent, Henry thought. He felt his annoyance dissipate immediately.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, accidents happen. How much have you had to drink anyway?” he asked cheekily.

The woman’s ivory skin blushed, contrasting prettily with her ebony hair, which was cascading around her shoulders in thick waves.

“Um, I actually don’t drink,” she admitted. “I have just shown you how uncoordinated I am; I really don’t need to throw alcohol into the mix.”

“Very wise. Hi, I’m Henry Cavill.”

“Anwen Evans, nice to meet you.” They shook hands and were making pleasant small talk when Simon returned with the drinks.

“What on earth happened to your shirt?” he asked Henry.

“Anwen happened. Anwen, this is my friend Simon Pegg.”

Anwen’s face lit up. “I love your movies! Hot Fuzz is just hilarious!” she said to Simon, who smiled widely and they spent the next few moments quoting lines from the film. Simon looked sideways at Henry, and saw the way he was looking at Anwen, and cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s been lovely to meet you, but I must get on. Henry, I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, winking at his friend. Henry mouthed a silent thank you, grinning.

After Anwen explained to her girlfriend’s that she was going to continue the night with Henry, prompting a lot of excited giggling and whispering, she sat herself down at Henry’s table. The hours flew by as they got to know each other. Anwen was an up-and-coming chef, who’d recently opened a new restaurant nearby in London. She told Henry about the restaurant’s menu, and Henry promised to try it out soon. In return, Henry told her about the films he’d been in. He was mock-outraged when Anwen admitted she’d never seen a Superman movie, let alone Man of Steel, and laughing, she promised she’d check it out soon. Conversation naturally flowed between them, Henry felt so at ease with her, and it turned out they had quite a bit in common. As Henry told Anwen about his akita Kal, Anwen told him she also had a dog, a golden retriever named Ciri.

“Ciri?” Henry had asked. “As in Ciri from The Witcher?”

“Yeah! I’m such a huge fan, I’ve read all the books, and I’ve played all the games!”

Henry laughed. “You are never going to believe who I’ve just been cast as for my next job…” Anwen’s jaw dropped to the floor when he told her.

The night ended with Henry walking Anwen home to her nearby townhouse, and they shared their first kiss on the doorstep, swapping numbers with the promise to meet up again soon for a date.

Now back in the present, nearly six years later, Anwen had moved into Henry’s penthouse, with Ciri who Kal adored. Both dogs were curled up at the end of the bed now, fast asleep.

In Henry’s arms, Anwen cuddled in close. “Yes, so if it wasn’t for me tripping and drenching you that night we wouldn’t be here now, so stop taking the piss!”

“Okay, okay!” Henry laughed. “I do worry though, you know. You’re like… like porcelain. So easily broken. Be more careful, I’d hate for something to happen, for me to lose you. I love you so much, my Annie.”

“Don’t be so soft! I’m not going anywhere, not for a long time. And I’ll love you until the day I’m gone, and if I can love after, then I will then too. So shush,” Anwen replied, placing a kiss on his lips.

“Anyway, I’m not that breakable, I don’t think. Wanna test this theory?”

Swinging her legs around Henry’s waist, Anwen straddled him and seductively removed her top. She was braless underneath. Henry whistled low, and licked his lips.

“Yes ma’am.”

Henry and Anwen’s life continued in perfect bliss. Both had never been as happy as they were with each other. Anwen was now an established celebrity chef, having opened many more restaurants worldwide, written a few cookbooks and even been on television a couple of times. Henry’s career as an actor was skyrocketing, his role at Geralt in The Witcher making him a household name. This meant that he had to travel all around the globe for work, however this didn’t impact his and Anwen’s relationship in the slightest, as she regularly went with him, using the time to research new recipes for her business. When they had spare time, they enjoyed exotic holidays, and it was on the white powder sand of the Maldives that Henry proposed. Anwen had burst into tears and accepted immediately, and they’d spent the rest of that holiday on their private island mostly naked, enjoying each other as an engaged couple. Their home life was refreshingly normal however. Behind closed doors, they were just Henry and Anwen, not the famous actor and the celebrity chef. They both took in turns to cook dinner, did the housework together and spent the evenings cwtched up on the sofa watching old movies. Laughter was a staple in their home, in fact they only ever rowed when England played Wales at rugby during the Six Nations. Life was indeed bliss, and it seemed nothing could burst this content bubble they were living in.

One average day in late autumn, Anwen was sat at the kitchen table, with her laptop open in front of her and Ciri snoozing quietly at her feet. Dressed in a pair of comfy sweats and a loose off-the-shoulder jumper, her hair piled artfully messy on top of her head and holding a large cup of coffee in her hands, she was looking at wedding venues online, finally making a start on planning their special day. A huge binder was also open on the table with multiple sheets on paper sticking out of it. She’d made plenty of notes and had lots of ideas; it was now time to put them into action. Henry walked into the kitchen, looking very stylish in back jeans and a tight black t-shirt. He was holding Kal’s lead and the akita was tip-tapping on the tiles behind him, clearly very excited about going for a walk. Ciri didn’t even raise her head, happy enough to stay in with her mum and continue her nap.

“I’m going to take Kal with me to the meeting with my manager,” he said to Anwen. “Then do you fancy meeting me after with Ciri and we’ll take them for a walk in the park?”

“Yes, my love, sounds lush. How long will you be do you think?”

“Not sure, I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Sounds like a plan!”

“What are you up to today?” Henry asked, walking over to Anwen and kissing her on the top of her head. “Wedding stuff?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna send off some emails now this morning and then go to this bakery and try out some wedding cake samples,” Anwen smiled.

“Well, I’m jealous! Have a great day honey, I’ll call you later. Love you!”

“Love you, bye!” she called as he walked out the front door.

Henry’s meeting was going well. His manager had quite a few prospective roles lined up for him, and Henry was interested in the majority of them. His mind wandered to Anwen every so often; he still missed her when they were apart. As the meeting was coming to a close and Kal started getting excited again at going for another walk, Henry’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID- withheld number.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr Henry Cavill? I’m a nurse here at London hospital. We have you down here as Miss Anwen Evans’s emergency contact.”

Henry paled. “Is she okay?”

“I’m afraid Miss Evans has been involved in a serious accident. We have her here at the emergency department. Can you get here straight away?”

Henry had never moved so quickly in his entire life. After giving his manager a hurried explanation and asking him whether he’d look after Kal, he’d gotten in his car and sped through the streets of London, not caring that he was breaking the speed limit. He parked illegally, jumping out of the vehicle and sprinting into the hospital. His mind was in overdrive, all sorts of scenarios going through his head. He felt sick with fear and exertion. Flying into the emergency room, he looked around wildly, finding a nurse sat at the front desk.

“Anwen Evans? I’m here for Anwen Evans, I’m Henry Cavill,” he cried desperately. The nurse didn’t hesitate.

“Come with me.”

She explained to Henry what had happened on the way. “Anwen was crossing the road at a zebra crossing when she tripped halfway, according to witnesses. There was a speeding car, who didn’t see her. He… he ran right over her. He didn’t stop. There are police looking for the car and driver as we speak.”

The flash of anger that Henry felt was so severe that his steps faltered for a second. But then he pushed it away, to be dealt with later. All that mattered now was Anwen.

“Mr Cavill, Anwen is in a bad way. She has a serious brain injury, and multiple body fractures. The trauma team managed to get her stable, but it’s touch-and-go. The next twenty-four hours are critical,” the nurse said gently. “Prepare yourself before you go in.”

She opened the door to the dimly lit room. The sound of machines beeping dominated the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. Henry moved closer to the bed, his mouth dry, hands shaking. His Annie was lying in the bed, connected to the machines, wires snaking out from every part of her it seemed. Her beautiful black hair was covered by thick white bandages wrapped around her head, and every part of her skin was purple and blue bruises. Her striking green eyes, usually so full of love and sparkle, were swollen shut. Henry had never seen anything so heartbreaking; tears coursed unbidden down his cheeks.

“Can I sit by her? Hold her hand?” he choked to the nurse.

“Of course, pet.”

He pulled up a chair to her bedside and ever so gently took Anwen’s hand in his. It was reassuringly warm. He could do nothing for a moment but stroke it slowly. Worry filled every part of his being.

“I’m here Annie. It’s your Henry. Come back to me, you can get through this,” he whispered, and then as sobs wracked through him, he added, “you said you’d love me until you’re gone and I’ll be damned if you’re going anywhere yet.”

For the next few hours, Henry didn’t leave Anwen’s side; he didn’t let go of her hand. He held onto hope that she would get better. After all, porcelain could break yes, but it could also be fixed. And he would do anything to fix her.

As it approached eighteen hours since Anwen’s accident, a nurse came into the room and caught Henry fighting not to fall asleep. She softly tapped him on the shoulder.

“Mr Cavill, go and get some rest. You’re more than welcome to use the family room just next door. Freshen up, get an hour or so sleep. If anything changes, I promise I’ll come and notify you immediately.”

Henry considered this, torn between not wanting to leave Anwen’s side and the need to at least wash his face.

“I’ll be half an hour, tops. Annie, I’ll be right back.” He put her hand down, and exited the room, rubbing his tired eyes as he went.

He hadn’t been gone five minutes when a terrifying beeping screeched out from Anwen’s room. He ran out of the bathroom still with wet hands, his heart in his mouth. He halted in the doorway, petrified at the scene unfolding in front of him.

A team of medics were working hard on her, the unrelenting beeping just adding to the frenzy of the situation. Anwen’s heart had stopped; someone fired up a defibrillator. The shock that went through her echoed in Henry. He just didn’t know what to do. He was vaguely aware of someone trying to lead him away but he just couldn’t move, couldn’t tear his eyes away, panic rising, threatening to overspill. His Annie, his Annie was there dying on that bed, and he couldn’t do anything but watch. And then suddenly, the most sinister sound yet. A flatline. Followed by a voice.

“We’ve lost her. Time of death, eight fifteen AM…”

Then silence.

The sound that tore its way up and out through Henry’s throat was that of a wounded animal. He screamed, the feeling pure agony.

“No! NO! There must be something you can do! My Annie! Annie…”

The doctor looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “I am so sorry, Henry. So sorry. Please, everyone, give him some space.”

The rest of his team followed him out; the nurse that had told Henry to go get some rest was crying silently.

Henry stood rooted to the spot, in a state of absolute denial. Only a day before they’d been in their kitchen together, making plans to walk their beloved dogs, she was planning their wedding. Their wedding. Agony ripped through his chest, sobs wracked his body, his breathing erratic, his heart shattered, never to be healed again. Broken, like porcelain.

Henry didn’t know how he got through the funeral. He’d been to the funeral home, and dressed her in her favourite dress and shoes, and spent a long time brushing out her hair; he’d done that when she was alive, but the familiar act did nothing to ease his pain. When he got to the church, he walked down the aisle with her coffin on his shoulder, his heart heavy because he should have been watching her walk down the aisle in a white flowing dress towards him, he should be becoming her husband, not burying her. When it came to reading her eulogy, he was overcome with emotion, for the first time in his life not able to talk in public. His mother helped him down from the podium; his father continued the speech. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

At the wake, he got blind drunk. No one saw him for a week afterwards.

The news of Anwen’s death was plastered all over the newspapers and online. Headlines such as “HENRY CAVILL FIANCE KILLED IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT” and “CELEBRITY CHEF ANWEN EVANS DEAD AT 27” accompanied photos of the both of them. The hole in Henry’s chest got bigger each time he saw it. He threw himself into his work; being someone else for at least 12 hours a day was easier than dealing with real life. Because the grief was all consuming, terrifying, never-ending. When he got home to his cold and empty penthouse, he couldn’t escape it; Kal and Ciri looked at him sadly every night, the question in their eyes: “where is our mummy?” Henry had no answers for them. He spent each evening sat in the dark, in silence. There was no laughter, no enjoyment in life since she’d gone.

A few weeks later, Simon came to visit. He’d been dropping in regularly, terribly worried about his friend. Henry looked, quite frankly, awful. His hair was long and the curls unkempt, he’d let his beard grow out and he had deep purple bags under his eyes. He’d lost a lot of weight too, although he hadn’t stopped working out. Simon sat down next to Henry on his sofa, nervously voicing the question he’d come round to ask.

“Henry, it’s the awards ceremony tonight. Will you be going?”

Henry looked at him like he’d gone mad.

“Look,” Simon continued. “You’ve been nominated for Best Actor. It’s highly likely you’re going to win. Remember how she… how Anwen was really looking forward to going.” This was true. The red dress she’d been planning to wear was still hung up on the back of the bedroom door. “If you don’t want to go for yourself, why don’t you go for her?”

Henry thought it over. He hadn’t been out, apart from work and the gym, since before the accident. The thought of going to such a high-profile event caused panic. Yet… an image of Anwen, smiling before him in that red dress suddenly entered his mind. She had been so excited; she’d even helped him write his acceptance speech in case he did in fact win Best Actor. Go for her, Simon had said…

And that’s how, just hours later, Henry found himself back on the red carpet, surrounded by flashing lights and crazed shouting as paparazzi tried to get his attention. He posed for a few photos before hurrying inside and taking his seat. He ate the extravagant three-course meal without really tasting it, drank the wine without really feeling it. Simon sat by his side, a welcome support; a truly great friend. Then, finally, it was time for the awards to be given.

Henry clapped and cheered as each person won their nominated categories; showing his support for his fellow actors and actresses. Seeing them so happy actually lifted his spirits for the first time since… before. Then it was time for the winner of the Best Actor award.

“And the winner is… HENRY CAVILL!”

Henry sat in shock as the cameras and spotlights panned to him. Simon was on his feet, screaming “I knew he’d do it!” and then he was helping Henry up. “Go on mate, to the stage. You won, you bloody won!”

In a daze, he walked towards the stage, then across it, accepting his award from the host. The applause was tumultuous; it took a few moments for it to die down, and then everyone in the audience was waiting expectantly for his speech. Henry drew a blank; he had no idea what to say.

“You can do it, handsome!” a heartbreakingly familiar voice whispered in his ear. He looked to the side and his breath hitched in his throat. Anwen was stood there, a wide grin all over her face, looking devastatingly beautiful in the red dress she’d planned to wear tonight.

“I’m right here with you. I love you.”

Tears welled and spilled from Henry’s eyes as he turned back to face the audience.

“This award,” he started. “is for my Anwen. My Annie. I couldn’t have been the actor who deserved it without her love and encouragement. She was my everything. She still is. I owe this, my entire career, my entire life to you, my angel. I miss you more than words can describe, and I love you even more.

As he left the stage to even louder applause and cheers and flashing lights, he looked up, seeing the love of his life again, smiling, tears sparkling on her cheeks, blowing him a kiss as she faded away.

“Goodbye my Annie,” he whispered. “Goodbye.”

#henry cavill #henry cavill fan fiction #henry cavill fan fic #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill angst #henry cavill sad #henry cavill obsessed #HenryCavillObsessed

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henshengs · 3 years

Text

About Rule 63 fanworks

I was asked yesterday to elaborate on my genderbend opinions, as a trans person, which I’m happy to do, and I’ve thought about it a bit today to make sure I’m not saying something off the cuff and not thought through. Still, this is a sensitive, complicated topic, and I’m open to discussion on it.

This also got long, so I’m putting it under a cut.

So, obviously I can’t speak for all trans people. No minority group is a monolith in our opinions and this is particularly the case for the transgender community because our experiences are so very diverse and individual.

I am very rarely hurt or offended by genderbends/genderswaps/rule 63 fanworks. I know people for whom this is not the case, and I believe the pain involved is very real. The thing is... living in this world is inherently kinda painful when you’re trans. This world’s not built for us. All kinds of random things can cause me pain throughout my day. Store mannequins. My own reflection. Lesbian poetry. Pictures of other trans people. When something triggers my dysphoria or feelings of alienation, I have to stop, acknowledge the feeling, and then consider whether the thing is, outside of hurting me, contributing to the ignorance of and hatred of people like me by its very existence.

I don’t think the basic act of asking, “What if this character who is a cis man, was a cis woman instead?” does that. I think if anything, it opens the door to then ask “what if he was a trans man? Or a trans woman? Or nonbinary?”

Asking “what if this story was about a cis woman” lets cis women talk about their experiences and see themselves in stories, something I think is valuable! and also can lead to stories exploring sexism and misogyny, things which affect all trans people too!

In the rest of this post I’m going to use the terms “rule 63″ and “genderswap” to refer to the act of creating a fanwork changing a cis/presumed cis man to a cis or not-specified-to-be-trans woman, because this is the vast majority of the work under that label, because most fictional heroes and iconic characters are cis men, and because people who create cis man->trans woman or cis woman->trans man content, in my experience, usually use terms like “trans headcanon” instead.

(A lot of rule 63 fanworks don’t explicitly specify that the now-female character is cis. We can presume that most artists aren’t even thinking about the possibility of the character being trans, but we can presume that for 99.99% of all art, anywhere. It’s not a unique evil of rule 63.)

The claims that rule 63 is inherently transphobic, rather than just something where it’s good to be extra careful to avoid transphobia, as far as I’ve seen, use two arguments: A) that making the character a cis woman is wasting an opportunity to make them a trans person, and this is transphobic, and B) that rule 63 fan art is gender essentialist and cissexist, because it ties gender to physical characteristics.

Argument A doesn’t hold up for me,

because couldn’t one then say that reimagining an abled white cis character as an abled white trans woman is racist and ableist? that reimagining them as an abled trans woman of color is ableist? No transformative reimagining can cover every identity. We say “write what you know” and talk about Own Voices, and that includes cis women who want to write about the experience they know.

It’s also not fair to tell trans people that we must always think about trans experiences, even in our fiction. A lot of the time we don’t want to have to write or think about dysphoria and discrimination and we want to live in the heads of cis characters or even just characters whose AGAB is not mentioned!

And it is also, imo, not a great idea to pressure people who may not be educated about trans experiences to write about trans characters just because they want to explore sexism or write about lesbians.

many, many trans people first begin exploring their gender identity through creating cis rule 63 content, because it’s ‘safer’ than directly engaging with trans content.

With argument B, I agree that a lot of rule 63 art looks like this

and this sucks. To me, though, it’s important that it’s not the genderswap aspect that makes it suck. Artists who do this are also designing original characters with sexist, gender essentialist designs. Artists who don’t draw sexist art in general, also don’t draw sexist rule 63.

(yes, I know She-Hulk is not a rule 63 of regular Hulk. But you guys know the kind of art I’m talking about.)

I’ve also noticed a genre of fanfic that’s like, “if these characters were girls, they’d be sensible and conflict avoidant and none of the plot would happen!” or “what if these violent, tragic male characters were Soft Lesbians who braided each others’ hair” and again, I assume these authors write canonical women the same way. The genderswap part isn’t the bad part, the sexism is.

Non-sexist rule 63 actually, in my opinion, fights gender essentialism and cissexism. When a character is exactly the same except for the ways a gender essentialist world has shaped and pressured them based on their AGAB, that’s a strong statement on the constructed nature of gender!

But the argument that making /any/ change is gender essentialist, is... I understand where it’s coming from. I am a trans person who presents androgynously and I am a hypervisible freak because of it. I would love to live in a society where visible gender markers weren’t a thing! Unfortunately, we don’t live in that society. We live in one where we are constantly under pressure to conform to one of two profiles. There are almost no gender non conforming male characters in popular media. And changing a gender conforming cis man into a gender conforming cis woman seems to me to be a neutral action at worst. Not to mention characters from historical canons, who would be under a ton of pressure to conform.

For physical body type characteristics... 65% of all speaking roles in Hollywood are cis and male. It’s harder to get statistics on other forms of media, but it’s undeniable that overall, most stories are told about cis men who do not have breasts or wide hips. Changing the story to be about a cis woman who has those features is introducing more diversity!

I typed “rule 63″ and “genderswap” into the tumblr search bar today, and I saw a lot of art of women with a variety of aesthetics and body shapes and characteristics, who looked like people I’d see out at the mall.

Again, I sure do wish we lived in a post gender society. But we don’t, and in our society, everyone, myself included, looks at a picture of a person and gender categorizes them based on appearance. It is not wrong for someone to draw “Geralt the Witcher as a hot butch woman” and give her some physical markers generally agreed upon to denote ‘butch woman’ rather than ‘gender conforming man’ to tell the viewer that that is what they have drawn. Just as it is not wrong to draw “my OC who is a hot butch woman who fights monsters” and give her those markers.

Finally, both arguments against genderswaps are, in my opinion, flawed because they implicitly posit the act of creating fanworks of the original, cis male gender conforming character design, as neutral. I think this is incorrect. I think that if you’re going to argue that drawing a cis male character as a cis woman is transphobic, you have to also argue that drawing the character as a cis man is transphobic. But I’ve only seen people do this when a trans headcanon becomes extremely popular in a fandom.

Again, I’m just one person. I’m also biased, because firstly, as I mentioned, rule 63 doesn’t usually trigger my dysphoria; secondly, I almost always come down on the side of “don’t limit what people can explore in fiction; ask them to explore it more sensitively or with more content warnings instead.”

I definitely encourage creators to seek out and listen to a variety of trans opinions. But this is mine: I love rule 63, I make a lot of it myself, and I think if no one created it we’d lose something awesome.

At the end of the day, what I really want is more trans content*, but I’d rather have cis rule 63 than just stories about cis men.

Also: I personally have nothing against the terms genderswap or genderbend. I don’t think it reinforces the gender binary to acknowledge its existence by saying you’re ‘swapping’ the character from being cis with one AGAB to being cis with the other. But I can definitely see the argument against it, so I don’t blame anyone for going with rule 63 instead.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading; I hope you have a nice day, and have fun creating and consuming the fanworks your heart desires. I’ll end by linking this comic, which is just eternally relevant.

(*by which I mean: trans content created by other trans people, that matches my hyperspecific headcanons, likes and dislikes, and doesn’t set off any of my often changing dysphoria triggers. See what I said at the start, about transgender existence being constantly mildly painful. There are many awesome aspects to being trans! This is one of the less awesome.)

#rule 63

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

Text

Tagged by @greyduckgreygoose! Thanks for waiting.

How many works do you have on AO3?

44 works!

What’s your total AO3 word count

580,109. Wow, that’s a lot! Let’s hope season 2 is good enough to carry me to 1 mil. Don’t fail me, netflix. I’m an emotional man. Give me the bard.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Oh god, I’m trying so hard to accept that cringe is dead and to embrace my past interests as a part of myself. Here are my fandoms in order. Shugo Chara, My Little Pony (although this was technically more of a comic kind of writing than a fic type of writing), Rise of the Guardians, BBC Sherlock, The Hobbit, Star Trek, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, Princess Tutu, Yu-Gi-Oh, The Witcher. So that makes 10.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Greensleeves, 1578

An All-Consuming Creature, 1481

The Knight’s Favour, 867

A Bard He Would A-Wooing Go, 798

This One I Shall Choose, 753 (This one surprised me!!)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yes. I try to get all of them, but sometimes I miss the email notification. I like to let people know I hear them and I’m thankful.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Angst? With an unhappy ending?? In THIS economy????

Just kidding~! Valdo, my beloved whump puppet suffers in each of his fics. Wainscot and Moonlight is my angstiest for Valdo, I think. That or A Good Man.

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I did one once. I was, erm, sucked into the Cumberbatch/Freeman cinematic universe. I did a crossover between Star Trek and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. No record of this fic survives, but it was fairly plot driven.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No. Thankfully, people have been very polite. I’m very proud of my readers for their consideration. So far I’ve yet to encounter anyone rude in this fandom.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yes. But smut is hard. So it takes 6 months lmao. I like to draw it out, make it slow, mix an emotional connection in there with the most vanilla of kinks: biting, dirty talk, possessive behaviour. It’s all about the ownership and the feeling of belonging—being wanted.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I sure hope the fuck not lmao.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not as of yet, but someone wanted to translate one of my fics in french. I don’t know if it’ll happen, but I’m not too worried. We all get busy. Just the idea that someone might want to is enough to warm my heart!

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Geralt/Jaskier. I’ve never encountered a pairing more suited to my EXACT tastes in any form of media. There’s a BARD for crying out loud!

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I hope to finish all of them in good time. But I’m haunted every day by the role play fic I was working on with @monochromrainbows. I’ve been so busy lately. I have so many chapters to edit and post. But I DO intend to finish it, even if it takes me until the end of this pandemic.

What are your writing strengths?

Fairy tales. They are my forte. My BRAND.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Smut. God, how many wips are in wip hell because they have a sex scene? Too many. Like I said: the last one sat around for 6 months until I could build the willpower to write it.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I simply don’t do it. Except that one time, but it was a little children’s rhyme. No thought went into it. No sweat.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Shugo Chara. It was early middle school and I’d just discovered fanfic was a thing. I wanted a magical fairy-type thing that would transform me into my ideal self. and I wanted a sword.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

How dare you! The very idea that I would favor one piece of writing over another! That I, a father to these children born of my blood sweat and tears, would ever so much as consider one to be—An All-Consuming Creature. What can I say? It’s long and full of drama. Or maybe The Music Box. I have a soft spot for the tenderness and the magic.

Not tagging anyone because I’m lazy. You know how I do lol

#tag game #long post

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 23.2)

CHAPTER 23.1

WOTN MASTERLIST

Summary: Higher Vampires are known to be incredibly intelligent. Whence, Tybalt of Toussaint may also possess some humanly emotions just like how mortals do.

Warnings: Blood. Gore. Gory. I think I haven't been too descriptive in this part? I don't wanna say any more in the summary. I don't wanna spoil anything. The usual blasphemy.

Words: 3.2k (short, I know. Heh. Should've been included in the last chapter but I didn't. I think this deserves to have an own chapter.) Short but would give such emotions. I hope. 😉

A/N: Ugh. I thought school has been postponed in my country. It should've been postponed. I have no money and I'm terribly not in the mood everyday to even do anything---what about studying then? Updates will be slower because of the anxiety I'm having. Your words help the anxiety lessen a few whenever you comment for WOTN. Heehee! Mwah!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK AFTER READING, BB! I apologize for errors!

Disclaimer: PNG's and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. (All taken from Tumblr so credits to the rightful owners of the gifs) However, the edits and this fanfic is definitely from moi. Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be. This has no connection towards the books, games or show. First line was taken from a Geralt quote. (Here in Tumblr) I don't know if it was from the show because I hardly remember lines or scripts. (I'm forgetful as heck) LMAO. But, I can hear him saying it inside my head rn.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

"I run into dilemmas all the time. Situations where it's hard to judge, hard to know what's right, make a decision. This is not one of them. You both disgust me and deserve to die,"

"What---what the bloody fuck, Witcha'?!"

"I didn't peg you to be an adopted vampire who suckles on that hag's slandering, inimical greed for power. You're intelligent. But, you use it for foolish purposes,"

"Feckin' heck! Yer' attacking me now? Want to pick up a battle in the middle of feckin' Bethleheigm's forest?!"

"Tybalt of Toussaint. You and your cunning sorceress wasted my time all along,"

Geralt of Rivia snarled through gritted teeth, the vampire grounded to a tree where the witcher has him pinned with a tough hand on his shoulder, while the other held a blade pointed to his heart, "---have been blood-guilty since the prince has even been born,"

He was certainly led on by their wiles. The sorceress and the higher vampire. Geralt was sure that the queen had no idea as to what they've done; as to what Ingrith has done. From the curse of Makeda's son up until the point where she has been the king's mistress. Though, the witcher knew he was done for all their bullshit that has been put up. All his energy wasted for a devil's snare that he obviously has been caged in.

He should've listened to you instead when you have tried shushing him in the middle of his impulsive decision making with the king. The white wolf trusted more of his knowledge rather than the instincts that his guts have been telling him.

Geralt should've trusted his midget more than himself. Most of the time, his decisions were always the worst if we could talk about what happened in the past.

"I wasn't taken in that time yet, Witcha'! The feckin' sorceress didn't take me before the prince has even been born!"

Tybalt struggled against his hold, fighting off Geralt's strength and trying to shrug his hand away. He could simply wave him in hand to hand combat, their strengths matching with one another. Perhaps, the Higher Vampire was stronger than the witcher. Yet, Geralt's anger was rather compelling versus Tybalt's sudden cedes, "---Guess, the truth always and will be set free no matter how we---!"

The latter heard the blade of his silver sword ripping his fabric apart due to being constraint physically. Geralt growled beneath his chest, vibrating through his armor that startled Rohesia who sat on a piece of log.

As Geralt convinced the old woman to come with, they've left her home. Notwithstanding his newly found strength of convincing or better yet, begging that he somehow catches himself trapped in. He sounded pitiful to be begging from a mortal to save his own human. The witcher couldn't imagine nor see himself to be in his own shoes right at that moment.

They've went on with their journey going back to Kaedwen. Tybalt looking oh-so-dumbfounded to see the woman who he talked to years ago about Geralt's existence---how they wanted this specific witcher to lure them in for another shitful death. Vesemir's prior visits never being mentioned to the vampire because she knows how they were trying to remove them in the continent one by one with their unreasonable rationales.

The white wolf was quiet, utterly speechless when he'd seen the vampire. His teeth tightly gritted together behind close mouth. Jaw set to bark deep profanities as to how he has been foolish not to point fingers at them from the start.

Hence, which is why; in the middle of hunting for a deer, Geralt had wildly attacked Tybalt. Face being punched from the witcher's fist and having no time to draw his sword from his back. The latter stumbled from his attack, but eventually recovered in an inhumane amount of time---at least, a second of using his agility to fight back. His vampire claws itching to grow but he was trying not to use them for what guilt was setting him reluctant over a battle with the witcher.

Tybalt needed the blood that Geralt spat on the ground when he'd given him a strong punch to the face. Their brawl being a release of their own frustrations over each other until the higher vampire began to try and use his invisibility with Geralt that made the witcher huff and growl, making him draw his sword out of his back as Tybalt stood on top of a tree branch, invisible and owning no shadow.

The witcher felt where he was hiding and had to use Igni to push him back. Fire slightly burning the side of his bearded face that instantly regenerated in a few minutes. Geralt's vexation for him even becoming more insufferable when the higher vampire hauled him over to the ground, pinning him down. But, the white wolf's anger was determined to come back to the castle with his cut-off head in his hand.

Resulting onto their current position against a tree with hearts blaring for rage, the witcher's resentment over your heart being kept at a trembling bay for whatever was giving you more and more questions about him.

"This was an endless hunt---Midget was right." he grumbled and barked, sending a nasty scowl.

"She knew?" Tybalt spat with a sardonic laugh, "---I thought it was er' affection that ye' didn't trust---I didn't thought ye' actually don't trust er' at all."

Geralt's conscience tingled with the need to have a battle with him until he was contented. He pushed him further against the wood, his amber glazing with a major amount of fury. Red as people can describe for his fueled wrath for anyone in his way.

Tybalt wasn't fighting back as he could read him through his eyes, indignation filled within them that made him emit a shaky cackle because of how he explained to Ingrith that their horrid truth will eventually be set free in the future. The unlucky fate they had was that Geralt has happened to know it rather than another mortal that they could murder just like the previous ones who Rohesia has spilled the beans over the issue.

But, this was Geralt. Gwynbleidd. The infamous butcher. If he would tell Tybalt how he didn't have feelings, then it was all just a damn lie because he was being controlled over his own spleen.

Tybalt of Toussaint was a cuckoo for even trying to rattle his cage. Geralt's teeth untamely barred as time was being spent with him. His hostility skyrocketing after knowing how he has been fooled.

"Heard the visions inside yer' head when ye' were talking in your sleep, Butcher." a heavy beat of silence, "---Ye' believe she'll eventually leave because it might be the destiny for a lass who lived in another world. Yer' fearful that she'll die in your hands. Scared that she'll leave ye' behind and grow old earlier than ye' do because she ain't no mutant like ye. The fight ye' had with er' was quite entertaining to be honest. Too childish to think that yer' still feckin' that sorceress ye' had. No questions asked. I must prefer to choose the unchaste one if ye' ask me---no wonder you want the woman who makes my palates tingle. She's fresh, young and smells bloody good! Sure enough, she's no vestal as she may seem anymore because I know ye' fucked that woman---oh, fuck ye' bloody mutant!"

Tybalt hasn't finished his sentence about diminishing his old flame and current one. The witcher didn't hesitate but give him a strong jab to his jaw, making Tybalt spit his own blood on the ground with a hearty laugh, earning a grimace from Geralt himself. His jaw tensing and clenching tighter than ever from hearing such things.

The higher vampire grinned like a Cheshire cat, teeth painted in crimson red from how the witcher has made him bust his lip from being punched in the face. He could avoid them if he wanted to, but he felt like his assaults and madness were well deserved for what they both have caused to his family, especially to you. It was about time Geralt would seethe into his own pique. The witcher should've done it since then---but, Tybalt has escaped back in the marketplace; escaping his profound wrath.

"Is the mighty witcher's weakness, a mere mortal who knows nothing of you, yer' past and the continent---were ye' even honest to her? told everythin' about yer' nauseating stories?"

Geralt growled another, his words vibing a snappy snarl as he grumbled so deeply, "Fuck. You went deep inside my head." he held onto his sword's hilt tighter, penetrating the sharp blade onto Tybalt's skin, blood seeping through his clothing which has ignited a deep groan and whimper from the latter.

"---Vampires. I loathe your kind."

The white wolf was about to deepen his blade against his chest, Tybalt's punctured wound oozing of claret blood. Geralt's actions making the old woman gasp from where she sat afar, seeing that they weren't having their little playtime anymore as it was all serious. Blood and wounds involving his interrogation over the Upir.

"Stop...Stop yer' horses," Tybalt whimpered, not knowing whether to laugh or revel in the pain as to how it felt to be stabbed on his chest. This was like an imbecile move for him; to accept such blade for the guilt he was feeling over his actions towards you---a mortal who had no idea what was happening in the first place.

Maybe, there was still a teeny-tiny amount of contrition left inside of him. The baby growing inside being the cause of his sudden compunction and change of events because of what the sorceress in the castle's next move would be and his sincerity would be the least that Ingrith wanted nor hoped to see.

His next words would cause him his life and what will be outside of the castle---for what was waiting for him and of being Ingrith's shadow since the moment he was taken.

Repentance is always achieved when one is left with no choice for his or her sins. Regret and realization for one's mistakes happens in the end. Though, in most cases, people living in malign don't realize it at all.

"It's in the cup! Inside the feckin' cup, alright!" Tybalt sneered and hissed, feeling the blade slowly being pushed further. His candor being answered with dubiety from the latter and a hoarse reply.

"Hmm. What lies must you be playing now. You're distracting me from sticking this blade inside your cold, withering heart, Upir."

The higher vampire held onto his silver blade with his hand, his skin frothing against the sword, palm burning for what Geralt has coated back before they even arrived in Rohesia's hideout. Vampire Oil. He was still dubious about Tybalt despite of being unaware for their clandestine schemes. Geralt never trusted his thirst for sins after all.

Tybalt accepted the pain, letting his skin burn from the blade. More blood seeping out of his fingers from how he tried wretching his sword off his chest. But, with all of Geralt's willpower, he kept the vampire in his place. His shoulder slightly beginning to burn and it took him one look to see Geralt fighting off to use one of his signs. Igni that he was also susceptible with.

"Ve...Venom from a female royal Wyvern, Cockatrice and a mixture of acid from a Bloedzuiger's insides---mixed with a taste that wouldn't let er' know that it is poison she's consuming," he stammered with a whimper, hissing another and growling back when Geralt pushed through the vampire's heart, paying no remorse over stabbing the vital parts of him.

The witcher only answered with silence. A death stare being thrown back, trying to understand what he wanted to say. His brows tightly netted in confusion, dazed and long enough for Tybalt to continue his divulge over Ingrith's secret agendas.

"She...plans to destroy her insides---make her bleed." pause. "---If she's protected by the Djinn where yer' lass could resist Ingrith's magic, then there is no doubt that she could accept the vile that will be passed through her throat. Down...down, through her stomach,"

Her. Was it you? Geralt silently pondered at the thought, the gaze in his eyes faltering and turning livid. Teeth bared for his acrimonious comment said.

"Know when to fuck off with your lies! I'm tired of it!"

Geralt growled, his skepticism made the vampire weakly shake his head for his incredulity, mutely sparing his bleat with a low whimper and growl as he sent daggers over the blade stuck in his chest, "I...I spare my tongue to you when this is all an actual lie,"

The witcher scoffed, knowing that he was making a fool out of himself again and it was making him go on the warpath because he knew that cutting his tongue would be nothing to Tybalt.

"You regenerate. You can't outsmart me this time."

Tybalt's clothing was drenched in his own blood. Fresh cochineal saturating the under tunic concealed before his body armor that the witcher had no problem to prod. The higher vampire breathed deeply through his nose, his eyes mentally telling that he was relinquishing every ploy to achieve the sorceress' goals.

"Behead me then with yer' silver sword, Weccan. Cut all me' limbs and feed me to a Selkiemore. But, yer' little woman's drink shall be poisoned in the night of the feast. Three cups of wild fruit juice given to er'---safe for---safe for her as a token of appreciation and another for what she would gladly ask from the king. However, I do not know what cup is poisoned or what not. That's all I can say."

Geralt was snarling before the vampire. His nose scrunched in contempt. The idea slowly coming to his senses. They plan to poison you without a doubt. He needed to come back to his midget as soon as possible. The witcher will be risking your anger that hasn't faded still. Their poison was strong---potent as other mages or wizards may know that even it would take him effects once consumed.

Come what may, rue did not move the witcher's heart. He'd punctured Tybalt's heart, his blade passing through the body of the Upir who minimally spat blood out of his mouth. The silver sword being coated with more blood, splattering the tree behind him, drips of blood painting wood. A gash being given to his most vital organ.

Geralt knew it would take him months or even decades for such bodily destruction. Howbeit, he'd only punctured him in a part that would exhibit a vast amount of pain for his sufferings to yours; for what pain they've given to you was felt from the witcher. He came with you in terms of physical and spiritual---your existence had him coming in two's when it should've been only himself.

Nonetheless, Geralt of Rivia knew in order to survive was to exterminate each and every one who would hurt you because you were the most vulnerable including Cirilla. The witcher would do just that. Give agony to human or any other kind who breaths in the continent until you were safe and sound; to shed blood as he may see with the lesser evil on his side. As he may now try to see that particular side of it with no doubts.

He was not done with Tybalt as he pushed the blade further until the hilt, his heart clouding in blue when Geralt could know that something was happening again back in the castle---the heavyness going back and forth, every hour of the day dropping stones on his chest for what was happening to you.

Tybalt spat more blood once Geralt forcefully yielded his sword away. Crimson liquid filling the ground, his Ivory hair somehow catching onto the gore he has created in the middle of the forest. The higher vampire will be taking decades to recover---lucky if another higher vampire would help him with his regeneration but they both knew that no grudges will be held after because he gladly accepted the pain.

Gwynbleidd has lifted his blade off Tybalt's heart, staring with no remorse and filled with fury. Tybalt was mumbling onto something he couldn't understand. He could only decipher the words 'she' and 'save' over his anger, clouded thoughts before Geralt held tightly onto the handle of his sword, slashing through Tybalt's jugular with determination. Beheading the vampire with his own actions in silence as his amputated body and head fell onto the wet, bloody ground.

He stared, thoroughly emotionless upon his work, thoughtlessly giving heed to the closed eyes of the former living vampire laying lifeless on the dirtground. Geralt grumbled a hum beneath his raging chest, scowling whilst he took a step to pick up Tybalt's head, leaving his body for whatever fate lays for him because the witcher knew he wasn't entirely dead with the slowest beating of heart.

Rohesia was stunned and speechless over watching the scene afar. The witcher's will and determination being sensed from the distance and she knew that this princess he was trying to save was an important person in his dangerous, ill-fate life for the risk he was willing to take---giving her knowledge that Vesemir have been telling the truth in which Geralt of Rivia looked up to him like a father figure and a son that he may never get to have forever.

If you go back to my chapters, you'll know that I had a hint that this would happen to our precious wittle reader. If anybody remembers or had a hint on what chapter, COMMENT! Mwohahaha! RIP to our boi, Tybalt. You shall be missed. Can’t believe this was my first OC whom I killed off in a story. *sobs*

Taglist for WOTN: (Strikethrough means your blog can’t be tagged. Please check your settings) @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @turkish276 @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-fanfictions @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @butterpumpkinscotch @deadlydemon @cheesecakeisapie @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a–1–1–3, @gutfucks, @raynosaurus-rex, @britty443, @suhke3, @shadowclawstudio88, @ruthoakenshield, @just-a-sad-donut, @gxrdenr0se, @singeramg @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo, @alexwinchester23, @naturalthrone22 @supernaturallover2002, @tellmesomethinggud

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza, @crazybutconfidentaf

General taglist for any Henry Cavill fics: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh, @silverkitten547, @henrythickcavill, @kaatelyyynn, @marvelousell, @madelinelina, @summersong69, @raynosaurus-rex, @fckdeusername, @evansislife @nothinggoesunpunished

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abeautifulblog · 3 years

Note

I liked For the Asking on AO3 but I absolutely adore the directors cut. Thank you

I'm glad you enjoyed it!

Because it does feel atrociously self-indulgent to write and post such a thing (like, gremble, who do you think you are, that you think people care about the Process behind your silly warlord!AU witcher fanfic?) but I always loved reading director's commentaries when other fanfic authors would post theirs (it was briefly a thing in the mid 2000s), and I'd be first on the Change.org petition to bring them back, so -- what the hell, right?

In all honesty though, I think current fandom could benefit from the idea that it's okay to take what you're doing seriously. I feel like people get hung up on the "...but it's fanfic" and are therefore embarrassed to acknowledge how much it means to them, even when it's a project that they've sunk weeks, months, years of their life into.

What does it matter that it's fanfic? It's a story that you poured your heart and soul into, that you've spent thousands of words telling. You're allowed to admit that it's important to you.

I've seen a lot of fics on AO3 recently tagged with "no beta we die like [something relevant to the fandom]" -- and to be honest, it kills me about 1% inside every time I see it. Maybe they didn't mean it like that -- maybe they just wanted a preemptive buffer against criticism -- but to me, it feels like waving a flag that says, "Don't worry, I'm not taking this too seriously!"

Because having sought out an editor would be too much. Doing multiple rounds of edits to make this a better story would be too much. Would be more than what a fanfic deserves. Would make you the kind of loser who's taking this too seriously, maybe.

I don't know.

It feels on par with people who think that fandom-involvement is supposed to cut off at 25 years of age, to which I would say, who the fuck do you think is writing your GOOD fics?

Good fic doesn't happen by accident. We all want our fanfiction to be good, to be GREAT, to be powerful, but we're all so terrified of being seen putting in the effort that makes it good. And I wish that would change.

You're allowed to love what you do. You're allowed to care about making the best possible story that you can. You're allowed to recruit sixteen different beta readers who will (yes, create a lot of extra work for you, but) provide sixteen different perspectives on what you're trying to do, and how best to achieve that.

You're allowed to talk about how much effort you put into it behind the scenes, all the work that someone who only read the final draft will have been completely unaware of.

Basically: you're allowed to care about your fanfic.

#for the asking #witcher shit #drunk gremble answers asks

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jawanaka · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Review

(Was tagged by @do-androids-dream-ao3acc and, I think, @brujahinaskirt way back. Thank you all!

1. How many fics on AO3?

Four (sad, low energy)

2. Total AO3 wordcount?

93193 (again, weak)

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

So on AO3 I have written for three, The Witcher, Cyberpunk 2077 and Kingdom come: Deliverance. Way back I’ve written Star Trek fanfic and, when really young, Star Wars.

4. Top Five by Kudos?

I mean there’s four in total...

Love is the Value of Life is my highest rated one at 92 and I am rpetty happy with it. Writing one of the most popular pairings of the fandom helps though.

The Swallow of Novigrad is my number 2 and it is of course my baby that I dearly love.

You cannot go home again (again) is number 3 at 33. My other Cyberpunk 2077 fic, more angsty stream of consciousness I think.

The Thousand Winters of Lord Hans Capon is number 4 at a paltry 15. But then again its by far the smallest fandom.

5. Do you respond to comments, why/why not?

Always. Love comments, especially long once that give you an opportunity to dissect the fic with others. Even if it is just a short note I make sure to answer.

6. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t realy consider myself an angst writer but it has to be The Thousand Winters of Lord Hans Capon given the ending.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you've written?

Nope, never have and probably never will. Usually don’t like them unless it’s total crack

8. Have you received hate on a fic?

No, thats a good thing about the lack of attention I suppose.

9. Do you write smut?

No I usually keep it pretty PG-13. But who knows...

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge...

11. Ever had a fic translated?

Yes! In fact, our very own @herbalina-of-yesteryear is currently working on the chinese translation of Swallow, to be found here. Also there’s been talk of a Russian translation but I’m not sure what happened with that...

12. Ever co-written a fic before?

Not recently. Back in the day I worked on this big collaborative Star Trek project with a bunch of other writers. We technically each wrote our own stories but we planned and plotted together (the concept was that we produced a series and each writer wrote one or more “episodes”).

13. All time favorite ship?

Oooh, good question. Not sure actually.

14. What's a WIP you want to finish, but don't think you ever will?

In this house we finish our WIPs.

15. What are your writing strengths?

Setting descriptions and dialogue.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Describing inner thoughs and feelings

17. What are your thoughts of writing dialogue in other languages?

AS I learned back in my anime fanfic reading days, avoid fandom japanese or fandom any language.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

I think I gotta say Star Wars!

19. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Gotta go with Swallow. The first long fic anything I wrote and still my baby.

So I think between them @do-androids-dream-ao3acc and @brujahinaskirt have asked everybody I know but if anyone else see it and want to answer feel free :)

#asks #my writing

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lilydalexf · 4 years

Photo

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with JET

The first story by JET (Jesemie's Evil Twin) was posted at Gossamer in 1999. You probably remember if you've read any of her stories because she has a unique voice among the many authors of X-Files fanfic. Many of her stories are at Gossamer, but some that aren't there include "Small Lives Awake" and two little fics in its universe, "Imagination" and an Untitled fic. Big thanks to JET for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Honestly, yes. I mean, it's nice, but a little bit surreal. What I feel highly conscious of is that the show premiered 27 years ago; some days that feels like 27 centuries ago. But maybe only because this year has lasted 27 centuries? idk

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I got so lucky finding the group of kind, smart, crazy talented writers I found, and it was sheer dumb luck because I was so incredibly dippy and both underwhelmed by the interwebs of the time (frames! Netscape! whatever was up with Geocities and all those freakin' starscape backgrounds!) and overwhelmed by things like newsgroups (I still have literally no idea how those worked, but there seemed to be 900 kazillion XF fans there). It was great to find a bunch of people who liked the show at the same level I did (cough, A Normal Amount, cough), though in some ways that seems like the bonus to simply having found such a wonderful group of people with whom I am still in contact. The real government conspiracies with hostile extraterrestrials were the friends I made along the way...or something like that.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

A few writers had their own websites (I guess that's what those were?) that I'd lurk around, but mostly I was loyal to a couple of email mailing lists and LiveJournal. Unsurprisingly to anyone who's met me, I was bad at keeping up with them; I did try to, though. (Am I remembering correctly that folks started leaving LJ when Russia got involved somehow? The post-show 2000s are a big blur to me now.)

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

Quite specifically, that poor dude who coughs up a baby fluke in the shower during "The Host". That such a thing -- in retrospect, a nifty and deeply gross practical effect -- had made it onto network TV blew my mind. I did also love Scully and Mulder very quickly. They seemed like such engaging grown ups in all the right ways: intelligent, hard working, clever, loyal to each other, and, if you recall early season two, wearing some of the saddest bureaucrat suits and sporting the least flattering haircuts I'd ever seen on screen. <3

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I have a vague recollection that I had been reading fanfic for something like a year and finally had a story I wanted to try writing. Shout out to Jill Selby for being the nicest, most supportive first reader anyone could have asked for.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

I think of it very fondly! I've otherwise stepped away almost entirely.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I have been in much, much, much more peripheral ways. Partly that's because Life; I don't in general have the kind of free time I had as a college student and part-time employee (and free time circa 1999 was time I should've been using to study or go full-time at my then-job or whatever). I think perhaps because I had such a special, legit lovely experience with XF fandom -- and because I'm still friends with so many people from that time -- I've never much wanted to throw myself into another fandom at the same level.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

In small doses, yes. I wasn't a casual viewer back in the day and I'm still not, so I watch a few eps here and there when I know I'll have time to really enjoy them but not so much time that I'll become a complete addict again. In an age of ~peak TV~ there seem to be 782 new shows annually, and I maybe watch 1 of them, and they never seem to remind me much of XF -- which either means I've missed the shows that have been influenced by XF or the show has retained a kind of singularity. Honestly, I suspect (or maybe just hope) it's the latter.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I reread Kipler and Penumbra's XF stories every so often and grind my teeth with continued jealousy. But most of my fic consumption these days is in Black Sails (QUEER PIRATES TRYING TO OVERTHROW ENGLAND. PLEASE WATCH BLACK SAILS), Superbat (Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne), and The Witcher. (Have I seen The Witcher? No. Have I read the books? The first one and maybe 1/6 of the second one. Have I played the video games or read the comics? No. Has that stopped me from reading fic? No.)

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Oh man, I have never been able to pick favorites. That said, "Unwritten" was possibly the sparest story I wrote and I still really like the imagery in it.

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

Never say never. No plans to write anything else in XF at present. (This does make me wonder, though, if there're any drafts on an old somehow-still-active email account somewhere...)

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

Ha haha ahaha, no. (Well, my mom knows I was in a ~writing group~. Thankfully, she has never asked for further details.) Like. It amazes and charms me that, say, someone who is in high school right now may feel exactly 0 hesitation in sharing their fannishness with everyone, everywhere. Fandom is much more understood and accepted as a hobby/way of life/style goals, I think, than it was 25 years ago. But the whole reason I went online in 1997 to look for XF fans was because all the sweet people in my offline life who watched the show were, hmm-- What's a nice way of saying that talking to them about the show was like chewing tinfoil? Compartmentalization has served me well for decades now. :D

(Posted by Lilydale on July 28, 2020)

#new post #old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #jesemie's evil twin #jet #xf fanfic author interviews

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cranetreegang · 3 years

Text

Witcher Fanfic with OC Characters: Part 1: I Need Your Help

A/N: So... I've never actually played the Witcher, or read any of the books. I've only seen the tv show and movie and random videos on Youtube. But I know enough about it to make me wanna write this.

Lanas and Nisalla are OC and I don't plan on included any actual characters from the original games/books because I'm kinda doing my own thing here and I don't wanna butcher them by accident. I don't know what time period this is set in either. I'm thinking in the future of where Witcher 3 takes place... maybe. I apologize for any wrongness I may make in regards to Witcher lore, and am very open to corrections. I like writing semi-believe/semi-accurate fanfics. Also, any input is greatly appreciated and welcomed. With that being said, I do hope you enjoy!

Summary: Lanas, a lone witcher just finishing a job in Ivalo, is looking to head to the next contract when a strange woman offers him a job. Will he accept, or will he ignore her request?

Warnings: Mild cursing

Word Count: ~1,600 words

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Lanas stared into his pale brown ale with more content than he’s felt all month. The tavern was void of lively patrons, save him. Not that he was a lively patron by any means. In fact, far from it as he sipped his mild drink in comfortable silence. He had been in Ivalo for over a week tracking down a Spriggan that was terrorizing the logging crew. Lanas murmured a curse to the greedy lumberjacks that ventured into the forest for their prized wood, and tore down the Spriggan’s home; causing this whole mess.

Lanas took a hearty swig that barely stung his throat. The tavern's thin walls shook from the lumber yard back in business thanks to Lanas’ swift execution of the Spriggan. With only four loggers dead from the Spriggan’s revenge, Lanas was rewarded with enough crowns to get him down the road. And he was ready to get as far away from this shithole as possible. The smell of putrid waste hung in the air everywhere you went in Ivalo. Which was enough to keep him in a constant bad mood.

He stared at his empty drink with thoughts to get more when the door flew open to the tavern. The draft brought in the fresh scent of mud, a mixture of human and animal feces, and a hint of Damiana.

“There you are!” A female voice called out to the empty room. Lanas didn’t bother to turn towards her and he made a silent prayer that she wasn’t talking to him. He heard the wood creak and groan until she plopped down across from him.

The auburn haired woman was unfamiliar to Lanas. Her dark reddish hair framed around her face and just touched her shoulders. The numerous freckles dotting her pale skin only served to make her look younger than she really was. Her lips, a dull shade of vermilion, formed a bright smile that suited her well, and made her appear warm and easy to talk to. Her cheeks were well-defined, but not overly sharp. Her storm gray eyes were soft, and directed right into Lanas’ dark amber ones without a hint of fear. She wore dark brown, nearly black, leather armor that was made specially for her. A black cloak hung off her back that didn’t conceal the silver-tipped bow poking past her head. Overall, her presence didn't give Lanas much concern or second-thoughts.

“You’re a hard person to find, witcher.” She drummed her covered fingers on the worn table that had several slashes and holes from years of misuse. “But, luckily for you, I’m a very determi-, hey! Where’re you going?”

Lanas had stood up from his seat and was slumbering over to the lone fat bartender by the entrance.

“Another.” Lanas gruffly ordered while setting his mug down on the bar. The barkeep looked between him and the woman running up to him with a knowing smirk.

“Ya’ll need a’least three if ya don’t wanna go deaf ‘fore the day’s done.” The bartender laughed at his joke while pouring more ale into the mug. The woman let out a sharp scoff then crossed her arms.

“I’d say that hurt my feelings, but that would imply that I care what you think.” She spat.

“I’ll take those other two now.” Lanas sighed.

The woman leaned on the bar with her full body turned towards the annoyed witcher. She looked over him with interest. Sizing him up, it seemed. He was at least a head taller than her and far more broad than she. His shaggy raven black hair hung past his pierced ears. The two studs in his ears weren’t of any value, from what she could tell, and he didn’t possess any other forms of jewelry besides his silver amulet laying on his décolleté. His face was well-defined like that of a wolf and he had a fine stubble of dark hair on his lower face. Even though he was broad, he was still lean and agile.

The armor he wore was quite heavy just by looking at it. Scratched metal covered parts of his chests, forearms, and legs while thick quilted earthy brown leather protected everything else. Her eyes strayed on his silver bear amulet for a moment too long. Lanas bared his sharp teeth at her and she smiled sheepishly at him.

“I’m sorry. Very rude to stare, I know. I just couldn’t help but notice your bear thing.” She pointed at his medallion, making him promptly shove the necklace underneath his armor.

The barkeep placed Lanas’ three drinks in front of him then turned his attention to the woman. “If ye gonna be botherin’ folks, ya better orda somethin’. Else, git.”

The woman waved her hand at the barkeep to dismiss him. “As I was saying, before you walked away, I’ve been looking for you.”

Lanas chugged the first ale and let out a satisfied sigh. He turned his head slightly towards her and seemed disappointed that she was still there. He began drinking his second mug as she continued speaking.

“I’ve been tracking, what I believe to be, a cyclops.” She said with her eyes wide in enthusiasm. “I know! Exciting, right?”

Lanas finished his second mug, and was working his third.

“This cyclops has been picking off poor travelers on the road from here to Dorian. It’s been hiding out in the forest then swooping in to smash everyone to bits.” Her fist slammed on the wooden bar to emphasize her point.

Lanas also slammed his empty mug down then wiped off the ale slipping down his stubbled chin. He shoved himself away from the bar and began to leave the tavern. He didn’t make it far down the street before the woman was beside him once more.

“You’re seriously still gonna leave. Even though a cyclops is terrorizing people!” She exclaimed over the roaring noise from the lumber mill that vibrated the muddy ground they slogged through.

Lanas rolled his eyes. “Cyclops keep to themselves.” He tried to speed up his pace, but she easily matched him.

“Yes. Yet, it’s still out there causing havoc.”

“Not my problem.” Lanas dismissed with a grunt.

“Oh, you’re one of those witchers. I see. Not your problem until someone pays for it to be your problem.” She reached into her pack to produce a well-sized sack that made a nice clanking noise. She held it out in front of Lanas, who slowed down his stride to better examine the dangling prize.

She grinned at his interest. “Ah, there we go. Should’ve done this sooner. I’ll pay you to help me kill this cyclops.”

Lanas went to grab the pouch when she yanked it out of his reach. His scowl consumed his already harsh features. “I get paid now, woman.”

“It’s Nisalla. Nis for short. And no.” She shoved the pouch back into her pack. “Not until you agree. Can’t have you running off on me.”

Lanas glared down at Nis, but she just smiled back. Lanas let out a low growl and stomped ahead. “I don’t work with others. Especially not humans.”

“If you’re worried about me dying, don’t. I can handle myself.”

“That’s what they all say.” Lanas grumbled under his breath. “And I don’t care if you die. You might get me killed because you do something stupid.”

She let out a sharp gasp while clutching over her heart. “You wound me, witcher. Truly. Especially since I haven’t done anything stupid so far.”

One of his black brows rose as he side-eyed her. “You’re following me around. Testing my patience. I’d say that’s stupid.”

She hummed to herself in thought. “Reckless, maybe. I don’t think it’s stupid though.”

Lanas stopped walking, causing Nis to stop as well. Lanas got right in her face, forcing her to look up at him, and glared at her.

“Whatever it is,” his jaw was clenched so tightly that the words coming out sounded like hisses, “it won’t matter when I slit your throat and feed your entrails to the wolves if you keep bothering me.”

Nis’ brows rose and her stormy eyes widened. Her heart beat a bit quicker as she stared into his glowing amber eyes with slits like a cat ready to pounce on her. Then she let out a nervous giggle as she patted his shoulder. “You almost got me there. Nearly pissed myself, honestly!” She laughed as he stared at where she touched him in furious disgust.

She motioned with an exaggerated arm movement down the muddy path, “Come now. I think if I stay here a moment longer, I’m gonna cut my nose off. This place smells like shit.” She sauntered towards the stables, with a couple of bystanders flipping her off for her blatant comment. Lanas stared after her with his fists balled tightly at his side.

“She didn’t even flinch.” He grumbled under his breath. He chuckled to himself that maybe she wouldn’t faint at the sight of this supposed cyclops. He caught up to her at the stables to find her preparing a sorry looking red roan. She hopped onto the mare and flashed Lanas a pleased smile.

“So, you are coming then?” She asked.

Lanas went over to his tanned stallion and petted the beast’s muzzle. He saw the burning curiosity brimming in the young horse’s eyes.

“We’re off again, Horse.” He patted the side of the horse’s neck before hopping on Horse's back.

“Horse? You named your horse, Horse?” Nis questioned.

Lanas sent Horse trotting ahead and Nis turned her mare to follow. She giggled to herself at the unoriginality before asking, “What’s your name, witcher? Or is that your actual name?”

She tossed the heavy leather pouch to the witcher. He looked inside the bag, and was pleased to see it filled with golden crowns glittering in the sunlight. He stuffed it into his saddle bags then glanced over at Nis awaiting eagerly for his answer.

“Lanas.”

Nis said the name quietly to herself then grinned. “Alright, that was half. You get the other half after you kill the one-eyed beast. Try to keep up, Lanny.” She took off ahead of Lanas, who watched her with an irritated scowl. If this cyclops doesn’t kill her, Lanas was sure he would.

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Read Part 2 Here

#the witcher #witcher oc #my writing #creative writing #fanfic #witcher fandom #witcher fanfiction #original character #witcher 3 #tw3 wild hunt #the witcher 3 #tw3 #writing #writers #fanfiction

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