This post is no shade to Izzy fans. (Obviously I'm sick of Izzy stans but the Izzy Jar guys and Izzy enjoyers are cool and can probably skip this post because I'm gonna complain about your boy) It's just my personal opinion.
Izzy is so boring dude. Like my initial impression of the show is like oh what a neurotic little villain, and the role he plays cross Ed is interesting. But to me Ed is what makes him interesting. Ed is an interesting character and Izzy plays a huge role in his story. Their relationship is interesting.
But Izzy on his own is like... So boring to me. And every time Ive said "idk what's interesting about him" I've gotten in trouble for it. I even had one person say "IDK what to tell you when we have so many wonderful interviews and panels from the creators" and I was just sitting there like... Yeah I've seen those. They make him even more boring. Like am I the only one without the Izzy wool over my eyes? Because like at the C2E2 panel for example I feel like Con said "he's got a lot of layers and all of them are bad" and everyone just stopped listening after the word layers.
Like in the interviews there's been a some of talk about Izzy's sword fighting, like that's his one skill, his signature weapon. And people are like 🥹 he likes sword fighting!!! And I'm like "oh... So there's no secret piano skill that he's hiding? His hobby is just violence?"
Like the most interesting thing about him is that he likes getting choked and force fed his own toe. Like the fact that he gets horny about depraved shit is my favorite thing about him. But also the depravity isn't even like fun it's about exerting power for him, which is like the most boring reason to be into it. It would be so much cooler if he was into erotic forced auto cannibalism for the love of the game rather than some 24/7 bdsm fantasy of being Blackbeard's dog he has. It's like I love it don't get me wrong, but also whip my balls is the superior masochistic flex. I'm being fed too well by this show to succumb to that
Ill admit that part of this is that I find people who are obsessed with power to be viscerally unappealing (I'm an anarchist politically so) and I think repression is the enemy and hedonism is like my favorite thing and I hate work. Like I'm predisposed to be a hater. Except despite all that I'm not actually a hater I just don't understand the hype.
And again, if you like Izzy that's fine. My brain decided to latch onto Calico Jack I do not sit on very solid judging ground here. But it seems like I'm the only one who's just like "yeah Izzy? Useful for causing problems, kinda mid."
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“Gods,” Jaskier pants, “Your fucking hands.”
Her fingers are gripping the poor grass beneath her, dirt embedding under her nails as she tries to ground herself. There’s almost painful sparks of pleasure zipping through her. Every bit of skin between them that touches is fucking burning, they’re pressed together from face to hip — Geralt’s light panting drives her nuts as it spans against her cheek, heating the sweat and the spit and the tears clinging to the flushed skin.
She clamps down around Geralt’s fingers — his knuckles — all four of them stuffed so deep inside her, it’d be easy as breathing for him to just slide the rest of his hand in her sopping hole.
“Sometimes—” Geralt slides his fingers out and then slowly presses them back in. Jaskier can feel his fucking smirk against her jaw as he finds that spot inside her. He’s so fucking good at it. She feels a new wave of slick leaking out of her and into his palm.
He rubs the pads of his fingers over that spot a few more times and she arches up into his other hand, large and rough, his thumb rolling over the hardened peak of her nipple and he tugs at it, pulling her further from the ground like a puppet on a string; boneless and pliable. She's a play thing for him, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
Expectantly, like the last three times, Geralt brings her to the peak and pushes her right over into overstimulation, the tight coil of heat and pressure that'd been building between her hips loosening for all of three seconds before tightening back up with a rush of pleasure-pain so good she knows she's drooling. Geralt's sleeve is drenched and sticking to his forearm, that much she can see from prying her eyes open to glare at him.
"Sometimes," Jaskier picks the thought back up, heaving breaths that barely reach her lungs, "I feel like you're trying to climb into my womb."
Geralt snorts a laugh, and he looks so fucking proud of himself to be up above her, watching as she trembles on his fingers — which are thankfully playing at her just a little bit more tenderly, knowing that he's walking the line of discomfort from the relentless way he fucks them into her.
He leans forward, his broad thighs stretching Jaskier's open further, and kisses her easily. It's a little sloppy, drool from her chin smears and Geralt likes to kiss tongue first, tasting her lips before kissing them; it's sloppy but she fucking loves it. Jaskier lets her now sore hands slowly disentangle from the poor grass around her and rest at the back of his head.
"I've got mommy issues, what do you want me to say?"
She laughs, breathless. And Geralt looks at her like he wants to fucking eat her. He settles for licking up the tears that've turned tacky on her cheekbones and digging the fingers of his less occupied hand so hard into her hip that she can taste the bruises it'll leave.
Fuck, she loves him.
He ropes one more orgasm out of her before gifting her a chance to recover. Strings of slick fluid connect from her pussy to Geralt's fingers, and the bastard, smears it almost endearingly around her thighs, up her hips — marking her with the physical remanence of her desperation.
"Hope you know those mommy issues of yours are making my cunt feel like a godsdamned cave," Jaskier tells him. She can feel herself clenching around nothing and it aches, the emptiness.
Geralt quirks a brow before bringing his hand down and slapping her still throbbing cunt. It makes Jaskier yelp (and embarrassing for only Jaskier, thrilling for Geralt) it tapers into a moan, when she clamps a hand to his wrist and slams her thighs closed around his hand. Like a balm on a wound, the pressure of Geralt’s hand over her soothes the sting while she throws him a teary/eyed glare. Geralt rolls his eyes and easily works two fingers back into her, no intention of bringing anymore pleasure just to be a tease when hooking his fingers to the side and pulling her slick entrance open when he says, “Muscles stretch. It will snap back in an hour.”
Jaskier scoffs, bringing her foot to Geralt’s ribs and shoving him off, “I’m going to be gaping all fucking night, you bastard,”
“You begged for it.”
“Well your hands shouldnt be so fucking big—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Geralt is leaning back over and kissing her silent, and then he’s shuffling further and further up her body until his thick thighs are spread by the width of her chest, and Jaskier’s eyes light up. “How about using your mouth for something that isn’t complaining?”
Eating Geralt out is a treat, it’s something she’s allowed only every so often, when Geralt is feeling indulgent or craving that kind of touch he so rarely does, and Jaskier has never been anything but enthusiastic to be the person he derives his pleasure from. To be the person he trusts to give him whatever type of pleasure he wants, even if that’s none. She’s clawing at Geralt’s thighs, his ass, his hips, urging him forward to use her mouth anyway he wants.
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