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aerialflight · 3 years

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Fic Rec (where i'm into too many fandoms rn and ships which is weird of me)

[Bleach] (been a while amiright?)

Oxytocin by Asuka Kureru (Askerian)

Ship: Grimmjow/Ichigo/Orihime

Complete trust and physical affection are great!

They're a bit less great when they were caused by weird hollow drugs.

They're even less great when the guy who was drugged up into loving the hell out of you is the same guy who tried to murder you a couple times a couple years ago.

(listen i just stumbled upon this and I have no regrets. i don't usually go for ships, let alone poly, but like, GOD, i love how everyone is characterized here, especially orihime and i just want to SCREAM OK? OK. the vibe i get from this fic reminds me of @murderlight (big fan) and if that doesn't say anything, i don't know what will.)

[Gintama] (i don't know how i spiralled into this fandom either, been literal years since i've even thought about this fandom, i have no regrets)

Grab Your Dreams With Your Fists While You Can Still Remember It by yatagarasu (leelhiette)

Ship: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki

Toshirou should learn to look both ways before crossing the road.

(Or he learns more about the people around him and about himself.)

(amnesia fic, and i know it's a common trope but they did it BEAUTIFULLY here. love this so much. and it's post-canon.)

I feel you by arashian155 for machinecuisine

Ship: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki

“I’m so done with this,” Gintoki muttered angrily. Zura sighed while Tatsuma laughed loudly. “Your soulmate’s getting roughed up again?” Gintoki groaned. “Worst timing ever! There was this one Amanto swinging his gigantic sword at me and I was just about to dodge it when, out of fucking nowhere, I feel something stabbing my shoulder! It threw me off and if it weren’t for that, I would have been perfectly healthy right now instead of getting nursed for this stupid wound!” he pointed at the ugly slash across his torso. “Fuck soulmates!”

A story about Sakata Gintoki's journey into embracing his soulbond, falling in love, and learning the cons of selflessness.

(THE SLOW BUILD-UP OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP AND THE PLOT FOLLOWS CANON AND I CAN'T STOP TALKING ABOUT THIS STUPID FIC I'M SO STUPID FOR THIS STUPID SHIP FEIWNFOPA)

[One Piece] (of course)

Undone by pkmntrainer_alex

After the entire family almost dies at WCI, Judge Vinsmoke orders the removal of his sons' emotional modifications in a bid to save his own skin in future endeavors. He doesn't stop to consider the ramifications of his 21-year-old sons finally, suddenly, being able to feel their human emotions in full - and their newfound ability to judge both themselves and him by their past actions.

(the vinsmoke family dynamics and the brothers trying to deal with 21 years of pent up emotions? they're trying?? so freaking hard to be functional people and they realize just how freaking amazing sanji is and that HE wasn't the failure in this family??? god, i've reread this fic so many times like an addict please read and suffer the feels with me. this is the one fic where i'm trying to patiently wait for an update. i'm just happy that this exists.)

Song of the Swords by authenticaussie

Wado is tiny when she first appears before him; her tears are as silver as her hair and the moonlight, and they gleam from within with golden fire as they pour down her cheeks.

Zoro’s heart fairly stops in his chest for a very, very long moment.

(personified swords au! introspective and fascinating and a character study of zoro and his relationship with his swords! really liked this!)

where the rims have ridges by Civillain

Everything everyone does is in their own self-interest.

"I like your hat," she calls out quietly.

And the change is instantaneous. He stops where he stands, a hand on his head and his knees still bent to take another step, and turns to look over his shoulder.

There's a moment of silence where he says nothing, just peering at her with squinted eyes, before: "Thanks!" he beams.

His smile is wide and unchecked, so wide that it might make his cheeks ache. He doesn't have laugh lines, but the way he smiles makes her imagine that he's spent his whole life grinning like that, warmly and brightly, so sincere and upfront that the breath gets punched right out her lungs.

Sometimes, there are people close to exceptions. But not quite.

20 years apart, and two people that don't make any sense.

(god, such a good outside pov look on luffy! luffy is such an unreadable character lots of times and it's so hard to pin down his characterization but this fic got it so right! made me fall for luffy all over again and realize just how incredible he is, as both a not-hero figure and main character! definitely recommend!)

those things beyond us by Civillain

There's something different about Luffy on nights like this, nights where there's soft rain and half-moons, and when the streets are quiet; no cars or trucks, only midnight joggers or early risers taking walks to the beach.

(Where Luffy and his friends have a relationship Sabo doesn't think he'll ever be able to understand.)

(honestly, i just love all of this author's one piece works. its a modern au where the straw hats are reincarnated and find each other all in sabo's pov. it's beautiful and this is how i would picture how the straw hats would fit in a modern au. nakamaship is the best ship, no questions needed. so so good!)

Magic Paint by 8ball

Luffy sticks his hands out.

“Paint mine!”

Usopp watches the expressions on Sanji’s face. He likes watching the obvious emotions go through him like a slideshow, and it's somehow comforting that he can see the exact moment Sanji decides that going along with Luffy will be the easiest choice. So Usopp waits for Sanji to test his own nails, deem them dry enough, unscrew the tiny brush top again, and then he asks if Sanji will do his, too. And because Sanji already has the brush ready, and they’re both right there anyways, Usopp knows he’s going to get what he wants.

or the au that came from nowhere where Sanji paints his nails and everyone elses and thats really it

(*screams* the pureness, the fluff, the nakamaship!! fneiwoapfe!! the best, sweetest headcanon ever! had the biggest grin on my face the whole time i was reading this! please please read!!!)

[Percy Jackson & the Olympians]

Stealing Shells by the Seashore by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Ship: Sally Jackson/Posiedon

Sally's eyes flicked between Poseidon and then the sea below. He could feel the understanding click.

"Oh, absolutely not-"

"It isn't that high!"

"Poseidon, I am not jumping off of this cliff! I'm not doing it. I won't, you can't make me, it's very high, I am not going to-"

"If my brother sees you here, he's going to assume that you're carrying my child."

"Ridiculous. I have much higher standards."

"I also have higher standards, but he isn't going to listen to us," Poseidon reasoned. The wind blew a bit harder, and Poseidon felt the sea rise with his anxiety. "I would use my powers to hide you, but he'll sense I've used them. You'll be fine," he tried, and Sally gave something of a skeptical laugh.

"Not happening."

The lightning grew closer. For the love of-

"In that case… I'm sorry," he said. Sally tilted her head suspiciously.

"Why are you-" she began but was cut off by Poseidon shoving her off the cliff's edge. He could hear a scream. It started loud and high before getting smaller and smaller. Finally, a splash followed.

Sally and Poseidon spent one summer together… and most of it was them being on the run for a godly crime they didn't commit.

(THIS is the ONLY backstory i will ever accept regarding this ship for the REST OF MY LIFE. i binged this so freaking fast and i am in love with sally as much as posiedon is. percy jackson got his Everything from his mom you can't change my fucking mind. THIS FIC NEEDS MORE ATTENTION AND KUDOS! READ!!!)

Son of Sea Foam by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

“She’ll never claim me,” he whispered. Silena shook her head, eyes wild as she looked around for anyone who could be watching.

“My mother doesn’t remember half of her children as it is,” she said with a note of bitterness. “If you do something to impress her, it won’t matter. Return the bolt in her name. She’ll claim you if you act the part. If you stay unclaimed then they'll figure out what you really are," she said, squeezing his hands tightly. Percy's heart sped up.

"I - I don't know the first thing about Aphrodite-"

"My mother was born of sea foam," Silena cut him off. "And if you're really who I think you are... you are the sea. You can pull this off," she said and touched his cheek. "Get the bolt. Survive," she said. Percy swallowed.

"What if I can't act the part?" He asked. Silena's expression went blank for a moment. Slowly, she slipped off her bracelet and placed it in his hands.

"If you're going to be one of us... you better learn."

AU where Percy has to hide the fact he's a Big Three kid otherwise he'll be killed on the spot. Unfortunately for him, unclaimed kids tend to raise the most suspicion... but he might have found a loophole in the form Aphrodite.

(one of my current obsessions rn. my eyes are constantly glued on the screen because i want to devour more of this galaxy brained fic. this author just keeps on giving and i love them for it. also, SILENA IS AMAZING AND SHE'S GETTING THE ATTENTION SHE DESERVES HELL YEAH!)

[Haikyuu!!]

He Waits For a Miracle by ich_bin_ein_stern

Ship: Hinata/Kageyama

A minute ago, he was on the ground after he and the others were tackled by their happily weeping senpai.

They had just beat Shiratorizawa.

And now - "Kageyama-kun? Are you paying attention?" - he's trying not to freak out because he's surrounded by distantly familiar faces while wearing a school uniform he hasn't worn in almost a year.

(TIME TRAVEL TIME TRAVEL TIME TRAVEL *screams*)

[The Witcher] (seriously, all my rare fandoms somehow popped up this month)

the way fire holds by theundiagnosable

Ship: Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier

“There’s a song there, somewhere, don’t you think?” Jaskier says. “‘A witcher, a sorcerer, and a human walk into a bar’…”

(ROLE REVERSAL FIC HECK YES!! Witcher!Yennefer, Mage!Jaskier, Human!Geralt is amazing omg. It all works out so damn well and the relationship between yennefer and jaskier makes me want to cry so much. Geralt is at peak himbo greatness and it's fantastic haha! Their dynamics are just *chefs kiss* so damn good.)

The Shape of You by lirulin

Ship: Geralt/Jaskier

Some people say it's old elven magic, a remnant from before the conjunction of the spheres. Other's will say it's the last fading vestiges of chaos as the modern era slowly drives all magic and wonder out of the world. Those people are, naturally, real killjoys whom Jaskier cannot envision loving anything, but that's fine. To each their own.

Soulmate Spiritual Animal AU

(you have no idea how much i laughed when reading this fic. no idea. jaskier makes me want to scream with how much of a himbo he is and geralt, for once, is not the complete idiot between these two though it's a close call, not gonna lie.)

to grow in adversity by Soulykins

Ship: Geralt/Jaskier, Renfri & Jaskier

“For you!” Julian cried, shoving a fistful of weeds in Renfri’s direction, his smile wide and carefree. Renfri carefully took them in her hands that were only shaking a little bit now, smearing red onto green stems and yellow petals.

Julian clambered into the bed beside her and crawled halfway onto her lap. “I got you flowers, ‘cause you’re so pretty like them!”

“These aren’t flowers, they’re weeds.” Renfri told him, rolling her eyes but allowing the contact with ease. Somedays it seemed like Julian was the only person in the entire castle who wasn’t afraid of her.

“They look like flowers.” He said, crinkling his nose.

“They’re dandelions,” Renfri informed her brother with a tiny smile, “They grow everywhere, even places they perhaps shouldn’t. That’s why they’re a weed.”

“Perhaps they’re a little like you,” She teased, “Growing in even the scariest of places with no fear.” Like a monster’s heart, she doesn’t say.

“Like a superpower!” Julian gasped.

Renfri separated one dandelion from the little clutch and reached out to tuck it behind a little ear. “For the stubborn hero, Jaskier.”

(this is THE fic that got me into the witcher fandom and i can't believe i never reced this before. renfri & jaskier's siblingship is so damn good and just, the amount of effort put into their backstory and relationship makes me want to cry sometimes. and yennefer, ohoho, yennefer is at her Best here, i love her in this fic and her relationship with these siblings! geralt both makes me want to punch him and hug him, which is the norm and totally understandable hahaha! seriously, one of the best witcher fics i've ever read, please please read!)

[Boku no Hero Academia]

Where your love has always been enough (for me) by classicequinox

Ship: Todorki Enji/Todorki Rei

It's a dark coil of anger deep in the pit of his stomach, reminding him that he was the root, the catalyst, the trigger for their family's downward spiral. It did happen - he reminds himself harshly. He can't forget that, even if time has actually reset itself.

Todoroki Enji gets a second chance. It's up to him to see what he can do with it.

(genuinely the most believable enji i've seen regarding how he deals with his past actions and trying to be better and rei being a complicated, good person who i can see matches well with enji. really well done characterization and slow building relationship that is believable to me. enji trying to change things in a meaningful, careful manner makes me want to root for him!)

Katsuki Bakugou Makes A Friend (And Also Almost Dies, But Whatever) by Sif (Rosae)

Katsuki Bakugou is eight years old, he has no idea how he got here, where he is, or who this other kid is with him, but that's not gonna stop him from being brave and tough, just like the hero he's gonna be when he's older!

The universe has other ideas, but Katsuki Bakugou is a child made of spite, hubris, determination, and way too much nitroglycerin, so the universe can take it's ideas and shove 'em. After all, nobody out-stubborns Katsuki. Nobody.

(KID BAKUGOU & KID SHIGARAKI FRIENDSHIP! BAKUGOU STOLE MY HEART! SO SMART, SUCH A HERO! I LAUGHED AND CRIED THROUGHOUT THIS FIC, MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS! LITTLE SHIGARAKI MAKES A FRIEND AND IT'S TOO CUTE!!! so freaking adorable, oh lord. fneiwofpweafe)

Play The Field by lalazee for Banna_Banana

Ship: Bakugou/Midoriya

Baseball and feelings, feelings and baseball. Turns out, Bakugou and Deku are both good and bad at the same things. They try to work on it.

(look, i don't even know man. i stumbled upon this baseball au fic and the characterization is so top notch!! the backstories and feelings you get from this matches bakugou and deku's canon relationship perfectly and i flew past this so fast, god. please give this a chance, it's fantastic!)

[Marvel]

Blips on the Record by ambivalentangst for Bean_reads_fanfic

Flash, let it be known, doesn’t like Peter. He’s too good at everything—infuriatingly so—and nobody ever calls him on his bullshit, like with AcaDec nationals. Flash has to put his all into everything he does for a fraction of the attention Peter gets for his bare minimum, and it pisses him off, to say the least, so sue him for looking for chances here and there to knock him down a peg.

However, when he notices, he shuts his entire operation down.

Maybe Peter has a decade on his age when he was in the thick of it, but Flash remembers what it was like. He gets having school be a safe place, and nobody, not even himself, is going to jeopardize that for Peter.

Flash Thompson’s story is not simple, Peter Parker can always use someone else in his corner, and secrets are had and protected by all.

(flash is fleshed out! flash is getting some Good Rep! flash doing his best and being grumpy but ultimately trying to help peter in what ways he could! flash being a complex character and making me love him all over again! flash! getting some actual freaking attention fewnifoapew! THANK YOU! seriously, if you're looking for an actual good flash fic that doesn't feel disingenuous, read this!)

people were mean to you, but I always thought you were cool by suzukiblu for beckyh2112

Fandoms: Avengers & X-men

“What are your feelings on the mutant threat?!” one of the reporters shouts, and Steve just looks at him.

“I think anyone threatening mutants should be stopped,” he says calmly, and the swarm of reporters explodes, a dozen camera flashes going off at once.

(not exaggerating when i say i've reread this fic so many times that it's honestly concerning. steve & cyclop's friendship here makes me so soft?? they're both leaders of their teams and steve not being what everyone expects of him is always a soft spot for me. will forever be addicted to this fic, please enjoy!)

#notmycap by missgoalie75

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

In which Bucky fully embraces the 21st century and is a salty bitch on Twitter.

(nonono, you don't understand. you don't understand how much i howled and screamed in public while reading this, oh my GOD. honestly the funniest shit i've read in a VERY long time, bucky is Perfect here. fucking drag that guy you beautiful cranky soul. X'D)

#Fanfiction #AO3 #Fic Rec #Fic Rec List #Bleach #Gintama #One Piece #Percy Jackson & the Olympians #Haikyuu!!#The Witcher #Boku no Hero Academia #Marvel #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #X-men

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

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Made not Born: Part 1

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix)

Pairing: Jaskier x Plus Size! Goddess! Reader

Warnings:

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Summary: You’re a goddess of little things, but you were made not born. You tire of immortality, of the glitter that does not fade, of watching those around you grow and age and falter and die. You help Jaskier in a moment of need and in return he tries to help you. Perhaps you find yourself falling in love along the way.

Notes:

You find him by the roadside. You’ve followed his journeys, one of the many mortals you enjoy watching the life of, and now you find him in need of help. His clothes are dirtied, he is sat in a muddy ditch, hair misplaced and blood bleeding from the broken skin of his lip. He is beaten and he is bloody, but not dangerously so. But you are a minor goddess, good for healing little wounds and mending small broken things.

You don’t answer his questioning calls until you’ve placed a hand on his cheek and the bruises have faded, the cuts stitching themselves back together, the rips in his doublet mending. You doubt he knows what god you are, few do, but his eyes glimmer with recognition as he takes in your form. You are the homeliest looking of the gods, although by mortal standards anything but. Your hips are wide, your stomach soft, your skin is covered in marks and scars from your previous mortal life. Your hair does not shine and your eyes do not glow. You looked as you did in your mortal life, only with something extra, something which mortals could never place a finger on and could never quite describe. It was an essence that let them know you were more than them, something else, something other. For some this bred fear, other’s awe, some comfort, and many curiosity.

“You’re Desara” He lifts himself from his place sitting, only to kneel instead. Blue eyes twinkling up at you, taking in the strands of your hair, the colour of your eyes, the way your dress falls around your body as if purposefully effortless. He tries not to stare, he really does, but he’s never met a god before and you’re...godly, no...otherworldly, effortlessly beautiful, shining like a beacon and, most of all, you look kind. There is a softness in your face that he never expected a god to have, he always imagined there would be glares and glowering, thunderbolts and lightning. He always thought gods were supposed to be frightening. You were the opposite of what he had imagined, you gave off a feeling of comfort and safety that had his shoulders relaxing without a thought.

“That’s what you mortals call me...I go by Y/N...” You rest your hands on his shoulders and urge him to rise, he towers above you. Another thing he thought impossible. He always imagined the gods doing the towering, but he has to angle his head downwards to look you in the eye. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to look a god in the eye...he’s not sure what godly etiquette is. He’s fully prepared to make a massive faux pas and be struck down with some sort of plague or be crushed under the might of your godly powers.

“Well, that’s very...”

“It’s a very mundane name, I know. I wasn’t always a goddess, you know?” You say with a small little smile, coy, playful. He shakes his head and swallows hard. He will admit he knows your name, knows that you are a minor goddess, known for little things, but he does not know what little things and he does not know your story or history. He always imagined that Gods were born. That they simply burst into existence or rather they existed and birthed everything else. He’d be lying if he said he was an overly devout man, he’d seen enough to be open minded, but had never been one for leaving offerings at shrines or speaking out prayers and thanks.

“I was once a farmer’s daughter. I sowed the seeds, I threshed the wheat, I brought in the harvest...and then one day a god came to me and decided to make me a god too. She believed they needed more, believed she could create something more of me. I think she believed I’d become a great one, a powerful one.” You laugh and he thinks it is supposed to sound bitter and humourless, but instead it sounds soft on the breeze like the light strumming of his lute or the sound of birdsong on a spring morning. “So I became Desara, Goddess of the little things, the warmth of a hearth, the feeling of home after a long journey. Goddess of small creatures and little deeds, of jaunty tunes and a noiseless breeze. Goddess of the seed that roots and the weed that dies, Goddess of the daisy chains and flower crowns. Of worms and of rhymes. Of broken noses and split lips. My powers are minor and few pray to me. Mostly, little children who find my rhymes and songs amusing or who wind chains of flowers for their friends. They soon forget, however.”

“A rather impressive list, oh beautiful creature, oh mighty goddess” He is not sure how anyone could forget you. If you consider yourself minor and unimpressive he cannot imagine what the other gods are like, but he finds that he has no interest in finding out.

“Please. Y/N. I do not enjoy being....grovelled too or worshipped. I am so tired, Julian Alfred Pankratz. I have lived so long and so lonely.”

“If I am to call you Y/N, then please call me Jaskier.” There is a pause before he continues, “Surely you have admirers at your beck and call?” He cannot imagine you without them. Cannot imagine why men and women would not flock to worship at your feet, why they would not revel in the swell of your hips or the softness of your body, the kindness of your face, or the gentle nature of your words. It seemed to him that anyone would be a fool not to admire and worship you.

“Admirers are not loves. They grovel, they seek, they desire, they want, but they do not wish to truly know or listen or care. What I would give to be mortal again, to live in the moment, to know there is an end. To be loved for myself, a farmer’s daughter and not a goddess.”

“Is there not some way to do so? To become mortal, I mean?” He doesn’t pretend to know much about these sorts of things, that was always Geralt’s area of expertise, but it makes sense to him that anything that is made can be unmade, anything that is fixed can be broken.

“For all my years, my knowledge of gods and kings, monsters and men is rather limited. If there is, I doubt the other God’s would tell me for fear that in some hateful fury I might make them mortal. Although I tend to avoid them where possible and would much rather leave them to their quibbling and return to a simpler life”

“Your predicament moves me, Y/N...I am humbled in your presence, “ You go to cut him off and chastise but he stops you, “Not because you are a god or some immortal being but because it is clear to me you have a mortal soul longing for what mortals do. Love.” Perhaps he is flowery with his words, like most bards are, but you decide that he truly means what he says, no matter how poetic it might appear.

“If you will permit me, I would try to help? I have little knowledge on the subject of Gods, but I know a friend who might know where to look.”

“The Witcher.” He looks surprised, “Us Gods watch, you know. From our skies and our seas and our grasses and our trees. I find you enjoyable in your journeys, Toss a Coin to Your Witcher really was a masterpiece,”

“-Why thank yo-” You cut off the thanks, not needing thanks for speaking what you feel is the truth.

“I watch and I know things. He is your friend and you are right, he knows a great deal about my kind and all the tricks to make or break us...do stress that I was not born a god, I was made...and surely what was made can be unmade?” You take a deep breath and humble yourself, kneeling in front of him in a way none of the other gods would, “I...thank you, Jaskier...I wish to be me again and I no longer wish to be so old and weary and never age. Thank you for trying even if an answer cannot be found.”

“I’ll find an answer. For good or ill. I’ve never had a quest of my own before, a true adventure, and I refuse to fail you, Y/N. I hope I can return your mortality.” You feel a little of your composure slip at the genuine kindness and determination in his voice, at the hopefully gleam in his blue eyes. You blink away what tears have filled your eyes and stand up to lean forward, pressing a thankful kiss to his forehead, gentleness you bestow upon any you can, but rarely with such genuine feeling.

“Thank you, Jaskier. I will aid in what little ways I can, but I am no greater god, I cannot do much but mend small breaks, and soothe little hurts.” It’s a warning, kindly, but one to remind him that if he needs help greater than you can give then there is little you can do. It would pain you to see one of your favourite mortals perish in an effort to help you, you wanted your mortality, but not at the cost of a life. Perhaps your mortality wasn’t even possible to regain.

You leave him there, kneeling in the dirt with soft eyes and a softer heart. To him it seems as if you become one with the leaves and the trees, drifting off to somewhere unknown and his eyes follow for as long as they can before you disappear entirely. He steels himself, rising from the ground, tugging on his now mended doublet and grabbing his lute. He has a witcher to find and despite their current differences, Geralt had made it quite clear that he didn’t want the bard hanging around, Jaskier needed his help and he would put up with the grump for you. A kind goddess in need of help regaining her mortality, beautiful as the sunrise and quiet as the moon, well, that was just a song that needed to be written and a story that needed to be told.

#made not born #jaskier x reader #jaskier/reader #jaskierxreader #jaskier / reader #plus size reader #overweight reader #female reader #female identifying reader #readerinsert #reader insert #the witcher #the witcher readerinsert #the witcher reader

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hungarianbee · 3 years

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Way of the Witcher: bits of lore

Disclaimer: Post contains spoilers to the Witcher games These things may be canon-typical, but the following trigger warnings apply if you want to check out the cards: gore, monster dismemberment, needles, body horror, insects and spiders

“In a world plagued by horrors and monstrosities humanity desperately needed a new type of weapon to turn back the tide. Created by ingenious Alzur, witchers — professional monster slayers of exceptional strength, speed, and agility were tasked to end the threat once and for all. Organized into different schools they honed their craft and passed their knowledge onto novices in training. Some of them were destined to become the legendary heroes and protectors of humanity. Others — the very thing they were supposed to fight…”

Since the gwent expansion was anounced I followed it with rapt attention; every bit of lore is a gem in my eyes. I decided to write down my thoughts of the cards and lore pieces revealed in a post. Share that knowledge around, amirite?

The post references Gwent cards which were leaked (2020 november-december). The theme is mutation and everything that comes with it; namely sweet-sweet lore of the lesser known witcher schools: the Bears, Cats, Vipers and Griffins.

Tucker in, under the cut there is 4.5k analysis of each card that came out.

We’re starting with a theme, then work our way throught the 4 schools (each contain the following: a leader, a mentor, an adept, a general witcher, a specific job, an item, a school relevant monster, 2 known witchers and a location), then go through a Witcher 1 throwback, Salamandra, and round it with a few new monsters and neutral cards.

While I describe most of the cards concisely and all the known witchers and locations are on my blog, you might want to look the cards in their (small) glory: [DO IT HERE]

Sounds good? Here we go!

Edit: [this source is better]

The theme is mutation - be it monsters created by transmutation, witchers or salamadra

If that is true, there are monster cards that seemingly stand out: the Succubus and the Phooca

If we are to believe that they do connect to the mutation theme, then

(1) we can conclude that Phoocas (a rare, and more dangerous form of Nekkers; they can pull your head off by sheer force, watch out) are a natural mutation of the original species,

(2) but we’re still left with the Succubi (an inherently demonic creature). They might have chosen it because of its appearance: succubi have horns and goat-like legs. (Note: in the graphic novel “House of Glass” the succubus character has wings, but lacks hooves. In that sense, she could be mutated.)

Breaking it down into factions/schools (some of the cards can be paired up; these cards are interpreted together):

School of the Viper: starting with the vipers, because they are my favourite

Viper Witcher Mentor & Viper Witcher Adept: the flavour text says that the Viper mentors are exceptionally cold and ruthless, and that’s underlined by the story the art tells: the mentor busies himself with sharpening a blade, and in the background we can see the adept attempting to kill his best friend goat, as was ordered. The mentor watches this from the corner of his eye. Young Vipers are to kill their pets (which they nurtured for years) before becoming a fully-fledged witcher. The latter could mean that the boy depicted on the card hasn’t even gone through the Trial of Grasses.

Viper Witcher: On the card we see an unknown Viper crouching over a royalty he killed. I feel like this type of card is meant to represent what we think a general Witcher of said school would be like. Apparently Vipers just like to slay the nobility *shrug*. The flavour text informs us, that Vipers call their two swords “fangs”, and that their style consists of fast and furious attack aimed to overwhelm the enemy.

Viper Witcher Alchemist: Every school has a specialty; Vipers are proficient in potion or poison making. The right side of the alchemist’s face seems to have healed burn marks; a blown up concoction might have caused it.

Ivar Evil-Eye: So far there’s little to know about Ivar. He was either the Master of the Viper Keep, or the founder himself (gwent suggests the latter). He’s described as heavily scarred (facial scars suggests burns and slash marks too), and each of them has a terrible story to tell.

Warritt the All-Seeing: Warritt is a (newly introduced) Viper with heavy disfiguration to the upper part of his face: his eyes are sealed shut (possibly by burn marks, though his hair remains intact). The art shows Warritt drawing a modified version of the Supirre sign in the air to help with his loss of sight. As the wiki says: “Supirre is a Sign used for eavesdropping. Drawn on a solid surface, it allows the people near this surface to listen nearby conversations which would be normally inaudible due to the distance or background noise.” It was only used in Sapkowsky’s second volume of the Hussite trilogy (not yet translated to English), which is entirely separate from the Witcher novels.

Kolgrim: Fate laughed at this Viper. As a kid he was swapped by a weeper, saved by a witcher, than rejected by his own mother who believed that the fake child was the real one. Later, as a grown witcher Ivar instructed him to find a lost weapon diagram. On his journey he was accused - ironically - in White Orchard of kidnapping a child. Invoking a Temerian law, Kolgrim was told to cleanse their crypt (as seen on the card) then he can go. The truth is revealed in Witcher 3 - Kolgrim was beheaded by the villagers before he could even step into the crypt. To add insult to injury: the child was eaten by a drowner. The gwent card therefore shows the optimistic outcome: that Kolgrim reached the crypt and passed in battle. And what’s up with a crypt full of wraiths anyway? White Orchard is shady, guys. (Lil’ trivia: Kolgrim’s eyes are yellow-green.)

Vypper: Basically an overgrown snake that likes damp marshes (they even fight the local kikimores for territory). They only relate to the mutation theme by their nature - they resemble the “school’s animal”.

Gorthur Gvaed: The Bloodgate Keep is located in the chasms of the Tir Tochair mountains. It’s built so high were you to look down from the bridge leading into the keep, you would only see fog (one could wonder how the vipers trained in these conditions). The bridge is made so that you’d have to cross the lookout tower - it might have served as a check in spot. The post itself is circled by the stone coils of a snake; the top is open and has a huge lit bonfire in the middle for warmth-keeping and possibly signaling. Unluckily, it didn’t stop the Usurper’s army from destroying the keep.

Coated Weapons: They leaned heavily into the alchemy and assassin side of the school. Vipers coat their blades with an acidic liquid, so they can kill a man with a nick of it.

School of the Cat:

Cat Witcher Mentor & Cat Witcher Adept: On the adept card we can see a young Cat walking the tightrope blindfolded (they start with close to the ground and slowly increase the distance with time); the mentor is looking up at him. Like the Vipers, Cat mentors are nonchalant about risking the kids as seen from the flavour text: “If you fall, it’s over. Your nine lives are up, kid.” Furthermore, the background of the Cat Witcher Adept card shows the not yet destroyed Stygga Citadel. The Cat Witcher Mentor is in the same scene and we can see lots of potatoes and cabbages; cats definitely eat their veggies.

Cat Witcher: The card shows a Cat in the heat of battle mid-jump; his hood is up, blood is flying everywhere. The flavour text emphasizes that cats are known for their mad bloodlust, not stopping killing even after the enemy capitulated.

Cat Witcher Saboteur: A Cat perches next to the window, a smoking bomb in hand, eavesdropping on nobles. A rope is hung from somewhere out of the pic, possibly for a quick exit. Vesemir comments that these are many-a deeds the cats did that taint the reputation of witchers.

Gezras of Leyda: Gezras is a not yet known redheaded Cat witcher. Following the pattern he seems to be the founder of the Cat School. His flavour text shows that even back then (when the mutagens made Cats emotionless) they were inclined to dislike humans: “Take a contract from Aen Seidhe over a dh’oine any day, as you’re far less likely to receive a knife between the ribs in place of coin.”

Brehen: Now this cat embodies the Cat madness. He’s known as the Cat of Iello because he massacred everyone there. He was consequently shunned by all the schools, and he was even convinced that Vesemir put a kill order on his head. He met Geralt later in the 1240s on his way to claim the bounty for the princess. Thinking that Geralt was there to rob him of his chance of the bounty, Brehen took a priestess as hostage (this is what we see on the gwent card). Geralt managed to convince him to put away the blade, and they parted without crossing blades. When meeting with the striga he scoffed into her face that “she won’t be his first royal”. But his luck ran out. The Temerians buried him and fabricated the story of a cowardly witcher stealing their coin. I’m halfway convinced we see Brehen in the netflix series.

Gaetan: This boy broke into the fandom like a bulldozer. After the folks in Honorton cheated him of his pay and tried to kill him, Gaetan flew into rage and killed everyone there except Millie, a girl who reminded him of his sister. That’s the scene we see on the card. And then Geralt robs/kills him.

Saber-Tooth Tiger (Stealth): Another huge animal/monster related to the school. It’s story is this: “The prized possession of royal menagerie, until a commando of Scoia’tael assaulted the exhibition, released the beast, and set it upon its cruel masters. Since that day, it has acquired a selective taste for human flesh.” Another cat turning against humans.

Stygga Castle: An outside view of what we already saw on the Cat Witcher Adept card. It’s located on a cliff, and the sun shines into it just right (so that the Cats can bask in the light). The walls form a circle where they shelter the inner grounds, and a bigger tower emerges in the middle. The Castle could be reached by the thin bridge connecting it to the mainland, or by the cliffs (if one is brave enough).

Making a Bomb: Cats seem to have a specialty in bombs. Guess where Lambert got his interest from *winkwink*

School of the Griffin: lots of pairs in this one

Griffin Witcher Mentor & Griffin Witcher Adept: Compared to the other schools, this pairing is tame - the adept is climbing a tree to retrieve a crossbow bolt. We can see the mentor in the background. On the mentor card the adept waves down with the retrieved crossbow bolt in hand. It shows a kind of comradeship that’s not present in the other 3 schools. The flavour text emphasizes the importance of knowledge. Students are afforded to choose their final Trial: recite the entire Liber Tenebrum (Book of Shadows; one of Keldar’s favourite books) or steal a griffin’s egg. Noone’s chosen the former.

Griffin Witcher: The witcher is shown shooting down a griffin. According to the flavour text they prefer hunting with silver-tipped arrowheads instead of swords.

Archgriffin & Griffin Witcher Ranger: On the Griffin Ranger card we see the witcher crouching over track marks. On the archgriffin card he found the albino (or very old) monster, who’s already killed someone (probably a lumberjack, judging by the axe). According to the flavour text, Griffin Witchers are trained to be professional trackers; nothing can stop them to reach their prey. Even though archgriffins are considered the embodiment of courage, loyalty and fighting spirit, the gwent card corrects the notion that the Griffin Witcher were named after the monster. In truth, they got the name in honour of their founder’s mentor, a knight named Gryphon.

Erland of Larvik: Continuing the trend, Erland is the founder of the Griffin School (one of the two that are confirmed 100%). He’s from the first generation of witcher, mutated by Alzur himself. After the Order began fracturing he had a confrontation with Arnaghan (who’ll be the founder of the bear school). Arnaghad almost killed one of his brothers, slashed Erland across the face then parted ways with the Order and left Morgraig Castle with his own group. Seeing that the the remaining witchers couldn’t go on like that, he grabbed his 13 best friend and left to Kaer Seren, where (after purging it from spectres) he founded the Griffin School which focused on magic, preparedness and flexibility. His teaching emphasized knightly values (mimicking his long-dead mentor, a knight named Gryphon) in hopes that it would make future witchers’ life easier. It didn’t.

Coen & Keldar: The cards are mainly connected by background. Coen is finished killing what appears to be an albino arachas (but it’s definitely an insectoid), while Keldar’s taking notes. We can rightly assume that he’s updating their bestiary, since he’s one of the teachers/mentors who focus on gathering and sharing knowledge. Coen’s flexibility shows in the flavour text: “There is no such thing as a fair fight. Every advantage and every opportunity that arises is used in combat.” Not very knightly, is it?

Kaer Seren: The “Star Keep” Erland and his friends fled to. It was used by the Order’s mages to mutate witchers (that’s why it was haunted by spectres). It’s located at the edge of the Dragon mountains by the sea between Poviss and Kovir. It’s said to possess the great library, which later mages tried to get for themselves. They messed up: by bringing down an avalanche on the Keep, that knowledge was destroyed. The keep was badly damaged and many witchers died.

Target Practice: The Griffin School’s specialty is their precise aim - they “can split an apple in two from a hundred paces”.

School of the Bear:

Bear Witcher Mentor & Bear Witcher Adept: The adept card shows that young witcher are taught to catch fish by hand (just like their school relevant animal). On the mentor card the elder witcher leads a group of younglings in the mountains; possibly out to teach tracking. The cards are connected by flavour text. The young Bear witcher-would-be’s need to complete the Trial of the Mountain, which consists of them climbing Mount Gorgon (also known as the Devil Mountain; it is the highest peak of the Amell range) to retrieve a runestone. The Trial often ends with the kids frozen to death. The Bear Mentor card’s flavour confirms it: “If you’re unsure of the way, just keep a lookout for markers - the frozen corpses of would-be witchers.” This sounds ominous - don’t they collect their fallen?

Bear Witcher: Bears are solitary hunters as seen in the flavour text: “life alone can be tough”. The witcher in the pic just dismembered what looks like a ghoul (with a tail?).

Bear Witcher Quartermaster: This one I like. The Quartermaster is an amputee (missing one of his arms, which was taken by a bear; must have won that fight one-handed), yet they still found a job for him where he can be useful. His flavour text suggest he likes Mahakam mead.

Arnaghad: The founder of the Bear School, he never felt kinship with his fellow witchers. After attacking a witcher named Rhys over a contract, wounding him deeply from shoulder to waist, he returned to Morgraig, attacked Erland then left with his possé to found the Bear School - Haern Caduch - in the Amell Mountains. Later he almost died in a betrayal, which resulted in another schism and the foundation of the Viper School.

Gerd: Gerd’s a legendary witcher who fled to Skellige after allying with a Usurper instead of his daughter, who later issued a warrant for his arrest. He has a busy time in Skellige: first slaying a dragon, befriending the Jarl Torgeir, killing a bunch of sirens, losing so many weapon diagrams you wouldn’t believe, losing half his pay and silver sword on gwent, escaping Nilfgaard and managing to slay a striga, killing some of his pursuers, only to be caught up in the siege of Torgeir’s castle, where he died in the ruins. On the card he’s showing Bear-typical strength: he’s tearing apart a siren with his bear hands.

Junod of Belhaven: Junod had a dubious background, but was thought to be the child of a brave dwarf and a giantess. He’s a huge man, with a big bushy beard and bald head. His sobriquet is false; he took it after Ivo, because he liked the ring of it. He was known as a strict haggler and a bit of a gambler. In 1243 he took a contract in hopes of cash (he wanted to forge the Grandmaster Ursine Armour). The subterranean monster was said to live in the caverns. Junod drew bear signs and wrote a warning on the wall (this is the scene we see on the card). He was however ill-prepared; the beast turned out to be a shaelmaar (a type of relic Gaetan slew once) that killed him in that very cavern.

Dire Bear: Once again related to the school in question, the Dire Bear is stuck with so much weaponry that it looks like a walking armory. Lots of witchers must have tried to slay it, yet it still kicks - just like Bear Witchers, it’s resilient till the very end.

Haern Caduch: Built into the side of the Amell Mountains, it’s the coldest environment of all the schools. As with the other schools, the Bears were forced out of it due to folk riots. It was left in disrepair to be buried under snow and ice (as seen on the card). It’s name could be translated as “Piercing Whiskers”.

Armor Up: As Bear’s are more likely to stand in the way of attack than dodge, they need to wear a heavy armour at all times.

Salamandra:

Roland Bleinheim & Gellert Bleinheim: Witcher 1 characters. They are thought to be brothers, leading the Salamandra organization. As drug lords one heads the fisstech operation in Vizima’s sewers (Roland), the other in the swamps (Gellert). The flavour text pretty much matches: both of them wondering what the other one is doing.

Salamandra Mage: The art itself was already leaked in China around 2 years back, and there were a few theories. One of them was that the man depicted is Zerrikanian, and I think that’s correct. Both the facial tattoo, darker skin, thinly braided hair and fire magic points in that direction. Azar Javed (a known Salamandra fire mage) happens to be a Zerrikanian escapee too.

Salamandra Lackey: A girl with the Salamandra-stapled mask runs from a city guard. The flavour text says the following: “Lackeys are expected to perform their first five jobs for no pay, demonstrating their passion for the gig.” The organization monitors from the beginning that only those remain who are extremely loyal to their cause.

Fallen Rayla: A little background for those who are unfamiliar with her: Rayla of Lyria was a veteran of the Nilgaardian Wars. She harbours anti-nonhuman sentiments after she was captured by Scoia’taels and severely maimed. The Rayla we see on the card is a mutant - in Witcher 1 she was supposedly shot down by Scoia’tael, and Salamandra found her close to death, subjected her to mutation. She was killed by Geralt.

Salamander: The card shows a bright blue spotted salamander. It has two tails and heads (possibly grown together?). The Salamander is a symbol of the organization. Metaphorically speaking it could mean, that Salamandra thought of itself as something untouchable: “best to avoid petting them, as the salamander, when threatened, secretes a deadly toxin”.

Failed Experiment: The card - ironically - thrives when it’s poisoned. The “experiment” only resembles a human in shape. It’s clutching the table ends, as if trying to escape still. It’s fair to assume that they later dissected it: “even failed experiments can serve a purpose”.

Salamandra Abomination: A step further from the failed experiment - we see the results of pushing science’s boundaries. Only the skull is left intact, everything else of the body is covered with insectoid-like growths.

Stolen Mutagens: Gruesome organ harvesting. The witcher heart (?) glows, which is either an artistic decision (probable) or the mages sent magic into the body, and the mutagens light up (like angiographia). Three types of mutagens can be harvested: red (strength), blue (magic) or green (resilience). I headcanon that the amount they inject of the three types can vary - that’s how you get strength inclined witchers like the wolves (red), or big ass mothers like the bears (green).

Salamandra Hideout: There are multiple hideouts in Witcher 1 (outskirt of Visima, crypt in sewers and one in the trade quarters). The one depicted here is the fisstech lab in the sewers. It shows a dimly lit, cobwebbed room. There’s an elevation where a body lays on the table. The elevation’s floor is gridded, so the blood and other fluids can freely flow down into the sewer water, where many bodies are already discarded recklessly.

Neutral:

Alzur & Viy & Koshchey: Alzur was a charismatic mage and spell inventor, who created many horrible monsters, like the koshchey (with the spell: Alzur’s Double Cross) and the Viy (a huge centipede-like insectoid). He was also the one who did the lion’s share of work with the witcher’s mutation.

Cosimo Malaspina: Cosimo was the teacher of Alzur. He was known for his knowledge in hybridization and genetic modification. Him and Alzur were the true creators of the witchers sect. On the gwent card, three man are shown prodding at a mutated body. Cosimo (the old dude) is in the middle, Alzur might be the one on the left and that leaves Idarran on the right. His flavour text paints him as cold and clinical, someone without empathy: “Children keep asking him for gifts. He doesn’t know why, but it really helps with finding subjects for his experiments.”

Idarran of Ulivo & Idr & Wererat: Idarran was one of the contributers of the witcher experiments. He’s an expert in hybridization and genetic modification, whose teacher was Alzur. He was a pale kid who lived in the canals of Vizima and experimented on rats at the age of 5. He found beauty in gruesome creations, like the Wererat (a human-sized rat on roids) and the Idr (a big centipede-like insectoid). He’s disdained by Geralt for his many monsters.

Triangle within a Triangle: It’s a magic spell used to introduce a series of mutations and to greatly increase the mass of a given body. That way they can create huge monstrosities, like the koshchey. Adepts often confuse it with a pentagram which can lead to infernal disasters.

Selective mutation: The card shows a close up of a young man’s eyes - one mutated (catlike) one human. His skin shows his high toxicity level, ashen with prominent veins. He’s held down as alchemists prepare to inject a yellow concoction into the human eye. It’s possible that after the success of witchers the mages tried to recreate the changes in smaller scale, then unmake it in turn, unsuccessfully.

Witcher Student: This is not really a card, but I included it anyway. The card’s ability is - ironically - doomed, and to add insult to injury, its flavour text is the following well-known fact: “Four out of ten boys survive… at most.” It’s also a point for black humour that the gwent commentators added: the Trial of Grasses card boosts this unit significantly.

Berengar: He’s a Wolf School Witcher who blamed his school for denying him a normal life and consequently abandoned them. In Witcher 1 Geralt can decide to kill or spare him. In a letter he admits that he was a coward because he betrayed Kaer Morhen and worked with Salamadra in hope that they can undo his mutation. His card references a questline in Witcher 1, where he tried to reason with the vodyanoi (~lovecraftian fish people) to spare the village’s prize-winning cow, named Strawberry. This is non-canon; in the game Geralt takes over the quest to do this instead.

Leo: Another Witcher 1 character. He was an orphan taken in by Vesemir. He was a kind-hearted but hot-headed man, who had all the training but not the mutations and the experience - he never killed a man. The flavour text of his gwent card kind of mocks his death: “He would have caught the arrow if he only had some heads-up.” He’s burned on a pyre and his cenotaph can be found south of Kaer Morhen.

Geralt: Quen: The last classical sign that wasn’t yet a card. In the art, Geralt is wearing the Manticore armour

Snowdrop: She’s a not yet seen character; impish looking female bard with light blond hair (flowers braided on the side) who plays a medieval version of the fiddle to a rooster. There’s a horseshoe hanging from the hem of his pants. She’s also seen in the gwent: journey #3 launch trailer. She’s narrating that she was saved by Alzur. Alzur told her about his plans of creating witchers to fight the beasts of the Continent, and she admired him so much she spread his story (”let me tell you about the greatest sorceress to ever lived”). Their story will unveil in the next week, I’ll probably update accordingly. It’s also interesting that Alzur says in the gwent intro (regarding witchers): “Bards will toil to do justice to their feats.” As if his own successes and experiences will be mirrored in his creations. Projecting much?

Monsters:

Viy & Idr: both of them are centipede-like insectoids conjured by infamous mages (see: Alzur and Idarran)

Wererat: same can be said about this one. Idarran experimented on Vizima’s sewer rats since the age of 5. This human sized abomination was the end result.

Succubus: We already discussed how the “Succubus” doesn’t fit the theme. Other interesting thing is the surrounding of her - in the background we can see a skull full of some kinda of dark liquid; she’s also holding a goblet. I’m not saying she’s drinking blood, but if she does, it would shed some questions as succubi don’t need to drink blood at all.

Phooca: As nekkers’ rare big brother, phoocas are ogroids that have the strength to rip a man’s head off with their bear hands. According to the wiki, in Celtic folklore they are regarded as shapeshifting fairies.

Koshchey: A witcher 1 boss, koshcheys are spider-like abominations summoned by mages. The woman standing her ground in the picture is Visenna (Geralt’s druid mom). In the story she’s the one to kill the first koshchey ever created.

Spontaneous Evolution: Under the Red Moon the wolf mutated into an amalgamation of eyes and teeth. Malaspina possibly added something to the mix that proved unstable. The card’s name is kind of ironic - this change is not spontaneous (it was induced) but could be related to evolution (it would imply that this form is somehow advantageous to the current environment and helps adaptation). (Note: in my opinion spontaneous generation would be a better term: it’s the thought that living creatures could arise from nonliving matter.)

Hybrid: the card shows a two-headed wolf or dog. Pretty straight-forward.

Chimera: A creature created my Cosimo Malaspina. He combines the genes of a fiend and griffin, then added a trace of insectoid and wyvern. It kind of looks like a furred wyvern with antlers. Interestingly the frightener (an insectoid; a rare result of magical experiment) is also called a chimera.

Dol Dhu Lokke: a new monster lair location. The depending on how you translate “lokke” the Elder can be read as “black valley place” or “alluring black valley”. It’s so dangerous - housing many-a horrors - that even a witcher thinks twice before going near it.

Interesting tidbits

Coen has hair, which is weird because so far he was described in all sources as bald.

There used to be a card that was also called Viper Witcher, which is now referred to as “Kingslayer”

The Bear Witcher’s face was drawn after one of CDPR’s employee.

The Koshchey’s card title has a typo: “Koschchey”.

Easter eggs (mainly in flavour text)

The Spontaneous Evolution card references The Powerpuff Girls intro: “Professor Malaspina accidentally added an extra ingredient to the concoction - compound X.”

The Bear Witcher card might reference a song of Baloo from the Jungle Book (The Bare Necessities): “Life alone on the road can be tough - be sure to bring all the bare necessities.”

#my shit #the witcher #gwent #witcher meta #witcher lore #i worked really hard on this #i hope it shows lol #if y'all have any thoughts i'd be happy to hear about them #cross my heart i don't bite

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utterlyhopeful-fics · 4 years

Text

Rise Above

Soooo I’ve been OBSESSING over the Witcher series (and currently reading Book 2 in my off time). I can’t seem to get Geralt out of my head and I basically ran out of fics to read/ patiently awaiting updates, so I let my imagination flow with this one.

It’s going to be a multi-fic with the first three chapters completed and too many ideas brewing. I’m thinking of posting weekly (every Sunday) if there is interest? Please let me know what you think! All feedback is greatly appreciated. I’m also finishing up some Mayan stories because the fandom needs some extra love.

Masterlist

Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: slight man bashing, language

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Since early adolescence mother always cautioned of the intrepid bewilderments and betrayals men were guilty of alluding to. Their mortal trickeries and wickedness so elegantly aimed to prey upon their next doe-eyed victim patiently awaiting. Mother also taught her to never succumb to their predatorial tendencies without a fight. For this made Y/N swear to never become what others around her so willingly yielded to, and that was a promise she intended to uphold until her last untimely breath. Even against her worst nightmares, Y/N would willingly glower straight into death’s mischievously hollowed eyes than ever give a man a sliver of power over her very existence especially without her consent. Her mother made sure of that.

Y/N reigned from the bountiful lands of Temeria. Plentiful on unharvested acreages and majority of kind folk. Her livelihood rotated between feeding livestock, sharpening blades, tending to her colorful harvested gardens, and riding her beloved stallion, Mr. Darcy among many other hobbies that encapsulated her attention. Days blended into months as Y/N kept with her daily chores watching in discomfort as her mother pretended their lives weren’t about to be upended in numerous ways. Even the mere existence of magic couldn’t make undeniable ailments evaporate. Humans were a multifaceted bag of bones; mages were an untouchable species still yet to perfect their untapped capabilities. Y/N wasn’t too keen on categorizing herself hence her importance of isolation. Her once radiant mama rapidly dissolved into emaciation, staying presently beside Y/N for a moment’s more of honest love.

“Do not let fear grip its’ treacherous claws into you. For I know the searing pain of losing a beloved.” A ragged gasp slipped her lips as she ventured on, her words choppy. “I spent a good amounts time wallowing. Misery is an old friend. And its occasional deviousness ruses you sometimes into thinking that its constant companionship will remain and that one is unable to attain blissful happiness. But you can, you can walk away from pain. Never forget your choices, my love.”

“You have my word, forever and beyond. I will live in your image.”

Her bones progressively weakened as many sleepless nights withered into dusk; her skin once glowed with the light of a thousand suns now had a clammy-cool manifestation. Y/N refused to acknowledge the painful jab that infiltrated her deceitful senses, so she stayed the course and masked her outlandish emotions. Now wasn’t the time for pity. But her one solace and comfort were the freedom and exhilaration her morning rides brought to her burdened soul. It was in these hushed moments of tranquility she could actually feel the fresh air maneuver throughout the entirety of her body, engulfing her lungs in a welcoming burn. He truly was a beauty to behold. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how the flitter of his silver mane reflected upon a summer’s day or the thickening of his luscious coats preparing for a long winter. When her loneliest moments fleetingly caught up to her, she was never sincerely lonesome.

Old wives’ tales voiced intricately woven fantasies of princesses awaiting their rescuers in decaying castles merely passing time as their hair grew longer in confinement. Y/N recollected eavesdropping upon the town baker’s inviting stories by the ages of nine, quests chockfull of bravery and resolution, doubt beginning to flood her veins. Another story, another vapid man to ‘save’ the day. She could barely hide the chuckle that fell off her lips when she dare glance at the girls lost in tragic intrigue. One tale in specific resided in her childish memory; painting a certain princess that captured the eye of a handsome knight all within the shadows of her forbidden fortress. His velvety voice promising her everything her heart was trained to desire, all she simply had to obey was his one command; to throw down her beautifully kept hair in order for her release to occur. Why were women forced to choose and best be timely in such a life altering circumstance? Y/N wondered if the Princess truly desired to be set free from her silent haven.

Like clockwork, Y/N left the bakery in disarray all while quietly venting underneath her breath. The fable lived on for centuries later as all the women in her village maintained their perfectly kept long locks as long as the Gods allowed. From that moment on, Y/N kept her silky blue hair shoulder length and out of the way. Her mother should have named her rebellion by her mannerisms and ideals alone but deep inside her cavernous belly, she carried great pride of her kin, knowing she wasn’t graced with a foolish daughter as far back when she was safely in the warmth of her womb.

Y/N was brazenly gorgeous with a fierce lioness temperament that left men thirsting at her feet, but she merely wasn’t interested in what any suitor had to offer no matter the amount of gold, land, or riches. She was satisfied with little for her happiness to flourish. Her athletic build aided her in this strenuous life asking for no help and receiving none was her personal policy. Her lineage solidified their strength. Hushed whispers from townsfolk accursed them to witches but they had no humanly conception of the power that laid within their own bloodlines. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop men’s gazes upon the beautiful duo.

Y/N had received no official training as mages were accustomed to but her mother put her faith wholly into her only living daughter. By five, Y/N was capable of complex charms and potions her mother had never laid witness to and for this simply delighted her. Y/N recognized that magic was a tedious give and take, an equal force of dynamics in order to maintain nature’s balance and in secret, she efficaciously thrived. Magic was an underlining necessity that Y/N made sure to never abuse in her favor no matter the situation. She was born and bred with a ferocious vigor and damned be the day she would allow her abilities to do her heavy lifting. Blood, sweat, and tears was her silver lining and Y/N be damned if that was ever taken away from her. She was always a compulsive pessimist, always looking for the soft brown spot in the fruit, pressing so hard she created it. She excelled in the art of secrecy always staying perfectly out of reach even to the woman who adored her completely.

Her mother’s passing hardened her seemingly aloof heart or so she was told. Memories do not always soften with time; some grow vicious edges like knives. Some hearts will forever understand each other whether death’s door stand in their way or not. Curiously, she didn’t remember when she became exhausted. She didn’t remember when exhausted was no longer exhausted, it just was. The tiredness was in her hardened bones and she accepted this state of being bogged down in apathy. Though through her mountainous misery, goodness could often be found residing in the middle of hell.

Trapped in the comfortability of mundane routine, Y/N fantasized about a journey brimmed with mischief and riddled adventure, but little did she know the Gods were listening to her every whim. Fate and destiny happily intertwined. Over a period, her dreams grew consistently worrisome; haunted by an attractive man with hair the color of the moon, hypnotically golden orbs aside his more than chiseled features. If she were to extend her arm his way, he was just barely out of reach and oh, how she desired for a simple touch; to know what stood in front of her was reality or foolishness.

What really unnerved her was the repeatedly jumbled words almost as if the man were submerged under harsh waters. His eyes relayed urgency that Y/N couldn’t quite decipher, not quite yet. With every vision entangling itself profoundly into the corridors of her singular subconscious, Y/N was further entranced by the strange gentleman she was graced with every night fall whether by coincidence or curse. And as he groggily faded into oblivion, Y/N had never slept so soundlessly in her entire existence.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #rise above #my writing #the witcher #series #geralt imagine #the witcher netflix #geralt x y/n #geralt of rivia x y/n #witcher fanfiction #fanfic #geralt of rivia #witcher #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #reader fic

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queenborhapreaderships · 4 years

Text

Promise - Geralt/Reader

Hey guys! I did a thing! And I’m gonna post it here because I reaaaallly don’t wanna make another side blog for anoooother fandom, so feel free to completely ignore this if you followed me for Queen and Queen only. Anyway! Here it be.

“Goddamnit, Geralt. We’re a fucking team, why would you do something so stupid? This was a two-person job and you know it.” You huff and turn your back, exasperated.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but we fight together, strategically, or not at all. I haven’t known you to be so stupid, that was entirely unnecessary.” The more you think about it, the madder you get, spinning around to face him again. He won’t meet your eyes. Quite frankly, he looks awful. There’s a long, angry gash down his right cheek and his hair is muddy and sticking every which way.

You sigh and step towards him, placing your hand on his shoulder. You feel him let out a breath you didn’t know he was holding. Sure, he can be an idiot, but you don’t like seeing him hurt, especially when it could’ve been easily prevented. If he would’ve let you help.

You’d been traveling with Geralt for decades by now, he knows you’re a powerful enough witch to hold your own, so why he had suddenly diverged from your established battle routine was beyond you.

He finally looks up to you and the look on his face is indiscernible. You can usually read him, having been so close for so long, but this is different. He looks… different. Something’s wrong. And knowing him, it’ll take the force of an entire cavalry to get it out. Or the patience of an elder, but that has never really been your style and Geralt is more than aware of that fact.

You decide to drop it for now and instead focus on the seeping wound that’s a little too close to his eye for comfort. You lead him to a tree and softly usher him down, he sits and leans against it without any resistance and you crouch in front of him. He knows the drill.

He’s been hurt before, quite often actually considering his line of work, but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever get used to it. He’s a gentle soul, despite the, well, everything about him. It hurts your heart to see him in pain, no matter how good he is at concealing it. You know if he were alone we would simply rub a sub-par balm on it and go about his day, but luckily you were trained in several facets of magic, healing being one. It comes in handy. A lot.

You reach out and gingerly place your hand on his unharmed cheek, keeping his head still and bracing yourself for the magic that was soon to be flowing out of your other one. The second you feel his rough skin under your palm, his eyes flutter closed and your heart surges in your chest. You swallow the feeling you’d been ignoring for so long because this was more important. Taking care of him is more important than any childlike fantasies that you do your best to keep under lock and key.

You feel your thumb stroke the apple of his cheek and see him bite his lip. You weren’t even aware that you were going to do it until you had and you smile softly at his reaction. He seemingly subconsciously leans into your touch and you can’t help yourself, you lean forward and plant a soft kiss on the top of his head. His eyes open and you raise your other hand, pausing for a moment before he gives you a small nod indicating that he’s ready.

You take a deep breath as you feel the energy collecting near your chest and your eyes narrow as you focus it in towards his cut, hovering your hand above it. Instead of closing his eyes to prepare for the process, he keeps his eyes glued to you, silently observing the intensity of your power. It would be easy to get distracted, to get lost in those beautiful fucking eyes of his, but you know you’ve gotta keep your attention on the task at hand.

A yellow glow surrounds the wound as it slowly stitches itself back together, leaving nothing but a thin line where his skin was once torn. You gently remove your other hand from the side of his face and pull up your sleeve to wipe the remaining blood off.

“There. As good as new. Almost.” You say, the twinge of sarcasm not lost on Geralt. He reaches his hand to feel the small indent left and looks to you once again with that strange expression you still can’t pin.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” He says, softer than usual. “I’d apologize for what I did out there, but I’m not sorry. My first priority is and always will be keeping you safe.” He starts to get up, but you forcefully shove him back down, your hand pushing the center of his chest and keeping him up against the tree.

“No. That’s bullshit, Geralt, and you know it.” You spit out, feeling the anger bubbling back up again. “I would almost get it if I were in any immediate danger, but I wasn’t. What you did was reckless and you’re lucky you didn’t come out looking any worse, otherwise, I would’ve left your sorry ass on the ground where it fell”

You turn to storm off but you hear him grumble under his breath.

“No, you wouldn’t have” you look up in frustration and just stare at the colors painting the sky for a minute, taking a deep breath to ponder. You know he’s right. Of course he’s right, but what he did was just so senseless and you can’t have him thinking risking his life like that is in any way acceptable. You can’t wrap your head around why.

“Like I said. We’re a team. We’ve always been a team. Don’t insult me by second-guessing my abilities.”

“Y/N, that’s the last thing I’m doing. I just…” He trails off and grunts.

“Geralt, for fuck’s sake, what? Then what exactly are you doing? Why couldn’t you have let me take him on when he came for me. I could’ve done it. I could’ve protected you. I could’ve prevented this.” Your anger dies out as you look to the blood still somewhat smearing his face.

“It shouldn’t have to be your fucking job to protect me. I can protect myself.” He stands up and barrels towards you, voice as cold as ice. You stand your ground, not intimidated by whatever hissy fit he’s decided to throw today.

“Oh really? Can you? Then what have these past seventy-odd years been? Because the way I see it, I’ve been protecting you and you’ve been protecting me. It’s a two-way street, man. What changed?”

You’re face to face now and his demeanor practically crumples at your statement, knowing the truth it gleans. He swallows his pride, for the first time in ages and decides, hey. What the hell?

“I can’t,” he chokes on his words, “I just can’t lose you.” His forehead falls forward and he rests it against yours. “And if I do, and there’s something I could’ve done to save you, I don’t think I can live with myself.” Your heart shatters at his words, not underestimating how significant this moment of vulnerability is to him. To you. To the both of you.

“Oh, Geralt,” you say and move your hands up to his cheeks, keeping him close but moving his head away to get a good look at him. If he went for it, you might as well too. “You think the same thing doesn’t paralyze me with fear as well? You’re all I have in this world and you mean everything to me. But I trust you to take care of yourself. All I ask is that you trust me with the same. I would never do anything to get myself fatally injured, to get myself taken away from you. Okay?” He doesn’t move a muscle, only his shaking breaths can be heard over the pounding of your two hearts.

You can’t take it anymore. You can’t deny it any longer. You love him. You love him so fucking much, damn the consequences. You never believed the gossip that Witchers don’t feel and you can place it now, that look in his eye. It’s admiration, fear, wonder, and love all wrapped up into one. At this moment, Geralt is more human than anyone you had ever encountered.

You move in closer as his face nears yours. You feel a grin begin to form as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in tight, foreheads touching once again. You can feel his breath ghosting your lips. It’s you who takes the final leap, closing the gap. Your lips meet his in your final moment of bravery. It’s soft at first, trepidation pumping through your veins, but when you feel him kissing you back eagerly, all your inhibitions are gone.

When you finally break apart, remembering to breathe, you see the most beautiful look upon his face. A smile to rival the gods. You let out a laugh and he kisses you again, just for a second before pulling away and taking your hands in his.

“Promise?”

“Promise”

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narniaandplowmen · 4 years

Text

Such End True Lovers Have

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier Also on AO3 1802 words.

Teen and Up Audiences / Major Character Death Complete

Part 3 of Half a Century of Poetry

Those bright soft clothes might have belonged to Jaskier, but they do not belong to Julian anymore. After Geralt's words, Jaskier gives up his life as a travelling bard and becomes a farmhand. Jaskier is no more, but a life without Geralt and a life without music is not one he is willing to live.

Jaskier looked down at the colourful doublets in his bag. They were soft and delicate and pretty and everything he was not feeling at that moment. That did not mean, however, that he wasn’t slightly startled every time he saw himself in a reflective surface. For the first time in his life, he was wearing dull brown and dusty white clothes, sown to fit a farmer, not a noble-born bard. For the first time in his life, the clothes on his back scratched and itched, and, for the first time in his life, they did not hide his surprisingly strong stature that did not match his usual frail, dandelion-like behaviour. But, regardless of the lack of comfort, the lack of tailoring, the lack of colour and brightness that had characterised Jaskier the Travelling Bard, these clothes fit.

The first time he had seen his own reflection after the words Geralt had thrown at him, was when he stumbled upon a clear brook whilst making his way down the mountain. He had followed the stream in the hope it would lead him to civilisation, and, after a while, he had noticed something red reflecting next to him. His own clothes, bright and happy and too excitable . The longer his reflection followed him, the more they felt like inches of red lead sinkers round his neck, cutting his oxygen, filling up the white inside and green around him with a choking noise. So he had tossed it out. He had taken off the precious, expensive jacket and thrown it in the mud behind him. The man who wore colours as bright as his smile was gone. He had died the moment Geralt had turned his back to him, and he would not be resurrected.

The tailor had been surprised, but at least he had been kind enough to attempt to hide it. It was not his fault Jaskier - no, he reminded himself, Julian - had grown up around politicians and nobles with more secrets to keep than grains of sand in the world, and noticed more than people knew. But, to the tailor’s credit, he had tried. And, to the tailor’s credit, he had paid Jask- Julian well. There were plenty of noblemen in Brughes who would be willing to buy them, after all. The fabric was a high quality, and it would not take many adjustments to make the doublets look brand new.

In a nearby village, Julian found a job at a local farm. He left the moment rumours started to spread of drowners terrorising the nearby stream.

My silks and fine array,

My smiles and languish'd air,

By love are driv'n away;

And mournful lean Despair

Brings me yew to deck my grave:

Such end true lovers have.

There seemed to be no place that had not heard of Jaskier the Bard and his muse, Geralt the Witcher. Jaskier- Julian had never thought he would regret being so talented. There was no town he could travel, village he could go without hearing some other singer butcher Toss a Coin or another one of his heroic retellings of Geralt’s contracts. There seemed to be no place on the entire Melitele-damned Continent that had not heard of the white-haired hero and the famous bard. With his shaved head and commoner’s clothes, the crowds had yet to make a connection between the stranger who had wandered into their town and the disappeared Master Bard, but it would only be a matter of time. There had to be some place on the Continent where nobody knew, where there were no monsters, no Witchers, no travelling bards reminding Julian what he had lost.

It had been foolish to fall in love with Geralt, Julian knew that. Not because of the whole ‘Witchers don’t have feelings’ bullshit, and not even because Geralt seemed to be completely straight, but because it was abundantly clear that it was never meant to be. Jaskier was a bright, loud, energetic nuisance in Geralt’s dark, stoic and straight-forward world, a weak mortal getting into messes he needed other people to solve. Witchers clean up messes, they don’t travel with them. And they certainly don’t fall in love with them. Yet, Julian had fallen in love with him anyway. One day, he had caught his own reflection in a puddle as he walked towards the cows to milk them, and he had barely recognised himself. The man staring up from him from the watery surface looked sad and tired and dead, a far cry from the young man in a bar in Posada, receiving one golden coin from a white-haired Witcher in exchange for his heart.

He didn't remember when exactly he had fallen in love. It might have been the first moment he saw the dark, brooding stranger with his long, white hair. Maybe it had been when Geralt had pleaded the elves to let Jaskier live. Maybe it had been after, when he had begrudgingly agreed to let Jaskier travel with him. Maybe it was all the little moments gathered together. Yet never, no matter what Jaskier did, had the Witcher given any sign that he knew of the bard's feelings, nor had he given any indication if the feelings were returned. So Jaskier had kept his distance. He had satisfied himself with singing the Witcher's praises, washing the Witcher's hair, defending the man's honour and reputation. He had had to make do with watching from a distance, closing his eyes as he bedded another woman or man and pretended the long hair brushing his skin, the strong hand grabbing his hips, the flesh causing the pressure inside him and around him was Geralt's, rather than the innkeeper's daughter, the blacksmith's son, the nobleman and, the next day, his wife. Geralt was not his, and, Jaskier knew, he would never be.

His face is fair as heav'n,

When springing buds unfold;

O why to him was't giv'n,

Whose heart is wintry cold?

His breast is love's all worship'd tomb,

Where all love's pilgrims come.

Julian thought that Jaskier had died the moment he had turned away from Geralt, but he had been wrong. Jaskier truly died when Julian and the other stablehands tried to capture and calm down a cow, panicked after a wolf, starving from a harsh winter, tried to attack her, and crushed Julian’s hand. Three fingers and his wrist were broken, and he would never be able to play the lute again. He wrote a formal letter to the University of Oxenfurt, informing them of Jaskier’s untimely demise after suffering from the Red Plague, granting his property to his sister and the rights to his songs to Essie. The letter was accompanied by a lute, leaving no doubt in the rector’s mind that the star student had, indeed, passed away. A day of mourning was announced, but any attempts at collecting Jaskier’s body to bury him in the Poet’s Corner turned out unsuccessful. The village the anonymous informer had said was the final resting place of the famous lyricist had created a mass grave to bury their dead, and any attempts at identifying which body belonged to Jaskier had been hopeless. Instead, a remembrance stone was resurrected in the University Garden.

Winter. Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. Every day, every week, every month, every season, every year was the same and the same and the same. His hand had healed enough for him to be able to continue work on the farm, but the three broken fingers were permanently bent out of shape. When the weather got cold, his joints hurt.

Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Spring. Summer. Autumn. Every day the same damn thing, the same damn routine, the same damn view, the same damn people, the same damn darkness, darkness, darkness inside him. When one day, a brown-haired, blue-eyed, brightly-clothed travelling bard performed in the village’s inn, Julian stood outside looking in and saw himself. If he squinted his eyes, Old Joe the blacksmith, with his long, grey hair, could almost look like Geralt. If he slightly closed his ears so the words were blurred, the bard’s song could almost sound like Jaskier’s. And if he ignored the pain in his joints, the pain in his back, the calluses on his fingers from years of hard work, he could almost imagine he was young again, back on the Path with Geralt, living a life of happiness and adventure. But when he opened his eyes and ears all of it was gone. His own reflection in the mirror stared back at him, but that body was not his. This life was not his. Nothing here was his, was him, was anything worth living for. Every day the same damn day, every week the same damn week, every month the same damn- Julian turned away and started walking.

The first frost of the season was yet to arrive, so the forest floor was soft and wet and pliant under his spade. The graveyard’s hill looked out on the entire village, bathing in the early Autumn sun. The yellow, red and brown leaves underneath Julian gathered to cover the bottom of the grave he had dug smelled of decay and ground and, when he lied down, of home. And when the steel - silver for monsters, steel for humans a distant voice in his head said - knife pierced his skin, grazed his rib, cut his lung and then, as the hand that would never play again moved, tore his heart in half, Julian welcomed the sharp pain over the numbness that had filled the years before.

The dead stablehand was found by the baker’s widow visiting her husband’s grave. A small funeral service was held, and the bard, who had stayed in the village overnight, would never know for whom his mourning song was sung. A stone with the initial J carved into it by the blacksmith marked the spot of the grave the inhabitant had dug for himself. The spade, tied to it a purse with a few silver coins and the note ‘payment for use’, was returned to its rightful owner. The people spoke about the man who had appeared in the village one day refusing to tell anything about his past and had now died for a little while, but he was soon forgotten in the busyness of day-to-day life. It was not until a storm dislodged a few roof tiles of the farm the stablehand had been living at that a strange poem was found, signed Jaskier , like the bard of old:

Bring me an axe and spade,

Bring me a winding sheet;

When I my grave have made,

Let winds and tempests beat:

Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay.

True love doth pass away!

#jaskier #the witcher #the witcher ff #tw: suicide #tw: depression #made by me #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #Such End True Lovers Have #written by me #geraskier ff #Half a Century of Poetry

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bioticgoddess · 4 years

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Witcher Drabble/Interlude Fic

Notes: Been reading the books and playing Wild Hunt. Realized that, or less, the games and books do create a relatively complete timeline. I’m sure the rest of the Witcher Fandom has figured that out, so I realize my bum is late to the party. That said, Lady of the Lake ending how it does and Wild Hunt picking up where it does I thought - what if Ciri knew she’d have to leave Galahad’s world and come back to the Nordling/Witcher World at some point? So here’s that drabble.

Spoiler Warning: If you haven’t read the books or played the games (or been sucked into this fandom...).

Goodbye

She could feel it, Child of Destiny, in the water and earth, smell it on the air - the Riders were coming for her. They had finally and inevitably found a way to track her and the months spent with Galahad were ending. She would not bring the Aen Elle’s wrath upon him, upon Camelot. A chill ran up her back as a gust of air rushed through her window – unseasonably cold she thought. Very soon, she would need to leave this place and it made her sick.

“Zireael, we must flee. You are not safe.”

“Avallac’h,” she muttered to the voice that echoed faintly in her head, heart beat picking up speed. She wasn’t sure if it was really the elf or just what she suspected he would say.

“Say your goodbyes Zireael. I am sorry.”

Hanging her head, grief dropped like a rock to her belly. Of course he had found her. If she suspected the Wild Hunt and Eredin could do so then it was a guarantee that the Elven Sage could track her through space and time. “I don’t want to go,” she whispered, staring at the toe of her slippers. Gwynevere had had the shoes made for her, insisting the young woman be afforded the same finery as the other ladies of court and the wives of Arthur’s Knights. “It was nice to be this way again,” ran her palms over the soft satin of her dress, “Even if only for a time.”

By the time Galahad came back to the chambers they shared, she had packed and changed into traveling clothes. What he found was the ashen-haired woman sharpening the sword she hadn’t used – save to train – in months. “Ciri,” he asked curiously, “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

“I have to go Galahad,” her voice was shaking. This would be more difficult than she expected. “Remember when I came here? I said that there was a chance that…that a Wizard would come for me? If he did I needed to go, to run.”

“Yes,” his blood ran cold and fear played in his eyes, “He’s come hasn’t he?”

She nodded.

“I’m going with you.”

“No,” Panic backed her words only to be squashed as she shot up, nearly cutting her hand on her blade. “Ah! No, Galahad, you belong here. This, this is your world. I have to go back to mine. To finish out the Prophecy I was born under.” Setting the blade and whetstone aside as he crossed to her, the Princess turned Witcher let herself be safe in his embrace. He smelled of sweat and firewood, a thing she knew would haunt her the way Yennefer’s own Lilac and Gooseberry fragrance haunted Geralt. Oh makers she missed them. She would miss him too.

They stood where they had met. Where he’d enticed her to share her story – the first place she’d felt safe in a long time. “I will come back for you, I promise,” she whispered, holding his hands and putting on a brave face. For the first time since the Fall of Cintra she felt helpless. It would not be the last.

“I love you Cirila of Cintra,” he smiled weakly, heart clenching in his chest. One last time, Galahad leaned in, pressing his lips to that of the woman before him.

“I love you too, Galahad of Caer Benic,” she smiled back and he wiped tears from her eyes.

They would have stayed there, trying to forever burn the images of one another into their minds had Avallac’h not cleared his throat. Ciri introduced him as the wizard and the masked Aen Elle Elf bowed slightly at the waist in greeting. Extending an arm to her he hastened, “I am afraid we must leave my lady.”

Reluctantly, hands slipping from Galahad’s, she stepped over to her pseudo-protector and companion. As her palm rested in his, the elf reached back behind them with his other hand. With a flourish of his wrist, a portal opened. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she swallowed, not entirely convinced. When he nodded they stepped through. At almost the last moment, she turned her gaze back over her shoulder to see Galahad watching and holding the token she’d given him – the Griffin medallion taken from her late tormentor, Leo Bonhart.

#the witcher novels #the witcher wild hunt #witcher fanfiction #ciri #Cirila #galahad #avallach #avallac'h #yennefer #Yennefer of Vengerberg #geralt #geralt of rivia #aen elle #wild hunt #eredin #Zireael #the wild hunt #aen elle elves

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chanelpirate · 4 years

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Fanfic Authors Tag Game

Tagged by the illustrious @saekhwa, who knows I just can’t resist

AO3 Name: Chanel_Pirate, get innnn, abandon all hope, &c.

Fandom(s): Amnesia: The Dark Descent, Don’t Starve. Several more I was either at the cusp of diving into (I actually did start on fic for both Good Omens and The Witcher, to name just two. In both cases, the plot was ‘getting pegged.’ RIP to those stories, I suppose) or am on the way to hell for right now, but I don’t want to jinx it.

Number of fics: Lucky number 7

Fic you spent the most time on: The Fall of Hyperion. I can’t imagine how. But also, know thyself, so: I rather think I can.

Fic you spent the least amount of time on: Nigredo. Less than 24 hours, from conception to upload. Cursory edit/proofread at best. Fuelled entirely by bloodymindedness, fiendish glee, and a schadenfreudischer sort of Weltschmerz. Perhaps a Kantian sense of yule-driven nightmare duty.

Longest fic: The Fall of Hyperion. It was longer in the first draft, but I’m a staunch believer in killing one’s darlings. (Exception: see above)

Shortest fic: Idée Fixe. I don’t think you would be able to handle my period-correct aristocratic furniture otherwise.

Most hits: The Fall of Hyperion. Correlates rather consistently with how old they are in general. Oh, you just had to bring out the statistician in me, didn’t you.

Most kudos: The Fall of Hyperion.

Most comment threads: Dapper, being a multichapter. And an actual multichapter at that—not a form experiment, imagine! Me! And conventions of form!

Fave fic you wrote: Oh, I couldn’t. How heartless. That would be like asking dear Sophie to choose. Nigredo. And good lord, the dialogue in Dapper so far.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: Sometimes I entertain notions of writing more instalments to Shortcomings, as I have a vault’s worth of wealth of second-hand embarassment ideas, anecdotes, stories, ‘my-close-friend-told-me-once’ and ‘dear-penthouse-I-can’t-believe-this-happened-to-me’ to draw upon, and it would be a shame not to subject Alexander to them. See, just now. Something mortifying in my head, now gone into the aether. Isn’t that sad?

Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning: I am so precious about my WIPs. It’s such an unattractive quality, I know. So basically, hear me out, it involves incredibly obscure areas of research from my irl, and then they bitch at each other, but aphoristically, and it’s all a bit Noël Coward, comedy of eldritch manners &c., someone makes a pithy yet incredibly germane classicist observation just so one can be reminded of one’s vaunted overeducation in order that one can justify to oneself that membership, and then they fuck in that beastly manner typical of the sort of person that has resigned themselves to the fact that whatever they do, they’re going to appear on those pages of the redtops, and papa can’t even summon up the energy to be cross anymore, except how is he going to face the House next time, especially when Deirdre asked about you in that specific simpering tone that suggests she knows precisely what, oooh look at you thinking you’re so special just because you’re a 2018 FRSL, a 2018, are you having me on, that’s barely a—do remind me exactly who nominated you to the Arts Club—

So, yes, like that. It goes precisely like that. Line up your kudos pre-emptively in an orderly row, six feet apart.

Tagging: go ahead and do your thing @sybilius while I take my blood pressure and go lie down

#tag games #my fic #writing #my writing #satire satyr #do i lie?#always #but also never #amnesia the dark descent

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shadowdianne · 5 years

Note

Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to create SOMETHING based on the following: Hermione takes Narcissa to experience the wonders of the Muggle world, trying to convince her there's nothing scary about it. Narcissa is nearly accepting, until they get trapped in a lift. HOW WILL HERMIONE DEAL WITH IT? (Bonus points for gratuitous smut)

Insert usualdisclaimer here about how this story is my second on this fandom, first “almost”smut for this fandom and me being a Ravenclaw through and through I spend fartoo much time working on each dialogue line so it, at least, sound believable.

Ok, disclaimer finished;I’ll wait on my corner while cackling a little bit.

-For the ones thatcould, as myself, spend half an hour into reading several articles on OtisElevator Company let’s imagine that I’m talking about a 19th lifthere. Possibility of that being an actual thing? I’m calling it artisticlicense-

“Come on,you will enjoy it.” Hermione’s excited tone was drowned by the clinking of herkeys as she pocketed them under Narcissa’s blue gaze, a blonde brow arching incredulouslyas the older witcher stepped backwards, letting the brunette surpass her andcall the clunky elevator on her apartment building.

Sighing,Narcissa followed suit, stepping inside the small space before turning to faceHermione who was grinning at her; eyes filled with the candor the older womanusually found endearing. Not this time, however, as she pursed her lips,ironing invisible lines on the robes she wore; muggle-looking enough for themto not be considered strange on the neighborhood the brunette had chosen tolive in.

“I neversaid I won’t” The blonde replied, softly yet succinctly as the doors of theelevator closed behind them both, the sound not so different from the evenolder-looking elevator that existed on the Ministry would have made. Fightingthe reflex of pressing her hands against the nearest wall, waiting for it totremble and move at neck-breaking speed, the older witch crossed her hands justabove her navel at her wrist level. The movement was telling enough forHermione to reach forward, trying to interlace her fingers with her. Smilingslightly at the gesture, Narcissa let the brunette grasp her hand while eyeing herthrough suddenly heavy-lidded eyes, her blue eyes turning a shade darker. Maybeshe could play a little game. To amuse herself at least. “But I would prefer tospend your free day doing something else.”

Hermionechuckled a little at that, her thumb drawing a slow circle on Narcissa’s skinas the elevator began its descent, the wooden paneling that covered the wallstrembling for a second. It was true, she reflected, tilting her head to oneside as Narcissa took a step forward, blonde tresses glimmering under the dulllights that bathed the small space.

They bothknew the older witch had a point on the fact that they both could use some timeto be together; without any kind of external meddling. Yet, Hermione felt giddyat the idea of showing Narcissa the London that the older woman so rarely gotto see. Which had been the reason why, after a lazy breakfast, she had managedto draw out a reluctant “Yes” to the idea of a simple walk. Perhaps, if she wasfeeling daring, show Narcissa how the tube worked.

Nevertheless,Narcissa’s warm hand on hers, her blue eyes focusing intently on her, made herlick her lips as her mind was flooded precisely by what they had been doingbefore that lazy breakfast. The rumpled sheets they had left behind the nowclosed apartment door a strong enough testimony that maybe, just maybe, shecould make the walk shorter.

Feelingdaring, she gave a gentle squeeze to Narcissa’s hand, the blonde’s azure eyesstill on her, far too vibrant.

“What if Ipromised to reward you?” Her voice sounded breathier than she had originallythought it would be; her relationship with the older witch not exactly new butstill electrifying for her to blink and think on maybe taking a step backbefore she was unable to stop the blush she felt beginning to crawl up herneck.

Before shecould even move the ever-present clattering of the old elevator came to a stopwith a not-so promising growl; a whirring sound echoing as a sudden tremor onthe floor made both witches lose their footing. Letting Narcissa’s hand go,Hermione turned quickly towards the button panel, the stillness confirming herfears before she even got to press any button she was able to reach, a sense ofdread quickly coiling around her throat.

There wasno way around it; they were stuck.

“Isn’t thisbloody fantastic.” The blonde’s voice echoed at Hermione’s back. The swearing,coupled with an obvious surprise, echoed strangely inside the elevator, thesound ricocheting against the walls.

Regainingher usual composure, Narcissa quickly approached Hermione, the sudden movementmaking her clothes billow slightly as she reached for her wand, the dark wood astriking contrast on her fingers as she eyed the muggle contraption; thebeginning of a spell already making the air around the wand glimmer. Light thatwas quickly snuffed out as Hermione promptly blocked the panel from Narcissa’sview with both of her hands, brown eyes pleading.

“No, you can’t do that.” She said beforepointing towards where the doors stood, glaringly shut. “Muggle side of London,remember? If we use magic and someone sees us Secrecy is out of the window.”

Narcissahuffed at that, a voice on her mind whispering how Hermione was being overlycautious. An idea she refrained herself from stating out loud as she knew theyounger witch, working for the ministry after all, had a point. Magic andmuggle objects didn’t tend to work together, no matter how experienced themagic wielder was. A “reparo” could make matters worse; the signal that wouldcreate for muggles one she didn’t intend to find out. However, the small spacewas beginning to creep on her and so she pocketed her wand once again, themovement firmer, perhaps, than intended.

“What doyou suggest then? Waiting until someone realizes this is not working?” She letout a quick smile, one that showed her discomfort in a way only the youngerwitch was able to bring despite the hours upon hours she had spent on learninghow to never let one’s façade fall. “I thought you wanted to show me thewondrous muggle world.”

Her tonehad been cutting there and she winced immediately at it; at her temper rilingas she felt the constricting atmosphere inside the elevator get the worse outof her. It was no secret for the woman in front of her she hated used thesethings; both magic and non-magical, but she still parted her lips, an apologyready to fall Hermione’s roll-eyes cut it, the brunette obviously not-havingany of her temper tantrum.

“It won’t be long until someone calls it. Wejust need to sit tight for a little while.” She seemed unperturbed, not evenmentioning the possibility of apparating. Which was also Narcissa was halfwayconsidering despite the small space they were in, the spin the hex would needto work a tight fit. Pouting petulantly, the expression causing Hermione tochuckle fondly at her in that same way Narcissa would often found endearing,the blonde witch shook her head ever so slightly as the brunette leaned ontothe nearest wall, the back of her head pressed against it, fingers picking therim of the jumper she wore beneath her jacket; the only sign that she wasn’t asunfazed as she was pretending to be.

“Just a few minutes, please?” Hermione said asNarcissa said nothing, simply standing there as she clenched and unclenched herhands. Her voice was soft, devoid of the earlier giddiness, but her eyes werejust as bright, beckoning in a way as she lifted her eyebrow in an eerily similarway the blonde had done mere minutes before. “If no one comes to us I promise Iwill apparate us myself.”

Narcissawasn’t surprised Hermione had reached to the same conclusion as she had had butshe still nibbled her bottom lip, her chin rising ever so slightly as she-quite melodramatically if she wanted to be truthful, replied to that possibility.

“I don’tknow why we can’t do that now.”

Which wasstill a valid reason but not one Hermione seemed close to even think about asshe moved forward, separating herself from the wall and mimicking her earlieraction of grasping Narcissa’s right hand between hers. Muscles suddenly slack,Narcissa watched as Hermione wordlessly began to massage the palm of her hand,small impulses running up her fingers as the brunette pressured the spots whereher manicured nails had indented her skin a few seconds ago.

The massageturned into soft lazy circles that began just on the bruised skin only toslither up the blonde’s palm until it reached the tender skin on her wrist,just below her pulse. Halting there but drumming her fingers on a slowlybuilding staccato, the brunette remained silent, her presence calming asseconds ticked by. Which, if Narcissa wanted to be honest, was actually helpingwonders to the thought of her being stuck on such small place.

“I reallywanted to have you for myself.” She finally admitted, softly, and the way hervoice was laced with more wishful want than she had thought it would be didn’tdeter her from eye Hermione as the younger witch’s ears pinked, a blushcrawling its way up her neck.

The obvious“Not being stuck in a lift.” resonatedjust as loudly but Narcissa didn’t say those words out loud as she heard howHermione cleared her throat, the drumming on her skin stopping entirely as thebrunette tilted her head, a sudden daring glint appearing on the back of hereyes while she re-focused on Narcissa’s own curious irises.

She wasn’t surprisedat the fire that suddenly darkened the brown speckled with gold, but she stillfelt the rush, the exhilaration of seeing the Gryffindor side take overHermione’s expression. With a smile that inched closer and closer to a smirkthe more seconds that passed, the brunette rose their hands, pressing a kiss onthe inside of Narcissa’s wrist, a small bite and lick following in a matter ofseconds with those eyes still burning through her, scorching her.

Thebrunette took a step closer, still inches away but close enough for them bothto know what was the implicit message on the way she kept her mouth closer toNarcissa’s body, the scent of perfume the blonde had applied there earlierseeming to get stronger for a moment, a second, as Hermione kept eyeing her.But, as much as the brunette could be a Gryffindor, Narcissa wasn’t a Blackjust for show and, with a tilt of her head, locks falling into place,cascading, liquid-looking almost, she moved her arm away, forcing Hermione tomove closer; lose the control slightly at the sudden change of energy.

“I would have never thought you would be thisbrazen.” The remark was said softly, the tone airier, almost conversationallyand Narcissa could see Hermione struggling not to slip from whatever edge shewas mentally clasping to.

It wasn’tlike Narcisa thought the brunette could be brazen, or proactive, but theyounger woman usually enjoyed being the one who followed her lead; thepossibility of her even thinking on trying to hint at something less chastethan a kiss on their situation was interesting to say the least. And, certainly,something she intended to use in the future. For now, however, she wanted tosee how far she could push the brunette, her previous nervousness regardingtheir predicament pushed to the back of her mind. It wasn’t, her rational sidewhispered, like they were really trapped; despite the inconvenience she knewthat if she pressed enough, if there was an actual possibility of danger,Hermione herself would be the first to use magic. So, she thought, stillholding her arm close to her chest, her hand turned into an almost relaxedfist, palm facing her and Hermione’s strong fingers around her wrist, she couldvery well see for how long the brunette wanted to keep the game on.

Which, ifthe way Hermione shook her head, pushing whatever dust of pink from her cheeksdown was any indication, certainly a little bit longer.

“Gryffindor,remember?” Her voice dropped at the question, the rise never quite appearing asshe let her eyes wander over Narcissa’s figure. The movement carrying with it ashiver the blonde hummed appreciatively at. “And if this helps you while wewait…”

The blondewasn’t going to let the opportunity to tease go to waste and, with that inmind, shrugged daintily before grinning, teeth bare and glinting under theelevator’s lights.

“Oh, itcertainly helps, but I would want something more.”

She saw themoment Hermione’s facial muscles contracted, an almost eye-narrowing that didn’thappen as Narcissa moved forward, cupping the younger witch’s cheek with herfree hand deciding that, if she was going to be stuck for the time being, shewas going to use it to let Hermione realize what they both could be doinginstead of standing around. Barely giving the brunette a moment aside from the millisecondshe usually used so Hermione could nod, granting her permission, Narcissapressed her lips against Hermione’s, a quite mild kiss all things considered asshe barely nipped the brunette’s bottom lip, the ghost-like graze of her teethan afterthought on her original plan.

A planHermione promptly destroyed as she, instead of backing up, admitting betweengasps she had merely wanted to throw Narcissa from a loop, pressed against her,her chest flush against the blonde’s with their arms the only real barrier asshe deepened the kiss, a flash of tongue caressing hers the sign that madeNarcissa think she could have bitten more than she was able to chew. Which,regarding the younger witch, rarely left Narcissa indifferent.

MirroringNarcissa’s previous caress on her cheek, Hermione’s slide her free hand overthe blonde’s shoulder, climbing up her neck, wrapping her fingers aroundsilk-like tresses, tugging ever so slightly. Enough, Narcissa quicklydiscovered, to make her gasp, leaving more and more access to a quicklydomineering brunette.

“I’m starting to think you stopped this awfulthing.” She managed to gasp as Hermione moved from her mouth to her jaw, the kissesthere less frantic, slower, but making her skin sizzle and burn.

“Why wouldI?” She heard and there was there that delightful Gryffindor pitch, the smugone, the one that sometimes appeared when the brunette was able to see whatothers, older and supposedly wiser, should have seen already. Narcissa had beenprivy to many moments like this but it was rare for the brunette to get carriedaway by it like this; sounding almost drunk on the feeling. She decided thatshe liked that side of the younger witch even more now and, with her arm stilltrapped, the length of the wand pressed against her skin, she flattened herloose fist, palm resting against her chest, her heartbeat loud and clear.

Heartbeatthat quickened as Hermione, sensing the movement, took a step back, barely aninch really, so she could guide her hand, placing it at her side, never oncelooking away from Narcissa with brown eyes that seemed to be filled with a myriadof tonalities that got only darker as she, after freeing Narcissa’s hand, slideher own hand back up, towards the blonde’s chest in where the minuscule buttonsthat kept the upper side of the robe together were concealed by a simple charm.

Not that ittruly mattered as Hermione knew perfectly well where those buttons were, herfingers grazing the fabric in suddenly too slow movements.

AndNarcissa Black would never beg but she felt a grunt asking to be released fromthe back of her throat; the fact that they were still there, in the middle ofan elevator, no longer important as she lowered her gaze, her eyes zeroing overHermione’s fingers as they, painfully slow, unfastened the first few buttons.The feeling of the fabric shagging on her shoulders, sliding off one as itbegan to part was nothing really to the way Hermione’s eyes followed themovement; halting on her collarbones, tips of her fingers stopping in themiddle of her sternum, warmth radiating out of her as she took a step away.Skimming her hands over Narcissa’s diaphragm as the blonde stood still, chinhigh, proud, but breathing labored, Hermione bite down on her lip, theopportunity to taste, to see more, fueling her forward until she couldn’t takeit anymore.

The blondesaw the way Hermione’s eyes darkened further when a peek of the lace she had magickedon herself before the brunette had convinced her to this little adventure;resolute to seduce her for a few more hours, let itself known. Black detailsthat contrasted against her pale skin wrapped around her chest, pronouncing theswell of her breasts, framing her torso as she breathed deeply, the movementoccasioning the robe to slide further down her shoulders.

Narcissa Blackhalf-naked in an elevator. Who would have thought?

Hermione’svoice, however, was what brought the blonde back to the present, her voicehusky and deeper than usual.

“You certainly had some plans in mind.” Theobvious fluster in her tone, the sudden loss of the driving force that had madeNarcissa unable really to do anything else but enjoy herself was what made theolder witch reclaim the proximity she had lost; grasping the brunette’s forearmand pulling until she could feel the texture of Hermione’s jumper on herpartially naked skin.

“Idefinitely had them.” She replied before dropping a kiss on parted lips, a briefgasp escaping Hermione’s mouth, one that was quickly followed by a moan asNarcissa guided her hand to her chest, the texture of the lace a palecomparison against the caress of Hermione’s hands. Kissing and nibbling,grazing Hermione’s jaw, down her neck, never biting but always letting herselftaste the younger woman, Narcissa ravished the younger woman. Because, despitethe situation, the fact that she was the one half-dressed, she was the one whowas always poised, always in control. Which was something the brunette witchwould hate if it wasn’t for the fact that she adored it. And, as Narcissachuckled, mirth and want mixed on her eyes, she let her voice carry one morepromise, one that she knew would be the final blow on an already weakenedresolve. “I can show them to you…”

Hermionedidn’t even pretend she wanted something more than that, merely whimpering atthe idea and muttering a “yes” that had Narcissa humming.

“Let me apparate us.”

Eyesopening, hazy, Hermione growled but nodded, unable to say no, not with Narcissa’shands on her, guiding her as her hand curled and palmed, caressing, touching.The blonde’s magic signature felt all over her, inside her, and she could onlyrelent.

The blondesmirked and with the robes still halfway unbuttoned, the black lace stillpeeking through, she pushed Hermione, making her take a step backwards, enoughfor her to reach to her wand and spinning them both, effectively leaving thesmall space and reappearing inside the apartment, at the edge of the unmadebed. They will have many more days for the brunette to show more of the worldshe grew up in to the older witch. Today, however, it was for them. Only them.

PS: All things considered I behaved quite well.

#cissamione #naralanis #prompt

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spicynbachili1 · 6 years

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Soulcalibur VI review | Rock Paper Shotgun

Developer: Bandai Namco Studios Writer: Bandai Namco Leisure

Launch: Out now On: PC From: Steam Value: £50, $60, €60

That is Hooves. He likes to stab and parry and slash and communicate in an alien tongue about how good he’s in any respect of these issues. Hooves additionally enjoys setting people on hearth, and paralysing individuals with horrifying runes, which has led some observers (me) to dub him “Horse Geralt” after the hero of The Witcher three. Unbeknownst to Hooves, he is a clone of the Witcher. That’s proper, poor horsey doesn’t even know who daddy is.

Though this backstory of Hooves’ is my very own dumb invention, it’s no extra fanciful than any of the opposite tales in preventing sport Soulcalibur VI, a rampant, fun-loving area of swordplay and silliness.

To get one thing out of the way in which: I’m a preventing video games dabbler. An indignant wee toad, not a champion. I wouldn’t swear on a replica of Road Fighter II in court docket, however I benefit from the odd bust-up in Tekken 7 or For Honor or Absolver. There’s a tense satisfaction in memorising the appropriate button-slaps for a vaulting deathkick or a flurry of needle-like pokes. And much more satisfaction in stunning your self, and finishing up these dance-like combos in the course of sloppy battle towards some nervy skeleton in a giant costume. However extra on the odd warriors of this explicit preventing sport in a second. First, we should contemplate the constancy of its stabbing. That’s crucial.

The fundamentals are easy sufficient. There are horizontal assaults, vertical assaults, kicks and a guard button. It’s simple stuff, largely. Every character’s movelist is split into totally different pages. A single web page provides you all their predominant assaults: the slashes and lunges and heelstomps you’ll discover most helpful. It’s a strong introduction to every swordsperson. Maxi is a dandy who likes to hit individuals with nunchaku, for instance, after which he does a somersault, most likely from pleasure. Xianghua is a lady with a wobbly sword. She is blood kind B, and likes to carry out the next strikes: murdering you.

There’s additionally an honest tutorial constructed into the “Libra of Soul” mode. This can be a sort-of-RPG through which you journey round a map preventing pc enemies for factors. It’s largely good for studying the fundamentals by preventing an AI sensei early within the journey, who tells you the best way to parry correctly. All these educating strategies and coaching modes make the sport really feel like a great place to shuffle into the Soulcalibur world, and for a Tekken boy like me, that’s largely true. However being a Tekken boy, I’m additionally immunised towards a sure flaw of 3D fighters: terrible storytelling.

The story mode here’s a dangerous anime folded upon itself a number of occasions, like a soggy origami crane. Every character will get their very own paper sculpture of cringey dialogue and scatterbrained plot on prime of the vanilla marketing campaign. For loreheads, perhaps there’s something in these tales, however there wasn’t for me. And I’m guessing even followers care little about Xianghua’s quest for the sword of legend, or Kilik’s quest for the sword of legend, or Taki’s quest for the– you get the concept. The actual thrill is within the sidestep, the parry, the launcher.

Right here’s the place it will get complicated. Coming from Tekken or Road Fighter, the hidden sport of rock-paper-scissors-guard-throw-break-parry-reversal-counter leaves me a bit feverish. In multiplayer, the sport throws all its weight at you quickly sufficient. Making an attempt to take care of the onslaught, I delved deeper into the coaching modes, and shortly lumps of jargon have been sticking to my eyelids like gore. Deadly hits, guard impacts, reversal edge, run counters, soul cost, reverse impacts. Razzle dazzle preventing sport terminology. It’s nothing a diehard biffer received’t have the ability to swallow in a single gulp, however a slowpoke similar to I wants a little bit of time to sup.

However studying is nice. And you may solely actually study within the ring. Right here, glowing results and pop-up notes spotlight the risks. I do know when Nightmare (giant, impolite man whose solely good friend is a sword with a watch) spouts flames that he’s charging up an unblockable assault. I do know when Seong Mi-na (unremarkable lady everybody within the village needs to marry) twirls her pointy Guandao above her head that she is “soul charged” and can now do extra-damaging strikes. I do know when Cervantes (zombie pirate and creator of Don Quixote) strikes me with a crimson slash it means a “reversal edge”.

This can be a good ‘un, the previous reversal edge. It’s a cinematic second through which every participant has to decide to a single assault, or carry out a feisty dodge. It’s nice stuff, particularly whenever you each go for a similar transfer, clanging off one another and leaping again in a panic, earlier than taking yet another hectic guess. It’s a bit extra sophisticated than rock, paper, scissors. However mainly: a sideways slice will beat somebody attempting to kick you, a kick will beat somebody attempting to hack into you with a vertical hit, and a vertical chop will beat somebody swinging from the facet.

However when this and different strikes are all combined collectively by a well-trained participant, I fall to items. Which means two issues: I have to get higher. And that is extra sophisticated than it first seems to be.

Right here’s the place the “fight classes” are neat. These are small “the best way to” manuals for every assassin. They’re dry textual content dumps however in addition they break down the essential technique for every character. I thumbed by the recommendation for stick-swinging Kilik, for instance, and discovered the best way to maintain foes at vary with a handful of staple strikes: extensive, sweeping swings of his bo employees. Positive sufficient, after I went into an actual battle with that mentality, it labored. Wanting by Horse Geralt’s fight classes, I see that some strikes whip out his silver sword, which does extra harm to opponents pumped stuffed with soul cost. In different phrases, a great way to place down a raging bull of a participant.

These are the small print you usually have to search for in YouTube movies stuffed with impenetrable chess-like notations. I like these movies, however I’m glad to have some fundamentals defined within the sport itself, as a result of I’m an fool. 4 paragraphs in the past I wrote a couple of Guandao. I had no concept it was known as that. I needed to look it up by googling “chiense spear” [sic].

However I’ve been dancing across the true great thing about Soulcalibur VI lengthy sufficient. The character creator is the true star of this sport. It’s a feast of potentialities, providing you a bunch of fantasy races to base your character on, then forcing you to repeat and paste the preventing model of a predominant character into their slider-born physique. I’ve made a complete gang of lizard lads, and photographed them as in the event that they have been indulging in some reptilian stag do. I’ve created total Halloween boybands, mummies in waistcoats, orcs in hotpants, a skeleton with a bandana.

But all that is nothing in comparison with the hideous creativeness of the internet-at-large. Any individual has made Marge Simpson. Any individual made a Xenomorph. There’s Zoidberg and The Hulk and “Sexy Venom”. There are such a lot of good issues. Right here is Spiderman preventing a fully-functioning Magikarp.

The moment-to-moment preventing is robust stuff. While you and an opponent get right into a string of blocks and geese and parries, it takes on the power of a lethal tennis rally, and that’s all I actually demand from a preventing sport: a handsome injection of adrenaline. But it surely’s the preposterous and fantastic character creator that makes the entire thing stand out, offering sufficient daftness to take the sting of that adrenal hit. For lengthy stretches, I put aside the shoulder-hunching stress of ranked mode and simply frolicked in informal rooms, preventing shapeshifters and stone individuals and elves and inappropriately proportioned rabbit girls. Though, that model of fighter isn’t restricted to participant creations.

Leeriness is hard-coded into this sport. Girl swordsters duel with boobs akimbo, nipples perking by their leotards, asses clamouring to flee the claustrophobic boundaries of a HD monitor. Pull off the appropriate strikes and you’ll hit your opponent so arduous that their garments come off or deteriorate, and although this impacts all fighters, it’s arduous to not elevate a sceptical eyebrow at such a schoolboy characteristic, seemingly designed to let gamers lech a glimpse at Sophitia’s sideboob. None of this takes away from the clashing of spear and dagger, the standard of the preventing itself, however it nonetheless feels immature and embarrassing.

This lizard with a dick is ok although.

In all, I’m happy by my scrappy fights, and my tutelage of Hooves the horse man continues. One unhappy factor to notice is that £50 is a excessive worth, a fandom worth, and that’s a pity. As a result of the character creator, thorough tutorials and RPG-ish story modes are an open-armed invitation to people who would possibly usually run away from preventing video games with their arms flailing. I think about lapsed followers too, these bizarre vampires and demons and nightmarish Sonics would possibly assume to themselves: “I used to like Soulcalibur. Possibly I might…” However then they’ll see the worth tag, and all that good will and Dreamcast nostalgia will vanish like a closed browser tab.

If that’s you, I can’t blame you. You could possibly purchase a smelly armchair from Greg down the highway for £50, and also you’d most likely get simply as a lot adrenaline and problem from getting that into your third flooring house as you’ll preventing one other terrifying Voldo to the demise. However the second this goes on sale, good friend, the very second it drops its guard – you slice open your pockets and let it bleed. Since you’ll by no means have a good friend like Hooves.

from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/soulcalibur-vi-review-rock-paper-shotgun/

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randomfandomimagine · 4 years

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Soul of a Warrior. Chapter 16: Calm Before The Storm

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship: Jaskier x Nissa (OC)

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Please reblog and leave a comment, it would make my day!

Our relationship doesn’t change much, and at the same time, it changes drastically. We still flirt, we still joke and we are still extremely close and touchy. The only true difference is that we now openly kiss. Then how is it that our entire dynamic feels different? Is it because of the simple knowledge that the intense burning feelings are reciprocated? Is that why I can’t get enough of Jaskier? I feel closer to him than I have ever felt with anyone, and his mere presence makes me happier than I ever thought I could be. His touch alone heals the past wounds with the graze of his fingers. It makes me smile as he suddenly pulls me in closer and traps me in an embrace that I have no intention in escaping.

“Come here, angel” He says as he repeatedly kisses my face all over. My cheek, my temple, my jaw, my eyelids, the corner of my lips, just anywhere he can reach. It seems as though he can’t get enough of me either. I giggle at his endless and tireless adoring touches.

Geralt, ahead of us, loudly grunts in a clear complaint to our blatant displays of affection.

“Do that again” I tell Jaskier, and he loses no time in returning to his amorous ministrations.

“You love it, don’t you?” He smirks against my cheek, but I squeeze his hands on my stomach to claim his attention.

“I do, and by all means don’t stop” I tease him, earning a confused look from him. “But I was referring to the other thing”

“Oh” Jaskier bashfully laughs, begrudgingly quitting his kisses even if his arms linger.

There are many things I know about Jaskier. That dusk is his favorite time of the day. That he fidgets his fingers when he is nervous. That he often talks in his sleep. That he wrote his first song when he was eighteen. As it turns out, however, I have so much more to learn about him. For example, that his real name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, even if I will still always call him Jaskier, or otherwise, stupid bard. Another of the incredible facts I have learned about him is that he does a flawless Geralt of Rivia impression. I try not to gather the witcher’s attention as I muffle my laughter at Jaskier’s growling voice. He sounds exactly like Geralt.

“Fuck…” Jaskier says now, emulating the witcher’s deadpan voice to perfection.

I have to cover my mouth with my hand not to laugh out loud. Even so, I hide my face on his shoulder to suffocate the badly contained giggling. If Geralt discovers us, it will unleash his anger. Knowing this, Jaskier is having lots of fun making me laugh and putting me in his radar.

“What are you laughing at?” Geralt doesn’t bother to stop walking or even glance at us.

Jaskier takes a breath, prepared to reply, and so I quickly cover his mouth with my hand. Whatever he was about to say, I know him well enough to realize it is better if it doesn’t reach Geralt’s ears.

“Nothing” I innocently say, and the witcher only grunts in annoyance.

These few days, and much to Geralt’s vexation, Jaskier and I have been inseparable, quite literally so, as our hands seem to permanently be fused together. Our fingers always find each other to easily press our palms together, just like they do right now. Jaskier and I exchange a look and lowly giggle together. This childish energy continues on as we murmur and follow after Geralt.

After several more days of travel, we have finally reached Cintra. Everything has regained a feeling of normalcy after we visited Mousesack, Geralt’s druid friend, and he helped us recover our horses as well as our belongings left behind. After that, Geralt accepted a witcher job that we decided to join him in. I still can’t believe we have convinced Jaskier to accompany us, or rather, I have. Kader’s spirit seems to have taken over me as I find myself understanding his yearning for adventure more and more, as well as his fascination for the witcher’s job after all that we have experienced together.

A subtle shift in the ambience warns me that we are getting close. It feels eerie and heavy. Jaskier seems to feel it too, because his feet halt and his hand squeezes mine. Watching the witcher, I think of the quickest most absurd way to distract my preoccupied lover.

“Don’t you ever get the urge to braid Geralt’s hair?” I whisper to him, to which he chuckles. Jaskier has no problem in following along with my silliness as he stares at Geralt as well.

“I wish I knew how to braid”

“I could teach you”

“Really, you would do that for me? You’re so kind”

“It’s not every day I get to teach the great Jaskier something”

“Are you flirting with me, Nissa?”

“I am, thanks for noticing”

The witcher doesn’t stop walking, but he interrupts us again when we start giggling.

“What are you two muttering?” He turns to us, and I cringe a bit at the sight.

“Shit, I forgot about his eyes” I avert my gaze, finding the change jarring.

“Oh, gosh!” Jaskier exclaims himself at the sight of Geralt’s frightening black eyes. “I will never get used to that”

Surely, Geralt took the elixir knowing how dark it would be inside the crypt. Nonetheless, a part of me believes the witcher was having a bit of fun by taking the potion beforehand, precisely for Jaskier’s amusing reaction.

“We’re here” Indeed, I catch a glimpse of a smirk on Geralt’s lips. “Are you coming in?”

Now that we have arrived, I hesitate. Even from the outside, I can tell it is pitch black inside, and I can’t imagine myself navigating the dark crypt. Strange sounds reach my ears even from afar. Geralt won’t be facing only ghouls, as I believed. Imagining myself in there, I already feel the chills creeping up my neck. That place will be swarming with spiders, which would be the least of my concerns. I can picture the dread and paranoia as I blindly advance the claustrophobic rooms. For a change, I have no need to subject myself to that.

“Uh, no” Jaskier mutters for me. “No, we will wait for you here, thank you very much”

He firmly grasps my hand as he vehemently shakes his head. Perhaps he is worried that I might still run after Geralt. I no longer have any intention to do so.

“Good” Geralt absently rests his hand against the medallion hanging from his neck and then unsheathes his sword. “Stay here”

“Geralt?” My eyes quickly fall upon the pitch darkness inside the crypt before settling over his burly figure once more. “Be careful”

Geralt nods his head and faces his back to us. Before he enters, however, a growl echoes from the depths of the crypt. His shoulders grow tense and he pauses for a moment.

“Fuck” I mouth, just as Geralt speaks the word. Jaskier laughs and kisses me in the cheek.

As the witcher immerses himself into the crypt, I turn to my beloved. His bright grin awaits me as it rests against my jaw now. The butterflies return in anticipation, and although I truly enjoy his lips traveling down my neck, I take a deep breath to focus and quiet down my racing heart. We are both eager to make up for lost time, but not yet. Not now. We must take this opportunity to train again. We have been during every break in order to teach Jaskier some self-defense techniques. Or rather, I have while Geralt watches him fumble with the dagger in amusement.

“Jaskier…” I pipe up, mustering all my willpower to ask him to move away.

“If you tell me you don’t like it, I will stop” He replies against my neck, with a cocky hint to his voice.

“Oi” I push him away from me, although reluctantly. “I have something else in mind”

“Do you now?” He smirks, especially so when my hand sneaks past his doublet. “Oh, yes, show me then”

I then pull the dagger that he clings to his waistband. It is a relief to see he still carries it with him. As the realization hits, Jaskier groans in exasperation and hides his face in my neck. His warmth is enveloping and comfortable, but I must resist him.

“Ugh… please, no…” He miserably covers his face with his hands. “Not again, Nissa…”

I watch him without batting an eye. After a bit, he shows his face again. To further entice me, he shows me those trained puppy eyes and pouts his bottom lip. When I calmly shake my head at him, he runs a hand through his thick brown hair and huffs in resignation.

“Honestly, Nissa” He takes my hand as a last resort. “It’s so tedious and dull, I much rather be doing something else with you”

“You need to know how to defend yourself” I offer him the dagger, and although he eyes it, he refuses to take it. “I don’t want you getting hurt again, Jas”

Jaskier sighs, rolling his eyes with such fervor that I fear they might get stuck on his skull. Then, however, he sighs and his vexed exasperation turns to fond admiration as he watches me.

“I won’t” His arms fall around me, yet in a different manner they usually do. He is now using a lock I have taught him, securing the grip by holding his own wrist. It keeps me pinned against him. “So what happens if I refuse?”

“That’s daring” I push a hand against his chest, though he does not budge and instead tightens his hold on me. Now I have no space to move as our fronts are pressed together. “Especially given that I am armed and you are not”

“You can never hurt me” He is cocky enough to not only whisper those words, but to also lean his mouth dangerously close to mine as he does.

“Do you have a death wish, stupid bard?” I lean the tip of the dagger below his chin.

Jaskier cocks an eyebrow, and although he doesn’t move, the smugness lingers on his lips. There we stand, not moving an inch. His mouth is still dangerously close to mine. It would be terribly easy to kiss him, and the offer is far too tempting. He knows this and smirks.

Of course I would never hurt him. I just hoped he had the decency of pretending this was a real fight. It is completely useless given that he is determined not to train now. As well as the fact that I cannot resist him no matter how hard I try. I glare at him, though he holds my gaze as I lower the weapon. He nods his head, satisfied, and drops his arms. His bright smile returns with ease as he stares at me. When I shake my head at him, he plops down in a big boulder and pouts at me from below.

“Why don’t you just sit here instead?” He suggestively pats his lap. “Rest for a bit, darling”

“I mean it, Jaskier” I roll my eyes at him despite the smile that tugs at the corners of my lips. A similar gesture plays on his even as he pushes my hand away, and with it the dagger. “You need to keep learning and-“

“Then why don’t you have Geralt teach me, hm?”

“Because I need an excuse to be this close to you”

“You don’t need any excuses”

I yelp as he unexpectedly takes ahold of my hips and pulls me down into his lap. He lovingly squeezes me against him and nuzzles my neck. I have found my sides aren’t the only tickling spot, as the back of my shoulders grows tingly with his touch.

“Don’t…” I try to convince myself that training is more important than this, although less pleasurable. “Jas…”

“Don’t?” He laughs as he moves to delicately kiss the bit of skin exposed in my shoulder. “Don’t what?”

“You know what, Jaskier…” My arms find their way around his neck as I give in and pull him closer against me. I clench my jaw when he smugly smirks against me.

“Just relax, Nis” With his words, I heave a deep breath and lay my head on his shoulder.

I have been a bit tense ever since he got hurt. Honestly, it terrifies me that I may not be able to heal him again if he were to be injured once more. All this stress melts away, however, when his nimble fingers sink into my hair. I close my eyes and lose myself in the feeling of his loving caresses.

“Aren’t you tired?” His tender voice nearly lulls me to sleep, as I am indeed fatigued. “You’ve got many visits lately”

“People need healers, just like they need witchers”

“And bards, as well”

“Do they now? What do you do, dear bard?”

“I, my lovely Nissa” He pauses dramatically. “Bring joy and cheer to the hearts of people by means of song”

“Do you?” Our gazes meet, and when they do, I cock an eyebrow at him.

“Why, of course!” Jaskier frowns in response. I can only laugh as I tease him more.

“Do you really think of your music so highly?” I hold on to his nape as I move my mouth dangerously close to his. He takes a deep breath, though he gulps as he glances down to my lips. I smirk, but don’t move.

“Don’t you start it too” Now he is the one trying to distance himself from me, holding a finger up. “Geralt complains about my songs, like he doesn’t enjoy them. You both love them, don't you dare deny it”

“We don’t” A laugh escapes me when he gasps and gawks at me.

“Nis-“ Before he can complain, I silence him with a kiss. My hand cups his cheek, and my thumb caresses him to confirm that I wasn’t serious in my taunting, even if he already knows.

Our lips move in sync, hungry for each other’s taste, as we cling on to the other’s body. The sound of our love, translated into kisses, fills the silent environment. My lungs start burning and begging for oxygen, and only then do I break away from him. Our eyes meet and we smile. We laugh together. I have been missing these brief intimate moments. We stop to rest too sparingly, and even when we do Geralt is not too keen on putting up with our affection.

I accommodate myself against his lap, overcome with that feeling of happiness once more. If we hadn’t been a pair of idiots, we could have had this sooner, though perhaps destiny meant it to happen this way... to ensure it was the right moment, that we were properly prepared to reach this part in our relationship. Perhaps we needed to be separated for a bit in order to get here.

As he repeatedly pecks my jaw, I giggle and lock my arms around his neck. Jaskier’s lips suddenly latch to my neck once more, more passionately than before. Heat arrives to my cheek and spreads down my body, filling me within and leaving me breathless.

“Jaskier!” I call him in outrage between ragged breaths.

“Hm?” He only asks, not stopping his ministrations.

“Geralt will return any moment” I remind him when his mouth and hands start growing hungry. The downside of our wait is the fact that our passion now overflows as we had been repressing it for so long.

Jaskier complies and only nuzzles my neck instead. I sigh in relief, instructing my accelerated heart to quiet down. The torture of being with him without being with him had been unbearable for me too. The more I think about it, the more I wonder how I had enough restraint not to throw myself at him. Perhaps the fear of rejection was too great. I smile in content and forget about all that. We are here now, together.

Returning to our previous position, his hand is in my hair once more. I shove my face in the crook of his neck as he caresses me and lowly starts singing an improvised tune.

“You’re going to put me to sleep…” He has definitely done a good job in soothing my anguish. I feel completely relaxed, nearly lulled to slumber with the marvelous sound of his beautiful voice. Jaskier laughs.

The short pause that follows foretells mischief. I never find out why. Something heavily suddenly drops next to us. I jump in alarm, and Jaskier yelps as well. Confused, the both of us look to see a ghoul head on the ground. Geralt walks to reunite with us, saving his sword.

“Bloody hell…” Jaskier’s hand moves to rest against his chest.

“You have a twisted sense of humor, witcher” I tell him, averting my eyes from the sight.

“Don’t do that!” Jaskier absently ushers me off his lap to stand up and scold him. “You scared me out of my wits, Geralt!”

The witcher smirks a bit, staring at me. Although he startled me too, I must admit it was quite funny. Jaskier, however, is going on about how rude it was and how Geralt is a brute.

“Good to know you have my back, Jaskier” He teases him in a deadpan voice. The bard follows after him when Geralt heads back towards the horses.

“I mean it, Geralt!” Jaskier continues speaking nonsense. “How would you-?”

Calm throughout his melodrama, I take him by the shirt and pull him against me. When my lips smash against his, he breathes out and it doesn’t take long for him to melt into the kiss. I smile, and he puts a hand on my side to squeeze it. Giggling to his retaliation, I pull away and grin at him.

“How did you do that?” Geralt quickly turns to us.

“Do what?” I separate myself from Jaskier, even if my hand lingers over his shirt and plays with his chest hair.

“Shut him up” The witcher watches us intently, and I have to purse my lips in amusement.

“I kissed him” I don’t say that I did so just to, in fact, shut him up. It’s clear for our friend.

“Hm” Geralt turns back around and continues walking. “Maybe it’s not so bad after all…”

“Unbelievable!” Jaskier takes my hand off him and scowls at me. “By all means, speak your mind about how insufferable you think I am, Nissa, you-“

I kiss him again, smirking against his lips. Jaskier melts into the exchange once more. Both his hands fly to my waist in an automatic gesture. I show him an angelical smile as we pull away and he grins like a fool.

“Heh...” Jaskier cutely wrinkles his nose at me. “Had I known I was so irresistible, I…”

“Yes?” I encourage him when he stops himself.

“Wait, did you just do it again?” When I push my face against his shoulder to suffocate my laughter, he insistently pats the small of my back. “Oi, answer me, Nissa!”

I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. I know it will only earn me his never ending outrage. It becomes a hard task when Geralt grins at the bard’s outraged ramblings.

Another city, another inn. After so long, they all start blurring together. The only real proof of the passing of time is the situation we are in. The first inn welcomed us as nearly strangers. Then we were companions and almost friends. Now… well, now things are very different. As well as a strengthening of our bonds, there is another change. Precariousness hangs in the air. We have been evading the subject, yet that won’t make the problem disappear. We must face it and do something about it.

Geralt nods his head, hidden under his hood, and quietly occupies a table in the corner of the tavern. Jaskier and I make our way towards the reception, knowing what we are to do. My stomach churns in anticipation as we reach the weary innkeeper.

“Hello, good sir” Jaskier starts, making use of his particular charm. “We are looking for someone, can you help us?”

“Who?” The man replies, glancing from one to the other.

I approach the counter to address him. I have to make a conscious effort not to look at Geralt waiting at the table. Even if he is wearing the hooded cape, I worry for him.

“A group of treasure hunters” I continue, which Jaskier allows me. “Most of them have brown hair. One of them has a big scar on his jaw, here”

As soon as I point a finger to my own face, the barkeeper squints and nods. By the disgust in his eyes, I can tell he has definitely encountered them.

“A bunch of scoundrels” Indeed, he nods his head. “As far as I know, they headed for the outskirts”

Jaskier and I share a look of understanding. A sinking feeling reaches my stomach.

“Will there be anything else?” The man asks us, and Jaskier is quick to answer.

“Three tankards of your best ale, please” Expertly hiding his restlessness, he leans on the counter.

We take the mugs, thanking the innkeeper, and return with Geralt. My head boils with thoughts. They are still here. Perhaps we can anticipate their next assault by attacking first. The three of us are done hiding and willing to face it.

“They’re at the outskirts” Jaskier says as he sits in front of Geralt and hands him the ale.

“They might have a hideout there” His voice projects from the depths of the cape.

“I hate to be a downer, but we are actively seeking those who want to kill us and nearly succeeded many times” The bard sighs, gesticulating quite a lot as he rests his hands over the table. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”

“What is our other option?” I don’t like this anymore than he does, but we have to retaliate. “Let them kill us? Sit by and wait to be slaughtered?”

Jaskier watches me in silence, pressing his lips together in unease.

“We’ll go to the outskirts first thing tomorrow” Geralt’s golden eyes shine slightly under the cape. “We need to be well rested and prepared”

“And uh… what is my role here?” Jaskier asks, looking from me to him. “A distraction? I can do that”

I smirk, and although I'm about to tease him, I wish he could just stay behind where he is safe. However, just like Geralt, he is involved in this. Those men made sure of it when they injured him. It isn’t only a personal matter to me because of Kader. Those bastards made it personal for them too.

“You just be pretty and stay quiet” I move the mug close to my lips to drink. “Although the last part might be hard for you”

“I’ll show you, you little minx” Jaskier passionately mutters between grit teeth. Then he whispers something in my ear, something that causes me to blush violently and choke on my beverage. The bastard sniggers when I start coughing.

“I don’t want to know” Geralt lets his eyes wander, finding interest in anything other than us. “Stop that already”

Even as he pats my back to aid me in my recovery from choking on the ale, Jaskier smirks.

“I…” My attempt to regain my composure fails, and I have to wait several more seconds until my voice obeys my command. “If you will excuse me, I’m off to take a bath”

I stand up without waiting for any responses. In any case, I have a faint idea of what Jaskier’s might be. And I prefer he doesn’t say it in front of Geralt.

I absently dry my hair with the towel, letting my thoughts wander. I’m not focusing on anything in particular, but I still get slightly startled when the door opens behind me.

“Hey, Jas” I smile at him when he languidly comes in.

“Hello, my love” There is a mischievous grin plastered in his lips.

“What is it?” I stop the motion of my hands, leaving my wet hair to dry on its own. As he advances towards me, his expression only intensifies. “Do you have mischief on your mind?”

Jaskier approaches me, and now his smirk acquires a mysterious glow. I wish I was psychic like Hana always said. That way I could read his mind right this moment.

“Not exactly” He ceremoniously takes the towel from my hands and carelessly tosses it over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” I observe him under the dim light filtering through the window to my right. Only the little sunlight left, as it turns to night, illuminates his features.

Jaskier now smiles sweetly, as though the light wasn’t making his profile attractive enough.

“Nothing, I just missed you” He shrugs a bit, but I’m not quite buying his innocent act.

Indeed, he puts his arms around me and brings me close. I rest my hands on his chest, ready to push him back if he gets cocky, which he might. We remain silent while we stare into each other’s eyes.

“I only took a bath” I scoff, playfully wrinkling my nose at him. “We saw each other no more than ten minutes ago, you-“

His lips interrupt me when they hungrily seek mine. My eyes close on their own. I lose the ability to breathe. My body automatically responds to the kiss, deepening it as he does. It brings me back to that moment outside the crypt, making it harder to ignore my desire for much longer. My hands fly to his nape, bringing him impossibly close to me. His hands against the small of my back do too, even if there is no space at all between our bodies. Our mouths dance in sync, drinking from each other’s essence. I feel so connected to him that I almost think our hearts are synchronized as well. Jaskier is breathless, and he begrudgingly leaves my mouth for oxygen. I take a deep breath myself, feeling my heart racing and my breathing erratic. But he doesn’t stop there. He quickly goes for my neck. He seems to have special fondness for that spot. When the butterflies appear in my stomach, my brain gives an alarm. I’m enjoying Jaskier’s lips on my neck, perhaps a little too much, which is why I nervously push him away. He gawks at me, his mouth still frozen in the position for a kiss.

“What’s the matter, Nissa?” He asks, showcasing that puppy look in his beautiful blue eyes.

“You sneaky little shit…” I chuckle in awe, understanding what his intentions were. Especially when I have to take a second to calm down, and his red cheeks tell the same tale.

“What do you mean, love?” The bard still looks innocently at me, so I give him a soft glare.

“You know exactly what I mean”

“You don’t… you don’t want to do that?”

He has turned more serious, noticing my hesitance. I sigh, conflicted about my own emotions. There are many reasons why I am unsure.

Firstly, what awaits us tomorrow feels too important to focus on anything else. I fear that, if we were to trespass that threshold, it would be more due to the fear of losing our chance than because we desire to do it. We know the dangers that lay at the outskirts.

Secondly, the matter is more personal than just the possibility of meeting an early end. It had been so long since last time. Thinking about that moment also brings Vizima to mind. It reminds me how much has occurred since I last was this intimate with someone, how love and sex had completely left my mind when more important things, like grief or loss, occupied my thoughts and my soul.

Jaskier’s hands, which had been firmly settled on my hips, leave me completely. The absence of his touch makes me feel cold and empty. I shiver, unsure if because of the low room temperature or the conflict within me.

“We don’t…” He scrunches his face in a carefree gesture. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, I…”

My finger goes to rest against his lips, efficiently silencing him. We stare at each other for a moment. His eyebrows arch in surprise and anticipation.

“It’s not that…” My hands slid down his neck and over his shoulders. This encourages him to rest his on my back, returning to that warm touch. “I just don’t want that to be the only thing between us now. I don’t want our relationship to be only that”

“Nis…” The nickname warns me of a light-hearted response. He adorably tilts his head as well, staring at me fondly. “You know I don’t want just that either. I fell for you, all of you. Not just what you can give me”

“Well, I-“

“I wasn’t finished!”

“Go on then, silly”

“Do you want to know when I knew I was inevitably in love with you?”

“When?”

“Back when you so wittily verbally retaliated against me for calling you a delicate flower”

“Jaskier... that’s the day after we met”

“Precisely”

“And you waited all this time to court me”

“I wasn’t waiting, I continuously tried to-“

“No, you didn’t! How was I to know your endless and obvious adoration was genuine?”

We both laugh when I begrudgingly take most of the blame. Only most of it.

“I’ll tell you how. I promise you something, Nissa… your heart is safe with me”

“I…” His earnest emotional response surprises me for a moment. “I bet you tell that to everyone”

Jaskier grins in amusement to my teasing. His pretty eyes twinkle as he watches me fondly. It only fuels my desire to taunt him, so I peck his lips and retreat immediately after. He groans in quite a needy whine.

Delicate flower… I smirk to myself at the thought that I proved him wrong. And I proved him right. Perhaps I can be a delicate flower, but as he once said, roses are flowers with thorns.

“H-Hang on… Jaskier…” I gasp when I am hit with realization. “That day… Delicate Flower… That song…”

Jaskier grins. Even that gesture is breathtaking. He arches his eyebrows and vehemently nods his head. For a moment, watching his smug grin, I forget what we were talking about.

“Thank you for noticing, love” He playfully kisses me on the nose. “It took you a bit”

“Is that why it took you so long to write it?” It is my turn to smirk, and he blushes a tad.

Jaskier doesn’t reply. In fact, his eyes look anywhere but me. I laugh and slap his shoulder.

“What’s the matter, Jas?” I teasingly say, squeezing his arm. “You seem flustered”

Jaskier now stares into my eyes. His gaze is piercing, intense. When he opens his mouth to reply, his tone is hushed and tender.

“How to express what my heart yearned to say? There was no way to show how I feel about you. Even now that the song is finished… it doesn’t quite explain all these wonderful things you make me feel”

The tables are turned when I am now flustered myself. His sweet smile, reinforcing his genuine words, only makes matters worse. Nonetheless, I tilt my chin up and recover.

“If you’re so smitten, then explain that entrance, you cheeky bard” I try to hide my nervousness by teasing him, poking his shoulder. “Did you harbor pure thoughts then?”

“I will admit” He smirks, responding to my provocation. Nonetheless, his hand gives my waist a comforting squeeze. “I had only one thing in mind, but… you were in the bath”

“You… ugh” When I feel myself turning several shades redder, I plop my forehead against his chest. Jaskier chuckles, delicately tangling his fingers in my wet hair.

“Fine, you perv-” As soon as we are face to face again, he lifts one finger and leans it against my lips. His soft expression shocks me. It is softer than I have seen in a while.

“Do you want to?” He insists, slowly retracting his finger so I can speak.

“I do”

“Great”

“But!” I hold my hand up, causing him to arch his eyebrows in expectation. “You better treat me right still after, Jas, or I will-“

He interrupts my flimsy joking threat with a kiss, showcasing the sweetest of touches yet. My eyes flutter closed and I happily shiver. I hang on to him, pressing myself against his chest as close as I can. Our lips meet again and again with feather light pressure. Delicately.

Jaskier slowly breaks away, and I open my eyes to look at him.

“I love you, Nissa” He suddenly says. I gawk at Jaskier, as he said it so confidently. There are no doubts in his mind whatsoever that what he says is true, that his feelings are real and strong. I have the conviction that so are mine.

Unaware that I have been holding my breath, I let it out. His brows knit in concern, though I smile reassuringly. A timid grin grows on his lips as well.

“And I love you too, my stupid bard” I say in return, caressing his face. Saying those words feels right. Voicing those feelings is freeing, cathartic. It finally feels as though I have confessed what gnawed at me for far too long.

Jaskier sighs with a mixture of relief and glee. A bright smile grows on his mouth. He leans in, and just as his lips are brushing against mine, I halt. The moment somehow feels familiar. He stares at me in awe.

“Why does it feel like I have said it before?”

“Because…” Jaskier pauses for a brief moment, showcasing a smug smirk. “You said it before”

“Oh, no… that day... I forgot about it…” I hide in his chest in embarrassment. He kisses my hair, even if the bastard is laughing as his lips linger on my head.

“You didn’t believe me” Jaskier says to further tease me. “And you started sobbing”

I chuckle in spite of myself, and shiver when he returns to kiss me. My breath shakes in my chest as he busies his mouth with my neck.

“I'm glad..." I can hardly speak as the butterflies intensify and spread the heat of passion within me. "That my embarrassment is amusing to you”

As soon as I lock eyes with him, we both laugh together. Jaskier then wiggles his eyebrows at me. A mischievous laugh is all warning I get before he kisses me on the lips again. I just melt right into it, into his arms. Against his mouth. I even find myself giggling as we both stumble in our passionate stupor and fall together onto the bed.

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