#also ! thank u to tired and horse and call for being so encouraging and wonderful during the fucking week and a half this took to do <3 <3

[saintbleeding]

[ID: An 11-panel digital TMA comic focused on Jon, a thin, dark brown skinned person with greying curly black hair to his shoulders and dark brown eyes, and Martin, a fat, light-skinned person with freckles, red hair, and medium brown eyes. Both habitually wear glasses. The comic is overlaid with lyrics from Hozier’s Shrike.

Panel one: Martin stands by a bookcase, a statement in one hand, worriedly watching Jon, who is walking away with a suitcase in one hand and a boarding pass in the other. Text reads: “I couldn’t utter my love when it counted/Ah, but I’m singing like a bird about it now”.

Panel two: Jon, one hand reaching out, follows Martin into a darkened passageway. Martin is dressed in a three-piece suit with a tie pin in the shape of an anchor and coloured in a more washed-out palette. Jon’s hair is longer, he has more scars, and there are faint green eyes floating around him. Text reads: “I couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted/Ah, but I’m singing like a bird about it now.”

Panels three and four: Panel three is a close-up of Jon accepting a plain white mug from Martin. Panel four is Martin and Jon sitting at a cafeteria table by a window on a clear day. Martin is gazing at Jon who is laughing, fiddling with a straw in one hand. Text reads: “The words hung above”

Panel five: Martin and Jon stand facing each other, both wearing sad expressions. Jon wears a duffel bag over one shoulder, the strap of which he is clasping with one hand. Behind them, Basira, Daisy, and Tim walk into a raging fire. Text reads: “But never would form”

Panel six: Jon and Martin lie dead in a field of grass. Jon’s regular scars are joined by extra bloodshot green eyeballs, but his expression is serene. Martin’s eyes are fixed vacantly ahead, and his shattered glasses stick into his head. There is a knife in Jon’s back and Martin’s right leg is bent at an odd angle, with bone and muscle exposed. Text reads: “Like a cry at the final breath that is drawn.”

Panel seven: Jon glares at Tim and Sasha who are leaning on a counter with their faces in their hands, looking admiringly at Martin who is sitting oblivious at a cafe table reading a book with a latte in front of him. A sign on the wall says The Serapeum Cafe. Text reads: “Remember me, love,”

Panels eight and nine: In panel eight, Martin, with longer hair, sits against a wall, one hand over his face, a tear rolling down his cheek. In panel nine, Jon leans over a balcony, smoking a cigarette. There is a cat sitting next to him.

Panel ten: Martin and Tim stand with beer bottles in their hands, Martin laughing and Tim singing. They have their arms around each other, and Tim’s other arm is around the shoulders of an unimpressed looking Jon. Behind them, a door bears a placard reading “Sasha James, Head Archivist”. Text reads: “When I’m reborn”

Panel eleven: Two images overlaid in alternating sections. One image is Jon and Martin’s kiss at the end of MAG 200, and the other is the two of them kissing in a field. Jon wears a deep red sherwani and Martin wears a blue three piece suit, a wedding ring visible on the fourth finger of his left hand. Text reads: “As a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn.” End ID.]

y’all i am once again being very very normal and well-adjusted about them

[riviae]

Cerys x Ciri fluff if you please

[cracks knuckles] anon bless u for giving me an excuse to write this! hope u enjoy it~ 

“Ciri,” Cerys began, looking uncharacteristically apprehensive as she stole a quick glance towards her girlfriend. “Are you sure that we aren’t intruding? This is Geralt’s--your father’s--home. And what of Yennefer?” 

The witcheress gave a wave of her hand, but did pause to press a kiss to Cerys’s scarred cheek. A wide, playful grin grew across Ciri’s face as she took the Queen’s momentary lapse in attention to interlace their fingers, tugging the woman closer to her. “There’s nothing to worry about, Cerys. Geralt will be thrilled to see you again, I’m sure--believe it or not, but he practically sang your praises when we reunited again. He brushed over a lot of what he did while searching for me, but he somehow managed to mention you and your coronation multiple times.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Interest piqued, and not one to be so easily defeated, Cerys snuck her free hand to Ciri’s waist, grasping her silver belt to pull the other woman even closer until their noses were brushing. This close, Cerys could see the soft flecks of gold that mixed into the emerald green of Ciri’s eyes, a color that reminded the Skellige woman of the moss that covered the jutting boulders at the harbor in Kaer Trolde. She had always seen the patches of moss as a harbinger for the slightly warmer, temperate weather that she craved when she was a child and tired of the endless snow and white-capped mountains. Now, the same color brought an equal amount of anticipation as well as warmth--a fire that burned in her chest as fiercely as Cerys’s love for her land and her people. 

Gently, and with more reverence than a kiss given after traveling upon horseback for hours in the Toussaint heat likely deserved, Cerys closed her eyes and captured the witcheress’s lips. Her anxieties immediately melted away at the familiar feeling and taste, senses focused solely on the woman before her. Cerys blindly grasped for Ciri’s other hand, letting out a pleased hum as the ashen-haired woman reflexively intertwined their fingers together.

It had surprised Cerys at first just how often Ciri, a woman raised by witchers and sorceresses, sought out physical touch. Akin to a moth to a flame, the witcheress, when not traversing the frigid archipelago for contracts, could be found at Cerys’s side. She would loop a few fingers in her belt amidst casual banter, regardless of if they were alone or not. She would rest her head in the crook of Cerys’s neck after they trained together, sword still grasped in her hand. Before bed, she would take the time to comb out Cerys’s long red hair, fingers gently unwinding the braid while her shins pressed against her lower back. Even when riding on horseback, Ciri would make an effort to share a saddle with the Queen, so long as the distance wasn’t too much for the horse to safely handle their combined weight, often letting Cerys take the reigns so she could wrap her arms around the other woman’s waist despite being the more skilled rider. 

Not that the Queen minded. Skellige islanders were often raised in large, tactile families. where a slap on the knee, a punch in the shoulder, or a bone-crushing hug were all equally regarded as ways to show physical affection and were often encouraged. She had suffered through Hjalmar’s heavy-handed though well-meaning pats on her back enough times that she actually grew accustomed to them--even seeking them out herself on days when she was feeling particularly saddened or stressed. 

Still, Ciri’s behavior was very cat-like most of the time as she often appeared at random in the citadel drop off a gift and a kiss before disappearing in a blinding flash of light. Cerys had a sneaking suspicion that it was a trait Ciri had picked up while watching Geralt and Yennefer together, if her stories about the two were any indication. Particularly, from what she knew of Geralt and the interaction they had on Skellige, she knew the man seemed like the type to bring the head of a dead enemy to his lover just as a cat might bring a dead canary to its owner’s door. 

It was... unusual at first, but Cerys didn’t doubt that Ciri loved her with the same intensity and adoration she felt every time she caught a flash of ashen locks in her periphery. 

Cerys deepened the kiss at the thought of all the ways Ciri showed that she cared, her own affection for the ashen-haired woman too overwhelming to put into words. Ciri responded with fervor, unable to keep her hands intwined with Cerys’s. Her hands scrambled to grasp at the back of the Queen’s dress, clutching the cotton material in an attempt to bring Cerys even closer. At this, Cerys found herself cupping Ciri’s face, unable to resist the urge to rub her thumb against the scar at her cheek. 

It felt as if she’d burst from the love swelling inside her chest at the thought of Ciri--her precious Swallow--being so sure of their future together that she arranged to bring Cerys to her parent’s estate. That she wanted Geralt and Yennefer to see how much she loved Cerys, to see how happy she was with her, and to see that their love wasn’t the only one that would be sang about in ballads, if Dandelion’s sudden attempt at befriending Cerys while Ciri acted as the messenger between the two was any indication. It seemed as if songs of The Swallow and the Sparrowhawk would become as commonplace as those of Lilac & Gooseberries one day, if the bard had it his way. 

Once they parted, Cerys found herself grinning appreciatively at Ciri’s flushed face, her cheeks now a charming shade of pink. While Cerys was quite unaccustomed to the hot and humid weather of the duchy and had suffered through having to undress out of her armor and woolen gambeson to be clad in only her long blue dress, leather belt, and boots, it had seemed as if the heat was barely affecting Ciri. Neither a flush of color nor perspiration dotted her skin, though the Queen did often wonder whether her girlfriend was somehow immune to severe temperatures. The first time they had met since they’d been but squabbling children all those years ago, Ciri had been dressed as one might for bed in Skellige; yet, the witcheress showed no outward signs of distress from her garb even as snow clung to her exposed skin. 

At her obvious amusement, Ciri frowned but freed her hands to cling stubbornly to Cerys, hiding her face against the woman’s chest. “What?” came Ciri’s muffled retort. “I’ve seen that smile before. You’re scheming. What happened to being anxious about visiting Geralt and Yennefer?” 

Cerys pressed her chin to to the top of Ciri’s head, wrapping her arms around the woman. She pretended to ponder the question for some time before ultimately settling on running her fingers up and down Ciri’s sides in teasing circles. The witcheress immediately yelped in surprise and tried to escape from Cerys’s grasp to no avail. Laughter echoed through the field as Ciri squirmed, attempting to let out a few curses in between her fits of giggles. Eventually, the Queen relented, taking pity upon the witcheress who all but rested her entire weight against Cerys once the tickling had stopped. 

“Well, I realized something while we were kissing. How could I be worried about anything when I have such a brave and beautiful witcher at my side?” At her words, Ciri’s expression softened briefly, a flash of embarrassment apparent in the way she looked away, only to roll her eyes a few moments later as if to hide her reaction at Cerys’s genuine, if not overly saccharine words of praise. Spurred on by her girlfriend’s response, Cerys continued. “Besides, I must really thank Geralt. He’s the reason you showed up at Kaer Trolde with a griffin’s head and trailed its blood all over the citadel’s halls.” 

“I was just doing my job,” Ciri replied a beat too quickly. “I stumbled upon the griffin, killed it, but then I couldn’t find a contract for it.” 

"So you just decided to come to the an Craite stronghold, then? In the dead of night? As if you were just looking for an excuse to see me? You left the griffin’s head in the dining hall on your way to my chambers. I remember because I ended up having to clean dried monster blood from the tables. Again.” 

Ciri buried her head further, this time letting out a defeated sigh. “Alright, alright. Geralt might have mentioned you had grown up to be an intelligent, level-headed... and beautiful Queen. I kept that in mind as I traveled and when the opportunity arose... I took it. It’s not like I forgot about my time on the islands when I was a kid. I wanted to see for myself how the little girl who sneezed all over me when we were ice-skating together had somehow grown up to be a powerful queen.” 

“The same way a cocky brat whose own ice-skating antics caused my idiotic brother to break his leg somehow ended up becoming the most powerful person on the Continent and a skilled monster slayer--luck and fate, I’d imagine.” 

Before Ciri could retort, a familiar voice called out from the distance. “Are you two planning to stop by the actual house or is there something interesting about this empty field in particular? I didn’t even need my witcher senses to hear you both laughing.” 

“Yes, you should come in soon. You’re not doing your skin any favors standing in direct sunlight like that.” Yennefer’s voice also rang out, only pausing briefly to get a better look at the two women from her viewpoint at the top of the hill. “Also Ciri, my child, you wrote that you had gotten into a serious relationship, but you did not mention it was with the Queen of Skellige. A minor fact worth sharing, don’t you think?” 

With a tug of her hand, Ciri ran towards her parents, bringing Cerys along, the both of them laughing along the way. 

At the sight of the two women so obviously in love and incredibly happy, Geralt and Yennefer couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in awhile, neither of them were worried about Ciri’s future.