#anyways I wanna finish reading the Witcher books just so I can go back and play this game

[imageingrunge]

I gotta say i really appreciate the way tw3 starts you off in the shittiest area of the world, velen, a desolate war torn countryside with very few inhabitants, then introduces you to the other cities later on. Like the moment I got to oxenfurt I realized how much I miss civilization being surrounded by crowded buildings and people!!! The world outside truly feels desolate and haunted in a away no other open world game has ever made me feel. Ending in Toussaint living out my days owning a vineyard was incredibly rewarding knowing all the shit Geralt had 2 go through to get there. Tw3 is truly a masterpiece (not just w level design but with the storytelling as well- very few game comes close to being that good in the writing department) it’s on sale on steam rn for 11 dollars it’s so worth it!

[wolf-and-bard]

So, I wrote a Lambert x Aiden thing because of a conversation I had with @littoraly-art, so here we go. It’s hurt/comfort, but very much on the angsty side.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: explicit language, (brief) mentions of self-harming behaviour

You can also read it on AO3 if you want to

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hunt didn’t go according to plan. Lambert underestimated the amount of ghouls that would crawl out of that shithole and fought them well into the night, dodging and striking, dodging and striking for hours on end. They chased him through the forest and branches whipped at him. More than once, did he narrowly escape their bites and when they were dealt with and he stumbled back to light a bomb in the nest, he wasn’t fast enough on the retreat. His ears still ring and white spots dance at the margins of his vision. Lambert only notices that he’s overdosed on Thunderbolt when he’s already back at the inn he booked for the night, two ales down, and his muscles are still taut, ready to strike, while his sense of self-preservation has plummeted. Fuck. His fingers shake as he gestures for another drink. Sweat gathers at his collar, at the small of his back. He wants to sleep and rest, but he won’t be able to, not with the residue adrenaline.

“Lambert?” someone says and Lambert hunches his shoulders. Maybe if he hides his face, he won’t be recognized. But Aiden’s already emerged from the crowd and, anyway, he would have smelled Lambert the moment he set foot into the building.

“It is you!” Aiden saunters over, all neat bun and scandalously tight gear, his brown hair looking almost black in the downcast light of the inn. His smile is brilliant as he takes the chair opposite Lambert. Takes Lambert’s hands and inspects them for wounds before bringing them to his lips. “Hey, there, pup,” he murmurs against Lambert’s knuckles. Lambert’s heart does skip a beat, but with that comes a flare of anger. Aiden doesn’t get to be lovey and cheerful when Lambert wants to crawl out of his own skin. He hums something indiscernible.

“What is it? Talk to me.”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, really? Alright, if that’s how you want to play it,” Aiden says mockingly, letting Lambert’s hands go. “What? Oh, yes, it is good to see me, isn’t it? How I am? I’m so glad you asked. I managed to haggle a big fat fee on a rock troll couple that were mating up in the mountains and causing avalanches and now I’m drowning in coin. Pretty crazy, right? If I made it okay? Aww, sweetie, there’s no need to worry. Haven’t got a scratch on me. You wanna hear more about it? No, of course it isn’t too much to ask, I will happily oblige.” 

"Just... leave me alone," Lambert cuts in, and lifts his tankard to veil his face. He's good at hiding his emotion, but in the face of whatever this is and with the day he's had... well, his boundaries are more than probed.

“What? So, you can give yourself a sorry hand-job and cry yourself to sleep? No, sir, that would be incredibly pathetic and a crime against humanity.” Aiden smiles and before Lambert can keep drinking, he’s snatched the tankard away and emptied it himself. Great. Now there isn’t even that to hide behind. Lambert likes Aiden, he really does. On most occasions, he’s so overjoyed to see him that he doesn’t recognize himself. Aiden makes him feel… too many things to think about right now. Today though, Lambert’d rather be alone.

“None of your business.”

"Fine, have it your way" Aiden says with a good-natured shrug and, humming, stands. He makes a beeline for the nearest table full of average-to-handsome soldiers with the Temerian blazon on their chests, and slams a hand down on the table. His hips are cocked out, his smile sly, exposing overly sharp canines. They all look up at him with varying degrees of surprise, realisation. “Any of you boys down to fuck a mutant?” Lambert's blood runs cold, he’s had enough of this. He hurls his empty tankard across the room, angling just so he doesn't hit anyone - though no guarantee on the rebound – and leaves.

His armour, clothes and swords are scattered across the small room he rented by the time he makes it into bed, wearing only thin cotton smallclothes. He sits not two minutes, contemplating whether to go asleep or order himself more alcohol to dull the edge of his frustration even further, when Aiden comes into the room, no knock, no courtesy.

“Aren’t you off sucking flaccid cock? Or are you already done the whole lot of them?” Lambert spits, and crosses his arms over his bare chest. Aiden’s eyes darken and he shuts the door behind himself, forceful enough that it rattles, then slips out of his own armour and boots without much ceremony. “Go get your own room, asshole.”

“You know what? Go fuck yourself,” Aiden replies in a measured manner. All his earlier aloofness is gone, replaced by a gravity Lambert has a hard time looking at. Aiden sorts both their stuff into neat piles, then takes Lambert’s swords to the corner chair. Lambert stares at his own knees, but he can hear every tiny movement of Aiden’s hands as he cleans Lambert’s swords, inspects them for chips, pulls out a whetstone to restore their edge. The amount of care this alone conveys almost brings tears to Lambert’s eyes. Aiden could be deep-throating handsome soldiers right now, but instead he’s here, doing for Lambert what he doesn’t have the energy left to do for himself.

When he’s done the swords, Aiden does the same to his own pair, then examines the two sets of armour plating for tears or gashes that need mending. He lines up both chests of potions and counts out what’s missing, takes notes for ingredients. It’s a normal routine, only that usually, each witcher does it for himself. Lambert feels a mixture of embarrassment and affection heat his cheeks, but he doesn’t look up, not yet. Only when Aiden finishes with a soft exhale and wanders over to the bed which dips under his weight, does Lambert uncross his arms. Dares to take a peek. Fuck. He shouldn’t have. Aiden’s pupils are wide in the starlight that falls through the single window, the moon painting him in blues and silvers. Some of his hair has escaped his bun and his lips part on a sigh that expose his teeth. He’s a fucking vision, too gorgeous to be sitting here.

For once, there is quiet, so rare with the two of them. If Lambert lets go of consciousness a little more, it almost feels like a dream. If it were, he would reach out, draw Aiden onto his lap, lose himself in the familiar glide of their bodies against one another. As it is, the silence hangs by a thread and Lambert cuts it, edges fraying into dust between them.

“What,” he barks and Aiden sighs again.

“The only cock I want to suck is yours, idiot. Flaccid or not.

“Is that so?”

“Yes? I thought I had made that abundantly clear.” Aiden has. There have probably been more blowjobs than nights they shared a bed, altogether. And maybe that’s the problem. Aiden might not seem it now, but one day Lambert’s cock will not be enough to make up for his mouth.

"Why were you so obnoxious then?" he asks.

"Because you need to learn not to push me away, Lamb. I'm here, I understand, I'm yours." Three quick sentences that puncture Lambert like barbed arrows. I'm here feels like sparks of an off-kilter Igni that eat at his fingertips. I understand goes right to his gut and makes him feel like he is out on the rocky sea, in a rickety boat all by himself, at the storm's mercy. I'm yours is the lightning that strikes then and short-circuits his nervous system into small spams. He takes a deep breath and the soft kiss Aiden places on the corner of his mouth when he leans over helps quell the panic. "I can't change how I am," he says. Prickly, loud-mouthed, mean.

"You really aren't... no, that's not gonna work, is it? C’mere." Aiden crawls over the bed and settles next to Lambert, draws him against him, his strong arms wrapped firmly around Lambert's bare chest. Lambert's head is throbbing lightly, heartrate kept accelerated from the alcohol, but he deflates a little. Notices the small vial with almost clear liquid Aiden is holding between his index and middle finger. “You didn’t drink it, did you?”

Lambert shrugs. So, maybe he forgot to take the White Honey, fucked-up as he was. So, maybe he didn’t want to take it, stay fucked-up a little longer. He has days like this, where the lingering toxicity of the potions stokes some dark flame deep inside of him, kindled by his hatred for what he is, what he has become. Lambert isn’t prone to self-harm, but this, well. This he is prone to and Aiden is seeing right through him. Fucking cat, fucking.... is this love yet?

“I didn’t.”

“So, do it now.” Aiden uncorks the bottle with one hand and his grip on Lambert tightens so that he would have to struggle to escape it. For a moment, Lambert thinks about refusing. He wants to wallow, dammit, he wants to pity himself and maybe have Aiden pity him too. “Don’t think about it, pup. You can bullshit your way around other people, but not around me,” Aiden continues and holds the vial to Lambert’s lips. Lambert snatches it away and empties it in two long drags. Immediately, his vision sharpens and his lungs clear. His muscles stop trembling and his heartrate settles into its normal, mutated rhythm. “Better?”

“Better,” Lambert agrees sulkily. He tosses the vial aside and sinks back against Aiden.

“You’re really stupid sometimes, you know that?” Aiden says with a sharp edge to his voice, but he noses at Lambert’s ear, under it, breath hot over the skin of Lambert’s throat.

“You’re the one that’s stupid…” Stupid for caring for me. Stupid for still being here.

“Will you stop it already? I’m trying so hard to be patient and you keep pushing me away. Did you forget who I am? What we share?”

“I didn’t,” Lambert says. He is weak and tired. He lets Aiden tug at his chin and half-turn him for a kiss that lingers even after their lips part for breath.

“Then drop the farce. Fuck, I don’t know what to say to you,” Aiden whispers against his mouth, chasing each word with a kiss to Lambert’s lips, the corners of his mouth, his nose. “I love you, Lambert, I love you so fucking much, but I can’t keep prying you out of your shell. Don’t you trust me?”

I want to love you too, Lambert thinks.

With my life, Lambert thinks.

You’re the best person I’ve ever met, Lambert thinks.

But he isn’t ready for that yet and so he settles for the next best thing: “I’m sorry.” The rest of it he pours into their next kiss, one that feels frozen in time for how slow and indulgent it is, the world reduced to the drag of their lips and the scratch of Aiden’s canines, the stuttering of his breath. Lambert wriggles around until he straddles Aiden’s lap with his thighs and frames Aiden’s tanned face with his scarred, pale fingers. Even paler next to his lover. Aiden fucking glows and Lambert is less a man, more a phantom next to him.

“Fuck, puppy, you’re so beautiful, do you know that?” Aiden gasps when they part once more. His hands are splayed over Lambert’s upper back and they are both half-hard against one another, but Lambert doesn’t feel like sex. He feels like curling up and having a good cry. He feels like kissing Aiden again, and so he does.

“And here I am, trying so hard to hide it so you peasants don’t feel bad about yourselves,” Lambert says, on instinct more than anything else. He wants to slap himself, this is exactly what Aiden meant, isn’t it? But Aiden laughs, the fucker, a clear sound that sets loose something fluttery inside of Lambert. Shit. It is love. “I thought the scar would have done the job.”

“Joke’s on you, I adore the scar.” Aiden presses his lips to the bottom of it and drags them along, skipping Lambert’s eye in favour of nuzzling his forehead. It’s ridiculous. It tickles. Lambert laughs and hides his face in Aiden’s neck. Aiden sighs and his hands wander up to Lambert’s head, cradling it. “Promise me something, pup?”

Anything, Lambert thinks. He grunts.

“Allow yourself this. I don’t need you to fall onto your knees and profess your love in some grand gesture, but… don’t shut me out. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you.”

Lambert falls asleep like that, tucked against Aiden’s chest and he wakes in the morning facing the sunrise with an arm slung around his bare torso and Aiden’s nose pressed against the nape of his neck. He allows it to last.

[henrycavillobsessed]

Porcelain

Characters: Henry Cavill x Anwen Evans (fictional fiance)

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

Words: 3,444

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

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

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

“Oww! Shit!”

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

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

“I can’t help it. You are so clumsy!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very wise. Hi, I’m Henry Cavill.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like a plan!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello?”

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

Henry paled. “Is she okay?”

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

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

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

“Come with me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, pet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Henry looked at him like he’d gone mad. 

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

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

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

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

“And the winner is… HENRY CAVILL!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[im-the-punk-who]

Hey, I was wondering if you have a book rec

!!

Okay so in full disclosure, I have a really hard time reading books. My brain sometime around six years ago just decided that wasn't its style anymore, so I don't read a TON. A lot of these aren’t going to be recent releases. However, here are a bunch of books I would absolutely recommend checking out! I tried to include a variety of genres but I have uh.....five bookshelves in my apartment so if you're looking for more of a certain genre let me know!

Theatre:

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead - Tom Stoppard

Waiting for Godot - Samuel Beckett

These are my two favorite plays - they're both absurdist, humorous, and have some fun things to say. They’re both by old white guys but like....I love both Tom Stoppard and Samuel Beckett DEEPLY and they have all of my love and respect.

Non-Fiction/Educational:

Why are all the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria by Beverly Daniel Tatum - this is considered a 'classic' on the psychology of racism, and was particularly helpful for me as a white person in arming myself against 'reverse racism' thoughts and in dissembling my own prejudices. This is mostly a rec for other white folks, but Tatum also addresses 'having the courage to sit at the black table' as a way of claiming your own identity outside of the stereotypes the dominant society expects of you.

Daring Greatly by Brene Brown - Okay listen I just really REALLY love Brene Brown, she is a therapist most famous for her TED talk about Vulnerability and this is just...listen I really like to read this book when I am sad and feel like shit because it makes me feel strong. I reread this book at least once a year.

Imagined Communities by Benendict Anderson - This is an absolutely fascinating read on the rise of nationalism. It’s a bit dry and wordy, but the ideas and use of history as propaganda, spinning the story of a nation to pit it against or on the same side as other nations, and the ways in which these tactics shaped cultural history is just!!!! Amazing.

Gay New York by George Chauncey - This is just one of the most informative and interesting reads of queer history in New York that I’ve ever come across. It’s one of the ‘must reads’ of queer history and has so many interesting tidbits that I have to recommend it. It’s a bit old(published in 1994) but I still find it relevant and interesting to read.

Personal Fiction/Autobiographical Fiction

White Girls by Hilton Als - I went to a reading of this book when it first came out. It was so much fun and so eye-opening for me as a baby queer in NYC that I bought the book there. I wanna be really clear that Als does not pull punches and a lot of people don’t quite like it, but I love Als’ style of writing. The stories and essays in this book are amazing and funny and heartbreaking and informative of queer experience - particularly black queer experience - that I always feel like...honored? to experience through writing? This is one of those ‘you’re gonna suffer but you’re gonna be happy about it’ reads - it can be hard to face because of how very hard the pills are to swallow but like....gosh I just love this book and it’s interesting and hilarious and great.

Confessions of an Economic Hitman by John Perkins  - this is my tin hat favorite. It hits....ugh. This is one of those books that came out and like every government agency freaked the fuck out over it. It’s an interesting look into the quote-unquote dark underbelly of capitalism; how and why countries manipulate each other through economic policies. Super interesting read with a nice style of prose.

The Know-It-All: One Man's Humble Quest to become the Smartest Person in the World by A.J. Jacobs Okay so full disclosure I have not finished reading this, but I’m far enough through to rec it. This book chronicles the author’s attempt to read the entire Encyclopedia Brittanica from front to back, and it is just as kooky and hilarious as it sounds. I am very incredibly and deeply offended this author stole both my schtick and my initials, thereby preventing me from doing this exact thing. I read through the phone book in its entirety when I was three. I had it in me. Anyway, this is basically the author just listing weird interesting facts he’s read about and connecting them to his daily life, but it’s a fun read, and you learn a lot of totally useless facts, which is absolutely my jam.

When Skatboards Will Be Free by Saïd Sayrafiezadeh - HI I LOVE THIS BOOK. I’ve read it maybe three times over. It’s so fun and interesting. You may notice that a lot of the books I rec are very absurdist in their humor, and this is no exception. This book is full of the dry wit and just weird goddamn shit you could only expect from the child of a revolution that never came. You want to read a book about someone who Went Through Shit? Read this book. It’s funny and heartbreaking and just. AHHHH. Seriously I cannot recommend this enough.

Hyperbole and a Half by Allie Brosch - FIGHT ME ON THIS. I love this book.....so much. Yes it’s technically a comic book but the stories are so INTERESTING and hilarious and full of exactly the dry absurdist humor I eat the fuck up. Also! Allie Brosch recently released a sequel of sorts called Solutions and Other Problems that I recommend without even reading it.

Poetry

Pansy by Andrea Gibson - IF YOU ARE NOT READING THE POETRY OF ANDREA GIBSON WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING WITH YOUR LIFE. I cried seven times reading this book. There are only like 14 poems. Please please read this to break your own queer heart :)

Bloodsport by Yves Olade - This is a tiny book full of absolutely devastating poetry. Most of it has to do with the grief of relationships, but like....gosh I love all of Olade’s stuff. (Also!! This is available as a pay-what-you-wish pdf!!)

Bright Dead Things by Ada Limón - This book focuses a lot on the author’s experiences of loss, and knowing that loss is going to happen. I’m completely devastated every time I read this.

Science Fiction/Fantasy

The Bartimeaus Sequence by Jonathan Stroud - So what if I am a dumb millennial I love this series. It’s another dry and deadpan humor, with weird additions and Stroud’s use of footnotes to absolutely crack me the fuck up means I gotta rec this. I just gotta. Four(I think?) books following the deeply unlikeable Nathaniel and his Djinn Bartimaeus, who just wants to eat humans and have a deeply enjoyable enemies to lovers plotline with his arch rival.

The Magic's Price Trilogy by Mercedes Lackey - Okay I know I’ve recced this before. I will rec it again. This was the very first series I ever read that featured a gay protagonist and I was. Devastated? Reformed? I latched onto Vanyel Ashkevron and I am never letting this depressed emo boy go. Try me, I bite. Seriously, this book was released in the 80s and yet it is still relevant, I still cry - god i LOVE this series SO MUCH. And, MERCEDES LACKEY actually invented unbury your gays, sorry I make the rule on that one. :) Also there are magic talking horses??????? Seriously please read this series I love it so much.

Fire Bringer & The Sight by David Clement-Davies - This is another series that was absolutely formative in my baby lexicon. These are books about magical animals and their inner societal workings and both books address the ideas of good, evil, darkness, compassion and good will, and destiny. I am obsessed with these books, they are some of the most interesting of the genre I’ve read, and so incredibly intricately written. LOVE these books.

Vampire Earth Series by E. E. Knight - The Witcher before it was cool. Sort of but like...there are schools of Cat, Bear, etc and it has COOL VAMPIRES I LOVE THSI SERIES. Basically, earth has been taken over by a race of alien ‘Vampires’ and follows a human involved in the resistance. The writing in this series is...wow. It’s so intricate and interesting and involved. I own the whole series because I love it so much, including the after-series hardback novels. I’m so messy and I love it.

Kindred by Octavia Butler - You know how people are like ‘YOU SHOULD READ OCTAVIA BUTLER!!’ ? You should absolutely do that. This novel is mindblowing and interesting and the pace and narrative are so so so interesting. Heartbreaking, god, horrific. Butler is an amazing writer and this novel, while my personal favorite, is not by any means the only of her books I would recommend. STORIES. STORIES!!!!!!!

Fiction

The Ballad of Barnabas Pierkiel: A Novel by Magdalena Zyzak - This book is so fucking good. It’s imaginative, funny, intelligent....it’s honestly one of the best fiction novels I’ve ever read. Again, dry, absurdist humor, this book sort of reminds me of Terry Pratchett’s style of writing.

The Call of the Wild by Jack London - This is a classic, a true classic. The social commentary of this book is so so good, London’s style flows and, personally, as a dog and animal expert, the anthropomorphisation of Buck and his fellow animals is just so well done. I love this book, it’s quite an easy read, and I reread it at least once a year.

Rolling the R's by R. Zamora Linmark - Okay. Okay okay!!!!!! I gotta take a deep breath about this one. This book is. Yuh. This is a bit younger leaning than the other fictions, focusing almost entirely on high school level characters, however the experiences and commentary is just so so good. Focusing on a diverse group of characters growing up in Hawaii in the 1970′s, this book addresses the intersectionalities of gender, sexuality, race, immigration, education, and how we define who we are. I’m obsessed.

A Separate Peace by John Knowles - A heartbreaking novel about war, innocence, adolescence, and how we hide from our truths. It’s...so good, this book hurts me a LOT okay. The prose is phenomenal, the story is poignant, and it feels like I’m ripping my own heart out with a fishhook every time I finish it.

The Toss of a Lemon by Padma Viswanathan - This is one of those books I half recommend because it’s so good, and half because of the deep wealth of knowledge it presents the reader. The author’s use of her own culture is just....goddddddddd. Intricate and interesting and so delicately included in the narrative that you can feel the love the author has for it. It’s a long read and it took me almost a month to get through reading every day, but god. It’s so soft and amazingly written I both wanted to read it all at once and take my time with it. This is another one that deals with the duality of humanity and how we connect with one another. Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!

P.S. Your Cat Is Dead by James Kirkwood Jr. - I love this book I love this book I LOVE THIS BOOK. It’s fucking hilarious, entertaining, I literally laughed out loud at every single chapter. Hilarious and poignant and surprisingly deep, this book literally follows the journey of a man in which literally everything that could go wrong does. It’s fucking hilarious.

I hope that helped and gave you some new books!!! <3

[unpopularly-opinionated]

I’m reading the last of the Witcher series of books (roughly 3 chapters I think from the end) and w/o spoiling anything, I have to say it’s really fucking good.

If you actually read the books, again w/o spoiling anything, the books will jump to completely random perspectives at times, typically someone from the future who is retelling the part of the story to other people, before jumping back to the present. It can be mildly confusing at times, but it’s not too bad.

It reads kind of like meta commentary, which can be jarring, but it’s not so outrageous to ruin anything. When it first happened, I actually thought Sapkowski had done a self-insert or something, but the perspectives it goes to changes each time so it doesn’t really feel like that.

I think my favourite aspect of his writing though is his use of repetition. Sometimes a chapter will have a particular line, or several lines, that it will repeat verbatim frequently throughout the chapter. Usually as a descriptor, to really emphasize whatever he’s describing. It’s pretty neat.

Quite a few spoilers below cause I just finished reading a big chapter and I wanna say something about it, so I must sincerely advise you to not read below if you ever think of reading the series, which you absolutely should do.

I just read the chapter about the Battle of Brenna, and it was really fucking cool. I love the way he writes about the death of characters, and about the not-death of characters. The battle starts and immediately we’re like, okay, we know several characters who will be there: Iola, Shani, Marti, and Jarre.

We know the names of the big players too, but we never really get their perspectives as much, so they don’t count as much. Granted we don’t really get Iola, Shani, or Marti’s perspectives either, but I include them because a lot of characters whose perspectives we do get have at one point or another interacted with them.

But anyways, almost immediately off the bat we get confirmation that we know Jarre won’t be dying in the battle because it jumps ahead to the future where he’s writing about the battle while his grandkids play around him. We also learn here that he does lose a hand in the battle.

As the battle goes on and we pick up multiple new perspectives, like a messenger named Aubrey, Rusty the surgeon, or Nilfgaard’s Cooerhoon and Wyndgfin (probably butchered that name but w/e).

What I liked about Aubrey was how we spend so little time with him (maybe a page and a half, or two) but just enough to get to know him a bit. Not so much to where we’re utterly invested, but enough to feel like he’s not just some throwaway character...and then he gets thrown away, trampled to death by a horse.

Cooerhoon’s death I loved because of basically everything that happened around the battle. Throughout the chapter, we get the perspective of a history class being taught in Nilfgaard about this particular battle, and they utterly praise Cooerhoon for his masterful skills as a general, and say his defeat was not his doing but due to traitors who hatched a plot to sabotage his victory, which we learn was actually not true at all and was merely due to bad reconnaissance.

Or how after the battle, people pondered what had happened to the general as his fate was unknown. Many thinking he got away, or came back and hung himself. But really, we know that he tried to run away when he realized the battle was lost by disguising as someone less important but was ambushed by dwarves who recognized the false banners he was wearing and shot him to death with crossbows, believing him to be a part of the division that killed their comrade, and his body sank into the marshy river, never to be found.

Or Wyndgfin, whose death we literally are told about prior to it happening when the author writes something akin to “little did he know he only had two hours left to live”. It’s that kinda meta shit that I love, because it doesn’t feel cheap because we don’t care about this character, and it’s still interesting to hear about him dying a coward next to Cooerhoon.

But obviously, my absolute favourite (and also least favourite because of how fucking sad it was) was Rusty, Iola, Shani, and Marti’s deaths. You follow their perspectives throughout most of the chapter as they struggle to tend to the wounded soldiers brought to them, many of whom die. You really grow to care about them, especially the girls because we know other characters are invested in their survival, like Triss or Mother Nenenke.

You go through the whole chapter, and other than the obvious PTSD they’re bound to have, they come out unscathed and you’re thinking how great that is, especially since Nilfgaard at one point overtook them and nearly killed them all but stopped once they noticed they were tending to a wounded Nilfgaard soldier.

And then at the end it’s just like “Marti died two weeks after the battle after slutting around with soldiers, causing one to get jealous and stab her to death. Rusty and Iola died a year later, battling the Red Death (bubonic plague) in Maribor. Shani (thankfully, yet still sad ngl) died 72 years later after living a long and fulfilling life as a teacher, sharing her stories as a field nurse.”

Like, it’s a huge punch to the gut to hear “and they all died shortly after” when you think they’ve made it. The Iola and Rusty deaths are especially sad because, in a previous chapter, we learned that Ciri inadvertently caused the Red Death that killed them, when she traveled to our world during the time of the Black Death and picked up a single flea which hopped off of Ciri and onto a dog that hopped onto a ship that headed straight to Maribor.

All in all though, as sad as some of the deaths were, it was greatly satisfying. And honestly, I would not be surprised if this is the last we see of Jarre. It feels like a pretty decent concluding point for his character. Which is weird to say because his whole goal was to find Ciri, for whom he loved and fought for, but even though he doesn’t meet her again in this chapter, it felt pretty conclusive on that topic because we read during the future parts that he doesn’t end up with Ciri, but he does have a granddaughter named Ciri. So I guess that’s meant to be a sort of conclusive “they don’t end up together” message to the reader. It would still be kinda nice if we got a present-day reuniting for them, but Jarre is such a minor-major character that it would be perfectly acceptable if there wasn’t one.

[little-bard]

Songs That Remind Me of Jaskier

Okay so I did this one a bit differently and actually posted it as a fic on AO3. This one is smutty so that’s new for me I kept that on AO3 so this is just a portain of the story. If you want the smut click the link at the end :)

Jaskier wasn’t one to go buy potions which is why Geralt found it so odd when the bard requested to go to the potion seller’s stall in the market by himself. “I heard they have an amazing potion to help with creativity and also one to help with the horrible smell of a witcher who hasn’t bathed in 4 days. Go on ahead of me, maybe find a place for us to stay tonight and for you to take a bath.” Was all the man had said before walking off with a small disapproving “hmm” from Geralt. Though Geralt did listen to him. He couldn’t help but follow along with whatever Jaskier said recently he would have said it was just because he felt guilty for putting the bard through so much lately but he knew it had to be a deeper feeling. He chose to ignore that feeling until he knew what to do with it.

Jaskier walked up to the vendor slowly. “Um hello?” He smiled kindly at the small person before him.

The store vendor was an androgynous person with deep brown eyes and long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Hello, what can I do for you?” They spoke softly.

“Um actually... do you have anything for nightmares?” Jaskier asked nervously.

“Your own or someone else’s?”

“Someone else. My traveling companion, he keeps waking up in the middle of the night. He seems restless and is sweaty and has a face I can’t quite describe with an emotion I’ve never quite seen on him when he wakes up. It looks like fear but he’s not calling out random names or anything like normal. It looks like there’s something happening in the dream he’s not ready to confront. And the next day he always acts weird with me. One time last week he did call out my name. It sounded like he needed me and I just wanna help.”

“Oh wow... you seem really worried about your friend,” they said slightly teasingly as they searched through the vials they had. “Anything about your companion I should know about? Something that might mean I need to make the potion stronger?”

“Um... he’s a witcher” Jaskier whispered. He didn’t know why he whispered it wasn’t a secret he traveled with Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf, the Witcher, but he felt the need to make it somewhat of a secret. Almost as if he felt if anyone heard they would tell Geralt what he was doing.

“Oh wow. You're lucky, but I actually think I have the perfect thing.” They said as they pulled out two potions. “Here. You take the one with the blue label and give him the one with the green. Basically what’s going to happen is that you’ll get to enter his dream when you both go to sleep. Your body will be asleep but your consciousness will be in his dream. And to him, it’ll appear the same as the dream always does but you’ll be there too. If it’s a nightmare you’ll be able to help him overcome this fear. He’ll also be more conscious and aware then he normally is. He’ll have more control over his actions. The goal here is to turn this nightmare into a positive dream where the two of you overcome his fear. It’ll end in the morning when you both wake up whether you do what you came to do or not.” They smiled kindly. “Might make him appreciate you more in the way you wish he would as well as an added bonus.”

“How did you..? Anyway, how much do I owe you?” Jaskier asked a blush burning his cheeks.

“On the house” they smiled and cupped Jaskier’s hand in theirs as they handed him the potions. “Just write a lovely song about it”

“Oh thank you...” Jaskier bushed. “I certainly will!” They knew who he was and that made him nervous because they knew who Geralt was then too. But he trusted them oddly.

Jaskier made his way to the pub where he knew he would find Geralt. Mainly because it was the only place with an open room in the town for rent. As he walked in he placed the potions in his pocket. He smiled at Geralt who was sitting in the corner with an almost empty ale. “Hello Geralt, miss me?” He sat across from the brutally handsome man.

“Hmm,” Geralt said in a tone that would suggest he didn’t but Jaskier knew it really meant he did. He sipped the last of his ale.

“I missed you too. Actually, I missed you so much I’ll get you another ale on me before I play for this small crowd.” Jaskier tried to give his most calm and trustworthy smile. Geralt saw right through it.

“Fine but don’t you dare try to prank me again,” Geralt said, handing him the cup with a furrowed bushy black brow.

“One time! I only did that one time” Jaskier sassed back and let out a relieved sigh his true intentions weren’t noticed when he was away from the Witcher’s eyes. Honestly he never truly was away from the Witcher’s gaze but at least his back was to him. He ordered two ales and pulled the little potions out of his pocket along with some coins just Incase Geralt was watching him; it wouldn’t look too suspicious. He made casual conversation with the bartender about Geralt’s request to have special potions to help him stay strong put into his drinks. “Witcher’s am I right?” Jaskier added to his lies. He felt weird trying to cover up his obvious action of putting the potion in the drink. As well as one in his. The bartender believed him as he knew nothing about Witchers just like everyone else. Jaskier didn’t feel good hiding this from Geralt but he knew he would say no to help and he wasn’t even sure it would work. He tried to remove his nervousness from his face and have a calm smile, it was hard.

From behind Jaskier looked like he was just having a more than friendly conversation with the bartender which wasn’t new for him at all. Geralt tried to hide his jealousy as Jaskier turned around. He couldn’t do more than simply averted his gaze from the bard.

Jaskier placed the ales down very careful to give himself the right one. Geralt curiously drank his. “Does it taste any different?” Jaskier questioned softly. Nervously.

“No... why?” Geralt stared at him quizzically. “Do you think that bartender is trying to poison you? Or trying to weaken you in some way? Do you want me to speak to him?” Geralt almost stood up but a smaller hand on his stopped him.

“No Geralt” Jaskier laughed fondly. “No, I’m fine. I don’t think he’s doing anything. I just thought mine tasted a bit stale.” He smiled kindly at the witcher with his hand on his bigger one to calm him. Jaskier sipped his own ale quietly.

“Hmm.” Geralt sat back in his seat comfortably. Jaskier was happy the man cared for him, it was nice to have someone always ready to fight for your wellbeing. It was nice to be protected that’s why he was doing all this. He wanted to make Geralt feel protected like the white wolf made him feel.

After they both finished their ale Jaskier grabbed his lute to play some tunes for the folks in the bar. He put his heart into it just like every performance and Geralt watched him with his full attention just like he did every performance.

Jaskier made out fairly well. He made just enough to cover their room for the night. He was in the room before Geralt, as the witcher was probably checking on Roach before calling it a night. He made sure to give Geralt’s bed the extra pillow before he got ready to sleep.

By the time Geralt returned a little later Jaskier was already in bed asleep. It was never hard for the bard to sleep. Geralt stared a little too long at the breathtaking man in front of him peacefully asleep. “Get a hold of yourself” he mumbled as he shook his head. He sighed and decided it was best he follows suit and also heads to bed. He did take note of the extra pillow on his bed though. He smiled and rested his head on the pillow.

Jaskier only remembers falling asleep and now suddenly he was in a cozy candle lit room with a nice big bed with the softest sheets. This must be where Geralt’s dream takes place… interesting place for a nightmare. Jaskier looked around quickly for Geralt. He was laying on the bed in his normal black tunic and black leather pants. Jaskier looked down at himself. He was just in a loose white tunic and light blue pants. Nothing fancy but still very Jaskier. Something Geralt definitely dreamed up. Geralt slowly woke up and looked at Jaskier.

“Same dream as always I guess.” He sighs. “Same as always then Jaskier I guess I’ll wait for your song.” Geralt sat up and looked at Jaskier expectantly.

“Hmm, Geralt what do you mean?” Jaskier laughed kindly. He was trying to play into the dream to help Geralt get to the nightmare part... then he would tell the witcher what was happening.

“Jaskier you know? I have the same dream every night tho normally you’re sitting there already playing this song when I wake up and then ya know, the thing happens.” Geralt explained. “It’s weird come to think of it that you’re not already there reading your little book of lyrics and singing”

“Oh... um, I wanted to start this night off differently.” Jaskier made something up. He sat down on the chair that was across from the bed. There he saw his lute and his notebook beside him. He picked up his lute and opened the notebook. It showed only one song in it. A song he had seen before. It was a song in his actual notebook. A song from a dream he had once. It wasn’t exactly the same song but maybe this is how Geralt remembered it from the one time Jaskier ever sung it to him.

He started playing softly. He felt like I instantly knew how to do this new updated version.

“I got the feeling that you

Brought me to you

Yeah, you did, babe

Look what your mind's imagination can do

Makin' shit true, ooh

Yeah, you do, babe

So let me take away your pain, give me all of your emotions

Land it like a plane (I know planes didn’t exist in canon but it’s the song) on my back, if you can't hold it

Life is but a dream that you manifested slowly

So fuck a fantasy, this your motherfucking moment

Give me all of your emotions

Ah, it's your motherfucking moment

That you manifested slowly

Hey, ah, it's your motherfucking moment

Life is but a dream

Here we are inside of it and you're inside of me

Until you actually fall asleep

Finally you can add this moment to your memory

Ooh, ooh

Take away your pain, give me all of your emotions

Land it like a plane on my back, if you can't hold it

Life is but a dream that you manifested slowly

So fuck a fantasy, this your motherfucking moment

Give me all of your emotions

Ah, it's your motherfucking moment

That you manifested slowly

Hey, ah, it's your motherfucking moment”

Geralt watched Jaskier intently. Jaskier felt that Geralt’s version was a little more passionate then he remembered his being but it was still the emotional sirens call he had originally intended it to be. He felt a prominent blush on his cheeks from the thought that Geralt dreams of him singing such a romantic song every night. By the time he had finished singing he had almost forgotten the reason, he was there.

He looked up at Geralt expectantly. He was waiting for the setting to change to some fiery village with people screaming or something, it was a nightmare that was plaguing the Witcher right? Geralt was looking at him also inquisitively. “Why aren’t you coming over here?” He said with a deep chuckle that made Jaskier’s blush burn.

“Oh um... I was lost in my thought.” Jaskier said and got up and sat awkwardly next to Geralt on the bed.

“You’re acting so weird. Normally this dream goes much more smoothly until the end.” Geralt said softly.

‘Okay cool just gotta get to the end! Then I can help Geralt!’ Jaskier thought happily. ‘Maybe the dream is just weird until then! Not that I mind.’

His thoughts were interrupted by Geralt’s calloused hands on his cheeks. He turned his head toward him so blue eyes were staring into yellow. “Normally you’re already on top of me making a move but I guess I’ll have to first this time.” He mumbled mainly to himself softly before leaning in and kissing Jaskier deeply.

Jaskier felt his blush reach his ears at this point. At first, he was stiff and unmoving but he found himself leaning into the kiss rather than pulling away. His arms wrapped around Geralt’s neck and Geralt kept one hand on his cheek and wrapped his other arm around the bard's waist. I mean Jaskier was a human after all and this is all he’s wanted for years since he first laid eyes on Geralt. He wanted the Witcher to kiss him and stare at him lovingly. He wanted to feel the man's strong arms around him holding his body close. There’s no way he could pull away after finally receiving it.

When their lips slowly parted Jaskier came to finally. “Geralt... what are you doing?” He said breathlessly.

Geralt simply pushed Jaskier down on the bed and hovered over him. “Why are you acting so coy? That’s not like you at all my little lark.” He smiled kindly and lovingly at Jaskier, the slightly smaller man basically melted on the spot. Geralt leaned down and kissed and nibbled at Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier let out a small moan like hum. He could feel a smile on Geralt’s lips against his skin as the noise left him. Geralt kissed him once more, deeper and with more passion. After a few seconds, he felt the Witcher’s tongue asking for entrance at his lips. He gladly opened his lips more and tangled his tongue with his. Geralt easily flipped them over so he was on the bottom with Jaskier straddling on top of him. He ran his hands down Jaskier’s back and rested them on his ass with a strong squeeze. The bard let out a surprised moan into their kiss.

Jaskier’s hands rested on Geralt’s chest and he felt a deep blush covering his whole body. He normally wasn’t as shy or embarrassed but it was so different with Geralt. He had dreamed of this moment for so long but he never thought it would happen. Geralt broke from the kiss to bite at Jaskier’s neck and jaw. He would bite roughly and then leave a small kiss or lick on the mark. Jaskier was turning into a moaning mess more so with each bite. He had always had a weak spot on his neck, and he knew that Geralt’s small fangs would have felt nice there but not exactly how nice. He started to grind against the man under him. He felt himself and Geralt get excited as he rubbed against his body harder longing for friction. “Geralt is that some super thick and long monster-hunting stick in your pants or are you and your monster of a Dick excited to see me?” Jaskier managed to giggle out as Geralt let out a soft moan.

“Normally you already have it out by now” Geralt snarked back. He went to pull Jaskier into another kiss but he pulled away. That ‘normally’ snapped Jaskier back to reality. This wasn’t really happening. Well, it was but... to Geralt, this was still a dream. He felt this pang of guilt. He didn’t wanna take advantage of the situation. He moved off of Geralt much to the Witcher’s dismay. “Jaskier? What’s wrong?”

“Geralt... this isn’t a dream,” Jaskier said softly and looked down. His voice shook with nervousness and guilt as he continued. “Well it is a dream... but I’m the real Jaskier. I don’t want you to do this thinking it’s a dream but I’ll remember it.”

Geralt looked at him confused and sat up. “Explain.” He said simply. He wasn’t asking, he was demanding.

“Well... I just know these past weeks you’ve been having nightmares. You wake up in the middle of the night all sweaty and seem restless. I went to the potion seller and got a potion where I could enter your dream and help you face your nightmare. You always make me feel so protected and I want to protect you too. I’m sorry I almost let this get too far without telling you, it’s just I’ve wanted to do this with you for a while honestly” Jaskier felt himself letting everything out, all his emotions. He knew he was blushing and looked a mess but he kept going. “I know that nightmares and dreams aren’t always straight forward so I know you probably don’t actually want these actions. I just wanted to let you know so you didn’t have to do them with me. And we can just wait here for the scary part to start and I’ll help you as much as I can. And if you don’t wanna see me after I’ll leave you alone.” Jaskier said sadly, still ignoring Geralt’s gaze.

“Jaskier..” Geralt spoke softly and held Jaskier’s chin in his fingers making the bard look at him once more. “What you were trying to do was very sweet. I know you didn’t know this would happen. Actually, the nightmare part of these dreams is... we make love and I wake up in the morning and you’re gone. I’m scared if I’m open about my feelings for you I’ll lose my best friend.” This is the most open Geralt had been with Jaskier for weeks or maybe ever. Jaskier had tears in his eyes. “Don’t cry! I’m sorry. And you don’t need to feel guilty at all for the potion, I’m glad I have someone like you to protect me Jaskier. And I only know one set of potions that do this kind of thing, so just know I’m also aware and conscious and I didn’t do anything I didn’t truly want to.” Geralt felt himself ramble which was rare for the Witcher.

Jaskier hugged Geralt tightly to make him quiet. “I love you so much Geralt Of Rivia. I would never leave you, especially after you were open about your feelings.” He said passionately into Geralt’s neck.

“I love you too my little lark.” Geralt hugged Jaskier back tightly.

Jaskier pulled away and though he was blushing Geralt would recognize that impish smile anywhere. “I mean I did come here to help you overcome your fear and I think to get to that part we have to do that other part too. Or ya know maybe we’ll get stuck in your dream forever.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.” Geralt smirked back.

“No, it definitely is. I'm the one who bought the potion I would know,” Jaskier said straddling Geralt’s lap once more.

“I mean I don’t leave things unfinished once I start them.” Geralt grinned kissing Jaskier again. Jaskier leaned into the kiss happily and pushed him down on the bed.

Playlist

http://archiveofourown.org/works/23248768

[witcherislovewitcherislife]

For the prompt thing; It's 3 characters, but Geralt introducing little Ciri to his friend Dandelion for the first time. Maybe on their way to Kaer Morhen?

Ooh thanks for this prompt! We need more of little Ciri. :)

Okay just like the last prompt I did, I ended up going in pretty deep on this one but I am very happy with the result. I’m gonna cross post it on AO3. It takes a while to get to the Dandelion parts but hopefully the first part is interesting enough to push everyone forward to the fluffiness that comes later on. Also, Ciri is a super adorable and very shy little girl here, she doesn’t become super brave until she is with the Witchers and Geralt is just trying to be the best dad ever. I would love to here what you guys think about it! I hope you all enjoy, thanks for the prompt and thanks everyone for reading! :)

***************

He had finally found the little girl. The little girl that he feared and believed was dead until he heard “Geralt” screamed from afar. He had never been happier in his life. That being said, he had no clue what to do or how to raise a child. So he would take her to the place he called home. To Kaer Morhen. It was his only hope at this point.

Kaer Morhen was a ways off. A long ways. They would face many dangers but nothing would ever happen to the girl. He would not allow it. Occasionally a bandit or two would attack and Geralt would make quick work of them. He then had to go on damage control, assuring little Ciri that she had nothing to fear from him.

When night came, they made camp on the side of the road, Geralt would pick some apples and give them to the girl. He swore she loved apples as much as Yen loved apple juice. If they could not find enough food then Geralt would go hungry. He had the chance to hunt some rabbits but Ciri begged him not to. They were to cute to eat, she insisted. As long as Ciri was fed then he was happy. Every night, Ciri would snuggle up to Geralt and she would fall asleep in his arms, feeling happy and safe that she now has someone to call family.

Eventually, they traveled to Redania, but instead of continuing North, they took a detour east to Oxenfurt to meet a bard. In case anything should happen to either Geralt or Ciri, this story needed to be told to his friend. The bard was surely able to provide them some food and shelter as well. Geralt had no coin left and food was only available if they were able to find it. Geralt couldn’t take contracts either for he refused to leave Ciri under supervision of some villagers while he went out and fought monsters.

The Witcher had always found Oxenfurt quite pleasant. It was a fairly large city with a population made up of mostly young people and many students. Geralt had found that with high education came high intelligence and thus the students tended to not have a problem with Witchers. They didn’t fear them or think that they were gonna steal the youngins’. They knew better than that. The city guardsman on the other hand, were a whole different story. Those that couldn’t be bothered to use their brain or learn and instead only cared about muscle usually became guards. Many were intelligent but many weren’t. And the ones that weren’t were a lot stupider than the intelligent ones were smart. And stupid guards lead to stupid problems, especially for Witchers. Especially for a Witcher with a young child.

Geralt and Ciri approached the main gate of Oxenfurt, called the “Novigrad Gate.” Beautiful craftsmanship likely built by dwarves years prior. However what stood on the bridge was far less beautiful than the city walls, gateways, and bridges were. Fat, smelly, guardsman that looked at the Witcher with disgust. Geralt got off of Roach and helped Ciri down as he glanced back over at the guards.

“Go take Roach to the stables over there Ciri, they should let you stall her there.”

“Won’t I need coin?”

“Ciri, you’re adorable, use your cuteness.”

“Ah, that’s what I wanted to here, Geralt.” Ciri said confidently. She was a smart-ass even at her young age.

Geralt didn’t need to stall Roach in a stable outside of the city. He knew that there were stables inside the city and that horses were allowed inside the walls but he just didn’t want Ciri around in case things got ugly with the guards.

He approached the guards and while about fifteen feet away they began to speak to him.

“Ay, where did you get the girl from you mutant?” Just as Geralt thought, the fat and stupid guards far outnumbered the ones that just wanted to protect and serve the citizens. If only Yen was here, anyone that called him mutant when she was around was sure to get a lightning bolt to the chest.

Geralt let out a dee sigh and spoke, “She’s my daughter.” He didn’t have the time or the want to explain the story so he simply went with “daughter.”

“Everyone knows that Witchmen can’t have children.” one said. “I bet he put a hex on her.” shouted another.

“Good thing I’m a Witcher not a Witchman.” Geralt retorted. Sarcasm was always one of his strong suits.

“Ay the freak thinks kidnapping is some sort of joke. Kill the freak!” Geralt let out another deep sigh, why do they always have to try.

He made quick work of them. Geralt made the hand sign for Aard and thrusted his arm in their direction causing a heavy blast of wind and force to push the guards off the bridge into the river below. From this height and with the river being shallow, the fall was sure to kill them. The blast missed one of the guards and Geralt had to quickly dodge to the right causing the guard to swing and miss falling to the ground. Geralt used this opportunity to unsheathe his steel sword and lunged the blade through the top of the guards back. Three less pieces of filth in the world as far as Geralt was concerned. Hopefully they did not have families, Geralt thought to himself, but the thought quickly left his mind. No way anyone could stand to be around idiots like that. He picked up the last guards body and tossed it over the bridge railing, joining it with the bodies of the other two. Geralt decided he would return there later when he got the chance to burn the bodies. Not because he was afraid of the consequences but because the water should not be soiled with that kind of filth.

Luckily Ciri was still in the stables when he was finished with the guards. He did not want her to witness that. He could see her little head from afar, standing with Roach and talking to a young man. The Witcher headed towards the stable to return to his newly adopted child. The man saw Geralt coming and spoke. “Ay, I know you, you’re none other that the White Wolf himself, the Witcher Geralt of Rivia.

“Hehe you’re famous Geralt! I know a famous person!” Ciri giggled and exclaimed happily.”

“Uh-huh. And where do you happen to know me from?”

“There’s a man in town. Can’t stop telling tales of your heroic acts. Said he saved you quite a fair number of times as well if I remember correctly. I thought a man like yourself would have no problem saving himself but no matter.”

Geralt ignored the last part. Now there was no question in the man’s identity. Dandelion. “And where might I find this man?”

“Twas stayin’ at the Oxenfurt Inn when I saw him last. You wanna find him, try there.”

“Will do, thanks. Can my horse stay here?”

“Yes master. The little one and I already agreed that the horse can stay.”

“Thank you. We’ll be on our way then.”

“See you around, Witcher.”

Ciri and Geralt then headed back over the bridge and into town. Ciri grabbed onto and held his hand as they walked. This gave the Witcher one of the biggest smiles of his lifetime. If only he had Yennefer, his life would be perfect. One day, perhaps.

It had been some time since Geralt had been in the city. He viewed a signpost and a roadmap and quickly determined where the inn was. Ciri and him headed towards it, still holding hands. Some gave them strange looks as well as some whispered gossip that couldn’t be decipered even with his enhanced hearing. He didn’t blame them, not everyday that you saw a Witcher and extremely rarely would they be with a child.

The pair reached The Alchemy Inn as the sun was setting. It look them a while to make their way through the city crowd and the many buildings. Ciri was appearing to become tired as she was now resting her head against the arm of Geralt as they walked.

They walked through the door and before they could even look around a man shouted and approached them. “Geralt, my friend!” A few bar patrons looked their way but they had drinks and food and that meant that they had better things to worry about.

“Dandelion. I’ve never been happier to see you.”

“I was thinking the same thing, my friend. But who is this little one?” Dandelion kneeled down and stuck out his hand towards the child.

Ciri looked up at Geralt and he nodded, giving her confirmation that this man was friend not foe and was to be trusted. She then took his hand and shook it. His grasp was gentle and caring. It was comforting.

“I’m Ciri.” She said in the adorable voice with her Cintrian accent.

“Nice to meet you, little one.” Normally Ciri would retort that she was not in fact a little one but a whole NINE years old now. Barely. But now she was simply too tired and was speaking to a man whom she did not know.

“Uhh, I’ll explain later.” Geralt chimed back in at this point.

“Come sit, my friend. You look right famished.” Dandelion turned around and led the two through the large room over to his table in the corner. Geralt always preferred the corner tables anyways. Gives him a back rest.

“Order some food, Geralt. You two need it.”

“Uh, I’m a little low on coin.” Geralt replied, partly embarrassed.

“No matter at all. I’ve made a small fortune lately. My poem book is being mass published. Merchants are selling it from Novigrad to the Skellige Isles.”

“Glad to hear that. Congrats, Dandelion.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you. Traveling with you inspired many a poem and many a tale. I’m working on a book full of our adventures at the moment.”“Uh-huh. And let me guess, you save me in more than a few of these.”

“Well no one said that the stories had to be all truthful.” Dandelion replied sheepishly.

Geralt glanced over a nice menu printed on fine paper with exquisite designs on it. When a worker for the inn came over, the Witcher ordered a chicken roast, with some apples and bread and milk. It had been a long while since he had a full meal and he was about to feast. “What do you want, Ciri?” “Apples.” She replied in her typical sweet and quiet voice. Geralt let out a small sigh and a chuckle. “We’ll split the chicken roast.” The waitress smiled at the shyness of small Ciri. What an adorable little girl, she thought to herself as she walked away.

Geralt and Dandelion chatted and played a friendly game of dice poker as they waited for the food. Ciri sat quietly observing the game, trying to understand what was going on but didn’t say anything. She instead just rested her head on Geralt’s shoulder. They had been traveling since early morning and now nightfall had came. There food arrived and Ciri quickly chirped up becoming excited that she would be able to get a full belly. Geralt cut off pieces of the chicken and put them on a plate for her. He also pushed the bowl of apples that the waitress gave them over to her. He doubted he would get many and that was completely okay. As long as she was happy. They ate in silence, Geralt only speaking to check if Ciri needed anything. Dandelion was quiet as well surprisingly, not wanting to disturb his friend or Ciri. Instead he worked on a new ballad. One of a child and a Witcher eating dinner. Not all ballads have to be epic tales after all.

Dandelion had to admit to himself. He was fascinated with the child. A fascination that he had not had in a long time. Who was she? Why was she with his best friend? And why did Geralt seem to care so much for her? Hopefully his questions would be answered soon but now was not the time to ask. Not when she was here at least.

They finished there meal after some time. They had eaten all the chicken, the remaining bread and apples, Dandelion took and put in his pouch to give to the Witcher later. The waitress came back to the table and Dandelion paid her for the meal, giving her a generous tip. Partially because of her kindness and good service and partially for her attractiveness.

“Excuse me, Witcher. Will you be needing a room for the night?” Geralt glanced over at Dandelion and he nodded reassuring the Witcher that he would pay for all expenses.

“Yes please. How much will it be?” The Witcher responded.

“No charge.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“No charge, Master Witcher. You see Mary over there?” She said pointing to an elf women and Geralt nodded his head.

“She saw you deal with those guards earlier. They had been harassing many a non-human. It is good to be rid of them. We appreciate it. The room is on the house tonight.���

“Oh, I, uh, you’re welcome. Thanks for the room.” The waitress nodded and gave a faint smile then proceeded the hand over the Witcher the key to his room for the night. “Third floor, Room 13.” She said and walked away, taking their used dishware with her.

“What happened with the guards, friend?” Dandelion inquisited.

“The usual.”

“Figures. People are different depending on where you are but scum remain the same no matter the location.”

“At least they’re consistent.”

“Geralt, can we go to bed?” Ciri asked.

Geralt nodded and stood up. Taking Ciri by the hand.

“I’ll be here a while longer if you need a drink, Geralt. Otherwise we’ll talk in the morning. I’m staying in Room 7.”

Geralt and Ciri walked through the large room through a doorway and down a short corridor leading to a staircase that led up the the higher floors of the inn. For many patrons, the night was just beginning. A group of musicians played on a small stage in the corner of the larger room and students filled the establishment, looking to get drinks and meet new friends and possible partners.

The Witcher hoped that the noise wouldn’t be too much for Ciri. He needed her to get her rest for the would likely be setting off sooner rather than later. Their room was surprising nice. Geralt figured that they innkeep must’ve given them one of the nicest rooms. There were two large beds, a vanity as well as a bathtub already filled with water and multiple dressers and cabinets and a stool to light the chandelier. Candles and a chandelier lit the room but it was still a bit dark. He set the pouch of food that Dandelion gave him on the dresser located near one of the beds. Ciri took off her small bag and set it on the other dresser. She pulled out a small teddy bear made of plush and wool and climbed into the bed. Geralt didn’t know that she had that, it must’ve been given to her by the family that took her in, he thought.

“Im going to go talk to Dandelion.” The Witcher said, interrupting the silence.

“B-but.” He could tell that Ciri was upset to be left alone.

“It’ll be okay, Ciri. I’ll just be downstairs.” He realized that this was the first time he was leaving her alone since they had reunited.

“But you’re coming back, right?”

“Of course, Ciri. Always. I can stay until you fall asleep if you want.” Ciri nodded as Geralt tucked her tightly into bed. He sat on the bed opposite and watched as she drifted off into slumber. She fell asleep quickly, having nothing to fear. She knew that Geralt would keep her safe.

“Sleep tight, little one.”

Geralt locked the door behind him and came back down to the bar area of the establishment. He noticed Dandelion was surrounded by patrons. Unfortunately they didn’t seem to be the friendly type. Many people were watching on as the bard struggled to explain himself.

“You think you can just sleep with anyone’s wife just because you are a famous bard?” An angry man said to Dandelion. The bard was sitting at the same table, now regretting his decision to sit in the corner. His back was against the wall and there would be no escape.

“Maybe you should please her better and I wouldn’t need to.” The bard retorted. Multiple patrons gasped at hearing such a thing and they believed a murder of the bard may be coming. Geralt heard this as he was approaching the table. He would’ve imagined that someone as cowardly as Dandelion would be smart enough to shut up. Dandelion, the man wouldn’t fight a fly with his fists. But if words could kill then Dandelion would be a serial killer.

“You fuckin wot?” The same angry man said. “Ay, the little punk thinks this is some joke.” Another man said, likely a brother or friend of the first man.

“That Witcher that dun made you famous isn’t here to save you now. How unfortunate.”

“What was that now?” Geralt spoke, now standing behind the confrontational men.

The two men turned around and looked as if they had seen a ghost.

“I’ll give you five seconds to apologize to my friend and I’ll give you another five to leave this inn and never come back.”

“What if we don’t?” One of the men said, deciding to try his luck.

“You’ll end up feed for the drowners in the sewers.”

The men quickly decided that this was not losing their lives over. They turned around and apologized to the bard. “S-s-sorry, sir Dandelion sir.” They said terrified of the Witcher. Then they quickly turned around and hurried out of the inn. Geralt assumed that they would be back, likely with more friends but he didn’t care. Bring an army and Geralt would still fight to defend his friend.

“Wooh, thanks my friend. Close one, huh?”

“Uh-huh. Can’t wait to here how you saved my life in the Alchemy INN in a future tale.” Geralt said letting out a light chuckle and sitting back down at the table.

“So who is the girl, Geralt?” Dandelion asked, quickly changing the subject back to what was on his mind.

“She isn’t just some girl, Dandelion. She’s my child of surprise.” He said quietly, making sure no one else in the inn could here them.

“What? But I thought.” Geralt cut him off, “I know, but she is alive, I found her, Dandelion. I’m beginning to rethink this whole fate and destiny thing.”

Dandelion was astonished but he should have known. How had he not realized this? It didn’t really make sense to him still however. Cintra was attacked, so many died, including all the leader figures. The grandmother of Ciri, Calanthe was one of the deceased and Ciri was in her care. How did Ciri escape and no one else did? She was a fighter, he did know that. And Dandelion knew that there was no one better to take care of her than his best friend. His best friend, the Witcher, The White Wolf, The Butcher of Blaviken, and new father, Geralt of Rivia.

[punchsomeoneforme-willyou]

Sooo, I haven't really posted this past week because little fudge was ill and everything was a mess (especially meeee), because of course I go through a mental health slump just as this happens. Anyways, I am back now and hopefully will be posting daily recaps and reviews of the books I've read so far this year from today onwards.

Apart from this today is one of these minor crisis of I wanna doooo sooooo many things and there's no way I can do them all, which I guess isn't a bad thing. It's not like I am forced to do things. Plan for today includes finishing off a hypergraph diagram, riding, a workout session with hulk and obviously some time with little fudge. I would also like to read and paint and play video games and watch another witcher episode (if nothing else we have finally gotten round to that this past week). So I think it'll be read in any spare time bits I have during the day, probably limit playing to an hour and then paint for most of the evening until we watch witcher, then read some more before bed.