#but always here's more Fringilla content

[lambden]

i consistently forget to crosspost my flash fics (because theyre posted anonymously to ao3 so by the time they actually publish they've left my to-do list 😭) but this website is always lacking in yengilla so fuck it here we go! especially poignant for today as this fic contains a terrible hangover, which i currently have. thanks st patrick

originally posted on ao3 here! M (sexual content + nudity but no smut), 4075 words, yennefer/fringilla, modern AU with no content warnings

The entire drive back home, her shoulders shake. Her knees wobble as she storms up to the apartment, and her keys tremble violently in the lock as she tries to force them in at the wrong angle. When she manages to let herself in, she slams the door behind herself so loudly that the whole building seems to shake. The whole world feels unstable, and it’s all Fringilla can do not to shake apart at the seams and crumble into a big heap of clothes and dust.

She launches herself at the fridge, anticipating the remainder of a bottle of wine so as to drown her sorrows. Instead her gaze lands on the meal that she prepared last night. Because, of course, she’d cooked dinner in advance, because it’s Yennefer’s fucking birthday and she’s supposed to go fucking celebrate. How many things can one fuck-up of a person forget?

She dials Yennefer’s number before she even registers pulling out her cell phone. To her best friend’s credit, the line only rings once before Yen picks up. “Hey, Fringilla, what’s—”

“I can’t come out,” Fringilla blabbers. “I can’t— I’m so sorry, I just can’t make it, I— I really badly fucked up a school thing and I think I’m going to lose my scholarship and my uncle won’t pay my tuition and I, um, I know it’s your birthday, I’m really sorry, I will absolutely send you money so you can get drunk tonight but I need to figure something out or else… Or else I’ll…”

“Hang on,” Yen says, firm and steady. Her voice is like a drop in the roaring ocean of panic, but Fringilla still pauses. “Let me… it’s loud in here, alright? Give me a second.”

Even as upset as she is, Fringilla somehow musters up amusement at Yennefer and her ever-busy life. “Where are you?”

“Tissaia took me out for lunch.” It sounds more like she’s at a nightclub, or in the lemur exhibit of the zoo. Then a door shuts as Yennefer likely sequesters herself in the bathroom. Her voice takes on a different quality. “What do you need to figure out?”

Fringilla closes the fridge and miserably drags herself over to the couch. “It’s so stupid,” she whines. “Like, really fucking stupid. I messed up the dates for our final project, and I thought… okay. So, they had a model come to the school so we could sketch them and I missed the first date but there was a make-up session. And I thought the make-up session was today, but it turns out it was last week, and the deadline is today. And if I fail this class, I’m absolutely fucked.”

“So you need… what, a model?” Yen laughs. 

Fringilla closes her eyes tightly, blocking out the cruel sound. She only reconnected with Yennefer recently; after boarding school their paths grew apart and their rivalry had dwindled down to nothing. She’s been trying hard to make this friendship work, but she supposes that some of the old wounds are still sore. Or, at least, she’s extra sensitive right now because her life is falling the fuck apart.

Yen coaxes, bringing her back to reality, “Bring your sketchbook out tonight. There’ll be tons of models!”

“Won’t work,” says Fringilla, salty and embarrassed.

“Why not?”

“Because… it was a nude modelling session,” she mutters. “The model was naked.”

She half-expects Yennefer to suggest they go to the strip club, cavalier as anything, but the woman is uncharacteristically quiet. Fringilla can still hear white noise through the call— Yennefer’s heavy breaths, reduced to tinny audio— but otherwise it’s like the line has gone dead.

“Yen—”

“Why don’t you just watch some porn?” Her friend’s voice has taken on an entirely different tone now, one that Fringilla hasn’t heard since they fumbled around a few times. Her blood races even at the word ‘porn’, making her feel juvenile. “There are millions of naked photos online, Fringilla. You could probably even find nudes of the same model.”

“It won’t be the same,” she says, although that is a really good idea. She juggles her phone into her hands and puts the call on speaker, tapping in ‘Francesca Findabair naked photos’. The query returns only a few results, and none of them even look that much like pornography. With a jolt of humiliation, Fringilla realizes she has SafeSearch on. “I need… I need to look at them in person. I can draw from reference, but it’s never the same as seeing the real thing. But… ugh, I guess I can try.”

“That’s the spirit,” Yennefer says, still sounding a little thick. Without warning, she hangs up the call, leaving Fringilla staring at the screen and wondering if it dropped. But Yen doesn’t call her back, so maybe someone else just walked into the bathroom, or maybe Tissaia came to fetch her. After all, it is her birthday. Fringilla should probably bother something else with this.

Her eyes unfocus as she stares at Francesca Findabair’s website. All the photos are incredibly tasteful, and it looks like she does more photography and activism than modelling. The button labelled ‘Contact Me?’ is only one tap away, but Fringilla hesitates.

“I can’t,” she wails to her empty, unsympathetic living room. The dying plant in the corner offers no response. Fringilla swears, setting down her phone and going to heat up dinner. If she’s going to look up random naked people on the internet, she would rather not do it on an empty stomach.

Before she knows it, the microwave has beeped at least six times and she’s deep in a rabbit hole of ethical pornography consumption. Porn has never done much for Fringilla so she’s not sure where to begin to look; even the websites with user-posted content don’t say much about the users consenting to having their likenesses drawn. She looks up nude stock photos and clicks through about four dozen photographs of a lovely woman named Callonetta, but nothing strikes her interest the way a real person would. She considers, idly, using her own reflection— but given that she can’t even draw her own hand without getting frustrated, she thinks it might lead her down a dark path of self-deprecation.

In succession: the microwave beeps a seventh time. Fringilla declares, “Fuck this!” And the buzzer to her apartment rings.

Outside the door is Yennefer, who doesn’t give Fringilla even a millisecond to breathe before heading straight inside. Fringilla doesn’t shriek but it’s a near thing. There’s a dish in the sink from breakfast and her bed is unmade. She hasn’t swept the floors, or wiped the mirrors, and on her phone screen there is still a picture of a blonde naked woman holding a guitar.

Yennefer enters this mess without hesitation or apparent complaint, her gaze sweeping over most of the daily debris. She sees the phone, because of course she does, and she snatches it up, laughing again. Mean and beautiful, just like she was back at Aretuza. “Pretty. Is she your type?”

“No,” Fringilla almost screams, lunging for her phone. Yennefer hands it over easily, grinning as Fringilla swipes away the photos of Callonetta. The woman’s violet gaze is shrewd and too smart for Fringilla’s liking, and under her coat is an extremely tight black dress that looks like she might have been sewn into it. Her birthday dress. Fringilla screws up her face, shaking her head. “Yen, I can’t go out with you. I’m sorry!”

“I know,” huffs Yennefer. “I felt too sorry for you, darling, I couldn’t go out drinking without my favourite girl.” Fringilla’s face heats at that, and she steps away, pocketing her phone. “So I gave it some thought, and I came up with another solution.”

Since she was a child, Fringilla has been extraordinarily bad at accepting help. She understands the benefit of community, but as she was packaged up and sent off to a boarding school for exceptional children, and then failed to make any lasting friendships there, she began to discover that most things really do just work better when you tackle them yourself. She bites her lip now, beginning the motion of shaking her head, psyching herself up for the inevitable fight this will turn into. But the awful, frustrating truth is that she doesn’t want Yennefer to help her, not when Yennefer’s career has gone so perfectly and Fringilla has fought tooth and nail every step of the way. This isn’t her final assignment but it’s important, and she fucked up and she knows it but she still thinks she can handle it herself.

Then Yennefer offers her solution, and Fringilla’s petty irritation evaporates in a heartbeat.

“Yen,” she begins, shakily, as Yennefer takes off her coat. The dress is next; she pulls it up to reveal dark, but not opaque tights stretched over her hips. Under the tights are underwear, under the bust of the dress is nothing. Her breasts spill out easily. Fringilla has, of course, seen her own bare chest in the mirror countless times, but it’s wholly different to see someone else. Her voice softer, more fragile, Fringilla breaks: “Yennefer—”

“Oh, stop it.” Yen actually tsks. Fuck, she’s infuriating. “You need a model, right? So draw me. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

That much is true. Fringilla still hesitates, even as her mind replays the memories of what they had shared together. She hasn’t seen the other woman like this since the night before they graduated. Somehow, she looks better than ever.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” bitches Yen. “Fine. Fine! I’ll just strip down right here, shall I?”

And Yennefer kicks off her heels, and as Fringilla tries very hard to come up with some kind of coherent protest, the tights come off too. They roll down in one smooth motion, pulling Yennefer’s underwear along with them. Her thighs are bare but other than that she’s unshaved; Fringilla is drawn to the sight like a magnet to the earth’s pole. She stares, helplessly, at the thick mess of curls above Yennefer’s cunt.

The microwave beeps.

Fringilla lets out a squeak, and hurries to open and then slam the microwave door shut. When she turns around, mortified, Yennefer is watching her with deep, mean amusement. Her legs are slightly spread, and her hands are on her hips like she knows exactly what she’s doing. She steps away from her pile of clothes, over to Fringilla’s sparsely decorated living room. She starts to descend onto the couch, and all Fringilla can think about over the furious pounding of her heart is that if Yennefer sits on the couch with her bare pussy, Fringilla will never, ever be able to sit there again without getting insanely fucking horny.

She cries, “Wait!” Yennefer straightens up, and looks over— her small breasts bounce with the movement. Fringilla rounds the couch. “Wait, you…”

Yennefer, for the first time in years, seems timid. She doesn’t cover up but something in her posture changes, making her look like she once had, before Aretuza.

“Not on the couch,” Fringilla demands. “This isn’t Titanic, for fuck’s sake. Get… get on the ottoman.”

Yen glances over at the small ottoman, then shoots her an incredulous look. Fringilla huffs, pulling the footstool over so that she has space to sit on it— and carefully not ogling her in the process.

Yennefer sits, stiffly but not properly, her ankles crossed and her thighs and calves pressed tightly together. Like this, it looks like she could be bathing. Not salacious, aside from the nudity, but not vulnerable either.

“Not— okay, it’s… that’s fine, but I’d like it better like this,” Fringilla tries, sitting down on the couch across from Yennefer. She pulls up her feet onto the sofa, plastering her thighs to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees. Yennefer, slowly but surely, does the same; she lowers her head to tuck her chin out of sight until only her eyes and nose peek out from above her arms, and Fringilla nods fervently. “Yes, that’s perfect. Can you hold that?”

“Yes,” grumbles Yennefer. “You’re missing all the good parts, though.”

“Well…” Fringilla clears her throat. When did her apartment get so fucking hot? “... Not really.”

Her gaze dips down to steal a glance between Yennefer’s parted ankles, where her gorgeous cunt is hidden in shadow. Fringilla swallows a dry mouthful of air, and when she looks back up to meet Yennefer’s gaze, she sees those violet eyes focused right on her.

“I had better grab my sketchbook,” she stutters, unfolding her body. Yennefer doesn’t move a muscle. “Just… hold it right there.”

-

This isn’t how she had expected to celebrate her birthday.

Fringilla hasn’t moved since she sat down with her sketchbook, except to occasionally shift back and forth on the couch. The sleeves of her college-branded sweater are rolled up to her elbows, and she keeps biting her lip and sticking her tongue out in concentration as her focus dances between her artwork and her model. Yennefer watches her just as closely, taking in the wispy baby hairs above her ears, the lines of her neck, the set of her shoulders. 

When she had known Fringilla, they were just girls— teenagers who fooled around and broke into Tissaia’s secret herb storage, but girls nonetheless. Fringilla is a woman now, and as much as Yennefer has been enjoying rekindling their friendship, she has to admit that she doesn’t really know the woman before her at all. Fringilla’s face might have stayed beautifully smooth and free of wrinkles but her eyes are deep and wise, and there’s a measured sadness in her smile.

Yennefer doesn’t know much about what happened after they stopped talking. She knows Fringilla graduated with honours from university and now is in grad school, pursuing art for some fucking reason. It brings Yen no small amount of joy to imagine how much the art degree must piss off Fringilla’s stuffy old uncle. The joy is only slightly tempered by the knowledge that Fringilla never wanted to go into art— unlike all the other bleeding hearts at Aretuza, Fringilla had been a stickler for the rules. She wanted nothing more than for her life to follow a strict and rigid trajectory— the same trajectory that Yennefer has found herself on. It would be amusingly ironic if it wasn’t so depressing.

Fringilla bites her lip again, this time as she stares between Yennefer’s legs. Her soft lead pencil swirls and swirls, scratching the paper rhythmically, and Yennefer realizes Fringilla must be drawing her pubes. Again, that should be funnier than it really is. Her cunt pulses; she’s been wet for at least the last hour, but somehow the idea of Fringilla carefully drawing each hair is enough to send another rush of arousal through her.

Well, truth be told, she’s been wet since back at the restaurant, when she’d called Fringilla from the bathroom and heard her say ‘nude’ in that stupid, stuck-up, prim and proper voice.

Yennefer rolls her neck around, just once— it isn’t even a full rotation, but Fringilla’s eyes snap up to meet hers. Fury courses through her expression, with remorse hot on its heels. “If you need a break, tell me,” she says harshly.

“I’m fine,” mutters Yennefer, burrowing down behind her folded arms again.

“Thanks again for doing this,” Fringilla says, distracted. It’s actually the first time that she’s thanked her, but Yen isn’t going to get pedantic. She’s distracted too— trying to keep her muscles all still is a workout of its own, especially when Fringilla is staring so closely at the outline of her calves and her breasts pressed up against her knees and her bare ankles. This would work a lot better if Fringilla had just tied her down. Still sounding absent, the other woman offers, “I can get you a drink if you’d like?”

“This would have worked better if you’d just tied me down.” Damn her stupid, stupid, impulsive brain. Fringilla’s eyes flash but she doesn’t rise to Yennefer’s offer or chide her for making jokes, just nodding before returning to the sketch. Somehow the lack of a reaction is more annoying than chastising would have been. “We can get drinks after.”

“Right,” Fringilla mutters. “I’ve never pregamed like this before.”

That knocks a surprised laugh out of Yennefer; her pulse quickens as Fringilla’s eyes dip down between her legs when she laughs. Is she moving there? Is it visible? Experimentally, she tightens and then relaxes her cunt. 

If Fringilla can see a difference, she doesn’t let it show on her face. “I hope I’m not making everyone wait tonight. I really do appreciate your help with this.”

“It’s fine. We weren’t going out until later anyway, right?”

“Right.” Fringilla clears her throat. “Did you invite anyone special?”

Rather than pointing out that she’s spending her afternoon sitting naked in a special someone’s tiny apartment so that they can draw her naked, Yennefer changes the subject: “Do you remember that one time we snuck out to that bar down by Tor Lara?”

Fringilla smiles, and it is radiant. “Yeah. We were all counting on Triss’ ID to get us in, even though none of us looked like her at all.”

“Yes! And poor Triss only wanted to order fries, but we told the bartender it was her birthday and he brought over those godawful shots—”

“Oh, those were terrible—”

“And do you remember Glacella dancing?”

“I remember having to carry her out,” deadpans Fringilla. “Although, granted, she wasn’t as bad as Sabrina! Remember how she threw up in the bathroom?”

“’Course. I remember her throwing up all over one of the Tor Lara boys’ pricks!”

“That is not true,” Fringilla actually gasps. Yennefer laughs; she can’t help it. “None of us were cool enough at Aretuza to actually hook up with anyone.”

“Well,” drawls Yen. “That’s not accurate. We were pretty cool.”

“We were the lamest of all,” laments Fringilla. Despite her whining, she’s obviously embarrassed and pleased by the memory— Yen watches her blush and hide a smile. “We had no idea what we were in for.”

Rather than properly acknowledge that sobering thought, Yennefer cranes her neck to try to sneak a glance at the drawing. Fringilla angles the sketchbook away, and she sighs. “C’mon, I can’t even take a peek?”

“Alright,” Fringilla relents. With obvious hesitation, she turns it around to reveal her work. Yennefer’s anticipation dies in her throat as she stares blankly at the figure on the page.

It’s her, but it isn’t— it’s her as she was, back in high school. Sure, her posture looks the same as it does now, and her jaw is even and symmetrical, but Fringilla has captured none of her adult beauty and all of her inner vulnerability. Curled around herself like this, she looks defensive.

“You’re going to get a great grade,” Yennefer says, the words ashen on her tongue. I hate it. “Is that really how you see me?”

“No,” Fringilla says quickly. “I… I wanted to capture… I wanted to put you in a different light.” Her face twists horribly. “You don’t like it?”

I fucking hate it. “It makes me… I look so sad,” Yennefer says. “So, I suppose it’s very good art. But I can’t help but wish that you saw me, um…”

“I could draw a pin-up,” offers Fringilla. “Really, it might even be better— this is only a first draft!” Her gaze flicks to her watch. They almost certainly don’t have time.

“Fringilla,” Yennefer says, heavy and steady. She lies through her teeth, “I think you nailed it.”

-

Never in her life has Fringilla been this hungover. She practically crawls to the kitchen to grab herself water, noting with distaste the leftover dishes from yesterday and the clothes strewn about her apartment from last night. It’s a wonder she had the good sense to pull on pyjamas, let alone that she’d made it safely into her own bed.

She doesn’t regret it, although right now the pounding ache in her head begs to differ. It had been fun to meet Yennefer’s new friends, and reconnect with their mutual ones— and they were drinking not only to celebrate Yennefer’s birthday, but to celebrate Fringilla not failing her class. She had scanned and sent in the drawing of Yennefer yesterday with a signed consent form they’d drawn up together, and although she hasn’t checked her email she’s sure that her professor will find it as inspiring as she does.

The thought of Yennefer’s disappointed face flashes across her mind. Then another roiling wave of nausea crashes through her whole body, and Fringilla clings to the edge of the sink, sighing. She literally does not have the capacity to think about Yennefer’s reaction to her nude drawing right now. It’s all she can do to not die of embarrassment thinking about how drunk she’d been last night.

She would love to blame it all on Sabrina, since the blonde had been overly generous and eager to get everyone on her level, but… by the end of the night, Fringilla had been the one begging to make future plans with the others after consuming enough drinks to lose count.

Her doorbell buzzes, and the noise is agonising. Fringilla croaks to the mystery visitor, “Absolutely fucking not.” They can come back later, when she’s a human person and not a stack of bad decisions in a sweaty, smelly sack of skin.

The buzzer rings again. “Fucking fuck.”

Standing outside her door is, impossibly, again, Yennefer. Fringilla doesn’t fully open the door this time, too busy calculating the math in her head. They had been out drinking until three in the morning, and she hadn’t even been the last to leave. According to her traitorous watch, it is eight in the fucking morning. That leaves exactly five hours for Yennefer to make herself beautiful again, which somehow she has, and force herself upright, and, for some fucking reason, return here.

Yennefer pushes past her without saying a word. She’s wearing the same heels as last night, and the same coat— her tights are missing, but she’s otherwise flawless. Fringilla’s head swims, and she groans, “Is this going to be a regular occurrence?”

“I just think you could do better.”

“Better?” Fringilla stares, rubbing her temples. She feels like she’s doing pretty fucking great, all things considered— there are no large puke stains on her PJs, so she’ll call this a win. “Better than what?”

Yennefer pushes the door shut beside them, and unbuckles her coat. She removes it, carefully moving to hang it on the coat rack— Fringilla’s coat should be hung up there too, except she must have thrown it somewhere else last night when she stumbled home. She would take a look for it right now, except she’s got more pressing concerns. Like all the air seems to have left the room, and her heart is going a mile a minute. And Yennefer is completely naked under her coat.

“I,” Fringilla begins. Her gaze dips down to Yennefer’s clean, bare breasts. She catches a whiff of the woman’s signature perfume, and she loses her next thought.

Yennefer, unaffected and unbothered, walks over to the ottoman that she had posed on so diligently last night. She doesn’t say a word, just haughtily staring down her nose at Fringilla from across the apartment— so maybe unbothered isn’t exactly true. She sits, folding her ankles primly.

“Yennefer,” begs Fringilla thickly. “I am so hungover.”

“Show me how you see me,” demands Yen.

“What the fuck,” she mutters, and then, when Yennefer doesn’t move at all, her small breasts heaving indignantly as she waits for Fringilla to join her; “fine, fine, you insane woman, fuck. Fine!”

Her sketchbook is right where she left it, and her pencils are still on the table. Fringilla pads over to sit on the couch in the very same spot, and flips to a new page. Yesterday, Yennefer had been static, dignified— a perfect model. Now her shoulders rise and fall, as though she’s nervous to be portrayed. There’s even a slight affect to her voice: “How do you want me?” If she was anyone else, Fringilla would accuse her of being worried.

She takes a deep breath, setting the sketchbook down on the couch beside her. Fringilla reaches up and begins to unbutton her pyjamas, grumbling, “It’ll be easier if I just show you.”

[bamf-jaskier]

The “Oh No I forgot all of Fringilla’s scenes in season 1″ Post

this post may or may not contain opinions 

Episode 2: Four Marks. 

We first see her during Yennefer's first lesson in the Greenhouse and when Tissaia is listing the ways the girls had their conduit moment, she says "Fringilla froze a cat" to which Fringilla quickly responds in an apologetic voice "On accident" (I think this is an interesting parallel to Sabrina who smirked when Tissaia said she turned her mother fat). Then Fringilla is the first one to get the incantation right in order to lift the rock but because Tissaia did not tell them they needed to use the flower's energy her hand withers and she is in immense pain. 

She is punished for being the best at channeling chaos and Tissaia purposefully did not tell her students what to do  so she could "teach them a lesson". Fringilla is in pain and Tissaia sits there refusing to help her and continues the lecture. Then during the Catch Lightening in a Bottle scene, Fringilla is the one to note that Doralis was still breathing after she failed to catch lightening in a bottle and Fringilla and Sabrina were the only ones who were able to catch lightening in a bottle. 

Episode 3: Betrayer Moon 

We see Fringilla during the ascension where she tells Istredd that Yennefer wasn't chosen for Aedirn but Nilfgaard. Then at the ball, Virfuril treats Fringilla like shit, refusing to dance with her and then condescending her in front of Tissaia by saying "An Aedirnian would surely have had better footing". Then when the King leaves to dance with Yennefer holy shit watch the scene again because Fringilla looks fucking TERRIFIED. 

Tissaia puts a hand on her arm and her uncle comes up next to her because Fringilla knows this means she is going to Nilfgaard. Remember, Yennefer said to Istredd "Can your apology save me from Nilfgaard" and the king there was known to horribly mistreat his female mages and now Fringilla is being sent there when she was one of the most promising students of her year. 

Episode 4: Of Banquets, Bastards and Burials 

We see Fringilla at the very end of the episode after Cintra has fallen. Fringilla has another mage eat Calanthe's skin and then guts him and divines from his intestines the location of Ciri. She is acting like a different person now, she is cold and quick in her words, there are no shy glances or soft phrases now. 

Episode 5: Bottled Appetites 

 We see Fringilla leading Nilfgaard to interrogate Mousesack. This is when Fringilla talks about how the White Flame made her who she is.

Episode 6: Rare Species 

Fringilla cleans Cahir's wounds after he slaughtered the village trying to find the doppler. This is where she tells Cahir "You rose up against the usurper, helped free our people from our chains". She basically hypes him up to keep hunting for Ciri. 

Episode 7: Before a Fall 

 This is the iconic mage council meeting. She gives a fun little propaganda post and pushes back against Tissaia's whole "you have rejected our way of life" schtick and also ignore's Triss' whole comments about Forbidden magic. This is fun cinematography because it's cut with scenes of Nilfgaardians slaughtering Cintrans. 

Fun thing to note: Yennefer actually sides with Fringilla and says to "burn it all down" until Tissaia begs Yennefer and convinces her to go to Sodden. 

Episode 8: Much More 

Fringilla tells a Nilfgaardian commander and Cahir that mages are fortifying the keep at Sodden and that they will fight them saying "I will personally deplete them until they are empty and powerless". 

Fringilla tells Cahir that that Cirilla is across the Yaruga and this emboldens Cahir to go to fight the mages once again in search of Ciri. Only Fringilla and Cahir seem to be in on the whole "find Ciri" thing as the Nilfgaardian general seems to just want to take over the continent. 

Then, during the seige Nilfgaardian mages are making life force bombs?? where they suck out their own life then catapult it into the shields around Sodden. Fringilla seems to be coordinating this. 

She is then able to break open the gates of Sodden from a distance with her mind ALONE so she is very powerful. She does some fighting and battles it at with Tissaia who briefly tries to convince Fringilla to "come back" and then Fringilla throws some Dimeritium at Tissaia and leaves her to rot.

[macgyvertape]

Netflix Witcher s2 thoughts

obvious show spoilers but warning for some book spoilers too

It's weird as a Witcher fan who played the first game, then read all the books waiting for game 2 to release, how there’s now a huge fandom. The fandom really grew after game 3 but this is a whole new level

Was thinking watching this, somewhat surprising to me that I’m not interested in most show fanworks despite there now being so many works in the fandom. Often it’s so different from the characterizations I’m used to, and sometimes those works are “popular fandom characterization you disagree with”

Overall I didn’t like s2; just like WoT, I think a person’s relationship with the original books will heavily effect their opinion vs a show only watcher.

The bruxae was done well, i can’t wait to see how they do Regis, like beautiful mix of makeup, camera work, and CGI

I really like how they adapted the short story to ep 1 and kept the themes and the emotional gut punches, while changing it to work for the show. I think one of the best changes was Geralt walking away after learning of the rape, and the obvious condemnation by the show for his actions at the temple and allowing a Bruxae to prey on the villages

Vesemir looks like a Vesemir, good casting there. Also wow a lot more witchers here than in the book. I think the adaptation of having a bunch more witchers than the book’s 3 wolf school ones plus Coen, gives it such a different tone especially with the Eskel and the prostitutes plotline in the supposed to be hidden Kaer Morhen.

THEY KILLED ESKEL?!?!? (didn’t like it) This was the point where I started looking to see what other book readers were thinking

Best opinion i’ve seeing is: wish the show was in a place where they could use dialogue to build tension and not have to have Geralt fight a tree monster since its been 30 minutes since the last fight

The costuming on the show is always wild, like Yennifer having the most modern dress compared to the long sleeve ones in the pool reunion scene. Words I’m looking for are THEMATICALLY INCONSISTENT. Seriously the way that Yennifer gets more modern looking gowns, then look at someone like Dijkstra, the visual style is just so confusing 

I think its funny how they completely changed the Nilfgard armor from s1 ballsack to something that looks good, and just don’t even mention it in the show

 Like how they're handling Triss’s scar and body consciousness, I really liked her this whole season

I don’t know why they added in this yennifer losing her magic plotline other than the books didn’t have her doing much during this time, since she was blinded. I didn’t think it was a good plotline, wish they hadn’t done it, and it was thinking this in ep4

Damn they finally gave Dandelion a hat and tried to age him up, with all the other changes I get why they changed his plot and reunion with Yennifer, glad she still got to have rescue him at some point

Damn Dijkstra’s ripped and I think its hilarious that its portrayed he’s ranting at a random owl and not Philippa Eilhart (i hope for show only fans it is a fun reveal at the end)

Glad they kept Triss calling out the Witcher’s speech about Ciri’s health from BoE

Geralt and Istredd interacting in completely different circumstances, but enjoyable none the less

There was a post about how s1 show is going to make Cahir’s later redemption be harder and s2 is doubling down on that

HOLY SHIT, the Fringilla freezing people then murdering them was absolutely brutal. It started with the eye trauma like W3 Hearts of Stone then just got so much more intense. JFC

Yennifer going to sacrifice Ciri, don’t like this plot change

just realized Shani never showed up :(

This whole show only Monolith plot with the demon in the woods, it really felt like filler since they spent so much time on that instead of book content. I think the Deathless Mother plot was way worse than the book plot, a magical big bad was written rather than have a lot of character interaction and politicking 

Had to rewind it a second time:  all these show only Witchers which changes the dynamic of the found family of Kaer Morhen, and they invented a Deathless Mother plot just to have Ciri kill them off in a “oh no she’s dangerous and look how bad the big bad is” moment.  Seriously this plotline makes me not enjoy s2

Like when Ciri started summoning creatures I just emotionally checked out from the show, since it felt like the showrunners decided there NEEDED to be a big climatic battle at the end of the season and worked back from there (I know im being salty here)

The show had a LOT less of Blood of Elves in it than I was expecting, and lot of the elf and mage political plot was changed so much its hard for me to guess how the adaptation will go in s3. Its gonna be so long till we get to the hansa :(

Its really late arrival spoilers that Emhyr is Ciri’s father, but if the show is being so open about it then hopefully they’ll not do the incest plot of the books that W3 game quietly dropped (for the better imo). Reading the books I was like; guess I’ll hate Emhyr forever

[ohnomybreadsticks]

Bready my crusty beauty, tell us about your blorbo and the like from The Witcher!

I don't think I've ever been called 'crusty' in a positive sense before Anon, this made me snort 😂 Thank you for the ask though, this was fun!! Spoilers for season 2 below, if you somehow haven't watched it yet.

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most)

See the problem with this is that my blorbo changes all the time...when I started watching it was probably Jaskier, but now it's most likely one of the witchers. Lambert and Eskel are most likely to be on the brain lately, so I'd give them dual blorbo-ship lmao

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped)

Triss my beloved, you deserve so much better 😭 I need to give her one hundred hugs, PRONTO. Even with that horrible new wig they forced on her I just think she's so pretty, and I really felt for her all season

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave)

I have a hard time gauging under-appreciation because I'm not suuuuper active in fandom spaces, but I am always craving more Fringilla content!! She's so fucking cool and every time I see a piece of art for her I go 😍😍 I was up out of my seat cheering at her scene in season 2 with the knife, it was so satisfying to see her asserting her power like that!

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week)

idk if she's super super obscure, but every time Lydia was on screen I was absolutely loving it. What kind of idiot decides to snort mystery blood potion??? Completely wild lady, love her total lack of braincells and zombie face.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave)

Oh this has got to be Cahir, right? I just love a good villain, and season 2 really DELIVERED in terms of good good Cahir content!! That scraggly hunted beard look really got me...

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason)

I do love me some good Lambert angst, I can't lie!! He's just so soft and squishy under that grumpy exterior, and it's so satisfying to get under his skin and make him angst

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell)

I really didn't think Stregobor would keep on being a problem and yet here we are!!! Like my god every time he's on screen I want to drop kick him into next year

[deidrefromthenorth]

Hey sweetie,

let me go back for a moment, Rience stubbed his toe, then he held his toe, standing, Cahir comes in, the door hits Rience and he falls to the ground....

please continue the story 😂

Fanfic: Cahir x Rience (The Witcher TV Series)

Warning: explicit content.

Male sex, violence, obscene language.

Rience falls on his face and from the ground looks at Cahir enraged.

Be more careful, Nilfgaardian - he said between clenched teeth.

Cahir couldn't help showing an amused smile on his lips. He holds out his hand to Rience to help him up. - What are you doing lying on the floor, taking a nap?

Rience glares at him, but he accepts his help and soon he's on his feet again. On his beautiful face there still remains an expression of pain due to the blow to his toe.

Nice dress, Nilfgaardian, - he growls as he limps toward a chair.

It's a gown, idiot. - Cahir rolled his eyes. He took a few steps as he surveyed everything around him with a questioning gaze. He crossed his arms and his imposing figure looked even more imposing in the middle of that small room of the inn.

Well, it seems as if this morning you didn't have anything to wear and you raided your mother's closet - Rience raised an eyebrow while a poorly concealed smile of mockery surfaced on his lips. - What happened to your headdress? You will be spectacular at the ball tonight... You will have many suitors.

And that's what someone who lacks any sense of style tells me – Cahir said as he watched Rience cross his slender legs and take off his boots to examine his right toe. – You look horrible, sorcerer.

The mage stared at him with a smile in his face as he removed his other boot and set it aside next to the other. Cahir was always struck by the fact that, with such a disheveled appearance, he had always been a very orderly person when it came to his things. Rience remained seated in the chair, leaning against the back where he had one arm resting on it. The other rested on one of his outstretched legs in a totally relaxed posture. Cahir crossed his arms in front of him, piercing him with a look. He waited.

How did you know I was here? Rience finally asked.

Cahir smiled to himself. "I have noticed it in my balls", he thought. Finally that asshole gave up. It was not easy to talk to him, he always wanted to be the one in charge of the conversation. He was beginning to think that it was something natural to him, that he couldn't help it, but it drove him crazy.

Nothing that happens in this city escapes me. – Cahir replied with a smug smile on his face. – Even when a sewer rat like you sneaks in. I repeat, what are you doing here? Do you miss prison? Have you come to visit an old lovergirl?

Rience choked a laugh in his throat as he looked at him with bright eyes.

Can't I just come visit a friend? Go out for a few beers and then we could both take a girl to bed together. - Rience answered mischievously.

Cahir breathed trying not to get carried away by anger.

For the last time, what the hell are you doing here? - He had raised the tone of his voice.

My business is mine alone, Nilfgaardian – he answered softly as he directed his gaze to his right hand, watching it closely, absorbed, as he moved his fingers and rubbed them against his thumb.

All is my business - Cahir raised his tone as he rested his hands on the belt that adjusted his long black velvet tunic, richly embroidered with gold thread. – I have the whole city well garrisoned with my soldiers and the elves have joined our cause.

I know – answered Rience laconically without taking his eyes off his fingers.

Cahir clenched his jaw. He was already starting over. Rience being Rience.

Fringilla has accumulated a lot of power - he growled as he moved towards the small window with dirty glass that overlooked the street. He looked at a small group of elves gathered in the little square in front and narrowed his eyes. – We may have all the Northern Kingdoms against us, but she is getting stronger.

I know - Rience continued with a bored tone. He snapped his fingers and lit the flame on his index finger. He then extinguished it by rubbing his fingers together.

The White Flame – Cahir continued with a deep voice. - Is here.

Rience looked up and his eyes met the knight's.

I know - said the sorcerer. His soft voice turned to ice, as did the blue of his gaze.

Cahir took two long strides toward where he was sitting. He grabbed him with a fist of his shirt and lifted him from the chair, pulling him hard, lifting him off his feet until his face was in front of his.

I warn you. Don't you dare… – Cahir said with a deep growl.

Rience struggled to get him to let go until he succeeded and the two began to engage in a shoving and punching fight.

You are a fucking asshole. – Cahir gave him a push to get him off of him. - Get out of here!

It's my fucking business! – Rience answered angrily as he wiped his bloody lip with the back of his hand.

You have nothing to do here! – Cahir grabbed him again by the shirt and pulled him towards himself. He rested his forehead against his. He panted heavily until his voice cracked, - Rience…please, get out of here.

The mage stood still. He closed his eyes as he gripped Cahir's robe with both fists. His breathing was ragged and his heart pounded hard inside his chest. He felt the knight's breath on his mouth and the brush of his nose. Both men joined their lips in a desperate kiss. Rience introduced his hands inside Cahir's gown, caressing his chest. For his part, when they both broke the kiss, Cahir removed Rience's shirt off, tossing it far into a corner, and then proceeded to unbutton his pants. Meanwhile, Rience had already took off Cahir's gown and was busy getting rid of his underwear

I thought you'd be wearing cambric knickers under your dress, - the wizard purred as he slid his underwear down.

Would you have liked that? – asked Cahir while he pressed his hips against his, rubbing his hard members, bumping into each other.

Rience laughed but said nothing. He just kissed him as they melted into an intimate embrace.

I know what you pretends - said the sorcerer with a voice strangled by desire.

Yes, you know very well I'm going to fuck you until you cum for me - moaned the knight leaning over him and shutting him up with a hungry kiss. Rience said nothing more.

He dragged him with himself to the narrow bed where they both lay down next to each other close together. Cahir felt with his fingers on top of the small shelving next to the bed. His fingers found a small glass vial containing the scented shaving oil that Rience liked to use.

Turn around - Cahir's voice sounded harsh, like a growl. - I can not wait much more.

Rience obeyed while he watched as he smeared his fingers in the thick amber liquid. He relaxed and let himself go. Enjoying first his fingers and then his member when it took the place that those had left. They both cummed almost at the same time, in an intense orgasm that left them both exhausted and satisfied.

They lay down on the bed, accommodating their bodies to the little space. Cahir placed himself between the wall and Rience's slim body, very close to him. He put a hand on his chest, absently stroking the hair of his chest.

You have to leave as soon as possible - Cahir said with a sigh.

I just got here – answered Rience – and now you want to kick me out of your side.

Rience… - began Cahir.

I know what you want - the sorcerer interrupted him. – You're going to fuck the White Flame.

Cair raised an eyebrow. How the hell did that fucking sewer rat know that? Not even Fringilla really knew his true plans. He had been very careful not to hide them from the sorceress.

I've come to help you fuck him up really well – answered Rience.

Cahir didn't say anything, just took hold of his sharp chin and turned his face towards him to kiss him softly on the lips.

"My little sewer rat, I love you." he thought.

End.

I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. Thank you for reading!

[gayregis]

Yes!! Let's talk ab Phillippa! She used to be my favourite sorceress when i read the books for the 1st time (mostly bc my teenage self didn't know a lot of wlw rep oof). She obv suffers somewhat from written-by-a-cishet-dude syndrome, but i like her villainy the most from the saga. I like her contrast with Yen (they are both considered talented but bitchy cold-hearted etc but Yen cares about her family and that influences her and the way she achieves her goals while Phil is the end justifies the means type) and with Vilgefortz (they want same thing from Ciri but Phil thinks she wants it for less selfishness more greater good type of reasons (still not valid) while Vilgefortz is open about doing this for himself. Also she's the evil mastermind Vilgefortz wishes he was! He's just evil, sitting in his evil castle sending around goddamn Rince out of all people, getting results more by luck than judgment...). She's Magnificent Bastard and i really hope they wont ruin her in twn by shrinking down her role or by making her SuperEvil like they did Fringilla 😔 she's cunning and power-hungry enough on her own, no need to add extra layer of immorality bc someone could forget she's a villain here. 🦇 (sorry it's 3am here and i... also want more Philippa content that's something more than people calling her a c*nt)

this ask is SO blessed i started happy stimming gfgsdfksj

yes!!!!!!!!!!! philippa to me is a really interesting character (even though she suffers from being written by a man as all the female characters in the witcher do) but she as a villain is severely overlooked. and she’s only ever addressed by the fandom in the manner that she is either a neutral character or a protagonist, which annoys me a lot, perhaps more than i tend to show, because as you said she’s really the mastermind vilgefortz fucking wishes he was. 

i love how competent the lodge seems to be, they hold meetings and discuss complicated lineage and have a whole plan marked out with spies (fringilla) and international participation. of course, things go haywire in the end, because philippa and the other sorceresses are unwilling to admit that sometimes there are things in life one is not able to exert control over, that nature is just too random to rule over, because to them, that would be a defeatist’s perspective... but they had a plan, at least, they were organized and led in a semi-democratic manner with of course philippa leading, but holding meetings in which everyone was allowed to voice their opinion and argue. it’s so much more fleshed out than vilgefortz, who was just evil for power but really vague about it and seemed to just be that kind of over-the-top tropey villain. 

i think your comparison with her to yennefer is spot-on, they both are painted as power hungry and selfish... i love that philippa is hungry for power and ambitious in politics, and yennefer doesn’t really care about politics and has always just done her own thing. their contrast also comes in what you describe, why they feel that their goals are justified. the montecalvo scene grew on me a lot especially after i listened to the audiobook version of it, because it really portrays philippa and yennefer as opposing forces. 

i guess some might take issue with the fact that philippa is gay because she’s evil in the series, especially because her whole deal is that she is willing to sacrifice the life (freedom) of a child (ciri) for political stability, as opposed to yennefer, who wants to protect her child (and husband), so it might be seen as “lesbians want to destroy the sanctity of marriage and hate children!” ... but i don’t think this was the message, to me i don’t think representation mattered sort of at all to sapkowski, so i personally don’t think of philippa as representing lesbians as a whole, i think she is just gay and that’s a coincidence. she’s not meant to be good representation anyways so it’s not a big deal to me.

and on that note, philippa as a villain was a really nice statement to me ... i mean, because usually i feel that it is the guys being evil. and there are of course the male villains of vilgefortz, bonhart, rience, emhyr, the aen elle if elves have gender, etc. etc, but philippa is a special case because she’s competent and also as a character she isn’t bogged down by “feminine issues” in her evil ... such as that one might expect a woman to be more empathetic towards a child, etc. i think it was actually kind of humanizing because it demonstrates that anyone has the ability to commit evil actions.

but in the fandom the content i see for her is either just ship (nothing horribly wrong with it, just that it’s bland and doesn’t take her character and character motivations into account at all) or fluff which outright ignores her character traits and placement within the narrative and relationships to other characters. i suppose this is somewhat the fault of tw3 for declawing her so to speak, but it’s really annoying because it’s pretty much the only philippa content that exists. like, where is the appreciation of her as a villain, a really good and smart one at that? 

and yeah, for twn, i don’t think they even casted her yet, even though they’re doing blood of elves, where she makes her character debut... yet they casted for fringilla and francesca, so i have no idea what’s going on. i think they might be replacing her with someone else (tissaia? or that new violet OC they have? or vanessa-marie OC? idk). so as always i have little faith in them but i’m sure they’ll find a way to butcher her character somehow ... 

it’s just that philippa is such a specific and kind of nuanced character, she’s really not basic in any kind of way unlike the other villains of the series kind of are. and it’s interesting to me but no one ever seems to approach her with this intent to analyze her, they only care about her appearance, romantic potential, or the fact that she got her eyes cut out in tw2 or killed radovid in tw3. 

like ok, but can we first talk about how she basically ruled redania by controlling the puppet king vizimir (even though she would never admit it and told tissaia she was lying when she called her out on it (iirc))? that’s kind of insane and demonstrates the political power mages can have in this fictional setting. and that statement tissaia makes to her in time of contempt, that she was once so proud of her as a student, but now she has nothing but contempt for her... i want to see that explored. philippa is kind of a takedown of the #girlboss trope as well and i like that

[strawberry-skies-xx]

forget the bottle

C H A P T E R    O N E

summary: Jaskier has always felt things on a deeper level than most, and more often, and he has gone through life this way. He has coping mechanisms, of course - drinking, talking, singing, etc. He can't be overwhelmed by his emotions all the time, after all.

After the mountain, Jaskier's coping mechanism is drinking. Turns out, there's something in it, and Nilfgaard knows exactly how to break the songbird.

words: 17097

tags: geralt / jaskier, yennefer, PTSD, post-s1e6, s1e6 fix-it, a fix-it of sorts, pyschological trauma, psychological torture, magical fuckery, mind manipulation, aftermath of psychological torture, emotional/psychological abuse, torture, nilfgaard, captured by nilfgaard, fringilla, fluff and angst, protective yennefer, yennefer ships it, idiots in love, love confessions, happy ending, solitary confinement

author’s note: alright, so here is the zillionth captured-by-nilfgaard fic in this fandom. and, yes, whenever i mention valdo marx + jaskier hate-fucking, i am passive-aggressively yelling at the fandom for not having more of it. it has massive potential, but i don't write smut. (aka, please link me to any amazing top/dom valdo and bottom/sub jaskier hate-fucking, i love it)

scheduled tuesday and thursday posting.

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

-0-0-0-

Jaskier felt too much.

He’d always felt too much. He spent his younger years raging at his parents, raging at the world, though he didn’t know what he was raging at, only that he wanted to get away, be free.

And when he was old enough, he went to Oxenfurt and learned - learned academics, learned the arts, and he flashed through emotions quicker than he did love. The world was new, the world was bright and big and bold and Jaskier wanted nothing more than to carve himself a place in it.

And he did. He went to an inn in Posada and met a white-haired Witcher, and he learned some more. Learned of the darker emotions - not just anger, but revenge, and not just sadness, but despair, oppression. The world was new, still, the world wasn’t quite bright anymore but it was big and bold and Jaskier still wanted to carve himself a place in it, by way of one grumpy, golden-eyed, white-haired Witcher.

So Jaskier went through the world, and he felt. He felt pain lance through him, sharp as any blade - pain of heartbreak, pain of rejection, pain of actual physical wounds. He felt happiness, like warm honey falling gently over him - contentment when he sat by the fire with Geralt and sang into the shadows, joy when he roused an entire tavern into singing and stamping with him and he danced between them all, singing his heart out to the world.

He also felt love, in a more permanent sense than he’d ever felt it. Love was…. a peculiar sensation for him. He fell into love hard, and fast, and deep - both literally and metaphorically; Jaskier did enjoy the finer things in life, and he wasn’t above flirting and taking everyone he met to bed, sometimes at the same time. He adored people, like soft warmth rising in him. Lust was sharp and primal, carnal in its intensity, and Jaskier sharpened it into something intricate, turned it into pretty words and meaningful looks and determined intent.

And he loved, loved with his whole being, loved with his entire heart. Jaskier gave a piece of his heart to everyone he met, and sometimes he took it back after a fleeting infatuation, sometimes it stayed with them and he yearned. Valdo Marx was one of those people - he had loved him as he did anyone, had ended up hating him, but Valdo was not a fleeting love. Jaskier still loved him, even if it was only for their sharp back-and-forths and the truly mind-blowing hate sex they had occasionally - Valdo knew him better than anyone, except for Geralt.

Geralt was different. For Jaskier, love shot through him like a lightning bolt - or, Cupid’s arrow. Sometimes it went out the other end and left, sometimes it stuck and bled and scarred. With Geralt, it had shot through him like any other person, except it had stuck, it hadn’t bled, and it hadn’t scarred. Jaskier loved Geralt, and he was never so selfless that he never wanted more of him despite having what he already did, but if he was truly forced to choose, Jaskier would have been perfectly content with the life he led with the Witcher, would have suffered through the pain of pining after him if he got to stay.

Jaskier hadn’t chosen, though. Geralt had chosen for him, and he had decided that he didn’t need him, didn’t want him, and Jaskier had granted him his oh so desired blessing, and left.

Heartbreak felt like needles, stabbing him, over and over and over, in multiple places, and when he thought it was done, he’d see something and he’d be pricked again, it would draw blood.

Jaskier had grown very good at coping with his feelings - he couldn’t go through life being overwhelmed by all of his emotions. He did this in all manners of ways - writing songs and singing them, putting on the optimistic act to simultaneously let out emotions while hiding others, and talking, constantly. One of his better - or, well, quite unhealthy but very effective - coping mechanisms was drinking, which was what he was currently using on the heartbreak needling at him.

He stared into the tankard of ale, which tasted more like piss than actual ale, and sighed. Even the damn ale reminded him of Geralt.

Maybe the Cupid’s arrow for Geralt had started bleeding. Jaskier wasn’t sure if it would scar.

He groaned and dumped coins on the table, ignoring the flirtatious looks some women were giving him. He would have accepted it at any other time, would have lost himself in pleasure, but he felt slightly dizzy and he wanted nothing more than to find someplace to sleep, without practically selling his body for it. He didn’t have enough coin for a room, so he’d have to sleep out in the woods. Which, dammit, was just like he used to do with Geralt. Minus the Witchery protection now, of course.

Jaskier’s head was thoroughly spinning by the time he got out of the inn, and he knew something was wrong. He was drugged, he knew what it felt like to be drugged, having been enough times that Geralt actually berated him for having to rescue him. He ran through in his head what drug it could be, landed distantly on the salty taste of the ale, and cursed under his breath. Or, maybe it was a curse. Jaskier’s head was too fuzzy to figure out whether it came out as an actual word or as incoherent noises.

He saw shadows out of the corner of his eye - black, large, vaguely terrifying considering the way he stumbled and couldn’t think straight. He was caught by two strong arms, Geralt flashing quickly through his mind before a voice that was decidedly not Geralt whispered in his ear, smooth and cruel.

“Hey, little songbird,” not-Geralt said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier replied. Or didn’t. He didn’t know, his head was spinning and he felt a headache pounding and his limbs were growing slow and heavy, and the darkness dragged him down all too easily.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier woke up cold, and shivering, and very, very confused. He was laying on his side on a stone floor, feeling like he had been dunked in ice water - which, maybe he had, because his hair was dripping wet still and plastered to his face. His hands were behind his back, and at an experimental tug, they were tied together too. He wore nothing but his pants, and his bare shoulder pressed against the cold stone.

Jaskier cursed, both from his situation which had rapidly come back to him, and the very annoying strands of wet hair that had decided to plant themselves directly in his eye, and managed to roll himself onto his back with some effort. He lifted his head as much as he could and shook his hair out of his face, trying very hard to ignore the feeling of it plastered to his cheeks, his neck, just all over the place. He took the brief time to berate whoever had kidnapped him on hair care - honestly, did no one know how to dry hair? He liked to keep his hair soft and this was decidedly not the way to do it.

Of course, none of this was what he believed. He was ignoring the fear crawling up in him, feeling like spiders and making his skin itch, feeling like ice trickling down his spine and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. If he focused on anything other than the fear, then he wouldn’t be overwhelmed. It couldn’t do anything.

Jaskier rolled himself back on his side in order not to crush his hands beneath him, and after a long, heated moment spent mentally berating whoever had kidnapped him, again, on the best positions for singing, he actually started singing. The lecture went on, still - every time his voice cracked very much not artfully, or every time he couldn’t pull in enough breath, he took a second to come up with some particularly creative insult in his head about calling him songbird and then prohibiting his ability to sing.

He ignored the feeling of spiders crawling over him and the feeling of ice trickling down his spine.

It was an undetermined amount of time, measured only by the fact that Jaskier got through eight songs verbally before he started shivering uncontrollably, and six songs mentally before the door opened and a woman in blue robes and two men in black Nilfgaardian armor strode in.

He gave a dry laugh, ignoring the spiders crawling and the ice trickling. “Nice of you to stop by,” he said. “You know, it’s a bit contradictory when you call me songbird and then put me in a position like this, which is very much not conducive to singing, let me tell you.”

The woman in blue robes smiled and walked forward. She reached behind him and tugged harshly on the ropes tying his arms, pulling him into a kneeling position, before yanking him up to stand. Jaskier met her dark eyes, sensed the crackling undercurrent of magic around her, and supposed that this was Nilfgaard’s mage. Or one of them, at least.

She held his gaze for a long moment, searching, before letting go. “Untie him,” she said, turning around and standing several paces back as the Nilfgaardian soldiers descended on him.

Jaskier stood still, finding his heart suddenly pounding and adrenaline racing through him. This was his chance - he could try to escape now.

The ropes dropped from his arms and he lashed out, landing a right hook in one of the soldier’s jaws and aiming for another in the other soldier, when the entire room popped and Jaskier found himself slammed into by a wave of magic. His back hit the stone wall hard, knocking the breath out of him, and he gasped, arching. The sorceress walked forward, cruel emptiness in her eyes, watching him like he was a bug pinned to a board. Which, he supposed he was.

He was always a bug pinned to a board, poked and prodded and seen as amusing by Geralt and Yennefer and now this damned mage. Gods, Jaskier hated being human.

“Don’t struggle,” she said, voice oddly serene. “It’ll only be worse for you.”

Jaskier scoffed, rolled his eyes and studiously ignored the fear threatening to overtake him. Sometimes feeling too much was a blessing, sometimes it was a curse. Right now, it was a curse.

“Why? So I can become your puppet and you can do whatever you’d like to me? I’d be flattered you think of me that way, if this wasn’t a kidnapping,” he retorted sharply. The mage laughed, amused, and Jaskier tugged against his invisible bonds. Something in him wanted to cry at the fact that they didn’t even deem it necessary to tie him up, he was so weak and human.

The mage didn’t respond - not to his question, anyway. Instead, she raised two fingers to trace along his jaw. “It’s better to get this over with now,” she said.

Jaskier paled, felt the fear rising in him. “Get what over with? I’d rather you don’t-“

Her fingers landed on his forehead and his sentence ended with a scream. He arched against the invisible bonds, feeling the searing heat crawl into his mind, flood it with lava, with blood and pain and misery. She dissected his memories, sharply cleaving through every defense he had, and he felt the magic ripping through his body harshly, tearing through his mind.

Jaskier slid into the wooden seat, bread shifting uncomfortably in his waistband - but that wasn’t important. What was important was the lack of a review, the golden eyes staring flatly at him and the two long, sharp, menacing swords sitting beside the man.

“Come on, you must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

“No,” he gasped. “Don’t- please don’t-“

He screamed again as she ripped through another of his memories, feeling tears start in his eyes and the feeling of fear inch up his spine, waiting for the opportunity to get past his defenses and overtake him.

“How’s my singing, Geralt?” Jaskier asked loudly, because oh he wanted to have this conversation. He was quite heartbroken from the Countess de Stael’s rude break off of their relationship, and he thought spending a good long while defending his singing with a loud, unrestrained sarcasm he hadn’t been able to use since he entered the Countess’s court would make him feel better. There was something freeing about being with Geralt, not having to tiptoe around the darker and dirtier things in life.

Jaskier gasped through the pain, shaking against the wall, mouth now opening wordlessly as he arched and the mage tore into memory after memory, pulling everything he ever felt, thought, said, did, into full view, forcing white hair and golden eyes into the forefront of his mind. She learned he felt too much, she learned he loved too much, she learned of the frankly embarrassing number of times he hate-fucked Valdo Marx.

And she learned he loved Geralt with a love more permanent than anything he’d ever felt before.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

The agony ended with that line echoing in his head and he fell limp against the magic holding him to the wall, gasping for breath and still feeling the echoes of the searing pain ripping through his head.

The mage was entirely unconcerned, standing and waiting with a blank look on her face until Jaskier caught his breath and sent her a glare. He growled - which, of course made him think of Geralt. Damn the fucking Witcher who stole his heart. “Are you done? Learned anything useful?” he snarled, truly not giving a fuck about whether he angered her and made it worse.

She traced her fingers along his jaw again, sliding them beneath his chin and raising his head, lowering herself down to look him in the eyes. “Oh, songbird. We learned so much. I'm going to enjoy breaking you.”

Jaskier felt the fear rise up in him, felt his breaths start to come shorter and tears fill his eyes, and forcefully shoved it down. He couldn’t let his emotions overwhelm him.

“Why do you want me?” he asked, uselessly. He knew why they wanted him - and he knew he couldn’t give them the answers they wanted. Geralt had discarded him.

The mage released his chin and stood up, not responding. Jaskier watched as she stepped back, flicked her fingers, and suddenly Jaskier fell hard to the floor. He gasped when the cold shocked through him, and the mage walked to the door with the soldiers. She turned back at him when he raised his head to look at her.

“The Witcher has something we want,” she replied, and turned and left. The door slammed loudly behind her and the soldiers.

Jaskier was left alone in the darkness, and the sudden drain of adrenaline from the mage ripping through his mind left him exhausted. He resisted the urge to cry; he kept up the dying hope that Geralt would save him, or he would escape, because they were the only things keeping back the flood of fear, and he knew if the fear and emotions overtook him then he would break.

For now, he curled up on the cold floor and let his eyes close, succumbing to the deep exhaustion and letting sleep take him.

-0-0-0-

The mage introduced herself as Fringilla, and the next time she came in there were the same two soldiers with her. Jaskier had searched his cell when he woke up feeling marginally better, though still freezing cold, and found nothing - it was pitch dark, so he couldn’t see, but he had felt every inch with his hands and there was absolutely nothing that would help him escape. He could barely find the door in the darkness.

The bright light blinded him and he covered his eyes as Fringilla and the soldiers walked in. He glared at them, backed away when the soldiers came up to him. They reached out and Jaskier laughed harshly, ducking out from under their arms. “Nope, no, I am not letting you touch me.”

Fringilla sighed impatiently as Jaskier kept dodging the soldiers, who did nothing more than walk steadily after him in the small space. He hated this, hated that he was trapped and couldn’t do anything other than run three feet from the soldiers and make himself look weak by prolonging it. They still hadn’t deemed him a threat enough to tie him up, for fuck’s sake.

Jaskier would have enjoyed taking apart that delusion, if he wasn’t freezing cold, half-naked, outnumbered, and with no weapon to speak of. He uselessly avoided the soldiers for several more minutes, until even he was growing bored of the game, and the only thing that Fringilla needed to do was raise her hand before Jaskier was stopping, freezing like a deer in headlights, fear flashing through him. The soldiers took that opportunity and slammed him against the wall, hands pinning his arms and legs in place.

Jaskier wondered if the display of sheer power against him was intentional, deeming him too weak for chains or ropes, but Fringilla smiled in such a way that it was instantly confirmed and Jaskier bit back his noise of annoyance. It was truly insulting, and hit something deeper in Jaskier that was still fighting, that kept up hope. He figured that was the point - if they could restrain him so easily now, what was the point of fighting? It would only be worse.

“Love,” Fringilla said, and Jaskier felt his stomach drop and his body go cold. If Nilfgaard wanted to break him, they certainly knew how to do it.

“It’s a peculiar thing, isn’t it? So volatile. It’s the only thing us mages can’t predict,” Fringilla continued, voice low.

Jaskier glared at her. “Shame. Thought you mages were all-powerful,” he snarked. Fringilla only looked amused.

“However,” she continued, ignoring his comment, “we can use it to our advantage.” And, yeah, that’s definitely not good for Jaskier, who squirmed just at the thought of what they could do to him regarding Geralt - because that was the only person he truly loved, really.

She raised her fingers, intent in her dark eyes, and Jaskier barely had time to protest, fear shooting through him, before cool magic washed over him like ice water, and he sank into darkness.

He saw the light first - saw the mountains in the distance, felt the clothes covering his back. Heard Geralt and Yennefer arguing below, saw Borch sitting on the ledge - and oh, fuck, this was the dragon hunt, he realized with a jolt of panic.

“Like fuck you didn’t,” came Geralt’s irritated voice, and Jaskier’s heart hurt just hearing it. He stood up, or, well, he tried to. There was a magical force pulling him down, forcing him to stay in the body of the Jaskier in his memories, the one who sat on the rock, and walked over, and then walked away. He wanted to cry, again, because he knew how this turned out and he could already feel the heartbreak needling at his skin, the pain of rejection lancing through him. He remembered how his dreams shattered like glass, and he cut himself on the sharp edges of them as he walked away.

He stood up, walked over once Yennefer left. Spoke without wanting to, felt the insistent magic tugging at him. “Whew,” he said. “What a day. I imagine you’re probably-“

“Dammit, Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted sharply, whirling around to face him, and Jaskier felt the needles of heartbreak start pricking him, stabbing and drawing blood. He was stuck in his memory’s body, though, so he was forced to listen, feeling the tug of Fringilla’s magic on his voice, on his body.

Geralt’s eyes were hard, burning with anger as he continued. “Why is it, whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it?”

“Well, that’s not fair,” Jaskier replied, voice soft. It was just as painful the second time as it was the first, and back in the dark, cold cell, Jaskier was resisting the urge to cry. He didn’t want to relive this, it was too much for him to handle.

“The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! ” Geralt’s voice was harsh, everything about him was harsher and sharper and Jaskier was cutting himself on it, he was practically bleeding out with the force of the heartbreak ripping through him. He sang so many songs about Geralt, about him not being a monster, and Jaskier fought against the negative things said about Geralt with everything he had, but some dark, selfish part of himself whispered that maybe Geralt really was the monster everyone thought he was. He was certainly acting the part right now, hurting Jaskier in the most efficient, effective way possible. Jaskier was wrong when he said Geralt didn’t know how to use the blade of his words as effectively as steel and silver.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

Sharp pain lanced through him and Jaskier woke up gasping, laying on the cold floor. The cell was dark; Fringilla and the soldiers were long gone. Jaskier was alone.

Jaskier shoved down the tears, shoved down the fear and heartbreak and emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Crying was not one of his coping mechanisms. Drinking was, talking was, singing was. Not crying, never crying. Jaskier would not show weakness.

Well, he couldn’t drink. He had two options. Singing or talking. There weren’t many songs to sing that weren’t about Geralt - and he had just been painfully reminded of how he felt about him, thank you very much. So he curled up in a weak defense against the cold, and in a quiet, cracking, whisper of a voice, started to talk.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier had fallen asleep in the middle of some sentence about geography, some passage he had memorized from a textbook when he was at Oxenfurt. He didn’t remember it now; didn’t need to. All he remembered now was the surge of fear as the cell door opened and Fringilla and two soldiers walked in. Jaskier looked up, too exhausted to think about physically fighting as they dragged him up from his position on the floor.

He did fight verbally, though, if only because talking to someone to fight off his emotions was better than talking to himself. “In the old stories, the knights swept the princesses off of their feet,” he said. The soldiers started pulling him towards the door - he had a vague hope of escaping, though he felt like shit because he was being starved and really had to piss. “Does that make me the princess?”

Fringilla gave her signature, idly amused smile, the one that reminded Jaskier just how much he was a bug pinned to a board and surrounded by immortals who didn’t care for him. “You’re a bard, and nothing more. The place we’re taking you is not from the old stories.”

Jaskier frowned. “Shame. Oh, speaking of being a bard, why do you even keep me here? You already rifled through my mind, you saw Geralt abandon me. You know I don’t know where he is, or what he has that you want.”

Fringilla didn’t look bothered. “You’re still useful. You know the Witcher better than anyone else, you can tell us where he would go next. His patterns of behavior, the way he thinks. The best way we can ambush him. Or, if not, you’re good for bait.”

Jaskier laughed, and the sound was harsh and mocking. “He won’t come for me,” he said bitterly. “You’re delusional if, after looking at that memory, you think he would come back for me. He doesn’t care whether I live or die.”

Fringilla smiled. “You’re right. He doesn’t care about you, and he won’t come back. Whether you help us find the Witcher or not, bard, you’re still ours.”

It came so easily, so certainly, that Jaskier deflated in the soldier’s arms, staring at Fringilla with a sort of blank horror. She had looked through his memories, had seen everything he’d seen, and she was able to say with such smooth certainty that Geralt wouldn’t come back for him, and he was Nilfgaard’s now. It hit the same part of him that it had when they had so easily restrained him, the deeper part of him that glowed gold with hope even as the rest of him withered and broke.

They stopped in front of a simple wooden door that Fringilla opened to reveal a room with a tub, toilet, and sink. Jaskier turned to the sorceress. “You’re giving me time to clean myself up?” he asked incredulously. “Doesn’t that go against, you know… everything about torture?”

Fringilla smiled again, but there was something darker in it. Jaskier resisted the urge to shiver at the dark promise hidden in her tone and smile. “You’re going to need it, bard. You won’t come back here for a long time.”

Jaskier felt the dread rise in him, like being touched by ice, and the fear. He nodded, staying quiet, and went into the room, flinching when the door slammed and locked behind him.

An hour later, the door was opened and the two soldiers came to get him, just as he finished using the bathroom. Jaskier sighed. “I’m guessing you won’t pamper me as much anymore?”

Fringilla smiled in the same dark way when the soldiers pulled Jaskier through the hallways. “No.”

They got closer, and Jaskier thought he was immune, he thought he was still strong, but he thought of the pure darkness of the cell and the cold air and the sheer loneliness, and started struggling when he saw the metal door at the end of the hallway. The fear was threatening to overtake him, his breaths came shorter and his voice rose an octave.

“Are you really sure you want to put me in there?” he asked, while pulling against the soldiers, who forcefully manhandled him down the hallway. His heart was picking up, and dammit he shouldn’t be this affected after two fucking days, but here he was. Nilfgaard had better torture tactics than they were given credit for - Jaskier had a bitter feeling that the reliving the hardest, most painful ten minutes of his life factored into the reason why he was so scared. “I’m sure there’s another option, something much less… well, dark and cold.”

“Will you answer our questions?” Fringilla asked.

“No,” Jaskier replied automatically. He wouldn’t give up that easily, no matter how terrifying the cell was.

Fringilla opened the door and the soldiers threw him in. He landed hard on the stone, still in only a pair of pants because that was all the clothes he was given in the bathroom, and he barely had time to watch the sliver of light be sliced away by the door slamming before he was left in pitch darkness, the cold air already seeping into him.

Jaskier sat up and leaned against the wall. He sighed, very firmly refusing the urge to cry, and stared into the darkness. He couldn’t even see the edges of the room, for fuck’s sake.

He let out a breath that definitely wasn’t at all shaky, tilted his head back against the wall, and started to sing - about everything and anything, because he couldn’t give a fuck about whether the songs were about Geralt if it meant he was distracted from the pain of knowing this was all he would see for gods knows how long. After all, it was just another emotion to add to the pile, wasn’t it? Nilfgaard wouldn’t care if he broke down - fuck, they wanted him to break down. Some dark part of him wondered if it would be easier to break down, stop fighting; it was only exhausting him anyway.

“When a humble bard, graced a ride along…”

[mypersonalfurball]

I’ve found that every time I look for the Witcher content, I mostly look for Jaskier, Geralt or both (damn my shipping heart). This is actually kind of sad for me because while I watched the show I spent A LOT of time admiring practically every female character on it.

So this is my female “The Witcher” characters appreciation post - where I’ll try to list as many female characters and why I loved them (in no particular order):

Yennefer - I love everything about her, really. She’s not an easy person to get along with and she tends to put her own ambitions first. That doesn’t mean she doesn't care deeply for the people she knows. I loved watching her learn how happiness isn’t always linked with getting what you want, but still try to get the unattainable and go for what she wants. Her being physically deformed in the beginning and how fixing that didn’t fix her problems was incredibly inspiring, too. Plus she’s beautiful and was beautiful even before she “fixed” her body.

Renfri - She had BADASS screaming in my mind from the first moment she spoke. I thought her affair with Geralt was rushed and made no sense, but she really didn’t need him to be awesome. And I felt her anger and desire for revenge with every fiber of my being. Her fighting scene was very impressive. (She was also the first character that made me applaud the costume designers for making female armors smart and practical without sexualizing them)

Cirilla - She’s sweet and compassionate, she listens to others and doesn’t judge without reason, and she is capable of acting under pressure (like when she stabbed the doppler in the neck). Also, such a cinnamon roll!

Calanthe - Again, I loved basically everything about this character. She’s strong but not invincible, smart but still makes many mistakes, very protective and caring for her family even if at the expense of others, and she’s even willing to fight destiny itself for her loved ones. And she’s Badass af.

Tissaia - She is hard and sometimes cruel, but she still tries her best to give her students what they want and need. She’s strong and regal and tries to do her best for what she believes.

Triss - Kindhearted, sweet and ready to help, she is one of the most moral characters we see. I hope to get more of her.

Pavetta - She neutralized an entire hall full of guards, knights, warriors and even a Witcher to get to be with her loved one. If that’s not determination and power I don’t know what is.

Fringilla - Strong, smart and not to be underestimated. Her willingness to learn forbidden things is something I personally appreciate.

Marilka - Both sweet and spice. Her willingness to approach a Witcher despite what everyone else around her thinks is admirable. Also, her wanting to join Geralt rather than stay in her boring life - same. The fact she changed her mind in the end is really understandable, too. She wasn’t supposed to be dragged into the fight, but she was because of her acceptance of Geralt.

Sabrina - Capable, talented and ready for action. Regal and confident.

The Dryads - With Eithné in their front. They were impressive, willing to stop and listen, and showed amazing battle tactics.

Téa and Véa - They were wonderful fighters, intimidating and strong, and had a no-nonsense attitude. They also radiated confidence by the gallons. (If I was as confident as Jaskier I’d probably try to flirt with them, too tbh)

I just needed a list of awesome female characters here. If anyone wants to add to this, feel welcome.

I also want to address again how amazing the costume designers are because they managed to make absolutely all the cast look amazing and impressive without sexualizing anyone (at least without a good reason)

[rhinedottir-yennefer]

Oh, that ask thingy I was so happy I got tagged in and never got to fill in!

You thought. Well guess what! Today imma gonna fill in the ask questions I got from @advena87 (thank you again for challenging me!) But since I’m a book reader - and I also think my follows and followers should be more encouraged to post book stuff - I’m gonna try and fill in as book content-y as I can. Here we go!  Skellige Isles or the continent?

I love the continent, especially Lyria, Rivia & Dol Blathana, but this is definitely gonna be Skellige for me. I love how raw and unbiased people are over there. They also provide equal rights to women. Which I think is far more developed than one would think when it comes to the Skellige Isles.  

Velen or Toussaint?

This is going to be Toussaint for me. Not because of the visionairy (which is, btw, flawless in TW3-B&W) but because in the books we spend a good chunk of the story there, and we really get to know how society and the monarch works. 

Novigrad or Beauclair?

I would definitely say “the centre of the world” Novigrad. The “free city” Novigrad. It’s so lively there, everyone finds the business they need. But I also like the dark side of it. The beggars, the sewers, the crying Eternal Fire zealots. 

Sleeping at Corvo Bianco or meditating under a tree?

This is gonna be meditating & sleeping under a tree, simply because there’s no “Corvo Bianco” in the books. I really loved that ending, for me though Geralt stayed on the path. 

Inns or Brothels?

Inns have such nicer ahmosphere. I love the candlelit chandeliers, the cheap beer, the people giving you various looks. Music! Geralt always has a nice meal whenever he goes to an inn.  I wish that for him. 

Caves or Ruins?

There’s not much caves in the books, ruins however, plenty. Ruins. 

High or low difficulty?

I guess noone prepared me for the emotional trauma that was the battle at Stygga, so high?

Going back to old save: yay or nay?

I have a bookmark.

Mods: yay or nay?

Sadly I can’t apply any filters to books, but the good thing is I don’t have to! I have imagination to help me. 

Mini-map or no mini-map?

I did actually use a map of the continent while I was reading. I marked the route each of the main characters took. 

Roach or Fast travel?

Roach, because she’s the best friend to Geralt when there’s no Jaskier/Dandelion(/Kökörcsin) around.

Roads or Boats?

There was always something bad going on when Geralt got on a boat, so... Roads. 

Specters or Relicts?

Ooh, I love an old type leshen. And godlings. And dopplers. And czorts. Definitely a relict girl here! o/

Beasts or Hybrids?

I would say hybrids. Especially sirens and succubi. 

Necrophages or Vampires?

Vampires all the way! You didn’t think I would forget about our best boy Regis, ya? (B&W vampires are awesome too, Orianna is an all-time favourite of mine)

Orgroids or Elementa?

Since there’s not much ogroid in the books, I would definitely go with the elementa, because of djinns & genies.  

Draconids or Cursed Ones?

Draconids! At least we get quite a few in the books! The cursed ones Geralt meet in the saga he doesn’t kill, rather turn them back to normal. 

The Caretaker or the Crones?

I loved the Crones! Chilling & ruthless, but very well written characters. And their boss theme is absolute bop. 

Botchlings or spotted Wights?

Spotted wights, I guess. 

Godlings or Trolls?

Godlings are kind of adorable. 

Sirens or Harpies?

Sirens, please and thank you. 

Killing or sparing?

Depends on the situation. With Vilgefortz? Kill any day. Renfri? Protect at all costs. 

Dijkstra or Roche?

As much as I love Vernon Roche, I must aknowledge the fact he’s not a book character so Dijkstra all the way. 

Vesemir or Crach an Craite?

I really loved Crach even in the books, from a young chap (at Pavetta’s 15th birthday) to someone who even woo’d Yen xD I think the Witcher 3 gave him a worthy-mighty route to embrace. Shame he had to go so early. 

Eskel or Lambert?

I was always more fond of Eskel’s quiet and composed manner. He’s like a true brother to Geralt. 

Keira or Philippa?

Philippa all the way. I just really love characters involved in intrigues by choice, and when it comes to the Lady Owl, she’s like the absolute queen. 

Cerys or Hjalmar?

Ok so, this is difficult, because Cerys was not in the books, unlike Hjalmar. But I really liked what they did with them in TW3 and how they did it, and I don’t even feel like they’ve overwritten the canon or anything. I always felt like Cerys’ calm composed manner and playing on the safe side attitude would ensure Skellige would survive. Even if they’re not going down in history as great invaders or warriors.  

Syanna or Anarietta?

Since Syanna was not in the books, but even if she was, I wouldn’t like her, I have to go with Annarietta who’s been the brattiest, sassiest and most spoiled young princess in the books. But that didn’t stop me from liking her.  Yen or Triss?

Yennefer is the queen of this story. I get where the game Triss likers are coming from, but since I’m here to spread book awesomeness, where she’s been the absolute worst (and not even a proper love interest to Geralt [even Fringilla was a longer relationship to him!]) this wasn’t a hard choice at all. Yennefer is the best for Geralt.  

Ciri or Geralt?

I’ve always been genuinely more immersed in Geralt’s side of the story, talking strictly about books, than Ciri’s.  

Regis or Dettlaff?

Regis. Never gonna com a time when I don’t pick Regis. 

Olgierd von Everec or Gaunter O’Dimm?

Olgierd, I guess. I can definitely see someone like him in the books. 

Olgierd von Everec or Iris von Everec?

Iris deserved better.

Shani or Dandelion?

Ok so, there’s no witcher without Dandelion/Jaskier/Kökörcsin, and I absolutely love this bloody Casanova, but, strictly speaking in book context, Shani doesn’t get the recognition she deserves. She’s really complex and been through a lot. Our bard has too, true, but he’s more like the comic relief of the saga. 

Johnny or Sarah?

Sarah!

Sorceresses or Witchers?

Sorceresses. I guess. Life is much more easier if you’re a sorceress. 

Druids or the local holy man?

Druids all the way! Especially those of Skellige! My king Mousesack . I love him. 

Food or Swallow?

Swallow. Not gonna use it though, but this one’s closer to the book canon. 

Decoctions or Potions?

Potions is on the canon side. 

Hunting for diagrams or finding them per chance?

Finding them by chance, I guess. Book Geralt has no time to hunt diagrams amidst all this canon shitstorm xD

Saving coin or spending coin?

Saving.

Looting or buying?

I guess looting is more on the canon side here. 

Upsetting the guards or following the rules?

Never upset the guards. 

Igni or Axii?

Axii!

Yrden or Aard?

Yrden!

Signs or blade oils?

Signs!

Crossbow or fists?

Crossbow is more book canon I guess.  

Settling down or staying on the path?

Book Geralt doesn’t like staying put, so staying on the path.

Gwent Cards or Swords?

Gwent cards. 

Beard or no beard?

No beard. It’s canon.  “Puss Peepers” or “Mutant”?

I have never in my book reading journey read Puss Peepers. Mutant, however... Hey! Thank you very much again for the callout, @advena87 and I hope everyone who actually read through that abominatin enjoyed my answers. And that they weren’t too book-posh. If yes, I’d say I’m sorry, but really I’m not. K BYE

[automagick]

The purpose of lorem ipsum is to create a natural looking block of text (sentence, paragraph, page, etc.) that doesn't distract from the layout. A practice not without controversy, laying out pages with meaningless filler text can be very useful when the focus is meant to be on design, not content.

The passage experienced a surge in popularity during the 1960s when Letraset used it on their dry-transfer sheets, and again during the 90s as desktop publishers bundled the text with their software. Today it's seen all around the web; on templates, websites, and stock designs. Use our generator to get your own, or read on for the authoritative history of lorem ipsum.

       Origins and Discovery      

Lorem ipsum began as scrambled, nonsensical Latin derived from Cicero's 1st-century BC text De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum.

         Hedonist Roots      

Until recently, the prevailing view assumed lorem ipsum was born as a nonsense text. “It's not Latin, though it looks like it, and it actually says nothing,” Before & After magazine answered a curious reader, “Its ‘words’ loosely approximate the frequency with which letters occur in English, which is why at a glance it looks pretty real.”

As Cicero would put it, “Um, not so fast.”

The placeholder text, beginning with the line “Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit”, looks like Latin because in its youth, centuries ago, it was Latin.

Richard McClintock, a Latin scholar from Hampden-Sydney College, is credited with discovering the source behind the ubiquitous filler text. In seeing a sample of lorem ipsum, his interest was piqued by consectetur—a genuine, albeit rare, Latin word. Consulting a Latin dictionary led McClintock to a passage from De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum (“On the Extremes of Good and Evil”), a first-century B.C. text from the Roman philosopher Cicero.

In particular, the garbled words of lorem ipsum bear an unmistakable resemblance to sections 1.10.32–33 of Cicero's work, with the most notable passage excerpted below:

“Neque porro quisquam est, qui dolorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit, sed quia non numquam eius modi tempora incidunt ut labore et dolore magnam aliquam quaerat voluptatem.”

A 1914 English translation by Harris Rackham reads:

“Nor is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure.”

McClintock's eye for detail certainly helped narrow the whereabouts of lorem ipsum's origin, however, the “how and when” still remain something of a mystery, with competing theories and timelines.

   McClintock wrote to Before & After to explain his discovery;

“What I find remarkable is that this text has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since some printer in the 1500s took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book; it has survived not only four centuries of letter-by-letter resetting but even the leap into electronic typesetting, essentially unchanged except for an occasional 'ing' or 'y' thrown in. It's ironic that when the then-understood Latin was scrambled, it became as incomprehensible as Greek; the phrase 'it's Greek to me' and 'greeking' have common semantic roots!” (The editors published his letter in a correction headlined “Lorem Oopsum”).

As an alternative theory, (and because Latin scholars do this sort of thing) someone tracked down a 1914 Latin edition of De Finibus which challenges McClintock's 15th century claims and suggests that the dawn of lorem ipsum was as recent as the 20th century. The 1914 Loeb Classical Library Edition ran out of room on page 34 for the Latin phrase “dolorem ipsum” (sorrow in itself). Thus, the truncated phrase leaves one page dangling with “do-”, while another begins with the now ubiquitous “lorem ipsum”.

Whether a medieval typesetter chose to garble a well-known (but non-Biblical—that would have been sacrilegious) text, or whether a quirk in the 1914 Loeb Edition inspired a graphic designer, it's admittedly an odd way for Cicero to sail into the 21st century.

       Meaning of Lorem Ipsum      

Lorem ipsum was purposefully designed to have no meaning, but appear like real text, making it the perfect placeholder.

         Interpreting Nonsense      

Don't bother typing “lorem ipsum” into Google translate. If you already tried, you may have gotten anything from "NATO" to "China", depending on how you capitalized the letters. The bizarre translation was fodder for conspiracy theories, but Google has since updated its “lorem ipsum” translation to, boringly enough, “lorem ipsum”.

One brave soul did take a stab at translating the almost-not-quite-Latin. According to The Guardian, Jaspreet Singh Boparai undertook the challenge with the goal of making the text “precisely as incoherent in English as it is in Latin - and to make it incoherent in the same way”. As a result, “the Greek 'eu' in Latin became the French 'bien' [...] and the '-ing' ending in 'lorem ipsum' seemed best rendered by an '-iendum' in English.”

Here is the classic lorem ipsum passage followed by Boparai's odd, yet mesmerizing version:

“Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nam hendrerit nisi sed sollicitudin pellentesque. Nunc posuere purus rhoncus pulvinar aliquam. Ut aliquet tristique nisl vitae volutpat. Nulla aliquet porttitor venenatis. Donec a dui et dui fringilla consectetur id nec massa. Aliquam erat volutpat. Sed ut dui ut lacus dictum fermentum vel tincidunt neque. Sed sed lacinia lectus. Duis sit amet sodales felis. Duis nunc eros, mattis at dui ac, convallis semper risus. In adipiscing ultrices tellus, in suscipit massa vehicula eu.”

Boparai's version:

“Rrow itself, let it be sorrow; let him love it; let him pursue it, ishing for its acquisitiendum. Because he will ab hold, uniess but through concer, and also of those who resist. Now a pure snore disturbeded sum dust. He ejjnoyes, in order that somewon, also with a severe one, unless of life. May a cusstums offficer somewon nothing of a poison-filled. Until, from a twho, twho chaffinch may also pursue it, not even a lump. But as twho, as a tank; a proverb, yeast; or else they tinscribe nor. Yet yet dewlap bed. Twho may be, let him love fellows of a polecat. Now amour, the, twhose being, drunk, yet twhitch and, an enclosed valley’s always a laugh. In acquisitiendum the Furies are Earth; in (he takes up) a lump vehicles bien.”

Nick Richardson described the translation “like extreme Mallarmé, or a Burroughsian cut-up, or a paragraph of Finnegans Wake. Bits of it have surprising power: the desperate insistence on loving and pursuing sorrow, for instance, that is cheated out of its justification – an incomplete object that has been either fished for, or wished for.”

       Usage and Examples      

Lorem ipsum was popularized in the 1960s with Letraset's dry-transfer sheets, and later entered the digital world via Aldus PageMaker.

         Digital Ipsum      

The decade that brought us Star Trek and Doctor Who also resurrected Cicero—or at least what used to be Cicero—in an attempt to make the days before computerized design a little less painstaking.

The French lettering company Letraset manufactured a set of dry-transfer sheets which included the lorem ipsum filler text in a variety of fonts, sizes, and layouts. These sheets of lettering could be rubbed on anywhere and were quickly adopted by graphic artists, printers, architects, and advertisers for their professional look and ease of use.

Aldus Corporation, which later merged with Adobe Systems, ushered lorem ipsum into the information age with its desktop publishing software Aldus PageMaker. The program came bundled with lorem ipsum dummy text for laying out page content, and other word processors like Microsoft Word followed suit. More recently the growth of web design has helped proliferate lorem ipsum across the internet as a placeholder for future text—and in some cases the final content (this is why we proofread, kids).

       Controversy in the Design World      

Some claim lorem ipsum threatens to promote design over content, while others defend its value in the process of planning.

         Design or (Dis)content      

Among design professionals, there's a bit of controversy surrounding the filler text. Controversy, as in Death to Lorem Ipsum.

The strength of lorem ipsum is its weakness: it doesn't communicate. To some, designing a website around placeholder text is unacceptable, akin to sewing a custom suit without taking measurements. Kristina Halvorson notes:

“I’ve heard the argument that “lorem ipsum” is effective in wireframing or design because it helps people focus on the actual layout, or color scheme, or whatever. What kills me here is that we’re talking about creating a user experience that will (whether we like it or not) be DRIVEN by words. The entire structure of the page or app flow is FOR THE WORDS.”

Lorem ipsum is so ubiquitous because it is so versatile. Select how many paragraphs you want, copy, paste, and break the lines wherever it is convenient. Real copy doesn't work that way.

As front-end developer Kyle Fiedler put it:

“When you are designing with Lorem Ipsum, you diminish the importance of the copy by lowering it to the same level as any other visual element. The text simply becomes another supporting role, serving to make other aspects more aesthetic. Instead of your design enhancing the meaning of the content, your content is enhancing your design.”

But despite zealous cries for the demise of lorem ipsum, others, such as Karen McGrane, offer appeals for moderation:

“Lorem Ipsum doesn’t exist because people think the content is meaningless window dressing, only there to be decorated by designers who can’t be bothered to read. Lorem Ipsum exists because words are powerful. If you fill up your page with draft copy about your client’s business, they will read it. They will comment on it. They will be inexorably drawn to it. Presented the wrong way, draft copy can send your design review off the rails.”

And that’s why a 15th century typesetter might have scrambled a passage of Cicero; he wanted people to focus on his fonts, to imagine their own content on the pages. He wanted people to see, and to get them to see he had to keep them from reading.

       When to Use Lorem Ipsum      

Generally, lorem ipsum is best suited to keeping templates from looking bare or minimizing the distractions of draft copy.

         Form Over Function      

So when is it okay to use lorem ipsum? First, lorem ipsum works well for staging. It's like the props in a furniture store—filler text makes it look like someone is home. The same Wordpress template might eventually be home to a fitness blog, a photography website, or the online journal of a cupcake fanatic. Lorem ipsum helps them imagine what the lived-in website might look like.

Second, use lorem ipsum if you think the placeholder text will be too distracting. For specific projects, collaboration between copywriters and designers may be best, however, like Karen McGrane said, draft copy has a way of turning any meeting about layout decisions into a discussion about word choice. So don't be afraid to use lorem ipsum to keep everyone focused.

One word of caution: make sure your client knows that lorem ipsum is filler text. You don't want them wondering why you filled their website with a foreign language, and you certainly don't want anyone prematurely publishing it.

       Lorem Ipsum All the Things      

Coming full circle, the internet's remixing of the now infamous lorem ipsum passage has officially elevated it to pop culture status.

         Because it's the Internet      

There was that time artists at Sequence opted to hand-Sharpie the lorem ipsum passage on a line of paper bags they designed for Chipotle—the result being a mixture of avant-garde, inside joke, and Sharpie-stained tables. Those with an eye for detail may have caught a tribute to the classic text in an episode of Mad Men (S6E1 around 1:18:55 for anyone that didn't). And here is a lorem ipsum tattoo.

Of course, we'd be remiss not to include the veritable cadre of lorem ipsum knock offs featuring:

Bacon Ipsum – Served all day. “Bacon ipsum dolor amet chicken turducken spare ribs.”

Hipster Ipsum – In case you're in need of a “shoreditch direct trade four dollar toast copper mug.”

Corporate Ipsum – “Leveraging agile frameworks to provide a robust synopsis” from eight to five.

Legal Ipsum – Fully unlicensed legalese for those times you don't want to pay $400/hr.

Not to mention, Cupcake Ipsum, Bob Ross Ipsum (“happy little clouds”), and the furry Cat Ipsum. And in case that's not enough, check out our very own Ultimate List of Lorem Ipsum Generators.

So there you have it. Lorem ipsum: the nonsense words unable to fully escape meaning.

       Original Source Text      

Below are the original Latin passages from which Lorem Ipsum was derived, paired with their 1914 translations by H. Rackham.

         Section 1.10.32 of Cicero's “De finibus bonorum et malorum”      

Original Latin text:

“Sed ut perspiciatis, unde omnis iste natus error sit voluptatem accusantium doloremque laudantium, totam rem aperiam eaque ipsa, quae ab illo inventore veritatis et quasi architecto beatae vitae dicta sunt, explicabo. Nemo enim ipsam voluptatem, quia voluptas sit, aspernatur aut odit aut fugit, sed quia consequuntur magni dolores eos, qui ratione voluptatem sequi nesciunt, neque porro quisquam est, qui dolorem ipsum, quia dolor sit amet consectetur adipisci[ng] velit, sed quia non numquam [do] eius modi tempora inci[di]dunt, ut labore et dolore magnam aliquam quaerat voluptatem. Ut enim ad minima veniam, quis nostrum exercitationem ullam corporis suscipit laboriosam, nisi ut aliquid ex ea commodi consequatur? Quis autem vel eum iure reprehenderit, qui in ea voluptate velit esse, quam nihil molestiae consequatur, vel illum, qui dolorem eum fugiat, quo voluptas nulla pariatur?”

[lambden]

Hello! Tis I, Socks. In the most predictable of ways, could I ask for some Cahir content please? 50 from the list (writer's choice). And I'm always happy to see him shipped with Eskel, Lambert and/or Aiden. Or, if you're feeling platonic then BroTP with Letho or Fringilla?

G, 2.3K words, Cahir/Eskel, no warnings Prompt: “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” Also on AO3!

Geralt’s invitation is anything but simple, and the shape of it eludes Cahir’s usually bright mind. He cannot begin to consider it properly or fathom what it might mean for his future— a future that has been carefully planned out, and destroyed, and painstakingly crafted again, and destroyed again. He has grown tired of tending the ruinous garden of his career and life (two synonyms). So he considers, although only obliquely, Geralt’s invitation.

He finds it easier to think of the invitation in tactical terms, as though the witcher has proposed a mutually beneficial arrangement. Cahir, the parasite, will take refuge in the high walls of the secret fortress untouched by politics. Geralt, the host, will keep the Nilfgaardian menace who plagued his daughter’s nightmares within arm’s reach. Cahir is under no illusion that his stay will be one of comfort or luxury, but he only hopes it might mean a new life.

Upon his arrival at Kaer Morhen, Cahir re-evaluates the strategy in an instant. The walls are not high but crumbling, clearly maintained over several centuries by the dwindling numbers of the School of the Wolf. The occupants are not fearsome prison guards who track his every move, but ruggedly handsome mutants who drink until they’re sick and trade stories of slain monsters. And Geralt, the traitor, is nowhere to be found.

Abandoning his imagined hierarchy adds extra difficulty to Cahir’s perfect plan, and the confusion leaves him floundering when he meets another witcher who should rightly be the leader of Kaer Morhen: Vesemir, the eldest of the Wolves with enough scars to tell several lifetimes worth of stories. But Vesemir ladles out soup for Cahir without measuring the portions, teasing him about needing some meat on his bones.

Then perhaps in Geralt’s absence, the unlikely authority here is one of the other Wolves. Cahir watches them as closely as he can without arousing suspicion, but all he can glean from their interactions is that in Kaer Morhen, camaraderie and affection flow as freely as ale. The witchers clap one another on the shoulder and pull each other into hugs and offer compliments with no obvious ulterior motives. Despite having no blood relation and spending most of their summers apart, they are a family so closely knit together that Cahir feels ill just watching them. What a massive mistake he made by coming here.

Cahir sways to his feet, thinking absent-mindedly of finding one of Geralt’s sorceress friends to portal him away— maybe to Vicovaro. This is another mistake, as multiple sets of witcher eyes snap to stare at him, each more handsome than the last. Cahir winces but before he can apologize for the inadvertent interruption, the rudest Wolf shakes his head and softly tut-tut-tuts. “Where are our manners? We’ve been gabbing away the whole night; you must be fucking exhausted. You haven’t even had a drop to drink!”

“Forgive us,” the most handsome of the witchers, Eskel, pleads. Cahir thinks he would forgive a man with a face and body like that for just about anything. But he doesn’t share the thought, already feeling uncomfortable with the extra attention. “We aren’t used to hosting humans here.”

“Except Ciri, I guess,” Lambert retorts. “… But she drinks like a fish, so that doesn’t apply.”

They hadn’t offered Cahir anything except the soup. He elects to keep this observation to himself. “Is there somewhere here I can rest?”

Eskel begins to say something but Vesemir interrupts. “Geralt told us you were coming.” He rises, standing remarkably well for someone who put away that much liquor. “We prepared a room. It isn’t much, but it’s got a bed and some candles. We’ll have to get you some warmer clothes tomorrow too!” 

Grimacing at the idea, Cahir nods anyway. He’s only made it through tonight by the virtue of the magical firepit that the witchers keep relighting. If he’s to survive the winter here, he’ll have to learn to dress like one of these men.

“I can show you to your room,” Eskel starts, but Cahir is already shaking his head before the witcher even finishes speaking. “Alright, uh… it’s down the two sets of stairs over there, hang a right, walk down that corridor, up that set of stairs, and then second door on the left. Got all that?”

Cahir nods, grateful for the literal and clear, albeit detailed, instructions. “Yes, thank you!” Eskel shoots him a big goofy grin like he’s proud or something, and the directions evaporate right out of Cahir’s brain along with every other coherent thought. But Eskel’s still beaming, so there’s nothing to be done— Cahir bows good-night to the other witchers, then heads in the direction of the indicated staircase.

Down two sets of stairs, to the right, down the hall, up one set of stairs, second door. Easy enough. He gets slightly distracted by the hall decorated with grandiose portraits of witchers long past, and then distracted once more when he spies an armoury through an open door before the final set of stairs. Cahir definitely wants Vesemir to give him a full tour of this place in the morning.

Cahir frowns and recoils as he quickly remembers himself. He’s only here thanks to Geralt, so he can hardly be considered a guest whose presence would warrant a tour of the facilities. He hurries up the stairs to his room, only stopping when he sees the rows of doors on either side. The Wolves could house a whole army of recruits in here; hell, once upon a time they probably had.

Down the stairs, turn right, down the hall, up the stairs… “Second door,” Cahir mutters. The second door on the right is shut but not locked, as he finds out when he gently pushes it open. From Vesemir’s meagre description Cahir had expected only a bed and candles. He hadn’t thought that the candles would be lit already, flickering silently as if to welcome him in. 

The other furniture also throws him off his rhythm. Had Geralt really asked his family to set up the room like this? In the corner is a hideous suit of handmade red and gold armour that Cahir prays he won’t be expected to wear. The mannequin stands proudly next to a desk with a small amount of writing supplies. The stationery and decor is nothing like what he had in Nilfgaard, but Cahir imagines his role here will be very different from there.

His focus is immediately pulled to the bedroom’s centre of attention. The mattress is thick enough that he won’t feel the stone frame, although the bed looks comfortable enough. Cahir had expected a dungeon but this place is dressed like a palace. When he finally steps out of the entryway and the door swings shut behind him, the bed pulls Cahir in. He could resist it no more than a hungry drowner could resist a loud swimmer.

As fast as possible, Cahir strips out of his chilled, sweaty clothes and folds them carefully, leaving the pile on the chair. He sends one last withering glare in the direction of the horrible Wolven armour before clambering up onto the bed in only his smalls.

The pillow is cool beneath his head and neck but the pelts are warm and heavy, and it isn’t long before the insulation starts to make Cahir feel drowsy. He curls up on his side and pulls his knees to his chest, sticking his hands between his thighs only to cling to the warm flesh there.

He has no desire to do anything more— not while he’s a guest here, anyway. It wouldn’t be polite, and the witchers have been so polite. In return, Cahir wants to be good for them. That’s his last conscious thought before sleep claims him.

-

-

Every night of carousing must eventually reach its end, and when Lambert finally starts yawning, Eskel takes it as a cue. He sets down his tankard, ignoring the baying of his fellow witchers and rising to stand. “See you out on the Killer in an hour?”

Lambert receives his joke with a rude gesture and a jumbled, colourful mixture of profanity. Eskel grins, glancing around the room to regain his bearings before he heads to bed.

Despite the winding, complicated floor plan of this place, Eskel never worries that he’ll lose his way. He hasn’t been turned around here since he was a trainee, and even then this place had been a home and thus he knew its vague layout. A rough and murderous home, sure, but a home nonetheless.

He stumbles down the hall, nodding nonsensically to a portrait of some dead old Wolf and then taking the stairs up to the living quarters two at a time. While Geralt and Lambert have migrated to different parts of the fortress, Eskel likes staying in his old room. The memories remind him of how far he’s come, how much he’s grown, and all that he has sacrificed to get where he is now. Without those reminders he might get a better night’s rest, but he would sorely miss the splinter.

Being a witcher and all, Eskel can tell that something is awry before he even touches the knob of his closed door. There is a strange scent clinging to the air, and a muted thumping noise. At first he touches his medallion, fearful of an intruder, but… whatever has entered his room is not monstrous in nature, or at least not magical. Eskel braces himself, feeling around for his sword before quietly cursing; he had foolishly used it to chop up a melon for their dessert. If this is how he dies, Vesemir will resurrect him just to give him the lecture of a lifetime.

The door swings open easily and no one stands awaiting Eskel, but someone is lying in wait. He stares, dumbfounded, at the sleeping figure with messy hair and bare shoulders. Sleeping in his bed, under his covers. And wearing, according to the pile of clothing on his chair, not much at all.

“Cahir,” Eskel murmurs, too drunk to try to remember Cahir Mawr Different aemon Ceallach Whatever-the-shit. The man doesn’t stir, completely still aside from his gently parted mouth, lips moving so shallow breaths can pass. It’s a very pretty mouth. Eskel stares for perhaps a moment longer than he should. “… Cahir!”

“Yes,” replies the former officer without really stirring. Then a current seems to pass through him, jolting him back into consciousness— Cahir sits up ramrod-straight, the pile of blankets falling into his lap and revealing his pink, bare chest. He stares dead ahead but doesn’t seem to really process his whereabouts, let alone the identity of the witcher who interrupted his sleep. Despite his state of undress, Cahir repeats with practiced severity, “Yes?”

Eskel snorts, amused. Cahir’s dreary gaze finally lands on him, and the man’s pulse quickens at a speed that gratifies Eskel greatly. He asks, “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“Your…” Cahir drifts off, before blanching and struggling with the pelts. Eskel accidentally sees that he isn’t really naked, although his smallclothes leave little to the imagination. As Cahir thrashes about in panic he trips over his own words, stammering, “I was— I must have gone to the wrong room. This explains why it’s so nice! Shit! I truly did not mean to intrude upon you, and I will leave you posthence— ah, posthaste, I mean, shit—”

“That isn’t necessary,” Eskel waves away the increasingly frenzied complaining, and although Cahir clearly has more to say, he falls silent when Eskel approaches the other side of the bed and kicks off his boots. Still wearing his loose shirt and trousers that smell of apple cider and sharp liquor and sweat, Eskel tumbles down onto the mattress next to Cahir. The other man doesn’t move— he hardly breathes. If not for his racing heartbeat and wide eyes, Eskel would think him asleep again. “I don’t mind sharing.”

“Oh.” All the air deflates from Cahir but he offers no protest, even when Eskel gently removes one of the pelts tangled up around his knees so as to snuggle under it. There is a sizable amount of room between them but their breaths are still loud enough to make the large room feel cramped, and Eskel wonders if Cahir can sense his own emotions and desires the way he can hear the human’s heart. “Then in that case, I’ll take advantage of the warmth for the night, thank you.” If Cahir hears how that sounds, he doesn’t acknowledge it or even miss a beat. “I will return to my own room in the morning.”

“Sure, it’s across the hall.” Eskel adjusts the pillow under his head before turning to stare at Cahir. He finds the man already watching him, which definitely makes things easier. With as much purposeful innuendo as Eskel can shove into the words, he says, “But I don’t mind if you take advantage again tomorrow. This is the most I’ve heard you talk since you arrived!”

Cahir blinks, chest rising and falling minutely. Eskel’s gaze dips down once more to the blush of colour between his pectorals, but Cahir surprisingly doesn’t move to cover up his body. Funny— Eskel assumed he’d be a bit of a prude, based on everything about him. Cahir finally protests, without any real fight in him, “I only just arrived at Kaer Morhen.”

“Hope you stick around for a while,” he rumbles, the comfort of his own bed mingling with the alcohol still clouding his brain. “We’re not so bad, you know.” Before Cahir can reply, Eskel drifts off; not just into meditation, but true sleep. Even in his dreams, Cahir’s proximity and warmth soothe him through the night.

[bamf-jaskier]

So I sent you an ask back in like February about an au where Yennefer is physically disabled and you said you'd like to see the au when it's done. It's not actually finished, but I 've started posting chapters on ao3 (it's called I want the world (it's never enough)

I want the world (it’s never enough)

OK so I’m also going to leave this as a comment on AO3 but I just read what you have of the fic. And it’s amazing!! First off, we don’t have enough fic from Yennefer POV, I love her so damn much and almost everything in the way you captured her character is great.

Actually I think one of my favorite scenes from the entire story is her and Geralt’s argument in the very beginning it felt so in character and I could see you weaving in the lines from the show and I just loved it. 

I actually don’t read modern AUs very often, so I’ve never read a friends with benefits Yennskier modern AU before so I had so much fun diving into this. I love how they’re both pining after the same man.

Also the fact that Geralt’s childhood trauma is holding him back so much. 😭 Damn. I want them all to have a happy ending so badly but I’m kind of loving the new friendship that’s forming. Yennefer going out to brunch with Sabrina and Triss is so much fun. Also the mention of Yen in the foster system and her meeting Triss 🥺 STOP MY HEART. Now I’m just waiting for Fringilla to pop it I want to know her vibes. She always strikes me as the kind of person who is really close to people in university and then she graduated and you never heard from her again and then she like comes at three years later as like an insanely successful business woman or something. 

Your characterizations are really solid and I just had a fun time reading it. We need more modern AUd where Yen has a physical disability and here you are providing that!! I like how you discuss the accessibility of her apartments and I could definitely see hints my post throughout it. Thanks so much!!

It was very enjoyable and it felt very realistic like the characters were in fact in the modern world which is the ultimate goal of writing something like this. It was just fun to read. Do you know the kind of fanfiction you read where you like have to stop and look away from the screen and laugh a little and then you go back to it? I did that like five different times. I’m going to be honest a lot of the times I laughed was when Yennefer and Jaskier had sex because the way you wrote it sounded like a comedy of errors. WHEN THEY GOT HIGH AND WOKE UP IN BED NEXT TO EACH OTHER 🍃 💨 😈 THE ACCURACY

I love how they kind of just kept sleeping with each other on accident. Also two people who are sleeping with each other also mutually pining after the same man that’s quality content. (I said this before but I GETS ME SO GOOD OKAY) Also Jaskier assuming Geralt is straight, sir. Like Geralt is not straight Jaskier you dork. And I think at the end of the day that’s a big reason why I liked it because they all just kind of seemed like dorks in their late 20s and I really enjoyed it. They were having a good time which is a nice break from the torture they will probably be facing in season 2. Overall, amazing fic and thank you so much for writing it!!

[mpuboff-blog]

Main Basics Syntax License Dingus Overview Philosophy Inline HTML Automatic Escaping for Special Characters Block Elements Paragraphs and Line Breaks Headers Blockquotes Lists Code Blocks Horizontal Rules Span Elements Links Emphasis Code Images Miscellaneous Backslash Escapes Automatic Links

Note: This document is itself written using Markdown; you can see the source for it by adding ‘.text’ to the URL. Overview Philosophy

Markdown is intended to be as easy-to-read and easy-to-write as is feasible.

Readability, however, is emphasized above all else. A Markdown-formatted document should be publishable as-is, as plain text, without looking like it’s been marked up with tags or formatting instructions. While Markdown’s syntax has been influenced by several existing text-to-HTML filters — including Setext, atx, Textile, reStructuredText, Grutatext, and EtText — the single biggest source of inspiration for Markdown’s syntax is the format of plain text email.

To this end, Markdown’s syntax is comprised entirely of punctuation characters, which punctuation characters have been carefully chosen so as to look like what they mean. E.g., asterisks around a word actually look like emphasis. Markdown lists look like, well, lists. Even blockquotes look like quoted passages of text, assuming you’ve ever used email. Inline HTML

Markdown’s syntax is intended for one purpose: to be used as a format for writing for the web.

Markdown is not a replacement for HTML, or even close to it. Its syntax is very small, corresponding only to a very small subset of HTML tags. The idea is not to create a syntax that makes it easier to insert HTML tags. In my opinion, HTML tags are already easy to insert. The idea for Markdown is to make it easy to read, write, and edit prose. HTML is a publishing format; Markdown is a writing format. Thus, Markdown’s formatting syntax only addresses issues that can be conveyed in plain text.

For any markup that is not covered by Markdown’s syntax, you simply use HTML itself. There’s no need to preface it or delimit it to indicate that you’re switching from Markdown to HTML; you just use the tags.

The only restrictions are that block-level HTML elements — e.g.

<

div>,

<

table>,

<

pre>,

<

p>, etc. — must be separated from surrounding content by blank lines, and the start and end tags of the block should not be indented with tabs or spaces. Markdown is smart enough not to add extra (unwanted)

<

p> tags around HTML block-level tags.

For example, to add an HTML table to a Markdown article:

This is a regular paragraph.

Foo

This is another regular paragraph.

Note that Markdown formatting syntax is not processed within block-level HTML tags. E.g., you can’t use Markdown-style emphasis inside an HTML block.

Span-level HTML tags — e.g. , , or — can be used anywhere in a Markdown paragraph, list item, or header. If you want, you can even use HTML tags instead of Markdown formatting; e.g. if you’d prefer to use HTML or tags instead of Markdown’s link or image syntax, go right ahead.

Unlike block-level HTML tags, Markdown syntax is processed within span-level tags. Automatic Escaping for Special Characters

In HTML, there are two characters that demand special treatment: < and &. Left angle brackets are used to start tags; ampersands are used to denote HTML entities. If you want to use them as literal characters, you must escape them as entities, e.g. <, and &.

Ampersands in particular are bedeviling for web writers. If you want to write about ‘AT&T’, you need to write ‘AT&T’. You even need to escape ampersands within URLs. Thus, if you want to link to:

http://images.google.com/images?num=30&q=larry+bird

you need to encode the URL as:

http://images.google.com/images?num=30&q=larry+bird

in your anchor tag href attribute. Needless to say, this is easy to forget, and is probably the single most common source of HTML validation errors in otherwise well-marked-up web sites.

Markdown allows you to use these characters naturally, taking care of all the necessary escaping for you. If you use an ampersand as part of an HTML entity, it remains unchanged; otherwise it will be translated into &.

So, if you want to include a copyright symbol in your article, you can write:

©

and Markdown will leave it alone. But if you write:

AT&T

Markdown will translate it to:

AT&T

Similarly, because Markdown supports inline HTML, if you use angle brackets as delimiters for HTML tags, Markdown will treat them as such. But if you write:

4 < 5

Markdown will translate it to:

4 < 5

However, inside Markdown code spans and blocks, angle brackets and ampersands are always encoded automatically. This makes it easy to use Markdown to write about HTML code. (As opposed to raw HTML, which is a terrible format for writing about HTML syntax, because every single < and & in your example code needs to be escaped.) Block Elements Paragraphs and Line Breaks

A paragraph is simply one or more consecutive lines of text, separated by one or more blank lines. (A blank line is any line that looks like a blank line — a line containing nothing but spaces or tabs is considered blank.) Normal paragraphs should not be indented with spaces or tabs.

The implication of the “one or more consecutive lines of text” rule is that Markdown supports “hard-wrapped” text paragraphs. This differs significantly from most other text-to-HTML formatters (including Movable Type’s “Convert Line Breaks” option) which translate every line break character in a paragraph into a tag.

When you do want to insert a break tag using Markdown, you end a line with two or more spaces, then type return.

Yes, this takes a tad more effort to create a , but a simplistic “every line break is a ” rule wouldn’t work for Markdown. Markdown’s email-style blockquoting and multi-paragraph list items work best — and look better — when you format them with hard breaks. Headers

Markdown supports two styles of headers, Setext and atx.

Setext-style headers are “underlined” using equal signs (for first-level headers) and dashes (for second-level headers). For example:

This is an H1

This is an H2

Any number of underlining =’s or -’s will work.

Atx-style headers use 1-6 hash characters at the start of the line, corresponding to header levels 1-6. For example:

This is an H1

This is an H2

This is an H6

Optionally, you may “close” atx-style headers. This is purely cosmetic — you can use this if you think it looks better. The closing hashes don’t even need to match the number of hashes used to open the header. (The number of opening hashes determines the header level.) :

This is an H1

This is an H2

This is an H3

Blockquotes

Markdown uses email-style > characters for blockquoting. If you’re familiar with quoting passages of text in an email message, then you know how to create a blockquote in Markdown. It looks best if you hard wrap the text and put a > before every line:

This is a blockquote with two paragraphs. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aliquam hendrerit mi posuere lectus. Vestibulum enim wisi, viverra nec, fringilla in, laoreet vitae, risus.

Donec sit amet nisl. Aliquam semper ipsum sit amet velit. Suspendisse id sem consectetuer libero luctus adipiscing.

Markdown allows you to be lazy and only put the > before the first line of a hard-wrapped paragraph:

This is a blockquote with two paragraphs. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aliquam hendrerit mi posuere lectus. Vestibulum enim wisi, viverra nec, fringilla in, laoreet vitae, risus.

Donec sit amet nisl. Aliquam semper ipsum sit amet velit. Suspendisse id sem consectetuer libero luctus adipiscing.

Blockquotes can be nested (i.e. a blockquote-in-a-blockquote) by adding additional levels of >:

This is the first level of quoting.

This is nested blockquote.

Back to the first level.

Blockquotes can contain other Markdown elements, including headers, lists, and code blocks:

This is a header.

This is the first list item.

This is the second list item.

Here's some example code:

return shell_exec("echo $input | $markdown_script");

Any decent text editor should make email-style quoting easy. For example, with BBEdit, you can make a selection and choose Increase Quote Level from the Text menu. Lists

Markdown supports ordered (numbered) and unordered (bulleted) lists.

Unordered lists use asterisks, pluses, and hyphens — interchangably — as list markers:

Red

Green

Blue

is equivalent to:

Red

Green

Blue

and:

Red

Green

Blue

Ordered lists use numbers followed by periods:

Bird

McHale

Parish

It’s important to note that the actual numbers you use to mark the list have no effect on the HTML output Markdown produces. The HTML Markdown produces from the above list is:

Bird

McHale

Parish

If you instead wrote the list in Markdown like this:

Bird

McHale

Parish

or even:

Bird

McHale

Parish

you’d get the exact same HTML output. The point is, if you want to, you can use ordinal numbers in your ordered Markdown lists, so that the numbers in your source match the numbers in your published HTML. But if you want to be lazy, you don’t have to.

If you do use lazy list numbering, however, you should still start the list with the number 1. At some point in the future, Markdown may support starting ordered lists at an arbitrary number.

List markers typically start at the left margin, but may be indented by up to three spaces. List markers must be followed by one or more spaces or a tab.

To make lists look nice, you can wrap items with hanging indents:

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aliquam hendrerit mi posuere lectus. Vestibulum enim wisi, viverra nec, fringilla in, laoreet vitae, risus.

Donec sit amet nisl. Aliquam semper ipsum sit amet velit. Suspendisse id sem consectetuer libero luctus adipiscing.

But if you want to be lazy, you don’t have to:

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aliquam hendrerit mi posuere lectus. Vestibulum enim wisi, viverra nec, fringilla in, laoreet vitae, risus.

Donec sit amet nisl. Aliquam semper ipsum sit amet velit. Suspendisse id sem consectetuer libero luctus adipiscing.

If list items are separated by blank lines, Markdown will wrap the items in

<

p> tags in the HTML output. For example, this input:

Bird

Magic

will turn into:

Bird

Magic

But this:

Bird

Magic

will turn into:

Bird

Magic

List items may consist of multiple paragraphs. Each subsequent paragraph in a list item must be indented by either 4 spaces or one tab:

This is a list item with two paragraphs. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aliquam hendrerit mi posuere lectus.

Vestibulum enim wisi, viverra nec, fringilla in, laoreet vitae, risus. Donec sit amet nisl. Aliquam semper ipsum sit amet velit.

Suspendisse id sem consectetuer libero luctus adipiscing.

It looks nice if you indent every line of the subsequent paragraphs, but here again, Markdown will allow you to be lazy:

This is a list item with two paragraphs.

This is the second paragraph in the list item. You're only required to indent the first line. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit.

Another item in the same list.

To put a blockquote within a list item, the blockquote’s > delimiters need to be indented:

A list item with a blockquote:

This is a blockquote inside a list item.

To put a code block within a list item, the code block needs to be indented twice — 8 spaces or two tabs:

A list item with a code block:

<code goes here>

It’s worth noting that it’s possible to trigger an ordered list by accident, by writing something like this:

What a great season.

In other words, a number-period-space sequence at the beginning of a line. To avoid this, you can backslash-escape the period:

1986. What a great season.

Code Blocks

Pre-formatted code blocks are used for writing about programming or markup source code. Rather than forming normal paragraphs, the lines of a code block are interpreted literally. Markdown wraps a code block in both

<

pre> and tags.

To produce a code block in Markdown, simply indent every line of the block by at least 4 spaces or 1 tab. For example, given this input:

This is a normal paragraph:

This is a code block.

Markdown will generate:

This is a normal paragraph:

This is a code block.

One level of indentation — 4 spaces or 1 tab — is removed from each line of the code block. For example, this:

Here is an example of AppleScript:

tell application "Foo" beep end tell

will turn into:

Here is an example of AppleScript:

tell application "Foo" beep end tell

A code block continues until it reaches a line that is not indented (or the end of the article).

Within a code block, ampersands (&) and angle brackets (< and >) are automatically converted into HTML entities. This makes it very easy to include example HTML source code using Markdown — just paste it and indent it, and Markdown will handle the hassle of encoding the ampersands and angle brackets. For example, this:

<div class="footer"> © 2004 Foo Corporation </div>

will turn into:

<div class="footer"> © 2004 Foo Corporation </div>

Regular Markdown syntax is not processed within code blocks. E.g., asterisks are just literal asterisks within a code block. This means it’s also easy to use Markdown to write about Markdown’s own syntax. Horizontal Rules

You can produce a horizontal rule tag (

) by placing three or more hyphens, asterisks, or underscores on a line by themselves. If you wish, you may use spaces between the hyphens or asterisks. Each of the following lines will produce a horizontal rule:

Span Elements Links

Markdown supports two style of links: inline and reference.

In both styles, the link text is delimited by [square brackets].

To create an inline link, use a set of regular parentheses immediately after the link text’s closing square bracket. Inside the parentheses, put the URL where you want the link to point, along with an optional title for the link, surrounded in quotes. For example:

This is an example inline link.

This link has no title attribute.

Will produce:

This is an example inline link.

This link has no title attribute.

If you’re referring to a local resource on the same server, you can use relative paths:

See my About page for details.

Reference-style links use a second set of square brackets, inside which you place a label of your choosing to identify the link:

This is an example reference-style link.

You can optionally use a space to separate the sets of brackets:

This is an example reference-style link.

Then, anywhere in the document, you define your link label like this, on a line by itself:

That is:

Square brackets containing the link identifier (optionally indented from the left margin using up to three spaces); followed by a colon; followed by one or more spaces (or tabs); followed by the URL for the link; optionally followed by a title attribute for the link, enclosed in double or single quotes, or enclosed in parentheses.

The following three link definitions are equivalent:

foo: http://example.com/ 'Optional Title Here' Note: There is a known bug in Markdown.pl 1.0.1 which prevents single quotes from being used to delimit link titles.

The link URL may, optionally, be surrounded by angle brackets:

You can put the title attribute on the next line and use extra spaces or tabs for padding, which tends to look better with longer URLs:

Link definitions are only used for creating links during Markdown processing, and are stripped from your document in the HTML output.

Link definition names may consist of letters, numbers, spaces, and punctuation — but they are not case sensitive. E.g. these two links:

[link text][a] [link text][A]

are equivalent.

The implicit link name shortcut allows you to omit the name of the link, in which case the link text itself is used as the name. Just use an empty set of square brackets — e.g., to link the word “Google” to the google.com web site, you could simply write:

Google

And then define the link:

Because link names may contain spaces, this shortcut even works for multiple words in the link text:

Visit Daring Fireball for more information.

And then define the link:

Link definitions can be placed anywhere in your Markdown document. I tend to put them immediately after each paragraph in which they’re used, but if you want, you can put them all at the end of your document, sort of like footnotes.

Here’s an example of reference links in action:

I get 10 times more traffic from Google than from Yahoo or MSN.

Using the implicit link name shortcut, you could instead write:

I get 10 times more traffic from Google than from Yahoo or MSN.

Both of the above examples will produce the following HTML output:

I get 10 times more traffic from Google than from Yahoo or MSN.

For comparison, here is the same paragraph written using Markdown’s inline link style:

I get 10 times more traffic from Google than from Yahoo or MSN.

The point of reference-style links is not that they’re easier to write. The point is that with reference-style links, your document source is vastly more readable. Compare the above examples: using reference-style links, the paragraph itself is only 81 characters long; with inline-style links, it’s 176 characters; and as raw HTML, it’s 234 characters. In the raw HTML, there’s more markup than there is text.

With Markdown’s reference-style links, a source document much more closely resembles the final output, as rendered in a browser. By allowing you to move the markup-related metadata out of the paragraph, you can add links without interrupting the narrative flow of your prose. Emphasis

Markdown treats asterisks (*) and underscores (_) as indicators of emphasis. Text wrapped with one * or _ will be wrapped with an HTML tag; double *’s or _’s will be wrapped with an HTML tag. E.g., this input:

single asterisks

single underscores

double asterisks

double underscores

will produce:

single asterisks

single underscores

double asterisks

double underscores

You can use whichever style you prefer; the lone restriction is that the same character must be used to open and close an emphasis span.

Emphasis can be used in the middle of a word:

unfriggingbelievable

But if you surround an * or _ with spaces, it’ll be treated as a literal asterisk or underscore.

To produce a literal asterisk or underscore at a position where it would otherwise be used as an emphasis delimiter, you can backslash escape it:

*this text is surrounded by literal asterisks*

Code

To indicate a span of code, wrap it with backtick quotes (`). Unlike a pre-formatted code block, a code span indicates code within a normal paragraph. For example:

Use the printf() function.

will produce:

Use the printf() function.

To include a literal backtick character within a code span, you can use multiple backticks as the opening and closing delimiters:

There is a literal backtick (`) here.

which will produce this:

There is a literal backtick (`) here.

The backtick delimiters surrounding a code span may include spaces — one after the opening, one before the closing. This allows you to place literal backtick characters at the beginning or end of a code span:

A single backtick in a code span: `

A backtick-delimited string in a code span: `foo`

will produce:

A single backtick in a code span: `

A backtick-delimited string in a code span: `foo`

With a code span, ampersands and angle brackets are encoded as HTML entities automatically, which makes it easy to include example HTML tags. Markdown will turn this:

Please don't use any <blink> tags.

into:

Please don't use any <blink> tags.

You can write this:

— is the decimal-encoded equivalent of —.

to produce:

— is the decimal-encoded equivalent of —.

Images

Admittedly, it’s fairly difficult to devise a “natural” syntax for placing images into a plain text document format.

Markdown uses an image syntax that is intended to resemble the syntax for links, allowing for two styles: inline and reference.

Inline image syntax looks like this:

That is:

An exclamation mark: !; followed by a set of square brackets, containing the alt attribute text for the image; followed by a set of parentheses, containing the URL or path to the image, and an optional title attribute enclosed in double or single quotes.

Reference-style image syntax looks like this:

Where “id” is the name of a defined image reference. Image references are defined using syntax identical to link references:

As of this writing, Markdown has no syntax for specifying the dimensions of an image; if this is important to you, you can simply use regular HTML tags. Miscellaneous Automatic Links

Markdown supports a shortcut style for creating “automatic” links for URLs and email addresses: simply surround the URL or email address with angle brackets. What this means is that if you want to show the actual text of a URL or email address, and also have it be a clickable link, you can do this:

http://example.com/

Markdown will turn this into:

http://example.com/

Automatic links for email addresses work similarly, except that Markdown will also perform a bit of randomized decimal and hex entity-encoding to help obscure your address from address-harvesting spambots. For example, Markdown will turn this:

address@example.com

into something like this:

address@exa mple.com

which will render in a browser as a clickable link to “address@example.com”.

(This sort of entity-encoding trick will indeed fool many, if not most, address-harvesting bots, but it definitely won’t fool all of them. It’s better than nothing, but an address published in this way will probably eventually start receiving spam.) Backslash Escapes

Markdown allows you to use backslash escapes to generate literal characters which would otherwise have special meaning in Markdown’s formatting syntax. For example, if you wanted to surround a word with literal asterisks (instead of an HTML tag), you can use backslashes before the asterisks, like this:

*literal asterisks*

Markdown provides backslash escapes for the following characters:

\ backslash ` backtick * asterisk _ underscore {} curly braces [] square brackets () parentheses

hash mark

plus sign

minus sign (hyphen) . dot ! exclamation mark

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