#did i sing that to the tune of the mountain goats | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jaskiersvalley · 3 years ago

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🌼~BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out.~🌼 xoxo toss a coin to your bard

You are far too sweet to send this, and my apologies for sitting on this so long without replying! I will definitely be continuing the game and appearing as a loving anon in ask boxes soon. In the meantime, here's a little ficlet of thank you.

As a bit of background, I've been watching Centaurworld recently and this song (Rider's Lullaby) has been stuck in my head for days. So I thought I'd give it a bit of a twist and let the horses of Kaer Morhen have it.

Lullaby of the Wolf

Winters weren't a time of rest for just Witchers. Their trusted companions on the perilous Path were also granted some much needed rest. Roach and Scorpion went years back, familiar enough with each other that Roach's disdain and Scorpion's less desirable personality traits no longer caused problems. They could even be housed in neighbouring stalls which was a major breakthrough on an especially cold winter. All the same, it was a welcome surprise when a bay gelding separated them.

"You're not the prickly bastard's," Roach sniffed daintily.

"My rider travels with him. They call me Nettle. Because I'm a pain in the butt."

There was a snort from Roach and Scorpion laughed heartily at that.

"Bossman called me Scorpion because I stung his pride. He really hoped for a nice juicy steak as his surprise."

Roach dryly cut in, "He should have eaten you anyway, probably would if he could understand you."

Nettle, rather wisely, decided not to comment on that. Or the colourful swearing Scorpion went off on about how a full blooded stallion like him was...actually, Nettle tuned it out in favour of watching a goat trot into the stable and give him a hard stare.

"Prickly's mate is staying, teach him."

Which was how Nettle spent the rest of winter learning the way of a Wolf Witcher's horse. Though he was a Cat Witcher's steed, he was deemed worthy of being brought into the fold. Namely, the lullaby. While horses' singing wasn't audible to humans, Witcher or not, it still seemed to help. Not only did it seem to soothe the Witchers, it helped the horses too, gave them something to focus on outside the wild panic of the situation at hand.

Despite none of them being exceptionally gifted in the way of singing, they all joined in, their soft voices joining to make a chorus.

"Where did the song come from?"

"The old one's mule taught us. Who was taught by the mule before," Roach explained.

The goat, Lil Bleater, chipped in. "It's been passed down generations. Sometimes the old one still hums it. Especially when he's been left by his pups each spring."

That wasn't something Nettle ever heard. But he dutifully memorised the song and even sang it softly under his breath on the way down the mountain, where his human and his mate were tense, as worried as they were on the way up. The others had been right, though they couldn't hear the song, they both relaxed whenever Nettle sang.

It was pure luck that the prickly one's payment for a contract was a horse. She was black, had a tendency to be lame when she didn't want to do something and was, inevitably, named Bitch. Even if she was the nicest horse Nettle had ever met.

"You're a Wolf Witcher's horse now," he told her in the evening as they were left to graze on the sparse grass. "There's some things you need to learn."

Travelling together, Nettle taught Bitch the song. She was definitely suspicious at first.

"Just go lame, they won't pull you in the direction of danger. It's much easier."

Nettle laughed at that. "Their job is to go into danger. And ours is to follow. This is what we can do for them. Carry them, be there for them when nobody else wants to be. It's not much but sometimes we're the only thing they have. It's an honour."

So together they sang and Bitch learned to be brave. She appreciated not being coerced into things, no forceful shoving, no smacks. A lot of cursing and name calling, even a threat of being eaten if she didn't get with the programme but it was all empty words. The underlying impression she got from her prickly owner was that he cared and that was his problem. Because his fragile heart couldn't bear the idea of more senseless loss. Everyone knew the fate of those who got close to a Witcher, human, horse, goat, they all eventually died. But Bitch grew fond of him, she sang the song Nettle had taught her the first night they were alone. Nettle and his Witcher had to head off, she didn't pay much attention to the reason, her main concern was her prickly one and his sudden sullen coldness. It seemed Nettle had been right, Witcher sometimes only had their horses.

They'd been alone together for weeks. Human settlements came and went, monsters too. Her job was to make sure her human got from one place to the next and, sometimes, she kicked up a fuss still, limping in an effort to get him to rest. Despite her best efforts he was still miserable, obviously missing the company of his mate even when he vehemently denied the need for anything but solitude.

Trust was an easy thing to earn. Bitch was content to follow her new owner, following after him obediently. Though his job was as odds with her nature, he had yet to lead her wrong. And she no longer gave him grief either, only insisting on breaks when he needed them too. At least, that was what she told herself until she heard a soft baritone shakily singing.

"You're okay, you're alright, I'll never ever leave your side."

The voice buckled, a soft "I'm sorry" that most certainly wasn't part of the song whispered before continuing, "I will stay and I will fight with you."

Stomping her feet, Bitch pulled at her reins. It had her prickly owner cursing and pulling back, trying to get her to follow along. However, they weren't moving towards the song and Bitch wasn't going to let this go. Rearing up, the yanked her reins free and started off at a canter towards the voice. She ignored the cursing and yelling from behind, trusting her Witcher to follow. Off the path, she crashed into a clearing where a dark horse was curled around a large body. As she clattered to a halt, the horse snorted defensively, ears pinned back.

"If you know what's good for you, you fuck off right now," he snarled. The smell of blood made Bitch shift uncomfortably.

"The song! I know it!" As she approached, the other horse snorted in warning and slowly got to his feet, standing protectively over the barely conscious Witcher.

Though Bitch tried to sing the song, the other horse pawed at the ground. He would have no trouble running her down, they both knew it. Before he could charge though, Bitch's Witcher tumbled into the clearing and blinked once.

"Fucking hell Eskel, what the bloody tits have you done?" There was no hesitation as he barged up to the body and gave the large horse a two handed shove with a growled "move it".

"He's mine," Bitch said, plain and simple. "I've not had him long but he's a good man."

"I know, Prickly is part of Bossman's herd. Didn't think Prickly ever really wanted a steed."

"He didn't. But he got me anyway. Calls me Bitch."

"Nice. I go by Scorpion." The dark horse trotted closer, turning to look at his human with sadness. "I wouldn't do anything to help. I'm glad you brought Prickly here."

They watched together as a camp was quickly set up, potions poured in the fallen Witcher's mouth and wounds tended to with gruff efficiency.

"We might as well settle in," Scorpion announced. "It'll be a couple of days at least before we get moving. And knowing these two, we'll stay in close quarters for a while yet. Welcome to the herd."

#minor lambert/aiden #roach #scorpion #lil bleater #lambert #the witcher #oc horses #tldr: the horses of kaer morhen have a song

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dhwty-writes · 4 years ago

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hi! I have a prompt, if you like: what if Geralt hangs up mistletoe to get Jaskier to kiss him? :)

ELLIE, what a galaxy brained concept! It’s so silly and the gay panic is rampant in this one, my friends. The Kaer Morons being a bumbling pack of idiots and Geralt ridiculously pining after Jaskier? Coming right up!

Summary: Geralt is in love with Jaskier. In order to finally get him to admit his feelings, he devises a ten step plan with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir.

Warnings: NONE, this is tooth-rotting fluff

Read on AO3

There was a conspiracy of the highest order brewing in the Continent involving no less than four witchers, their horses, a goat, and an unsuspecting bard. It is known under many names, including, but not limited to, Operation Home Sweet Home, Gods Save us from your Fucking Pining, and Get Vesemir's Blessing (and Mission Let's Get Geralt Laid, but that was from Lambert and therefore stupid).

They had laid out the Conspiracy in a set of carefully calculated steps last winter with the help of Vesemir's Wise Words and truly copious amounts of alcohol. Once he saw the whole list sober, Geralt had nearly chucked it into the fireplace out of mortification. Good thing Eskel and Lambert had been nearby to wrestle the slip of paper out of his hands.

Only after the creation of at least half a dozen copies was he trusted with it again. He frowned down at the sheet. It was simple, really. A simple ten-step-plan. He could do that.

Step One: Stop fucking staring out of windows and sighing longingly. (Shut up, Lambert.) Get back on the Path and find Jaskier.

Now, at least that was easy enough. Not for the first time since their acquaintance they had agreed upon a meeting place to come find each other as soon as the snows would allow it. Most of the years Geralt would arrive a little late; because even if they chose a spot closer to Kaer Morhen than Oxenfurt, the Killer was usually impassable for a long time.

A few years they had been lucky and could set out relatively early in spring. Geralt hadn't felt lucky at all, sitting in a lonely tavern corner day in, day out, waiting for a familiar bright-coloured bard to fill his life with light again. He had felt terrified, most of all.

So, this year when he set out to the Path, an already crumpled list clutched tightly in his hand, he was even more on edge than normally. He didn't think he could take Step One failing already, and the mortifying possibility of Jaskier lying dead in a ditch. He might just climb up that mountain again and never come back down.

Luckily, Geralt — and Vesemir — were saved from that miserable fate. When Geralt threw open the tavern door in some backwater Kaedwen town, Jaskier was there already. He was peacocking around in his usual manner, enticing his sparse audience with his captivating presence. When his eyes fell on Geralt, though, his three half-drunk spectators were soon forgotten.

The bard gasped and slung his lute onto his back, vaulting off the stage to come rushing over to him. "You're here!" Geralt stood ready, his arms spread wide to catch Jaskier when he flung himself at him in an overenthusiastic hug. "I missed you." Jaskier slung his legs around Geralt's hips and buried his face against his shoulder, clinging to him as if for dear life.

Geralt held him tight, deeply inhaling the familiar scent, a mix of honey, grapes, and cinnamon. He was used to this by now. He didn't mind. Truth be told, he craved it.

"Hmm," he answered, acutely aware of the stares they were attracting. Geralt decided he didn't care. "I... missed you, too."

"You did?" Jaskier pulled back and beamed at him. Just a week ago he had thought he would kill to see that smile again as soon as possible.

"Hmm," he agreed. Now he knew he knew he would die for it.

Jaskier wriggled in his grasp as a sign he wanted to be put down again. "You certainly know how to sweep a man off his feet, darling," he announced with a cheerful wink. "I don't think you've ever told me you so much as enjoyed my company before, let alone miss it."

"Hmm." Hadn't he? He could've sworn he had.

"None of that, now, let me just grab my bag and we can be on our merry way." Without another word, Jaskier rushed up the stairs in the back of the tavern.

Geralt stood uncomfortably in the door, waiting for him to return and doing his best not to attract too much attention. 'Hurry up, Jaskier,' he thought impatiently.

"Oi!" the bartender shouted. "Yer the witcher? The one of the songs?"

"I am."

The man nodded and threw something at him, humming a very distinct tune. It was a ducat. Geralt pocketed it with a sigh. He hadn't missed that.

He didn't have to wait long before Jaskier came barrelling back down the stairs, a much too large bag Roach would have to carry again in tow. "Well," the bard straightened his crumpled doublet, which, for some reason, now gaped open and showed off the pristine shirt underneath. Geralt tried not to stare, "where are we off to?"

"Toussaint," he answered, holding the tavern door open for him.

"Toussaint!" Jaskier exclaimed excitedly. "I love Toussaint."

"Hmm," Geralt said. 'I know,' Geralt thought, 'that's why we're going.'

With their reunion out of the way, it was time to proceed with the plan:

Step Two: Travel with Jaskier. Be nice to him (no fillingless pies!)! Compliment him! Laugh at his jokes!

That part was significantly more difficult than the first. Not that he lacked compliments for Jaskier, quite on the contrary. They, however, posed not one, but two difficulties.

The first was one of his own making: voicing his thoughts with actual words. In the privacy of his mind he had a myriad of compliments. 'You're beautiful,' passed through his head when he saw Jaskier bathed in the golden light of sunset. 'You smell nice,' after a day at the coast, salt encrusting Jaskier's hair. 'You make me smile', 'You make the loneliness go away', 'You're the best bard I could wish for.' None of them were quite eager to leave his mouth.

When they finally did, it was awkward. They didn't sound at all how he imagined them. "What are you looking at?" Jaskier asked.

"Something on your face," he answered. 'Yeah,' he thought dumbly, 'sunlight.'

Or: "Geralt, are you sniffing me?"

"You smell." He still cursed himself months later for omitting the simple word 'nice'.

After a while he got better at it. He could manage an "I like your voice" without stumbling over it, or a "Your outfit looks nice and smooth." It wasn't an "I love listening to you sing and say my name; you make it sound like something that is worthy of affection" or an "I love that you wear silk as soft as your skin and could spend days caressing it without growing tired of it" yet, but he was getting there.

What came then, once he was able to say a simple nice sentence to his bard, was somehow even worse. Jaskier was clumsy, that was nothing new, but this season it was on a whole different level. Whenever Geralt so much asked him about the song he was working on, the bard stumbled over his own feet; with every smile or laugh he nearly dropped his precious lute.

But nothing beat that time they happened upon a particularly clear and blue lake and Geralt had leaned over to tell Jaskier: "I like it. It reminds me of your eyes. Just as pretty." The poet had nearly plummeted right into it, which would have been very unfortunate indeed, since he hadn't convinced the nymph living in it to migrate yet.

In the end, Jaskier's utter lack of equilibrium sense led to Geralt offering him to ride on Roach. That was much better. Sometimes they rode double, too. He liked those days especially, when he had an excuse to hold his bard close. The days when Jaskier would sigh and lean back into his touch he liked most of them all.

Slowly, they settled into a familiar rhythm. It was awkward at first, but soon they became used to the change of their relationship. And it wasn't as if everything changed. They still bickered and insulted each other, and laughed and told stories. It was just right; Geralt almost didn't notice how summer came to an end.

But it did, and when the first leaves started coasting to the ground it was time for the next step.

Step Three: Ask him where he will spend the next winter.

It was probably the most mortifying thing he had to say to Jaskier yet. They were sat at a campfire one early autumn evening, Geralt trying to look busy cleaning his sword and Jaskier preoccupied with his lute. Once he finally worked up the courage to ask, he stumbled over his words like a school boy; he even blushed, for fuck's sake! It was embarrassing.

Luckily, Jaskier didn't seem to notice, too busy tuning his lute. "Why, in Oxenfurt, of course. Why do you ask, Geralt?" he answered nonchalantly as if Geralt wasn't just leading the most daunting conversation of his entire life.

'Fucking great,' he thought. Now it was time for Step Three.5: Ask Jaskier to come home with you, you fucking idiot.

"Hm," he said.

Jaskier laughed. "Talkative as always I see." He smiled at him brightly and turned back to his lute. "Alright then. Keep your secrets."

"Hmm." This wasn't getting any easier. "Jaskier."

"Yes, dear?"

His heart fluttered with the pet name, so much that Geralt nearly bit his tongue off in the process of trying to voice his question: "Would you like to stay with me?"

The lute gave a dissonant twang that made both of them wince. "Excuse me, what?" Jaskier stammered, his voice much higher than normally.

"Hmm. I just thought..." He frowned. 'Shit.' He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. This had been doomed from the beginning. "Forget it, it's stupid."

"No, no, not at all!" Jaskier scrambled to his feet and hurried over to Geralt's side. "Where would we be staying? I suppose you could come to Oxenfurt with me, but it could get a bit crammed and-"

"Kaer Morhen," Geralt stated simply.

"Kaer Mo- oh!" His eyes lit up. "Why, yes, Geralt, I would love to stay with you."

And that was the end of that. They didn't talk about it anymore the whole evening as Geralt did his damnedest to forget the conversation had ever happened. But when he laid awake in the night, Jaskier huddled close to him — it was getting rather cold, after all — he couldn't stop his mind from whirling, excitement mixing with immobilising terror. Jaskier would come to Kaer Morhen with him. They would stay together the whole winter. And Jaskier would meet his family.

With a sigh he turned over, cautiously throwing an arm over Jaskier's waist and holding him like the precious thing he was. The smile that spread on Geralt's face when his bard snuggled even closer, outshone the morning sun creeping over the horizon.

The following days and weeks, Jaskier was buzzing with the same excited energy that Geralt held within. It cost him every ounce of self-control not to turn Roach around and head for Kaer Morhen right away. But it was still early in the autumn, at least a moon's turn before it was time to go home, so they busied themselves with taking contracts and performing for sub-par audiences.

It was alright. He needed the money, after all, if he wanted to cross off Step Four: Bring Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in its entirety, including the note: Buy him some nice and warm clothes on the way - Vesemir

It was good advice, Geralt knew, as most of Vesemir's advice was. Jaskier might have travelled with a witcher for the better part of his life, but he was still only human. And winters were very cold in the northern Kaedwen mountains.

So, on Geralt's annual stop in Ard Carraigh, he took Jaskier to get him equipped with soft woollen sweaters and stockings, as well as a pair of sturdy boots, ignoring the bard's protests of how 'ugly' they were.

"You'll thank me when you've still got all your toes after this winter," he grumbled as he strapped Jaskier's bag to Roach's saddle.

After that, nothing much exciting followed. There were still a few villages and hamlets along the way to Kaer Morhen but the least of them had so much as a tavern. The ones with a real audience of Jaskier were fewer still.

Geralt couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. Quite the opposite, he loved listening to Jaskier in the privacy of their camp or — if they were lucky — the barn where they could stay the night. He loved knowing that Jaskier sang only for him. And most of all he loved the vibrant smiles he got along the way, and the tiny ones, too, etched on his face even when he curled up against the witcher at night.

During the days, Jaskier finally had to stop riding on Roach; the path was simply getting too dangerous. The way up to Kaer Morhen had never been easy, not even when there had been two dozen witchers and twice as many students living there, but since the attack they hadn't tended to it anymore. The Witcher's Trail was no easy one for humans — and it wasn't meant to be.

Jaskier, to his credit, didn't comment much on it, most of the time too exhausted or admiring to run his mouth about the difficulty of getting to Geralt's home. He was almost a bit worried, anxious even, if Jaskier's reaction to seeing the ancient ruin would just be the same kind of silent admiration.

Evidently, there had been no need. They rounded the last corner and, finally, Kaer Morhen was looming up above them. As soon as his eyes fell on it, Jaskier gasped and ran ahead. He had, apparently, forgotten about his aching limbs he had complained about just that morning. "Is that it?" he asked excitedly. "Geralt, is this it?"

"No, it's another crumbling fortress in the Kaedwen mountains," he deadpanned.

"You're mean," Jaskier accused him and turned back around to the keep. "For months I've dreamt of this moment and what do you do? You mock me, truly a horrible habit, that- oh, gods, Geralt, it's so beautiful!"

"Hmm," he answered, watching Jaskier intently. The childish glee on his face, the snowflakes dancing around him and melting in his hair. "I guess so."

"Can we go inside?"

Another barbed comment was already on the tip of his tongue, but Geralt guessed that he shouldn't ruin the moment. Not if Jaskier was so happy. "We can. Come on."

They were still a good distance away when the gates creaked open and three bulking figures stepped outside. "You're early," he accused Eskel and Lambert once they caught up to them. They weren't supposed to be there. They were messing up Step Five: Meet the family. (Lambert Eskel Lambert Vesemir first.)

"And you're impolite," Vesemir grumbled. "I taught you better, Geralt."

"Hmm," he answered and the silence that followed might've been awkward if not for Jaskier.

Thanks to him there was no silence at all, to be precise. "You must be Vesemir; Geralt told me so much about you. Dare I say, Master Witcher, I am honoured and humbled by the invitation, and am looking forward to my stay. The name's Jaskier and I am at your service," he concluded and bowed with a flourish.

The three witchers gaped at him in surprise and Geralt couldn't help but grin. No overly detailed stories by him could've possibly prepared them for... well, Jaskier. "What," Lambert muttered quietly, "the fuck?"

"Now, that's just rude," Jaskier said as he straightened himself, "don't you think? Geralt, your brother is being rude to me."

It was all he could do not to laugh freely. Instead he shrugged and said: "Told you he's the rude one."

"Oh, you're Lambert!" The bard grinned widely and stretched out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

Lambert huffed in surprise and shook the offered hand. "Tell you what, bard, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

"Offended," Geralt mumbled just as Eskel said: "Flattered."

Jaskier smiled widely and wickedly. "Both."

Lambert opened his mouth, presumably to return a rude comment, but Jaskier's attention was diverted by Eskel, who gave him a thorough once-over and then nodded. "Welcome to Kaer Morhen, bard."

"Thank you, uh, Eskel?" he hazarded a guess.

A smile tugged on the unscarred corner of his mouth. "That's right."

"Dinner's in an hour," Vesemir cut in. "Maybe you could show our guest to his room, Geralt?"

Right. With the meeting out of the way it was time for Step Six: Show him to his room (Make sure it has some nice fur rugs - Vesemir) (Shag him on the rug - Lambert) (Offer to stay with him if he's cold - Eskel). Both of those additions seemed equally daunting to him.

But before he could even think of an excuse as to why he couldn't do that right now, Roach's reins were ripped from his hands and they were being pushed towards the keep.

"Well, they're certainly eager to get rid of you, considering they haven't seen you for a year," Jaskier quipped once they were inside the keep proper.

"That's not- hmm." 'Fuck.' He had almost betrayed himself. "They'll be different after dinner," he promised. "Besides, you know they can hear you."

"So?" He huffed a laugh. "I know they're just like you; all bark and no bite."

He was about to deny that claim but Lambert's offended howl that reached him from the courtyard quickly changed his mind. That definitely was worth the jab at his own ego. "Come on," he urged, smiling, "no need to continue playing the jester for them any further."

"Why, is there any issue with providing entertainment for a living?" Jaskier teased.

"Only if it's at the expense of me."

He sighed dramatically. "That I know, my dear. That I know."

"Jaskier?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to give you a tour of the keep."

"You are? Oh, I wouldn't have noticed." Geralt shot him a dirty look. Jaskier snickered maliciously, the bastard. "Oh, yeah, yep. Shutting up. Go ahead, Sir Witcher, show me your magnificent home."

From anyone else it might've been mockery. It might've been mockery from Jaskier, too, if not for the sound of absolute awe in his voice as he took in their surroundings.

Geralt could hardly blame him. It might've been a long time since he had arrived at Kaer Morhen, but he still remembered how dumbstruck he had been at the sheer immensity of the place that should become since home.

It had lost its mysticism since then, but seeing Jaskier's childlike wonder as he led him through the kitchens and great hall made him remember. He showed him the library, too, as well as the stairs down to the hot springs that he must never, ever confuse with those that led to the laboratories.

He closed with the rooms the various witchers claimed as their own: "That's Lambert's room down the hall, don't go there, he's a prick; Vesemir is a few floors below us, claims he's too old for our squabbles; that's mine, and that one's Eskel's, ask him if you need something and I'm not there, not Lambert, he's an arsehole-"

"Geralt," Jaskier said soothingly and put a hand on his arm, "you're rambling."

"Am I?" he asked confused. "Don't think so."

"There's no need to be nervous, dear. I won't abandon you; you're stuck with me for the winter."

"I'm not nervous," Geralt insisted, his fingers twitching nervously.

"Right," Jaskier took his hand away, evidently not very convinced. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, then."

"Don't be," he mumbled, not quite able to tear his gaze from Jaskier's gentle smile.

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"Do I-" He started fidgeting with his lute strap. "Do I have a room, too? I mean, not that I mind sharing with you, that's not the issue at all- gods, I sound stupid-"

His eyes still trained on Jaskier, he reached behind him and opened the door. "There."

"That's my room?" he asked without turning around to look inside.

"That's yours," Geralt confirmed. He had prepared it last winter already. Just in case.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the poet whirled around and rushed into the sparsely furnished room. He looked very much... out of place. The realisation hit him like a slap in the face; but apparently the visual of Jaskier and his bright purple doublet in the grey empty walls of Kaer Morhen was what it took for him to realise how little they were reconcilable.

For the first time in his life he felt self-conscious for his home. "'S not much," Geralt mumbled.

"It's wonderful." Jaskier beamed, carefully inspecting the bed and the rug, peering out the window and into the chest. "Might get a bit cold, though."

He grumbled something he knew to be unintelligible to humans into his beard.

"What was that, love?"

"You could always stay with me," he spoke up. "Y'know. We've shared before."

"That we have! You might find that before long you will be forced to let me take you up on your generous offer."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and left him to it, in order to complete Step Six.5: No, let him arrive first, you idiot! There would be no 'being forced' of any kind, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that to Jaskier, yet.

Despite their apparent incompatibility Jaskier settled into the routine of Kaer Morhen disturbingly quickly. Though 'settle into' wasn't quite the right choice of words. More like 'tear it down and build it anew, but with lyrics, laughter, and luminosity'.

The evening of their arrival was truly mortifying, the worst mix of embarrassing stories of Geralt's childhood and very inappropriate questions directed at Jaskier. Geralt had spent the whole dinner frozen in shock and awe at the masterful display of the bard's craftsmanship.

After an hour of vicious cross-examination, the three witchers had finally backed off. And as Vesemir had retreated to his rooms, Lambert had brought up the alcohol. It hall had spiralled out of Geralt's control after that.

Within the hour Lambert and Jaskier were japing and jabbing at each other as if they were lifelong friends and not acquaintances since a few hours. It took his bard three days to have Vesemir completely wrapped around his finger, intently listening to his droning lectures about basically everything. And not even a fortnight into their stay, he found Jaskier and Eskel in the library, talking with hushed voices. He quickly retreated but not before he heard Jaskier telling his brother how beautiful he was, scars or no scars, and Eskel sniveled quietly.

A month since their arrival saw them trapped into the castle by the heavy snowfalls. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Vesemir from drilling them mercilessly.

They were an hour into their morning routine when they all perked at the sound of soft footsteps passing through the hall. "Jaskier," Geralt said softly.

The bard was bundled up in several quilts, his face barely visible beneath the mess of his hair and the blankets. Still his face lit up with the brightest smile when he saw them. "Mornin', lads," he croaked, "lookin' good, keep it up." He gave them a tired thumbs-up and shuffled off to the kitchen, where Vesemir would provide him with a hot breakfast with a side of 'most-boring-information-on-this-earth'. It was their own morning routine of sorts, and the three of them knew it wouldn't be long before they were discussing the 'merits of the iambic pentameter in 10th century love poetry' or some shit.

"Fuck," Lambert cursed once they knew Jaskier to be out of earshot, "I really can't blame you, Geralt. Too much time with him and I start gawking like a love-sick idiot, too."

"Hmm," Geralt agreed. Jaskier definitely had that effect.

"Jealous, wolf?" Eskel inquired with a knowing smile.

"No," he answered earnestly. If anything, he loved Jaskier more for it. His family wasn't easy to deal with, he knew. But his bard didn't care. He had so much affection to give, even for witchers. 'Especially for witchers.' He closed his eyes with a happy smile.

"Y'know, there's still a couple of steps left on our list," Eskel informed him casually.

Geralt's eyes snapped open as his heart sped up. 'Fuck.' The plan. "Hmm."

"Just fucking get it over with," Lambert yearned. "Your pining isn't any less obnoxious just because he's here."

"If anything, it's gotten worse," Eskel agreed.

"So?" he snapped. He had put it off, that was true. Had waited for the snow, he told himself, but now the snow was here and-

"So, we'll distract him this afternoon," Eskel interrupted his spiralling thoughts.

"And you pull your head outta your arse and fucking follow through," Lambert added.

"Fine," he ground out. "We do that." Not before he kicked both their arses during their training, though, for being such utter dicks.

Before long, however, the inevitable happened. Morning passed over to noon, and, true to their words, Lambert and Eskel whisked Jaskier away after lunch. They left Geralt behind in the hall with a branch in his hands and nothing left to do but complete Step Seven: Hang up a mistletoe.

"Fuck," he muttered. Nearly one year had passed since they had come up with their conspiracy. One year to gather his courage, one year to come up with a plan, one year to at least think about where to fucking put it. "Fuck," he said again, for good measure.

He looked around. Looked to the rafters. Looked at the mistletoe. "Fuck it," he declared and tucked it away to scale up to the rafters.

He was already up there, dangling from one of the beams when he remembered that he had nothing to secure it with besides the silky ribbon that would never fit around it. He scowled darkly. He sure as hell wouldn't climb down and up again. Without further ado he pulled his dagger from his belt and drove it deep into the wood, pinning the mistletoe by the ribbon.

He climbed down again, making sure that it was visible from the ground. 'Perfect,' he decreed. With the mistletoe in place, it was now time for Step Eight: Have Lambert and Eskel inform Jaskier of the mistletoe and a strategically placed Geralt.

He spun around to go and alert his brothers, when he heard a cheerful voice behind him: "Geralt! There you are, you mean witcher, I was wondering where you were hiding. You know, it is not nice to leave your, uh- bedmate all alone and freezing in the morning, and- oh." There was a thoughtful pause. "Now would you look at that."

Geralt heaved a long sigh. He dreaded turning around, for he had a very distinct feeling he knew already what he would see. And fuck, he was not ready for that step. For some stupid reason, he still did turned around.

Jaskier stood in the middle of the hall, squinting up at the ceiling. "Are my eyes deceiving me — and they might be, mind you, my eyes are not as good as a witcher's — or is that a mistletoe I spy up there."

He cursed internally. He knew he should've hung it lower. "Hmm," he answered, his heart beating in his throat. Why was his heart beating in his throat? It wasn't supposed to do that. His voice was surprisingly calm when he said: "Seems like it."

"Oh no!" he moaned woefully. "Quick, Geralt, come here and lift the curse!"

"Curse?" he inquired bemusedly as his feet moved without his volition. "What curse, Jaskier?"

The bard gasped. "Don't you know? When someone passes beneath a mistletoe, they are frozen to the spot until the curse is broken."

"Hmm," he stepped under the mistletoe, too. He should've known Jaskier would make up a story around this. It was just a tradition, for fuck's sake, no curse. Although a curse was certainly more romantic, even he had to admit that. "Must be a rare curse if a witcher's never heard of it."

"The rarest," Jaskier insisted and pointed at his cheek. "It may only be broken with a true love's kiss."

In light of what happened next, let it be known that, in Geralt's defence, he was panicking. Quite thoroughly so. Since the Trials his legs hadn't shaken like that anymore.

He had been promised a pep talk by his brothers before having to confront the situation at hand. And yet they were nowhere to be found and Jaskier was here, evidently expecting him to kiss him.

'Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck.' He was not ready; he was not ready; he was not-

"Geralt?" Jaskier ripped him from his thoughts. "Are you waiting till my nose grows icicles, or what?"

Still, he leaned forward, placing one hand on Jaskier's hip and the other on his shoulder, and pecked him on the cheek.

The cheek. That had not been the plan. That had not been the plan at all. And then, of all things, he heard himself ask: "Can you move again?"

Jaskier blinked, looking just as dumbstruck as Geralt felt. "I- I think so?" he stammered and moved to pull away, blushing furiously.

'Fuck, no,' he remembered thinking. And while he wasn't quite in control of his limbs again, what he did next was probably the single most clever thing he had done in his entire life. Gingerly almost, he tightened his grip on Jaskier. His head tilted to the side, an invitation, an escape.

His bard didn't move. Instead, he said: "Doesn't seem like it."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and leaned in closer. "Difficult curse, seems like. Let me try again."

Before he could even think of changing his mind, Jaskier had his arms looped around Geralt's neck and crushed their lips together. He did his best to reciprocate the kiss, which wasn't easy with fear still gripping his heart tightly, but then Jaskier crowded closer, moulding his body against Geralt's and that was all it took for the tension to seep from his bones and go limb.

It was a weird sensation; being wrapped in Jaskier's arms was so familiar, but he was also kissing Jaskier, which was new- 'Great gods, I am kissing Jaskier, I am kissing Jaskier, I am-'

He pulled back with a triumphant grin, evidently startling his bard. "What?" he asked, very confused.

"I am kissing you," he announced, his grin widening even more.

Jaskier frowned. "That you are, but-"

"I am kissing you," he said again and pecked him on the lips. "And I can keep doing it."

"Oh!" The frown eased away, giving way to the softest of smiles. "That you can, my dear."

So, Geralt did. Again. And again. And again, and again, and again. He didn't know how many times he had kissed Jaskier, how many times Jaskier had kissed him, before he pulled back and blurted: "I love you."

Jaskier stared at him in silent awe, before blushing and cupping his cheeks gently. "That you do, my love," he whispered. "And I love you, too." Softly, he pressed their lips together again.

"You do?" Geralt asked disbelievingly.

Jaskier smirked. "I do. For years and years, I have. I thought you knew."

"Fuck," he muttered. Did that mean... 'I didn't have to do any of this.' He could've just- "I'm an idiot."

"Only sometimes," he allowed, giggling sillily. Geralt was compelled to join in. "Besides, you’re my idiot, and I love you for it." He shifted a little, so he could lean his head comfortably onto Geralt's shoulder despite them being nearly the same height.

"So," Jaskier drawled, curling a strand of Geralt's hair around his finger, "are we just going to keep standing here, or...?"

He scoffed. Of course, they wouldn't. He had a plan, after all. "Fuck." The plan.

Jaskier raised his head. "Is that a curse or an answer?"

"Yes," he answered warily.

It earned him the most beautiful snorting laugh he had ever heard. "What are you cursing at, love?"

"We skipped Step Eight," he admitted, "got right to Step Nine."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Step Nine: Kiss Jaskier." The poet just gawked at him. "I had a list," he explained.

"You had?" Jaskier's eyes lit up and he made grabby hands. "Show me, show me!"

Reluctantly, Geralt handed it over, studying Jaskier's face carefully as he read through it.

"I knew it," Jaskier concluded finally.

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on!" He threw up his hands. "You were acting weird all year round, Geralt! Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but still, weird. It took me about ten minutes to figure out there was some ploy at play." He laughed quietly and waved the paper around. "Though I never would've guessed what was amiss."

"You don't like it."

"On the contrary! It's a wonderful plan," the poet said and pecked him on the lips. "I've got to admit, though, Lambert was right: you should've just fucked me on that rug once we got here."

"Hmmm." Geralt nuzzled against Jaskier's neck, holding him closer when he tried to squirm away from the tickling sensation. "That still an option?"

"Very much so. I believe it has to be one more step before completing your list." He pulled him close and whispered against his lips: "Take me to bed, my love"

And how could Geralt refuse such a request? Especially if it coincided so luckily with Step Ten.

#my writing #the witcher #geraskier #elliestormfound #look i've got an ask #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #eskel #Lambert #vesemir #kaer morhen #kaer morons

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demisexualgeralt · 4 years ago

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Next piece for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo !

Prompt: tied up

Relationships: Jaskier/Eskel

Rating: T

Content Warnings: none

Summary: When Eskel doesn’t come back to their room after a hunt, Jaskier goes looking for him and finds him in an unexpected place

It had been three hours and Jaskier was starting to get worried.

He told Eskel that he didn’t need to take the contract. They had plenty of money and this town gave Jaskier an uneasy feeling. But, noble fool that he was, he had just kissed Jaskier and told him that it was just a few drowners. He’d be back in an hour, at most.

He tried keeping his mind busy, writing an entire poem about stubborn witchers and their poor, neglected bards. He’d started setting it to music, but nothing seemed to work and he ended up just plucking aimlessly at the strings and worrying a divot into his thumb. Twenty years of traveling with witchers was going to send him into an early grave.

Unable to keep his creativity flowing any longer, Jaskier gathered his resolve and determinedly set out into the night, ready to give Eskel a piece of his mind. Or, failing that, to drown his sorrows in whatever was on tap at the town’s sad little pub.

He made it just to the edge of town when he stopped short and a small noise to his right. He reached for the dagger Eskel had gifted him shortly after they started traveling together. He turned toward the noise, ready to face down whatever was lurking in the shadows when he saw a familiar hunched figure.

“Eskel?”

Another muffled noise has Jaskier running over to see where Eskel was tied to a post, some kind of rag shoved in his mouth as a makeshift gag.

He takesthe dagger and cuts him loose, taking the rag out and checking Eskel’s face for any blood. “What happened?’

Eskel tries to turn his face away from Jaskier’s hands, but he kept them steady on his face. “Eskel?” he tries again softly.

“It was a trap.”

“The drowners?”

Eskel sighs and nods. “I should’ve known better.”

“No...no, love, that’s not true. They were cruel, it isn’t your fault. Why didn’t you…”

“Fight back?”

Jaskier nods.

“I didn’t...didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

Jaskier feels it like a stab wound. “Too noble for your own good.”

“Can you blame them?”

Jaskier sighs, cursing the world for the thousandth time. “I can, actually. They hurt you. That was their choice and people can be blamed for those.”

“They were just protecting themselves.”

“From what?” Jaskier says, pulling away and splaying his arms wide. “You?”

“You can’t say that if you weren’t...you, you wouldn’t be afraid of me.”

Jaskier takes his hands and rubs at the marks from the ropes, even knowing they probably don’t even register to Eskel. “First of all, I don’t know what you mean by that first part, I am a delight. And secondly, I can confidently say that I have never been afraid of you because you have never given me a reason to be afraid. How someone looks has nothing to do with that. What I have seen you do is sing to your goat even though you can’t carry a tune. And remember your brother’s favorite foods. And carry me down a mountain when I sprained my ankle. I could go on but...you are not a monster, Eskel. And this town is full of absolute idiots for not seeing that.”

Eskel sighs, but knows better than to argue with Jaskier when he’s in a passion. “I can’t say I agree that easily, but...thank you. And thank you for finding me.”

Jaskier huffs in mock offense and pulls away. “You witchers are a full time job.”

Eskel doesn’t smile, but his eyes light up a little. “I could say the same about you, little bird.”

Jaskier did smile, kissing Eskel’s scarred cheek. “Let’s call it even then for now.”

Eskel nods and accepts Jaskier’s hand. For now, it was enough.

#the witcher #jaskel #eskel x jaskier #jaskier #eskel

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years ago

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Tyrion and Tysha murder mystery hints - first mention in the text

This thing just keeps tugging at me, and this recent thread made me ambitious to examine it in more detail. So I’ll look at hints for an even darker edge to the story of Tyrion and Tysha in the parts of the text that actually mention her.

Since I have limited time, I’ll do several posts. This one is about how we learn about Tysha in A Game of Thrones.

We head into AGOT, Tyrion VI via a chapter transition from AGOT, Jon V, where Jon talks Maester Aemon into choosing Samwell as his assistant. In the presence of his current assistant Chett, who - it is revealed later in the ASOS Prologue - murdered a girl he liked for rejecting him.

Chett gave a nasty laugh. “I’ve seen what happens to soft lordlings when they’re put to work. Set them to churning butter and their hands blister and bleed. Give them an axe to split logs, and they cut off their own foot.”

“I know one thing Sam could do better than anyone.”

“Yes?” Maester Aemon prompted.

Jon glanced warily at Chett, standing beside the door, his boils red and angry. “He could help you,” he said quickly. “He can do sums, and he knows how to read and write. I know Chett can’t read, and Clydas has weak eyes. Sam read every book in his father’s library. He’d be good with the ravens too. Animals seem to like him. Ghost took to him straight off. There’s a lot he could do, besides fighting. The Night’s Watch needs every man. Why kill one, to no end? Make use of him instead.”

Maester Aemon closed his eyes, and for a brief moment Jon was afraid that he had gone to sleep. Finally he said, “Maester Luwin taught you well, Jon Snow. Your mind is as deft as your blade, it would seem.”

“Does that mean …?”

“It means I shall think on what you have said,” the maester told him firmly. “And now, I believe I am ready to sleep. Chett, show our young brother to the door.”

(AGOT, Jon V)

The chapter is followed by AGOT, Tyrion VI, where Tyrion and Bronn rest on the high road after being kicked out of the Gates of the Moon, after he won his trial by combat:

They had taken shelter beneath a copse of aspens just off the high road. Tyrion was gathering dead-wood while their horses took water from a mountain stream. He stooped to pick up a splintered branch and examined it critically. “Will this do? I am not practiced at starting fires. Morrec did that for me.”

The entire conversation between Jon, Aemon and Chett sets up Tyrion. A lordling, bad with manual labor, but smart and a reader. Yet we know he is no Samwell Tarly in his sensibilities, and the last sentence is dedicated to Chett.

Chett...

The only women Chett had ever known were the whores he’d bought in Mole’s Town. When he’d been younger, the village girls took one look at his face, with its boils and its wen, and turned away sickened. The worst was that slattern Bessa. She’d spread her legs for every boy in Hag’s Mire so he’d figured why not him too? He even spent a morning picking wildflowers when he heard she liked them, but she’d just laughed in his face and told him she’d crawl in a bed with his father’s leeches before she’d crawl in one with him. She stopped laughing when he put his knife in her. That was sweet, the look on her face, so he pulled the knife out and put it in her again. When they caught him down near Sevenstreams, old Lord Walder Frey hadn’t even bothered to come himself to do the judging. He’d sent one of his bastards, that Walder Rivers, and the next thing Chett had known he was walking to the Wall with that foul-smelling black devil Yoren. To pay for his one sweet moment, they took his whole life.

But now he meant to take it back, and Craster’s women too. That twisted old wildling has the right of it. If you want a woman to wife you take her, and none of this giving her flowers so that maybe she don’t notice your bloody boils. Chett didn’t mean to make that mistake again.

Like Tyrion, Chett is rejected by others for his appearance, has a violent father and a lot of resentment that comes out in the shape of murdering “slatterns”. He also mixes it up with the idea of marriage. Like Tyrion, the cold night reminds Chett of the girl in his past.

He could see Bessa’s face floating before him. It wasn’t the knife I wanted to put in you, he wanted to tell her. I picked you flowers, wild roses and tansy and goldencups, it took me all morning. His heart was thumping like a drum, so loud he feared it might wake the camp. Ice caked his beard all around his mouth. Where did that come from, with Bessa? Whenever he’d thought of her before, it had only been to remember the way she’d looked, dying. What was wrong with him?

Chett killed her in a rage, but the truth is layered and haunts him.

But back to Tyrion.

Tyrion VI emphasizes Tyrion’s cleverness as he converses with Bronn, explaining his strategy in the Vale for how to steal Bronn from Cat’s service and make use of his practical talents, and his strategy for their travels in the Mountains of the Moon. Tyrion talks, Bronn listens and agrees to serve him.

The point is, Tyrion is very observant and smart. Reader, trust Tyrion’s judgent and words, is the message. Then we get more personal.

As they light a fire and eat a goat, Tyrion remembers his goaler Mord who treated him cruelly in the sky cells.

(Mord, btw, translates to murder in many a germanic/Scandinvian language.)

“And yet you gave the turnkey a purse of gold,” Bronn said.

“A Lannister always pays his debts.”

Even Mord had scarcely believed it when Tyrion tossed him the leather purse. The gaoler’s eyes had gone big as boiled eggs as he yanked open the drawstring and beheld the glint of gold. “I kept the silver,” Tyrion had told him with a crooked smile, “but you were promised the gold, and there it is.” It was more than a man like Mord could hope to earn in a lifetime of abusing prisoners. “And remember what I said, this is only a taste. If you ever grow tired of Lady Arryn’s service, present yourself at Casterly Rock, and I’ll pay you the rest of what I owe you.” With golden dragons spilling out of both hands, Mord had fallen to his knees and promised that he would do just that.

The image of coins spilling from hands is picked up later.

Tyrion was hoping to lure in the mountain clans, but they take their time showing up, so he tries to be even more conspicuous.

Tyrion chuckled. “Then we ought to sing and send them fleeing in terror.” He began to whistle a tune.

He chooses the “terrible” tune himself. It leads straight to his memory:

“Myrish. ‘The Seasons of My Love.’ Sweet and sad, if you understand the words. The first girl I ever bedded used to sing it, and I’ve never been able to put it out of my head.” Tyrion gazed up at the sky. It was a clear cold night and the stars shone down upon the mountains as bright and merciless as truth. “I met her on a night like this,” he heard himself saying. “Jaime and I were riding back from Lannisport when we heard a scream, and she came running out into the road with two men dogging her heels, shouting threats.

Myrish, as in the Myrish lens. The object Lysa sends Catelyn, which has a false bottom hiding the real message in a secret language, a message of murder and conspiracy. A secret language, a foreign language, like Mord.

"A lens is an instrument to help us see." (AGOT, Catelyn II)

Bright and merciless as truth.

My brother unsheathed his sword and went after them, while I dismounted to protect the girl. She was scarcely a year older than I was, dark-haired, slender, with a face that would break your heart. It certainly broke mine. Lowborn, half-starved, unwashed … yet lovely. They’d torn the rags she was wearing half off her back, so I wrapped her in my cloak while Jaime chased the men into the woods. By the time he came trotting back, I’d gotten a name out of her, and a story. She was a crofter’s child, orphaned when her father died of fever, on her way to … well, nowhere, really.

Where Tysha went will become a theme. @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir examines that beautifully here.

But even right here, the tone is ominous, and GRRM goes out of his way to emphasize it with the ellipses.

We get the story of Jaime chasing after the outlaws and Tyrion and Tysha falling into bed at an inn after drinking, eating and talking, and the story of their marriage, and its end.

Tyrion was surprised at how desolate it made him feel to say it, even after all these years. Perhaps he was just tired. “That was the end of my marriage.” He sat up and stared at the dying fire, blinking at the light.

“He sent the girl away?”

“He did better than that,” Tyrion said. “First he made my brother tell me the truth. The girl was a whore, you see. Jaime arranged the whole affair, the road, the outlaws, all of it. He thought it was time I had a woman. He paid double for a maiden, knowing it would be my first time.

NOTHING about this makes sense, which is ridiculous when you consider we were just hammered over the head with how smart Tyrion is supposed to be.

Since when is Jaime prone to setting up complex schemes? Why would feel the need to push Tyrion to have sex at thirteen, and why would be ever do it this way? Why would be hire him a virgin for his first time? We don’t question it because GRRM has told us not to question the smartiepants. But as we later learn, that was all. not. true. So maybe other things aren’t true, either.

“After Jaime had made his confession, to drive home the lesson, Lord Tywin brought my wife in and gave her to his guards. They paid her fair enough. A silver for each man, how many whores command that high a price? He sat me down in the corner of the barracks and bade me watch, and at the end she had so many silvers the coins were slipping through her fingers and rolling on the floor, she …” The smoke was stinging his eyes. Tyrion cleared his throat and turned away from the fire, to gaze out into darkness. “Lord Tywin had me go last,” he said in a quiet voice. “And he gave me a gold coin to pay her, because I was a Lannister, and worth more.”

The parallels to his memory of Mord are striking. Silver and gold, coins spilling from hands, a “price” beyond expectation... and a promise of something very sinister at the next meeting.

After a time he heard the noise again, the rasp of steel on stone as Bronn sharpened his sword. “Thirteen or thirty or three, I would have killed the man who did that to me.”

1) Nice how Bronn makes it about Tyrion’s pain. Tysha’s pain does not exist to them. And so the reader is also drawn away from it. Poor Tyrion.

2) Another reference to killing. It foreshadows Tyrion’s murder of Tywin over this very matter, of course, but at the same time...

Tyrion gestured impatiently with the bow. “Tysha. What did you do with her, after my little lesson?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Try harder. Did you have her killed?”

His father pursed his lips. “There was no reason for that, she’d learned her place … and had been well paid for her day’s work, I seem to recall. I suppose the steward sent her on her way. I never thought to inquire.”

“On her way where?”

“Wherever whores go.”

Tyrion’s finger clenched. (ASOS, Tyrion XI)

I don’t think it can be emphasized enough that this happens right after he murders Shae. Shae the whore.

“Did you ever like it?” He cupped her cheek, remembering all the times he had done this before. All the times he’d slid his hands around her waist, squeezed her small firm breasts, stroked her short dark hair, touched her lips, her cheeks, her ears. All the times he had opened her with a finger to probe her secret sweetness and make her moan. “Did you ever like my touch?”

“More than anything,” she said, “my giant of Lannister.”

That was the worst thing you could have said, sweetling.

Tyrion slid a hand under his father’s chain, and twisted. The links tightened, digging into her neck. “For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman’s hands are warm,” he said. He gave cold hands another twist as the warm ones beat away his tears.

And just before he asks him about Tysha, Tywin assures him he was meant to be sent to the Wall. Whether or not that’s a lie, we’re looking at another Chett parallel. Murdering a “slattern”, facing life at the Wall.

We close Tyrion’s memory of Tysha:

Tyrion swung around to face him. “You may get that chance one day. Remember what I told you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” He yawned. “I think I will try and sleep. Wake me if we’re about to die.”

He rolled himself up in the shadowskin and shut his eyes. The ground was stony and cold, but after a time Tyrion Lannister did sleep. He dreamt of the sky cell. This time he was the gaoler, not the prisoner, big, with a strap in his hand, and he was hitting his father, driving him back, toward the abyss …

Like Chett, his thoughts return to the girl. He turns into the goaler, Mord, his rage comes through, his capability of great violence. In ASOS, his lashing out at Tywin is preceeded by directing his violence toward the “whore” who allegedly betrayed him. Which is preceeded by a truth about Tysha.

“Thank you?” Tyrion’s voice was choked. “He gave her to his guards. A barracks full of guards. He made me … watch.” Aye, and more than watch. I took her too … my wife …

“I never knew he would do that. You must believe me.”

“Oh, must I?” Tyrion snarled. “Why should I believe you about anything, ever? She was my wife!”

“Tyrion—”

He hit him. It was a slap, backhanded, but he put all his strength into it, all his fear, all his rage, all his pain. Jaime was squatting, unbalanced. The blow sent him tumbling backward to the floor. “I … I suppose I earned that.”

“Oh, you’ve earned more than that, Jaime. You and my sweet sister and our loving father, yes, I can’t begin to tell you what you’ve earned. But you’ll have it, that I swear to you. A Lannister always pays his debts.” Tyrion waddled away, almost stumbling over the turnkey again in his haste. Before he had gone a dozen yards, he bumped up against an iron gate that closed the passage. Oh, gods. It was all he could do not to scream.

(ASOS, Tyrion XI)

The turnkey here is interesting. Once again, Tysha’s memory is associated with a cell and the presence of a turnkey. In his anguished memory, Tyrion almost stumbles over him. The last turnkey was Mord.

So, just looking at Tysha’s first mention, there are so many ominous connections. Murder murder murder.

The chapter ends with Tyrion meeting and “hiring” the mountain clans. How? To avenge himself on Lysa Arryn, he promises them the entire Vale. Really driving home that “a Lannister pays his debts” is all about disproportionate retribution.

A few chapter later, to create some distance to this dark tale, Tyrion meets Shae and sets up to re-create his entire Tysha trauma. The two are intertwined, so why should their ends not be?

That’s fodder for a different post, though.

#asoiaf #anti tyrion lannister #tysha #murder mystery #long post #Shae #tywin lannister #bronn #mismemory #memory edit

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conaionaru · 4 years ago

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The drowned girl

Little Menace

Synopsis: What if Siggy never died and was raised by loving parents that cared for her and taught her the way of the Gods? What if the little Völva was raised by Floki and Helga (because fuck Bjorn!)

Warnings: canon divergence (duh), violence, past child neglect, child abandonment, bad parenting

I don’t own the gifs.

Bjorn looked at Floki and Helga, waiting for the good news to be said. If the boatbuilder kept his promise and built him the means to leave, Bjorn Ironside could sail to an unknown land and discover what no one had dreamt of.

"What do you say, Helga? What shall we tell him?" Floki mocked his tone, teasing, trying to drag the pretense on.

Bjorn looked at the kind blonde. "We think that it won't be long until you have boats ready and able to take you to the Mediterranean Sea!"

The Ragnarsson lit up at the information until Floki scoffed at the Viking's excitement. "If it exists."

"Of course, it exists!"

"It's just a map, Bjorn. Marks on a paper. A child could have drawn it." Floki cut him off, causing the younger boy to frown. "How can we know if it's real?"

"I learned from my father. The only way to tell if something is real..." He laid a small boat on in the water and pushed it away from the shore. "Is to sail there. I hope you'll come with me, Floki."

"Are you joking? The lure of an imaginary land. Traveling somewhere that doesn't exist?" Floki laughed in his mad way and grinned happily. "Of course, I am coming."

"And I hope you will come too, Helga." The blonde healer smiled at them, amused.

"Well, if Floki is mad enough to go, then I guess I will follow."

Bjorn cheered up at the answer, happy to know that his father's friends would be there to see him achieve his dream. What bothered him, though, was the silence. Something was off. "Where is she?" The tall Ragnarsson looked around them and up the trees, looking for a familiar face or shape. But he saw nothing.

"Went to collect some herbs a while ago," Helga explained, frowning at the relieved sigh the boy let out in return.

A girl in a long scarf sat by the shore, the dark teal fabric hiding her hair from the gentle breeze that swept by. Her bare feet were burrowed in the sand, while her hands held the scarf in a death grip.

The waves mercilessly hit the shore, washing away any imperfections from the sand. But the girl sat there, unmoving. If it wasn't for the rise and fall of her chest, she might have seemed dead. Her lips are in a thin line, a vertical stripe drawn down her chin, with another symbol between her eyes, strands of blonde hair sway in the wind around her face.

But the most shocking feature of this girl are her kohl-lined eyes, as white as milk, unblinking and unseeing. She appears to be in a trance, the world passing by her as she sits there—the calm before the storm.

Despite her ears being deaf to the world, she still heard voices, painful screams, and the hissing of snakes sounded in her head. She saw a snake curled around an arrow, drowning in a river of blood. She could feel the red liquid against her bare feet, wetting her dress.

A raven croaked over her head, drawing her from her state. With the blink of an eye, her white pupils changed to blue, the same shade as the waters before her. She looked up at the position of the sun and sighed in annoyance. With some difficulty, she rose to her feet with a bunch of flowers in one of her hands.

The blonde girl walked up a hill, pulling down the scarf from her head, her wild hair flying behind her in a fury. She sat upon the mountain, putting a bouquet of wildflowers on a small grave, pulling the weeds out, and tossing it away.

The painted girl patted the child's grave, lovingly, and sighed. "I would sing to you, but you have suffered enough, no? I am sailing away soon to Bjorn's imaginary sea. Don't miss me too much."

She left the hill, passing by some playing children and fishers who run around in excitement or got ready to work. She ignored the noise around her, striding towards her goal—the forge. The people around her gossiped with each other, the name of Ragnar Lothbrok falling from their lips. Apparently, the king returned to Kattegat after years of absence; she could care less.

An older woman glared at the young blonde, pulling her child behind her as if to protect it from a rabid animal. "Freak." She spat under her breath, glaring at the unbothered teen.

People avoided her like the plague as if she was no better than the thralls and cattle. Goats were more loved than her around the town. But she didn't care for their feelings, or them for the matter.

"Sigurd." She greeted the man who stood out the forge strumming his oud, humming a cheerful tune with a scowl on his face, trying to distract himself from his thoughts.

"Siggy." The Ragnarsson nodded at her, the lines on his forehead relaxing as he looked the blonde over. She carried herself in the usual swagger, her feet bare and eyes crazy. "Did you hear what happened?"

She snorted and plopped down next to him, taking the oud out of his hands and plucking at the strings with no talent or intention to play. It annoyed him when she used his things, so of course, she did it as often as possible. "Ragnar's back. I heard people curse his name. But do tell what he did."

Sigurd spat on the ground and glared at the dirt, making her stop messing around and look at him in question. "The settlement in Wessex was destroyed right after he left, which he knew of but did nothing! And now he came back, not to reunite with his family or apologize to his people. He wants to sail to England instead."

Siggy giggled at the explanation and jumped up, twirling around the support beam before dropping the music instrument in his lap and continuing her twirls. "He wants revenge like everyone does. People died because of him in every fight, so why are you angry that he wants people to die again? Tis nothing new, Sigurd."

He shook his head angrily before dismissing the issue and talking to her about more pleasant things. "I caught a fox. Do you want the pelt?"

Siggy shook her head, snagging an apple from a merchant's cart and then another one from another food stand. "Keep your lame pelts. I told you I want a bearskin!"

The Ragnarsson rolled his eyes at her and strummed his instrument as his niece stole another apple and juggled them cheerily, ignoring his stern look. "You shouldn't steal, Siggy! You have money!"

"You are the rich one, not me. And I am hungry." She snorted, catching the apple in her mouth midair, wiggling her thin eyebrows at him in a mocking manner.

It felt nice to be around each other without the pressure of Sigurd's bloodline around them. People avoided him when he was around Siggy, the girl too wild and violent for anyone to spend time with her. All but Sigurd were cautious about their words around her.

The Viking with the serpent in his eye was not afraid of her at all. In his eyes, she was the same as when they were children, his lonely friend. Siggy used to be too scared to leave the Great Hall, dirty and neglected by everybody.

"You should be nicer to me, anyway. I am leaving soon, you know? What if I never return? Would you miss me?" She joked dramatically, skipping around the dirty ground with her bare feet

"I suppose I would miss your shrill voice. The silence will be haunting." Sigurd said sarcastically, earning a punch on the shoulder from his niece.

Siggy giggled delightedly, the sound the same as the cackles Floki let out when happy. So much has changed since she was a child; the little blonde wasn't a child anymore; she was now a young woman hungry for adventure.

She was so happy when Bjorn announced that he is leaving to find the place on his map that she didn't even care that it meant going with him. Siggy wanted to see the world; she was an explorer, far too nosy and curious for her own good. But Sigurd supposed it was a family trait; she was just like Ragnar and Bjorn.

"Try not to kill him, Siggy."

"No promises, Sig." Throwing away the last apple core, she spoke to him in a serious tone, her hatred for her biological father obvious. Ragnar's eldest son was far too mouthy towards her, considering he is to blame for all her shortcomings. After all, Siggy wouldn't be an outcast and madwoman if he had been a better father to her.

Truth to be told, Siggy was happy with how her life turned out; she had Helga and Floki, she was sure they were far better parents than Bjorn could have ever been. She pitied his children with Torvi, the poor children were probably neglected, and their mother had to raise them independently. Otherwise, where was the fault if not in him as a father? He couldn't just hate her and love the rest of his children.

Helga and Floki loved her and treated her like their own, so she can't be the issue. Bjorn never cared to explain himself, and they avoided each other like the plague. Whenever he came to visit Floki, she left for the woods or to annoy the Ragnarsons.

Siggy parted ways from Sigurd, who left to train with his brothers. She needed to return home before Helga started to worry; the poor woman would go gray at this rate. Floki already said he was bald because of her and Ivar, which was a lie; it was all Ivar's fault; he was more annoying in her opinion.

"Siggy, there you are! Come help me stitch this sail." Helga called out to her adoptive daughter, smiling when she saw the girl safe and sound. She knew that Siggy could take care of herself, but ever since she lost Angrboða, she was worried about her. After all, the gods tried to take her once before, trying to drown her in the river when she was barely four years old.

Siggy was Helga's second chance at motherhood, maybe Floki didn't want a child anymore, but in the end, they got one anyway. Perhaps not of their blood, but Siggy was their daughter, even if not by name.

"Tighten it better and take your time; a good sail is not made in a day." She reminded the younger girl, watching her thin fingers work carefully. Siggy was skilled with sharp things, no matter if blade or needle. But she was always too restless for needlework; everytime, she started a piece and then ran off.

The two worked side by side in silence, while Floki carved details into the prow. It's supposed to be a bear head, meant to honor Bjorn. Siggy hoped it looked just a stupid as him, but knowing the boat builders' work, it would be beautiful.

"Did you pack your things?"

"Yes, Helga."

"All of them? Even the furs?"

"It's gonna be hot there. I don't need furs."

"You don't know that. Pack some just to be sure."

Siggy sighed and looked at her adoptive mother with a begging face. "Yes, Helga." The older blonde ignored the mocking tone and smiled in satisfaction.

Floki snickered behind them and dropped a bow and arrow in Siggy's lap. "Catch something big. We will sacrifice it to Thor later."

"Isn't Aslaug making a sacrifice?"

Floki shook his head and tapped her forehead with a pout on his lips. "This one is to give you more wits. I can't have you dying stupidly. Helga would kill me."

With a scoff, she slapped his hand away, ignoring his giggles as she went out into the woods. Hunting was always her favorite pastime, other than annoying people. The woods were silent; the gods guided her hands as she became a predator and came back covered in blood. What was there not to love?

Walking barefoot over the grass, Siggy enjoyed the serenity and quiet. It was nice to be surrounded by the woods where she grew up. Ever since she was four, the forest was a part of her home. Climbing the trees like a squirrel and gathering herbs with Helga or Aslaug was when she was happiest.

Despite her indifference to the Queen, she was thankful for her company. Aslaug taught her about her gift and how to use it, teaching her the bits that Floki lacked when it came to Völvas. The woman also gave birth to Sigurd, so that was a good thing too. It was also easier to forget that Aslaug left her to the thralls instead of raising her herself. With four children of her own and her husband away, Siggy was too much of a burden on her.

Sometimes when she was young and bored, she wondered what it would have been like living with the Ragnarssons and being raised in Kattegat instead of here. What she might have been like as Aslaug's granddaughter instead of her ward. But those were childish fantasies and a waste of time.

The snapping of a twig broke her train of thought. Siggy stopped in her track and sharpened her ears to any other sounds. Another noise followed, and a deer walked out behind a tree. The animal didn't notice her yet and happily ate, unaware of its upcoming doom.

Siggy drew her arrow and carefully aimed the weapon at the deer. A crow flew from the tree the moment the animal dropped to the ground. Siggy walked to the still twitching deer on the floor; an arrow ebbed in his chest.

"The gods will be happy; you are a pretty one." She grinned in victory and kneeled before the animal to pick it up. "Come on, don't be difficult." Narrowly missing a flailing antler taking out her eye, she threw the animal over her shoulder and carried it home. Humming a song tune Helga sang to her as a child, Siggy returned home only to hear a foreign voice talking to Floki.

Slowly she let the animal to the ground and climbed up a tree to watch the visitor from afar. He was bald with a beard and dressed in rags. But by the way, he talked to Floki and Helga; he must be an old friend.

A crow sat down on the branch next to her and croaked into her ear. "Shut up." The bird continued the persistent noise, only tilting his head as if to mock her. "Gods, you are more annoying the Ivar. Shoo. Shoo." The crow inched closer to her and cawed louder, right in front of her face. "Fuck off!"

"Stop bullying the birds and come down!" Floki's voice carried out from under the tree, causing the blonde teen to scoff. Leaping off the tall tree, Siggy landed in a crouch and picked herself up from the sandy ground. Making her way to Helga, Floki, and the stranger, Siggy sprinted to her seat by the fire. "What did you catch?"

"Deer."

Plopping down next to the stranger, Siggy leaned into his personal space to stare at his aged face that was pulled in a grimace. The blue eyes and quirky smirk were somewhat familiar to her but still a little bit foreign. "Nice to meet you."

"Stop harassing Ragnar. He is a visitor. Play nice for once, huh." Siggy frowned at the name that Floki spoke and leaned away from the once Greatest man alive.

"I imagined you taller. With more hair." She exclaimed, shrugging her shoulders and reaching for the plate with soup, ignoring the man who chuckled at her nonchalant statement.

Helga ruffled Siggy's hair affectionately and filled a bowl of soup for Ragnar as well. The older man thanked her and watched the young blonde female waiting for a name from her. "Don't mind Siggy; she isn't that fond of people."

Ragnar's eyes widened in slight shock at the name reveal. There was only one blonde Siggy, the girl's age that he knew. Bjorn's daughter Siggy - his granddaughter. He looked at Helga for her to confirm his suspicions, so the woman nodded in agreement.

He opened his mouth to tell her something, but the girl cut him off. "Don't bother. I don't care:"

"Siggy." Scolded Helga.

The younger female rolled her eyes and waved her hand while talking. "You told me not to tell lies. I am simply honest. I don't care what he has to say. Sigurd told me he is back and what he did. I could care less for either."

Floki snickered at her indifferent speech and smirked at Ragnar proudly. No matter if she was of Ragnar's blood, Siggy was more like Floki himself. Crazy with the touches of Helga in between.

"But if you touch any of my stuff, you will pay for it with your life, old man." Ragnar snickered at her statement and looked at her with a challenging glint in his eyes.

"What makes you think you could beat me?"

Siggy scoffed and counted on her fingers. "You are old, in pain from your wound. Meanwhile, I am young, fast, and know your weaknesses from Floki."

"Also stupidly brave and possibly suicidal."

Smirking at his remark, Siggy leaned into his face again and chuckled darkly. "Maybe. Or maybe I am certain that if I stabbed you in a dark corner, no one would come to your aid. Especially not your oldest son."

Ragnar grimaced at her truthful words and looked down at his hands that still held the bowl with soup. "You don't like Bjorn."

"For someone who has been away for a long time, you catch up quickly." She stood up from her seat and walked to the water to play with Floki's mini boats. "He is a lot like you, you know? A shit father just like you. You must be very proud."

"Siggy!" Helga scolded, apologizing for her daughter's behavior and running after her. "What happened today. You are being awfully mean today, Siggy."

The blonde snorted and pushed the model ship around the water.

The water created soft waves around the small boat, calming her earlier anger. "We will sail with Bjorn."

"You don't have to go if you don't want to. You could stay with Sigurd. I am sure he won't mind. Or I can stay as well. We could have some time alone and make some new dresses for us. I think yellow would suit you well."

Her reflection in the water looked pissed off. The tangled blonde hair and bright blue eyes of her biological father were a permanent reminder of who she really was. No face paint or mannerism could cover-up whose daughter she was. "I don't want a dress, Helga. I want to fight and have an adventure." Siggy hissed in anger and slapped the water, destroying her reflection. Helga jumped in surprise but calmed down when she saw Siggy's concerned look.

"Then what is the problem? You will be with Floki and me. You can talk to Hvitserk and other warriors. You don't have to talk or look at Bjorn at all." Helga whispered softly, stroking Siggy's dirty cheek tenderly. Closing her tormented eyes, Siggy sighed as if a weight was lifted from her shoulders.

"What matters is the adventure and the glory, not Bjorn. What matters is you, not them—none of them or their whispers." Siggy nodded and stood up to take a stroll.

"I will go for a walk. Meet you at the Hall for the celebration."

Helga watched the teen walk away solemnly. "Be careful!" Siggy waved her hand at her and left without looking back.

Running through the woods barefoot at dawn felt great. The birds were up and chipper while the rest of the world slowly woke up around her. Her blonde hair flowed behind her as she jumped into a puddle of mud and enjoyed the squishy feeling in between her toes.

"Come, the best trees are up here!" Called Floki hiking up the hill before them, passing other tall trees on the way.

Siggy runs behind him, touching every tree and remembering the textures of every bark. "Why not this one? It feels good."

Floki turned on his heel and circled around the tree in a weird dance before shaking his head. "No, no. Not good enough. This one needs more time. But when it gets older. I will make a pretty boat out of it."

Siggy pouted and hugged the tree in protest, pushing her face against the bark. "I like this one! Do something out of it, Floki! Pleaseeeee!"

The boatbuilder rolled his eyes and pried her from the tree. He held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes for a bit before chuckling in his peculiar way. "Both you and the tree will grow, and when you are both older, this tree will be the first plank for your very own boat."

Her blue eyes practically sparkled at the thought, and she grinned in excitement. All her earlier sadness and frustration were forgotten. "You will make me a boat? A real big one?"

Floki chuckled and continued his way uphill, Siggy climbing behind him. "Of course! Every voyager needs a ship."

"How do you know I will be a voyager?"

"I can see it in your eyes. You will sail all over the world and see many exciting things." Siggy grinned in victory and sprinted up the hill to a tall oak tree.

She hugged it and smirked down at Floki, who nodded in agreement and let her mark the tree with a knife. He would cut it down later when she was further away. First, they will need to find more trees. "Will people love me when I am older?"

He looked down at the hopeful eyes of his adoptive daughter and sighed. "People don't always love great men and women. They envy them as they envy the gods. Be true to the gods and yourself, and they will reward you."

Siggy opened her eyes, the milky white color fading from them. She sighed in annoyance and watched the waves move in the moonlight. The Great Hall was alive with drunken cheers and brawls, but she felt content by the shore.

When she returned home from her walk, Helga and Floki already left to join the celebrations, so she got ready alone. The pink dress that Helga made for her, especially for tonight, felt too delicate on her. How were those battle-hardened men supposed to fear her if she looked like a soft flower?

Siggy was anything but soft. Sigurd always said she was a hurricane with skin. Easy on the eyes but secretly dangerous. Men will still underestimate women; that was an unspoken rule that always pissed her off. They would respect her skinny mad genius of an adoptive father before they even thought about not treating her like an object. Of course, they will lose an eye or hand for that, but the audacity was still annoying.

Let them look at her and think her small, and then they will shit their pants when they see her beheading enemies. The day Siggy the Drowned settled for a peaceful life, Ragnarok would come. She is Viking and Vikings aren't to be disrespected or underestimated.

With one last sigh, Siggy turned on her hell and discarded her fur cloak to show off her bare arms to the horny eyes of the drunk people. Sigurd sat on a table near Aslaug, his brothers all around him. Floki and Helga talked to some foreigners on the other side of the Hall.

Merrily skipping towards them made the younger of the two foreigners look at her in curiosity. "You disappoint me, Floki. I wanted to butcher the deer myself."

"You snooze, you lose, Little Menace." The boatbuilder snickered and pulled her closer to show her off to his friends. "This is our daughter Siggy. These are King Harald and his brother Halfdan."

"Ah, yes. The conqueror and his shadow. I am a huge fan of how you take over one kingdom after another—the reason why is disappointing, though."

Harald and Halfdan both frowned in anger but said nothing back to her. Not even an hour here, and she already pissed off two people. At this rate, she would hit her personal record of how many people she can bug in a day.

"Be nice, Siggy. We are to sail with them to the Mediterranean." Helga softly scolded and shot Floki a glare when she saw him enjoying the exchange too much.

"You have a very unique daughter. I wouldn't expect anything else from you, Floki." Halfdan finally broke the silence looking the young teen over. Slightly unruly blonde hair, face paint, blue eyes with a crazy glint, and a pretty figure. The girl was the perfect mix of Helga and Floki.

"Have you ever raided before, Siggy?" Harald questioned her, causing her to shake her head in denial. "A first raid is a great way to prove yourself. I wish you luck in your battles, then. Let your first kill be easy."

"Who says I haven't killed before?"

Halfdan chuckled at the darkness in her gaze. The voyage won't be boring at all. "And how many did you kill then?"

"A few. People tend to anger me very easily and bleed out too fast."

"I like you, Siggy."

"A shame I don't like people."

#history vikings #vikings imagine #vikings #sigurd snake in the eye #sigurd ragnarsson #sigurd lothbrok #bjorn ironside #bjorn lothbrok #bjorn ragnarsson #siggy #siggy bjornsdottir #helg #floki #siggy lives

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cowboy · 4 years ago

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what are your like top 10 oM songs?

this is SUPER hard to answer so I’m gonna try to be accurate but this also changes very often. but also I’m just gonna go with my long term favorites. in no particular order bc i don’t think i could put one as number one

1. anyway just kidding my number one of all time is Party’s Crashing Us no contest. this is because it was the first song i ever heard of theirs, and I really only had heard sunlandic twins because it was the one my sibling played the most. (I started liking oM because of my sibling lol). It just makes me so happy and sad at the same time it’s such a beautiful song. I only feel alive when the vus flashing.. alarms going off in my heaaadd.. i wanna grab you and just kiss you maybe i should sit down no sense in cashing us nowww..... the partys crashing us nowww....

2. okay from now on actually in no particular order, an elurdian instance is still one of my favorite songs, and the one people tend to say is a “very me” song. although it’s really hard to choose off of skeletal lamping bc that used to be my favorite album of theirs for like a couple years. anyway it’s such a nostalgic song.. the bit about the mountain goats and the last summer as independents and stuff always makes me so ;_;

3. we will commit wolf murder I swear to fucking god it’s SO good. I’m considered ugly from every angle... youre the only beauty i don’t wanna strangle... the lyrics are beyond amazing and like his voice is so soft and he doesn’t overdo the falsetto (though his falsetto is always good). and i dont even dislike the weird ending which i usually do (he overdoes it on this album too but im aware shes just that kind of girl and has to do the weird artsy instrumentals). good fucking song

4. speaking of paralytics stalks, what an UNDERRATED ALBUM. I LOVE dour percentage. “this planet is an orphanage” is such a good line also his falsetto here is extremely good. i love singing to this song. he also wrote it about a friend breakup which i love and well it’s just a good song. I’m also gonna have this be a tie with malefic dowery which has a similar vibe; so soft and singable...

5. ok paralytic stalks again maybe but spiteful intervention is easily possibly my second favorite song of theirs. the beginning makes me acutlaly insane. i used to listen to it at 5 AM on my way to work on the freeway and hearing him say “oh god the morning light, sunrays bring my paranoia, I CAN’T FUNCTION UNLESS I’M THE ONLY ONE -- AWAKE” literally unlocked something inside of me. SUCH a good song

I’m manic right now

6. faberge falls for shuggie thank you very much. hissing fauna used to be my favorite album for a very long time and the intro to this song would just live in my mind forever. i love his screaming/yelling and weird voice in this one. he’s like speaking to himself in it (did shuggie do it yet? no. not yet) and i love when he does that shit. the instrumentals are so good. and the scream bit at around 2:00 is so delightful.

i’m starting to realize i don’t actually know my top ten favorites and i have like top 20 actually. this is hard

7. i have to add in some satanic panic of course, so climb the ladder is on here. he has such a sweet little gift for making such nice love songs. i also love lysergic bliss of course but i think a lot of the songs off that album are so underrated including this song. wahh

8. sleeping in the beetle bug!! such a delightful tune and i love the key it’s in. i love cherry peel. the lyrics are so funny and the breakdown in the song is great. he is so good at guitar man

9. stag to the stable is my #1 lyrical depression song what a GOOD song to have a little breakdown to. rune husk is such a sexy EP too. i want the cover on a shirt

i’m extending this to 12 songs i really dont care sorry

10. Empyrean Abattoir. this album is an underrated basic rock album of his but this song in particular does something to my brain... the breakdown is also super good on this. when he transitions between the softer mellower parts into the yelling... the beginning is still my favorite part though . TBQH

11. feminine effects is such a sweet little song and the “bobby baby” makes my heart go SOFT so so so soft. i dont know who the vocalist is but I LOVE her voice. i think shes the one on lousy with sylvianbriar as well? is that nina?? anywho. WAIT SPEAKING OF NINA shoutout to heimsdalgate like a promethean curse i love that line. dancing to this song live is like crack to me. i shout the lyrics every time

12. tie between triumph of disintegration, imbecile rages, and raindrop in my skull off of lousy. what a great country-esque album. i always listen to it when i’m chillliing. raindrop in my skull is one of my favorites because the aforementioned singer has such a nice voice.

(shoutout to miss blonde your papa is failing for being the saddest fucking song of all time)

okay so the rest of his albums are pretty poppy and i love pretty much all of them (except ur fun . ur fun sucks) but there arent top 10 favorites on them really. i will say i love IFSWYT and i think there are some songs that might become a top 10/20 song if i get more time with them. well anyway. sorry for the ranting but i love all these songs so much. god bless

#asks #of montreal #long post #Anonymous

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iwrotemrtambourineman · 4 years ago

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picking random ones from the list without looking first: 10 17 18 25

10. what was your first concert?

Im pretty sure it was the indigo girls as a baby, but my parents and I saw them and pink martini at zoo tunes every summer for a while so first concert I remember going to is one of them

17. if you could go back in time and attend any artist/band’s concert that you were unable to attend, who would it be and when?

I almost went to the mountain goat’s goths tour but chickened out cause I didn’t want to go by myself. I also would’ve loved to go to one of the non-festival concerts on the be the cowboy tour cause people who were only there for edm kept heckling which was a fucking bummer

I just answered 18

25. name a song that makes you think about someone you love

I did already answer this but another one is michelle by the beatles which reminds me of my mom cause that’s her name and whenever it comes on she tells me how her dad used to sing it to her :-)

#thanks Maddie!!#horaetio #ask

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wordofrecall · 4 years ago

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character playlists: ori

so. let’s do this. my playlists are long and scattered, but they make me happy, so i might as well share them and the thoughts behind song choices. so. here’s some songs for runaway knights & wannabe witches, and what have you.

something holy - childhood & riches & wonders

pearl diver - mitski - oh hunter, if you didn’t want the beautiful so badly, perhaps you would’ve found it in your spirit singing softly - look. it's on the nose, considering that her title is "the pearl hunter," but also, like, that rules. this is a song for wren, i think; ori in the present reflecting on her mother and the similarities between them.

icicles - the scary jokes - i can only be forgiven if i’m giving myself up to you on a silver serving tray / must i bare myself to the stabbing of your knife & gnashing teeth while our lovely company appears so entertained? - aaand a song for childhood. 99% of ori's socialization came from her parents having important guests over, so. uh. yeah. show off your reclusive child prodigy like a pageant whenever you have the opportunity. she probably won't grow to loathe you.

life: the cruel interlude (on god) - kilo kish - why do i dare believe in me when i bleed? - questioning was. always a big thing for ori. i don't think she ever believed that the mirzha was god, and i known that she never truster her father's patron, but. in her studies, in her passions, there's always this tiny sense of desperation for something to have faith in something. not herself.

bluejays & cardinals - the mountain goats - the stars come out of hiding for you, & i would too - there is. a lot, in ori's relationship with her brother. she was the favorite child, yeah, the one destined for great things in spite of her... troubles. but he never had those troubles! she didn't, doesn't understand how he went through life so unafraid. there's envy there. i also think that the line i quoted is terribly true, like, canonically. because. she sure did do that stupid shit.

be calm - fun. - take it from me, i’ve been there a thousand times--you hate your pulse because it thinks you’re still alive! - sometimes you have intense social phobia. and that's okay!

country death song - violent femmes - kiss your mother goodnight & remember that God saves, kiss your mother goodnight & remember that God saves - i think andrei is a much less pitiable or even sympathetic man than the narrator of this song, but. like. it's a country song about a father killing his daughter while preaching godliness. i had to.

i’m all bloody inside - liam lynch - inside me, well, it’s dark & gross as hell, i’m not a pretty sight - the family business!

the hazards of love 3 (revenge!) - the decemberists - but father, don’t you fear, your children are all here - fantasies. part of the fantasy is imagining a world where she doesn't feel terrible about the thought.

shankill butchers - sarah jarosz - they used to be just like me & you, they used to be sweet little boys - "blood hunters are ghost stories." "and also, they're fucking terrible. violent, cruel, zealous. the worst."

sparrow - st. vincent - & no eyes are on the sparrow, eyes are on the sparrow, how could that be the case? the lark keeps whistling his number, silly little number, as if he isn't prey - pity for the boy. sort of retrospective, but it's a thought that's been there since she was a child.

something burning - rituals & fire & running

starchild - ghost quartet - but i will transcend & vomit this loser out of me; i will become the next big thing, i will light myself on fire - maybe she is some kind of angel? bursting with radiance and terrifying to look upon.

arsonist’s lullabye - hozier - don’t you ever tame your demons, always keep them on a leash / when i was sixteen, my senses fooled me - oooor maybe she is a sixteen year-old who is having a panic attack and setting everything in sight on fire by accident.

blood - my chemical romance - i’m the kind of human wreckage that you love! - so she's broken.

girl anachronism - the dresden dolls - it’s not the way i’m meant to be, it’s just the way the operation made me - so she's failed and she's broken and she's sick, and there's no time to fucking think.

when the chips are down - anais mitchell - cast your eyes to heaven, you’ll get a knife in the back. - so she does what her mother did before her, and she runs from that which she has always known.

body terror song - ajj - i’m so sorry that you have to have a body / one that will hurt you, & be the subject of so much of your fear - feelings on being built Wrong; feelings on your mind's undue control upon your body.

in corolla - the mountain goats - & no one was gonna come & get me, there wasn't anybody gonna know, even though i leave a trail of burnt things in my wake every single place i go - very good as an ori song in general but this is her justification to herself in the water. under the docks, she says this to herself.

the harrowed & the haunted - the decemberists - will i be so brave? - just to get that oceanic vibe up.

luna - the mountain goats - rise through the flames & end again in flames at last - an inexplicable feeling.

unwhere - reeder - a song for leaving what you've always known.

something lonely - years & woods & dreaming

runs in the family - amanda palmer - run from their pity, from responsibility, run from the country & run from the city, i can run from the law, i can run from myself, i can run for my life, i can run into debt, i can run from it all, i can run 'till I'm gone - she is broken and all she can think to do is get as far away as possible

panic attack - liza anne - i hate that i can be seen like this

black eyes - david wirsig - my hammering heart hears the voices of spirits that tempt us, the scorn that they’ve spoken

for the departed - shayfer james - they will bury me alive, but i’m not inclined to care; i am too far gone now

hurt - johnny cash - everyone i know goes away in the end; you can have it all, my empire of dirt

my body’s made of crushed little stars - mitski - i work better under a deadline! i work better under a deadline!

blood in the cut - k. flay - guess i’m contagious; it’d be safest if you ran--fuck, that’s what they all just end up doing in the end

little pistol - mother mother - i think i might be scared of the world & the way it makes you feel afraid & how it gets in the way

villains pt. 1 - emma blackery - built to create, designed to destroy

the beer - kimya dawson - & the christians gave me comic books as if i would be scared of burning in hell while i was already there [...] i tried to scream fuck you but blood was pouring out my mouth

something safe - family & finding it & fighting together

haunted house - sir babygirl - i’m running just to hide & i’m hiding just to breathe & around every corner is the same night on repeat

your heart is a muscle the size of your fist - ramshackle glory - i love you & you make me glad to be alive; i promise that i’m gonna pay you back / you always know how funny everything is, even when i’m so serious that it’s gonna be the death of me

medicines - the taxpayers - o, but our rotting corpses lying there soon began to leak & grow these lesions that all smelled just like a rose / & all the blood & guts inside us germinated into timeless pages stained with lines of lovely prose

autoclave - the mountain goats - i am this great unstable mass of blood & foam

alligator skin boots - mccafferty - i’m cool to the touch, leap to my death, i’ll die for you all, i’ll die for my friends, it goes like this

100 years - florence + the machine - lord, don’t let me break this, let me hold it lightly, give me arms to pray with instead of ones that hold too tightly

tomorrow will be kinder - the secret sisters - but i feel warmth on my skin, the stars have all aligned

armour - rae spoon - you know i placed was to build a life for you

amy aka spent gladiator 1 - the mountain goats - play with matches if you think you need to play with matches; seek out the hidden places where the fire burns hot & bright / find where the heat’s unbearable & stay there if you have to--don’t hurt anybody on your way up to the light, and stay alive

curses - the crane wives - won’t you stay with me, my darling, when my walls start burning down?

something daring - islands & visions & loss

jane’s dream - janelle monáe

beekeeper - keaton henson - hear me, o woman that has gone astray, gone astray

fire - kimya dawson - i’m reading books about how they’re corrupt [...] as long as i’m burning, i’ll keep on yearning to save the world, not sure how, but i’m learning

cosmic hero - car seat headrest - i love you, but i can’t stand the touch, & of course i’m alright with death

turn the lights off - tally hall - everbody likes to get taken for turns to see how bright the fire inside of us burns [...] should be stronger, books abandoned

eat you alive - the oh hellos - child, i’m afraid for your soul; these things that you’re after, they can’t be controlled

cry for judas - the mountain goats - hallucinate a shady grove where judas went to die

o death - monica martin - no wealth, no land, no silver, no gold, nothing satisfies me but your soul

blood of angels - brown bird - and i would wage my soul to bet that there ain’t no one throwing lightning anyhow

the universe is going to catch you - the antlers - the arms of the universe kept you from falling [...] those arms did not come back

a burning hill - mitski - i am the fire & i am the forest & i am the witness watching it / i stand in the valley watching it

something terrifying - conversations & selfhood & divination

the lamb - dessa - but blood is blood, & what’s done is done; blood is blood, & its burden is a beast

going invisible 2 - the mountain goats - i’m gonna burn it all down today & sweep all the ashes away

the lion’s roar - first aid kit - she plays a tune for those who wish to overlook the fact that they’ve been blindly deceived by those who preach & pray & teach, but she falls short & the night explodes in laughter

the villain i appear to be - connor spiotto - even if you can’t see the good inside me, i don’t have the time to tell you why i do the things that i do, just please hold on & soon you’ll seem

up the wolves - the mountain goats - there’s bound to be a ghost at the back of closet, no matter where you live; there’ll be a few things, maybe several things that you’re gonna find really difficult to forgive

thursday girl - mitski - glory, glory, glory to the night that shows me what i am

at the bottom of everything - bright eyes - we must take all of the medicines to expensive now to sel; set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell

everybody does - julien baker - i know i’m a pile of filthy wreckage you will wish you’d never touched, but you’re gonna run when you find out who i am

tongues & teeth - the crane wives - i know that you mean so well, but i am not a vessel for your good intent

a pearl - mitski - you’re growing tired of me and all the things i don’t talk about / sorry, i don’t want your touch--it’s not that i don’t want you

#original #this is. so long. and i will probably add more. but. Daughter.#ori #playlists

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marinmusings · 4 years ago

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WRITING A SPEECH

I am writing a speech about a childhood thing, event, place that influenced me throughout the rest of my life. I'm putting the first draft here. It all feels new to me. I am most comfortable "writing" things when I talk into a recorder. Get used to writing drafts (she said to herself, reminding herself to not expect greatness).

"Summertime and the living is easy" or so says George Gershwin's classic American tune from "Porgy and Bess."

At five, the school was coming to an end and I could not wait for the freedom of summer. I came home one day to find a large black trunk and my clothes with sewn-in labels. Mysterious. Trunks were for people crossing the Atlantic on big ships, no? I was only five, how much could I understand when my parents said it was all for a big summer adventure called "sleep-away camp." I’d learn, and I learn to love it for the next eight years.

THE NEWS ABOUT CAMP

Too young to recall exactly how it was explained to me, I knew my brother and sister were going, and they were expected to look after me. (An odd and sometimes terrifying thought as when they did notice me at home, as the youngest, it was usually to torment me in some way). Next thing I know I am on a bus, taking me from the Bronx to an exotic place called “The Berkshires.”

THE TRIP and FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Once my tears were wiped away, I relaxed. Maybe it was the “going away” care package of candy my parents left with me. We pulled into a magically GREEN place, like no green I had seen in the Bronx. The first thing I noticed was all the weeping Willows. They were so majestic. And everything was wet and dewy and green. It all smelled wonderful. In the Bronx, the playgrounds were great but

had pavement, not grass. If you fell off a swing hard, that could mean surgery. Here there was a never-ending pasture and hills.

NEW BEST FRIENDS AND NATURE

Before my big brother had the chance to come over to play, which meant to push me down one of those hills (all in good fun) I met my new best friends, two other five-year-olds named Randy and Meryl. There were other cabin-mates my age. And we all became fast friends. Though I had an idyllic pink bedroom at home, I immediately love the rustic cabins we stayed in. I learned quickly that I had the spirit of the outdoors in me. I wasn’t just a city kid. Nature spoke to me and I never really wanted to leave it. I spent the next eight years at summer camps.

Camp came with challenges, but also so many rewards. No time to miss home when I had almost every outdoor activity to compete in. We got points and letters and medals, and I was going to get every one that I could. I learned that I was deeply competitive.

I learned to swim in the cordoned-off area of the lake. Once I could swim, I canoed and leaned sailing. I also discovered what lakes were while canoeing far away - one day I looked down the murky waters saw only the tops of some brown weedy plants. I imagined that they went on forever, right down to the center of the earth. So I learned I had fear of deep water. Oppps. That did NOT keep me down. I got up on water skis. And you can be sure with those creepy underwater plants I was NOT going to fall off my skis. Yeah thos plants turned into my JAWS.

I competed at archery, I did headstands in gymnastics and timed them until I never fell very. I was a yogi before I knew what a yogi was. And singing! Every counselor had a guitar. I learned the lyrics to folks songs that protested a war I knew nothing about. It seems half of our days were spent singing. Singing was a competition too, we tried out for musical theater. In fact, that is the only part of my basically just cultural Jewish upbringing I knew - was the words to every song of American musical theater. I knew none of the words to the Sabbath services celebrated every Friday night as we walked up the hill with our candles lit. But that wasn’t a competition.

Summer camps ended at the age of 13, but my love for the outdoors stayed.

Years later, I moved out West, where there are REALLY big mountains, and started backpacking.

I bought all the gear and found some people at the time that could help guide me in the backcountry.

I bought a mountain bike and though I usually went on a beach path, I was brave sometimes and took it into the backcountry. I owe that attachment to nature to my summers at camp. I was never a mountain goat and always trailed the group. I didn’t even mind a few tears when I fell off my bike. I just got up and watched the Alpinistas leading the group leave me behind in a cloud of red desert dust!

I have moved a lot, lost my gear, and never go outdoors. I don’t know anyone to go with and I am not a brave solo camper. But oh did I miss. And when I moved to upstate NY from California a few years ago, I was delighted to willow trees everywhere, even now in WASHINGTON park. And I still find them amazing and comforting, taking me in under their canopy. I just miss nature.

#nature #summer camp #willow tree #backpacking #sleep-away camp

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ghost-in-the-stalls · 4 years ago

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Neil Josten's Playlist Part 5 - Nicky, Aaron, and Kevin

Masterpost and link to the playlist in its entirety here

Not as much to say about these three here - they each kind of speak for themselves I think.

Nicky

18. Relief - Chris Garneau

Of all the foxes, Nicky shows Neil more music than anyone else. Typically, though, it’s music Neil isn’t super into. Nicky knows Neil isn’t into most of the stuff he shows him, but Neil will still sit and listen to it with him if he is asked and isn’t busy, so Nicky keeps doing it anyway. I can imagine Chris Garneau being one of Nicky’s favorite artists, but one he keeps close to his heart. Several of his songs just hit me like they’re talking about the trauma and just general impact of growing up queer and topics like that, and I feel like it’s stuff that would really hit Nicky.

So Nicky listens to Chris Garneau (though he never was able to listen to Halloween the same again after what happened with Drake), but he doesn’t show Neil any of the songs intentionally. But one day Neil gets out of a class early and walks in on Nicky playing this one. He opens up to Neil about how much this music means to him, and Neil decides he likes the song. He keeps it.

33. Rocket Man - Elton John

Nicky loves Elton John. It's one of the artists he usually blasts on Sunday mornings in Columbia when they're all fighting hangovers. One morning he played this one and even got Aaron and Kevin singing along a bit (they were both still a bit drunk). Neil thinks back on that day and remembers it as a good one. Andrew looks back and remembers it as one of the more annoying ones.

60. Your Song - Elton John

Neil caught Nicky quietly singing this to Erik over video chat one morning in Columbia. For as boisterous and unapologetic as Nicky is (and for as much as he's always trying to get Neil and Andrew to act more like a "normal" couple with PDA and shit) it was a very vulnerable and private moment that Neil was a bit surprised by. He didn't walk in or make himself known, but he added the song to his playlist (and sometimes plays it on the car ride back from Columbia weekends for Nicky when he knows he's missing Erik).

Aaron

43. Up the Wolves - The Mountain Goats

Aaron has a lot of anger for someone who is only 5 feet tall. Neil may find him obnoxious as hell, and may deeply resent the way he holds that anger against Andrew. But I personally feel that an intrinsic and necessary step in repairing Aaron and Andrew's relationship comes with some sort of acknowledgement from Andrew that - regardless of what Tilda deserved, and regardless of what series of events unfolded upon her death - he hurt Aaron with what he did. He made a decision that Aaron did not ask him to make, nor did he want him to do it. And Aaron has every right to hold it against him. He doesn't need to regret doing it, but he needs to understand that doing it hurt Aaron deeply. I think it takes a long time for Andrew to reach this point, and when he does I don't think Neil really gets it at first.

However, I think once Neil has accepted and understood it as much as he can (he still struggles with his own mommy issues, okay?) he begins to understand Aaron much more. This song is a bit of an enigma in a lot of ways; I've never met someone who really fully gets what it's about exactly. Even the artists themselves have vague and changeable understandings of where it came from. But the clear theme of the song is anger and resentment, and carrying forward with those feelings. Maybe you'll let them go, maybe you'll act on them. Maybe you'll just keep feeling them for a while. Who knows when the hurt will go away? You're justified in your anger, but it doesn't make it any nicer to feel. Neil doesn't fully understand Aaron, but he starts to understand how he feels, at least.

62. Such Great Heights - The Postal Service

Listen. Neil doesn't willingly think of Aaron when he hears this song. It's a very nice song and he won't let that bastard ruin it for him.

Did he have a phase where he listened to it a lot to try and get himself to not associate it with Aaron? Absolutely. Did it work? Absolutely not.

In all seriousness, there are only a few songs that make Neil think of Aaron and this is one of them SOLELY because Aaron drunkenly mentioned it was his and Katelyn's song when it came on the radio one time. Something about hearing that and then listening to the sound felt very real and human to Neil. It helps remind him that Aaron does have feelings, actually, and does have it in him to care about other people. These are good things to keep in mind when he's trying really hard not to punch Aaron in the face for Andrew's sake.

Also it has a really nice sound. So he has begrudgingly added it to his playlist and he listens to it spitefully.

64. Wake Me Up - Avicii

Neil wouldn't believe Aaron listened to music this carefree and positive if he didn't witness it himself. He learns a bit more about Aaron every day they interact (against his will of course) and this is another song that helps him understand Aaron a bit better.

He has dreams and goals and he really wants to be happy. He wants to enjoy life. And it's really fucking hard to do that for anyone in their group. Neil seeing Aaron actually hold some amount of passion or desire for something better gives him a better view of the guy. Neil guesses everyone must need some amount of optimism once in a while.

Kevin

4. Amsterdam - Guster

So obviously Neil has never been through a breakup (well I actually hc that he and Andrew almost broke up after Andrew graduated, but they pulled their asses together and that’s a post for another time). But the thing is that Kevin absolutely has! And we all know how Kevin wallows when he’s upset. And Kevin Day is a Guster fan. You cannot take that away from me. So Kevin goes through a breakup and is blasting Guster in the dorm like no one else lives there.

Now Neil is pretty observant and analytical. I mean he had to be for years, so it’s kind of just in his nature now. Most breakup songs he hears are louder and angrier and predictable to him. Not in a bad way, but he expects that they’ll pretty much usually be either angry or sad in style, neither of which he tends to be very fond of. So he heard this one and it’s more upbeat tune without being overly loud or aggressive and I think that really intrigued him. It gets stuck in your head, but it’s the kind of breakup song that - even if you are going through a breakup - leaves you just feeling pretty good! Even if it is in a bitter way. So Neil’s brain just sort of latched onto this one and kept it close. It helps that it reminds him of Kevin in a way that is so intrinsically HUMAN. He can try to be an exy player before a person all he wants, but even Kevin experiences heartbreak and frustration. He's a whole person, too - just like Neil.

40. Still - Ben Folds

Yes, Nicky and Matt made him watch Over the Hedge. Yes, that is where he found this song. Yes, it still kind of makes him think about the sad turtle. Don't tell anyone.

Seriously, though, Neil latched onto this song initially for the smooth, sad sound. Then he listened to the lyrics. It really hits him once he's captain and he suddenly has all these added responsibilities piled onto him. He now has to appear respectable and put-together, and he doesn't have room for mistakes. It doesn't help that Kevin is reminding him of their deal with the Moriyamas at literally every turn, as if Neil doesn't KNOW the stakes and the pressure on him at any given moment.

But, oh, Kevin. Neil can roll with his punches with ease because, really now. Kevin is more terrified than he ever lets on anymore. "No room for weakness", but he hits himself with that reminder before taking it to Neil. He's stubborn and frustrating, and he can be downright cruel and unreasonable. But he's hurting himself with his scathing remarks long before they leave his lips to attack anyone else. Neil thinks about this, and he doesn't have it in him to be quite as angry anymore. He sees Kevin, and he know Kevin sees him too. He just doesn't know how else to provide support, and he isn't really in a good spot to be supporting anyone else at the moment anyway. Neil can only hope that, with time, Kevin can let himself feel safe the way Neil is learning to.

56. Dance Monkey - Tones and I

Neil heard this song and applied it immediately to Kevin. He's seen first hand now how much work it is for Kevin to maintain his image and career the way he does while balancing all the baggage that comes with it. The people in the audience who root for him the strongest are the same ones who rooted for Riko and the Ravens a while back. They're the same ones who thought he lost a brother the day his abuser died, who thought joining the foxes would be a huge gut punch to his career.

There's a lot that's expected of Kevin, and there's a lot of trauma he carries that people seem to think are memories he looks back on fondly. And that's a facade he has to keep up.

Neil sees this and he knows how hard it is for Kevin. He knows.

#aftg #my writing #neil josten #kevin day #nicky hemmick #aaron minyard

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som3thingcr3ative · 5 years ago

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And I am Wanting

So, here it is...a slow burn, angsty, poly-amorous Geraskier fic. This beast is gonna be multiple parts, feature our boys Geralt the sass master and Jaskier the smol bean as well as an OC.

It’s got canon-typical violence, respect women juice (tm) and everything else that goes with the beauty of the Witcher.

Our story begins two months before Geralt meets Yennefer in a small town south of Rinde.

part one part two part three part four

Summary: Geralt seeks a bounty and finds something unusual waiting for him in the monster’s lair: Jaskier composes a song in honor of an unsung hero.

Warnings: If you’ve watched the Witcher, you’re prepared. This gets a little more into Geralt’s feelings, but that’s about it.

pairings: so far, mild Jaskier x OC, eventual Geraskier x OC.

also, this is loooong. You’ve been warned.

Word of a beast with a price on its head had come from a local town: the Lord of the town promised a room for any who dared attempt to slay the beast, food for three nights and a great ransom upon return of the creature’s severed head. Geralt was intrigued. The disgruntled highwayman who’d told him spoke also of the town’s vigilante, a man who ‘cleaned up the streets’. It’s a town without rapists or child-molesters, the man had said. The only murderer is the vigilante, and people are calling his work just. They honor him. Whores have professed their undying gratitude.

Geralt sips his ale and wonders what the vigilante would think of him. Across the tavern, Jaskier has started his third run-through of ‘fishmonger’s daughter’. The Witcher feels his eyes twitch. He downs the ale and motions for another from the hesitant bartender; it’s his sixth- or so, he’s not really counting. When the barkeep fills his mug once more, he slams it back and lets his stools’ legs scrape loudly against the slatted floor as he stands, making his exit. He spares only the briefest glances for Jaskier, who is surrounded by drunkards singing along with him. The bard’s cheeks are rosy from drink, his eyes sparkling in the low light with the attention of so many on him.

The Witcher waits outside the tavern, leaning against the hitching post Roach is tied to. He strokes a hand over her ear and murmurs lowly to her as he looks around; the town is quite large by rural standards, boasting three taverns and two brothels, a church with a monopoly on the religious sheep of the place, and a rather palatial estate overlooking the main street. This estate is where he needs to go- he takes the whole thing in, from the neatly trimmed rose bushes out front to the large barn to its left. There is a circular cobblestone path for horses and coaches, tall columns guarding the entrance.

Jaskier stumbles out of the tavern, a little tipsy and with a wide grin on his face. Geralt grunts, sending the bard a short glare before he turns his back, throwing the reins over Roach’s head and mounting up. Together, Jaskier telling Geralt in great detail how amazing having everyone singing his songs was, they make a steady pace for the estate.

The first thing Geralt notices as a servant leads him into the dining room is the beautiful woman sitting to the right of who he assumes is the Lord of the town. She’s stunning, her features refined as he’d come to expect of nobility, her long hair let loose in ringlets that spill over her shoulders in waves of auburn. Her posture is perfect, hands clasped in her lap over a flowing dress. Every inch of her screams wealth.

Geralt doesn’t have to force himself to look away. While she looks like she can afford the price on the beasts’ head, she doesn’t look like the type to get her hands dirty- in fact, even at dinner her hands and forearms are covered by black silk gloves. She’s far too prissy for his taste.

“Geralt of Rivia!” The Lord of the town booms, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin as he stands up. He spreads his long arms wide. “I’d heard you were in town. Have you come for the monster? Who am I kidding, of course you have! Welcome, welcome!”

The Witcher steps into the dining room, Jaskier just behind and to his left. He knows he’s out of place with his dual swords, his black leather armor, but he couldn’t give less of a damn. Money is money, and this man has plenty.

“Please, sit!” The Lord continues. “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Lani.” He motions to the auburn-haired woman beside him. She inclines her head with a small smile, properly polite. Geralt nearly scoffs. Instead, he takes a seat at the foot of the table, Jaskier placing himself beside the woman. He kisses the back of her hand, turning on the charm. Geralt watches them for a second, seeing her polite dismissal of the bard. Jaskier doesn’t seem deterred- he keeps talking to her despite her lack of interest.

“I head you have a pest.” Geralt says, ignoring the way the woman’s green eyes lock on him.

“Yes, a werewolf. There’s a mage who has gone rogue around here, and the werewolf seems to be her pet. It’s a creature born, if the pattern of attacks mean anything, and it’s killing our businesses. My businesses, really, since everything in this town is mine.” He laughs, self-confident to the point of cockiness. “I’ll pay you handsomely if you slay it.”

“When.” Geralt corrects, but the man doesn’t seem to notice.

“I can’t have it threatening my daughter, you see. No suitor will want her if the land she is to inherit is plagued with a monster.”

The daughter’s eyes narrow, but she quickly composes her face into an emotionless mask. Geralt notices the slip, though. It seems she’s not content to be married off.

“We have rooms prepared for you, Witcher. Your…friend can stay in the adjoining room. Please, help yourself to whatever food and drink you fancy while here. I can’t offer an advance payment, you see, or too many fakes would come through those doors, but I promise payment in full as soon as the task is complete and the wolf’s head- human or otherwise- crosses my threshold. And only the head, mind you.” He clears his throat. “Apologies, Lani sweet, for such coarse language.”

Lani tips her head to him, but her eyes are still focused on Geralt. He shifts an inch, starting to feel uncomfortable. Her stare isn’t obvious, but it is disconcerting, and with her careful mask, he can’t tell what she’s thinking or why she’s staring.

“Where?” Geralt questions.

“It’s sheltered in the mountain just south of here, at the base. There’s a cave system there, it’s hard to miss. Just follow the creek upstream.”

Geralt nods and stands, turning to leave the room without another word.

“Did you see how beautiful Lani is?” Jaskier babbles as he follows Roach up a sloping hill. “She looks like a princess, or a queen. Oh, I could write a song about her beauty! Should I? Do you think that would woo her to me?”

Geralt huffs, rolling his eyes. Roach is sure-footed on the rocks, but he can hear Jaskier slipping every so often behind him. Nevertheless, the bard keeps up his steady stream of talking. They’re an hour into the woods, following the creek as Lord Corro (He’d gleaned the name from a passing servant in the hall) had said. There are fresh hoofprints in the bits of sandy ground between rocks, and only in one direction. Whoever had gone hadn’t come back.

The Witcher holds up a hand. Jaskier stops with a huff. “Are we there yet?”

Geralt glares at him, but his attention is diverted; just over the crest of the hill he can see the very top of a cave mouth. Inside, echoing just loud enough for his highly tuned senses to pick up is the sound of a fight. He hears a shout, a roar, a scream- and then a thud as something- or someone- is thrown.

He nudges Roach into a canter over the path, finding that the ground levels out and becomes less rocky the closer they get to the cave. Outside the mouth of the cave, a large black horse grazes amongst bones strewn haphazardly on the ground. It lifts its head and whickers, puffing itself up to full height as it watches Roach canter in. Inside, the sounds of the fight have resumed. Geralt catches the scent of blood, of sweat and something else- wood smoke? He turns his mare and jumps off, rushing into the cave.

The inside of the cave is littered with full skeletons, half-eaten corpses and fresh blood. There are several human bodies among the dead, but sheep and goats far out number the people. He even spots a few cows, their skulls resting in odd positions. Closer now, he can hear each grunt the human fighter makes, each glance of their weapon over the werewolf’s hide. The monster screams, then roars. For a second there’s nothing.

Geralt skids to a stop at the entrance to the main lair. The werewolf lays dead, skewered through the neck by a silver-plated sword. Standing over the corpse with a leg over either shoulder is a black-clad figure whose face is obscured by a mask and a hood- but Geralt can see that the blood dripping from their hands to the sword’s hilt isn’t werewolf blood. It’s their own.

The figure collapses, falling just to the side of the werewolf’s massive body, curled in on itself. Is it the vigilante? Geralt thinks, blinking at the well-made sword, the man’s black doublet and thick leather pants. He sure did come prepared.

As he stalks toward the too-brave human, he takes stock of the fight scene. It had been brutal, this much he can tell; there is human blood smeared across the ceiling and directly below, too fresh to belong to anyone other than the vigilante.

“You shouldn’t have taken on a monster by yourself.” Geralt admonishes the panting, nearly-broken figure on the floor. “That’s what I’m here for.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, instead pushing himself up with both hands firmly planted on the ground. As soon as he gets his feet under him, he’s scrambling backwards, away from Geralt.

The Witcher holds his hands up, seeing the vigilante reach for a dagger belted to his waist. “No need.” He says. “I only hunt monsters, not humans.” Still, no response other than ragged breathing. The man presses a hand to his ribs, hunched over. Clearly injured. “You need help.” Geralt comments. “I can help you.”

He’s aware of Jaskier finally catching up; the bard stands in awe of the scene before him, jaw dropped. Then he sees the vigilante, and notices that both of Geralt’s swords are still strapped to his back- though there is a sword stuck in the werewolf.

“Geralt?” Jaskier questions, confused. “Did he kill the monster?”

The vigilante drops like dead weight. Geralt rushes over, taking the dagger from a limp hand. His fingers come away slick with blood. Up close, the man is smaller than most men he’d seen. He pushes back the hood, noting that the man wears a tight black knit cap that lines up perfectly with the mask. Blood seeps from below the mask, so Geralt takes it off carefully.

“Oh.” He murmurs, shocked. The man, the vigilante, slayer of the werewolf, isn’t a man at all.

Lying unconscious on the ground before him, her body battered, is Lani, Lord Corro’s daughter. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, but her face is unmarred. Up close, Geralt notices a small scar over her right eyebrow, a tiny imperfection on her otherwise unmarked face. She groans, face scrunching, then gags, rolling over to spit up blood. For a second she seems to gather herself, then her eyes land on his.

She reaches up, feeling for the mask, but when her fingers touch only skin her eyes widen. “Don’t tell my father-“ She says, voice hoarse with the blood coating her throat. Geralt pats her back as she falls into a coughing fit, spitting up more blood. When she flops onto her back, she gives him a side-eye. “Don’t tell anyone.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re injured.”

Her hand lifts to her ribs and she winces. “I’ll be fine. Just…don’t tell.”

Geralt looks to Jaskier over his shoulder. The bard has a comical look of surprise on his face, so shocked that he can do nothing but blink. Huffing, he nods. “I won’t.”

Lani closes her eyes, nose scrunching in pain. She pants through bared teeth as she tries to lift herself onto an elbow, but Geralt is quick to push her back down. “Stay.” he says.

“M’lady?” A girl’s voice calls out from behind them. “Oh! Lani!” Geralt turns to see a woman the same size as Lani rushing towards her. She wears the outfit of a handmaiden in Lord Corro’s house, her mouse-brown hair done up in a braid. Without even bothering to glance at the witcher, she kneels beside Lani and cups her face in one hand. “This is going to leave a mark.” She says.

“You knew about this?” Jaskier’s incredulous voice questions from just over Geralt’s shoulder. His face is bewildered, and Geralt thinks- not for the first time- that the bard lets too much of what he’s feeling show on his face. “You knew that she’s the vigilante?”

The handmaiden cuts Jaskier a look so cold that Geralt’s eyebrows raise. “Of course I did.” She growls, already feeling down Lani’s side for broken bones. “I knew I couldn’t stop her, so I decided to join her. I’m the only one who knows.”

“Not anymore.” Lani coughs, wiping at her mouth. She glances only briefly to the blood on her hand before she warily eyes Jaskier. “Don’t. Tell.”

“Her father would disown her.” The maid explains. “Some of the men she’s, ehem, stopped are men who work for Lord Corro. He’d kill me if he found out I helped her.” She cuts herself off, looking to Lani. They share a glance that clearly means something to the other.

“You can say it.” Lani says, gritting her teeth past a fresh wave of pain.

“Lani’s been playing a long game. Lord Corro is the most corrupt person in town, and she’s been taking out his pawns one by one until she can bring him down, but it’s dangerous. If she were to be found out…”

Geralt’s mind reels. This is not the woman who he’d seen sit so demurely at her father’s side. This woman is cunning. She’s an incredible actress, and far more than he’d given her credit for. “He’s your father.” The Witcher comments. “Not many people would dare take on their own family.”

She bares her teeth, her smile bloodied. “He doesn’t deserve what he has. No one should be that rich while others suffer.”

Behind him, Geralt swears he hears Jaskier whimper. The scent that always clings to the bard intensifies. He looks over his shoulder to find Jaskier making heart-eyes at the woman lying bleeding on the floor, broken but victorious.

“We have to get you back.” The maid murmurs to Lani. “Can you move?”

“She shouldn’t walk on her own.” Geralt says, wondering at the sudden protective urge he has over the woman. “I’ll carry her.”

Lani scoffs, but he knows her pride won’t get her upright. She sets her jaw, eyeing him distrustfully, but when he only holds out a hand for her she seems to deflate. He waits until she nods before he scoops her up with an arm behind her back and one under her legs. She groans in pain, eyes squeezed shut, body trembling. “You’re not like the others, Witcher.” Lani grudgingly admits from behind clenched teeth. “Most men wouldn’t wait for permission.”

Geralt hums low in his chest, knowing she can hear it. He doesn’t bother to answer as he turns around, noting that Jaskier is still reeling from the surprises of the day. “Are you coming, bard?” He burrs, amused. Jaskier nods, glancing back to see the maid following them.

The Witcher places Lani as gently as he can on the black horses’ back, frowning when she still grimaces in pain despite his best efforts. She’s a tough woman, but those are serious injuries, he thinks to himself. “You take the bounty.” She says to him, not meeting his eyes. “As payment for keeping my secret.”

He nearly shakes his head. She’d almost been killed in the fight, the bounty was hers by rights- but the part of himself that remained from his lessons says that coin is coin, no matter how it is gotten. “You killed it.” He says instead. “It’s your bounty.”

“She won’t take it.” the maid replies when Lani clutches her ribs, her face scrunching up in pain. “She’s stubborn like that. Either you take the money or no one will.”

“He’ll take it.” Jaskier jumps in. “Or I will.” When Geralt gives him a short glare, he shrugs. “Living on the road is expensive. We need to pay for food somehow.” Geralt’s lips twitch in annoyance but he realizes the bard is right. It’s a waste of Lani’s blood if no one takes the bounty.

“Where will you go?” He asks instead.

“Home.” Lani breathes, pushing herself upright in the saddle. She takes a few shallow breaths past her bruised ribs. “I’ve gotten good at hiding my injuries.” Geralt sees the sadness in her maid’s expression and knows it’s all too true. “Ready, Loretta?”

The maid nods, swinging up unassisted into the saddle behind her Lady. Lani turns the horse toward the town, giving Geralt a lingering look. “I’ll see you there, Witcher.” She says, gritting her teeth as she urges the horse into a rolling canter.

Geralt huffs, muttering a low ‘fuck’ under his breath. He turns toward the cave where the werewolf’s dead body waits. Jaskier, behind him, is staring after the two riders with longing in his eyes.

“I want to marry that woman.” Jaskier murmurs, his cheeks pink. “She’s so… perfect.”

The Witcher grunts. “She’s her own woman, Jask. Can’t be tied down.” He stomps into the cave, finding the monster exactly the way it had been left. The blood on his leather is Lani’s, but no one in town would know that, so he decides to leave it as a sign of the battle. With a savage yank, he pulls the sword from the werewolf’s spine and uses it to sever the head in two blows. When the head rolls alone on the stone floor of the cave, Geralt takes a closer look at the sword, humming in appreciation of the wonderful craftsmanship. If Lani left it, then she left it for a reason, so he decides to keep it though it is smaller than he likes.

The sun is nearing its crest when Geralt walks out of the cave with a new sword in one hand and a werewolf’s head in the other. Jaskier waits, already strumming his lute to a new tune; one of the witcher, victorious in battle against yet another monster.

Lani sits stiff as a board in her seat beside her father. Her ribs throb with every shallow breath, her entire right side is an amalgamation of black and blue bruises, but the sleeves of her dress and her black silk gloves cover everything. Behind her, Loretta frets. She can feel the handmaiden’s eyes boring into the back of her skull, watching and waiting for a sign that she’s had enough.

She’s about to give up when the double doors to the dining room crash open and in strides Geralt, bloodied and carrying the head of the monster she herself slew.

A good excuse, she thinks, feeling rather pale. She puts the back of one hand daintily to her forehead, sighing just enough that her father hears. “Oh my,” she murmurs. “Father, I feel quite faint. You must excuse me.”

And with that, she rises on unsteady feet, using the back of the chair as balance to leave. As soon as she’s out of eyesight of anyone, Loretta slips an arm around her waist and takes half of her weight, guiding them both to her room.

Lani doesn’t see Geralt unceremoniously dump the head to the floor, or her father hand over a large bag of gold coins. She lays in bed, aching all over and so tired as Jaskier serenades the Lord with a song of Geralt’s triumph over the beast. She hears the revel thrown in Geralt’s honor, the revel that goes on for hours until there’s a shallow knock on her door.

“My Lady Lani?” Jaskier’s voice calls, muffled through the door.

Lani motions Loretta to open the door, too weak to do much more. Jaskier is quickly by her side, gingerly taking her hand in both of his. “How are you feeling?” The bard asks, and Lani can see genuine worry in his eyes.

“Everything hurts.” she confesses, in too much pain to put on an act. “Did Geralt collect the bounty?”

“He did. I made a song about his victory over the beast, but I wanted you to hear the real one, the one I’ll only sing to him or you. Would you like that?”

She doesn’t know why there are tears suddenly at the back of her eyes, or why seeing his soft gaze breaks down the walls she’s built for so long. “Loretta,” She calls, and instantly her handmaiden is there, helping her sit up. Jaskier helps too, his hands warm on her shoulder and careful not to hurt her any more than she already is. The bard fluffs her pillows behind her without being asked. “Thank you, Jaskier. I’d love to hear your song.”

And so, with Loretta sitting comfortably on her bed beside her, she watches as Jaskier kneels and swings his lute over his chest, strumming a few careful notes.

“This tale begins with a proper Lady whose beauty knows no bounds, whose courage is unmatched, whose honor is worth more than gold.

Defender of her land, protector of her realm, she is unknown to all but one.

She fought minor beasts, men whose deeds made them wicked, defeated their demons and emerged victorious.

So when true evil came to her land

When a monster stalked her people,

She did as heroes do and she hunted the creature.

When no man would stand up and fight, when cowardice was proven, she asked no recompense, no quarter, for there could be no mercy either.

When no man would fight, she said ‘I am no man’ and she proved her worth.

She fought the creature with every breath, she slew the beast with the last of her strength

And though battered by the monster, she didn’t cry for help. This valiant, beautiful woman had proven herself worth more than fifty men and yet she asked to remain hidden.

And so it is that no one will know her name, the glory of battle goes to another, the spoils of victory hers to give but not taken.

But let not her tale end here.

Let it not end here, but let there be many more victories in her future.’

Loretta is crying when Lani glances over at her. Jaskier’s eyes are soft, but there’s something glimmering in them from his song, and Lani feels the effects of it long after the last note fades away, like some sort of spell. “That was beautiful.” She whispers to the bard. “Thank you.”

Jaskier smiles, a smile that lights up his whole face. Geralt never compliments his singing, and more often than not he’s boo-ed out of taverns. “No, thank you, M’lady. Today you proved that it doesn’t take a Witcher for all monsters. There may be hope for us yet.”

Lani laughs, but it quickly dissolves into a coughing fit. Jaskier is quick to help, rubbing her back soothingly as she coughs. She leans into him for a minute, weakened by the fit, and his heart threatens to burst. He’d always been one to trust too quickly, but even he knew that from the moment he first saw her that she was unlike the others. He sets her back against her pillows gently, pushing a lock of hair out of her face. Her eyes are as green as he remembers them being from first glance, though they are pain-dulled and tired. “Get some rest.” he says, kissing the back of her hand once more. He can feel her callouses from weaponry and realizes why she always wears gloves. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you, Jaskier.” She says as he stands, moving his lute onto his back. “And please tell Geralt thank you too.”

“I will.” He replies. “But you are the one we should both be thanking.”

TAG LIST (OPEN)

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notquiteaghost · 5 years ago

Text

i just wrote up a very barebones transcript of all the geralt & jaskier scenes in ‘four marks’, because i can’t find any online, and it took me like an hour so i might as well share it

it only takes note of action that interrupted dialogue, cuz i just wanted a reference for the dialogue, and it also only covers their actual conversation in the first scene. but other than that it should be accurate. i used netflix subtitle spelling for names

>>>

JASKIER: I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.

GERALT: I’m here to drink alone.

JASKIER: Good, yeah, good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except… for you. Come on. You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less.

GERALT: They don’t exist.

JASKIER: Whaaat don’t exist?

GERALT: The creatures in your song.

JASKIER: And how would you know? … Oh, fun. White hair… big old loner, two very, very scary-looking swords, I know who you are. You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Called it!

>>>

JASKIER: Ah. Need a hand? I’ve got two. One for each of the, uh, devil’s horns.

GERALT: Go away.

JASKIER: I won’t be but silent back-up. (pause) Look, I heard your note, and yes, you’re right, maybe real adventures would make better stories. And you, sir, smell chock-full of them. Amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion? It doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak.

GERALT: It’s onion.

JASKIER: Right, yeah, yeah. Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the– the Butcher of Blaviken!

GERALT: Come here.

JASKIER: Yeah?

(GERALT punches JASKIER in the stomach. JASKIER groans and wheezes.)

GERALT: Come on, Roach.

>>>

JASKIER: Reading between the lines, and the gut punches, chum, I’d say you have got a bit of a… an image problem. Were I to join on this… feat to defeat the devil of Posada, I could relieve you of that title. All the North would be too busy singing the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the– the White Wolf, or– or something.

GERALT: Butcher is right.

JASKIER: Do you mind if I hop up there with you? It’s just, I’m not really wearing the right kind of footwear–

GERALT: Don’t touch Roach.

JASKIER: –Yeah, right.

JASKIER: You know, the elves called this Dol Blathanna, before bequeathing it to the humans and retreating to their golden palaces in the mountains. There I go again, just… delivering exposition. … Geralt? Geralt? Geralt, wh-where are you going? Geralt, don’t leave me. Hello? What are we looking for again?

GERALT: Blessed silence.

JASKIER: Yeah, I don’t really go in for that. Have you, uh, have you ever hunted a devil before, Geralt?

GERALT: Devils don’t exist.

JASKIER: Right. Obviously. Then, uh, then what are we doing?

GERALT: Sometimes there’s monsters, sometimes there’s money. Rarely both. That’s the life.

(GERALT gets hit by something.)

GERALT: Shit!

JASKIER: Act Two begins! What was that? Looks like a tiny cannonball from a… Oh my gosh. ... Geralt, it is a devil. Ohhh, I have to see this magical, this mythi–

(JASKIER gets hit in the forehead, and passes out.)

TORQUE: Leave me be!

GERALT: You talk.

TORQUE: Of course I talk!

GERALT: What happened with you? Your mother fuck a goat?

TORQUE: I am Torque the Sylvan, a rare and intelligent creature!

GERALT: You’re a dick. With balls.

TORQUE: Balls I got from humans, who left out filled with iron, meant to poison me!

GERALT: Ow!

TORQUE: Did your mother fuck a snowman?

GERALT: You are intelligent, I’ll give you that. So I won’t kill you. But you can’t stay here.

TORQUE: Neither can you.

(Something hits GERALT in the head.)

>>>

JASKIER: This is the part where we escape.

GERALT: This is the part where they kill us.

JASKIER: Who’s they?

ELF WOMAN: (in Elder) Beast!

GERALT: Elves.

JASKIER: Oi, that’s my lute! Give that back! Quick, Geralt. Do your– your witchering–

GERALT: Shut up!

ELF WOMAN: (in Elder) You shut up!

JASKIER: Oh, my Elder speech is rough, I only got part of that.

ELF WOMAN: (in English) Humans, shut up.

JASKIER: (in Elder) Ah, got it, thanks so much.

ELF WOMAN: Do you wanna die right now?

GERALT: As opposed to later?

JASKIER: No, please, not the lu–!

GERALT: Leave off! He’s just a bard.

ELF WOMAN: You don’t deserve the air you breathe. Everything you touch you destroy.

JASKIER: You hide in your golden palaces. You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!

ELF WOMAN: Do you like my palace? Hmm? Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?

(GERALT headbutts her. She falls back, coughing.)

JASKIER: (laughs) Yeah, take that, pointy. … Wait, what’s–what’s wrong with her?

FILAVANDREL: She’s sick.

JASKIER: Oh, and who’s this?

TORQUE: He’s Filavandrel, king of the elves.

FILAVANDREL: Not a king. Not by choice.

GERALT: You were stealing for them.

TORQUE: I felt for them. They were forced out of Dol Blathanna.

JASKIER: Forced out? No, they chose–

FILAVANDREL: Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their home? To starve? To have a Sylvan steal for them?

TORQUE: Toruviel, no one was supposed to get hurt.

TORUVIEL: What’s two humans in the ground when countless elves have died?

GERALT: One human. And you can let him go.

FILAVANDREL: And Posada will learn that we’ve been stealing. The humans will attack. Many will die, on both sides.

GERALT: The lesser evil. No matter what you choose, you’ll come out bloody, and hating yourself. Trust me.

FILAVANDREL: That’s the problem. I can’t. This is necessary.

GERALT: I understand. As long as you understand that it won’t be long before you follow me in death.

FILAVANDREL: Yes, because they’ve pushed us from viable soil. Even chaos is polluted. Synthetically enhanced so humans can make magic.

GERALT: Chaos is the same as it’s always been. Humans just adapted better.

FILAVANDREL: You say adapt, and I say destroy.

GERALT: You are choosing to starve. You’re cutting off your ear to spite your face.

FILAVANDREL: You think this is about pride? My elders worked with humans, and got robbed of all they had. And when they fought back, they were slaughtered. “The Great Cleansing”, humans call it. I call it digging a mass grave for everyone I loved. And now the humans proudly watch these very fields grow, our babies fertiliser for their grain. I don’t wish to bury anyone else. I was once Filavandrel of the Silver Towers. Now I’m Filavandrel of the Edge of the World. If I bring my people down from these mountains, it would mean bowing to human sovereignty. They’ll make slaves of us. Pariahs of half-blood children.

GERALT: Then go somewhere else. Rebuild. Get strong again. Show the humans that you are more than what they fear you to be.

FILAVANDREL: Like you, Witcher?

GERALT: I have learned to live with them. So that I may live.

TORUVIEL: Please, my King. There are others. A new generation. Evellien who wish to fight. Let us take back what’s ours. Starting now.

TORQUE: Wait!

FILAVANDREL: Torque, stand aside.

TORQUE: The Witcher could’ve killed me. But he didn’t. He’s different. Like us.

GERALT: If you must kill me, I am ready. But the Sylvan’s right. Don’t call me human.

>>>

JASKIER: Credit where credit is due, that whole reverse psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way. (imitates Geralt) “Kill me, I’m ready”. … That’s the conclusion. They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly’s coin to the elves.

GERALT: Filavandrel’s lute not gift enough for you?

JASKIER: Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn’t she? I do have respect for Filavandrel. He survived the Great Cleansing once. Who knows? Maybe he can do it again. Be reborn. (singing) Will the elf king heed what the witcher entreats? Is history a wheel doomed to repeat? No, that’s– that’s shit.

GERALT: This is where we part ways, bard, for good.

JASKIER: Look, I promised to change the public’s tune about you. At least allow me to try.

(JASKIER sings the opening verses of Toss A Coin.)

JASKIER: (singing) And so cried the Witcher, “He can’t be bleat–”

GERALT: That’s not how it happened. Where’s your newfound respect?

JASKIER: Respect doesn’t make history.

(JASKIER continues to sing Toss A Coin.)

GERALT: Hmm.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher transcript #yelling at clouds #didn't realise spn was spoiling me so with having full scripts up on the wiki

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 4 years ago

Photo

23rd January >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Saturday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

Saturday memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Saturday, Second Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: Green)

First Reading

Hebrews 9:2-3,11-14

He has entered the sanctuary once and for all through his own blood

There was a tent which comprised two compartments: the first, in which the lamp stand, the table and the presentation loaves were kept, was called the Holy Place; then beyond the second veil, an innermost part which was called the Holy of Holies. But now Christ has come, as the high priest of all the blessings which were to come. He has passed through the greater, the more perfect tent, which is better than the one made by men’s hands because it is not of this created order; and he has entered the sanctuary once and for all, taking with him not the blood of goats and bull calves, but his own blood, having won an eternal redemption for us. The blood of goats and bulls and the ashes of a heifer are sprinkled on those who have incurred defilement and they restore the holiness of their outward lives; how much more effectively the blood of Christ, who offered himself as the perfect sacrifice to God through the eternal Spirit, can purify our inner self from dead actions so that we do our service to the living God.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 46(47):2-3,6-9

R/ God goes up with shouts of joy; the Lord goes up with trumpet blast.

All peoples, clap your hands, cry to God with shouts of joy! For the Lord, the Most High, we must fear, great king over all the earth.

R/ God goes up with shouts of joy; the Lord goes up with trumpet blast.

God goes up with shouts of joy; the Lord goes up with trumpet blast. Sing praise for God, sing praise, sing praise to our king, sing praise.

R/ God goes up with shouts of joy; the Lord goes up with trumpet blast.

God is king of all the earth, sing praise with all your skill. God is king over the nations; God reigns on his holy throne.

R/ God goes up with shouts of joy; the Lord goes up with trumpet blast.

Gospel Acclamation

2 Corinthians 5:19

Alleluia, alleluia! God in Christ was reconciling the world to himself, and he has entrusted to us the news that they are reconciled. Alleluia!

Or:

cf. Acts of the Apostles 16:14

Alleluia, alleluia! Open our heart, O Lord, to accept the words of your Son. Alleluia!

Gospel

Mark 3:20-21

Jesus' relatives were convinced he was out of his mind

Jesus went home, and once more such a crowd collected that they could not even have a meal. When his relatives heard of this, they set out to take charge of him, convinced he was out of his mind.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Saturday memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Saturday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

________

EITHER: --------

First reading Genesis 3:9-15,20 The mother of all those who live

After Adam had eaten of the tree the Lord God called to him. ‘Where are you?’ he asked. ‘I heard the sound of you in the garden;’ he replied ‘I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid.�� ‘Who told you that you were naked?’ he asked ‘Have you been eating of the tree I forbade you to eat?’ The man replied, ‘It was the woman you put with me; she gave me the fruit, and I ate it.’ Then the Lord God asked the woman, ‘What is this you have done?’ The woman replied, ‘The serpent tempted me and I ate.’ Then the Lord God said to the serpent, ‘Because you have done this,

‘Be accursed beyond all cattle, all wild beasts. You shall crawl on your belly and eat dust every day of your life. I will make you enemies of each other: you and the woman, your offspring and her offspring. It will crush your head and you will strike its heel.’

The man named his wife ‘Eve’ because she was the mother of all those who live.

OR: --------

First reading Genesis 12:1-7 All the tribes of the earth shall bless themselves by you

The Lord said to Abram, ‘Leave your country, your family and your father’s house, for the land I will show you. I will make you a great nation; I will bless you and make your name so famous that it will be used as a blessing.

‘I will bless those who bless you: I will curse those who slight you. All the tribes of the earth shall bless themselves by you.’

So Abram went as the Lord told him, and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he left Haran. Abram took his wife Sarai, his nephew Lot, all the possessions they had amassed and the people they had acquired in Haran. They set off for the land of Canaan, and arrived there. Abram passed through the land as far as Shechem’s holy place, the Oak of Moreh. At that time the Canaanites were in the land. The Lord appeared to Abram and said, ‘It is to your descendants that I will give this land.’ So Abram built there an altar for the Lord who had appeared to him.

OR: --------

First reading 2 Samuel 7:1-5,8-11,16 The Lord will make you great; the Lord will make you a House

Once David had settled into his house and the Lord had given him rest from all the enemies surrounding him, the king said to the prophet Nathan, ‘Look, I am living in a house of cedar while the ark of God dwells in a tent.’ Nathan said to the king, ‘Go and do all that is in your mind, for the Lord is with you.’ But that very night the word of the Lord came to Nathan: ‘Go and tell my servant David, “Thus the Lord speaks: Are you the man to build me a house to dwell in? I took you from the pasture, from following the sheep, to be leader of my people Israel; I have been with you on all your expeditions; I have cut off all your enemies before you. I will give you fame as great as the fame of the greatest on earth. I will provide a place for my people Israel; I will plant them there and they shall dwell in that place and never be disturbed again; nor shall the wicked continue to oppress them as they did, in the days when I appointed judges over my people Israel; I will give them rest from all their enemies. The Lord will make you great; the Lord will make you a House. Your House and your sovereignty will always stand secure before me and your throne be established for ever.”’

OR: --------

First reading 1 Chronicles 15:3-4,15-16,16:1-2 They brought in the ark of God and put it inside the tent that David had pitched for it

David gathered all Israel together to bring the ark of God up to the place he had prepared for it. David called together the sons of Aaron and the sons of Levi. And the Levites carried the ark of God with the shafts on their shoulders, as Moses had ordered in accordance with the word of the Lord. David then told the heads of the Levites to assign duties for their kinsmen as cantors, with their various instruments of music, harps and lyres and cymbals, to play joyful tunes. They brought the ark of God in and put it inside the tent that David had pitched for it; and they offered holocausts before God, and communion sacrifices. And when David had finished offering holocausts and communion sacrifices, he blessed the people in the name of the Lord.

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First reading Proverbs 8:22-31 Before the earth came into being, Wisdom was born

The Wisdom of God cries aloud:

The Lord created me when his purpose first unfolded, before the oldest of his works. From everlasting I was firmly set, from the beginning, before earth came into being. The deep was not, when I was born, there were no springs to gush with water. Before the mountains were settled, before the hills, I came to birth; before he made the earth, the countryside, or the first grains of the world’s dust. When he fixed the heavens firm, I was there, when he drew a ring on the surface of the deep, when he thickened the clouds above, when he fixed fast the springs of the deep, when he assigned the sea its boundaries – and the waters will not invade the shore – when he laid down the foundations of the earth, I was by his side, a master craftsman, delighting him day after day, ever at play in his presence, at play everywhere in his world, delighting to be with the sons of men.

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First reading Ecclesiasticus 24:1-4,8-12,18-21 From eternity, in the beginning, God created wisdom

Wisdom speaks her own praises, in the midst of her people she glories in herself. She opens her mouth in the assembly of the Most High, she glories in herself in the presence of the Mighty One: ‘I came forth from the mouth of the Most High, and I covered the earth like a mist. I had my tent in the heights, and my throne in a pillar of cloud. Then the creator of all things instructed me, and he who created me fixed a place for my tent. He said, “Pitch your tent in Jacob, make Israel your inheritance.” From eternity, in the beginning, he created me, and for eternity I shall remain. I ministered before him in the holy tabernacle, and thus was I established on Zion. In the beloved city he has given me rest, and in Jerusalem I wield my authority. I have taken root in a privileged people, in the Lord’s property, in his inheritance. Approach me, you who desire me, and take your fill of my fruits, for memories of me are sweeter than honey, inheriting me is sweeter than the honeycomb. They who eat me will hunger for more, they who drink me will thirst for more. Whoever listens to me will never have to blush, whoever acts as I dictate will never sin.’

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First reading Isaiah 7:10-14,8:10 The maiden is with child

The Lord spoke to Ahaz and said, ‘Ask the Lord your God for a sign for yourself coming either from the depths of Sheol or from the heights above.’ ‘No,’ Ahaz answered ‘I will not put the Lord to the test.’ Then Isaiah said:

‘Listen now, House of David: are you not satisfied with trying the patience of men without trying the patience of my God, too? The Lord himself, therefore, will give you a sign. It is this: the maiden is with child and will soon give birth to a son whom she will call Immanuel, a name which means “God-is-with-us.”’

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First reading Isaiah 9:1-6 A Son is given to us

The people that walked in darkness has seen a great light; on those who live in a land of deep shadow a light has shone. You have made their gladness greater, you have made their joy increase; they rejoice in your presence as men rejoice at harvest time, as men are happy when they are dividing the spoils.

For the yoke that was weighing on him, the bar across his shoulders, the rod of his oppressor, these you break as on the day of Midian.

For all the footgear of battle, every cloak rolled in blood, is burnt, and consumed by fire.

For there is a child born for us, a son given to us and dominion is laid on his shoulders; and this is the name they give him: Wonder-Counsellor, Mighty-God, Eternal-Father, Prince-of-Peace.

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First reading Isaiah 61:9-11 I exult for joy in the Lord

Their race will be famous throughout the nations, their descendants throughout the peoples. All who see them will admit that they are a race whom the Lord has blessed.

‘I exult for joy in the Lord, my soul rejoices in my God, for he has clothed me in the garments of salvation, he has wrapped me in the cloak of integrity, like a bridegroom wearing his wreath, like a bride adorned in her jewels.

‘For as the earth makes fresh things grow, as a garden makes seeds spring up, so will the Lord make both integrity and praise spring up in the sight of the nations.’

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First reading Micah 5:1-4 He will stand and feed his flock with the power of the Lord

The Lord says this:

But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, the least of the clans of Judah, out of you will be born for me the one who is to rule over Israel; his origin goes back to the distant past, to the days of old. The Lord is therefore going to abandon them till the time when she who is to give birth gives birth. Then the remnant of his brothers will come back to the sons of Israel. He will stand and feed his flock with the power of the Lord, with the majesty of the name of his God. They will live secure, for from then on he will extend his power to the ends of the land. He himself will be peace.

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First reading Zechariah 2:14-17 'I am coming', says the Lord

Sing, rejoice, daughter of Zion; for I am coming to dwell in the middle of you – it is the Lord who speaks. Many nations will join the Lord, on that day; they will become his people. But he will remain among you, and you will know that the Lord of Hosts has sent me to you. But the Lord will hold Judah as his portion in the Holy Land, and again make Jerusalem his very own. Let all mankind be silent before the Lord! For he is awaking and is coming from his holy dwelling.

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Responsorial Psalm 1 Samuel 2:1,4-8

My heart exults in the Lord my Saviour.

My heart exults in the Lord. I find my strength in my God; my mouth laughs at my enemies as I rejoice in your saving help.

My heart exults in the Lord my Saviour.

The bows of the mighty are broken, but the weak are clothed with strength. Those with plenty must labour for bread, but the hungry need work no more. The childless wife has children now but the fruitful wife bears no more.

My heart exults in the Lord my Saviour.

It is the Lord who gives life and death, he brings men to the grave and back; it is the Lord who gives poverty and riches. He brings men low and raises them on high.

My heart exults in the Lord my Saviour.

He lifts up the lowly from the dust, from the dungheap he raises the poor to set him in the company of princes to give him a glorious throne. For the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s, on them he has set the world.

My heart exults in the Lord my Saviour.

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Responsorial Psalm Judith 13:18a-19

You are the highest honour of our race!

May you be blessed, my daughter, by God Most High, beyond all women on earth; and may the Lord God be blessed, the Creator of heaven and earth.

You are the highest honour of our race!

The trust you have shown shall not pass from the memories of men, but shall ever remind them of the power of God.

You are the highest honour of our race!

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Responsorial Psalm Psalm 44(45):11-12,14-17

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words: forget your own people and your father’s house. So will the king desire your beauty: He is your lord, pay homage to him.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

The daughter of the king is clothed with splendour, her robes embroidered with pearls set in gold. She is led to the king with her maiden companions.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

They are escorted amid gladness and joy; they pass within the palace of the king. Sons shall be yours in place of your fathers: you will make them princes over all the earth.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

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Responsorial Psalm Psalm 112(113):1-7

May the name of the Lord be blessed for evermore! or Alleluia!

Praise, O servants of the Lord, praise the name of the Lord! May the name of the Lord be blessed both now and for evermore!

May the name of the Lord be blessed for evermore! or Alleluia!

From the rising of the sun to its setting praised be the name of the Lord! High above all nations is the Lord, above the heavens his glory.

May the name of the Lord be blessed for evermore! or Alleluia!

Who is like the Lord, our God, who has risen on high to his throne yet stoops from the heights to look down, to look down upon heaven and earth? From the dust he lifts up the lowly, from the dungheap he raises the poor

May the name of the Lord be blessed for evermore! or Alleluia!

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Responsorial Psalm Luke 1:46-55