#jaskier fiction

[gwentbleidd]

still my favorite thing about all this is that joey batey really woke up one day, said 'hell yeah queer jaskier' and made thousands of people SO mad

[ghostlylicious]

moot always got the hit tweets on private

anyways yeah thats how i imagine their first conversation goes

[ammarettu]

Writing prompt: Curse breaking, true hate's kiss.

It's been two weeks since that horrible wretch of a mage falsely seduced him. Wandering hands on his chest and muttered words of adoration had distracted him from that distinct crackle and the faint scent of ozone.

He should have known better.

Should have seen it, or sensed it. He knows mages. Knows what they're capable of, their temperaments and egos. It wasn't until she was uttering about how he needed to learn to be humble, not to try and worm his way into everyone's good graces. Had to accept that people - no one - wanted him, that he noticed what she was.

So, instead of getting laid, he'd gotten cursed.

At least, mercifully, she'd told him the means to breaking the curse, which left him unable to speak, sing, or write.

True hate's kiss. Kiss someone who well and truely hates him. Perfect.

Which is how he now finds himself trudging through the overgrown wilderness, chasing rumors of a white-haired Witcher despite promising on the top of that fucking mountain that he would never bother him again.

He's still angry. Still hurt. His heart aches with every step closer, feels flayed open like bass being salted for dinner - and now he's hungry on top of it all!

He knows Geralt is going to be angry, annoyed at having to see him again even after the six months that have passed, but it can't be helped.

Jaskier's boots are caked in mud, the soles worn thin - he's pretty sure he's more blister than man at this point, despite his feet being used to years of walking, he's spent quite a bit of time in one place recently. He's gone soft rather quickly, it seems. (That tends to happen when you drink yourself stupid almost every night.)

He's close now.

He can see the smoke of a fire rising from above the trees, just past a village that told him the White Wolf had been staying nearby for the past several weeks, slaying mosntsers, refusing coin and only coming into town to sell the parts.

The woods here are dense, he'd curse at the branches smacking him in the face if he could, nature can eat his entire ass, thank you very much.

So maybe he's in a bit of a bad mood. Usually, the dense foliage, verdant and towering, letting through faint rays of sun that glitter on the moss and stones of the ground would inspire him to compose. Today he can only feel anger, because if he lets himself feel anything else he'll remember how heartbroken he is and start weeping like a small child.

So he's angry.

Angry at the branches. Angry at the Witcher.

Geralt hears him approach, of course he does. He's a Witcher, and an extra special one at that. The thought irks something in him that wants to taunt, "Ooh, so special, such a special boy," but again, that would be childish. And he can't talk.

When he reaches the clearing Geralt is there, sitting on a log facing away from him, hunched over as though trying to make himself smaller. Jaskier is half expecting him to growl or threaten him. Instead, he gets a quiet, "Bard?"

It's a question, and Geralt doesn't even bother to look at him or use his name. It makes Jaskier seethe.

He rounds the log the Witcher is sitting on, stands glaring down at him with his hands on his hips. Geralt keeps his eyes locked on the fire. Doesn't lift his gaze. It would hurt, would break his heart if there was anything of it left to break. He hates that Geralt hates him so much he can't even bear to look at him, or say his name.

He might as well get this over with. Might as well bite the rapier, so to speak, and get out of Geralt's hair before the Witcher decides to tear him a new set of holes.

He steps forward, into Geralt's space, winds his fingers into that glorious white hair, which is looking and feeling worse for wear - all of Geralt is, really. He's dirty, unshaven, looks ragged and worn and disheveled. He ignores that observation and yanks back on his silver locks until his head is tilted the way he wants it to be, leans down, and kisses him.

Jaskier normally isn't the type to kiss people who don't want it. Consent is important and he'll cut the balls off anyone who says otherwise, but this is important. Geralt won't forgive him, but he already hates the bard so there really isn't much lost there.

Then, hands are on his waist tugging him closer and a tongue is in his mouth and - Geralt is kissing him back. He's confused as all hell but not complaining, he's not an idiot!

Well, not that kind anyways.

When they break apart Geralt is looking up at him with furrowed brows, confused. Not angry.

"Mm, not... that I don't... why?"

Jaskier rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to speak - nothing. No sound. All that effort wasted. Geralt doesn't even hate him enough to break a fucking curse.

"Jaskier?"

He shakes his head, fighting back tears, unsure how to explain to a man who hates him but doesn't hate him enough why he's just assaulted him.

Jaskier flops onto the log next to Geralt and gestures vaguely, makes a talking motion with his hand, then an X with his arms.

"Can't talk?"

At least Geralt is smart, most Witchers are, in Jaskier's experience. They solve murders, chase monsters. They have to be good at reading between the lines, but only if those lines aren't emotions.

"Mm," Geralt looks him over, pulls his pendant from his neck and holds it up to Jaskier, "Magic. Curse?" Jaskier nods. Geralt swallows, "The cure is... a kiss?"

Jaskier nods again, sighs.

"From... what? Usually it's true love." He sounds oddly hopeful. Fidgets in a way that Jaskier has never seen. Jaskier shakes his head, ponders how to explain this absolute clusterfuck.

If Geralt didn't work there's only one other option anyways.

Valdo Marx.

((Now with part 2 ))

[patroclusdefencesquad]

jaskier + rience trauma

[fictional-musician-competition]

ROUND 4 POLL A

[battlecries-dear]

ok but Jaskier rolling up with some new boy toy of the week whenever Geralt and him stop in a town. Just a legion of soft spoken twinks hanging off of him and crooning at every thing that comes out of his mouth, and Geralt just absolutely fucking seething with jealousy. Can Jaskier tell Geralt is jealous? is he doing it on purpose? whos to tell!!

[thedemonofcat]

How to Write Fanfiction

1. Develop an idea for a fanfic based on a fandom you enjoy.

2. Choose your writing method: computer, tablet, phone, or pen and paper (for a more whimsical touch, consider sending drafts via carrier pigeon).

3. Begin writing your story.

4. Come up with a new idea.

5. Return to step three and start writing your new idea.

6. Continue alternating between steps three and four.

7. Repeat this process until you have accumulated over a hundred works-in-progress (WIPs).

8. Postpone finishing any of them until much later.

[itendswithakiss]

I need a really long Geraskier fic to read please

[stangalina]

"I am so, so sorry." Jaskier said the moment the door closed behind him.

Geralt didn't respond, taking a moment to subtly look around the room he'd just been brought into. It was a combination of an office and a bedroom, a room with bookshelves on every wall and a desk near the window, and a room with a reasonably large bed and several shelves and cupboards, separated by an open archway. The archway had a curtain that could be drawn across, but judging by the sun damage on the fabric tie holding it aside, it hadn't been drawn in years. Possibly ever.

The shelves were full of trinkets and and curiosities, some of which Geralt recognised as things Jaskier had collected while travelling by his side. There were so many that they displaced the books meant to be on the shelves, the books instead being left in neat piles on the floor. The cold wooden floorboards were covered up with a rug that would have been rather expensive when it was first bought, and the window in each section of the room had thick curtains that could be drawn to keep in warmth. Next to the bed, there was a reasonably sized fireplace that clearly hadn't been lit in a while, but it was clean and looked perfectly functional.

He was dimly aware that Jaskier was still apologising, but Jaskiers voice was classified as "pleasant background noise" by his brain, so listening to every word the bard said was not automatic. That, and his rambling apologies were completely unnecessary.

"-I understand if you are angry with me but I-"

"I'm not angry." He interrupted, looking away from the room and back to Jaskier.

"You... Aren't?"

Geralt shook his head.

"You successfully found us lodging for the winter. Like you said you would."

"By sacrificing your pride! Honestly, I spend my whole entire life trying to show the world that Witchers are people worthy of love, kindness and respect only to throw it all away in front of my peers without even thinking! And now you're going to have to be around their arrogant asses all god-forsaken winter, I'm so sorry Geralt." Jaskier rambled, sounding honestly distraught.

"No, I- hmm." Geralt tried to talk, but couldn't come up with the words to explain how he felt about what just happened. "I have been called significantly worse things in my lifetime."

"That doesn't make it better!"

Really, he had been called far worse. In comparison to butcher, beast, feral creature, mutant and monster; "dog" was exceedingly tame.

"I'm going to strangle that alcoholic fossil the next time I see him." Jaskier hissed.

"Don't. I'm not in the mood to help you hide a body."

"You won't need to. I know this place like the back of my hand. They won't find his body until it goes putrid and bursts."

The amount of distain Jaskier could pack into his words was a marvel to behold. Geralt had to calm him down, or Jaskier may actually follow through with that threat. It wouldn't be the first time he'd killed a man, but it would likely get him into some sort of trouble.

"You are not not murdering your colleagues, Jaskier." Geralt asserted, looking around the room for the best place to set down his bag.

Jaskier whimpered pathetically.

"You're right. If anyone deserves to die it's me right now. I'm a master of the seven liberal arts for Melitele's sake, why couldn't I come up with a better idea!?"

A better idea. Geralt pondered that for a minute. He tried to think of an alternate way they could have gotten out of that situation.

Off the top of his head, all plausible alternatives ended in some form of subterfuge, separation, roughing it out in the snow, or getting arrested.

So, on the scale of bad ideas, this was one of the better ones. In fact it may be the best bad idea Jaskier has ever had.

Even if it meant getting Geralt into Oxenfurt under the "pet" clause in Jaskiers contract.

Turns out, to stay as a guest at Oxenfurt Academy, you need to give the institute prior warning so they can add you to the list of people on campus for that year. In other words, guests staying for more than a night or two need to book in over a year in advance.

So when Geralt's last job of the year ran dangerously long and an early thick snowfall rolled in from the south, snowing in the pass to Kear Morhen ahead of schedule and leaving Geralt with nowhere to spend the winter, leading to Jaskiers offer to winter with him in the halls of Oxenfurt Academy, he was unfortunately denied entry.

Jaskier did not take kindly to being told "no" and argued with the aging professor that had met them at the gate for over ten minutes about technicalities and semantics. The professor was as unmoved as a stone column throughout the whole ordeal, stubbornly sticking to the academy's rules. It soon became clear that Jaskier was not going to be able to convince him.

Just as Geralt was about to interject so Jaskier didn't get reprimanded for being mouthy, Jaskier stopped arguing and gained a strange glint to his eyes.

He told Geralt to stay put and walked the professor away from the gate and around a corner that would be out of range if Geralt had human hearing.

Geralt then listened intently as Jaskier smarmily explained to the professor that he saw Geralt as more of a well trained guard dog than a friend, and that since professors at Oxenfurt are allowed up to three pets, he should be able to bring him in. When the professor made a shaky objection, Jaskier took on an incredibly arrogant tone and explained that Witchers are not human, and thus should be classed as pets.

Surely. He asked. Surely a professor of his calibre did not think Witchers were human?

The professor had no choice but to agree.

And now, here they were. In Jaskiers room that they would share for the upcoming winter, in an academy full of people that, thanks to gossip, would soon all know that the White Wolf was brought into Oxenfurt as the loyal pet dog of Julian Alfred Pankratz viscount de Lettenhove.

"Jaskier." Geralt said after dropping his bag and stepping closer to his friend. "I already told you, I'm not angry."

"The fact that you're not angry at being called a dog upsets me greatly dear heart." Jaskier admitted in a tender tone, leaning bodily against the closed door at his back.

"Insults don't bother me Jaskier." Geralt said.

Jaskier glared at him, the look in his eyes accusing those words as a lie. Geralt continued to talk regardless.

"But you weren't insulting me. You were tricking a man into giving us bed and board. And I know you wouldn't have said it if you weren't sure it would work. Right?"

Jaskier opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. He couldn't refute Geralt's words.

"And now we both have winter safe and indoors, with food and fire. You have work to do, and they'll probably have some use for me in this place." Geralt took another step closer. "So stop fucking apologising."

Jaskier closed the distance between them, their chests met and Jaskiers forehead fell to rest on Geralt's shoulder. He sighed heavily.

"I suppose you're right. No point dwelling on what's already been done." Jaskier admitted heavily. "But!" He suddenly said, tone much more like his usual self. "I refuse to forgo giving you any kind of compensation for having to deal with that impotent old fuck! And whatever bullshit the nobles in this place are bound to pull before the snow melts in spring. Sooooo," He drew out the word, stepping back from Geralt. "How about I make you a bath? Scalding hot, perfect for your witchery constitution. Hmm?"

It was an obvious attempt to soothe his own guilt. But... Geralt was never one to say no to a bath. Especially not a bath made by Jaskier.

"Bathing your dog? What a good master." Geralt said, smiling a little at his own joke.

"Shut up you arse." Jaskier hissed as he left the room.

[merlin-wolfgang-trades-hale]

😈😈😈😈 I can’t wait for the new wave of “Jealous!Geralt” & “Possessive!Geralt” fics that are going to grace ao3 and my dash. I’m eating so good soon!!

[ladynearthelake]

A snippet

I know I said it would only take a few days, but I'm a dummy like that.

Here's a snippet of an arranged marriage Radskier thing I'm working on...

See, the thing is Jaskier always knew this outcome was possible. When he was young, his father never stopped crowing about what an advantageous match he made for his ne’er-do-well son. Problem was, Jaskier tuned the earl out every time he started on about it. Sure, he knew the details. The Redanian spare would need a pretty partner to entertain the court when he came of age. The Earl of Lettenhove had jumped at the opportunity soon as the rumor got around that the prince was on the auction block. Jaskier would be off his hands, and his ties to the throne and his land solidified. Jaskier didn’t care. He had no intention of remaining in Lettenhove, much less following through on the betrothal. Soon as he left for Oxenfurt, Jaskier would have to be dragged back kicking and screaming. Shit of it was, there had been kicking and screaming, just not as Jaskier envisioned.

He should have seen it coming. After all, his father wasn’t going to ignore a contract unfulfilled. He remembered the letters those first few years following Geralt. They were filled with lots of stern language about duty and family and honor and blah blah blah. When they finally stopped, he thought he’d outrun his responsibilities.

Turns out, the Earl hadn’t given up. He was just biding his time.

As he followed Geralt that summer, a letter seemed to appear at every settlement they passed through. Jaskier ignored them all. The messengers were always twitchy. They would stare at Jaskier’s witcher as if waiting to be cut down. Jaskier sent each of them on their way with the unopened letter and a coin for their trouble. He though nothing of it when he parted from Geralt for the winter. He would do what he always did: mold the minds of the best and brightest at the university and see just how many flat surfaces he could bespoil with his partners.

He had barely even settled in when several very large men in Lettenhove livery kicked down his door and suggested very violently that he should leave with them. Jaskier refused, and that was when his father appeared. As he presses his head against the cool stone of the room they’ve locked him in, Jaskier hears his father’s words echoing in his pounding head.

“Now more than ever, the Redanian crown wants to fortify their position. The spymaster worries we can be bought by Nilfgaard and demands that the marriage contract be fulfilled. You can accompany me to Tretogor with the dignity befitting your station, or you can continue to act like a child.”

Jaskier has never been accused of making thing easy for himself. He doesn’t remember much of the ride from Oxenfurt to Tretogor.

He presses tighter to the stone. The cold makes him think of Geralt, safe and so far away until spring.

It’s almost like his prick of a father had been planning this little abduction for years. He’s being ever so smug about it too. When Jaskier awoke in a strange bed in a locked room, he found a note in neat, familiar, infuriating script.

Duty comes for us all. Be ready by sundown.

~TBC

Think there were more folks on that original post, but here's the people I remember interacting with it lol

@endiness @misterkarchie @nicestmeangirl @underthebluerain @elder-flower @highwarlockofphilly

[timetraveladdict]

I have all this great Geraskier fic ideas in my head (at least 50) but I am not able to write them down. So they still stay there… in my head 🥲

[thefandomlifechoseme]

hi, I'm here to ask abt your ghost Jaskier headcanons because you seem real excited about them!

OK SO-

Jaskier dies.

Maybe it's heroic. Maybe it's not. Maybe Geralt and Yen were there. Maybe they weren't. Maybe Ciri still beats herself up about not being fast enough. Maybe she doesn't. Maybe Geralt knew when it happened. Maybe he didn't. Maybe it was traumatic. Maybe it wasn't.

Point is, Jaskier is dead. Jaskier has been dead for centuries.

----

Geralt and Yen and Ciri are on the path still, when they stop for the night. There's a fire burning, and they're all exhausted, but Ciri is still cold, and struggling to sleep.

She could swear someone just draped their coat over her. Is holding her close. Is humming a tune long forgotten by the world. There is no-one there, but somebody is stroking her hair regardless. She closes her eyes, pretending they don't sting, that she isn't deluding herself into thinking that he is singing her to sleep, because surely Yen and Geralt would notice if they had been being haunted for the past several hundred years.

----

Years later, Yen is striking out on her own for a bit. It's not that she doesn't love her family, but she does need a break from them at times.

She is taking the long route to what was once called Cintra, because if being functionally immortal has taught her one thing, it's that she has the time to get lost in the woods. If she didn't know better, she would say that she was being followed. But there is nothing there, magical or otherwise. Even so, she is being followed. Or, perhaps, haunted. She doesn't deal with hauntings much- it's more of a Witcher's job than a Mage's, but every Mage knows the basics.

For whatever reason, her ghostly companion can't or won't show their face, but are present enough that she feels followed. She abruptly sits where she stands, and addresses the air.

"I don't have the equipment for a proper seance on me, but I am willing to allow you to perform a minor possession on me." The air is still for a long moment, as is her mind, before she gets-

unease-sorrow

a flicker-bright-snatch-of-song he never wrote

apology-fear

not-leaving-not-leaving-please

And then, clearer than the rest-

will-leave

if-you-ask

will-leave

wont-put-you-through-making-me

love-you-miss-you

He leaves her be then, and she is grateful for it as she beats herself up over this, because they should have seen this coming. How had they not see this coming? Of course Jaskier was haunting them- he'd done so often enough in life that it must have been practically second nature in death!

[my-jokes-are-my-armour]

I always believed I would spend the rest of my days with you all, or like we always did, crossing path, sharing adventures, or a meal somewhere, anywhere... We always had something to share.

I would have followed you as long as my legs would have carried me. I would have sung to you as long as my voice would have hold. And then I hoped you would have visited me when I would have been too old... Because you were eternal to mere mortals like me and this was the only good way to end this story. You alive. Me dead.

But today, I am lost. That future won't exist and I don't know what to do. You left me on that bank and disappeared into the mist, when all I wished was lying with them. I understand your feelings, princess, but, if they are not alive, I don't belong with the living either... You know it.

Now, my body seems too heavy to move even if I feel empty, and my heart is too broken to feel anything but pain. I don't know how to sing, because my voice is trapped somewhere.

There is nowhere I feel home anymore. I am just a lost soul on this sphere. So please, come back... or welcome me on the other side. Don't leave me here... alone. I beg of you. This is not fair I have to stay here, in a space full of your absence.

You denied me the right to have a more peaceful end and I saw in your eyes that you will never come back. Maybe we could have mourn together. We didn't have to be alone to face this ordeal, didn't we ?

But maybe you knew that my own pain would be too much to bear and you couldn't see me never heal. Maybe you were right. Maybe that's better that way. But maybe it means that everyone understood, and I was in denial all my life. Maybe my own kind knew from my first breath in this world how unworthy of love I was, and I should have bent before that heart would know the feeling. Maybe that's why in the end, I have to face this alone...

I am sorry, princess, for my bitter words but the wound is too fresh and the fall is hard, because I thought for a short time that I was enough and worth to be part of your family, when clearly it was just a construct of my mind. Also you knew what to say, but this is not fair you used that against me to keep me alive... on this side. Because I will give myself heart and soul to the task you gave me, knowing it will never bring me real peace.

But my letter isn't for that.

Yes, I am bitter that you did that to me, but deep inside I can't blame you and never will. You had too much to endure. This is only pain speaking and I am sorry. I have to find a way to accept things as they are. I need just time. Probably.

This letter is there to enlighten what I should have said before. What I should have say many times. I have to make things right before my own end.

The poet in me wants to believe that you knew how much I love you all. But for the first time in my life I regret I never said those three little words out loud. You are gone and it is too late now. There is no second chances with those kind of things.

I will continue to tell the story of my beloved family to the world as you asked me to, if I can find my voice back, but the world doesn't deserve the words I would say to you only. I will continue to hide them to their eyes and ears, like the most extraordinary things I keep inside.

But for you, I write these words, for the first and the last time. This is a beacon in the dark and the most important thing anyone has to know. And you have to know.

I LOVE YOU.

Your crazy uncle Jaskier.

(Letter found in a empty wine bottle in a lake in Rivia)

[waterflowing-under-ground]

Tell your good friends

You love them all doubtlessly

Wordless and senseless without reservation

Now's the time

Now's the time

Now's the time

Now's the time

Tell your good friends you love them without complaint

This road stretched for miles, straddled the countryside

Licking the hills with autumn decay

A fire that burned the bright gold covered forest down

This is the end of all that you thought was good

This is the end of reckless young energy

Breathless suspense and restless potential

This is the end

This is the end

This is the end...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This song from an obscure indie band from the mid-2000's I saw live once, opening for Andrew Bird when he was still just breaking into the scene and played small venues came to mind as I've been sitting with and processing grief that's aged 15 years, and reflecting on my most significant friendship of a quarter century, all because I decided to re-read Andrzej Sapkowski's The Witcher saga. It hit me hard then, but it's hitting differently now as a 40-something.

When I was 26 (I'm 41 now), I lost a close friend who was 27 years old at the time. I was very involved in post-death events after he died (suddenly, expectedly, and unfortunately, violently).

I helped his mom (who is also sadly no longer with us either as of a few years ago) clean his belongings out of his apartment which was one of the most surreal and disconcerting experience of my life.

She gave me the textbook from an undergrad class he and I happened to attend together years prior (we had known each other outside of the community college we took that class at, but being in that class together was the catalyst for becoming as close as we did) and all of his comic books.

I was asked to contribute to the eulogy for his celebration of life. I spent so much time with his family. I had vivid dreams about him nearly every night. And I didn't cry, not really, for several weeks. I was in shock. He was 27. It was not real. We'd had plans to hang out the Friday before he died (which happened on that following Monday) and I cancelled because I was tired. But the last time I heard his voice, it was a cheerful little chat on the phone. I remember he said, "awesome sauce, let's try again when you're feeling better." And it was not real.

Well, it wasn't real yet. Until it was. And it hit me all at once one random afternoon when I was sitting alone in my living room. It was quiet. And it was suddenly real.

The immediate post-death events were done and there weren't any more planned. And it hit me suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, that he was really gone forever, that I'd never see him or speak to him ever again, that this wasn't just a nightmare that I was having that I would wake up from any moment now. My dear, sweet, lovely, funny, intelligent, loyal affectionate, outspoken, wildly eccentric friend was gone. Forever.

That's when I heard a voice come out of my body I'd never heard before, something that sounded like it wasn't even coming from me or even a human being. I was screaming until my throat went raw, and then I was sobbing. I've never screamed like that since.

And I was alone. Just me and my grief finally catching up to me, weeks after my friend had gone. Me and the debt, the price I had to pay for loving someone, for the precious 8 years of friendship we had shared. Because I think of grief as the debt we pay for being able to love.

So tell your friends how much you care about them, how much you love them. It's not too mushy to do that. It's not too sentimental or cloying or whatever negative label someone wants to slap on being affectionate and demonstrative and vocal about your love for someone. It's important. I like to hope I did a decent job of showing him while he was alive, I hope he knew, but I always wish I'd done more, said more.

With the other friend in my life who I consider equally close to my heart, my BFF of 25 years, I recently decided to tell her I love her using those exact words and telling her how important she is to me. In this post about the Witcher (in particular the Geralt and Dandelion friendship), I mentioned that my friend tends usually not to be the touchy-feely type (but that it doesn't make her any less loving or caring or supportive because she is all those things to be clear). If you read that post it'll hopefully make sense why I brought that up.

But in any case, I saw her recently and decided to tell her some things. Because, to be honest, my Witcher re-read (because the Witcher has much to say about grief and loss along with myriad other aspects of the human experience and human conceits) got me thinking about my late friend who I lost over 15 years ago, and my best friend now, who I cherish and love with every part of me, who has seen me through so much, has seen the ugly bits of me as well when I was at my lowest, and who still loves and supports me, enjoys me because she loves me for who I am, considers me enough (as I am, in my unfiltered form in all my autistic and mentally ill glory), and chooses me after all this time. Because I am enough. And for me, she is enough, I love every part of her, I've seen her through low times and when she wasn't well, and I still chose her because she's my friend, my person, and I wouldn't change a single thing about her. We have both made mistakes and hurt each other's feelings in the past at times (not on purpose but still owned it), but real repair was done in those cases, and it made our bond stronger. And that's real, and as I'm learning as I get older, RARE.

I decided that it was the right time to tell her I love her, actually saying the words, and I was nervous she'd be embarrassed, but to my elated surprise, she was touched, told me she loves me too, and we had a sweet and heartfelt conversation about our history, our love and affection for each other, and our amazing friendship that we're so lucky to still have after a quarter of a century, a deep abiding trust in each other, and how we hope to be old and cantankerous together. She is just as important to me as my live-in partner, and I wanted her to know that. I'm so glad I told her because she clearly appreciated hearing it. And I'm relieved and feel peace after telling her, and after hearing her say the same things to me.

Anyway, people, please tell those important people in your life how much you love and care about them, because they need to know, they need to hear it, and it's important. Because nothing is permanent. Losing someone you love will never be easy, even if you do tell them you love them, but it's still important to do so.

"When he heard the death rattle, Gilgamesh moaned like a dove. His face grew dark. 'Beloved, wait, don't leave me. Dearest of men, don't die, don't let them take you from me.'"

- The Epic of Gilgamesh

"Who are you? You are no one that I know. I am Gilgamesh, who killed Humbaba And the Bull of Heaven with my friend. If you are Gilgamesh and did those things, why Are you so emaciated and your face half-crazed? I have grieved! Is it so impossible To believe? he pleaded. My friend who went through everything with me is dead! No one grieves that much, she said. Your friend is gone. Forget him. No one remembers him. He is dead. Enkidu. Enkidu. Gilgamesh called out: Help me. They do not know you as I know you."

- The Epic of Gilgamesh

"Gilgamesh wept bitterly for his friend. He felt himself now singled out for loss Apart from everyone else. The word Enkidu Roamed through every thought Like a hungry animal through empty lairs In search of food. The only nourishment He knew was grief, endless in its hidden source Yet never ending hunger." Herbert Mason, Gilgamesh: A Verse Narrative

[fictional-musician-competition]

ROUND 2 POLL C