#verse: tw3

[okruchlodu]

❝ have your weapons close at hand, Eskel — I know it's impossible for you to heed a simple request, but do try to stick close! ❞  the sorceress demands sharply, voice dark and cold and dripping in exasperation as they make their way through a dark, wet beech forest; his horse stamps and snorts furiously in the unnatural darkness that envelopes them, and a sharp, dry wind soughs in the crowns of the fir trees. The sky sparkles with stars, but sprawls dark and moonless above them, and Yennefer— teeming with impatience— whispers an ancient incantation — a net of deep blue light shooting from her hands (gloved in black lace and thrumming with Chaos) soon after, and spilling in the air around them, lighting their path.

@wanderingwolfwitcher

[okruchlodu]

Enveloped in dark, rich silks, (a black dress ornamented with silver-white embroidery ) and dappled in firelight, the sorceress sits at a table near the back of the parlor, expecting the arrival of an old friend that might just be able to provide her with the aid she's been furiously seeking. There are plumes of sweet, scented smoke spilling off the silver bowl placed near her, incense burning thickly inside of it as she casts her striking, violet gaze around her, her body language an all too clear display of charming, aloof indifference, her voice a dark, sharp whisper when she speaks. Gods dammit, must he truly, thinks she in exasperation, wail and shriek his foolish little tales and songs in such unbearable a manner? The hour is late, and she, running exceedingly low on patience.  And yet she neither scoffs nor openly dismisses him, his company distraction enough until her liaison arrives.

❝ perhaps, I do, bard... ❞ Yennefer offers tartly, dark curls cascading down slim back in a tornado as she tosses her head to the side so that she might cast her sharp gaze upon him, ❝ - perhaps,❞ she suggests, ❝ I merely know when to indulge my tongue, and when I must swallow it. Unlike some others I know...❞ she alludes, lips curling into a contemptuous smile, a perfectly dark brow, held aloft at him soon after at the question that follows, ❝ - oh, but I am aghast! Surely you must have heard your old friend's tales sang in every inn and tavern from here to the ends of the Continent! I refuse to believe such greatly celebrated a bard's music has somehow escaped your attention. Hasn't Dandelion bested you all when it comes to tales of grand deeds and glory, after all? ❞ the sorceress cannot help but smirk.

@yenofberg liked for a lyric starter ! song: writing's on the wall by sam smith

"a million shards of glass that haunt me from my past."

is he valdo or pawel? are they one in the same, or are they distinctly different? every time he thinks of his childhood, of the old knight, his whole body tenses -- -- but if he didn't go through all of that, would he be who he is now?

it's clear valdo is drunk at the table, glancing at the purple eyed mage across from him. she is different from sabrina. he leans into his hand, smiling. "i've spent a lifetime running." he chuckles.

"perhaps you know something like that? . . . lilac and gooseberries, isn't that what julian described you as? what callonetta writes in her songs? you are --" he hiccups, "yennefer of vengerberg. tell me, enchantress, what's your story?"

[palespawn]

ᵗʰᵉ ʷⁱᵗᶜʰᵉʳ : 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔.

⁰⁰¹. backstory: astarion was born in 1012, an aen seidhe elf, one of the many elves who's ancestors decided to inhabit the continent alongside humans and other species during the age of migration, in contrast to the aen elle ( who moved outer world, to tir ná lia ). he was raised in dol blathanna until he turned 18, and moved to novigrad to attain a higher education at oxenfurt academy. here, he studied law and politics, and after he graduated, had aspirations of becoming a governor in novigrad. all did not, of course, go according to plan― one night, he was attacked by thugs while walking along st. gregory's bridge, and left to bleed to death. a man named cazador found him and offered him eternal life. he did not refuse.

⁰⁰². vampires superiores: cazador, revealed to be a true higher vampire, and prominent figure within novigrad, turned astarion that night and the two centuries that follow bear similarity to his baldur's gate 3 canon. astarion is a higher vampire, however, compelled by cazador to do his bidding, with his base of operations taking place at the passiflora. here, astarion was made to prostitute himself both in and outside of the establishment, and bring only the most beautiful of his clientele to cazador. while cazador, and other higher vampires, do not require blood to survive, feeding enhances their abilities, quickens the regeneration process and increases their strength, which was a necessity in his vying for power. as astarion has the unique ability to charm his victims, hunting for his master was therefore an easier feat but offered little in terms of reward; that which varied from a vermin dinner, to whatever torture cazador deigned to inflict upon him. near 150 years into servitude, and unbeknownst to him, astarion's parents died as humans felled dol blathanna.

⁰⁰³. powerful alliances: cazador and alonso wiley, a powerful gangster and owner of many illegal novigrad establishments, are in the midst of developing a provisory business relationship that would see them take over novigrad in the years to come. this "friendship" went unpublicised until their untimely deaths, committed individually but coincidentally within days of each other. alonso was assassinated in his home, as coordinated by his only son, cyprian wiley ( otherwise known as whoreson jr. ), and cazador was murdered by astarion in one of the many rooms within the passiflora ( this can be treated as a 'side quest' - if aided in the murder he will help later on. if he is not aided/accompanied, this will lead to him feeding on and accidentally killing another patron or patrons within the passiflora due to heightened emotions and bloodlust ). there is speculation that the deaths are connected, due to eyewitnesses of the two kingpins' associates, whoreson jr.'s subsequent elevation and astarion's disappearance. marquise serenity took over the passiflora as it's madame soon after.

⁰⁰⁴. penchant for vengeance: despite being freed of his control, astarion's lust for revenge is not as quenched as he had anticipated. he extends such to cazador's old allies, however, as alonso wiley's death had already been taken from him, he decided to pursue his son instead. this can lead to a potential alliance with ciri and her search for whoreson jr., and subsequent rescue of dudu, and later geralt as a potential informant of ciri's whereabouts, or in tracking down whoreson jr. if your muse also helps him kill cazador, he will offer his support in the battle of kaer morhen/can become a companion. otherwise, he will go his separate ways after assisting in the murder of whoreson jr. if he's not aided in any way, he can become a potential adversary.

⁰⁰⁵. blood and wine: astarion can appear in toussaint either by coincidence, as a helping hand in tracking down the murderous "beast" on the loose, as an agent of said beast or regis, or whatever the plot requires.

note: the details can of course be altered for the sake of fitting astarion within the universe without interfering with the main storyline, especially with muses originating from the witcher universe. this can also include events prior to the games, as he has been alive for over 250 years. i've only read up to the beginning of blood of elves, for reference, but i can always do my research!

bestiary: higher vampire

abilities: resistant to sunlight, can transform into a bat, charm manipulation, deception, regenerative powers.

[jewishsuperfam]

the thing is. emma/regina + henry rly has like perfect geralt/yen + ciri vibes

[okruchlodu]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

[andordean]

Intro Post Is Here

I promised myself I would make an intro post with my fic list when I hit a followers milestone, and lo and behold, the time has come to make good on that promise. 

(Breathe in. You got this, Dor. Ok, here we go.)

Welcome, friends. If you followed me sometime in the last year and a half, here’s a funny story for you: I used to write Witcher fics (a lot even, at one point) (and I pray I will write again, though at the moment brain be words what no speaky English). (But I digress.)

What you can find on my blog: shitposting, sarcasm, salt—and Ciri. A lot of Ciri. (Often tagged as: "brat <3". No reason.) Also, many Ciri pairings. We support most Ciri pairings in this house.

What you can find on my AO3: Also a lot of Ciri in different pairings, or sometimes in multiple pairings, as (a) I am a multishipper and (b) Ciri is bi and can do no wrong and (c) has two hands and a hatred for cages and also (d) poly/open relationships are the new love triangles and we need more of them, actually.

Specifically:

"Blood Ties" verse, aka Queen of Cintra verse (aka mammoth), or a 100k words novel in three parts about what happens if neither witchering nor ruling the empire (nor dying, I guess) fully satisfies our girl's ambitions. (Answer: let’s go and shake up the geopolitical landscape of the post-TW3 Continent, reclaim your throne, piss off Dijkstra in the process, make new allies and enemies both, grow and heal, get what you wanted, find indulgence, and also love. Ships aplenty, including some nobody else thought of. Just saying.)

"Broken Pieces" verse, or what happens if Cahir survives, but somewhat fails to move on (he tries), and Ciri fails to be indifferent (she also tries). (Answer: witchering shenanigans, but also some family reunions, Ceallach being a Smart Cookie, Geralt being the Daddest Dad, Ciri being a brat, but also right, but also needing a reality check and to get her head out of her ass. Spoiler alert: happy/bittersweet ending. It’s Witcher-verse, after all.)

"Splinters" verse, or what happens when the author develops a brainrot. (Answer: modern!AU with the main theme being: everyone is thirsty for Cahir/Eamon’s hands. Banter, pinning, thirst, smut, and more banter. Past that comes back to bite everyone in the ass, heartbreak, and a happy ending. Always a happy ending. And Angouleme being the Best Gremlin.)

“The Ghost of You”, or what happens when Ciri gets Ideas, and tries to use Cahir to get what she wants. (Formerly known as the Cancel WIP. Mind the tags with this one; set during LotL, unhealthy coping mechanisms aplenty, trauma and PTSD galore, leading to the first steps of healing. It’s always, always about healing with these two.)

“Sing To Me In The Dark”, or what happens if Cahir finds himself in Kaer Morhen to help defend it from the Hunt. (Answer: the author wants to know too. Although the author mostly knows, but brain no speaky English, see above.)

“Hunter’s Moon”, or what happened in Beauclair during the hansa stay there, from the point of view of a certain succubus. (Answer: a certain vampire attempting to be a smartass, not always succeeding; smut and banter, and more smut. Also, a heartbreak.)

If you like any of the above and tell me about it, chances are I’ll be making you a birthday gift the following year.

In the meantime, enjoy the shitposting, the salt, the sarcasm—and Ciri.

[okruchlodu]

[ AFTER ] : sender has just impulsively and passionately kissed the receiver without any warning nor apparent reason. — Geralt ( @xradiant )

Draped in white silks (drenched and slick from the heat that fills the room, rising from the bath she's taken not too long ago, sea water and salt, the sweet warmth of her perfume; the windows steam up and the room smells like a storm, as she uses her magic to vaporise the water that drips off her curls onto the floor; the sharp pang of ozone; lilac and gooseberries) — she does not lift her eyes from the book sprawled open upon her thighs when he stirs from where he's been sitting near the fire, whetting the blade of his sword. From the open window, a soft, dry breeze, fragrant with pine and saltwater, spills in, rustling the silks of her slip dress, the pages of her book (yellowed and made stiff with disuse). The Witcher near her says something— more grunting than voice — but she does not deign to acknowledge it, shutting her ire and frustration within an icy heart.

The fatigue caused by the day long journey from Tretogor to their inn somewhere in Novigrad, has made itself felt. Her mood is still quite sour, and she's spitefully refusing to relent. The wolf has pricked her with its fangs, gotten under her skin, stubborn, self-willed to a fault, exasperatingly mulish — she does not wish to further entertain his folly. She stretches out upon the chaise longue, proudly tosses a shock of rippling, gleaming raven curls off her shoulders, tossing the towel she's used to keep them dry aside without much care (it quite off handedly slaps the Witcher in the face, wet, still, and perfumed with her scent). Her violet eyes remain proud and expressionless, two shards of oval jewels, radiant, flashing with purple fire, strangely cold and menacing, even in their unyielding refusal to meet his once he commands it with his stride near her, so full of bold, purposeful intention.

Without so much as a glance, the sorceress is about to sternly ask him remove himself from her presence, his shadow blots out the light and she's reading, can he not see? Of course not, he's got his superiorly enhanced senses, how could he, the great white wolf deign to understand such trifling inconveniences, when he grabs at her face and captures her mouth in a kiss that violently thieves the breath from her lungs, and although she's ice and storm, the chill of winter under her skin, her lips are soft and inviting, sweet with lipstick. Yennefer gasps, a soft sound of surprise.

The book slips from her grasp, landing with a thud onto the floor. There is but a moment’s hesitation—enough time for her to recognize what is happening—before she leans into the kiss herself, unable to deny him. Her fingers find the collar of his shirt, and she demandingly pulls him nearer, leaving him chest to chest. Every touch of his lips and tongue now pouring feverish, wet kisses over the column of her neck, her mouth, her jaw, set a small fire that threatens to catch every inch of her body aflame. Yennefer draws back, her breath quickened, and violet eyes flash like lightning, seeking out his.   ❝my, the Witcher thinks he might somehow win my affections with a kiss... How sweet. ❞ Yennefer drawls breathlessly as he mouths at her neck, his breath tickling her skin; there’s an underlying threat in her tone, coy and teasing, despite her previous frustration with him, but her lips, too, are drawn into a smirk, tender exasperation blending with her need for him as she stares, violet eyes unyielding in their embrace. She pretends to push him away, eyes narrowing in accusation. Her dark head tilts to the side, violet eyes flashing a devious look, ❝perhaps he'd have better luck yet if he were less bolshy—mm... go... bring me something to drink, I need to cool off. ❞ She can no longer repress the taunting smile that erupts across soft, wonderfully narrow lips, and as he begins to pull away, she reaches up and forcefully pulls him right back to kiss his lips, her passion flaring, a heat that completely engulfs him;  she grasps at his jaw, anchoring his lips to hers, stealing his breath away before finally releasing him with a gentle push to his cheek to get him going. Gods. She can never stay mad at him long, not truly. He shall forever boast as her greatest and most damning weakness yet.

Somehow, she does not mind it.

@xradiant

[tigerlyla-of-metinna]

Miguel "Miggy" O'Hara (Spiderman 2099)

My version of Miggy, combining the Spiderman 2099 comic book version with Across the Spider-verse version.

I'm very happy how this turned out! I might even start taking in commission even outside of TW3 fandom!

This pose is inspired by Spiderman 2099 Volume 10 where Miggy tried-and failed - to convince his mother that he is Spiderman.

[wiedzm1n]

❝  ignvar  of  someplace...   ❞   he  mused,  repeating  the  words  a  few  times  over  as  if  trying  them  on  for  size.  names  were  just  names,  after  all.  it  wasn’t  as  though  geralt  was  actually  from  rivia,  but  the  witcher  knew  better  than  to  get  into  that.  maybe  he  was  doing  it  to  humor  the  giant  —  who  probably  didn’t  even  fully  understand  the  concept  of  jokes  and  amusement  —  but  alas.  the  witcher  nodded  his  head  once  satisfied.   ❝  it’s  mysterious.  i  like  it.   ❞

sharp  as  ever,  geralt  quickly  catches  to  the  change  in  atmosphere  —  regardless  of  how  subtle.  call  it  a  cause  of  a  heightened  sense  from  the  many  mutagens  instilled  in  him  or  what  have  you,  but  the  witcher  was  quick  to  notice,  and  tilted  his  head  to  the  side  as  he  watched  confusion  wreak  havoc  throughout  the  giant’s  mind.

why  the  con  —

oh.  noticing  his  hand,  the  witcher  silently  cursed  himself.   ❝  no,  no;  it’s  an  offering.  an  offering  of  friendship  and  peace.  i  don’t  want  —   ❞   this  wasn’t  turning  out  the  way  he  had  hoped  —  if  he  had  even  hoped  for  a  particular  outcome  after  all.  he  brought  up  his  outstretched  hand  and  quickly  waved  it  in  the  air  as  if  swatting  away  a  fly.   ❝  never  you  mind  that.  the  offer  is  still  there,  however.  you  need  only  say  the  word.   ❞   was  that  better?  geralt  couldn’t  help  but  wonder.  it  seemed  like  a  much  better  and  far  less  confusing  alternative  for  someone  who  seemingly  didn’t  understand  the  notion  of  a  handshake.  but  no  matter,  the  witcher  thought.

❝  so,  ignvar,   ❞   he  started,  lifting  his  hand  to  shield  the  sun  from  his  eyes  as  he  stared  up  towards  the  giant.   ❝  you  say  that  you  don’t  know  where  you’re  from  —  where  do  you  take  shelter  or  sleep  at  night?  i  can’t  say  that  i’ve  seen  you  around  velen  before  and  —  meaning  no  offense,  of  course  —  your  kind  are  not  too  terribly  hard  to  miss.   ❞ 

As Geralt admitted that there was no contract out upon him, Ingvar's tense shoulders relaxed considerably, now sloping more in their broadness as they hunched back over. Perhaps the interlocutors were mirrors of one another if in nothing but their long hair, their beards, and their scar-carved faces.

"Geralt of Rivia... I am being known as... Ingvar. Ingvar of... I am knowing not where."

He stared at the outstretched hand as though something may appear within it. It didn't. He tilted his head, still watching. And still, there was nothing. What reason had one to hold out a hand if not to give or ask for something? Could it be it was because he'd asked his name? No, no. That couldn't have been it.

"Erm... Friend... Sir Geralt..." he began sheepishly, as though he were ashamed to so much as need to ask the question, or indeed use the name at all, "wherefore... are you... holding out your hand to me? Are you... wanting some-thing?"

[bookcalanthedaily]

also thinking about calanthe's survival verse, the one where she ends up in kaer morhen during the battle against the wild hunt, and roche, for some reason.

like, would he start regretting selling temeria to nilfgaard with the lioness alive? would she chew him up for the betrayal? would she understand his position that it was the best thing for temeria?

this specific political issue always spoke to me on a very deep level and i remember my very first tw3 playthrough being like "i want nilfgaard to lose and emhyr to die but how can i kill roche and thaler i love them so much??" and then the reveal of them selling the other northern countries and temeria to nilfgaard happened and i was like "oh. oh THAT'S how. yeah no goodbye." so. yeah. excited to explore that part.

[wilczmin]

i keep waffling about whether or not i want to make my main verse tw3-based, or books-based. to be honest, i’ve sorta just been picking and choose. video game muses get tw3 geralt, shows and novels-based muses get him in novel verse. the only real difference is (obviously aside from more experiences in games verses) the way he speaks, since he does speak differently in the books versus the games and i DO change his way of speaking based on that. thanks amnesia. anyways he speaks more properly and rambles much more in the books and i cannot get him to shut up when i write him like that.

[magicofthepen]

15 i am curious on how long it typically takes to write a fic //// what is your favorite kinds of things to handle with your writing in terms of plot / character stuff? 😄

fanfic asks — for the askers

how long does it take to write a fic?

it super depends!

I have a couple of 2-3k length fics that I’ve drafted all in one go in a couple of hours (silver tongue, Life Inside A Paradox). I’ve also spent an entire day drafting a 2k word fic (So Cold It Burns).

and I have fics that went through significant revisions, which meant they took a lot longer. Defying Reason was originally meant to deal with both Enemy Lines and Erasure, and I had whole chapters written that I tossed when I realized the story just wasn’t going to work. I was spending so much time trying to make a character choice I disagree with work and it was Not Fun. (this is how I ended up with a cut chapter that works as its own post-Erasure fic, after I decided that Erasure is Not canon in What We Choose ‘verse. or in most of my headcanon universes tbh. I should get around to posting it as its own thing at some point though, I still like a lot of the writing.)

then we have something like The Echoes Between Us, which owes its existence to all the Narvin/Romana thinking I did in order to write my own version of “what happens after Time War 2?” (which I then failed to finish before TW3 came out, so it still lives in my Google Drive.) it was months between when I started writing TEBU and when I finished, but the months I spent writing the old post-TW2 fic were also part of the process of that fic (and not just because I stole some moments from that old fic for the new one).

when I’m really in the zone I can write 1k in an hour, but when I’m struggling it can be Much less (hi chapter 7 of Defying Reason, my nemesis). for some more recent examples: no matter the distance I got out surprisingly quickly, but I was using new Gallifrey as a deadline — I wrote the whole thing in about a week, did only light edits, and posted super quickly. Redacted I had outlined a few weeks before I actually started writing it, I kept dragging my feet. I think the actual writing took place on a couple days not long before the deadline for the fic challenge, for a few hours each day? I think? (and I had to ask for an extension to finish revising oops).

so yeah! each fic is very much its own process.

what are my favorite things to handle in fic?

ooh what are the Recurring Things I like to explore in my Gallifrey fic?

(I don’t write very plotty fic, so I’m probably going to answer more on the character side of things.)

how trauma and grief linger. falling out, relationships fracturing. paths to forgiveness and reconciliation. characters as stories. the moments of happiness in the middle of a tragedy, and how those matter.

the unexplored consequences of the audios become fodder for fic — Defying Reason is an attempt to make sense of the plot of Enemy Lines, yes, but specifically to explore a path to reconciliation between Romana and Leela and between Romana and Narvin after the events of that audio. (they sure leave it hanging that she just stole his job don’t they.)

Price to Pay is me going “if the writers won’t bring up Narvin starting the Time War for Romana again, so help me I will do it myself!” All These Restless Ghosts is “wait so Romana and Leela are suddenly back on Gallifrey after series 6, but they haven’t ever properly talked through why Leela walked away in the first place, and can things really go back to normal so easily?”

I love exploring plot beats and character choices that are glossed over — be the lightning in me asks how Narvin went from breaking Romana out of jail at the end of Time War 1 to watching her on trial in Time War 2. Redacted explores the impact of the reboot in series 6 on one specific renegade who just had a chunk of her life vanish out from underneath her. the first and last couple chapters of The Echoes Between Us do a lot of emotionally connecting-the-dots — what happened right after Hostiles? after Nevernor? during the night they spent on Unity? what was the rest of Narvin and Romana’s conversation about her staying behind that the audios cut away from? how did she convince Narvin to go along with it?

if there’s something that frustrates me in the audios — a character arc or choice that isn’t followed up on or explored properly or that doesn’t really feel right for the characters but I keep asking myself can I headcanon my way into making this work — that’s often the spark for a fic.

and listen. I am, for sure, a shipper, and I love exploring the relationships between the three main characters in all sorts of ways. what if they were in love? what if it was unspoken? what if it wasn’t? what if it was unrequited? what is romance, anyways, and what are the different ways I can write it? what if how they felt about each other was impossible to define? what if at least one of the relationships was platonic and at least one wasn’t but they were all just as important, as foundational? what if all their relationships were platonic, and what does friendship mean to each of them? what if they had sex and what could be going on there, emotionally (not necessarily romantically)? when you have three different pairings to play with and you have so many different readings of their relationship to explore, and all the subsequent combinations, you end up with a whole lot of “dynamics I’d love to explore but I don’t have the right fic for it yet” in your head.

and I always want to write more queer and polyam readings of the audios into existence. this fandom is such a queer space, and that’s so important to me, that we the queer fans took a look at this not-textually-queer-but-hella-subtextually-queer series and resonated with it in different ways and are telling stories about the queerness under the surface. and having such a polyam friendly fandom, as a polyam person, is also very good and very important to me.

also sometimes you latch onto a minor character who’s in one episode and then dies and you have to make up for the writers not caring about her enough and tell stories about the whole life she had before that.

thank you for the questions!! ❤️

[okruchlodu]

@wanderingwolfwitcher

John & Mary in ‘Our Own Private America’

[lakka-arts]

gay people time

[mankillercalledbunny]

Brother by Madds Buckley but it's Geralt to Lambert

[okruchlodu]

Yennefer was given little time to make sense and fully process the situation that had been suddenly granted upon her - less patience, still, had the sorceress for foul, hypocritical accusations she cared nothing for; she would not apologize, neither did she feel the tiniest sliver of guilt for the fate Vilgefortz had brought upon himself. If she could turn back time, she would do it all over again if it meant keeping Ciri safe and away from him;  him; weak, foul, lustful, vainglorious, little man! seethed she furiously, the thought scratching at her mind as Lydia spoke to her of choice; of murder. If anything, the only thing Yennefer regretted, was not doing soon enough, and no matter how miserably Lydia grieved and wept over a man who had betrayed not only her, but every last one of them that had trusted him, she could neither sympathize nor care. For Lydia, his death had meant a brutal, aching loss: to her, it had been murder; to Yennefer, relief.

Could she not understand? thought Yennefer sharply, anger, dark and deep and roaring, sharpening its teeth on her as the other sorceress hurled accusations at her, presuming to tell her how best to keep her daughter safe; alive; away from anything that meant to bury their wretched claws inside of her, make her a pawn in their petty, worthless political games; to control her. No, thought she furiously; none of this mattered to her; the only thing that mattered was Ciri, and she would never let anyone or anything harm her in any way; no matter the consequences. ❝ — step away, Lydia! I care nothing for your loss. ❞ she snapped, cold, sharp eyes bestowing a glare upon her, every last inch of her dripping in furious menace as she lifted a hand to magically block her from coming any closer to where she stood.

Her mere presence, the poise of her entire being was the promise of a threat, one that she was not shy about imposing. She stepped back, hands thrumming with Chaos, but then, Lydia was suddenly stumbling and choking on a pained gasp, violently pulling her out of the furious fog that had clouded her thoughts, and Yennefer could not help instinctively reaching towards her, so that she might keep her from falling onto the ground ( now slick and wet with mud from the early morning rains that had lashed the city of Beauclair. )

Sensing her urgency, the enchantress frowned deeply, sharply reminded of the bizarre state Lydia was presently in; was she then truly with child? How could it be? Yennefer's violet eyes flared, and she stared at her as she gasped, said, sharply, her dark, cold voice saturated with something very akin to astonishment. ❝ stop it, Lydia! you'll hurt yourself! ❞ and then, ❝ — what is happening to you? ❞ gloved hands moving to grasp at her forearms, allowing her to fully lean upon her if she so wished as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

"Little choice! FUCK your little choice, Yennefer!", she yelled, ignoring the curious faces around them, "You all had a choice at Sodden Hill, and look where that got you. When HE had to take over your MESS, that was a choice! A choice indeed! You also had a choice to give your daughter a life worth living---- Is she still running from the ghosts of her past and her present? Is she still escaping instead of living?! CHOICES!"

Another step towards her. Closer to Yennefer. Closer to madness.

"I don't care what you went through. I don't care how much you suffered. I don't care about what he did to you, or what he didn't. You, and your witcher-- I'm going to kill you BOTH and I don't care what it takes, or where it takes me"

Her hands extended. Ready to wrap around her throat, ready to deliver a blow, Lydia did not know. She was acting on mere impulse, on a killing frenzy, and the logic of the situation escaped her. The fact that she had no magic, that Yennefer could wipe her from earth with a wave of her hand, a snap from her fingers. The fact that her resurrected body was weak, frail, and in no shape ready for any type of fighting. It all escaped her. She could only think about death, about her and her witcher killing him.

One fact she had not taken into account was that her child reacted to two things: her father's voice and her mother's discomfort.

The baby moved, kicked-- shifted in a way that made Lydia's hands fall to her sides, and then move to her belly, stopping her on her tracks. She quickly realized she needed support, and leaned against one of the market stands. It wasn't a contraction, but it felt close to it. Only more--- urgent. Painful. Preocuppying.

Lydia took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, once, twice, but the pain did not stop. The panic was clear in her features, when green eyes found violet ones once more, in a silent plea.