#young essie is a gift

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 3/5

Book Blurb:

Hold your breath, make the choice, and step into Fern’s School for Wayward Fae—where students are part human and part magical. A girl with peculiar abilities discovers nothing is what it seems when sinister forces causes one of her classmates to go missing. Perfect for fans of Wednesday.

A girl who knows how you die. Her banshee roommate who knows when it happens. And wishes that sometimes, maybe, come true. . . .

Rosemary Thorpe has always been a bit different. She has the uncanny and unfortunate ability to foresee people’s deaths, which tends to land her in hot water. Well, not actual hot water—where it lands her is a place between worlds called Fern’s School for Wayward Fae, where Rosemary learns that her powers come from being part fae.

At Fern's School, Rosemary meets others who are part fae—including Trym, her banshee roommate whose screams can kill, and Essie, a djinn who grants wishes. But just as Rosemary settles in, a student vanishes in thin air. And it’s up to all the kids to use their curious gifts to find their missing friend.

Review:

A charming gothic middle grade novel about a young girl who has the ability to see how people will die and is sent to a mysterious demi-fae school. Rosemary is a girl who discovers that she is half fae and just as her mother was about to send her to a mental institution she is rescued and is instead sent to a mysterious school for others like her. There, Rosemary begins to discover her abilities and gifts. When one of the students goes missing, Rosemary helps to try and find them. The story explores Rosemary's gifts and her own family, as well as sets up the potential possibility of a series. It very much feels like the very first chapter in a series and its one I think that younger readers will have a fun time reading.

Release Date: October 8,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Random House Children's | Random House Books for Young Readers for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[moeswriting]

mine | 4. you saw me start to believe

pairing: young!no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary: a moment of panic brings about some clarity for both you and joel

or, joel’s 23rd birthday, your first anniversary, and a moment between joel and his momma

Warnings: panic attack and imposter syndrome (reader); brief mentions of depression and parental neglect/abuse (reader and joel); A CALLBACK!!!! (if you can identify the callback, ten points to you); this writer is very aware that orange juice doesn’t actually help cure a cold, but she always grew up drinking it while she was sick, so it’s included in the story bc this writer isn’t going to be stopped by logic

word count: 5.5k

a/n: sorry it took me so long for this to get done :( i have early onset arthritis and with the weather changing, my wrists and knuckles have been bothering the fuck out of me, which makes me not wanna write (mostly cause it hurts), but i’ve been sitting on this for a while and i thought that i should just get it done so y’all can motivate me to write more haha. enjoy <3

series masterlist | last chapter -> | next chapter ->

read on ao3

Do you remember all the city lights on the water?

You saw me start to believe for the first time

✦ ✦ ✦

September 26, 1995

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear…”

A chorus of different names come out.

Essie exclaims, “Papi!”

Sarah screeches, “Daddy!”

And you simply say, “Joel,” as you sit his cake in front of him– chocolate cake with vanilla frosting, with a giant “Happy 23rd Birthday!” written out in your sloppy cake writing and three green candles above it. His eyes glow in the dark room, candle light reflected in them.

“Happy birthday to you!”

All three of you cheer as Joel blows out his candles, Sarah clapping excitedly at the prospect of cake being put in front of her soon.

“Happy birthday, baby,” you mutter in Joel’s ear and kiss the side of his head.

He hums and puts his hand out for the cake knife that you’d set down on the kitchen counter behind you. You reach and grab it, setting it in his palm.

“Thank you, sugar.” The love in his eyes is so obvious as his head turns to look up at you. You know he’s not just thanking you for the cake knife– but you can talk about it later.

“Mhm,” you kiss the top of his head, fresh from his shower this morning after a very eventful night without Sarah in the house. His curls smell like leather and brandy.

“Daddy, please, can we have cake now?”

Joel cuts into the cake because he knows his daughter’s impatience will always win, “Yes, baby.”

After Essie went home and Sarah had a bath to get the frosting she had smeared all over her cheeks off and put to bed, you and Joel are alone in his living room.

“I got you a present,” you tease with a smirk on your face.

You’ve been waiting a month to give him his gift. You had taken Sarah to the mall one afternoon to give Joel a break for a little bit (and also because you wanted to take her to Claire’s to get her even more hair accessories, but Joel didn’t need to know that at the time). You hadn’t really been looking for a gift for him, but you saw it in the display and you knew you had to get it for him.

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

You rummage through his coat closet that you stashed his present in last week, knowing he doesn’t ever open it. You pull out a delicately wrapped box in dark green wrapping paper and a big purple bow on top.

“What did my beautiful girl get me?”

“Open and you’ll see, Miller.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles.

He takes the bow off the top and sticks it on the top of your head. You scrunch your nose at him, though he doesn’t look over– invested in opening your present.

When he gets the wrapping off of the box, he takes his pocket knife out and cuts through the haphazardly-placed packing tape you had used to close the box.

You watch as he flips his knife closed, careful to do it as far from you as possible, and sticks it back in his jeans. He steals a glance in your direction, eyebrows raised.

You smile and nod, “Open it.”

He nods in response and flips the flaps of the box open. His eyes go wide.

“Oh my god, sugar!”

Inside is a tan Carhartt duck coat, the same one he has been ogling at for months. 

“Look inside the right pocket.”

You don’t have to see it to know what’s embroidered in the slick material. You’d stared at it for hours debating if it was too cheesy or if Joel would find it weird, but ultimately you had decided to do it. Now, you’re second guessing everything as you watch him shift the coat around in his lap to look where you had instructed him to.

His smile melts into a dopey grin when he gently opens the pocket.

“Oh, baby.”

In messy purple embroidery thread are the words, “the moment i knew”.

“What the fuck,” he lets out a huff of amusement, eyes soft and shiny.

You grab his hand and intertwine it with yours on your lap. “That day we met, y’know I didn’t know it at the time, but the moment I put my phone number in your pocket I knew this was gonna change me forever– you were gonna change me forever. I just thought I should memorialize it somehow, remind you how much I love you.”

“What the fuck?” He tugs on your hand and grabs your thigh, hoisting you into his lap. You can’t help the shriek that slips out of your mouth.

You’re straddling his hips, pressed close as he hooks his large hands around the bend of your knee and pulls you even tighter to his chest. His minty breath fans over your face.

“I love you,” he mutters, “You’re so thoughtful, baby. Thank you.”

You hum and give him a small peck on the lips, teeth clashing into his lightly because of the smiles on both of your faces.

He shakes his head. “No, seriously. Thank you for this whole day. You didn’ have to do all this.”

You gasp in mock exasperation, “Yes, I did! A boy only turns twenty-three once.”

He chuckles, giving your thighs a light squeeze, “I s'pose that’s true.”

“It is.” You emphasize your point with a light pat on his cheek.

His eyes search your face in a moment of quiet adoration. The smile on his lips makes his big, brown eyes squint around his crow’s feet.

It’s almost like you can’t help it, like the words spill out of your mouth before you can even think of them. “I love you.”

He presses his forehead against yours, “I love you too, sugar.”

✦ ✦ ✦

October 1995

Joel isn’t answering his phone. He was supposed to be here an hour ago to pick you up, but he isn’t answering his cell phone or his home phone. You’d left messages on his answering machine, but nothing. At this point, you’ve lost your reservations at the nice Italian restaurant that Joel had said he’d take you to and you were starting to get very worried.

What if Sarah was hurt? What if Joel was hurt? What if something happened to both of them?

Elaine was on a date with Robin and you had been ready for almost three hours now and you were anxious. It didn’t help that the brown, floral dress you had decided to wear tonight was a little tighter around your lungs than you had anticipated.

You needed to get out of this stupid claustrophobic dorm room.

So, in a dazed and anxious state, you scooped your heels off the ground, slipped them on your feet, and walked all the way to Joel’s apartment.

Your feet hurt and it’s sprinkling rain down onto your perfectly styled hair, but you don’t care. Something is wrong.

When you approach Joel’s door, you can hear screaming on the other side.

Fuck. You were about to walk into a murder.

You desperately shift around your purse for your key and jam it into the lock, letting yourself inside.

What you walk into is not a murder, but Joel holding and attempting to rock a screaming Sarah as she pounds her little fists into his shoulder. There are tears and snot streaming down her cheeks and nose, soaking into her pink and purple pajama dress.

You decide to pipe up. Despite the fact that this looks like a very vulnerable moment between the two, something is very wrong and you want to see if you can help, “Joel?”

His head whips to your voice and his eyebrows furrow for a second, before a look of recognition flashes across his face.

You can barely hear him over Sarah’s wails. “Oh no. Oh no! Our anniversary dinner! Baby, I am so, so sorry. I should’ve called you. I just haven’t been able to get Sarah to calm down and I guess I didn’ hear my phone ring and I am so sorry.”

You scrunch your nose at him, shaking your head, drops of water falling from your hair and onto your shoulders, “Don’t apologize. What’s going on?”

He closes his eyes and buries his head into Sarah’s shoulder with a heavy sigh, “She’s got the flu. Had to leave work to pick her up from school ‘cause she threw up. Took her to the doctor and he says she’s just got the flu and that it’ll go away in a few days, but she’s been hysterical ever since we got home.”

You close the door behind you and walk over to them determinedly, heels clicking on the hardwood flooring.

Running a hand down Sarah’s back reveals to you that she’s sweating so profusely that it’s soaking through and into the cotton material of her dress. Her muscles relax as your fingers glide down them and you begin to talk quietly in her ear as her sobs start to quiet slightly, “Hey Guppy, you sick?”

She nods, little lips molded into a deep pout.

“It hurts,” she hiccups and lets out another sob to emphasize her pain.

You rub at her shoulders, Joel still bouncing her slightly, “What hurts, baby?”

“My head,” she wails, pointing between her eyes with a shaking finger.

“Sinus headache,” you mutter to Joel, “You got decongestant medicine or a humidifier?”

He shakes his head shamefully. You can feel his guilt pouring out of his veins. He doesn’t have the materials to make her better, so he feels like a bad dad, which you know is utter bullshit.

“Keys?”

“For what, sugar?”

You give him a pointed look, “Gonna go get some stuff. I’ll be back. Just gotta borrow the truck.”

He starts to say your name, but you cut him off, “Keys.”

He gives in, because he’ll always give in for his girls. “My dresser.”

You nod at him and grab his keys, a fluffy pink keychain marking them as his. Sarah’s gift to him for his birthday last month that you had helped her pick out.

When you come back out, you kiss both of them on the sides of their heads and lay your temple on Joel’s. You watch his eyes flutter shut at the comfort of your closeness.

“While I’m gone, grab a washcloth from the bathroom and soak it in warm water, ring it out and then put it over her eyes and her nose. It should help with her discomfort and hopefully clear her sinuses up a little bit. If it starts to get cold, warm it up again.”

He nuzzles his temple against yours, “I’m sorry about our date. I could get Momma to come ov–”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I don’t care how we spend our anniversary as long as I get to be with you. It’s an added bonus that we’ve got Guppy to keep us company.”

You kiss her chubby cheek and she lets out a short breath through her tears.

Backing away from his touch, you bring a hand up to caress his cheek, “I’ll be back soon. Don’t forget about the washcloth.”

He nods, eyes still closed.

“I love you.”

You run your thumb over his rough and stubbled cheekbone, “I love you too.”

Driving the truck in heels is a nightmare, but you make it back to the dorm with no incidents, change into something more comfortable, and grab your humidifier from your closet– a college essential for your dry-as-fuck dorm room.

You run to the nearest store and grab some medicine you’re sure will help, some orange juice, a big can of chicken noodle soup, and a movie.

By the time you get back, Sarah is no longer screaming or crying. Joel is sitting on the couch with Sarah in his lap, the back of her head on his chest with a washcloth laying over her eyes and her nose, just like you had instructed him.

You can tell she’s awake because she’s humming along to the radio that echoes through the kitchen and into the living room, her little bare feet moving back and forth with the music.

When Joel hears you come in, he gently picks Sarah off his lap and lays her down on the couch. She doesn’t even utter a word as he does so, too tired from her screaming to put an effort into clinging to her dad.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

He takes the bags from your hands, sighs, and starts the small trek to the kitchen, “Got her to calm down and take some pain relief medicine. Washcloth really helped– thank you, sugar.”

“Something my grandma used to do. She eat dinner?”

He shakes his head, guilt taking over his features again. He shoves the paper bags onto the counter and drops his chin to his chest.

“Hey–” you grab his cheeks and guide his eyes back up to yours– “It’s not your fault. It’s not easy doing this stuff all on your own– that’s why I’m here.”

His beautiful eyes shine in the dim lighting of the dark yellow bulbs above you. He’s always been very emotionally vulnerable with you, but you can tell that in this moment, he’s holding himself back. You lean forward to give him a light peck on his chapped lips.

You bump your forehead into his and look at him cross-eyed because of how close you are. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He sighs, “’S hard not to blame myself.”

You nuzzle your forehead against his, “I know, baby. But, it’s not your fault she’s sick. Flu’s been going around the grade school, got a couple teacher-friends there that are sick too. It’s just hitting her hard. Not your fault.”

His broad shoulders sink down as he explains his guilt even further, “She never gets sick, ever. ‘S why I don’t have any medicine or anythin’.”

“Don’t worry about it, I got some stuff. Got some chicken noodle soup– comfort food. Got us a movie to watch too. Should hopefully distract her a little bit.”

He nods, making your head bob up and down with his.

“You’re amazing, did you know that?”

You push him away from you and roll your eyes playfully, “Whatever.”

He’s got that look on his face again– the guilt– but it’s gone before you can blink.

“I heat up the soup, you talk to her?”

You nod.

Walking back into the living room brings you the hilarious sight of Sarah with her legs up in the air, laying back on the couch, with the washcloth covering her face. You can see the outline of her tiny nose poking the cloth into a peak.

“Sarah?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, voice slightly muffled by the washcloth over her nose.

“Guess what movie I got?

She mumbles something akin to “what?” and slowly crosses her arms.

“Casper.”

You giggle as you watch Sarah sling the washcloth off her face and throw it across the room, a tired smile taking up her tiny lips.

“Really?”

Nodding, you walk over to her and place the back of your hand on her forehead. Definitely still ridiculously hot. “Yeah, baby, but you gotta take some medicine and eat before we start the movie, okay?”

She nods back to you and holds her arms out for you to pick her up, which you do with no hesitation. She leaves a light kiss on your shoulder and lays her head in the same spot, like she was preparing your shoulder for landing.

You get some medicine in her, though she gags a little as the cherry syrup hits her tongue, despite your guidance to plug her nose. While you do this, Joel heats up the soup on the stove and divides it into three bowls– two white ceramic bowls and one smaller, plastic bowl with Strawberry Shortcake on the bottom.

She eats slowly, picking out the pieces of celery and spooning them into Joel’s bowl. He doesn’t say anything as she does this. All he does is pick up his spoon and eat all the pieces she gives to him. You eat in a comforting silence.

When you’re all done eating, you snuggle up on the couch, Sarah in between the two of you. Her left hand is dedicated to squeezing yours every few minutes and her right hand holds Joel’s with a fierce grip. Holding her hand is hot and sweaty, but you do it anyway.

It’s nearing the end of the movie and Joel is fast asleep, head lolling on the back of the couch, mouth wide open. You almost laugh, but you’re scared you’re going to wake him up. He’s always so exhausted. You’ll wait until after you get Sarah to bed.

She moves around a little before she speaks up, eyes half-lidded and looking up at you. Her clammy hand lays on top of yours.

“Momma, I’m tired.”

You freeze. Oh.

You have to shake this off. You cannot let her see what that word just did to you.

“Yeah, baby. Let’s go to bed.”

Standing up, you pick her tiny body up. Joel snores away on the couch, oblivious to the world around him. Joel, wake up.

She tucks her face into your neck and lets out a pitiful little sigh. Her fingers cling to your shirt.

You put her to bed in a haze. She’s asleep before you ever enter her room, but you stay to make sure she settles as you lay her down in her pink sheets. You grab your humidifier from the kitchen and turn it on in her room. You use the color button to make it light up pink.

You come back to the living room and Joel is still fast asleep. Joel, wake up.

You attempt to shake him awake.

“Joel, you gotta get up– I can’t carry you to bed,” you sigh exasperatedly.

He grumbles something you can’t understand, sighs, and snuggles further into the couch cushion behind him.

“God damn it,” you mutter, pushing the heels of your palms into your eyes. It hurts, but it’s better than crying and you are not about to cry– especially not about what Sarah said. This is supposed to be a good thing. You just have to keep telling yourself that: this is a good thing.

“Joel–” you rustle his shoulder again– “You gotta get up, baby. You’re gonna hurt your back if you sleep out here.”

His chest rumbles with some gibberish about how he's “not ready yet,” and he bats an arm out at you to push you away.

You can feel the tears gathering in your eyes. No, no, no, this was not how tonight was supposed to go. You were supposed to just watch Casper and eat soup and go to sleep. You were not supposed to end the night with a panic attack.

“Fuck,” you whisper, sinking down to the floor next to his legs– back leaning on the couch. Your throat feels raw with the effort of keeping your emotions down.

A tear slips out and onto your cheek. No!

This is a good thing. This is a good thing. This is a good thing.

She’s going to hate you. You’re going to fuck this up and she’s going to hate you forever.

A sob wracks your body and up your throat. The bubble of emotions stuck there pops and the horrible sound tumbles out of your mouth.

You wrap your arms around your legs and pull them to your chest.

How could you do this to her? Make her think you were a good caretaker. Trick her into liking you enough to call you ‘mom’.

How could you do this to Joel? Manipulate him into letting you into their lives and fucking everything up for them.

You’re a horrible person.

You’re a horrible person.

You think you feel Joel stirring beside you, but you can’t face him, not after all you’ve done to him– will do to him.

Tears are soaking into your jeans and cooling your skin below them.

There’s more shuffling before Joel speaks up.

“Woah, woah, what’s wrong?”

You choke on your words, another sob falling from your lips, “I’m– I’m gonna fuck it up, Joel.”

“Fuck what up?” 

His fingers comb through your hair, like he knows you like, but you pull away.

“Everything. Sarah.”

“Woah–” you feel him slip down off the couch and onto the floor with you, shoulder to shoulder– “Where the hell did this come from?”

“She called me ‘momma’ while you were asleep… and I liked it.”

This is a good thing.

“Oh, baby. That’s amazing!”

This is a good thing.

“I know! I know!”

“Then, why are you crying, sugar?”

“I don’t deserve it. I’m not good enough.”

His hand hovers over your knee before it falls back onto his thigh. He understands that you don’t want to be touched right now.

“Now, where in the hell did you get an idea like that?”

You hesitate. This is going to be it. As soon as you say this, Joel isn’t going to want anything to do with you. You debate even saying it at all.

This is a good thing.

You have to.

“I– I spent my whole childhood being a burden– being an afterthought. I took care of myself. And ever since I met you, I haven’t felt like that. You like me. Sarah likes me. But–”

No. Don’t do it. Don’t say it.

“I’m a bad person, Joel. I’m selfish and standoffish and I talk too much and I have a bad habit of thinking the worst and some days I can’t get out of bed or feed myself or take a shower and I’m a horrible person and I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve Sarah thinking that highly of me ‘cause I’m not fit for this. I’m going to fuck her up and she’s going to spend the rest of her life like me because of me. I– I don’t want to do what my dad did to me to her.”

Joel is silent. You can’t see what he’s thinking because your head is still stuck between your bent thighs, but you can feel him breathing next to you where you’re connected at the shoulder.

Say something.

He shifts next to you, knee bumping into your calf. He sighs.

“I always look for the worst in people,” he starts, mumbling, “I’m too stubborn– I never let anyone help me with anythin’, if I can help it. Some days, I can’t get out of bed either and I forget to feed myself all the time– there are days that I’m living off coffee alone and I don’t even realize it. I spend every day fightin’ the way my dad raised me, so that I can be gentle and kind to my baby girl. There are rare days where I don’t win. Do you think I’m a horrible person for all that?”

Your head whips up to look at him and you splutter, “No! No, god no.”

It’s the first time you’re looking at him since you started panicking. He’s sitting criss-cross-applesauce with his hands fidgeting in his lap. He’s looking forward, eyes blurry with the same tears that are streaking down his cheeks.

“I remember the first time I held Sarah in my arms. She looked so small, so fragile. I thought: there’s no way that I’m not going to ruin her. I’ve always been a bit too rough around the edges. It’s taken me a long time to realize that being scared is a good thing– means you care about them, means you want them to be safe. You just gotta realize that it’s okay to fuck up sometimes. They’ll forgive you and you’ll learn from it.”

He clears his throat, taking a moment to think before he speaks again.

“You are the least selfish person I’ve ever known. In fact, you’re kind to a fault. You’re a human with feelings and sometimes they get in the way of functioning like other people want you to and that isn’t your fault.”

He turns to look at you and wipes his cheek with the back of his palm.

You’ve seen Joel cry before, but this time feels different– like something in the tiny universe you’ve made for yourselves is shifting.

“You’ve been through so much. The fact that you can function at all is a testament to how amazing you are. That’s my girlfriend you’re insultin’. I don’t let people talk shit ‘bout her ‘cause she’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”

A laughing sob slips from your mouth and your tears start to fall even faster. You can barely see him through the blurry mess covering your vision.

“Sugar, Sarah adores you. She talks about you all the time when you aren’t here, beggin’ me to make you come back home, and when you are here, she wants to spend every minute with you. Sarah would not be givin’ you a second glance if she didn’t like you or didn’t want you to be in her life. And, I’ll admit, I like havin’ you around a whole lot.”

As your heartbeat slows, you can’t help the small smile that takes over your lips.

“I like me being around too.”

He nods once, wiping his cheek again, “Good. If I could help it, you’d be here everyday.”

You shake your head at him in amusement.

“I don’t think I’d mind that.”

“Well, I should hope so– you are the mother of my child.” An invitation.

You lay your head back onto your knees, still looking at him, smile never fading.

“Yea, I guess I am.” You accept.

He lets out a sigh of relief and offers you his hand.

“You wanna talk about it more, or do you just wanna go to bed, baby?”

You take his hand, intertwining your fingers. It feels so right– it always has. From that very first time your hand brushed his on that fateful day that you met, it has always felt like it was meant to be. It has always scared you– if you’re honest, it still does– but, you’re looking at him now and all you can think is that you’d be okay spending the rest of your life with this man. You don’t think you’d want to spend it with anyone else. And maybe that’s naive or stupid, you are only 21 after all, but damn it, if it’s not the truth.

You squeeze his hand.

“Bed, please.”

✦ ✦ ✦

March 1996

“Where is tu dulce?”

It’s a very rare day where Joel isn’t working and Sarah is at school. He told his mom that he wanted to get the apartment deep-cleaned; she came over with a bucket of cleaning supplies and a weirdly large mop.

“The high school. She’s got meetings with the teacher she works with.”

She doesn’t look at him as she wipes down the kitchen counters with a sopping washcloth. “She’s so busy. I never see her.”

He’s on the floor, chest-deep in the oven, scrubbing as much grime as he can. He did the dirty jobs, Momma did the detailed jobs. “Me neither, Ma.”

She hums.

They go back to their humming. She’s got the country radio on, some ballad by Tim McGraw is playing softly as they both hum along. It reminds him of his childhood– watching his mom and dad dance in the kitchen late at night when they thought he was asleep. It was the happiest he had ever seen his dad, the most carefree.

“Momma?”

“¿Sí, toro?”

He pushes himself out of the oven and wipes his hand on a rag he has wrapped around one of his belt loops, plopping down onto the tiled floor with a huff. She continues her task dutifully, expression relaxed.

“I wanna ask her to marry me.”

Her head whips around to him, hand stilling on the counter, “Oh!”

Anxiety scratches at his throat. He continues, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. She– well, Momma, she’s my best friend. I wanna spend the rest of my life with her.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. She stares at him with an almost crazed look in her eye. He’s scared of her not approving; he has always begged for his mother’s approval.

“And you’ve thought hard about this? Have you discussed this with her? Have you asked her if she wants to get married?”

He’s thirteen again, criss-cross-apple-sauce on the kitchen floor while his mom moves around the space, watching her dress twirl around her ankles. She lectures him about threatening Tommy’s bullies for the millionth time and he nods whenever she looks down at him with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, Momma. Said she wanted to get married after graduation.”

She raises her eyebrows and gives him a pointed look, “You are both quite young.”

He squares his shoulders, straightening out his back. He knows this is what he wants to do. She will agree. He knows she will.

“We’ve been together a year and a half; she’s moving in with us at the end of the semester. I think it’s time.”

She lets the washcloth flop out of her hand so that she can cross her arms over her chest. “You’ve been married before, papi. That didn’t go very well.”

He rolls his eyes, “That was out of obligation. She didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

She breaks eye contact with him, toe tapping on the ground. “Well, clearly she did, or she wouldn't have left.”

“Momma.”

Her eyes trail back over to his, a mother’s force behind her gaze. “Papi.”

“She’s different.” Of this, he is sure. He’s always been sure about you.

“I know– I want you to be happy.”

He nods, “I know.”

She stares at him for a moment– eyebrows raised, arms crossed, toe tapping– before she speaks again, a sort of smug satisfaction taking over her features.

“Joel, you will give her my ring.”

Huh?

“Wh- what?”

Pointing one finger down at him, she smiles. “My ring. I want her to have it.”

The wedding band on his mother’s left ring finger was her mother’s before it was her’s. Joel’s maternal grandmother gave it to his dad the first time she had met him, insisting that he was the man for her daughter. Momma says it was fate, but Joel thinks maybe it was because she wasn’t married yet and her mother just wanted her out of the house. Whatever the case, Momma insisted that it was the most romantic gesture of all time. This ring is important to her– more important than Joel thinks he could ever really understand– but she wants to give it to you.

“Wait– are you sure?”

She grabs a dry dish towel off the counter and smacks him on the side of the head. It doesn’t hurt, maybe just his ego. “Do not question your mother.”

“Sorry, Momma.”

She lets out a proud “hmph”, and crosses her arms in front of her chest, towel dangling from her hand still– a silent threat.

“Thank you. That’ll mean a lot to her.”

That’s the understatement of the century. Joel knows how you feel about his mother– about mothers in general, but especially his own who has shown you motherly adoration that you never got for yourself. Essie is your mother, for all intents and purposes. This would mean the world to you.

She goes back to wiping the counters down with a newfound determination.

Joel pipes back up again, “Can I ask you somethin’?”

She brings the towel back down on the top of his head, without even giving him a glance. “Stupid question.”

“Sorry.”

She shakes her head at the counter and sighs, “Stop apologizing. Ask your question.”

“Should I ask her dad for permission?”

She pauses. Conflicting emotions flit over her face– confusion, then anger, then that same crazed look from earlier, and then nothing.

“Does she talk to him?”

Shaking his head, he replies, “No– can’t remember the last time she called him.”

She nods, decision made, “Then, no. The only people’s opinion that matters is hers and Sarah’s… and maybe her loud friend’s.”

He chuckles, “Elaine?”

“Yes, la pelirroja. She will have an opinion. She is very loud with her opinions.”

“Yes, she is,” he huffs, twirling the greasy rag in between his fingers. It coats his fingers in a black tar.

“I really love her.”

When he looks back to his mother, she’s looking down at him with a smile on her face.

“I know, papi.”

His vision flits to the rag, and back up to his mother again.

“I wanna make her happy.”

Her face softens, “You already do.”

He nods. He knows.

“When are you going to ask her?”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure.”Momma’s face lights up with what he can only describe as a girlish joy. “Oh, I have an idea.”

series masterlist | masterlist of all masterlists

[bewitchingbooktours]

Storm's Convergence by Valerie Storm #YAFantasy

Storm's Convergence

Demon Storm 

Book 5

Valerie Storm

Genre: Young Adult Fantasy

Publisher: Shadow Spark Publishing

Date of Publication: 2/13/24

Cover Artist: @Ginkahederling

ASIN: B0CRYQJRN1

Number of pages: 313

Word Count: 78962

Tagline: The Fire Witch ruined Kari's life once before

                Now she's back

                And she's not alone

Book Description: 

The calm can only last so long.

Now a member of Freehaven's Council, Kari tries to put her past behind her and settle down in her new home with her ever-present Lord and love, Ari.

Cracks in her mind, parting gifts from the heart eater, make planning the upcoming Spring Festival a struggle, but Kari is determined to do her best, even after Guine departs the town.

When a mysterious child appears at the festival and marks Kari, all semblance of normalcy is banished.

A triple threat from her past awaits beyond the walls of Freehaven and options are thin. Not willing to spill any more blood, Kari takes it upon herself to stop them—with Ari by her side.

Amazon

Excerpt:

The girl grabbed the neckline of her shirt and jerked her closer with too much ease. Kari stiffened as the girl’s cheek touched hers.

“Funny wolf demon, hiding in this wretched town.” Her voice was low and cruelly amused. Kari tensed, prepared to jerk free and throw a fist, but the girl hissed, “Ah, no, don’t move. There are many innocents here, though I would not call demons innocent. I know you would not want them hurt.”

She suddenly realized the closeness of so many villagers, as if she’d been ripped out of reality and dropped harshly back into it again.

Kari bit back a growl. “Who are you?”

She knew, though, before the small girl laughed. The boastful yet righteous arrogance of someone who believed truly and wholly in her cause—it could be no one else.

“I feel your defeat. You’ve answered your own question.”

Kari’s throat was dry. “Ri…Riniko. What are you doing here? Why—”

“Since you’ve yet to heed our warning, I’m here to play a little game.”

“Kari!” Ari called.

Riniko’s small hands tightened. “Tell him to leave. We’re busy.”

She hesitated. Ari yelled for her again, and now she envisioned him pushing through the crowds, looking for where she’d gone.

“It’s fine,” she yelled back. “I…I’m helping someone. I’ll catch up!”

Riniko’s grip didn’t loosen. “Your boy is insistent.”

Kari turned her head with some difficulty, given Riniko’s grip. The little witch traded, wrapping her arms around Kari’s neck with a giggle that cracked against her eardrums.

Visible between passersby, Ari made his way to them. His brows raised at the sight of the girl around her neck.

“Who is…”

Kari smiled, big and wide, and prayed he didn’t notice her trembling lips. “She’s lost. I’m part of the Council, so she came to me. Go back to Rathik and Essie, I’ll catch up.”

Ari saw something in her face; his eyes constricted, his jaw pulsing, uncertain of what to do. Please walk away, Ari. It’ll be okay this time. I promise.

When she did not say anything more, he relented. “Alright. Meet us over there, okay?”

Kari nodded, jostling Riniko. Ari glanced between them, then jogged off.

Riniko giggled again, quieter this time. “Good.”

Kari grabbed her around the waist and yanked her off. There was something insanely surreal about holding a small child in her hands, a child whose eyes burned with unmatched cruelty and fire.

“What do you want?” she snarled.

Riniko wrapped too-small fingers around Kari’s wrists and met her eye with a cool, even gaze.

“You know what we want. I’m only here to set the fire of action a little higher for you.” Her palms, pressed against Kari’s skin, warmed. Kari’s eyes widened, and she struggled with the instinct to fling the small child away.

“We do not want to burn this entire village to the ground. Despite the way these villagers associate with demons, they are still good, innocent people. The demons can be excused as long as they remain thusly. But you cannot. You must come and face your fate.”

Her arms were burning; Kari bit back a scream. “I keep telling you, I don’t want to hurt anyone! Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Tell that to those poor people in the east. They probably thought you didn’t want to kill them. But now they’re very, very dead.”

Kari staggered back. There were fewer villagers out now, less to see this odd pair, but Kari dreaded what Riniko would do if even one was drawn to them. She inched away from the square, edging toward an alley between two buildings.

“Isn’t it enough that I died once? What more can you want?”

Riniko laughed. “Oh, yes, but Zina got cold feet. Superstition, I guess. She couldn’t let it die with you. No, she believed it would go on, despite having no body. So here you are, her little pet wolf demon, but she won’t be here to save you a second time.”

Cold feet? Let it die with her?

The burning on her arms increased, snapping her attention back to Riniko’s young-girl face. “I’ll come to you,” Kari croaked. “Does that make you happy? I’ll leave and find you.”

Riniko’s eyes lit up, though she did not remove her hands. The heat continued to rise until Kari thought she could smell her flesh cooking.

“Oh, do you promise?” Riniko asked, her voice girlish, sickeningly sweet. “Pretty please?”

“Please stop,” Kari whispered between her teeth.

Little hands lifted, releasing her from the agony of fire. Kari trembled, then froze as those hands touched her cheeks.

“It was easy to infiltrate this place, Kari. It would be even easier, now, to set it all ablaze. You remember my previous work.”

Kari’s hands around Riniko’s waist shook with the effort to not squeeze her into pieces. “You’re the monster, witch,” she snarled.

“It takes a monster to slay one,” Riniko responded. “Remember that if you decide to hesitate any longer. I’m tired of waiting for this final show. My sisters have both seen that I was right and now it’s time to end this.” Riniko raised her hands. “Put me down.”

Shaking profusely, Kari set Riniko on the ground, where the little witch-girl brushed off her plain, brown dress. She fluffed her hair, then raised a finger to her lips.

“Remember your promise,” she said, then spun and skipped away into the darkness.

About the Author:

Valerie Storm was raised in Tucson, Arizona. Growing up, she fell in love with everything fantasy. When she wasn’t playing video games, she was writing. By age ten, she began to write her own stories as a way to escape reality. When these stories became a full-length series, she considered the path to sharing with other children & children-at/heart looking for a place to call home.

Blog https://rantsofawriter.home.blog/ 

Twitter https://twitter.com/valerie_storm 

Tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/valeriestorm 

Pinterest https://www.pinterest.com/valeriestorm3135/

Instagram https://www.instagram.com/valeriestorm_author/ 

Newsletter Sign-Up https://mailchi.mp/038f1013a6c2/valerie-storm

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100082414584775 

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[minjipuff]

The Essie’s Prelude.

In the enchanting world of dance, where dreams take flight and emotions find their expression, there lived a young girl named Essie. From the moment she could walk, Essie’s heart beat to the rhythm of melodies and her feet longed to pirouette across the stage. This is the story of her extraordinary journey as a ballerina, where passion, determination, and the power of dance intertwine to create a symphony of beauty and grace.

Essie’s eyes shimmered with wonder as she watched a ballet performance for the first time. From that moment on, she knew that her destiny was sealed – she would become a ballerina. With each step she took, Essie’s dreams grew brighter, her imagination blooming like delicate petals unfurling in the morning light. Enrolled in the prestigious Rosewood Dance Academy, Essie found herself surrounded by fellow dancers who shared her passion and ambition. Under the guidance of Madame Victoria, a former prima ballerina, Essie’s talents were refined, her technique honed to perfection. Day by day, she dedicated herself to rigorous training, tirelessly striving to elevate her artistry and bring her dreams to life.

As Essie progressed, she embraced the ethereal world of ballet, donning delicate tutus and lacing up her satin pointe shoes. With every turn and leap, she discovered a language that transcended words, speaking volumes through her fluid movements and emotive expressions. The stage became her sanctuary, a place where she transformed into a mesmerizing creature, captivating audiences with the sheer magic of her performance. News of Essie’s exceptional talent spread throughout the dance community like wildfire. Soon, she caught the attention of the esteemed Aurora Ballet Company. Invited to join their ranks, Essie embarked on a journey that would shape her destiny. The ballet company became her second family, a close-knit ensemble of dancers who supported and inspired one another. In the midst of her rising stardom, Essie found herself partnered with Steve, a gifted male dancer. Together, they embarked on a series of breathtaking pas de deux, their bodies intertwining in a harmonious dance of trust and chemistry. Onstage, they wove tales of love, longing, and triumph, leaving audiences spellbound and yearning for more.

Years of unwavering dedication and unwavering commitment paid off as Essie’s talent and grace catapulted her to the forefront of the ballet world. With each performance, she exuded a luminous aura, embodying the essence of a prima ballerina. Critics hailed her as a living masterpiece, and her name became synonymous with excellence and artistry. As Essie’s career reached its zenith, she understood that her time as a ballerina would eventually transition to new endeavors. She founded her own dance school, nurturing the next generation of aspiring dancers with love and guidance. Isabella's legacy endured not only in the memories of her mesmerizing performances but also in the hearts of those whose lives she touched with her art.

And so, the story of Essie, the Ballerina, danced on, inspiring generations to pursue their dreams, embrace the transformative power of dance, and find the courage to twirl through life’s challenges with grace and determination.

[bynightafangirl]

American Gods Meme: [2/2] Locations: Ireland

[asavt]

Cookie Squad Headcanons part 3

Featuring a bit of Angel, more bar gays, Chestnut appreciation, City of Wizards and Future! Headcanons.

-Before departing ways, Angel gave Madeleine one of their feathers, something like a gift to keep light with him if he ever needs it. The feather still glows gently, and Madeleine keeps it as a lucky charm, in one of these necklaces— I’ll better just show:

-Roguefort knows French, might not speak it all the time, but they do know. Almond understands some of it, does not speak it. Latte started picking it up from what Roguefort would say sometimes.

-There has been times where Sparkling wouldn’t be at the bar, either needing a rest, having an event somewhere else, or something else. In times like those he usually leaves the bar in charge of Mint or Herb, Vampire is always in there too. There have been a few instances where this lead to Roguefort meeting one or both of them. Herb is happy. Mint is wary. Vampire is holding his laugh.

-Walnut is good friends with Chestnut and Pudding too. Almond often looks after Chestnut whenever he goes around. Chestnut is usually seen around delivering newspapers on his bike with Pudding sitting behind in the dockable trolley. The rest of the group know them both too.

-*They also know Creampuff, Chestnut will ask her about the city of wizards and any other interesting things she has read in any books. Creampuff will happily tell him.

-*Latte knows those kids too, and the rest of the pudding sibs too. She is naturally good with children it seems.

-*Chestnut and Pudding are both a bit intimidated by Espresso as first like many other people. Essy isn’t sure what to do with their excitement when he tells them that yes, he’s been in other places, towns, cities. Luckily, Madeleine is there to help a little with that (Chestnut would ask so many questions about their travels I think).

-*There was one chance where Roguefort (As Phantom Bleu) was escaping from whoever was chasing after them that night, hid behind some wall and was meet with two pairs of big fucking eyes looking at them surprised and excited. Rogue had to hush Chestnut and Pudding (wondering what were those two doing out so late at night), wait a little to get out of their hiding spot and take the kids with them somewhere close to a police officer (or Almond if he happens to be around) so they can be taken home. Outside the thief job? Rogue has seen the kids pass by his workshop many times, sometimes they will have some candy out for them for when Chestnut goes by to deliver newspaper.

-Roguefort baby-talks Lord Crumbles, and will spoil the other cats if given the chance.

-Roguefort and Madeleine: *Become besties*

Espresso: Oh god there’s two of them—

-Espresso has used Latte’s spoon a few times. He doesn’t really needs it to perform magic, but he is rather good with it (and just as terrifying as her).

-Because Essy has sometimes lifted Madeleine off the ground and carried him floating, Almond showed curiosity of how many people he could carry with magic aid.

He managed to have both Madeleine and Latte in his arms, Walnut on his shoulders, Almond and Roguefort hanging off his feet and Creampuff begin carried by Almond.

He was a bit tired after that, but it was a fun experiment with the rest of the squad.

-Creampuff has talked about the City of Wizards many times, as she has been there before coming to Parfaedia and entering the academy. She will often talk about this old man that reads other cookie’s fortune (and that Almond has meet before “Creampuff don’t belive everything that guy says he is a swindler”), a woman that is forever bound to a library, that might seem a bit cold on the outside but that is actually very gentle towards the rest of the magic wielders that go visit her, another young mage, one that Espresso and Madeleine have meet (Creampuff is surprised to know that he has left the City of Wizards, and wonders if he will ever go by Parfaedia), a magician that, although he might not seem like a real mage at first glance, he is deftly blessed by the moon, and the moonlight itself, a meeting that was short and (in Creampuff’s mind) very lucky.

-*Creampuff never got to explore all the city. She was told by the moonlight that there was a place where she could learn magic. It was a bit sad, but the she told her she was always welcome back in the City.

-*The adults tend to forget that she has traveled a lot before coming to Parfaedia, often begin surprised when Creampuff talks about the City out of what she has read in books.

-*Creampuff made the promise to Walnut to take her to the City one day. She misses the place a little, and those she meet there, too.

Future - Walnut and Creampuff (it’s what I have)

-During this time, Walnut already knows Roguefort’s secret (the full thief thing). Something I’ll maybe talk about in another post

-Creampuff starts learning black magic from the belief that it can be used for good if used correctly. Someone has to research on it, right

-After Creampuff disappears, all the group is, silently, looking for her, in their own ways. Even Sparkling and Vampire get a bit worried about it and do their own part.

-*Maybe Latte is the most worried of all. She cares for her a lot after all.

Maybe she is the only one who has an idea of why she got apart, both her and Creampuff had talked about before after all.

-Walnut is often helped by a mysterious figure in some investigations. Sometimes information on suspects, given inside papers and letters that often are adorned with a feather, or protected by this person, they are never standing where the light can hit them (whatever it is artificial or the moon’s). Once Walnut manages to catch a glimpse of white hair and an owl’s hoot is that she starts to connect the dots (and she mentally slaps herself for not noticing sooner). They did have a promise to become partners once they grew up after all.

-Creampuff eventually comes out from the shadows. In a rather hard situation where all the group got in trouble, no one else but them get to see her. They are all surprised to see how much she changed since the last time they saw her.

-*They never get to get to her though, she escapes before they can say anything (and the only words from her were a soft “I’m sorry”)

-There are mixed opinions. None of them can be really angry at her, especially after hearing what Latte knew of Creampuff’s interest in black magic (The latte mage is wary of it, but trusts her student).

-There are a few encounters between the group and Creampuff, never all at the same time like the first time they get to see her.

-*With Almond and Latte there’s a part of conflict, both teachers are a bit hurt of seeing her like that. But they still see the same gentle student (now a true mage) they know. (Almond still isn’t sure what to think, Latte can only hope for the best).

-*With Espresso and Madeleine there’s a talk, both asking her a few things, Creampuff answering. In the end, Puff tells them that she doesn’t understand why others confused (and still do) coffee magic with black magic.

-*With Roguefort is at the bar, late at night and with also the presence of Sparkling and Vampire as well. The lights dimmed a bit when she got in, as to keep other eyes out. Their talk was short, and by far the most peaceful of all.

-*She sees Walnut the most. The detective always telling her it was ok to go back with them, and the mage wondering if she really meant those words (She is scared, still unsure of what others think).

-Walnut eventually gets to her. A big case showing up, multiple magic creatures appearing, a big rift in the sky (yet again), the M.E.H. getting involved, the rest of the group helping out.

No one knows why the rift opened this time. There are people pointing guilty at the mysterious figure (Creampuff). Some of the group takes it as a possibility, but in the end they all decide to stand by Puff’s side. Even if it was an accident, she wouldn’t want to hurt others, they know her and by the little interactions they had they can tell. She is still gentle and kind.

Creampuff is the one who closes the rift in the end, with Walnut by her side, telling her that she wouldn’t allow anyone to get her apart from the group.

-She does go back with the group in the end :)

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 5)

This is pretty par for the course as far as some slightly horny bits but no actual horniness. Still, if that squicks you, read with caution. 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, (here) Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

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

The next few days of Geralt’s marriage didn’t fare much better than the first. He and Jaskier were truly an ill match. Sure, the young man was charming, not even Geralt was immune to his wiles, and he was certainly easy on the eyes, but he’d never met someone as annoying as Jaskier.

Jaskier could talk a mile a minute, and the less Geralt talked, the more Jaskier did. This rankled. Geralt had learned that talking less was supposed to encourage less conversation, but clearly Jaskier hadn’t grasped that.

Far worse than the talking was the singing. Singing, humming, tapping, even playing his lute, Jaskier was always doing something. It was like riding beside a musical whirlwind, with the added penalty that at least a whirlwind wouldn’t know lyrics.

It wasn’t totally Jaskier, Geralt knew. They were riding hard to get as far from Lettenhove as possible, and the weather hadn’t let up. It had rained for almost five days, steady, drenching rain, with never enough time to get dry. They went to bed damp and woke up damper. Their socks were moist, their hair sopping. Jaskier was pouting because he couldn’t play his lute and somehow that made him more talkative. Despite the springtime, the rain was cold and sometimes he had to pause mid chatter to shiver. All this, made Geralt’s mood go south. Worse, he always hated parting from his brothers. There were so few of them, the first days without them were hard. 

And he had to deal with some spoiled little rich boy.

That wasn’t being fair to Jaskier, he rarely acted spoiled, not  really spoiled. It was, however, intensely clear that he was used to comfort and they were not, right now, comfortable. He didn’t complain too much about things Geralt couldn’t change, like the weather, apart from the odd sniffle about all his clothes being wet. He did beg to stay in an inn though. 

That bothered Geralt too. They really had little money, and here the lad was trying to get Geralt to spend it on something they didn’t need. He’d survived rain before.

That thought gave Geralt pause. Of course he’d survived rain before, but had Jaskier? It was unlikely. Days and nights of being slightly damp and chilly weren’t good for humans, they tended to get things. Like chest infections. And pneumonia. 

Geralt spared a glance at the figure riding, hunched, beside him.

Unfortunately, Jaskier seemed to take this as an invitation. 

“I can’t wait to get to Oxenfurt,” he said. “I have this friend, Essi, I think you’d love her. She’d certainly love to meet you, and she’s quite pretty, so even if you won’t tell me your stories perhaps you’d tell them to her.”

Was there a hint of bitterness there?

“Anyway,” Jaskier continued. “She wouldn’t be frightened of you in the least, I know because one time we were drunk... well, I was drunk and she was tipsy, and this man came up, really rough looking type you know? And I was raised to be polite so I ask him his business...”

Geralt stopped paying much attention. If the bard could manage that much, all in one breath, he was fine. Jaskier continued, all about this Essi character and a man trying to mug them in an alley. Apparently the girl had kicked him in the rattle and flute so hard he’d thrown up.

“And there’s this great pub,” Jaskier was saying, gesturing broadly with one hand and flinging raindrops into Geralt’s face. “It’s called the King’s Boots, dunno why, but it’s got good ale. Like, really good, not the swill you probably get in these little backwater towns. Pretty barmaids, too, if that takes you fancy.”

There it was again, that odd little inflection.

“It took my fancy, when I was a student there, of course. They weren’t terribly interested in me but, well, I began studying there at fifteen. Really, I still had spots. I wasn’t the catch you see before you now.”

Geralt didn’t deign to respond. Whether or not Jaskier was a catch wasn’t something he was going to weigh in on. 

Even if he definitely had an opinion.

That was maybe the worst of it all. In spite of the constant noise and restless intrusion into Geralt’s life and routine, he did like Jaskier. That was good, considering they were married, but he wanted to kiss Jaskier, at least once. Just to try it out. That was bad because their marriage was about a half inch from being a sham. Married in name only.

“What sort of ladies do you get?” Jaskier was asking. “I mean, it’s obvious you never have any trouble finding partners.”

Geralt thought of a woman in the woods, of Blaviken, of blood. 

“Shut up.”

“No really, Geralt,” Jaskier whinged. “I wan’t to know. Queens and mages? Legendary beauties.”

“Prostitutes.”

“Ah, legendary beauties it is then.”

“I don’t know about legendary,” Geralt said, cursing himself as he did so for encouraging this inane line of questioning. “But they were beautiful enough. For a price.”

“Ah the ladies and gentlemen of negotiable affection will forever have a place in my heart,” Jaskier sighed. Geralt wasn’t about to hear Jaskier’s sexual history in any capacity. For his sanity, he decided to shut the conversation down.

“I expect they’re the only ones willing to touch you.”

Shit. That one had been too harsh. He didn’t mean it, surely men and women and people all fell at Jaskier’s feet with even a glimpse of his smile. He must know he’s attractive.

Jaskier barely spoke the rest of the day. He wasn’t even pouting, exactly. Just...quiet. 

They made camp under cover of some trees. The thick canapy leant enough dryness that Geralt could build a big fire and they hung their clothes over some low branches to dry. Out of the corner of his eye Geralt saw Jaskier take the basilisk leather from his pack and stroke a hand over it, which was strange. The material simply didn’t absorb water and needed no care.

Perhaps he just...liked it. It was a nice thought, sitting sort of warm and heavy in Geralt’s stomach, like a good meat pie. Jaskier liked his gift. Of course, he’d known that, back the day they’d met. That actually, apart from Jaskier’s father, hadn’t been too bad of a day.

Geralt thought about that day as he hunted wild game for their supper. He snagged a pheasant, a male, because it was mating season, and remembered how nervous he’d been, how at ease Jaskier had seemed. Perhaps it was because Jaskier had likely always known it would be, at least somewhat, a political match. Geralt had never thought there’d be a match at all.

Back at camp Jaskier had water boiling and was sitting in front of the roaring fire in just his trousers and chemise, even his socks so damp as to need a good drying. Geralt set the game to boil with a few wild carrots for a stew and sat beside him, feeling his hair finally begin to dry.

“This didn’t start out bad,” he said. He meant them, of course, and he meant it as a sort of apology, even if he knew it was woefully lacking. He just didn’t know what to say. Somehow, Jaskier’s mind must have been running along the same track.

It’s alright. You never wanted to get married to me.”

No, Geralt thought but didn’t say. I never wanted to get married. It has nothing to do with you. There’s nothing at all the matter with you. I’m just a grumpy bastard and we’re not a good fit.

A little voice in the back of Geralt’s head said, ‘you could be. If you let yourself, you could fit’. It sounded unnervingly like Eskel.

The truth was, if it had been anyone besides Jaskier, especially any noble, Geralt may have hated all this more. Jaskier liked nice clothes and clean appearances, but he wasn’t vain. He liked nice things but wasn’t greedy. He craved praise but wasn’t prideful, disliked many things but wasn’t hateful. Compared to the thieving, conniving, small minded nobles Geralt knew, he was unlike them all. 

He was definitely unlike his father. 

Jaskier played his slow tune on his lute. It was comforting and almost familiar, just background music. Geralt stirred the pot, breaking up some larger chunks of meat with the spoon. 

Maybe this would fix some things. They’d be dry, with hot food. That could fix a lot.

“Geralt,” Jaskier asked. “Can I sing?” 

Damn. Well, it was weird the lad was asking for permission, but Geralt didn’t like the idea of controlling the man’s voice, no matter how often he told him to ‘shut up’. Somehow it didn’t feel the same.

“Whatever,” he said.

Jaskier sang lowly, voice pitched at the edge of human hearing. Geralt wasn’t a human, of course, and could hear it clear as day. It was a folk song he’d heard before, a tragedy about a young woman who’s love left and she drowned herself.

It didn’t seem fitting. Jaskier was so lively. Geralt prayed he hadn’t fucked up enought that he’d dampened the bards spirit. 

“Do you know The Chandler’s Wife?” Geralt asked when Jaskier’s song was done.

“That one, with the” Jaskier clicked his fingers three times, mimicking the snapping or tapping that happened in the song.

“Hmmm,” Geralt confirmed, nudging the contents of the pot.

Jaskier began to play. It was a bawdy song, with tapping substituted where innuendo would be. It was simple and cheerful and short, and by the time it was finished they both had steaming bowls of stew. 

“Of all the songs you could have asked for,” Jaskier said, blowing on his stew. “I never would have picked that one.”

“Lambert’s favorite,” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier chuckled. “Makes sense, seems like his sort of song.” He took a large spoonful of stew and groaned in delight. Geralt very emphatically did not pay attention to that sound in any way at all.

“I expect you miss them,” Jaskier said.

“Some,” Geralt didn’t want to talk about it, so he focused on shoveling stew in to his mouth instead. Jaskier got the hint. He just settled one tentative hand on Geralt’s shoulder for a second, then went back to eating. He may as well have pressed a brand to Geralt’s skin.

That night, in their separate bedrolls in mostly dry and fire warmed clothes, Geralt could still feel Jaskier’s palm against him. 

There was another reason, Geralt knew, for his over-grumpiness. It was guilt. Mostly he was alright, but hearing Jaskier chatter excitedly about Oxenfurt and all the things they could do together there...ate at him. 

Jaskier had said he didn’t want to be left. Gotten rid of, had been his phrasing. And Geralt was going to. This rain had just been proof, though. Next time it could be pneumonia or hypothermia. The boy shouldn’t be out here. 

It didn’t help Geralt sleep much better. Jaskier had also used the phrase ‘abandon’. 

-- -- *-- --

The next village had a monster problem. 

“Drowners, what do they do?”

“They drown people, Jaskier.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “No, I meant, what do they look like--”

“Ugly.”

Another eye roll. “And how do they do it. Do they spin like an alligator? Do they sink claws in and pull...?”

“The second one,” Geralt said, sharpening his sword. He figured they were far enough from Lettenhove that whatever political turmoil Vesemir had unleashed wasn’t going to catch them too soon. 

“I can’t wait. Do they have scales? Fins? Are they slimy like frogs?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, finally paying attention. “What do you mean ‘you can’t wait?”

“I get to see you in action! Heroic witcher risks his life for helpless townspeople, it’s all very...Galahad.”

“Galahad?”

“Yes Geralt, he’s only the most famous hero written about in the last three hundred years,” Jaskier said. He was gesturing broadly, the way he always did when talking about literature. Geralt settled in for a rant. 

“You know, ‘my strength is as the strength of ten becasuer my heart is pure,’?” That was Jaskier’s quoting voice.

“Never heard it,” Geralt grunted.

“That’s okay, it’s about this hero who’s good and saves everybody. You’re better than him anyway because you’re real.”

“I’m...better than a mythical hero.”

“I mean...yeah,” Jaskier said like it was obvious. “Everyone knows flaws make a character better. You’re totally hot with a heart of gold, score. Very classic. But also,” Jaskier turned to him grinning. “You’re emotionally constipated and smell like onion.”

“You said heroics a few days ago.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever, that’s what’ll go in the songs. Best of all is that you’re a witcher. Nobody likes witchers but that can change. You’ll be a tragic hero!”

“Tragic?”

“That hair is, do you ever brush it?

“We’re getting away from the point,” Geralt said, resisting the urge to swipe his fingers through his hair. “You aren’t going to see me fight.”

“What, you can’t just leave me at camp!”

No, no he absolutely couldn’t just leave Jaskier at camp. There could be assassins, wolves, anything.

“We’ll get a room at the inn.”

“Really? Oh Geralt, a real bed would be so nice, there’s been this crick in my neck, but you’re not leaving me in an inn room either.”

“You could perform.”

“Excellent bait, but no.”

“Jaskier, please. You need to stay in town,” Geralt was pleading. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been pleading. Probably when he was trying to convince Vesemir not to marry him off for the betterment of witcherkind.

“I want to see you fight!” 

“It’s dangerous!.”

“You fight tons of these, right? I’ll stay super far away.”

“You could still get hurt, something goes wrong and you’ll get hurt! Humans are...soft.”

Jaskier tilted his chin up defiantly. Because they were the same height this wasn’t exactly necessary, but it gave Geralt a better view of his simply devastating eyes which was...not helping.

“I have the perfect plan,” Jaskier said. Were there silver flecks in his eyes? In this light Geralt was almost certain there were.

“I’ll stay back,” Jaskier was saying. “Any distance you want so long as I still get a reasonably good view. And I’ll wear the basilisk doublet.”

It was a good idea. Jaskier would stay back, the doublet would keep him safe. 

Geralt might get another chance to be smiled at byJaskier.

Doublets. Doublets, doublets doublets. Think about the doublet. 

“That would only keep your chest and arms safe.”

Jaskier smirked and patted a hand on Geralt’s chest, causing his slow heart to speed up just a little. “Are you going to let a drowner get to me? Get to my head, Geralt? My pretty face?” Jaskier pouted and Geralt’s stomach flipped over.

“Fine,” Geralt grunted. “You can come along.”

Jaskier looked very fine, all buttoned up in his basilisk leather doublet, and he was surprisingly quiet. This area of the forest was silent. and the ground was soft and slightly damp underfoot. They were near the Pontar river, which they would follow the rest of the way to Oxenfurt.

Here and there Geralt could see signs of human activity, but thankfully no humans in the area. Signs of woodcutters, likely the ill-fated ones who’d discovered the drowner’s pond in the first place, were scattered about. 

They came within view of the pond. More swamp, really. It was so covered in green algae that it looked like some sort of oddly paved floor. It was as still as glass. Geralt took Jaskier’s--surprisingly strong--shoulder in one large hand and steered the boy to a log that he deemed was sufficiently far to be safe. Then he drew his sword.

Drowners weren’t hard to fight, and here in this little pond there were just two, skinny and hungry. Geralt felt relief flood him as he realized that he wouldn’t even need his potions. He didn’t want Jaskier to finally understand what a monster he was. Geralt was enjoying putting off that realization as long as possible. He was also enjoying being a noble hero, likened to this Galahad character, who sounded alright if a bit boring. 

Geralt rolled his shoulders. He didn’t need to, but it looked nice and Jaskier was looking. The first drowner was close, now, trying to sneak through the algae, but Geralt’s vision was much better than its. He waited until the wretched thing lunged. 

The slash of the drowner’s long claws missed Geralt narrowly, but he hadn’t been worried. He pivoted, working on years of instinct. This was who he was. Here he was on much safer ground than with courting and castles. He was a witcher, and fighting monster’s was what he was trained, and to some extent built, for. 

The first slash didn’t kill the drowner, instead lopping off the arm that had so recently threatened to claw his eyes out. Then, with a clever twist of his wrist he sent his blade back the other direction, lopping off the head. It had taken all of a second from the point of the drowner’s lunge. 

It’s companion was slinking up, ready to attack as well but Geralt didn’t need time to recharge. His senses honed in, he felt his pupils dilate to take in the low light coming between the trees and he leapt.

No normal man could have made the leap that sent him over the drowner’s shoulder and onto the shore behind. It hadn’t been the full length of the pond, but rather a diagonal leap that gave him just enough time as the creature spun around. Geralt brought his sword down and cleaved the thing in two.

“Holy shit.”

Geralt looked up, not even breathing hard.

Jaskier was still in his spot on the log. Unlike Geralt, he was breathing hard. There was a flush across the tops of his cheeks, pretty and pink, and his eyes were wide. Even from his spot across the pond Geralt could see the dark pupils and the blue of his irises. 

Gerals severed the heads and warned Jaskier that he was removing the brains for his potions. His response was a squeaked ‘okay’. 

Damn. Had he scared the lad? He didn’t smell scared. Geralt wasn’t sure what Jaskier did smell like. 

He took the brains quickly and packaged them, then slung the heads of the drowner’s from Roach’s saddle. 

Thunderbolt, Jaskier’s horse, had been left at the inn. Inaccurately named, the creature, despite his large size, was docile, gentle, and prone to startling. 

Geralt dipped his hands in the scummy water and dried them on his pants to at least get off the worst of the gunk.

“Well?” he asked Jaskier.

“Wow,” the man said, stepping closer. “That was quick, too.”

Geralt grunted. “Only two.” He didn’t bother mounting up, leading Jaskier and Roach out of the forest and back towards town. 

Jaskier’s heart still sounded like it was going a little fast.

“Frightened?” Geralt asked. The lad smelled like adrenaline and...oh.

“No, just...exhilarated I suppose. I’ve never seen a battle like it.”

Jaskier smelled aroused. Now that Geralt had realized what it was it was all he could smell. The scent clogged his nose and set his brain in a pink, fuzzy cloud. Did Jaskier think...? Would he want..?

Except, of course not. Everyone knew you could get sort of adrenaline high. Plenty of young warriors got a little...stiff after a battle. And being nineteen, Jaskier probably got, got in that situation, with a light breeze. 

He was looking up at Geralt like he’d personally hung the moon, though. No one had ever, as long as he could remember, looked at him that way. There is a certain kind of beauty that comes with being kind to someone, Geralt knew. He hadn’t often seen it. Eskel had scars across his face that were frightening even to some other witchers but his friendship and care towards Geralt always blurred those over.

Now, in this fetid, swamp of a forest, Jaskier was developing that special beauty to Geralt as well. 

He was loud and talked all the time, even now that he seemed to have regained his wits he was chattering about what he’d write. His voice sounded less harsh in Geralt’s ears, though. Because Jaskier thought Geralt was special, and that made him special in return. 

They made it back to the inn, with a brief stop at the alderman’s house, muddy to the knee, although that wasn’t new. Geralt was also somewhat bloodspattered, which was horrible and wasn’t winning him favors with the townsfolk. 

“Got a room?” he asked the innkeeper, a bent old man that Geralt could probably lift on one finger. As is the wont of many smart inkeepers, there was a taproom on the first floor of the inn, and he was industriously cleaning mugs. 

“One,” the man said. “One room, one bed. No prostitutes, them ladies’ gotta do business elsewhere.”Geralt nodded and handed over the coin. 

“Bathouse in town?” he asked. They followed the old inkeeper’s directions to the edge of town, near the river. 

“I can’t wait for a good bed,” Jaskier said. “But I think I’m looking forward to this bath even more. I think my dirt has dirt on it, and my hair is disgusting. Yours too, will you let me wash it?”

Geralt wasn’t listening, also looking forward to the bath. He hummed in response.

“I hope it’s hot,” Jaskier continued. “No, hotter than that, I hope it’s boiling. I want to feel like a carrot in a stew pot when I get in.”

“You’d be a turnip,” Geralt said without thinking.

Jaskier sniffed. “And you’d be an onion.”

Geralt almost chuckled at that. The only reason he didn’t was that, at this moment, it was probably almost true. They both smelled pretty ripe. Jaskier had been correct, too, about there being layers to the grime. Geralt could almost peel himself. Like an onion.

“Anyway, I think I’d be something special, like a dash of pepper or, oh! I’d be a tomato.”

That caught Geralt off guard. 

“What.”

“A tomato, when they’re cooked just right so they almost burst when you cut into them and the juice explodes all over your mouth.”

Geralt wasn’t going to think about any juices of any kind exploding all over anyone’s mouth. Especially not Jaskier’s mouth, with it’s pink lips and clever, wicked tongue that darted out from time to time to wet them. 

“Don’t you think so, Geralt, aren’t I a tomato?”

“Hmmm.”

Jaskier did it again! It was liable to take Geralt’s sanity, the sight of him wetting his chapped lips like that. Maybe if he didn’t speak so much, worse, if he didn’t bite those lips so much, they wouldn’t be so chapped. For some reason Geralt had an insane desire to smear ointment across Jaskier’s lips with his own fingers. 

They would feel so soft.

Geralt paid the bath house attendant and they followed directions to a separate area in the low, stone building, where they could strip off and have a sort of sponge bath. This was of course so that they didn’t get dirt and monster guts in the bath, and was done with each in their own little three-walled wooden stall. Geralt had to call for a second bucket of water to get the guts from his hair. 

Sufficiently scrubbed, he stepped out into the main baths. Only then did he realize the crucial fault in his plan. They were open plan baths. Jaskier was beside him wearing nothing but a towel. Geralt, likewise in a towel, began to sweat. 

He kept his eyes firmly forward and cursed his excellent witchery peripheral vision because he could see...see Jaskier. Dark chest hair, soft and slightly damp. The way a droplet of water trailed from the back of his hair and down his neck, wetting tender skin.

Fuck. 

Jaskier walked towards the bath as if nothing was amiss. Of course, nothing was amiss, they were just two traveling companions. Having a bath. For Melitele’s sake they were married, even.

Geralt saw Jaskier’s foot hit a wet patch and the young man’s steps faltered, sliding a little. Geralt caught him with all his witcher speed, feeling Jaskier collide with his chest. Those blue eyes again, and yes, definitely silver in them. 

Jaskier was blushing, whether from proximity or steam, Geralt didn’t know. He leaned in. Jaskier’s tongue wet those inviting lips again. 

“You missed a spot on your cheek,” Geralt said, drawing back. He hadn’t been sure it wasn’t just a freckle, but it was definitely a bit of dirt. Jaskier sighed.

“Better get in and wash it off, then.”

Why did he sound dissapointed?

Geralt looked away as Jaskier released his towel and slid into the water, doing the same and waiting a second until he was absolutely sure it was safe to look. Jaskier had his head tilted back to rest against the floor, where the bath was sunk into the ground. Geralt sat next to him on the little ledge and let the warmth hit his muscles. It wasn’t boiling as Jaskier had hoped, but it was warm and lovely. The day’s fight hadn’t set any ache into Geralt’s muscles, but the days of sitting tensed up about Jaskier had, and he let them drift away.

Next to him Jaskier hummed contentedly and Geralt couldn’t help but agree. They lingered, not speaking, in the warm baths until they were truly pruny. Geralt neatly had to drag Jaskier out, but couldn’t risk Jaskier becoming too drowsy and drowning. 

They toweled off and redressed and were back at the inn in time for supper and for Jaskier to play. 

Geralt sat in the back of the small taproom, glowering about at anyone who looked like they might get close. He would have gladly gone up to their room and not bothered but Jaskier was performing. He couldn’t leave the bard there, where anyone could attack him, or ply him with too much alcohol and rob him or worse. Besides, he was curious.

Jaskier was capable, in an odd sort of way that was so far different from what Geralt was used to, but he was good at things. There was nothing he tried that he seemed to be terribly bad at. Geralt wasn’t a good judge of music, but he wanted to see if this applied to performing.

As he’d suspected, it did. Jaskier was masterful. Not only was his music top notch, but all his energy, the liveliness, the live wire electricity of him was directed when he performed. Normally, all that energy seemed to make Jaskier’s thoughts and actions a little disorganized, almost mess. Here, in this dingy little tavern, it made him radiant. Every eye was watching, every gaze enthralled, at least for a short time. If Geralt’s medallion hadn’t lain still on his chest he would have called it magic. 

It was incredibly sexy. This was Jaskier in his element, fierce and confident and wearing the doublet Geralt had given him. 

That struck a strange little shiver down Geralt’s spine. A piece of Geralt, prancing about, tied to Jaskier. The gift of the wolves of Kaer Morhen shimmered and twisted with his movements, the black pearl buttons catching dim light. Every eye was on Jaskier, some more salaciously than others, but Geralt couldn’t have cared less. He wouldn’t have cared even if someone had kissed Jaskier there and then. Geralt had no claim to Jaskier like that, they were only married in name. But they were married, and somehow Jaskier so proudly wearing that doublet meant more than a kiss ever could.

A little part in the back of Geralt’s brain wondered if he could have a kiss and Jaskier wearing the doublet, but that was silly.

Geralt went out to see Roach briefly when the performance was over. The applause was too much for his ears and his head, but ran back in when he heard the shouts. 

Three men had Jaskier against a wall, looking furious, and Jaskier looked angrier than they were. 

“Let him go,” Geralt growled, hand going for his sword...which was upstairs in their room. 

Fuck.

The men turned to him, all holding knives that were only knives because no one let swords get that jagged. 

“Your whore here,” one of them said with a shrug towards Jaskier. “Was telling us all how we shouldn’t talk shit about you witchers.”

“Yeah,” sneared another man with rotten teeth and even more rotten breath. “Got all righteous.” He stepped forward, raising his knife. “Said we ought to be thankful.

Geralt felt his muscles tense, gearing for a fight he really, really didn’t want to have.

“I think we oughta show you our ‘gratitude’,” said the third man.

“Or I can show you the door to the next world,” a voice purred. It was Jaskier.

“What is poking into your kidney, or thereabouts,” the bard continued. “Is a fish knife, I believe. I picked it up off the table. It’s pretty sharp, so I wouldn’t recommend moving very quickly. I would recommend, if you like to keep living, dropping your weapons, all three of you, and just walking away.”

The man’s compatriots looked at Jaskier in confusion. Jaskier pressed the knife in just a hair’s breadth further. 

“Do it,” growled the man currently held hostage. Three knives clattered on the floor. 

“Very good,” Jaskier purred in a voice that was both menacing and sent electric signals all the way down Geralt’s spine. “I can see you’re the brains of the outfit. Now apologize to my friend.”

“Wha..?”

Jaskier twitched his knife hand. “Apologize. To. My. Friend.”

“I’mverysorrymisterwitcher,” the man said, all in one breath. 

“Good, and?”

“And...and thank you for getting rid of the monsters?” said the man, hesitantly. Jaskier let down the knife. 

“Scram,” he said. The three toughs fled.

“A fish knife?” Geralt asked, trying not to focus on how spine tinglingly sexy that had been.

Jaskier shrugged. “I don’t keep weapons on me usually. Shall we go to bed?”

Bed turned out to be an overstatement. It was pretty much a cot, and a very slim one at that, but neither of them were going to sleep on the rough floorboards so they squished in together. 

Jaskier snuggled up to Geralt with contented little humming noises and laid his head on his chest. In the corner, in the moonlight from the window, Geralt could see the basilisk leather doublet where it lay on Jaskier’s pack. It would be a shame, he thought, wrapping his arms around Jaskier to keep him from tipping entirely out of the narrow bed. To part from his husband in Oxenfurt. 

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Tag List!

@llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar@aziz-the-fangirl @mordoriscalling @bastardofmothman @negativenuggetz @morte-mistrata @hayleynzlive @filledepluie @bygodstillam @sociowithatardisachevyandawand @faery-god @honeysuckletook @theflurtifly @saibowtie @werevampiwolf @frywen-babbles @the-kewlest @innocentbi-stander @1stbonesfan @aqueenrisesintheeast @toothhurtyam @marauders-fan-account @ineffable-lasagna @limevodka @rocknrollphanda @seralyra @permanently-exhausted-witcher @aj-itated @watchthewolvesfall @00qtee @the-blondey @birds-of-forgiveness @west-moor @abstractartwithoutpaint @darkonesdagger7437 @onwardsandfourwords @underwaterattribute @whenrainbowsend @goldbvtton @little-piece-of-tamlin @in-love-with-writing002 @flustratedcas @fontegagrilledcheese @so--many-fandoms @kirk-spock-in-the-impala @oniongrass @flowercrown-bard @maya-the-yellow-bee @thecomfortofoldstorries @wellthisstinks  @flowercrown-bard @obsessedchildsworld @debellatis @zotinha456 @tumbleweedtech @goblin-loves-shiny-things @birdsflyhome @holymotherwolf @the-shenny-of-azkaban  @enkelikauneus @silvermirror1997 @just-a-himbo-and-his-feral-bard@iamaqt314 @itsthelittlethingsnlife @oneshots-galore @inikokoru @gryffinqueen

People who I tried to tag but can’t seem to: @ailorian @thenameislion-dandelion  @darkangel91939 @saphiramalbec

Supposed to be tagged and weren’t? Is your tag listed but not actually linked? I’m having some trouble, so let me know!

[malkaleh]

YES. We definitely need to make flapping gestures at each other in person because like HOLY SHIT (also that is so cool you got to see them filming - and oh my gosh that was really Welles Hall! (I sort of assumed it was but I wasn’t sure sure). Also re Essie - I’ve seen her tumblr and uh, she has Not Learned. (There’s a lot of BUT WHAT ABOUT MY SHIPPING FREEDOMS and IT WAS A DIFFERENT TIME THOUGH. Re the latter - someone needs to stop me from actually responding to her directly because the legal stuff is my area).

(Which do not look she’s trying to say that all the interpretations of Norwichs diaries are totally wrong).

The fact that you can really tell how much they all researched and took it all in - it’s incredible. Especially because James somehow managed to take the fact that basically all we know about what Thomas Cromwell went through is from his abuser and give this man a voice and a story is so so amazing.

So I got banned from the Cromwich Discord server just because I defended a person we were all supposed to love and I am so angry and sad. I thought these people were my friends and it turns out they are going to throw all that away for one version of history. So I’m making this post as a last plea even though I know they blocked me.

You can’t go on to me about context of the time and ignore the fact that ideas about childhood were different then - older men took young lovers - that’s something that went back to ancient greece and rome and John Norwich was continuing the tradition - he was a parent, a lover and a mentor and gave thomas an education, a household and a home.

Look at this clip and tell me this man does not love thomas cromwell. You can’t. The gifts of silk, the books, the fact that he calls him Antonius - Antonius the beloved treasure of an Emperor who was mourned the rest of his days.

Also I am so disappointed in James Frain.

Armada

@nocompromise-noregrets

Some More Fictional Universe Discord Content

@nocompromise-noregrets

Ellie - just a warning that you will probably want to strangle Armada (i had to take five minutes to scream) but she gets smacked down and also I CANNOT EVEN.

Armada: no really WHAT IS THE KARLIENE REYNOLDS SONG??

i had a name before him/i took it back/but his brand upon me/will never wash away/in the light of the sun and stars/i thought i might be holy moonlight/instead of tainted ground/an eagle collar about my neck.

RestorationistKingsLeftButtock: I DON’T KNOW BUT I HATE IT [one fear dot gif] because Thomas has been associated with the moon so much (Henry’s poetry, Anne’s - the motifs in their possessions) and Norwich’s personal coat of arms is an eagle owl.

TransCrozier: SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK. FUCK. I am going to go and lay in the DIRT. AND EAT IT. Waiting is unbearable.

RestorationistKingsLeftButtock: Okay the watch party is over in #show-watch - it will contain spoilers, live reactions and memes. And PANICK.

PoppyMcGee: THE OPENING. THE OPENING. SHIT FUCK FUCK. Let me break this down.

the entire scene with john and thomas is horrific just horrific. the threat the menace that bruise he left.

and then thomas ripping off all the sheets and covers on his bed and that part with trying to scrub his skin i just…god that’s awful. James Frain you owe me for emotional damages.

how he knew to cover up the self harm scars and the bruises like WHAT DOES THIS MEAN (we know about his father but the scars are…that’s something else).

Armada: it must have been a really bad breakup like that is some bad blood (sorry for the taylor swift) between them to send thomas into that spiral.

TransCrozier: respectfully this is not ‘a bad breakup’ reaction and that is not someone reacting to a bad breakup related guilt. that is an abuser. Norwich is an abuser/was abusive. The way he so clearly used ‘you ruined any trace of me Antonius - when did you gain the notion that you could so ruin that which I own’ that is not romantic.

Armada: Like, I love you Rhi but no - it’s maybe not the healthiest but they were both younger then - Thomas was still early twenties and you don’t make the best decisions then and he’d come off an abusive childhood in the 16th century, I think what we are seeing is a breakdown about how he regrets how it ended/how he ended it specifically (also side note James is so pretty when he cries!)

RestorationistKingsLeftButtock:……OH SHIT ANNE. ANNE. ANNE.

PoppyMcGee: look i am not an Annewell shipper but the way she absolutely takes care of him - gives him the choice every step of the way! Tells him what she’s doing!

TransCrozier: I am a Triad OTPer as we all know (I just find Cromwich interesting as a multishipper) by now etc and just, THE LOVE. THE LOVE. THE WAY ANNE made sure to ask Thomas what coverings he didn’t want. Also I am soft for bathing scenes.

RestorationistKingsLeftButtock: AGREED RHI. AGREED SO HARD.

Armada: UGH ANNE DO WE HAVE TO SEE HER SO MUCH [Edit: I’m sorry I know the server doesn’t allow character hate but i just don’t like her or Cromannery. Or it’s not that i don’t like her but i don’t like her with Thomas].

Poppy McGee:….yeah i agree with you Essie - I want Anne to be the cool lesbian of my heart that she should be but i do love her taking care of thomas.

Armada: that bit was sweet but yeah, what poppy said. She doesn’t need men and she’s much worse for them! But what’s going on now.

RestorationistKingsLeftButtock:

“I was ten years old, my mother not long dead and my father was in need of funds and drink. Lord Norwich, as he was then offered him silver under a disguise so my father would not extort more funds out of him. I came into his household and thought myself landed somewhere better. He branded and bedded me for the first time that same day - I cut it out of me the day I took my chance and fled - five years almost to the day after.”

……I am going to be sick. I am going to be sick.

TransCrozier:

“I am but a tainted thing - he has been on and in every part of me - I could not speak of the shame, though I should have done - I should have never let you, let either of you think I was worthy of you, Your Majesty. I am so sorry.”

THOMAS BLAMES HIMSELF. HE STILL BLAMES HIMSELF I AM GOING TO RESURRECT NORWICH AND KILL HIM AGAIN MYSELF AND THEN REPEAT IT AGAIN.

RestorationistKingsLeftButtock: ANNE YOUR RESPONSE I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU. NATALIE DORMER YOU GORGEOUS GORGEOUS HUMAN BEING.

TransCrozier: AMINA YOU ARE SO CORRECT. Queen Anne you perfect glorious woman I am once again AT YOUR FEET.

RestorationistKingsLeftButtock: hi @everyone i checked the history from several reputable sources (see here, here and here) and this is real. the show did not make it up - it’s just a recent discovery. Which i did not know about :(.

TransCrozier: neither did I i went in because RUPERT and then kind of fell into adoration - like obviously we all know triad is endgame because duh, history but i knew nothing else.

PoppyMcGee: I didn’t want to believe it :(. But I checked and it’s true :(. It’s fucking true. Norwich did that and he has no remorse.

RestorationistKingsLeftButtock: also fyi to several people who I’ve had to talk to about this - no ten was very much considered a child in the 16th century. Even fifteen was not ‘fully adult’ as such. This is rape and child sexual abuse and if you spout any more denial about that I will ban you.

TransCrozier: AMINA I AM KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH. Also the fact that Anne volunteers to tell Henry, reassures Thomas that he won’t be angry just destroyed me all over again. CANNOT WAIT FOR THE POST SHOW CONTENT TO DESTROY ME AGAIN. ALSO HENRY’S REACTION.

Armada: …okay whatever. Sorry for having opinions i guess. can i even just say that even if it is abusive the triad is equally abusive.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 3, Chp. 9″

"Black Butterfly, sail across the waters Tell your sons and daughters what the struggle brings Black Butterfly, set the skies on fire Rise up even higher So the ageless winds of time can catch your wings"

Deniece Williams – "Black Butterfly"

Disa spotted Pamela in the middle of the floor.

The moment the beat hit her ears, Pamela threw her head back and tossed her ass in a circle letting Disa know it was good to go.

The beginning was always the difficult part of her sets when she was trying to create a montage of feelings through sound. There were peaks and valleys she had to hit in order to hold the audience hostage. She almost lost it halfway through Zana High Life when the host shouted out DJ Geechee Dan standing on the side of the stage. Disa had been trying to find him up in the VIP section and he was right there, less than twenty feet from her watching her cut up a live mix.

It was Erik that saved her from bumbling her set as she focused on him moving instead of Geechie Dan being so near her. He came out of nowhere and she had no idea he could dance so well. The boy showed out and Pamela tried to keep up. It brought a smile to her lips to see him grab her homegirl and dance Pamela around. No one had ever been able to hang with her, and Erik pushed the woman to go all out.

Disa reeled everyone back in when she let Erik's voice quote "Beloved" over the music. He matched the tone of the syncopated beats. It sounded romantic. Dreamy. She took a respite and let the mix play as she watched him dance. So fluid. Like water. She knew he practiced capoeira and decided to go off script and freestyle her set. Dragging down some berimabau sounds, she cued up a Brazilian jam and dropped it on top of her own drumming in time to the stringed instrument. It struck like a thunderbolt on Erik and it shocked her to see him backflip and hold his body in a handstand as his legs moved in slow motion before he crouched on the floor low and swayed to the ancient sounds.

The boy was bad.

Loose hips and expressive arm movement fooled everyone into thinking he was just jamming instead of showing off a martial art. Disa was in awe and almost missed her next transition cue because she was so mesmerized by him. How could that brainy, standoffish, and arrogant man-child turn into a snake-hipped God of the dance?

Pamela jumped back on him and Disa played with them both by skipping her planned closing and taking the two of them to the Black Queer spaces she roamed with Pamela and friends. Punching up the voice of the icon Selvin Mizrahi, aka MC Debra, Disa brought in ballroom beats.

"That shouldn't have been the question," echoed about the space and Pamela stopped dancing with Erik and pointed a finger at Disa.

"Don't play with me, bitch!" Pamela shouted before she dropped to the floor and duck walked like the diva she was. This attracted their other homegirl Tatum who dipped several times making Yamilet stand aside with weak knees. Pamela played with Tatum in a simulated ballroom battle over Erik's attention until Tatum pushed Pamela aside and twirled around the youngster capturing his attention. The audience roared when Erik dropped into his own duck walk challenging Tatum. Erik's friends howled and the entire venue lost it when he dipped three times in front of Tatum making her storm off in a pretend huff as he duck walked after her before spinning on his back and shoulders. He grabbed Tatum's hand and ground on her ass with the closing notes of Disa's set. Loud whistles and claps erupted, and she waved to the crowd before the lights switched over to the next DJ who looked frightened at the prospect of following up after her.

Tatum rushed over to her swiping back long strands of crimped and twisty hair.

"Girl, your lil man was out here giving what he was supposed to give! Is he…?"

"Erik? No, I don't believe so."

"He was putting that thang on me like he wanted a piece of the good, Sis. He grab on me again like that and I'll let him get a taste."

Tatum's dark brown eyes were glossy from drinking and she followed Disa as she carried her crate of vinyl to the green room.

"He's not the type to turn mean if he knows….y'now…" Tatum said.

"He's very open. I don't think he'd trip to know you're Trans."

"Good. Cuz he could get it from any of these women out here. Did you see him move? I know Pamela is butt hurt that she was not the center of the dance universe tonight."

Tatum watched her tuck her crate under a covered table and push them far back with her jacket on top of it with her computer bag.

"I liked how you closed out your set."

"People liked it, yeah?"

"Yeah, but I worry cuz you know how these niggas be wildin' if you bring in the Fam in hetero spaces. Everybody turns into homophobe and kills the vibe for everybody."

Disa's cell buzzed. She pulled it from her back pocket.

"Yamilet and them. She's out by the car now."

Disa dragged her crate back out and Tatum carried her computer bag for her. They headed outside to the parking lot. Yamilet was there with Pamela, and Essie. She opened her trunk and Disa dumped her stuff. The women gave her joyous hugs and high fives before they traipsed back in to catch the other DJs.

Erik ran up to her breathless.

"Hey! I thought you were leaving!"

Disa patted his arm.

"No, just putting my gear away. Erik, these are my friends…"

She introduced everyone, and Erik shook their hands. Tatum and Pamela gave him big hugs and Yamilet snapped her fingers at him.

"Geechie… Hey! Geechie Dan, hold up!" Erik shouted.

Disa's heart dropped in her belly. Erik shook her idol's hand and brought him over to Disa.

"This is Disa Abdullah-Woods, your biggest fan," Erik said.

"My dear, sweet, woman, you are a master class of gifts. That set was-"

Geechie Dan kissed his fingers to end his praise.

Disa held out a trembling hand to him.

"No, that's not gonna do, Buttafly. Bring it in," he said opening his arms wide.

Disa burst into tears.

"Hey, I'm nobody to cry over," he whispered.

Geechie Dan gave Disa a big hug, and she stood there like a blubbering baby. The years that she spent practicing what she would say to the man if she ever met him in person went straight out the window. She used to laugh at people who became overly emotional meeting celebrities, but now she totally understood the overwhelming feeling that surged through her.

She wiped her eyes and Erik rubbed her back with gentle circles.

"I've been a fan since I was a little kid," she stammered out.

"Erik here told me. I told him how much I enjoyed his dancing and he just went in about you."

A crowd surrounded Geechie Dan, but he ignored them, his twinkling eyes on her.

"It has been a long time since I've seen a DJ create a set with so much intention behind it. You have something special in you, young lady. Never lose that gift."

Disa's mouth seemed to lose all ability to work. All the things she wanted to say stalled in her throat. He was there in the flesh. Standing in front of her.

"Disa has a radio show you should go on," Erik suggested.

"Oh yeah? Give me your number. I'll call you up and we can chop it up."

Geechie Dan pulled out his cell and Disa gave him her number, her voice a soft shell of its usual assertive tone.

"When I get some free time, I'll hit you up. Excuse me, they want me back up on stage. Amazing set, Disa. Keep spinning!"

The man shook her hand with both of his and his entourage and promoters swept him away.

"She's still in shock," Yamilet said waving her hand in Disa's face.

Erik's bright smile attracted her attention. Had he not spoken to the man, Disa may very well have missed her opportunity to meet him, let alone remember to ask the man for a radio interview. Her mind floated with the surreal nature of the experience. Her cell buzzed.

Here's my number. I'll be in New York in a few weeks, would be open to an in-person radio interview.

Geechee Dan's personal cell number. She had it. In her palm.

Disa reached out and grabbed Erik's shoulders. She planted a big fat kiss on his lips.

"Damn, what was that for?" he said.

"Being here," she said.

He wiped his lips and smiled.

"Erik…"

Chloe slinked up and slipped her arm in Erik's, tugging him towards the dance floor. Disa watched him enter the thick crowd of swaying bodies to dance once more.

###

Her night was a dreamy success.

Disa stayed in a popular hotel with her friends, and they hung out in the bar. Erik strolled into the lobby with his friends. In a tipsy stupor, Disa walked over to him with a fresh drink in her hand. "Didn't know you were staying here too," she said.

He took the drink from her and sipped it down.

"Hey… you can't drink this here out in the open, you're underage!"

She snatched it away from his lips.

"Nah, it's after midnight… I'm twenty-one now," he said.

"Oh, shit. It's your birthday? Today?"

"Yep."

"Happy Birthday, Erik!"

She hugged him tight and gave him the glass of liquor.

"Enjoy," she said.

"What room are we in?" Jace asked.

Erik's dorm companion looked sleepy along with two other guys.

"301," Erik said handing Jace a key card.

Disa's friends called for her to return to the bar counter.

"Come celebrate with us," she said pointing to her group.

"I'm beat, to be honest. Thanks for asking me though."

"If you change your mind, we'll be down here."

"Good to know."

"Thanks for everything, Erik. Tonight was really special and meant a lot to me. Especially with you hooking me up with Geechie Dan."

"Glad to make your dream come true."

His eyes penetrated hers.

"Okay grown-ass man, go to bed," she said pushing on his arm playfully.

"You're drunk," he teased.

"A happy one at that," she said stumbling off to join her girls.

Three more drinks later, after a heated discussion with a group of men who hovered around them trying to interject their unwanted opinions about dating, Disa leaned over the bar counter and asked for a special birthday cocktail for Erik. She went to the lobby restroom, collected the drink afterward, and excused herself from her friends. She took the elevator to the third floor and found Erik's room. The fruity exotic drink had a lot of strong liquor in it. Knocking on the door, she waited for someone to answer. She could hear a tv on and talking going on inside.

Kelvin, a cute nerdy string bean answered the door.

"Is Erik up?" she asked.

Kelvin's eyes nearly popped out looking at her.

"You were so good," he yelped.

"Thank you… um… Erik?"

"He's not here."

"Not here? Did he go out?"

"No, he's in that room," Kelvin said pointing across the hall to room 302.

"Thanks," she said.

Kelvin closed the door and Disa did a one-eighty and rapped her knuckles on the new door. She toyed with the blue umbrella and pineapple garnish on his drink. Erik answered. Shirtless and wearing tight gray boxers.

"Hey," she said.

"Um… Hi. 'sup?"

"Birthday drink. A proper one."

She thrust it out to him and tried to brush past him, but he held an arm up in the door jamb blocking her. Her brain failed to register that he didn't want her inside, and she bumped against him, her breasts touching his chest.

"I can't come in?"

"I have someone here," he said.

Her eyes cut behind him. Chloe was draped in nothing but a sheet, the tops of her breasts threatening to spill over her arm that clutched the covers.

"Oh, snap. I'm sorry. I thought you were staying with the guys over there. Didn't realize you had your own room. Here, enjoy the drink," she said.

Erik took the bulbous glass, and his expression was full of embarrassment. He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. Disa stepped back from him and fumbled with her hands.

"Handle your business. It's time for me to get to bed myself… get some sleep. Have fun!"

She tried to sound jovial, but something in the back of her throat made her voice accusatory. As if she caught him doing something behind her back. For months she thought of Erik as her little pet. He was her loyal puppy, and she had to admit she enjoyed all the fawning he did over her. But he was also a young man with needs. She tried not to look at the package that was hanging in his underwear. The outline of it was showing off. God forbid if he was a grower too.

"Me and Chloe kinda got this thing going on now…"

"New girlfriend and good birthday sex is a blessing. Night Erik."

She turned to leave and pivoted back to him.

"Can I put on a birthday dinner for you and your family? I know you're planning on eating at Toulouse, but I would love to host your birthday party at my place."

"That's too much Disa. I have a lot of people coming in from all over."

"How many?"

"Fifteen—"

"Pfft, boy, you've been to my dinner parties, you know how I get down. Fifteen is nothing for me."

"The cost alone will be crazy—"

"Let me handle that. You deserve a special day. You made my night amazing, let me show my appreciation. What would you like to eat?"

Erik's eyes grew thoughtful, they dropped to look at his drink.

"I love your Confit de Canard,"

"Aw, I see. I finally got you to give in to duck meat."

"It's gonna be hella expensive."

"Don't worry about it. Let's say six sharp on Saturday, three courses and Turkish coffee with a birthday cake."

His eyes lit up.

"I'll let my people know."

"Tell them to dress up. I'll plan a splendid evening with games afterward."

Erik grabbed her hand and pulled her in close.

"Thank you," he said.

"Better get back to Chloe. Don't want her chewing my head off for keeping all of this out of the bed."

She smirked at him and wandered down the hall.

###

Chloe had a frown n her face when Erik walked back into the hotel room.

"What did she want?"

"Birthday gift," he said holding up the fancy drink.

He sipped it, and the liquor was too strong for his tastes. It would knock him out before he had a chance to smash Chloe. He put the glass on the nightstand and pulled off his boxers. His dick was already at half-mast.

"Why is your dick like that already?"

Chloe sat up, and the frown on her face deepened.

"Looking at you gets me excited," he countered.

Hopping into the bed, he pulled back the sheets and swiped her nipples with his tongue.

"You're attracted to her."

"Disa? That's my homegirl—"

"Everyone knows you have a crush on her. You turn into a puddle whenever she's around."

Chloe folded her arms over her breasts blocking his access.

"If your dick is getting hard for her, maybe you should get some birthday sex from her instead!"

"Chloe. Stop trippin'. I'm giving this dick to you."

He rubbed the hardening length against her thigh. She slapped it.

"Wanna play rough?" he said.

"Was your dick hard for that Trans chick too?"

"What?"

"Disa's friend. The one with the long fluffy hair. You didn't know?"

"No. She fine as fuck though."

"You'd fuck a Trans woman?"

There was disgust on her face.

Erik sat up. He'd been around Trans women and Trans men all his life, especially in Brazil. He had a Trans play uncle in Sao Paulo who used to babysit him and his play cousin Marisol.

"A woman is a woman. She got titties I can play with and a hole I can fuck, I don't see a problem—"

"Ohmigod! You really would fuck her."

"That ass was amazing."

"I can't believe you're serious!"

"Are you a queerphobe? Cuz if you are, that's not gonna work for me."

"No… I just… I can't picture you being like that."

"Like what?"

"Accepting. You're like a man's man—"

"A Transphobe? I wasn't raised like that. My mother would never let me treat people like shit who didn't deserve it."

Chloe stared down at her hands.

"I'm glad to hear that, actually."

"Yeah? Why?"

Her eyes welled up.

"My sister… she's transitioning… he's becoming my brother and I worry about him going up against guys like you."

"Guys like me?"

"Y'know overly masculine. He's coming to visit me in a few weeks and I wanted you to meet him since he's interested in capoeira."

Her eyes met his.

"I didn't mean to be accusatory about Disa's friend. She's beautiful. Prettier than me."

"You're the prettiest woman in this room right now."

She slapped his hand and smiled.

"But you do like Disa. Right?"

"She's my friend. I had a big crush on her when I first arrived on campus, but now… she's like a mentor… a big sister. We're close and she teaches all kinds of cool stuff. I probably do act all goofy when I'm around her—"

"It's cute… really. I just… let's forget about it."

He kissed her. With guilt. Disa meant more to him than just a big sister or a mentor. She was the ultimate woman. But she would never see him as a man.

Chloe wrapped her lips around his dick and rolled a condom on his shaft after she plumped him up to complete hardness. She presented her backside to him and he sank into her walls and pumped, enjoying her soft sighs and cries of passion. He took off the condom much later as she allowed him to fuck her raw in the ass and dump a hot load in her anal walls. She kept his mind off of Disa and those lush breasts that truly made his dick thicken and visibly tell Chloe the truth. Disa was his dream girl. Everyone could see it.

###

The large package arrived at Disa's house the day before Erik's birthday party. She called him on his phone to tell them that a big box with a D.C. return address and B. Dunduza written in black block letters was sitting in her living room.

He drove over to her house, and Disa watched him tear it open. There was a note on top of the bubble wrap.

"Kept these in storage for you. We wanted to wait until you turned twenty-one to have them. Cherish them as we cherish you."

Uncle Bakari and Auntie Shavonne both signed it.

Erik removed the layer of bubble wrap and his heart nearly stopped.

He fingered the old dark brown leather, and a breath shuddered out of him.

"Erik? You alright?" Disa asked.

She put a hand on his shoulder as he lifted the leather-bound journal from the box.

"These are my father's journals," he whispered.

Opening the first journal, he recognized the careful Wakandan script written by his father's powerful hand. They taped a small piece of bubble wrap on the page. Erik unraveled it and gasped before falling on his backside.

"What is it?" Disa asked, rising concern coloring her voice

Opening his fingers, Erik stared at the wondrous gift.

His Baba's ring. Attached to the chain his mother bought for him as an anniversary gift. The chain his father wore the night he was killed by King T'Chaka.

His family birthright.

Now his.

Chapter 10 HERE

###

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[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

The Jaskier Effect

Also on ao3

The first time that Eskel noticed things were changing, he was collecting the payment for a contract on a wraith in Velen. The alderman handed him a leather coin pouch with a wink, saying “Toss a coin to your Witcher,” and then proceeded to hum some tune as Eskel turned to leave.

Not every interaction was as odd, or as pleasant, but he did find that over the following months there was generally a slightly more tolerant attitude whenever he walked into a village or town, and less people tried to cheat him out of the coin he was owed for his work. If he hadn’t spent the better part of a century being shunned or ridiculed for being a Witcher, he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? But he still kept his guard up. Aired on the side of caution. People don’t just change, and he was suspicious about this new growing respect for his kind.

It was in a tavern in Redania where he heard the song in full for the first time. He was perched at a table in the corner, thumbing a tankard of piss-poor ale when a young female bard started up and one of the patrons requested it.

It took Eskel a good few minutes to process that the song was about Geralt.

He didn’t know what was more surprising. The fact that his brother in arms had let a bard tag along on a hunt, or that he had allowed a song to be composed about him after the fact. Then again, he knew how much the title of ‘The Butcher of Blaviken’ upset Geralt, so maybe being sung about as a hero wouldn’t be so bad after all. Eskel had certainly noticed how this one song had started to affect people’s perceptions of Witchers, however subtle.

After the performance, Eskel had approached the female bard and asked if she was the one who wrote it. Essi, he later found out to be her name, had humbly thanked him but told him that a dear friend of hers had composed it. A bard called Jaskier.

Jaskier.

Eskel was very intrigued.

That winter he waited impatiently for Geralt to join them at Kaer Morhen. He asked Lambert if he had noticed the change and, Lambert being Lambert, had jumped on the chance to use it as a new way of getting into people’s pants. Not that he needed any help with that in the first place, but this new growing respect for Witchers definitely had its advantages.

Vesemir, like Eskel, advised on the err of caution.

“It won’t last,” he had warned, “It never does.”

“All the more reason to reap the benefits now, right Eskel?” Lambert threw him a lewd wink.

Eskel had grunted but not really given Lambert an answer.

When Geralt eventually showed up, just as the first snows started to fall, Eskel quizzed him mercilessly about the bard. He wanted to know how on earth the young human had found himself in the prickly Witcher’s company.

Geralt gave a very stunted story of how he met Jaskier and the adventure that followed but Eskel knew him well enough to see that the bard and his songs had affected Geralt in more ways than one. The White Wolf held affection for Jaskier. His hard edges were slightly softer than they had been last time they met. There was a new warmth to his amber eyes. Geralt, usually so closed off to the world, had unwillingly, or unwittingly, let someone in.

Witchers don’t tend to have friends outside of their own kind, and even then, they usually stick to their own Witcher School, and even then, sometimes ‘friend’ was such a strong word, but Eskel could see that this Jaskier had the potential to help Geralt find that part of himself so many believed was stripped from him when he underwent the mutations.

Geralt of course, insisted that Jaskier was not his friend and, come spring, when Eskel asked him if he was going to travel with the bard again Geralt shrugged with a grunt.

“If our paths cross, our paths cross,” the white haired Witcher answered nonchalantly.

Eskel just rolled his eyes.

“Well thank him for me if they do,” he rumbled.

“What for?” frowned Geralt.

“For the good work he’s doing for all Witcher kind,” Eskel grinned with a wink.

Geralt scoffed, mounted his faithful mare and disappeared down the trail.

As the years passed by and more songs about the White Wolf emerged, Eskel found his job as a Witcher to be less monotonous and more interesting. People were actually willing to converse with him, even offer him better rates for contracts. One barkeep even gave him a free beer because he recognised the wolf medallion around Eskel’s neck.

“You a wolf Witcher? You know that Geralt? Drinks on the house!”

Eskel was sure he’d never get used to it.

And, as he expected, not everyone was keen on the new perspective of Witchers. Some still slandered him in the streets, threw stones, spat at him, tried to pick fights with him that he knew they’d never win. But, thanks to Jaskier and his influence, life as a Witcher had improved considerably.

When Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen each winter, he always brought more stories of his time spent travelling with the bard. Eskel could see the brightness in his eyes and the soft way he spoke about Jaskier. Geralt was warm and open and laughing and joking, and it had been a long time since Eskel had seen him like this. The affect the bard was having on him, it was nice. Good.

Lambert insisted that Geralt should invite Jaskier to Kaer Morhen the next winter. Geralt had laughed it off, saying that Jaskier would much rather spend his winters warm and cosy in Oxenfurt than freezing his balls off with the likes of them, but he could see the thought playing in Geralt’s mind and he really hoped that Geralt would introduce them to the bard next year.

Eskel didn’t have to wait that long though.

It was nearing the end of summer and Eskel was passing through Novigrad. He usually avoided the big cities, but he was running low on a very specific herb to brew his potions and he knew the herbalist off Hierarch Square was the only place for miles around where he could get it.

He had wrapped his travel cloak around himself, making sure his hood hid his face as he ventured into the city. The general attitude and acceptance towards Witchers was better than it had ever been but, in Novigrad, where the majority of the populace was still out to get anyone non-human, he couldn’t be too careful.

His transaction with the herbalist went as smoothly as he could have hoped, and he pocketed the small pouch of herbs carefully. By now though, it was starting to get late and his horse was tired from the long day of traveling so, he decided to stop off in a tavern for the night.

He left his mount in the capable hands of the stable boys and slunk into the ‘Kingfisher’ without drawing too much attention to himself.

The heat of the tavern hit him in a stifling cloud. The tang of alcohol and sweat swirled about him, and the wall of noise was a mixture of shouted conversation and singing along with whomever the entertainment was for the evening.

Eskel wove his way through the many patrons and quietly discussed a room for the night with the barkeep.

Wary of the Witcher, the squat man had warned him if there was any trouble, he’d be out quicker that you could say Gwent. Eskel accepted his terms and found a stool at the edge of the bar to inhabit as he nursed a tankard of ale.

Hood still drawn to shadow his face, he cast his keen eyes over the patrons and his attention was drawn to the musician in front of the hearth.

The bard was a few years shy of thirty. Dark brown windswept looking hair and bright blue eyes. He was stood on a stool and was stamping in time to the beat of his wild lute playing. His voice was rich and just as colourful as the teal doublet and breeches he wore, embroidered and patterned with navy blue.

There was something about him, like he was familiar somehow. Then it hit him. He knew exactly who this bard was.

“Ho Hey

But the Witcher knew

Took a Witcher’s brew

And the Witcher slew.

Ho Hey

And the village knew

That their beast was through

And tossed his way some coin and ale and stew.”

Jaskier beamed as he sang, the patrons around him joining in with this chorus, stamping and clapping in time.

Eskel couldn’t tare his eyes away. Geralt’s description of the bard had been spot on but he could never have been prepared for…well this.

The confidence, the elegance that came with his playing. The animated charm. The way he had everyone around him engaged and enjoying themselves. Eskel could understand why Geralt was drawn to him.

He was barely listening to the lyrics. Just staring at the man who had won over his brother in arms.

Jaskier sang the chorus again then finished with a flourish, grinning at the rambunctious applause.

“Thank you,” he winked at a passing barmaid who swooned, “I will be taking a short break but fear not. I will return.”

There was a mixture of cheers and protests as the young bard skipped through the crowd and leaned over the bar, very close to where Eskel was sitting.

Gods above, Eskel thought to himself, his scent!

Jaskier smelled like lavender and sandalwood, fresh parchment and woodsmoke. It was a scent that Eskel had picked up on many occasions throughout the last few winters. Lingering on Geralt’s clothing, on Roach’s saddlebags.

With a goblet of wine in hand, Jaskier thanked a woman who was excitedly complimenting his singing and when she finally melted back into the throng, he took a long drink and then rested his gaze on Eskel.

Amber eyes met blue and Jaskier quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, well, well,” the bard crooned, voice thick with curiosity, “Dark and mysterious stranger who has been ogling me since he came in turns out to be a dark and mysterious Witcher.”

Eskel swallowed hard, not quite sure what to say to him. Not that it really mattered because Jaskier barely paused for breath before he continued.

“Let me see. Wolf Witcher,” Jaskier indicated the medallion just visible through the folds of grey cloak then narrowed his eyes at him, “You must be Eskel.”

Eskel absently touched the long scar tracking down the right side of his face. Of course Geralt had talked about his brothers with the bard, described them to his friend.

Jaskier’s expression softened.

“No,” he smiled kindly, “It’s the eyes, the jaw. You look a lot like Geralt. Except, you know, he has white hair and you’ve got – is it dark brown? Black? Anyway. I’m Jaskier.”

Eskel hesitated before taking the offered hand and Jaskier shook it enthusiastically.

“I imagine Geralt has mentioned me. Though not all bad, I hope. So, what brings you to Novigrad? Some monster lurking about? You doing some Witchering?”

Eskel was baffled by this young man.

Jaskier talked quickly without much pause for thought, true, but he was talking to him like…they were equals. Friends even. The bard was warm and open and ridiculously handsome, though Eskel would never tell Geralt that he thought so. There wasn’t an ounce of the usual fear he experiences when talking to people. No guarded expression. No hidden motivation. Just an imploring gaze and friendly smile.

Eskel understood completely why Geralt had given in to allowing Jaskier to travel with him. He didn’t see what everyone else saw. Didn’t see the Witcher, the monster, the savage killer. He saw Geralt. And now, he saw Eskel.

“Thank you,” Eskel heard himself say.

Confusion twitched in Jaskier’s expression and he tilted his head slightly.

“For what?” he hummed.

For what? Eskel bit his cheek. For helping to improve Geralt’s image? For being Geralt’s friend? For changing how people see Witchers? For increasing the payment prospects of contracts for Witchers across the continent? For everything?

“For your songs,” he settled on.

Jaskier flashed him a dazzling smile.

“You’re welcome,” he smirked.

Eskel realised that Jaskier had no idea how much his songs had actually affected the Witchers and their place in the continent. He had no idea that singing about Geralt was just the start of a ripple that had spread across the lands and changed people for the better. He had no idea of the legacy he was building, for himself, for his friend, and for all the working Witcher’s who used to struggle to get a decent price for even a few Drowners.

The fame of Jaskier the bard wasn’t exclusive to the high courts and bustling taverns. Jaskier had no idea how big his impact actually was.

And Eskel didn’t have the first clue on how to start telling him.

“You staying in Novigrad long?” Jaskier asked breezily, taking a sip from his goblet.

“Not if I can help it,” the Witcher shrugged.

“No jobs enticing enough to make you change your mind?”

“Unfortunately no one puts out contracts on Priests of the Eternal Fire,” Eskel grunted.

Jaskier snorted into his wine and Eskel felt his lips pull in a small smile.

“Fair enough,” Jaskier composed himself, eyes blazing with mirth, “We can’t always be so lucky.”

“What about you? How long are you here for?” being drawn into conversation with the bard was easy. It felt natural and relaxed and safe.

“Meh, who knows? Until I bore of the markets and politics and need to get back out there on the Path,” Jaskier frowned at the dregs lining the bottom of his goblet and Eskel flagged down the barkeep to order more drinks.

“Going to look for Geralt?” Eskel glanced at Jaskier over the top of his tankard.

“I might,” Jaskier shot him a playful grin, “Unless you want the company on the road for a while.”

It was Eskel’s turn to choke slightly on his drink.

“A new muse could be just what I need. How about it Eskel? Not all my songs have to be about Geralt, you know.”

Eskel caught those blue eyes and held them for a moment.

“Sure. Why not?” he rumbled.

“Excellent,” Jaskier clapped his hands together gleefully, “You and me Eskel, we’re gonna change the world.”

You already have, Eskel thought to himself, and I’m going to spend whatever time we have together making you see it. Making you understand. Showing you what you’ve done for us. For me. And for Geralt. The affect you’ve had on all Witchers and the world you have created for us. Just you wait and see.

Impalaloompa on ao3

[eyessharpweaponshot]

hi there!! are there any fics you’re reading right now that you would recommend? i need something good after the season we’ve been given so far 😣

hello there!

I agree, this season has been disappointing - especially considering it’s the last one. but thankfully, our fandom is full of amazing writers that serve us goods regularly. I have so much to recommend, it’s a joke. so prepare for a long fic rec. In no particular order, let’s begin:

1. Chasin’ You - @burninghoneyatdusk

okay. you’re gonna see a bit of a theme with me in these fic recs because the authors I mention are some of my favourites in the world - sam being one of the TOP TIER ones. this fic is a modern au, written about clarke and bellamy as exes (a favourite trope of mine) that have went their separate ways. clarke has moved away and hasn’t kept tabs on bellamy but he's soared to the top as a country star, his hit single being about her and what they had. if there’s any fic from this list you need to start reading, it’s this one.

2. Voices in the Water - @burninghoneyatdusk

It’s the canon version we all wanted. set on earth, clarke’s aunt (nia) forces her into an arranged marriage with king bellamy to unite the clans. but under it all, nia has tasked her to kill him. obviously, as clarke falls in love with bellamy, it’s the one task wanheda probably can’t complete. I'm in love with the imagery and descriptions in this fic. there are honestly some lines that sam writes that I want to frame and put up in my house. absolute brilliance.

3. All Because of You - @burninghoneyatdusk

*sheepishly raises hand* - hi, it’s me again, fangirling over another one of sam’s fics. if you have followed me for a while, either here or on twitter, you’ll have seen me screaming about this fic. I've pulled over while driving to read an update that came through to my email. no lie. I don’t say this lightly but it is definitely in my top 3 favourite bellarke fics of all time. sam DELIVERS with this one. bellamy knocks up his sister’s best friend when they’re both young and they grow together in raising their daughter. this fic flashes between present and future in the most seamless way and we see how in love they were back then but too scared to admit it, combined with how in love they are now that they are mature and older - but yet can’t seem to take the leap. I can’t tell you enough how good this fic is. I'm in love and it’s one of those fics that I would happily have as a book on my bookshelf, the pages worn and falling out from the amount of times that I re-read it.

*I just want to note that sam is doing a fantastic job at running @bellarkefic-for-blm. This is an opportunity for the bellarke community to directly support the Black Lives Matter cause through reading and writing fanfiction. For every fanfiction prompt a participating writer receives, they ask that you donate to an organization that supports the BLM cause. This initiative includes non-bellarke the 100 ships and requests for other content (e.g. gif sets, icons, moodboards, fanart). please check them out and request a prompt (this also includes updates for the above mentioned fics)*

4. Count Your Teeth - @icantloseyou-too

let me tell you, you guys will be well fed after reading this fic. It’s one of the most original idea’s and we get so much bellarke and the blake siblings in this one. bellamy is a treasure hunter and married to clarke, after leaving his thieving days behind him. that is until his past comes knocking and drags him back into that world again - and clarke along with him. absolute chefs kiss!

5. Cups and Sorcerers - @icantloseyou-too

again, such a unique plot with just the right amount of fluff. clarke is a witch who owns a coffee shop and she ends up meeting someone just as unique as her. I’m invested in this to an embarrassing degree and it always puts me in a good mood when this fic is updated. such a light and heart filling read and ciara does a fantastic job of world building in this fic.

6. Paint me in Trust - @pawprinterfanfic

I'm sure this fic needs no introduction. everyone and their mother has heard of it and if you haven’t read it yet, believe me, you’re missing out. a harry potter au that runs alongside the last few movies without being involved with the main characters. essie manages to make an already existing world so different, thrilling and gripping. it emotionally upends you and takes you along for the ride without any intention of letting you off. I'm just in love with it and rightly so!

7. When the Wolves Come Home - @pawprinterfanfic

I don’t know how people aren’t RAVING about this fic more because I certainly am. it’s massive for me to even say this because I love all of essie’s work but it’s my favourite fic that she’s written. I can’t describe the feeling I get when I read how she’s written bellarke in this. it’s a percy jackson au but you don’t need to have knowledge of that world to enjoy this. I actually started reading the books because of this fic. essie writes it so well and incorporates a lot of fantastic elements from greek mythology while also keeping me on the edge of my seat with bellarke’s journey. HERE FOR IT ALL THE WAY.

8. I’ll Find You in the Morning Sun - @cominguproses13x

I’ve never seen a fic talked about as much as this one. with 60 chapters, it’s bound to satisfy any hunger you have for bellarke. it’s set in a post apocalyptic world and it is beyond a shadow of a doubt, my favourite setting to read bellarke in. I've actually stopped reading this fic on chapter 5 because im currently writing my own post apocalyptic au as it was a trope on my bingo card and I don’t want any subconscious spill over, but I fully intend on reading the rest of the fic in one go once my fic is published and done. it deserves all the praise and hype.

9. For Blue Skies - @kombellarke

kayla’s fics make me actually weep. her writing style is just unbelievable and she sucks me into stories so fast. this one is no different. I live and breathe for bellarke as exes and this fic is one of my favourites. it’s a modern au with clarke as a mother and she cascades back into bellamy’s life without warning. perfect angst and anticipation. in love.

10. Love Like Fools - @talistheintrovert

the way I love talis with my whole heart. I'm always obsessed with her fics and the way this one was written was just magnificent. enemies to friends to lovers, roommates, angst, emotional comforting? SIGN ME UP. the perfect mix of all of those and I felt so good after reading this. always a fan.

11. It Had To Be You - @useyourtelescope

I had the honour of pre-reading some of this fic before it was published and I felt so privileged. a regency au with a prank war sprinkled in? perfection. hana honestly writes this so beautifully and I can’t recommend this enough. it’s so unique and we are all so incredibly lucky that there’s something in the bellarke fic world for everyone.

12. Veni, Vidi, Vinci - @carrieeve

Again, proof of the pudding that there’s something in fic for everyone. I’ve never read one like this before and it THRILLED me. murphy and bellamy working together to steal a Vinci? it was the fic I never knew I needed. the bellarke interaction in this was beautifully written and I am just completely obsessed. we really struck gold with the bellarke big bang works this year.

13. A Twist of Fate - @queenemori

let’s be honest, soulmate au’s are always wanted and needed in this fandom and kara does an excellent job of serving us this one. we got some team cockroach in here along with some top tier quality bellarke. what more could you ask for? if you haven’t read this fic yet, you need to. so thankful for kara being the absolute gifted babe that she is.

14. Power Over Me - @sparklyfairymira

okay, if you recently watched the witcher on netflix like I did, believe me, you NEED to read this fic. if you haven’t watched the witcher, this fic will make you want to watch it. the smut in this, the plot, the WRITING. absolutely phenomenal. have I mentioned how lucky we are to have such fantastic writers in this fandom?

15. There’s a Serpent Lying Deep Down in These Still Waters - @shaeheda

post apocalyptic au? SIGN ME UP. bellarke thrown together in unkind circumstances? SIGN ME UP. this magnificent human writing a fic? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP. I'm so in love with this fic already and I haven’t even finished it yet. as I've said, I've stopped reading fics in this genre until my own is completed but I’ve read enough to tell you that this needs to be on your next to read list. forever in awe of the talent here and this fic makes me feel so lucky to be part of something so great.

I hope this satisfies you for a while and that you enjoy all the bellarkey goodness that comes from these fics. I'm gonna drop some of mine below because why not? just in case you’re in need of something more.

1. I Found Peace in Your Violence

clarke griffin has it all. she’s popular, an artistic prodigy and has a wealthy family to boot. so when her perfect world comes crashing down around her, it’s time to sink or swim. she tests positive for the Homicidal Tendency Syndrome gene, also known as the kill gene. clarke is plucked from her comfortable life and placed into a school with people just like her - carriers, delinquents. when she meets bellamy blake there, he looks like everything they say HTS carriers are. a monster, a criminal. yet, he’s the one who protects her.

2. I Am Lost This Time

a void!bellamy fic that we all deserved to have happen in canon. an au where bellamy hears clarke’s radio calls from earth, sees her memories in m-cap and where she really is the key: the one that unlocks his memories and brings him back to her.

3. Purple, Blue, Orange, Red

bellarke are childhood friends and teenage lovers, reuniting in the midst of the same grief that tore them apart.

4. Devil Side

post apocalyptic setting and my favourite fic to have ever written. both of them coming together to survive and protect those in their family, including two small children. bellarke started out as strangers, who would have thought that they’d end up co-parenting in the middle of a world that is too dangerous to survive out in the open?

5. Waste It on Me

a soulmate/reincarnation au that I wrote based off my own breakup and feelings. probably my most popular fic and should keep you going in terms of bellarke feels.

[pressedinthepages]

Clean

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

also thanks to friends in the Cake Shop for the encouragement, and to @sometimesiwrite for the nudges in the right direction :D

Prompt: *Bathtub*

Relationship: Lambert/Essi

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: fluff, non-sexual nudity, brief thirsty thoughts, first kiss

Summary: Lambert is in desperate need of a bath, and Essi is more than happy to lend a helping hand.

“Gods above, Lambert, you smell like you just crawled out of the depths of hell.”

Lambert shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Not hell. Just a nest of nekkers. Not exactly known for their sweet, floral scents.”

Essi sighed and set her lute down at the foot of her bed. Lambert’s bed lay across the room, yet his was untouched. “Here,” she said, striding to the corner that kept a small wooden tub tucked away, “let me get one of the girls downstairs to fill this for you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lambert scowled as he untied the knot keeping his gambeson closed, “I’m used to the shit monster smell.”

“Just because you’re used to it doesn’t mean that you need to wallow in it all night. C’mon, your poor nostrils must be burning.” Essi spoke quickly and clearly as she turned the tub on its side to roll into the middle of the room.

Lambert took a deep breath (yes, through his mouth, shut up) and stubbornly crossed his arms. “Cool it, bard. We don’t need to waste the coin when I can just rinse off in a river when we get back on the trail tomorrow.”

Essi let the tub slam down onto the floor and matched Lambert in posture, her own arms crossed and her head cocked as she observed him through her very bright eyes. “It’s not a waste of coin, Lambert. We have plenty, you’re just being an ass.”

“This is not a new phenomenon-”

“Dammit, Lambert! Let me do this one thing for you. Please.”

Lambert paused, casting a scrutinizing eye towards Essi. Gods, she was almost shimmering, passion brewing from her very being. And yes, while Lambert may have been one of the most stubborn bastards to have ever walked on the Continent, he was also tired. And Essi seemed sincere, not wanting to do this for him for her own benefit, but actually just...for his.

Weird.

“Fine,” Lambert groused through gritted teeth, “but you make sure that they make it hot enough. If I’m taking a bath, I want the damned full experience.”

Essi nodded with finality and let a gentle smile turn the corners of her lips. “Would you like for me to see if one of them would come help? I can go and give you some privacy, if you’d like-”

Lambert sputtered as he watched Essi slide her shoes on. “N-no. Don’t do that.”

Essi shrugged, “Alright. You said you wanted the ‘full experience’ which, for men, usually involves a woman’s hand.”

“Women don’t typically take kindly to Witchers in their tubs,” Essi scowled at Lambert’s words. “Besides, I just need to get clean. I don’t need all the fancy stuff.”

Essi peered over at him with an odd look on her face. Lambert couldn’t really place it. Not pity, not amusement, nor abashedness. Just...odd. “Whatever you say, Lambert. Would you still like some time for yourself? I really don’t mind stepping ou-”

“Stay. I don’t wanna kick you out. Besides, it’s cold out. You should keep by the fire.” Lambert...wasn’t really sure where all that came from, but he could tell that it wasn’t the answer that Essi was expecting either.

Essi looked over her shoulder to him as she set her hand on the doorknob. “Alright, Lambert. I’ll see what I can round up for you.”

Lambert could hear her feet bounce down the steps towards the tavern below. He sighed to himself and continued on with removing the outer layers of his armor. The gambeson was first to hit the floor, left to the side so that he could properly clean it later. Yeah, he thought as he raised his arms above his head and caught a whiff of himself, maybe I did need that bath.

He slipped off his gloves next, flexing his newly freed fingers a bit as he threw the gloves to the floor. The boots were toed off at the door and his potions belt was set next to them. He was just contemplating the ties on his trousers when he heard approaching footsteps with a familiar cadence.

Essi knocked before she entered, as she always did whenever the two of them traveled together. Lambert never really understood it, but he also appreciated it nonetheless. The Path was not made with privacy in mind, so he cherished every little bit that he could get. He called her in and she kept the door propped open behind her.

“The innkeeper’s daughter will be up in a few moments with the water, she’s got it heating up now.” Lambert kinda lost himself in the high pink planes of her cheeks and the glow behind her crystalline eyes before the words registered in his brain.

Lambert nodded and stepped back so that Essi could set an armful of towels down on her bed and rifle through her pack. She emerged with a handful of little glass bottles and a soft scrap cloth. He quirked a brow and tried to look over just what she had snuck in here. “What’s all of that?”

Essi chuckled and glanced back over to him. “What does it look like? You said ‘full experience,’ so I brought it!”

Lambert shook his head and smirked, “I also said you didn’t need to worry about all of that. Besides, I don’t do all of the smelly soaps, it’s too much for my no-”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I chose these. Here,” Essi uncorked a small bottle and held it at arm’s length, “try this one.”

Lambert stepped forward and leaned down, just barely sniffing the contents of the bottle, fully prepared for an assault on his senses. He furrowed his brow and inhaled deeper, only just barely catching a trace of earthy spices on the tail end of the air. “That’s...not too bad. Where did you find this?”

Essi smiled wide and turned back to the other glasses on her bed. “You know, I don’t spend all of my time with Witchers. I have a friend back in Oxenfurt who is an alchemist, and they like to make soaps and such. I asked if they had anything that might not be too aggressive for your nose, and they didn’t. But they did have a few ideas, so they finished up this batch by the last time I stopped in. I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to give them to you, and now seemed like a good enough time as any, and-”

Lambert shook his head and held out his hand, palm up. Essi stopped rambling and carefully set the assortment of bottles into his grasp. “Essi. I...I can’t pay you back for this, not right now. I can’t just drop coin on this kind of stuff-”

“You don’t have to pay me back, Lambert. It’s a gift. One that you very much deserve.”

Lambert felt something weird rising up in his chest and tug behind his stomach. “I-hmpf. Thank you, Essi. It...it means a lot that you would think of something like this for me.”

Essi reached out and placed her hand gently on Lambert’s arm. “Of course. You’ll have to tell me what you think of them, and I can pass the message back to my friend for their next batch.”

Lambert ran his thumb back and forth over the smooth glass in his hand. He could feel the warmth of Essi’s skin radiate from her palm and through his linen shirt, and he wanted so desperately to be able to find the words to thank her properly. “Essi, I-”

A knock on the door startled them both and Lambert cursed himself for getting so caught up that he didn’t even hear the poor girl climbing the stairs. He pulled open the door and stepped aside for her to clamber into the room with a large pot. She upended it into the tub, letting steaming water slosh around and immediately fill the air with the thickness.

“Anything else that I can help you with?” The young woman asked kindly, crossing her hands in front of her and looking up at Lambert. He shook his head and let her out of the room, closing and bolting the door behind her.

Essi smoothed her hands down her trousers as she looked Lambert up and down. He felt her gaze rover over his skin and felt a not-unwelcome prickle at the back of his neck. “Well, are you gonna bathe, or were you wanting to just get in like that and call your laundry done?”

Lambert actually let out a bark of laughter at that one, his heart warming when he heard Essi laughing a bit herself. “No, not gonna waste this hot water on my laundry. You mind if I go ahead then?”

Essi shook her head and took the bottles back out of his hand. “Go on, it’s not like I’ve never seen a naked man.”

Lambert felt the ghost of her fingers across his palm before he reached up behind his neck to grab onto the collar of his undershirt and lift it over his head. He wrinkled his nose as he chucked it to the side, apparently now making a pile for his laundry too. While Lambert wasn’t exactly ashamed of his body, he knew that it could be...distressing for humans. Scars and burns decorated his skin and, while he was leaner than his other Wolves, he still had muscles that shifted and danced as he moved that were never really paid attention to by others. He turned away for Essi and untied his trousers before pushing them down his thighs, and while he may have caught her heart beating a bit quicker than before, it was probably just his mind.

Lambert kicked away the trousers to rest with his shirt and carefully covered his manhood with his hand before he turned back around. As he faced Essi once more, he watched in real time as her eyes drank in his body, lines crawling up and down and around, making his head swim with the sudden feeling of being seen. Not necessarily just looked at, but something more, something deeper. Something he didn’t have a name for.

Essi blinked a few times and swallowed thickly before meeting Lambert’s eyes from beneath the curl of her bangs. “Well...hmm. You uh, you should go ahead and hop in before it gets too cold.”

Lambert caught the flush of her cheeks and how her fingers sort of fidgeted at her sides, drawing his attention away from her eyes. Lambert tried to balance carefully as he stepped into the tub, one arm still occupied with keeping himself covered from Essi’s piercing gaze. Lambert’s foot broke the surface of the bath and he felt the heat crawl up beneath his skin as he fully stepped in. The water would have been scalding to a human, but to Lambert? Oh, hot fucking water was pure bliss.

He shuffled a bit as he sat down into the tub, finally finding a position with his head leaning back on the rim and his knees bent and poking above the surface of the water. He sighed as his muscles relaxed into the heat, and he closed his eyes and just let his mind quiet for a few moments. Though, he could hear Essi fiddling with something, her hands as restless as her mind, it seemed.

“Essi?”

“Hmm?” Lambert smiled a bit and peeked open one eye when he heard her voice, clearly a bit caught off guard. Her hum had been a little higher than normal, and a bit too quick.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I could use a hand with washing my hair-”

“Oh!” Essi jumped up and clambered for the array of bottles that she had spread back out on the bed. “I don’t mind at all, if you’re sure…”

Lambert hummed his assent and closed his eyes once more, listening to Essi patter about the room for a moment before coming to rest behind him. He heard a stool be set down and the gentle shifting of fabric as she sat atop it. “Right then,” she murmured, keeping her voice low and soft, “should I use that one soap I showed you, or a different one?”

Lambert shrugged as he sat up, his body warm and loose from the bath. “Maybe do that one for my hair, and I can try a different one for the rest of me?”

Lambert ducked under the water and ran his hands through his hair, rubbing down his face and along his jaw as he resurfaced. He felt the rivers of water trail down his spine and heard the telltale pacing of Essi’s heart fluttering in her chest.

He smirked as he chanced a glance over his shoulder to her. “Gonna just stare at my back all day?”

Essi, to her credit, hesitated for only half a heartbeat, just enough for Lambert to know that he had, in fact, caught her doing just that. She then huffed good-naturedly and reached out for his shoulders. “Well, if I could reach you, that would be ideal.”

Lambert hummed as he leaned and felt her hands guide him by the shoulders back to resting at the edge of the bath. He heard her take a deep breath, one that he knew was to steel the nerves. He found himself wanting to do the same, but for his own.

“Comfortable?” Essi murmured, her hands still resting lightly on the junction between Lambert’s neck and shoulders.

“Mhm,” Lambert nodded and let his eyes close. He could feel the pulse of Essi’s blood swirl beneath her fingertips, and the huffs of her breath ghost over his skin. The warm water soothed his muscles and led him down into a pseudo-meditative state, still aware of the world around him, but able to focus in on little bits of sensation as he wished.

He felt Essi’s hands leave him as she reached for one of the bottles at her side. As she pulled out the stopper, Lambert caught another whiff of the same scent from earlier. That dark, musty, earthy scent, raindrops pillowed on moss. It was accompanied now by honey and verbena, the light air wafting down from the thick golden tendrils of Essi’s hair.

Essi poured a dollop of soap into her hand and set the bottle back onto the floor before lathering her hands together. “Alright, I’ll start with your hair. Still good?”

“Yeah, fine,” Lambert hummed as he felt her fingers drag up along his scalp. He just barely held back a moan from escaping his throat as she lightly scratched back and forth through his hair, working the soap into soft, fragrant bubbles that trailed down over his forehead.

Essi began to hum, low and quiet, just barely a sound trailing from her lips. It lilted and bounced along the air with no clear direction, no endgame. Just...to be. She watched Lambert’s shoulders relax, the line of his spine dipping down further into the water and the dark hairs on his chest catching suds as they fell from the damp ends of his hair.

Once his hair was properly scrubbed, the scruff that it was, Essi let her hands follow the trail of suds down his neck to his shoulders, massaging tight and tired muscles as she went. Lambert did not succeed in holding back the groan that creaked from his throat as he crumpled slightly.

“Want to pick another one of the soaps, or should I pick for you?” Essi murmured, still smoothing her hands gently back and forth along the line of his shoulders, squeezing the muscles beneath with every pass.

Lambert hummed and shifted in the bath, the water sloshing around as he adjusted his hips. “You can pick. I trust you.”

Essi smiled as she turned to the little collection of bottles by her foot, grabbing a little bottle scented with lemongrass and sage, dabbing a small pool into the palm of her hand and working up a lather, spreading it along his arms and onto the top of his chest. She paused when she realized she wasn’t certain just how much more she could cover without… well, crossing some lines they’d never really discussed. They were friends, had become quite close in their travels. Essi knew that Lambert trusted her, just as she did in return. But some things just...hadn’t been addressed between them.

Essi scooted around so she was face to face with Lambert and washed down the line of his arm, working the suds and watching his chest rise and fall with long, deep breaths. “Alright...legs next?”

Lambert peeked open an eye, glancing around as if he were worried they’d be caught doing something inappropriate. He cleared his throat and closed his eye once more. “Y-yeah. Yeah sure. Fine.”

“Are you sure? I could not if you’d rather—”

Lambert limply waved his hand, “Nah, you’re fine. Go for it.”

Essi nodded and got to work, spreading the lather up and down his legs, massaging his feet and calves, working up to the tender muscles just above his knees.

“Oi!” He jerked away suddenly and Essi withdrew, worrying she’d accidentally hit on a tender scar or an injury from earlier. To her relief and amusement, Lambert smirked, “Tickles.”

“Sorry,” Essi snickered, “want me to move elsewhere?”

“Nah, you’re fine. Just uh-just don’t be too light there or else you may wind up with my foot to your face. Not on purpose mind you, but-”

“Alright, alright,” Essi laughed, kneading her thumbs more deeply into the skin of his thigh. Lambert’s head thunked back against the rim of the tub.

“Gods, woman. You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” Lambert sighed as he wiped his hand down along the line of his jaw.

Essi shook her head with a snicker, “Oh please Lambert. Don’t even start with m-”

“You and I both know that I would absolutely not be in a warm bath with a very pretty woman washing me just the way I like if not for you weaseling your way into my Path.” Lambert once again wasn’t sure where that came from, but Gods know it was true. Every little bit.

Essi’s cheeks went bright red, “Nonsense, Lambert. I never weasel anywhere, and certainly not onto the path. But I’ll take the credit all the same for being pretty and stubborn.”

Lambert hummed and waved his hand around dramatically. “Bah, semantics. You know how I hate when you get caught up in word play-”

Essi scoffed with a great smile on her face, “Oh, don’t you dare lie to me! You love my word play, you and that sharp mind of yours. Admit it, you’d be bored to death otherwise.”

“Someone’s taking a lot of credit this evening. Never mind the nest of fuckin’ ogroids I just destroyed so an entire village could resettle.” Lambert opened his eyes and sat up, letting his leg fall back into the water. He braced his hands on either side of the tub and-oh fuck, Essi was now much closer than anticipated.

Lambert watched her throat bob as she licked her lips and swallowed, her eyes darting quickly down to his mouth and back up once more. They sat frozen like that for a moment, a hair’s breadth away from pushing into uncharted territory.

Essi cleared her throat and looked up at the suds threatening to drip down into Lambert’s eyes. “Perhaps you should rinse, then I can make sure that everything’s clean?”

“Uh… yeah-yeah, sure.” Lambert plunged his head under the water and was grateful for a moments’ grace from whatever the fuck that was. He emerged and pinched the water clear from his nose, scrubbing at his hair and blinking profusely—he hated going under water.

Essi watched him scrub away the last remaining drops of water from his beard and fucking shit why-

“Here,” she said, reaching out (Essi, keep it together. What exactly do you think you’re doing here-) “Let me scrub your chest one last time. Just to be sure.”

“Ah, it’s okay, you really don’t have to-”

“Do you not want me t-”

“No! No, I mean if you want… I just don’t want you to feel like you have to if-”

“I don’t mind!”

“It is… nice. I mean, your hands are—” Fuckingshitfuck “—you’re good at this,” Lambert gestured broadly, hoping to alleviate the feeling of having his entire foot in his mouth. Lambert shifted forward so that Essi wouldn’t have to bend and reach quite so far, painfully aware of her hand slightly outstretched and reaching for him.

Essi smiled and shook her head. “Thanks, I think. You’re quite good with semantics, though you seem to be running in circles tonight.”

Lambert huffed good-naturedly as he felt Essi’s hands, still warm and soapy, smooth over the broad plane of his chest. Essi hummed appreciatively as she worked the soap into Lambert’s skin, working circles into the hair dusted across the toned muscle. A smile pulled at her lips, her cheeks rosy with the still-hot water and the kind atmosphere that she simply radiated.

“What is it, songbird?” Lambert couldn’t help the little smile that graced his own face while Essi kept her eyes trained steadily on her own hands on his chest.

“I-well. I’ve always loved a man with some good hair on his chest.”

Lambert’s heart quickened from it’s normally slow pace as he felt Essi’s hand still on his chest, and he looked up into her soft blue eyes. She leaned in, just barely a tilt of her head, the always troublesome curl of golden hair falling down into her eye. Lambert reached up, his hand dripping with water, and gently pushed the curl back behind her ear, his fingers glancing over the impossibly soft skin of her cheek.

Essi closed her eyes and let herself hope, just for a moment, that she knew where this was going. She heard Lambert sigh and she blinked up, finding him closing the distance between her with a quiet, “Oh, what the hell.”

Their lips met with Essi’s hands still on Lambert’s chest and his hands in her hair. It was nothing more than a simple peck at first, a sweet push into unknown waters. But that didn’t last long, for she felt Lambert’s hands tighten in her hair and pull her close, licking insistently at the seam of her mouth.

She granted him access with a gasp, working her tongue with his and running her fingers down and around his chest, her fingers teasing the water line. Lambert tasted of woodsmoke and spice and cherries and Essi’s head swam as he kissed her intensely. Gods, Lambert kissed her like she imagined soldiers coming home from the war kissed their wives: methodical, thorough, devouring her soul with teeth and tongue and his hands grasping onto her so tightly that it could’ve hurt if he hadn’t keened lowly into her mouth.

Lambert shifted back, breaking apart from Essi for a gasp of air. She followed him though, pressing their lips back together and clambering into the bathtub, settling in his lap. He laughed into her mouth and settled his hands on her waist, “Essi, what the fuck? You’re gonna get all we-”

“Oh shut up and kiss me again.” Essi ran her fingers through Lambert’s hair as she leaned down, kissing up his jaw and meeting his lips once more.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

[gayregis]

what's a witcher headcanon you have but has literally nothing to back it up?

like i know eskel would be scary good at estimating times for a microwave and milva would be a god at jenga. why/how do i know this? who's to say

i can actually somewhat explain both of those headcanons. eskel either can cook (correct, wholesome headcanon) or can’t (wrong, stereotypical canon) and both of these possibilities mean he has to know how to use a microwave really really well. as for milva, butches love construction, jenga is practically the science of building houses but as a game.

as for my own... hm kind of difficult because a lot of my headcanons are based in canon so... some of these are more connected to canon than others, but they’re closer to my own uniqueness rather than sapkowski’s work:

dandelion

dandelion’s family (the de lettenhoves) paid for his college education in exchange that he would never use his true name and titles when he published his works, because they are a family largely involved in governmental appointments, and did not want any horrible saucy love poetry (most of what he wrote when he was nineteen) being linked back to them. to this day they’ve disowned him, he lost his lands, and he is forbidden from coming back to any of their estates if not undercover. it’s all very hush-hush. they tricked him into thinking that it was for his own good, telling him that his real name was far too famous, even more famous that he would be soon...

dandelion’s father died when he was young, which led his mother to guide his childhood (basically instructing the servants to raise him) in a strict and masculine direction... this obviously did not work out as planned. but it’s largely why dandelion is regarded as a disappointment by his family, because he was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps to stay at the estates (ha!) and marry (ha!) to create an alliance with another noble family.

dandelion and essi’s entire backstory that i’ve planned out: essi enrolled as a student at oxenfurt and as a first year she was appointed by the department to be under dandelion’s guidance. they hit it off on the wrong foot at first (essi thought dandelion was lazy and slovenly, dandelion thought she was prissy and stuckup). but dandelion quickly recognized that essi was extremely talented and had a gift for music, so he asked her why in hell was she directed for further guidance? she admitted that she had stage fright... horrible stage fright. he laughed, thinking she was joking. she wasn’t. the story that follows then is that essi’s stage fright was symbolized by her iconic hair which fell over one eye, which was mocked by her peers - dandelion advised her to own it instead and turn it into a persona - much like what he did when he was her age, his peers called him dandelion (buttercup) on account of his blonde hair that has a tendancy to fan out like petals, and he adopted it as his persona.

on a similar note, what dandelion’s office at oxenfurt looks like: it’s basically treated as a walk-in closet for outfits he’s purchased but doesn’t have a permanent space elsewhere for. other valuables that can’t be kept on his person or in his saddlebags are kept here too. it’s much less of an office to do work and way more of a storage room. the desk has many finished bottles of alcoholic drinks and a lot of manuscripts stored inside (his own, because of the works he admires, he can recall from memory precisely what was written in them)

milva (sorry all of them are about her being a lesbian)

the dryads of brokilon adore milva more than they would ever let on. they find her very interesting because she’s a human, but she’s also one of them, but she also works with the scoia’tel. when milva comes back to brokilon after a journey, she finds herself crowded by dryads asking her how she is doing and what happened on her trip. because of this, milva’s quite good at storytelling, in her own colloquialisms and manners of speech. the dryads are captured by her stories of the world beyond brokilon, and very much enjoy her company, though milva was unaware of exactly how much they enjoyed it (if you get what i’m saying). 

milva realizes she’s a lesbian in toussaint because of her encounter with the baron de trastamara, in which she rebuked his marriage proposal and cried at the kitchen table and in the stables. she appreciated the baron’s friendship more than his romantic advances, and she was crying because she was upset that she couldn’t find true romance in her heart for him. angouleme states at the kitchen table that the hunting trip was overnight, suggesting that the baron asked milva for sex. i headcanon that he did, and milva couldn’t find it in herself to say yes. when the baron became upset at this and pestered her a little to find out why she refused his advances, she had an emotional outburst at him and left at once, for she herself didn’t really know.

additionally, many of the women shopkeepers in toussaint flirted with milva but she didn’t understand their advances. particularly a fishmonger and a fletcher, both of which are OCs... it wasn’t until angouleme (not giving milva an option on whether to accept her company or not) followed milva around on errands one day that she witnessed their interactions and then (in a very annoying little sister manner) bugged milva about how cute of a couple they would be, to which milva took shock and offense. but this got milva thinking about the subject.

regis

regis took on a variety of ridiculous titles when he was younger. “the prince of darkness” and things like this. it added to his already quite-long name. it sounded as stupid as it does with me explaining it.

regis has never paid rent or taxes. he acquired the house and shop in dilingen because he came to the city after he had rehabilitated himself, and found it in a state of disrepair and abandonment. he fixed it up very nicely (perhaps much like as he did with himself... symbolism!) and grew flowers in the windowsills. when city officials came to investigate, accusing him of taking up residence illegally, he simply placed them under a vampire’s spell and told them: “nonsense, i’ve always lived here!” to which they replied, “oh, of course you have, master barber-surgeon! apologies for bothering you!”

in his house and shop in dilingen, the layout is like this: the first floor is the shop, which carries a variety of medicaments, herbal remedies, and also has a setup for surgery. behind a hidden door is the stash of mandrake brew that only select customers know to request (regis only tells them about it if he has vetted them beforehand - i.e., known them well and known them well enough that he knows he will not start an addiction for them, i.e., he doesn’t sell to the young and stupid, or horribly depressed and afraid, but just those looking to enjoy life). the second floor is his house, which is decorated sparsely much like his cottage nearby fen carn. it’s nicer, with furnishings sourced from around the city, but is still humble. the attic is the setup for barber-surgery, but for birds - mostly corvids but other urban birds as well, that have injured themselves or are having other troubles. he welcomes them to roost and come to him with any problems they may be having.

angouleme

angouleme’s biological mother was young(ish) when she had her, which also pressured her into giving her up to relatives - she was an unmarried maiden, and being a noble, that is significant for making political alliances with other noble families. they pretended she was a virgin so she could remarry and bear children in marriage; however, because she and the other nobility of cintra were slaughtered, caught right in the crossfire of the nilfgaardian massacre of cintra, she didn’t survive into her first pregnancy, so angouleme has no bioligical half-siblings.

angouleme is trans and likes dressing femininely, but on account of her situation was never able to on the road, until she got to toussaint and had not only the safety but the finances to do so. somewhat based on canon that she was happy to get out of riding pants in lady of the lake, the narration calls her a “pretty girl”... it’s just nice to imagine her happy and with gender euphoria instead of dysphoria

regis is a good mentor and guardian to her in toussaint. it started as them both being up late in the kitchen and regis (as he does) giving advice, without suggesting any shame or judgement. after a while, angouleme trusted him enough to ask him for help when she got into trouble with local banditry. thens he invited him to help her on heists. he was hesitant at first but agreed, citing that she needed supervision for such activities. he brings a book to read while she does whatever she needs to do, but perhaps is more involved than he would admit - pointing out hidden safes and such in the darkness with his vision.

i didn’t do any for cahir or geralt because i feel like canon’s already gotten them enough? 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Robin Hood Au

Geralt of the Green Hood and his Merry Witchers live and hide poor refugees within the seemingly endless tress of Kaer Morhen forest

They steal money and food from the nobility and give it back to the poor 

TREE FORTS FILLED WITH WITCHERS AND THEIR ALLIES

Eskel is Little John

Lambert is Will Scarlet

Vesemir as the tired-of-this-shit but dedicated Friar Tuck

Jaskier as Maid Marian (of course)

Yennefer as Maid Marian’s lady-in-waiting (or in this case his court sorceress and mischievous bff)

Essie Daven as Allan-a-Dale, close friend to both Geralt and Jaskier and wandering minstrel

Valdo Marx as Sir Guy of Gisbourne, who wants to marry Jaskier for the money and inherited title (romantic rival/foil for Geralt)

They do become engaged at one point and Geralt has to rescue Jaskier from his own arranged marriage. It’s very romantic and daring and the young noble won’t shut up about it for days afterward.

Leo Bonhart as the Sheriff of Nottingham

He’s sworn to aide Sir Guy in getting rid of Geralt of the Green Hood once and for all

The real action picks up when Geralt wins a sword-fighting competition and the prize is a golden arrow (which the Merry Witchers can sell for supplies) and a kiss from Jaskier, which he accepts begrudgingly 

Love at First Sight for the young noble and Lust at First Kiss for our surly Witcher protagonist

Jaskier spends days writing poetry and singing about Geralt from the confines of his tower room while his bff and fellow trickster, Yennefer, tries her best to get a message to Geralt begging for rescue

Meanwhile Geralt is avoiding capture by the law as he tries to prove the Sheriff is collecting illegal taxes and putting people in debtors prison without any real reason

Jaskier finds a document in Valdo’s castle that has all the proof they need to discredit the Sheriff and free the peasants and gets it to Geralt safely

Valdo realizes that only Jaskier could have found and spread that secret information so quickly and locks his soon-to-be husband (wife? you guys like wife) in the tower until their wedding night

Geralt has to mount an attack a la Robin Hood (1938) in order to whisk Jaskier away from his own wedding feast and the terrible clutches of Sir Valdo Marx

FOREST HIJINX

MEN IN TIGHTS!?

ROMANCE!?

And of course, at the end, after they’ve defeated the bad guys and the King has returned from war to pardon the Witchers, Geralt and Jaskier get very happily married

They also end up adopting/raising the King’s magically gifted and suddenly orphaned niece, Cirilla, who turns out to be an excellent student (which mean Yen teaches/adopts her as well)

[oldandkinky]

Haha, oh dear! Sorry @misterstalker !

The first title (Honey In Your Voice, Poison On Your Tongue) I made up myself. It's supposed to reflect Geralt's relatively gentle handling of Jaskier - helping get Essi back, being pretty civil during dinner, Axii'ing Essi to sleep - up until he gets what he wants. Even then he pretends to be considerate, making Jaskier "choose" how he's raped.

Sweet As Honey Cake was also made up and is pretty self explanatory, I guess.

I think Your Lips Are Poison was also made up? If it came from a song I don't remember which one. This is the part where Geralt starts "falling" for Jaskier (*gag*), where he kisses him for the first time and where he bites him. There's also a lot of insults and yelling.

Thrill Me, Nearly Kill Me is from Honey Honey by ABBA (which has one of the best music videos of all time):

Honey honey, how you thrill me, ah-hah, honey honey

Honey honey, nearly kill me, ah-hah, honey honey

I heard about you before

I wanted to know some more

And now I know what they mean, you're a love machine

Oh, you make me dizzy

Blood Honey comes from a Marilyn Manson song of the same name. There's a pretty stark confrontation between Geralt's developing feelings for Jaskier and reality, in Geralt trying to be gentle, wanting things to be good between them, except Jaskier refuses to play along.

I got you tied up and I love it

Tied up and I love it

Now, why would I set you free?

Now you're tied up, you love it

No lies now, I love it

I'm not being mean, I'm just being me

Honeybee is from a Steam Powered Giraffe song. Here Geralt is this close to maybe getting what he's doing to Jaskier, when the mage shows him Jaskier's dream, but of course he goes in the opposite direction and comes to the conclusion that he just has to try harder to make Jaskier see reason.

Hello, goodbye, I'm rather crazy

And I never thought I was crazy

But what do I know? (But what do I know?)

I let myself go (I let myself go)

The Poison Tree Growing In Me is from Poison Tree by Grouper. In this part, there is almost a truce of sorts between the two, and Jaskier seems to have given up the fight without actually submitting, and Geralt tries to buy his affection with gifts and gentleness.

Make the poison tree growing in me begin

Let your branches dwarf my name

Let your honey harden me

Blood loving, whisper poisoning

Oh, beautiful poison tree, let your flower grow in me

Let your sorrow grow in me

Take away my blood and home

Take your flowers deep inside of me

Place us in comforting

In my insides' a tiny poison tree

Your Poison Honey Is The Sweetest is from Honey and Poison by Arrington de Dionyso which is obviously about doing drugs but whatever. Geralt is pretty quickly losing it in this part, and I honestly don't know if Eskel being there made things better or worse.

Of all the animals dancin' together in your garden party

The serpent is the smoothest

Of all the tastes that touch my tongue tonight

Your poison honey is the sweetest

I feel it kickin' in at the base of my spine

Rollin' up my body like a creepin' vine

Burnin' my tongue, burnin' my throat

Got a dragon deep inside me, wanna come out

I have no idea where Beautiful Wreck came from. Sorry.

Drink of the Gods is from Nectar by Lia Marie Johnson. It's... pretty self explanatory, I think.

I am the flowers you burn on your

Cherry tongue

Blooming taste buds

Makes me go numb

You are extended ecstasy

Through my lungs

Melodies sung

You are young love

You are my night sky

My fire

You are my fate

My desire

You are my dosage

Take me higher

Bet My Life On a Dumb Song is another blank, sorry. I ought to write this shit down...

[mordoriscalling]

The Second Waltz (pt. 1&2/5)

(This story is inspired by what I talked about in this post as well as the fic “Defiance & Destiny” by  letmetellyouaboutmyfeels) 

Wanda Pankratz observed the centre of the ballroom with rapt attention, her cornflower blue eyes twinkling. She watched the two figures dance together with such an astounding harmony that all the other pairs stopped in their tracks and stared at them. When the man dressed in black twirled the man in blue in the air, the Countess de Lettenhove’s lips curled into a pleased grin. She shared a look with her husband Alfred, then spoke to the witcher standing next to her.

“Mister Witcher,” she said, “I think it’s a match.”

Eskel of the Wolf School inclined his head with an amicable smile and answered, “So it seems.”

***

“Which one is better?” Jaskier asked his sisters as he raised a white and a red doublet in the air.

“The red one,” Essi answered. The very same moment, Priscilla replied, “The white one.”

In the privacy of the room, the two ladies snickered inelegantly, and Jaskier snorted in amusement. “Always so helpful, my dears.”

“Glad to be of service,” Priscilla deadpanned, then returned to scribbling verses in her notebook, leaning back against the chair by the desk.

Jaskier watched her closely, searching for any indication of sorrow on her face, but his older sister’s expression revealed nothing but concentration. It had been a long time since she had composed anything, and Jaskier was relieved to see her write again.

“Why bother asking, brother dear?” Essi sang, effectively breaking Jaskier out of his grim contemplation. She got up from her seat at the edge of the bed and danced over to her brother’s side, singing on, “true beauty cannot be stifled by even the foulest of garments.”

The Viscount de Lettenhove smiled at his sister younger warmly. “Oh, my sweet Poppet –”

His words were cut off by their mother entering the room. Lady Wanda Pankratz swept her gaze over her son’s bedroom, taking in what had to be at least half of her son’s considerable wardrobe laid out on every surface available. She smirked knowingly and addressed Jaskier, “I advise you to dress well tonight, Julian.”

“Why, mother, I always dress well.”

The Countess rolled her eyes. “Exceptionally well, then,” she corrected herself, then began walking around the room, looking at each doublet with scrutiny. “We’re expecting some special guests,” she said.

“Special guests?” Jaskier and Essi asked.

Wanda Pankratz offered no response as she took an exquisite blue doublet with silk floral embroidery from where it was draped over a chaise long. Handing the piece of clothing to her son, she said, “Wear this one. You look dashing in it.” Jaskier’s mouth was already opening, so she rushed to add, “Yes, as you do in everything, my dear.” She let out a sigh, regarding her middle child with fond exasperation. “You’re my son, after all.”

Jaskier grinned and kissed her on the cheek. “The talent and the looks are all from you, dearest mother.”

“The knack for attracting trouble is from father, though,” Priscilla remarked.

Lady Pankratz chuckled but didn’t deny it. She gazed at her children – all three looking back at her with wide blue eyes, same as hers – and her heart swelled with love and pride. Priscilla, Julian and Essi Pankratz were known as some of the best bards in the country. The three of them were exceptionally gifted in the area of musical talent and wordsmithery, and each one possessed a quality that made them even more remarkable. Priscilla had a truly angelic voice, Julian was an extraordinary performer, and Essi’s songs were poetically unparalleled. It was no wonder that most Witchers on the British Isles wished to enter a partnership with one of the Pankratz siblings.

Wanda Pankratz, however, a retired legendary bard herself, allowed only the best of the best anywhere near her children.

“I must ask you to at least try not to attract any trouble tonight,” she said, “This ball’s going to be important.”

“Important how?” Jaskier inquired with a bemused frown.

“And who’s coming?” Essi pressed.

“You’ll see,” their mother replied, an enigmatic smile on her lips, then walked out of the room.

Jaskier and Essi stared at each other, curious and confused, then directed their gazes at Priscilla, who kept scribbling, suspiciously unmoved by the whole situation.

“Who’s coming, then?” Jaskier asked. His older sister didn’t seem to register the question. “Priscilla?”

Priscilla hummed. “I don’t know,” she answered, not even glancing up from her notebook.

“You must know something,” Essi insisted.

After a moment of expectant silence, Priscilla sighed in resignation, her shoulders slumping. She closed the little book in her lap and finally looked at her siblings. “I do not know their names,” she said, “I’ve only overheard mother talking to Miss Hughes. Two more guest rooms needed to be prepared, for two gentlemen and two ladies.” Her posture stiffened. “I also accidentally found out that father has been corresponding with Kaer Morhen but–”

Jaskier and Essi gasped.

“Witchers?!” the young Viscount exclaimed, his whole demeanour already buzzing with excitement. 

“At last!” Essi gushed, “Maybe I’ll finally partner with one! Oh, I’ve been waiting for –”

“Do not long for what you don’t know,” Priscilla cut in harshly, “The Path can be gruelling and deadly, and there’s little glory in the life of a witcher.”

Essi and Jaskier sobered immediately. They looked at their older sibling – who sat in the chair rigidly with a far-away look in her eyes – and their hearts ached for her.

“We won’t talk about it, then,” Jaskier said gently.

“No!” Priscilla protested, “please, don’t stop for my sake.” She bit her lip. “I simply... don’t want you two to end up the way I have.”

The Viscount and his younger sister shared a look.

“That witcher is the greatest fool in the world to have done what he did,” Essi proclaimed with a fierce glint in her eye.

“Indeed,” Jaskier agreed readily, “my dear Prissy, he should’ve come after you to grovel and beg you to return to him the moment he let you go.”

Priscilla was the first of the Pankratz siblings to partner with a witcher. Four years ago, already known for her talent at nineteen years of age, Priscilla was invited by Coën of the Griffin school to enter a partnership with him. Overjoyed, she agreed. Her family had no objections, for Coën seemed to be a wonderful match. A well-mannered, chivalrous intellectual – the perfect witcher for their perfect Priscilla. She chose the stage name of Callonetta and departed with Coën for the Path.

Whenever a letter from the eldest Pankratz sibling arrived home, it always spoke at length about the joy that Priscilla found in being Coën’s bard. As Callonetta’s first songs about the Griffin witcher started circling around, her verses about him showed a deep understanding of his person. Her words were soft and full of gentle love, but Priscilla always claimed in her letters that they were dearest of friends, never betraying anything else about the nature of their relation. Her family didn’t pressure her to say anything more about it – her well-being mattered to them the most and she did seem genuinely happy on the road with Coën.

At least until the day a year and a half ago, when Coën almost got fatally injured during a hunt and sent Priscilla away.

She still refused to talk about it. Every time the subject of witchers was brought up, Priscilla’s usual lively and radiant countenance stilled into a firm, guarded expression. She didn’t allow anyone to see her hurt, even now, as she was among her siblings.

“If only it was so easy,” she replied.

Jaskier sighed. “Well, no matter,” he said cheerfully, “witchers coming or not, we’ll have a wonderful time, won’t we?” He started dancing around the room, swaying to the music which only he could hear. Humming a melody under his breath, he began singing, “we shall dance and drink, and not sleep a blink.” He waltzed over to Essi, took her by the hand and spun her around. “We shall put Joy herself to shame,” he sang on, “and again make history forget Valdo’s name.”

Essi laughed and Jaskier twirled her again. He kept dancing with her and singing increasingly ridiculous verses until his younger sister was giggling hysterically and Priscilla finally smiled.

TBC

Part 3

***

A/N: Tagging @siriusly-the-best-bi as requested! :D I’d like to update every two days, so part 3 is coming on Tuesday. Jaskier and Geralt will actually meet and dance together! (I have to write more than 1k words just to get them to dance, apparently xD)