biggest-gaudiest-patronuses:No greater betrayal than waking up after 9 hours of sleep and your body.

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No greater betrayal than waking up after 9 hours of sleep and your body is sore. Like bitch I spent last night sleeping where the fuck were you

fic update: Learning Experiences

to post this during not-winter

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This is the Baby Lambert fic but he isn’t in this chapter, this is some Geralt stuff.

Mostly, I wanted to give Varin a little more dimension, though Geralt’s POV makes it tricky to really get a handle on him. Still.

Chapter 4: Frostproof https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121523/chapters/66023854

“Show me your hands,” Varin said. “I want to see if you’re frostproof.”

Somewhat bemused, Geralt held out his hands, and Varin inspected them. As he did so, Geralt realized the swordmaster’s left hand was frostbitten, the fingers swollen taut. Geralt’s hands weren’t exactly comfortable, but no, he didn’t have frostbite. Varin looked up into his face, and he was startled to note that the older Witcher had patches of frostbite on his cheeks and nose as well.

“Perhaps you are frostproof,” Varin said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Or I had good mittens,” Geralt said.

“That’s true, it’s hardly a conclusive test,” Varin said. He kept his eyes on Geralt’s face, searching as if he’d find some other evidence there. “You could’ve taken a couple more potions too, doubtless.”

“I mean,” Geralt said, “so could you.” He shrugged. “Is that what this was about? You want to know if I was worth it? The answer’s no, Varin, I’m not that much better. Not three boys’ worth better.”

Varin glanced down at Geralt’s hands, then released them and looked back up into his face, clasping his own hands behind himself. “That wasn’t why I came with you,” he said.

cringepics: cringepics: we should just do each others dishes more. there is no punchline at the end.

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cringepics https://cringepics.tumblr.com/post/630767987000000512/we-should-just-do-each-others-dishes-more-there :

we should just do each others dishes more. there is no punchline at the end of this text post. dishes suck and they’re often the first thing that falls to the wayside when someone is depressed, or having a bad time, or just plain busy. i cannot tell you how many times i have just had my glass of wine or a joint standing at the kitchen sink - sure, we could sit on your couch, but if we’re just going to talk and vibe anyway, i might as well do these for you. it’s an act of simple love. i never feel more grateful than for the people who come into my home and share domesticity as friendship. it’s neither a burden nor a chore to help; theyre not my dishes. they’re yours. and we can do them together.

oh my gosh this is what i do for people i love too. i’m bad at doing mine but. I’ve learned where all three of my sisters’ dishes go, and I’ll just… empty the dishrack, or load the dishwasher, or unload the dishwasher, or just do up whatever is in the sink, and then I’ll clean the sink too, and it’s what I do if I’m there long enough, and that’s the level I love to be at– not only do you not feel you have to frantically clean when I come, I come often enough that I can contribute to the routine, and give you a little more time to sit and chat with me. That’s what I want.