so it’s a series now
Feb. 20th, 2020 01:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7via https://ift.tt/2v35yDk
Meet Death Sitting is a series because I couldn’t come up with a separate series title and the motif repeats in the probably-third story, and so it seems reasonable. Anyway, for the moment, I have written a little sequel that contains a plot-point literally no one in the history of ever has ever asked for, but one that seemed really obvious to me, especially after the bit about herb lore in the previous story:
Ciri is a young lady of a particular age who now has a feral mutant gremlin for a dad, and if that means a middle-aged bisexual disaster bard has to be her mom and give her The Talk, well then. So be it.
The Miraculous Sisterhood, on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22808449
“It’s not true that I don’t know how babies are made,” Geralt said uncomfortably.
“Mm, is that so?” Jaskier said. “How many normal adult women have you had normal adult relationships with anyway?”
Geralt glared at him. “That’s not the point,” he said.
“Well,” Jaskier said, “then you go ahead, explain it to Ciri so she’ll know what to avoid, and I’ll just sit and observe.”
“No,” Geralt sighed. “It’s better if you do. Just– don’t give her scandalous ideas?”
“Are you lecturing me about my dissipated lifestyle?” Jaskier asked.
“No,” Geralt said.
Jaskier grinned at him. “I have to get you all annoyed with me so that you’ll miss me when I go,” he said.
Ciri looked up. “Are you really going?” she asked.
“I have to,” Jaskier said.
“No, come with us,” she said, starting to look distraught.
“We already talked about it,” Jaskier said. “I have to go.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “But you’re my mother now,” she said, and laughed, and the tears spilled over at the same time. Jaskier made a pained noise and came over and took her into his arms again, and they sat like that for a while.
He cried too. Why not. He was a tired old man and had nothing to prove to anyone. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said thickly. “I have to go.”
Meet Death Sitting is a series because I couldn’t come up with a separate series title and the motif repeats in the probably-third story, and so it seems reasonable. Anyway, for the moment, I have written a little sequel that contains a plot-point literally no one in the history of ever has ever asked for, but one that seemed really obvious to me, especially after the bit about herb lore in the previous story:
Ciri is a young lady of a particular age who now has a feral mutant gremlin for a dad, and if that means a middle-aged bisexual disaster bard has to be her mom and give her The Talk, well then. So be it.
The Miraculous Sisterhood, on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22808449
“It’s not true that I don’t know how babies are made,” Geralt said uncomfortably.
“Mm, is that so?” Jaskier said. “How many normal adult women have you had normal adult relationships with anyway?”
Geralt glared at him. “That’s not the point,” he said.
“Well,” Jaskier said, “then you go ahead, explain it to Ciri so she’ll know what to avoid, and I’ll just sit and observe.”
“No,” Geralt sighed. “It’s better if you do. Just– don’t give her scandalous ideas?”
“Are you lecturing me about my dissipated lifestyle?” Jaskier asked.
“No,” Geralt said.
Jaskier grinned at him. “I have to get you all annoyed with me so that you’ll miss me when I go,” he said.
Ciri looked up. “Are you really going?” she asked.
“I have to,” Jaskier said.
“No, come with us,” she said, starting to look distraught.
“We already talked about it,” Jaskier said. “I have to go.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “But you’re my mother now,” she said, and laughed, and the tears spilled over at the same time. Jaskier made a pained noise and came over and took her into his arms again, and they sat like that for a while.
He cried too. Why not. He was a tired old man and had nothing to prove to anyone. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said thickly. “I have to go.”
