dragonlady7

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runawaymarbles https://runawaymarbles.tumblr.com/post/675095166568349696/after-5-days-and-700000-words-i-was-attempting-to :

After 5 days and 700,000 words I was attempting to explain the triads of Meet Death Sitting https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639717 and

that’s it that’s the series

pats Geralt my sweet baby slut

[image description: a handwritten diagram featuring a network of characters family-tree-style with lines between them indicating that they’ve had sexual relations. Geralt’s roughly in the middle and is connected to eight people, several of whom are also connected to one another, and a few of whom are also connected to other people.]

Best believe more lines are gonna connect before I’m done here

(Also, well done, five days might be a record??) (Your picture was not posted)

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Ha, I don’t know! I know I feel like most times when I encounter ageless Elves in a canon I definitely feel like I’ve given the repercussions of that worldbuilding more thought than most authors except Tolkien, who gave too much thought to literally everything.

I wasn’t prolific in the Silm fandom but I did read all of the Histories of Middle-Earth, and at one point actually transcribed a bunch of the Fall of Gondolin because it was a library book and I didn’t have a scanner. So.

I only have one Silm fic on AO3, which the dear hearts at Open Doors transferred for me because I’d lost my henneth-annun login by then and I did not have a fair copy of the thing on my hard drive. Cool Waters is notable for being one of the first fics I ever had beta’d, by none other than a_tehta https://tmblr.co/mJ5S_zBHhrMemgM4Jv5ZPFw who I was delighted to realize is still around under that pseud, and my beta was like “you… mention teeth in this thing a lot is that meant to be a theme” and then we had an extremely lengthy discussion about what teeth would be like for an immortal person, and wound up cutting almost all of the mentions of them from that fic, but I definitely carried this weird energy with me into the Witcher fandom because

you can’t have ageless characters and not address what happens to their fucking teeth with normal wear and tear ok

anyway. Thank you for asking, and thank you for reading. :) (Your picture was not posted)

keira metz/lambert/aiden

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This still doesn’t get us quite to the smut, but we’re enroute.

chapter 10, on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876890/chapters/73641267

In previous chapters Aiden’s noticed he can press some of Keira’s buttons to get entertaining results: here, Keira is starting to explore what buttons she can press in return, and they’re mostly about emotional manipulation.

Lambert had hauled himself out of the water and was wrapped in his beautiful robe, standing at her elbow and watching her work. “Will it scar, doctor?” he asked, mock-serious, when she turned her head a little to acknowledge him.

“No, ma’am,” she said, smiling slightly, “your husband’s beauty will be no more marred than it already is.”

Lambert’s gaze went funny and indirect; he really liked the word husband, but obviously would never have thought to use it for himself. A quick glance at Aiden confirmed he’d gone very slightly pink in the cheeks and was studiously looking away; he liked it too and was trying not to let on. She laughed at them, though she was a bit startled to realize how fond the sound was when it came out.

“You two are precious,” she said. “Here, Aiden, I got you a robe, put that on and let’s go back to the real world.”

I was really dying to have her say you guys are so gay right there but the limitations of the genre constrained me.

Rest assured that in the modern a/u of this [which only exists for this headcanon purpose] she has so much fun teasing them like a middle-schooler that at one point a well-meaning busybody bystander scolded her for her homophobia, to their wild entertainment, and only Aiden was nice enough to tell the busybody that it was all consensual.

Also, fuck, I really want to write an indulgent epilogue where everyone’s in exquisite lingerie, and commission fanart of it, and I’m just– listen, we know Lambert’s into lace but would Aiden be in velvet or leather?? (Your picture was not posted)

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Chapter 4, on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276716/chapters/70091700

Listen there’s a lot going on so here, have a chapter update. We all need the distraction.

Mages could read minds, Aiden knew that, so he narrowed his eyes and thought Hey, fuck you, as hard as he could.

She didn’t seem to notice; she only had eyes for Lambert, who had reached over and kicked the bottom of her chair leg. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you failing to empty that bowl,” he said. “I didn’t make that special for you and then put such a reasonable amount into that bowl for you not to eat it.”

“I ate a lot,” she protested. “I don’t have your metabolism, Lambert. Aretuza gave me tits, not a hollow leg.”

Aiden was distracted from his attempts to psychically insult her by attempting to parse that sentence. “Aretuza… gave you… tits,” he mused, and then screwed up his face and said, “What, like, as souvenirs?”

“Why do you think all sorceresses have more or less the same rack?” the mage asked, poking herself in the side of one breast to jostle it. It moved as though it were in a supportive undergarment of some kind instead of more or less suspended in midair behind an embroidered panel that only half-covered it. “There’s a fellow whose job it is to give us the Look at the end of our schooling, and he has very conventional tastes. I didn’t grow these myself, like some sort of peasant.” (Your picture was not posted)

lambert/aiden

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Dusty Corridors, on AO3, Chapter 1 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276716

oh i do not have the brainspace for chapters to have titles, getting a whole title on this fic was like, more than my feeble mind could handle.

I would not normally post at night but I’m trying to squeeze this out ahead of yuletide shit and people like. christmasing and whatnot.

Aiden laughed, not moving his head from its safe harbor. “Geralt does always seem to have some bizarrely epic problems.”

“Like you would not believe,” Lambert said. “I think like, you know how if sharks stop swimming they drown? I think if Geralt doesn’t get a pretty regular dose of drama, preferably dick-first, he’ll just dry up and fall apart.”

There’s sex in this one too. that was my goal, to get that up for Christmas. It’s not like. Great sex, or elaborate sex, or the coveted threesome, but it’s still sex. And a good solid reassuring cuddle, which I think we all need.

And we have officially eclipsed 2015 on the leaderboard for words posted on AO3 in a single year, so now 2020 is in third place! Only 9k words to go to overtake 2014, which also sucked, so. I could, but people are going to be busy with Yuletide and such.

I still might tho guys, depending on how bored and sad I am. (Your picture was not posted)

writing

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i am so pleased with myself, i just got Lambert to largely unironically call someone “buddy” mid-coitus, but I can’t post a snippet because too many inherent spoilers in the entire scene, since the bit of the series I have posted so far is still largely pre-Plot.

ah I can post this because the sarcastic nickname doesn’t actually reveal anything

“I just– I don’t want to– before you’re ready, Princess,” okay, he might be a bit far gone for sarcasm, but he was nothing if not willing to die trying when it came to that sort of shit.

keira metz/lambert

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bomberqueen17 https://bomberqueen17.tumblr.com/post/631251093623537664/new-fic-the-ideal-man :

OK I finished enough of it that I’m putting the first chapter up. Lambert doesn’t get pegged in the first chapter, which is the sole reason I didn’t just call it Lambert Gets Pegged. Chapter 2 will follow soon.

Chapter 1: Uncertain Welcome, on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847148

She was awfully pretty, and he wondered how much of it was real. What he liked about her were the tantalizing glimpses she gave him of the real person, but she was wrapped up in so much bullshit, like she felt she had to put on a show all the time. Of course the very most attractive part was the way she could shoot fucking lightning out of her hands and destroy enemies, but that was also the most frightening part of her and you couldn’t really build a relationship on that sort of aroused terror. Her sarcasm and dry sense of humor and fantastic tits had filled in the rest and at this point he was fairly hooked.

Well, it didn’t matter; he still wasn’t sure what it was she liked about him, and figured it was too much to ask for to try and get her to just be genuine with him. This was pretty explicitly a convenience thing, not like, a marriage of true loves, so.

reblogging for the morning crowd, and also adding a note, since someone pointed out that readers who’re just along for the series ride and started off blithely with Netflix Geralt and Jaskier– this story takes place about ten years later, after the events of Witcher 3, and some sad shit has happened even with the happiest (I think) possible ending, so while the story’s subject matter seems pretty lighthearted it’s also underpinned with some genuine grief. So, brace yourself going in, and I’m gearing up for the happiest possible ending probably but it’s not starting from a cheerful place. Both characters have been through some heavy shit. So it’s really not… entirely a fluff piece.

listen some people? get pegged? to cope? j/k but not really

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Baby Lambert and Young Geralt have a chapter update

i don’t have time to write it up super well because i’m in charge of homeschooling today plz excuse but:

chapter 3, they only train boys https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121523/chapters/64610968

in which we get our first inkling that Lambert’s gender is Fuck You, though he’s politer about it when he’s little.

warnings in notes if needed

“They’ll teach you more once you’re through the Trials,” Ksenya said.

“If I make it,” Lambert put in, narrow-eyed.

“If,” she conceded. “So, Lambert, are you a boy?”

Lambert hesitated, darted a sidelong look at Geralt, and then looked back at her, eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said, unconvincingly.

“Because they only train boys,” she said, smiling and pointing at him as if he’d said something very clever she was pleased by.

“Exactly,” he said, satisfied, in on the joke.

happy birthday to me!, the witcher

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Dang I haven’t posted any fic in a while. Well, I’ve been working on this one a while.

As a gift to myself and the world, I have finally posted the thing she-who-won’t-be-Tumblr-tagged and I have been working on. (It’s two separate stories, one by each of us, but it’s the first time really that I’ve worked collaboratively and I’m pleased to say that I have only slightly been a ferocious defensive jerk about it and mostly I have managed to behave myself so never say an old dog can’t learn new tricks if the teacher is patient enough with the dog’s foibles!)

So, my half of it is called Learning Experiences and is Geralt coming home from the Path for the first time. And Anoke’s half of it is baby Lambert arriving at Kaer Morhen and, as is his wont, being super angry about stuff. There’s not much crossover here in this first chapter (Geralt hasn’t met Lambert yet) but we’re just getting warmed up, have faith.

so– my installment: Learning Experiences https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121523

and Anoke’s, where the crossover part begins in the second chapter, is The Path To The Trials https://archiveofourown.org/works/25895626, and is a direct continuation of Lambert’s acquisition via the Law of Surprise https://archiveofourown.org/works/24355231.

Vesemir clapped Geralt gently on the arm. “Good to see you again, Little Wolf.” And then he laughed. “I can’t call you that any longer! You can look me in the eye. Just Wolf, then, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” Geralt said, smiling again to think of it; Vesemir also had always seemed a mountain to him, but they were within a finger’s width of the same height now.

“Well,” Vesemir said. “I’ll be glad to have a drink with you tonight.” He clapped his shoulder again, and moved on down the hallway.

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I did it, I posted the missing scene as a standalone fic.

i am having so much goddamn trouble finding both the time and the focus to fucking finish the next chapter of Ancient Sea, it is not going well y’all, but I have this to offer instead for the moment.

featuring Geralt and Eskel being super childish and also super adult, and Ciri being Super Done With Them Both even though she’s only been at Kaer Morhen for like, a full day at this point.

Forty, on AO3.

Geralt was still lying on the floor, and he rolled his eyes and made no attempt to get up. “It’s all right, Ciri,” he said, “Eskel was trying to beat me up but he didn’t succeed.”

The crack widened slightly, and a small face peered suspiciously out until Eskel was within her angle of view. “Why would he do that?” she asked.

“Because he’s basically rotten,” Geralt said, sitting up onto his elbow. “Don’t worry, I won.”

“You don’t look like you won,” Ciri said doubtfully, and Eskel started laughing, laughing so hard he bent double.

Geralt whipped to his feet and had yanked Eskel down and pinned him again before Eskel even stopped laughing. He lay on his back on the floor under Geralt, still laughing. “Never assume a fight is over,” Eskel said.

“Well,” Geralt said, “maybe it is now,” and that was when he realized that Eskel’s left hand was still mostly free, and just as the realization hit him, so did just enough of an Aard that he flew backward approximately his own bodylength and slammed quite hard into the wall. “Fuck,” he wheezed.

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This is the sequel to Little Fishie, which I’d toyed with making longer and still might but for now it’s one chapter long.

In which Geralt meets up with Jaskier again, for the first time after the plague, and has occasion to return the favor of buying dessert. Featuring a ridiculous endnote about, of all things, Witcher teeth.

Fugitive, on AO3

“Must be nice,” Jaskier said hollowly, and then shook himself and looked up, grimacing in horror at himself. “See? See! Stupid poor little rich boy self-pity.” There was a self-directed viciousness to his tone that was jarring.

Geralt looked at him for a moment, then looked down at his hands, this time making much of gathering himself, for humorous effect. “I can’t believe,” he said slowly, “that I am going to have to be the one to say this to you, Jaskier, but– your feelings–” He paused, breathed out, and breathed back in again. “Are valid, and other people seeming to have it worse or not doesn’t change that.”

It worked; Jaskier laughed. “Did that hurt?” he said. “It sounded like it hurt.”

“It did hurt, a bit,” Geralt admitted. “Now don’t make me say it again. I’m sorry to hear of your trouble.”

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somehow i found some time to write today and did get some progress on the Fantasy!Skype Threesome. [yeahhh… i am all about being Accidentally Topical.] It’s a little jarring to be sitting at a dining room table overhearing a kindergarten math lesson while writing unabashed smut, but I managed, so I guess I can add that to my Life Experiences Merit Badge Sash.

I want to update Little Fishie instead but I need like. Probably another paragraph for it to be done, and it won’t work, so that needs some attention.

I admit, from the moment I had the idea to have Yennefer cloak herself in an illusion of being Geralt in Innermost Depths, I was thinking about how fucking entertaining it was going to be to have her do that in front of Geralt, who in basically every canon has this ridiculous streak of self-loathing.

(nsfw text snippet!)

“Why don’t you show him, pet?” Yennefer said. “Show him what you’d do to him, if you were there.”

Jaskier made a fantastic, eager little noise and slid out of Yennefer’s lap, landing on his knees on the floor in front of her. Yennefer, meanwhile, flickered out of being herself and became Geralt, a mirror of how Geralt looked at the moment, though again it was an imperfect copy– Yennefer clearly thought of Geralt as both taller and broader than he really was, his jaw squarer and his expression angrier.

“Fuck,” Geralt said, as Jaskier delightedly grabbed ahold of Yennefer’s– er, Illusion-Geralt’s– dick, wriggling in between his spread knees to approach it. It was– it was hot, but it was also off-putting to watch not-quite-himself put one enormous hand alongside Jaskier’s jaw and give him a predatory, sneering look. “I– I can’t look at– that’s not– I don’t look like that.”

Illusion-Geralt looked at him, raising an eyebrow in a very Yennefer expression. “Oh?”

“I don’t look like that,” Geralt repeated.

Jaskier looked up at Illusion-Geralt, looked down at Illusion-Geralt’s very clearly substantial, not-illusory, cock that he had in his hand, and then looked over at Geralt. “I can see how this would work better for me than for you,” he said, then looked back up at Illusion-Geralt. “Love, maybe you’d better get your tits back out.”

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Chapter 6: Tongue Tie

featuring Jaskier and Yennefer. Please see TWs in chapter notes.

ha, i am getting no fucking writing done lately, but i did manage to edit this.

Jaskier went to his armoire and pulled out a bottle of wine and started drinking as he went back to the page with the poem scraps.

He’d gotten some themes, a few really vibrant images, and about half a stanza down when there was a gentle rapping at his door. “Fuck,” he said, as his concentration snapped and the image he’d been contemplating shattered into little bits. No, no, he’d come up with another. It was fine. He stuck the pen back in its holder and wandered over to the door, limping as he realized he’d been sitting funny and couldn’t feel one of his legs.

Ooh, and he’d also had rather more of the wine than he’d thought. Mm he was a little light-headed. Not wise, Julek, he thought to himself, and the old name was like a stinging slap in his mind that he had to shake off. Cautiously, he opened the door a crack and peered out.

“Fucking Yennefer of fucking Vengeberg,” he said mildly, in some surprise.

“Is that what you call me now?” she said, amused.

“It’s what I’ve always called you in my head,” he said, taking his shoulder away from the door so it could open. “I just don’t usually say it aloud. I’ve had rather a bit of wine and I’m quite emotionally vulnerable, as it happens, so if you were planning on finishing me off now’s the time.”

She swept in the door, carrying a largeish bag on her back with some sticks or rods or something poking out of it. “I wasn’t, actually,” she said, “but if you want me to, I’ve some time to spare. Is there any wine left?”

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So I didn’t start posting Meet Death Sitting until I had written a little ways ahead, as I’ve learned not to just– post the first thing I think of, I need to give it time to take a shape, as I am incapable of writing a short oneshot and it’s going to grow into a big thing and it’s best if I can start to find the eventual structure of it before tying myself to a premature Chapter 1.

And i also had started spewing out some backstory shit I wasn’t going to post, just so I’d know what was what as I alluded to old events, but then it got big enough and spilled over the edges of Along Came This Song, which was initially the only flashback story I’d intended to post. So there’s a bunch of semi-unconnected vignettes that now I’m going back through and teasing into some semblance of order to become Little Fishie. And then there are some flash-forward bits that aren’t connected to anything, but mostly, mostly The Ancient Sea is being written in order.

But what happens is that I’ve been preparing updates and saving them as a draft and then posting them once I have the bit after that mostly done. And it’s going pretty well, mostly.

But it does mean that what I’m struggling with on both stories are bits that aren’t at all connected to what I’ve posted, so.

Ancient Sea’s next segment is basically ready (unless i find a plot hole like i did in the last little fishie update 😑) and will probably post Wednesday, and it’s the bit after that I’m a bit stuck on because maybe there’s a sex scene and maybe there’s not, which is always tricky.

But Little Fishie’s next segment is just stupidly complicated and not at all a pre-written vignette, and I’ve had to introduce an OC just so I can tell an epic battle scene from a POV wherefrom it makes sense. (I figured it’d get kinda boring from Geralt’s.) (I’ve written really long extended epic battle scenes from a tight POV before, and sometimes it works– like, for example, Fourteen, with an already-traumatized young Kes Dameron in his first real fight, discovering his own battlefield competence and being utterly horrified by it; I thought that one was rather good– but I thought, you know, Geralt has been fighting a long time and is going to find this grindingly routine, if terrifying, so I don’t want to tell it close, but I want to convey how grueling it is, which timeskips wouldn’t do. So, outsider POV it is.)

I’m at like 7k on this chapter which is probably going to have to be cut in half to post, and it’s going really slowly and if I complain about it being a grind nobody’s going to know what I’m talking about so this whole post was me posting to explain so I can complain, LOL. I’m sure it’s going to turn out and there’s going to be a great emotional payout in like, another paragraph and a half, but I just. can’t. get there. so. And of course the worst part is that when you’re making really slow progress chipping at something, there’s a lot of time for doubt to creep in and be like but what if it’s not actually interesting, so that’s an extra-fun lil treat. Listen, not every chapter can just be banter.

Or, can it, and I’m just being goofy??? Maybe I’m just being a dumbass here. But the muse wants what it wants and if you want the comfort you have to write the hurt, in some measure.

snippet behind the cut

“You don’t suppose that Witcher is dead yet?” Eirich asked.

There was an explosion, and then another series of explosions. “Well,” Benrick said, “probably he wasn’t, but he might be now.”

Eirich laughed, but it was humorless, and they sat in silence for a few moments. There was no sound from the woods, no flickers of light. “Ah, fuck,” Eirich said, after a bit, “I was only joking, but maybe I jinxed him. Still, maybe we’re lucky and that was the last of them?”

There was a tense, waiting silence. Of the twenty men in the barn, and twenty-two horses, nobody was making noise, and nobody was at ease. Nobody was sleeping, tonight.

“I think that’s him,” one of the lookouts said, and people rustled around upstairs, trying to look. “There, in the shadows?” He wasn’t speaking loudly, but the night was so quiet now his speaking voice carried softly down to them.

Benrick peered into the shadows. There was movement there, intermittently. Something man-sized, perhaps. A gleam of metal. A man, walking slowly for a few steps, then staggering down to his knees, then getting up again.

He stumbled out into the moonlight and went down again, legs underneath him, holding the silver sword in one hand, the other hand propped on his knee, head bowed and body moving slightly as he breathed hard. The moonlight caught silver in his hair, what of it wasn’t streaked with filth or stuck to his face with sweat.

He was clearly badly injured and exhausted. After a moment he pushed himself back up and took another couple of faltering steps toward the barn, then went down again. He was perhaps favoring one leg, but it looked more like he was just at the end of his endurance. Maybe injured, somewhere in the middle. Hard to say.

“We have to go help him,” Benrick said.

“Are you crazy?” Eirich said.

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chapter update on Little Fishie, featuring Feral Disaster Brat Jaskier and his uncanny ability to turn the brat feature on and off at will like a tap, and replace it with Poetry Nerd Jaskier when possible.

This also has the eyeshine snippet I posted earlier in it, and a mention of Geralt’s distressing new striga throat-scar, and a straight-from-the-textbook explanation of the difference between synecdoche and metonymy because my English major ass didn’t know either and I had to look it up.

“You realize that was the Duke’s son and his cronies,” Jaskier went on, “so my odds of getting arrested are quite high?”

“Ah,” Geralt said. “You mean, the one whose face you broke with your skull?”

“The very same,” Jaskier said. He pulled himself together and trotted off down the street, his direction unerring and his movements confident despite a certain reeling quality to them that pointed up how extremely intoxicated he was.

“That’s a problem, Jaskier,” Geralt said.

“Well, you probably shouldn’t have involved yourself,” Jaskier said. “Apologies, but he’s likely to want to blame you rather than admitting I did it.” He clicked his tongue scoldingly. “Tsk. A shame. After all the work I’ve done trying to rehab your reputation.”

“I need to come back here to get paid, tomorrow,” Geralt said, exasperated.

“Mm,” Jaskier said, turning as Geralt caught up to him. He patted Geralt on the chest. “No problem: tell them you killed me, too.”

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The prequel-bits installment of the Meet Death Sitting series just went up finally. I was ready to go and then suddenly decided to rewrite the entire beginning, so. It now begins before anything else I’ve written, and then Along Came This Song and Warmth happen between the two sections of the first chapter. Yes, yes, I’m very organized, you can all be impressed now.

Partly, I was struck suddenly with the phrase feral disaster brat Jaskier and was like oh yes, that is what he needs to be. So I worked in some more of the feral disaster brat backstory. Not as much as I wanted to but I’m not rewriting the entire series, someone else is going to have to write the Feral Disaster Brat Jaskier Epic for us all.

So mostly, it’s just banter and pining, and Geralt alternating clear insight with being an oblivious shithead.

As ever, many many thanks to

akilah12902 for game mechanics insights and backstory information.

“What was your previous horse called?” Jaskier asked.

“Roach,” Geralt said. He didn’t like this line of questioning. He really didn’t like to remember that Roach hadn’t always been this Roach. He’d replaced her pretty recently, actually; lost the last one to a degenerating hoof condition. He’d caught it in time– smelled it– that he’d managed to sell her on, cheap even though she wasn’t lame yet because it felt dishonest not to explain why, to a farmer who’d promised to kill her quick when the time came she got too lame, but he wasn’t thinking about that now and he’d got this one trained up well enough that he didn’t have to think about it. The farmer was probably lying and would sell her on, passing her off as sound– but this way, Geralt wouldn’t have to kill her himself, and wouldn’t have to think about it for years the way he sometimes did about previous horses he’d had to kill.

“Ah,” Jaskier said. “Is it a metaphor, then?”

“No,” Geralt said. “Metaphors are the ones where you say one thing and mean something else, right?”

“I, more or less,” Jaskier said. “Like, my love’s eyes are a summer sky, kind of thing.”

Geralt thought for a moment about what his own eyes would be described as. Nothing good. It was exhausting. “No, it’s not a metaphor.”

edit uhhhh it’d help if I put in a link to the story, huh?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22956328

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so I’m gonna split Meet Death Sitting into two simultaneous arcs because that’s the material I’ve got.

The Ancient Sea is one arc’s direction and I’ve got a few more chapters of that one– some written, some just roughly mentally sketched out– and then I think there’s one more story I’d break it off into for the climax-y kinda part of it.

and then I’ve done all these backstory sketches, starting with Along Came This Song and so on, wherein I wanted to demonstrate just exactly what Geralt was thinking when he kept insisting that he couldn’t fuck Jaskier or even admit he liked him, and I figured that’s all gotta be Geralt POV because that’s the only coherent way to do it– because it is just a series of stories of him Refusing To Think About It– but I do figure I can get a shitload of Jaskier backstory loaded in there that way, more interestingly because you’re not going to have any of his POV. (And

akilah12902 definitely gets credit for several of those vignettes, for sending me video game information like “oh yeah if he takes the potion that lets him see in the dark, if he has to go back outside before it wears off it super sucks” with accompanying screenshot, so, look forward to that scenario for example.)

But since I’ve been relying on Yennefer’s voyeurism for Jaskier’s POV in the Ancient Sea arc this means, hilariously enough, that the character I started out pinning this whole thing on is getting precisely 0 lines from his POV currently, so maybe I need to fold a little of him into Ancient Sea now, so there’s that. Like, I just started writing a Lambert POV, that’s not fair. Jaskier needs some lines.

But anyway, this weekend I’ll probably start posting some of the Geralt POV backstory, I just need to hammer out timelines.

Sometime this past week I broke 100k on the whole project, which on the one hand seems excessive, but on the other hand, fucking good, my output has been pathetic lately. The 30k novella in January was like pulling fucking teeth, by comparison, so this has been nice.

But I need to impose some discipline and framework now that it’s this big, so. That’s what I’m trying to do, here.

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[insert gif of geralt screaming I CAN’T FUCKING SLEEP with flecks of spittle]

It’s not that bad, I just woke up at four am and am like welp. so.

I have a bunch of shit written for Meet Death Sitting (The Series ™) that now needs to be assembled– a ton of Geralt POV stuff set earlier because his ambush of Jaskier with Feelings in the first story came so out of nowhere and I wanted badly to prove that it really, really, really didn’t.

So this little bit is an immediate follow-up to the first of them, which was Along Came This Song. This one is him going back to Kaer Morhen and getting teased over Toss A Coin.

Warmth, on AO3, Geralt/Eskel, featuring my most efficiently-described sex scene ever I think.

Geralt let himself kiss the back of Eskel’s neck, because he smelled good, and then that felt too soft so he bit him.

“Asshole,” Eskel said, but made no attempt to dislodge him. “Don’t leave a mark, you dick,” he said eventually, when Geralt didn’t let go.

“Fine,” Geralt said, and licked over the teethmarks, where he hadn’t broken the skin or even bruised it.

via https://ift.tt/38WEe8M

Ha ha I just came on here like “aw no notes? on my update? nobody liked? what?” and it was only as I was disconsolately scrolling that I was like

did I actually… update the fic?

and the answer is that I did not, so. Like, I did not even come close to doing so, did not even compose a post about it, had not even created the work on AO3 as a draft. I made a title, though, so in my head, I was done.

It’s only a short one, but. There it is. Ciri gets to Kaer Morhen. I wanted to do more of her POV, but– well, she was really tired, so, we’ll get more of her later. This is kind of an interstitial little chapter, setting up for action later and establishing things. Ancient Sea, chapter 1: Wolf Pack, on AO3

“I found all your gear, Geralt, all together, in a guardroom near the gate.” Eskel sat down beside him on the bench, straddling the bench and looking– upset. He was upset. “It looked like they’d looted your corpse. Every knife, Geralt– every knife.” He held up a cloth bag, set it on the table, opened the top, and spilled out a collection of daggers, mostly silver-coated but not all. “The ones you hand over when they tell you to disarm, and the ones you never do.” He poked through them and pulled out a little battered steel folding knife, which Geralt always kept inside his waistband, near the skin. The wooden handle had long since worn through and fallen off, and he’d wrapped his unskilled repair in rawhide that had begun to wear away as well. It was a little boy’s knife, had been a little boy’s knife a hundred years ago. No one ever found it in searches. But the Cintran guards had.

Geralt nodded. There wasn’t much to say.

via https://ift.tt/2SY7aHP

I am doing the classic mistake of working on too many ideas at once, and so nothing is done, but here is a lil Geralt/Jaskier thing from unspecified past timeline.

Geralt looked at him for a moment, then looked down at his hands, this time making much of gathering himself, for humorous effect. “I can’t believe,” he said slowly, “that I am going to have to be the one to say this to you, Jaskier, but– your feelings–” He paused, breathed out, and breathed back in again. “Are valid, and other people having it worse or not doesn’t change that.”

It worked; Jaskier laughed. “Did that hurt?” he said. “It sounded like it hurt.”

“It hurt, a bit,” Geralt admitted. “Now don’t make me say it again. I’m sorry to hear of your trouble.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier said, subdued.

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