#aw fiddlesticks

<3

How Deep the Water

How Deep The Water is the WIP of the sequel to Sloom which grapples with recovery both of physical and psychological kind. It addresses a lot of Geralt's trauma. If you haven't read Sloom I won't spoil it for you here. But here is a snip from How Deep The Water, titled after the song Deep the Water by Lewis Watson.

"What is wrong with you?" 

"Nothing." Geralt snapped, practically growling. 

"Right." Jaskier nodded solemnly. "Wanna try that again? The truth this time."

Geralt couldn't seem to form the words, his thoughts suddenly tangling up in a knotted mess twisting tighter and tighter around his lungs.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Jaskier took another step closer, careful to avoid the shards of ceramic scattered across the tile.

"Nothing to talk about." Geralt wished Jaskier would shout and scream. Wished that he would strike him. He'd give anything to feel anything but this. 

"We both know that's not true." Jaskier reached for him but Geralt pulled away as if the gentle touch would burn.

"Fuck off, Jas — I'm fine."

The look Jaskier gave him sparked a rage that made Geralt want to put his fist through the small single pane window above the sink.

"Fuck off." It was a warning, the best Geralt could manage to grind out through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, because you always screech at me to fuck off when you're fine." Jaskier tried to raise his voice to match Geralt's but it broke and with it something inside of Geralt's chest gave way.

"Talking about it won't change what happened." He was screaming now, shredding his voice and hearing it crack in his throat and he couldn't seem to stop it. "Talking won't change the fact that I wasn't there, that I left you alone, that you almost died — I almost let you die.”

(idk why the formatting looks all fucky-wucky but oh well)

Memento Mori

Memento Mori is another in the series of cat!Jaskier fuckery fics in my WIP folder.

(Fun fact, the entirety of Memento Mori found its way into a document other than the one it was written in somehow, and in the process I found a very strange bit I began writing one night about a modern AU that I completely forgot about where Jaskier is bemoaning his not-quite-break-up with his definitely-not-BF when he got left at a truckstop in the middle off buttfuck nowhere to his buddy Lambert lol)

“I seem to recall you claiming that you came after me? Or was that a lie like everything else you’ve said?” 

“I’ve never lied to you, Geralt and it wounds me that you would accuse me of such.” Jaskier’s voice trembled and Geralt rolled his eyes, feeling an odd sense of embarrassment at simply being in the presence of Jaskier’s performance to the empty graveyard. “But since you asked so very sweetly, I shall tell you.”

Jaskier paused, lifting his head from where it was cradled in the marble lap of another angel, billowing robes carved into the white stone, his leg swinging lazily back and forth like the tail of a cat. “Now that? That was a lie. You didn’t ask sweetly at all, you’re being a bit of a prick about it to be perfectly honest. I have, much to your explicit good fortune, reneged on that contract. I’d say it’s nothing personal, but we both know that’s a lie.” 

“Dangerous.” Geralt hummed. 

“Oh, quite. But I do like a challenge and would gladly pit myself against Queen Calanthe’s army any given day.” He emphasized the last three words with three loud and unrefined whacks as his boot hit the base of the statue.

“Calanthe, hmm?” 

Fuck. That was bad news, very bad news.

“Oh my! Did I say Queen Calanthe, the Lionness of Cintra? Well, damn my careless tongue.” Jaskier held his hand to his mouth, lips forming a pretty little ‘o’ in feign surprise. 

“Hmm, one incredibly unstable Cat against the whole of the Cintran armed forces? What could possibly go wrong.” 

“Ha!” Jaskier waved the hypothetical away with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “If that impudent child wishes to cut off my head and piss down my bloodied throat, she’ll have to catch me first.”

“I can’t help but notice you didn’t refute the claim that you are incredibly unstable.”

Jaskier shrugged as if the implication were so obvious it didn’t deserve a response. “Oh, and you forget Skellige as well, she took Eist Tuirseach as a concubine or something of the sort.” Throwing a finger up to the sky he let his arm fall to hang over the cradled arms of the graveyard angel, his other arm behind his head toying with his hair. “And now she has the Skelligen navy at her beck and call. But you already knew that, didn’t you, butcher?”

Geralt stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Naughty little dog. And you walk around as though you’ve done no wrong in this life. Shame on you. He who treats me as some sort of depraved thing. At least I don’t go running around laying claim to unborn royal babies.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Geralt hated the sour clench of his gut and the way he ground the words out between his teeth.

“What kind of man snatches a baby and then changes his mind? Either claim her or don’t but you invoked the law of surprise and now you must rise to the occasion.”  

“Her?” Geralt found himself saying. 

“Yes. A bright, young girl, she is. Though she’s dreadful at knucklebones.”

Geralt physically shook the thoughts from his head, refusing to entertain even the idea of his child surprise. 

"She's better off in the care of Queen Calanthe and we both know that." 

“That’s certainly a possibility. I’d like to think even the likes of me would make a better father than you.” 

“Is that so?” Geralt laughed so hard his ribs began to ache. “You shouldn’t be allowed within sword’s length of any child.” 

Jaskier scoffed indignantly and Geralt only laughed. 

“Far worse an influence than any beast and more dangerous than any wild animal I’ve ever seen.” 

“Yes, but for all my faults I wouldn’t have abandoned her as our mothers so coldly abandoned us.” 

Geralt was getting really fucking tired of this conversation. He stood from where he knelt and with a warning growl, tossed his leather satchel back over his shoulder, adding a very spirited, “I hate you.” 

“You’re very rude and I think it’s mostly uncalled for.” 

“It’s because I hate you.” Geralt reaffirmed. 

“I know you do, darling.” Jaskier sighed dejectedly. 

"How long have you been here wallowing in this graveyard wailing like a banshee?" 

"Couldn't say." Jaskier batted his eyes, sprawling out over the top of an ivy-covered headstone as if he were trying to scratch an unreachable itch. "For my grief is a prison wherein time itself holds no power." 

“Wait. Where are you going? You’ve only just arrived.” 

“To bed.” Geralt huffed, sheathing his sword and slinging his leather pack over his shoulder. “I came here to kill a wraith and there is no wraith. Leave, Jaskier. Move on — roam where you will, I don’t care. But go. Your dramatic wails of anguish are scaring the locals.” 

Geralt had combed through the graveyard, Jaskier following behind like a lost puppy. And he had found no sign of a wraith or any other monster for that matter. 

There went the brothel plans. Geralt wasn't going to take money for the head of a beast that was never there to begin with. Though, dealing with Jaskier was arguably more painful, irritating, and potentially more dangerous than a wraith.

As for the illustration -- I think you understood perfectly actually. Excellent choice by the way. In the great Autodesk Crash of 2021 I lost every file to some corrupted mess and a portion of a screenshot was all I had left of this piece. This is the current WIP version of the recovery. I mean, I spent probably ten hours painting it and was nearly done when I lost all my files. It was so tragic, my guy. Many tears were shed.

Behold, WIP Illustration_120