I reblogged a post yesterday that was something along the lines of "fandom on tumblr is dying because no one reblogs" and it got me thinking about fandom dying in general-- not just on tumblr-- and this isn't my typical whiny bullshit about how no one comments and that the people who do comment are either a) my friends b) bots or c) only ever comment once and never again. Because let's face it, we all know people aren't commenting or interacting with fics or fanart or gifs anymore other than passively consuming.
And the thing is: back when I was in the days old old fandom you could passively consume because there was so much interaction going on (and lbr when i was younger i did in fact passively consume x reader fanfic)
Even someone older than me can probably comment about how fandom just used to be more connected and felt more like one big group instead of little cliques scattered here and there. I mean, I used to joke about being in my little bubble because at the time when I was a middle schooler going into high school I was more inclined to sit back and let other people talk about the things I liked because they could word things more eloquently than me, but recently passively consuming isnt something that can just fly by anymore because of the lack of interaction.
It's not that everything should be reblogged, and commented on, and interacted with but at least whatever you enjoy. Fan creations are made for fans by fans. It's not meant to live in a vacuum or echo chamber, but yet, it does. And this may be the wrong way to put it, but the commodification of fandom to be consumed at large by a more main stream audience who just so happens to be popular or considered "normies" feels like-- at least to me-- like the downfall of a community.
As a friend of mine has put it. "Fandom has become a popularity contest." but not only that, the monetization of fanfic or turning fanfic into published literature in droves also has something to do with that. Like, maybe ten or so years ago the only fanfiction I knew that was traditionally published was a) Twighlight and b) Fifty Shades of Grey and those two were both infamous and beloved by the people who read it whereas the amount of traditionally published fanfiction recently is either flocked to because of an influencer or when you look at the 1 star comments most of those books don't have convincing character or plot. But this isn't meant to shoot anyone down, or punch down on any author or creator.
Now, you can 100% disagree, and maybe fandom is "dying" because I'm getting old and no one wants to interact with a twenty-something when those in fandom are all 17 and under. But, I can't joke about being in my own little personal bubble anymore. I don't have that luxury because as a whole, fandom has made its own personal bubbles which cuts off each branch. I mean, people are discussing fics in private discord servers over telling authors how much they love their stuff-- anyway, before i get heated.
The whole reason why this came about was because I was looking at my Quotev account, the one I've had since 2017 even though i've been on the site for much longer. And I'm looking at all the comments on the stories I wrote in 2022, back when I was in my senior year of high school. They were x reader fics from FNAF and Creepypasta, if that is at all relevant for anyone. And I was looking at the fics I've done recently and mind you, these fics from 2022 both have a little over a hundred comments from people who commented every other chapter about what was happening. Yeah, there might be over a hundred comments because its x male reader, but the point I'm trying to make is that it's staggering that maybe 2-3 years ago there was so much interaction only for it to just... stop.
Everyone and their mother knows how hard this lack of interaction is hitting. I know, I'm not special for complaining and writing a big post about it. It's not that deep-- but, but. People might agree that giving idk... a decade of your life to something is sort of a big deal, and there are people who have given more and are far older than I could imagine. I mean, Star Trek started it all. In the 70s. Is it too much to care about something when you're realizing that people are not only shutting themselves in or perhaps even just walking away altogether because of how its changed? Am I being dramatic on the internet? Yeah, who isn't.
Lately, everything now is about being a BNF (big name fan) or getting the most hits/kudos, and like yeah writing is a competition but since when are we in competition with one another?? Mostly aside from the point-- with the introduction of tiktok and social media it's made things easier to share with each other but it's also made it easier for so much stuff to get spread like a goddamn wildfire.
People can put this more eloquently than I, but just because something makes it easier to share doesn't mean it makes it easier for us to interact. Don't get me wrong "be the change you want to see in the world" but it's not helping. Fandom has divided itself into cliques. People stay with their friends, they stay with people that share the same opinion. Fandom has become complicit. And I mean, there's nothing wrong reading the same stuff over and over again or talking about the same things, and maybe idk how to put this properly but it just feels like people are sticking to their safe bubbles. And its okay!!! I'm not trying to say anything negative about that.
But seeing fanmade content fuels fanmade content. Talking to fans fuels fans. Lately, I've felt like I've been in an echo chamber, and have been asking myself "is it worth it?" whenever I think about writing my fics. This isn't for sympathy, or to get a pat on the back but so many people have either walked away or feel the same way about it because it just feels like such a standstill.
I can't think of anymore words at nearly seven in the morning. I'm passing the mic
*Trudges up to you dragging a fanfic trope that I haven't seen around in years like an old bike pulled out of the river* Hey guys, is this anything?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Yeah so like, I know I have four novel length stories I'm working on that desperately need updating and whatever, but also I have a weird love of soulmate AUs and ashenviper makes for a particularly funny one and I woke up with a thought this morning that turned into a chapter so here take it I'm sorry <3
Prompt: I told you I love you, I thought I was dying, but I lived and now I have to deal.
Summer was of course Jaskiers favorite time of year. Not to say that he did not miss the opulence of the city, or the balls, or even the conversation and study of the arts while he was away. To say he did not miss the shade of the trees in the courtyards of Oxenfurt, or the breeze that often blew off the river would be a lie. And yet, summer brought with its adventure, travel, inspiration, and of course, his friend Geralt of Rivia.
Despite the excitement that summer brings him, today Jaskier is quite miserable as dust rises into the air with every hoof fall of Roach and Pegasus against the dried, cracked soil of the road. The sun hanging high in the sky drowns them in wave after wave of stifling heat as he follows behind the Witcher heading towards Vizima. They’ve easily another day beyond tonight before they reach their destination, but word of a winged beast has reached Geralt and he is insistent on finding out what it is. Jaskier for his part can’t bring himself to mind. There are plenty of winged beasts that wreak havoc, and he can’t wait to find out what it is. He’s certain it will make for another great tale. Beyond that, there is rumored to be a bardic competition beginning in the next few days, and Jaskier desperately wants to compete.
“Geralt?”
The barest shift in his friend’s demeanor encourages him to continue. Where it was once hard to read the Witcher it is now a language in which he is more fluent than he believed he would be. Shifting in the saddle to ease the discomfort in his lower back, a side effect of aging, he continues his speech.
“How long do you think we may be in Vizima? You see there’s this competition and I was hoping to, well, compete while we’re in town. I know, of course, that it will depend on what kind of “winged beast” it is that we find upon our arrival, but have you perchance any ideas on our time frame?”
“I could leave you there.”
“Come now Witcher, I’m being serious.” He laughs out. Geralt hasn’t threatened to leave him behind, seriously, in almost a decade.
“So was I, bard.” Geralt tells him with a slump in his shoulders that indicates he isn’t serious at all.
“Hmm, I don’t think I believe you.” Snarks Jaskier like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. And for him, it might as well be. Perhaps he is too comfortable with his companion. Still, he wouldn’t change this for the world.
“I won’t stop you from competing with Jaskier. In fact, maybe you’ll be too busy to get in my way.” Geralt grins over his shoulder and any retort Jaskier had dies in his throat. He rarely sees those smiles, so he focuses, captures the moment to memory and smiles in return. The lapse in conversation is hardly a new commonality for them. Instead of being uncomfortable it has become a token of their friendship, and Jaskier has learned how to put the silence to use for him at some point in the last fifteen years.
As the sun continues to glare down at them, Jaskier drinks water skin and then pulls out one of his many notebooks and a broken piece of charcoal. He has yet to master playing the lute and riding a horse at the same time, but he can take down notes, even if they are a bit of a mess. Messy notes are much better than no notes at all. Absently he wipes sweat from his brow, unintentionally leaving a streak of charcoal dust across his forehead. With the same movement, he unbuttons the top of his doublet. It is unusually hot for this early in the summer he thinks as charcoal meets parchment again.
The rhythmic clip clop of the horse’s hooves is melodic in his ears as he continues brainstorming. Certainly, he could start another conversation with Geralt, but sometimes it was best to save that for around the campfire. Instead, he watches Geralts back, jots down some ideas and notes, and then watches his surroundings. A slight rustling in the bushes to the left catches his attention. Geralt is saying something but he can’t make out what it is over the cacophony of shouting surrounding him, or the burning in his stomach.
Gasping he falls from Pegasus. The trees look lovely from the side, canopying the road like they may actually cast it in shadow from time to time. With a thud his shoulder comes into contact with solid earth and he groans. Unconsciously he curls into the fetal position on his uninjured side and grits his teeth against the sharp pain below his ribs. Squeezing his eye shut against the ringing of steel in the air and the sun above him he tenderly seeks out the wound with tips of his right-hand fingers. There is an arrow lodged below his ribcage, just below his left lung. Well, that’s lucky isn’t it. He thinks to himself as he assesses the damage as much as possible without the use of his eyes. Slowly he forces them open, blinks against the white in his vision and tries to observe his surroundings.
He watches despondently as Geralt disappears into the woods chasing something, bandits, his brain supplies as he forces himself to roll onto his back and breath as deep as he can. It hurts. It hurts worse than anything he has felt before. Whimpering he considers what he needs to do and blinks back tears trying to keep them from sliding through the dust on his face and turning to mud. Shaking he manages to get to a sitting position, his head spins wildly and he presses his eyes closed so hard he can hear the fluttering of his eyelids. It doesn’t take long for nausea to set in and he vomits to the side.
When he has caught his breath, he looks down and tries to ascertain the extent of the injury. Due to its location he can’t tell exactly how bad it is, between his doublet getting in the way and the poor angle. Exhaling a long, low whistle of air he looks around and notes Pegasus nearby and Roach grazing peacefully to the side, waiting for Geralts inevitable return. Which, Jaskier admits to himself, could be a while if he’s found reason to kill them all. Unlikely, but a good beating, certainly. Hesitantly he tries to stand and fails. Pain like fire rips through his side and the wound begins to bleed worse. Instead he uncrosses his legs and scoots, and starts and stops to the side of the road.
When he finally makes it to the grass he moans. He aches all over and he is shivering cold, despite the heat of the sun against his skin. Sweat beads across his brow, down the nape of his neck and across his back. The station of the sun tells him some time has passed and the only feasible explanation is that he passed out. It doesn’t surprise him. He can’t remember much beyond falling to the ground and Geralt giving chase. Trying to relax his body he lays back feels at the wound, the arrow has been jostled in his movement and it comes loose without much prodding. He inhales too sharply and grimaces, clenching his teeth as air tickles his insides. With a groan he rolls onto his good side and curls up. There is little he can do on his own. He knows he should try and stop the bleeding but he can’t as black shapes swirl in his vision.
+++++
When he comes to the throbbing in his head and side are enough to make him grunt in pain. He can’t seem to formulate words, and despite the darkness that surrounds him when he tries to open his eyes, he is burning up. He lets his weight shift to the right and feel his forehead come into contact with something hard and cool. He moans, pleased and leans further into the item. Leather? His tired mind supplies and he sighs.
“Hold on Jaskier. Just, hold on.” Geralt says nearby, voice rough like gravel, and all he can do is form a strangled sound in response.
++++++
When he wakes a second time, there are two voices whispering urgently somewhere nearby. The first is melodic, clipped and paced. Designed to be listened to, informative. He wonders if the face that belongs to it is soft? If the lips that form words are plump? Are her eyes gentle? The second voice is familiar, like gravel beneath boots. It puts him at ease. He’s to tired to try and open his eyes, though he wants to. Everything burns and aches. Fire courses through his veins, and his side is the source of its fuel.
He tries to speak, but his tongue is heavy in the pit of his mouth. It feels as though someone has poured sand into it while he has slept. His lungs, too, feel as though they are dry as the deserts to the east. He tries to move, to make any sign of life and it is impossible given how barren every part of himself is. If the fire continues to rage, he knows he will not wake up. The thought terrifies him, puts him on edge. Something is placed on his forehead and it feels like boiling water, the cloth like horsehair against his skin. It makes him want to squirm, to lift his hand and throw the blasted item off.
“Jaskier, rest.” The voice like gravel says and so he tries. No. You cannot rest now, Julian. There is something you must tell him before you go. A voice inside his head tells him, and he’s tired enough to listen to it. Aching to fall into oblivion and never return. He is in agony.
“Ge- Grlt.” He manages through parched lips. He tastes blood on his tongue, and in some sick way it is soothing, his mouth finally feels wet, like it should.
“Jask. Sleep.” Geralt says, and he can’t. How could he possibly sleep when he has something this important to say? He tries to swallow, fails, coughs weakly and chokes.
“I.” He wheezes. These words are mummified deep within the caverns of his body. They are dust in his lungs; never meant to be pushed up the dried canal of his throat, never meant to pass through the forbidden gate of his vocal cords, over the desert plateau of his tongue, and carried by hot air through the cracked dunes of his lips.
“Love you.” He finishes voice rough as a sandstorm, before the call of darkness’ cool embrace drags him into the depths of her inky waters.
+++++
He wakes to cool air against his skin, darkness surrounding him when he manages to pry his dried eyes open, and the smell of rosewater and ivy encompassing him. Altogether it is a pleasant change from the last two times he woke up. Of this he is certain. There is very little pain in his movements as he pushes himself into a sitting position.
The bed beneath him is soft, comfortable, expensive. The pillow he shifts behind him is down, and he almost grins, then remembers he has no idea where he is, and in the darkness, he cannot see anything. There are no candles, or fires in the room, and the faint starlight shimmering at the edges of what appear to be heavy curtains does nothing to illuminate the shadows dancing around him. He opens his mouth to call out and whimpers when his lips crack. Tentatively he licks them and finds them bloodied. After a moment he swallows and tries again.
“Hello.” It’s hoarse, and coarse, and too quiet to have been heard, and yet the air to the left of the bed stirs. He shifts to listen more attentively and is surprised when he receives an answer.
“You’re awake!” Its melodic voice and he can’t help but smile at the joy he hears in it.
“I. Yes.” He manages.
“You must be thirsty, let me get you something.” The disembodied voice says and he smiles.
“Thank you.” He blinks away the tears that form when there is a sudden burst of light in the room. Several candles lit themselves across the expanse of the chamber. He watches as the woman moves to the table and pours water from a pitcher, likely there for that very reason. She is lovely, brown hair in ringlets and dark skin shining in the flickering light. When she brings him the water he accepts it gratefully and sips at it.
“Geralt?” He asks after the silence has stretched too long.
“He went out after your reveal. He hasn’t been back yet, but he left Roach so I’m sure he will be back at some point.” She grins, eyes revealing nothing but amusement and understanding.
“I’m sorry, but my wh— oh.” The word comes out of him like he’s been punched in the gut by a witcher. “Please, tell me, it was more than three words?” He begs, voice very quiet, eyes turned towards the cup in his hand as he tries not to spill it. He focuses on keeping his hand from shaking as the woman giggles and then speaks.
“Well, four if you count his name.”
“Lovely. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” He mumbles and then smiles up at her.
“Triss, Triss Marigold.” She says with a smile and refills his water.
“Thank you for staying with me while I recovered. And for the water, I feel as though I could drink a lake dry.”
‘After the fever you had, I’m certain it feels that way. Are you feeling hungry at all?”
It takes him a moment to process the question, and when he does he simply shakes his head no. He doesn’t have much in the way of an appetite, but he is exhausted. Tentatively he brings the glass cup to his lips and drinks the rest of the water. Triss smiles encouragingly at him and he can’t help but return it.
“Miss Marigold, perhaps this is tactless of me, but did you use magic on me? I seem to notice a lack of hole in my gut.
She laughs and her eyes crinkle with glee, “Yes, some. Though I specialize in plants, which is what cured your fever. My magic and Geralts potions did the rest.”
“Witcher potions. He used, a potion on me?”
“Before you got here. He was… concerned you would not make it. You’ve been out for a while, but you haven’t been resting. Try to go back to sleep and we can speak more in the morning.” Triss stands, takes the cup from him and returns it to the table. When she reaches the door she turns to look at him one final time.
“If you need anything, I’m down the hall on the right. Good night Jaskier.” With a wave of her hand she plunges the room back into darkness and the door closes behind her with a soft clunk.
Sighing to himself, Jaskier snuggles down into the thick duvet and curls onto his side. He’s alone with his thoughts and the knowledge that his best kept secret is in the air. He would scream if it didn’t feel like it would drain him of every drop of energy he has. Instead he growls into the pillow with frustration and lets out a long winded sigh. Well Julian, He thinks, this is great. Look what you’ve gone and done now. Ha! You weren’t even awake to see his face. Cowardly now aren’t we. Of course, when haven’t we been? Then again, this wasn’t something we counted on right? No. No it wasn’t. This is fine. This is completely fine. I was dying, right? Yes. I was dying, and feverish. Geralt can’t blame me. We’ll…. We’ll just pretend it was never said and that will be that. Yes, that’s all there is to it. I’ll just pretend not to remember. Geralt probably won’t bring it up and that will be the end of it. Or so he tells himself as he drifts off to sleep in an oversized, overstuffed bed.
Bright light filters through his eyelids and wakes him the following morning. With an unamused groan he rolls over in bed and pulls the duvet over his head. Whose idea was it to open the blinds without warning him. Did they want him to go blind? The smell of food draws him from the cave of warmth he’s created. Sitting up he looks towards the table where Triss is sitting amusedly waiting for him.
“You’re in good spirits this morning.” He grumbles, the effect somewhat ruined by a yawn.
“Of course, I am. You're alive. Geralt is back. The king listened to me for once. It doesn’t get much better than that around here. Now, eat your bread and broth. Nothing heavier for a few days. You’re still recovering.”
Languidly he stretches before slipping from the bed and joining her at the table. In the light of day he can see that the room is smaller than it appeared in the dark. The table is situated a short distance from the hearth, there is a finely woven rug between the table and the bed, a chest and wardrobe against the far wall, and an end table beside the bed and the chair which yet remains beside it.
“Well then, it seems as though everything is going to plan for you today.” He smiles and sips at the steaming beverage in front of him. It soothes his throat on the way down and tastes sweet.
“For now.” She agrees. They eat in companionable silence until heavy footfalls pull them both from their thoughts. He doesn’t have to look up to know that Geralt has entered the room. He can feel eyes on the back of his neck. Triss smiles at him, then looks passed him.
“Well I have some tasks to attend to. I’ll check in on you later, Jaskier.” She says politely and makes her way out of the room.
Jaskier chews his bread slowly, waiting. He will let Geralt speak first, let him decide where this conversation is going to go. Straightening his back, he takes another gulp of his drink and finally Geralt comes into his line of sight. With obvious discomfort the witcher sits across from him.
“You’re awake then.”
“Obviously, Geralt. I am sitting up and eating, or is this a dream?” His lips pull up in a half-hearted smile. He’s too tired to pretend but he will do what he needs to to put Geralt at ease.
“Right. Yes.” Geralt coughs and oh gods, he can’t do this.
“You seem…. Unnerved, my friend.” He winces internally as Geralt makes eye contact with him and just as fast breaks it. Well Jaskier, way to act normal. He closes his eyes and scrubs at his face.
“You almost died.”
“I remember and its far from the first time.” Geralt stares at him and the words catch up with him. He comprehends them and wants to go hide in the folds of the blankets. The silence stretches long and tense between them. It’s uncomfortable in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. Jaskier catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror and notes the slight wrinkles around his eyes, the way his hair is gathering grey at the temples. He shifts, winces at the slight pain, and thinks, better to have said something now than live to regret it, I suppose. He watches Geralt watch him from time to time, face impassive and unreadable, and finally he drops his gaze from golden irises. Geralt will speak when he is ready, and in this Jaskier will not push him for an answer, only… he can’t quite keep his mouth shut.
“Like you said, I was dying, and I know I was feverish. We can pretend nothing was said if you like. We're good at that. At pretending. So why don’t we just move on? It’s not like we haven’t pretended in the past.” He manages, and his voice sounds weak, disappointed, even to him.
“It did happen.”
“Yes, but I’m saying if you want to pretend it didn’t then say so. Look, I was dying, I didn’t really think I’d be alive to deal with the repercussions of my words.” He flicks his eyes up to Geralts and freezes. Geralt looks vulnerable, like he’s battling something inside himself and he thinks he should look away but he can’t make his eyes obey.
“Did you mean it?” Jaskier almost misses the question, caught completely off guard by the earnestness in Geralts tone.
It takes him a long time to answer. Not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because he is trying to choose his words wisely. He opens his mouth and closes it more times than he likes to admit and holds up his hand to stop Geralt interrupting him when the witcher tries to speak. Finally he does speak, slowly, as though he doesn’t really know the words he wants to say and hopes that they will instead flow from his mouth.
“I did. I do.” He takes a breath and perseveres, “But I think, what you mean is: How do I love you? What makes you different from any of my dalliances?” Geralt simply nods noncommittally.
“You are who I think of when I think of home. If you ask me where I want to be at any given time, the answer is always; with you. When we began traveling together, I counted the days to when I would go back to Oxenfurt for the winter to work on finishing the manuscripts I start in the summer. Now, at some point along the way, that shifted. It came full circle and all I can think about when I’m supposed to be teaching is where we’ll be going next. It’s consuming, and it’s not fair. It’s an ache and a longing, and a hope. I don’t know how to best answer you, for that much I am sorry.”
Geralt nods slowly at him, hums in understanding and they lapse back into quiet. It’s not as tense or uncomfortable as before, but it stretches nearly as long.
“And if that feeling were returned?” Geralt asks, looking right past him.
“I would have died happy.” It’s the best he can offer. To say more risks never traveling with the Witcher again. As it is, it wouldn’t completely surprise him if Geralt packed up Roach and took off. Told him to go back to Oxenfurt and never come back. He hopes that won’t be the case, that at worst Geralt goes along with pretending. At best, he hopes that the feeling is returned, that the question isn’t just cryptic, and curiosity fueled. Geralt sits straighter and rolls his shoulders.
“Triss says you need a few more days to recover and I still need to deal with the gryphon. You missed your competition.” Geralt says briskly as he stands.
“I imagined as much.” He responds dutifully, tries to keep the bitterness from his voice as Geralt leaves the room. He lets his head fall back and stares at the ceiling. It could have been worse, he tells himself, he could have sent you back to the university. For now we pretend, and that has to be enough. With a mournful sigh he gets to his feet and makes his way to the window, his food forgotten. Leaning against the wall he watches as Geralt prepares to go on his hunt. Idly, he wonders how long it will be until this all crumbles around him, tries to console himself to contentment as he soaks in the morning light. Summer is his favorite, but he worries this will be the last one that fits into the category as he watches Geralt ride out.
Happy (ISH) Epilogue:
The summer had continued in a kind of stale peace. They’re actions, hesitant and second guessed at every turn. Neither comfortable around the other. Awkward in each other's presence in a way they hadn’t been in years. Every dance and rhythm they had gone, replaced with missteps and uncertainty. More than once, Jaskier wonders if he should return to Oxenfurt, but he is greedy and if Geralt isn’t actively asking him to leave then he will stay. June fades into July, and July bleeds into August before they know it, and still they’ve only just begun to return to the familiarity of longstanding friendship.
The sun is setting, and the smell of their supper has settled heavy over their campsite when Geralt speaks softly across the fire. The Witchers voice is soft enough that Jaskier doesn’t realize he’s being spoken to right away, over the sound of his lute. He fumbles the strings at the oddity of it and blinks rapidly at Geralt. It was unusual for him to start the conversations, they had reverted back to Jaskier being the chattery one and Geralt being the monosyllabic one since their conversation.
“I’m sorry, what?” Geralt stares at him and shakes his head in what appears to be amusement. Jaskiers heart somersaults in his chest and he can’t help but be happy about it. Maybe normalcy is returning to their relationship.
“I said, there is a competition in Redania. Do you want to go?”
“Yes. Yes! Of course I want to go, Geralt!” He grins and strums a bold chord. Geralt shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the boisterousness of it all.
“Good. I thought… it would be nice. Since you missed the last big event.” Geralt mutters to him, as he stokes up the fire, carefully avoiding Jaskiers eyes.
“Wait,” He begins slowly, uncertainly, “You don’t have a contract that’s taking us to Redania? You’re offering to go simply for the competition? You’re not a doppler are you?” a laugh bubbles out of him by the end. Geralt glares, unfortunately, Jaskier grew an immunity to them almost immediately.
“I am not a doppler. Not that you would know one if it bit you on the ass, Bard. I’m certain I’ll find contracts as we travel.” The Witcher sighs and lies back on his bed roll.
“Why?” Jaskier asks, voice quiet. He knows Geralt has heard him, but he also knows maybe it’s pushing the boundaries a little. When no immediate answer comes, Jaskier lies down for the night too, watches as the stars come out and light the night sky. His eyes have grown heavy and he lets out a small yawn. When he’s settled and nearly asleep, Geralt finally answers, voice steady in the dark of night.
“So, you can die happy.”
He grins into his bag, Geralt was never one for words, but Jaskier has always been good at understanding what he means. It’s no secret to either of them, that Jaskiers days will end before Geralts unless some freak accident happens. And maybe, mentioning death isn’t the best way to say “I love you”, but nothing about them has ever made sense to anyone else.
Given the prevalence of superhuman abilities, there are not too many shows about that beyond hokey dramas and the like with little substance behind them; they are cheap to make, so tend to be put out often.
Among the tween/teen demographic, currently the ‘secret power’ genre is very popular, which is either someone with a secret devastating superpower or a world where the protagonist is the only one with a superpower. .
Game shows tend to veer to the young./educational side of the spectrum.
In mainstream entertainment, Westerns are popular. Simple good and evil, nice popcorn movies of an era that didn’t exist.
The ‘world without powers’ genre is popular in a ‘what can we do with this tired trope?” manner and exists mostly in soap operas.
The fantasy movie is this novel’s version of the superhero movie, in terms of a niche genre that has begun to dominate the big-budget franchises.
Varied powered olympics shows exist too: some with people trying to complete and hide having powers (sometimes because the power has no bearing on the spot, but one would believe them), and others offering up the idea of a powers-only kind of olympics. Professional sports are far less of a thing - both in the real world and in popular media.
The superpolice and superteam genre dipped off in the 80s and 90s but small nostalgia versions are returning, providing some income for old superhuman teams.
Superpower training shows are popular, if highly glamourized and the alien invasion vs. superhumans remains the b-movie staple.
The horror genre is slowly making a comeback from a lot of low-budget affairs in the early 2000s.
Note: since superhumans can work on shows, this often helps with budgets a lot so a lot more attention is paid to the set design/believability and inter-character drama than the ‘FX’ that are often a clever use of superhuman powers and computer editing for the VR age.
Computer games tend to veer toward the horror genre for immersiveness, but co-op games set in space remain the most popular game for all ages.
Chronicles of the Supernovas: Children of Darkness
Chapter 4: Looming Danger
Ka'seem
“Oh my Lord~”
“You’re so big...and good with your hands~”
“Don’t ignore me~”
The room continued to fill with giggles as I settled further into the mountain of pillows and blankets on the large bed. Women from all across the cosmos came to this temple to please me and receive my “blessing”. They were quite generous with their love. It was suffocating at times, but that was mostly because breasts were thrown in my face. If I could die...that would be the way to go. I had a practically energetic woman riding my cock at the moment. I ran my hands up her thick dark thighs before sighing in content as she cried out on top of me. Another woman licked down my neck before she moved down to nibble on my nipple. I kept my fingers moving as a brunette was close to unraveling from my finger play. A sudden tongue going down my throat was very appreciated as I thrust up in my bouncing lady.
“Oh my Lord! You’re fantastic!” I smirked against my fevered kiss as I rolled my hips into her as she came back down, sparking her climax. I held the woman I was kissing closer as I had my own orgasm. The woman I had been fingering also had her release as I felt her tighten up on my fingers. I stopped my fevered kiss and sank into the pillows with a satisfied smile. A few of the women groaned and whined as they wanted a turn.
“Now now ladies...let me catch a second wind. We’ve been at this for the last 9 hours. I’ll make sure to please you all soon.”
I laughed and leaned my head back and was about to close my eyes when I saw something that made my balls shrivel up. I swallowed nervously as the room grew dark and objects in the room started to float. The woman looked around in fear and moved off the bed. They didn’t get far as they were also lifted up. I moved to sit up but the sheets suddenly wrapped around my arms and legs and throat, pinning me to the bed. I swallowed hard as my sexy, but a scary member of my pantheon floated down from the balcony.
“H-Hey Laetoria...how are you beautiful?” I chuckled nervously as she hovered over me, staring fiercely at me from behind her glasses. Her cat ears and tail twitched in an agitated manner as she stayed silent. The women around me suddenly dropped to the floor and ran off.
“Why are you speaking...as if you don’t know why I’m here?” Her eyes were slitted angrily as she growled deep in her throat. Honestly, she was super cute when she was mad, but I really didn’t want a repeat of the last time I made her mad. I shivered just thinking about that encounter again.
“Listen Tori...I think I just needed a break. My loyal followers needed a visit from their Go-“ I didn’t finish my terrible lie as the blankets tightened around my throat. Her green eyes glowed intensely and she pulled me up close to her face.
“Stop. Neglecting. Your. Job!”
“Y-Yes ma’am!” Satisfied with my answer, she tossed me onto the bed. I coughed and held my throat as she threw my clothes at me. Her animal instincts really brought the anger out of her, and I loved every second of it. I quickly got dressed as she waited for me by the door, my followers were whining behind the door before she scared them off.
“Come on Ka’seem...it doesn’t take long to get dressed.” She slowly turned her head to look at me, but I was already dressed at watching her with a smirk on my face. “What is it now?”
“Just thinking about how pretty you are…” I slowly walked over to her and stood in front of her. I tilted her head up as I gazed into her eyes. “You really want to get back to work? There are millions of different things we could do. Like for example, we can-”
The knee to my groin silenced me the entire trip back to my temple. She must be in heat or something. This level of abuse is just uncalled for.
“Maybe you should do your duties then…”
“Huh? Oh, you can read minds now?”
“No that’s just what your face is telling me.” I slowly sat behind my desk as she gave me a bag of ice. Before I could even utter a thank you, she slammed a stack of paperwork in front of me. “Now get to work and only call me if you’re done or need more ice.”
“Ok ok…” I grumbled as I grabbed my pen and began the boring part of my duties. I looked over at my open window forlornly. Sneaking out would be a death sentence and my reputation as an escape artist was damaged forever because of Laetoria.
“If you would just get your work done I wouldn’t have to drag you back every single time. Before you say anything, sleeping with women is not essential to your job as the God of pleasure.”
“I like to be hands-on with my godly approach.”
“Good. So you’ll have no problem signing all these documents.” I really walked into that one. With a triumphant smirk, Laetoria walked out with a delicate swish of her tail. I had to admit every time that she was right. I just liked to be rebellious and a bit difficult about it. My mother was still surprised at how difficult I could be despite my status. What fun would it be if I wasn’t myself? Speaking of my mother, I had planned to visit the family sometime soon. She would hound everyone she could find so she could spend time with me.
“Crazy woman…” I did like to check up on my home from time to time. It only made sense that I would, considering that I had become their patron God. The royal family has been doing quite good since the proclamation of my status. I received way too many gifts from Scantilla over the years. I was glad that my family had stopped being vain about the whole thing. I chuckled as I stamped my symbol on some documents, having a God in the family became such a big deal. I was actually embarrassed about it for a while. There was a lot of bias and favoritism in the beginning, but I like to think I chilled out a bit. I nibbled on my pen as I frowned over what I was seeing.
An overpopulated planet hadn’t been on the agenda for quite a bit of time and dealing with one was never fun to deal with. In most cases, a god of war or some other disaster would show up to thin out the masses. I just hated signing off on it like it was some simple task. Some order was needed in the universe, yes, but this part of the job sucked ass. I know Lady Serafina never felt too happy about this sort of thing too, but overpopulation would not benefit anyone. I liked this little planet too, with a heavy emphasis on the little. I rubbed my eyes as I started to nod off already. I sipped the steaming cup of coffee I’m sure Tori left and straightened myself out.
“Alright! Let’s do this!”
~~~
“You should have just let me die!”
I jumped up out of my seat and gripped my desk as sweat came down my forehead. I raised a shaky hand and wiped my brow and took a few deep breaths. Hearing a sound, I took notice of Laetoria holding a tray of food with a concerned expression. “Hey...thanks…” I walked around my desk to grab the tray but she pulled back and I sighed. “Tori…”
“You’re still having nightmares. I told you that this would start affecting you…”
“Tori please...we are not having this discussion again.”
“Ka’seem I think that we should. You-”
“Laetoria…” I glared at her and she stopped talking immediately. “We are not discussing this. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” I sighed and grabbed the tray from her. I hated asserting myself over my pantheon, but I hated the direction that conversation would have gone more.
“I’m fine Tori. Sorry that I fell asleep like that, but I did get most of it done.” I sat back at my desk as she opened a window and a cool breeze blew in. She tapped her nail against the window as she looked at the sky. “Tori?”
“I just worry about you…we all do.”
“I know you guys do, but you really don’t have to. Just let it go, Laetoria.” She sat up on the windowsill as she nibbled on a cookie and I chuckled.
“What?”
“Thought you were cutting back on the sweets beautiful?”
“Shut up and hurry up. You have a visitor.”
“Huh? Well, shouldn’t you have told me that first?”
“I was but you were having your nightmare and I thought you should have some food in your system.”
“Huh...so who is it?”
“Lady Serafina.”
“Yeah, you should have led with that.” I got up from my seat and walked toward the door. I gripped the doorknob and paused to look back at her. “Don’t speak to anyone about what you saw.”
“Yes...my Lord….” She looked at me sadly but I turned away to head out to greet Lady Serafina. I didn’t like it when people worried about me. There were much more important things to worry about than my nightmares.
“My life is ruined because of you!”
“I have nothing to live for anymore!”
“It should have been you!”
“I wish you weren’t m-”
“Ka’seem!” I gasped as I looked into the eyes of Lady Serafina as she held her palm against my cheek. Her other hand was against my chest, and I could feel my heart about to burst out. Her eyes were wide with worry and I placed my hand over hers as I shook the final screams from my mind.
“Hey…”
“Hey…”
“So...what can I do for you starlight?”
“I think I should be asking you that. What happened Ka’seem?” I chuckled and pulled away from her as I led her out of my temple.
“You worry too much my lady. I’m more curious about you. Is this a business or pleasure meeting?” I waggled my eyebrows at her, but her increasing by the second frown made me stop. “I promise that I am perfectly fine.”
“You’re deflecting...and you have bags under your eyes…” She wiped under my eyes with her thumbs and a feeling of relief washed over me. “Ka’seem...what is it?”
“Just anxious and overworked. Please starlight...just let it go…” I looked away from her and I knew that she wanted to push but she let out a defeated sigh and I looked back just to get my nose pinched. “Ow ow ow ow!”
“Stop keeping things that are hurting you to yourself. You have people who love and care about you. You don’t have to shoulder things by yourself handsome.”
“Yeah I know...so what’s going on?”
“We might have a problem in Sector 4857...I believe that the Darkness might be-”
“KA’SEEM!!!!” I barely had time to react as the wind was knocked out of me and my face met the floor with a hard crack. Thankfully, it was the floor that cracked and not my perfect face. I groaned against the marble floor as I felt my back get assaulted. I turned enough to see Nerissa happily bouncing on my back. “Are you happy to see me?”
“I saw you the other day you crazy bitch…”
“Aww, I love you too bitch. Are you excited about our mission?”
“You mean the one I didn’t hear about because you tackled the hell out of me? Sure Nerissa I’m totally excited about it.”
“Oh heh...my bad…” She helped me up and Lady Serafina smiled and shook her head at our antics. “So to sum it up...might have to deal with some trafficking that the Darkness might be a part of. So we could be at it for a while! Now, are you excited!”
“The Darkness? Trafficking? That’s new…”
“Which is why I’m gathering all of you to personally look into this. The others are gathered at my temple. We came to pick you up so we could discuss it more at length.” I frowned and nodded as Nerissa skipped over to a portal Lady Serafina opened to whisk us away. I pulled my hair into a ponytail as I walked through. This was gonna be a bitch of a mission. I just know it.
~~~
“So we might have to split up and take points on different parts of the planet. A team of two and three should work out best.”
“Being in a group at all will just make us stand out. If we split up then we can cover the most ground. It’s the better plan.”
“I suggested that we go in groups in case we have a problem. The Darkness is most likely involved with this and the last thing we need is to be attacked or worse by ourselves.”
“Do you doubt our skills? Or is this just a you thing?”
“Fuck you dog. I’m perfectly capable of defending myself and anyone else for that matter. It’s about safety!”
“I’m trying to be effective here you icy bitch!”
“You’re being unreasonable!”
“You just can’t make a plan that makes sense.” I sighed and so did everyone else as we listened to Nim and Celica rip into each other about our plan of action. I usually left to do my own thing and figure things out, but this needed a clear plan and these two had been snapping at each other for the last twenty minutes. Lady Serafina was trying to be calm and let them work through it, but she was starting to lose her patience. Clearing her throat, the others looked at her as she placed her hands down on the table. Holding her hand over the map, she raised a miniature diorama of the villages we would go to.
“All of you need to figure this out before you leave in the next hour. Stop your arguing and get prepared. We have no idea what this could be. So be cautious my Supernovas, be vigilant and be smart.”
We all nodded and surveyed the map. It looked like we could enter from the nearby forest and spread out from there to hit the village. “Hey Callum...why don’t you, me, and Celica hit this end of the village? I have to agree that we should group up and we can still keep a low profile.”
“I agree with you Ka’seem. It would be for the best. Nerissa and Nim...I trust you don’t have much of an issue with this?”
“That’s cool with me! Nim and I haven't done an assignment together for a while. Besides...we can’t send the arguing couple out.”
“He fucking wishes…”
“I’d rather drink acid and become consumed by the Darkness.” I chuckled at their sickened looks as we all broke off to gather supplies. I hoped this would not be as bad as we all were probably thinking. Although, if the Darkness was involved in this...it could go from bad to worse, very very quickly.
Please don’t cry. I can see the teardrops on your missive. Of course I have not forgotten your father’s antipathy towards psychiatrists, but don’t let his prejudices corrupt your thinking. I know your mother’s therapist couldn’t cure her, but sometimes mental illness resists treatment. And you know your mother’s depression played no part in her death.
You and Dr. Morgan needn’t tell your father that the counsellor is a psychiatrist. Merely tell your father that Dr. Morgan wishes to consult with a colleague for a second opinion.
Sometimes I think I can begins to discern a pattern to your father’s behaviour, but it’s more like a tapestry than a linear flow. Get the help you need, and do not allow your father’s illness to suffocate the beloved friend of
