Aretuza produces broken girls.

In their year, Fringilla is the first one. One moment, her hand is normal, just another limb she doesn’t think much about- in the next, it’s a graveyard, shriveled and undead. She pleads with the rectoress to heal her, begs her and begs her and begs her- but no, says the rectoress.

“This is your punishment,” the ice-eyed woman says, coolly puffing at a pipe. “You shouldn’t have been so hasty- Chaos is not for the impatient.”

At Fringilla’s stifled sob, the rectoress softens and sighs. “You can get it healed if you Ascend.”

#OKAY WELL THEN THANK YOU FOR HURTING ME LIKE THIS #the witcher #the witcher netflix #witcher netflix #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #tissaia de vries #fringilla vigo #sabrina glevissig #angst #tw ableism #fic rec

bamf-jaskier

The Exception

Exception noun

a case to which a rule does not apply

Yennefer considers herself proud. She has never once asked for help and very rarely has help offered to her. It is a badge of honor, to live as independently as she has. Never asking for help means she has never been weak. It means she has never gained anything that she hasn’t fought for herself. Everything that makes her who she is has been built up from ground dust into something powerful by her own hands.

There is no one controlling her. There is no one who can harm her. There is no one she would ever want help from.

However, sometimes, late at night, under stars and darkened skies when no one is around but the curling wisps of her own thoughts, Yennefer lets herself dream.

She dreams of The Exception.

The one person who she wouldn’t run from, would get close to without fear of intimacy. They would know her as well as she knows herself.

It is lonely, to be as determined as she is to remain independent and proud. Every connection she makes is thin and wavering, like a single thread of spider’s silk connecting them which could snap at any given moment. It is tenuous and anytime that thread moves to strengthen, she keeps it fragile.

Yennefer believes that she must have the ability to leave at any moment and escape any relationship. She never wants to be trapped again.

Still, everyday while she feels as if she is alive she doesn’t feel as though she is living. She is surviving, still reeling from a trauma she can’t name or place or heal from because where its title should be there is an echoing silence.

But The Exception. They would be able to name her trauma. They would be able to give this great beast inside her a name and chase it away. They would be able to hold her close and know when to let her go. They would understand her need to run, to leave and maybe, just maybe, they might run with her.

Yennefer doesn’t want help. She doesn’t want friends or a lover or any connections to this cursed plane. This is repeated like a mantra every time a village asks her to leave, every time she must curse someone to get her way, every time someone tries to get close and she leaves before the sun rises.

She tells herself she is satisfied with her life, with the empty gnawing inside of her, that once she searches for a way to remake everything that was stolen from her it will go away. But she knows it won’t. She knows she is tracing empty hopes as a way to distract from her inability to keep connections and her drive to always leave, to always run.

It is easier, she thinks, to be proud and never ask. If you never ask, you are never disappointed. She tells herself she wants for nothing but power.

Despite this.

She dreams.

Of The Exception.

#do you ever think about the fact that Yennefer had no close friends or family for most of her life before Geralt?#people always talk about how Geralt was so alone before he met XYZ character (most often Jaskier)#but Geralt has his father and brothers he had friends #Yennefer had very little #she kept no connections and referenced no friends #even Triss looking for Yennefer had no reference to friendship #it is painful to think about #angst #yennefer #yenralt #the witcher #drabble #ficlet #myposts #yennefer of vengerberg

bamf-jaskier reblogged

acemoppet

Mirror - Desi!Renfri

Just had this thought of Desi!Renfri and it would not leave my mind, so.

Renfri remembers her mother in snatches of color.

She remembers her hands were as dark as a koel-bird’s feathers, remembers that sometimes the pads of her fingers were stained red as she applied sindoor to her forehead. She remembers that her ears were always adorned with big, intricate earrings made of gold and emeralds, though she usually kept them hidden underneath her aanchal, the embroidered ends of the headscarf tickling Renfri’s cheek when she wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck. She remembers the bright bindis her mother used to wear- most of the time, they were as red as the apples in the royal gardens, but sometimes, just for Renfri, she’d pull out other colors, like marigold-yellow and leaf-green.

When they camp by a lake one day, Renfri goes down to bathe and stops in her tracks.

Her skin, once brown like sandalwood, has darkened with the sun- koel-dark. She has no earrings, but her hood is stained at the hem, a muddy embroidery. Her face is covered in blood- occupational hazard of being a bandit- but one small dot sticks stubbornly to the skin right above her eyebrows- if she didn’t know any better, she’d think it was one of her mother’s bindis.

So here she stands- Renfri of no man’s land, Princess of bandits, daughter of a useless king and a grisly mirror of the one person she still holds most dear.

She throws a stone into the lake and walks away. Perhaps it’s not a good day to bathe after all.

#renfri #renfri of creyden #the witcher #the witcher netflix #desi!renfri #angst #racebensinh #twn