Because sometimes you gotta draw two good pals
Because sometimes you gotta draw two good pals
something that makes me laugh every time i think about it is the witcher from filavandrel’s perspective like you kidnap this kid and a witcher and everything and as an apology for breaking his instrument you give him your own beautiful elven lute before letting them go and then that same guy goes on to´´ directly afterwards as a thank you write to this song thats so unbelievably racist against elves and it becomes like the biggest song of the next two decades
Dear Tom Canton (king Filavandrel) is working on a project to support the homeless community.
This project is a collaboration with different homeless charities and people on the streets themselves.
There's also a crowdfunding campaign to buy first necessity items for people in need. Any amount can go a long way.
If you're un a position to do so, you can donate here.
OOC - One day I’ll write about a wish list verse I have properly that is based on Fil’s words to Francesca about other elves not being so forgiving for the deals she made. Just those people getting it into their head that Fil should have been ruling Dol Blathana instead of her and riots ensue. Because I sure as hell can’t stop thinking about it.
I made a Fil :D
tagged by: Stole from @humilemvatis
Tagging: Steal it!
@humilemvatis continued from here “...While I’m well aware we fit into that first category, I have a lot of feelings, thank you. Most people do. Romance is well and truly alive, you know.” The bard huffed a bit before reclining back some. “Besides, we do have feelings for each other. They may not be romantic, but they are feelings.”
Most people....that made him feel strange though he didn’t show it much on his face. How did they even get onto this conversation? The elf didn’t even recall. At least they were comfortable right now in his quarters. “I’ve yet to feel that ‘fact’ you claim.” Filavandrel shrugged. Not with the Bard, though he cared about him and not with anyone else either. “Is it not just wistful thinking for something that is not a thing?”
I am going to need this fandom to start tagging lute death like a trigger warning.
P R E T T Y B O Y
how it started how it’s going
The king 👑
Gouache on canvas because I have a death wish 😌👌💙
@stellanimarum for Fil because... why not smash it together with Concerned Cit?
Jaskier had easily fallen into helping Ciri once she’d taken the position as Empress, it gave him a way to fill a bit of a void. No more bard, but politician. When a chance to speak with Francesca Findabair had come up, he’d jumped at it. At least there... he’d have a friend.
Ciri had him dropped off there and he’d settled in rather quickly with introductions, immediately catching the eye of Filavandrel as he did. It had been... gods, fifteen years? A terribly long time since they’d seen each other. Since they’d parted rather amicably.
He’d wandered over to the former elf king afterwards, smiling softly. “You look good... how have you been?”
Filavandrel just getting some pretty clothess.
Lil thing sort of plotted ;) - @humilemvatis
"I let you live. Give you my lute...and this is how you repay us?" No..Filavandrel wasn't having that, he didn't intend to let the dh'oine taedh run free so easily this time round.
New Muse - Carrd coming soon! - Filavandrel aén Fidháil Give this a lil ol’ like if you wanna do some plots!
when we asked to see proof of life for the bard, we meant more like “show us the bard himself” not “show us the closed door of his on-set trailer”, but u tried, Filavandrel. U tried
Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
General Audience, <2k
CW: Major Character Death
Tags: Hanahaki Disease, Angst with a Happy Ending
Dandelion figures out what pleases him, one minute too late.
Geralt takes a little longer.
'Dandelion feels his body giving up the fight. Slowly, at first, but as Filavandrel’s song continues, he feels roots taking place below and through his back. But it doesn’t hurt.
Full story under the cut! Enjoy!
Dandelion lowered the body of his very best friend in the boat. He watched as Ciri rowed herself and her parents off into the mist.
He felt bile rise in his throat. And gazed in horror at the petals that came out. Drenched in blood, completely red rose petals covered the ground before him.
He closed his eyes, fell to his knees, truly defeated. Please, not yet. He looked up, just barely catching the last glimpse of the boat before it disappeared in a blink. My love.
The journey back to the Valley, where it started so many years ago was unremarkable but for the piles of rose petals just off the side of every road he traveled. They started red. Then pink. By the third day, they came up snowy white.
By the fifth day, he’d pulled the first stem from his throat. As he gently caressed the full, white rose, he wondered if the golden bud at its center was for him or for the eyes of his Witcher.
He spent his last week in Dol Blathanna, surrounded once more by beautiful things. Beautiful people. People like him.
Every day he walked the length of the Valley, playing his lute. Taking comfort in the tragedies of home. They were greatly diminished once again. He’d hoped maybe Filvandrel would be able to talk the Lady down from her crusade. Her deployment of the Scoia’tael. As it was, he was surrounded by almost a completely new garden. Those who had not known their love returned. For whom it was too late when their love died.
Dandelion had hoped they’d learned after the raids, so long ago. Because they didn’t just lose on the frontlines. They lost at home. He took solace, knowing the peace he’d helped broker would see them safely through the next hundred years or so.
He stopped playing, gazing fondly on the angry, red snapdragons blooming even now in the middle of winter, among striped tiger lilies and bright yellow daffodils. He hoped Toruviel found her one in the Beyond. His fingers danced out a familiar tune and he continued on his way.
At least the Valley prospered from their suffering.
Dol Blathanna would maintain its beauty.
With one more addition.
“Would you-” more petals strewn from his mouth as he retched again, and again. He shuddered and choked as he pulled another stem out of his throat. A white rose, centered with gold, spattered in his blood. Beautiful all the same.
“Play for me, please.” He gave his lute back to its maker and laid down on the soft grass beside him. Filavandrel strummed lightly on the strings. Dandelion had kept it perfectly tuned, letting his fingers perform where his voice could not. Not anymore. Not for some time.
Filavandrel sat beside the bard, both surrounded by the beautiful remains of hopeless romance and unrequited love, there in Dol Blathanna, the Valley of Flowers.
“Rest, cousin. Enjoy your peace.” Filavandrel started plucking softly on his lute and started to sing,
‘ I have never known peace
Like the damp grass that yields to me
I have never known hunger
Like the insects that feast on me..’
Dandelion feels his body giving up the fight. Slowly, at first, but as Filavandrel’s song continues, he feels roots taking place below and through his back. But it doesn’t hurt.
No more …
‘And they’d find us in a week
When the buzzards get loud
After the insects have made their claim
After the foxes have known our taste
After the raven has had his say
I’d be home with you, I’d be home with you
I’d be home with you, I’d be home with you
I’d be home with you, I’d be home with you’
Before he can even finish the song, Filavandrel feels a new shade on his face. He opens his eyes to see a sprawling, tall rosebush beside him. White flowers, centered with gold. No longer spattered with blood.
Geralt arrives in Posada, tired and hungry. Desperately seeking Dandelion. He’s met at the border of Dol Blathanna by Filavandrel.
“He’s gone, Witcher.”
Tears gather in his eyes, “How long has he-” his throat closes. He can’t finish that sentence.
“A few days. You’ll know where he is. I’m-” Filavandrel pauses, taking a short breath, “I am sorry, Geralt. He truly loved you.”
Geralt pushes past him, walking carefully into the Valley. Dol Blathanna, home to the most incredible collection of flora on the Continent. Flowers that shouldn’t be able to grow here, in colors unseen anywhere else, alongside yellow daisies and sweet honeysuckle bushes.
Dol Blathanna, a graveyard of unrequited love.
Dandelion’s lute, a gift from the Filavandrel himself, lays before a rosebush. White flowers, centered with gold.
Geralt falls to his knees, legs no longer able to carry the weight of the years. “Please, you had to have known. You had to have known. Please, please, please.” his muttered words meet no recompense.
Geralt wails and beats his chest. Tears chase after each other down his face. After all that. Everything we went through together and apart. I know you bore my body to the Beyond. You were there.
“You were always there. And I loved you. I loved you. I-I love you.” Hands, weak for the first time in a long time, hit the ground. Frustrated. Devastated.
He screams again.
He winters with his family in Kaer Morhen.
Every Spring he travels to Dol Blathanna. Passes time with what few elves remain. Walks the Valley and recounts every last detail of the year past to his friend. His love.
Every Spring he clips one bud and presses it into the last gift he received from his friend. A journal, half full of their adventures. His life’s work. He carries it with him as he continues to travel the Continent and the Beyond.
The White Wolf and his Bard.
Geralt uncovers his eyes. He will never get used to traveling by Portal.
The first thing he notices is the strumming of a lute, somewhere nearby.
He takes off toward the voice. That voice. So sweet and beautiful and familiar. He knows whose it is.
“Gorgeous garroter…” he stops short at the treeline. Sitting with his back against the tree, knee drawn up to rest the lute. He was there.
“Dandelion,” he breathed.
“I never could figure that line out, you know. No amount of words could properly describe you.” Geralt circles around to kneel in front of his friend. His best friend. His love. “Took you long enough to get here, my Witcher.”
Dandelion reaches a hand up and rests it on Geralt’s cheek. He runs this thumb along a new scar set deep along his jaw. “That future world, right? You got torn up by some kind of flying missile, yes?”
Geralt nods, mouth open, eyes drinking in the sight before him. He puts his hand atop Dandelion’s still on his lute.
“I heard everything, my love, every year. I- mmpf…” he’s cut off as Geralt crushed his mouth against his. He pulls back slightly to whisper harshly in the space between-
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I-” cut off as Dandelion kisses him again.
“There’s nothing to forgive, my darling man.” They meet again and again and again.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
Flowers bloom around them as destiny finally relaxes her grip on their lives. Free at last to do as they please. With each other, never to be parted.
So you know how they said that they forgot to age up jaskier in season 1 and will do so in season 2? If this whole immortality thing rly is from filavandrel’s lute, what if it just gets destroyed and BAM
jaskier looks 20 yrs older