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catscraftsandcommentary · 6 months

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So I had some time to think tonight at work (in between operating heavy machinery, swearing at the materials, and trying to keep the line running, fun times!) And I asked myself, "self, hypothetically, what might @inexplicifics Accidental Warlord AU look like in another generation or two - once people really get used to witchers being The Good Guys (TM) and helping out?"

And I was like "well, they'd probably get invited to social events - ooh! Who'd like which events best?!? What would that look like?"

Geralt, as we all know, detests anything too formal or Warlord-focused. He enjoys weddings and receptions, but his TRUE favorite is baby christenings. Seriously. Put him in a room with a tiny baby and he's happy as a clam. He'll happily growl away (or weaponize his puppy-dog eyes against) grannies, aunties, and other family members to hold the baby for as long as possible. He's also 90% of the reason that witchers are now rumored to be able to bless babies.

When Mouse and Treyse bring this new rumor to the council, everyone has to just sit. And process for a minute. Because what the ever-loving fuck?!? (Jaskier immediately writes the sweetest lullaby ever, "A Witcher's Blessing", and it is the ONLY song that Geralt ever sings in public, and only ever to babies and small children. Multiple women blame this for their immediate conceptions.)

Jaskier adores weddings and festivals of all types, and if a happy couple includes details of how they met and/or fell in love with their wedding invitation, there's at least a 50% chance that he'll show up to the wedding with a personalized love song, holy shit.

Ciri loves tourneys. Loves watching them, loves displaying in them, loves sneaking into competing in them (omg, heir, NO), loves WINNING them. She's a menace. She has various stealth coats of arms that she rotates between when she's not supposed to be competing, but her favorite is the battle goose. Obviously.

Eskel doesn't like crowds or being the center of attention, which are almost inevitable with public invitations, but he does enjoy being the +1 for his family. Several of his and their interests overlap, and even where they don't, he likes to see them enjoying themselves.

Yennifer becomes well-known as an extremely efficient - albeit terrifying - treaty negotiator. She'll talk to both sides, get a list of their must haves, deal-breakers, would-likes, and don't-wants (as well as - perhaps more importantly - the reason why each of those are on that particular list). Then she draws up a draft and viciously negotiates a compromise. She is genuinely surprised the first time that both sides thank her for her help.

Vesemir, with all his long years of teaching, loves visiting schools and seeing any sort of student performance or sporting event. Kindergarten to university, drama to music to dance recitals to track and field meets to football games to student symposiums to science contests to... He buys out bake sales and funds club field trips and donates several fortunes worth of antique knick knacks to various schools. He's invited as a guest lecturer, a commencement speaker, a competition judge, a referee.

Lambert and Aiden, at some point, discover bachelor's parties, call dibs, and never look back. People learn very quickly not to invite witchers to their stag nights unless they want the entire party to get horrifyingly drunk - but at least Lam and Aiden will make sure that everyone makes it home (or to the wedding) safely. Perhaps not soberly, or sans hangover, but definitely without major injury. (And if the bride asks nicely and the groom and friends weren't total jerks, Lambert can usually be counted on to make a hangover cure. He really is a softie at heart.)

Dragonfly and Serrit get tapped for the odd bachelorette party or ladies' birthday parties. Anything that falls under "I want to be able to drink and party with my friends without worrying about some strange guy hurting one of us." They are extremely protective and have both been drunkenly proposed to several times. (Livi finds this terribly amusing. Gweld just wants to know if he can watch.) Milena and Zofia sometimes go with them.

Milena loves going to wedding showers and baby showers, but outside Kaer Morhen, she has to stay in sight of Lambert or one of his brothers. Lambert's rule. (She got KIDNAPPED, okay? He's allowed to worry!) Usually she'll take Geralt (there might be babies! He's excellent protection!) or Eskel (he's very quiet and has excellent manners, and his signs are impossible to fight) for the more, ah, female-heavy events. If anyone asks, they're her brother-in-law and genuinely like spending time around kids. And very, very married.

#the witcher #accidental warlord au #inexplicifics

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fangirleaconmigo · 3 months

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In your expert opinion, do you think there’s any deeper reading to interpret from Geralt’s rebound with Essi, and traits she shares with Dandelion? (I know it wasn’t authorial intention in the least, but when he kissed her within 10 minutes of meeting, I got a “she’s a lot like Dandelion, surely she’s safe to embarrass myself with” vibe).

Hi Nonny!

Essi and Dandelion, Poets and Parallels, Ballads and Broken Hearts

Thank you for the ask! I'm on my lunch break from work, but I'm so happy to be answering Witcher book questions again that I'm sneaking off to do this.

Essi is such an interesting character, right? On one hand, she seems to be treated as the 'anti-Yen" by the narrative and the thing that Geralt 'should' want, thereby reinforcing his love for Yen when he *doesn't* fall in love with Essi.

But then there are all the curious parallels and similarities with Dandelion, which also makes it fun to analyze in that way. The list of similarities is long: their profession, personality, looks, their level of talent, and my favorite, their readiness to throw hands on behalf of Geralt of Rivia. And then there is The Ballad.

Ok. I'm going to set authorial intent aside for the moment, because writers write things all the time they don't intend to write. And I think any artist worth their salt should be thrilled that their work is layered and interesting enough to inspire differing interpretations.

That being said, let's get to the fun part.

SPOILERS SPOILERS FOR ESSI'S STORY PLS DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED.

Profession, personality

Let's look at Essi's introduction! She enters the scene acting just like Dandelion. Both poets are mercilessly insulting one another in their fake-genteel way. (Lots of shade, as well as out and out insults)

Geralt is taken aback, thinking they are fighting, but then they fall on one another embracing and he's like...oh lordt. There's two of them.

"The Witcher was taken aback, but not too greatly. A professional colleague of Dandelion's could not, indeed, differ much from him in terms of predictability."

--Sword of Destiny pg 195

So we have profession, and personality being very similar. Bards with sharp tongues and ready emotions. Then we have looks!

Looks.

I've done a post on Dandelion's looks here. And Essi is similar! Blonde hair, blue eyes, and beautiful. Same same. Sorry, her eyes are a dark blue whereas Dandelion's are cornflower. Much different so contrast.

Level of talent.

They are both beloved and famous. When Ciri is studying at Nenneke's temple, she has access to both of their books of poetry.

[Ciri] read The Adversities of Loving and Time of the Moon, collections of poems by the famous troubadour Dandelion. She shed tears over the ballads of Essi Daven, subtle, infused with mystery, and collected in a small, beautifully bound volume entitled The Blue Pearl. --Blood of Elves pg 298

And Geralt adores both of their voices. When Essi and Dandelion are singing together, Geralt thinks to himself that they have the most beautiful voices that he has ever heard.

They Stay Ready to Throw Hands for Geralt of Rivia.

The text even classifies Essi and Dandelion together on this. And as I said, it's my favorite part of her character, and not just because I love Geralt. It shows her strength, her strong sense of self, her courage, and her values.

First, she, much in the way that Dandelion does, uses her fame, connections, and higher social standing to protect Geralt. And she throws Dandelion into the mix for good measure to strengthen her threats. So when Duke Agloval threatens to drive Geralt to the border with a whip. Essi reponds.

"...please dont threaten Geralt. It so happens that Dandelion and I have several friends...King Ethain of Cidaris...always says that our ballads aren't just lively music and rhymes, but a way of spreading news...Do you wish, your Grace, to be written into the chronicle of human kind? I can arrange it?" --Sword of Destiny pg 212

And when Geralt turns down Agloval's 'offer' of permanent work killing sea creatures in a permanent war with them, (keeping in mind that the noble has stiffed Geralt twice on payment so far) Agloval invokes Geralt's poverty in a demeaning way.

"Oh how proud," Agloval smiled. "How haughty. You reject offers in a way some kings wouldn't be ashamed of. You give up decent money with the air of a wealthy man after a lavish dinner. Geralt? Did you have lunch today? No? And tomorrow? And the day after? I see little chance, Witcher, very little..."

It is so infuriating. Agloval is saying...who the fuck do you think you are? Someone important? Someone with status?? Someone who is allowed to decide his own ethics for himself?

This is a constant theme. The...know your place. Stop trying to think for yourself. Ethics look stupid on you, because you aren't 'real' enough of a human being to have them. So it is super satisfying when Essi lets loose on him.

"How dare you!" Little Eye cried shrilly. "How dare you speak like that to him Agloval!...How can you be so base?"...

Geralt tries to stop her. He sees little point.

"Stop it Essi," Geralt said. "Stop, Essi, there's no point." "Not true," she said angrily. "These is a point. Someone has to tell it straight to this self-appointed duke....who now thinks he has the right to insult other people."

And she isn't done.

"Yes, Agloval, " Essi continued, clenching her shaking hands into fists. "The opportunity to insult other people amuses and pleases you. You delight in the contempt you can show the Witcher...you should know that the Witcher mocks your attempts and slights., that they do not make the faintest impression on him..."

Then we bring Dandelion back in. Because guess who also feels anger and revulsion when Geralt is treated so contemptuously? Let Essi say it...

"The Witcher doesn't feel what Dandelion and I feel, and we feel revulsion."

Sword of Destiny pg 237

That's like...not even half of her unloading on this guy. She is like...you are worth less than Geralt, so jot that down.

Now..

The Ballad

Here is why the ballad matters to me. I think that perhaps even more interesting than how Geralt responds to Essi (interesting though it is) is how Dandelion responds to Essi. Why does he think someone who is almost exactly like him is perfect for Geralt? I mean, he sees himself in her so much that he thinks of her as his sister.

He loves her more than Geralt does I think that is clear. Geralt cares deeply about her. But to Dandelion, she is like his family.

He is put in a shitty position of seeing her distraught and anguished about her feelings for Geralt and Geralt afraid of leading her on or hurting her. Geralt and Essi go back and forth, making it insufferable for Dandelion as a third wheel.

I talked about it here here and here.

Dandelion's response is the subject of controversy in fandom, and there are many valid and differing reader responses. But it seems clear that Dandelion has come to terms with the fact that Geralt and Essi will not be together in love, despite his advice to Geralt. So he suggests they just fuck to get it out of their systems and then everything will be ok. (that's his solution to most things)

So, if he is at ease with that, why the ballad? At the end of the story, Dandelion composes a ballad while Essi and Geralt sleep.

Dandelion, staring into the dying embers, sat much longer, alone, quietly strumming his lute. It began with a few bars, from which an elegant, soothing melody emerged. The lyric suited the melody, and came into being simultaneously with it, the words blending into the music, becoming set in it like insects in translucent, golden lumps of amber. The ballad told of a certain witcher and a certain poet. About how the witcher and the poet met on the seashore, among the crying of seagulls, and how they fell in love at first sight. About how beautiful and powerful was their love. About how nothing - not even death - was able to destroy that love and part them.

Sword of Destiny pg 246

Why this romantic song?? About a witcher and poet?

Yes, it could be just for the ballad, for a successful song. The text talks about the real story not being a good one for a ballad.

But there is so much emotion and magic in that scene. What is he thinking? What is he feeling?

Of course you know about what happens next, Essi's heartbreaking end, and Dandelion's crushing grief. She dies of smallpox during an epidemic. Dandelion is there. Did he go as soon as he heard? Was he visiting her expecting some lovely evenings singing around a fire and found her dead?

However it happened, Dandelion does not leave her to die alone. He does not turn tail and leave, avoiding smallpox. He literally carries the cold dead corpse of this woman he loves, who he sees as his sister, in his arms...

...Dandelion had carried her out in his arms between corpses being cremated on funeral pyres and had buried her far from the city, in the forest, alone and peaceful...

He buries her alone with his own hands! Oh how his heart must have shattered. It is moments like that, that you see the deeper, kinder, even (dare I say) noble side of the vain, braggadocios, whorish bard.

It goes on to say that Dandelion could have changed the song at any point to be a true version (the one where Essi dies), but he never did.

No, Dandelion stuck with his first version. And he never sang it. Never. To no one. Sword of Destiny p 246

Yeah.

To me there is a story about a young girl who cares enough for ten people, who has a huge heart, and a deep soul. A fearless girl who feels things too big for her to handle for a man others call a monster. A girl whose voice is like an angel.

And then there is a story about a broken hearted poet who loved her (far more than Geralt did) and who wrote a song about a witcher and a poet and he never changed the words and never sang it to anyone.

And I wonder if he wasn't writing that ballad about a witcher and a different poet entirely.

*sob*

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #dandelion #geraskier #jaskier #gerlion #essi daven #the witcher books #thinking about the witcher books yet again #thinking about dandelion yet again

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 1 year

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Geralt of Rivia NSFW Alphabet

Summary: Geralt of Rivia NSFW Alphabet!!

Notes: this request has been in my inbox forever... sorry :)

Warnings: afab!reader, smut ig?

Taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @lucyinthelibrary @sunndust (hmu to be added for any taglist!)

based on this request | Masterlist | requests are OPEN!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

The BEST backrubs. He’s very quiet, but he takes care of you so so well.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his arms, just because he can pick you up/protect you with them and he knows that you like them so so much.

Loves everything about you, but especially your hips/bodyshape. Just loves to admire, yk?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s got a little breeding kink. He knows he can’t have kids, but he still likes cumming inside.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Likes it when you get a little rough with him/try to push him around a bit. If he didn’t want to, you couldn’t, but the way you push him against a wall is still hot

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s old and looks good, so he’s got A LOT

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves something where you’re really close to him, maybe in his lap. Wants to be able to wrap his arms around you

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It’s more serious to him, but he’ll joke around with you

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The carpet matches the drapes, and he’ll honestly groom however you want him to. Otherwise doesn’t really care that much.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

If you’re fuckbuddies, then it’s just a hookup – no feelings, no strings attached. If you’re romantically involved oml. He turns into the biggest sap.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Idt he jacks off a lot. He’d rather just do it properly with you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding kink for sure. Loves hair pulling, whether that’s on you or him, also enjoys scratching/biting. Loves to mark up your thighs.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Might sound boring, but in a bed. He’s on the road enough, so if he’s ever off it, he wants you to be comfortable.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Just catching a glimpse of you is enough, especially if he makes you laugh or happy, then he’s practically on his knees

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything with too much liquid, especially blood. He doesn’t want to hurt you. Too much.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Will eat you out for days. He loves giving you head, between your legs gotta be one of his favorite places.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on what you want tbh – he likes everything as long as it’s with you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sure, why not? He’ll sneak them in all the time.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’ll try out new stuff, but he’s tried pretty much everything. He knows what he likes, and usually sticks to that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’s got that witcher stamina :)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Idt Geralt likes toys tbh, so none.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’ll tease you outside the bedroom to get you excited, but he’s too impatient once you’re kissing him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a quiet lover, he prefers listening to you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’d go crazy for lingerie of any kind, and then he’d ruin it with his teeth right after.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Just like he’s got witcher stamina, he’s got witcher endowment

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is pretty high, especially around you, but he’ll make sure to satisfy you each time

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Witchers don’t sleep much, and Geralt prefers holding you anyway. He enjoys watching you fall asleep in his arms

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt imagine #geralt z rivii #geralt z rivii x you #geralt z rivii x reader #geralt z rivii x y/n #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt #geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n

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crownofstardustandbone · 7 months

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

Hello love, thank you so much for sending this!!

First up is a story I wrote not too long ago "Mercy Mercy Please (The Monster in Me)" which is a Theo x Liam Teen Wolf fic that is an enemies to hate fuckers to lovers story with 20k words of dirty, nasty, kinky dub-con hate fucking lol I love this one so much because I haven't written this dynamic before and these two are just PERFECT for it.

Next up is "Prussian Blue" which is a Clark x Bruce superbat story in which Bruce gets irradiated to lethal levels and Clark frantically tries to find a way to stop him from dying, while also being forced to confront the depths of his feelings for Bruce. I love this one because it's angsty (big surprise LOL), but also because of the relationships I built between Clark and Alfred, and Clark and Bruce--I think they're well characterized and engaging. Plus I did a SHIT TON of research into the acute effects of radiation sickness and the treatments for it, which is where the title comes from--Prussian Blue is a pretty standard treatment for radiation poisoning!

My next one I'll talk about is hands down my favorite thing I've written in the last few years because it's so unbearably tender. "Ribs Cracked Open, A Home Made Within" is a Geralt x Jaskier story that came about because I had this idea that with his extra mutagens, Geralt would probably be hypersensitive to the point of pain, and wondered what that would look like within canon. I also really wanted Geralt to be handled with care and affection and tenderness because we never really see that in canon, and when someone is so hurt by the world and so self loathing, I desperately crave stories where they get to be treated tenderly.

Next is "Handful of Aces, Pocketful of Nines" which is a Holden x Bill Mindhunter story that came about after a rewatch while I was high and had my brain go galaxy mode and see them as a ship 😂This story follows canon and is filled to the brim with yearning, internalized homophobia, and so much angst it'll break your heart! I love this one because it's got so many tropes that I adore, and I think is a very compelling story of two people who don't know how to love each other, but also don't know how not to love each other.

Finally, is "Unbroken" which I consider to be my Steve x Tony magnum opus lol This story is my baby--I spent two years writing it, during which time I was in grad school, working full time, doing an internship and trying to get homework done. It's angsty and full of pining, hurt/comfort, whump, and all the other tasty tropes that I adore. It's a complicated story about a complicated relationship--Steve is found in the ice during Tony's childhood and comes to live with the Starks where he serves as a friend and protector for Tony. Tony loves him, and when life intervenes, they're married to protect Tony from being given to Obie--but that doesn't mean things get any easier. I do honestly think that this is the best thing for stony that I ever have and ever will write, and I hope more folks give it a shot despite that underage tag lol

#my fics #my writing #thiam #superbat #geraskier #bill x holden #stony

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ghostlytoms · 1 month

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i made the witcher family in bg3 so here’s little facts about them because i’m insane! (appearances are based off both the game and the show)

starting off with the best! ciri my love.

she’s a cleric of selûné that is in fact a dark urge. i just felt like the dark urge fits her a lot and will be something she has to reject. her dream visitor is calanthe.

next up the witcher himself, geralt of rivia.

(act like the absolute talisman is a witcher medallion)

he’s a human paladin (oath breaker). his oath was oath of revenge, which he inevitably breaks to protect Ciri. his dream visitor is visenna at the beginning of the game!

and of course the beautiful mage, yennefer of vengerberg.

she is a half-elf sorcerer (with a bit of draconic bloodline in fire because i wanted it.) she’s my favorite i love the way she turned out (i’m in love with anya chalotra.) her dream visitor is tissaia.

and finally, the wonderful bard, Jaskier.

he’s my least favorite looking, as none of the faces match him in the slightest. i couldn’t get him to look like dandelion in the game or show which was upsetting but i digress. he’s a bard (of course) and has his trusty lute, always. his dream visitor is priscilla!

i had so much fun with them. i had to put my two hyperfixations together at some point so here it is!

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poledancingdinos · 1 year

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Hostile Territory - Chapter 11

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 3.7K

Warnings: Horny thoughts, some past drunkenness, past physical violence, past injuries

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction

A/N: I made an inspiration post here. I'm sorry this chapter is late, life suddenly started kicking my ass this week. I'm also really late on answering comments but I love everyone who left me their thoughts on last week's post.

Masterlist

Day 123

After going back to her room to change and get all her markers, Leah found her way to the room where Sy slept. One of the perks of being captain—aside from wearing all those shorts and t-shirts that were definitely not regulation—was that he got to have his own room. He even had a door.

When her knock went unanswered, Leah let herself in only to find Sy seated on his bed, staring at a disposable razor. Aika was curled into a ball by the pillow, lazily snoozing while her owner looked like there was a full on battle raging in his head. The previously wary and defensive pup was now fully accustomed to the spoiled life of living under Sy’s love and protection.

“Is this a bad time?”

Sy looked up from the offending razor, briefly shaking his head no. Leah frowned, stepping into the room and letting the door fall shut behind her.

“What’s going on?”

“Just not lookin’ forward to shavin’ my entire chest with a fuckin’ fifty cent piece of junk.”

He cleared his throat, moving to pull shaving cream from his pack. He had a bottle of water and a small metal bowl already set out. Sy’s favorite perk of being the highest ranking officer on base was not having to shave. It was fucking absurd to enforce grooming regulations when they all had to worry about being shot by a sniper at any given moment. On top of that, it always left his skin raw and feeling like it was on fire. Unfortunately, that also meant he didn’t have a mirror on hand and this was going to suck ass.

“I could do it if you want.”

Sy raised a skeptical eyebrow her way. “You want to shave my chest?”

“Okay, if this gets out I will make your life a living hell but when I was in highschool I marched into a tattoo shop and demanded they give me a job. I couldn’t legally do anything but grunt work so the artists used to have me shave clients for them.” Honestly, that was preferable to scrubbing toilets so she’d never once complained.

Sy couldn’t help but smirk at that. Somehow, nothing of what she had just said surprised him. He could easily picture a young Leah demanding to be given a job and not taking no for an answer. He envisioned her gritting her teeth as she shaved a client just for the privilege of watching the artists work afterwards.

“I’d tell you not to be throwin’ threats around but you’re the one currently holdin’ the blade,” he grumbled, as he pulled his shirt over his head. He might as well accept his fate and get it over with. The shaving was not going to be so bad if he wasn’t the one doing it.

Leah poured some water into the bowl, handing it to Sy to hold, then sat on the thin mattress by his side. She removed the guard from the blade, dropping the small razor into the bowl before lathering Sy’s chest. She seemed to keep her gaze firmly set on where her hands worked but Sy didn’t miss the few times her focus drifted down to his abs.

Leah was about halfway done when she gave a hard poke to his left peck. “No need for the flexing.” Sy hadn’t realized that his entire body was clenched tightly until she spoke. “I’ve seen you in the gym, I am well aware you lift enough to crush a watermelon with your thighs.”

Sy was so taken aback by the comment that the normally stern, grump of a captain actually guffawed—a sound that had Leah as shocked as he was and joining in on the laughter. She lifted her hand giving them both a moment to catch their breath without before she accidentally cut him.

Sy made a conscious attempt to keep his body lax, counting his breaths to help keep himself calm. As much as he wished his nerves would only be due to the fact that she currently held a blade over his heart, he was very much concerned about what would happen once she moved to his right side, or even further down.

“Are you gonna draw all the way down to my stomach?”

Leah paused for a moment, cleaning off the razor as she studied his torso. “I hadn’t planned on it.” Her fingers were on his chest again, covering the other half with shaving cream. “I can still shave your stomach if you want. You know, to match.”

Sy rolled his eyes at her teasing words. “That won’t be necessary.”

She quickly finished her task with an unexpectedly gentle touch then used Sy’s shirt to wipe away the loose hairs.

“I’m ready to start sketching the design. You can stay like this for now.” She pulled out the pack of markers her brother had sent her and chose an orange colored one.

“You gonna tell me what I’m gettin’?”

“Nope,” she answered, emphasizing the popping of the letter P as she began to draw. She held the marker like a wand in a loose grip, just barely touching his skin at times.

Sy fought not to wince whenever the felt tip brushed over the raised, criss-crossed lines on his skin but Leah had clearly noticed all the same.

“Am I hurting you?”

She wasn’t. The sensation was more foreign than it was painful.

For some reason Sy would never understand, the women he used to spend his nights with always enjoyed studying the pattern of scars on his body, asking to hear the story of how he’d acquired each one. He’d indulged them—until one night ten years before.

Sy’s body was riddled with knicks and cuts, both from day to day work and the occasional injury, but they had never bothered him. The problem with that particular scar, and its sister on his stomach, was that he was ashamed of the way he received it. They were a constant reminder of one of the lowest points in his life and having them exposed or scrutinized was… uncomfortable.

His companions always liked to ask about the most prominent scars first, expecting to hear something noble and heroic but there was no such tale. There was only the story of a night Sy wished he could take back. Eventually, he’d stopped letting anyone touch them altogether, pulling their hands away whenever they tried.

Fortunately for Sy, the women he attracted liked having a captain give them orders. Leah was the first person in almost ten years to put her hands on his chest for more than a fleeting touch and he was hyper aware of her every movement.

Sy and his friends from basic training had learned early on that many small town bar owners didn’t bother checking for IDs when a group of men walked in with their dog tags hanging out of their shirts for everyone to see. It was bullshit that you could be paid to carry a gun before you could legally drink but laws hadn’t mattered to Sy back then so he’d indulged at every opportunity.

That night, the night he got his scars, there had been a group of college girls who’d joined them for beers and a few rounds of pool. While the others were distracted, Sy had pulled one of the girls out into the back alley for a smoke which turned into a quick fuck against the exterior brick wall.

By his twenty-one year old standards, that would have been a perfect night… That is, had the girl’s boyfriend not shown up. The man had found them outside just as Sy zipped up his pants. There was no mistaking it for anything other than what it was and the boyfriend had immediately barreled towards him. Drunk and taken off guard, Sy hadn’t had time to defend himself and was tackled to the ground.

Pinning Sy under his weight, the other man had reached for a nearby broken beer bottle and had plunged it twice into Sy’s chest. The pain of the wound had spiked Sy’s adrenaline and his military training had finally kicked in. He’d shoved the other man off him and got to his feet with his sober opponent quickly doing the same.

Still brandishing his weapon, the boyfriend had lunged towards him again. Sy’d deflected the hit, the bottle only slashing rather than piercing his stomach and organs, then he’d caught the man from behind in a tight and deadly choke hold.

He’d kept hold of the man’s neck even as his newly emptied hands clawed at Sy’s arm in a panic. Through the pounding of the blood rushing in his ears, Sy had only been faintly aware of a woman screaming in the background. Slowly, the boyfriend’s movement had turned sluggish, beginning to lose consciousness but Sy hadn’t let go.

For the second time that night, Sy was tackled to the ground, only then it had been his own friend holding him down.

He remembered his friend screaming at him to stop fighting, to calm down while another one knelt by the boyfriend who’d wheezed a dry cough. Coughing meant he was breathing. Breathing meant he was alive.

Sy’s chest had felt warm all of the sudden and he’d looked down to find his shirt soaked in blood. The injuries hadn’t slowed him down for even a second, if anything, they’d fueled his drunken rage.

The police were called, cuffing both men and leaving them in the back of the squad cars as they tried to piece together what had happened. They’d eventually determined that Sy had acted in self-defense and had reason to fear for his life since his opponent had had a weapon. Sy had refused to press charges for assault and ultimately both men had been let go.

That night, Sy almost took a man’s life—and it hadn’t been in the line of duty. There had been no war, no gunfire and no explosions, just a pissed off guy who’d reacted impulsively after seeing that his girlfriend had fucked a complete stranger in a dingy back alley.

He’d sworn to himself that he would never be that stupid, reckless kid ever again. He cleaned up his life, signing up for college and trading evenings of drinking and meaningless sex for evenings spent pouring over textbooks. To his utter surprise and astonishment, he hadn’t missed his old life even once.

“I can avoid the scars if you want,” Leah said when Sy didn’t answer, putting the cap back on the marker she was using and searching for a different color.

It wasn’t surprising that she would pick up on his discomfort after how easily she’d read his behavior earlier. It was a good thing she couldn’t read his thoughts, though, because all that was going through his mind was that he wanted to be able to tolerate her touch because he craved it. He wanted to feel her hands on him and he wanted to enjoy it.

When Sy shook his head no, Leah stood from the bunk. “I’m gonna need you to lay back for the rest of this.”

Sy shifted on the bed, tapping Aika on her flank to get her to liberate his pillow. Aika’s nails clicked on the floor as she jumped off the bunk and retreated to the burlap bag padded with old clothing that served as her bed. She spun three times before curling up and setting her head back down to finish her nap.

As he stretched out onto his back, Sy attempted to sneak a look at the drawing on his chest but the orange ink on his tanned skin blended too much for him to make any sense of the swooping lines.

“Okay, stay in a neutral position while I make the outline then you’ll be able to move and stretch out.”

“Where did you learn to draw?”

Yes, conversation was the way to go, it would pull his attention from the way her left hand brushed his chest as the marker in her right hand glided over his sternum. She’d settled on her knees on the edge of the bunk with her thigh gently leaning against his.

The scars weren’t the only thing that made Sy nervous. Too often he’d been on that very bed, imagining that it was Leah stroking his cock and not his own hand. He couldn’t even remember the last time a woman had touched him, much less a woman who’s touch he craved down to his very core. And now that woman was on his bed but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“I guess I’ve always liked drawing. The fridge used to be filled with my artwork. Whenever we ran out of room my dad just swapped out the drawings and put the older one in this big binder.”

His parents used to do something similar. The mantle in his childhood home was still covered with all the awards his sisters had brought home over the years along with pictures from the twin’s graduation. Somewhere on there was a dusty picture of him in his uniform from back before his first deployment.

“Sounds like you were your parents’ favorite.”

“Oh, no, never. My brother was represented on the fridge too but report cards only come out a few times a year and I had like ten new drawings a week.”

As Leah spoke, her eyes never moved away from her work. Despite the intensity of her focus, her features were free of tension. It was nice to see. She so often had a frown on her face, not necessarily from being upset, simply because she was always in her head, analyzing every little detail of her surroundings.

Leah sat up, shuffling around before leaning down again only to sit back up and shift into a different position.

“You okay?”

“I can’t get a good angle for the right side.”

She continued to wiggle, her hips brushing his thigh.

“So… switch sides?”

She huffed in frustration, shaking her head. “I only need to be like six inches to the right.”

Before he thought better of it, Sy reached out, grasping Leah’s thighs and lifting her off the mattress. Leah yelped, her hands landing on Sy’s stomach to brace herself. When he lowered her back down, Leah was straddling his right.

“Don’t say anything, just… Get this over with.”

Leah hummed noncommittally, swallowing thickly before she looked down at where her warm hands were still splayed over Sy’s abdomen. She cleared her throat, quickly removing them and looking around for her fallen marker.

“Am I really that unpleasant to be around?” she said with an awkward laugh.

Just the opposite, Sy thought.

“No, I’m just goin’ against my better judgment with all this.”

“Well, I’m sorry to inform you that this is going to take at least another few hours. If I’m going to do something bad, I’m going to do it well.”

“So now you agree that we shouldn’t be doin' this. Great.”

Leah chewed on her cheek for a moment before meeting Sy’s gaze.

“Well, if Nielsen and his guys saw us right now then I would never live it down but… I can’t say that sitting here with you is much of a hardship.”

If Nielsen saw them, they would both be out of a job. As CO and subordinate, their current position was inappropriate for so many reasons. The two of them alone in his room, her hands all over his bare chest, Sy’s cock twitching with interest in his pants.

All he would have to do was clench his quads to hopefully pull a soft moan from her lips.

Woah, settle down there cowboy.

Leah cleared her throat and turned her attention back to her work. “You know, I used to think that this would be my career one day.”

“What changed?”

“My boss at the tattoo shop suggested that I go to art and business school even if I didn’t want to go to college. He said it would do me good to be pulled out of my comfort zone and learn new skills. I tried it, for a while, but then I realized that the reason I hated my art classes would also most likely be the reason I would hate being a tattoo artist.”

There was a pause as she focused on shaping a particularly long line.

“And what was that?”

“Every assignment I had to hand in had to fit within a certain box. You have creative freedom so long as it also falls within the guidelines that you are given. It’s exactly what it’s like working in a shop. Every client you get comes in with an idea of what they want. Most of the time, you take whatever jobs you get until you have a strong enough reputation for clients to come in and let you do whatever you want.”

“So what you’re saying is that you gave up on your dream job because you don’t like people telling you what to do. Hate to break it to you, Corporal, but I think you chose the wrong backup career.”

The genuine laugh that escaped the young woman sent a wave of warmth through Sy’s chest. He was damn proud to have been the one to pull that sound from her.

“I don’t like people controlling what and when I draw. It’s not the same thing. Art is what I do to make my mind go quiet but it’s not what I want to do twenty-four seven. I can’t sit still that long. I needed a job that would allow me to move so that I could burn off all my excess energy.”

“How’s that workin’ out for ya?” Sy scoffed.

“Oh, you know, training sixteen hours a day, sleeping an average of five hours a night and the added bonus of risking my life every second I’m out here? What more could a girl ask for?”

Sy closed his eyes, relaxing back into the mattress with a smile pulling at his lips. He waited for Leah to pause before folding an arm behind his head.

“This okay?”

Leah hummed the affirmative, moving her hips lower on Sy’s thigh and folding her body down over his stomach. His eyes shot open when Leah’s breasts pressed against him. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the ceiling, refusing to look down. The last thing he wanted was to pop a semi while her stomach was pressed against his dick and the sight of her between his legs would definitely get him there.

She had switched from tracing lines to tapping a series of little dots. It was hard to tell from feeling but if he had to take a guess, the design she’d created spanned across his chest, beginning just below his clavicles and reaching down to the tip of his sternum in the center.

“Switch arms, please.”

Sy obeyed, lowering his right arm and in doing so, the tips of his fingers brushed against Leah’s ribs. He was suddenly regretting his ‘no looking’ strategy.

They spent the rest of their time together in comfortable silence, mostly because Sy was listing the states in alphabetical order then doing the same with capital cities as a means of taking his mind off Leah’s body. Every now and then, Sy’s thumb grazed the edge of Leah’s pants. It was never firm enough to reach her thigh under the thick, loose fitting clothing, just enough to give him something to do with his hands.

Even if they had both basically admitted to being attracted to one another, he didn’t need to ask to know that Leah would never risk her career for a hookup. That wasn’t what he wanted anyway.

There was no point in finding out if Leah felt the same about him as he did for her because she deserved better. She deserved someone who could proudly be with her, not someone who had to lie, sneak around and keep her his dirty little secret. She deserved someone who could put her first, not someone who had to think of the needs of the unit above hers.

Maybe this was fate getting back at him for his past wrongdoings.

“I’m done,” she announced, sitting up and rolling her shoulders before admiring her work. “I wish I had a camera.”

“There’s one in my foot locker. I think it still works.”

The camera did indeed still work once Leah found the battery which was buried under some old books. She recognized most of the titles but there were a few she hadn’t read and she made a mental note to ask about them later.

Once Leah got a satisfactory picture, Sy was free to go find a mirror. Leah followed closely behind as he walked down the hall, anxious to hear what Sy thought of the design.

“Holy shiet.”

Sy leaned over the sink to get a closer look. Leah had drawn a moth across the span of his chest. It wasn’t as intricate as some of the work he’d seen in her sketchbook but she had still accomplished an impressive amount of detail considering she’d only used a black permanent marker for the whole thing.

“That’s good, right?”

“Yeah, that’s good.”

She’d somehow managed to work around the shape of his scars and hide them in the lines of the wings. Part of the reason he hadn’t wanted to shave was to keep them concealed—out of sight, out of mind and whatnot—but, with Leah’s design, they didn’t show at all.

“For the record, if I had to get a tattoo, I’d let ya do whatever ya wanted.”

“Don’t tempt me. I only worked at the shop long enough to learn the basics, I never graduated to tattooing humans instead of fruit.”

Sy couldn’t help but be thankful she hadn’t. If she had, she might have realized that she liked the job after all. If she had, she might never have ended up on his base except maybe on the skin of some fucker lucky enough to have gotten her undivided attention for a few hours. If she had, he might have gone his whole life believing he would never be capable of caring about anyone the way he cared for her.

Chapter 12

#captain syverson #captain syverson fic #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfic #cpt syverson #cpt syverson fic #cpt syverson fanfiction #henry cavill

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tiny-tini-imagines · 8 months

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OMG I just found your blog and damn I'm in love with your writing.

Would it be ok if I asked for some Witcher headcananons?

I would love to have some for Gerald as a father, (but just imagine Ciri didn't exist). So Gerlad found this girl, whose family was killed by a monster, and he took her with him and slowly became her father. So some head cannons about Gerald being a Dad.

I'd appreciate it, sending lots of love your way.

Re.: Hey, THANK YOU SO MUCH! And also thanks for the request, I loved writing it, and hope it's what you wanted.

Headcanons - The Witcher

summary: Geralt as a Father

(added: character art, what they would say to them, or about them)

Father-Daughter Bond: Geralt sees her as his own daughter, and their bond is unbreakable. He may not be the most expressive person, but his love for her is evident in the little things he does. He doesn't hesitate to show his affection through his actions, even if he doesn't always say it out loud.

A Loving Home: The other witchers, initially skeptical of her presence, have all become like uncles to her. Vesemir, in particular, has a soft spot for her and is more like a granddad figure, regaling her with stories of the past.

Protective Dad: Geralt is extremely protective of her. He watches over her like a hawk, especially when they're in unfamiliar places. If he senses any danger, he's quick to position himself between her and the threat, a silent promise that he'll keep her safe.

"I know I can be overprotective, but it's only because I care about you so much. I just want to make sure you're safe and happy." "No matter how old you get, you'll always be my little girl. And I'll always be here to look out for you, no matter what."

Teaching Moments: He takes every opportunity to teach her valuable skills. Whether it's showing her how to properly wield a sword, start a fire, or track a monster, he is patient and thorough in his instruction. He knows that these skills could be essential for her survival one day.

"I've taught her everything I know, but she's taught me even more about what it means to be a father."

Fishing Lessons: One of their favorite pastimes is fishing. Geralt patiently teaches his daughter to fish using her bare hands.

Magic Lessons: Geralt, recognizing her potential, has enlisted the help of Triss or Yennefer to teach his daughter magic.

Nightmares and Comfort: Geralt always knows when she has nightmares, even if she tries to hide them. When she wakes up in a cold sweat, he's there to comfort her. He holds her close, whispering soothing words and stroking her hair until she can fall back asleep, feeling safe in his arms. However, sometimes, words are not necessary. Geralt will sit by her side in silence, offering his comforting presence. His strong, reassuring presence alone is enough to ease her fears.

"Don't ever forget that you can come to me with anything, whether it's a nightmare or a problem you're facing. I'll always be here for you."

Cuddles and Reassurance: Whenever she can't sleep, Geralt lets her rest on his chest. His slow, steady witcher heartbeat acts as a lullaby, calming her nerves. He often murmurs stories of their adventures, reminding her that she's never alone as long as he's around.

Unspoken Understanding: Geralt and his daughter have an unspoken understanding of each other's emotions and needs. They can communicate without words, knowing when the other needs space, comfort, or a listening ear.

Protective Stares: When they're out in public, Geralt's protective instincts kick in. He'll give anyone who looks at her a stern, warning glare, ensuring they keep their distance. She often teases him about being an overprotective dad, but secretly, she appreciates it. However he'll always observe anyone who gets too close to his daughter, especially young men who may be interested in her romantically. He watches them like a hawk and isn't afraid to make his presence known if he feels they're crossing boundaries.

Special Nicknames: Geralt has a soft spot for calling her by special nicknames, like "Little Wolf". These names are his way of showing affection without having to say the words out.

Inside Jokes: They share a ton of inside jokes from their adventures together. These jokes often involve specific monsters, places they've been, or humorous situations they've found themselves in. They can exchange a knowing glance and burst into laughter while others look on in confusion.

For instance, they might exchange a knowing glance and say: "Well, it's not another cursed Djinn, at least."

Grooming Ritual: Just as wolves in a pack groom each other as a sign of care and affection, Geralt has a ritual of carefully checking her equipment, for example ensuring her sword is sharp...

Hugs with Heart: Geralt's hugs may not be frequent, but when he does embrace her, it's full of warmth and love. He squeezes her gently, and it's a silent reassurance that no matter what challenges they face, they'll always have each other. OR It's a strong, one-armed embrace that speaks volumes about his affection and protection.

Nurturing Nature: Geralt may not be the most nurturing person, but when she is feeling unwell or has had a rough day, he surprises her with simple comforts like a warm meal, a cozy blanket, or a soothing cup of tea. He does these things quietly, without drawing attention to them.

Words of Encouragement: Whenever his daughter faces a challenge, Geralt is there to offer words of encouragement. He believes in her abilities and constantly reminds her that she's more than capable of handling whatever comes her way.

"Remember, it's okay to ask for help when you need it. You don't have to carry everything on your own shoulders."

The "Real Daughter" Comment: If anyone were foolish enough to suggest that she isn't his real daughter, Geralt's response would be swift and stern. He'd shut down such remarks with a single cold look and a firm, "She's my daughter, and that's all that matters."

"I've raised her, protected her, and loved her since she was just a frightened child. That makes her my daughter, no matter what anyone says."

The Origin Question: If she were to ask about her origins, Geralt would sit her down and explain the circumstances of how he found her. He'd emphasize that it doesn't matter where she came from; what matters is the family they've become and the love they share.

"You're my family, Little Wolf. Blood doesn't make family; the bonds we forge do." "No matter where life takes you, always know that you have a home here at Kaer Morhen, and you have a family who loves you."

Proud Dad Moments: Geralt is incredibly proud of her talents, whether it's her proficiency in combat or her mastery of magic. He doesn't shy away from expressing his pride when she accomplishes something remarkable, even if it's just a simple, approving nod.

Shared Secrets: They have a few secrets that only they know, like a hidden spot in Kaer Morhen where they go to stargaze.

#the witcher imagine #the witcher headcanon #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt #geralt the witcher #the witcher x daughter #the witcher x child #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanart #twn #geralt x yennefer #geralt x child #geralt x daughter #kaer morhen #vesemir #triss merigold

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astarab1aze · 1 month

Text

"You know, Asuka - I heard from Cedric. He's sold nearly all your paintings. It sounds to me like you may have to paint something new for him; You can't always and only ever take up mural work. I know it pays well, but your success is important to me, sweetheart, and I don't want you to fall behind in your best work."

"Oh, did he? Good fer him - and 'm gonna have to agree to disagree, mom. My murals pay the bills an' get posted on instagram. My boyfriend is a photographer--"

"Mm, don't remind me. Unless you want a lecture."

"You're already lecturin' me. Go crazy, have fun with it. Throw some confetti. I'll call your boyfriend an' we can throw a whole shindig about it since he'll jus' lecture me too."

"Boyfriend? Is that what you think he is? Your sarcasm is adorable, my love, but one little dance does hardly a romance make, delightfully charming as he was-- Oh, very clever, chickadee. I see what you're doing."

"Woop- Ya caught me! But it's only because you're so damn obvious. Ya put on the dress when ya invited him to that work thing - the really nice, lacy one that made ya look so elegant and soft but also terrifyin' 'cause ya kinda are... Hehe, everyone was impressed. Hani and I thought we mighta had to scrape his jaw off the floor when he saw you. Even sent that picture I took to Ed and Viri and those two were just as hopeless."

"Oh, stop it, sweetheart - You're just trying to get out of having a serious conversation with me by buttering me up with obvious statements. I see right through you and I cannot be fooled twice."

"Ya say that, but no one knows ya like I do - you already have the next work party marked on your calendar, and I know you're gonna ask him next time ya see him. Jokes on you, momma, guess who can't be fooled either? You raised me, after all."

"What a cheeky little shit you've turned out to be."

"Pfft, please. As if ya weren't fifty-times worse when ya were my age. Tsubasa told me allllllll your stories, dad too. You were diabolical. Worse than Hanma. Worse than Tsubasa. How many times didja sucker what's-his-face into doin' your dirty work, huh?"

"Asuka--"

"--WAIT A MINUTE. Ya cursed just now. Ya never curse."

"My darling baby bird--"

"Now I know, beyond a shadow o' a doubt - you're really into him. I can't believe how easy ya are to figure out! Does he know? Oh, I bet he does, if you're this transparent. Man, if I'da known ya liked 'em grumpy and stinkin' of horse, I'da set ya up with my history professor--"

"...I came to talk to you about your work, check in with you, adoringly lecture you, and here you are, making assumptions about the nature of my professional relationship with the Witcher who protects you from mortal harm when your boyfriend cannot--"

"Whatever, mom, don't bring Hani into this jus' 'cause you're-- Jus' go on your dates with him. He's ever so slightly less grumpy after spendin' time with ya, and now ya've got a lil extra pep in your step! An' that's sayin' somethin', since you're all doom an' gloom, but nice an' delicate like a moonflower--"

"You're lucky you're my favorite, chickadee, but if it's as you say...then our Geralt might stand to dethrone you."

"Read. My. Lips. Mom: Good."

"...You are most definitely mine."

"Ya can't help but love me!"

"More than anything in this world and the next - and that's precisely why you ought to whip up some fresh paintings and sketches for Cedric to look over and sell for you! Your future is vitally important, my love, and I won't always be around to pick up the slack when work is slow--"

"Godsdammit, mother! Ya got me..."

"This is my house...and the house always wins, sweetheart."

"Jus' you wait till me an' the stooges start droppin' hints for Geralt..."

"What was that, dear? I couldn't hear you over you having to be responsible for your own finances and maintaining the potency of your talents."

#☿ || Shitpost.#✘ // The Serpent Coiled Around the Crow; Hanma.#✘ // Oh Be Still My Heart - I'm His Forever; Geralt.#gyofukuki #/ it's all just one big shitpost but listen this is exactly what i was telling you and now it's immortalized #/ this is exactly how it goes every time they talk ever at all

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sky-kiss · 4 months

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G, M and U ❤️

G - Have you ever had an OTP? If so, do you remember your first one? Who was in it?

I have been around. I’ve been around. I have many OTP’s. All cursed. I think…what was my original OTP…

Cloud/Aerith? Or Link/Zelda? I would have been like 7. If we’re picking more recent OTP’s that don’t involve OC’s or anything, I’d go with like…oh god. What do I like? All the thoughts have left my brain. Raphael/Haarlep in a wretched and twisted way. Geralt/Yennefer. GERALT/YENNEFER.

M - Name a character that you’d like to have for a friend.

Many. Find me a loyal gremlin and you will find someone I’d like to befriend. Dante from DMC, Garrus and Miri from ME, Jaheira, uh…many.

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

Also asked by @inaconstantstateofchange and @flamemittens.

Yennefer: my baby girl. Yennefer is perfect. God. I love her. She starts off as seemingly cold and mean, but she’s really just stressed about her daughter. I love, love, love, seemingly frosty characters who are hiding their insecurities behind their power, self-possession, and aloofness. Yennefer is so deeply feeling. She’s unflinchingly loyal. When push comes to shove, Yennefer would fight god, the world, and the natural order to protect the people she loves. When you’ve earned her trust, she’s support you. She’s perfect. (She’s also a dark-haired, mean sorceress and like…that’s my catnip. I collect them like Pokemon).

Garrus from Mass Effect. My beloved boy. He’s perfect. The growth this character goes on. It’s so rare in franchises that we get a character who would be the protagonist if the main character was absent. Garrus could be the MC, but Shep is just that good. Garrus is loyal, determined, dedicated, passionate, playful. His romance is probably the closest to perfect for a M x F ship in games, to me. The progression from intimate friends to lovers? /chefs kiss. He goes out of his way to make you laugh. He’s the one person Shep knows will always be there. There’s no Shep without Vakarian. And god, I love him.

Raphael. I feel like I’m obligated on this one, haha. He’s fascinating to me? Like. Setting the looks and the voice aside, he has so much potential. His capacity for darkness and humanity, his conflicting nature, his relationships in the Hells…it all has so much room for growth. We had so little of him in game, but he made such an impression. Incredible character.

#asks

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 2 years

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has anybody asked about warlord yennefer yet???

Warlord Yennefer is a nine months late (and counting) birthday fic for a very patient friend!

The concept is that Yennefer is a witcher who was pissed off when Queen Kalis and her kid were killed while Yennefer was protecting them, so she took over Aedirn and Lyria (and then Kaedwen and Caingorn for good measure.) Jaskier is her court mage and sometimes-lover. Geralt is the prince of Rivia who Yennefer gets betrothed to, because his daughter is the heir to the Cintran throne. In the days leading up to their wedding, it becomes clear that someone is trying to sabotage the impending nuptials. It's endgame Geraskefer with a focus on Yenralt and Yennskier.

Snippet under the cut!

“This would have been faster if you’d just portaled them here,” Yennefer grumbles.

Next to her, Jaskier sighs. “I did offer, but apparently your betrothed despises portals.”

“Not my betrothed yet.”

“Well, you have at least one thing in common. Weak constitutions when it comes to portals.”

“I’ll show you a weak constitution.”

On her other side, Tissaia clears her throat pointedly. The head of the School of the Raven doesn’t need to speak to make herself clear: “This is supposed to be a dignified affair, so stop squabbling.” As the Warlord of the North, Yennefer definitely outranks her. She still falls silent, shooting Jaskier a dirty look, which he returns with an insufferable grin. He’s wearing his favorite cloak, a blue velvet monstrosity with gold tassels and embroidered stars. She’d gotten it for him as a joke, pilfered from the late court mage of Caingorn’s wardrobe. But Jaskier knows no shame and loves to torment her, so he now wears it to all formal functions.

Yennefer does not know why she allows this man into her palace, never mind her bed.

The procession of Rivian diplomats approaches, flanked by the four witchers that Yennefer sent to escort them. She doesn’t think anyone would be stupid enough to attack a diplomatic convoy entering her territory, but her enemies never fail to shock her with their spectacularly bad sense. Her gaze flicks between the diplomats, taking each of them in dispassionately. They’re almost entirely middle aged men, their fear reeking nearly as much as the Metinnan roses. Most of them can’t even look at her.

And then her gaze falls on the one man in the group who doesn’t look like he’s about to faint, shit himself, or both. The prince of Rivia is almost too pretty, with long red hair pulled back into a ponytail, bright green eyes that survey the line of witchers with interest, and a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. There’s discomfort evident in the tension of his shoulders, but that doesn’t seem to be the terror of his companions. It seems more like he would vastly prefer to not have dozens of eyes on him.

“Well, hello,” Jaskier murmurs and Yennefer can’t help but agree.

The prince’s eyes meet hers and Yennefer doesn’t think she imagines the spark of interest in them. He bows, low enough to show respect, but not so low that he’s practically folded in half, like his companions. The fourth son of the Rivian queen should most likely bow lower to the Warlord of the North, but Yennefer isn’t in the mood to quibble about such things.

Yennefer approaches the group of Rivians, keeping her pace unhurried. She has her swords strapped to her back, but she keeps her hands at her sides, far from any weapons. Still, the Rivian guards go noticeably tense and one of the diplomats’ teeth begins chattering so hard, it’s probably audible even to human senses. Eskel, one of the witchers she sent to Rivia, shoots her an exasperated look, as if to ask why she’s purposefully riling up the humans.

The prince just watches her approach with a carefully neutral expression. He has a face well-suited for politics; it gives little away. Only the tiniest quirk of his lips shows that he’s amused.

“You must be Prince Geralt.” Yennefer doesn’t bother being subtle about looking him up and down. This is her palace, after all.

He inclines his head in a nod. “Think Wilhelm was about to introduce me.” He nods to the man with the chattering teeth. “Once he gets his wits together.”

Wilhelm gulps visibly. “Your Highness—”

Prince Geralt holds up a hand to silence the man.

“Do your people think we’d invite you into our home for negotiations, only to turn on you?” Yennefer asks.

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “That is what you did to the King of Caingorn.”

Yennefer has to concede that point. “The King of Caingorn was an idiot who tried to have me assassinated in my own palace. I trust I won’t have that issue with you.”

“If I was going to get myself killed trying to assassinate you, I wouldn’t put myself through a wedding first,” Geralt says, then must realize how that sounded. He winces. “Hm.”

Yennefer can’t help it. She laughs. “Not much for weddings?”

He ducks his head, a flush coloring his cheeks. It’s incredibly charming. “They’re fine, except the people.”

“Well, it’s lucky for you that no one is going to want to attend a witcher’s wedding.”

Ask me about my WIPs!

#the witcher #geraskefer #warlord!Yennefer #ask games #ghost's writing

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thewitcheress2389 · 2 years

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Succubus

A succubus underestimates Jaskier’s love for you.

I wanna write for my little bard again (I miss him💖) so here’s an attempt at my comeback.

Geralt wasn’t here to protect him this time.

As Jaskier did his usual performance around the tavern, he was unaware of a pair of seductive eyes following him. And they weren't yours. You were out in the town buying some thread to fix up your cloak.

No.

These were the eyes of a monster.

Jaskier will soon discover that bards are one of the most favorite of prey for the succubus.

Once the bard had finished his performance at the tavern, after earning a well-deserved round of applause, he headed back to his room. Now, when he opened the door, he expected to find you back. After all, how long does it take a person to buy some thread?

So, Jaskier was ignorant to the woman sitting in the shadows on his bed.

“You should have been here tonight darling. It was a major success, and I couldn’t have done it without your input.” Jaskier said while setting his lute aside and fixing himself up. He was rambling on so much that he didn’t even realize the shadowy figure of a woman wasn’t you. As he continued to talk with his back to her, she stood up and slowly walked into the light.

“-and I told her straight off, so you don’t have to-You’re not my muse!” During his talking, Jaskier turned around to come face to face with not a woman, but a creature.

She looked half-woman (top), half-goat (bottom), however, her could be described as the prettiest woman alive. She had wavy brown hair underneath a set of curvy horns, honey-brown eyes, and plump lips. Her body was slender, with only a set of cloth to cover her breasts, and strange markings patterned her figure.

Her eyes were hungry too. Lustful.

“I-I-I think you got the wrong room...” Jaskier said in a nervous manner, wanting to so badly yell out the name of the witcher that abandoned him.

However, the creature only approached him, making the bard back into a wall.

“You must be tired...after such a long evening...I’ve been watching you.” She said in a seductive manner, coming over and placing a hand on his cheek. Jaskier merely squirmed under her touch.

“T-thanks? Listen...I don’t want to hurt you, but I will...” He said, trying to sound tough as she continued to touch him.

This wasn’t the first time this succubus has seduced men under her touch, so she noticed something was off. He wasn’t succumbing to her touch, like most. The enchantment wasn’t taking effect. This man seemed to be resisting. She figured that a bard would throw himself on her the moment their eyes met. But instead, he seemed afraid and confused.

The succubus ceased her movements.

“Why do you not lay?” She asked in utmost confusion as she gestured to the bed. It just became clear to Jaskier what this creature had wanted all along, and he swallowed nervously. Getting to his feet slowly, he took a deep breath to calm himself as she watched him intently.

“I have devoted my heart to another, I’m afraid...and she’ll be back soon...so, could you...” As politely as one could to a monster, Jaskier explained his predicament, pointing to the door as he did. However, after a couple irritated breaths, the succubus realized this man was not going to be her’s tonight.

Trying to do so might lead to violence, and she did not want that.

“Fine. Till next time.” She said with a frown, glaring at him as she went towards the window. The succubus was quick to jump out, and as Jaskier rushed over to see where she went, she was gone.

As he was staring out the open window, the door opened again.

“Jaskier? What are you doing?” You asked as you walked into the room. However, your sudden presence caused him to whip around in fright, only to put a hand on his chest in relief when he saw you.

“Thank goodness...It’s you this time...” He said, and you gave him a confused look.

“This time?” You asked, moving to set your basket of thread down.

“Don’t worry about it...Just a...fan...” He said uneasily, remembering the creature that was sitting on the bed, eyeing him down. You simply shrugged before he moved to engulf you in a hug.

“What’s this about?” You asked with a giggle. Jaskier pulled away to stare at you, moving to brush some hair out of your face.

“Nothing, just...I love you...” He said with confidence, realizing that now more than ever after his encounter with the succubus.

“I love you too...” You responded, still in the dark about why his behavior was suddenly so sappy and clingy. Jaskier gave you a kiss at that moment, causing you to swoon.

The succubus forever remained a mystery to you.

#the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine

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fangirleaconmigo · 1 year

Text

Is it too Late (Can we Start Again) Geraskier. 3600 words. Mature. Hurt/Comfort. Geralt taking care of Jaskier and his burns. Gift fic for @masterlokisev159 for the @witcherficwriters Winter Gift Exchange.

Also on ao3

Jaskier had never been a martyr.

After the unpleasant business with Rience, he had planned to take a break from being the Sandpiper until his hands healed. After Yen had left and he’d gotten out of jail, he had gone home.

A young elf had tracked him down at home when he hadn’t shown up to the tavern the first night. Jaskier looked into her eyes and gave his apologies. He showed her his angry, blistered hands.

“I’m so sorry, dear, but I can’t play the lute with burned hands, and I can’t sing a capella for these philistines. The proprietor won’t allow it.”

Surely, someone else could do it for a couple of weeks. That was all it would take to heal up enough to play. He was only human after all, and he wasn’t the only one helping smuggle the elves out. Someone else could play and then sneak them onto the ferry.

But that same night, they closed the ferry to tourists and visitors. Jaskier didn’t know it.

With the ferry closed to visitors, the performer the elves had gotten to take his place was not allowed onto the boat. Jaskier was home for a night of rest when the stranded elves decided to try to swim.

The next morning, Jaskier was walking along the water, headed to his favorite bakery, when he came upon the scene of an elf’s body being fished out of the river.

He ran to the tavern and found a survivor. After listening to the whole story, Jaskier understood his predicament. Under the new rules, he would be the only performer qualified for admittance onto the boat. He was the only one here who could help.

Before things had gotten too bad, he'd bought a place across the water, so he was considered a resident. He was a resident with a gig that warranted his travel back and forth nightly. There was also the matter of his fame, which afforded him a certain amount of protection.

It could only be him.

Jaskier marched directly to a healer and coated his hands in an adhesive that felt like the flames of hell. That had worked his first night back, but the second night, it started peeling.

So, the healer devised a special pair of thin gloves that were thicker than adhesives, but more supple than cloth. It helped for a night, but then his burns began to weep.

But he kept playing. What else could he do?

His friend, Sam, noticed. “Why don’t you take a break?” he asked.

Jaskier laughed a little too loudly, just before downing his tenth shot of whiskey of the night. “I’m a whore for attention, my sweet friend, I’d waste away without a night of the stuff.” He threw his arms wide and stumbled towards the stage. “I just can’t live without the applause, dear Sam.”

If Jaskier had known more about infection, he would have known to be worried when the fever hit.

--------

Geralt of Rivia threw open the door of the tavern. The first sensations to hit him were those of the crowd. Ale. Sweat. Lust.

The second sensation to hit him was his body’s reaction to hearing that voice again. It was sweet and sour. It made him feel joy, followed quickly by shame and guilt. He closed the door quickly and slunk against the wall, looking for a place to watch.

At least he’d made it in time. Jaskier was still upright. Still singing.

He knew his friend must hate him. If Geralt had spoken to him right away after he’d lost his temper, if he had set things right, it wouldn’t be like this. But Geralt had left without a word. It was what he did.

He shouldn’t be there now, he knew that too. But he had to be. Jaskier needed him. He might not want him. But he needed him.

He examined his friend from the cover of a shadowy corner. Jaskier wasn’t prowling the tavern like he normally did. He was perched on a stool. His voice was breathier. His hair was longer. He wore a long leather coat now, and a hat.

The most important bits were the same, though. Those were his eyes. That was his voice. This was the man who Geralt now understood that he loved, though it was far too late to do anything about that. But he could still make himself useful. He could still help.

As Jaskier sang, the crowd hung on every note. Being a witcher, with all the sensory inputs that entailed, was an overwhelming thing when sitting in Jaskier’s audience.

Jaskier always broke open deep wells of longing in his audience. But whether people were feeling those things for memories long past, or for the man in front of them, Geralt never knew. He could never separate it out.

Despite himself, Geralt felt something like territorial anger. He let it subside.

There was no time for his childishness, because the third sensation that swept over him was panic.

Underneath the mass of things to see, smell, taste, and hear in a crowded tavern, lurked an evil, wicked scent too faint for anyone else to detect. It was like vinegar and something rotten.

It was an infection that had spread and turned into something else.

Unlike the audience, Geralt could see the truth of the matter. Jaskier’s eyes weren’t sparkling. They were glassy. His skin wasn’t glowing. That was sweat. The heat radiating from his skin wasn’t the heat of excitement. It was the clamminess of illness. Jaskier held a long note, and finally, looked straight at Geralt.

The bard’s eyes widened in shock. A string twanged and broke. Silence fell. There was an awkward, pregnant pause. Then, Jaskier’s eyes rolled slowly back in his head, and he pitched forward.

His body fell hard from the stool, like an unbalanced sack of bricks. His head would have hit the corner of the table as he fell, but by the time he reached it, he was already in Geralt’s arms.

-------

The first time Jaskier awoke, it was like a nightmare. The world was hazy. His tongue felt fat in his mouth. He could not hold onto reality. It slipped out of focus. It faded from his grasp.

Was he dead? Dying?

As a poet, Jaskier thought often about life and death. The moment of death, he supposed, cut through a lot of shit. The thought that occupied your mind the moment you believed it was all over was the thing you should have lived for. The people who were there by your bed were the ones who lived for you.

And there, in his moment of death, or near death, what he saw surprised him, though it shouldn’t have.

Lurking in the tiny dark room was a gleam of white hair. A glint of feline eyes. He did not know if Geralt was really there or if he only imagined him. But he thought of Geralt, only of Geralt, and he whimpered.

Darkness came for him again, but the inky black could not take everything from him. There was another presence in the pitch black. It was his Witcher sitting by his side. It was the man he thought did not care for him. But he was there, so maybe he did.

Then, there was the cold.

Jaskier was being poked and prodded. Voices floated above his body, arguing with one another.

One voice was low and rumbly and, yes, it was Geralt. His Geralt.

Jaskier’s consciousness slowly flickered to life. He was naked and cold. So cold. It was the kind of deep cold that ached in your bones. It was the kind of stabbing cold that made you want to sell your own grandmother for a shred of warmth. He felt several blankets atop him, but they didn’t seem to help.

“We need a fire.” Geralt sounded angry, but he was hiding it well.

The other man in the room demurred. “They’re rationing our wood and tinder now. We’re all freezing.”

“But he’s sick!” Geralt roared, all of his restraint gone. “He’s in shock!”

The man squeaked in fear and scampered away, slamming the door behind him.

Geralt cursed as many curses as he could summon, calling upon all the languages of the elder races and humanoids put together. He strung them together like a symphony. Jaskier didn’t even know that Geralt knew so many dwarven curses. Then, Geralt plopped down at Jaskier’s side and buried his face in his hands.

His hands. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open for heartbeat, catching a glimpse of them.

They were just as thick as before. Just as gnarled. His hair hung over them in a curtain. His broad shoulders hunched, pinched in grief.

And then he whispered.

“I frightened the man away. I’m sorry, Jaskier. I keep fucking it all up. But I’m here. I don’t know what I’m good for. But I’m here.”

Jaskier shivered. His teeth made a clattering noise. Geralt’s face whipped up and his hand darted to Jaskier’s neck, groping for his pulse.

“Are you awake? Jaskier? Are you there?”

“Cold.” Jaskier croaked. “Cold.”

Geralt disappeared for a second. It was only an instant, but Jaskier felt like the whole sun had been plucked from the sky.

Then there was a cup being tipped to his lips.

“Just sip. Slowly.”

He obeyed. He took a few sips.

“Cold,” he insisted.

Jaskier wrenched his eyelids open again. Geralt’s face was etched deeply with worry. The last time Jaskier had seen him, he’d been angry. Shouting. But now he looked old and tired.

Jaskier had thought that the next time he saw Geralt, he would shout at him.

In his fantasies he would be dressed to the hilt. Sometimes he pictured himself in black, with kohl around his eyes, and hair sweeping his forehead. Sometimes he pictured himself in maroon. It set off his eyes. But no matter what he wore, it would be tailored. It would show off his newly honed athleticism. He would be performing, or at least he would have fans nearby, one of whom would interrupt their conversation asking for a kiss.

Jaskier would grant it of course.

Then he would continue his righteous, angry rant.

He hadn’t planned on being too angry, of course. He couldn’t seem pathetic or out of control. He had settled on expressing a cool, casual anger. He would express himself in verse, and be clever. Geralt, in this fantasy, would say that he had been right. In fact, Jaskier would be so eloquent that Geralt would have no other choice.

You are right Jaskier, I should have never abandoned you.

You are right Jaskier, you do not make my life worse, you make it better.

I love you Jaskier, and I’m no longer afraid to say it.

He would kneel, and Jaskier would decide whether he forgave him or not.

In all of his fantasies, Jaskier forgave Geralt, of course. He pictured walking away from Geralt once, denying him, and he’d almost thrown up.

But now there Geralt was, worry and kindness written on his face. Love bathing in his eyes. It was not the kind of face you shouted at, not if you had a heart beating in your chest. And further, there Jaskier was. No finery. No admirers. Sick. Stinking. Weak. And as for his eloquence, all he could say was...

“Cold.”

Geralt cleared his throat and his eyes darted around the room. He spoke haltingly, unable to finish a single sentence. “I could warm you. But… the best way to do that is… It’s indecent.”

Jaskier allowed his head to roll over, until his eyes locked with Geralt. “Do it,” he croaked.

Jaskier’s eyelids dragged closed again, but he managed to hang onto his consciousness by a sliver. Geralt undressed in the dark, fabric sliding over skin, falling to the ground. He removed each of his rings. They clattered on the nightstand. Then he removed the ties in his hair, and lastly, his medallion.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier’s heart was pounding.

“Maybe this was a bad idea. We have to keep your heart rate steady.”

“Do it,” hissed Jaskier, a tear sliding from one of his eyes.

Geralt’s hands were on him again. Geralt’s lips were pressed to the corner of his eye, blotting out the tear. Then, Geralt climbed into bed with him.

Geralt was a mountain of a man. The bed creaked under him. But he was so gentle. He arranged himself around Jaskier, draping his limbs over him tenderly. Geralt touched him like he was the most precious thing in the world, and would tear if handled carelessly. Geralt pulled the blanket over the two of them, and a refuge of heat formed around them.

Jaskier was in Geralt��s arms, just as he had always dreamed.

“Am I dead?” he croaked.

Geralt kissed his temple. “I thought you were for a minute. You scared the shit out of me. I thought I’d really lost you.”

It was the first time Jaskier had ever heard real fear in Geralt’s voice.

“This is real? This is actually real?”

Jaskier had been experiencing odd visions just before he’d collapsed. What if this was one of them?

“It’s real, Jaskier.”

“Oh, fuck yes.” Jaskier burrowed into his arms, luxuriating in every press of skin. That was Geralt’s chest. His arms. His hips. His scent. His breath. His heartbeat. He rubbed against him like a contented house cat.

Geralt huffed in flattered amusement at Jaskier’s joyous reaction.

When Jaskier had fantasized about being in Geralt’s arms, and he had fantasized about it many times, he figured he would be wildly aroused. But now, he was very ill and all he felt was comfort and love.

Darkness took him again.

He awoke later to the sound of Geralt whispering. “I am sorry, Jaskier. It’s easier to say it when you’re out. I’m a coward, I know. But I’m sorry.”

“Ha, ha,” Jaskier huffed. “‘M ‘wake. Heard you. You’re sorry.”

Geralt smiled softly, obviously relieved to see him awake again.

Jaskier was pressed to Geralt’s chest now, and a pool of drool was formed around his chin.

“‘M sorry too.”

“What are you sorry about?”

“‘been singing that butcher song about you for months like a rotten cunt. And after everything I’ve done to erase the butcher thing, I just...I wasn’t thinking, you know. I was only feeling. And...well...I regret it, my friend. The moment I saw you, it hit me like a stone what I was doing. You aren’t a butcher. You don’t deserve that. I’m sorry.” His voice failed from exhaustion and grief.

They sat for a heavy moment in the silence of their regrets. When Geralt answered, his voice was light but careful. “It’s alright.”

“But it’s not alright.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t. You’ll forgive me, but I will not forgive myself. I could have called you anything.”

It was quiet again. Geralt was the first to speak again. “Your friend Sam--”

“You know Sam?”

“He’s the one who came to find me. Told me you were ill. Said you wouldn’t listen to him.”

“Oh, darling Sam. I owe him one. What did he say?”

“He told me how you got your injuries. Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice choked and he was forced to pause and breathe. “Jaskier,” he continued, “I am going to find Rience and I am going to kill him.”

Geralt said it like it was a simple fact, and Jaskier believed him. But the simple mention of Rience’s name caused him to flinch.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Alright.” Geralt kissed his shoulder.

It was odd how natural it felt. How Geralt had just started kissing him and they were both treating it like it was a normal thing for him to do. They were silent again for several long moments.

“Thank you for coming, Geralt. I didn’t think--”

“I know, Jaskier. I know what you thought, because I know what I said. And I regret that. None of it was true. I wish I could take it back. I do care. And I am here.”

Jaskier lifted his head with difficulty and looked into Geralt’s eyes. “I thought this would be more difficult.”

“What?”

Jaskier smiled, lopsided and wry. “Getting you to apologize. I had it all planned out.”He tried to gesture in his normal manner, but only managed a sad little pirouette of one finger. “If I had only known. All I had to do was get disgustingly ill, look and smell deeply revolting, and you would come running to my aid. You saved my life Geralt. You are my hero yet again.”

Geralt blushed. He never took compliments well. Next, Jaskier knew, Geralt would change the subject. And he did.

“You had it planned out?”

“Obviously. First, I was going to accidentally run into you on a night in which I looked elegant and sophisticated, entirely by accident. I was going to speak my mind eloquently and compel you to see things my way.”

“You don’t have to convince me I was an ass. I know I was.” Geralt smirked and softly dragged his thumb across Jaskier’s forehead, pushing back the hair that had fallen into his eyes. “And I don’t want elegance and sophistication. I want you.”

“Hey. Rude. I’m plenty elegant,” said Jaskier, wiping the crust of drool from his chin with the back of his hand. His hands were still bandaged but felt remarkably improved. Geralt must have employed a magical healer. Jaskier didn’t want to know how much that had set him back.

Geralt chuckled to himself for a moment, but then he cradled Jaskier’s hand and grew serious. “What you’re doing here, Jaskier, for the elves. Helping.”

It was silent again, as Geralt wrestled with his words. Jaskier managed to stay silent.

“That’s what I—” He inhaled and exhaled. He examined Jaskier’s bandages with too much intensity. Then with much effort, he finished his sentence. “That is what I love most about you.”

“Are you saying that Geralt of Rivia is more impressed by kindness than by fashion? I should have known you’d be so boring.”

Geralt hummed in the affirmative. He pulled Jaskier in tighter. He squeezed him until it became laborious to breathe, but Jaskier would sooner faint than tell him to loosen his grip. The Witcher pressed his lips to Jaskier’s ear and began to whisper. Jaskier knew it was easier for him like that, when he could not look into his eyes.

“Can we start again?” Geralt’s voice sounded thick and shaky. “Is it too late?”

Is it too late?

The words echoed like a warning. Like an ill omen. Like a horror story.

Jaskier swallowed hard, pushing away all realities where that was true.

“Oh, Geralt,” he said with an air of superiority, pushing his hair from his face. “Too late is for people who are sensible enough to know when to quit.”

Jaskier pulled away, just enough to see Geralt’s face. He propped himself up on an elbow, his face so close to Geralt that he could see every tiny movement of his expressions. The corners of Geralt’s mouth twitched hopefully.

“Too late, my dear witcher,” Jaskier continued, tracing a bandaged finger along Geralt’s jaw and looking fondly into his eyes, “is for people who have no love left to fight for. It is for people who are cold and dead and in the ground.”

He kissed Geralt’s nose, and watched his Witcher’s face relax. A real smile spread on it, pushing away years and chasing away exhaustion.

“We, my dear man,” Jaskier continued, his chest warmed and his tongue loosened by the sight of hope on his beloved’s face, “are alive and foolish. And as it happens, I love you too.”

“You do?”

“I do. And love is the molten life blood of second chances. So yes, darling Witcher. Yes, my love. Let us start again.”

Geralt laughed and very nearly sobbed. “Fucking poet.”

“Your poet.”

Jaskier cradled Geralt’s face and leaned in. Geralt surged to meet his dry cracked lips, pressing into them, kissing them as though they were the most succulent delicacies in all of creation.

That was what they did that first night.

They touched one another. They showed one another love in ways that did not require words. They kissed and grasped and moaned in the dark.

Jaskier was still weak, so Geralt handled him like bone china, trailing petal soft kisses along his ribs and his neck and his thighs. He looked at him with wonder and only consented to make love to him when Jaskier begged for it, assuring him that he would not break.

Geralt even managed to do that gently, slipping in and out of him with quiet moans, ensuring that he did not put any stress on Jaskier’s hands. It verged upon teasing and Jaskier begged and pleaded and shoved his body back onto Geralt until they both released, giddy and trembling.

That was the shape of the new beginning that dawned in the lives of two old friends that night. Their courage was born in the shadow of terror but it ended in tender caresses traced along new and old scars alike. Their courage reveled in a familiar embrace. It found new ways of touching. It lost count of kisses. It gave a witcher and a bard their second chance in a small back room of an old tavern. And in the midst of war and loss, it brought them hope, and that was the thing that they needed most of all.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #descarada writes #descarada writes geraskier #my fic on ao3

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