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mrabubu · 9 months

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Does Syanna deserves redemption, and why she doesn't?

Ok, so by this moment some of you might know that I'm a huge fan of The Witcher 3, and for some time "Blood and Wine" DLC and it's endings been a huge dilemma for me. When I played it the first time about 3-4 years ago, I didn't really though much about my own choice, and went for "the best ending", because everyone considered it to be the best, but after all this time I started to think, is it really the best, and does Syanna really deserves redemption and to be forgiven? So, to finally summarise, I've decided to make this post, with my own analysis, facts and lines from the game itself... Because I just need to get it out of my system, so yeah... Let's start.

So my main problem in all this is Syanna herself, her motives, past and all... Yeah, ok, she was traumatized, treated awfully by her family, but after some analysis, I don't feel any sympathy towards her.

People use her childhood as an argument to her actions, but has anyone though about if she even tried to act differently? From what we learn from the game, and from Anarietta herself, Syanna never even tried to change. Syanna had many chances to stop this all or to start over, but she didn't care, because she didn't want to change. She admits herself that even if she had a chance (and she did had) to start over, she wouldn't change anything, and if people see her as a monster, she will be one.

Even Anarietts herself admits and never hides that Syanna was cruel, selfish and possessive.

Not to mention unquestionably terrible things she did and didn't feel any remorse or even laughed at, like the story with Cedric and his brother whom he killed because of Syanna's "prank". Torturing fairy tale creatures in the land of a thousand fables to the point when they feel terrified when she approaches. Or even that story which led to her exile: why didn't Syanna stop Anarietts from setting those balloons on fire which they then threw at that envoy? I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure this didn't went without any consequences for him.

After some thinking, I can't even be sure that Anarietta is to blame. Anarietta was the youngest in the family, and as most youngest, she looked up to her older sibling. In some way, Syanna was the one who raised Anarietta to be the way she was and to be like her older sister. Even Syanna admits so, by saying that Anarietta wanted to impress her. Syanna had to take responsibility for her actions, or at least understand that when time will come to find a culprit, she will be the one to blame. I will also remind that Syanna spent most of her life as a bandit, even became a leader of the gang, which means she probably did a lot of more terrible things, stealing, blackmailng, hurting or even killing people for her own gain. I'm pretty sure she wasn't a female version of Robin Hood.

Syanna's "motivation" lies in resentment toward a child, and even after decades, Syanna never understood that her 12-13 year old sister couldn't do much to change what was coming. Even Geralt understood all this after knowing her for a couple of days.

She never wanted to try and contact Anarietta, talk to her about all that happened then. A grown up, probably about 30-40 years old woman, holding a grudge towards a child, whom Anarietta was back then. She was fine to just kill her younger sister without even trying to solve this peacefully, just ask "why?", even though Anarietta herself tried to find Syanna, but she "didn't wish to be found", to which Syanna never argued, meaning she willingly avoided any chances to talk this out, while Anarietta was the only one who actually held love towards her sibling throughout all these years and tried to do something.

And Syanna saying that she's angry with Anarietta not because she didn't stood up for her, but because "she forgot", I'm sorry, sounds like total b u l l s h i t, because we know and she knows this isn't true. After all this I'm not even sure Syanna really loved Anarietta, if she so easily convinced herself that her little sister is a traitor, forgot about all that they been through, and after at least two decades the only way for her to solve this is to just get rid of Anarietta by somebody else's hands and make an entire scene of this like it was a perfomance. Irony of all this is that Syanna accused Anarietta that she didn't stood up for her because she wanted to take the throne to herself, but a lot of things points to that it is Syanna who just uses her "trauma" and knight's "dishonesty" as an excuse to kill her sister and take the throne. After all this, this was her point at the "court".

The difference between Syanna and Dettlaff is that Dettlaf doesn't kill for fun or joy, while Syanna does. Make Cedric kill his brother was a joke to her. Setting a person on fire made her laugh, "Never laughed so hard in my life", as she said.

Using and blackmailing a person who loved her meant nothing to her and never made her feel guilty or shame, even to the point of blaming him for being too trusting.

Even Geralt was used by her, which she admits at some point by telling she was nice to him only to "get him to sleep with her", which makes this whole thing even more disgusting for me as in all this situation one of the few thing Syanna could think of was s e x. People to her is nothing but toys or tools, even those who love her and saw in her more than she is.

Another difference between those two is that Dettlaff actually tried for many years, if not decades, to live peacefully among humans, helping them, and that is a fact backed up by words or others, and not only by Regis's words, while the only person who tried to defend Syanna was Anarietta, only because they were siblings and Anarietta felt guilty.

And another only person who could tell something about Syanna was her another simple victim she used and manipulated for her own gain.

Even her decision to help to stop Dettlaff doesn't feel like something she decided to do willingly, but something she did under pressure, because she had no choice. She admitted herself that she would prefer just to run away rather than face Dettlaff, but I guess it's hard to do so when another higher vampire and a witcher standing in front of you.

And do you remember that moment when we first got to the land of a thousand fables, and Syanna asks us what are we doing here, and if we choose the sarcastic line, she genuinely doesn't understand why are we ended up here, meaning she either forgot about Dettlaff's threat and her "promise" to help, or just didn't care from the start.

And, honestly, right after Dettlaff fled and Syanna met Anarietta, why didn't she try to stop Anarietta from taking her away? Didn't she just told us that Dettlaff means no joke and meeting with him is "the least she could do"? Why didn't she try to argue, saying that Bauclair is in danger now, and that Syanna has to go and meet Dettlaff. From what we got, it more looked like Syanna wanted to be taken away to sneak out later and just run away.

If we would've gotten a scene where we see that Syanna had a chance to run away but in the end decided to keep her word, that would've been one thing, but all that we see is that she either goes willingly, or Geralt and Regis will probably drag her to Tesham Mutna with broken legs.

But you know what could actually fix this whole situation for me? If in the game we were told that Syanna actually tried to change. If in this accident, that led to her exile, it would've been established that Syanna tried to stop Anarietta, and when she tried to explain what actually happened no one believed her, and Anarietta didn't tell the truth, all this would've actually worked. But no.

And after all this, in the end, she never admits her fault. Everyone, in her opinion, was to blame, while she's the one and only saint and innocent, who did nothing wrong. She never apologises for what she was doing to people, never thinks that maybe some part of her life was the cause of her own actions and not wanting to at least try and not provoke others. We have, as an example, second DLC, Hearts of stone, where we have Olgierd, who was also a terrible man, but the main difference between Syanna and him, that he admits he himself caused what he got, that he caused so much pain to those he loved,

and in the ending where he survives, we at least see him wanting to start a new life, even tho he lost everything he had and loved.

We don't see anything remotely like this from Syanna. While Olgierd regects his past and decides to start a new life, "take faith in his own hands", Syanna keeps blaming the world for everything wrong in her life, her parents, her sister, the knights, never considering that maybe she also did something wrong.

And in this "best ending" everyone just forgave her and forgot about all these sick things she did across her life, while our/Geralt's best friend, who we know for a long time, if you consider books, helped Geralt many times, once already died fighting for us in the battle agains Vilgefortz, basically tortured himself to find out why Dtttlaff is doing what he's doing, in this ending became "anathema", is chased by his own kind, and had to kill a person who saved his life and was the one who actually tried to change.

And so, in the end we have a sadistic, self-centered psychopath, who used, hurt, manipulated and lied to those who trusted her, never expressed any kind of remorse towards those she hurt, never reflected on her life and never even tried to change to prove that she's a better person from who people though she was.

If to choose, I would choose to safe Dettlaff, because unlike Syanna, he tried to change, and I do believe that this character could be redeemed and never wanted any of this from the start, and the fact is a fact that if not for Syanna, nothing of this would've happened. After learning more about Vampire's lore, talking to Regis about how hard it is for them to live among humans, I actually feel sorry for him and Dettlaff. Yes, Dettlaff did terrible thing, he's impulsive and because of that many people died, but that's why the game give us an option to kill him too. I, myself, would never choose to save Syanna and give her a happy ending after all she did and whi she is. For me, she's unquestionably unredeemable.

#dettlaff van der eretein #dettlaff #syanna #regis #the witcher #the witcher 3 #witcher 3 #blood and wine #the witcher 3 blood and wine #witcher #geralt of rivia #Geralt #thoughts #analysis

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nemainofthewater · 5 months

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Thanks for tagging me @thebansacredbanned!

1) How many works do you have on AO3? 288

2) What's your total AO3 word count?

1.11million

3) What fandoms do you write for?

So many. Too many. At the moment, mainly cdrama related ones, with Nirvana in Fire being my most prolific fandom.

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I was moderately popular in the Witcher fandom, so a lot of these aren't very representative of what I'm writing atm

Shining, (The Witcher) in which Jaskier is, unbeknownst to him, a dragon. Simmering, Mourning, and Vibing (from the same series) are respectively second, third, and fifth on the list, so I'm discounting them (and other works in the series in the top-kudos-ed) on the ground it would be boring if it was just this series.

Haunted and Haunting (The Umbrella Academy), in which Klaus died age 13 and spends his afterlife looking after his siblings.

Shang Qinghua’s testimonial to why you should NEVER TRY TO CHANGE THE PLOT [System, help!!], (SVSSS), in which Shang Qinghua tries to a slight plot change and ends up with a husband

Barmecide, (The Umbrella Academy), in which all of the Hargreeve siblings die except Klaus, and it's only after death they start to bond

On Reflection (SVSSS), in which the author shoves the characters into a small, enclosed space and makes them talk about their feelings

5) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! Mainly because it's so lovely that people leave me comments that I want to also interact with them and thank them? The only exceptions are if I don't really know how to reply to them, if they're a bit mean, or if they've left a thank you on every chapter of a fic (beloved!!!) in which case I'll reply to the last comment

6) What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

erm... I have no idea. Probably one of the NiF ones. Lin Chen tends to suffer a lot at my hands.

7) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I also have no idea. Like I've definitely written fluffy ones! but how to quantify what's the happiest??

8) Do you get hate on fics?

a couple of times, but I either ignore or block. Thankfully not habitually

9) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't, I tend to be a 'fades to black' kind of author

10) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

So many crossovers. I think the craziest might be 'Percival from Merlin switches bodies with Luther Hargreeves from the Umbrella Academy'

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!!!

A Russian translation of Plausible Deniability (the Magicians), a Chinese translation of Shining (The Witcher), a Russian translation of tho' it were ten thousand miles (SVSSS), and a Russian translation of you could cut ties with all the lies (that you've been living in) (NiF)

That's so many words of translation and I am amazed that people have done it!

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

So many co-written fics. Mainly with @thebansacredbanned and a couple with @luzzeagain

14) What's your all-time favorite ship?

This 100% changes all the time, but probably my favourite it Mei Changsu/Lin Chen/Jingyan, where Jingyan sometimes represents justice.

15) What's a wip that you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Hoarding or Barmecide, both of which have wonderful readers but are different from what I've been writing in the past few years. I will get back to them! One day...

16) What are your writing strenghts?

hmm depends. Maybe characterisation? especially in Nif? Dialogue perhaps

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

I don't know how 'pretty' my writing is tbh... and also I have a propensity to plan these huge epic AUs that I then don't have enough time to finish writing (since they tend to be for exchanges)

18) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've done it! I think you need to either be fluent in the language of know someone who is and is happy to beta. not against it, but I think it needs to be done respectfully and not using google translate

19) First fandom you wrote for?

...it was possible the Bible. I wrote a poem about god... Discounting that, I think supernatural or Dr Who. It was possible a SPN/DW crossover.

If we're counting unposted ones, then I handwrote a Star Wars fic when I was like 8. Make it into a little book and drew the cover myself! ...it's never going to see the light of day

tagging @tavina-writes @abluescarfonwaston @shadaras

#ask game

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rekishi-aka · 3 months

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WIP ask-game

New year, new ask game game!

Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it!

@quelquunberlin tagged me a while ago and now also @opheliagreif, so lets dive into the various WIP folders and do this (well...sometimes they're paper notes? XD)! However, this also includes stuff I will probably never finish.

Tatort Saarbrücken

Freibad

5 Stakeouts

Sick fic coda for spleen

Cockblock (which needs to really be renamed)

Soul Bond - Coven murder

Canon divergence prequel (not really featuring sexclubs)

Where I come from Leo character study

Not-a-stalker

Leo's totally not romantic tour d'Europe kissing everyone

The Untamed

Pumpkins (the moon shines upon the sleepless)

a thousand li away, gazing at the same moon

The Witcher (Netflix Canon)

the one in which Yennefer needs a sham marriage

S2 coda

The Hobbit/Silmarillion

Finrod snippet

Ecthelion(?)

Idril

Thranduil 2

Thranduil 3

combat elf'ed

Ereinion

I also still think about some of my orific sometimes and recently found a ton of notes I'd forgotten about, but I need to ponder what to do with all of that stuff. I still want to write Good Omens (and have a ton of notes of things that could make its way into fic) but currently no plot that makes sense.

Tagging, tagging.... @die-julia, @indigovigilance, @fixomnia-scribble, @apfelhalm, @cycas, @abeautifulblog

#ask game #tatort saarbrücken #the untamed #the hobbit #silmarillion #the witcher #fanfic

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greatncss · 1 month

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[ oscar isaac, cis man, he/him, 45 ] we've followed [ LUDVID AN CRAITE ] for awhile now, the [ BERSERKER ] has been in Skellige for [ MOST OF HIS LIFE ]. They found a true kinship within the [ AN CRAITE CLAN ]. They're known to be [ OVERZEALOUS ] and [ AMBITIOUS ]. They often remind us of [ A CROWN MADE OF THORNS, DUST COLLECTING IN A RAY OF SUNSHINE, A CONSTELLATION OF SCARS ]. Our thread has already been woven on what their future is looking like, but we're eager to see the [ MONARCH OF THE AN CRAITE CLAN ] experience it.

NAME: Ludvid (Ludo, Lud) an Craite AGE: 45 SPECIES: Berserker OCCUPATION: Monarch of the an Craite Clan GENDER & SEXUALITY: Cis man & bisexual

HEADCANONS

Born as the second and youngest son to the illustrious an Craite family, it was believed that Ludvid was meant for greatness. As it transpired over the course of his life, it seemed that tragedy was much more befitting to him.

In his youth, Ludo was always the overzealous younger sibling, the loud-mouthed jester, the prince insisting he train or hunt that little bit longer, push himself that little bit farther, all with a smile on his face. While he was favoured among the staff and doted on by his mother, his father had always warned him to control himself, to keep in line, to be more like his brother. He had heard it all a thousand times, constantly being reminded of his inferiority to his brother Hadvar - though it was no fault of his, since he loved his little brother dearly.

As he reached adulthood, his father had put out a contract for a monster that was plaguing the Northern lands. He hired a Witcher, Axsel, and requested that Hadvar join to slay this beast. Ludvid insisted that he attend too, in a desperate attempt to prove himself. After much convincing his father finally agreed, most likely to get him to shut up and hopefully learn some more from his brother.

That contract was to be his undoing. Hadvar had given his little brother the opportunity to lead, he had trusted him, but his choices had led them too close to danger and resulted in Hadvar losing his life and Ludvid gaining his curse. Axsel had been the one that ultimately saved his life, in more ways than simply slaying the curse-maker. They could not return to Kaer Trolde while his curse was so out of control with the rage of his mistakes and for a debt that could never be repaid, Axsel helped Ludvid learn to control himself as best as he could.

In his long absence, Ludvid’s father had fallen gravely ill. His return had been unexpected at best, and celebrated at worst. Ludvid felt guilty enough that he returned without Hadvar, and even more so now that the jarl’s crown lay waiting for him on his father’s deathbed. It was never meant for him, and it weighed heavy on his head.

Ludo married after he became monarch (the 'when' depends on the details of the wc really). He ruled as best as he could, and he kept his curse a secret for the most part. That spark he had as a young man rarely makes an appearance these days but he is a just and fair leader, always trying to do what his brother would have done.

Many years have passed and Ludo has searched the continent far and wide for a cure to his curse. Many have lied to him and eluded him, so ultimately his situation remains unchanged apart from the fact he rarely shifts now. His rage is contained, and instead eats at him from the inside.

He had not wanted children out of fear of passing on the curse, but fate intervened a few years ago and he and his wife have a young child.

Ludvid is all too happy to accept the mages fleeing from Novigrad, hoping that someone may bring the cure with them so that he can finally be rid of this curse.

CONNECTIONS (simply ideas, open to anything)

His wife - wc on the main!

Clan members

Old friends, or even people that work for the family

Mages he has sought for wisdom/help - or new ones that he will seek out now!

Other clan members, will be interesting to play out those relationships.

Anything… everything… please…

#ludvid — intro.

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samstree · 2 years

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Keeper of Hearts

Destiny has one more surprise for Geralt after all these years, involving Jaskier of all people. It comes in the form of a soulbond and well-hidden heartache from the past.

Written for Geraskier Secret Santa 2021. A gift for @demisexualgeralt. 🎄

(5.3k, rated t, prompts: soulmates, cozying up by the fire)

Beta'd by @curls-cat. Also on AO3.

It starts as a throbbing pain in Geralt’s ankle.

He frowns, looking down to see his feet planted to the solid ground of Oxenfurt’s street, the cobblestone covered in snow. There’s nothing wrong with his foot, no injury flaring up, no spraining on the slippery stairs. There shouldn’t be pain. At least, not on him.

It explodes all of a sudden.

“F—” the curse is cut off by what feels like fire licking up every inch of his skin—no, not fire. It burns, but it’s different.

It feels like…ice.

It washes over him from head to toe before gathering in his lungs. A thousand needles prickle his skin, sending him to his knees. Air is trapped in his chest, his vision darkening from the lack of oxygen. It’s almost like—

Like he’s drowning in freezing water.

Geralt clutches at his throat with fingers that he can no longer feel, his face somehow landing in the snow. He can’t breathe. All his limbs grow numb. Everything is what he’s supposed to feel if he’s actually drowning in some wild lake in the middle of winter.

But it leaves just as quickly.

Within one heartbeat and the next, the pressure eases, and Geralt lets out a choked breath and coughs into his fist. The numbness remains all over his body, sending another shiver down his spine, but he’s not drowning anymore. He stays on the ground for another moment.

“Are you okay, Sir Witcher?” a sweet voice asks from above, and Geralt looks up to see one of Jaskier’s students—Dalia, the girl whose hair cannot be tamed. She’s the one always smiling and calling Geralt ‘sir,’ a diligent pupil and Jaskier’s favorite, not that he should ever admit having those.

“Dalia, ah, yes. I’m fine,” Geralt lies, still huffing and puffing. To be fair, he doesn’t understand what happened yet. He’s never had phantom pain like—

“It’s soul pain, isn’t it?” she asks, before the concern in her eyes turns into horror. “Oh! Professor Pankratz! He must be hurt! But where is he? We must find him now!”

Geralt stares at her round eyes for a second before his brain catches up. “What are you—” he scrambles up from the ground despite his feet still feeling like someone else’s. “It’s not soul pain. I don’t have—Jaskier is not my soulmate.”

Her frown doesn’t ease. “Okay, sorry. I thought…”

Geralt knows what she thought, what most people they meet in Oxenfurt think these days. It’s already unusual for a bard to travel with a witcher for nearly three decades, let alone inviting him to winter together in the faculty quarters for so many years. This time, Jaskier didn’t even bother booking him another room because they always end up in the same place after a week or two. Save me the money, dear witcher, he said at the end of the fall. Wasting a bed in this economy should be a crime.

But no, despite what Dalia assumed, they are not together. He and Jaskier are most definitely not soulmates.

Witchers don’t get them. The trials have made sure they are not among those lucky ones—or, as Vesemir once put it, unfortunate sods—who have to burden an innocent person with all the shared pains and hurts and sorrows. It’s just the way it is, they simply don’t get soulmates.

They don’t.

…Right?

Geralt looks down at his hands, where the tingling remains deep in his bones. Soul pain? Could it be?

Just like too many of Geralt’s problems, the answer comes when Jaskier rounds the corner, letting out every curse under the sky. He is half-carried by Essi and Valdo on each side. Their little group is loud, as one that is purely made of bards is expected to be, with indistinguishable yells and orders exploding among the three of them. Dalia turns to the noise at the same time as Geralt, but there’s no way a human’s eyes can catch the state Jaskier is in as quickly as a witcher.

Jaskier is dripping wet.

Two large overcoats are wrapped around his shoulders, and the curls on his forehead are stuck to his skin. There’s snow in his hair—no, ice. The water is crystallizing in the wind. He’s also limping, one of his feet hovering awkwardly off the ground.

They are coming towards Geralt, or rather, the faculty building behind him. The three bards are still arguing. Even Jaskier’s chattering teeth can’t stop him.

“No, Essi, it w—wasn’t your fault! I will not accept your apology anymore! It was Valdo’s—don’t you hey me! You shoved me into the lake!”

“The ice should have settled!”

“You conspired to kill me! First, you tripped me and broke my ankle. My livelihood! And then you tried to drown me! In this horrid weather, no less—” Jaskier breaks into a coughing fit, trapping a gurgling noise in his lungs, the fit making him tip forward, just in time to land on his injured foot. “Shit,” he heaves out a labored breath, his voice now hoarser and deeper, “that hurt.”

Pain shoots up Geralt’s leg, exactly where Jaskier jostled it.

“Our livelihood is the voice, Julian. If your feet are somehow included, you are singing the wrong way.”

“How dare you! You know you’ll never beat me on the dance floor—oh.” Jaskier’s shouting cuts off when he notices Geralt standing right in front of him, his eyes widening like a cat seeing his favorite person, the steaming rage in his voice immediately gone, leaving only softness. “Geralt, hey.”

Jaskier drags Essi and Valdo to a halt, his foot setting down gently. For a moment, surprise knits his brows together. His hands drop to the sides of the other two bards, his fingers red in the cold air. It looks like it hurts. Geralt knows it hurts. The wind shifts, ruffling the wet hair at Jaskier’s eyes, cutting into his still-damp skin like a sharp blade. Geralt feels every bit of the tingling.

He doesn’t know what face he’s making, only that whatever Jaskier is seeing can’t be good, because that familiar worried look is creeping up on the bard’s frown. He stares at Jaskier still, his Jaskier for the past thirty years, and tries to find the answer in those beautiful blue eyes.

Instead, Jaskier finds it first. Like a lightning strike, splitting open the cloudless sky.

Despite the paleness already overtaking his features, Jaskier blanches.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh, Geralt, no. I—I can explain…”

Jaskier shudders, losing his balance, almost taking Essi down with him. Geralt snaps out of a trance and suddenly he’s seeing signs of shock all over Jaskier. He’s shivering under those thick cloaks, his lips turning blue and his heart fluttering dangerously. The babbling is the worst; Geralt should have realized. The bard has a habit of distracting himself from all sorts of hurt by rambling on and on, until he stops.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks but there’s no answer. Jaskier is shaking all over, looking like he’s only seconds away from passing out. “Shit.” With two long strides, Geralt is at Jaskier’s side and taking all his weight from Essi. “Here. Let me.”

“Geralt, I—it’s not like that…” Jaskier struggles.

“Later.” He lifts Jaskier off the ground in one swift motion, and the ache in Geralt’s ankle eases immediately. “Get you warmed up first.”

Jaskier trembles again, clinging to Geralt’s neck. Gods, his hands are like ice blocks. He nods to Dalia, who is looking even more confused, but Geralt doesn’t have the time for it. He sets out for the well-lit building where their bedroom is. Essi keeps a hand on Jaskier’s arm the entire way and squeezes from time to time, only breaking contact when they reach the stairs. Valdo and Jaskier have also ceased their jabs, a rare bliss.

“Sweet Melitele,” Jaskier sighs with relief when Geralt nudges open the door. The fire is still burning, so Geralt prioritizes setting Jaskier down on a chair and stripping him of those wet clothes. His ankle has only swelled a little, not broken. It can wait a bit.

“Could you get us a bath? Cold water is fine,” Geralt acknowledges the other bards. Valdo is already on his way out, but Essi looks like she’s on the verge of tears.

“Hey, poppet. Come here.” Jaskier stills Geralt’s fingers on the ties of his doublet and reaches out for Essi, and she takes his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. We were all just fooling around.”

“I shouldn’t have started it.”

“Nonsense. You can always start snowball fights with me.” Jaskier winks, but his eyes are drooping with exhaustion. “It was all Valdo.” He lowers his voice. “And, perhaps, a little bit of me.”

“I heard that,” Valdo says off-handedly, bringing in the second bucket of water.

Geralt would shake his head in bemusement if worry wasn’t still a bitter lump in his throat. Jaskier loves his two friends too differently. He’ll never understand the three of them.

Essi kisses Jaskier on the forehead and leaves him be. The bath is filled fairly quickly as Geralt continues to remove Jaskier’s clothes down to his undershirt. The bard almost dozes off at one point, but Geralt nudges him with a gentle hand.

“Jask? Stay awake for me?” he asks softly, before turning to heat the bath with Igni. Steam fills the room, and Jaskier smiles at his friends tiredly. At least his heart is slowing to normal.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says, voice small. “Yes, even you, Marx.”

“I’d be more worried about myself, Pankratz.” Valdo throws Geralt a meaningful look. “Quite the mess you’ve made.”

Jaskier doesn’t reply. His eyes stare distantly as the door shuts, and Geralt gets to work. With how much Jaskier is flagging, it takes more time to get him out of the last shirt and his small things.

“This might sting,” Geralt warns as he carefully helps Jaskier into the tub, the bard holding onto his forearms with a death grip. It does sting, Geralt notices, resisting to soothe the discomfort on his own skin while Jaskier flexes his fingers in the hot water.

Steam fills the room, and Jaskier melts into the warmth. Geralt has to rouse him again and then settle himself decidedly on the stool next to the tub, just in case.

“But I want to sleep,” Jaskier croaks, a few coughs bubbling up in his throat.

“Not yet. It’s dangerous,” Geralt says, a pang of fear rising at the memory of his chest burning. “There was water in your lungs. It could still get worse. We need to keep an eye on that.”

Jaskier’s eyes flicker to Geralt’s for a split second at the mention of his almost drowning. He doesn’t ask how Geralt knows.

“Alright,” Jaskier says softly, putting an arm on the edge of the bathtub and resting his cheek on it. “Keep an eye it is.”

They fall into a companionable silence. The water sloshes as Jaskier moves around, loosening his tense muscles and painting his skin pink. By the time he relaxes and has regained some energy, Geralt is leaning on the tub as well, observing Jaskier intently.

Soulmate.

Geralt turns the word over in his mind a few times, and yet he stays silent.

“Really?” Jaskier finally says. “You’re not going to ask?”

Geralt sighs. Anyone who’s spent a day with Jaskier will see how the bard wears his heart on his sleeves and simply assume he can never keep a secret. Geralt isn’t anyone. The bard has mastered the art of talking non-stop about everything while not revealing a grain of truth once he’s determined to hide it. Patience works on him though, just a bit of patience. “Do you want me to?” Geralt asks instead.

“No? I don’t know? Wait, yes.” Jaskier worries his lips. “I owe it to you, at least.”

“Okay.” Geralt nods. “Are we?”

Jaskier pauses. The ripples on the surface of the bathwater are suddenly the most interesting things in the world. He chases them with his fingers.

“We are.”

The admission seems to lift a weight off of Jaskier’s chest. He sags, the flush deepening on his face and chest.

“How?”

“How are we soulmates?” Jaskier blinks quizzically.

“No.” Geralt shakes his head gently. “How did I not know?”

“Oh. I—” Jaskier chuckles without humor. “Funny story. Okay, maybe not funny. In my defense, I sort of didn’t know…either? For a few years, at least. You see, this soulbond thing, it starts manifesting when you’re what, five? Six? My sister scraped her knee and our butler’s boy cried out on the other side of the estate. Mother and father were not pleased. A noble lady and a servant’s boy bonded together? How improper. So imagine when I started having soul pains almost every other day.”

Geralt’s blood runs cold. His stomach turns with nausea. “You were only five?”

“Five and a half, mind you,” Jaskier corrects him, as if that makes it any better. “The symptoms varied, nonsensical at first. There were signs of poisoning, blood loss, sometimes burns. No child can be injured this often. It was my mother who pieced it together. A witcher, of course.”

Geralt rests his hand on the edge of the tub, hoping Jaskier might close the scant inches between them and take it. He doesn’t.

“They had to fix it. She did some digging and found a mage in Oxenfurt. He brewed a potion, one that was rumored to block one’s soulbond. It worked, temporarily, at least. For a day or two, I wouldn’t feel it.”

A potion to fix one’s soulbond. It sounds like something out of a storybook, a perfect setup for a tragedy. But again, a soulbond itself has never seemed less of a fairytale to Geralt.

“I thought it was a myth.”

“Not a myth if you know the right people.” Jaskier winces. “Or are a noble. Or have enough money.”

Geralt frowns. “And you’ve been taking it ever since?”

“I had to, so they could pretend my bond never appeared. Also, I need it just to…um, to…”

Jaskier trails off, but Geralt finishes it for him.

“To grow up.” The idea doesn’t become less horrible, Jaskier as a child and writhing with pain that is near unbearable even for a witcher. “To live. You couldn’t have otherwise.”

Geralt tries to do the math, find out what year it was, which contracts he took when Jaskier was five. It all blurs together, all the blood and sweat and scars that fade into one another. He cannot identify when he hurt Jaskier inadvertently just by existing, or by how long and how deeply, only that he did.

“And you don’t feel anything with the potion, right?” Geralt asks tentatively. “It helps?”

“More or less. It reduces all the pains to a dull ache, so I won’t notice most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

Jaskier smiles sadly. “That’s how I learned. For so long I took the potion religiously to the point of forgetting about the matter altogether. It wasn’t until the striga. It was just an ordinary morning, and I’d taken the potion the night before. But…when dawn broke that day, I woke up with the worst pain I’d ever felt in my neck. I could sense it, deep in my bones, that my soulmate was close to dying. The potion failed, all the other painkillers too. The fever burned for days and I was past delirious when Valdo and Essi found me.”

“They know,” Geralt muses, “of course.”

“They guessed. Especially after news arrived about the protests in Vizima, the witcher who died and the other gravely injured—the White Wolf. Who else, Valdo said, trouble with you is always trouble with that witcher. I think he hated you for a while after. I…I denied it still, until I couldn’t”

“You came to Ellander.” Geralt thinks back on that day, the joy between the two of them upon their reunion. “You were so happy to see me.”

“My dear, you were okay. Of course I was happy to see you.” Jaskier smiles, moving towards Geralt and reaching for the bite mark above his collarbone. The warmth seeps into the faint scar at Geralt’s neck, and drops of water run down his chest. “There you were, hurting right where I was hurting.”

Their gazes meet through the steam. Geralt touches the scar too, catching Jaskier’s hand and feeling how soft and warm the bard is. The old fear is a familiar thing, hiding in the lines around Jaskier’s eyes. He’s endured more fearful nights than one should in a lifetime.

Geralt, more than anything, wishes to erase those fears.

He opens Jaskier’s palm and places a tiny kiss in it, taking the bard by surprise, and then gently puts both of their hands down. “I’m right here, Jask.”

“You are,” Jaskier repeats like he can’t quite believe it. Like a prayer. “You are still here.”

The surprise in Jaskier’s tone is a confusing thing, but Geralt lets it slide.

He clears his throat and breaks the moment, getting up to retrieve a bar of soap. Washing Jaskier’s hair is easy when Geralt already knows the motion by heart. He even scratches behind Jaskier’s ears the way he likes and gets a contented sigh in return. The bard dunks his head underwater and emerges to shake off the droplets like a wet dog.

“Come on,” Geralt says, splashing at Jaskier’s face. “Get yourself dry so we can rest a bit.”

“Together?”

“How else would you stay down?”

Jaskier beams, ready to stand up but forgetting about the sprained foot. The careless motion makes them both wince, but at least Jaskier looks contrite. “Sorry about that.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s damp hands and guides him out of the tub before fishing out fresh tunics and a large towel from the closet. Jaskier takes them and begins drying himself, his ankle no longer hurting as much, thankfully.

“Bed?” Geralt asks.

“By the fire?” Jaskier gestures to the thick fur rug and the crackling fire. “It’s warmer.”

Geralt just shrugs and retrieves the blankets and bandages and the one hundred pillows the bard has collected over the years. Jaskier soon puts on his clean clothes, before limping to the spot in front of the fire and plopping down amongst the pillows, his hair a damp mess.

Kneeling in the sea of pillows, Geralt places Jaskier’s injured foot on his lap and starts wrapping it. They only need the bandage for a bit of support in the next few days as it heals.

“Any pain?” The process is careful, but Geralt still soothes the delicate skin at Jaskier’s ankle a little, making sure he’s relaxed.

“You know there isn’t.”

Jaskier arranges the pillows for them to lie down side to side, patting the one next to him. Geralt joins gladly. He’s had Jaskier close every day for the whole season, and the past few winters, but somehow, there’s a newness in the way their bodies press against each other. With a pensive hum, he turns and props himself up on an elbow.

“Ellander was twenty-seven years ago,” Geralt states and watches as Jaskier’s eyes become round like bells.

“Holy—has it really been that long?” Jaskier stares up at Geralt, huffing unbelievingly. “It feels like yesterday that I met you in that horrible, horrible tavern.”

“That was exactly thirty years ago. That’s how time works, Jask.” A strand of hair is getting close to the bard’s eyes, so Geralt brushes it away, revealing silver streaks that are growing more obvious each day. “So you’ve known for a while.”

“I guess you can say that.”

“You see what my next question is?”

Jaskier shifts, pulling more pillows under him and propping himself up as well, his posture mirroring Geralt so they’re face to face. There’s a weariness in the way he looks at Geralt. He’s been shouldering this weight for too long.

“I never told you because.” He shrugs. “You’d leave.”

It comes out like Jaskier is simply stating the weather, like he believes it just as the sun rising in the morning. It makes Geralt’s blood boil, a wave of nameless anger gathering in the pit of his stomach. Not at Jaskier, never at Jaskier. He’s angry with himself for putting that kind of doubt there.

As if he’d abandon their friendship for something that already hurts Jaskier.

Geralt is ready to argue, to defend his heart. “I wouldn’t—"

“It’s not that I never tried,” but Jaskier cuts him off, heedless of the silent battle between Geralt and his past self. “I wanted to bring it up a few times, but it just seemed the longer we knew each other, the more awkward it’d be. Next thing I knew, Cintra happened, and then the djinn. You—” Jaskier lowers his gaze to the laces at Geralt’s shirt. “You don’t have a good track record when it comes to destiny or fate or having people shoved into your life. You’d have reacted poorly, darling.”

“I don’t… react poorly.” Geralt protests, but one word catches his attention. “Wait, no. You’re not shoved into my life, Jaskier. It’s not because of what I said?”

“What, no—of course not!” Jaskier frowns, swatting at Geralt’s chest. “It wasn’t. I realized you didn’t mean any of it on the very same mountain. Stop brooding over this again or I will be cross with you!”

Geralt’s shoulders sag a little. His lips purse into a line, and then, a slight upturn. “Wouldn’t dare.”

“Good.” Jaskier continues. “And there’s the other lie. Don’t react poorly, he said. Geralt, you are the bravest man I know, but we both know you’d have run screaming.”

“I don’t scream, either.” He sends the bard a look.

“Okay, not that part, perhaps. But admit you’d have every urge to bolt, and maybe I’d be the one screaming your name around the continent, looking hopelessly for my soulmate who abandoned me with the coldest heart.”

Despite everything, the image makes Geralt rumble a laugh, and Jaskier giggles to himself too.

“So you just kept it to yourself, all this time.” Geralt huffs, bopping Jaskier on the forehead. “Can’t decide if I should be impressed.”

“I can keep a secret,” Jaskier feigns offense, and then more quietly, “you’d be surprised.”

Silence hangs in the air, broken only by the crackling of the dying embers. The temperature is dropping already, so Geralt pulls up one of the blankets to cover Jaskier’s legs and midriff, tucking it in absently.

“Tell me one?”

Blue eyes light up. “If you promise to tell me one in return.”

“Deal.”

The gentle upturn of Geralt’s lips is encouragement enough, and Jaskier shifts down to rest his head on the pillow, his hair mussed against the velveteen surface. He looks as if he’s going to melt under Geralt’s gaze, the way he keeps nuzzling closer. Geralt can’t help leaning in as well until the curtain of his silver hair touches Jaskier’s chin.

He watches Jaskier from above, waiting.

“I sometimes went off the potion,” Jaskier admits, “when we were apart.”

Geralt stills, his smile frozen.

“What? That is so stupi—”

“Don’t, Geralt. I know you want to get all grumpy on me. Just…don’t. It hurt, yes, but you were okay in the end. Always.” Jaskier’s soft look remains, his hand now resting on Geralt’s hip, keeping him in place. “And I could know, when a wound stopped hurting, when the pain eased. No—don’t argue with me. I don’t regret it, if it meant I was allowed to know. I have not regretted a single moment by your side, least of all this.”

Jaskier’s chest heaves, his eyes gleaming in the gentle firelight. In return, Geralt’s chest constricts with a million things he doesn’t dare to voice. He settles on the touch of Jaskier’s hand against his waist, a grounding point, an anchor.

“And you give me all those lectures about unnecessary suffering,” Geralt finally says, shaking his head, not knowing what to do with Jaskier. He’s never known anyway.

“It wasn’t suffering if it meant you had a choice.” Jaskier is ready to sit up, but his body is kept in place with how close they are. He sighs, resigned to his cocoon of blankets and pillows. “Geralt, you already get too few of them. I wouldn’t know how to stay if I was just another person destiny forced on you—yes, the other two worked out okay in the end and Ciri and Yennefer are the best things to ever happen to you—but I want to be a choice you make. I need to be, because you deserve to choose for yourself. Gods, it should be easy. Everyone has it easy, and yet…”

Jaskier closes his eyes and lets out an exhale, disquiet clear in the way his breath shudders. He’s angry too, the same way Geralt has been for almost his entire life.

Almost.

He hasn’t been angry with destiny for years.

Everyone has it easy, the choice of who to love, who to keep, who to become.

And yet, here they are.

“Hey.” Geralt tilts Jaskier’s chin up so blue eyes meet him, a human’s pulse thrumming under his fingertips. He deserves to choose, yes, and he has. Jaskier shouldn’t doubt it. “My turn.”

“Hmm?”

“A secret,” he reminds Jaskier.

“Oh.”

Geralt runs his palm down Jaskier’s bicep, reaching his elbow. He never gave much thought as to how Jaskier knows when his injuries flare up when the seasons change. He just accepted that Jaskier would be there to press a hot towel to his aching joints and murmur soft words in the quiet darkness until it passed. How has he been so blind?

There’s always been more, soulbond or not.

He’s chosen to love Jaskier so many times.

And loving Jaskier makes him brave.

“I love you,” Geralt says, and the words barely carry any weight. Strange. They’re such big words, after all. “That’s my secret.”

Something inexplicable flashes across Jaskier’s eyes, something akin to hope, equally fragile and powerful.

“If you’re saying this because I’m your soulmate—”

“Soulmate or not,” Geralt interrupts. “You. It’s just you. It has nothing to do with a soulbond, or destiny, or whatever magic has made my life into. I choose you, Jaskier, and I love you.”

The fire dies with a whimper, and they are left with nothing but the plain truth. Geralt has never expected to trust a person with his heart like this, but he’s proved wrong again. Here Jaskier is, hurting quietly for three decades just so destiny has one less tie on him.

His trust must shine through, because Jaskier seems lighter now, and the hope in his eyes grows and grows. “Not because of today? Not destiny?”

“I chose long ago. Jaskier, don’t you see?”

The life they’ve made, the quiet companionship by the fire, the silly conversations at night, it’s all a choice.

“And you love me.”

“I do.”

Geralt would say it as many times as Jaskier needs, but three seems enough for the moment. He rests his head on another pillow so their foreheads nearly touch. Jaskier closes the distance, his soft hair brushing Geralt’s brows.

“And you are staying,” Jaskier whispers. “You found out and you’re staying. Forgive me for not quite believing this day actually happened.”

“Hmm. Blame yourself for falling into a lake.”

“It was Valdo—you know what, it doesn’t matter. You are here. That’s more important than a hundred Valdo Marx combined.”

Jaskier’s voice turns drowsy, and he presses into Geralt’s warmth like a cat subtly scooching towards a sunbeam in the afternoon.

“Jask?” Geralt pulls away a little so their gazes meet. With Jaskier soft and affectionate and falling asleep beside him, it’s hard to be serious. He tries anyway. “Jask, I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.” Jaskier answers, bleary-eyed and sincere. Love swells in Geralt’s chest anew.

“Promise me that you’ll keep taking that potion. No skipping it from now on.”

“Oh.” Blue eyes flutter open, more alert now. “Of course. As long as I take it, it’s like the bond doesn’t even exist. You don’t need to worry about it. There’s no magic to keep you. I won’t try to keep you.”

Geralt huffs a breath. It still amazes me how someone as smart as Jaskier can be so daft.

“That’s nice to hear, but I couldn’t care less about the soulbond. I’m right where I belong.” With Jaskier, their limbs tangling under the covers. “I need you to take the potion so I won’t hurt you again.”

“You don’t hurt me.” Jaskier pouts, offended somehow.

Geralt winces. “I’ve done it enough, being a witcher, being me. I can’t change the path or the monsters, and if our soulbond causes you more harm, I don’t know how I’ll—Just promise me. Just this one thing, please.”

Jaskier stares at him for a moment, probably surprised at the rarity that is Geralt begging, and he relents. “Fine, I promise. But I don’t appreciate the self-blaming party going on in your head. You should have learned better, darling. Or do I need to repeat the lesson for you?”

Geralt chuckles, not wanting to be on the receiving end of that disappointed look Jaskier has mastered with his students. Professor Pankratz is known to be firm but fair, but a dressing-down from him is no joke. “Yes, sir,” Geralt answers seriously, “and thank you.”

“It’s not a hardship. It smells nice too. Like celandine.”

Oh. Like Jaskier.

Like herbs and spring and everything good in life.

“Okay,” Geralt says. “There could be monsters in Oxenfurt for all we know.”

“No, there isn’t. You are safe here.” Jaskier hums an amused sound before yawning. “This is where you rest, you know? Nothing hurts in the winter.”

“Well, you made sure of it.”

Geralt thinks back on the many winters they spent together. Whether it’s Kaer Morhen or here, Jaskier has always insisted on getting Geralt rested and well-fed. There’s a small patch of burnt wall in Vesemir’s kitchen as proof. The academy is no different—the smiling faces that greet Geralt everywhere, the nosy students who call him “Professor Pankratz’s witcher husband” behind their backs. That’s all Jaskier.

He’s safe here, and Jaskier trusts him to be safe. There’s no soul pain to be shared if it wasn’t for an untimely snowball fight.

Geralt huffs a snort and arranges his arm so Jaskier can rest his head more comfortably on his shoulder. The bard’s breathing is evening out, slowed down by the weight of tiredness.

“Sleep.” Geralt murmurs, his nose buried in Jaskier’s damp curls, the clean scent of his bard a soothing balm for his nerves.

“Am I allowed now?”

“Mm-hmm.”

It’s not like Geralt is going anywhere.

“One more secret for you,” Jaskier whispers, the words almost lost in the quietness of the room. “Just for you.”

“Tell me?”

Even though he’s already heard.

“I love you too.” Soft lips press against the corner of Geralt’s mouth. A smile dances between them. “And I choose you too.”

With that, Jaskier drifts off to peaceful sleep, his chest rising and falling steadily. Geralt stays there, arms wrapped around him, not quite wanting to move. He probably never wants to move anywhere again when Jaskier is right here.

So Geralt dreams in broad daylight. He dreams of what they will become, what Jaskier can still become. The idea keeps him awake, giddy even.

Because Jaskier is already so many things to him: bard, poet, friend, travel companion, defender of his name, and, more often than not, source of his headache.

Also, the reason for his laughter.

The light in his sorrows.

The keeper of his heart.

And now—his soulmate, linked by destiny.

Although, of all the roles Jaskier has taken up, Geralt decides, the last one is the least important of them all.

~~~

In my head, they are both ace/demisexual in this story ;)

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon @holymotherwolf @theamazingdevilgivesmehope

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geraskierss #geraskiersource #soulmate #shared pain #fluff and angst #hurt/comfort #jaskier whump #hurt jaskier #hypothermia #softness #cuddling #love confession #the most time is spent on picking the header #and now i feel fancy ✨

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

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Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.

In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.

Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.

Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.

"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."

That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.

"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."

"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.

Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.

Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.

"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.

"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."

Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.

"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."

That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.

"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."

"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.

"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."

The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"

To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.

"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."

"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."

Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.

"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."

"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."

Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.

He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.

Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.

Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.

Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.

"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.

The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.

"Luca?"

By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.

"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.

"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."

He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.

"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."

"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.

Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.

"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."

"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.

Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.

"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."

"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.

It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.

"You think that-"

"Mhm."

That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.

Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.

"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."

The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.

Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.

"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.

After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."

All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.

Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.

"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"

"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"

Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."

"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."

#geraskier #lambden #eskhir #geralt/jaskier #lambert/aiden #eskel/cahir #unhappy vesemir/guxart #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #aiden #eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #vesemir #daemon au #tldr: witchers' daemons are humans when the connection between them is severed

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storm-and-starlight · 3 years

Text

Death and Destiny, Heroics and Heartbreak

(It's onion)

Fifth verse -- feels are being had, revelations are underway, understandings are being reached, and we are almost there.

Beginning / Read on AO3!

The thing about witchers (or his witcher, anyways) is that they are notoriously tight-lipped about their own kind. The first winter after Jaskier met Geralt he snuck back into the library at Oxenfurt and dug through every record he could find that even so much as mentioned them. Most were quotes from some book called Monstrum that had so nauseated Jaskier that he’d barely been able to restrain the urge to burn the actual book when he’d found it, and a few rare history texts mentioned the sacking of the various Witcher Schools, while there was a notation in one of the headmaster’s diaries about a witcher who had come to town and cheated the academy out of a thousand crowns to slay some purported “monster” in the sewers, later suspected to be the witcher himself creating his own work.

In the back of a bestiary, of all places, he finds a crude drawing of a squat, monstrous figure, bulging with muscle and teeth and carrying two swords, captioned with The Witcher, forced into existence through the marriage of foul magicks and perverted alchemy with the sacrifice of a human child, is a beast most useful to humans in the slaying of the dark creatures that plague our lands. Be well wary of them, for they are cunning and heartless and feel no emotion save for rage, but pay them fairly and keep children away lest they steal them to their mountain lairs, and they may be of use to civilized folk.

None of it, not one word of it, is true.

Even with barely a year beside Geralt under his belt, Jaskier had known that, and the knowledge that Oxenfurt carries such lies within its hallowed halls (then again, they lied to him about the elves too) has only made him all the more determined to rewrite history and make Geralt into the hero he deserves to be.

But all of that is beside the point, the point being that he knows almost nothing about Geralt’s past, or even the other witchers -- only that he has “brothers” he’s mentioned a time or two, and that he returns to some place in Kaedwen every winter, and that he’s very adamant about not being human.

Which makes the fact that another witcher has just walked into the common room here in this no-name inn in a no-name town incredibly interesting, a chance to expand his repertoire, learn more about who Geralt even is, where he comes from, what he’s made of beyond gristle and white hair. This one is shorter than Geralt, but wider, and dark everywhere Jaskier’s White Wolf is fair. In the common room’s smoke and firelight-shadow and his witcher-black armor, it creates the unnerving impression of a pair of golden eyes looking out of a patch of darkness like some kind of… of djinn or something.

Jaskier maybe cuts his set a little short that night, but who can blame him? Geralt’s off on a contract, won’t be back until late at night, and while these isolated mountain villages are undeniably interesting, they’re also all the same, and he’s not a travelling bard because he wanted sameness. He could have just stayed in Lettenhove if sameness was what he wanted.

And so he plops himself down in front of the other witcher with as much valiant cheer as he’d had facing down Geralt’s stare that first day in Posada and significantly more knowledge of what he might be getting himself into, grins, dips his head, and says “Jaskier the bard, and you are?”

The witcher snorts, leans backwards, and says “No chance in any hell you care to name.”

“...What?”

“You reek of him, bard, and if you think I’m stupid enough to risk crossing the fucking Butcher, you’ve got more thinking to do.”

“Um.” Jaskier says, and holds very very still, because he might not have been expecting a warm welcome, exactly, but he has just spent the last two and a half years of his life doing his level best to make things easier for every witcher, and it doesn’t seem particularly arrogant to expect some gratitude for it, or at least a recognition of who he is, instead of the…

the statement that he apparently reeks of Geralt. Which-- they have been sharing a bedroll nightly, come to think about it, but that’s-- that’s different, that doesn’t mean that him talking to another witcher is crossing some kind of line or whatever -- it’s not like Geralt owns him.

The witcher sighs, thunks his head back against the wall. “Why are you here?”

“Um.” Jaskier says, and forces his tongue to listen to his brain again. “To talk to you?”

“No chance. Fuck off.”

“What, because you don’t want to cross Geralt? The fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re soaked in his scent like you took a fucking bath in it. You want to tell me that’s not any kind of ownership at all, bardling?” and there’s an uncomfortable sort of smile on his face, rather sharper than Jaskier likes. “He’s staked his claim on you, and thoroughly, and I, for one, have no desire to challenge that when you’re the one going behind his back. Last chance. Fuck off, or I leave you to him.”

Jaskier blinks, caught thoroughly off-guard. This witcher seems to think that-- that Geralt owns him, that his preoccupation with Jaskier’s scent is some kind of mark of that ownership, and that he’s going to-- to what, attack this other witcher for daring to even talk to Jaskier? That doesn’t-- what?

Across the table, the other witcher tenses, eyes flicking towards the door, and his head thunks back against the wall. “On your head be it, bard.”

Jaskier looks across the common room, and-- ooh, that’s Geralt, and he’s annoyed, with that particular scowl on his face that means that something deeply inconvenient and irritating happened while still not being life-threatening -- wrong monster listed on the contract, perhaps, or the alderman being more obstinate than usual. Jaskier still lifts a hand to wave to him, because he still trusts Geralt more than he does almost anything else, and Geralt’s eyes track across the room to find him and come to rest on the other witcher, who lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes.

Geralt weaves between the tables with enviable grace for a man his size, and comes to stand at the very end of the shadowed back table, looking down at Jaskier with furrowed brow. Jaskier offers him a smile, but it feels… subtly wrong on his face, and it must show because the furrow between Geralt’s eyes only gets deeper.

“Before you say anything,” the other witcher says, eyes still closed. “He came to me. I don’t even want a fucking bedwarmer.”

“Hm.” Geralt tips his head to the side. “Jaskier?”

“...What?”

Geralt looks at him and tips his head in the other direction, in the way that Jaskier thinks means explain yourself but might also mean what the fuck are you up to this time.

“Well, you never tell me anything about witchers, and I can’t very well fix all your reputations without knowing what bits need to be fixed--”

Geralt lifts an eyebrow and looks at the other witcher, like he’s saying so you thought you’d talk to a stranger about it, only Jaskier suddenly remembers the way the strange witcher had insinuated that Geralt owned him, now, and he goes hot and angry all over.

“What, so I’m not allowed to talk to people now? Because you’ve arbitrarily decided you own me? Is that what all” and he flips a hand through the air, trying to indicate everything between them and failing miserably at it-- “all this was about?”

The stranger cracks an eye open, watching, and Geralt’s face goes blank and cold. “Jaskier.”

“Oh no you don’t, you don’t get to ‘Jaskier’ me now, you are going to-- to tell me what all of this is about, right now--”

Geralt catches one of his flailing hands, dragging him up and closer to his chest, and damn him, damn him, Jaskier still can’t control the way he simply wants to melt into him, never mind the fact that he’s wearing armor that hasn’t been properly washed in close to a week. “Jaskier. Not here.” The stranger lets out an amused sound, and Geralt shoots him a glare that could melt glass. “Upstairs,” he says, dipping his head towards Jaskier’s ear. “We can… talk.”

Despite the way that his face is almost out of Jaskier’s line of sight, he can just see the way Geralt’s lips twist uncomfortably with that promise.

He hmmphs. “We’d better,” and strides off towards the stairs up to their room, long and dignified and befitting a master of the seven liberal arts and not at all like a miffed lover storming off in a huff.

“Can’t keep your toy under control?” comes the other witcher’s voice, from behind him, and then--

“Another word,” Geralt says, impossibly deep, “and I will consider it that challenge,” and there’s a click of footsteps behind Jaskier, a general leaning-away of the tavern-goers from his general vicinity, and a warm hand on the small of his back guiding him up the stairs, Geralt a comforting bulk behind him.

Confrontations with witchers in dark corners never seem to go as he expects, it would appear.

~~~

The room is the same as every other room in every other town they’ve been in -- small, square, wooden, a bed, a stand, a desk, a chair, and a single window with a hard wooden shutter to block out the wind, and yet-- and yet here they are with Jaskier’s mind chasing itself in circles and Geralt’s hand warm on his back, and a witcher downstairs who’d called him Geralt’s toy.

“Explain yourself,” he snaps, and the words come out harsh and sharp and cold, the hand falling away from him as he puts his back to the door, easy escape if he needs it. Geralt’s face is a muddle, anger and irritation and that particularly constipated look he gets when he’s trying to talk about something and the words just aren’t coming.

“It’s not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“What he said. About you. It’s not like that.”

“Oh, so what is it like?” the words are flat, less a question and more a demand.

“You’re not--” and Geralt shakes his head, sharp, and leans back against the wall. “I don’t own you.”

“What?”

Geralt shrugs, uncomfortably. “You’re your own man. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

“I-- Geralt, please just explain to me what is going on.”

“I’ve… marked you,” and now he looks even more uncomfortable, not quite meeting Jaskier’s eyes. “Among some of my kind, that would be a claim of… ownership. You would be mine, in every way.”

Jaskier gapes, stunned backwards, mind spinning. There’s a surge of immediate rejection, the idea of being bound to anyone permanently something he’s fought against his entire life ever since his father tried to pin him down into a life he never wanted (he’s a bard, he’d rather die than not have his freedom), but this-- this is Geralt, and there’s --oh, gods -- there’s a twisting sort of attraction to the idea of being his, of being kept and protected and marked so that everyone knows who he belongs to when it’s something he’d choose, when he’d still have everything he struggled so long to get and Geralt besides-- “And you just…” Words, for once, have failed him, and he resorts to a vague gesture between the two of them.

“Yes,” and Geralt dips his head in solemn acceptance. “I never meant for it to go this far.” The unspoken but hangs in the air. Jaskier scoffs.

“What, so now I belong to you? Have to-- to do everything you say, the instant you say it? Do I not even get a choice in the matter?”

Geralt’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Jaskier--”

“Will you just-- fucking tell me things, for once? Why did you even do it?”

“Because I wanted to!” Geralt snaps, sharp, and his face has gone tight and closed. “Because you stayed and you let me and because I fucking wanted to, Jaskier, because I want you to…”

“Be yours?” Jaskier finishes, through numb lips.

Geralt looks at the floor, all the fight gone out of him, and says nothing.

Jaskier walks over and sits on the bed, heavily, gripping the rough blankets to ground himself away from the churning emotion in his gut, the sharp I don’t belong to anybody and the aching tug towards Geralt that he’s felt since he saw him in that dark corner in Posada and the bone-deep desire to have someone want him around that he’s had sitting like an unhealing bruise for years and years and years now that he’s never quite managed to ignore.

“You can leave,” Geralt says, and Jaskier glances up at him. He’s moved with that eerie silence he has until he’s standing well away from the door, with the desk and the chair between him and Jaskier. The least-threatening position in the room.

Jaskier’s heart aches for him.

“I won’t stop you,” he continues, still not quite looking at Jaskier. “I never… wanted to make you do anything. My school, we don’t…”

“Don’t own people?” Jaskier says, and he means it to come out bitter but all he manages is tired and vaguely curious. Geralt shakes his head.

“No one can own a person. Scent sharing marks a... partnership. Some schools treat it differently than others, but among wolves… it’s not like that.” His jaw clenches. “At least stay the night.”

“What?”

“Nights are dangerous here. You should leave in the morning, it’ll be safer.”

“Leave. In the morning.” Jaskier’s lips are still numb, the sensation in his gut like a knot winding tighter and tighter, sinking into his hips like a stone. Geralt wants him to-- to leave? After everything, he’s supposed to just… up and wander down out of the Kestrel mountains all by himself and pretend that everything is just fine and dandy and perfect when he’s left Geralt behind--

“You always do.”

“What?”

“You leave every person you like behind. You leave me every season,” and there’s the wry twist to his mouth that means that something is hurting him but he doesn’t want to let on what, some deep pain that Jaskier has only begun to fathom. “If you don’t want to stay, I won’t keep you.”

“What if I want you to?” The words surge up out of him, uncontrollably, the same urge that had prompted him to talk about bread in his pants to a witcher sitting in the corner, to run his mouth in front of half a dozen lords and nobles that could have killed him with a word, to write a song about every single one of Geralt’s scars and sing it from here to the Tir Tochairs, to follow a grumpy asshole witcher from one end of the Continent to the next in the unspoken hope of being asked to stay. “To-- to keep me.”

Geralt’s head comes up, and even in the silver wash of light running through the room between the slats of the shutters his eyes are still rich and yellow-gold with just a hint of the wolf to them. Jaskier’s giddy with it, with the way that Geralt slips silent out of the corner of the room, the way he stalks forward like the hunter he is, all white hair and golden eyes and armored bulk in the rising shadow of the night.

“Jaskier,” and Geralt’s voice is softer than he’s ever heard it. “I won’t force you to stay. Ever,” and Jaskier believes him to his bones because this is Geralt of Rivia and he’s the best fucking man Jaskier’s ever met.

He swallows and rises to his own feet, coming to meet Geralt -- they’re of a height, and yet like this, like this he feels small beneath the shadow of Geralt’s shoulders, sheltered. “And yet I would. Of-- of my own will.”

Geralt breathes out, slow, his eyes blown wide and black, the moonlight making everything silver-edged and dreamlike and not quite real and Jaskier is halfway to drunk on the scent of him so close and it only makes sense that he should rock forward onto his toes and press his lips to Geralt’s.

Previous / Next

#next part will be the climax!#(and yes that DOES have a double meaning ;)#writing #storm's writing #fic #storm's fic #fic recs #storytelling #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier #death and destiny

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babylooneytoonz · 3 years

Text

protector

Geralt of Rivia x fem!reader

Summary: Set in episode three of the Witcher where Geralt goes to Temeria to take down the striga, and reader is his companion, and his friend, although Geralt never admits it. Requested by @dashingcavill [ hope you like it, my love.🤍]

When Geralt and the reader are each other's silent protectors, what else do they need? Although they don't admit having each other is the best thing that has happened to them.

warnings: Geralt is a soft, big bear with a heart that is full of love, only he doesn't like admitting it. **I tried to add fluff, I really did. • [My Masterlist]

*Please reblog if you like it, do not repost, copy or claim my work as yours.

"No."

"No? You do realize I'm still going to follow you, right?" You blinked, running a hand through your messy hair, only to let your fingers get entangled into them, making you groan silently. As if the broody Witcher wasn't enough for you to be able to handle, add the rustling winds into the picture and your hair were already resembling a hen's nest.

"I can handle it," Geralt grumbled under his breath, his baritone deep and low.

You shook your head, more at the obvious stubbornness of the white haired man next to you, making you pause for a moment. It was only when you looked up, you realized that Geralt had kept walking, and was now, almost ten steps ahead of you. You muttered a resolute curse under your breath, as you picked up pace and darted after your companion of fifty two days, to be exact.

"You're thankless, Witcher. I saved your ass a dozen times too," you huffed, finally catching up to him, as you grabbed the edge of his armour to try and slow him down but he didn't, "What makes you think you can take that thing down alone?"

Geralt craned his neck slightly to give you a look but he did not utter a word. Instead, you were greeted by his monotonous grunt and you gave him a coy smile,"I know what you're thinking, Witcher. Can I say it?"

He raised an eyebrow, almost and regarded you for a second through his golden orbs before he turned his face back towards the direction he was walking towards, muttering under his breath, "Will you not say it if I say no?"

You shook your head, almost like a twelve year old trapped in a body of a twenty five year old, "Not really. Now can I say it?"

Geralt groaned in fake annoyance, kicking a pebble that he spotted on the ground, a hint of a smirk breaking out against his lips, that he knew you couldn't see as you weren't really paying attention.

"Well you must be thinking," you suddenly changed your voice into a lower note, almost making yourself a fake Geralt baritone, "I should have let her be eaten by the wyvern. Why the hell did I save her life? Now she is stuck to me like gum."

Geralt's lips twitched, and he couldn't help but look down and shake his head, "Hm."

"You weren't."

"Do you ever stop talking?"

You did that thing with your lips, pushing your upper lip upwards in retaliation to his words, and Geralt just took a deep breath and he turned away from you, a faint smile still draped over his lips, the smile only dropping when the castle was finally in sight.

"Stay out here."

"But I told you—"

Geralt raised his palm in the air, in front of you before you could fight him on this. He had already made up his mind, he wasn't going to put you at risk. He knew you were skilled, and he knew your father had always wanted a son, a son who could fight a battle, yield a sword, and spill blood. But he had instead gotten you. He taught you all those things though, skilling you in his to hold a sword, and just how to use a sword to silence the enemy, and you were pretty good at it.

However whatever it was, lurking inside the castle was something Geralt never wanted you to face. Maybe it was fear, a fear of losing you to whatever the hell it was, and an ounce of doubt on himself, the what ifs, what if he couldn't keep you from harm's way and what if something happened to you.

"I'm coming with you," you announced, only to receive an animalistic growl from the Witcher. "It's daylight, and that thing doesn't usually attack during the day. I should be safe. Besides, you need my help, because although you do excel in bodily strength, you're in an obvious lack of brains."

"I should have left you with that wyvern," Geralt spat, a hint of an amusement calling out of his tone as he began walking into the castle and you followed.

The structure was exactly like you had expected it to be, dirty and dinghy, cobwebs dangling everywhere, and it was difficult to breath, but you didn't complain as you followed the Witcher around, from one room to another, investigating. The hallways were dark, dinghy and you could smell the death, even without the Witcher's sense of hearing, making you wonder for a split second, what Geralt was actually feeling. He was walking next to you, his eyes fixed on the surroundings while you were looking at the dried blood trails that decorated the floor of the hallway. In one corner, you spotted a decaying head of a human being, and something churned inside your gut, forcing you to look away.

"You can still leave," his loud voice ensnared towards you, and you involuntarily grabbed the fabric of your sleeves, curling them into your fingers, shaking your head.

"This really doesn't scare me, Wolf. It will take a lot more than that to actually scare me," you lied through your lips. Who were you kidding, he could feel the racing of your heart, and the signs that you were actually afraid, of the unknown, unlike him but he also knew that you were the most stubborn woman he had come across, and although he never admitted; this was one of the things he had grown to like about you, that, and the fact that your mouth was the exact opposite of his, something that never stopped moving. Your talkativeness was refreshing to him, and he could keep listening to your useless banter for hours and not get bored with it. Not that he would ever openly admit that to you.

You looked at the massive portrait that hung from the wall, of Adda and Foltest, when they were children and you couldn't help but let thousands of thoughts fly through your mind. A lot didn't make sense at the back of your mind, but everything to you pointed towards Foltest being the father of the striga, a concern that you had already vouched to Geralt, and he did seem to agree.

The sound of Geralt kicking open a door pulled you out of your trance and you quickly entered Adda's bedroom after him, eyeing the state of unrest the room was in. The chandelier lay fallen on the floor, shards of glass broken and decorating the floor. The bed was unkempt, the sheets slept in, and musty.

You noticed Geralt stiffen when he saw the bed. You bit your lip, moving to the cabinet, running your hand along the dust coated surface of it when Geralt took a deep breath, and you understood what he was doing. You immediately turned, taking long steps towards him and you grabbed the leather of his sleeve, pulling him to turn towards you, your eyes searching for answers in his face, "You found out. You smelled it. What did you find?"

Geralt pursed his lips together, as he looked down at you, "Ostrit. I smell him in the sheets." You were startled by the revelation, your eyes almost popping out as you looked at the bed and blinked, the bits and pieces coming together in your mind. Of course.

You turned towards Geralt, your lips tugging upwards, "Not a pretty picture in your mind I suppose?"

"I never thought I'd ever have to picture his ass in the back of my mind," he looked at you, his voice gravelly, his baritone thick but you could sense the jest in his voice.

Anxiety was not a pretty picture, especially not when you couldn't keep your mind off Geralt. He had forcibly left you at the tavern, and although you had a massive pitcher of ale to drown in, you couldn't stop worrying about the big man, your palm laying flat against the table, your fingers tapping against the wood in nervousness and anxiousness.

Geralt's warning words still rang through your mind when he had asked you to stay here, and not step out of the tavern until he came back. In fact, what had made you angry at him as he left, you fuming from the inside that he had actually had the audacity to slip in some coins to the owner of the tavern, just to have eyes on you, so you didn't sneak out.

What you hadn't told the Witcher and neither did you plan on telling him was the fact that you had watched him die in your nightmare, just a few night back, and it was still haunting you, deep inside, no matter how hard you tried to shove the thoughts away from your brain, drowning yourself in ale. A lingering question was eating you up, what if your nightmare was actually a premonition? What if this was destiny's way of telling you something? What if something was going to happen to the White Wolf tonight? The striga, after all, did kill the other Witcher. How were you so sure she wouldn't overpower Geralt?

That's it, you slammed your palm against the table, almost knocking off the half empty pitcher. You grabbed it, and brought it up to your lips, chugging the contents of it all, like a man, until you slammed it back against the table. You stood up, pinching your nose as you confidently walked up to the owner of the tavern.

"How much coin did the Witcher pay you for keeping me trapped in here? What if I pay you double?"

The bald headed man looked at you, his gaze flicking to the pouch of your coins as you tossed it up and down in the air, the rattle of the coins echoing through his ears, making him lick his lips.

"Give me a ten, and run out of the back, not the front," he hissed, in a low voice.

"Good man," you smiled, as you loosened the noose of the pouch, pulling out a fistful of coins, that were in fact, more than ten, but you still laid them down on the counter, and the man hungrily placed both his hands on it, dragging them away from you. You winked at him, running a hand through your hair, as you turned around and started running towards the back, thinking how jealousy could be your downfall. A fist on the jaw from the Witcher, and all that coin would be used for fixing up his damn face.

A trail of blood leaked down his temple, the back of his head lay against the flooring as the striga climbed on top of him, her hollow, toothy mouth flared open as bits of drool fell on his face. The cursed being let out a shrill screech, her clawed hands grabbing the Witcher's armour as she lifted him up and slammed him hard against the floor again, and Geralt's sword fell from his hand, sliding inches away.

"I swear if you die on me, Witcher, I will never forgive you," you cursed under your breath, your sleeved palm wiping the base of your neck as sweat dripped down your chin, drop by drop. You were panting, gasping from air, your legs almost beginning to give away but you dared not stop, until you finally reached the castle. You began running up the front, when a loud, eerie screech resonated from somewhere inside and you were forced to draw out your sword.

"I swear I will never get bored of saving your ass, Geralt of Rivia," you spat as you ran inside, jumping over a half eaten arm of an unlucky man right at the entrance.

Geralt's eyes locked on yours, and he gave you a look that warned you of anything but happiness. He pursed his lips, his fists clenching as he began taking a step towards you. That's when you saw the thing, it was dangling from the wall, just above him.

"Geralt, look behind you!" You screamed loudly, throwing out your pointy finger towards the air but before he could, the striga pounced on him, making him land on the floor, on top of you, his face pressed between the valley of your breasts. If you weren't going to get killed, any time sooner, Geralt would have appreciated the dark humour that escaped your lips, the striga looking right into your eyes.

"What better way to die than a man's face pressed to my breasts— Aaaahhhh fuck.."

The striga's knee pressed down hard against your shoulder and you swore you felt a crack of a bone or two as her monstrous hands came to rest on your throat. Her fingers slowly began squeezing the life out of you, your eyeballs almost bobbing out as you coughed, trying to gasp for air. Geralt tries to push himself as much as he could, his arm outstretched so he could grab your sword. "G-Geralt.. Ger.." Your vision was turning black, your mind already swimming in pain and confusion, owing to the pain in your shoulder, and the cut off of oxygen supply from your body.

His fingers finally reached the hilt of your sword, clasping against it. Fixing himself up on one of his elbows, as much as the creature on top of him allowed him to move, he struck the side of the striga's face with the hilt, the force being enough to knock her off for a bit disorienting her.

Geralt jumped up to his feet as he bent and slid his arms underneath your thigh, lifting you up into his arms as he charged towards the stone coffin like structure that lay in the center of the hall. Upon reaching it, he threw you inside like a sack of grain, without showing a tiny ounce of compassion or gentleness. You couldn't blame him though as the Striga was already charging in your direction now having recovered from Geralt's blow.

Geralt jumped into the structure just after you, and before the striga could get to the two of you, Geralt had managed to successfully move the slab over the top, covering the two of you up. He also secured it using a sign he made, an added protection so the Striga couldn't try and open it, even though she wanted to do it.

A breath escaped your lips. You could hear the cursed being screeching outside, as she tried to claw through the stone slab, trying to get it to open, but it didn't work. The pain in your shoulder was unbearable and the inside of the structure was cramped, and with the Witcher's heavy, bulky frame on top of you, it was hard to breathe. Yet, you were content.

Geralt didn't say anything for a few seconds, but his forehead rested against your other shoulder. You could feel the rise and the fall of his chest, and you could sense that his elbow was resting next to your head, as he struggled to keep the weight of his body as light as though afraid to crush you. You noted this soft gesture and you wanted to smile, but you couldn't, not when the throbbing of your shoulder was making tears prick into your eyes.

A few seconds turned to minutes, and Geralt's frown widened as he noticed how silent you were. You silence now being deafening to him as the screech now died down, making him assume that the Striga had given up on trying to pry open the structure and was now waiting for them to open up. Finally, the adrenaline turned into anger and Geralt's nostrils flared. He slammed his fisted palm into the stone next to your head but you didn't even wince,"Now you decide to stay quiet. I told you not to come."

You let out a warm gush of air from your lips, hitting Geralt right against his neck. He sighed, fluttering his lashes a little. He knew there was no point in arguing with you for you were a stubborn one.

"Funny, I lost the coin," he added, in a dry tone, trying his level best to lighten up. If the two of you were to stay stuck inside for a few more hours now then why not make a use of it? Although Geralt had never thought he would see a day when he would be the one trying to coax words out of your lips.

His frown widened and he sniffed lightly, and the more he concentrated, it didn't take him long to realize the metallic copper smell, that was almost too strong for his liking— the smell of blood. He tried to move adjust himself better so he could look down at you, and as he inclined himself, more towards your left shoulder, the smell worsened.

"Fuck, [Y/N]?" His otherwise low pitched, serious voice suddenly clouded with a sliver of worry, his hand came to rest against your forehead as two fingers swiped over your sweat drenched face. His fingers slid down to the side of your neck, and he felt your pulse and a sudden alarm fled him up. You had a pulse, but he could barely feel it, and the sound of your heartbeat was much lower than usual."Fuck, fuck, fucking — where did she get you?"

"I'm... Fine .." You tried, but the sound of your teeth now chattering was an enough signal for him to know you were blatantly lying to him. Gently, he placed his palm over your injured shoulder only to jerk his hand back as you let out a scream of agony. Now he could smell and feel the wetness on his hand where he had touched you. That's when he realized that the impact of the striga's knee had dislodged your bone, that had pierced through your skin as was now protruding, and you seemed to have soaked through your leather shirt.

He growled, and placed his hands on the slab above you, and slowly began moving it. You reached out, placing your hand on his wrist.

"D-don't, Geralt, w-what are you doing?" You whispered.

"Killing that thing and getting you out of here."

"No, close that damn," you coughed, "slab, Geralt. All these efforts.. to.. to lift that fucking curse.. and you're.. you're going to kill her .. for what?"

Although he pulled it shut again, his frown was deep and lasting.

"I'm not going to let you die, even though you are stupid enough to walk yourself into a death trap."

You laughed, coughing and wincing at the same time as the movement caused the pain to flare again, making you still once more, "You're daft for a Witcher. I'm not.. dying. I'm conserving my energy.. a broken shoulder doesn't kill people."

His eyebrows almost flew upwards. You amazed him at times. Out of all the times you had been sassy with him, this was probably going to be the most memorable one for him.

When he didn't reply, you slowly let your uninjured hand travel through the cramped space up to his face, and you placed your fingers lightly against his jaw, tracing the outline of it. He blinking, glancing down at your fingers for a bit before looking back at you. His own fingers slowly, reluctantly traveled to the side of your face, as he began cupping your jaw, "Geralt, I'm not dying so soon. You think.. you're gonna get rid of me.. you're wrong."

He released a sound straight from his lungs; something between a growl and a snort, perhaps a mix of both as he let his head rest against you. The two of you stayed like that for a few seconds, and you were about to flutter your heavy eyelids shut when you heard his low voice, "Don't you fucking die on me."

"I'm cold, Geralt.." you whispered suddenly, and he propped himself up again on his elbow, "but you.. you're so warm. Like the sun."

He smiled, sadly, his thumb toying with the side of your cheek.

Geralt knew it wouldn't be long now before the rooster crowed three times and the sun would rise up, and the curse would be broken. He only begged, to anything or anyone that was listening to him, to give you the strength to hold on for a little longer. It was then he realized that you had dozed off.

You woke up with a shudder, and your body still hurt, even with every breath you took. The sun was now shining over your face and you realized that the slab above you was open, and Geralt wasn't anywhere beside you.

Slowly, you wiggled yourself slightly, but the pain in your shoulder made you bite down on your lip. You shook your head, and looked around, and your eyes fell on the bloody shirt fabric that was hanging loosely from your shoulder where your bone had ripped you. You pried the fabric off and fisted it into a ball stuffing it into your mouth so you didn't scream. You sat up, tears streaming down your eyes as you screamed into the cloth.

Geralt heard your screaming. He was kneeling down by the girl, now the curse having been lifted as he studied her face but at the sound of your scream, he jumped up to his legs and ran towards the structure, finding you seated, your shoulder red like cherry and a bone visibly popped out.

"Come on," he commanded, but he didn't let you stand up. Instead, he dived his beefy arm underneath your thigh and lifted you up effortlessly as he carried you out of the castle.

"What about her, Geralt?" You whispered.

"She is fine, someone will come for her."

You woke up in a castle, but this one was much different from the other one. Your eyes fell on your shoulder, and you realized that your shoulder had been dressed, the bone probably pushed back into its original place. Slowly, you craned your neck to see an older woman, definitely a healer for you could see all sorts of herbs stacked on the walls in jars.

When you asked her about what had happened, she told you how Geralt of Rivia had brought you to her. She told you how you had been in and out of a drugged sleep for almost four days now.

When you asked him where he was, she informed you that he was at the tavern, and you were free to leave although she did recommend you taking it easy and not embarking on tiresome journeys as your wound was still raw, and healing.

Pulling a shawl made of raw wool tighter around your shoulder, to keep it and yourself warm, you reached the tavern, immediately spotting the tall man from the back of his long white hair. He had his palm drawn towards the tavern owner who was trembling and placing coins one by one back into his palm.

"What's going on here?"

You gave him a lopsided grin, as he turned at the sound of your voice, and his lips twitched slightly. He eyed you carefully, his eyes lingering on your wounded shoulder for longer before he turned away his attention back on the owner, "Just getting what is mine."

"Can we leave this wretched place? We have had too much of a drama, and I really need to forget. Besides, the healer gave me a clear pass to travel, before you ask."

He smiled, bringing the pitcher of ale that he was drinking, up to his lips, and you saw his Adams apple move as he swallowed a mouthful. You groaned, grabbing the pitcher from his hand, and prying it away, throwing it up to your lips and chugging it all down, not leaving a single drop of ale for him.

"You witch, I should have never taken your cursed coin." The owner suddenly began, his beefy finger pointing to you.

You were met with a cracking noise and you couldn't help but give a smile of content when you saw Geralt's fist collide with the owner's jaw, making him topple backwards. "Want your coin?" Geralt asked you, his eyebrow raised in amusement and you smirked, shaking your head, "Nah, let it be. He will need all the coin to get that jaw treated. Though, I expected a better punch from you."

Though Geralt's lips were pressed in a firm line, the edges of it were drawn upwards as the two of you stepped out of the tavern. His heart sighed with relief and it was refreshing fir him to hear your voice again. He didn't want you to stop speaking, although he didn't say it out loud.

After a few minutes of a slow walk, you reached the stables and Geralt brought Roach out.

"Geralt? Will you let me ride her?"

He always said no. If there was anything Geralt didn't let you do, it was riding Roach. And so far, you were okay with it.

"Come here." He suddenly said, tapping on the mare's side, and your jaw dropped.

"what?"

"Come before I change my mind."

If you could have run towards him, you would have. If he could have lifted you up in his arms, he would have. All these would haves, but those really didn't really happen. What actually happened when you reached Roach's side, ready to lift yourself up on her, Geralt suddenly turned you towards him, and pressed you against the mare's side, his lips pressed to yours.

The kiss lasted only ten seconds, but you found yourself licking your lips when he broke it, tasting Geralt on you. He was smirking as he didn't say a word.

"What was that for?" You asked, licking your lips.

"For trying to get killed," he grumbled under his breath.

"You could have said, for trying to save my life. You're welcome, Witcher."

He only gave you an amused smirk, helping you get on the mare and took its reins as he started walking with it. You looked down at him, and blinked, giving him a smile and he raised his brow, his own lips turned upwards, "What?"

"Will you let me sleep in your tent now?" You bit your lip.

"Hm, only if you promise not to snore."

Henry Cavill All Characters Taglist:

@bitchynicole @libbymouse @petitefirecracker10 @naughty-koala07 @maan24 @pterodactylterrace

Want to be added to my Henry Cavill All Characters Masterlist? Please let me know via my ask box, DM or a comment. ✨

#geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt of rivia works #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x reader #the witcher #witcher geralt #henry cavill

226 notes · View notes

casxmorgan · 3 years

Text

Books Books Books

100 Years of Solitude

11.22.63

120 Days of Sodom

1491

1984

A Brief History of Time

A Canticle for Leibowitz

A Child Called It

A Clockwork Orange

A Confederacy of Dunces

A History of the World in Ten and a Half Chapters

A Land Fit for Heroes Trilogy

A Little Life

A Naked Singularity

A People's History of the United States

A Scanner Darkly

A Series of Unfortunate Events

A Short History of Nearly Everything

A Song of Ice and Fire

A Storm of Swords

A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again: Essays and Arguments

A Thousand Splendid Suns

A Walk in the Woods

A World Lit Only by Fire

Accursed Kings

Alice in Wonderland

All Quiet on the Western Front

All the Light We Cannot See

All the Pretty Horses

America, the Book

American Gods

American Psycho

And then There Were None

Angela’s Ashes

Animal Farm

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Anna Karenina

Anything Terry Pratchett, But, Mort is My Favorite

Anything Written by Robin Hobb

Apt Pupil

Artemis Fowl

Asimov's Guide to the Bible

Asoiaf

Atlas Shrugged

Bartimeaus

Batman: the Long Halloween

Battle Royale

Beat the Turtle Drum

Behind the Beautiful Forevers

Belgariad Series

Beloved

Berserk

Bestiario

Black Company

Blankets/habibi

Blind Faith

Blindness

Blood Meridian

Blood and Guts: a History of Surgery

Bluest Eye

Brandon Sanderson

Brave New World

Breakfast of Champions

Bridge to Terabithia

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: an Indian History of the American West

Calvin and Hobbs

Candide

Carrie

Cat's Cradle

Catch 22

Cats Cradle

Chaos

Child of God

Choke

Chuck Palahniuk

City of Ember

City of Thieves

Cloud

Collapse

Come Closer

Complaint

Confessions of a Mask

Contact

Conversation in the Cathedral

Cosmos

Crime and Punishment

Dan Brown

David

Dead Birds Singing

Dead Mountain: the Untold True Story of the Dyatlov Pass Incident

Delta Venus

Die Räuber (the Robbers)

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep

Don Quixote

Dragonlance

Dune

Dying of the Light

East of Eden

Educated

Empire of Sin: a Story of Sex, Jazz, Murder, and the Battle for Modern New Orleans

Enders Game

Enders Shadow

Escape from Camp 14

Ever Since Darwin

Every Man Dies Alone

Everybody Poops

Everything is Illuminated

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Fahrenheit 451

Far from the Madding Crowd

Faust

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S Thompson

Feet of Clay

Fight Club

First Law

Flowers for Algernon

Flowers in the Attic

Foundation

Foundation Series

Foundation Trilogy

Frankenstein

Freakonomics

Fun Home

Galapagos

Geek Love

Gerald’s Game

Ghost Story

Go Ask Alice

Go Dog Go

Godel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid

Goldfinch

Gone Girl

Gone with the Wind

Good Omens

Grapes of Wrath

Great Expectations

Greg Egan

Guards! Guards!

Guns Germs and Steel

Guts (short Story)

Half a World

Ham on Rye

Hannibal Rising

Hard Boiled Wonderland

Hatchet

Haunted

Hawaii

Heart Shaped Box

Heart of Darkness

Hellbound Heart

Hellraiser

Hell’s Angels

Helter Skelter

His Dark Materials

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Hogg

Holocaust by Bullets

House of Leaves

How to Cook for Fourty Humans

How to Win Friends and Influence People

Huckleberry Finn

Hyperion

I Am America, and So Can You

I Am the Messenger

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream

I Was Dr. Mengele’s Assistant

In Cold Blood

In Search of Our Mother's Gardens

Independent People

Infinite Jest

Into Thin Air

Into the Wild

Introduction to Linear Algebra

Invisible Monsters

Ishmael

Jacques Le Fataliste

Jane Eyre

Jaunt

Job: a Comedy of Justice

John Dies at the End

John Grisham

Johnathan Livingston Seagull

Johnny Got His Gun

Jon Ronson

Journal of a Novel

Jurassic Park

Justine

L'histoire D'o

Lamb

Last Exit to Brooklyn

Les Miserables

Lies My Teacher Told Me

Life of Pi

Limits and Renewals

Little House in the Big Woods

Lockwood & Co.

Lolita

Looking for Trouble

Lord Foul’s Bane

Lord of the Flies

Lyddie

Malazan Book of the Fallen

Maldoror

Manufacturing Consent: the Political Economy of the Mass Media

Man’s Search for Meaning

Mark Twain’s Autobiography

Maus

Meditations

Megamorphs (series)

Mein Kampf

Memnooch the Devil

Metro 2033

Michael Crichton

Middlesex

Mindhunter

Misery

Mistborn

Moby Dick

Mrs. Dalloway

My Side of the Mountain

My Sweet Audrina

Nacht über Der Prärie (night over the Prairie)

Naked Lunch

Name of the Wind

Neuromancer

Never Let Me Go

Neverwhere

New York

Night

Night Shift

Norwegian Wood

Notes from Underground

Nothing to Envy: Real Lives in North Korea

Of Mice and Men

Of Nightingales That Weep

Ohio

Old Mans War

Old Mother West Wind

On Heroes and Tombs

On Laughter and Forgetting

On the Road

One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest

One Hundred Years of Solitude

One of Us

Painted Bird

Patrick Rothfuss

Perfume: the Story of a Murderer

Persepolis

Pet Sematary

Peter Pan

Pillars of the Earth

Poisonwood Bible

Pride and Predjudice

Ready Player One

Rebecca

Red Mars

Red Night (series)

Red Shirts

Red Storm Rising

Redwall

Replay

Requiem for a Dream

Revenge

Riftwar Saga

Ringworld

Roald Dahl

Rolls of Thunder, Hear My Cry

Round Ireland with a Fridge

Running with Scissors

Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes

Sapiens, a Brief History of Humankind

Scary Stories to Read in the Dark

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

Schindler’s List

Sein Und Zeit

Shades of Grey

Sharp Objects

Shattered Dreams

Sherlock Holmes

Sho-gun

Siddhartha

Sisypho

Skin and Other Stories

Slaughterhouse Five

Smoke & Mirrors

Snow Crash

Soldier Son

Sometimes a Great Notion

Sphere

Starship Troopers

Stiff, the Curious Lives of Human Cadavers

Storied Life of A.j. Fikry

Stormlight Archives

Story of the Eye

Stranger in a Strange Land

Surely, You're Joking

Survivor Type (short Story)

Suttree

Swan Song

Tale of Two Cities

Tales of the South Pacific

The Alchemist

The Altered Carbon Trilogy

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

The Art of Deception

The Art of Fielding

The Art of War

The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation

The Autobiography of Henry Viii

The Autobiography of Malcolm X

The Beach

The Bell Jar

The Bible

The Bloody Chamber

The Book Thief

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

The Brothers Karamazov

The Call of Cthulu and Other Weird Stories

The Cask of Amontillado (short Story)

The Catcher in the Rye

The Chronicles of Narnia

The Clown

The Color out of Space

The Communist Manifesto

The Complete Fiction of H.p. Lovecraft

The Count of Monte Cristo

The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night Time

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime

The Dagger and the Coin

The Damage Done

The Dark Tower

The Declaration of Independence, the Us Constitution, and the Bill of Rights

The Devil in the White City

The Dharma Bums

The Diamond Age

The Dice Man

The Discworld Series

The Dresden Files

The Elegant Universe

The First Law Trilogy

The Forever War

The Foundation Trilogy

The Gentleman Bastard Sequence

The Geography of Nowhere

The Girl Next Door

The Girl on the Milk Carton

The Giver

The Giving Tree

The God of Small Things

The Grapes of Wrath

The Great Gatsby

The Great Gilly Hopkins

The Hagakure

The Half a World Trilogy

The Handmaid’s Tale

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

The Hiding Place

The History of Love

The Hobbit

The Hot Zone

The Hunchback of Notre Dame

The Hyperion Cantos

The Jaunt

The Jungle

The Key to Midnight

The Killing Star

The Kingkiller Chronicles

The Kite Runner

The Last Question (short Story)

The Lies of Lock Lamora

The Little Prince

The Long Walk

The Lord of the Rings

The Lottery (short Story)

The Lovely Bones

The Magicians

The Magus

The Martian

The Master and Margarita

The Metamorphosis of Prime Intellect

The Monster at the End of This Book

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress

The Music of Eric Zahn (short Story)

The Name of the Wind & the Wise Man's Fear

The Necronomicon

The New Age of Adventure: Ten Years of Great Writing

The Night Circus

The Nightmare Box

The Odyssey

The Omnivore's Dilemma

The Orphan Master’s Son

The Outsiders

The Painted Bird

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

The Phantom Tollbooth

The Picture of Dorian Gray

The Pit and the Pendulum

The Plague

The Prince

The Prince of Tides

The Princess Bride

The Prophet

The Queen’s Gambit

The Rape of Nanking

The Red Dwarf

The Republic

The Rifter Saga

The Road

The Satanic Verses

The Screwtape Letters

The Secret History

The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel

The Selfish Gene

The Shining

The Shrine of Jeffrey Dahmer

The Silmarillion

The Sirens of Titan

The Six Wives of Henry the 8th

The Solitude of Prime Numbers

The Speaker of the Dead

The Stars My Destination

The Stormlight Archive

The Story of My Tits

The Stranger

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck

The Suspicions of Mr. Witcher

The Tao of Pooh

The Things They Carried

The Time Machine

The Time Traveller’s Wife

The Tin Drum

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green

The Wasp Factory

The Wind Up Bird Chronicle

The Wind-up Bird Chronicle

The World According to Garp

The Yellow Wallpaper

Their Eyes Were Watching God

Things Fall Apart

Thirsty

This Blinding Absence of Light

Tiger!

Time Enough for Love

To Kill a Mockingbird

To Say Nothing of the Dog

Toni Morrison

Too Many Magicians

Traumnovelle

Tuesdays with Morrie

Tuf Voyaging

Undeniable

Under Plum Lake

Universe in a Nutshell

Unwind

Uzumaki

Various

Village Life in Late Tsarist Russia

Walden

War & Peace

War and Peace

Warriors: Bluestar’s Prophecy

Watchers

Water for Elephants

Watership Down

We Have Always Lived in the Castle

We Need to Talk About Kevin

Wheel of Time

When Rabbit Howls

Where the Red Fern Grows

Where the Sidewalk Ends

Why I Am Not a Christian

Why People Believe Weird Things

Wizards First Rule

Wool

World War Z

Worm

Wuthering Heights

You Can Choose to Be Happy

Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

#some of these are fucked up #but #all the better

157 notes · View notes

vands38 · 3 years

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Fandom Trumps Hate 2021 Auctions - The Witcher

It’s the most wonderful time of year... that is, it’s time for Fandom Trumps Hate!

Every year, fandom gets together to fundraise for small organisations trying to repair the damage caused by the Trump administration. It works just like a regular auction - you place bids on whichever offerings interest you, and if you win, then not only do you donate to a fantastic cause but you’re rewarded with a piece of fanwork or fanlabour as well!

I thought I’d collate and categorise the offerings for The Witcher this year so it’s easy to boost and share in fandom spaces. I’m unable to bid this year and this seemed like the next best thing.

You can browse the offerings now. Bidding commences on MONDAY 22ND FEBRUARY. for full details & FAQ be sure to check out @fandomtrumpshate

GIFSETS / DIGITAL ART

@heyabooboo is offering a piece of fanart and is especially interested in Geralt/Jaskier, found family, or any character. You can see their previous work here.

TRADITIONAL FANART

Koz is offering a piece of fanart and is especially interested in “fluff, fantasy, dumb interactions between characters”. You can see their previous work here.

@scorpii-lambda is offering a piece of fanart and is especially interested in Yennerfer, Triss and Fringilla.

FANFICTION

@aghostfromtheages / Sabrielle is offering a piece of fanfiction under 5k and is especially interested in reader-insert, m/f or f/f. You can read their previous works here.

@carmillacarmine is offering a piece of fanfiction between 10-20k and is especially interested in Geralt/Jaskier. You can read their previous works here including Defining the Shape of a Pear.

@contemplativepancakes is offering a piece of fanfiction (length dependent on bid) and is happy to consider any prompt. You can read their previous works here including enough to drive a man mad.

@gaialux is offering a piece of fanfiction (length dependent on bid) and is especially interested in any combination of Geralt, Jaskier, and Yennefer. You can read their previous works here.

@lurkerviolin / Chancy_Lurking is offering a piece of fanfiction between 5-10k and is especially interested in found family, friendship, and romance (including poly). You can read their previous works here including I am strong enough to let you in.

@maya-the-yellow-bee is offering a piece of fanfiction between 10-20k and is especially interested in Geralt/Jaskier, Jaskier/Eskel, and Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel. You can read their previous works here including And I'll give you a thousand kisses (until you forgive me).

@rhubarbdreams / Highsmith (quimtessence) is offering a piece of fanfiction between 5-10k (only for the Witcher TV series). You can read their previous works here including Turn That Whiskey Into Rain (Geralt/Jaskier).

@oddsocksandstuff / AnOddSock is offering a piece of fanfiction under 5k and is especially interesting in darkfic and smut. You can read their previous works here.

Poe is offering a piece of fanfiction under 5k and is especially interested in Geralt/Jaskier and Modern AUs. You can read their previous works here including cold toes on the cold floor (a ‘morning after the night before’ fic).

@primtheamazing truly is amazing and is offering THREE auctions all for the Witcher fanfiction of varying lengths. They’re especially interested in any combination of Geralt, Yennefer, and Jaskier, and also Geralt & Ciri. They like writing “fluff, smut, angst, H/C, dub/noncon, darkfic, and AUs”. You can read their previous works here including starving (touch starved Geralt).

@some-stars is offering a piece of fanfiction between 5-10k and is especially interested in Geraskefer, Yennskier, and Geraskier, and most pairings with game!Lambert. You can read their previous works here including all some children do is work (de-aging fic).

@suzukiblu is offering a piece of fanfiction (length dependent on bid) and is especially interested in any combination of Geralt, Jaskier, and Yennefer. You can read their previous works here including A/B/O series like I'll give them shelter like you've done for me and courting jewelery.

Tara is offering a piece of fanfiction (length dependent on bid) and is especially interested in Geralt/Jaskier. You can read their previous works here including the 50k fic I'll keep him safe from the dark things that wait.

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 10- Before A Fall

Summary: With your heart torn from the troublesome events on the mountain, your mind in swirling with mixed emotions for your Witcher and the violet eyed witch you’re bound to. Now where will you choose to go as a war begins brewing on the horizon?

Warning: some angst, more reader backstory

Masterlist

You had let yourself wallow in your sadness and anger for some time now upon another far off peak of the mountains. You couldn't look back, you couldn't even bare to turn around and fly yourself into the arms of Geralt after what he had done.

It hurt.

But you couldn't forgive so easily as you'd like to, he had made a promise almost fifty years ago to never let magic manipulate your lives in anyway. To never use dark powers against you, no spells, no enchantments, no sorcerers, nothing that could alter your reality or bend your will. Nothing to bind your very vessel to in any way, shape, or form.

He promised.

He knew your hate for how magic can ruin and destroy with simple words and rash actions. But alas, Geralt made his wish and now it can never be broken. Although you had to admit, the intended sentiment was heartfelt after all. His wish was to keep you bound to Yennefer for as long as you two are alive, his intentions were so that you'd never feel alone when he's gone and dead.

Considering you'll most likely outlive him, unless someone was to slice you open with silver and set your corpse on fire, or better yet. Get yourself mauled to death by a goddamn werewolf, what a way to go, either option not really settling well with you. But perhaps you'd never given it much thought, what would you do after Geralt left this world? You couldn't say, nor did you care to think about it, nor did you want to think about it.

But now, you're forever linked to Yennefer until the end of her days or maybe yours. You could almost laugh, how clever of destiny to bind your cares and concerns with a mage, and forever at that. She's half elf and you're a dhampir, neither of you are aging much anytime soon or even at all for that matter. You may have kept your time in Aretuza and your old friendship with Yennefer a thing of the past, but now you must accept your fate.

Maybe this is destiny?

Hate should not seep its inky talons into your soul, nor should lasting anger burn like dragon fire in your heart. You did once have a good friendship with the lavender eyed sorceress for many years, but your paths had gone separate ways when she was called to court and the mages of Aretuza began to drive you mad with their constant bickering and pettiness with one another.

Your time in the great academy transpired into a violent end when one bold admirer had attempted to charm you with his admittedly strong love potion, you had left those halls half naked and covered in his blood once you'd found the strength to break through the spell. Not one mage had dared make an effort to stop you, they understood their fellow enchanters deathly mistake and for that they let you leave without so much as a word.

You felt disgusted for letting yourself get sweet talked and manipulated by his charming aurora and false heartfelt words. You didn't even notice when he handed you a sweet smelling mystery liquid, it tasted fine going down and within seconds did you feel lust take over your body for the alluring man. But another part of you didn't want how you felt, it wasn't right, it didn't feel right. But he looked so good, and you wanted him, but did you?

In the end you had snapped out of it as half your clothing was littering the floor, he was smiling a triumphant grin from beneath your clothed legs as your fuzzy mind cleared, your heart fuming with rage as he kept oblivious to your realization. A second later did you enjoy hearing his screams of agony as you sunk your sharp pearly white fangs deep into his naked jugular, it all happened so fast. He scratched at your body as you pinned him down and ripped open his stomach, making certain to crush his prized jewels as your last final act of revenge, leaving him bruised and bleeding out upon his bed when you fled the room.

He had taken nothing but your pride. Yet he payed for it with his life.

You could hear his ragged final breaths as you flew down the enchanted hallways of Aretuza, collecting your belongings and fleeing the giant castle before you took it upon yourself to end anymore despicable lives residing in that academy.

You didn't bother telling Tissaia, she would figure it out eventually.

And as for Yennefer, she was living as a mage in luxury.

But as you stand upon this rocky ledge it all seems like a bad dream, perhaps it was just all constructed in a past life? Feels like it, but alas, it is far behind you and Yennefer was gone from the academy when it all happened. It was not her fault, you truly have no right to hate her.

So you won't. Is this still destiny?

Taking a deep breath you slowly let all your troubles and resentments out and into the dusty breeze as you stand high upon the jagged shelf of the mountainside. It's been three days since the taxing events after the dragon hunt, when all truths had been revealed and you had left Geralt in your rage. You'll find him again without a doubt in your mind, when the time is right and your infuriation has subsided. Then you will seek him out and make amends, but for now, as you brood into the sunset you can't help but feel torn to go and speak with Yennefer, you must.

Something just doesn't feel right in the air, you're pinning it on the grand mass of marching Nilfgaardian soldiers you had spotted to the west only yesterday. A great enemy of Cintra, and an impending threat to the innocent lives of nearby villagers. You close your eyes as a soft breeze caresses your face, you've made up your mind, it's time to find your old friend.

No more anger.

-meanwhile in the underkeeps of Cintra-

Geralt leans against a stone wall, listening for the footsteps of Mousesack, doing his best to keep you out of his thoughts for the time being so he can focus on the task at hand. He may not have you in his mind at the moment, but his heart has not stopped feeling dreary with heavy regret and anguish for how you had left him so suddenly.

It's been a week, still too long, he thinks.

He truly did not mean to upset you so, but when he made that wish, his mind was only concerned with keeping you happy for the next thousand years when he rots in the earth and your body flows with life. Though now he feels quite foolish for such a burdensome wish upon yourself, binding a part of your soul to Yennefer and hers with your own. So no matter wherever you two will travel, a strange call to one another will always remain in the back of your minds.

Like a shadow.

Geralt's ears prick with the sounds of rushed footfalls against the stony ground as the mage quickly approaches him from down the long shadowy hallway, "Out of nowhere, you send word to meet you. All this time, I thought you were dead." Exclaims Mousesack as Geralt turns to face him from around the corner.

"I told you last time I was in Cintra that I wasn't coming back."

Mousesack eyes him suspiciously, "Yet here you are." The Witcher hums in reply as Mousesack asks for an answer to Geralt's random appearance, a telling smirk upon his face as he walks closer, "You've come for your Child of Surprise, haven't you?"

"The opposite. I want you to tell me that he's safe and healthy so I can keep on riding."

Geralt turns from Mousesack and begins walking down the hallway as the mage smiles, "He....is a girl." Geralt abruptly turns around at the surprising news, "Princess Cirilla has been raised by Calanthe since her parents died."

"What?" Whispers Geralt, shocked by the news.

"Pavetta and Duny's ship was lost at sea. Have you been hiding your head in the sand?" The greying mage pauses for a moment, brow furrowing, "Why now? Why do you think she's not safe?"

"I saw an army making camp at the Amell Pass. A sea of black and gold." Replies Geralt.

Mousesack nods, "Nilfgaard is set on sweeping the Continent. But since that night at Pavetta's banquet, the Queen's done everything she can to keep her family safe from threats. Shut the walls. Fortified the gates." A shadow flashes against the walls as rushed footsteps befall upon the ground, grabbing Geralt's attention as he leans in closer to the mage, eyes dark.

"Sent assassins!" He growls.

"What?"

"Were you followed?"

"No." Answers Mousesack honestly.

Geralt sneers at the grey bearded man before turning and walking towards the sound of the hidden killers, Mousesack's brow furrows in confusion, "Why don't you just have your lady dhampir Y/N slay them for you and avoid such a wasteful chase? She can't be far now can she, never one to linger from your side for very long."

Geralt halts in his tracks, his mind reeling before he turns an eye to the wondering mage, "She was summoned back to her homeland. Something important, she couldn't say....so I didn't ask. I'm on my own." His voice is gravely as he lies, shifting his attention back to the opening entrance of another hallway to continue his hunt for the assassins. Mousesack left speculating if this tale has any truth to it or not, wisely deciding not to press the subject any further.

——

It hadn't been very difficult to find her, all you had to do was concentrate and let the magic given unto you by the djinn lead yourself into the direction of Yennefer like a compass. When you let it work, it seemed a rather simple task to begin your hunt for the notorious mage.

It took about a week or so to find her, you had decided to travel like a civilized person and ride to her whereabouts on the back of a silver steed. Your horse bringing you to a huge excavation site where a part of the Nilfgaard army is currently stationed, directing their workers and no doubt captured slaves to dig and scrape away at the rocky hillside for whatever the fuck type of obsidian looking rock. You could honestly care less for their troubles, the problems of these people of little concern to you.

After riding down a dirt covered road and past the tired faces of burnt-out workers you stopped by a wooden cart, tying your horse next to another. You finish the knot and step into the road, catching the scent of your friend who's aroma is still fresh, she's close, her trail leading into a nearby makeshift tavern.

"Where are you coming from, my lady?"

You stop in your tracks as a dirty faced Nilfgaardian soldier keeps you from your search, handing him a fake smile you catch his light brown eyes, "Nowhere too interesting I'm afraid."

He nods, thinking hard for a moment, his heartbeat picking up with nervousness, "W-well, if you're here to seek aid from a mage, the, uh...tavern is that way. Good day then." He stumbles quickly in reply, no doubt unnerved by your scarlet eyes and friendly sharp grin.

What a man he is.

And just like that he's gone, smiling contently with yourself and this odd bit of luck, you make for the titular gathering house with cheap ale or perhaps the tavern as it's called. Once you reach about ten feet from the opened wooden door do you stop, the familiar voices of Yennefer and Istredd, her first lover from Aretuza, fill your ears as they speak about their past dealings and Yenn's thirst for power over most things, including their relationship.

More things are said before he stands up to leave, but before he's able to catch you in his sights do you turn around and narrowly miss being found out, he'd definitely remember you. Istredd trudges past, oblivious as you listen to the whispered voice of a new man joining Yennefer at her table. He claims himself to be Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, another mage, of fucking course.

Folding your arms in annoyance you walk over to lean your back against the side of the tavern and listen as he tells Yennefer how Nilfgaard is seeking out mages for their conquests, quietly noting that they should return to Aretuza before any soldiers start asking for their assistance. She sounds doubtful until he lets known that Tissaia and himself need her nonetheless, apparently shits important, who would have thought. You can't help but roll your eyes as Vilgefortz practically sweet talks her, explaining that Tissaia said that Yennefer is the best student she's ever taught.

And that's it, Yennefer's sold.

You could never ignore getting yourself buttered up, huh Yenn.

The friendly mage abruptly stands up, telling Yennefer to meet him in half an hour by the north gate before he says his goodbyes and exits through the opened door, right past you. You watch in curiosity as he walks off before turning yourself towards the entrance and stepping into the doorway, you look down to your right. Making quick eye contact with Yennefer's violet irises, she immediately frowns as you sit across from her, though she is quite taken aback at your random intrusion.

A smirk plays at your lips, "Well aren't you just having the time of your life. Quite popular today aren't we now?"

Yennefer rolls her eyes in annoyance, "What the fuck are you doing here?" She says dryly, you lean back in your chair as a fangy grin breaks out upon your face.

"I could ask you the same thing but....I'm not an idiot. You came back to rekindle that old flame with Istredd, how sweet, honestly. Who would've thought."

"Oh fuck off Y/N."

A light chuckle escapes you, "Don't be so dramatic Yenn, I didn't leave Geralt's ass and travel all this way for nothing...."

"You left him?" She wonders, her brows furrowing, honestly quite surprised.

A telling sigh falls from your lips, "For the time being, I'm still pissed over the whole djinn and his last wish. So here I am, sitting in a shit tavern with an old acquaintance, also...I wanted to make sure you don't hate me. Believe it or not, I do care about you Yennefer, and that's not the magic speaking. So with that in mind, I've witnessed what Nilfgaard has been doing lately and it doesn't look good." You shrug, "Guess I wanted to make sure you where fine."

She glances down at her hands before finding your scarlet eyes, "I can't tell if that's the Aretuza Y/N, or the magic talking." Her voice almost playful.

"Maybe it's both? But can I not give a shit for once about anyone other than myself? I mean look around us." You glance at the tired out workers and Nilfgaardian soldiers before leaning in closer to Yennefer, "Things are changing, soon these valleys will be covered in blood, people fighting for survival, the land ablaze and destroyed from war. I've lived enough lifetimes to have seen it happen over and over again."

She nods slowly, taking in what you're saying, "Yes, so it seems. But last I'd remembered, you've never really cared much for the troubles of other kingdoms. Even your own for that matter."

"I don't." Your reply blunt and to the point, "But this is Nilfgaard, and though I could care less about the reasoning behind their conquests. I know who they seek to bring their wrath upon."

"Cintra." She whispers.

"Yes." You pause for a moment as three soldiers clad in black armor walk past your table and towards the bar, your wary eyes trail them before turning your attention back to Yennefer, "And I'd rather not have innocent lives taken by the hands of filthy soldiers, I could live without smelling blood in the air and the rotting of children's corpses." You let out a breath before leaning in and keeping your voice to that of a whisper, "Geralt's Child of Surprise resides in that kingdom, within the walls of Cintra. I do not care for the little shit in the slightest, but by law this child will be in our care soon enough. Whether I want to meet him or not."

She nods, understanding your concerns for the invading forces of Nilfgaard, "That's quite the predicament Y/N."

"Yes." You lean back once again, folding your arms as you tilt your head to the side, "Almost as intriguing as your own one." You add with a smirk.

"What did you hear?"

"The mage, Vilgefortz of Roggeveen seems to have caught you in his sights. And how interesting, it appears our old friend Tissaia is in need of you after all these long years." You study her face, her lavender eyes downcast as she thinks, "You're going aren't you?"

"I need answers Y/N." Her eyes are on yours once again, "It doesn't make much sense I'll admit, but it's been a long while and I have nothing keeping me here anyways." She confesses honestly, you tap the hilt of your dagger, thinking hard.

"Do as you wish, I will not stop you. Have fun with those self entitled idiots." You sneer, she simply smiles at your usual disgust for the mages of Aretuza. You stare at her, your face falling as you shake your head.

"Yennefer don't."

She leans herself closer to you, her eyes almost pleading, you haven't heard the words but just looking at her can you tell exactly what she's about to ask, "Y/N. Against my better judgment...I'm asking, I guess....would you join me. Please?"

Pursing your lips together you stare at the table before finding her gaze once more, every ounce of your entire vessel screaming for you to say no, though you can't help but feel drawn to follow, "God I hate magic." You mutter, shaking your head.

"You were the one who came to find me after all, remember? Make sure I'm fine and not dead." She muses with a mischievous spark in her eye.

"Well aren't you lucky that I have no solid plans for the next week but brood in the woods and think of all by problems." You deadpan before an apprehensive half smile pulls at the corners of your lips, "Why the fuck not? Lets pay Tissaia a visit shall we."

——

After the debacle of mysterious assassins in the underkeeps of the Cintran castle, Mousesack had saved Geralt from a possible demise when he teleported them elsewhere amongst the grounds. Now the Witcher follows him to find Queen Calanthe and hopefully greet this Child of Surprise he's been promised no matter how much he'd rather not be here. How he wishes you where by his side to lighten the mood, things would undoubtedly run smoother.

He passes under a stone archway leading into a courtyard where the Queen has her back turned to them, she's speaking to her loyal guardsmen while eyeing up the weaponry before her. She moves down the tabled lined with swords, "I want reports from the Amell Pass every hour.." Her head moves right at the sounds of Geralt and Mousesack approaching, her dark eyes lock with Geralt's golden ones. She looks stoic and loathsome to see him again, even after all these years.

Swords unsheathe behind her, "I warned you about coming back. I've been away 12 years and I planned on staying that way till you sent eight men to kill me."

She takes a couple threatening steps forward, "Well, I'm asking you now. Do not do this."

"If you treated me more as a friend then a threat...Do you know the difference anymore?" He pauses as she says nothing, "I'm here to protect the girl."

"Who I've raised as my own." Counters Calanthe, "Why would I give my only heir to someone who never cared enough to come back to her? Move along, Witcher. I'll pay whatever you want." She turns her back to leave.

"I cannot be bought." She trains her irritated gaze back to Geralt, "You should remember."

"Money can't undo the Law of Surprise." Says Mousesack, "Kings who've tried to outbid destiny end up on pikes."

"And if I win the war but lose Ciri, what victory is that?" Challenges the Queen as Geralt takes a step forward, her men showing their weapons as they stand ready to guard her.

"Maybe that army won't come, and if they do, maybe you'll be ready. But if you have any doubt in your mind that she's safe here, give her to me. Call it destiny, insecurity, what larger forces at work, I don't care. I will take her, protect her, and bring her back unharmed, I promise you that."

"Ciri is all I have left of my daughter." Whispers the Queen, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"If Ciri survives, then Pavetta lives on too." Geralt leaves it at that, remaining silent as Calanthe's mind reels with what to do next. He can tell just how terrified she is to possibly lose Ciri, however she must make a choice. No matter how difficult it is to make.

"Law of Surprise has been called!" Announces the Queen to her guardsmen and subjects in the snow covered courtyard, voice more softer and solemn now as she faces Geralt, "I'll tell Cirilla myself."

With that said, Geralt was escorted to a separate section of the castle as he awaits the meeting between himself and princess Cirilla. He paces back and forth down the hallway for a good long while until a guard was sent for him. Now here he is, walking towards the door where the Child of Surprise awaits him with her Queen grandmother. Two armored men simultaneously open the large wooden door, Geralt walks into the cavernous room where Mousesack looks up at him while the doors close. They do not say a word to each other.

Calanthe sits, consoling a frightened Ciri who's back is turned to Geralt, she holds the girls hands, "I need you to be brave now, because who are you?"

"The Lion Cub of Cintra." Replies the blonde girl, voice small and fragile.

She then stands, turning around to finally face him. He walks further into the room, golden eyes studying the face of princess Cirilla. She is short and thin, eyes wide and fearful, face pale as a flushed nervousness pulls to the surface, "Pleased to meet you, Princess." Greets the Witcher.

She speaks not once to him, she then abruptly turns to face the Queen by her side, "Can I say goodbye to my friends now?"

"Of course." Nods Calanthe as Cirilla leaves with haste out the side door. Geralt remains quiet as she glares at him, "I'll summon you when she's ready."

Geralt exits through the same doors he came through, he walks down the hallway, pausing a moment as he thinks on the brief interaction. Something just doesn't sit right with him about that girl, she just didn't look how he'd imagined her to be. She can't be Pavetta's child, can she? He shakes off those thoughts and decides to wander down a long torch lit hallway leading out into an opened yard where people are wandering about.

Suddenly the princess runs into view, she races over to a gathering of market kids playing some kind of game, one boy jumps up and immediate pulls her into a hug. "Take care." He whispers as the princess releases him to face a young teen with a cap on their head. She then gifts a small bow, "Your Highness." Before turning around and racing off the same way she came in.

Now Geralt knows the truth.

He leaves the doorway in search of the lying Queen, it takes not long before he's found her walking past some large windows with her ladies by her side. "First, you try and kill me, then you lie to me. I'm just trying to keep Cirilla safe."

"Ciri is safe, with me, until the day she takes over my throne." Queen Calanthe takes a couple steps forward but is halted by Geralt who stands his ground in front of her.

"Listen to me." He advises, voice low and gravely.

"I did listen once." Says Calanthe unbothered, "Let a hedgehog into my court. It got me Pavetta dead. I won't lose Ciri too. So you and destiny can both fuck right off. Because if Nilfgaard comes, will destiny carry a banner into battle? No. We have an army, a navy...and me." Speaks the Queen slyly, starting to walk around Geralt who halts her with a hand to her arm.

"A dynasty can't survive on arrogance alone."

"Says a Witcher. She needs family. You no nothing about that. Your own mother cared so little, she discarded you." Smartly speaks the Queen, "Where is your vampiric lover, hm? She's not even here, gone to see her actual family so I've been told." Calanthe swaggers past Geralt who feels a pang of heartache in his chest for that low blow.

"You lecture me on a mother's love yet you offer up someone else's daughter."

Calanthe stops, "Queen to all of Cintra, grandmother to one." She looks at him over her shoulder, "I won't orphan that girl."

Geralt watches as she begins walking down the hallway towards another opened door, "You're sentencing her to death."

"What I miss?" Asks the intrigued face of Lord Eick.

"Nothing." Replies the Queen as she keeps walking, "Get him out of my sight."

Sir Eick walks down a small flight of stone steps with Geralt by his side, they follow a brick path leading down from the castle doors now behind them. Two guards stand at their posts to either side of the wooden entrance as the two men walk across the layed bricks. "I remember when you honored the Law of Surprise. What changed?"

"I had a granddaughter."

"So protect her. What if Calanthe's wrong? What if they come and Ciri is trapped?"

"I fight side by side with my Queen."

"You put too much faith in that woman."

Lord Eick stops walking to look at Geralt, "Well, you weren't there. After Pavetta died, Calanthe would wake up howling in the night. The Lioness, nearly broken. Someone who's able to pull themselves out of that, they'll have my confidence till my final day."

Geralt says not a word, he knows this Lord cannot be reasoned with so instead does the Witcher walk under a small keep, he stops when Lord Eick calls to him, "I need your promise you won't come back."

Geralt slowly turns around to face him, "If I hear Ciri's in danger, you know I can't do that." A second later does two iron cage slates fall into place, locking Geralt into his new little prison.

"I know." Replies the man, giving him one last glance before returning back to the main castle.

Now Geralt really wishes you where here with him.

——

With the aid of Yennefer's ever convenient ability to create portals going from one realm to the next, you, Vilgefortz, and herself made it into the enchanted halls of Aretuza in no time. Though to Yennefer's utter disappointment and your own unsurprised one. It turned out that Tissaia didn't actually ask for Yennefer after all, in fact she doesn't even know that you're both here.

In a fit of anger did Yennefer turn away in search of Tissaia before finding herself down one of the many hallways in this ginormous academy. "I can't fucking believe this. Of course this is how they get me here, I should have known."

"Too bad you can't see into the future, that could have saved us some time."

"Very funny, Y/N." Mutters Yennefer.

"Now come on, you're certainly not the only one between the two of us who'd rather not be here at all." She raises a brow at that.

"You didn't have to join me."

"No, but maybe my curiosity had taken the better of me, and anyways, this place does not hold all terrible memories for me to begin with. This was my home for some time even before you showed up, I did like it here once."

"Well you weren't bought and taken from your family one day without a choice, forced to live here as the lowest of the low. Ridiculed, spoken down upon, lied to."

"No I wasn't, that was saved for you and your magical sisters." She furrows her brows as you chuckle.

"You find humor in our misery?"

"I don't. I find your temperament about the ordeal a tad humorous yes."

"And why is that?"

"Because you had what you needed here to become someone great, and you've survived well by yourself, becoming a powerful mage at that." You add as her frown dissipates, "I remember the first time we met, granted you were unconscious and bleeding on the floor, but after that. When we actually met. I knew you were special then, as I know you are now."

"And how would you know that?"

You playfully bump into her shoulder, "I am a wise and very old woman, I know my looks are deceiving, however I can see through people better then most. I understand them, I can just tell."

"And how could you tell with me?"

"For one, your eyes are purple which is already a huge giveaway. Secondly, you had a prominent physical deformity paired with a rare talent for portal making. I could practically smell your elven blood coursing through those veins before I knew what you looked like. It wasn't hard to tell you were going to be someone."

She stops walking in the middle of the long hallway, a conflicted expression flashing across her features, "You really thought all that?"

"I always did. I always knew when certain mages would ascend, if I figured you weren't going to make it. I would have told you." Your eyes dart from the ground then back up to her again, "Maybe, and I say just maybe, I've always had a little soft spot for you. Contrary to what you may believe, there is someone who is proud of you...and that's still not the djinn's wish talking. I mean it."

Yennefer breaks out into a small smile, "You're such a sap."

"I can be when I want to." You state half defensibly, "I'm not all just a pretty face and two scary looking eyes."

"Clearly."

Your head turns to the sounds of giggling coming from one of the novice mage's sleeping quarters, "I think your old room is occupied. Hm, I can't say I really care much to meet them. I'm going to see if my old room is still covered in cobwebs or not, see you around."

She gives you a nod, "I'll let you know when I find Tissaia."

Leaving Yennefer to most likely scare the young mages, you begin wandering around the stony pathways until you reach your old room. Stopping at the door, you can hear the sounds of a thudding heartbeat, someone has made themselves a place here. You smile and walk elsewhere, glad that someone could find a nice room to call their own since your absence so long ago.

Finding your way near the room of ascension where many a mage has been turned into an eel to further fuel the place with magic. You can hear the stern voice of Tissaia and the whispering of the novice girls, soon the sounds of their rushed footsteps are heard racing up the steps towards the entranceway. You stand a short distance from the doorway, watching in curiosity as the three young mages meet your gaze while they file out of the hallway.

The pale one with reddish blonde hair halts abruptly in her tracks as her two friends do the same, blue eyes wide in nervous bewilderment at your figure in the room. Your clothing a vast contrast to their usual dark blue uniform, a dagger sheathed at your side, and eyes the color of shimmering rubies staring back at them. They smell of herbs, salt, and magic; heartbeats quickening the longer they stay frozen looking at you.

You gift them a fangy grin and a small bow of your head in greeting, "Are my two acquaintances down there?" You already know the answer, just something said to break their trance.

The one with the healed burns scarred on the side of her face swallows before speaking, "They are. Good day miss." She bows her head respectfully before leading her two friends down the hallway as quickly as they can without running. Apparently you still have that affect on young witches and wizards no matter how long you've been gone from here.

Knowing that the infamous mage had not seen you yet, you decide to keep hidden round the corner to elicit a childish plan that will be worth the trouble getting here. When her footsteps grew louder as she made haste up the steps does a telling smirk come to your lips. Once her red dress caught your eye did you pop out of the shadows, instantly frightening her in your mischievousness. She drew back against the closest wall. Her blue eyes wide as she stared at you in shock, Yennefer appearing in the doorway entrance piecing together what just took place.

Tissaia's heart thuds rapidly in her chest as you take a step forward, eyeing her like a wolf to its prey, "I never wanted to come back here, but just listening to the sweet rush of blood coursing through your veins has made this trip that much better."

Touching her chest she pulls herself from the wall as Yennefer's face breaks in amusement, "Y/N." Replies the heiress bluntly, not an ounce of emotion lacing her words. You simply smirk, tilting your head up as you study her stoic face, those are quite the cheek bones she has.

You feel a brush of air as Yennefer steps closer, "Believe me it wasn't our intention to come back here, most of all mine."

Her eyes of judgment turn to Yennefer, "Then you failed at that, too."

"Look at this place. It's a joke." Scoffs Yennefer.

You laugh, "Letting in girls that can't even do magic, I couldn't smell it all of them...And I already thought this place was pathetic enough. It's really gone down the gutter since I left."

Tissaia remains unfazed, "Sometimes, you have to compromise in order to survive."

"You say I never took responsibility for the way my life turned out. What about you?" Challenges Yennefer, her question left unanswered as multiple mages of all kinds begin walking from one opened doorway to the next, Tissaia abruptly turning around to look as you and Yennefer watch on in confusion.

The fuck?

"It's happening." Whispers Tissaia knowingly before quickly joining the assembly into the desired room, you both have no time to ask what is truly going on before Triss walks into view. Her shimmery peach colored dress flowing as she walks by.

"Triss!" Calls out Yennefer, the familiar mage halts her footing as she turns towards the two of you, a surprised expression crossing her features.

"Yennefer. I tried finding you for years. And Y/N, wow, this is quit a surprise."

"Why are you all here?" You wonder, getting straight to the point.

Her brows furrow in worry, "An emergency conclave of the Northern Mages. Nilfgaard took Marnadal."

"What?" Whispers Yennefer in disbelief.

Triss looks to you sadly, "They're attacking Cintra." Your heart practically catches in your throat, you hadn't expected the Nilfgaardian army to lay siege so soon. It has only been a couple weeks since last you've seen Geralt but your innermost feelings can sense that he's gone to the city to claim that damned Child of Surprise. You had talked about it before the dragon hunt and before you'd made plans to visit the ocean, now it appears like a far off memory when soldiers weren't marching across the land and things were fine.

That idiot better be alive.

Triss quickly departs to join the gathering mages, you can feel Yennefer's conflict within herself to either join them or abandon her duty. She turns to you, her face deep in thought, "Yenn just go. I'll be out here when all is over and done, I can't stand the smell of some of them, it's absolutely appalling."

"Alright then. I'll meet you by the east wing balcony when it's over."

She quickly turns and disappears behind the grand wooden doors, you stop for a moment in the large empty hallway before making your way to the balcony where you can get some fresh air away from all those mages and wizards, their enchanted auroras is almost suffocating at times.

You stand brooding in the light of the half moon as it sits contently from her place high up in the sky. It's been about thirty minutes since you'd left Yennefer to fend for herself among the liars, murders, and tricksters claiming themselves as noble mages of the court.

But you will not let your hate consume you, there are good hiding within their numbers and that may just be enough to keep you from slaughtering every single one of them if given the chance. Gods you have such mixed feelings for this place it's starting to give you a headache.

Drifting away from your more sinister and heavily conflicting thoughts, your ears prick up to the sound of approaching footsteps, Yennefer's no doubt. Leaning yourself against the stone wall, your face turned towards the shimmering ocean, she walks up to your side. Resting her hands atop the stony balcony as a frustrated sigh leaves her lips when she turns her head to you, "You're probably right."

"About what?"

"Coming here, to Aretuza. I should have told everyone to fuck off and then left for a more peaceful part of the Continent."

You chuckle, "You'd get bored, eventually."

An amused huff of air escapes from her nostrils, a small smile upon her tired face, "I hate you sometimes."

"Yeah." You sigh, "Me too."

She side eyes you for a moment, her sights set over the glistening waves, "Well, you're going to really laugh when you hear this."

You raise a brow, "Alright jester, tell me a joke."

"It would appear that Vilgefortz and Tissaia are going with a secret band of mages to fight against the forces of Nilfgaard." She freely lets slip, you turn your head to her when she quickly catches your intrigued gaze.

"Now that. Is hilarious, what are they going to do? Hmm? Create illusions of naked women in hopes that the soldiers will become distracted enough that they can, oh I don't know. Conjure an army of scarecrows to fight for them." You jest with a small chuckle, "These mages are not warriors, most of them have never even welded anything hard besides a kings fucking cock. They don't use fire magic and they find destructive sorcery to be something worth banishing and deeply frowned upon. Again, not much for fighters."

She slowly nods, "I know. That's why I'm asking, would you join us?"

"I have no reason to help them."

"Y/N." She pleads, "Think of what Nilfgaard has already done and what they will do. You even told me that you did, in fact, give a shit because of your tie with Cintra."

"Cintra's fucked."

"What about the Child of Surprise? Geralt even? You told me he's probably there right now. Do you not care for his safety?" Presses Yennefer much to your great annoyance, she's got you there.

"Of course I care that his heart is still beating, he's a fucking Witcher, he'll be fine." You pause for a moment, your crimson eyes glowing like two glistening rubies in the moonlight, "Queen Calanthe has brought this hellfire upon herself and the whole Continent due to her pride and arrogance. Cintra can and will fall in fire and blood, I've seen it all before and I'll watch it happen again."

Yennefer shakes her head, "Sometimes I forget that you're four-hundred something years old, but Y/N listen. I understand that you don't care much for royalty and the conflicts of kingdoms. But the Brotherhood must prevail..."

"That's Tissaia speaking. Why do you actually give enough of a shit to fight?" You challenge.

She looks out upon the vast ocean, a light salty breeze brushing past her face, "What else do I have in this world?" She whispers, her voice almost on the verge of breaking.

You suddenly feel a bit terrible, her words hanging over you heavily, "You want to save your only real home? Dare I ask why, but I don't need to, I already know the answer."

"Tissaia and you have been my only family, this place may be full of shit and lies, but it is a place for people like me who need guidance. And I'd rather not have it fall into the wrong hands, or be reduced to crumbling rocks and ash. Enough death was caused by it's construction already."

You rest your forearms against the smooth stone of the balcony, a huff leaving your lips, "When do we leave then?" Yennefer snaps her full attention over to your casual aurora, wholeheartedly surprised that you've decided to join her.

"Uh, tomorrow, at dawn. We'll travel for a day before boats take us across a bit of ocean. From the shore we'll walk by foot to the Elven keep at Sodden's Hill. Before Nilfgaard can claim it."

This is not how you'd intended to visit the sea shore.

"Right. That would be most unfortunate, well, can't wait to tear the throats out of some Nilfgaardian soldiers. I bet they taste divine." You add slyly, a tinge of playfulness surrounding your words.

"Thought blood wasn't part of your diet?" Retorts Yennefer, nudging your shoulder in a friendly manner.

"I can consume both food and blood to survive, you already know this, I just so happen to eat normal meals because it terrifies people if I were to just suck the life out of a beggar at the table. Tavern goers are not very fond of that behavior if you needed to know."

"Of course." She chuckles, "Well, if we're lucky Nilfgaard will ignore the pass and leave us all be. Though I doubt it will come to that, we're never that blessed."

"No. I guess not. But they will suffer as we have, I'll make sure of it, those unlucky bastards will pay for their kingdom's sins." You say defiantly, "We'll defend Aretuza and this part of the north with our lives...I guess..it's about time I should do something good in the world."

Tagged: @notahappytree @ashleyforeverareject @sokkasdarling @kmuir1@haleypearce @diegos-butt (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #of monsters and men fic #falcor the luck dragon stories

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the-spinning-jenny · 3 years

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hiraeth

For @a-kind-of-merry-war who wished for whump and hurt/comfort, angsty with a happy ending, and creature!Jaskier. Hope you like it! @thewitchersecretsanta

---

Jaskier is not knowledgeable about many mythical creatures, but he knows the following to be true.

Sirens search for humans to eat them. Mermaids search for humans to drown them. Selkies, though, selkies search for humans to find someone they can call home. They search for someone to give their coat to hold and cherish them.

Jaskier knows these things for certain. After all, he is a selkie too.

---

Jaskier knows Geralt of Rivia is a great and good man. He saves lives when no one appreciates it. He kills monsters even when people cannot afford to pay for it.

The two of them are sitting around a campfire some weeks still traveling together after the edge of the world events.

“Despite what you may say, my witcher friend, you are a good man,” Jaskier says as he looks into the fire and plays some chords on his new lute.

He hears Geralt scoff.

“Bard,” Geralt says. “We are not friends and you do not know me.”

“I know enough. I could know more,” Jaskier smiles.

Geralt grunts. He throws more wood into the fire and the campsite is silent for some while except for Jaskier’s lute. “What happened with Filavandrel is me at my best, bard. Everything else will be worse. I don’t want you to know me better and neither will you want to,” Geralt says at last.

Ah, but Jaskier knows in sea bones that he does want to. Jaskier sees the man across the campfire from him, he sees the good man for who he is, and he knows that he wants to make Geralt his home.

He’s followed Geralt to the edge of the world and he will follow him anywhere, land or sea.

---

Life onshore can be difficult, Jaskier had been warned by other selkies, but none of them know how hard life onshore with a witcher can be.

Witchers are feared and hated everywhere from what Jaskier can tell. They get underpaid, they get turned away at inns, and in general, people just aren’t very nice to them. It’s annoying, Jaskier decides. It’s definitely inconvenient for Geralt, and being the stubborn selkie Jaskier is, he decides that if he wants a happy home, then he must get others to treat his home better. And although he’s not sure if Geralt is ever really happy, it can’t hurt if Geralt can at least get a decent night’s rest in an inn room instead of on the dirt all the time.

Jaskier unleashes as many songs about the White Wolf and witchers’ heroics as he can think of. They’re catchy and it takes years, but he knows they’re working. He’s accidentally even made himself a bit of a famous bard too while he’s at it.

He gets better at helping secure inn rooms for Geralt. He even helps barter with aldermen and nobles who hire Geralt in order to make sure Geralt gets paid fairly.

He’d think after all those years of devotion that Geralt would at least call him a friend. He thinks Geralt has to know that Jaskier cares. Maybe he doesn’t know the depth of how much Jaskier cares, but Geralt should know at least that Jaskier cares by now. Jaskier does not even ask for much; he knows he can’t compete with beautiful, powerful Yennefer and Jaskier just wants Geralt to be his home even if it’s as friends. He’d been ready to give his coat to Geralt after the whole djinn incident if he didn’t find Geralt with Yennefer afterwards.

Jaskier has said time and time again that Geralt is his very best friend in the whole wide world. This time, they’re in the dragon hunt on the mountain and Jaskier sees that Geralt and Yennefer aren’t agreeing with each other again. He thinks, maybe, and he asks too if Geralt wants to go to the coast with him. Because Jaskier isn’t Yennefer, but he hopes that the coast could bring Geralt some peace and joy as much as it brings Jaskier.

He hopes so much.

---

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands," yells Geralt, rage seething from his face, voice raised and so very angry, mouth curled into a snarl and, well, Jaskier does go to the coast in the end.

He just happens to go alone.

---

It’s been a few quiet months. Jaskier mostly goes from one little coastal town to another and finds taverns to perform in just fine. He makes good money, but it has been a while since he’s sung about the White Wolf. Jaskier is doing fine, he supposes. He’s sitting at the bar in a tavern one bleary, rainy afternoon when the front door slams open and a local fisherman runs in to sit beside him. He looks over to the tavern keeper across the bar.

“Melitele, you would not believe what I saw on the beaches just now!” the fisherman exclaims to the tavern keeper. “I think there’s a stand off between some Nilfgaardians, a white haired fella, and a child. Passed by them while docking at the pier. You’d best warn everyone to keep clear of the beaches right now. It could get messy.”

The tavern keeper grimaces. “Nilfgaard is always looking for trouble, those no gooders,” he remarks.

Jaskier’s blood runs cold and he shakily asks, “Where was this?”

The fisherman scoffs, “Bard, this is no battle you want to witness for a song. Best look the other way for these sorts of things.”

Jaskier insists again, pries out directions, gets called a stupid fool, and runs towards the beach.

---

When Jaskier gets to the stormy beach, he sees a distressed blonde girl, Geralt fighting with another soldier in the water, and what he presumes are a couple dead Nilfgaardian soldiers lying around on the sand between the girl and Geralt.

The girl, which Jaskier assumes is Geralt’s child surprise, turns around at Jaskier’s fast approaching footsteps and he hopes that he looks every bit of the completely approachable bard lugging a lute and an inconspicuous bag with his selkie coat. She frantically says, “Please! Sir, I-I screamed a-and the soldiers chasing us are dead but my guardian and one of the soldiers got blown into the waters and please, you’ve got to get help!”

The girl clutches at one of Jaskier’s arms pleadingly. Jaskier looks over to see Geralt, losing to the last soldier trying to drown him. He sees the soldier shove Geralt under the water and the girl gasps in horror.

“We don’t have time to get help. Geralt needs help now,” Jaskier says and the girl’s eyes widened.

“Wait, how do you know Geralt-”

Jaskier shakes the child surprise’s arm off him, drops his lute, and takes out his coat. He runs into the ocean, puts on his coat, and swims as fast as he can to Geralt.

In the waters, Jaskier sees Geralt and the soldier battling it out, but Geralt is quickly losing. They turn to see Jaskier in selkie form approaching and the soldier desperately tries to swim away, but it’s too late.

The soldier's neck doesn’t stand a chance against a selkie’s teeth.

It’s relatively easy and fast for Jaskier to take a barely conscious Geralt to shore. Jaskier prays to the gods he had arrived in time. He doesn’t know how long Geralt has been in the water. Once he brings Geralt onto the sand, he sees Geralt coughing out water and making a move to sit up.

“What the fuck?” Geralt sputters out between coughs.

“Geralt!” the child surprise exclaims in tears as she runs towards Geralt with Jaskier’s lute hanging on her back using the lute straps. She’s dragging one of Geralt’s swords with her behind her.

She drops the sword besides him. “You’re okay,” she sobs into his arms.

“Ciri, I’m alright. Why do you have Jaskier’s lute?” Geralt asks.

The child surprise, Ciri, looks up and says, “Who’s Jaskier? I asked a man on the shore for help and he dropped this and he dove into the waters to help after he turned- he turned into…”

Ciri trails off and looks at the selkie. Geralt does the same.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks, looking at him.

Jaskier takes off his coat and throws it to the side. He’s back in human form and holds his hands up. “Geralt, it’s me,” Jaskier says.

Geralt’s eyes grow big. He shoves Ciri behind him protectively and reaches for his sword. “What the fuck are you?” Geralt says as he raises his sword at Jaskier.

There are a thousand ways Jaskier has imagined Geralt finally finding out that Jaskier is a selkie.There are a thousand ways Jaskier has imagined his reunion with Geralt since that cold, cold day on the mountain. A stormy day on the beach with dead soldiers lying around everywhere, one lone soldier’s body floating in the waters that Jaskier freshly murdered, and with Geralt’s silver sword pointed at him - this is not a scenario Jaskier had imagined for things to go down at all.

“I’m a selkie. I’ve always been a selkie,” Jaskier miserably replies.

“Are you playing some sort of sick selkie game with us now? Are you the real Jaskier?” Geralt accuses. The sword pointed at him does not lower.

“Geralt, what?! No, it’s me!” Jaskier exclaims, but he sees the view around him. Dead men surrounding them, the rain pouring hard still on everyone, Geralt’s immense glower and Ciri’s confused face.

Jaskier’s heart breaks even more and a sinking, terrible feeling forms in the pit of stomach. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say.

So, Jaskier runs. He thinks he hears his name being shouted, but he knows Geralt’s too tired to chase him.

Jaskier closes his watery eyes and runs faster.

---

Jaskier lies on his bed in his room at the inn.

His clothes are drenched in sea water and rain, but he doesn’t care. He curls into a ball on his side and shivers. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying down but Jaskier thinks if he stays in bed, he finds breathing a little bit easier even if things are a mess right now.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before Geralt finds him. There is no point in changing into new clothes. Jaskier curses himself and realizes he ran off without his coat and lute. His most prized possessions are left back at the beach. If there is an award for being the worst selkie ever, Jaskier is winning it.

Someone knocks at his door.

Jaskier breathes in shakily. “Door’s unlocked,” Jaskier says. “If you’re going to kill me, perhaps re-consider waiting until the rain’s let up and we could do this outside. Beheading stains very badly on bed sheets.”

Jaskier hears the door open wide and there’s light feet moving fast towards him. He opens his eyes and looks up to see Ciri standing beside the bed. She sticks out her arms holding his coat, which has carefully folded, and places the coat in front Jaskier.

“Thank you for saving Geralt,” she says. Her face has stubborn determination.

“You’re not scary to me. I won’t let Geralt kill you,” she continues.

Jaskier weakly smiles. “Good to know,” he says. He looks behind her.

“Where is your guardian, anyways?” Jaskier begins to ask, but he sees Geralt run in the hallway outside his room and then notices the two of them.

Geralt steps into the room with Jaskier’s lute in one of his hands. “Ciri, go to our room. I’ve...things to discuss with Jaskier,” he says hesitantly.

Ciri nods and whispers to Jaskier, “It’s okay. I think I knocked some sense into him and you’re okay, I promise,” she says before leaving the room.

Once the door shuts behind her, Jaskier sighs. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He shakily says, “I can leave once the rain lets up, Geralt. We- you- we don’t have to talk about this.”

Jaskier looks down at his coat. “This monster’s going to take himself off your hands as soon as he can, alright?” Jaskier says quietly.

He hears Geralt walk over to him and sees the lute being set down on the floor beside him.

He looks up to see Geralt kneel in front of him. One of Geralt’s hands slowly reaches for Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier tries not to flinch away, but something on Jaskier’s face still gives it away because Geralt grimaces.

“You’re really a selkie, then,” Geralt says at last.

“Surprise?” Jaskier says weakly.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, Geralt starts again, “Witchers don’t normally deal with selkies. To my knowledge, they’re usually harmless and their only interaction with humans is if they have lovers to-”

“Give their coats to,” Jaskier finishes.

Geralt nods. “Have you? In all our travels, I never saw you do that,” he says.

Jaskier’s eyes start to sting and he gives a strained smile. “Ah, I’ve awful timing, it would seem. And there was never a good time to give it to you,” Jaskier replies.

Geralt looks shocked. The moment the words leave Jaskier, he feels freer. What a terrifying and freeing thing to lay it all out, he thinks.

“It’s alright,” Jaskier continues. “I tried, you know? But it would appear all I’ve ever done is make things worse and I wasn’t going to fight against Yennefer. I know, alright, there is no competition there-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries to interrupt, but Jaskier keeps on talking.

“No, it’s okay, Geralt,” Jaskier says even though he’s trying to keep back tears unsuccessfully. “You don’t like all the songs I’ve sung. I talk too much, I’m in the way, and all I’ve done is make things worse for you. You’re right, I’m just shoveling shit and I’m sorry, Geralt. I’m so, so sorry. I’m not a very good selkie-”

Geralt pulls Jaskier into a hug and Jaskier freezes.

“Forgive me, bard,” Geralt says.

Geralt pulls back from the hug to look at Jaskier. His hands still hold Jaskier’s sides.

“You’re- you’re a good selkie,” Geralt tries to say and Jaskier sobs. It’s all he’s ever wanted to hear and Jaskier can hardly believe it.

“Jaskier!” Geralt says with alarm, but Jaskier shakes his head.

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that,” Jaskier says and Geralt has never looked more sorrowful.

“I should not have yelled at you on that day on top of the mountain. My anger with Yennefer, it should not have been aimed at you,” Geralt says and then continues, “Forgive me, bard. You were my only friend who was good to me for all these years, and I should have said that I want you in my life, not out of it.”

Geralt looks over to the folded coat, lets go of Jaskier, and picks up the coat. “Here,” he says. “Ciri and I - we wanted to give this back to you. I know selkie coats are important. Take your coat. Forgive me, and if you wish, come with me and Ciri to Kaer Morhen. I won’t take you for granted again.”

“You mean that?” he asks.

Geralt nods. “You’ve always been good to me, bard, and I’d like to do the same.”

Jaskier weighs his options. “And if I want more?” he says. “If I wanted to give you my coat, would you hold onto it?”

Geralt’s expression softens, but Jaskier panics.

“Nevermind,” Jaskier frets and looks down. “It- I shouldn’t have asked. It’s a lot and I don’t know where you stand on this, but Geralt, you have to know what it means when I said before I wanted to give you my coat, I -”

“Jaskier, look at me.”

Jaskier does so and Geralt’s soft look is still there.

“There has not been a day that has gone by since that day on the mountain where I have not missed you,” Geralt says. He holds Jaskier’s coat carefully and nods.

“I accept your coat. If you wish for more than friendship, I will gladly give you more,” Geralt says.

Jaskier smiles so wide. He’s so happy he doesn’t think twice before he surges forward to kiss Geralt. It’s brief bliss and then Jaskier jerks back when he realizes what he’s done.

“I, um,perhaps a bit premature of me,” Jaskier stutters.

Geralt hums with amusement. Then, he leans in and asks again, “Jaskier, come home with me to Kaer Morhen?”

---

Jaskier nods and whispers a yes. When Geralt closes the gap between them and kisses him, Jaskier has never felt more at home than he does right now and he is of the firm belief that it could only get better at Kaer Morhen.

#thewitchersecretsanta #a-kind-of-merry-war #geraskier

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drowningbydegrees · 3 years

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Fanfic Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @lokibus! <3 <3 <3

How many works do you have on Ao3?

54. I've written quite a bit more, but I just can't be bothered to carry over most of the fics from my LJ days. Also, once upon a time I had a super insecure streak and I went on an orphaning spree, so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What’s your total Ao3 word count?

Apparently 457,241! Kinda same as above.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Though I Try Not To (The Witcher)

I'm so weirdly pleased about this. I fell into Witcher fandom totally by accident. I don't usually do fixit fics, but I couldn't help myself. This is, I think, the only fic to date where I've started posting as a WIP and actually followed through and finished.

Where All Roads Lead (MCU)

If there is one plot device I'm just eternally a sucker for, it's time travel shenanigans. This was one of the two time travely fics I wrote for Stucky fandom.

For The Space of a Heartbeat (The Witcher)

I'm honestly really surprised by this? This was totally just a self indulgent spur of the moment kinda thing, and it's only a couple thousand words.

Even in the Dark I Know You (The Witcher)

Okay, I lied. There were two WIPs I actually followed through and finished. This started as a random oneshot for a whump week thing, and then the prompt for the next day fit so well with a follow up chapter that this just turned into a whole story. I really enjoy subverting tropes and with witcher biology I see a lot of sensory overload kinds of fics, so I decided to play with the idea in reverse.

Even if it Hurts (Even if it Makes Me Bleed) (The Witcher)

So, most of the time when I settle into a fandom, there's one fic idea that I feel like I cannot leave without writing. For Witcher fandom, this was that fic. I have a lot of complicated thoughts about soulmates as a romantic concept, even more so when you're involving characters like Geralt, for whom fate is so often a double edged sword. This story was very much an excuse to dig into what soulmates mean for personal agency under the guise of a narrative. XD

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Admittedly, I do this with embarrassing inconsistency. Basically, what happens is: * Something gets a good response. * I respond to a few comments and then find myself overwhelmed (mentally, not as in there are a truly overwhelming number of comments). * I step away for a bit. * A month later I realize I still haven't replied. Cue paralyzing indecision about whether it's too late to reply. * Rinse and repeat.

I do want to! And I'm working on it. I've gotten a little better about it, but my apologies to anyone who I haven't responded to. Please know I'm not intentionally ignoring you. ;_;

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Oh hmm. I had a reputation for a really long time as primarily an angst writer, but pretty much all my stories have a happy ending for some given quantity of happy. I guess it kind of depends on how one qualifies that.

Noonwraiths and Other Woodland Forest Creatures maybe. It's got a got a pretty fluffy ending.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

It's a tossup.

I, The Paradox, which is my other time travel fic from my Stucky fandom days, with a paradox (shocking) that lands Steve with two versions of Bucky. For plot purposes even! It's not a particularly smutty story. It ends sort of ambiguously. There's a sequel outlined that was meant to resolve said ambiguity, but alas, it's still sitting in my WIP folder.

Truth in the Periphery. It's a psychological horror story I wrote for an event. I think it's the only fanfic I've ever written that was really intended as a hurt/no comfort kind of story.

Do you write crossovers?

I haven't, but not because I specifically don't. I've just never had an idea that felt compelling enough to follow through on.

have you ever received hate on a fic?

Maaaaybe once or twice a long, long, long time ago, back when FFN was still the best option for posting outside of LiveJournal. I don't think it was even about the writing. I think it was someone was mad that my much younger self tried to sneak smut onto FFN.

Do you write smut? if so, what kind?

I have such a love/hate relationship with smut in my own work. I used to write it a lot because I felt like I had to. It was until I came to terms with being more or less ace irl that it occurred to me why I didn't enjoy writing it. Weirdly, I like reading it just fine.

The thing is, while I don't really care for the physical aspect of it, I like the emotional touchpoints of it, so I do still write smut sometimes. It just tends to be a little cursory in terms of action details and heavy on character dynamics.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. But I used to RP a lot, and it's always been a lot of fun, so I wouldn't be opposed to the idea!

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh shoot. From a romantic standpoint that varies so much depending on what fandom I'm currently feeling enthusiastic about. It's pretty much always a specific character that draws me to a fandom, so I think the most consistent ship I have is favorite character/unconditional love and support. XD

What’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The sequel to I, The Paradox I mentioned earlier.

What are your writing strengths?

If there's one thing I feel like I have a consistently good handle on, it's emotional impact. I put a lot of thought into why people make the choices they do and how they relate to each other, and I would like to think I'm reasonably adept at leading readers to the emotional response I'm going for.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions. I'm just forever in awe of people who can just write settings/action naturally. It's a constant effort for me, and it's the thing I always feel like I fall short on. I can write navel gazing in my sleep, but an action scene? Pfftttt.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Very situational. Kind of like in movies and television. I don't have any kind of always x or y opinion on it though.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Inuyasha. It was back when I didn't have a computer of my own and would write at the library, so the only record of it was the site I used to draft and post to that is now defunct. No one is happier about this than I am. 😂

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

I think I'm genuinely pretty proud of everything I've written in the last couple of years, but if I had to pick right now, it'd be It Doesn't Break But it Bends. It's a time loop fic. Someone left "Recommended but you will sob." as their bookmark note for it and I think that might be my crowning achievement in fandom.

Tagging (if you want!): @mikkeneko @goodheavensgwen @writinglizards @plotdesigner And anyone else who wants to <3

#things I'm tagged in #my fic #about me

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abluescarfonwaston · 4 years

Note

Did someone ask for a quick and angsty immortal jaskier prompt? "It was supposed to be the music," he whispered, voice breaking. Heart breaking. "The songs. I wanted my songs to be remembered forever. I never wanted this."

Why would you do this to me anon. i’m already crying over the fact dandelion outlives everyone he loves. Major Character Death Warning. Obviously. Literally everyone dies. Uuuh also this kinda turns into Lambert/Jaskier at the end but like. They’re both Centuries old so nothing Happens.

When the wasting sickness swept through Lettenhove it killed his Mother and his Father and his Sisters and left him untouched.

He was ten and the world was over. Except he kept waking up in the morning.

At thirteen a girl at Oxenfurt, Essi Daven, played her Lute in the commons and sang and had the most beautiful cornflower blue eyes. And for the first time in years he sang a duet with her and suddenly he was a bard and he had a little sister again.

Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it finally restart.

At seventeen he met a man with white hair and seemly as many scars on his body as his heart and fell in love. Because Bards fell in love easily and he was impossibly easy to love.

The witcher plead for his life. Plead for them to let the bard go.

“No. Both of us or neither.” He was done outliving those he loved. At seventeen he was already done with that. “You kill him and let me go and i’ll destroy your mountain. Kill every last one of you in revenge.”

He’d leave behind a song. The one he’d written as a child and had swept the town more devastating than even the scarlet fever had been. It would live on past him. He would be remembered. The people he loved would be too. Toss a coin to your Witcher. The people he loved immortalized in song.

It wasn’t supposed to make him immortal.

“Give it a rest Jaskier.” Danity snapped. “It’s not you that has to be afraid of anything. No one ever touches a troubadour. For unfathomable reasons you’re inviolable.”

He’d still feared then. Chappelle could have had him killed. He was pretty sure he could die. Mostly he feared the pain. Or dying alone.

“When an old woman gets tired of life she walks into the woods without a weapon. The results are guaranteed.” He’d told Geralt when he’d moaned about how the world was changing and -more importantly- that he had no work.

Remember how I don’t even carry a knife when I follow you out on an adventure? No weapons at all. Ever. Just me and my lute.

He’d brushed death. A thousand times he’d almost met her. He followed Geralt- who was prophesied to always have death follow after him. You’d think at some point they’d meet.

Essi and Geralt fell in love on the coast. He wrote a ballad for them. About how their love was so powerful not even death could come between them.

He never played it. Not to anyone. He didn’t think it was actually about Essi and Geralt.

When rash appeared on Essi’s face in Vizima during the quarantine his hands shook.

“Not her.” He’d screamed at the gods. They didn’t exist of course. If they had then they’d abandoned them all long ago. “Not her.”

“Jaskier?” She shivered violently. “I don’t want to be burned.”

“You won’t be. You’re going to be fine.” He promised. Clutching her hand. “Promise Poppet. You’re going to be fine.”

The cremation fires blazed outside.

“I want to be buried in the woods. With my lute and-” She hurled mostly into the bucket. “My necklace. Please Jaskier.”

“Course Poppet. When you’re old and grey I will bury you out in the forest.”

“Thank you.” She clutched the little pearl. “For giving me him. I love him.”

“I never saw him happier than when he was with you Poppet.”

“What about when he was with you?”

“Oh come now.” He shifted her in his arms and moved the bucket a little further away. “You know me. I’m insufferable.”

“I love you Jaskier.” She cried as she shivered with less and less energy.

“I love you too Poppet.”

He carried her from the city. Into the forest. Her heart stopped beating before they arrived. He dug her grave and buried her with her lute and her pearl necklace.

With the pearl he’d given to her as a birthday gift. From him and Geralt.

When Regis passed it felt absurd. Humans weren’t supposed to outlive goddamn vampires in their fifth fucking century.

And then there was Geralt. Died in Yennefer’s arms along with her.

“It was supposed to be me.” He told no one as Ciri led their bodies out to the lake. “I was supposed to die with him.” Love so great not even death can part us.

But the story was never really about him was it?

Nenneke had a garden full of plants that grew under a crystal skylight. They didn’t grow anywhere else in the world anymore.

He’d asked Geralt about it. She’d said something about the sun and how it was changing. Apparently Geralt had asked why they all didn’t live under crystal skylights then, if it was so deadly.

“It’s already too late for us.” She’d said.

She talked liked the world was ending but the world ended all the time. And he still woke up in the morning.

Zoltan’s beard turned grey. He supposed he should have been thankful that Zoltan got to turn grey. It was better than most of the people he’d loved.

“How’s your fucking hair still Gold. You’re supposed to be getting old too!”

“I dye it.” He lied with a roll of the eyes. He’d stopped dying it years ago.

That winter he buried Zoltan too.

Golden eyes stared at him in confusion. “You look just like.” He started. His thin hair was grey. His wolf medallion gleamed in the sunlight that streaked into the bar.

“You’re one of the last Witchers i think.” He told him as the waves crashed outside. “Might even be the last.”

“Fucking hope so.” He sat down across from him and stole his beer. “Shitty job and a shitty life.” He squinted at him- which Jaskier knew was entirely unnecessary. He just forgotten to adjust his eyes. “What’s your name bard?”

“Dandelion.” He answered. It had been for the last century. “Yours?”

“Lambert.” He downed the drink. “You really think i’m the last? That worth a song? One of my brothers had a lot of songs.”

“Yes I suppose he did.” He waved for another drink. “And look what it got him.”

“Died surrounded by people who loved him.”

“Are you sure you know what a pogrom is?”

That got him a sharp toothy grin.

“I could write you a song but-” He was tired of burying people he loved.

“But?”

“I’m cursed you see.” It was definitely a curse these days. “I’ll live until the last of my songs is forgotten. I really don’t need anymore material.”

Lambert leaned forward curiously. “Doesn’t sound like a curse.”

“You don’t think it sounds like a curse?” He sneered. Lambert’s face faltered. “To outlive everyone you love?”

Lambert paused. Thinking. “Write me a song then. Play it just for me. So if my song’s the last we’ll go together.”

“And what’s my payment for this song?”

“Company.” Lambert’s grey eyes glittered. “You look like you need it.”

“Not as much as you. I bet you talk to your horse.”

“Well i know you do pretty boy. Heard you in the stable.”

He leaned back on the bench. “So what’s a Witcher do in a world without monsters?”

He shrugged. “Fish mostly.”

“I can do that. Once almost snagged a catfish the size of you. Got a djinn instead. Very bad deal honestly.”

“You expect me to believe that? I know about Bards and Ballads and how you’re all rotten liars.”

“Don’t forget about fisherman and their tales.”

The boat leaked worse than an old drunkard but it was small enough and the lake calm enough that it didn’t make him sick.

“I could just kill you. Curse probably can’t fix decapitation.” Lambert offered with his stick in the water. He claimed were bombs they could use instead if they got desperate. Or bored.

He smiled and shook his head. “Give it a try.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow but pulled a silver blade from it’s sheath.

His pole reeled and the boat tilted to the side, plunging him and the sword into the water.

He laughed as the attempted to drag the monstrous fish to the boat. Lambert cursed and climbed in. Yanking at the rod until the line snapped and they fell back into the boat in a painful pile. Laughing.

He didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed.

“Sing me a song bard.” Lambert would request from under his floppy sun brimmed hat. “No else up here but me.”

“There’s an entire stone keep on the hill.”

“No ones lived there in centuries. No one can hear you up here but me.”

He frowned at the ruins on the hill. Lambert kicked him.

He grinned and for the first time in decades - sang.

Maybe. Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it had finally restart.

“What was this place called?” He asked as they wandered through the crumbled ruin, covered in moss and ivy.

“Kaer Morhen.” He said like the words hurt him.

They hurt him too. He laughed.

He laughed some more.

He couldn’t stop laughing until Lambert smacked him hard enough to see stars.

“I never got to come here. Geralt.” He caught the flinch but moved past it. “Never trusted me enough to even let me know which country it was in.”

“So you were his bard.”

He nodded as Lambert kicked a stone apart. “He was right not to tell me of course. But.” It still hurt that his best friend hadn’t trusted him with his home. He’d taken Yennefer here. But not him. Never him.

He didn’t deserve Geralt’s trust. A thief, a liar, a spy, a bard. It still hurt.

“Well a wolf finally took you here. Is it everything you fucking dreamed?”

He took it in. “Nah. It’s rubbish.”

Lambert smirked. “Yeah. At least that hasn’t changed.”

“You’re hairs getting grey bard.”

“What?” He nearly leaped into the water in his haste to look.

Grey strands streaked his beard.

“Thank you.” He cried. “Thank you.”

“Still owe me that song Dandy.”

He wrote Lambert a lot of songs. Performed for an audience of one.

“Are you really okay with the fact no one will ever hear them? I mean what’s the point in being immortalized in song if-”

“Yeah. Didn’t give a shit about the songs.”

“Hey!” He protested. Kicking him where he lounged in front of the fire. “They’re good songs!”

He grunted in fake pain. Wiggled out of range. “Did Geralt ever tell you why he liked having you around?”

“My charming personality I assume.”

Lambert snorted.

He sat down on the floor and poke him. “Don’t fall asleep. Tell me why you think he did.”

“No one tells Witchers bedtime stories.”

“Oh.” Lambert was halfway to sleep already. “Would you like one?”

“Yeah.”

“What you think happens after?” They were huddled together. Old and grey as a storm raged outside. “We die.”

“I gave up on gods when i was a child.”

“So did i.”

“Then.” He paused. Listened to the howl. “Whatever’s next at least neither of us is going alone.”

Lambert squeezed his bony hand. “What’s the chance we see them again?”

“Hm.” He pretended to consider. “Well we’re definitely going to hell so-”

“Like anyone we gave a shit about wouldn’t be.”

“Point.”

He closed his golden eyes. “Hey Dandy.”

“Yeah?”

“Sing me out.”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

And quite singing filled the drafty cabin until the song stopped.

The world ended.

And at long last no one woke up in the morning.

#geraskier #Jaskier x Lambert #Immortal Jaskier #jaskier #Essi Daven #canon deaths #play me out Dandelion #Let's go together #also Anon I specifically Requested NO IMMORTAL JASKIER CAUSE IT NOW BREAKS MY HEART #damnit #hope this breaks your heart you bastard #thanks for the prompt #someone send me fluff #writing

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samstree · 3 years

Text

Hug a Witcher Day (3/4)

In which Jaskier goes missing in the spring. Can Geralt finally realize his feelings for the bard in the middle of a crisis?

(hurt/comfort, soft geraskier, 3k, rated T, cw: mentions of a canon-era plague, sick children, and a citywide lockdown.)

part 1, part 2, read on AO3

The third year since Jaskier invented Hug a Witcher Day, Geralt all but forgets about it completely.

He steps into the Two Weatherfish, where they agreed to meet, and realizes that the bard isn’t here. Or in the entire city of Ard Carraigh. No one has seen any trace of the famous bard who won’t quit singing praises for witchers.

Geralt pushes down the slight panic in his chest as he steps out of the last tavern in the city, and decides to just head for Oxenfurt.

It’s not like Jaskier has been the most reliable companion in the past, often distracted by dalliances or even anything shiny and new. One time he wandered off to watch a local celebration and Geralt found him hours later next to a lake, with thousands of lanterns floating above the water, illuminating the night sky like burning stars peppered on a dark canvas.

The soft, orange light spilled over Jaskier’s features, his eyes gleaming like the stars too.

Geralt snorts despite himself. There’s no doubt the bard is just delayed by someone who caught his eye and decided that a promise to a witcher isn’t all that important—the same witcher who he keeps claiming to be his best friend.

Geralt isn’t sure how to feel about that, or how to react when he finally sees Jaskier. Perhaps he will cease to talk about hunts for a while, leave the bard hanging, just so he can get a taste of the same frustration.

The pettiness remains in Geralt’s mind up until he steps into the academy and rampant fear licks up his chest.

Essi is the one who meets him at the gates, worry deep between her brows and rambling about how Jaskier never made it to the yule ball like he should. In her hands are two letters, clearly Jaskier’s handiwork judging from the neat curves and flourish, talking about his excitement to see his ‘Little Eye’ perform again, and how unfortunately his travel would be delayed due to an unexpected ailment.

Don’t you fret, poppet, for I am sure to beat this sickness within days. The promise of listening to your new ballad is already doing wonders for my health! It is a shame that my stay in Vizima is soured thus. The city, so beautifully rich in culture…

“Vizima,” Essi says frantically. “A plague broke out in the city last winter. Smallpox.”

A buzz begins to ring by Geralt’s ear, muffling out Essi’s voice and leaving only the thundering of his own heartbeat.

“They told me King Foltest sealed the gate to stop the spread, and…and no one has heard from anyone inside since then. Geralt, please, you are a witcher. Aren’t you immune to human sickness? That’s what Jaskier told me, isn’t that right?”

“I…yes.” The lump in Geralt’s throat stops any other words from getting out. His blood runs cold in the warm breeze of Oxenfurt’s spring.

“Please, Geralt, you must find him. I need to know. The university won’t allow me to go, but I…I must know. No matter what happened to him.”

The implication hangs in the air.

Tears well up in blues eyes too similar to Jaskier’s. Essi would be my sister in another life, Jaskier once commented adoringly and it’s only standing right here that Geralt can truly see the identical fierceness in her eyes.

As if Geralt needs her to ask. As if he isn’t willing to charge into the land of the dead if it means Jaskier gets out of it unscathed.

“Of course, Essi,” he promises solemnly. Her clutch on his forearm is so tight that any other man would be bruised by the force. “I promise.”

“Keep him safe, if it’s not too late.”

In his near-century long life, Geralt has rarely felt cold, unrelenting fear as he does when Essi breaks into sobs.

The sickness in Vizima casts a gloomy cloud over the sky, choking Geralt’s breaths. The streets are eerily empty. Only a few people will pass through in a frenzy every now and then.

Geralt’s legs take him right through the main streets, to the far corner of the city, where countless makeshift tents are set up and stretching towards the edge of the woods. If anyone has indeed fallen to the disease, that’s the most likely place they will be sent to. If anyone passes, that’s also where they keep the records so friends and families can look for their names.

Bile rises in his throat at the idea of looking through stacks of books for Jaskier’s name.

Geralt walks between hundreds of beds of one tent after another. Some healers throw him an odd look but carry on with their work, the flash of their white scrubs weaving through the busy establishment.

Against all odds, a pang of relief hits Geralt when he notices how the patients are well-treated by healers who seem to know what they are doing. The fever is brought down with a soaked cloth and a minty salve is applied for the irritation on the skin.

He searches and searches, until the sun is almost down, when—

A soft tune is carried over by the gentle breeze of spring.

And there Jaskier is, kneeling next to a little boy on a bed and humming a lullaby that Geralt only remembers vaguely. The bard is wearing the same white scrub like every carer at this camp, his brown hair slightly ruffled, and dark circles are hanging under his eyes. Geralt can see how tired he is by the hunch of his shoulders and the barely-there quiver in his singing, by his unkept stubble and the smile that’s dangerously close to falling.

And yet, he makes the most beautiful sight in the world.

Geralt stands there, drinking in the presence of his bard. The languid heartbeat of a witcher picks up, fluttering and almost bursting out of his chest.

Jaskier runs his fingers through the boy’s hair when the lullaby comes to an end. He tucks in the blanket and slowly pulls himself up, his knees creaking from the strain.

Blue eyes meet Geralt and Jaskier’s shock morphs into unbridled, blazing joy. Within the blink of an eye, the bard is standing right in front of Geralt.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes oh so carefully like he’s scared of waking from a dream. “What are you doing here? Wait, you don’t have any protec—oh right! Witcher biology. Can’t catch anything from us.” The bard lets out a sigh and his shoulders drop in relief. “How did you get through the gate? Punched another guard, didn’t—”

“You are okay,” Geralt says, dumbly.

“I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Jaskier frowns. “Geralt, why did you come to Vizima in the middle of a plague? Not that I’m complaining about seeing you, but how exactly did you find me?”

Geralt doesn’t want to look away from Jaskier’s face—ideally for a long time to come, but he needs to rummage through his pack for the crumpled letters.

“You sent these to Essi last winter.”

Jaskier takes the letters, flattens the frayed edges before reading his own words.

“Yes, I did tell her…” Cold horror takes Jaskier aback. “Shit. She must think—Oh, Geralt, that wasn’t it! I only caught a stomach bug. It was never the pox! But then…they locked the city gate so fast and everything was in chaos for weeks. I couldn’t get more letters out. Oh, I wish I could take it back! I didn’t think—”

“You damn well didn’t.”

The words come out a lot harsher than Geralt intended, and Jaskier flinches back. Geralt pinches at the bridge of his nose, feeling contrite at his untimely outburst.

“No, Jask—I’m not…” he heaves out a sigh. “She didn’t even know if you were alive for months.”

Neither did I.

“I’m so sorry.” Jaskier is close to tears. “She must be worried sick.”

“She is.”

I was.

“And you too, Geralt. Please forgive me.” Jaskier’s chin wobbles, his arms hovering between the two of them as if he wants to put them around Geralt. “I want to ask you not to be cross with me again, but that seems to be all I do.”

“Jaskier…”

Geralt calls out when he finds not even an ounce of anger in his heart, not when he just spent weeks fearing the worst, not when Jaskier is standing right in front of him, safe and hale, his eyes flowing with guilt.

Jaskier might just be the death of him.

“Fuck. Just don’t pull this again.” Geralt softens his tone, knowing how unfair the request is when such things are out of Jaskier’s control, but the bard replies in earnest.

“I won’t. I swear.”

Exhaustion washes over the bard once again, making him look a lot older than he is. From the looks of it, Jaskier has been working in these camps for months and the last thing he needs is an unsupportive friend.

And Geralt doesn’t intend to become one.

“And you are dressed like this because?” Geralt nudges Jaskier in the shoulder to ease the apprehension on his face.

“Funny you should ask.” The bard presses his lips into a thin line before continuing. “I may have lied—nay, implied—that the seven degrees I acquired at Oxenfurt included…medicine. Hold on! Before you judge, I do know how to care for pox patients. I caught it as a child too and that’s why I’ve been fine this whole time.”

“Hmm. But you don’t have the—”

“The scars. No thanks to my grandmother’s secret healing salve that she insisted on keeping secret. It worked like a charm back then, almost like magic. We’ve been trying to replicate from whatever I remember. The mint is helping a little but something is still missing. Oh, well.” The bard rubs his fingers at the hem of his scrub. “Perhaps that explains all these crazy rumors about her heritage, with all her herbs and teas that always miraculously cured everybody. Honestly, I don’t even blame them.”

Geralt muses the possibility of Jaskier’s grandmother not being completely human and makes a silent decision to unpack it later.

“Then I guess your personal experience should come in handy if we are going to stay here for a while.”

“We? You are staying?”

“The exits are still closed.” Geralt tilts his head in nonchalance. “Might as well lend them a hand.”

And never take his eyes off of Jaskier again.

“That’s…wonderful, in a terrible, terrible way. Being trapped in the same place during a plague. Gods, that sounds like something out of the cheesiest romance novel.” Jaskier gasps as soon as the words are out. The smile on his face blossoms into a heated blush.

“Just promise me one thing, Jask.”

“What?” The cornflower blue eyes uncharacteristically avoid Geralt in a vain attempt to hide how flustered he is.

Don’t scare me like this again.

Don’t get taken from me.

Don’t leave me.

“Read less romance novels. Once this blows over,” Geralt answers, finally.

The fluttering in his chest returns, although this time for a completely different reason. The reason not being how adorable Jaskier looks embarrassed and rosy-cheeked.

No. Definitely not.

“Little Simon asleep?”

Geralt asks as he stokes the fire, watching Jaskier struggle out of the sweat-soaked scrub and throw it into the laundry pile. The bard sits down next to him on the log with a groan and leans into his arm.

“As flattered as I am that he can’t fall asleep without my songs, it does get a bit taxing to sing every night while kneeling on the floor.”

“The kid is sick. Can’t blame him for having bad taste in music.”

The jab would have landed better if he isn’t wrapping his arm around Jaskier so that he can rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder. The days are too long even with most of the patients released home, and it’s been taking a toll on Jaskier.

“Cruel to me when I’m down, huh?”

Under Geralt’s palm, it’s unmistakable that Jaskier’s arm isn’t as thick as it once was, and he really doesn’t want to think about how the sharp of Jaskier’s jaw is becoming more prominent by the day.

Geralt rubs gently up and down Jaskier’s bicep to draw a contented purr out of him.

“Hmm. Now you’re forgiven.” Jaskier nuzzles into the crook of Geralt’s neck so his muscles loosen under the ministration. “It’s so unfair that a shift never wears you out like the rest of us, my dear. So unfair that you don’t need as much food too. I’d kill for some witcher superpowers these days.”

“Trust me, you won’t like what they cost.”

The late summer heat, mixed with the smell of sweat in Jaskier’s hair, should make it extremely uncomfortable to be sitting so close, but Geralt only finds it calming to have Jaskier sagging against him.

Jaskier’s thinning shoulder is too worrisome. Geralt will have to leave him most of the dinner rations again. Excuses are so easy to find, once Geralt realized that Jaskier never questions what he’s told about witcher biology, trusting every word from Geralt’s mouth. It’s just a little lie, a little exaggeration.

The bard is rubbing off on him.

“Simon is among the last ones here,” Jaskier says tiredly into Geralt’s neck. “It will soon be over. They are saying everyone can go in a month or so.”

“We can go even now.”

The prospect of traveling again stirs up something hopeful under Geralt’s skin, prickling with excitement, but he knows more patience is required for now.

“Nah, I should at least see little Simon home. You were right that the boy has suffered enough. The fever is terrible. Even I still have nightmares about it after so many years. It’s excruciating, almost like death is trying to mock you. One moment a fire burns through your whole body, the next it swallows you whole into this…nothingness, cold and alone.”

Geralt tightens his hold and breathes in the melancholic scent emanating from Jaskier’s skin.

“It was my grandmother, again. She sang the same lullaby to me every night, kept me sane. It’s helping little Simon too.”

“It’s in elvish,” Geralt murmurs absently when Jaskier is close to drifting off. The bard’s leveled breathing fans over the collar of Geralt’s neck.

“…hmm?”

“Nothing. Maybe for later.”

Geralt’s fingers reach the side of Jaskier’s head and thread between the soft brown locks, keeping his drooping head in place for the nap. When he looks down to where Jaskier casually drapes over half of his body, the two of them almost melding into one, Geralt is suddenly hit with how much their relationship has changed over the past few years, and at the same time, how it feels completely natural like puzzles fitting into place.

This newfound intimacy should scare Geralt, but strangely, it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because the witcher has learned long ago to treasure his bard as a companion and friend, to protect him and care for him, even without ever admitting it out loud.

Maybe he should.

And what would he even say? Geralt is equally elated and stumped at the thought of the two of them growing into something more. If the fluttering in his chest is a result of loving Jaskier, the bard deserves to know, and he deserves the best words.

Geralt scoffs softly when he realizes that he’d kill for something completely opposite. Not the strength of a witcher, but the silver tongue of a bard, the ability to weave the most beautiful prose to describe what Jaskier means to him.

The summer cicadas are singing with renewed vigor, the sizzling sound disrupting his train of thought. For now, Geralt will need to content himself in simply being with Jaskier.

And, perhaps, in pressing a tiny kiss into his soft brown hair as well. Under the night sky, only the stars will know.

I didn't know plague doctor Jaskier could be a thing until I started writing this chapter, and the ending just had to make way for it. Sorry that the chapter count has gone up. I promise hugs are cuddles are on the way! <3

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #soft geralt #hug a witcher day #soft jaskier #cw: plague #guess this should be a warning #protective geralt #essi daven #jaskier sings to children

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