#except the boy in this situation is geralt

[hanzajesthanza]

dressed elegantly. this will never leave my head. the implications of this.

because geralt and his company, they saddled up, left beauclair, travelled through mountains and frozen blizzards and downpours and muddy sod for two to three months. you need to pack outfits for that. you need to plan your gear.

what was the rest of the company wearing? what did they pack for this long journey? they packed practically, dressed warmly for the frozen journey of january, february, march. geralt wore a wolf-skin cloak, a scarf, a shawl… milva wore a fox-fur kalpak, angoulême wore a hat with a pompom and a sheepskin coat. cahir’s dress isn’t mentioned, but he must have been dressed similarly, because he rubs his hands briskly together and were he not dressed warmly he otherwise would have frozen to death. regis’ dress isn’t mentioned, but it is mentioned that he’s immune to the freezing temperature. so, i mean, it doesn’t matter what he’s wearing in this scene, maybe a regular outfit.

but at stygga. dressed elegantly.

so you’re telling me that. regis packed his things in preparation for their flight from beauclair, went to his quarters after geralt explained to him the satisfactory reasons they were leaving, and went,

“alright, time to prepare for this long and dangerous journey that will conclude in a great clash between our forces and the kidnappers of ciri. the end of our quest. the final journey. and a dangerous road awaits us, with snow still blocking the passes, frost and white all around. a grand fight and conflict awaits us. what gear should i prepare, what should i wear for this expedition, what kinds of clothing should i pack.”

and then he went:

“you know, i want to look fucking good ✨ when we get there 💅🏻🦇”

imagine the final preparation before they approach castle stygga. geralt sees the castle hewn out of the cliffside, effortlessly noticing every detail from far away, seeing like an eagle with his mutated eyes. and like an eagle, compelled to swoop down and snatch vilgefortz like a fish. ordering the company forward, declaring they’ve made it. this is the moment they have all been waiting for. everyone has been waiting such a long time for this. they prepared everything.

they wait until midnight. angoulême eagerly unsheathes and whets her long sabre, swings her axe around with predatory glee. cahir fits the plate armor and winged officer’s helmet he scavenged from a small nilfgaardian dispatch that they ran into extorting caravista for tax. milva tightens the same worn, polished leather bracer that she’s always had on her left arm, and mutters as she fixes her spiralled arrow fletchings over boiling water. geralt, with nothing left to do, paces and breathes, wondering where the hell regis has gone.

just then, regis walks out from behind an outcropping of rock, eyes glinting with cat-like light, in his “elegant” outfit, absolutely slaying that shit, and all his friends look at him absently like. “what the hell are you wearing. where the fuck did you get that. you packed that? you planned your outfit for the final battle, you planned this outfit in advance three months ago?” to which he counters, “well, three months isn’t very long at all,” and they’re like, “this is the preparation you made? we thought you left to do some secret vampire rituals or whatever. or to reckon with yourself for the severe violence we’re about to inflict.” and he’s like “no, i just wanted to make sure i was dressed nicely for the occasion”

#witcher 3 keira metz’s ‘if i’m to die i should look smashing for the occassion’ should really go to book regis i think that’s canon for him #also my headcanon would be that he looses his hair and takes his glasses off #kind of like in a movie where a nerd girl has a glow up and walks down the staircase at the end with her glasses off and hair down #and the boy she’s dating is at the bottom of the stairs like ‘wow… i didn’t know …’ #except the boy in this situation is geralt #however it’s less of a cute thing of ‘haha where’d the cute nerdy girl go’ and more of like. um. where is the kind barber surgeon i know #because if you exist quietly and sense the night around you and pay close attention to the moonlight #there are some kind of powerful unknown dark energies brewing and swirling around their group now like fog #he laughs and smiles and he does not purse his lips. and his hair is becoming tangled in the wind #and geralt’s like. who the fuck did i bring to stygga castle. lmao #angouleme: yesss slay uncle | regis: [nods head solemnly] we certainly are | angouleme: noooo like SLAYYYY 🔥🔥🔥 #bruh your drip is straight fire 🔥💯 #the witcher books #txt #emiel regis #regis #book: lady of the lake #headcanons

[windflowerofskellige]

Ostrit & Foltest: An Analysis on Love

I reread The Witcher Short Story recently and I was thinking about the state of love in the short story and how that affects the relationships in the short story. It will focus on Ostrit, Foltest, and Adda. First we need to establish ages. Sapkowski establishes that Foltest is between 30-35 with his description from Geralt.

Foltest was slim and had a pretty—too pretty—face. He was under forty, the witcher thought. 

In the same paragraph he also establishes the characters we will come to know are Segelin and Ostrit.

Next to him on a chest sat an older, powerfully built man with a beard. Behind the king stood another man, richly dressed and with a proud look on his face. A magnate.

It is interesting to note that Ostrit is not described as young. If he were noticeably younger than Segelin he would've mentioned it like he did Foltest for this would've been out of expectation. More likely he would've been compared in youth to Foltest. Neither is established.

Now we see in Ostrit's discussions of Adda that he has a sense of ownership over her stemming from his relationship with her and "love" for her. I think this is a relationship he had with Foltest and Adda, and that his feelings for Foltest turned to the hatred we see because he did not "behave" and threatened the ownership he had over both of them with his antics as a teenager and the affair with Adda.

“Careful, Velerad,” snarled Ostrit. “Say what you want about the striga but do not insult Adda in front of me, as you would not dare in the king's presence!”

Adda is established to be younger than Foltest through Velerad the Castellan, though he frames this in a very specific light due to his dislike of the King. We have to remember that Ostrit establishes blatantly they want to dethrone Foltest.

“During the reign of old Medell, his father, when our gracious king was still a prince, Foltest showed us what he was capable of, and he was capable of a great deal. We hoped he would grow out of it. But shortly after his coronation Foltest surpassed himself, jaw-droppingly: he got his own sister with child. Adda was younger and they were always together, but nobody suspected anything except, perhaps, the queen…To get to the point: suddenly there is Adda with a huge belly, and Foltest talking about getting wed to his sister. The situation was made even more tense because Vizimir of Novigrad wanted his daughter, Dalka, to marry Foltest and had already sent out his envoys. We had to restrain Foltest from insulting them, and lucky we did, or Vizimir would have torn our insides out. Then, not without Adda's help—for she influenced her brother—we managed to dissuade the boy from a quick wedding...

No one suspected anything, except maybe their mother. Just like no one would suspect Ostrit having an inappropriate relationship with the Prince and Princess. The way he describes Foltest's antics sounds like survivors of abuse who act out for attention.

We see that when Ostrit almost explicitly confirms as much when he talks about his "love" for Adda.

“I loved Adda. The king's sister. The king's mistress. The king's trollop. I loved her—Witcher, are you there?” “I am.” “I know what you're thinking. But it wasn't like that. Believe me, I didn't cast any spells. I don't know anything about magic. Only once in anger did I say…Only once. Witcher? Are you listening?” “I am.” “It's his mother, the old queen. It must be her. She couldn't watch him and Adda—It wasn't me. I only once, you know, tried to persuade them but Adda—Witcher! I was besotted, and said…Witcher? Was it me? Me?”

If Ostrit were a suitable suitor for Adda why would he feel the need to defend himself with "I know what you're thinking. But it wasn't like that." He would have no reason to think Geralt would take such a leap if he were not inappropriately older than her.

Foltest's love for Adda while inappropriate for their relationship as siblings is very much a genuine type of love. And I suspect the reason he wanted such a quick wedding is because he could then as King, with Adda as Queen, get rid of Ostrit. It is both love and a measure to protect her, not about ownership like Ostrit clearly demonstrates.

There is another factor in which we must talk. Foltest's lack of acknowledgement of Ostrit. Both while he was alive and after death.

“I have known that for a long time. How, witcher? Oh, of course, I forgot. Your code of practice. All right. I will make one small comment. Several witchers have been here already. Velerad, you have told him? Good. So I know that your speciality is to kill, rather than to reverse spells. This isn't an option. If one hair falls from my daughter's head, your head will be on the block. That is all. Ostrit, Lord Segelen, stay and give him all the information he requires. Witchers always ask a lot of questions. Feed him and let him stay in the palace. He is not to drift from tavern to tavern.”

This is the only time Foltest acknowledges Ostrit. After which Velerad only mentions to Geralt Foltest's words.

“Yes, yes. Of course, what is most important is your witcher's silver sword. It's here, don't worry. Both the sword and your little trunk. And the three thousand orens. Yes, yes, don't utter a word. It is I who am an old fool and you the wise witcher. Foltest has been repeating it over and over for the last two days.”

For the position Ostrit is in, that of a magnate likely meaning he is a Count, maybe Marquis, there should be some commentary on Geralt using Ostrit as bait for the Striga, and yet there isn't. He cannot escape him, he does not have anything to execute him for anymore, and he is still a powerful member of the council and an advisor, yet he hates Foltest so passionately that he wishes him to die in agony, go mad, and rot alive.

“It's true that I wanted to overthrow Foltest. I’m not the only one. But I am the only one who wanted him dead. I wanted him to die in agony, to go mad, to rot alive. Do you know why?”

He knows Geralt would not be sympathetic if he knew their relationship, which Geralt likely suspects. So instead he makes it how he "wronged" him. A sense of ownership gone wrong.

Foltest's go to coping mechanisms seem to be an air of airheadedness and jokes. We'll see this more in the series but in this story it is already established.

“What made your hair so gray? Magic? I can see that you are not old. That was a joke. Say nothing. You've had a fair amount of experience, I dare presume?” “Yes, your Majesty.”

Foltest would not let this publicly affect him, he's the King after all! But you can see the cracks in it when Foltest shows up disguised as a soldier to have an earnest conversation with Geralt. Foltest cannot trust the men in his company, he cannot even trust the Witcher, and he's far too old to be saved now. But he wants to save his daughter, for himself, for Adda, for her. Because she is suffering, and he knows what that's like.

#meda rambles #foltest of temeria #foltest #king foltest #adda the white #adda of temeria #ostrit #witcher meta #the witcher books #meda writes

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Check

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Pairing: barista!Mike (Hellraiser) x reader (you)

Summary: Mike's friends show up to invite you to a party - they have horrible timing.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Fluff. More fluff. Then some more fluff. Shenanigans. Cats. Mention of animal abuse. Mention of a strange situation involving someone's bro kissing his bro's mom. Yep.

A/N: Hello, and a very warm welcome to the next installment of the Cockblocking Chronicles! In this episode we have... no sex! Unsurprisingly. Also we have some... cockblocking. And a lovely little guest appearance of some of our favorites - and maybe some less favorites - and THE TURTLES!

If you like this fic, please let me know 🥰 and reblog so that others may see it too! <3

@deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss @geralts-yenn @ylva-syverson

“Hey, Mikey! Is this the new girl?” You shriek at the sound of the unfamiliar voice and scramble to get under the covers without flashing whoever is behind you.

“I hope so, otherwise he’s got some explaining to do! Hey, when were you going to introduce us?” someone else says.

“We’ll let you two get dressed. Boys, coffee?” The three guys laugh and leave the room.

“Sy, Will and Evan. In that order. Not that it matters now, because I’m going to kill them...” Mike snarls through gritted teeth. He lets his head hang on your shoulder, relaxing a little now that he knows his friends are really gone.

“We can’t catch a break, can we?” Your voice finally – after all those weeks – betrays you, and Mike’s grin lets you know that he heard. So now he knows; you want him just as bad as he wants you.

“Apparently not...”

“You’re all dead to me,” Mike says as he walks into the kitchen, dragging you along behind him.

“Does he sound frustrated to you?” Will asks the others, who laugh. “He sounds frustrated to me…”

“I am frustrated, for fuck’s sake! I’ve been trying to nail her for weeks!” The kitchen goes quiet, and the guys just stare at Mike – except for Sy, who actually facepalms. “Probably shouldn’t have phrased it that way...”

“Ya think?!” you say as you smack Mike in the back of the head as hard as you can. But even you have to admit... “He’s not exactly wrong, though.”

The guys look at you as if you just told them the earth is flat – even Mike.

“Listen, this guy has been striking out since the very first date,” you continue, laughing when you see Mike’s face morph into a pout. “First it was cats, a week later parents, then he got grounded for three weeks, then it was a cop, now you guys… Cut him some slack.”

“Cop?” Evan asks, unable to hide his laughter.

“Yep. Got busted fooling around in the Camry,” Mike sighs. It’s no use lying, these guys know him well enough by now.

“Don’t you fuckin’ da-argh!” Sy interrupts your conversation with his exclamation of terror. When you look around, you see him sitting at the kitchen table, with Big Sy in his lap, who is purring contently.

“That’s hardly the massacre I was promised, Mike,” you joke as you watch the rather peaceful scene in front of you. The boys laugh at your words.

“Well, I ain’t gonna volunteer to show ya,” Sy says. The drawl in his voice is subtle but present. He’s not from around here, though you couldn’t put your finger on what part of the south he’d be from, exactly. “Someone hand me my coffee.”

You watch as Evan hands him the cup sort of carefully, never taking his eyes off Big Sy, who gives him a death glare from Real Sy’s lap.

“Mikey’s is the meanest,” Will clarifies without you ever asking. “He will swipe at just about anyone – except Mike – when he gets the idea we’re even so much as thinking about touching him. He’s completely okay with it when Sy’s not here, though.”

“Ours will let us take them off his lap, at least,” Evan adds as he bends down to pick up Nova. “Hello little attention seeker.”

“Forgive my frustration,” Mike chuckles, “but what are you fuckers even doing here?”

“Michael, language!” you hear right before the front door closes. Not long after, his mom walks into the kitchen holding heavy-looking bags of groceries.

“Ma’am, let me help you with… Motherf-!” Sy’s attempt to get up to help Mikey’s mom doesn’t go over well with Big Sy, who apparently digs all of his pointy little nails into Sy’s thighs before finally jumping off his lap.

“That’s what you get for still calling me ‘ma’am’ after all this time, Sy,” Mike’s mom laughs. “Are you okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” Sy answers with a grin as he takes one of the bags from her. The boys seem to feel perfectly at home here, because when they help Mike and his mom put the groceries away, they don’t even have to ask where things go – you, on the other hand, are standing around, feeling particularly useless.

“Sweetcheeks,” Mike suddenly says – much to the amusement of his friends, “can you grab Nova?” The furry projectile is trying to make her way into the fridge, which anyone would know to be a terrible place for a cat, only she doesn’t seem convinced of that at all.

“Come here, single brain cell, I’ll give you all the cuddles you so crave,” you coo as you pull her off the shelf she’s managed to crawl onto.

“Even if you didn’t have to work, eat, sleep, pee or breathe for a single second of your life, that would still be impossible,” Will says as he gently nudges Nyx out of the way with his foot. Soon, all the cats come running to the kitchen, gathering around Evan’s feet – even the ones that were nowhere near the kitchen to begin with.

“Let me guess,” you say as you watch Nyx and Larry trying to get into the cupboard Evan just opened, “that’s where their food comes from?”

One look into the cabinet proves you’re right, but Mike confirms it nonetheless: “Part of it. Just the canned food, wet food, dried fish, some kibble. The rest is either in the fridge or the freezer. I swear these cats eat better than I do – Tiger what the fuck?” He looks down at the cat that’s currently climbing his jeans.

“Mike!” The guys – and you – laugh when his mom smacks him in the back of his head. “Language!”

“Why are you always getting me in trouble? You’re not even mine!” he says as he grabs Tiger, who immediately jumps out of his arms.

“Wait, some of them are yours?” you ask, still cuddling Nova.

“Yeah,” Mike answers with a nod to Nova, “that one, Big Sy and Nyx are mine. The dorm allowed pets, but I didn’t take them with me. It was way too small. I was here every other day to check on them, though. Drove my mom nuts.”

“And now he lives here again,” she sighs as she makes herself a cup of coffee. “Let me interrupt this lovely conversation by asking you three–“ She gestures at Will, Evan and Sy “- why you are in my kitchen.”

“We stopped by to ask if Mike was joining us tonight at the lake, we’re staying in Will’s dad’s house – your girl is invited, by the way – and these two wanted to see how the kittens were doing,” Sy answers, nodding to Will and Evan at the kitten part.

“And you don’t want to know how the turtles are doing?” Mike’s mom replies in a way that’s somehow suggestive of something you can’t put your finger on.

“I came here to help you with the groceries,” Sy answers with a wink. From the corner of your eye, you see Mike gritting his teeth.

“Turtles are upstairs, if you three would come with me,” he says, ignoring you completely for a moment. “Oh, shit. Eh. I meant four, sorry Sweetcheeks.” Always nice to know where you stand.

As soon as Mike closes the door to his bedroom, he’s at Sy’s throat. “You need to stop flirting with my mom, because one of these days I’m gonna fucking punch your lights out, okay?”

“Alright, ease up, Mike,” Sy says, grabbing Mike’s arm and twisting it, forcing him to turn away. He’s on the ground in no time. “First off, I would love to see you try. Second; you know we only do it because it riles you the fuck up, right?”

“Let me go, you dick,” Mike grunts, turning back around as soon as Sy takes his hands off him. “Promise me you told me everything.”

“I swear to god, nothing more happened than what we told you.” The promise sounds oddly solemn for… yeah, for what? You look at Will and Evan, who both shake their heads, then at Sy and Mike, who look at each other.

“He kissed my mom once,” Mike says with the single most disingenuous grin you’ve ever seen.  

“She kissed me,” Sy corrects him, with a hint of smugness on his face that Mike – luckily, probably – doesn’t notice. Inside your brain, it’s chaos. You’d absolutely pay to hear the whole story behind this, because how can it be anything but good. Do you blame Sy? Maybe not? He’s young and stupid, and Mike’s mom is a pretty attractive woman. But still… Kissing your friend’s mom?

The boys don’t seem prepared to tell you more about it now – Mike goes so far as telling you that he might tell you some other time, which also suggests he might never tell you at all, even after you insist you can’t drop a bomb like this on someone and then not tell them the whole story. Unfortunately, Mike – the fucking bastard – uses a distraction technique on you that’s absolutely foolproof: letting the turtles out of their pen.

Four weeks ago, the babies were unruly balls of floof, slowly waddling around on shaky little legs. Now, they’re fast. And absolutely no quieter than they were before, especially once the scratches on the outside of the bedroom door start.

You’d noticed it before; that door was in desperate need of replacement. Now, you understand why said door isn’t going to be replaced until the cats have actually scratched a hole all the way through it: because it would be pointless.

“It’s the second door,” Evan says as he sees you looking. At the same time, Mike pulls the door open and Big Sy, Nyx, Nova and Momo stroll in. Sy immediately finds Sy and begins walking in impatient circles around his ankles.

“They really want you to sit down so they can terrorize you, don’t they?” you ask him.

“Yep,” he says, “except when Mikey was still with his ex. He wouldn’t show up in any room where she was, so I was safe most of the time.” You don’t know why, but you shiver the moment Sy mentions Mike’s ex. Of course you knew you were hardly his first girlfriend, but you don’t like the reminder that there was someone before you. That said, the fact that one of his cats completely avoided her didn’t seem like a good sign.

Mike’s mom interrupts again, carrying a large plate of snacks into the room. “Please, stop talking about her, she was awful.”

You don’t even get the chance to ask if it was really that bad, because Mike looks at you with some form of guilt in his eyes. “Remember the – and I quote – horrible troll from the movies?” He sighs when you nod. “That was her. I was too blind to see it. And by that I mean – and I hate to have to admit it – she has massive tits and they made me fucking stupid. Never understood why Big Sy hated her that much. He’s not cuddly per se, but he’s alright around people. Well, a few months into dating her, I caught her when she kicked him off my bed. And I mean kicked.”

Without thinking – and with a look of sheer terror on your face – you reach out a hand to Big Sy, who’s contently purring in Sy’s lap. For a while, the red giant rubs his head against your hand, before getting up and walking over to you, lying down in your lap, begging for more attention. “Oh, God, sweet thing, who could ever kick you?” you say as you pet his head, and he even lets you give him belly rubs. It takes you a minute to realize the room has gone suspiciously quiet.

Mike – currently trying to keep three of the turtles from crawling on his head, while little Mikey has taken residence in the front pocket of his hoodie – looks at you completely stumped, as does (human) Sy. “He doesn’t do that,” Mike says as he points at the sprawled-out heap of red fur in your lap. “Ever.”

“I think this one passes the test, boys,” Sy laughs, finally breaking the strange tension in the room.

“With flying colors,” Mike says with a massive grin on his face.

#mike hellraiser #mike hellraiser fic #mike (hellraiser) #hellraiser mike #mike (hellraiser) x reader #hellraiser mike x reader #mikey x reader #henrycavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters

[sillyrabbit81]

Oooh, Rabbit. I know things have been hectic for you lately, and you know, I'm sending you all my best thoughts for some easier times.

In the meanwhile, I was wondering about the Brothers, as one does.

Like, do any of them play an instrument? Which (if any) one would be more apt to join me Lori during a yoga practice? Does somebody wish there was a pet around? Dogs might be hard with the constant out-of-town jobs, but a cat maybe?

IDK, you know. Just thinking...

Hi Charlie,

I have to go out for dinner and drinks with some high school friends in about 30 minutes and my anxiety is through the roof, so I'm going to take a minute to chill out and think about the boys. Forgive me if this appears rushed because it is.

Who can play a musical instrument?

August and Mike (ish)

August because I have a head canon for this incarnation as someone who grew up fairly wealthy. He went to private schools and became a bit radicalised during his undergraduate days at a very prestigious university. As a child he was forced to take classical piano lessons, and double bass, which ended up being his favoured instrument. He also has quite a good singing voice.

Mike spent one summer learning to play electric guitar, purely to spend time with the hot older women (she was 19 and he was 17) he saw putting guitar tuition ads up on telephone poles around his town. He learned 4 chords and that the tutor had a live in boyfriend. He still has the guitar around somewhere...

Who would join Lori during yoga practice?

Sy.

You might be surprised by this, but Sy started practicing yoga while still in Special Forces. At first he was dismissive, but after having some free time between deployments, he joined a couple of his buddies and it was a revelation. He found that practising yoga in conjunction with his weight lifting actually increased his strength and mobility, not to mention how the mind-body connection helped him assess situations in the field better and helped his cool his temper. Lori may actually find, that she could learn a thing or two from Sy.

Does someone wish there was a pet around?

Sy and Geralt and Walter.

Sy misses Aika obviously. He comes from a family of dog owners and has always had one around, if not his own, then he'd make friends with a neighbour with a dog and take them for runs and hikes. BTW I originally had Aika in this story but I cut her out because she wasn't really going to be adding much to the story.

Geralt almost had a pet in the story too. I was going to have him with a pet cat called Roach, but I decided against it. Again, I didn't think it would add anything to the story except as a little joke and then what was I going to do with it.

Walter is the kind of person who I think should have a pet. He's a little broken and I feel like a pet would be good for him, ground him and force him to keep a healthy routine/work-life balance. I'd start him off with a gold fish though, but for some reason I think he'd like either a snake or a lizard.

Thanks for the ask!

❤️ Rabbit

#deandoesthingstome #ask sillyrabbit81 #tfwb

[fangirleaconmigo]

Just wanted to say thank you for your reply and I loved your thoughts netflix Vesemir <3

Though I feel that the major difference between netflix Vesemir and book/game Vesemir is that the latter never had the opportunity to carry out the Trial of the Grasses after the pogrom happened and then Yennefer basically bringing the ability back in Witcher 3. But remember he kept the table that the boy was strapped to during the Trial and all the other implements for all those decades.

We never really learn why he did so but it's hard to imagine anything other than him hoping on some level to get the ability to make new witchers at some point. Which would mean recreating the Trial of the Grasses, which was not just torturous but to the vast majority of boys a death sentence. And this is without touching on everything else he put the boys of the old generation of witchers through, like the Trial of the Medallion.

Not saying people aren't allowed to love him - ffs I love Raistlin Majere and Lord Soth anyone who knows those characters know they're soooo much worse than Vesemir - I guess it just makes me a bit miffed that fandom is so willing to ignore the brutal and frankly abusive side of Vesemir's character because we never see it that clearly on display in the books or in the games so it gets buried in the kindly grandpa image we get in Witcher 3 and then his fate in that game.

It's one of the things I like about s2 though I wish they had dived more into the reaction the other witchers would have to that whole thing. Or you know, at all. Even the game gives more of a reaction to Vesemir having kept Sad Albert than netflix does to what Vesemir does there.

Oh my god yes. Let's talk about Vesemir.

But first...Raistlin Majere...*strokes beard* I haven't heard that name in a long time. (Dragonlance hive rise uuuup)

Ok but yes. On track again. Vesemir. (sorry this gets very long and passionate and ranty)

So first, I shouldn't have mentioned game Vesemir. I should be up front that I don't know anything about him except that I assume he didn't try to dose Ciri. So, unfortunately, I can't speak to that. And it probably explains how I feel about him. I only have book!Vesemir to compare Netflix!Vesemir to. And here is what we know about him from the books.

What we know:

Geralt tells a priestess that Vesemir is his father, or like one. Geralt very obviously loves him.

Geralt tells his mother that Vesemir gave him his name. He says it in a very defensive way, like he values Vesemir for having been there for him. (of course she corrects him, but that is neither here nor there)

Vesemir disciplines him when he is a child for trapping a honeybee.

Vesemir was his tutor.

Both Ciri and Geralt draw on Vesemir's wisdom when they are in tough situations and think fondly of him

In Season of Storms, he is spoken of as the moral center of witcherdom, opposing witchers killing humans and enacting consequences for those who do.

Vesemir's relationship with Ciri

He is protective of her. Triss commends them for not giving her any elixirs or grases or anything that could affect their hormones. But she also demands they stop giving her the natural herbs around the keep, which sound like some kind of supplements. Vesemir responds gratefully and pledges to do so. He very humbly and quickly says

"we will," promised Vesemir, "and thank you for the warning, child."

He is gentle with her. When Geralt loses his temper with Ciri in a very emotional moment, Vesemir says:

"too severe, Wolf," said Vesemir. "Much too severe..."

He is a patient tutor, drilling her on monster facts, and offering her advice that she calls on later in her life:

"That's why you're learning about ghouls now, Ciri. When you know about something, it stops being a nightmare. When you know how to fight something, it stops being so threatening."

So does that make him an uncomplicated or of morally pure character? No. We know that the trials killed most boys and were horrific. And he was a tutor there. So he was complicit to a certain degree.

Now that is where the most fascinating shit comes from with Vesemir. The mages created witchers, right? The mages created the trials. They ran them. Vesemir was their victim in that sense. He was a boy too.

But at what point does he stop becoming a victim and start being seen as complicit? Is there a certain age or level of consciousness where it stops being ok and he can be seen as an agent of the mages?

There is this whole blank spot in between the pogroms and the present. The questions that most fascinate me are:

Did Vesemir ever believe that what they were doing was wrong?

Did he ever resist or leave? If so, what brought him back?

How closely did he identify himself with his identity and with the mages.

Did he tell the boys what their risks were?

Did he walk them to the laboratories?

How dirty are his hands?

How does he feel about that now?

And now in the present, he is a normal, gentle person. Further, he isn't just a normal person, he is an active positive moral guide for all of witcherdom, and a kindly man that Ciri calls "Uncle Vesemir."

So how did that happen?

I am deeply, deeply just...meh on what Netflix has created for him. It is so anticlimactic for me. They have him (basically) murdering an innocent women in cold blood for money (Nightmare of the Wolf) and then (we hope)

turning a 180 after the seige on Kaer Morhen.

I didn't really buy that and it didn't take into account AT ALL the power structure of the mages vs the witchers. You can have complicated morally gray characters that are nuanced. They are both oppressed and complicit. And they made it like...well, witchers were making monsters that was slaughtering people. So basically that and Vesemir's actions were the instigating forces resulting in the attempted pogroms.

No, no one deserves to be killed for something someone else did (only one of the witchers was making the monsters) but in a world where they have people's limbs and heads chopped off on the spot for minor crimes, you can see how it very predictably led to that.

Instead of institutional racism and bigotry, their destruction was the result of legitimate complaints against them simply taken too far. That is so goddamn uninteresting and simplistic and it doesn't take into account the structure of oppression for witchers.

If they were out here murdering villagers with their monsters, an eye for an eye didn't feel to extreme for these people. Did they deserve a trial? Did people lump them together because of bigotry? Yes. But it played a relatively minor role.

So, the progroms are complicated and Vesemir is complicated and there is a lot of room there for imagining how his story went. But I'm just really think that, as great as Nightmare was as a movie, (it was fantastic just as a movie) as an origin story it was a disappointment. But AT LEAST they set him up for redemption. But then in TWN the man hadn't even changed!!

By the time of the current time, he is supposed to be kindly, gentle, and protective of Ciri!! There is no indication anywhere that he would be alright with anyone doing trials on her, quite the opposite.

I hope you don't regret asking me this question about now. XD I have so many feels. I'm so compelled by Vesemir's story because he is a very very favorite archetype of mine within the witcher.

Person is part of institution, perhaps they got there as a kid. They didn't choose with all the knowledge or in a critical way.

Person finds out institution is abusive or corrupt. They have to make a choice. Yen was like this with the Brotherhood. Cahir with the Nilfgaardian military.

And I feel like Vesemir is this for the witchers. He was brought into the system as a victim. At some point he became complicit, and we don't know to what degree and we don't know what that looked like. But it HAS to make his relationship with the wolves complicated.

I know the games complicate up his relationship with Lambert, and I think that is very fitting and very logical extension of this. It seems like Geralt just loves and forgives whatever role Vesemir had. But not every witcher could respond that way, right? Or should!

So it's fascinating! And complex! And then TWN just has him be an absolute piece of shit, accepting "consent" from a traumatized grieving child, betraying Geralt, BRINGING BACK THE TRIALS SINGLE HANDEDLY WHAT THE FUCK.

I mean you CAN do that? But why would you? He should be a loving figure with a very complicated past, not just a big old turd lololsob.

So now TWN Vesemir is on my shit list. Fuck with Ciri and fuck with Geralt and we're over. I've got him on page one in my burn book. I don't care how hot your ho ass was in NOTW. loloool

That's a fitting place to end this.

Dragonlance forever.

#asks #vesemir #the witcher #the witcher books #twn #twn critical #thinking about the witcher books yet again

[thebibliosphere]

So I'm currently unemployed because I got fired for taking too much sick leave (it was legally sketchy blah blah blah but in the end I just can't work and take care of myself and investigate my mystery health problems at the same time). So I've been spending more time writing!

I really admire your writing and loved Hunger Pangs. I'm looking forward to the poly elements developing and I'm wondering if you have any advice for writing about poly. I've made one of my projects a snarky take on "write what you know" ... Apparently what I know is southern gothic meets Pacific northwest gothic, chronic illness pandemic surrealism, and falling back-asswards into threesomes.

I know this is a very open-ended question and I don't expect an answer, I'm just curious about it if you have the energy. As a writer, trying to write honestly / realistically about polyamory/enm, I'm curious if you have any thoughts on what's different about portraying monogamy or nonmonogamy in books, romance or erotica or otherwise.

I'm trying to read examples but it's hard to find examples that fit the niche I'm looking at. Excuse me if this question is nonsense, it's the cluster headaches.

I'm sorry to hear you've been dealing with all that and solidarity on the cluster headaches. But I'm glad you're finding an outlet through writing! And I hope you're happy with an open-ended ramble in response because oh boy, there's a lot I could talk about and I could probably do a better job of answering this sort of thing with more specific questions, but let's see where we end up.

There's definitely a big difference between writing polyamory/ENM (ethical non-monogamy) and what people often expect from monogamous love stories.

Just even from a purely sales and marketing standpoint, the moment you write anything polyamorous (or even just straight up LGBTQIA+ without the ENM) you're going to get considered closer to being erotica/obscene than hetero romances. It's an unfair bias, but it's one that exists in our society. But also the Amazon algorithm and their shitty, shitty human censors. Especially the ones that work the weekends. (Talking to you, Carlos 🖕.)

So not only do you start out hyper-aware that you're writing something that is highly stigmatized or fetishized (at least I'm hyper-aware) but that you are also writing for a niche market that is starving for positive content because the content that exists is either limited, not what they want, or is problematic in some fashion i.e. highly stigmatized or fetishy. And even then, the wants, desires, and expectations of the community you're writing for are complex and wildly varied and hard to fit into an easy formula.

When writing monogamous love stories, there is a set expectation that’s really hard to fuck up once you know it. X person meets Y. Attraction happens, followed by some sort of minor conflict/resolution. Other plot may happen. A greater catalyst involving personal growth for both parties (hopefully) happens. Follow the equation to its ultimate resolution and achieve Happily Ever After. 

But writing ENM is... a lot more difficult, if only because of the pure scope of possibilities. You could try to follow the same equation and shove three (or more) people into it, but it rarely works well. Usually because if you’re doing it right, you won’t have enough room in a single character arc to allow for enough growth, and if ENM requires anything in abundance, it’s room to grow.

And this post is huge so I’m going to put the rest under a cut :)

There's also a common refrain in certain online polyam/ENM circles that triads and throuples are overrepresented in media and they may be right to some extent. Personally, I believe the issue isn't that triads and throuples are overrepresented, but that there is such minuscule positive rep of ethical non-monogamy in general, that the few tiny instances we have of triads in media make it seem like it's "everywhere" when in actuality, it's still quite rare and the media we do have often veers into Unicorn Hunter fetish porn. Which is its own problematic thing. And just to be clear, I’m not including this part to dissuade you from writing "falling back-asswards into threesomes." If anything, I need more of it and would hook it directly into my brain if I could. I'm just throwing it out there into the void in the hope that someone will take the thought and run with it, lol.

I’d love to see more polyfidelitous rep in fiction, just as much as I’d like to see more relationship anarchy too. More diversity in fiction is always good.

Another thing that differs in writing ENM romance vs conventional monogamy is the feeling like you need to justify yourself. There's a lot of pressure to be as healthy and non-problematic as possible because you are being held to a higher standard of criticism. Both from people from without the ENM communities, and from the people within. Granted, some people don't give a shit and just want to read some fantastic porn (valid) but there are those who will cheerfully read Fifty Shades of Bullshit and call it "spicy" and "romantic," then turn around and call the most tooth-rottingly-sweet-fluff about a queer platonic polycule heresy. That's just the way the world works.

(Pro-tip for author life in general: never read your own reviews; that way madness lies. I glimpsed one the other day that tagged Hunger Pangs as “ethical cheating” and just about had an aneurism.)

And while that feeling of needing to justify yourself comes from a valid place of being excluded from the table of socially accepted norms, it can also be to the detriment of both the story and the subject matter at hand. I've seen some authors bend so far over backward to avoid being problematic in their portrayal of ENM, they end up being problematic for entirely different reasons. Usually because they give such a skewed, rose-tinted perspective of how things work, it ends up coming off as well... a bit culty and obnoxious tbh.

“Look how enlightened we are, freed from the trappings of monogamy and jealousy! We’re all so honest and perfect and happy!”

Yeah, uhu, sure Jan. Except here’s the thing, not all jealousy is bad. How you act on it can be, but jealousy itself is an important tool in the junk drawer that is the range of human emotion. It can clue us in to when we’re feeling sad or neglected, which in turn means we should figure out why we’re feeling those things. Sometimes it’s because brains are just like that and anxiety is a thing. Other times it’s because our needs are actually being neglected and we are in an unhealthy situation we need to remedy. You gotta put the work in to figure it out. Which is the same as any style of relationship, whether it’s mono, polyam or whatever flavor of ENM you subscribe to* And sometimes you just gotta be messy, because that’s how humans are. Being afraid to show that mess makes it a dishonest portrayal, and it also robs you of some great cannon fodder for character development.

Which brings me in a roundabout way to my current pet peeve in how certain writers take monogamous ideals and apply them to ENM, sometimes without even realizing it. The “Find the Right Person and Settle Down” trope.

Often, in this case, ENM or polyamory is treated as a phase. Something you mature out of with age or until you meet “The One(tm).” This is, of course, an attempt to follow the mono style formula expected in most romances. And while it might appeal to many readers, it’s uh, actually quite insulting. 

To give an example, I am currently seeing this a lot in the Witcher fandom. 

Fanon Netflix!Jaskier is everyone's favorite ethical slut until he meets Geralt then woops, wouldn’t you know, he just needed to find The One(tm). Suddenly, all his other sexual and romantic exploits or attractions mean nothing to him. Let's watch as he throws away a core aspect of his personality in favor of a man. 

Yeah... that sure showed those societal norms... 

If I were being generous, I’d say it’s a poor attempt at showing New Relationship Euphoria and how wrapped up people can become in new relationships. But honestly, it’s monogamous bias eking its way in to validate how special and unique the relationship is. Because sometimes people really can’t think of any other way to show how important and valid a relationship is without defining it in terms of exclusivity. Which is a fundamental misunderstanding of how ENM works for a lot of people and invalidates a lot of loving, serious and long-term relationships.

This is not to say that some polyam/poly-leaning people can't be happy in monogamous relationships! I am! (I consider myself ambiamorous. I'm happy with either monogamy or polyamory, it really just depends on the relationship(s) I’m in.) But I also don't regard my relationship with a mono partner as "settling down" or "growing up." It's just a choice I made to be with a person I love, and it's a valid one. Just like choosing to never close yourself off to multiple relationships is valid. And I wish more people realized that, or rather, I wish the people writing these things knew that :P

Anyway, I think I’ve rambled enough. I hope this collection of incoherent thoughts actually makes some sense and might be useful. 

----

*A good resource book that doesn't pull any punches in this regard is Polysecure by Jessica Fern. It's a wonderfully insightful read that explores the messier side of consensual non-monogamy, especially with how it can be affected by trauma or inter-relationship conflicts. But it also shows how to take better steps toward healthy, ethical non-monogamy (a far better job than More Than Two**) and conflict resolution, making it a valuable resource both for someone who is a part of this relationship style***, but also for writers on the outside looking in who might have a very simple or misguided idea of what conflict within polyam/ENM relationships might look like, vs traditional monogamous ones.

** The author of More Than Two has been accused of multiple accounts of abuse within the polyamorous community, with many of his coauthors having spoken out about the gaslighting and emotional and psychological damage they experienced while in a relationship with him. A lot of their stories are documented here: https://www.itrippedonthepolystair.com/ (warning: it is not light material and deals with issues of abuse, gaslighting, and a whole other plethora of Yikes.) While some people still find More Than Two helpful reading, there are now, thankfully, much, much better resources out there.

*** Some people consider polyam/ENM to be part of their identity or orientation, while others view it as a relationship style.It largely depends on the individual. 

#long post #writing #ethical non-monogamy #relationship styles #relationship models in fiction #also that kindle link is an affiliate link #because fuck giving amazon free recs

[writersblockedx]

A Runaway, Chapter Five

Pairing - Geralt x Reader, Jaskier x Reader Summary - Together the three (along with the company of Yennefer) weasel their way through Aretuza's games. Warnings - Mentions of death Words - 1.5K

Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Y/n could never know how long she had been waiting for Yennefer to return, only that she had been pacing the little length of this room for awhile now. Her thoughts were chaos and her patience was nothing but thin. And when her door finally rattled opened, it wasn't Yennefer on the other side of it.

A much older women stood there. She seemed much more put together than Yennefer and held much less emotion within her expression. Though, Y/n wasn't sure whether that was because she was hiding said emotion or didn't care for any of this at all. "Put this on." The women, who she assumed was a mage as well, threw an item of clothing at Y/n.

It wasn't until she rolled it out and let it hang from her fingers, that the girl realised what it was. "A dress?" She asked.

The women gave nothing in return other than saying that, "Someone will collect you soon." And with that, she both left and locked the room. Had it maybe been Yennefer, Y/n would have questioned more, would have asked for some answers. But whoever that mage had been, she certainly didn't trust her like she did Yennefer. If she could say she even trusted Yennefer.

But still, Y/n did as the women had instructed and slipped into the silk dress which felt foreign after days of being on the run. Still, it filled her with a glimpse of her home. The feeling of delicacy and royalty that came with the dresses and the gold and the large halls which were fit for hundreds of lords and ladies. Yet, as she stood in that room, it had filled her with nothing but horror.

Not another moment went by before the door rattled opened once more. Y/n jumped slightly as she turned around, having no idea who was to be standing on the other side. Maybe Yennefer, maybe the women from before or, as she prayed, either Geralt or Jaskier. Instead, two guards stood at the door. They said nothing. "What?" Y/n had asked aloud as if urging them to actually tell her what was going on - something that everybody had failed at so far.

Still, neither of the guards said a word. They only spun on their heals as to insinuate that she were to follow them out of the room. And the girl did so. One guard at each side of her as they led her the same way they had come in until the girl ended up at that same golden, grand hall she had entered through. Only now, the hall was filled with guests, mages possibly. All of them painted in elegant gowns as Y/n was or rich suits that were matched with the delicate interior.

For a second, Y/n did all but watch. She scanned the crowd, scanned for the danger and safety in this situation. But, no matter how hard she tried, she didn't know whether these people were going to help her or kill her.

It wasn't until her eyes landed on the familiar yellow gaze of a Witcher, that a part of her seemed to relax. Just a little. Before anyone could stop her, Y/n spirited from her feet. Something of which happened to catch the attention of the man. And just like that, she hit him, her body engulfing itself within the safety of his hold.

Geralt was never a hugger, but while stuck in a possible death trap, he supposed he would make an exception.

He didn't let go straight away. No, while devoured by affection, Geralt saw a chance to speak words which wouldn't be analysed from afar. "Is everything alright?" He asked, quiet as he was able.

"I think so." She couldn't be sure yet.

"You can trust Yennefer."

And with that said, the two pulled away and the other piece of trio came wondering over. "Oh, good! You're not dead." Jaskier grinned. Though, his words had barely left his mouth before he as well was taken in a tightly knit embrace.

"It's good to see you still breathing as well." Y/n added as she pulled from the boy. There was a moment as she spoke when Jaskier felt caught, as if he wasn't to move his gaze from her own. But it was just a moment, life was full of them. She then turned back to Geralt, "Is there anyway out of this alive?"

"Were in a building filled with some of the most powerful mages, we don't get out alive." Geralt stated, abolishing all hope that might have been lingering around.

Y/n became stern in her eyes as she stared at the Witcher, "You promised my safety." She reminded him. "Or does that promise mean nothing now that things are tricky?"

"You're safety won't matter if your dead." Supposed he made a point there.

The girl paused at that, giving time for a certain 'trusting' mage to make an appearance. "Good to see you haven't fought off any more guards." Yennefer started, words directed at Geralt. Something of which had been news to Y/n, not that it had been much of a surprise.

"Yeah, you're welcome." Geralt rushed out. "Do you know anything more now?"

Yennefer looked between the two boys before finding her gaze landing on Y/n. "Less than a week ago, you made an appearance. Every mage and sorceress could feel it. Something off, something wrong. Some had visions of you, dreams which told them what to do with you. The botherhood met up, discussed it and came to the conclusion to find you and go from there." Yennefer went on explaining.

Geralt met Y/n's eyes in a realisation. "They know less than us." Yes, neither of them knew much, but they knew Y/n certainly wasn't from this world and they were beginning to figure out the bigger picture.

"Well you might want to share the rest of this story; some of the botherhood think Y/n should be killed and then they can be done with the whole thing." That was certainly assuring. "The only reason you're not dead was because Tissaia-" Yennefer nodded over to the witch which had given her the dress not long ago, "convinced them not to."

The girl glanced to Geralt and the bard before returning her gaze to Yennefer. "And there's no way we can run out of this?" If they were to get out this, then the three could go back to figuring out how to get Y/n home. It seemed like none of these powerful mages actually knew how to.

"No way out alive." At least that's how Yennefer saw it. Which was a good way of seeing things. Statically, the chance of a group of criminals getting out of Aretuza alive were low, possibly none at all. But Y/n would rather try than let them kill her.

Suddenly, the group were pulled from their conversation as a loud band began to play their music. The witches and the wizards took to the dance floor in twos. They danced as one. The music whimsical and urging more pairs onto the floor. "Try to at least look like I didn't just tell you that you're all going to die." Kind words, Y/n thought.

Jaskier huffed and swallowed the fear that came with the chaos which trapped him. He held out his hand to the girl and smiled, "Dance?" He offered. In only a death threating situation would Jaskier be the one to offer to dance.

Yet still, Y/n glanced around the hall and took him up on the offer, leaving Geralt and Yennefer to scan for any dangers which might show themselves.

And so Y/n's palm slipped into Jaskier's and the two swayed, her head falling to his chest. "Do this often?" She joked.

"What? Dance in a room filled with mages who want us dead? Can't say I do." The boy laughed, once again, only something Jaskier would do in a situation like this. "We'll get out of this." Another thing that sounded like a promise that couldn't be fulfilled. "Some way or other."

Y/n lifted her head from the boy's chest, his blue pupils seeming to stare back at her. "One wrong move tonight and we're dead." She wasn't wrong there.

Any one here could snap their finger and the three would drop dead. The only reason that hadn't yet was due to an agreement made between them. Something of which not all of them were so fond off.

It was thin ice, of which was cracking already.

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#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fic #the witcher imagine #the witcher oneshot #the witcher x reader #geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt fanfiction #geralt fanfic #geralt fic #geralt imagine #geralt oneshot #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #jaskier #jaskier fanfiction #jaskeir fanfic #jaskier fic #jaskier imagine #jaskier oneshot #jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier x y/n #witcher #the witcher series #fanfiction #fanfic

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from current writing (aka the de-aged Witcher fic):

Jaskier is having a very bad day.

And for once, it’s not his own fault, thank you very much.

“Oh . . . hell,” he says, staring at the two slumped cloaked bodies on the ground in front of him. Geralt and Yennefer don’t move.

The wild-looking teenage mage on the other side of the clearing bares her teeth. Jaskier considers hiding behind a tree. It probably wouldn’t do him any good, though.

“Leave me alone!” she screams, and then, thank the gods, turns and flees into the woods. Jaskier sighs in relief. Well, that’s a mercy, at least.

This day started off with breaking a string on his lute, getting rained on, and running into Geralt and Yennefer—separately, but at the same time—and the mage who they were both apparently looking for running off is officially the only fortunate thing to have happened. Jaskier is seriously tempted to follow suit, frankly, and leave the other two to their own devices.

They might be dead, though, and he really needs to figure that out first. He doesn’t have the slightest clue what sort of spell the girl cast, but whatever it was knocked both a witcher and a witch off their feet.

“Well, I suppose this is my problem now,” Jaskier says resignedly, then heads over to Geralt. He’s expecting shouted at again, frankly, but he’d rather be shouted at than leave the idiot to drown in the mud. “Geralt? Are you dead?”

Geralt doesn’t move. Jaskier . . . frowns. His silhouette looks . . . strange, actually. He hadn’t realized from a distance, but it’s small.

Jaskier leans over and flips back the hood of the other’s cloak, and immediately balks at the sight of an unconscious boy with white hair. That. That is not Geralt.

Except it is, obviously.

“Shit,” Jaskier says, looking around helplessly. The trees do not offer a solution. The boy doesn’t move.

Well, he’s not drowning in the mud, at least, so Jaskier goes to check on Yennefer too, and her silhouette is also not right, and when he moves the hood of her cloak, he finds an equally unconscious girl the same age as the boy who’s replaced Geralt. They can’t be more than thirteen, and frankly that’s being optimistic.

They’re unmistakably Geralt and Yennefer, though.

This is not a situation that Jaskier is equipped to handle. Magic is not a him thing. Magic is Yennefer, or occasionally Geralt, or literally anyone else he knows. Definitely never him.

Also, he had literally no idea magic could even do something like this. His education was sorely lacking in that respect.

He really needs the other two to wake up now. He’s going to get shouted at again, yes, but at least the two of them will have some idea what’s actually going on. Or any ideas whatsoever.

“Nn,” Geralt says, to Jaskier’s great relief.

“Thank you for not being dead,” he says. “I really don’t think I could’ve dragged both your bodies back to the village.”

“What?” Geralt says blurrily as he sits up, rubbing at his muddy face. He’s not wearing the clothes he was wearing a moment ago, though his cloak is unchanged and hanging loosely. Odd, Jaskier thinks. Well, it’s probably better, really, since the clothes Geralt was wearing a moment ago were meant for a rather large full-grown man. The plain gray shirt and brown pants he’s wearing instead at least fit.

He doesn’t have his medallion or his weapons anymore, either, so that’s hopefully not going to be a problem.

“Yes, hello, welcome back to consciousness,” Jaskier says. Geralt blinks groggily at him.

“Who are you?” he says. “Where’s Vesemir?”

“I have no idea who that is,” Jaskier says, although knowing Geralt’s luck he’s going to assume the answer is “dead”. Also, wait—“What do you mean, ‘who am I’?”

“Mother?” Yennefer mumbles, pushing herself up too and looking around. She’s wearing a dull yellow dress and looks just as unsettled as Geralt, all hunched in on herself. Jaskier is feeling an incredible sense of dread.

“Please tell me you know me,” he says. They both stare mutely at him. “Oh . . . dammit. Really? Neither of you?”

“Where are we?” Yennefer says, retreating farther into her cloak. Geralt looks wary.

"Nowhere," Jaskier says. "Literally. We are outside the most backwater little village you could ever dream of. And probably slightly lost in the woods as well because to be honest I do not whatsoever remember the route out here."

Geralt and Yennefer stare mutely at him. Jaskier experiences a sinking realization that he is, in fact, the adult in this situation.

Well, that's sure to end terribly.

#jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher #netflix witcher #rinfic

[write-ur-wrongs]

Thank you sweet anon for your request!! Again, I didn’t fully proof-read this bad boy so please forgive the errors! I hope you enjoy some angry Jealous!Geralt!

A/N Request: Geralt meeting your ex who thinks that you're still together/or tries to get you back in front of geralt?

The great hall was alive with royals and nobility alike. Laughter and chatter mingled easily with the sound of the band’s lively jig and the soft tinkering of fine cutlery.

The hosts had expected you and Geralt to make an appearance at dusk, but neither of you were particularly fond of all the fuss royalty liked to put up, so it wasn’t until long past sunset that you joined the party. Jaskier on the other hand, was overjoyed at the prospect of attending such an illustrious affair. He’d put up a fuss around noon and insisted he be allowed to take Roach so that he could arrive in time to make a strong impression with all in attendance. Of course, Geralt had refused, so he had gone off on foot, strutting and sighing dramatically.

Now, as you and Geralt did your best to navigate the already flushed crowd, you found yourself wishing you’d arrived sooner. It was easier to avoid people when they were being stifled by a sobering social awkwardness; after hours of ales and fine wine, however, people seemed to get a little too comfortable for your liking.

“I hate these ridiculous evenings,” Geralt grumbled, holding his arms close to his body uncomfortably.

“Maybe if we saved less lives,” you said, biting back a smile, “they’d be less inclined to insist we attend.”

Geralt only responded with a grunt and a roll of his eyes, which made you laugh lightly as you looped your arm through his and led him deeper into the crowd.

“C’mon love,” you said, a slight tease to your tone, “let’s find the free food and drink we were promised, yeah?”  

You laughed again as he fought back a smile. “Atta boy Geralt, don’t smile too much or you’ll ruin your reputation as the big bad wolf.”  

“Will you shut up,” he muttered, handing you a goblet of wine.

“I don’t think I will,” you said downing the wine in one go, “and could you hand me an ale?”

“I don’t think I will,” he teased, kissing your temple lightly before handing you his mug to share. You take a slow sip, your eyes twinkling as you held Geralt’s gaze, already feeling the liquor warming you from the inside. You hand him back his drink and kiss him lightly in thanks.

“Do you want to –”

You were both pulled away from your conversation by a loud clang from across the room. Geralt furrowed his brows and turned towards the sound quickly, untangling his arm from yours before reaching for his sword. He immediately relaxed as the familiar shouts and accusations resounded through the hall.

You collectively sighed your frustration as you saw Jaskier get chased into a corner by an angry nobleman; no doubt his latest conquest’s husband, who was not quite as pleased to hear the bard’s dulcet tones.

“It’s your turn,” Geralt said, downing his ale before reaching for a second helping.

“I don’t think so! I’m the one who saved him from that fisherman at the last village! It’s your turn,” you said, poking him in the chest before stealing his mug and holding it away from him.

“Actually,” he said, his low gravelly voice reverberating through you as he leaned across your body to grab his drink from your hand, “it was my turn at the last village, but you just couldn’t help yourself and jumped in to save the day. Rules are rules my dove; it’s your turn.”

You scoffed incredulously at his nerve, but shook your head in resignation; he was right after all, the rules you outlined were clear and the cycling of turns was strict.

“Well fuck. I’m taking this ale though,” you said, clapping him on the shoulder before stalking off towards the commotion.

Geralt chuckled lowly and leaned against a marble pillar, marveling at the way you made your way through the crowd. A wandering waiter came by and offered him another ale which he accepts with a polite smile, not taking his eyes off you.

He loved watching you de-escalate social situations. Sometimes it was comforting to know that he wasn’t the only one who just melted when you spoke to them directly – you were effortlessly charming and completely disarming. You once managed to convince a band of attacking thieves to stand down so efficiently that by the end of the night, they ended up joining you for dinner around the fire. Yes, Geralt was the professional when it came to handling monsters, but you were the people person of the group.

Watching you now was no exception. Your body language, the way your warm smiled reached your eyes with ease, how smoothly you managed put yourself between Jaskier and the furious man; it was impressive to say the least.

Unfortunately, his attention was pulled away from you suddenly.

“I can’t believe Y/N is here tonight, I thought I’d never see her again!”

At the sound of your name, Geralt whipped his head in the direction of the speaker, cat-like eyes scanning the crowd swiftly.

“Yeah, the very same Y/N I’ve told you about. An amazing lay, I swear it!”

The man in question was holding court half a dozen other knights; they kept snickering and looking off at you in turns. They were teasing him, egging him on for details.

“She’s not as sweet as she looks,” the man stated confidently, “don’t let that smile fool you gentlemen. The last time I took her was in an alley! The little whore was mad for it – couldn’t wait for it, needed it right there and then.”

Geralt was fuming.

He pushed his way through the crowd with great force and little care. He was worried about your honour. Your reputation in the courts – that was all. That was enough to explain the way rage seethed through him and the strange urge to be sick that was hitting him in waves. He was concerned for you as a partner and a friend.

He wasn’t jealous.

“Gods her skin… smelled so good, felt even better… I’m getting her back tonight gents,” he boasted, puffing out his chest.

“You don’t have a chance,” said the knight closest to the bastard bragging about shagging you, “it’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other, and if she’s as good as you say, she definitely found someone new.”

Damn right, Geralt thought furiously, swallowing the bile bubbling at the back of his throat.

“No, no, believe me the way she mewled and screamed for me? She’ll do more than remember,” he said, disgusting confidence dripping off every word, “she’ll beg to have me back.”

You’ll beg for mercy when I crush your fucking skull you pathetic –

His murderous march was abruptly interrupted by Jaskier. The bard cut in front of him and planted himself squarely before him, chattering on incomprehensibly.

Geralt’s eyes were bugging out in panic as he watched the bastard strut confidently towards you. He tried to push past Jaskier but the bard was quick to match him in posture.

“Look I know you’re upset with me for ruining your evening but she came after me,” he insisted, “I mean I can’t blame her the song his perhaps my most romantic sonnet. Speaking of my writing – Geralt can you look at me when I am sharing my musings with you, please? Thank you – as I was saying, Y/N inspired me tonight to write this song –”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, “move!”

“Wha – why?” Jaskier pivoted on the spot – keeping Geralt’s path blocked – as he sought the source of his friends’ fury. When he saw that you were speaking politely to some knight he scoffed loudly before turning back.

“Oh-ho, no,” he laughed, “you’re jealous of that oaf? Geralt, seriously?”

“I am not jealous,” he spat, only able to look at Jaskier for a moment before his glare shot back up towards you.

“She’s just being polite! Seriously you always assume the worst in people, Geralt, it’s sad.”

“I see people as they are,” he muttered, watching closely as the knight took a half-step towards you, he let out a menacing growl when you didn’t step backwards. “For what they are.”

“Okay then why can’t you see that’s just some poor sap who, I don’t know, maybe wants to thank Y/N for her help in saving this kingdom.”

“Shut up, will you? I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.”

“You don’t need a Witchers’ hearing to know what’s happening over there,” he brambled on putting on voices as he acted out the conversation, “’Hi I’m Y/N’, ‘Hi I’m an unimportant but very grateful knight, pleased to meet you blah blah blah…”

“Fuck, Jaskier, shut UP –” he stopped himself when he heard your laugh, the deep full laugh you normally reserved for him.

Jaskier heard your laugh too, and turned his head to double check he’d heard right. When he saw the familiar twinkle in your eye, he looked Geralt with wide eyes.

“They know each other?” he asked.

“They,” he started, struggling to get the words out, “t-they knew each other.”

“Wait you don’t mean,” Jaskier started, connecting the dots, “that they knew each other intimately?” He wagged his fingers suggestively as he said the last word.

When Geralt’s only reply was a low, seething hum, Jaskier whistled lowly before shaking his head.

“Well that explains,” he waved his hands vaguely at Geralt, “this reaction.”

Geralt was about to shove the bard aside when he saw you waving him over. You were smiling widely as you waved, but it didn’t reach your eyes. He cleared his throat and pushed Jaskier lightly before charging towards you with the bard in tow.

“Ah, finally!” you exclaimed, swiftly wrapping your arms around his bicep, pulling him close, “Geralt, I want you to meet an old friend of mine, Hoeck. Hoeck this is Geralt, my partner,” as you spoke, you moved to loop his arm around your waist, “and this is Jaskier, he’s responsible for the wonderful music tonight.”

“The White Wolf,” said Hoek, sizing Geralt up, “wow - what an honour.”

He hummed in acknowledgement and took the knight’s hand in a tight grip, feeling immense satisfaction watching the man wince.

“And -erm, thank you sir Jaskier, for the wonderful music,” he said, trying and failing to subtly rub at his hand.

“Thank you, good sir. I speaking of, I should get back out there.” He shot you and Geralt a look and swung his lute around his back before strumming a few notes. “If you’ll excuse me.”

You all nodded to him as he strode off, beckoning the band to join him.

An awkward silence settled over the three of you. Geralt was clearly seething as he held your waist in a tighter grasp than necessary. After a beat, you shot Hoek a tight-lipped smile and made up some excuse about needing to say hello to the king and queen before the night came to a close.

“Ah certainly,” he said, disappointment obvious, “well if you ever find yourself in need of company –”

“I won’t,” you said quickly.

“She won’t,” Geralt growled, his deep voice overlapping with yours.

At that, the knight swallowed thickly and walked back towards his group with tail between his legs and his hand held close to his chest.

Once alone, you turned in Geralt’s arms and looked up at his sour face accusingly.

“Why did it take you so long to come rescue me!” you said, tugging playfully at his hair.

“Didn’t look like you wanted to be saved,” he said lowly, eyes still alight with jealousy, “and Jaskier got in my way.”

“That’s a shit excuse and a weak lie. He was all over me! It took all I had not to rip the bastard’s arms off!” you said, a nervous laugh bubbling out of you. “Gods he has some nerve.”

“Hm,” he hissed, “you’re right about that.”

“Geralt,” you looked up at him carefully and gently caressed the crease between his brows, “this is more than jealousy. What’s going on?”

Geralt hesitated before relaxing his face into your hand and took a small sigh. “It’s nothing. And I’m not jealous.”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, “Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, he brought his eyes down to meet yours.

“Thank you,” you said, cupping his face before moving your hands to rest on his chest, “can you talk to me?”

“Don’t be patronizing,” he warned.

“Don’t be obstinate,” you countered.

Geralt rolled his eyes at you before pulling you closer to him. “Maybe I was a little jealous, and maybe,” he sighed deeply, “I was a little worried.”

“Geralt,” you started, your heart breaking at the sight of him, “you have nothing to worry about when it comes to us. I need you to know that.”

“I do,” he said quietly, “but the way he was talking about you – knowing he had been with you in that way...” Geralt stopped himself as he felt his anger come roaring back at the memory. “I wanted to kill him.”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t have been upset with you if you had,” you said, jokingly, trying to lighten the mood a little. Your time with Hoek was beyond brief; he was nice enough at first but quickly he became aggressive and possessive. You couldn’t help but cringe when you looked back on your time together and you hated that your beloved witcher was letting this get to him.

“Oh, Geralt,” you murmured when you realized he wasn’t letting up, “I’m yours. Completely and unwaveringly yours.” You kissed his forehead, then his nose, and finally his lips.

He kissed you back slowly at first, but his kiss deepened as you leaned into him. Geralt pulled away just a little and rested his forehead against yours.

“Y/N… I’m – I love you so much…” he whispered, “it’s just… the things he said about you –” he started, hating himself for needing to hear your side of the story.

“Either untrue or exaggerated, that I can promise.”

“Something about an alley…?” Geralt asked, holding his breath.

“Oh ew! That was a terrible night,” you shuddered, “he was so insistent! Wouldn’t take no for an answer – Wait, what was he saying about it? Gods, maybe I’ll kill him.” Anger and humiliation burned at the back of your throat.

Seeing your visceral reaction, Geralt was immediately overcome by feelings of guilt, for making you relive the memory, relief, that your reaction was so negative, and rage, knowing that not only did this pompous ass make forceful advances on you but he always lied about it to a crowd.

Feeling the intensity of your anger radiating off you, Geralt was about to suggest that the two of you left before you did anything you’d regret when Jaskier came running through the crowd shouting that it was time to leave.

You took off running behind the bard, holding Geralt’s hand tightly as you raced down the castle’s corridors.

“Why are we running?” you shouted, a little breathless.

“I might have added a little something to our charming friend’s drink, and he might be having a very intense negative reaction to it!” he said over his shoulder.

“Oh fuck,” you breathed through fits of laughter, “Jaskier!”

“He’ll be fine! Eventually!” he added, he turned and ran backwards so he could shoot you a wink before adding, “No one messes with our girl, right Geralt?”

Geralt rolled his eyes at his friend before he ran up behind you and scooped you up bridal-style – all without breaking his stride.

“Damn right,” he said, smiling widely at Jaskier before planting a quick kiss to your temple.

#geralt of rivia #geralt fanfic #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #the witcher #the witcher netflix #jealous!geralt #request #fanfic #fanfiction #witcher fic #witcher geralt #witcher x reader #jaskier

[deathsdaisy]

Im trying to watch the second season of the witcher netflix again cuz the first time was rushed and i was full of anger cuz they killed my fav boi eskel before they even actually killed him, and im just so fucking angry agahga

Geralts apology to yennefer wast too bad, i liked how they talked about both being pushed into a corner and all that, but i wish they had talked about ciri a bit more. How them caring for a broken child as broken children themselves would work out. Do they know what its like, or does their past dictate the way they see her in a non constructibe way? (more on Ciri in a bit)

Geralts apology to jaskier is hollow at best, its barely there and when they do talk while on the path they wrote in jokes that flaten the whole thing, up to this point our main shit with jaskier was a spat he had with geralt in s1. Now in s2 he's a spy, he's a trickster and a con artist and a performer. His story could have been expanded on while keeping his humor. But knowing where to add in jokes and where not to is so important. Adding some quip everytime he talks doesnt add to his character when the pain and underlayers of his person show and you throw away the catharsis of seeing their reunion as just another joke. Seeing him interact more with the elves, seeing him win a battle/get someone out of a situation while putting himself in danger, having even a small conversation where he says why he became the sandpiper, the elves trusting him more and more as time goes on. Expanding on his hopelessness in the keep because he fells like he adds nothing while there.

Eskel, fucking Netflix eskel. You might as well have made up a new name cuz its not him. You wanna kill him fine but fuck at least keep him in character. We could have seen him similar to geralt except a few key features and the scar (that scar was pathetic, he believes himself a horrid monster not worth anyone cuz of that! Bullshit) would have held such an amazing parallel when you add in that his own child surprise gave that scar to him. Him talking with geralt about ciri, how similar geralt and him are, but showing their differences. Fine, kill him, but having Geralt kill him, then not mention it!!! Wtf! He had to kill one of his own! His brother, one of the few wolf witchers left and one of geralts same trials, we dont see geralts grief, his turmoil of what he's done. (backed into a corner, like its right there, they could have kept with this!!!) He essentially killed his brother after he was taken by a leshy (which fine i dont hate, but expanding on how that came to be would have been nice instead of just leaving it at whatever that was). The parallels to play with were there!!! Even killing him, tho upsetting for me, could have been delt with better.

Im not even going to mention the hores he brought to the keep, I didn't get why they added that in at all.

Ciri. We spent all of s1 with her, seeing what she was like in snipits, the way the world treats her, and her powers. She becomes a product of the world around her, just like yennifer and geralt. Pushed into this with no regards for her thoughts. She is bitter and resentful and rageful. She is strong and willing, but her past and the life she's been forced into feed into her decisions and she makes wrong choices because of this. What's the turning point? The realization that she might be evil by her own standards, despite what she tries to do when the world hurts her.

... a demon possesses her.

Big bad is down for the season, she's all better now, super big bad will continue to next season.

????why!!?!?!?

She has so much potential to be so compelling, her journey and growth slowly being shown through the cracks. Writing in choices which she fails and the turmoil of her life poisoning her. A posible betral on her part later on, sowing the seeds for what she could become! It could have been so interesting, but instead we have deamon hurt stuff, deamon go bye bye, she better now.

Ahgggg

#me #rant #the witcher netflix #twn

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

WIP game! Alright.

Did I set you up? Yes (though you didn't have to play, you know? For funsies only, it said.)

Would it be fair to send more than one ask? No (maybe it's a rule, maybe it's not, but I'm sticking to the spirit of the ask.)

So did I also screw myself over? Yes

Therefore, only because it's my lucky number, and not because I don't also want desperately to see any crumb you'd wish to toss my way regarding a certain wintery cabin with Sy and Walt (even though I know you already promised Christmas in July), could I pretty please with sugar on top see what's cooking with Walt and Geralt after that *cough* "chance" *cough* meeting in the stockroom?

Please? And I promise I won't beg for the whole thing. I just, it's been days, weeks even, and I just, you know, need a little taste. Please?

Officially, #13 please?

My dear, sweet Charlie.

If you knew me at all (and you should, by now...) you would have known that practically any other question would have given you more information than this one, just because I take pleasure in witholding this fic from you. (That and I... haven't... exactly... like... finished it...) (But let's pretend I'm just torturing you for a second, because that makes me feel slightly better about how I haven't really been writing.

What can I say about number 13...

When you finally opened your eyes, you weren’t surprised to find Walter standing there, behind the glass wall of the shower cabin, watching your every move. What was surprising, however, was that you didn’t feel nearly as much shame as you’d expected. Was there even a reason to be embarrassed? Your thoughts were your own, right? There was nothing wrong with an innocent little fantasy. Except maybe that Mr. Innocent Little Fantasy was fifteen minutes away from joining you for dinner.

Enjoy 😘 😘

And always feel free to ask about more than one fic! (I'm dying to talk about all of them, anyway)

Maybe a little something about two delicious Christmas treats in the shape of men?

I'll give you the first 200 words (Give or take)

There was something soothing about the predictability of the situation; you had asked the boys to turn the heat in the car up, they complained that it was already a sauna in there. It wasn’t. And you were freezing. You pulled the sleeve of your sweater up to show Sy the goosebumps on your arm, to which he responded by reluctantly turning the heat up a little bit. “How can she be cold?” Walter grumbled from behind the wheel while Sy pulled his sweater over his head. “Here,” Sy said, rolling his eyes, “in case your Majesty still isn’t warm enough.” He tossed the sweater at you, and you contently pulled it over your head. Walter’s sweater had been serving as a blanket for about an hour now, and with the addition of Sy’s, and the few extra degrees on the heater, you were finally comfortably warm. “Good,” Walter mumbled, “because I’m not taking off anything else for you in this car.” It was the ‘in this car’ that made you chuckle. “That’s a shame,” you said coyly, batting your eyelashes at him in the rearview mirror as you leaned over and put your arms around Sy’s neck. “Would you?” He turned his head and sighed. “I have before, haven’t I?”

See you, Charlie 😘😘

#WIP game #wip ask game

[witcherslittledove]

Life's a Bitch

For @jaskiersbow as part of @thewitcherbog RPF exchange! - AO3

Ship: Joey/Henry (with a side of Joey/Kal)

A lockdown fic.... but with more dog fucking.

CW: RPF, Bestiality, Dead Dove: do not eat, masturbation, Joey has a small cock, multiple orgasms, knotting, accidental voyeurism

_

Lockdown was a bitch.

It wasn’t like Joey was a particularly sociable person, but the one thing really did enjoy was sex. He was no stranger to one night stands, getting far too drunk at the club and falling into bed with whoever took his fancy. Having sex with strangers was easy, especially when he was too drunk to care what they might think about him, about his dick. It wasn’t exactly average, and he’d been laughed at one too many times by people he cared about, so now he had a habit of pushing people away before he could get hurt.

Henry was no exception.

Sweet, kind, loving Henry, who had offered Joey a place to stay when the electrical mains had blown in the flat he shared with Madeleine. Gorgeous, filmstar, sexiest man alive Henry, who just happened to be Joey’s biggest crush.

So, despite the fact he was desperately horny, Joey kept his co-star at a distance. Preferring, instead, to cuddle up to Kal or spend hours locked away in his room composing, or trying to compose at the very least. He really didn’t want to admit how many hours he actually spent reading porn with his fingers up his arse. Honestly, the amount of lube he’d gotten through the last few weeks was just embarrassing.

There were moments when he thought that maybe, just maybe, Henry fancied him back. The soft smiles when they danced around each other in the kitchen in the mornings, the lingering glances across the room when they were watching Netflix in the evenings, or even the rather romantic walks with Kal at dawn.

But he couldn’t risk it, not when he had to spend the next seven odd years working with Henry. If they were lucky anyway, god, he hoped it would be that long. Lauren wouldn’t kill off Jaskier, would she?

Nah…

He was fine. Dandelion was integral to Geralt’s development in the series. Joey just had to have faith that Lauren saw that too.

Of course, there was a niggly feeling at the back of Joey’s head, an anxiety that said this stupid bloody pandemic would never end and he’d never get to perform again. He kept wondering whether he should just give up, get another job; something stable.

He sighed, running both hands through his hair as he collapsed back onto the bed, his guitar abandoned on the floor. Lockdown wasn’t the most inspiring of events, but he had to be productive. It was the only way he was getting through his boredom, that and far too much gin and wine. He smiled at that, Henry had been terrible for encouraging his love of gin and tonic, the pair of them spending most evenings lost at the bottom of the bottle.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t keeping Henry at as much of a distance as he should have been, but a broken heart would definitely fix his lack of inspiration. There was no better cure for writer’s block than a broken heart. Any artist could tell you that.

Until then Joey supposed he would just continue to be unbearably horny and get through too much lube.

He had nothing better to do.

Groaning, he leaned over to grab the bottle he kept in the drawer, and then hastily unzipped his jeans. It didn’t take long for his cock to get hard, teasing strokes along his length as he fell into the memory of Henry working out that morning, biceps bulging in the dark blue tank top, tanned skin glistening with sweat in the sun. Thick curls fell in front of Henry’s eyes, sticking to his forehead, and he winked -sort of- as he noticed Joey watching from the doorway. Joey wanted to lick every inch of Henry’s skin, lavishing him in kisses and hickies until there was no denying who he belonged to, then he wanted Henry to ruin him; fuck him against whatever surface they could find, strong arms lifting him up against the wall. Joey could ride him until his legs started to shake, Henry thrusting up into him until he couldn’t remember his own name.

God, he wanted it all.

Henry’s lips around his cock, never judging him or complaining, but loving him, loving his cock.

Sparks flew in front of Joey’s vision and he cried out as he came, spilling into his hand. The pleasure crashed over him, leaving him boneless as he fell back onto the bed with a blissful sigh, happy to bask in the haze of his orgasm and forgetting that it was all just a fantasy.

Until the door burst open and Joey was suddenly bombarded with a faceful of fur as Kal bounded into the room. It was mortifying. Joey was still covered in cum and lube, and now he had to try and force Henry’s giant hound onto the floor, but if Kal didn’t want to do something it was incredibly difficult to get him to behave. He was just so fucking heavy.

“Okay, that’s enough now, boy,” Joey mumbled, his face burning hot and he wondered if he could just die there, never having to show his face again.

Kal’s fur was already sticky with the mess of lube and cum, and Joey really didn’t want to have to explain that to Henry.

It was fine. He could pull Kal into the bathroom, nothing a flannel wouldn’t clean off. Henry never needed to know…

“Oh fuck, shit, Kal. No!” Joey stammered as the dog started to lick at his hand, dangerously close to his cock. “No, no, no. No!”

Kal ignored him, continuing to lick up the mess on Joey’s hand, before nuzzling against his cock, and holy shit, it had been so long since someone else had touched him. Despite the fact he’d just cum, Joey felt a whole new wave of arousal flood his body and his cock twitched pathetically, trying to get hard.

“Fuck,” Joey groaned, knowing he should be disgusted but he was just so fucking horny that he was struggling to keep a good grasp on reality.

And Kal really didn’t care that Joey’s cock was small even when hard.

Joey whined and closed his eyes, letting the dog lap messily at his dick. He was already so sensitive from his first orgasm but it felt so fucking good, and as long as he was already there and trapped by Kal, he might as well enjoy it. Every lap of Kal’s tongue sent fireworks through him, and Joey couldn’t help the needy whimpers that escaped his lips, his own hands running up inside his shirt to play with his nipples. It didn’t take long until he was hard again, panting and on the edge of a second orgasm.

“Joey?”

“Oh fucking cock!” Joey cursed and tried, to no avail, to push Kal off him

The door.

Kal had rushed into the room leaving the door wide open behind him.

“I- it’s… shit!” Joey stammered, trying to find an excuse that just didn’t exist.

He was caught. Life as he knew it was over. Henry would turn him into the police and he would never work again, all because he’d been too horny to stop Kal from licking his cock. It wasn’t as if he’d meant to do it. There was no pre-meditation and he hadn’t sought out the dog… but he’d enjoyed it?

“Kal, come here,” Henry’s voice was firm, and unfairly hot given the situation.

Despite his now flagging erection, Joey still wanted to climb the man like a tree. He was weak. He was desperate. He probably needed therapy.

Shit.

“I’m sorry, Joey,” Henry mumbled, sounding… ashamed?

Joey frowned, covering himself with a pillow as he sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry? You just… Kal… Me?”

“I didn’t know he’d- I should have told you to lock the door.”

Henry was blushing, and he really did look apologetic, like he was the fucked up one in this situation. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. He should be angry, yelling, phoning the police, not apologising.

“Henry? What exactly are you apologising for?” Joey asked cautiously, chewing at his bottom lip. There was a flutter of hope in his chest that maybe, just maybe, he was the only one.

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Darling, you just caught me getting my cock licked by your dog. I think we’re beyond boundaries now. I- You should hate me?”

“You should hate me. It’s my fault. I- I trained him to- to-”

Joey felt his eyes widening as he processed Henry’s words. Not only was he not disgusted at what he’d witnessed… he’d practically been the reason for it.

“Holy shit.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Holy shit!” Joey whined, scrambling off the bed to get closer to his crush who had just somehow got impossibly hotter.

“Joey, please.”

“I liked it.”

“What?”

“Kal, I- I liked it, and- umm, well… I like you too,” Joey admitted with a bashful smile, “and you did interrupt so… you could always join in?”

Henry’s face flew through a million different expressions until he seemed to finally understand what Joey was saying. A dangerous smile fell into place and they crashed together in a heated kiss, hands tearing at each other’s clothes, their shared shame fueling the passion until it was scorching every cell in their bodies. Teeth clashed, noses bumped, breaths intermingled, the taste of coffee dancing on Joey’s tongue.

And when Henry’s hand wrapped around Joey cock, he felt like he had died and gone to heaven. He waited for the comments to come, a raised eyebrow or something, anything… but Henry didn’t seem to care that his hand dwarfed Joey’s cock considerably. All his fears had been for nought. He whined and just kissed Henry with even more fervour.

“Fuck, Henry,” he moaned as Henry’s fingers stroked the length of his cock.

The bastard just chuckled, pulling back to press their foreheads together. “Ever taken a knot?”

“W-what? No?”

“Do you want to?” Henry asked, his fingers moving to tease Joey’s rim, the sensation making Joey keen.

“I- fuck, yes. Jesus Christ! You’re trying to kill me....”

“Get on the bed,” Henry instructed, then whistled at the dog who had been sitting rather patiently by the doorway.

Joey did as he was told, pulling off the last of his clothes before crawling back onto the bed, eagerly awaiting whatever new delights that Henry had in store. Smirking, he watched as Henry stripped down, looking like a fucking god, and Christ, the size of his cock… Joey might never walk again.

But that wasn’t what really caught his attention. No, Henry had Kal by the scruff of his neck and was pulling him up onto the bed to join them. It didn’t take Kal long to understand what his owner was asking of him, and he happily let Henry guide him, his own long pink cock unsheathed.

“Fuck,” Joey breathed as he stared, transfixed as everything he knew about himself was suddenly turned upside down.

He wanted this… badly. He hadn’t just enjoyed the mindless lapping at his cock because he was horny. Fuck, no, it was more than that. He wanted it. The thought of Kal fucking him made his cock ache and he was sure he’d never been quite so aroused in all his life.

“Good?” Henry asked, tilting his head.

“Uh huh. Yup, very…”

“Good,” Henry murmured before capturing Joey’s lips in another kiss.

There was a click of the lube bottle, and he hissed as Henry’s finger pushed inside him. “More,” he whined, “I can take more. I- already…”

Henry growled, and in the next thrust, he was two fingers deep inside Joey, his lips moving to attack Joey’s neck. Teeth grazed against Joey’s skin, fire burning in his lungs as he tried to catch his breath, another hand wrapped around his cock.

“I- I, fuck!”

“God, you’re perfect.” Henry’s words caught in Joey’s neck, his collarbone, his chest. “You fit so beautifully in my hand.”

Joey keened as Henry’s thumb ran along the head of his cock, the words tingling over his skin. “Please, Henry.”

“Shh, I’ve got you.”

Another finger slid inside him, the stretch a delicious burn that soon gave way to pleasure as Henry attentively opened him up, murmuring praise with every thrust of his fingers. His deep rich voice the bassline to the melody of Joey’s gasps and moans that filled the room.

“There you go, good boy, come on Kal. He’s ready for you,” Henry finally said.

“Oh, oh cock!” Joey panted, biting against his own hand to try and stop himself from cumming.

They were doing this.

Fucking mother of god, they were really doing this.

Henry’s strong arms scooped him off the bed, flipping him with ease and guiding him onto all fours. He whined, fingers gripping at the already filthy sheets, head dropped forward so he could see his own cock red and leaking onto the bed. Kal’s nose was cold against his skin, but Henry didn’t let him sniff for too long.

“Up boy, come on,” Henry coaxed.

The weight of the dog almost had Joey collapsing back down onto the bed. Pain seared down his spine as the claws dug into his skin, but fuck he wanted more. He needed more, everything that he could get. Joey could do little more than close his eyes and hold on as Kal rutted against him, frantic and desperate until finally, oh god, finally, his cock pushed inside.

It felt strange, different to any other cock Joey had taken before, reminding Joey of just how filthy this was, forbidden, disgusting and yet so fucking good. Kal fucked like a man possessed, desperate, ruthless, uncaring, and Joey felt tears prick in his eyes. He needed to cum, already so exhausted and oversensitive, but yet he felt like he might explode if he didn’t cum again. He vaguely heard his own voice babbling, pleading, begging, Henry's voice a constant low growl in his ear, stroking and pulling at his hair.

He felt so full, and it was only getting worse with every thrust until he finally felt the pressure of Kal’s knot teasing at his hole.

Fuck.

Henry hadn’t been kidding.

He whined, hand desperately reaching out until felt Henry’s fingers lace with his own.

“So fucking, full,” he gasped.

“You’re doing so well, Joey, almost there.”

“Fuck!” he cried as the knot finally pushed inside him, the dog cumming harder and longer than any human. With just a single touch to his cock, Joey’s own orgasm burst through him, spilling over Henry’s hand as he struggled to stay upright, the energy draining from him.

“That’s it, well done,” Henry murmured and Joey wasn’t sure if he was talking to Joey or to Kal.

Kal continued to rut against him, working the cum deeper and deeper, leaving Joey to whimper pitifully as he hung off the dog’s knot, unable to move. By the time the knot finally released him, Joey was a mess, whining against Henry’s chest, covered in cum; Kal’s, his own, Henry’s. He felt thoroughly used and fucked out, dozing quite contently in Henry’s arms.

So maybe lockdown wasn’t quite so bad after all.

#the witcher #the witcher rpf #joey/kal #joey/henry #dead dove do not eat #joey batey rpf #henry cavill rpf

[limerental]

Second fill for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo, yeehaw. For the prompt Role Swap

Relationships: Regis/Geralt/Yennefer

Rating: M

Content Warnings: references to murder, blood, stab wounds, and corpses of the canon-typical violence flavor, sexually suggestive dialogue, fade to black sex

Summary: Witcher Regis tracks an injured rogue vampire to druid Geralt's cottage.

“And what do we have here?” asked Regis, lacing his long fingers behind his back so that the cottage’s occupants could not see how they twitched to reach for his silver sword.

The woman at the table stretched her long legs and tossed her dark curls over one shoulder and smiled just enough for her slender fangs to catch the light. An ordinary man may have been distracted by her sensual lean in the rough-hewn chair, her fluttering eyelids dark with kohl, the fullness of her red lips, and even Regis, whose body had been mutated and reformed expressly for the purpose of resisting such a distraction, felt his slow heartbeat lurch in his chest at the sight of the strange and beautiful woman.

Or, more accurately, the sight of the woman’s dark fingernails tapping against the pulsepoint of Geralt’s wrist. 

Poor Geralt, who was only human, who in the decades that Regis had known him had never once avoided any trouble that came along, who refused to pack up his mama’s cottage and move into town where things were quieter and safer, who perhaps had not noticed the glint of the vampire’s fangs but very likely had and not been as afraid as he should have.

“Must I repeat myself?” asked Regis, doing his very best to remain civil until civility no longer benefited the human held in the creature’s grasp. 

Ordinarily, he would not fret so much over a single higher vampire, given that in all his years as a Witcher he had never known one to be any more dangerous to a man’s health than any other stranger, but he had been following rumors of a rogue, separated from her order and rejecting all principles of moral decency. 

Through the town of Rinde, Regis had followed a trail of fresh corpses, drained pale. All men, all of a certain social standing, and all unlikely to be missed overly much, but it was the principle of the thing. Namely, the most important principle being that Regis would be paid a very large sum by the mayor of Rinde if he brought back the vampire’s head.

At the site of the most recent killing, he had found a knife black with vampiric ichor held fast in the rigor mortis grip of a dead tax collector and knew at once where any creature of the night who knew anything would seek medical attention around here.

Regis sighed. Poor Geralt. He did not seem to be aware of his uncanny ability to summon danger to his little cottage at the edge of the wood, and he never turned away any of his wounded strays, not even the ones with viscera in their mouths and blood black as night and limbs cold and smooth as marble.

“My apologies, but I must ask one more--”

“What does it look like to you, Witcher?” asked the strange woman. An ordinary man would have been too distracted by the tap of her fingers against Geralt’s pulse to notice the pained wince as she shifted in the chair.

“Well, I can’t confirm such a thing without examination, but it looks to me that that freshly-bandaged wound to your gut will match the dagger I found on a murdered man this morning,“ said Regis, watching Geralt’s reaction as he spoke. No shock or horror showed on the man’s face. Under Regis’ scrutiny, he had the good sense to look sheepish, tucking an errant lock of auburn hair behind his ears and looking somewhere past the Witcher’s head rather than his eyes. “Geralt, my boy, you didn’t notice anything odd about the nature of this woman’s anatomy?”

“Yeah,” said Geralt. “Don’t know as much as you about higher vampires, but I figured gaping abdominal wounds aren’t standard.”

“Very astute,” said Regis. “Yes, most higher vampires only acquire those when their prey does not go down easily.”

“Prey?” The woman’s fingernails tapped against Geralt’s pale wrist. “I’m no predator, Witcher.”

“Your actions have been predatory. Three dead men is as many days.”

“Three men who have been more hostile to the people of this town than I could be if I stayed a year. I’ve killed the predators that you won’t, Witcher. Be grateful.”

“She’s not dangerous, Regis,” said Geralt. “She could have killed me by now.”

Regis pursed his lips while Geralt continued to make a dedicated effort not to look him in the eye. Regis had known the boy since he was a lanky teenager apprenticing with his mama, and so knew exactly what scene he would have walked in on if he had waited another hour.

Geralt very much had a type.

If Regis didn’t know the boy so well, he would almost believe the demure act. As if Geralt did not so frequently think with his cock when it came to dangerous and bloodthirsty creatures of the night. 

“You are very lucky that I love you, Geralt,” said Regis and watched a pink blush rise to the very tips of Geralt’s ears. 

He looked to the vampire. “May I ask your name?”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg. And you are?”

“Call me Regis,” he said, having long learned that trotting out his full name in situations like this was usually a waste of breath.

“Regis,” repeated the vampire, seeming to be tasting the name on her lips.

“Yennefer,” said Regis carefully as he made a show of relaxing his hands from behind his back, aware that he may next say the name while reading her last rites. “What are your intentions toward this innocent druid boy?”

“Regis, I’m half a century old.”

“Not now, dear one, this is an important conversation.”

“Mmmm,” hummed Yennefer, her violet eyes bright with amusement, the pull of her smirk doing nothing to hide the length of her fangs. “You’re an intelligent man, Regis. What would you deduce about my intentions?”

Taking in the scene before him, there were several things that Regis could deduce. He knew with the accelerated pace of higher vampire healing and Geralt's medicinal skills, her wound would be approaching a trifling scratch by now. 

He knew that said vampires only killed their victims in exceptional circumstances, that bloodlust did not compel or blind them, that bloodletting was more of an extracurricular activity than a requirement for sustenance, and that a vampire that broke from her coven would have no access to the resources and safety that such a group provided, leaving her to fight for scraps on the edges of society, endlessly targeted by human ignorance, forced to flee from execution over and over until she no longer could.

Her voice billowed like smoke. Dark fingernails, the black lacquer hiding the deadly sharpness, trailed along the blue veins of Geralt’s wrist. Her other hand traced the grain of the table, drawing closer to Regis with each sweep. 

At last, Geralt met his eyes, speaking without words in that endearing way he had perfected over their decades together. Sighing, Regis tugged at the buckle holding his swords to his back and set them aside. He stripped off his bracers and leather overcoat, watching Geralt swallow hard as he did so.

“I must confess that as I am incapable of reading thoughts, I know very little of your intentions, Yennefer,” said Regis. He toed off his travelling boots and set them neatly by the door, then stood with his hands on his hips in stocking feet before them. “On the other hand, I have been intimately involved with Geralt for most of his life, and I have no need of mind reading to be certain that his intentions include tempting the both of us into engaging in a number of truly debauched acts in the back room of this cottage until he no longer remembers his own name. Am I wrong, dear?”

“Rarely are,” said Geralt, a touch breathless.

As Yennefer’s clawed fingers curled to tug at his arm until he settled himself neatly in her lap, the human's smile was anything but sheepish.

#my fic #geralt x regis x yennefer #the witcher #not yet on ao3

[teresa-of-ficwill]

In the name of love (Geraskier)

Summary: Jaskier did not remember where but one day he heard a proverb that said something like "if you fall in love with a witcher - you will die." Then he considered it utter stupidity but now... It turned out that it was not just a proverb.

Or the story of why witchers don't fall in love.

The count begins

Jaskier couldn’t say when it started exactly. When Geralt became not just a fellow traveler; not just a source of inspiration; and not just his main income but someone who mattered. Mattered a lot. Julian couldn’t remember, no matter how hard he tried, when exactly he began to be torn between the choice: to write a ballad about the exploits of the witcher or a love song to him. Jaskier was careful, of course. Singing about the love of an abstract girl for a very specific witcher is not so difficult, so he used this light image without a twinge of conscience.

In fact, Julian was not timid in matters of the heart but in the situation, with Geralt, he preferred to kept silent. Jaskier understood perfectly well that the witcher didn’t look like a person who needed a relationship. No, of course, Jaskier didn't need it either. But it was before… before he fell in love with Geralt.

Julian had plenty of sex in his life: he was in demand not only among women but also among men of different ages and wealth but just having sex gets boring with time. It happens sometimes. You fall in love and suddenly you want something more than an affair for one night or a few weeks. You want kisses, hugs, warm words, and confidence that the person you love will be by your side no matter what.

Jaskier wanted all this. At first, these desires were unconscious and sometimes slipped into his mind but they could be ignored. Well… no more. He was in love. He was in love so much that when Geralt once again opened the doors of the house of tolerance, Jaskier felt all the shades of such inappropriate jealousy. He could follow the witcher and take a girl or boy for the night in order to somehow distract himself, but Julian didn’t want to. He didn't want just sex anymore. He wanted love. And who would have thought that this would be the greatest tragedy of his life?

“I love you,” without any prefaces, without an introduction and even without a hint of logic Jaskier said when they once again spend the night in the forest. He had no idea why he was doing this because only recently he vowed to be silent about his feelings forever. But Jaskier, to be honest, has never been a consistent person. He kept his promises and vows but not in front of himself. He was always careful but only if it was not about Geralt. In general, if you think about it, he was a rather controversial person.

The witcher looked up from the fire and raised an eyebrow, apparently expecting a continuation but there wasn’t any. Because the only thing Jaskier was capable of now was to maintain silence and somehow keep the violently beating heart in his chest.

“Repeat,” Geralt said and his voice sounded rougher than it should. Julian twitched his head slightly.

“I love you,” he repeated and silence hung up in the air again. For the first time in his life, he had nothing more to say. And this, perhaps, said a lot.

Previously, it wasn’t difficult for him to talk about his love for a certain lady for hours, just to drag her into bed, but when it came to Geralt Jaskier simply had no words. Not a single sensible thought in his head, except for the one that he had already said, but in it was all the sincerity of his bardic soul which he spent in vain in his youth. It contained all his feelings, all his jealousy, all the despair that was inside him.

He gave himself up completely, without a trace, by just one simple phrase which was customary to underestimate. He allowed the hellfire to get into the forest of his soul and burn it to the ground, not missing a single tree. He opened up in some desperate hopelessness to a man whose silence was hurting more and more with every passing second. Like a red-hot knife between his ribs but Jaskier liked the pain too much to pull it out.

“Do not waste words.”

“I have no more words.”

There was a strange tingling sensation in his wrist but Jaskier was too busy with a fire in his forest to notice. Geralt looked at him without taking his eyes off as if he was looking for something. Studying him. As if looking for a catch where it cannot be by definition. As if waiting for a pod from someone who was not capable of it.

“I'll hurt you.”

“I'm already hurting.”

Julian used to like this feeling but now it was too serious to enjoy. Now it was like a punishment, a load, a fragment of an accidentally broken mirror stuck in his heart. Everything was changing so quickly that even Jaskier couldn’t keep track of it. When did sympathy turn into love? When did it happen? When did it start to hurt? He didn’t understand. All his consciousness was enveloped in a haze, as if in delirium. As if he was dying. Does love feel like this?

He remembered deciding that he wanted a relationship, that he wanted to be happy. So, at what point in time did it start to hurt? It hurt without reciprocity and Geralt was like treatment. A medicine that wasn’t available to him.

“It’s already started, huh?” asked the witcher in such a tone as if he were signing a death warrant for Julian.

Jaskier scratched his wrist. He didn't know what Geralt was talking about but whatever it was it had already begun. His brain was in a fog, the feelings hurt, he needed treatment.

Julian missed the moment when the witcher walked around the fire and sat down next to him.

“It’s my fault,” the man said, taking Jaskier’s hands in his. “If I had not loved you, this wouldn’t have happened to you,” Geralt rolled up the sleeve on the bard's left hand. He looked down. Dark blue, swollen veins covered his wrist, lightly touching his palm, and climbed further up the arm. They took up a little, only a third of the forearm but the bard understood that it would be getting only worse. He couldn’t know for sure but he guessed with some tenth sense. It would only get worse from now on.

Julian had a poor understanding of what was happening because his head began to ache. Any thoughts caused pain and consciousness floated away, not allowing him to focus on anything.

“Will I die?”

“I'm sorry.”

Jaskier wanted to say that he was sorry too but thinking was so damn hard. For some reason, death didn’t frighten him. He felt like on drugs, everything around him seemed unimportant. Everything except Geralt.

“When?”

“When the poison reached the heart.”

Julian nodded but he didn't understand much. He should have had a dozen of questions but there was not a single one in his head. He felt bad. He couldn’t think.

“It hurts,” Buttercup whispered, feeling tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t cry. Well… he didn’t want to. His consciousness was too cloudy to control his body.

“Let me help,” Geralt asked and the bard nodded, not understanding what he was agreeing to at all but now it didn't matter. Nothing else was important except the witcher sitting near him.

The man leaned forward, their lips met and Julian took a truly deep breath for the first time in an unknown amount of time. His head cleared slightly when he answered, tangling his fingers in Geralt's hair. The witcher growled and pulled him closer, wrapping his strong arms around him. He kissed roughly as if the man was angry with him but Jaskier knew he wasn’t. The pain in the head dulled and the body begged for more. A lot more. The bard wanted Geralt inside; as deep as possible; as close as their bodies would allow.

The witcher ripped off the bard's clothes without worrying about its integrity. It was pretty cool outside but Jaskier didn't feel - Jaskier was in a fever. The pain that seized his whole body went away with each new kiss, with each new mark, with each new breath that they shared.

Geralt prepared him quickly, took roughly but, for the bard, this felt like the best sensations in the world. The pain was replaced by pleasure and there was just as much of it as there was pain before. Julian moaned as loudly as he could, cut off his voice, scratched the witcher's back, and seemed to be going crazy. Everything was on fire inside but it was a good fire. The fire that warmed, not the fire that burned.

Conscious returned almost completely when Jaskier came. Geralt made a couple of deep thrusts and came next, pressing their lips together. The world was no longer shrouded in a haze but consciousness was still floating somewhere, allowing fatigue to take over. The bard remembered how the witcher hugged him and covered them both with a blanket so that they do not freeze at night, and then there was a blissful emptiness.

To be continued

💜💜💜

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#geralt of rivia #geraskier #gerlion #geralt z rivii #geralt/dandelion #geralt/jaskier #jaskier #the witcher #fic stuff #witcher fic #geralt #dandelion #witcher fanfiction #slash fanfiction #slash fic #geralt and jaskier #geralt and dandelion #geraskier fluff #geraskier fic #gerlion fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #ao3 stuff #ao3 fic #fanfic #ao3 #geraskier angst #geraskier au #angst with a happy ending

[suzukiblu]

excerpt from current writing (aka "the one where Jaskier has to be the adult in the situation"):

Jaskier is having a very bad day. 

And for once, it’s not his own fault, thank you very much. 

“Oh . . . hell,” he says, staring at the two slumped cloaked bodies on the ground in front of him. Geralt and Yennefer don’t move. 

The wild-looking teenage mage on the other side of the clearing bares her teeth. Jaskier considers hiding behind a tree. It probably wouldn’t do him any good, though. 

“Leave me alone!” she screams, and then, thank the gods, turns and flees into the woods. Jaskier sighs in relief. Well, that’s a mercy, at least. 

This day started off with breaking a string on his lute, getting rained on, and running into Geralt and Yennefer—separately, but at the same time—and the mage who they were both apparently looking for running off is officially the only fortunate thing to have happened. Jaskier is seriously tempted to follow suit, frankly, and leave the other two to their own devices. 

They might be dead, though, and he really needs to figure that out first. He doesn’t have the slightest clue what kind of spell the girl cast, but whatever it was knocked both a witcher and a witch off their feet. 

“Well, I suppose this is my problem now,” Jaskier says resignedly, then heads over to Geralt. He’s expecting shouted at again, frankly, but he’d rather be shouted at than leave the idiot to drown in the mud. “Geralt? Are you dead?” 

Geralt doesn’t move. Jaskier . . . frowns. His silhouette looks . . . strange, actually. He hadn’t realized from a distance, but it’s small. 

Jaskier leans over and flips back the hood of the other’s cloak, and immediately balks at the sight of an unconscious boy with white hair. That. That is not Geralt. 

Except it is, obviously.

#jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher #witcher netflix #rinfic