#i hate what they did to eskel

[blackparadedean]

#there is no witcher s3 if i do not acknowledge it #weird how netflix did all that marketing and it just never dropped. wild #also. fs all round for hemsworth he aint even in the show yet and netflix already doing him dirty smh #n e way. back to waiting for the update to the wild hunt to drop on switch. @nintendo i know yall been busy w zelda and respect but blease #and! inexplicifics currently dropping new installment of theee accidental warlord series so who needs netted flicks anyway #what if i start a new save in tw3 just to go on a radovid hate campaign. killing that man for his numerous crimes. #hhhhhhhh i aM PRETENDING I DO NOT SEE IT!!!!! #(i do see jt thpugh and i am furious how dare they do jaskier this way i haven’t been this mad sincd they killed eskel what theffUCK) #the netflix show isn’t real and it cannot hurt me. goodbye

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Ribs

summary: You're not from the world where the Witcher takes place. So, to stay alive, you stay glued to your witcher - Eskel. Catching feelings for him was bound to happen anyway. Right?

Maybe a tiny, life-threatening encounter with a leshy is just the little push the both of you need.

notes: The title is inspired by the song ‘Ribs’ by Lorde, specifically the lyrics ‘And we’ll never go home again.’ Maybe a little more angsty than you expected, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!! I tried to combine both asks into one

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @cookielovesbook-akie @lu-in-the-library @sunndust @ghostcatwhiskers (msg me to be added/removed to any!)

masterlist | based on this request

Eskel had been in the middle of a forest when, almost instantaneously, a figure appeared in front of him. Expecting a sorcerer, Eskel felt his hand grip onto his sword. Just in case.

Instead, he was met with a person that looked so utterly lost and afraid that Eskel knew this was something completely out of the ordinary, and no attack. The next thing he noted is that, when looking at his eyes, this person in front of him was utterly confused.

Without a single word being spoken, Eskel knew that you neither knew where you were, or what a Witcher was. Geralt or Vesemir would have asked for an explanation, but Eskel, stupidly emotional as he was (no matter what people thought about emotions and Witchers) felt something tug at his heart.

He could have left you in the forest, to be devoured by wolves or monsters. He could have left you in the next town, to be ripped apart by the people there. He should have, probably. Instead, Eskel took you with him, on the path.

Perhaps, his reasons weren’t entirely selfless. As he got to know you, Eskel became used to your company, your lack of prejudice. Your warmth, so freely given.

The more he taught you about his world, the more you told him about yours, and Eskel knew that. It made him feel better about keeping you with him, but he knew that, regardless, he should not be falling for you.

***

You held onto Eskel as his horse, Scorpion, began the climb towards Kaer Morhen. The fight against the Leshy had been equally terrifying for you and exhausting for him, and you tried to hold him from slumping forwards too much.

“Are you okay?” you asked him quietly. He nodded. “I am, you’re not. Your heart is beating too quickly.” He replied.

“I hate when you do that.” You shuddered. “Makes me feel like you can read my mind.”

Like you can tell my heart beats faster when you look at me.

“I can only hear your heart, and I’m afraid I cannot change anything about that.” Eskel said. “Why are you afraid?”

You sighed. “Just nervous. I’m practically meeting your family and I don’t even know… should I bow? Or curtsy? I don’t even know how to do that.”

Eskel laughed, shaking his head. He turned to look back at you, and you prayed your heart did not beat faster.

“They will like you.” He assured, before clicking his tongue. Scorpion sped up into a trot, and in the distance, you could see the outlines of what had to be Kaer Morhen. Unlike the few other castles you had seen, this one looked a little bit more like the ones back home.

It was almost in ruins.

As Scorpion walked into the courtyard, Eskel slipped off the horse, before helping you. Your feet hadn’t touched the ground since the Leshy. Eskel hadn’t wanted to stop, had insisted on riding to Kaer Morhen, where you would be safe, and you could feel the consequences of that in your legs now.

“Sore?” Eskel asked, and you nodded. He sighed, taking the bag you had slung over your shoulder to sling over his own. He tried to hide the wince, and failed miserably. If you’d asked him to take the bag, he would have refused, and one look at it was enough to confirm your thoughts. Eskel shook his head.

After he had put Scorpion away, he turned to you. A reassuring squeeze of hands from him had the opposite effect for you. His thumb stroked over the small scar on your left hand, one that you had gotten from hurting yourself early into your time on the Continent. Eskel had fixed it up.

You remembered how he had looked up at you, taken his time to soothe such a small injury while his entire thigh had been bandaged with soaked linen at the same time, crimson red. You thought that that was the moment you fell in love.

Eskel cleared his throat, already a few steps away from you, and you jogged to catch up, nervously laughing. As he opened the doors to Kaer Morhen you took a deep breath, rolled back your shoulders, and exhaled.

At the sight of his brothers, Eskel seemed to relax, laughing happily. The others cheered, and a man with white hair, presumably Geralt, got up to hug him. You stayed where you were, a few paces behind Eskel, wringing your hands as you waited for them to notice you.

Your eyes went over the men there. You thought you recognized Lambert, Coen and Vesemir, but the girl sitting at one of the tables made you pause. She couldn’t be older than 16. What was she doing here?

A wolf whistle ripped you from your thoughts, and you wanted to disappear.

“Eskel!” one of the witchers exclaimed teasingly. “Who is this?”

“A friend.” Eskel said. Oh how that stung. “Vesemir, we must speak.”

“Meeting the in-laws already.” Lambert shouted, and a ripple of laughs went through the men present. You made to follow Eskel, but he stopped you.

“You should stay while I speak with him. He may not be open to… what you are.”

Ouch.

You nodded, watching as Eskel, your only anker in this place, slipped away. Now, all eyes were on you, standing in the entrance, so obviously out of place. Even the girl that sat at one of the long tables stared.

Your skin prickled under their stares, and you gave a nervous smile that made you feel like an idiot. “Hello.” You said, your voice coming out rough, the tone weird, second half of it garbled. Good god, why did this always happen to you?

A few greetings were murmured back to you, and to your relief, many of the Witchers in front of you soon turned back to their conversations. You needed to do something. You couldn’t just stand there and look stupid.

Talk to a Witcher or a teenage girl? Witcher or teenage girl. Neither seemed like the lesser evil, both were incredibly fucking scary. But, the teenage girl seemed just as awkwardly alone as you, so you slipped over to her, sitting down on the bench.

“You look shaken.” She said after a few moments.

You laughed dryly, half out of relief, half out of the fact that you were incredibly shaken. The monsters here were terrifying, and that Leshy? You could still see the moment it had snaked a branch around your ankle, pulling you towards it, playing in your mind.

“All credit goes to the Leshy.” You replied. At that, a hush fell over the hall. Had you said something wrong? Witchers and their goddamn hearing.

The one with the white hair, or, probably, Geralt, turned towards you abruptly. “A Leshy?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. “That’s what Eskel said.”

The teenage girl next to you was no help, only shrugging when you looked at her. Geralt did not respond to you, even if his question had been urgent, leaving you dangling on a precipice of anxiety again.

You told them your name to fill the silence, trying to sound casually, pushing in a quick ‘by the way’ at the end. Finally, someone picked up on something you were saying.

“I’m Ciri.” The girl said. “Geralt’s child surprise.”

“That’s how children usually work.” You snorted, which caused some laughter from the people present, and a brooding stare from Geralt. Did he have some kind of stick up his ass?

“We’re not related.” He said, his voice clipped. He stared at you, and you felt like Geralt could see right through you, sniff you out like a dog.

“Then what’s a child surprise?” you asked. Immediately, you wanted to take your question back. You should have reserved that for Eskel, who knew. He would have understood. Instead, you were barked at by the man named Lambert.

“Have you been living under a rock for the past thousand years?” he asked, and you felt yourself crumble on the inside. However, no explanation followed his question, and all you could do was guess.

What the fuck was a child surprise? Did Witchers adopt? Did people sometimes have to pick up kids along the way? Was it a family heirloom type of thing?

You grabbed for the pitcher with ale, grateful when Ciri handed you an empty cup. Still, when you took a sip, you felt your lips purse. No matter how much ale you drank, you’d never get over the taste of it.

As time ticked on, and Eskel still did not return, you could feel worry imbue itself in your gut. Your knee began to bounce, nails digging into the palms of her hands. Most of the Witchers were gone. Geralt had taken Ciri with him, and the ones named Lambert and Coen were sitting in another corner, playing some kind of game and drinking. You felt a shiver go down your spine, and suddenly, you felt utterly alone.

The dress you were wearing had been bought by Eskel, and it was good. It fit well, the color was a beautiful deep blue, and it was comfortable. But it was nothing you’d have worn back home. Quietly, you drew your knees up to your chest.

If you had a clock, you’d have heard it tick, making the passing of time even more obvious.

At the sound of people approaching, you lifted your head from your knees. You’d almost fallen asleep, and the sudden noise had ripped you out of it. There, at the entrance of the hall, stood Eskel, together with Vesemir.

A relieved smile began to spread across your face, before you remembered what Eskel had said. He may not be open to… what you are.

As Vesemir approached you, the feeling in your gut tightened, anxiety making you shiver again. As Vesemir opened his mouth to speak, you saw Eskel behind him, deathly pale, and a feverish coat of sweat covering his forehead.

“You’re not okay.” You said, pushing off the bench and past Vesemir. Scary old Witchers be damned, Eskel wasn’t doing fine.

“Leshy wasn’t uh… a proper Leshy.” Eskel replied. When he took an idle step forward, you slung his uninjured shoulder around yours, ignoring that he was much too heavy for you to actually help.

Vesemir cleared his voice, and you steeled yourself to argue with Eskel’s adoptive father. “I think it better if we continued this on the morrow.” He said, handing you Eskel’s pack. With some effort, you managed to pick it up, pointedly ignoring Eskel’s grunt of protest.

“Anything else?” you asked Vesemir carefully.

“Make sure he gets his rest, stubborn as he is.” He replied. “Wake the entire keep if something’s wrong.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to swallow your fear.

Even in his delirium, Eskel helped you, directing you towards a small room. With the few skills you’d picked up from him, you managed to stoke the flames in the fireplace, lighting the candle next to the small cot with it. Searching through the pack, you picked out a blanket, preparing to get comfortable in the chair.

As you heard the bed creak behind you, you whirled around.

“Where am I?” Eskel asked you, looking utterly lost.

You sighed, sitting down on the bed next to him. “Kaer Morhen. You…”

“The Leshy?” Eskel asked. That much was just… gone?

“Dead. Really dead, you made sure. With fire, I think and… lots of stabbing.” You replied, and Eskel gave a weak smile. He made to get up, immediately gritting his teeth against the pain, and you stopped him gently.

“You’re taking the bed tonight, no arguments this time. Vesemir’s orders.” You said firmly.

Eskel’s brows drew together. “You met Vesemir?” he asked.

“Not really.” You shrugged. “We were both too concerned about you to talk about me. But he didn’t try to kill me, so there’s that.”

Eskel gave an exhausted laugh, grunting in pain as the bandages tugged on his wounds. “Your heart is… faster.” He said, and you rolled your eyes.

“Stressful day.” You lied.

He nodded, too tired to insist on sleeping on the floor. For once, you were glad for it, not having to fight over whether or not he would take the bed and you the floor (he never let you, insisting that Witchers didn’t need sleep anyway).

***

Your neck was stiff when you woke up the next morning, and it took some effort to push yourself out of your chair. Eskel had sat up at the end of his bed, looking at you tiredly.

“Morning.” You said, your mouth sticky from sleep. You grabbed the pitcher from the bedside, taking a sip of water.

“You slept on the floor.” Eskel noted. “Never wanted you to.”

“It’s not a big deal. You’re looking better, that’s all that matters.” You shrugged, but Eskel only shook his head, pulling at his shirt. You turned away, giving him some privacy. Instead, you rummaged in your pack, looking for the potion he’d need.

“I wanted you to always be comfortable.” He said. You paused, trying not to overthink his words. The potion in your hand felt uncharacteristically cold. Keeping your eyes peeled to the ground, you set it down next to Eskel.

“I always was comfortable. I only have a stiff neck.” You replied. Eskel moved behind you, his hands already beginning to work the knots out of your muscles. You reached up to stop him.

“Eskel, I appreciate it, I really do, but you need to take care pf yourself.” You said firmly. When you looked at him, he had an expression of rejection on his face. Immediately, you regretted your words.

“I’m sorry, I only meant-“ you began.

Eskel interrupted you. “Yeah, I know. You want me to make sure I’m alright. But…” he trailed off. “I want to take care of you.”

There wasn’t a world where you wouldn’t have mulled over his words, hoping that there was more meaning to them. And so, you took his hands into yours, smiling at him nervously.

“Thank you, Eskel. That means the world to me.”

“Yours or mine?” he joked, and you felt yourself smile at his stupid joke.

“Both.”

Eskel paused at that, and immediately, you felt stupid for blurting it out. His hands held yours a little tighter, and a knot formed in your throat. There was a small part of you that was hoping, not just that you hadn’t said anything wrong, but that he would reply to this what you wanted him to say.

Instead, Eskel dropped your hands, turning back to the bed and making it mechanically. You missed the blush on his face entirely.

In the afternoon, you took care of Scorpion, watching as Ciri trained in the yard by herself, a frustrated expression on her face. After a while, you led Scorpion into the stables, walking back out into the yard, and smiling at Ciri. She gave you a strained smile back, and you noticed the irritated skin on her hand.

“Eskel wraps his sword grips with fabric to make them more comfortable in winter.” You told her, nodding at her reddened hand.

“My grandmother never needed any of that.” Ciri only barked out.

“Well, maybe she didn’t have dry skin.” You replied, and Ciri stuck her sword into the snow a little more aggressively than necessary.

“What are you training for?” you asked, idly twisting on a bracelet Eskel had gifted you once.

“I want to be as good as Geralt.” She replied.

“He’s very good, from what I hear.” You said. “But I think you need to take a rest as well. You’re neither a witcher, nor a man. Not that that’s a bad thing. Enough rest will make you better.”

Ciri sighed, handing you the sword. “Could you help me with the grip?”

You nodded, tucking it under your arm and walking towards the dining hall with Ciri.

“So… you and Eskel?” Ciri asked after a while. You almost tripped, regaining your composure quickly.

“No, we’re only friends.” You replied. “We just spend a lot of time together, like you and Geralt.”

Ciri scrunched up her nose in disgust. “I’d hope not. We don’t look at each other like lovesick idiots.”

You almost scoffed indignantly. “We do not look at each other like lovesick idiots. I also doubt that Eskel is in any capacity in love with me.”

“So you are in love with him?” Ciri asked.

Fucking teenage girls.

You didn’t reply to that, and Ciri’s smile widened. “Don’t even think about saying anything.” You bit out. “I just helped you with dry hands.”

Ciri rolled her eyes. “Can I tell Geralt? He’ll give Eskel a kick. You know, he firmly believes that you’re the one not in love. If he finds this out… he’ll have a field day.”

You buried your face in your hands. “He doesn’t talk much, does he?”

“Apart from the occasional grunt, no.” Ciri replied, not that that was much of a reassurance. You knew she was probably still going to spill your best kept secret to Geralt.

“Only Geralt. No one else.” You assented, and Ciri skipped away, leaving you with her sword. Sighing, you dragged yourself up crumbling stone stairs and into your room. Eskel had gotten it ready for you while you’d been out taking care of Scorpion. It felt strange to have one to yourself again after so long. Still, it turned out you didn’t have to be alone for long.

Only a few minutes later, Eskel knocked on your door, carefully checking in on you. You knew it was silly, but it was the things like this that made your heart flutter each time.

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, setting down Ciri’s sword.

“Better.” Eskel said. He noticed the sword with a confused smile. “Are you training? You should’ve told me.”

“Oh no, I was just helping Ciri. Her hands are too dry because of the cold, kind of how yours get sometimes.”

“You remembered that?” Eskel asked.

“Yeah of course. Why wouldn’t I?” you replied, smiling at him.

“I’m in love with you.” Eskel said quietly, then. Your heart stopped for a good second. You stared, blankly, trying to comprehend what Eskel had just said. He paled at your silence, already beginning to back out of your room, but you quickly grabbed his hand.

“I- Me too. I am in love with you too, is what I’m trying to say. I didn’t realise that wrapping a sword would be what it takes to hear it but I really, really, really like you. A lot.” You rambled. “I mean, you’re sweet, and caring, and-“

Eskel stepped forward, hands that were made to kill gently cradling your jaw. He hesitated, eyes asking for permission. When your hands steadied themselves on his chest, he closed the bridge between you, his lips softly meeting yours. You sighed into the kiss, deepening it impatiently until your hands tangled in Eskel’s hair.

After a while, you broke the kiss, heart racing in your chest.

Eskel noticed. “Your heart is…”

“It’s fast, I know. Most of the times you pointed it out, it was because of you.” You confessed. His eyes widened.

“Since… Since I fixed up your hand?” Eskel asked with sudden realisation, and you nodded. He gave you a small smile.

“We’re such idiots.” You laughed, and Eskel joined you. The sound of it was so beautiful you could not help kissing him again.

#eskel #eskel x you #eskel x reader #eskel x y/n #x reader #reader insert #witcher eskel #witcher eskel x you #witcher eskel x reader #the witcher #eskel witcher #eskel fanfic

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Hello! Can I request 24 and 26 for the prompt! Geraskier, please. Hope you feel better soon!

24. Going grocery shopping together

26. Encouraging them to finally buy that thing they definitely deserve to treat themselves to

“Oh good, Frosted Charms are on sale!” Jaskier picks up two boxes of the sugary, brightly colored cereal and tosses them into the cart.

Geralt sighs. “No, they’re not. One box is four crowns. The sign only says they’re two for eight crowns so you think you’re getting a deal.”

“Huh.” Jaskier takes a second look at the sign, sees that his boyfriend is right, and shrugs. “Oh, well, nothing stopping me from getting three boxes, is there?” He grabs a third box, grinning at Geralt. “What’s next on the list?”

“Since when are we following the list?”

Jaskier looks at the cart, which is surprisingly full, given that they only walked into the store to grab a few quick things. “Okay, I’ll follow the list perfectly from here on out.”

Geralt snorts. “Next is bread. You specify in parentheses that you want ‘the good shit.’”

“That’s because I’m making garlic bread to go with dinner. You need decent bread for that.”

“What’s dinner?”

“No idea! Maybe more garlic bread?”

Geralt sighs heavily, but his lips curl up at the corners as he steers the cart around and heads towards the bakery. He doesn’t say a word when Jaskier adds a family-sized pack of peanut butter cups to the cart, because all that witcher training has given him a keen sense for how to spot a losing battle. Jaskier hums to himself as they make their way through the bakery, selecting the most promising-looking loaf of bread before moving on. When he turns around, he finds Geralt eyeing the display of cakes, his gaze lingering on the carrot cake.

Jaskier loathes carrot cake with the burning fire of a thousand hells, especially when it has walnuts and raisins in it, as this one appears to, but Geralt is inexplicably fond of it. But Geralt is looking at the cake with the same wistfulness with which he used to look at Jaskier before they finally got their shit together, so Jaskier will endure the presence of raisins and walnuts in his home if it will make the man he loves happy. He leans around Geralt to snag the carrot cake and place it in the cart.

When he looks up at Geralt, he finds his boyfriend frowning down at him. “You hate carrot cake,” Geralt says.

“I do, as does everyone whose taste buds haven’t been ruined by drinking Lambert’s White Gull. What’s next?”

Geralt doesn’t look at the list, still watching Jaskier in faint bafflement. “Did you mean to get the chocolate mousse cake?”

“No.” Jaskier wonders if it would be overkill to buy two cakes, because that chocolate mousse cake does look good. “You like carrot cake and you were eyeing that cake like it was your long lost love.”

“I don’t need it.” Geralt picks the cake back up.

Jaskier puts a hand on his forearm. “Yes, but do you want it?”

Geralt just blinks at him. The thing about Geralt is that even though he thinks nothing of making sure all the people he loves—Jaskier, Ciri, Yennefer, his brothers, Roach—are happy and comfortable, he rarely extends that same care to himself. When Jaskier met him, the man didn’t even have a boxspring, just a mattress that sat in the middle of his bedroom floor. The most luxurious furnishing in his apartment was Roach’s memory foam cat bed. 

He’s come a long way since then, but sometimes they still run into these moments where Geralt doesn't see the point of treating himself softly. Everything must have a utilitarian purpose. Clothes are for covering his body, not to look or feel good in. Food is to keep him alive, not to enjoy. Sometimes, Jaskier thinks he would have made an excellent medieval monk. He used to think it was a witcher thing, until he met Eskel and Lambert, who have no problem treating themselves to the small luxuries. It seems to be a Geralt thing.

“Darling.” Gently, Jaskier takes the carrot cake out of his hands. “Look in the cart.”

Geralt glances down at the cart. “Okay?”

“How many of those things in there do we need?” When Geralt keeps looking puzzled, Jaskier continues. “I’m fully aware that three boxes of Frosted Charms, peanut butter cups, and garlic bread for dinner aren’t necessities in life, but I’ve had a long week and they make me happy. Just like the nice bottle of wine I’m going to go pick up next will make me happy. Do you begrudge me those little things?”

“No,” Geralt says. “Though Frosted Charms taste like stale piss.”

“Don’t distract me by slandering Frosted Charms.” Jaskier taps him on the nose. “Sometimes, you’re allowed to get things just because you like them, not because they serve a purpose. Look at Roach!”

That earns him an incredulous look. “What about Roach?”

“You got a cat because you wanted a cat to keep you company! She’s not a horse, so you can’t ride her. She’s not a dog, so she can’t guard the house. She’s not a goat that provides milk or a chicken that lays eggs. You got her because you love her and she makes you happy.”

“Are you comparing our cat to a carrot cake?”

Jaskier feels like he’s losing the thread here. “All I’m saying is that carrot cakes aren’t something we need, but you deserve to treat yourself once in a while. Even if your version of treating yourself is disappointment in cake form.”

“You just don’t like it because it has vegetables in it.”

“And I stand by it! Cake should not have vegetables. It’s an insult to Melitele, Lebioda, and also me.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s lips twitched. “If I buy the carrot cake, can we keep shopping? They close in four hours and I’d like to be home by then.”

Jaskier makes a face at him and puts the cake back in the cart. “Come on, what’s next on the list?”

“Meatballs,” Geralt says. “Because I’m not just having garlic bread for dinner, Jask. We’re not twenty anymore.”

“I can live with meatballs,” Jaskier says, looking forward to an evening of meatball-related innuendos that will horrify his boyfriend, but also get him laid, because Geralt secretly likes it when Jaskier is obnoxious.

They start away from the bakery section, Jaskier casting a longing glance over his shoulder at the vastly superior cakes they’re leaving behind.

Geralt stops in his tracks. “You want the chocolate mousse cake, don’t you?”

“Yes, but don’t you think two cakes is a bit ridiculous?”

“Since when does something being ridiculous stop you?”

Geralt knows Jaskier far too well. Dropping a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek, Jaskier goes back to fetch the chocolate mousse cake. After all, it’s not enough to tell Geralt he should treat himself. It’s only right that Jaskier leads by example.

Also, he just really wants cake.

Domestic/Situation Relationship Prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Hi! If I can ask for another I would love to get 29. pet names from the Soft™ fic prompt meme with Lambert/Aiden, thank you <3 I love your writing 💕

Aaaaw!! Thank you so much!!! And thank you for the prompt!

29 - Pet names. Lambert's pretty sure coming up with a pet name for your ex best friend/ current boyfriend shouldn't be this difficult.

Nobody told Lambert thinking up a suitable pet name was this God's damned difficult. Granted, he wasn’t sure that Aiden was into that sappy shit but Lambert had never had a romantic partner before and he wanted to have at least something to fall back on so he wouldn’t panic and call Aiden something either inappropriate or insulting (looking back, the slap that whore had dealt him that time had been completely justified). He wasn’t overthinking this, he was just trying to be prepared. Shut up.

His family were easy. Either call them what they were, or something that pissed them off. Geralt was “Pretty Boy’ when Lambert wanted to annoy him, same as he was “Lambchop” when Geralt or Eskel wanted to get a rise out of him. Ciri was “Girl” or “Kid”, sometimes “Brat” (affectionate) depending on what mischief she decided to pull that day.

Aiden had been easy too, when they were still just friends and the same rules applied or they'd just call each other increasingly random shit just to see who could make the other laugh first. Now, Lambert wanted something different. Something special just between the two of them – that’s what couples did, right?

He couldn’t exactly just call Aiden “Cat” as that’s what everyone on The Path and everyone else in the Keep used for him (and most of the time that had been intended as an insult until the other Wolves actually got to know him). He’d contemplated just sticking to the classics, but Jaskier had low-key ruined that for him by casually calling everyone some variation of “Love” or “Darling” or “Sweetheart” (or some sickening combination of all three if he was drunk and your name was Geralt), Aiden included.  He sighed as he looked over the sheet of paper in front of him absolutely covered with rejected possibilities (which he must remember to burn later). Alright, so maybe he was overthinking this.

Lambert didn’t bother trying to hide his grin as he continued cleaning the blade of his sword with a soft rag, half of his attention on Aiden. The Cat’s mending lay abandoned as he perched on the edge of his chair, eagerly following the small blob of light reflecting off the blade and onto the wall, his fingers and legs twitching as if he were resisting the urge to pounce, Lambert was pretty sure his pupils were also dilated. He couldn’t resist.

He sniggered to himself as he purposefully jiggled the blade, making the light bounce around erratically.

“Kitten.” Lambert huffed to himself affectionately as he watched Aiden’s whole body weave from side to side trying to track it.

“Hmm? Yeah, Puppy?”

Shit. Of course Lambert would forget now that he wasn’t the only one in the room with enhanced hearing. But then his brain caught up to Aiden’s reply.

“Puppy?”

“Well, it’s only fair if you’re calling me Kitten.” Aiden said with a fond smile. He vacated his own seat and took Lambert’s sword, resting it against the wall before plopping down into the others lap and purring when the Wolf wrapped an arm around his waist, “I won’t if it bothers you though.”

Lambert mulled it over. Everything was screaming at him that he should find it patronising. He just knew that if any of his brothers tried it, they’d be finding themselves nursing at least one bruise. when Aiden said it though...

He shrugged, “I don’t hate it.”

 Aiden’s smile turned slightly predatory, “Want to see how long it takes me to make you whimper like one?”

Lambert didn’t get a chance to answer before Aiden’s mouth was on his, the Cats purrs increasing in volume as Lambert kissed back with a groan.

His Kitten was going to kill him, but what a way to go.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

[lyntergalactic]

20 Questions for Writers

i was tagged by the ever lovely @oakashandwillow

1. How many works do you have on AO3? uh... are we counting works i've orphaned over the years? if not, 16 over two accounts.

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 41,118

3. What fandoms do you write for? currently, it's all star wars all the time, though there's probably going to be a one piece fic out of me soon. other fandoms i've written for include dragon age, naruto, and stranger things.

the rest of the ?s are under a cut to save space!!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

(i promise you that) we're marching on | naruto fic, sakura-centric gen

the long and short of it | witcher fic, geralt/eskel, bonus fiberarts

the unexpected series | stranger things fic, steddie, rule 63!steve with surprise baby

quid pro quo | star wars: the clone wars fic, rex/echo, smut

the will to carry on | stranger things fic, abandoned wip, rule 63!steve

5. Do you respond to comments? i try to! i don't always have the spoons for it tho

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? surprisingly, it's not the fic that's all about grief and recovery. it's a star wars drabble, changing of the guard.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? the joke answer is quid pro quo. (because it's smut.) but most of my endings tend to be content or hopeful if not happy, so this is hard to quantify for me.

8. Do you get hate on fics? not as of yet, but given i write cloneshipping i'm honestly just bracing for it to happen at some point

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? indeed i do. i currently only have one smut thing uploaded, so idk if i can say anything for certain about trends, but given my wips... emotional sex and smut as character studies seem to be my thing.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? nope. not really my thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? nope! thankfully, i've heard horror stories

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? i think one that no longer exists was once translated. (i had a sad habit of deleting or orphaning things i was less than pleased with when i was younger. i know better now.)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? ahaha yes but none of it i'm going to mention by name. all my co-written fic happened in middle school with IRL friends.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? i'm a filthy multishipper this question is like asking me which of my hairs i like best

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? oh man. definitely the will to carry on and the couple of stranger things wips in my wip file. not that i don't love the stories anymore, but certain parts of the fandom annoyed me right out of any inspiration or desire to touch anything related to said fandom with a twelve foot pole.

16. What are your writing strengths? i like to think i'm good with characterization and dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? writing anything longer than 3k words max lmao though that has been improving lately and i have high hopes for the sev fic getting finished

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? there... there is a whole can of worms here that this question opens for me and i don't think anyone wants my ramble about dialogue, other languages, conlangs, dialects, and the effects of having been in anime fandom for so long so. this is not getting answered other than with a shrug

(unless someone wants the ramble in which case i will happily oblige)

19. First fandom you wrote for? teen titans cartoon when i was a wee thing. it was a self-insert fic that was less than a page in ms word, single spaced :')

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? this is such a cop-out answer but i genuinely don't think i can pick a favorite. maybe ordinal, just because i'm still super proud of having finished it and what i did with the characterization at missing scenes? but augh i want to put more here too

i'm tagging @bisexualdinahlance, @bilbosmom-belladonna, @cacodaemonia, aaaaand @cabezadeperro but no pressure if you're not game :> and if anyone wants to do it but isn't tagged /points to eyes /points to u

#adventures in fic writing #memery

[bitterlybisexualbard]

Easy

(Also available on AO3)

They slip into the hot spring with varying volumes of moans, overworked muscles hitting the hot water and flooding in painful bliss. Geralt hears Jaskier's low hiss as the water stings his hands, grazed from all the scrambling around under tables.

Jaskier's eyes slip closed as soon as he finds a ledge to rest his head against. "I think I live here now."

"Steam'd do no good to your lute."

"Don't have one anymore, anyway."

Geralt winces.

Jaskier opens his eyes as though he heard it somehow. "Oh, don't pull that face. She was a beautiful instrument with great sentimental value, but she served me well through two decades of daily playing. I was lucky to keep her as long as I did. Besides, you hate my playing."

Geralt grumbles but doesn't argue.

"So," Jaskier asks as he reaches for the soap Geralt readied. "Where to now for the white wolf and his lion cub?"

Geralt pulls a face at the names, though it's subtle enough Jaskier probably won't pick up on it.

Jaskier chuckles to himself.

Or perhaps he did pick up on it. Jaskier's always been a lot better at that than he should be considering how much of their interactions are Jaskier himself being loud and self-involved. He shouldn't have time or attention to spare to pick up on the small tells that Geralt lets slip. Geralt shrugs. "Don't know. Haven't decided."

"Mmm," Jaskier hums thoughtfully. "Must be hard to think about leaving after everything."

Geralt doesn't answer. He doesn't have to.

"If Rience hadn't been here once already, then I suppose you'd probably just stay," Jaskier continues, as he often does when Geralt is in no mood for talking. Which is most of the time.

Geralt has no idea who told Jaskier the fire mage had found Kaer Morhen, but it doesn't really matter. Jaskier is the talkative type. He could've got any one of the witchers, Yennefer or Ciri talking. Probably Ciri. She likes to pretend she's as recalcitrant as Geralt -- another one of her childish mimicries of him that Geralt isn't sure what to make of between the burning fondness for her and the paralysing fear that she'll succeed in being like him -- but by nature she's a social little thing. Not as chatty as the bard, perhaps, but she blossoms under attention and interaction, even the gruff, unsuitable kinds she gets from Lambert and Coen, who for all their teasing Geralt about never expecting to be uncles, act for all the world like older brothers. Geralt should know. He is one. Jaskier and Ciri don't seem to have spoken much since the battle, Ciri off with Yennefer mending their budding friendship and trying to get Ciri enough control to feel somewhat safe again, while Jaskier's been helping the witchers with managing the aftermath, but it's not like Geralt keeps tabs on them at all times. Sometimes he has to sleep or relieve himself.

Geralt doesn't think he'll ever forget the warm press of Jaskier's hand squeezing his shoulder as Geralt decended to the caves with yet another of his brothers in his arms. None of the witchers offered each other comfort. They had been raised to know that comfort comes in the killing of monsters. The knowledge that other people's families will be safer as a result. It comes from purpose, from the necessity of the Path and the inevitability of the sacrifices they all make for it sooner or later.

With Ciri, some of that had softened in Geralt, relented until he had found himself offering Vesemir the same comfort he would usually give to her after Eskel's death. But the others, Vesemir included, held firm.

Geralt only realised with Jaskier's touch and his sympathetic gaze that he'd come to expect more than that. Between Ciri and Jaskier, and to some extent Triss and even Yennefer, he'd come to expect empathy and understanding where he should only ever have known purpose and clarity. It was hard to accept. Even harder to watch Ciri and Jaskier's attempts at sympathy be brushed aside by the other witchers. To witness Jaskier's low and earnest 'I grieve with you' receive derisive snorts and glares. Ciri's quiet requests to hear stories about the witchers the demon killed with her hands be met with bitter laughs and dissmissive comments.

He loves his brothers, and he loves Vesemir, but they are products of their training and that isn't always a good thing. It's often the opposite of a good thing.

He doesn't notice how long they've been sat in silence until it's broken by Yennefer's light footsteps and her tired greeting. She doesn't pause or step away for modesty, letting her gown slip from her shoulders with a sigh and wading into the water with them.

"Where's Ciri?" Geralt asks.

"On the training grounds with Coen," Yennefer tells him. "We had a frustrating lesson. I think it helps clear her head to throw herself bodily at dangerous things. Can't think where she could have got that from."

Geralt hums in response, not liking the clipped way the sentences come out and the distance and uncertainty it implies. They've talked things through, and her tone is as teasing as ever, but he knows they're both still having to try harder than feels natural to keep things amicable and away from darker waters. "What happened?"

Another sigh, this one less weary relief, more exhausted frustration. "Her powers are still entirely ruled by her emotions. She's scared, and she's angry. Usually that would fuel her. But she also feels a tremendous amount of guilt, and I think it's blocking her. She doesn't want to use her powers in case she hurts someone, but she knows that if she doesn't practice then she'll lose control again."

"Poor thing," Jaskier murmurs. He's distanced himself from them, seemingly so that he can lean back and dampen his hair, but Yennefer glides towards him and steals the soap from his hands before he can wash his hair. "Hey! I was using that!"

Yennefer smirks at him pulls him around bodily so his back is to her. "Let me. I've used more than enough Chaos on healing over the past couple of days, and I'd rather not add your hands to the list because you start crying about getting soap in your grazes."

Jaskier huffs but allows her to lather the soap in his hair.

It's intimate. Affectionate. It makes something tighten in Geralt's chest and throat, makes his eyes throb in the way they do since the Trials burned away their ability to water properly.

Yennefer has never washed Geralt's hair for him. She's run soap-smooth hands over his body in shared baths that were never as much about ridding him of the stink of horse sweat as she claimed. But she never tried to wash his hair. Geralt supposes that neither of them felt confident enough, or comfortable enough, to move through the murky space between sensual intimacy and the genuine affection and care that it would have implied.

Jaskier used offer to wash his hair sometimes. Geralt had always said no.

"She'll get better," Geralt offers. "Ciri is... she's stubborn. She'll make it work."

Yennefer doesn't pause in her ministrations as she answers. "I don't doubt it. I only wish the whole thing was easier on her."

That I could make it easier on her goes unspoken. Geralt knows from the little he's gleaned from Yen and Triss that their upbringing was only a hair more forgiving of emotion than Geralt's own. Sorceresses and witchers, it seems, both have the empathy and capacity for comfort stomped out of them for the sake of their purpose. Both children taken from their homes and forced into being something they never asked to be, or never would have had they known the cost. Triss seems to have found her way back more than any of them, but even she finds it difficult to give or accept comfort that serves no additional purpose. Geralt saw it in her gentle but shallow interactions with Ciri. In how easily convinced she was to help Vesemir with the mutagens.

"It's easier for her with you here," Geralt offers. It's stunted and awkward, but he knows how much Yennefer craves the reassurance, so he tries. He always tries for Yennefer. If nothing else, that's something their relationship has taught him. That sometimes people need more from you than you know how to give, and that sometimes you need to give it as much as they need to receive it. That sometimes loving someone is hard work.

Yennefer helps Jaskier rinse the soap from his hair and moves away a little to wash her own. "I suppose that's something."

She doesn't linger. Hair washed and body run over with soap as efficiently as she's able, she leaves the hot springs and marches back through the keep, barely pausing to wring out her hair or slip on the long robe she brought with her.

Jaskier watches her go with a tight expression Geralt can't place. "Do you think she's alright?"

Geralt frowns in surprise at the question. None of them are alright, and of all the people who might be concerned about Yennefer, he hadn't expected Jaskier to be among them. He should have, he supposes. For all that he can be careless and unthinking at times, the bard's always shown more care for others than they've earned from him. "She's fine."

Jaskier huffs. "Really? Because last I knew she was so wracked with guilt for putting Ciri in danger that she slashed her wrists in front of us all in an attempt to save her."

"It worked," Geralt points out. He doesn't know how or why it worked, or how Yennefer had known that it would, but he isn't about to question it now. Yen had made a mistake and she'd done what she had to to fix it. Ciri is safe, Yennefer's alive, the demon witch is gone. It all worked out.

"I know you still care about her, Geralt. There's no use in pretending you aren't every bit as worried as I am about her reopening those scars on her wrists," Jaskier says. It sounds annoyed. Geralt isn't sure why.

"Of course I am."

Jaskier raises his hands in a frustrated gesture he often uses when he thinks Geralt's being particularly obtuse. "So why not say that? Why pretend everything's fine?"

"You already know," Geralt says. Why should he have to find words to tell Jaskier things they both know Jaskier already knows?

"Because it's good to talk about it!" Jaskier snaps. "Like you just did with Yennefer about Ciri!"

"Yen needed-"

"And you did! You talked to her about Ciri because you both care about her," Jaskier says. It seems as though there's more he needs to say, but he droops and rubs his hand over his eyes, wincing at the catch of grazed skin. "I just thought... Well, we're friends, aren't we? You can at least admit that after everything?"

Geralt nods.

"Then why don't you talk to me?"

"What do you mean?"

Jaskier swallows and blinks rapidly for a moment, teeth grit as he pulls in slow breaths through his nose. "We've known each other for most of my life. I've seen you in almost every state it's possible to see another person in. I thought- think- that you trust me?"

Geralt nods again, slower this time. He's trying to understand, he really is, but this isn't easy like things usually are with Jaskier.

"But you won't talk to me," Jaskier says. "I tried, you gave monosyllabic answers when you had to, and we sat here in silence until Yen showed up. And then, well, then you become a regular chatty cathy. You talk to her about Ciri even after turning me away when I tried to do the same. And I get that you have this... this stupid bound fate connection with her, and that you're in love with her. But you literally only just stopped fighting after she betrayed you worse than anyone ever has before, and you already feel more comfortable with her than with me! I just don't understand."

It's baffling. Geralt's baffled. More than he ever has been by any of Jaskier's long winded rants.

"Please, Geralt. At least give me the dignity of a response," Jaskier says, not meeting his eyes but not backing down. All squared up like he's expecting Geralt to punch him in the gut or yell at him to leave. It wouldn't be the first time, after all.

"I'm not."

Jaskier's brow pinches. "I'm going to need more than that, Geralt. Not all of us have the ability to go digging through your head."

Geralt opens his mouth to speak, but he isn't sure what to say. Jaskier's always been able to read his face, his body language, his silences. Always made up for his shortfall with words. He's not used to having to explain himself. "With Yen." He starts and stops, fumbling his way through. "She needs me to talk to her. Tell her things. We're... not what we were. Talking... helps."

"Right," Jaskier says bitterly.

"You don't need me to. You already know," Geralt says. Or he thought Jaskier did, at least.

"Know what?"

Geralt frowns. "Everything. As you said, it's been a long time. You've seen everything. I don't need to explain to you."

Jaskier meets his eyes at last, puzzling him out. He'll get there eventually, Geralt knows he will. "You don't talk to me because you think I already know everything you have to say?"

Geralt maintains the eye contact.

"Geralt..."

"I'm not more comfortable with Yen," Geralt tells him, as softly as he's able with his rough voice and clumsy words. He can be eloquent if he tries. But he doesn't need to with Jaskier. He's never needed to. "Yen takes... effort."

Jaskier's lips twitch in humour even as he levels Geralt with a glare. "Are you calling me easy?"

"Yes." He is. He's the easiest person Geralt's ever known. In more ways than one, but mostly in the way that he's just easy to be around.

"Coming from Mr. 'I wish to be soul-married to this terrifying woman I've known for all of five minutes'," Jaskier mutters, but he's relaxing now.

"She saved your life."

"She did, didn't she," Jaskier muses. "I suppose that would endear her to me a little were the situation reversed."

"She understands parts of me that..." Geralt can't find the words. Shakes his head. "We recognised something in each other."

"Something I don't? I, who apparently knows everything?" Jaskier teases. Geralt can't stand the quiet sadness and defeat in his eyes.

"You know, but you don't understand. You can't," Geralt tells him. "I wouldn't want you to."

Jaskier looks at him a moment more, then sighs and moves to leave the hot spring. "Well, I suppose that's more conversation than I've got from you in years. I should probably let you recuperate from the effort." He pauses, a light of realisation in his eyes. "It is effort for you, isn't it? Talking, I mean?"

Geralt doesn't answer. He thought he'd made that pretty clear.

Jaskier sinks back down into the water, gaze turned inwards as he works through the thought. "So when Yen came in and you were talking to her... It wasn't because she put you at ease, it was because she needed you to talk."

Yes, that is exactly what Geralt told him less than two minutes ago. Geralt resists the urge to heave an impatient sigh and leans back against the rocks, waiting for Jaskier to finish whatever it is he's doing by repeating Geralt's own words back to him.

"And when you didn't talk to me and we were just sat here in broody silence..." Jaskier looks at him again. "I'm easy."

"Your words," Geralt smirks.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. "You could've said, you know."

"I did."

"All this time I thought you didn't talk to me because... when really you were..." Jaskier pushes his hair back from his face and holds it there with a hand to his forehead. "You don't talk to me because you don't need to. And that's... easier. More comfortable."

Geralt raises his eyebrows. He might never speak to to the bard again given he doesn't seem to have listened to a single one of Geralt's painstakingly chosen words.

"You're more comfortable with me." He says it like it's a revelation. An epiphany.

"Not right now, I'm not," Geralt quips. "You're being weird."

To Geralt's horror, Jaskier cries.

"Fuck." Geralt doesn't know what to do here. He's never made Jaskier cry before. Not in front of him, at least. He might well have cried on the mountain, but hadn't done it where Geralt could see and Geralt hadn't exactly been thinking clearly enough to consider that he might.

"You're...." Jaskier rubs hs hand across his face and turns away for a moment. "Fuck."

Geralt has another moment to panic before Jaskier turns back around and flings himself at Geralt just like he had in the jail cell, except this time he takes his time before pulling away. When he does, he slaps Geralt sharply on the arm and snaps, "you utter bastard," then goes back to hugging him. It's confusing to say the least. Especially when Geralt stops being able to ignore the fact that they're both stark bollock naked beneath the water. Geralt can't say he's ever had another man's soft cock pressed against his hip before, and it's a strange sensation. Not unpleasant. Just strange. Oddly vulnerable and intimate.

He also hasn't had his own soft cock pressed against another man's body before, and the few times he's had it pressed against a woman's body it's been just before or after activities where his not-so-soft cock was pressed against her. This lends some inapropriate associations to the contact now.

"Jaskier."

"No, fuck you, I've earned this," Jaskier mumbles against his neck, and tightens his arms around Geralt's shoulders. "You can endure some unabashed affection for a little while longer."

Geralt doesn't release his own hold, but he does grow a little tense as he resists the urge to squirm away from the confusing contact.

"Oh, alright," Jaskier sighs, and reluctantly steps back. "I suppose I can't ruin my status as comfortable company by being too clingy. Though I'm sure it wouldn't kill you to let me give you a hug once in while without it being a dramatic scene. Most people like hugging. It's nice."

"I don't mind hugging," Geralt says. Not in general, anyway. Not anymore. Ciri hugs him all the time. He and his brothers hug sometimes. Just not naked. Not that hugging Jaskier naked was entirely unpleasant, or anything.

"Could've fooled me," Jaskier says.

He's still close. Still half-kneeling, half-floating in the water just within Geralt's reach.

Geralt rolls his eyes and pulls him back in.

This time it's Jaskier that stiffens with tension, seeming to finally realise what had made Geralt awkward. He clears his throat and shifts his hips, presumably trying to reposition so that his cock isn't in contact with Gerat's skin. As Geralt had pulled him in by the shoulders, he's a little lower this time, as well as being off balance. Which means that as he tries to get his knees back under himself while also moving his hips away, but not breaking the hug which has his centre of mass pinioned against Geralt's chest, he slips and has to pull himself up by his grip around Geralt's waist. The whole thing takes barely a moment, but results in a slippery wet bard sliding against Geralt's skin until he finally hoists himself back up, bringing himself in closer by the action. And brushing his cock against Geralt's as he straightens up.

Jaskier's hands spasm on Geralt's skin and he holds his breath, heart rate picking up.

Geralt isn't sure how to reassure him that he's alright with the slip -- or, well, not completely, but it was an accident and he isn't upset -- so he hazards squeezing Jaskier's shoulder the same way he remembers Jaskier doing to comfort him. They're both awkward and tense and trying not to move and repeat Jaskier's mistake, but both are too stuborn to back down. Back down from what, Geralt isnt sure, though it feels like some sort of challenge has been issued.

Jaskier exhales at last and relaxes into Geralt's arms in stages, in what must be a conscious effort. His arms drift further around as they lose tension, hands skating across Geralt's back. His chin comes to rest on Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt eases back down onto his haunches without breaking the embrace, resting against the rock behind him, back angled slightly so as not to crush the bard's hands and arms. Their nether regions drift safely out of alignment. There's an unexpected edge of disappointment to his relief that's immediately headed off by the way Jaskier ends up effectively sitting on his thigh in the new position, straddling it as his own leg slides into place between Geralt's.

Jaskier laughs. "I think we've gone past hugging into cuddling. Maybe canoodling." He sounds out of breath the same way he does when he doesn't want to let on that he's winded from keeping up with Geralt. "Not that I'm complaining! This is... nice. Very nice. Not at all, um..."

Geralt twists his neck to raise an eyebrow at Jaskier, and finds Jaskier's face so close Geralt's nose brushes Jaskier's cheek as he turns. Jaskier's pulled his head back a little to meet Geralt's gaze, and now his face hovers so close Geralt could taste his breath even with human senses. He looks up into Jaskier's too-close eyes and lets go of a breath he hadn't realised had caught when he'd turned. Jaskier shivers, goosebumps errupting beneath Geralt's fingers.

He's aware that there's a line they're crossing. One he's avoided in the past for one reason or another. The reasons have changed over the years; from Jaskier's youth, to not wanting to get attached, to not knowing if he could give Jaskier what he needs, to not knowing if Jaskier could give Geralt what he needs, to there his relationship with Yen, to there being Ciri to worry about. Right now, it feels like one wrong move could prove fatal to their still-wounded friendship. But a move away could be that wrong move. He's taken too long to recognise what he was doing, and to pull away now could one rejection too many.

Besides, what reasons are there left to keep refusing what could be something good? Something they both might need?

Jaskier hasn't pulled away. If Geralt's honest, Jaskier's never pulled away. If he wasn't willing to try this, then he'd have made a joke by now, something about not being that kind of easy, and put some distance between them Maybe jostled Geralt's shoulder to keep things friendly and comfortable.

"Geralt," Jaskier says. He swallows heavily, then carries on like he's been thinking the exact same things Geralt has. "This whole...situation" He gestures at their position with his chin, "it's starting to give me certain ideas, and if you keep- keep holding me like this, then..." Another hard swallow. "I guess I'm saying that Geralt, if you don't stop this now... Well. My heart will probably be broken either way, but at least I won't have to contend with the humiliation of having tried to kiss you or-"

Geralt lets go of Jaskier's shoulders and lets his hands drift, one down to the centre of Jaskier's back, the other to his jaw.

Jaskier's breath stutters.

Geralt doesn't say anything, trusting his actions to speak for themselves as they're so seldom allowed to do.

"Right," Jaskier murmurs, mostly to himself. He leans in a little, a jerky, hesitant movement that he retracts halfway before he can reach Geralt's lips. His eyes flicker up to Geralt's again, though he can't possibly be able to make out more than a vague Geralt shaded blur from this close, and he dares himself across the final distance.

Geralt's arms tighten without him meaning for them to, pulling Jaskier deeper into the kiss and more firmly in against his -- still very naked -- body. Jaskier gasps into his mouth and Geralt decides not to loosen his hold again. They've known each other for over two decades, at this point they could get married and adopt a dozen war orphans tomorrow and they'd still have taken it slow.

At least that's how Geralt reasons his way into groping every damp, slippery inch of Jaskier's body over the ensuing three minutes.

"Fuck," Jaskier gasps as one of Geralt's wandering hands finally finds its way to his cock.

"Not in the hotspring," Geralt teases. "You'll get an infection."

"Arsehole," Jaskier mutters, but goes back to pressing kisses and bites into any part of Geralt he can reach without disentangling them, only now he peppers in the occassional disjointed sentence as Geralt works his hand over his cock. "Utter bastard- can't believe you choose now- fuck- to have a sense of humour." He slips his hand down between them to return the favour, and Geralt loses his breath a little. "Should've fallen for Coen. Coen wouldn't take the piss at a time like this."

Geralt hums. Coen would absolutely take the piss, provided he could leave Lambert's side for long enough to get someone into bed with him. Geralt would really prefer not to be thinking about his brothers and their somewhat codependent friendship right now.

"Shut up," Jaskier pants into his face. "You brought it on yourself."

Geralt captures his lips again and the incessant chatter hits a lull while Jaskier proves how skilled his tongue is with things other than words. Then he pulls away again, ignoring Geralt's grunt of displeasure. To be fair, he doesn't mind all that much, he'd just been enjoying said oral skills.

"I know now's probably a little late into the proceedings to bring this up," Jaskier starts ominously. Geralt twists his wrist as he pulls him off, other hand squeezing as his backside, and Jaskier breaks off into unintelligble curses, pressing impossibly closer and burying his face in Geralt's hair. He doesn't move back as he continues, words and breath playing through the white strands and across Geralt's scalp. "But I feel like it's important to- Geralt, fuck- to- to- oh gods..."

"Jaskier?" Geralt rasps, only half listening to the words but enjoying the low, intimate way Jaskier's been murmuring them into his ear.

"I love you," Jaskier gasps out between moans. "I've- I've always- I- Geralt!"

"Jaskier," Geralt says, the word barely more than a rumble in his chest, but Jaskier must hear it, must feel it as closely pressed together as they are.

Jaskier comes, open mouth still pressed right above Geralt's ear, on hand still jerking him off, the other tight around Geralt's back, fingers clenching into his skin, his legs caging Geralt in against the edge of the pool, making him feel penned in but in the best of ways. Jaskier starts up a quiet, mindless chant of 'I love you I love you I love you' in time with the motions of his hand, and when he nuzzles his way back across Geralt's scalp to press a clumsy kiss to his temple, Geralt follows him over the edge.

Between the steam and the endorphins, everything's fuzzy and warm and blissful for an eternity before Jaskier finally rouses himself with hum and a sigh.

Geralt watches him as he comes back to himself and starts a mental countdown to when Jaskier will start talking again.

But he doesn't. He just watches Geralt right back, wonder written over every inch of him.

"Come to bed?" Geralt asks eventually, trusting Jaskier to understand the parts he doesn't say aloud.

Jaskier smiles, wide and lazy and easy.

#geraskier #fanfic #smut #fluff #and smutty fluff

[the-butch-of-blaviken]

ok, so. Long overdue Lambert post

I've been thinking about Lambert as a dad, or rather not exactly as a dad but responsible for a small child that primarily depends on him (as opposed to Ciri for whom he could be the fun uncle since Geralt was responsible for all the dad stuff)

I realize this may not be anyone's cup of tea, but what's fun about blorbos is you get to put them in situations they would never logically find themselves in and think hard about how that would work, right? So, why is it compelling to me personally:

as with most things, he can't avoid comparing himself to his brothers' respective experiences with fatherhood: Geralt as the ultimate dad of a princess/literal hero of a prophecy who literally travels across the world and an active war zone to rescue her, and Eskel as the brother who ignored his destiny for as long as he could until it came back to almost literally bite him in the ass

like i said before, he doesn't want anything to do with fatherhood; in fact, i believe he carefully avoids using the law of surprise to avoid finding himself in this very situation among other things. He doesn't believe in destiny (or at least, he doesn't believe in destiny having anything good in store for him) but after what happened to Geralt, who claimed he didn't believe in it either, you can't blame him for being paranoid

plus all of his available father figures range from shitty to extremely shitty, to the point where he's terrified that his very blood might be tainted and that he might be physically incapable of not reproducing what has been done to him

if he ends up caring for a child, it'd be in spite of himself; it would have to be an accident he would have no choice but to go along with, not primarily for the child's sake (that’ll come later) but mainly because he has no way out of it. So he has to be tricked into caring for the child (rubbing my little writer's hands together)

imagine the influence on his character development?? The healing process. The growth. This child embodies a sort of second chance by proxy: back when he was a kid, all of his choices were made for him, so he's going to make it so that this child can choose for themselves what they want (and, as a consequence, i believe he wouldn't tell anyone about them, especially not his brothers. He doesn't trust them not to get any ideas about feeding the child homegrown mushrooms like they did to Ciri)

also, i don't think he would consider himself to be the child's father, more like their caretaker or something equivalent. In fact, i believe being called "dad" is the best way of making him run away as fast as possible, being father is fundamentally associated to something negative in his mind. So he'd be there – he'd watch over the child and worry for them and teach them how to defend themselves, but he'd categorically object to being called anything close to "dad." (maybe it would also be an opportunity to establish a more horizontal relationship between him and his ward, as oppposed to the traditionally more vertical relationship between a parent and their child? Because he's so averse to authority, he'd probably hate representing that very notion in anyone's eyes, especially someone so vulnerable)

#idk what to make of this post tbh #i've been thinking about this for a while but i'm not sure if it's worth exploring through a fic. maybe when i'll have more time to write #if this somehow speaks to you and you have ideas about it pls pls pls i'd love to know #lambert #lambert meta #??? #my posts

[on-a-lucky-tide]

(Lambert/Voltehre; Witchers have fluffy ears; wolfboys and catboys galore; crack treated seriously; fluff with a dash of witcher-typical trauma, you know how it is. Based on and dedicated to @biggaygreenbird's ear art)

Following the mutations, Lambert hated his ears the most. It wasn't his eyes and their light sensitivity, or how he could hear a gnat's fart from five hundred yards, or the way his skin felt so vulnerable in those first few days that he wanted to tear his clothes off and float in the bathing pools forever. It was how he couldn't hide what he felt anymore. Anger had always been his protective shell, but now every little emotion was on full display.

"Aww, he loves pie, look at him," Eskel joked as Lambert's ears rotated and flicked in anticipation at the smell of food. He had stomped off without dinner that night. And, "feeling grumpy, little wolf?" from Geralt when his ears jutted out to the side, and "there's no need to be frightened, lad" from Remus when they faced off some foglets on the lakeside, and his ears flattened back to his head.

Fuck his ears. He wanted to cut them off with a fucking hunting knife, and--

"Shit day?"

The bed at Lambert's side dipped, and Lambert grunted into his knees. His fucking ears perked forward, because of course they did. Voltehre was his... well, his favourite person in the whole of existence, as shitty as it was. He made life in Murder Castle somewhat bearable. His ears didn't express nearly as much. They swivelled and turned now and then, and sometimes they did this thing where one dropped and the other perked, and that was kinda... neat.

"That shit, huh?" Voltehre said ruefully.

Lambert's ears folded down and he growled in frustration, tucking his face lower into his forearms. He was about to tell Voltehre to fuck off when he felt it. A featherlight touch along one ear. It sent a shiver down his spine that ended pleasantly in his tailbone, and he recoiled with a hiss.

"Lambert, I'm sorry," Voltehre said quickly, his hands up, ready to take the beating he was certain he deserved. "They're just so... so soft, and... and I..."

Lambert frowned. Voltehre had always been kinda dorky looking. His sandy blonde hair looked like someone had disassembled a mop and dumped it on his head, and his face was a mess of freckles with two big eyes stuck a little wide. If he'd still been human, he would've been snapped up by some busty milkmaid in a few years and started churning out a bunch of dorky looking replicas. Instead, he sat opposite Lambert, with two blonde-gold ears poking through his hair, one drooping, and Lambert's chest felt a bit... weird.

Lambert reached out slowly and ran his fingertips down that folded ear to the very tip. It was soft. Softer than the rabbit fur lining their boots, even. Voltehre tried to hide his shiver, but Lambert noticed. His ears perked forward. "You like that?"

"Yeah, course I do. You not... not stroked them a bit, y'know? While no one's lookin'." Voltehre circled finger and thumb in the air before him and Lambert huffed. He'd been too busy ignoring their existence to actually touch them. What did Voltehre take him for?

"No, I've not had an ear wank," Lambert said, petulant. Voltehre pulled a face at him and then flung his body forward. They wrestled on the bed, kicking the blankets and the pillows onto the floor until the pallet was bare. Voltehre managed to get Lambert into a headlock, forearm pressed beneath his jaw and then, with a quivering gentleness, began to massage one perked ear.

The tension melted from Lambert's body in begrudging increments. His eyes flickered, struggling to stay open through the waves of sensation unfurling from his ears to his scalp, through his shoulders, down his back. Shit, he could feel it to the very tips of his toes.

"Nice?" Voltehre asked softly. Lambert didn't miss the uncertain waver in his tone, like he'd been agonising over doing this for ages and was now worried he'd fucked up.

"S'alright," Lambert slurred, because maintaining enough sentience to recognise Voltehre's anxiety was challenge enough without having to evaluate his own fucking feelings on the matter.

"Want me to stop?"

"Stop and get bit."

Voltehre grinned. "Okay, okay."

After a while, they gave up the pretence of Voltehre forcing Lambert to stay still. His grip loosened and Lambert rested his head in Voltehre's lap, ears twitching, eyes closed. When he woke up early the next morning, he was tucked beneath a blanket with Voltehre's smaller body curled against his own. And it felt... nice.

If he happened to reach down and stroke Voltehre's big, golden ears until they twitched happily in his fingers, then that was nobody's fucking business, was it? And if the next day, and the next, he shoved his head into Voltehre's hands and growled for attention, then... he was just... that was just a thing they did now, right? Right.

#witcher lambert #witcher voltehre #tw3 #the witcher games #the witcher #fic dedication #art rec #thank you GreenBird sorry GreenBird

[valandhirwriter]

20 Questions

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I came across this in @andordean blog and decided to invite myself to the party. As I have two Ao3 Accounts, my answers will list them as needed.

Taggig @do-androids-dream-ao3acc @regis-favorite-raven @lohrendrell @tumbleweedtech

How many works do you have on A03?

Valandhir: 11

Cardhwion: 40

What's your total A03 word count?

Valandhir: 1,249,377

Cardhwion: 644,842

What fandoms do you write for?

The Witcher, and Lord of the Rings. I would love to write for Star Wars, Dragon Age, Wheel of Time, but haven't gotten around to doing it yet. General Bel Riose brought the idea of Foundation writing on my to-do list.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Valandhir: Durin's Bane, The Twilight years, The heart of the journey

Cardhwion: Strange Blood, In my father's house

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to, because I enjoy the conversation. But sometimes I forget, because there is too much going on, or I have no idea what I should reply.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Valandhir: Wishes are no horses or maybe Durin's Bane, the latter does only half-count because the next part, the Twilight Years changes something about the death at the end of Durin's Bane.

Cardhwion: In the darkest places, or maybe In my father's house. I just realise, I killed Eskel a lot.

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

Valandhir: The Heart of the Journey

Cardhwion: Song of the Dragon

Do you get hate on fics?

Yes.

Do you write smut?

Sometimes, I need characters that have that dynamic and need to be in the mood.

Do you write crossovers?

Haven't yet, but do have some in mind.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

As English is my second language, I did translate the whole Raven's Blade series on my Valandhir account into German myself. But only posted two parts. Would need a beta to read over it, to ever post it full.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, with @do-androids-dream-ao3acc, titled "The Unforgiven"

What's your all-time favourite ship?

That's a hard one, I love so many ships, and am a passionate multi-shipper. So a real favourite is hard. Coën/Erland of Larvik comes close.

As far as the sheer hilarity is concerned nothing ever beat Henselt/His throne.

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Song of Stone on the Valandhir Account

What are your writing strengths?

Description and Detail I think

What are your writing weaknesses?

Emotions, romantic feeling

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Full dialogue I use rarely but having some arrogantly spit a line in Latin, or use a spell in Gaelic is fun.

First fandom you wrote for?

Three Musketeers

Favourite fic you've ever written?

The Raven's Blade series

#witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #20 questions

[fangirleaconmigo]

ARE YOU EXCITED!!!!!!!!

Ahhhh Nonny I AM excited. I AM VIBRATING

I KNOW I KNOW

For book fans like me, there were some really disappointing elements last season. I was so excited to meet Eskel (lolsob) I was so excited for Yen and Ciri to meet and the magic lessons at the temple (lolsob). I hated her betrayal, I hated Vesemirs betrayal, I was so upset because I do get invested damnit and I did contemplate up and quitting the whole thing.

However, I cannot! I cannot quit this story, I love this cast, and what is more, the trailer looks really really cool.

The trailer has the theme of neutrality vs choosing a side, it has Geralt being devoted to protecting Ciri, it has THANNED it has some really exciting looking fights scenes and monster scenes and Ciri coming into herself. They also released extra scenes where Yen and Ciri and Geralt are bonding, which, dear god I hope are not a dream sequence or something like that, but Ciri is teaching Yen to ice skate!!!! That’s straight out of our fanfic fantasies for book fans who know how important ice skating is to Ciri’s story! I have a fic like that!!

I know that hope is dangerous but I’m afraid that I have it, I’ve caught the hopes 😂

I also know that a lot of people are complaining about the outfits and styling. Let me be honest I really do not notice that stuff much? I’m totally ignorant about style and fashion and such and I think Yen looks stunning because Anya Chalotra is such a stunning natural beauty, and omg her and Geralt at the ball together yesss and yes ok Joeys real life hair is a lot better than the one they have on the show but he’s still beautiful 🤷🏻‍♀️ bc that’s all that beautiful man can be, and I love the eyeliner and I can’t wait to see his face again.

Also Joey has basically confirmed that he has a male love interest this season, which is beyond my wildest dreams for this show. I would happily throw down with anyone about this being a bad idea for the story bc it’s a great idea actually. And hey speaking of queer story lines what if we get a scrap of Triss and Philippa??? What then??? I would throw a parade.

So yeah.

The writing is the writing and it’s never gonna be the prestige writing of my dreams (i would absolutely kill for fuckin premium top shelf Andor level writing for a witcher story, but I know that what I want is not what mass audiences want) and it will never be the books and I am sure there will be things I’ll nitpick b/c that’s me but the trailer looks awesome and the cast is terrific and I can’t wait to spend time with this cast and these characters and my body is ready.

I will be seated I will have my bells on. I will woop when I see Yenny boo and Gerri boi and my daughter Cirilla and Myanna as Tissaia again and Jaskier and Philippa etc etc etc and we may even see the love of my life Milva at the end.

If I come back bitching and complaining about it then I come back bitching and complaining about it but I’m gonna give it a chance. And I’m super excited based on the trailer.

#asks #the witcher #TWN

[kuwdora]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @deerna and @jawanaka !

How many works do you have on A03? 110 - but this would probably be +200 if I had been crossposting my fanvids there. I still remember when video embeds did not work on AO3 pages. But that was ages ago. And I’m terrible at crossposting. Especially when I have so many to crosspost at this point.

What's your total A03 word count? 280,783

What fandoms do you write for? In the past it was Stargate SG-1/Atlantis, Heroes and Sanctuary and a lovely romp with Being Human UK. Star Trek. These days I’m still on The Witcher, with the occasional fleeting non-witcher stuff I manage to finish.

What are your top five fics by kudos? I can see through you, The Witcher Netflix. My Geralt and Jaskier role reversal thing. More like a role inversion.

Surface Tension, The Witcher Netflix. soft very established relationship Geralt/Yen/Jaskier smut.

Papa’s Got a Brand New Suit, Star Trek: Deep Space 9. Julian/Garak PWP. From ye olde porn battle days. Learning Curve, The Witcher Netflix. Yen/Jaskier, post-season 2 soft feelings and sex with an emphasis on all of Yennefer's pain.

Heart Tap, The Witcher Netflix. Leshen Eskel(/Geralt). My first story about what it could be like for Eskel to live with his transformation into a monster. I'm actually surprised this is in my top 5 kudos considering how niche it is but man I love my tree boyfriend and have so many more thoughts about him that I haven't gotten out yet...

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes! I try to respond to comments when I can. Sometimes it takes forever and sometimes I do forget to respond to comments but man I love rolling around in them.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? My angstiest endings are for fic that I haven’t finished or posted on AO3 yet for more of my witcher fixations. But for posted things?? Hmm. I do have an old Heroes fic called Code of Hammurabi that is Peter/Sylar time travel AU that’s particularly angsty and gave me the chance to rummage around in the way Peter would endure in a very very messy situation.

Oh, my Doctor Sleep ficlet is also pretty angsty. Danny reflecting on his time with Billy when Billy's ghost shows up. I'm smiling upside down is the name of that ficlet.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Oh that’s probably my smutty fluffy thing for Being Human. PWP. Moon Mambo, Hal/Tom.

Do you get hate on fics? No, but I sense that’s only a matter of time before someone directs their hate at me.

Do you write smut? Yup.

Do you write crossovers? Yes, but not for a very long time. I have a “Ciri collects all the young girl protagonists from sci-fi/fantasy books for a group project” crossover idea but my focus is too scattered to get that going. I did start it with a Nona-meets-Ciri Locked Tomb/witcher crossover here: Call to Adventure.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I’m aware of. I think my stuff is far too niche and self-indulgent for that kind of thing but who knows. The internet is a smaller place these days but people seem to find new ways to steal. Alternatively: I did learn that someone submitted one of my Stargate SG-1 vids to a Creation Con fanvid contest that had prize money in it. That was very upsetting to learn well after the fact.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Nope.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, not co-written. But I do love rolling around with my beta and workshopping my fic into better shape and a lot of my stuff ends up way better as a result of my betas. And I also love doing the same with folks who ask me for beta. It’s a fun kind of collaboration.

What's your all-time favourite ship? Agh this one is so hard. Don’t make me pick just one. Aeryn/John from Farscape. Fraser/Ray(s) from due South. I don’t write a lot of book Yennefer/Geralt but they also are It for me.

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Oh my god, definitely my TWN Leshkel canonical divergence AU thing. I have something like a whole season 2 (not a fix-it) outlined, with lots of stuff focusing on Ciri and Leshy Eskel, and Leshy Eskel with Triss. With more stuff about witcher-and-leshen biology and Wolf School disappearing, Kaer Morhen becoming a magical greenhouse where a mythical Swallow is rumored to visit every 6 years.

What are your writing strengths? Description, maybe characterizations. Theme and tone.

What are your writing weaknesses? Too much description, comma splices. Slow pacing.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I think it’s fun to do but it can be a lot to read and I definitely will overthink the writing and both the reading. If it suits the characterization and context clues within the text, I think that’s cool. But I think it’s fine to go without con-lang or other languages in fic. It’s just a matter of texture and color that adds to the scene, you know?

First fandom you wrote for? Stargate SG-1.

Favourite fic you've ever written? Ever??? It’s so hard to pick just one. Hang on, I got several of those ‘rec 5 of your favorite fics’ asks in my inbox. Lemme see if I can pick 5 for that.

#whewwww i have been ill this month but i finally have energy to pick up one of my tag games! yayayayay #i must have at least another 100k of fic i've written in the last 14 months that's not finished. i really ought to do a wip amnesty thing #but i don't wanna let go #hmmmm #tag game #writing meme #meme #fic meme #ao3 meme #textpost

[inexplicifics]

Oh, also, I was re-(re-re-re-re...) reading Stop One Heart from Breaking last night and was kinda wondering how the conversation went when the wolves decided to find a human omega at the ruined auctions? Like was there an Incident that forced their hand or did they just eventually accept it would be needed? What did they talk about? How much did they know about ruined omegas before they bought Jaskier?

“Gods damn it,” Eskel says wearily, tying off the bandage and sitting back. Lambert gives him a sheepish, miserable look. “You can’t keep doing this. We can’t lose you, too.”

Lambert looks even more miserable, and drops his gaze to Geralt, who is sleeping with his head in Lambert’s lap. There are a great many bruises stark on Geralt’s pale skin, and one long cut down his arm that’s pretty much healed already. Lambert’s injuries were worse.

Neither of them would have been injured at all if Lambert hadn’t gone and tried to kill an entire nest of nekkers with his belt knife. And if Geralt’s hearing were a single hair less keen -

They could have lost Lambert. They could have lost him, and never even known until it was far too late.

“‘M sorry,” Lambert mumbles. “I just - I get so angry -”

Eskel sighs and nods. He knows. When Remus was alive, they’d all feel it, the way Lambert would get irritable at small things, the way he’d start feeling like he needed to move, to fight, to fuck, something. And Remus would take Lambert out hunting for something, so that Lambert could kill it for their omega and feel proud of himself, and then Remus would ride Lambert until he was thoroughly exhausted as a reward, and Lambert would be fine for another few months or so.

Eskel can’t do that. Killing something for another alpha won’t give Lambert the same rush as showing off for an omega.

He can’t do anything about the fact that Geralt is getting quieter and quieter, either. Geralt needs someone to protect, and without an omega…Geralt’s being very good about not trying to coddle Lambert, but it’s taking a toll on him. And Eskel can’t exactly pretend to need protection. They all know he’s as fine a witcher as any still alive.

And Eskel himself needs someone to cherish, to dote upon. His pack-brothers let him groom them and hold them and look after them, but it’s not quite the same. It’s not quite enough.

“We need an omega,” Eskel says wearily.

“Yeah, but where the fuck are we gonna get one?” Lambert retorts. “There’s no more Wolves, and Gardis would stab all of us if we suggested it, and Clovis’d do worse - even if either of them had the right fuckin’ scent, which they don’t - what, should we go hunting a Viper omega? A fucking Cat?”

Eskel rubs his forehead. “No.” Trying to find a witcher from another School would almost certainly go badly. Cats, of course, are not exactly friendly with the Wolves, and Vipers are known to be cold-blooded as their namesakes, and there’s maybe two Griffins left and Eskel doesn’t think either of them are omegas anyway.

Lambert barks a rough, mirthless laugh. “What, you gonna have us go find one of those fucking ruined omega auctions -”

He breaks off, starting at Eskel. Eskel stares back, just as startled by the idea.

It’s…horrifying. Absolutely horrifying. They all abhor the entire concept of ‘ruined’ omegas. But it’s not as though any human omega is going to be willing to leave the safety of home and family in order to follow a pack of witchers around…unless they have to.

Unless they haven’t got any other choice.

“I…really, really hate that idea,” Eskel says slowly. “And it’s the only one that might work.”

“Same,” Lambert says grimly. “Fuck.”

“Wha’?” Geralt mumbles.

“We need an omega,” Eskel says bluntly. “We can’t go on like this. Maybe if one of us was a beta, this could work, but a pack of just alphas - we’re going to fall apart. We need an omega, and the only place we’re going to find one quickly enough to keep us all from losing our minds is at a fucking gods-be-damned ruined omega auction.”

Geralt sits up slowly, rubbing his forehead, and thinks that through. “...Fuck,” he says at last. “That’s…foul.”

Eskel nods. Lambert gets to his feet and starts to pace.

“I’d say at least we’ll be better to the poor thing than any human alpha would, but that’s just face-saving bullshit,” he snarls. “But we need one. It’s get an omega or have me fly off the handle and get my damn self killed, and maybe you two too, or pretty boy go completely fucking mute, or you try and do fucking everything and wear yourself out so bad you just keel the fuck over.” He takes a deep, heaving breath. “And I can’t watch you two die because we’re too fucking squeamish to do what has to be done. We need an omega. Only question is, who’s going to have to go buy one?”

Eskel scrubs his hands over his face. He desperately doesn’t want to be the one to go to a ruined omega auction. He doesn’t know how he’d bear it. And Lambert would snap and start slaughtering slavers.

“Me,” Geralt rumbles. “Best nose. I’ll go.”

Eskel and Lambert exchange a look, mingled relief and misery. “Thank you,” Eskel says softly.

“Thanks,” Lambert agrees. “Fuck. I hate this.”

“We’ll be good to them,” Eskel says. “For whatever it’s worth, we’ll be good to them. And - if it doesn’t work, we’ll find them someplace safe. Zerrikania, maybe, or Ofir. Yeah, it’s shit, but…we’ll do the best we can.”

Lambert and Geralt nod. “The best we can,” Lambert sighs. “Guess that’s all we can do.” He slumps down, head landing in Eskel’s lap and legs draping over Geralt’s. Eskel starts petting his hair. “And - I’ll try to keep from doing anything stupid in the meantime.”

Geralt chuckles. “Believe it when I see it,” he teases, and Lambert makes a rude gesture at him.

Eskel closes his eyes and tries to relax into knowing his pack-brothers are here, and safe, and they have a plan. It’s a terrible plan, and he hates it, but… It’s going to work, because it has to work. Eskel can’t watch his pack-brothers fall apart.

#questions answered #fic specific asks #i shall not live in vain 'verse #snippet #eskel

[jaskiersvalley]

This is GENUINE SERIOUS BUSINESS ANON HATE so you better take it seriously you Letho cosplayer bot you! You're just a moist sock and deserve all this hate for being way too funny and smart!!

Ooooh! Some 'serious' anon hate going on here XD This has been sat in my inbox for far too long because I was having too much fun laughing at everyone else's 'hate' and their responses then promptly forgot I hadn't replied. But long enough has passed now that I look foolish now rather than just super late to the party. I can live with that. And, as always, an ask gets a ficlet in reply. But an ask like this? It gets "rewarded" with dubious morals, questionable medical knowledge and some bittersweetness.

Choose a Different Path

Whatever it was that Tissaia had done to Cahir, it had left some permanent marks. At first it hadn't been obvious, the fainting spells and funny turns chalked up to being on the run, to sleepless nights, to not having enough to eat, to having lived through horrors beyond most people's imagination. It wasn't until Geralt took his ragtag group to Kaer Morhen that it became apparent more was at play than trauma and lack of physical care.

At first they thought things were getting better. The instances where Cahir's movements slowed to sluggish and clumsy before sinking to the ground unresponsive were fewer. He hadn't passed out at all in Kaer Morhen, even seemed to be able to smile again.

Eskel had a lot to do with the smiles. For reasons he wasn't going to question, Cahir had taken quite the shine to him. And Eskel was never going to reject affection, not even when Geralt glared at him while Cahir was slumped against his shoulder and softly snoring away. In a way Eskel found Geralt's near enough fatherly attitude endearing. He'd seen the way Cahir and Ciri bickered, teased and generally terrorised each other. But while Ciri was more like a niece, childish in her youth, Cahir had lost that attitude years ago. Not to mention that Cahir was the one who initiated the start of whatever it was between them.

Of course it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Eskel had more than once watched as Cahir, for seemingly no reason, stumbled or slumped over, eyes glazed and unresponsive to touch. Each time he came back, he was upset, confused and sometimes defensive to the point of lashing out. Yet after a while he began reaching for Eskel for comfort, mumbled "what's happened" and "where am I" were tearfully asked into Eskel's chest. It was rare for Cahir to remember what had happened in the run up to such an episode, mind completely blank, not even the odd whisper of memory to help clue them in to the cause.

As quickly as they had fallen in love, found solace and comfort in each other, things were just as quick to falter. Cracks were appearing, Cahir was much more inclined to stay by the fire while Eske itched to be out of the keep. They clashed over whether the cold made old injuries hurt more, just because Eskel had more scars didn't mean his opinion on winters not actually making things worse had more weight to it than Cahir's experiences. Meanwhile, Eskel grew fearful of losing Cahir who was only a fragile human after all. They were doomed from the moment they met, Eskel had come to realise. If he didn't die first on the Path, Cahir was sure to succumb to old age eventually.

Arguments became more frequent and, with that, Cahir's dizzy spells increased too. It didn't take a genius to work out that stress was what set him off yet Eskel was powerless to protect him from it. Especially as he seemed to be the source of so much of it. He loved Cahir, he really did, but he didn't know what more he could do to prove it.

In the end he didn't have to. They were in their shared room but Cahir was pacing, throwing his belongings into a pile on the bed, not that there was much in the way of that.

"I can't do this," he seethed. "I'm not some child to coddle, not some pet to pamper. I love you but you're suffocating!"

Conflict had never been Eskel's strength. His bulk and general appearance meant that he looked imposing enough that few people picked fights with him and the few that did usually used their fists instead of words. Most considered him too much of a brute to be a worthy opponent in verbal sparring.

"But you're so young. And fragile!"

Whirling around, Cahir looked downright murderous. "Looks, as you well know, can be deceiving. I don't make decisions for you. And you don't make them for me."

"I don't though."

"You do!" Cahir yelled in frustration. "No training because it is cold. Should have a bit more food because I look like I needed it even though I said I was full. You put more wood on the fire because it was colder than what humans tend to like. And that was all just this morning!"

"I did it all for you!" Voice raising, Eskel ran a hand through his hair, ready to tear it out. "I love you and I want the best for you."

Suddenly Cahir deflated as he looked at Eskel with sad eyes. "Do you though? Or do you love and want the best for what you want me to be?"

"You! It's always been for you and your needs." Tone shifting, Eskel felt the argument slide into something beyond annoyance.

Sadness tinged the air as Cahir shook his head. "I can't do this. Sorry." Before Eskel could ask what he meant, Cahir held a hand up to silence him. "I'll move my things into a separate room. This is your home, don't feel you have to skulk around and avoid me. I won't make life difficult, I promise."

"This is it?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted."

Just like that, Cahir walked out of the room. Eskel watched his back, rigid like that of a soldier going into battle. Except there was no battle, Cahir wasn't a soldier anymore. Lost and at a loss for what to do, Eskel followed a minute later. He couldn't be there when Cahir moved all his things, left Eskel's room how it had been before the winter.

Noises from the Great Hall drew him in. Desperate for a distraction, Eskel shuffled in, shoulders hunched. Lambert was kneeling on the ground, yelling at Geralt to get something soft while Ciri stared wide eyed. Cradled in Lambert's hands was Cahir's head, his body rigid as another of his spells wracked through him. It was worse than they had seen before but Geralt didn't seem overly worried. He trotted back with a folded throw.

"He hasn't had one like this in a while," he commented idly.

Uncertain whether he was allowed next to Cahir, Eskel kept his distance. He watched as Cahir was rolled onto his side as his muscles relaxed. Eyes which had been rolling slowly blinked and tried to focus, only tears were quick to blur his vision as Cahir came to. It broke Eskel's heart.

"Esk?" Cahir's voice was a wobbly croak as he blindly reached out.

Resolve to keep his distance breaking, Eskel sank to his knees next to Cahir and cradled him against his chest. After everything, Cahir still called for him.

The usual, teary question of "what happened?" was met with broad strokes across Cahir's back and the reassuring rumble of "you took a funny turn. You're okay now." Eskel couldn't help himself. "What do you remember?"

A head shake and a sad whine was the first response. "I don't- I don't know. We went to bed. But we're not there now. Where am I?"

Distressed sobs were buried into Eskel's soft shirt. His mind was spinning. Cahir didn't remember that morning. Didn't remember the final couple of straws that broke their relationship. Didn't remember breaking up with Eskel. If Eskel was a better man, he would have been honest. But he was only human, he saw a second chance at happiness. And this time he could probably get it right. As long as Cahir never found out, never remembered that morning.

"You're safe in Kaer Morhen. Vesemir is bringing you a warm, watered down cider. While you drink that I'll go make sure our bed is setup, okay?"

Slowly, Cahir untangled himself from Eskel's shirt. Wiping at his eyes, he nodded and accepted the drink Vesemir was holding out for him. Standing, Eskel didn't run but he hurried back to his room. Their room. Swiping everything off the bed, he made it look like they were in the middle of having a tidy, adding his own clothe to the pile with Cahir's. Bed ready, he raced back to the Great Hall where Cahir was bundled in the throw, empty tankard on the ground next to him.

"Come on, I'll get you back to bed, okay? Then we'll see how you're doing after a nap, yeah?"

Meekly, Cahir nodded and allowed himself to be picked up, feeling so much like a weak kitten in Eskel's arms.

"Thank you," hu murmured, eyes closed.

"No," Eskel replied. "Thank you."

#eskhir #eskel/cahir #eskel x cahir #eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #the witcher #tldr: cahir and eskel break up but they don't

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

for the touches ask game, may I request geraskier + 26 (kisses) please? 🥺

26. giggling while kissing

Here’s a Geraskier modern with magic AU loosely inspired by this amazing video of a pole-dancing Jaskier that’s been all over Tumblr for the last couple of days. No warnings, rated M for mild horniness.

It's nearly midnight when Geralt makes it back to his apartment building, limping a little as his bum knee protests the cold weather and getting thrown through a wall by a katakan earlier that day.

He would have been home earlier, but he's gotten into the habit of showering at Eskel and Lambert's place before returning home after the time he tracked selkiemore guts all over the lobby and the concierge looked like he was going to pass out. It never mattered when he lived in his shitty studio in Silverton, but since moving into Jaskier's swanky Gildorf penthouse, he has to be careful not to get innards and ichor on the gleaming marble floors.

Geralt nods to the concierge, who has never forgiven him for the selkiemore incident, as he passes. The man gives him a cool look and returns to reading his book, which is just as well. Geralt has been tracking a katakan for the better part of a week with Eskel and Lambert and he doesn't have the energy for the kind of polite small talk Jaskier excels at.

Instead, he gets into the elevator and puts in the code for the top floor penthouse, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. Jaskier never responded to Geralt's text telling him he was on his way back, so he's probably in bed by now. Geralt will have to be careful not to disturb him; his boyfriend gets cranky when his beauty sleep is interrupted.

The elevator doors open and Geralt is hit with a wall of sound. It's one of Jaskier's songs, blaring at full volume as Jaskier wails about the mercilessness of Cupid’s arrow.  As if on cue, an arrow comes flying past Geralt, hitting the wall behind him. Geralt is already reaching for his sword when it hits him that no assassin he knows would use pink, sparkly arrows with heart-shaped arrowheads that stick to the wall.

"Geralt! You're home!"

Geralt wonders if the blood loss got to him before remembering that he didn't actually lose any blood on this hunt. Because a pole has been erected in the middle of his living room, right where there was once a coffee table that cost more than his car. Hanging onto it is Jaskier, wearing nothing but a pair of dinosaur-patterned boxer briefs and a quiver of pink arrows, holding a bow.

"What the fuck?" Geralt asks. The elevator door starts to close and he just has the presence of mind to step out of the elevator before it takes him back down to the lobby. Only after the doors have closed does he remember the arrow stuck to the wall. Oh well, the concierge already hates them.

"How was your hunt?" Jaskier is hanging upside down from the pole, his thighs and abdomen quivering with the effort.

“Why the fuck is there a pole in the middle of our living room?” Geralt demands, shouting to be heard over the music.

“I’m practicing for my Midsummer Music Awards performance.”

“Don’t you have stunt doubles for that?”

“Stunt doubles are all well and good for music videos, but not for live performances.” Jaskier winces as he slides down the pole an inch.

Geralt sighs, puts down his gear, and goes to turn the music off. “Is this about Valdo Marx’s stunt last year?”

“What?” Jaskier squawks, as if he hadn’t spent weeks fuming over the publicity surrounding Valdo Marx’s on-stage acrobatics last year, which had involved flaming batons and very little clothing—which seemed like a bad idea to Geralt, but what did he know? He was just a witcher, not an award-winning musician. “Of course not. This is about artistic integrity and… okay, and showing Valdo fucking Marx what a real performance looks like.”

“Hm.” Geralt lets his eyes wonder. “Your fans will love the dinosaur boxers. Or are you going to dress up like a sexy Cupid?”

His boyfriend doesn’t dignify that with a response. “I’m actually getting pretty good with the bow and arrow.”

Geralt glances at the target, which is a good yard away from the elevator doors. “I can see that.”

Jaskier harrumphs and reaches for the quiver of sparkly arrows. The movement is too much for his legs’ tenuous grip on the pole and with a squeak of alarm, he begins to slide.

Geralt is there before he can hit the ground, scooping him up and spinning him around. Jaskier flails for a moment, not registering the fact that he isn’t still falling, before he wraps his legs around Geralt’s waist and his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. He clears his throat, cheeks pink. Geralt’s knee twinges a bit at the weight in his arms, but it’s worth it for Jaskier’s adorably sheepish expression.

“I meant to do that,” Jaskier says primly.

Geralt fights to keep his expression serious. “Clearly.”

“I could tell you wanted an excuse to cuddle. So I provided.”

“Noble of you.”

“Well, if nobility were still a thing in Redania, I would be a viscount, darling.”

“I had no idea. You’ve never mentioned that.”

“You know me. I don’t like to brag.”

They look at each other for a minute, Jaskier still wrapped around Geralt as tightly as he’d been wrapped around the pole.

Jaskier begins to laugh first, little snorting giggles that are nothing like the booming laugh he always affects when they’re out in public. Geralt can’t resist the giggles, as much as he tries; his shoulders start to shake with his own suppressed laughter, which only makes Jaskier giggle harder. Jaskier leans his forehead against Geralt’s and Geralt is helpless to do anything but kiss him. It’s far from their most elegant kiss, with both of them unable to stop laughing, but it’s all the sweeter for it.

“I am wearing a sexy Cupid costume for the show,” Jaskier says between kisses, still giggling.

Geralt nuzzles his cheek, breathing in the scent of him. Gods, he always misses this when he’s away on contracts. “With wings?”

“Of course! What’s a sexy Cupid without wings?”

“Cupids don’t exist. Sexy or otherwise.”

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to put a disclaimer before all my performances from now on.”

“Hm.”

“I can go get the costume.” Jaskier draws back to waggle his eyebrows. “Give you the full show.”

Geralt is surprised by how tempting that is.

“Or.” Jaskier’s lips twitch in that way they always do when he’s very proud of whatever terrible innuendo he’s about to make.  “I could just slide down your pole.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, come on.” Jaskier waggles his eyebrows. “It’s only fair. I nearly shot you with my arrow earlier. It’s time for you to shoot me with yours.”

“That makes no sense,” Geralt deadpans.

“Geralt.” Jaskier tries to look long-suffering, even as he starts to giggle again.  “I’m obviously talking about your—”

Geralt cuts him off with a kiss, muffling his snorts of laughter. “You’re not half as funny as you think you are.”

“That still makes me pretty damn funny.”

“Sure.”

Jaskier wiggles in his arms. “Just for that, you don’t get to see my bow and—Geralt!” He cackles as Geralt throws him over his shoulder and starts towards the bedroom. “You fiend! You shouldn’t manhandle the man holding a crossbow!”

“Not a crossbow, Jask.”

“You shouldn’t manhandle the man holding some kind of bow!”

“It would be more threatening if you knew what kind of bow it was. Or had managed to hit the target.”

“Oh, just you wait, witcher,” Jaskier says as Geralt pushes his way into the bedroom. “As soon as I manage to hit a target, you will be the first to know.”

“Especially if I’m standing ten feet away from the target.”

“What are you implying?”

Geralt laughs and gently drops Jaskier on the bed to kiss him again, cutting off his outraged babble. Later, he thinks he’ll enjoy watching Jaskier’s dance routine, Cupid outfit and all. He won’t even mind if he accidentally gets shot with one of the fake arrows. But for now, this is all he needs—the curve of Jaskier’s smile against his cheek, Jaskier’s bright laughter in his ears, and the knowledge that he’s right where he’s supposed to be.

Tag list: @kueble @maya-the-yellow-bee @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek

Touches Ask Game

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Fighting - Bonus Scene Part 2

Geralt heard Yennefer's sleep rough voice go from barely coherent to fully awake (and very loud) the second she heard him say "It's Jaskier, he's been in a fight..." And she had lots of questions.

And apparently "I don't know, Yen, getting the sh*t beat out of him?" was not an acceptable answer to "What was he doing in a fight, Geralt?" He wondered how long it would take her to locate them and set up a portal. Maybe he had a few hours left to enjoy life...

Geralt made one more phone call. "Lambert, get Eskel. I've got a favor to ask you. I need you to pick up...somebody. At the back of the Forking Good Time. Yes, the one with the sh*tty a** food Yen made us try." He gave them no further explanation.

He headed toward the back of the van, hearing Jaskier start making distressed sounds. The pain meds must have finally worn off, and now he was probably having a nightmare.

Jaskier whimpered in his sleep, crying for Geralt and Yennefer, and twitching. Geralt reached the bed and felt his heart clench uncomfortably with a tangle of strong emotions. Jaskier had one hand tangled in his blanket, and the other...

Geralt lightly bruhsed his fingertips against his hand, and then paused. He'd never seen Jaskier do that before. His go to soothing method was what he jokingly referred to as Blankie Therapy. Never had he ever seen him try to soothe himself like this.

It made Geralt's heart ache. And it made him feel an all consuming rage towards the person who'd caused this.

Geralt was just going to leave him alone and let him have whatever small comfort it brought him, but then he smelled the blood. He looked a little closer and saw the blood that had dripped from the corner of his mouth. He'd dislodged the blood clots from the empty sockets in his gums and they were bleeding again.

Geralt gently took Jaskier's hand and slowly eased his thumb out of his mouth. He diluted some more Swallow and used a finger to rub it over his gums to stop the bleeding. Jaskier shifted with a groggy grumble of protest. Geralt lightly rubbed the back of his shoulder until he settled down.

He went outsided to pace, feeling angry and helpless. D**n that b**tard!

Geralt's angry pacing was interrupted by Yennefer stepping through the portal she'd opened. The sorceress was carrying her old cat plush, Sammy, and carrying a small bag of supplies. She had obviously not bothered to get dressed as she was wearing one of Geralt's old t-shirts, and the pair of Jaskier's boxers that had been missing for weeks. He wasn't going to be getting them back anytime soon. Once Yennefer stole an article of clothing, you could kiss it goodbye forever.

Geralt wasted no time dragging her into the van. Yennefer's eyebrows furrowed and she tenderly touched Jaskier's hand much the same way Geralt had done when she saw him trying to soothe himself. "My poor Julek...what did he do to you?" she whispered softly.

She sat on the edge of the bed and laid her hand on Jaskier's bruised cheek.

"Why is he so warm?" she asked, noting that Jaskier was warmer than he should have been, but not shivering as if he had a fever.

"I...gave him some Swallow."

"You gave him what?! Are you trying to kill him?"

"I diluted it! The bleeding in his kidney was getting worse." Geralt responded defensively.

"So you thought poisoning the poor thing would be better?"

"I swear, every time I leave you two alone for more than five minutes, all your braincells deactivate and you almost kill yourselves!"

"Was that a You're-absolutely-right-Yennefer-we're-idiots 'hm', or was that a Go-f**k-yourself-Yennefer 'hm'? It f**king better have been a Your're-absolutely-right-Yennefer-we're-idiots 'hm'!"

"What's this band-aid on his arm?"

"I gave him a shot of midazolam for the pain and to calm him down-" Geralt began.

"You know he hates needles, you absolute prick! Please tell me you didn't hold him down! You better not have held him down, Geralt! Or you and I are going to have words!

"That 'hm' didn't convice me at all!. You better start using your words right f**king now-!"

Jaskier woke with a thin whine, rolling onto his back with a wince. "YEn..." He whimpered when he saw her, and tried to sit up, reaching for her.

"Shhhh, Lark. It's okay." she said, instantly forgetting about hen-pecking Geralt in favor of carefully laying Jaskier back down. "I'm here, I'm here!" she said, brushing the backs of her fingers over his cheek. "Let me take a look at you." She closed her eyes and focused her magic. She clucked her tongue.

She let him hold Sammy while she started with healing the gash on the back of his head. The missing teeth would have to wait, but she did press healing magic into the empty sockets to help them heal, and keep them from becoming infected.

Her hands were gentle as she ran them over his chest and down his ribs, sweeping away much of the pain and some of the bruising.

Jaskier shuddered, biting back a grunt and squeezing Sammy tighter as Yennefer lightly rested her fingers on his subluxated ribs. She made quiet shushing sounds to him and the pain faded. He felt the ribs click back into place. There was a little discomfort, but it wasn't as painful as it had been a few hours ago.

"Sit up, Starling, so I can get the ones on your back."

Jaskier sat up with Geralt's help, ribs still sore, and put his arms around Yennefer's neck, leaning his head on her shoulder and clinging.

"He was waiting outside the restaraunt. I don't know what his problem was, but he had it out for me... He tried to hit me, but he kept missing..."

Geralt smiled, imagining what the guy's face must have looked like when Jaskier started doing his bumbling dodging routine.

"I ran, thinking I could get away, but..." Jaskier paused with a pained moan as Yennefer's hand found a particularly tender rib. "He was fast. He-he caught me and dragged me into the alley... He wouldn't stop hitting me, Yen," he said, voice trembling.

"It's alright, dear heart." she whispered, running her hands gently over the ribs in his back as he fought back tears. She could feel him shake, and feel his heart pounding in his chest. She tightened her arms around him.

Jaskier was sobbing now, pressing his face into Yennefer's shoulder "He was going to call more Vipers to come play too, b-but I knocked the phone out of his hand...and he got p*ssed... He slammed me into the wall, and...I didn't know what else to do, so I-I... I knifed him."

A Witcher?! Geralt was going to say something, but his phone rang. It was Lambert. He turned to go to the front of the van to answer the call. Yennefer put her hands on Jaskier's shoulders when he reached for Geralt as he walked away to answer his phone.

There was a look of near panic in Jaskier's eyes as he grabbed at the Witcher, tying to stop him from leaving, crying and begging him not to go. Yennefer gently pulled his hands off Geralt's sleeves, whispering soothingly to him. "He's not leaving, my love, he's not leaving!"

Geralt hated to pull away, but he had to answer his phone. He paused long enough to pat the Bard's cheek reassuringly, before moving away. Jaskier watched him anxiously, not even realizing that he'd put his thumb back in his mouth.

Yennefer put her hand on his cheek, gently turning his face towards her. "It's okay, Julek. He's right there. He'll be right over in a minute." She murmured. Her hands started stroking over his arms and shoulders, trying to relax him.

Jaskier looked at Geralt, nervously watching him sitting in the driver's seat. Yennefer gathered him into her arms, not saying a word. Her heart twisted painfully as she listend to him suck his thumb.

Yennefer was deeply worried about Jaskier's mental and emotional state. He had never sucked his thumb before, and the amount of distress he must be in to turn to that type of regressive behavior as a soothing method greatly concerned her.

What unsettled her more was that he was so distressed that he was beyond the point of caring if anyone saw him.

Yennefer ran her fingers through Jaskier's hair as she whispered to him softly in his head while she impatiently waited for Geralt to come back.

"You said we were picking up a body. You didn't say it was going to be a f**king snake, and that he was going to still be alive, Geralt!"

"He's still alive?"

"Yeah. He's got four stab wounds and he's bleeding all over my seats! Why the h*ll didn't you just run him through properly?"

Because I wasn't the one who stabbed him. It was Jaskier. And it was probably hard for him to stab him 'properly' while the ar*ehole was beating the f**king sh*t out of him!

Geralt heard Lambert growl and Eskel ask what was going on. He heard Lambert snarl "This f**ker hurt Songbird!", then "I told you I smelled him in the alley, Lambert! F**k! Some of that blood was his!"

They started quarreling until Geralt snarled at them to shut up. "You want us to cut his throat-!" Eskel began, only for Geralt to snap "No! That f**ker is mine! I have my location turned on. Bring him here now!"

Geralt ended the call and sat back down on the edge of the bed. Jaskier leaned into him, letting him hold him against his chest while Yennefer stroked his side.

"Shhh, I've got you, Julek." Geralt murmured, and was surprised when Jaskier wrapped his free arm around him and grabbed a handful of his shirt.

Yennefer was usually the one he went to when Blankie Therapy wasn't enough. She was so soft with him, and her motherly older sister vibe always put him at ease.

But right now, Jaskier needed Geralt. He was scared and shaken, and he needed to feel like he was safe. Geralt was not as good at being soft like Yennefer, but he was good at being a fierce protector and being a solid, physical presence. Geralt tightened his arms around him as much as he could without causing him pain.

" I'm sorry I wasn't there, but I won't let anyone ever do that to you again." Geralt promised softly, draping Jaskier's blanket over his shoulders. He let him lean on him, silently holding him and rocking gently until he felt and heard his rapidly beating heart slow.

Jaskier pulled his thumb out of his mouth as the tension eased and he started to feel less anxious. He gave a contented hum and put his other arm around the Witcher. Geralt rubbed his jaw and cheeks over Jaskier's head, like a wolf scent marking a pack member, while Yennefer smiled but said nothing.

When Jaskier had calmed down Geralt put him on his belly on the bed, so Yen could take care of the injured kidney. She was just laying her hand over the bruise, when Geralt heard the approaching vehicle. Eskel and Lambert were here.

"Stay with him, Yen," Geralt said gently to Yennefer, as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt so he had more freedom of movement. Jaskier tensed under Yennefer's hand, rolling an anxious eye at Geralt over his shoulder.

"I won't be gone long." Geralt assured him. He stroked his hand down the back of Jaskier's head. "I'll be right back. I'm going to go make sure that b**tard and all his friends never come near you again."

Yennefer nodded and rose to give him a kiss. "Go avenge your Bard, Witcher." she whispered. "And don't make any extra work for me." she added, slapping his backside as he stepped out through the sliding door...

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher modern au #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #geraskier #geraskifer #yenskier #yenneskier #yennaskier #twn #the witcher netflix #geraskefer #soft!geralt #soft!yennefer #yennskier #jaskier whump #fighting headcanon

[gaygayaurel]

As game Lambert #1 fan 5ever the Nerflix Lambert sucks but not bcs of what people think? (I didnt read book of elves I love and respect myself sometimes )

As in game Lambert is kinda fun in that he got actually defined compared to Novels and Hexer where he did not exist ad character proper. He is deeply mean and sarcasric person, being willing to chew out his closest friends and enemies alike. He isnt as morally concerned abt stuff as geralt and when someone asks him to kill a monster he'd do it. Fuck he'd even go as far as use Axii to make two bandits die in horrific way. This is after all his lot in his shitty miserable life. He hates witchery and witchers and the very concept of this much suffering ("But you kept the table" he says furious to Vesemir as they stand above screaming Uma). His attitude is just such a complete 360° from Geralt' silent acceptance of what was done to them. It truly becomes the only voice of like hey fuck what happened to us, fuck it all to hell. Hes an utter fucking dickhead and hell provoke people for no reason (talkinf abt geralt and triss in front of phillipa for no reason) (i deadass dont think he would fuck up yens stuff on purpose tho #;#&#&)

His main core personal element is revenge. In his short appearence in w1 he proclaims desire to slaughter salamandra for killing Leo. In W3 he goes on massive revenge rampage spanning CONTINENTS for a guy we dont know (and thats pretty cool to me, implying he has adventures outside geralt, both him and eskel). He says his first action after he left Kaer Morhen was to find and kill his dad ( and him being sad he couldnt save his mother his life is all just empty revenges that will never fill the holes of people hell miss).

But also main Core element of Lambert is also love as cheesy as it sounds. He cared deeply for Leo and Aiden and even his own mom. After Triss. Got conked out by a mage guy in witcher 1 he cared for her and watched over her (they were hardcore inplying shipping which is funnt but whatever). He literally puts his life on line dor Ciri and Geralt. The thing is he is dickhead but he will do Everythinf for those few peoples he has left in his life.

The Point is games being games and larger allowed Lambert to have depth and nuance. He is imo one of the most interesting and coolest game characters. Netflix Lambert however did not have the time for variety of reasons to get that.

One is Lambert is very minor person in books. Second is that the show didnt...realy care abt witchers past vesemir maybe. So he wasnt a focus. In the end what we get is disappoitninf character not helped by the fact most witchers in netflix are cannon fodders for baba yaga.

ONE issue that I have is people saying Lambert was a dick to Ciri and thats OOC. While I cant speak from the POV of books (altho my friend who did read them say he is sexist), from POV of game thats untrue. In fact I believe game Lambert would VERY much be a fucking dick to Ciri fron a start. It doesnt even need to have sexist colouring to it. This dude HATES witchering. He hates the mutagenesis and the pain of it all, the destiny in it. I firmly believe he wouldnt be OK with a bew trainee and guess what? While he didnt live through instructors not giving fucks abt new witchers because like 1/20 live to become witchers he LIVED through it. On his skin. I firmly believe Lambert being DICKHEAD to ciri at first is nit only a whiff of the complex game!Lambert but a decent start of its own standalone character.

In witcher 1 also wheb tou tell him Leo died he laments he "was not ready". Leo. Just like ciri never got his mutagens (take this with grain of salt because leos whole character is weird tm). So him being an miserable instructor who will push you until you cry is in character ingame. This guys has ten layers of issue.

What Netflix misses is the fact we dont SEE lambert getting to his relationship Ciri where we see rhem albeit briefly in game (willing to fight to death for her). We just have this awkward jump from utter hostility to them beinf kinda pals after baba yaga fight. In the end netflix lambert is just. Boring.

Also hes not a balding fuck and i cant forgive that

#Lambert witcher #The witcher #I lov witcher 3 lambert so much hes my legit fave sbsbs #I love that I can only enjoy loyal mean gays who bullied a kid once #there was actually dickhead fellow trainee of geralt in hexer who i suspected of being like base for lambert characterization in the games #because the games were v much made in context of hexer