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redskull199987 · 10 months

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Of Thoughts and Actions

Jaskier x fem!reader word count:0.9k Warnings:spoilers for season 3, apart from that just fluff Summary: You didn't see your friend Jaskier for a long time, since he split up from your group after the events at Kaer Morhen. So, when Geralt suggested that you ask the bard for help, you were more than happy to see your singing friend again… Masterlist

You watched the scene in front of you unfold with a smile on your face. Jaskier´s sweet voice was slowly lulling Ciri to sleep, after you had spent the evening playing cards against each other. Jaskier, of course, had lost all of his money to the young girl. Finally seeing her smiling again, having fun again, after all she's been through lately, made you feel like it was still worth fighting for. For Ciri, and her future. “What are you thinking about?”

Your head shot up, as Jaskier suddenly stood in front of you, his slender frame towering above you. “Just thinking about our journey so far”, You mumbled, as you slowly stood up, starting to gather the plates at cups from the small table you had been playing cards at, until a few minutes ago. “Anything in particular?”, Jaskier smiled, as he helped you clean up, picking up a plate. “Oh, maybe the one time, Geralt and I saved your ass?”, you chuckled, playfully hitting his arm. Jaskier mockingly opened his mouth, acting like he was utterly shocked by your words.

“Fine then”, he mumbled, stepping closer to me,”Remember when I taught you how to dance, that one particular evening where you had too much ale?”

You felt your cheeks redden, as you remembered how much of a fool you had made yourself. even Geralt had laughed at your sloppy dance moves, and Geralt never laughed, ever.

Jaskier had seemed to notice your discomfort and slowly stepped closer. He looked down at you for a second, before carefully grabbing your hands. “You know, I always thought you were the most beautiful Dancer, I had ever seen in my life.”, he smiled, causing you to blush even more. Since when were you so easily flushed? You were a great fighter, that had been through many battles along with your companions. But now you were a blushing mess in front of the smiling bard. When you didn't say anything in return, Jaskier just continued to recount the story:”Not because you were the best at dancing or the most experienced, but because you enjoyed yourself. You were having fun to no end, just being yourself. That's what I´ve always loved about you, Y/N.” You were speechless at this point. You always knew that what you felt for Jaskier was different than what you felt for Yennefer or Geralt. It was more than friendship. But you never believed that he was feeling the same way, in fact you still didn't believe it.

Against all your better judgement, you slowly pulled your hands away from Jaskier and excused yourself, saying that you needed some fresh air. And within seconds, you had left the small hut, stepping out into the night.

Taking in a deep breath, you looked up admiring the stars that glistened in the sky. Upon seeing your breath come out in small huffs, you realised how cold it was. You slowly started walking around a bit to conjure some warmth, but it had no effort. After two laps around the hutt, you were still shivering. You debated going back inside for a second, but you didn't quite know if you were ready to talk to Jaskier again.

The decision was made for you, as you felt how Jaskier´s coat was being wrapped around you. The purple material easily engulfed your form, preventing you from shivering. You turned your head to see said bard standing behind you, one of his hands was resting on the small of your back, as he wrapped the coat further around your form. “Thank you.”, you mumbled, looking back down. “You seemed cold”, he smiled, now stepping in front of you. His hands came up to adjust the collar around you. You felt his touch linger, as his bright eyes shifted towards your face. “Y/N”, he suddenly said. His hand rose to gently caress your cheek. Slowly leaning into his touch, you listened to his shallow breathing to calm yourself down.

“Jaskier.”, you finally said, looking up at him. He only sighed, seemingly not really knowing what to say:”I-I havent been honest with you,Y/N” “About what?”, you uttered quietly. He didn't say anything for a second, just staring at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“I really want to kiss you.”, he suddenly blurted out. You only smiled at him:”then do it.”

It only took Jaskier mere seconds to press his lips to yours. You felt his hands pulling you closer by the waist, as he deepened the kiss, his lips softly working against yours. Only as you parted, you actually realised what had just happened. Yours eyes widened, as you looked at his dreamy face. “I've wanted to do that for ages”, he admitted. A smile crossed your lips at his words:”I´m glad that you finally did.” “Oh I could kiss you again a thousand times, my love”, he chuckled, slightly squeezing your waist. “I wouldn't have a problem with that”, you whispered, before connecting your lips with his once more. Bonus: Ciri´s eyes slowly fluttered open, as the soft sunlight hit her face. Upon sitting up in her bed, she started to look around the room in search for her two friends. She expected them to be in their separate beds, still sleeping but Ciri couldn't help but to smile at what she saw in front of her. Right there, just a few metres away from her, you and Jaskier were huddled up together in the tiny bed. She could barely see your smaller form, as Jaskier was laying on top of you, his head resting on your chest. “I knew it”, she mumbled to herself, before slowly getting up to get ready for the day.

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lynnlovesthestars · 6 months

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I think I have a problem cause why tf I always read hurt/no comfort fics or smth like that?!,!,!,!? Someone send help cause??????

And let's not talk on what I write cause that's even more angsty?? Like half of the shit I have in my Google docs, it's finished but I think it's too angst to be posted—

#rengoku fanfic #astarion fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #wyll fanfic #the last of us fic #good omens ff #spy x family ff #the witcher ff #anime ff #baldur's gate 3 ff #baldur's gate 3 fanfic #lucifer morningstar fanfic #help #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #bg3 fanfic #fanfic readers

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narniaandplowmen · 1 year

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undone again

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier Also on AO3 10059 words.

Mature / Graphic Depictions Of Violence Chapter 4/4 (2406 words)

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four

carry you home

Geralt paced through the Keep. The Path pulled him, called to him, strongly, loudly, but he knew he could not obey it, not this year. This year, and for Melitele-knew-how-many-years after, there were more important things to be done. Or, at least, so he told himself. Repeatedly. His hand twitched as he turned away from the Keep’s exit, back into the hallway he had just come from. Back and forth, back and forth. It had been a strange winter, a long winter, a cold winter. And, although he had been surrounded by everyone he loved (or, the ones that lived, anyway), it had been a lonely winter.

It was strange, how quickly one forgot the hurt of loneliness. He had known loneliness for most of his life, until Jaskier waltzed his way into it and made himself comfortable. And Geralt’s annoyance had turned into begrudging companionship, and from there a fondness, and from there – he had never allowed himself to call it love. Witchers did not love, nor did anyone love witchers. And he knew, or, he had thought he had known, full well that Jaskier travelled with him not for his character, but for the stories Geralt’s existence brought with him. It had not been until after the mountain that he, in the endless silence that now suffocated him wherever he went, that Geralt had reflected that there had been a friendship there. And maybe, on foolish days when he allowed himself to dream and hope, he could imagine there had been something more, too. But by then it had been too late, and the loneliness that had once been so familiar had returned, and returned with a vengeance.

The loneliness had always hurt, of course it had. Even as a Witcher he still remembered being a little boy filled with hopes and dreams and the illusions of family. But now, now that he knew his days could have been filled with colour and song and talk and joy, but now that he knew he had ruined it all, the loneliness felt less like a cold, dark cave and more like an icy stake, driving into his heart and digging itself ever so much deeper with every step he took. It reminded him of the old fairy tale of the fisherman and his wife. Geralt had always wondered how much worse the couple must have felt living in their old shoe again after having lived in a castle. Their house must have been uncomfortable before, but having experienced luxury, how much of a torture must the return to poverty have been?

Finding Jaskier in that godsforsaken town with its Niflgaardian soldiers had seemed to be the answer to everything. Yet Jaskier had been different. Distant. Never really truly there, always one step away from leaving again. If not for Ciri — Geralt, for all his futile daydreams, had once again been reminded of the truth: nobody truly liked a Witcher. Jaskier did not want to travel with him for him, and, no matter his foolish illusions of friendship (or more), he had realistically never travelled with Geralt solely for Geralt’s companionship. Even if there had been potential for any connection beyond convenience, Geralt knew he had well and truly fucked that up, on the mountain. He had had a faint hope that, once in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier would relax, turn back into his exuberant self again. But even there, the bard had avoided him, avoided all of them. So Geralt had stayed quiet, had echoed Jaskier’s distance. He had already fucked up enough, no need to make it worse. And so the loneliness had turned from an icy stake to a sharp knife, cutting away at whatever counted as a Witcher’s soul with every step he took.

“Where’s Jaskier?” Ciri’s voice cut through the thoughts spiralling in his head. “Have you seen him? I can’t find him anywhere.”

Geralt blinked. “Library?” That was usually where Jaskier holed himself up this time of day. “No, he’s not in there, I looked. He’s not in the kitchen or his room either.”

Every bone, every muscle, every nerve in his body went stiff. Jaskier, for all his extravagance, was a man of routine. Every day was structured, even if no one else could see the logic in it. “Where else have you looked.” It was a statement more than a question, but Ciri answered anyway.

“I’ve been to the balustrades, and the Hall, and the stables. I was on my way to check the library again when I saw you.”

Geralt nodded, grabbed Ciri’s arm, ran. Library. Surrounding rooms. Upstairs. They divided the spaces between them, opening door after door to reveal silence, empty, no one. Hall. Bedroom. Courtyard. By the time they searched the dungeons, Eskel and Lambert had ceased their packing, joined the search. In a Keep full of Witchers, how long could a single bard hide?

“He’s not here,” Lambert’s voice sounded like a sudden realisation, deeper than the announcement that the room he had just opened the door to was empty.

“What?” Geralt bit back

“He’s not here. The- The Pass. It’s clear. He must have-”

“Fuck.”

* * *

How long had he been gone? When had he managed to leave without any of them noticing? The mountains surrounding Kaer Morhen saw little monsters, but there were plenty of bears, wolves, snakes. Especially now, when the weak sun would wake the creatures from their hibernation, causing them to drag their starving bodies out of the caves, crooks, and crannies they had hidden in, ready to jump on the first prey that wandered in front of their paws – and that was not even considering the dangers of the Pass itself. Yes, the Pass was clear now, the snow had melted, but the ground remained unstable, the stones slippery, and the wind could appear suddenly and with a vengeance. They had lost enough time searching the Keep, Jaskier could be— Geralt shook his head, attempting to force away the bloody scenes his mind readily provided.

"Ciri, watch the Keep. Wake Vesimir. If Jaskier returns, whistle on your fingers like I taught you."

With those words, the three Witchers were off. Their once so playful running through the hallways was of days long past. It was all brutal efficiency now, long strides, quick grabs of swords, potions, cloaks.

Upon their leaving, the Keep stood empty, abandoned but for a single fair-haired girl, stood in the courtyard, a look of determination on her face, a look of desperation in her eyes.

The footsteps in the mud were easy to follow. Maybe less so for a human, but to a Witcher? Geralt breathed a sigh of relief when the prints crossing the Pass were solid, sturdy, walking in a straight line as if the bard hadn't had a care in the world. Just one step after another after another after another, away from the sheltered safety of the Keep he had apparently so desperately wanted to escape that he had not even wanted to wait for a single day to travel down with either of the others. After the Pass, however, the rocky ground was less willing to share its secrets. And once they arrived at the split in the road, not a single footstep, broken branch, or leaf out of place could serve as a hint as to the direction which Jaskier could have chosen.

Lambert went left. Geralt went right. And, in unspoken agreement, Eskel stayed behind, ready to respond to the call of either of them, if necessary.

The woods surrounding him were filled with sound. Birds waking up, marking their territory. Squirrels running up and down to fetch more food. A woodpecker, happily drilling their way into a tree. Dripping snow melting off of the branches. Every noise surrounded him, penetrated him, overwhelmed him in a manner that they usually would not. But anything preventing him from hearing the reliable, familiar footsteps of his bard (his bard? Never his, he could not allow himself to think so) was too much, too loud, too— the woodpecker stopped, a bird fell silent. In the distance, a quiet hum. Geralt ran.

Jaskier was safe. He was fine, he was ok, he was—

"You left."

The bard didn't startle, didn't turn around, didn't show any sign of surprise at the sudden voice behind him.

"Yes," he simply said, and kept walking.

"Why—" Geralt could curse himself. 'You left. Why.'? That was the only thing he could come up with? That was all he could say?

Jaskier halted, but still did not turn. "I— have been a burden enough on you and your companions. I don't want to—" a breath, a sigh, "I don't want to overstay my welcome any more than I already have. I apologise for not being able to leave earlier, I apologise for even coming with you to Kaer Morgen. It was beautiful seeing your home, but I shouldn't," Jaskier swallowed, even from behind Geralt could see the bard squeeze his eyes shut. "I shouldn't have infiltrated. I'm sorry. I will pay back the costs of my stay. Thank the others for their hospitality."

Geralt stood, frozen, as the man in front of him started walking again, walking away from him, from home, from—

"You're no burden." Now, the bard's turn to freeze. "You haven't overstayed your welcome. You did not infiltrate. You are not—" why did the words he so desperately wanted to say feel like thorny bramble bushes, ripping open everything in their path, refusing to be unearthed from his throat where they stayed, unsounding, unyielding, unheard. Geralt stepped forward, took Jaskier's hand, spun him around to face him, gathered the courage to grab the thorny words tightly and pull them out. "I— I am sorry. I'm sorry for yelling at you after the dragon hunt and I'm sorry for making you feel unwanted and I'm sorry for ignoring you and betraying you and— And I'm not good at saying how I feel or what I want but I love you, I love you. Stay. Please."

Jaskier's eyes widened, narrowed, and Geralt, throat bleeding, prepared for the hurt. Who, after all, could ever love a monster?

"You— love me?"

Geralt hummed in affirmation, still holding Jaskier's hand, but looking down rather than into those piercing blue eyes.

A fist hit his face with surprising strength. A hand followed, grabbing his chin, dragging him forward and—

Jaskier's lips were touching his. Jaskier's lips were touching his, continuing to touch his, staying on his and they were soft, and smooth, and oh so Jaskier. It seemed both seconds and centuries before Jaskier moved back, reopening the distance he had closed. Geralt, however, chased back, captured Jaskier as Jaskier had captured him. Yet rather than gentle softness, Geralt pursued passionately, desperately, pushing both of their bodies off of the path, against a nearby tree, into each other and on each other and never, never close enough. Grabbing hands, cradling heads, pulling hair and breathing, breathing in Jaskier’s smell, touch, taste, feel. Could a monster be loved after all?

They went home, from there. Back up the mountain towards a joyful reunion with his brothers. Back across the Pass towards an anxious Ciri and worried Vesimir clutching Jaskier’s left-behind note. Back into the Keep for a large feast, a tearful goodbye to the two who did rejoin the Path. Back to his bedroom to talk, talk, and with each conversation the words started to feel less like bramble bushes and more like blackberries. They weeded out the years of thorns and splinters, scratched open the scabs and scars, drained the wounds to allow recovery. They were both broken, and bruised, and their hearts guarded by years and years of harm. They took things slow. Throughout the years they fought, made up, hurt the other and themselves and healed the pain with sincere apologies and careful conversations. Grew apart and closer together as they discovered how their differences fit into the other’s similarities. But during it all, during the difficulties and work and the days where they had to choose to love the other, rather than it coming naturally, Geralt found that his bedroom had become their bedroom, his possessions their possessions, his home their home.

* * *

Jaskier often thought back to his encounter with Fate. Not that he now thought her to be any less of a bastard – or whichever insult was appropriate, no amount of decent blowjobs, and he had had many, had provided him with an answer. Yet at some moments, he could almost, almost, be grateful to her. She had, after all, given him the daggers that had brought him and Geralt together, the yarrow that had kept him alive, and the ribbon that had made Ciri part of his family. And, he supposed, the mountainside confession – the second one, not the first – had indeed led to the mutual desire she had prophesied. Which is how he was now grasping at the hair of the white-haired Witcher on his knees in front of him, the delightful warmth of Geralt’s mouth around Jaskier’s cock a great contrast to the cold stone of one of the ruins near the Keep pressing against his naked back. So far out in the forest, Jaskier could moan as loudly as he wanted to when Geralt licked a particularly sensitive spot, stroked his thighs, cupped his balls and slowly rolled the skin with his thumbs. He was utterly powerless, given over to the hands and mouth of the man he loved, the man who loved him, who stayed, through it all, faithful and resilient and stubborn and endlessly, endlessly his. How had he ever been satisfied with ungratifying blowjobs in an alley near a pub? Jaskier’s whole body shook as he came, steadied by a pair of strong hands grasping his hips, caressing his skin, worshipping his body. In the vague back of his mind, the sole part still working through the delight, he knew that soon it would be his turn to grasp, to caress, to worship – not his own body, but that of the one in front of him, strong, strange, beautiful. He would grab Geralt’s hand, arm, shoulder. Move the man against the lower wall in front of them, bend him over, take his time. He would enter, inch by inch, move slowly, rapidly, frantically, fulfil Fate’s damned mutual desire over and over and over, until they both would be undone again.

#geraskier #geraskier ff #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #jaskier #geralt #the witcher #the witcher ff #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfics #written by me #made by me

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lassieposting · 1 year

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anyway jaskier is like. basically the human equivalent of those wild animals someone feeds who've lost all fear of people and now just break into houses to eat out of the trash and chill in the pool

he's been travelling with a witcher since he was 18. he has zero fear of any of them. he associates witchers with Having Things Done For Him and Being Provided For and Give Love. he has no reservations whatsoever about going up to any random witcher he happens to pass when geralt isn't around and asking them to help him with something or do something for him or just. trailing after them for a while because he knows if he whines perfectly on pitch they'll hunt his dinner and store his shit in their horse's saddlebags and keep him safe on the road, even if they're grumpy about it. at kaer morhen he is like the stray cat geralt fed one time and now everyone is just like "well he lives here now i guess". it just Does Not Occur to him that he might ever be in danger with a witcher around. this is a man who finds things lying around in the kaer morhen lab and just fucking. eats them

anyway. those "please do not feed the animals it teaches them to approach people" signs but. for jaskier and the oxenfurt students who start trying to imitate him and adopt a witcher

#the witcher #jaskier #netflix witcher #it's a toss-up between witchers who are like 'ffs geralt this is why we don't encourage human attachments'#and the ones who are like 'it's free bard'#geraskier #witchersexual jaskier

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bald-queen-geralt · 10 months

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okay so I'm all for Jaskier being the Bi/Pan Legend he is.. BUT WHY FOR HEAVENS SAKE RADOVID???

WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE THE SLIMEY RAT THAT WILL BRING NOTHING BUT DEATH AND EVEN MORE RACISM TO THE COUNTRIES😭😭😭😭

why not a cute unknown noble? why not a literally anybody else??😭😭😭

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #twn #jaskier #radovid #the witcher jaskier #whyyyy #wtf #why him #I hate this so much #radovid is literally the worst #HATE #THIS #amongst other things #the show is better than last season #but not good ffs

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dettlaffxregisxgeralt · 1 year

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Small edit for ya'll whilst I finish my wips

( Syanna seriously has a death wish from everyone 😁 )

#emiel regis #the witcher 3 #geralt of rivia #tw3edit #my edits #syanna #ugh ffs #tbh regis ate this scene 💅

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sandinthepipes · 2 years

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Me, an ace, reading the tags of a fanfiction that look more like every single section of a subreddit about kinks, trying to discern if there's gonna be any sort of plot going on and the author is just concerned about warning the audience, just because they didn't tag the "porn without plot" that I could easily avoid

#fanfiction #ff #fanfic #the witcher netflix #the witcher #ofmd #our flag means death #merlin #bbc sherlock #merthur #johnlock #geraskier #blackstede #blackbonnet #hannigram #idk tag your otp i guess #no I don't actually know how reddit works #inthepipes

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ragnarssons · 9 months

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i legit gotta understand, how the s3's yennefer storyline is like "oh noooo aretuza is destroyed :(((((( ooooh but the girls are gonna miss it so much :(((((( and tissaia is saaaad :(((( and they will come together to build it back up!!! yayyy!!!" and i'm like-

i'm sorry, am i supposed to see aretuza as anything but another spoke on the patriarchy wheel that has been ruling over and ruining these lands for way too long? like, it's ruled by men "the brotherhood", where tissaia, the only woman member has had to fight for hundreds of years to get there (and it's up to discussion but all i saw was her being used as a pawn and being belittled by dirtass men). tissaia who herself, became like the oppressors of young girls she "taught" while simultaneously abusing them, or murdering them, (yes because i consider turning some of them into eels so that they power the power house, as murder) not caring if they disappear??! from right under her nose (and that's on s3 so i'm really supposed to see any evolution in her?) all in the name of ancient men-decided rules. aretuza that allowed men like stregobor to thrive and do whatever the f*ck they wanted with women, including young girls whom he murdered, tortured and experimented on. they knew, they knew all along! even tissaia knew! the place was built out of the oppression and murder of elves, treated as slaves and then disposed of, for their carcasses to use as foundations for the place. hello?! and best of all these scenarios, these young girls turned into "witches" would then be literally given to rich kings, depending on their prettiness, to sell either s*xual favors in exchange of a modicum of respect and -very fading- power (yennefer, philippa, sabrina, etc), or be treated like shit and used and abused once more (cough cough, fringilla). and tissaia presented yknow, neutering these girls in exchange of their power "an evolution" from pregnant women being "banished" from aretuza back in the past, like wow, evolution sure is something. like sure i do understand yennefer and tissaia mending their relationship through time and as yennefer grows and tissaia evolves (even thoooo... well i'd have STUFF to say about that). but yennefer with the brotherhood and aretuza? i really don't understand the dedication. on s2 the brotherhood wanted to kill her, even after what she did in sodden, that saved everyone. on s2 stregobor tortured yennefer and was never punished for it. on s2 yennefer fled aretuza and the brotherhood and they treated her like shit. don't understand how she'd even think ciri would be safe there, and i don't understand why she's willing to sacrifice her life as a mother with geralt and ciri, for this shithole. like yeah, somehow the brotherhood persuaded everyone that they were "the keepers of the peace between the kingdoms" but duh, that's obviously a lie. the brotherhood and aretuza alike got played like a fiddle by vilgefortz and only three of these women even saw it, and were treated like shit by their peers (some of them at least) for trying to change things. out of this whole place, triss seems like the only one with a freaking beating heart in her still. SO. AGAIN. WHY TF AM I SUPPOSED TO CARE? i legit cheered when fringilla murdered her shitass uncle. i cheered when stregobor died, and i was on philippa's side. and yennefer i'm sorry honey, but i do not care about how sad you are about this fucking wretched place being destroyed. it should be.

#the witcher #the witcher lb #the witcher spoilers #i swear when they were all sobbing at the end of ep8 #about how uwuwuuuw the whole place is destroyed #i was like HUUUUUUUH YES GOOD #ffs is that stockholm syndrome or something #i really don't get it #how they don't question it #how it's not more heavily adressed if they do #because they seem so passive and stupid #and im so sad to feel like yen is trapped in a storyline i hate #she was good on s1 when she was FAR AWAY from that shithole and hated it #when falka was like 'burn it to the ground' to ciri #i was at the point of being like 'yeah do it babe'

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winters-mistress · 2 months

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Revenge and Retaliation

Geralt growls loudly as he hears the loud smack connect with Ciri's cheek. He and Yennefer had just finished their meeting with the banker (and as it happens, the sorceress Yennefer never shut the fuck up about ever since they left Sherewedd) and were finding the girl when he had heard the commotion.

Instinctively, his hand rises to grasp at the sword to defend his girl from the two bitchy threats in front of her. But, much to his surprise, his mutations fail him, and the Queen of Cintra beats him to the punch. Literally.

She looks at the dark haired bitch who struck her and the blonde who stands as witness, her head moving as quickly as it had when she was struck, and twists her grip out of the sorceresses. She throws both hands at the both of them, a look of pure Calanthe fire upon her face, and the two bitchy witches fly backwards, landing flat on their backs. What is the distance they travel, nine feet? Twelve? He can't decide, but he feels the twist of his lips all the same.

"Ciri!" Yennefer gasps, and this time, the girl is ready for the flying hand. She catches Yennefer's wrist.

"What? I know you saw what just happened!" she cries out. "She grabbed me and struck me for no reason! I don't even know her!"

"Ladies," Tissaia says, coming out fron her place of observance, stalking over to the blonde and brunette as they slowly sit up. "Right yourselves, an enchantress never appears unkempt."

"That bratty little bitch!" The blonde gasps, and begins to mutter a spell. But Ciri silences her with another blast, much to Yennefer's annoyance.

"Will you stop!" Yennefer growls, pulling Ciri towards her. "Ladies, forgive her. Forgive the girls' impertinence."

Sabrina is silenced again.

"Are you taking the piss?!" Ciri snaps, pulling her wrist free from her. "Forgive my impertinence?! She attacked me! Look!" Ciri points to the bleeding scratches marring her face. "She ran over to me and harmed me and you don't even care! Why are you acting like such a self obsessed knob, Yennefer? Is this what it means to be a sorceress, turn into a ignorant, vapid, power hungry bitch with a superiority complex and vanity issues!" Ciri snapped. The ground trembles, and Geralt bites his cheek to stop the grin at her words and the growl at her actions. The last thing they needed was for three mages to find out about her power.

"I admire her fire, Yennefer." Tissaia turns and stalks towards Ciri, walking slowly. "Just like you, at that age."

Ciri highers her chin and looks down at the strange woman coming towards her. She tenses as she reaches out, holding her chin. Icy blue eyes burn into hers, and she inhales sharply, determined to hold her ground, strengthen herself against this strange entity that held power over every mage she could see.

"Look at me. Don't you dare take your eyes off of me."

#this scene annoyed the hell out of me #i know it was in the book and i know yen haf to play a part but till #dont let people hit your ward ffs yennefer #geralt and ciri #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #cirilla of cintra #fanfiction #witcherfanfiction #series 3 fix it #yennefer of vengerberg #tissaia de vries #sabrina glevissig #margarita laux antille

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gleamingsilence · 10 months

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🗄️ my ao3 including

🗃️ young Vesemir's path ⚔️

🗃️ the mouse and the pig (Dijkstra/foc smut)

🏷️ fluffy Sigi for my chronic-pain-buddies 🐾

🏷️ count Reuven's treasure hunt (Dijkstra/Tilly)

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iiamendless · 9 months

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Cahir was meant to be in the finale, looking from afar, as he followed Geralt, Jaskier and Milva. Why oh why did they cut this? 😮‍💨

#Netflix do better ffs #the witcher spoilers #the witcher s3 #it would’ve been a great tease for his character going into s4 #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #eamon farren

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redskull199987 · 10 months

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All the right Moves

Eskel x female Witcher!reader Word count:2.4k warnings: canon typical violence, reader is injured, fluff at the end Summary:You´re on your way back to Kaer Morhen together with Eskel, as you run into a Leshy. You knew that something was wrong, as Eskel told you he wouldn't want to travel with you anymore…

Masterlist

You were hiking so fast, that you could feel your lungs burning inside your chest. Your throat dry from not drinking anything for hours. Your feet were begging you to stop, even just for a minute. But you knew, you couldn't. If you stopped now, he would be dead, once you reached Kaer Morhen. You just had to make it in time. If Eskel died, you would never forgive yourself. His words were still ringing in the back of your head.

“Leave me alone!”, he yelled, as he pushed you away from him. Confused, you looked at the Witcher, who was normally warm and understanding around you. All you had done was touch his shoulder carefully, asking if you could see his injury.“Eskel…are you okay?”, you mumbled, Confusion still written all over your face.

“Just fuck off.”, he cursed under his breath, turning away from him.

You watched in confusion as he walked away from you, gathering his weapons. He didn't look back at you even once.

Your breath hitched slightly, as you could finally see the silhouette of Kaer Morhen on the Horizon. One or Two hours more and you would reach the old castle. It would be nightfall by then. You finally started to walk again, reaching into your pocket to find the potion, that was the reason why you were so late. You were sure that all the others had already arrived. Geralt and Vesemir probably worrying not only about Eskel, but also wondering why you didn't arrive yet.

You desperately wished that you weren't so late. But it had taken you longer than expected, to find someone who knew how to make the potion you needed. If it weren't for a mage, who was a good friend of yours, who teleported you near the mountains, where Kaer Morhen was, you would´ve lost several days and Eskel would probably be dead already. But luckily, you were only half a day behind him, which luckily gave you enough time to save him. Or so you hoped.

“Just fucking leave me alone!”, Eskel screamed at you, after you had finally managed to get a good look at his shoulder.“You´re infected, Eskel!”, you yelled, trying to grab his hand,”If we don´t do something, you will die!”“I am not going to die, so just leave me alone. I don't need you. I never needed you!”, he barked, looking at you with a stern expression. You were taken aback by his words. You knew that he didn't mean it, he didn't know what he was saying. But it still hurt you.

Before you could say something more, he was already mounting the horse and running off. You didn't try to follow him. It was worthless. You knew that he would be in Kaer Morhen after you found a potion that would save him.

You looked at his back one more time, before making your way into the other direction, already knowing who you could ask for help.

A small sigh left your lips,as you finally reached the doors of the keep. You were about to push it open, as the medallion around your neck started shaking. Hastily, you made your way inside. This wasn't the first time this happened today. But this time it was much harsher.

You didn't see anyone at first. The great hall was completely empty, but you could see plates full of food and tankards filled with ale standing all over the place. Someone was here not long ago.

Your head shot up, as you heard ruckus coming from the laboratory, seconds later the sound of pots being smashed and tables thrown over. As you finally started running, you could hear a beasty groan. “Fuck.”, you grunted as you heard the voices of Geralt and Vesemir. And as you finally reached the designated room, you peeked through the open door. What you saw almost made you lose your composure.

Right there, just a few meters in front of you, was Eskel towering over the other two Witchers. But he wasn't himself. Not in the slightest. He had transformed into a wooden beast, his face barely visible, but it was there.

Mere seconds, after laying your eyes on him, you wanted to storm towards him, but a magical shield was blocking the door. You quickly drew your sword, as you saw what was about to happen.

Eskel had managed to trap Vesemir, resulting in Geralt lighting up his sword to end it.

As fast as you could, you muttered a spell and lifted your sword. With all your power, you pierced it through the barrier.

You took three big steps, breathing in heavily, knowing that what you were about to do would knock the air out of your lungs.

And only as you stepped in front of him, lifting your blade to meet his in the air, Geralt had finally noticed your presence. He looked at you perplexed, as your sword clanked against his, the metall hissing from the heat. “What are you doing?”, he asked, not even angry, but genuinely concerned. “You're not going to take him away from me!”, you claimed, as Geralt slowly lowered his sword.

“Please just trust me!”, you urged the white wolf. He only nodded at you, as you quickly turned around, grabbing the small potion from your pocket.

“Eskel?!?!”, you yelled as loud as you could. The beast-turned Man quickly turned around, upon hearing your voice. Vesemir, who had previously been choked, fell to the ground, coughing. “Take care of him!”, you ordered Geralt, who was able to quickly make his way over to the older Witcher, since Eskel´s attention was all on you now.

“Here goes nothing.”, you muttered under your breath, as you felt a branch pierce through your shoulder. You yelped, as you were lifted into the air, more branches wrapping around your body. You were pushed against a wall, as Eskel leaned closer to you.

“Y/N”, he sputtered, his eyes scanning your form.

“It's me, Eskel.”, you affirmed, slowly bringing the potion to your mouth to rip the cork off, “You´re going to be alright, my love. Don´t worry.”

Eskel was about to answer, but no words left his mouth, he was just staring at you. You quickly realized that this was your chance, as he was momentarily confused. You lifted your arm, as best as you could and threw the small bottle of potion right into his mouth. He choked on it for a second, not comprehending what had just happened. “I'm sorry in advance.”, you quickly mumbled, before lifting your foot and kicking him in the jaw, in order to make him swallow the potion.

Your breath hitched for a second, as you didn´t know what was going to happen. Would it work? Would he live?

As you fell to the ground with a grunt, you were pretty sure that it was working. Grabbing your bleeding shoulder, you quickly backed off, as Eskel started to squirm around, an angry scream leaving his lips.

“Y/N?!”, Geralt yelled, as he tried to reach you, but Eskel´s branches were throwing a tantrum, swinging all around the hall.

“Please just work.”, you prayed, but suddenly, all movement stopped. The room was silent for a second, before all the wood surrounding you suddenly started corroding. You watched with wide eyes, how all the branches coming out of Eskel slowly crumbled away all the way up to his body. He had stopped moving for a second, but as you stood up and called out for him, the wooden exoskelett rumbled to life. You heard cracking and wood breaking and seconds later, you saw Eskel´s Human body falling out of what looked like a tree stump now.

"Eskel!", you gasped and leaped forward just in time to catch him. His body weight pulled you down with him. He was still unconscious, as you slowly turned him around, resting his head on your lap. Just now, you took a good look at him. His entire body was covered in dirt. Vines and leaves had grown in and around his clothes. The only thing untouched, was his Witcher medallion.

“He´s alive.”

You looked up at Geralt and Vesemir who were now standing in front of you. Vesemir was still leaning on Geralt for support, but apart from that he seemed fine to you.

“You saved his life”, Geralt added. All you could do was nod. Your emotions were slowly coming to the surface now and you realized that you could´ve lost him today. But here he was, laying in your arms unconsciously.

"Come on.” , Vesemir patted your shoulder, kneeling down next to you,”Let's get him fixed up. We´ll take care of this”, he lifted his hand to gesture around the completely destroyed room,”later, alright?”

You just nodded again, stepping aside, as Geralt and Vesemir proceeded to lift Eskel up to carry him to his room. As the other Witchers ran into you, you promised them an explanation , but for now, you needed to look after Eskel.

Your eyes kept falling shut over and over again, as you lay in a chair in front of Eskel´s bed. It had been a few hours since you managed to cure him from the infection. He hadn't woken up since. You tried to stay awake but sleep was gnawing at you, like a hungry aeschna.

“Sorry? Are you Y/N?”

Your eyes opened once more, as you looked over to the door to see who had come to visit you. A young girl was standing in the doorway. Her long blond hair was slightly disheveled and the bottom of her white dress was dirty and ripped open.

“You must be the child surprise.”, you stated, after getting up and bidding her inside.

“Cirilla of Cintra.”, she smiled, as she stepped inside,”Geralt sent me to give you this. He said it would help with your exhaustion.”

You looked at her curiously, as she handed you a small bottle of potion. You gingerly took it and inspected it´s contents. After recognizing the mixture, you quickly downed it in one sip. Mere seconds after, you already felt it working. Your eyes didn´t feel as heavy anymore and your limbs stopped aching a bit.

“Thank you Cirilla.”, you finally said and gifted the young girl a soft smile.

She only nodded and was about to leave, as you gently grabbed her wrist. She turned around perplexed.

You cleared your throat once more, before finally speaking again:”Geralt told me that…that Eskel was a bit rude with you, upon arriving here at Kaer Morhen.”

“He wasn't exactly the nicest.”, she admitted after you finally let go of her hand.

“I want to apologize for his behavior”, you sighed, rubbing your neck,”He isn't usually like this. He didn't even let me touch him, after he was injured. This infection…it did something to him, changed him.”

Cirilla didn't say anything, but instead stepped closer to the bed, Eskel was lying in. She inspected him carefully, her eyes wandering over his exhausted body.

“I really hope that he will wake up again. I would like to meet the real Eskel.”, she uttered and turned around to you with a smile. “Yeah, me too.”, you mumbled weakly. You were really missing your soft Witcher. The way he always smiled at you with his big eyes, the way his hands felt on your skin, his lips on yours, his gentle voice, as he mumbled sweet nothing into your ear in the early mornings. You just wanted him to wake up again.

“Hey?”, Ciri asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. She must have noticed how shaken up you were, “He'll be alright. You saved him, right?”

You only nodded, slowly petting her shoulder:”You should go to sleep now. It's late and you must be tired, after all this ruckus.”

“You should get some sleep too.”, she smiled softly before leaving the room. You threw one last glance her way, before the door finally closed and the room was silent again.

At least for a few moments.

Your head shot up, as you heard groaning coming from the bed. That could only mean one thing: Eskel was awake.

You quickly made your way over to the bed and you would be lying if you said, your heart didn't skip a beat. There he was. He was alive and well. His heartbeat going steady and his breath a little shallow, but also very much there.

As he looked up and his eyes landed on you, you couldn't hold yourself back any longer. you stepped forward, kneeling down on the side of the bed, your arms pulling Eskel into a massive hug.

“Woah there, bug. It's alright, I'm here.”, Eskel affirmed, as you buried your face in his shoulder,”I'm here with you.”

“Yeah”, you sniffled, a few lonely tears rolling down your cheeks. You finally parted to get a good look at him. Frankly, he still looked unbelievably tired. Dark circles were prominent under his eyes and you noticed that he moved with a bit of discomfort. “What happened, bug?”, he suddenly asked you, now fully sitting up against the headrest.

“The leshy.”, you mumbled, reaching out for his hand. He gladly intertwined his fingers with yours. “It infected you, after we fought against it.”

“Fuck, I think I remember now.”, he hissed,”I'm so sorry. The things I said, I did. I was such an arsehole, wasn´t I?”

“Well, Ciri certainly thinks so.”, you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. But Eskel didn't laugh. Instead he lifted his hand to softly grasp your cheek. He gently wiped away your tears, but new ones were already coming, upon feeling his soft touch again.

“I am sorry.”, he said firmly,”Thank you for saving my ass.” “Of course.”, you assured,”I would do anything for you. I love you.” “I love you, bug”, Eskel mumbled, pulling you back into his chest. A small sigh left your lips, after settling against his body. You finally allowed yourself to rest, after so many hours of being completely on edge. Eskel was alive. You did, in fact, save him.

“Rest.”, you heard him whisper into your ear, as he pulled you closer to his body. His warmth spreading welcoming you, after he pulled the blanket over you.

“You deserve it.”

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narniaandplowmen · 1 year

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undone again

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier Also on AO3 10059 words.

Mature / Graphic Depictions Of Violence Chapter 3/4 (2735 words)

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four

Summary:

Look at him now, the offspring of the King's most obedient followers, knee-deep in mud and covered in soldiers' blood. Saving the ass of the person he had sworn never to follow again. See, not obedient at all. Though Fate was still a– a– Jaskier sighed. He'd come up with a proper insult when he wasn't actively ruining his favourite doublet. Maybe after a long bath and a night's rest. And after a decent fucking blowjob.

* * *

Jaskier had once met Fate. She had predicted mountain-side confessions, deep kisses, mutual desire. And with that, Fate had vanished, leaving behind a sprig of yarrow, two sharp, silver daggers, and a piece of Cintran-blue string. That summer, Geralt had gone dragon hunting. That summer, it all had come undone.

and the sharp bramble bushes

Kear Morhen was old, and cold, and beautiful. And above all, it was safe. Or, well, as safe as any crumbling castle could be. For all the years Jaskier had dreamt about being invited for the winter, about joining Geralt in his home, he had been terrified when he had actually walked through the doors. By the time they arrived, snow was already falling, and, as Geralt reminded them multiple times as they rushed the final part of their journey, it would be impossible to reach the Keep once the Pass was blocked. Impossible to reach, but also impossible to leave. And with Jaskier no longer needed as a familiar face – for Geralt fulfilled that role now – he knew that it was not a matter of if, but when he would overstay his welcome. So Jaskier withdrew, and kept quiet.

As easy as it was to fall into a rhythm while travelling, as easy as it was to fall into a rhythm in the Keep. Jaskier would get up early, but not too early, so by the time he arrived downstairs the others had already finished their breakfast. He would clean up the Hall, do the dishes, tidy the kitchen, prepare lunch. He would then take the long way round to the library, eating a slice of bread as he walked, and spend the afternoon cleaning, repairing and recategorising the old, dusty, and abandoned tomes. And on some days, in the late afternoon, if she hadn't been trained to exhaustion by the Witchers, Ciri would arrive in the library for her lessons. He would teach Ciri politics. Government. How to satisfy complaints without making promises. Court etiquette, healthy farming practices, manipulation, poetry, art. Anything he could think of, until they were fetched by Vesimir or either two of the three other witchers staying the winter. Because it was never Geralt who knocked on the library door shouting for them to come down, who popped in to announce the time, who snuck up on them and grabbed Jaskier suddenly, carrying him over his shoulders laughing boisterously the entire way down as Ciri, giggling, followed.

The first evenings, Jaskier had been asked to perform. With a glance at Geralt, he had politely refused, using the excuse of exhaustion from travel, an upcoming cold, a lack of instruments. Eskel had searched through the Keep on that third night, convinced he had once seen a lute somewhere. He had been unable to find it, though, and so they stopped asking. Jaskier withdrew more and more, remembering the lessons he had learned at his father’s house: don’t be seen, don’t be heard, escape notice and all will be fine and safe. Now, several decades later, he found he was much better at it than he had been as a child. And, he bitterly realised, it made him strangely proud to discover this.

They had been there for three weeks when the script was broken and Vesimir came into the library before dinnertime.

“It’s still light out, it can’t be dinnertime already,” Jaskier said absentmindedly, focussed on carefully looping the needle through the spine he had just resewn.

“Am I not allowed to enter my own library save for dinnertime?”

Jaskier blushed, apologised, felt his heart break. Without his lute, without his possessions, without anything he had earned himself, he had started to consider the library as his. It was the sole place he could fully find shelter, feel comfortable. None of the others had ever come inside except briefly, when fetching him. Vesimir’s words rang true, however. Jaskier was merely a guest, an unwanted intrusion, a temporary feature of the Keep, to be removed as soon as the snow melted.

“No need to apologise.” The eldest Witcher walked in, inspecting the shelves Jaskier had already restored. “You’re talented, bard, even when you don’t sing.”

“I took an elective tutorial in bookbinding when I was studying in Oxenfurt.” Too many words, don’t overshare, he immediately berated himself. In the Hall and throughout the Keep Jaskier managed to keep his head down, stay invisible. But here, in his – not his, he reminded himself – sanctuary, he felt thrown off his rhythm.

“This work is the result of more than a mere elective,” Vesimir replied. He had come closer now, staring at Jaskier as he pushed the needle through the parchment one last time.

Jaskier bit his tongue, forced himself to stay quiet. don’t be heard. don’t be seen. escape notice.

“You are also talented when you do sing.”

At that, Jaskier looked up, confused.

“I have seen you perform, once. Years ago.”

“I did not know you left the Keep.”

“Only when I need new supplies. Or when I am curious to meet the man one of my Wolves won’t shut up about.”

“Oh.” Jaskier wondered how extensive the complaints must have been to provoke that kind of curiosity.

The library fell silent again, but Vesimir did not leave. Though Jaskier did not look at him, he could feel the man staring. It seemed like ‘escape notice’ was out the window. Jaskier reattached the cover, put the book back on a clean shelf, grabbed a new one, carefully leafed through it to assess the damage. Names. Numbers. Dates. It seemed like a ledger of some sort.

“It’s how we kept track.”

“Of what?”

“New recruits. Coming in. Treatments. Death.”

Jaskier nodded. “The ink is fading. Want me to make it legible again?”

“Thank you. Make sure they aren’t get forgotten.”

With that, Vesimir finally left.

Jaskier was alone in the library for the next two days. On the third, Vesimir returned. This time, however, Jaskier was prepared. He stayed quiet, stoically continued his work, mentally thanked the strict librarian at Oxenfurt who had berated him so often for absentmindedly humming that he was now able to keep it in. don’t be heard.

So it continued, for several days. Jaskier would wake alone, clear the tables alone, do the dishes alone, make lunch alone, eat his slice of bread alone, enter the library alone, but somewhere during the afternoon Vesimir would join him. He would sit and stare, or inspect the books Jaskier had restored, or, on one occasion, grabbed a book and restored it himself. But, to Jakier’s relief, he no longer spoke.

Until he did.

“We’re concerned,” he proclaimed out of nowhere, putting down one of the bestiaries he was reading.

“Nilfgard is a formidable enemy.”

The Witcher frowned. “We’re concerned about you,” he specified.

Oh. Oh. Jaskier put down his tools and looked up. “I- I–” He swallowed, tried again. “I apologise for being an intrusion, but I can assure you that I will leave the moment the Pass is cleared. And I will make sure to send you coin to repay for the resources I have used. I am sorry I can give you little more than my word, but I swear I will keep my promise.”

The frown deepened. “I don’t need your coin, bard. Your labour here is payment enough.”

Jaskier looked down, nodded his assent without any intention to let go of his plan of payment.

“You are a bard, right?”

Jaskier nodded again.

“Yet I have not heard you sing a single word since you’ve arrived.”

“I did not wish to intrude.”

“We specifically requested it.”

“Geralt-” Jaskier halted. Damnit, traitorous mouth.

“Doesn’t like your singing?” Vesimir finished.

Another nod.

Jaskier jumped as the man in front of him slammed on the table. “Bullshit.”

“What?”

“Bullshit. Tonight, you’re performing.”

And with that, Vesimir stormed out.

* * *

The first morning in Kaer Morhen, Jaskier had gone exploring. While Geralt and Ciri had gone outside to start training, Jaskier had wandered through the hallways, climbed up the stairs, tried rusty doors with broken handles and explored dust-filled chambers. In one of them, he had found an old lute, clearly unused for several decades. He had taken it back into his room with him, cleaned it, and placed it in the chest next to his bed. In a Keep filled with keen-eared Witchers he had been careful to ensure the instrument made no sound. He wasn’t even sure why he had taken it, but knowing it was there made him feel calmer, more whole.

He tried to sneak away after dinner, the night of Vesimir’s demand. He should have known it was of no use. In Kear Morhen, there is little sneaking to be done. Lambert had walked with him when Jaskier had said he needed to fetch something from his room first. Eskel had yelled at him when he had revealed the lute. And he had lifted Jaskier onto the makeshift stage he had created in the time it took to fetch the instrument, cheered, and sat down to listen. And Jaskier had sung. He had sung shanties and ballads and the epic he had written about an underwater war. He had sung lovesongs and, when the fire burnt low and Ciri had looked at him, pleadingly, he had sung about Calanthe’s feats. And, at the very end, because Eskel threatened to never let him off the mountain if he didn’t, Jaskier had sung Toss a Coin. And Geralt had sat unmovingly throughout it all, polishing and repolishing and repolishing his armour. He had not looked up once.

Now that everyone in the Keep knew he had an instrument, Jaskier spent his evenings in his room writing up the songs he had not allowed himself to hum for so many months of being on the run. Old hurts, those which had originally sparked the anger that had written Burn, Butcher, Burn, were now not dulled – never dulled – by time, but had, rather than exploding outward, started festering inside his heart. And with Geralt so nearby, the Keep around him, and Ciri growing stronger by the day, the so painful words made themselves even more comfortable there, nestling in every crevice and wrinkle with the promise of further hurt and pain if he were not careful, if he overstayed his welcome again, if he did not leave the second the Pass was clear. And rather than vengeful pub songs, the hurt put on a coat made by solemn ballads, mournful dirges, and even a confessional hymn. Jaskier sang them quietly, barely vocalising the words even when he knew all the others were enjoying their evenings far downstairs, with several layers of stone between him and the ears of the men below.

His performance, Jaskier later learned, had been on midwinter, but he noticed little of the lengthening days. This far North, the sun barely rose above the horizon – for as far as you could speak of a horizon visible from the Keep, surrounded by miles and miles of endless mountains. The empty hallways were filled with moving shadows, the castle’s original inhabitants moving from fireplace to fireplace, navigating quietly through the spaces they had grown to know so well over the years. Only Ciri carried a candle with her when moving between rooms. Jaskier let the darkness envelop him, hug him, embrace him into its folds when he made his way from his bedroom to the Hall, from the Hall to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the library and back to the Hall. It reminded him to be silent, unseen. And every day he would look outside, measure the snow, and conclude that no, he could not leave yet. He would have to remain a burden to those who belonged at the Keep for a little longer.

It was a week after midwinter when he heard Vesimir and Geralt yell at each other. It was a week and a day after midwinter when he saw Eskel and Lambert hack into the man much more aggressively than their playful training normally allowed. It was a week and three days after midwinter when Jaskier, when he arrived downstairs at his usual hour to take his breakfast, found not the expected empty Hall, but a white-haired witcher holding a piece of raw meat against his eye. It was a week and five days after midwinter when Jaskier noticed Geralt’s plate was clean after breakfast, and that no one was seated in his spot during dinner. It was two weeks after midwinter when Jaskier became really, really concerned.

“Vesimir, is the Pass clear?” Jaskier had asked that afternoon.

“No. It will not be for at least another moon. Why? Do we-” the old man cut himself off, clearly believing that whatever joke he was wanting to make would not be appropriate.

“I was wondering where Geralt went. I have not seen him in a few days.”

“Ah.”

It stayed silent for a while.

“Bard.”

“Yes?”

“You care for Geralt.”

It was a statement, not a question, so Jaskier stayed quiet.

“You travelled with him for over a decade. He insults you and hurts you. You do not see him for many years, yet you give up your own plans and jump right back into danger the moment you see him again. Why?”

“Because-” Jaskier sighed. “Because he is a good man. He might not see it, but he is. And when I grab hold of something I hold dear, I don’t quickly let go. Which- Yes, he hurt me, but it was deserving. I ignored all his boundaries and warnings, waltzed all over his life and claimed a place in it without stopping to consider if I was even wanted. He had the right to–”

“No, he didn’t.” In a blink of an eye, Vesimir had gotten up from his usual chair, stepped up to the table where Jaskier had been reattaching a half-torn book cover, and grabbed Jaskier’s shoulders. “He had no right to treat you like he did, nobody ever does.”

“How do you even know–”

Jaskier could count on one hand the times he had seen a witcher blush. Vesimir’s sudden red cheeks and refusal to make eye contact, therefore, were both a surprise and a sign of guilt.

“My new songs. I thought I was quiet enough–”

“Lambert likes to sit outside of your door and listen to you compose. He told me what he heard.”

“Oh.” The yelling. The training. The injured eye. “What did you–”

“We told him to apologise.”

Jaskier sighed. “I– I appreciate the gesture. But it has been years, he does not have to–”

“He does.”

“Okay, maybe he does. But if he is to apologise, I would rather it came from him, not because his brothers told him to. Leave him alone. I will be fine.”

Vesimir simply raised an eyebrow, but said nothing else. The next morning, Geralt’s breakfast plate was used, and the man himself appeared for dinner.

* * *

The Pass was clear, or, clear enough. The winter had been longer than usual, colder than usual, like the world itself needed its time to mourn the state it had come to. Lambert had been the one to discover it, anxious as he was to rejoin the Path. And now, though it was only two witchers leaving this season, it felt like the Keep was in a frenzy of packing, preparing, getting ready to go. A gathering of potion ingredients, the collecting of extra clothes, exclamations of where is that damned saddle ring gone and has anyone seen my– seemed to fill every room, every nook and cranny of the ancient castle. And in the chaos, Jaskier, upon hearing the news, quietly went to his room and packed. A tunic, three pairs of breeches, two doublets… He vaguely wondered what happened to the supplies he left behind, what felt like years ago. It had contained a fair bit of coin, too. It took him five minutes to pack, another ten to restore the room to the state he had found it in – if not a lot cleaner. It took him seven minutes to say goodbye to the lute, carefully wrapping it in a blanket and placing it safely on the bed, another five to write down a thank-you-and-goodbye note to leave in the library. And less than fifteen minutes later, he had managed to get away from the Keep unnoticed, unseen and unheard. Less than fifteen minutes later, the main gate of Kaer Morhen was out of his sight, and the long and winding path down had embraced its first visitor of the season – no experienced Witcher, but a lonely bard, unsure of what would be waiting for him in the world beyond.

next chapter

#geraskier #geraskier ff #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #jaskier #geralt #the witcher #the witcher ff #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfics #written by me #made by me

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zkretchy · 1 year

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my first actual thought about “cat who happens to possess you and is now a ghost(?)” was Gwent Not like Geralt is too happy about the accidental cheating happening but hey-can’t really block out the noise of someone inside your head now can you

#possession au #the witcher #geralt #kiyan #new idea: when kiyan got possessed in canon he should have just annoyed the demon right back #literally no one won in canon there anyway but i think it'd be funny and he deserves to be an ass #annoying voices inside your head and flesh? just annoy them right back there probably won't be consequences worse than what already happened #this also just makes me think how everyone lost in anything kiyans trip wise tbh #like anyone around ireneus either died or got turned into a crazy cat lady #the ppl on the ship ALSO died #in the end even Adriens castle got overrun and they all died #ffs all ireneus got out of this was a crazed skinned possessed cat witcher #and honesly if thats the look he went for he could have just grabbed a necrophage #easier ways to aquire a rotting corpse or corpse to be than all of this #couldnt even draw a proper circle or pentagram either ofc this couldnt have worked #i have many griped about everyone involved in the general cat gear quests #this got sidetracked bc as usual i have too many thoughts involving kiyan&co #art #zkretchy

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rp-partnerfinder · 2 months

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I am a 30yrld female with 10+ years experience looking for FxF fandom games. Cannon X Canon characters preferred. But sometimes open to Canon x OC. I am literate and write novella length. 📚

Age range: 21-38+ years old partners.

I don’t have a preference for my partners gender. Just looking for someone 20+ years old willing to play FxF fandom games.

Really looking for femslash games. I’m open to Omegaverse and soulmate tropes/themes.

I play romance and dark story themes.

Couples in red are cravings. The ideas listed are just SAMPLES! Not exclusive to the storylines I’d like to play.

Fall of the House of Usher (Camille/OFC) —

What if an Angel was protecting a woman who crossed paths with Camille and the angels protection kept Camille safe from her family’s curse. But only so long as this OFC loved Camille. Would Camille be able to ensure she did not lose that protection and be the type of woman worth loving?

Game of Thrones (Sansa / Daenerys with optional + Canon male character, Brienne/Sansa)

Sansa and Daenerys are forced to marry to avoid war between the North and the United southern kingdoms under Daenerys’ banner.

Sansa escapes Kings Landing with Ser Barristan and meets Daenerys in Mereen.

Drogon flies all the way to Westeros after he leaves Danserys in the Dothraki Sea, and meets an ice Queen in need of saving.

The Witcher (Tissaia / Yennefer)

1. Ciri is Tissaia’s child of surprise, not Geralt’s. When it comes time for her to accept this, she seeks out assistance from the only powerful mage she knows that wants children, Yennefer.

2. Tissaia comes back to speak with Yennefer while she is still in Rhinde. She has found a possible cure for Yennefer’s barrenness.

3. Yennefer is the daughter of a king at of the Northen Kingdoms, that falls in love with her father’s mage, Tissaia de Vries.

4. Yennefer is doused with a lust potion gone wrong by the older classmates at Aretuza. She will lose her mind unless she sleeps with someone, but the idiots that doused her didn’t take her elven blood into account, and instead of a lust spell, she can only be satisfied by her truest match—her soul mate. Tissaia does not sleep with students. Even ones she’s fated to. But to save Yennefer’s life she will. But only if she and Yennefer never remember what’s happened.

5. Time travel write up for season 4. Yennefer goes back in time with the help of the monolith book to save Tissaia. But it’s like the butterfly effect. And Tissaia keeps dying.

Harry Potter (Hermione/Fleur, female!Harry/Hermione, Hermione/Pansy, Hermione/Bellatrix, Hermione/Ginny, Hermione/Minerva, Minerva/Bellatrix)

Hermione Granger and Fleur Delacour found family. After the war, Bill dies in an accident, and Hermione and Ron have divorced. Two single mothers come together to lament their troubles and losses.

Fleur realizes that Hermione is her true mate when she arrives hurt at the cottage after Malfoy Manner or being mates.

Forced Marriage trope - repopulating wizarding England stipulates that all eligible and child baring women must marry. Except, it seems, Hermione Granger, who is protected under French Ministry law as she is the Delacour heir’s fated mate.

Twilight (Tanya/Leah, Tanya/OFC, Bella/Rosalie, Bella/Tanya, Bella/Alice, Bella/Leah, Rosalie/Leah, Alice/Leah)

Tanya has been looking for her mate for over a thousand years. She’s finally found them.

House of Dragons (Alicent / Rhaenyra)

Rhaenyra runs away with Alicent

Rhaenyra kills her father to ensure she is the one to marry Alicent

Rhaenyra captures Alicent during the war and they reminisce on all that was—and could have been.

Like this post or message me and I’ll get in touch. Let me know which fandom and couple and possible idea caught your attention.

I prefer to play through discord but am open to email or google docs.

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