#when someone else does it Geralt just like

[endiness]

okay, i have gone through probably 50+ s2 interviews of hc researching this so far and i have to say that at this point i really don't see how he wasn't deliberately trying to manipulate the fanbase and the media against the writers and the show to get them onto his side. (and also, like, a very specific, extremely toxic section of the fandom at that.) (it's the sexist incel gamerbros. i'm talking about them.)

"I wanted to represent as much of a book-accurate Geralt as possible and a lot of the fans did as well, and so I campaigned really hard to make sure that he was more verbose, he sounded more intellectual, his choice of words was more thought out and that his approach to Cirilla and everyone else wasn’t antagonistic. Because it initially came across as he was just grumpy all the time with everyone and everything and I really wanted to show this three-dimensional character […] It’s gonna be tough to do the stuff which is as brilliant as Sapkowski’s writing, but it’s something I’m always gonna campaign for and it’s hopefully fit into the vision of the show."

there are so many interviews (ie virtually every interview out of 50+ with the exception of maybe, like, 3) where hc says the exact same thing about how he just cares so much about book accuracy, specifically where geralt's characterization is concerned, and that he really started to push for a more book accurate geralt in s2 and wanted him to be more verbose and intelligent and show that he isn't just a one dimensional character who just grunts and says hmm all the time like in s1 — and at no point does he ever take any responsibility for how that was due to his acting choices in the first place because he would cut his lines.

he also just straight up lies about the situation because the writers originally wrote geralt as being more verbose and book accurate in s1 but then changed the way they were writing him due to the acting choices he made. and yet he acts like that was never the case and that geralt was never originally written that way and he pushes this idea that a book accurate geralt went against lauren's vision. even though, once again, that was the original vision and it only changed due to him.

and on the extremely rare occasion (i'm talking, like, maybe 2 con panels here) that he ever takes any kind of responsibility for his role in all of that, he still waffles about and tries to present this image that he wasn't really cutting that many lines and they weren't really that important anyway and it didn't really matter:

"I didn't even cut that much. Just little bits when someone says how they feel, I thought if Geralt says nothing, and maybe the well-known grunts or hmms and sometimes the occasional f-word, people can take from that what they will."

even though that can't be true as confirmed by joey:

"Henry likes to cut his lines, 'cause he's lazy. No, he literally just likes to cut them. He likes to do more up here [frames his face with his hands] and just with face and hmms and grunts. There's a lot of hmms, and so I often have to take a lot of his lines and turn it into a lot of my stuff so that the plot happens."

and even hc himself confirms this and what joey said in a s1 interview:

"All the grunts, I either added or I didn't say anything and just grunted instead. It was often up to the other actors to go, 'I think he's not gonna say anything now.'"

i also have to point out that hc directly links his push for a more book accurate geralt to reading comments on reddit as i think that's very relevant to what section of the fandom exactly that he's pandering to and why he's been so vocal about it while lying about the role he played in everything and what actually happened:

"I’m on all the Reddit forums. I’m reading all the reviews. I’m literally trying to get everyone’s information. Some of it is not useful, and other criticisms are incredibly useful. I take it all in, and I look forward to bringing it even closer and closer to Sapkowski’s writing. I think any of those criticisms, they often lie in things like I was saying—we don’t have the advantage of a long involved conversation or dialogue with Geralt, so they are criticisms which I think I was prepared for. So for me, it’s about seeing that, understanding it, and working out how I can do my job better within the framework provided, [how to] appease and make those people feel comfortable that I do actually understand this character—and love this character just as much as they do."

"As a source for information, it's really helpful for me to see what everyone's saying, what everyone's thinking, and to see how much my thinking falls in line with whichever side of that spectrum it is and whether I'm doing the wrong thing, for example, by campaigning hard for the book Geralt to exist or whether I'm doing the right thing."

and just another important thing to point out imo: virtually the only times hc ever takes any responsibility in any capacity whatsoever for his own role in the show not adhering to the books (which even then he barely does and it's still always with a lot of excuses), it's only ever at con panels — which are far less likely to get picked up by news outlets and seen by a broader audience — and not in formal interview settings. (except for, i think, one interview he gave early on when s2 first went on hiatus. but even then, it still has the same problems that the con panels have where he comes up with a lot of excuses that don't match what happened.)

then there's an interview hc gave where he went on about how he added some book dialogue into a scene and he made it out to be like it was some kind of rebellion against the writers and he didn't consult them as he was just going to do what he wanted, consequences be damned:

"I did not feel like having long discussion about whether I could add this bit somewhere. So I just did it, said the words in front of the camera, and was ready to face the consequences."

and meanwhile what actually happened was that lauren eventually let hc have free reign and rewrite a scene that he was unhappy with. which, y'know. kinda fucking weird to present what happened in the way he did.

and then there's him pushing this narrative that the female characters — namely yennefer and ciri — were given more depth and focus than geralt and the male characters as if that came at their expense and all of which is somehow due to lauren's women-centric vision of the show as if that's somehow opposed to how the books themselves are:

"On season two, I wanted to bring as much of 'Book' Geralt into the show that Lauren's vision and that the plot would allow. That's a tricky thing to do, because the plot, as Lauren has said, is very centred around bringing women into the centre of The Witcher."

"In Season 1, there wasn't really much of an opportunity for expansive dialogue which Geralt is known for — in the books, he's often known to monologue — because we had two original origin stories which were the center point of the show."

"Lauren’s vision was more of an ensemble piece than the first Witcher books. It’s driven a lot more by the characters of Yennefer and Cirilla."

"I wanted to make sure we really explored as much as showrunner's vision could allow. She has her own plan, so I’ve got to toe that line between book Geralt and Lauren’s vision."

"I wanted to try and bring as much of the book’s Geralt into Season 2 as possible, and as much as the vision, the plot and storylines would allow. The toughest part for me was finding that balance between the showrunners’ vision and my love for the books, and trying to bring that Geralt to the showrunners’ vision."

"It’s important for me to have the character be three-dimensional and it’s tricky to do, as I was saying earlier, because there’s a certain vision and there’s a certain set, storyline and plot. And so, it was about me trying to find Geralt’s place within that."

"There’s only so much space to provide the same character from the books within the showrunner’s vision. But, I did my best to provide a bit more of a three-dimensional character with a bit more emotionality."

"It's important to me that the men in the story are three dimensional as well."

like, first off — and not to continually reiterate this but — that's not true. in s1, geralt was originally written as being just as verbose and intellectual as he was in the books and that only changed due to hc cutting his lines and we know that joey often had to take his lines, too. so there was, in fact, always plenty of time for geralt to be book accurate and for yennefer and ciri to have their own focus. these things were never mutually exclusive and it's definitely some kinda take to imply otherwise.

secondly, while it is true that geralt is the main character of the short stories, ciri is the main character of the main series starting from blood of elves, the book that s2 adapted. and despite claims otherwise, her pov has always had the most focus — yes, even more than geralt (sans baptism of fire, obvs.) and it's not like ciri is the only female pov, either, or that there aren't other important female characters that make up the series. there's yennefer, triss, milva, philippa, fringilla, nimue, condwiramurs, kenna — and that's just off the top of my head. there are plenty more where that came from. women and their stories have always played a central role in the books. nothing about that goes against them or is unique to lauren's vision.

and just with boe in particular, like. triss's pov is either focused on more than geralt's or at least about as much as his depending on how you want to break things down. and with dandelion following very close behind them, too! like, ciri may be the main character of the main series and geralt may be the main character of the short stories and their povs are the most focused on overall, but the books are still very much an ensemble piece made up of a collage of many, many povs to paint a full picture of the universe. and, yeah, the women make up a huge part of that. so the show focusing on ciri and yennefer and the women — and, yes, the men as well because it does actually do that! — is um, still book accurate. so y'know, why the fuck is he presenting this idea that's somehow not the case.

in general, hc emphasizes in a lot of interviews how much he fought for "male characters to be three dimensional." which yeah, given the context of everything else, is some suspicious kinda phrasing because it gives this undertone that the show wasn't writing three dimensional male characters in the first place as opposed to the women and that it's only due to his efforts that anything changed.

also, i have to highlight this quote of him talking about the three dimensionality of men because ~curious that he omits women from the list of people real menTM can be loving and caring toward:

"I believe that real men are very sensitive. They are very capable of doing things which can be violent, if possible, or necessary. But at the same time, they are incredibly capable of love and caring amongst men and towards children and family and all sorts."

and then there's the way hc talks about changing things which comes across as so suspicious, too, imo. especially when there is every other cast member to compare him to. because the way the rest of the cast has talked about this is that they all very consistently say that the whole process is very collaborative and that lauren is very much willing to hear them out about their thoughts and concerns and that it really feels like a team effort and that everyone is working together. and meanwhile the vibes that hc gives off is either "me vs the world (ie the writers)" or "but there's nothing that i can really do to change anything and it's all on the writers~" either way, his attitude very much comes off like all bad decisions are the writers' fault but meanwhile any good decision was due to him and him alone (or maybe the rest of the cast, but definitely not the writers.) like, weird af to play it off that way especially since every other cast member didn't seem to have any problems and they all gave credit where credit was due ie to lauren and the writers.

in conclusion, it'd be one thing if hc had just taken the l and admitted that he is the one who fucked up geralt's characterization in s1 and so he sought to rectify that in s2. but yeah, he doesn't really do that. instead he lies over, like, 50 times to create this narrative of him pushing for book accuracy as if that's somehow in opposition to lauren and the writers and as if they didn't originally write geralt book accurately in the first place and as if he played no role in the lack of book accuracy at all. and then that there's also him pushing this subtle (or not so subtle) narrative about how the women were taking a more central role as opposed to the men and that's somehow unlike the books and something purely due to lauren's vision, too? even though women have always played a central role in the books to the point where ciri is the main character of the main series? and that he's directly linked this narrative he's pushing to reading comments on reddit? (and that he also has a history, since s1, of trying to cater to game stans?) yeah, i just don't see how this doesn't add up to him trying to manipulate the media and audience — especially the worst parts of the fanbase — against the writers and the show and onto his side.

(also just one last thing i'd like to note as i find it super weird that when hc was asked about giving freya any advice, he immediately shut down the notion that he would ever do anything like that and he would never offer her any unsolicited advice and he would only ever give her any if she came to him first. like, there are literally s1 and s2 interviews where freya talks about hc giving her advice. i mean, maybe she did come to him in the first place, idk. but the immediacy in which he shut down the idea that he would ever do anything like that as if offering someone younger than you advice and being a mentor to them is wrong… weird. sus, even. like, why are you scrambling to cover your ass for something that's not even bad and, also, why are you lying about it by omission in the very least.)

#anti henry cavill #the witcher #!txt: the witcher #also just a friendly reminder that hc didn't even know the books existed when he started pursuing the role #and he had only ever played the games and he actually thought that the books were based off them #(and yet still never picked them up at all or y'know googled the series despite being such a massive fan) #and he's only read the full series once in 2018 right before he got cast #and he's never played the dlc either

[toapoet]

nobody can bully geralt’s bard except for geralt

#not that geralt would incite violence on anyone w/o them doing it first #but i imagine this is how it is #when someone else does it Geralt just like #gathers up jaskier in his arms and pushes one side of jask’s head against his chest #and covers his other ear with his hand #and glares at them and tells them to ‘leave/fuck off he’s just a bard’ #this is like pre-slash #specifically #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #the witcher #twn #toapoet

[rhythmiccicada]

Geralt is convinced that he only helps Jaskier out and keeps him out of trouble because the consequences are much worse.

He wants to fuck a lady or lord in wedlock? Tried that (more than) once and Geralt had to take down a pack of seven drowners to convince the spouse to keep Jaskier alive.

He makes sure Jaskier puts dry clothes on after a fall in a lake? That’s because a sick Jaskier is so so bad and somehow even with a sore throat he talks more.

But eventually the annoyance fades and slowly, so slowly, time softens the doting he does without much thought. Geralt keeps Jaskier warm even before he complains. Geralt steps in front of Jaskier so he won’t scream.

Someone points it out, eventually. Ciri, probably, but when she asks him why he treats Jaskier like a lover, Geralt almost throws himself off the mountain’s side. It’s ridiculous and he has just gotten used to caring for this helpess and annoying creature that has latched onto him and refuses to shake off.

Geralt doesn’t stop taking care of him.

And if he can’t find the contempt that was there before? Well that’s not for anyone else to know.

#please don’t judge #I think it’s cute okay #I miss them #the witcher #witcher geralt #witcher fanfiction #witcher netflix #witcher jaskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #geralt z rivii #cirilla fiona elen riannon

[echo-bleu]

While I’m staying away from all the speculation, all those posts and memes about Jaskier either being the only one who can see Geralt is different or the only one who can’t and keeps insisting that yes of course, that’s Geralt, are giving me ideas.

Namely: faceblind Jaskier. Bear with me. He can’t recognize any face, including his own in the mirror (when he finds a mirror, it’s not that often). That’s why he flirts with everyone, flirting is just his default mode in case it’s someone he’s met before, because at its core it’s kind of roleplaying. While people may not respond to it well, they mostly don’t bat an eye at cheesy joke-y pickup lines where Jaskier ‘pretends’ to meet them for the first time (”Do you come here often?”). Meanwhile it buys Jaskier time to figure out if he has in fact met them before.

(Demi or ace Jaskier? Who flirts for the reasons above and mostly has sex with people because he figures it’s expected of him?)

It’s also the reason he makes so many enemies. Sure, there are actual cuckooed husbands who hate him, but really it’s mostly former lovers who are horribly offended when Jaskier ‘snubs’ them at a reception because he just didn’t recognize them. Or former lovers horribly offended that he tried to flirt with them again pretending not to know them after they threw him out. There are also plenty of people who were never his lovers at all but are just offended because nobles are Like That.

(There have been some really embarrassing situations. Like the time he tried to flirt with Valdo Marx, his eternal rival, who still laughs about it every time they see each other.)

He latches onto Geralt because Geralt is recognizable. There just aren’t two white-haired wolf-eyed muscular men around. Jaskier never has to worry about seeing him and being unsure if it’s actually his friend and not some random stranger with the same haircut. Geralt also never changes his haircut or his appearance in any way, which is refreshing.

Yennefer is mostly the same, with her violet eyes, although Jaskier does have to get close enough to be sure. They have a few weird encounters where Jaskier starts to flirt with her, gets within a few feet, and immediately backtracks the hell out with a disgusted face. That’s how she figures it out, but it takes her a while. After that she takes great pleasure in teasing him about it, but only in ways that no one else will clock (hence the crows’ feet comment. Jaskier doesn’t even know himself in the mirror. He can’t tell if she’s right. He does obsess over it the whole way up the mountain, but he has other things to think about on the descent).

The witchers of Kaer Morhen, when Jaskier meets them, are so refreshing. They’re all different! Eskel is unmistakeable with his scars, and while they’re within the confines of Kaer Morhen it’s very easy to distinguish Lambert’s red hair from Coen’s shaved head and darker skin from Vesemir’s white beard. Ciri is of course the only kid, so that’s not a problem. For the first time in his life, Jaskier doesn’t feel like he’s playing catch up to a game whose rules he doesn’t know. It’s relaxing.

The witchers, on the other hand, are quite surprised about Jaskier. They’ve been told (many times, over the years) that Jaskier flirts with everyone under the sun. Now Geralt isn’t always the most reliable source, of course, and Eskel never expects anyone to be attracted to him because of his scars (which is a subject for another day), but Jaskier doesn’t even try to flirt, even just friendlily, with either Lambert or Coen. He’s not afraid of them, they would be able to smell that, he seems perfectly comfortable with them, but he doesn’t flirt. At first, they figure that it’s because his newly mended relationship with Geralt is still fragile.

One night they’re all a bit drunk and the witchers are talking about how Jaskier’s songs have helped them on the Path, how many humans are much nicer to them, and in general how hard interacting with humans is. And Jaskier is just nodding along, “Yeah, yeah, interacting with humans is so hard.”

“But you’re always going out of your way to talk to people and flirt!”

“Well yes, I like making friends, but they have so many expectations, and they get angry so easily.”

“That’s only when you flirt with the wrong people,” Geralt growls.

“But how am I supposed to know it’s the wrong people when I can’t recognize them?”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks.

“Faces are hard! I don’t know how people do it, I mean, obviously your scars are distinctive, and I’d recognize Geralt’s hair anywhere, but most humans all look the same!”

Geralt blinks very slowly as it all slots into place in his head. Jaskier’s very strange flirting methods. The way he keeps making enemies without meaning to. Hell, he’s seen Jaskier say hello again to someone they’d seen just minutes before, or completely ignore one of his bard friends at a festival until she came right up to him. “You don’t recognize people?”

Jaskier, who didn’t survive forty-three(ish) years without figuring out that this wasn’t normal, freezes and suddenly looks like a deer in the headlights. “Uh... no?”

“So if, say, Vesemir was to shave his beard, you might confuse him with Geralt?” Lambert asks.

“I’d... probably be able to tell from up close? Geralt’s taller.”

“Wow.” Lambert seems ready to tease him about it, but Eskel stops him.

“How did you never notice?” he asks Geralt.

Geralt just grunts. Jaskier answers for him. “I’m very good at making people feel like we’ve always known each other, I guess. Mostly I just buy time until I can figure out if I’ve met them before.”

The witchers have a million questions, but they never make Jaskier feel like he’s deficient somehow. Jaskier has always been ashamed of it, but to them, it’s just another quirk, like not being able to eat raw meat.

The next time they’re on the road, or at a festival together, Geralt is brooding just as much as usual, eyes darting this way and that, but before Jaskier can go and greet people (with his usual fake-it-till-you-make-it technique), Geralt stops him.

“Your friend Essi’s wearing a yellow dress with red accents,” he mutters under his breath. “Marx has a green doublet, that shade you hate. Avoid the man in the bright purple doublet and the brown pants, you slept with him last time and he threw you out. That woman at the right of the stage with the braid, she has a husband, you tried before.”

Jaskier gets so emotional that he can’t speak for a solid minute, and he ends up hugging Geralt instead. “Didn’t know you paid attention,” he says eventually.

“Just look at me if you’re not sure who someone is, I’ll tell you who to avoid,” Geralt says gruffly.

It’s not a perfect system, but Jaskier doesn’t offend a single person all day.

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #faceblindness #i'd like to have a spotter too please #i used to work at a library and when people came in after lunch #i had no idea if they'd been in that morning #i'd say hello and they'd be like uh i was here earlier #echo's fanfiction

[fangirleaconmigo]

I will never not laugh when I see someone say “Jaskier is useless.”

People have watched so many superhero movies that they think everyone has to glow or shoot lasers to have value.

I mean…sure, yes...he is useless…IF you consider the human experience of friendship, love, and art a complete and utter waste of time. lmao.

Just because Yen is magical and Geralt is a warrior doesn't mean that this is a superhero group. It is not. Forget about the Avengers and the Justice League for a second. Forget about Star Wars. This is not a team formed to save earth. This is not a band of rebels throwing off imperialists.

The Witcher is a found family. Their most pivotal decision is to love and protect one(1) child. Their most important super power is love.

Geralt, Yen, and Ciri’s biggest problems are that people want to use them as tools. People see Geralt as a tool to rid them of inconvenient problems without having to get their own hands dirty. They see Yen as a tool to amass power, and they see both of them as rungs to use to get to the ultimate tool. Ciri.

Geralt, Yen, Ciri, these people are fucking exhausted. And I don’t mean they need naps (though they do). They are all that bone deep, hollow, exhausted that comes from having to battle every moment of every day to be seen as a PERSON. The kind of exhausted that comes from not being able to trust ANYONE because there is a price on your head.

Jaskier is their person. Yes it takes time to get there with Yen. But he gets there. He is their port in the storm. He would never turn them in not for any amount or any gift or anything. He is the person that they know beyond a shadow of a doubt does not give a fuck about power and who isn’t capable of seeing them as anything but friend shaped. Person shaped. They are his folks.

He is important to them because how do you even keep going with the world against you, without at least one person who just loves you for you? Who just loves your bad jokes and your navel gazing and who sees your prickliness for what it is? Vulnerability?

Wouldn’t you fold and give up without that? Without friendship? What would the story be then?

And for Mr Jaskier, that’s not even getting to the crucial deeply important cultural role that troubadours play in a world with no television or internet or data storage. It’s not even touching on his role as a narrator, historian, and world builder. And that’s not even getting to the 'art is an integral, crucial part of this fictional universe, (just like it is in real life)' part of it.

It’s not even touching on the fact that his “gossip” often turns out to be critical intelligence and his fame and political savvy are constantly bailing them out of trouble.

We don’t need to!

If you can look at Geralt *gestures at his whole deal* and not see that this poor man needs a friend more than literally anything else in the world...then I cannot relate. And if you can look at Yen and Jaskier or Ciri and Jaskier and not see how beautiful that is, people drawn together by the undeniable need for found family and the undeniable value of loyalty in a shitty world, then I don’t know, man. We are on different ass wavelengths.

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla fiona elen riannon #thinking about jaskier yet again #thinking about dandelion yet again #thinking about the witcher books yet again

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

A kiss like they're trying to convince the other to love them and/or a kiss in front of someone they hold captive

Yennskier

Here's a little bit of both, set in an alternate timeline where they managed to capture Rience during season 3, episode 1:

“We should probably talk about what happened in Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier says in what he hopes is a casual way.

Yennefer looks at him incredulously. “Does now seem like a good time for this conversation, bardling?”

“Why not?” Jaskier shrugs. “He’s not going anywhere.”

They both turn to look at Rience, who scowls back at them from the chair they’ve bound him to in dimeritium chains. Jaskier can’t help but feel a thrill of vindication at seeing the fire fucker as trussed up and helpless as he was a year ago in Oxenfurt, even as he keeps catching himself rubbing his fingers together anxiously. It helps that Yennefer is standing next to him and Geralt and Ciri are just in the other room with Yarpen.

Rience sneers at Yennefer. “What’s one of Tissaia’s girls doing, working for a witcher?”

Jaskier snorts. Even if they hadn’t already figured out that Rience isn’t the mastermind trying to capture Ciri, that would have given it away. No one with any sense would think Yennefer a lackey. Leaning closer to Yennefer, he says, “We really should talk about this.”

“About what?” She sighs, clearly realizing she’s not going to be able to evade this. “A lot happened in Kaer Morhen. Do you want to talk about Voleth Meir? All the money you still owe Ciri after all the times she trounced you at cards?”

“She did not…” Jaskier draws himself up, realizes he’s being distracted, and lets out a huff. “About our last night there.”

Yennefer doesn’t visibly react, but there’s a pointedness in the way she turns back to Rience. “Who’s your puppetmaster?”

Rience bares his teeth at her. “I’m no one’s—”

“I don’t believe for a second that you’re the one calling the shots. You’re a one trick pony, aren’t you? You can harness fire, but not much else. That portal wasn’t yours.”

“I just can’t help but notice that you’re acting a bit… off,” Jaskier says carefully, because he and Yennefer may be friends now, but he still doesn’t put it past her to curse his bollocks off.

Yennefer closes her eyes. “Did you learn this interrogation technique from Phillipa?”

“Gods, no.” Jaskier barks out a laugh. “Phillipa wouldn’t let me anywhere near an interrogation.”

“I suppose that’s why Redania is still standing.”

“See? That was almost mean. That was the first mean thing you’ve said to me in three days, and it wasn’t even in your top ten best jabs! Something is clearly amiss. Are you a doppler? Are you dying? Did you hit your head in the skirmish yesterday? Melitele, are you actually plotting my demise? Is this your way of trying to lure me into a false sense of security? Because it isn’t working, Yennefer.”

“If you want him dead, you can just let me out of these chains.” Rience snaps his fingers menacingly and Jaskier can’t help but step back, even though no flames appear.

Yennefer throws out a hand and Rience’s chair flies backward, slamming against the wall and capsizing. He yelps as his head bounces off the ground and lies there, groaning.

“Yenn?” Geralt calls from the next room. “Jaskier?”

“We’re fine!” Lowering her voice, Yennefer hisses, “This isn’t the time.”

“Well, it has to be the time, because you keep avoiding me. Is this about what happened between us? Because you didn’t seem to have any regrets the next morning? In fact, you asked…” He trails off, pieces starting to slide into place.

“I asked you to come with me, Geralt, and Ciri,” she says through gritted teeth. “And you said no. Years of you popping up at the most inconvenient times, bardling, and the one time I want you to stay, you left.”

“But…” Jaskier opens and closes his mouth, at a loss for words. When he recovers his wits, all he can squeak is, “I told you I was needed at Oxenfurt.”

“Bullshit. You told me yourself that the Sandpiper organization would run just fine without you. The only thing you did going back to Oxenfurt was put yourself in Phillipa and Dijkstra’s sights.”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t want to come with you just to watch you and Geralt play house while I was just there so you could keep me out of trouble.”

It’s her turn to look taken aback. “What?”

“You said so yourself, you wanted me to come with you so I wouldn’t get myself killed in Oxenfurt. You, Geralt, and Ciri are a family, bound by destiny. I’m not—” He’s getting too close to all the things he doesn’t want to say to her, so he looks away. “I’m happy to play the fun Uncle Jaskier whenever you need me to. But the thing about fun uncles is they show up, let you win at cards a few times, and then they leave before the joke gets old.”

Yennefer doesn’t look exasperated anymore; she just looks sad. That’s somehow worse. “It took Geralt months before he would talk to me about anything but the weather, Ciri’s training, or telling me to duck because someone was trying to stab me. I have never once slept under the same roof as him and Ciri, even when we barely had the coin to afford one lodging, never mind two. It took until the winter before he let me inside to break bread with them. The shadow of what I did hung over us every day. We weren’t playing house, we were on the run, and you should have fucking been there.”

“Yenn—”

She talks over him. “You were the only person who could look at me when we were at Kaer Morhen. I asked you to come with us because I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” he whispers.

Her jaw clenches stubbornly, but she doesn’t answer.

Carefully, he reaches out to take her by the wrist, tugging her closer. “Watching the three of you leave Kaer Morhen was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. If I had known you really wanted me there, I would have followed you in a heartbeat.”

Her lips twitch into a half-smile. “Did you really think I was asking you to come just to be nice?”

“Foolish, I know.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I’ll stay this time.”

“What about the Sandpiper?”

“Vespula does most of the Sandpipering these days. I’m being watched too closely by the RSS.” Jaskier brings her hand to his lips. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Yennefer looks like she wants to deny it, because gods forbid she or Geralt admit to being people with feelings, but she nods. “I’m sorry if I’ve been too kind to you. It won’t happen again.”

“Thank the gods. It made my skin crawl.” He leans down to rest their foreheads together. “Let me stay, Yenn.”

She doesn’t answer, but lifts her face so that he can close the gap between them and kiss her. It’s a tentative thing, not like the desperate, hungry kisses they exchanged on their last night in Kaer Morhen, as weeks of longing—well, probably years of longing, if Jaskier is being honest with himself—bubbled to the surface. There will be time for those later, once they’ve figured out who Rience is working for and ensured that Ciri is safe.

Across the room, there’s a noise of disgust. “If you’re going to make me watch this, I’d rather you just gouge my—”

Yennefer throws her hand out, not pulling her lips away from Jaskier’s. There’s a thud, a yelp, then silence.

“Don’t kill him yet,” Jaskier says, breaking the kiss to press his lips against her throat. “We haven’t gotten any answers out of him.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Geralt’s, the easily distractible fucker. He’s off chattering away with Yarpen while we do all the hard work.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes and mutters something that’s undoubtedly insulting under her breath, but she kisses Jaskier again, so that’s alright.

***

Kiss 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 @ladykardasi (sorry, it wouldn't let me tag your Witcher blog)

#the witcher #twn #yennskier #jaskier x yennefer #ghost's writing #ghost's fic

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Modern!Human in Kaer Morhen

Summary: How the Witcher characters would try to impress a modern person + feel about them

Notes: I put some of the non-Witcher characters here too since some of them wintered at Kaer Morhen as well

it's been a while, but i had my wisdom teeth removed and was incapacitated for the last few days

Tagged: @lucyinthelibrary @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @sunndust (hmu to be tagged!)

Masterlist | based on this request | requests are OPEN!

Geralt

He tries to stay away from you at first since destiny loves to fuck him over

But you’re just so nice

Finally he’s being treated like a normal person

Would never admit it out loud

Doesn’t try to impress you per se, but tries to show that he cares about you and might become very protective

Yennefer

Has one talk with you, becomes the Continent’s first suffragette

Loves you for being a feminist (if you aren’t, why are you reading this??)

Tries to impress you with magic

Would probably work (come on! PORTALS???)

Very possessive of you, even as a friend

Triss

Honestly, she doesn’t really think about impressing you at all

But she kinda does?

She’s just a super kind person in a super shitty world

If she actually does try to actively impress you, it’ll also be through magic

Just more wholesome opposed to Yen’s intimidating

Jaskier

Will write you a song

And a song about you

He’s a bard, so be prepared to be serenaded (it would probably work on me tbh)

Ofc super flirty

So happy that you treat his witcher friends as anyone else

Eskel

Internally screaming

AKJSDJFHASAJFJKHKJ SOMEONES TREATING ME WITH DECENCY???

Crushes so hard I’m not okay

Tries to impress you with absolutely everything

From fighting to good reading recommendations to leaving little gifts (especially the little gifts)

How could you not love this guy?

Coen

He just constantly hast to remind himself that you’re nice to witchers

And ofc he melts for it bc obviously (obviously being deep-rooted trauma and self-image issues, applying to all witchers)

Tries to impress you by teaching you how to fight

And showing off all the while

Means well, but very distracted

Lambert

He’s defensively aggressive from the get-go

And so startled when you’re just… normal to him

Has no idea how to act around you

He can’t just… be mean now???

So chaotic with trying to impress you

Starts tripping while showing off his sword skills

Vesemir

Super suspicious of you being nice to his boys (and him)

Yeah, he doesn’t trust you in the least

When he does start to like you, he tries to impress you with kind gestures

And by being a good listener (Vesemir = Kaer Morhen’s local therapist)

Also makes the boys respect you

#geralt #yennefer #jaskier #lambert #vesemir #coen #eskel #triss #netflix witcher #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt x you #eskel x reader #eskel x you #eskel x y/n #jaskier x reader #yennefer x reader #lambert x reader

[thedreamlessnights]

Almond, Apple, & Maple - pt. 1

Geralt of Rivia x modern fem!reader (upcoming NSFW)

Synopsis: When a strange young woman crashes into your kitchen and sends you tumbling through time and space, you find yourself transported to a new world - one of monsters, magic, and witchers.

Warnings: Descriptions of vomiting and nausea, as well as blood & severe injuries.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Surprise! New Geralt series - someone please tell my brain to stop having long-winded ideas and relax? Anyway, as usual, this is the game version of Geralt and written accordingly. I'm very excited to get this story told, and I hope you all enjoy this first chapter! Comments and reblogs are extra appreciated <3

Theo is waiting when you arrive. You can see him from the porch, pacing back and forth in front of the window, the way he always does when it’s dark and you aren’t home. The sun’s just set, but with black clouds brimming the sky, you’d think it had gone to rest hours ago. 

When he finally sees you, Theo lets out a meow that’s deafened by the glass and rubs his cheek against the windowpane, no doubt purring up a storm. It’s only been a few hours since you left, but you’ve missed him. 

Despite your mile-long trudge through the snow and the way you’re sweating under your coat, your fingers are frozen. They fumble clumsily with your keys until the lock finally turns. Theo is immediately at your feet, nuzzling against your legs. He’s the only cat you know that doesn’t try to bolt when the door is open.

“Hey, bud,” you greet him, slightly out of breath. You slam the door shut and squat down, ignoring the protest in your thighs. The icicles of your fingers messily attempt to scratch behind his ears, but if Theo notices that you’re inept, he doesn’t seem to mind.

You’ve never been more grateful for the cans of cat food nestled safely in your inner coat pocket, clinking dully against your remaining seventeen cents. There’s maybe a dollar or two more of loose change that can be scrounged up under couch cushions and in pockets and loose drawers. If you’re lucky, you might find a few crumpled bills. For this week, at least, Theo will be fed. You can’t say the same for yourself.

The house is warm and quick to thaw you out, which means your fingers start working again within a few minutes. Once they’re functional, a can of soup serves as your dinner. Thankfully, the microwave is still working. You dump the soup into a bowl and let it heat, then get Theo’s dinner ready for him. 

When he’s started eating - that’s when the day’s events finally hit you. 

Exhaustion is at the front of it all, thick and heavy, like a two-ton chain on your shoulders. Behind it is defeat. Defeat is exhaustion too, but different. It pulls at you from within. It isn’t your aching body or cracked, dry hands, isn't a chain or a profound sense of guilt; it’s a tiny fire within you, threatening at any moment to go out. And the inclination to let it happen.

You stare numbly at the counter, knowing the fridge is empty, knowing you have only five cans of food left until you go hungry again. Knowing that none of the job interviews have called you back, and that it’s been too long to keep up hope. 

Your hands start shaking and you want to cry, but no tears come. You’ve no doubt exhausted your supply - your eyes still feel puffy and sore from the cry you had earlier. Instead, a lump locks in your throat, and something pulls in your chest, and all at once, you’re not sure you have it in you to go on.

It’s Theo that you’re worried about, more than anything else. It’d be horrible, so horrible for you to dump him off at a shelter, but it’d be even worse to see him go hungry. You’d been hoping - are still hoping - that it wouldn’t come to that, but… you can only hope so much.

The shrill sound of the microwave rouses you from your lethargy and chain of thought. Food. The smell of the soup is heavenly, and it seeps life into you as you chug it down, spreading warmth throughout your chest. But before long, it’s finished. You’re left staring at the empty bowl, still hungry. Wanting to cry again.

Theo must sense that you’re upset, because he nuzzles against you and purrs louder than ever. No tears come, but they would if you had any left. Without him, there’s nothing but a hollow life of work - if you can even find it - and isolation. How can you possibly think about survival when there’s nothing to survive for? 

“What am I going to do?” you ask aloud, swallowing hard. You rub your temples and your words ring out in the silence, as if some response might come. Nothing. Of course, nothing.

It feels wrong to be sitting still like this. More than ever, you should be doing something. Yes, you need to move. The water in the sink is ice-cold and won’t heat, but you scrub the dishes anyway and dry them. Clean the counters. Sweep the floor. Organize the cabinets. 

These miniscule tasks keep you sane. They keep you from thinking.

Padding up to you, Theo stretches up and paws at your legs, clearly wanting to be held. You take him in your arms and hold him close, burying your face into his fur and kissing the soft little spot between his ears. He purrs louder and wriggles from your grip, making his way into your coat pocket and tucking himself into a comfortable position. He’s always been small, and likes being in there, for some reason. You hadn’t even realized you were still wearing the stupid coat.

There must be some way to keep him, right? Someone willing to watch him, just for a little while? But who? And how could you ever repay them?

A flash of sudden, searing light interrupts your thoughts. 

It comes out of nowhere and instantly spreads through your kitchen, brighter than you can stand, a ghostly hue of green. Just as you’ve shut your eyes to block it out, something rams into your shoulder and knocks the wind out of you. 

Your arm instinctively wraps in front of Theo as you stumble back. Your ribs burn with a hot, throbbing pain, and you search for breath that doesn’t come - gasping airlessly, sweat trickling down your neck until you finally taste oxygen. Oh, and your shoulder is jammed and aching too, but it’s clearly the least of your worries, because the room has started spinning. 

This is no gentle turn, no light sway of the ocean. It’s vertigo. The world is coming apart. You can see nothing but a black void as reality breaks at the seams and drags you with it. Nausea and disorientation wash over you until it’s all you can do to hold on to your dinner; hot, stinging bile in your throat, aching ribs. It hurts to breathe. Your knees buckle and legs crumple until you hit what should be hard ground, but it’s nothing. You’re falling. Theo starts wailing and digs his claws into your chest.

You’re on the sea, crashing in the thunderous waves, taking in mouthfuls of the salty water and coughing it back out - sinuses burning. You’re in an earthquake, gravel rattling beneath your hands like the ground might collapse under you, swallow you whole. 

You’re in soft grass, crawling on all fours, not knowing what’s real and what’s not. Your head throbs in rhythm with your heart and your body feels like it’s closing in on itself, compressing, bones bending. And all at once, it stops. 

You immediately lose your dinner. 

Thick, burning acid climbs up your throat again and again until you’re left retching, stomach churning. Theo meows fitfully in your coat, but you can’t move to let him out. With how hard you’re shaking, it’s hard to do anything but collapse onto your side. Then he finally worms his way out of your pocket and sits on your chest, wailing some more.

The bright light hasn’t faded, and you blink a few times and squint until you finally realize it’s the sun. Warm, golden light is shining down on you. Which would be lovely, if it wasn’t seven o’clock at night and the middle of winter. You’re dry, too, so your memories of the ocean clearly weren’t real.

I must have hit my head, you think. Exhaustion must have gotten the best of you, and you’d collapsed, hit your head, and hallucinated all of this. But when you finally gain the strength to sit up, setting Theo at your side, your thoughts stall in place.

There’s a young, ashen-haired woman lying unconscious next to you, and a wound on her abdomen is oozing blood. At first, she doesn’t seem real. But she’s warm when you lay a hand on her arm, and the ground has stopped spinning, so you figure she is. And she’s hurt.

Your hands move of their own accord, twitching, knowing that you should do something to help but not knowing what. In medical terms, you’re mostly clueless. Thankfully, when you carefully lift her shirt up from the abdomen, the wound doesn’t seem very deep. There’s bruising there too, deep violet blooming around her navel, but it’s her head that’s really scaring you.

On her temple is a swollen lump, not bleeding much - but it’s the internal damage that you worry about. Sure, you’d been trained in CPR when you were younger, but you have no idea how to treat an injury like this. The first thing you do is make sure she’s breathing. Then you find her pulse, strong and even under your fingers. Those things encourage you. 

You know that you should stop the bleeding, too. Clean the wound. Unfortunately, the only possessions you have at the moment are your coat and the seventeen cents left in the inner pocket. And Theo. Not exactly suited for fixing this sort of thing. 

Her clothes are… strange. They almost look like a costume, if the leather didn’t look so real, so meticulously fitted. And she has two swords at her back, though she’s clearly not in any position to use them. Not important, you chide yourself. The number of questions you have about what just happened is only growing and growing. But you can deal with those once she’s been treated. 

Your gaze catches a pouch on the girl’s belt, and you pull it open and lay out her things, muttering an apology under your breath for invading her privacy. Inside are a handful of strange-looking coins, a vial or two of substances you don’t recognize, and a roll of cotton bandages. When you open the vials and give them a whiff, both are their own disgusting, putrid odor, and neither are identifiable. Shuddering at the smell, you replace their corks and return them to the pouch. Which leaves only the bandages.

As cautiously as you can, you wrap them around her abdomen in an effort to stop the bleeding. It seems to staunch the blood flow. Somewhat. You don’t dare to move her or touch her head - nothing to be done about that here without the risk of making it worse. So you stand up with still-shaking legs and take stock of your surroundings. 

Green fields. As far as the eye can see, there are green fields with blooming wildflowers and bees buzzing from one spot to the next. Birds chirp in the distance, a bubbling stream lies about twenty feet away, and the sun is warmer than ever. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was spring. You have to take off your coat and tie it around your waist to ward off the growing heat.

There’s some form of wooden shack on the horizon, but you don’t feel right leaving the woman alone. Still, isn’t it better to get her some help? Should you be trying to wake her up? After a moment’s hesitation, you give her shoulder a slight shake, and she stirs. Another shake rouses her completely. 

She flinches and sits up with a start - halting the action with a pained yelp as she cradles an arm around her stomach, grimacing. Finally, her green eyes, so bright they almost appear to be glowing, land on you. “Wh-where am I?” she asks faintly, sounding as if she’s not quite conscious. “Who are you?”

Good questions, you think. But you have so few answers.

“I have no idea where we are,” you start. “This place just… appeared. I was in my kitchen, and - then I was here.” It’s a pathetic explanation, but it’s what you have. After a pause, you give her your name, too. You want to say more, but your mouth closes on its own. You don’t know what just happened, and you’re in no position to explain it.

“I see,” she says, voice tinged with effort as she straightens up. Her gaze lands on Theo, calmly laying beside you, and her lips quirk into a small smile - contrasting ghastly with her greying skin. “And who is this little one?” she asks.

“This is Theo,” you answer softly. 

“Ciri,” she reveals. “I’m… Ciri. I’d say it’s nice to meet you both, but...” She trails off, shaking her head. The movement sends blood trickling from her temple down her cheek. “It seems I’m a little worse for wear at the moment,” she lightly remarks, though her tone can’t hide the exhaustion, the dark circles under her eyes. “Help me up?” 

It’s easier said than done. 

You manage to get her standing and haul her arm over your shoulder as support, but she’s stumbling rather than walking. The sun is scorching hot and merciless, and you find yourself immediately missing the snow. You can’t stop here. 

The grey shade of Ciri’s skin gets worse and worse the further on you go. Her steps get progressively clumsier too, like her legs have started to spasm. Finally, her knees simply give out and she collapses, panting as she plants her gloved hands on the grass. The shack isn’t far now, but she’s bled through her bandages. It seems the wound was worse than you thought. At least Theo is obediently following behind the two of you, and seems to be enjoying this strange adventure.

“Only a little further,” you tell Ciri, even though you’re shaking with overextension and every inch of you hurts. Even though you know in your gut what the odds against her are.

She nods, gritting her teeth in determination, so you prop your shoulder under her arm and help her up. It’s worse this time. She’s a dead weight. You’re practically dragging her. But something anxious - manic, even - buzzes under your skin, fills your breath, surges strength to leadened muscles. Your thoughts trip over one another again and again until you find the word. Adrenaline. It’s the only reason you’re still walking.

The two of you have just made it through the door of the shack when she collapses again, tilting her head back against the wall as she gulps in air, pressing her hand against her abdomen.

You’re suddenly overtaken by the fear that she’ll die and leave you here alone. That you’ll be left with a corpse, a hollow, rotting shell of a girl you barely know. You want to ask her if she has any last wishes, if there’s anything you can do. But, seeing as she clearly hasn’t given up on life yet, it seems cruel to start bringing up death.

Instead, your hands, forever busy, start rummaging through the shack’s cabinets and drawers. You find a few small treasures: a bottle of spirit, some dried fruit and meat, and a length of clean (or, at least, it looks clean) cloth. You don’t waste a moment before returning to Ciri, undoing her blood-soaked bandages to press the cloth against the wound.

She softly cries out as you apply pressure, but makes no move to stop you. Her body lies limp as you work. Then you secure the cloth with the old bandages, tying them as tight as you dare. Her stomach is still bruised, after all, and she’s clearly in pain. At least her face looks less grey now. A little.

“Well, well. What’ve you got there?” she asks, her gaze turning toward the floor, where your newly-found treasures lie.

“Some kind of spirit, I think,” you tell her, picking up the bottle and examining it.

“Give it here?” 

You hand it over without hesitance. She bites off the cork, spits it on the floor, and takes a whiff of the liquid inside. Finding it acceptable, she downs a large swig and tilts her head back again, sighing in relief. Yes, she’s definitely less grey now.

She can’t be very old. What happened to her? Who did this to her? You’re suddenly filled with blind anger. A helplessness that you can’t do more, can’t even comfort her. Theo must be sharing your line of thought, because he crawls onto her lap and starts purring, tucking himself into a circle.

“Thank you very much, Theo,” she says weakly, petting his back. She takes another swig from the bottle, then closes her eyes. You linger near the window, fighting the urge to pace around the room. You’re just about to ask her what happened to her when the rapid sound of hoofbeats approaches.

“Ciri!” a voice calls. Deep - coarse. Warm. The hair on your neck stands up at the sound of it. From fear or anticipation, you don’t know.

“In here,” she responds. She doesn’t bother yelling, just speaks the words as if they’re meant for you. You doubt whoever it is out there can hear her, but he comes inside anyway, bursting through the door like he’s afraid it won’t open.

You immediately gape at the sight of him, thoughts conflicting. This stranger, he’s tall, and broad, and beautiful. And a little scary. You should be afraid of him. He clearly thinks you hurt Ciri, from his expression. You should move, or explain, but you can’t. You just stare at him.

He stalls at the doorway, taking in the sight of her with wide eyes, looking almost pained. You can’t tell what color they are - his eyes - but as they rake over the extent of her wounds, something hardens in his gaze. Then it turns to you. He takes a slow step forward, muscles pulled tense like he’s waiting for a fight, watching you the way one watches a venomous snake. Do you imagine the way his hand instinctively twitches toward his blade?

“Geralt,” Ciri says, sounding immensely relieved. “It’s alright. She helped me.”

At her words, he instantly relaxes, gaze turning away from you as he steps over to Ciri and squats down at her side. Your head’s begun spinning again.

“Geralt, is that Ciri?” a distorted, cool-toned voice asks. “Is she there?” The words seem to have come from the air - you can’t see a source for this new speaker. Then Geralt pulls out a small metal box from his belt and holds it up toward his mouth. Like a phone.

“She’s here.”

The response comes through the box again. “Don’t move.” And, apparently, the voice doesn’t wait for an answer. Ten seconds later, a swirling circle of light appears in the midst of the room and a dark-haired woman walks out of it. 

“Ciri,” she murmurs, going pale. The word is half relief, half fear, and her voice is much clearer now that it isn’t coming from the strange box. She kneels at Ciri’s side, tucking bloodied hair out of her face. “Come with me,” she says. “We must get you out of here, get you somewhere safe.”

“Not going to argue with that,” Ciri says, attempting a laugh. The sound cuts off in pain. The dark-haired woman purses her lips, then helps her to her feet, half-carrying Ciri the way you did. The two of them walk toward the swirling circle of light together, and you watch them helplessly - not knowing if you should say something.

At the last moment, just before they’ve entered, Ciri angles herself toward you. “Wait - I forgot to thank you for your help,” she says. “You may have just saved my life. I can’t repay you at the moment, but… thank you.”

Frozen, you simply nod in response, watching as the two of them step into the light together. Ciri’s words swirl through your mind restlessly. There’s a flash, then both of them are simply gone. Vanished into the air. And, a moment later, the circle fades. 

Leaving you and Geralt alone.

You stare at him across the room, and he stares back at you, looking even more confused than you feel. You’ve seen a fair amount of insanity in your life, but never anything like this. You can’t even begin to process what you’ve just seen. And, funnily enough, you’ve never felt more alone in your life, even with his company. 

Now that Ciri isn’t here, you can take in the sight of him fully. Dark leather armor, snow-white hair, and two swords strung on his back. Like Ciri.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were wearing costumes. But Ciri’s blood is much too real on your hands, and so is this… weird, fucked reality that you’re in, sunny when it should be winter, daytime when it should be night, you have no idea where you are, and - fuck. What the hell is happening?

Your feet move to take a step toward the table - to sit down, think all of this over. But something strange happens when you move. Your body starts shuddering and the ground below you suddenly feels unstable. Your head throbs and your legs feel strangely light. Instead of taking a step toward the table, your knees tumble out from under you.

Or they would have. If Geralt hadn’t caught you.

tags:

@henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix

(So sorry if you didn't want to be tagged! If you’d only like to be tagged for my other series, Accismus, please let me know and I'll happily fix that for future works ❤️)

#geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #game!geralt #geralt/reader #geralt/you #mywriting

[samstree]

Wedding Night Blues

A curse against sex on a wedding night. Jaskier copes, and Geralt helps. (Ace!Geralt, 1.3k ☆ AO3)

“Rude! So rude!” Jaskier pushes open the door to their bedroom, banging it against the wall. “On my wedding, no less. My wedding!”

Geralt follows right behind, steadying the door and closing it gently. He sighs, pausing as Jaskier paces across the room several times, his cheeks flushed with anger.

“It was our wedding, Jask.”

With that, Jaskier stops in his tracks, looking up at Geralt. Frantic energy simmers behind his eyes, mixed with frustration.

“Yes,” he answers, crossing the room to take Geralt’s hands. “It’s our wedding day. Ours. We are supposed to be utterly consumed by marital bliss, and nothing else. It’s our day.” At that, Jaskier softens ever so slightly, before letting out a disgusted noise. “Urgh, and now it’s all ruined by that old, joyless wizard. Who would crash someone’s wedding party and cast a curse against sex? Seriously, what kind of a rude bastard does that?”

Jaskier mumbles a few more curses, completely overcome with annoyance at the unexpected guest near the end of the ceremony. Geralt simply holds his hands, waiting patiently for the rant to finish.

The medallion hums faintly against Geralt’s chest, reminding him of the magic cast upon them. He nearly didn’t recognize it at first, being the opposite of another common curse—forced sex with the threat of death. That one would have been a much more heinous deal, a complete disregard of the subject’s will, and forbidden in nearly all of the courts.

This curse, however, only means they cannot have sex tonight.

And tonight just so happens to be their wedding night.

Perhaps, it is indeed a bit inconvenient, Gerealt reckons.

“Cockblocked on my wedding night! With that sick spell of his and those evil laughs. They were not even good laughs! We’ve met villains with much better laughs.” Jaskier goes on, and on. “That was so rude. At least, he should’ve had the courtesy to practice that laugh a little before coming here. And, Geralt, did I mention how rude it was?”

Jaskier’s cheeks are bloated red. Smoke could be coming out of his ears.

Geralt resists the urge to tease. “You did.”

A glare lands on him nonetheless. Jaskier lets go of Geralt’s hands, crossing his arms. “Why must you make enemies with the rude ones?”

Blinking, Geralt realizes he’s become the target of Jaskier’s ire too.

“It’s better than the deadly ones?” Not sure what to do, he sighs. “I didn’t do anything.”

It must be the gentle tone that relaxes Jaskier, because his shoulders drop a little. If anything, Geralt knows how to calm his bard when he’s spiraling—his husband, now.

So he closes the distance between them slowly, placing a hand behind Jaskier’s back, guiding him towards the bed. It’s a big, luxurious thing, mounted with blankets and soft pillows. They sink into the mattress at the edge.

“No, it wasn’t your fault. I’m angry with that sad, pathetic mage who has never known love and acts out on jealousy.” Jaskier takes a deep breath, and then another. “He just couldn’t stand how happy we are.”

“We are.” Geralt pulls Jaskier close, so his body is slumped against his. “I am. So incredibly happy.”

Jaskier runs a hand through his hair, crumpling the small daisies nestled in his braids. “I’m not mad at you, just frustrated,” he says. “It’s our wedding night. I was expecting to get lucky, is all.”

“Hmm, and what if I didn’t want to?” Geralt asks softly, picking out the crushed petals one after another. “What if it’s one of those days?”

He only asks half-heartedly as a comfort for Jaskier, but the hypothesis is not without truth underneath it.

On some days, all Geralt wants is to fall asleep holding Jaskier. On some days, sex seems like an insurmountable task. He’s different, from Jaskier at least, who always looks at him with desire burning behind those blue eyes.

On other days, the want grows within his ribcage. When there’s sunlight on Jaskier’s smile and patience in his voice, Geralt is consumed by all the love that whispers Jaskier’s name with every slow beat of his witcher heart. On those days, he shows all the love with touch, with the gentle press of lips, with the intimacy in the act of sex, and he knows Jaskier sees him.

Jaskier always sees him. Jaskier is always safe.

“Oh.” Upon hearing the question, Jaskier looks up. His expression changes completely, all annoyance gone in an instant. “That’s fine, then. It’s alright if you don’t want to, darling, you know this. It wasn’t meant as—well, I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just thought you did want to, tonight.” He watches Geralt closely. “Did you? Because it’s okay. I won’t mention it again if you don’t.”

Something in Geralt aches.

“I did,” he answers. “I wanted to. It’s our night. I want to make you happy.”

A small, understanding smile tugs at Jaskier’s lips. He waits for Geralt’s answer patiently, sitting on their wedding bed, dressed in a midnight blue doublet, embroidered with a subtle pattern of wolves at the hem.

“Yeah?”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand and presses a kiss to his palm. “Yeah.”

Jaskier’s lips purse into a small pout. “It’s all pointless now. We are trapped in this sexless hell.”

“Only for a day. We are still here tomorrow.”

The ribbon that bound their hands and the rings marking their fingers make sure of it.

“It’s still unfair. It seems so much harder for me than it is for you. Pun fully intended,” Jaskier whines. “I want you, darling. I had plans to take care of you tonight. Please tell me it’s just as hard for you.”

Geralt smiles at his ridiculous bard. “It’s just as hard for me.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier sighs, “for lying.”

“Not lying. Want you so much.” Geralt hums, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s, eyes closed. “Love you,” he whispers the secret.

“Oh,” Jaskier’s breath hitches. “I love you too.”

They exhale in unison, letting the weight of the day fade away.

We don’t need sex to be close, Jaskier once promised him. I just need you to be here, and be okay.

He’s always okay when it’s Jaskier’s hands touching him, Jaskier’s heart loving him.

Geralt breathes through all the love that wraps around him in safety, overwhelming him, drowning him in utter bliss. He cups Jaskier’s cheek and takes in the beautiful sight of his bard, his small smile. He can’t help leaning in for a kiss.

“What are you doing?” A finger stops him by the lips, but Jaskier’s smile grows. “Curse, remember?”

“Hmm, we can still kiss,” Geralt coaxes. “Just one kiss.”

Jaskier groans. “It’s never just one kiss if it’s you. You know your effect on me. I’ll get all hot and bothered and it’s going to be a danger to our lives.”

“We’ll risk it.”

Despite the playfulness, Geralt kisses Jaskier carefully. He catches Jaskier’s soft lips into a chaste kiss, and another, and another. He keeps it feather-light, never pushing for more, only to let Jaskier melt under his attention. The small, peppering kisses continue until they are both humming with quiet contentment.

Geralt pulls away, opening his eyes to find Jaskier with a dreamy look on his face.

“Hey, husband.”

“Hey,” Jaskier breathes. “I misspoke. Perhaps, I did get lucky today.”

“Did you?”

Jaskier’s grin stretches so wide it takes over his whole face. There’s so much joy when he looks at Geralt, growing as the seconds go by. It’s hard to imagine him being angry just a few minutes ago, troubled by something that seems distantly inconsequential now.

“Mm-hmm. I really lucked out with this one right here.” He pinches Geralt’s cheek gently. “I have a best friend and a husband in the same person, and I got to marry him today.”

That, Geralt can relate to.

“Hmm. Very lucky indeed. What will you do with him, now that you have him?”

Jaskier winks mischievously, bringing Geralt into his arms. The faint smell of daisies lingers in the air, and Geralt burrows right into it. He holds his best friend and husband, and never wants to leave their little pocket of happiness.

“I believe,” Jaskier answers, smiling as he kisses Geralt’s forehead, “more cuddling is in order. It’s our wedding night, after all.”

#geraskier #geraskier fic #asexual geralt #allo jaskier #relationship negotiation #kind of

[irrlicht-writes]

forget-me-not

And you’ll strew some sage and lilies And roses where I rot Of all the flowers you picked I knew you would forget forget-me-nots

~*~

Sometimes, Jaskier stares into nothing.

Over the years, Geralt watches him and he doesn’t understand. He never asks, because Jaskier is simple. But sometimes, Jaskier stares and Geralt wonders what he’s seeing.

“Geralt,” the bard asks one day, mindlessly strumming his lute, “have you ever seen one of the fair folk?”

“No,” Geralt replies, “at least not to my knowledge. They are tricky creatures; you’d best to stay away from them. Why do you ask? Writing a song about them?”

“No,” the bard replies, “I was just wondering. Is there a way to tell if you meet them?”

“Do you think you met one?”

Jaskier blinks up at him, his lute forgotten in his arms. Geralt’s rarely seen Jaskier so unfocused and it worries him a little. Is the bard catching sick? He’s usually incredibly hardy. Jaskier looks to the side, away from Geralt, into the forest around them. He doesn’t answer.

Geralt listens. He can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, just the normal sound of the woods. Somewhere there is a nest of Nekkers, and Geralt hopes it’ll be a contract in the next village.

Jaskier tears himself away from the forest and starts moving again.

“I’m just wondering,” he whispers, almost to himself and Geralt isn’t sure whether or not he was supposed to hear that.

The bard plays a soft melody but he doesn’t sing. He doesn’t look behind him and Geralt worries he might just disappear completely. Slowly, Roach starts moving, following the bard’s lead.

The day had been normal before, but now, now it feels eerie. It feels like someone else is watching. However, when he looks around, Geralt cannot see anyone beyond the trees.

In the tavern, the bard returns to normal, all talk of fair folk forgotten. Geralt breathes a sigh of relief, almost audibly. Jaskier is weird, when he isn’t his usual, chatty self. The bard performs songs for the crowd, securing them a room and a hearty meal for the evening. Tomorrow, Geralt will look for the alderman about the Nekker nest. Today, he will drink the bad ale in the tavern and watch Jaskier perform.

The Witcher isn’t sure why, but he’s hesitant to leave. This time, this feels precious, like he wants to remember this. When Jaskier spots him at the table in the crowd, he smiles. Geralt feels like he has to treasure it.

And it scares him.

Jaskier is humming.

“Sing the song to me?”

“No, I can’t.”

Jaskier is humming.

“Your bard is floating.”

“I told you not to hex him.”

Yennefer scoffs. “Oh, I’d wish. But look.”

Geralt looks.

Jaskier sits at the campfire Geralt made and Yennefer is right; he’s floating. He’s humming the same tune he had been humming a few days ago, with a faraway look in his eyes. By all rights, he should hear them, but he doesn’t react. Quietly, he is humming, staring into nothing.

“I’m worried. He’s been – off, for a while now. When I leave him for winter – I don’t –“

“You want me to watch over him? That’s not going to happen, Geralt, I’m not your dog.”

Geralt sighs. He hadn’t meant that. He is simply worried. Summer is nearing its end, and he cannot take the bard with him to the Keep. Not only because of his brothers and Vesemir, but also because Jaskier would be so terribly bored after a week.

Jaskier stops humming and looks up. He doesn’t look at them, yet he seems to listen to something nonetheless.

“Jaskier?” Geralt calls out to him but the bard doesn’t react. His eyes are transfixed above the flame, staring into the trees again. He moves his lips, but no sound comes out.

“Bardling?”

Jaskier turns his head toward them and still, he can’t fix his eyes on them.

“Geralt,” he whispers, “what does the fair folk look like?”

Geralt gets up immediately. “Where did you see them?”

Jaskier shakes his head.

“I can’t,” he whispers desperately, “I can’t. I’m scared.”

He resumes his humming, louder this time, with utter despair laced into it.

Geralt scans the treeline, but he finds nothing.

“Geralt,” Yennefer says.

Geralt turns and he sees the witch holding the bard’s hand.

“Your bard is floating.”

And Geralt can see him float away, even though Yennefer tries so hard.

*

Jaskier picks flowers in a field.

Geralt and Yennefer are standing a distance away, Roach sticking close to the bard. She seems to be picking flowers for her mane for the man to braid into it.

The wind is soft today, and there’s no cloud in the sky.

Jaskier is slipping through Geralt’s hands and he doesn’t know what to do. Whatever fair folk Jaskier might be seeing, Geralt can never find them.

That evening, Geralt doesn’t complain when Jaskier braids his hair full of flowers. The bard laughs and behind them, the flowers are softly waving.

In Geralt’s hair, there are forget-me-nots.

“Promise me, Geralt,” Jaskier says one day.

“Hm?”

They are lying on the earth, looking up into the starry night sky above them.

“Forget me not, when I’m gone?”

“I’m not letting you go.”

Jaskier laughs, a melody on the wind.

“Darling, I’m already on the path.”

~*~

On this day, it rains.

When Geralt turns, the path behind him is empty.

*

Years, and years later, when Geralt is older than he ever thought he would be, he finds himself at the coast.

He remembers a bard, young and yearning.

We could head to the coast, eh?

They could have.

The horse under him is Roach, but she doesn’t remember a bard. And yet, Geralt catches her watch the woods sometimes, like she’s looking for something.

Geralt is watching too. He’s never found the fair folk, never found the path the bard had taken.

He thinks about leaving. He thinks about dying.

He’d die in battle is what he always thought. But now, fights are his no longer.

The waves in the distance are soothing and Geralt closes his eyes.

If he forgets he’s at the coast, the waves sound much like humming from so long ago.

I can hear the cannons calling As though across a dream And I can smell the smoke of hell In every stitch and seam And like flowers, the bodies tumble Around this muddied lot I cannot hear them scream "Forget me not"

On this day, it doesn’t rain.

When Geralt turns, there is someone behind him on the path.

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #dandelion #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #irrlicht writes #geraskier #listen i know this is weird #experimental

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Lambert groaned as he became aware of every single body part hurting, throbbing in time to his heartbeat. His ears and nose feeling like they were stuffed with cotton, same as they always did after a healing sleep. He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it, letting out a strangled “Fuck.” accompanied by a whimper he would deny until his dying breath.

A hand stilled him, accompanied by a firm but gentle, “Lay back, Pup.”

 Vesemir.

He opened his eyes to be met with the face of his mentor hovering over him, blocking out most of the light from the sconces by the door (Lambert wasn’t sure if that was intentional or not but either way, his sensitive eyes were very grateful).

“What happened? Last thing I remember is being smacked into the wall by one of those Deathless Bitch’s...things.”  

Vesemir hummed in agreement, “Smacked you pretty good too. You’ve been out for three days.”

Lambert balked. Three days?

“Voleth Meir’s been dealt with, although not without cost.”

Lambert felt the grief he thought he’d finally buried after Eskel rise again, “How many?”

“Don’t worry about that now.” The older Witcher rested a hand briefly on top of Lambert’s curls. A gesture which he’d rarely used since Lambert was a boy (mainly because the stubborn pup would wrench his head out of the way with a snarl). “We moved them to the lab. We didn’t want to lay anyone to rest properly until everyone was able to say goodbye.”

Lambert heard what the other wasn’t saying loud and clear: Until we knew if you’d be joining them or not.

“Ciri and Geralt are both fine, as is the witch and that bard of theirs. He’ll definitely be glad to hear you’re awake, he’s half convinced himself you’re already dead after taking that hit for him.”

Lambert grunted, “Just didn’t want Geralt to be even more insufferable ‘cos his pet human got smooshed.”

“Of course.”

“... Aiden?”

Vesemir’s expression remained annoyingly impassive as he nodded towards the far corner of the room and Lambert felt a swell of relief. The stuffiness in his ears had prevented him from hearing the others heartbeat but there was his Cat. Long limbs scrunched awkwardly as he balanced on the seat of Lambert’s worn chair. Face buried in the crook of his arm and seemingly dead to the world.

“Protective thing. Fought like something from the depths of hell when you went down, making sure nothing else came near you and hasn’t left your side since they bought you in here. Coen had a job trying to get him to eat and Triss had to cast a small enchantment so he’d actually rest and stop wearing a hole in the floor.”

Lambert snorted. That sounded about right.

“I’ll admit, I had my doubts about letting him stay when you dragged him up here with you. I was convinced that this apparent friendship was some sort of long con and I’d end up finding at least one of you with your throat slit thanks to him. But after seeing the way the two of you work together, fight together. I was wrong.”

Lambert had died. Lambert had died and Vesemir admitting he was wrong about something was his reward.

“You truly care about each other, don’t you.”

Lambert furrowed his brow, “Of course we do. You just said it, we’re friends.”

“Just friends?”

Lambert was prevented from answering by a sleepy sounding chirrup from the corner.

“Lam?” Aiden stared over at him with wide eyes and sleep mussed hair.

Lambert attempted a grin, “Well, don’t you look shit?”

Lambert didn’t even see the other move. Just heard the chair clatter against the stone floor as it fell onto it’s side, followed by hands cupping his face and lips firmly on his. Lambert started to try and deepen it before remembering his mentor was stood right there and letting Aiden pull away.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you arsehole.” Aiden hissed, his relieved scent mingling with his angry tone before he buried his face in the others neck. Either oblivious to or ignoring Vesemir.

“I’ll leave you two alone, someone needs to let the others know you're awake. Aiden, make sure he doesn’t overdo it.”

Lambert almost choked on air when he felt the Cat breathe out something which might have been “No promises.” Against his throat as the older Wolf left the room.

“The fuck’s got into you?” Lambert asked, wrapping an arm gingerly around the others back, “You’ve seen me banged up worse than this.”

He wasn’t expecting Aiden to look close to tears as he pulled away to look at him, “You weren’t moving.”

“What do you mean?”

“You. Weren’t. Moving, Lambert.” Aiden sprang to his feet and proceeded to start pacing backwards and forwards along the length of the bed, “Three days and not so much as a finger twitch. The only proof that you were even still alive was your heartbeat and I was scared, alright? I was scared to stop listening for it. I was scared if I got distracted for even a minute, you’d slip away without me even noticing. I was scared you were going to-“

He stopped and looked down at Lambert helplessly, the Wolf gently gripped the Cats wrist, “Scared I was going to what, Aiden?”

“I was scared you were going to leave me.”

“C’mere.” Lambert gave the wrist he was holding a gentle tug, mildly surprised when Aiden resisted, looking uncertain.

“You’re still hurting, I can smell it.”

 “And? I’m not looking at re-enacting any of the smut we found in that Alderman’s office that time, for fucks sake. Just lay down with me. Got to be comfier than the chair.”

Aiden allowed himself to be pulled down onto the mattress, head resting on Lambert’s chest as he was held in a loose hug.

“Not going anywhere, ok.” Lambert pressed a kiss to the top of Aiden’s head, “At least, not before I find out how you kiss when Vesemir isn’t watching.”

“In my defence, I just spent three days thinking you were going to die any minute. Oh gods, he’s not going to try and warn me off is he?”

“No chance. You playing guard dog appears to have convinced him you’re not here to steal any remaining Wolf school secrets and murder us in our sleep.”

Aiden gave a laugh which quickly turned into a yawn, “Speaking of-”

Aiden looked shyly up at Lambert, who rolled his eyes, “What’s that look for? We’ve shared beds before.”

“Yes, but this is your bed.”

Lambert tightened his hold and pressed a slow, chaste kiss to Aiden’s lips as he felt his own exhaustion creeping back up on him, “Want you here. Now, sleep.”

Aiden gave a happy hum as he snuggled down, placing his ear over Lambert’s heart.

“Staying right here.” Lambert muttered as he drifted off into sleep.

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

[paper--moons]

Regressor!Geralt Headcanons

(with cg!Eskel)

When it comes to witchers and whether or not they experience regression, there is no discriminatory factor based on the School of their training, because it is the commonalities that they share that make regression quite common. These commonalities by and large are some form of trauma—the trauma of being taken from home at a young age, the trauma endured while undergoing the Trial of the Grasses, the trauma of being ostracized from most of society to slay monsters (which, again, slaying monsters isn't exactly a pleasant experience, but rather a matter of survival of the fittest). Whether it be any one of these events or a long life of built up stressors, that burden eventually becomes too much to bear and something has to give. Even for someone that the outside world has labeled a 'mutated freak' at best and 'inhuman' at worst. But witchers are secretive as a means of self-preservation, and while their lifestyle might breed trauma responses like regression they aren't going to key everyone else in on this little fact. Most deal with it alone, though back when there were more of them it wouldn't be uncommon to see glimpses of one helping care for another. That's the only reason Geralt has any sort of inkling about what starts happening to him not long after the Blaviken incident. He hadn't wanted to get involved either way, had tried to dissuade Renfri from her plans but she had been stubborn and he got caught up in a mess like always... Killing was no stranger to him, but he hadn't wanted to kill Renfri. And something about it was the last stone on the scale, creating an imbalance within him that was now tipping down heavily into 'small'.

It's little things at first, things that are easy enough to repress if he catches them—like the urge to chew on the leather ties on his gauntlets, or the urge to play with Roach when they're stopped at a stream. Witchers, perhaps as a result of the mutations combined with their survival instincts, are quite good at denying their regression until they are settled someplace safe for what they expect to be an extended period of time. For Geralt, that place is naturally Kaer Morhen. So when winter finally rolls around and he returns home the dam starts to crack after months of repressing everything small. But the old castle is big, and he thinks he can keep hiding most of any sort of tell just by keeping to himself. Until they convene for supper, that is. Then it becomes a lot harder to hide how clumsily he's gripping his spoon, or stifle the slight whine when he spills some of his rabbit stew down the front of his doublet. Vesemir huffs and mutters something about him being fussy, and Lambert snickers, but Eskel? Eskel looks concerned, having picked up on the fact that this isn't just some off day for Geralt but something else. And that's all it takes, really—Eskel has always been protective of Geralt, the two having been in the same group to go through the Grasses together and being close enough that many people thought they were related by blood. While he figures Vesemir has decided to assess the situation from a distance, Eskel believes he will fare better if he takes a more direct approach. Which is why he decides to rope Geralt into a game of gwent up in his room after dinner. It doesn't take much convincing either, as Geralt is happy for an excuse to head up early and not have a round of drinks with the others. After all, it's far easier to hide what's happening if he's just with one other person, right?

Wrong. He was very, very wrong. He gets proven wrong fairly quickly, too. They barely have their cards out when Geralt finds himself slipping quite a bit, though Eskel is nothing if not patient. He doesn't laugh when he makes mistakes concerning the basic rules of their card game, only gently reminds him of how to play. Nor does he laugh when Geralt starts to find the game too difficult, the cards too hard to read. No, instead he simply guides him to bed once he starts rubbing sleepily at his eyes, saying they can share like old times when Geralt hints that the journey through the halls of Kaer Morhen seems scarier tonight. The suggestion is all too easy to accept with his head starting to feel so fuzzy, and without thinking he burrows himself into Eskel's chest and sighs when he's pulled closer. It's achingly familiar, though they hadn't taken such comforts in each other in decades. Such things had become too childish for them both at some point. But all of those years fall away as Geralt lets himself relax and melt into the reassuring hold his brother has on him. For a moment he had feared that it wouldn't be as comforting as he remembered, but if anything it was better than it had been. There was nothing to fear come morning—none of the trials could hurt them now, none of the harsher older witchers either that Vesemir couldn't always steer them away from. No monsters for them to hunt nor man to hunt them. Knowing that this time was different was soothing in a way he couldn't have anticipated. Not to mention the fact that his senses were much more heightened than before, his ears far more attuned to the steady thrum of Eskel's heartbeat lulling him to sleep.

They don't really have to talk about it come morning—even if Geralt had not woken up regressed, there would still be a silent understanding between them of what had happened. The change in Geralt was plain to see, and with regression being common among witchers, well... Eskel doesn't mind that his little brother is considerably littler now and instead just gets them both ready for the day. It's not that big of a deal considering the kinds of things they regularly go through; if anything this is a nice break for everyone involved. So what if Geralt regresses? All that means is instead of helping Eskel tend to the horses that morning he wound up toddling around the courtyard behind Lil' Bleater, pointing out things with an excited albeit soft noise of delight (apparently, Lil' Bleater attempting to eat a rock was the pinnacle of entertainment for the little wolf). And he would have probably been content to continue to chase after the goat all morning had they not gotten called in for breakfast. Geralt is reluctant to leave the goat, and even more reluctant to see the other two witchers if the way he attempts to hide behind Eskel is any indication. What if they aren't as okay with him being...with Eskel taking care of him? But Vesemir doesn't seem surprised at all, only asking Geralt who he wants to help him with his breakfast so he doesn't make a mess like he had at dinner. Even Lambert seems alright with it, the extent of his teasing beginning and ending at the fact that he can now boast about not being the youngest out of the wolves—at least while Geralt is regressed.

As it turns out though, Geralt stays regressed a whole lot longer than he thought he would. Nearly the entirety of winter he stays small, with the occasional period of middlespacing. Perhaps it's the way his body compensates for having to put it off for so long, but Vesemir assures them all that this is completely normal for witchers. This not only eases any worries (and yes, even Lambert was concerned), but the extended time he spends small gives them all plenty of time to get to know little Geralt. After about a week they feel confident enough to say that Geralt seems to hover somewhere in the toddler years, probably at around four if they had to pick an exact age. They also start to learn a lot more about his preferences—this is not to say that they did not know any of them beforehand, but that Geralt is what some might call a picky kid. He needs his things a certain way, or he gets very upset! Things like having a schedule are important to how he functions, and while big Geralt can usually brush aside any deviations from what is expected of his day with annoyance, little Geralt struggles to deal with any major deviations. Accommodations are made accordingly however! Eskel sits down with Vesemir and Lambert so that the three of them can come up with a schedule that not only keeps Geralt happy, but also one that keeps them happy as as well. Mornings he spends with Eskel, tending to the animals. Afternoons are spent with Vesemir, helping sort Kaer Morhen's bestiaries before taking a nap (along with the older witcher, who also needs a midday nap). Evenings he spends with Lambert, toddling after him as he takes stock of their supplies and preparing things for the following day. But Geralt always goes with Eskel when it's bedtime. He just can't sleep through the night without his big brother there to keep away all the bad dreams and scary monsters!

The normality that his regression brings is perhaps the most unexpected thing about the whole affair. The winters at Kaer Morhen were already something softer than what the rest of their lives often entailed, but Geralt finds that his regression makes the season spent there almost...domestic. Without the usual pressures bearing down on them all, with his regression stripping away the need to tiptoe around certain sentiments, they can exist almost like a normal family if only for a time. And it's nice, to pretend. Pretend that this was what life was always like, that he had had a childhood not filled with training and mutations. Most people might say that childhood is the spring of their lives, but for Geralt it couldn't be any more different. Winter is filled with short days and long nights, which bring the soothing crackle of the wood in the fireplace. The smell of burning pine coiling around him, the ever-present heat it gives off permeating the space and seeping into his body and with it bringing peace along with its warmth. It felt much like his regression did—safe and familiar, soothing in a way that it had been for all of those who seek the "fire's" comfort. But the fire brings other creature comforts too. The long nights aren't lonely, quite the opposite; nights are spent keeping the fire company, filled with story and song, filling stews, the reassurance of curling into his brother's side, and the soothing touch of his father's hand as he smooths back his hair. The fire and his regression were one in the same, keeping the coldness of the world at bay. And Geralt could stay like that forever if only he did not have spring on the horizon.

Leaving in the spring is difficult. As the snow starts to thaw and melt away, so does the soothing haze of regression that has been all-encompassing for many weeks. But Geralt comes back up with a new clarity to his thoughts and with the burdens he shoulders feeling noticeably lighter. Setting out on the Path again is hard for him, but perhaps harder still for Eskel. How can he be expected to let his baby brother go out into the world to hunt monsters when a few nights ago he was afraid there might be one under the bed? But it has to be done. While they are apart and fall back into the witcher lifestyle, there are small indulgences made throughout the year. Eskel, in his travels, manages to acquire what he's certain will become treasured items: two books containing children's stories and a carefully stitched plush horse from a toy maker in Novigrad. It might have cost the entire bounty he was rewarded for slaying a cockatrice, but it will be well-worth the coin the next time he sees his brother. And for his part, Geralt slowly allows himself a few quiet nights where he middlespaces between hunts. His biology might not allow him to regress fully until he's bedded down someplace deemed safe with someone he can trust according to some instinctual part of his brain, but he can at least alleviate some of the need to be small and lessen the stress. It's small things, like allowing himself to spend some of his hard earned coin on any sweets that the inn he's holed up in may have on offer, or actually taking the time to find a warm bath house as opposed to just washing off in a cold river. The coming year may present him with many new challenges and struggles, but Geralt knows that at the end of it all rest awaits him—on the days where his regression threatens to overtake him, he can take comfort in knowing that his family is waiting for him come winter.

#sfw agere #the witcher #the witcher agere #geralt of rivia #agere geralt #eskel #agere eskel #moons hcs

[wiltking]

ok - i had to go back and consult my screenshots regarding this post (the doe eyes/pouting quote) to make sure I wasn't wrong in thinking geralt's words were aimed at saskia. and sure enough, i still think that's the case, but i want to take a moment to dissect the conversation further. the whole thing is as follows:

geralt: can you tell me what'll happen to iorveth now?

saskia: let's be honest - he's a terrorist. i'll not lie about him nor whitewash his deeds. he must earn respect on his own, and perhaps, a few generations on, humans will forget.

first - i was surprised to have the option to outright ask about iorveth. yes they're friends, but i didn't think geralt would directly raise this line of questioning, especially after the direction it takes. he knows enough to worry (or at the very least care) about iorveth's safety and saskia's ability to guarantee it now that she has her pontar valley (thanks to geralt and iorveth's combined efforts). her response is sobering, but equally surprising given that recent events weren't enough for iorveth to earn her respect, or gratitude, or solidarity especially when we consider how geralt has known him for a far shorter time and has gained (seemingly) more affection and understanding for him in that time.

it's also telling that saskia thinks geralt would be on the same page as her. not to mention her implication that iorveth's only chance at redemption will come once his actions have faded into obscurity with time. as if saying, come on, we don't have to pretend anymore that iorveth has any moral standing. let's be honest.

geralt: did you intend just to use him?

saskia: geralt, iorveth has killed more humans thank you've eaten chickens. he's not one to be used - it's not that simple. he came to believe in me and knew from the start what we were fighting for. he made a choice.

not one to be deterred, geralt doesn't dispute her claims but rather questions saskia's character, accusing her of using iorveth. but saskia's response is interesting for her acknowledgement of iorveth's agency in the matter. as if she's saying he was aware of his disadvantage from the beginning, and that his feelings (?) for her were always involved, and both knew that they would lead nowhere. it was his choice to fight for her, to put everything on the line for her cause, despite knowing full well that his feelings were one sided.

geralt: sure you don't know what i'm talking about? the baby doe eyes, that intense, misty gaze, the pouting?

saskia: we shared a cause, fought side by side...

again, geralt doesn't relent. he continues to ask if saskia really wasn't purposefully playing up her looks to get iorveth into her hands. he isn't the type to easily fall for a human after all (or someone he thinks is human), much less work with one. even she must know that. she says herself that iorveth isn't one to be used, that he's a terror to all humans. an outright 'terrorist'. she later goes so far as to say the scoia'tael will be welcome in the free pontar valley. but iorveth himself? well.... (let's be honest, geralt.)

so geralt's insistence of her being at fault makes sense from his perspective. how else could she have convinced someone like iorveth to so thoroughly do her bidding? and her answers do start to fall apart when she doesn't deny playing up her doe eyes, her pouting. or maybe saskia genuinely doesn't think she did anything wrong. given her nature, i'm almost more inclined to believe her ignorance.

but if all this is true, if saskia truly didn't mean to use iorveth's personal feelings and devotion for her own gains, then geralt's decision to go to bat for iorveth (for this perceived wronging, for iorveth's heart) reveals more of geralt's affection for the elf than any intentions saskia might have had. like, sure, maybe geralt won't defend iorveth's actions. his past. his bloodshed. his morals. but he will defend iorveth's heart. on principle. by his own initiative. after all they've been through together. and that's the main takeaway of this all.

geralt: iorveth did and would do anything for you. question is - what're you prepared to do for him?

the one question i'm left with is this: what are you prepared to do for iorveth, geralt?

#i promise this is my last iorveth essay. i sweeeaaarrrrr...... #long post #tw2 #also to be clear i like saskia. a lot. but i had to take a scalpel to this conversation you know how it is #the witcher

[fangirleaconmigo]

I just finished Time of Contempt for the third time and I am deep deep deep in my Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon feelings again. Now that know what’s coming and I understand her arc, I’m catching a lot more.

TW: mentions of sexual assault

Ciri’s descent, which we see a hint of at the end this book, her “corruption arc” is the story of what war, and what the associated abandonment and abuse of children, does to a society. It is a visceral story about how (as the saying goes) A child who is not embraced by the village, will burn it down to feel its warmth.

Probably the worst interview of Sapko that my eyes have had the displeasure to read was a guy who asked him basically (paraphrased) how could Ciri’s mind be so “weak” that she falls into murder and crime after everything she learned from Geralt.

And like BUDDY DID YOU NOT READ THE STORY? Wow ok.

Sapko is like…because that is real, look around you.

“Well, I suppose here my fantasy becomes very real and lifelike. What happened to Ciri happened to hundreds of teenagers, in that number some I knew.”

There is a narrative.

And when kids are all by themselves and repeatedly traumatized and threatened, they will turn where they need to for safety. Their minds and the way they process empathy and emotions will change as a result of related abuse.

And to me, that arc is very believable. And it is part of her rite of passage of ultimately choosing good and coming fully into her power, choosing the love and example of her found family (primarily Geralt and Yen but also Kaer Morhen and Dandelion). In this terrible interview (seriously someone let me interview the man I could do better) he says:

And – last not least – that’s me, the author, who has invented Ciri and her fate, who has invented the whole storyline, and the storyline required of Ciri to become a teenage killer. It was a stage in her rite de passage, the rite of passage.

It is an arc. And for me a very believable (if extremely painful one) First there is the “before”.

The story is very clear who Ciri is before she is alone without the protection of Yen and Geralt.

Her character is already established by Time of Contempt but the narrative still goes through the trouble of showing her deny the offer of destructive power.

As a little girl, (in Blood of Elves) Ciri risks herself to save Triss’s life when she and Geralt’s caravan is attacked. She doesn’t wait for someone else to help, she shields Triss with her body. (That made me feel some kinda way in retrospect let me tell ya)

In the same scene we see how tender hearted she is towards the elves plight and how she resolves not to be neutral.

Blood of Elves and Time of Contempt both show how she is just a little kid who wants parents (running away to see Geralt, writing him letters from Meliteles temple begging him to come see her, identifying fiercely as a witcher girl of Kaer Morhen, idolizing Yen)

But at the end of Time of Contempt, Ciri still makes two dramatic, narrative establishing decisions, that show what kind of person she is.

First is the refusal of power. The refusal of revenge.

In the desert, she taps into prohibited power (fire power) to save Little Horse. It begins to consume her, offering her dominion over the world. It is personified by Falka and it shows Ciri vengeance. It shows her her enemies. It shows her the people who killed her grandma and sacked Cintra. It shows her the black knight.

Ciri and vengeance is already a theme. We know she feels urges towards vengeance for the people who slaughtered her family. The only bad fight she’s had with Geralt was about that. (She says she wanted vengeance and he overreacts and has to follow her and comfort her and apologize. The narrative doesn’t let us hear what he says, it’s through Triss’s eyes, but it is heart wrenching)

And now she is being offered vengeance by showing her what it really looks like. People suffering and dying. And it’s asking hey little girl you want this? Because I can give it to you.

This power also shows her her loved ones.

At this point in the story, Ciri is alone, lost in a desert, and feels abandoned. And any kid that feels abandoned blames her parents. It makes her a very believable kid character. Im alone? Where are my parents?? They’ve abandoned me?? At least that’s what she says.

But when the power offers her the opportunity to take the hurt she is feeling and hurt them back she is horrified.

She shouts out loud that she relinquishes it. She relinquishes all the power and collapses.

She makes an incredibly important decision to refuse destructive vengeful power.

The second thing that happens to establish her character at this point in the saga is she is being pursued by people who want to kill her and/or turn her into Nilfgaard. She is running and trying to escape. She is armed and gets a clear shot at a pursuer but again, sees a human face, and can’t do it. She shows mercy because her empathy will not allow her to see a persons face and kill them.

She is very lucky to survive that encounter.

She is a good, decent, human being.

But the story doesn’t leave us there. It gives us an ominous hint of the oncoming storm.

To get out of a life threatening situation, she joins a gang called The Rats. The Rats are a group of heavily traumatized war orphans who have been abandoned, raped, and abused and have banded together to not be alone. They’ve become murderers and no longer feel empathy for those they harm, but rather they take pleasure at killing others. She sees the look in their faces and identifies it as evil.

They adopt her. They protect her. Suddenly she is ‘safe’. Suddenly she is with others like her (war orphans with heavy trauma). Suddenly she is no longer alone. She is being offered a new identity (her old identity will get her killed at this point) She is them.

They also sexually assault her. (Cycle of abuse. I had to fast forward those parts. I’m listening to the audio and I can’t do that again)

But by the end Ciri has a new family. It’s the only option to her for survival. She finally manages to kill someone and takes the name Falka.

And as the return reader, you already know just how horrific it’s gonna get before it gets better. The feelings of doom. Ooof.

There is so much coming and if you’ve already read it, the dread is real.

It takes worse torture and assault than you can possibly imagine for Ciri to become the “teenaged killer” the narrative demands.

Because above all Ciri is like Yen. She is a survivor. She is angry. She has impulses for vengeance when she is harmed. All of these things are normal and human and can be given healthy outlets in normal situations. But this is not a normal situation.

So yeah I love her so much and the feelings of doom I have going into the next book are hanging over me. Of course it makes the bloody vengeance at the end that much more satisfying. But yeah.

And just to be clear I don’t judge her at all for anything she does during this “corruption” arc. I just don’t. She is surviving and no one can make me hate her ever. I’m an irrational person when it comes to her. And the her growth, her arc is one of the most satisfying I’ve ever read.

Most of us may not be war orphans being pursued by half the world. But the parallels to being an unprotected teenaged girl in a world that wants to exploit you, chew you up, and spit you out, is something those of us who came from abusive homes can understand. It is ultimately very validating and inspiring.

So I’ll be skipping the worst parts on audio. Some of them I just can’t do again. But I’m still obsessed with this story and I love my girl.

Ok thanks for reading my Ciri feels.

#the witcher #the witcher books #cirilla fiona elen riannon #thinking about the witcher books yet again #thinking about Ciri yet again

[the-desilittle-bird]

Helloo, omg, i see your request is open, can i have Aemond x Rhaenyra's daughter! Reader, when she loves to dance, use Nagada Sang Dhol Baje song from Ramleela or Ghor der Pardesiya from Kalank? I'm in love with those songs these days!

Love you❤

AN- So to make this thing more sensible, Reader is the daughter of Rhaenyra and Criston Cole after their particular... shenanigans. And I love both of those songs but I just imagined a bit of softer music and decided on two of my favorite songs. Also for an update on upcoming posts, another series of preferences will be posted soon and another post on 🤷🏻‍♀️

Requests are always open and well appreciated.

Thabk you and Enjoy your reading!

Little Misteps of Love

Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary- It is a crucial thing to know how to dance as a prince...

Tag List- @eliseline, @little-moonbeam-666, @blackhoodlea, @omgsuperstarg, @shopping, @lizlovecraft, @dayane, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @all-things-fandomstuck, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @morganastrucker, @shrexy, @helloitsshitzulover, @daringboba, @minaxcarter, @b-tchymoon, @stargaryenx, @hukio, @saraelizabeth26, @targaryenmoony, @moon-light1415, @eudximoniakr, @themaze13, @candypurplebutterfly, @5moremin, @yariany02, @issybee0611, @gossipandspills, @hopebaker, @kateris-world, @lady-athanasia, @chaotic-fangirl-blog, @cherryaemond, @watercolorskyy, @literishdegree99, @sunmoon-01, @savagemickey03, @ultrav0lence, @deltamoon666, @severewobblerlightdragon, @hyacinthus007, @andlizeth, @shine101, @beefbaby25

Warnings- Fluff fluff and fluff!!!!

GIF Credits to @chameli

As a prince, a number of things were expected from Aemond. Knowing his histories. Political knowledge and books. And what not. But one of them made the man really go mad; that was dancing.

He hated it.

It made him feel vulnerable; off-guarded. Like someone would look at him as see what he tends to hide. That they would look at him and find a young prince trying to find his place in the court instead of what Aemond's wants them to see; the one-eyed prince who felt no remorse for anything.

But now, on his mother's command, he would have to learn to dance. And who else would he approach but the eldest of Rhaenyra's keen, his forever partner in crime and best friend.

As much as he didn't like to show anyone his vulnerable side, he could trust her with it. She who was there to write to him when he was recovering from the deep gash on his face which left his left eye socket empty.

Those were innocent feelings back then.

But now, watching her as a woman grown; it made butterflies erupt in his stomach as he bit on his lip. Following the pavement into a part of the garden hidden from all; only known to people of the royal family.

As he drew closer to the heart of it, the sound of music and a man's melodious voice lured him softly into a much softer mood. The soft, almost not audible, sound of humming from his beloved niece making himself give in to a smile.

Behind the treeline, he stood silently, watching intently as he watched her move gracefully; elegantly as the rhythm of the music floated into the air. Her body moving with it, making it all look effortless; natural.

Her face, serene; resembling a devotee worshipping her Goddess. A look he is sure adorns his face at that moment as he watches her careless smile; steps calculated yet unpredictable.

Aemond clears his throat once she stops to catch her breath; startling her for a moment before her grin widened, sweetened as she invited him closer with her eyes.

"Prince Aemond."

He could die just from the way each syllable of his name slips out of her lip, sweet and steady; just as she was. His eye glanced to the man and his little orchestra before dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

"I needed some help, princess."

Her doe-like eyes watched her with batted breath, a smile growing as she hummed; tilting her head back to take a better look at him. Her fingers only slightly meeting his calloused ones; fire to his iced touch. The gap decreasing without their knowledge while he leans in, eye trained over her delicate features.

"Yes, my prince."

His hand raised to touch her cheek, delicately tracing the curve of her muscle as his thumb collected some of the sweat beading her face. Other one finding home at her covered waist which he caressed softly, wanting not to break this sweet moment.

"Teach me to dance."

The vibrations of her laughter sent a rush of both amusement and embarrassment rolling through his body as he looked down; dropping his hands to his sides.

She must have observed it, as she wrapped her hands around his torso, smiling into the bare skin of his long neck as she whispered softly: "You honor me by asking me to teach you, my dear prince."

Stepping away, she smiles at him encouragingly, her right hand holding his while her left one placed his on her waist before resting on the leather covering his shoulder.

His warm breath on her face sent shivers down her back, making her teeth sink into her quivering lower lip as she looked at him through her lashes. Too enticing for Aemond.

"It might take some time, my love."

"It better do; for I can't wait to spend more of my time basking in your presence, princess."

"Don't break my toes, please."

"No promises for the beginning."

#house targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond #aemond x y/n

[dapandapod]

For Mermay:

Geralt/Jaskier underwater singing

YES PLEASE and thank you for indulging me. I had to stop everything to write this, right now and immeadiately. I hope you enjoy! <3

Send me a pairing and a word, and I give you a fic?

On Ao3 here

Jaskier scoffs but doesn’t say anything when the witcher starts explaining different beasts to him that the first year they travel together.

His beastiarity about Mer is so fantastically outdated, and one would think someone as well traveled as Geralt would have a bit more updated view of people below water.

But correcting him means offering up a piece of Jaskier’s past that he is not sure will be well received, so he keeps his mouth shut.

The monsters in Jaskier’s songs that first time they met, they do exist. They are just not from the surface world. In his childhood, Jaskier remembers dark shadows from above, diving down and with sharp fangs reaching for his siblings.

Kelp can be a great cover, but there are beasties that know them even better than Shore Mer.

There is a reason you can’t find Lettenhove on a map. Well, technically you can, and it is a acknowledged county in books of old, but it is a lake. Was a lake, now a part of a river leading to the shore. They are still there, forgotten by almost everyone.

It is Deep Mer who has fish tales. Beautiful women from the depths with their beautiful voices and glistening skin and scales, luring fishers with them into the darkness, that is how the world thinks of Mer. There is only one type of human too, right?

No, Jaskier will not correct Geralt.

He is tempted that one time when he sees his witcher whistle, communicating in ways of old with the Deep Mer.

He is tempted again, when he refuses the lord, but holds back when all is said and done.

The secret is not only his to keep, and with Essi now exploring the surface world too, he keeps the words locked behind his teeth.

Still, Jaskier needs water sometimes. When the weather is fine, he bullies Geralt into swimming with him in a pond. He spends almost more time than Geralt in a bath, and when apart, he finds ways to submerge in rivers and lakes and sea alike.

Shore Mer are different, adapted for a life of both. While dry, his smattering of scales retreat, his feet less flat and flipper like.

They are not Selkies, no, those are something else. Drowners too, are nothing alike a Shore Mer, except for owning legs and having a similar swimming pattern. It’s unavoidable, given how you need to move in water to get anywhere without looking, well…. Like Geralt currently does.

Geralt didn’t join him to the coast after that blasted mountain. Didn’t even mention the presence of a hot spring, despite the middle of winter making the halls of the keep barely bearable.

He did, however, trail behind Jaskier on his way down the lake below Kaer Morhen, snow and ice slippery under their feet. Jaskier never heard him, never saw him, just felt the pull of the water, the intense need to Change.

Jaskier didn’t notice Geralt was there until he was below the ice with him. Cold water never bothered Jaskier much, his body regulating itself to keep him alive, but Geralt, noble, stupid, idiot Geralt, did not know this.

He dove into the water, clothes and all, attempting to save a bard that did not need saving.

In the end, it was Jaskier who had to drag a nearly hypothermic Geralt back up to the keep, and only then did he learn of the fucking hot springs.

When Geralt finally looked and felt like an icicle, there was a long, long conversation, bordering on argument.

Terse silence ruled for almost a week, until Geralt finally caved, the stubborn fucking idiot. 

Not only for Ciri’s sake, they lingered well past spring. 

Jaskier finally braves correcting the witchers about Mer, lecturing them about how the information is for their ears only. They, out of all people, should know the dangers of being seen as different.

On a spring day when the sky is startlingly blue, Jaskier invites Geralt to swim with him. With the help of the Killer Whale potion, the witcher manages to mostly keep up with him.

Below the surface, the light is murky, particles glimmering where the rays of sun pierce the darkness. 

Singing under water is… different. Vocal cords sound different with water instead of air. 

It’s been a while since he felt safe enough to sing below the surface, because of both land and water creatures, but with Geralt with him, there is no doubt.

The lullaby he starts with is soft, lapping like waves against the shore, dancing with the currents of the sea. He sings of the stars, only visible to him if he leaves his world.

In his own tongue, he sings of a wolf. There technically isn’t a word for wolf, but that one time he sang it for Essi, she understood.

All the while, Geralt is watching him. Eerie and beautiful as his hair fans around him like a white crown, eyes of a predator. Every once in a while, he has to go and breathe, and when he returns, Jaskier has lost himself in the movements of his song.

When they heave themselves up on one of the big rocks by the edge of the lake, Geralt is quiet. Jaskier stretches out on the rock, letting the sun dry his skin back to the smooth planes he is now more used to.

The witcher watches him, but Jaskier doesn’t feel threatened.

He closes his eyes, and doesn’t open them again until a shadow closes out the sun. Geralt’s hair is dripping with cold water, his thumb coarse against Jaskier’s cheek, but his lips so infinitely soft.

Geralt kisses him like he can’t help himself, and Jaskier kisses him back like he has only ever dreamed of.

“I’m sorry I made you feel you had to keep this from me,” Geralt murmurs, knocking their foreheads together after some good long moments. Jaskier’s breath comes short, and he smiles.

“If it were only my secret to tell, I wouldn’t have.” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt scrunches up his forehead in that adorable way of his when he is concerned. 

“You still look like a drowner when you swim.” Geralt says, ruining the moment completely, and Jaskier shoves him back into the water as punishment.

When Geralt gets out of the water, he traps Jaskier under him, cold water dripping over sun heated skin. 

Laughing and kissing under a pale spring sun is just a new step on the path they walk together. A path that always calls for a witcher and his bard.

#mermay #geraskier #the witcher #mermay 2023 #jaskier #geralt of rivia #all the canons i could find and remember #and some of my own mer lore because why not #essi davens #lettenhove #kaer morhen #fluff #getting together #idiots in love #kissing #dapanda writes