#witcher short fic

[corvo-bianco-lilacs]

Lambert rolled onto his side, feeling far too warm beneath the covers. Pulling the fabric away, he glanced over to see Keira, wrapped up in the blankets, shivering as she slept.

The Witcher felt an odd tinge in his heart, one he hadn't felt in decades, as he looked over at his companion.

Or was she his lover? Partner?

He didn't know. They hadn't given what they were a title... Not that it mattered to either of them.

Keira was a sorceress. She would never age beyond her physical years. Hell, he was pretty sure she wouldn't die either, unless she was killed by the Witch Hunters or someone with a means to kill a mage.

But him? He would eventually grow old and die. Or die on the Path, killed by some monster or another. Impaled by a human, perhaps... Just like Geralt had been.

That thought alone made him think of what Keira would do. Would she try to heal him like Yennefer had done to Geralt? Would she move on with her life and forget about him? Would he be just another sword stuck in the cliffs of Kaer Morhen?

He didn't know... Couldn't bring himself to think on it further as he looked down at Keira, her teeth beginning to chatter from her cold state, her body curling tighter around itself to keep warm.

He stood from his place in bed and walked around, sitting down beside Keira with a huff, shifting the blankets and laying down beside her, his body immediately curling around hers.

With his arms wrapped around her body, he pulled her against his chest, feeling her shivering slowly begin to subside.

He caught a whiff of her hair, inhaling the scent deeply, smiling at the hints of strawberry and tea leaf that lingered in his nose. She always did take special care of her appearance and how she presented herself to the Continent.

But here? In this space she shared with Lambert? She allowed her mask to fall, her walls to come down, and her body to relax, even if just by a fraction.

He rubbed his hand over her arm, trying to warm her further, and she snuggled deeper into the pillows, her back pressing tightly against his chest, seeking the warmth of his body as she slept.

He pressed a soft kiss to the back of her neck, drawing a breath from her as she settled more, her shoulders relaxing a margin as her hands relinquished their white-knuckle grip on the blankets.

He wrapped his arm back around her waist, keeping her close to his body, as he relaxed his own breathing, pulling the blanket back on to keep his body warm, much to his dismay.

But seeing her so relaxed as she sought the warmth of his body made him feel less like complaining. It was adorable to see her so relaxed by his presence, even if she was just asleep.

Until she rolled over to face him, pressing her forehead against his bare chest, a soft muttering of 'thank you' leaving her lips as she drifted on the cusp of sleep and consciousness.

He smiled, settling back into the pillows, as sleep claimed him once more, his hold on her never releasing.

#the witcher #witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfic #oneshot #witcher #witcher short fic #lambert and keira are so underappreciated #keira x lambert #lambert x keira #witcher lambert #keira metz #witcher keira metz #soft!lambert #they're super in love but won't admit it #cuddling & snuggling #sharing body heat #I'm such a simp for soft tender lambert

[thedemonofcat]

When Jaskier was just a week old, he encountered Death. From his crib, Death gazed upon him and softly uttered, "Not yet, little one."

At the age of seven, when the family dog fell ill, Death visited Jaskier once more. His parents couldn't provide solace for the pet's passing, but Death did.

In a bar, where Jaskier crossed paths with Geralt, Death observed from afar, wondering what would transpire next.

True to his name, Jaskier brimmed with vitality, like a beautiful yet toxic buttercup. This was why Death found itself fond of Jaskier, preventing his premature fading away.

A sword to the stomach, a sacrifice to protect Ciri, should have been Jaskier's end. When Death finally came to claim him, Jaskier had led a fulfilling life filled with joy and music, albeit tinged with loneliness.

Just as Death had done when Jaskier was a babe, it gently whispered, "Come now, little one, it's time to go." Death hoped to bring peace to the Dandelion they had grown to love.

But the growl of the white wolf, Geralt, begged Jaskier to stay, as Geralt asked Jaskier to remain.

Death and life had cherished each other but could never be together. Yet, life sent Death gifts, and Death treasured them all. Now, it was Death's turn to offer a gift to life. So, Death entrusted Jaskier to the safety of his vibrant existence.

From a distance, Death watched as Jaskier recovered, surrounded by his family: Geralt, Ciri, and Yennefer—all very much alive.

#the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #joey batey #the witcher #jaskier the witcher #henry cavill #the witcher jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fic ideas #short ficlet #jaskier #gerskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #freya allan #headcanon #yennefer of vengerberg #anya cholatra #the witcher season 3 #anya chalotra #the witcher season three #witcher yennefer

[thedeadthree]

THE SUN ON YOUR FACE ON YOUR SHOULDERS ITS GOLDEN MOUTH WHISPERING (SO IT SEEMS) YOU! YOU! YOU! — 𝐂𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑. 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟. (x)

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (ask to be added or removed or interact 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞!): @griffin-wood, @queennymeria, @nightbloodbix, @anoras, @leviiackrman, @aezyrraeshh, @marivenah, @risingsh0t, @avallachs, @full---ofstarlight, @unholymilf, @statichvm, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @alltoowelltv, @lavampira, @adelaidedrubman, @grapecaseschoices, @shellibisshe, @carlosoliveiraa, @carrionsflower, @cloudofbutterflies92, @kyber-infinitygems, @pinkfey, @celticwoman, @florbelles, @shadowglens, @yharnams

#a little warm up for starting the treat asks today and !!!!!!! in honor of season four filming day hehe i bring cy cy 🥀😌 #filming starts today teehee cant wait to lose it again hehehehee <33 #(which i am still taking btw if yall would like one !! <3) #oc: cythia vassermiller #the witcher oc #leg.ocs #leg.edits #*ocedit #*myedits #empires delight light of the flame princess in chains you’ll always be loved by meeee !!!!!! #i am slow as snails but i at LASTT finished last wish recently and i am on blood of elves now EEEEEK #at that point she’s in her planning stages of her rebellion with m/aecht and g/eso and etc HEHE #the one where she was more so REALLY just for reasons of her own that she masks as an uprising 🥀😵‍💫 #we love a girlboss girlfailure or something!! *wheeze* 💀 #there’s more to it like she poses as the knight commander there’s a confrontation that ends in the ‘death’ of that knight #in order to prevent the knowledge of her identity AND in learning her reasons for getting into things #(yk hey eat my shorts for i mean aem faked HER death but as far as cy was concerned he may have indirectly had a hand :’)) #but that’s spoilers for the fic so ill leave at that teehee <3 anyway i hope u all are well !!!!!!! #her and emmy won’t leave my head the brainworms are always brainworming ig!!!!!

[yeraskier]

“Do you love him?”

The question doesn’t catch him off guard, not the way it should. There’s been a heaviness in Ciri’s presence since she came out here to sit beside him— the same intensity that trails after Yennefer wherever she goes. Like mother, like daughter.

Jaskier wasn’t sure what she would say, or if she’d say anything at all, and now she has. He is unsurprised, but not unmoved.

“I love my father,” she says, “I love him more than anything. I’d give him the world, if I could.” Even if he wouldn’t accept it, is left unsaid. “I think you would, too.”

It’s rare that Jaskier struggles to find words to express himself— he is a bard, after all, expression of self is his entire purpose. He wishes he had come out with his lute, maybe then he’d know what to say.

“I think you love him, not in the way I do, but just as much.”

The lake before them sings at her revelation, and it makes Jaskier’s heart bleed.

“You do, don’t you?” Ciri presses, and Jaskier can feel her eyes on him now.

He focuses on the grass beneath him.

“I don’t think you’d stay if you didn’t. You two… haven’t been well.”

The sun has nearly set, it makes the air cooler, makes chills ripples through him.

“When you’re around one another, you don’t speak.”

There’s a small house across the lake, the lights are out, and Jaskier wonders if anyone’s home.

“And when you do, they’re fighting words.”

It’s dark enough now that the lights coming from the estate behind them glow over their forms. All of them are on, it seems, maybe Yennefer’s making a statement.

“You must love him, because no one else would stay through all that.”

Jaskier wishes he had a witcher’s senses or a mage’s powers, anything that could help him hear what was going on inside. Maybe Geralt’s cursing his name, maybe Yennefer’s calling them both idiots.

“I know what you’re doing, trying to focus on your surroundings to block me out, but it isn’t working, is it?” She asks, and it isn’t goading or cruel. “This matters to you too much. Geralt matters to you too much.”

Far too much.

“That’s why I know you’ll hear me when I tell you that I think he loves you, too.”

The lake.

“He doesn’t understand the way he loves you, yet, but he does.”

The grass.

“And it’s unlike the way he loves me.”

The sun.

“And it’s similar to the way he once loved Yennefer, but… more.”

The house.

“His love for her was destructive, but it didn’t destroy him.”

The light.

“His love for you just might.”

The lake. The grass.

“And it’s not your fault. It’s not even his.”

The sun. The house.

“He doesn’t know what to do with his love for you, but he’s trying to learn, I think.”

The lake. The grass. The sun. The—

“He’s trying to learn how to love you in a way that won’t tear you two apart like it did before.”

The lake, the grass, the sun…

“And I think it’s working, oddly enough. I mean, you two fight, but he hasn’t driven you away. And pathetically, that’s a win when it comes to my father.”

…the house, the—

“He’s working on it. He’s working to become better, for himself, for all of us, but… especially for you.”

The lake. The grass. The—

“Are you done speaking on my behalf?” Jaskier felt his presence before he spoke.

The—

“Are you done being an idiot?” A snort follows, it’s light to the ears, but heavy.

The lake.

So heavy. Heavy enough that the entire world shifts to compromise it.

The grass.

Heavier than Yennefer, and heavier than Ciri. Heavy enough that Jaskier’s head begins to pound as much as his heart.

The sun.

Too heavy to ignore, too heavy to be distracted by anything else.

The house.

“Hi,” he hears.

The light.

Jaskier faces him.

#did i edit this? no #just a silly short lil fic to kick off saturday or whatever ah ha… #i hope you guys enjoyed <3 #the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #cirilla fiona elen riannon #yennefer of vengerberg #geraskier

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

“Geralt, darling…”

“Hmmm”

“I noticed your communication skills have greatly improved over the last few months. You use your words instead of just grunting far more these days. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Jaskier.”

“As such, I was thinking that perhaps it is time for another lesson in verbal communication.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes! It is so! Now, I realize this is a lesson usually given to performers, such as myself, but I think it is one you could greatly benefit from.”

Geralt sighs. Knowing that Jaskier will simply continue to pester him if he doesn’t agree, Geralt says, “If you think I would benefit from the lesson, I’ll to do my best to learn.”

Before, he would have told the bard to fuck off, but ever since the mountain, Geralt had been trying to put in an effort to do better. Doing better meant communicating better. The need for that had only increased when, a year ago, Geralt had finally gotten up the courage to kiss Jaskier and their relationship had been forever changed. In a good way. The kind of good way Geralt didn’t want to lose ever again.

“Excellent! In that case I see no reason not to start that lesson now.”

Geralt did. They were walking the path and Geralt was walking beside Jaskier; guiding Roach by her reigns. Ciri was away, somewhere safe with Yennifer and learning to control her magic, but that didn’t mean there weren’t still threats. He had to remain vigilant in case of an attack or a monster, and trying to focus on what Jaskier was saying would be distracting.

But, on the other hand, they were on a section of road surrounded by fields. For miles, there would be very few places for bandits or any monster too deadly to hide. Geralt would almost certainly see them long before they became a threat. So, he agreed.

“Alright. I’m listening.”

“Ok. So there are 5 organs of communication.” Geralt watched from the corner of his eye as Jaskier counted them off on his fingers.

The head

The heart

The gut

The groin

The arms

“You’re very good with the 1st and the 5th organs. The head refers to things you state. They are a matter of fact. No ifs ands or buts about them. You’ve proven to excel at this in the past several months. And the arms refer to non-verbal communication that is instead conveyed through action. Again. You excel at this.”

To prove his point, and to be an ass, Geralt raises an eyebrow at him and smirks while spreading the arm that is currently not busy guiding Roach.

Jaskier laughs and gently smacks the arm now extended towards him. “Yes. Exactly. However, you are lacking in the other three departments.”

Lowering his arm, Geralt asks, “so how do I go about fixing that? I’m not even sure I completely understand how the first 4 work. I’m communicating with my mouth and voice. Is that what you mean by head? And if that’s the case, I would have thought I was doing just fine with groin.”

Jaskier swats his arm again.

“Yes and no. In that regard, what you’re doing with your groin falls under arms.”

“Hmm.”

“Let me give you examples.”

Jaskier seems to take a moment to think.

“If I was going to tell you ‘I want you to come here’ there are 5 different ways I could go about that.”

“The 5th being arms. I could simply make eye contact with you. Point at you and then the ground. You would understand what that meant, yes?”

“Yes, Geralt exactly. The 1st one being head where I simply say to you ‘I want you to come here.’ And you would understand it to be a simple request.”

“Hmm.”

“But, if I were to make the same statement using my heart,” Jaskier’s eyes got bigger and his posture less ridged. When he continued, his voice was soft and breathy like when they’re lying together at night and just talking, “I want you to come here.”

Oh. Geralt had always been aware of how Jaskier would talk when it was just the two of them. How it would feel different, like now.

He’s tried to do that before, but it had never quite had the same effect. Like it was just… incorrect “I’ve tried that”, he tells Jaskier, “but it just doesn’t work right.”

“You mean when you look at me very intensely and get quieter?”

“Yes.”

“Well… that is part of it. But this isn’t about volume, or what your eyes are doing. It’s about what feeling you’re letting yourself have as you say it.”

Hmmm. That made sense. Even now, when letting his thoughts be known, Geralt struggled with the emotions part.

“So what’s gut?”

“But you haven’t tried heart yet!”

Geralt leveled a look at Jaskier that made it clear he needed to move on for now.

“Oh, all right. The 3rd is statements made in reaction. There isn’t much thought to them, like a gut reaction or when you have to make a decision in the moment.” Jaskier’s voice got louder and more rushed, “I want you to come here!”

Geralt moved closer to Jaskier on instinct. The almost fear in his voice had him going before he could remember this was an example.

“Ah. I think I understand this one. It’s fear.”

“Well,” Jaskier drawled, “it can be. It can also be excitement, or anger, or any other number of emotions. Much like heart can be hurt or longing and not just love. It’s just reactionary. Truth to the heads fact.”

This was getting confusing. How could it be fear but also other things? Geralt decided he’d need time to think about this and it was probably better to keep going. “So what is groin?”

“Ah,” Jaskier’s demeanor changed once again. It was one Geralt was very familiar with, he’d watched Jaskier adapt it with men and women all over the continent for decades. He’s been on the receiving end of it as of late and had grown fond of the change in Jaskier’s stance, the sway of his hips, the light in his eyes. He’d even seen Jaskier adopt it with a particularly good meal when they’d been getting by on what Geralt could hunt for too long.

When Jaskier spoke, it was low and gravely, and sent a shiver down Geralt’s spine. “I want you to come here.”

“Desire. And not just lust.”

Jaskier’s stance and voice changed once again, the change almost jarring, “Yes! Exactly. The wanting something so badly you can feel it.”

“Hmm. That one makes more sense.”

“Yes, you aren’t terrible at groin, but you tend to only use it when you’re horny and I insist you use your words. You could be using it for so many other things. And don’t give me the you want nothing speech again. I know that’s bullshit.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good!”

“I’m going to need some time to think on all of this, but in the meantime,” Geralt wrapped his free arm around Jaskier’s waist and gently pulled him into his side. Then, putting as much groin into his voice as he could, “telling me you want me got me hard. There’s no one around for miles.”

Geralt enjoyed watching a blush creep up Jaskier’s neck and hearing his heart speed up.

“Not going to say ‘no’ to that, dear witcher.”

Thanks @0dde11eth for telling me to write this

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #the witcher netflix #geralt x jaskier #witcher #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier the bard #geraskier fic #short fic #just performer stuff #literally got a version of this lecture in chorus rehearsal this past week #it fucking works #and I knew it needed to be done with these two #thanks Cy

[tigerlyla-of-metinna]

Simple Pleasures (Finale)

Dettlaff: *still coughing away*

Emhyr: I've made that error as well, Dettlaff. Don't let your first unpleasant experience deter you from the overall enjoyment that comes later.

Dettlaff: Throat irritation is just that. An irritation. And still my opinion doesn't change about this human habit you both enjoy.

Regis: Your chest and throat cavity aren't used to this yet. Take it from us, my friend. Take smaller hits first, to get acclimated to the habit. Breathe in some fresh air before taking the next puff. Before you know it, you'll be inhaling this fine blend like a chimney.

Regis turns to Emhyr (blowing smoke rings):... and with practice, you'll be as creative as our emperor. If I may inquire, Majesty, why smoke here? Is it not allowed in the palace?

Emhyr: I can smoke anywhere I wish, I just don't want the nobles to see me relax and be normal. *leans back* Do make another batch the next time we meet.

Regis: As you wish, Your Imperial Majesty.

Dettlaff: (puffing away) Curious habit this recreational smoking. Does nothing beneficial for the body. But it is... catchy. I wish to learn that trick with the smoke, emperor.

Emhyr: One step at a time, vampire. One step at a time.

The End

(if you missed the previous posts: Part 1:

And Part 2:

Many many thanks to @i-be-busy-witchering who took the pics with such perfection fitting my requested scenario. Story and edits in SAI/PS by me.

#emhyr #emhyr var emreis #regis #emiel regis #dettlaff #dettlaff van der eretein #emiel regis rohellec terzieff godefroy #witcher 3 #the witcher 3 #witcher fic #short drabble #the witcher 3 wild hunt #nilfgaard #toussaint #Emhyr and Regis teaching Dettlaff how to smoke weed :D

[viking-raider]

A Witcher's Legacy - PART FOUR: MUTAGENS

Summary: What should have been a short stay in Beauclair, turns into something much more complicated. Both to your and Geralt's present and future.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Parts: I II III

Warning: PG - Witcher!AU, Dad!Geralt, Protective!Geralt, Sassy!Reader, Language, Nicknames, Medical Experiment, Portals, Monster Fight, Mention of Smut, Fluff, Mention of Grave Robbing, Witcher Mutagens, Bickering, Mage Technology

Inspiration: A subject from my story, A Witcher’s Destiny, Season Two of Netflix’s the Witcher and the quest, Turn and Face the Strange, in The Witcher 3!

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to be added A Witcher’s Legacy Tag List, please message me!

I also have the story on my AO3

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

“Who's the letter from, Geralt?” You asked, watching the little carrier boy run off, excited about the ten crowns Geralt had kindly given him.

Frowning, Geralt unfolded the parchment, finding another piece of folded paper inside with a familiar writing in black ink. “Yennefer.” He said softly, casting his eyes up to you for a moment.

“Oh.” You replied, a tight smile pulling across your lips. “A wonder how she found out we were in Toussaint, since we just arrived.” You commented to yourself, moving to a vine covered staircase, with roses the size of your hand, the color of butter and the finest Toussaint Red, making the air so fragrant.

Letting out a humming grunt, Geralt read the letter aloud.

“My dear friend, I've been told you're on a jaunt in Toussaint, with your sweetheart. I've come upon some information which might be of interest to you. While browsing through a colleague's, Tomas Moreau's, book collection, I found mention of him conducting research into mutations.” Geralt scowled at the letter, a troubled feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. “The details I've come to learn are rather vague and his laboratory's location remains a mystery. Yet his journal should at least provide hints as to both. It is said he was laid to rest with it in his tomb. I enclose a map I found in the tome I happened upon. Though less than completely legible, I trust it will prove useful.”

“Your friend, Yennefer.”

“So, mutations.” You echoed, turning back to Geralt and folding your arms tightly over your chest. “What kind of mutations? Was he trying to mutate the normal stuff or do you think he was trying to fuss around with Witcher mutations?”

“It's hard to tell without finding his laboratory and discovering more about his research.” He replied, pushing his jaw forward has he stared down at the letter, mulling it over in his mind. “I need to look into this. If he was testing mutagens for Witchers, then I have to find it and get it back to Vesemir.”

“Before anyone else finds it.”

“All right then.” You nodded, chewing on your lip, just as concerned. “Where to first?” You asked, wishing to help.

“Yennefer's letter said he was possibly buried with the location of his laboratory.” He said, unfolding the map the Sorceress had enclosed. “So, we go there and find it.” Geralt examined the map for a long moment, his brow twitching in his concentration. “It looks as if he was buried in Orlémurs Cemetery. That's not too far from here.”

“We can walk.”

“Lovely.” You smiled, then glanced about. “Which way, you big grump?” You asked, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Geralt smirked back at you, waving a hand towards the gently sloping, pathway. “This way, Firefly.” He replied, with a cock of his head.

Nodding yours at him, you started down the brick street, Geralt following closely behind you. The Capital city of Toussaint, Beauclair, was gorgeous and it filled you with a light, gaiety that put a skip in your step and a pleased smile on your face. As you looked about. Taking the architecture in, the hot sun beaming down on top of your head and shoulders, reflecting your mood. Geralt smiled at the back of you, seeing and sensing the joyfulness inside of you. He felt it seep into him.

You had an effect on him and his ordinarily sulky moods.

“It's so beautiful here.” You commented, glancing at Geralt over your shoulder.

“That it is.” He agreed, looking about, seeing the bustling stalls and shops, the Toussaintois going about their business and day. “We'll have to make our stay a more serious one.” He said, moving around to your side, his arm wrapping around your waist as you passed through a thick crowd. “I know this is your first time here.” He smiled, dipping his head slightly to press his lips to your temple, in a rare show of public affection.

“Hm.” You hummed, nudging your shoulder into his side. “That would be nice.” You cooed, looking up at him, trusting him to guide you. “You do still have a few injuries to nurse from that Wyvern contract, you took in Caravista.”

He grunted back at you, still smiling as you crossed out of the city gates. “It's settled, then. I'll investigate this matter, and afterwards, we'll find the best room in the best inn, and we won't leave until you wish to.”

“So, until they kick us out?” You quipped, giggling.

“As you wish.” Geralt chuckled, as you both stepped off the paved path of Beauclair and onto the well trod trail to the large, Orlémurs Cemetery.

Making it to the Cemetery, that looked like a manicured set of ruins with grave-sites dotting it, you and Geralt drifted apart, searching the faces of cracked and crooked, tombstones, that had seen many years out in the open weather and tears of loved ones.

“What did Yenn say, this colleague of hers name was?” You called out to Geralt, reading the worn name of Patrick Moulins, who, according to his headstone, had talked himself to death.

“Tomas Moreau.” Geralt returned, walking along a line of graves, before stopping. “Found him!”

You joined him before the overgrown and disheveled grave, the heavy stone that was meant to seal Professor Moreau's coffin in the ground, slightly askew. You looked at Geralt a confused and questioning expression on your face. Frowning back at you, Geralt moved closer to the grave, dropping to a squat to read the mossy etching.

“Typical Mage. It's in Elder Speech.” He huffed, shaking his head. “Ellas k'havani allder aen Dol Naev'de, ellas allder n'corrason. Glorsann a'Aelirenn.” He read aloud, despite it sounding like gibberish to you. “Salvation lies not in Dol Naev'de, but in our hearts. Glory be to Aelirenn.” He translated, as he reached into the grave, through the small opening, feeling around.

“Oh god.” You frowned, biting your lip and imaging his hand touching one of the Professor's bones.

Not the worst thing he's ever touched, honestly. You thought, shaking your head.

“Do you think it has anything do with what you're looking for?” You asked, as he glanced side to side, knowing he was falling into his Witcher seek and find mode.

“Maybe.” He rumbled back. “Someone's robbed the grave, the journal isn't inside.” He said, narrowing his eyes against the bright, cloudless sun and looked around, before standing back up. “The grave won't tell us anything more.” He said, pull Yenn's map from his back pocket.

“A regular ol' treasure hunt.” You quipped, peeking around his arm. “Anything helpful?”

“The map has mention of Aelirenn and Dol Naev'de, also known as Valley of the Nine.” He said, pointing them out on the map for you. “There's a small mark on it. So, it's worth a look. I'll have to grab Roach to make the trip though. It's a long way from here.”

He folded the map up and tucked into his pocket, then turned back towards Beauclair.

“Geralt.” You called out to him, motioning to the grave, when he turned back to face you.

“What?” He frowned, not catching the meaning of your gesture.

“Close it.” You cooed at him, with a somber expression. “It's not right someone disturbed him for a book.”

“We just disturbed him for a book, min minne.” Geralt countered, the corner of his lip twitching.

“Still, Geralt. He deserves his rest, as we all do.” You entreated him.

Drawing a soft sigh, Geralt returned to the grave side and leaned over it, he used the strength of his powerful arms to shove the thick stone slab back into its rightful place over Professor Moreau's coffin. He straightened up and looked at you, lifting a brow, and you nodded at him, satisfied.

“One less dead person risen from the grave you have to deal with.” You commented, sarcastically. patting him on the back and kissing his cheek.

“Funny.” Geralt chuckled, giving your bum a playful smack, making you yip. “You can't come with me.” He said, as you returned to Beauclair and where you had left Roach.

“Why not?” You frowned, a bit disappointed, you enjoyed helping him with his contracts.

“I don't know how dangerous this could be.” He reasoned, grabbing Roach by the reins. “I won't endanger you. So, I'm going to take you to the Rose and Knight inn, in the center of the City, and you'll wait for me there.”

“What if something happens to you?” You argued, following after him, while he led you through the streets.

“What else would be new?” He chuckled at you over his shoulder.

“The new thing is this matter isn't about you going to slay a monster in the countryside.” You huffed, annoyed by how nonchalant he was being. “This professor was mucking about with mutations.”

Geralt's shoulders slumped and he stopped, his head hung for a second, before he finally turned around to look at you. He could see all the concern and fear in your eyes over this task, more so than usual. Which he understood. Considering it for a minute longer, Geralt tugged Roach around and mounted up, then reached down and pulled you up behind him.

“If anything should happen-”

“I know, I know.” You assured him, leaning against his back. “Tuck tail and run.”

The ride through the Toussaint countryside was stunning. The rolling hills of vineyards baking in the cloudless sun, their vines drooping with fat grapes waiting to be picked and turned into area's finest wine. Homey and extravagant villas dotted the landscape as well, abuzz with their daily chores as you Geralt rode by them.

You sighed, pressing your cheek against Geralt's shoulder blade, relaxing. “I could stay here forever.” You cooed, as Geralt guided Roach onto a path that led in a thicket of trees, cooling you with their leaf-y shade, after the unrelenting heat.

“Oh.” Geralt answered, his chuckle rumbling against your cheek. “That's because you haven't seen it in the winters.”

“It can't be much worse than Kaer Morhen.” You commented, smirking.

“Oh, you'd be surprised.”

Coming out of the woods and around the bend of a sloping hill, Geralt pulled Roach to a stop on the shore of a large and startling clear lake, where the two of you got down. Geralt took a sword from a holster that hung the horse's saddle and the pouch of his vials from in the bag, before the two of you started looking for any indication of an entrance to a mysterious laboratory. You walked along the one side of the shore, where the bank was built up, eroded from years of the lake water lapping at, while Geralt check the water.

“What is it with Mages and their mysteries?” You sighed, shaking your head.

“They live too long.” Geralt grunted back. “After so many years on the Continent, they become paranoid and full of themselves.”

“Starting to make a lot of sense.” You agreed, spotting a unique little rock sitting on the edge of the sand and grass. Going for the rock, you noticed a narrow, grassy culvert that went back a good way. You couldn't see where it ended, or if there was an end, with the limbs of several trees flanking the culvert drooping over it, like a leafy curtain.

“Geralt.” You called out, cocking your head and taking a step into the ditch. “What about over here?” You mumbled, inching further.

The Witcher turned, just as you disappeared and called out your name. “She'll be the death of me.” He sighed, hurrying to follow after you. “Wait.” He hissed under his breath, grabbing you by the wrist as he came up behind, pulling you to a halt. “We don't know if the Professor's lab is down here or what is.”

“You need to be careful.” He softly scolded you, protectively.

“Sorry.” You whispered back, but cast your eyes up ahead. “But don't you think we should check it out?”

“I will investigate it. You will stay behind me.” Geralt corrected you, pulling his sword and moving forward.

You stayed on Geralt's heels, while he used the tip of his sword to part the tree branches, the muscles of his body tense and every one of his keen senses on high alert for anything out of the ordinary and wishing ill intent. You jerked and gasped softly at the whoop of a bird in the distance, instinctively grabbing the back of Geralt's black shirt.

Coming out of the other side of the foliage, you and Geralt discovered a decayed stone wall. It was covered in moss and dead, creeping vines, several of its ashy stones laying in the spongy, overgrown grass and mud. You saw nothing special about it and figured Geralt hadn't either, so you started to turn back.

“Fuck.” Geralt growled under his breath, stopping you.

“What's wrong?” You frowned, turning back to him.

“I hate portals.” He scowled, moving closer to stone wall and bent over, picking up what you had figured was just a rock, then slotted it into one of the gaps.

A low hissing, hum filled the space around you and the hair on your forearms stood up as the static from the portal mounted. Geralt stepped back from the wall, took a deep breath, and with a jerk of his arm, produced the Sign of his Aard. The Aard hit the stone, making it wobble in its base, before it started to glow and an arched portal appeared on the face of the wall.

“That's promising.” You commented, looking at Geralt with a lifted brow.

He shot you a dark, narrow eyed look and approached the portal, taking deep slow breaths. “What's wrong with a good, solid locked door?” He complained under his breath, before stepping through.

“Kills giant, poisonous monsters for a living. Terrified of portals.” You grinned, hooting with laughter, and following after him.

You came stumbling out the other side, gasping for air, disoriented and nauseous. But managed to land on your feet and was slowed down by Geralt's strong arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you against his torso. He looked you over, with an expression that wanted to make sure everything was in the right place and you had all the part you were meant to have.

“I'm fine, Geralt.” You cooed at him, gently kissing his stubbly cheek.

Nodding, he let you go and glanced around the cavernous room you had been spit out into. It smelled damp, moldy, airless and like a nest of Kikimore had been using it as a litter box. You could hardly see more than two feet in front of you, but thankfully Geralt had no such issue. His sharp, cat-like eyes could see around you, as if it was a well lit room. So, you made sure to keep near him, putting your feet where his had been.

The place was like Elven ruins that had caved in or been covered over across time. With tall arches and columns. Rubble and rubbish littered the ground, making your footing unsure as you went deeper in. Geralt stopped, causing you to bump him, your lips parting in question of why he had halted, until you saw the spark of his Igni, lighting something you couldn't quite make out in the shadows. Until, it ignited, a iron brazier, casting an amber glow against the wall and a small radius around its base.

“This is a crazy place to have a lab.” You criticized, giving the place a better look, now that the brazier was lit. “I can understand wanting to do your research in peace and privacy. But hiding your portal in such away, then having to navigate through a ruin to get to it.” You shook your head, confused.

“It seems like over kill.”

“It is.” Geralt agreed, lighting another brazier, that revealed a crumbling set of stairs. “It's only making me more suspicious of what type of mutagens he was working with.”

Your eyes shot up to the back of his head, an uneasy feeling filling your stomach at the thought of Professor Moreau testing Witcher mutagens.

Carrying on, you descended the stairs and passed through a narrow hallway, coming out into an elevated cross way, leading off in three directions, one of which was blocked off by a large statue of a panther. Sighing, Geralt moved forward, investigating the other two paths, in doing so, he discovered the body of the grave robber.

“Hm.” He grunted, shaking his head at the poor soul, but nevertheless, he searched his person for the Professor's journal, only finding a few loose pages of it.

“Geralt.” You called out, softly.

“One moment.” He answered, scanning the pages, learning the Professor had become paranoid with someone trying to break into his laboratory, and had installed security measures.

“Geralt.” You called again, a bit more urgently.

“What is it, min minne?” He sighed, turning on his heels to look back at you.

Your eyes were fixated on the panther statue standing menacingly above Geralt. “Is-is that-” You licked your lips, trying to compose yourself. “Is that statue-the panther's eyes—supposed to glow?” You asked, your voice squeaking a bit at the end as your eyes flared.

Geralt's head jerked upward to the statue, just in time to have the creature strike out against him. “Run!” He roared back at you, fumbling for his sword.

Not needing any other prompts, you turned on your heels and bolted down the hallway from where the two of you had just come. The panther knocked Geralt flat onto his back, forcing him to brace his forearm against its throat in prevention of its powerful jaws from biting into anything vital. Unable to grab his sword, Geralt brought up one foot, yanking a dagger from inside his boot and driving the needle thin blade into the snarling animal's neck. The panther gurgled, then dissolved into a pile of ash, revealing itself to be a specter, one of Professor Moreau's security attempts.

Getting up, Geralt searched for you, running almost full speed down the passageway and up the crumbling stairs. But skid to a halt, when he found you by the first brazier, a look of terror and worry on your face. Seeing Geralt was all right, you ran to him, colliding into his chest and locking your arms around his torso, to hide your face in his neck.

“You see now, why I didn't want you to come?” He sighed, resting his head on top of yours.

You nodded, still to overcome to speak for a second. “I do, but I still want to help.”

“I don't know what help you can be.” He countered, tipping your head back, so you looked at him, studying your eyes. “You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met.” He chuckled, shaking his head, knowing he couldn't deter you.

“It's why you fell in love with me.” You quipped back at him.

“One of the reasons.” He teased back, before becoming serious again. “You'll stay in the room I've cleared, before going any farther, do you understand me?”

“Loud and clear, Witcher.” You nodded, pushing up on your toes to kiss him.

Continuing on, You and Geralt navigated through the maze, hoping you were getting closer to the Professor's lab and the answers to your questions. There hadn't been any more specters to jump out and attack either, but there had been a few traps Geralt needed to disarm, before either of you could move forward. Such as a spike trap, that came up out of the floor.

“This place is endless.” You remarked, edging around the disarmed spikes, heart pounding in your chest.

“Seems that way.” Geralt answered, waiting for you, then entered the next room. “The fuck.” He barked, brow wrinkling.

“What?” You called out, staying in the other room, just like he wanted you to. “Is it safe?”

Geralt took a deep breath, studying the creepy Gargoyles that lined alcoves on the main level, with an inactive portal, while the next two levels were lined with inactive portals. “Stay there.” He barked, slowly approaching two pedestals in the center of the room, on either side of a massive statue, and examined them, finding scrap marks on the sides.

Looking at the Gargoyles, he noticed two of them were missing hands. Narrowing his eyes, Geralt approached one and broke the hand off with blast of his Aard. Taking the heavy piece of stone to the pedestal, he rested it on top and a loud clicking noise echoed in the room, followed by the unmistakable whoosh of a portal opening. Turning in a circle and casting his eyes around, Geralt found one of the portals on the upper level active.

“Geralt.” You shouted, planting you hands on your hips.

“Just wait.” He growled, seeing if he could map out a way up to the portal, but wasn't sure where it would take him or if he could get back.

Taking the stone hand off the first pedestal, Geralt shifted it to the other one, gaining the same results he did with the other one, but opening a portal on the middle tier. Humming, he broke off another Gargoyle hand and set it on the other pedestal, activating both portals, but not the portal on the main level.

“What's the issue, Geralt?” You called out to him, growing curious.

“Mage shenanigans.” He growled under his breath, circling the statue and regarding the other gargoyles and inactive portals.

Impatient with waiting for Geralt to tell you the way was safe, you strode into the room, but jerked back a step, surprised by the thick set of grotesque gargoyles. You recovered quickly though, spotting the singing portals and your frustrated Witcher.

“What's the rub?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

“That portal-” He pointed to the portal in question. “needs to activate. But so far, only these two have.” He explained, motioning to the others.

“Mmhm. Quite the situation.” You nodded, biting your lip.

“Yes.” Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I loathe mages.”

“Didn't you date one?” You inquired, giving him a teasing and sharp gaze.

“Against my better judgment.” He replied, rolling his eyes.

“So, what happens, if you only have one of the pedestals active?” You asked, studying them.

“Only one of the portals open.”

“Have you tried going through one of them?”

“No, not yet, and I'm not really in a rush to.” He answered, pacing. “I don't know where they go, or if once I go through them, that I can get back here.”

“Perhaps, you're right.” You sighed, gazing at the statue. “Mages do live too long.”

That brought a soft chuckle out of Geralt. “They do.”

Seeing no other options, Geralt began climbing towards the portal on the middle tier, just as you noticed a crevice, low in the robe of the statue. Glancing between it and Geralt, you slipped your hand inside of it, praying not to come into contact with any unsavory creatures that could make their home in the small space, and felt around.

“Geralt, wait!” You called out, your fingers coming into contact with something.

“What is it!” He called back, spinning around as he stood before the portal. “What's wrong?”

“I found something! But I can't quite manage it.” You told him, staining.

“Don't touch it!” He warned you, jumping back down and quickly moving to your side. “It might be a trap.” He told you, his breath hot on your neck.

“And if it's not?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Move, I'll do it. Go back into the other room. In case, something happens.” He ordered you, jerking his white head towards the door.

Knowing that arguing with Geralt was useless, you did as he asked of you, but angled yourself so you could see him. Geralt pulled his glove off and wedged his large hand into the crevice, just finding the button that was hidden inside. With a little wiggling, he pressed on the button and yanked his hand back out again, readying himself for the worst.

Several of the gargoyles turned on hidden bases in the floor, all turning to face the statue and the direction of the inactive bottom portal, and a suspenseful moment later, the portal came to life. Geralt let out a huff of amused surprise, looking the portal over.

“It worked!” He called out to you. “And, it's safe.”

You ran into the room and grinned at the portal, proud that you had figured out a Mage's security system, but felt your stomach twist a little bit. “So, do we go through it?” You asked, looking up at Geralt.

“It's through there or back the way we've come.” He replied, pulling his glove back on. “I'll go first, in case there's anything dangerous.”

“Very well, I'll wait a minute, then follow after you.” You nodded, lightly touching his arm.

Nodding, Geralt stepped through the portal with no further ado and you waited anxiously for a minute or two, stomach in knots not knowing if Geralt was in the fight for his life on the other side, wherever it led. Unable to wait any longer, you slipped through the portal after him, coming out the other side gasping and sick to your stomach, but intact.

“Geralt?” You called out, pressing a hand to your tummy.

“Welcome to Professor Moreau's laboratory.” He replied, coming from around a corner.

You looked about the strange and disheveled space with a shake of your head. “I expected more.” You answered, moving down a set of stairs.

Geralt had lit the many braziers and standing candelabras situated around the room, giving the already unsettling room an unsettling feeling. You found cluttered tables, bookcases, tall brass instruments, a Mage communication device, a large, iron cage and a huge and grotesque, glass specimen jar with something black and almost human floating in it.

“Well, have you learned anything yet?” You asked, hugging your arms against your chest, even with the braziers, there was an eerie cold about the place.

“There are Megascope crystals on a pillow next to Moreau's Megascope.” He motioned to them, next to the mage communication system of three stands, that stood in a circle, a loop at the top, where the crystals rested and a powerful piece of glass to project the image magically etched onto the crystal. “I found another on that desk over there.” He added, motioning over to it.

“I'm going to see what our dear Professor has on them.” He said, moving over to the Megascope.

“I can dig around, see if there are anymore.” You said, glancing about. “Or anything else of interest.”

“All right, just don't touch whatever those are.” He said, pointing to the brass instruments, one of which looked like a strange Iron Maiden.

“Don't have any plans to, love.” You gulped, getting goose-bumps as you edged by them.

Geralt picked up the three crystals, slotting them into the Megascope and turned the rune cylinder at the bottom of one of them, activating that specific crystal's information. A bleak image of Professor Moreau, devoid of color, flickered to life in the center of the Megascope stands. Professor Moreau wore typical mage robes, he had a wrinkled face with a pair of pinch glasses perched on his nose, and spoke with a typical Toussaint accent.

“Today, I begin my great life's endeavor, one greater and more significant than any I have thus far undertaken, for it relates to me personally. To me and my son.” He spoke, confessing his son, Jerome, was a Witcher and he made an oath to recover him, his apparition turning in circles as he spoke.

“So, it is Witcher mutagens.” You said, poking around a bookcase.

“Yes.” Geralt nodded, troubled.

The crystal ended with the Professor vowing, Gods being on his side, to reverse the Witcher mutagens in Jerome and make him an ordinary man again.

“I wonder if the Professor managed to do so.” He frowned, turning on the next crystal.

“Observation twenty-two, despite applying a surfeit of toxic substances, significantly more than usual, the subject displayed no symptoms of overdose.” Professor Moreau's reanimated projection explained, as Geralt stroked his scruffy cheek. “This is a minor success. Jerome may be able to tolerate better toxicity.”

The crystal ended with a soft pop and Geralt moved on to the next crystal, explaining how to make the mutagens less taxing and listing the mutagen base. He slotted the last crystal he had in, listening to Moreau speak about how one mutagen could be transmuted into another through the addition of certain ingredients, and of his subject, though on the brink of death, was much stronger than he had been and came back from the edge of death.

“It seems he's enhanced his subject, instead of cured them.” Geralt commented, more to himself than you.

“Have you never met this Jerome?” You asked, coming to stand beside him.

“No.” He shook his head. “But that's not too uncommon. He might be from another Witcher school or dead.”

“Ah. Well, I did find the Professor's journal on Witcher Mutagens.” You informed him, holding up the worn, purple, cloth bound book to him. “I suppose, you want to take it and the Megascope crystals back to Kaer Morhen with us.”

Geralt gave you a golden glance from the corner of his eyes, that told you he did, but not before getting into something you weren't going to be happy about. You sighed at him, letting your hand drop back to your side, eyes falling shut for a moment.

“You want to test this mutagen stuff out, don't you?” You asked, needlessly.

“I do.” Geralt answered, with a short nod.

“Why?” You groaned, looking up at him with a pleading look. “Can't we at least go to Kaer Morhen and do it in a safe environment, with Vesemir? That way, if something happens, we'll have him to revive your stupidity?”

A broad grin passed over his lips. “But all the equipment is already here, min minne.” He cooed at you. “We'd have to build all of it at the Keep.”

“Then, you'd have to fight Eskel and Lambert for first go inside.” You added, knowing that was going to be his next argument. “I thought you were over the whole Trial of the Grasses! You bitch about how hard it was! How much it hurt and blah blah! But you're all pony up to do this?” You scolded him, shaking your head. “Jaskier would be tripping over his lute, if he was here to witness this.”

“What if it fails and you die!” You protested, waving the book in his face.

“I'm sure I'll be fine.” He smiled, kissing you lightly on the forehead.

You rolled your eyes at him. “It's not like I can talk you out of it. So, what do you need me to do?” You sighed, giving in.

“I want you to go through his book and tell me what ingredients I need.” He said, brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek, trying to pacify you.

“Very well.” You glanced around and found a low stool by the table, next to the strange Iron Maiden, and took it up, starting to skim through the book, while Geralt investigated the rest of the laboratory.

“Something about a Pale Widow.” You said aloud, still skimming. “Getting a syringe full of mutated giant centipede albumen from the Pale Widow and the Ashwagandha herb.” You looked up at Geralt.

“That's all it states.”

“Well, he has to have it readily here.” Geralt answered, scanning the room, spotting an opening in the stone wall inside the iron cell and a well used needle on the wooden table you sat beside. “Stay here, I'll be right back.” He said softly, heading that way.

“Ger-” You started to call after him, before giving up and going back to reading the book.

Geralt ducked into the opening in the wall, finding a dank and dripping tunnel, following it into a large, cavernous space, the floor deep with stinking mud. He slowly pulled his sword as he dropped into the mud, knowing a space like this was a ripe place for a creature to live and attack. But he only saw the walls lined with eggs, quiet and dormant. His medallion was still, giving no indication of magic or monster wishing ill intent upon him.

Though, he kept a firm grip on the hilt of his sword, approaching one of the eggs. He squatted down and pulled the dagger from his boot, slicing open the egg, to be greeted with a putrid scent, making his nose wrinkle. There was a long dead, juvenile, mutated giant centipede inside. Geralt wouldn't have been surprised if the Professor had been keeping its parent as a pet, breeding it for the eggs in his countless Mutagen experiments, then killed the elder after he gave up, leaving the babies to starve and rot off.

Stuffing his dagger back into his boot, Geralt pricked the curled up corpse with the syringe and drew out what little albumen was left inside of it, getting half a syringe full. He cut open another, until the needle chamber was full, then returned to you.

“All right, Albumen acquired.” He said, holding up the syringe.

“I found the herb, Ashwagandha, in one the chests.” You answered, pointing to where you laid it on the table. “All you have to do, is put them both in that boiler, then get into the machine yourself.” You told him, a hard lump forming in your throat, at the thought of your beloved Wolf getting into the iron maiden contraption.

Nodding, Geralt set the syringe down carefully, along with his sword, before pulling off his boots. He stripped naked and looked at you, seeing the worry and conflict on your face. “I'll be fine, Firefly.” He cooed at you, reaching out to cup your cheek for a moment.

“You best be, or I'll never forgive you.” You whimpered back, turning your head to kiss his palm.

Adding the ingredients and activating it, Geralt stepped into the machine, while you stood there, helplessly. You paced before the machine for several minutes, figuring that's all it would take, listening to it pop, hiss and clank. But ten minutes went by and Geralt didn't step out. Thirty minutes, still Geralt was inside. You grew concerned, debating on whether or not you should open it and check on him.

Perhaps he'd passed out and couldn't open the door himself? Or what if he was-

No, he's fine. You cut off the thought, pressing a fist to your mouth. He knows what he's doing. Geralt knows his limits. You tried reassuring yourself, pacing from the bottom of the stairs to the back of the room, your restless impatience growing as the hour and half mark was passed.

You started at the sound of unoiled hinges opening, lifting your head from the table you had rested yourself on, several hours before. However, seeing the door to the machine open and realizing Geralt was finally coming out, you jumped to your feet and rushed to him, just getting your arms around his torso as his legs gave out from under him.

“Geralt!” You panted, feeling his burning skin through your clothing, his head heavy on your shoulder as you both went down to your knees. “Are you all right?” You inquired, hearing his breathing slightly labored.

You cupped his face in your hands and pushed his head up, shocked to find his eyes glowing, the skin of his face dark and marked with black lines, as if he had taken one of his potions or elixirs. He didn't speak for a long time, just catching his breath and resting against you, his eyes and skin returning to normal.

“I'm all right.” He rasped, gulping thickly, his throat and mouth dry. “I'll be all right.” He groaned, pushing himself up onto his feet, wobbling for a second. “How long was I in there for?”

“Hours.” You replied, standing as well. “I was starting to think you weren't coming back out.”

He nodded, moving around the table for his clothing, which in your anxious impatience, you had folded. “We should go.” He said, sluggishly pulling them on.

“For fuck sake, Geralt, sit down and rest for a moment.” You barked at him, pointing to the stool by his leg.

“I'm fine.” He grunted back at you, bunching up his black shirt to pull it over his head and jamming his feet into his boots.

“All right, fine.” You huffed back. “While you were having a merry jaunt in there, I found a map of this place in the Professor's journal.” You told him, with a lifted brow. “Behind that bookcase is supposed to be a hidden passage out, that's shorter.”

“Good.” He nodded, looking towards the Megascope.

“I have the crystals and the journal.” You assured him, resting your hand on his back, feeling the tense muscles there. “I took care of all that, while waiting for you to finish cooking in your Mutagen steamer.” You quipped, forcing a smirk.

Grunting and nodding again, Geralt continued and shoved the bookcase out of the way, finding a vulnerable wall behind it. Without hesitation, he used his Aard on the loose bricks, blasting them inward and rocking the room around you.

“Gods alive!” You gasped, grasping the back of Geralt's arm.

Geralt chuckled and the two of you followed the low ceiling tunnel, finding another portal, that was simply activated by a crystal that laid on the ground. Stepping through, you found yourselves back on the shore of the lake, but a mile or two down from where you had originally entered. With a shrill whistle, calling Roach, you and Geralt walked along the water, to meet the horse, while also enjoying the fresh and cool air.

“I look forward to that luxurious room at the inn.” You commented, getting up behind Geralt on Roach. “To a nice, hot bath. That experiment has made you a bit-foul.” You chuckled, resting your chin on his shoulder and peeking around at him.

“More than usual?” He asked, cocking a brow at you.

“Just a tad.” You laughed, squeezing your arms around his waist.

He spurred Roach back to Beauclair and got a handsome room for the two of you, at the Rose and Knight Inn, that sported its own tub and a balcony, letting you see the vineyards and apiaries in the rolling hills past the city gates in the distance. You stayed for two weeks, not leaving the room for anything. Having your meals brought up to you. Preferring to stay in bed or the bathtub together. It was romantic and refreshing.

#Geralt of Rivia #Viking-Raider Fics #Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #Geralt #The Witcher #Witcher #What should have been a short stay in Beauclair #Turn and Face the Strange #A Witcher's Legacy #A Witcher's Legacy *fic* #the witcher wild hunt #Wild Hunt #Witcher 3 #Mages #Toussaint #Beauclair #British Actor RPF #Geralt of Rivia RPF #Geralt RPF #Witcher!AU #Geralt of Rivia x You #Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Dad!Geralt #Dad!Geralt of Rivia #geralt of rivia x y/n #Geralt x You #Geralt x Reader #geralt x y/n

[eternally-tired-cryptid]

Gwenna Snippet

Gwenna had heard the rumors when she was assigned to the Arnskone Castle Ruins excavation as part of her final projects to finish her historical degree from Oxenfurt. The more superstitious and dramatic students claimed it was haunted, but the realistic ones passed on the truth.

Dandelion was currently pacing her small dorm room while she packed, fretting. "It may not be cursed but I asked around and those forests are filled with Foglers, Gwenna. They are brutal and vicious and they've killed more than one student!"

Gwenna rolled her eyes, "And I'll be fine. We'll hire a Witcher, that's what they should've done by now anyway."

"Do you know how expensive Witchers are!" Dandelion griped, "You're not exactly drowning in gold, you know, as a student with one small paper published so far."

"The fact that I have a paper published speaks well to my ability to make money in the future. Besides, I'll take up a collection, it won't just be a job from me. I'll find people to pitch in and then we'll find a Witcher and once it's all handled we can properly study without fear. I may not plan on being an archeologist myself, but I do wish to be able to visit sites and learn firsthand, it'll hardly be the only time I'll have to hire a Witcher."

Dandelion finally comes to a stop, staring at her consideringly as she folds her extra couple bits of clothing into her bag and moves to collect her note-taking supplies.

"You know," he mused finally, seeming reassured and now moved on to some curiosity or thought, "You are very.... calm about witchers."

Gwenna shoots him a look, raising her eyebrow, "I grew up in a common village, Dandelion, we had to hire witchers on occasion and no matter what others think of them, they always did their job and moved along. They brought no more trouble with them than we already had." She hums, turning to pack her supplies into her second bag, "I found them fascinating." She admits in a sing song, earning a chuckle from Dandelion.

"You never fail to surprise me, Gwenna. You're an interesting woman."

Gwenna rolls her eyes, "You're one to talk about interesting, Dandelion. Soon to be Master of the Seven Arts and the most feral brawler I've ever seen in a bar. Especially for a prissy bard raised in a noble family."

Instead of being offended as he might with a simple classmate insulting him, Dandelion let out a bright laugh and crosses the small room to hug her, "And you are the most elegantly spoken common girl who is a historian I've ever met."

"Not a historian just yet," she mumbles, returning the hug, "That's why I'm going to this excavation and I'm going to hire a Witcher and get things done." She declares, pulling back, "And I expect you to have some excellent stories for me upon my return. Who knows, maybe I'll even have a story for you to make a ballad of."

"Oh Gwenna you spoil me so."

#jasper rambles #the witcher #witcher mini fic #short fiction #dandelion #dandelion the witcher #jaskier #gwenna #witcher oc

[cherryjuicegf]

Hi. For the poem prompts perhaps Thanksgiving by Rachel Long with any ship you like? :) have a good day

thanks for the poem it hit hard! i evilly went with a kinda fucked up relationship here they need to talk through a lot of stuff, i hope you enjoy ♡

wc 552

thanksgiving - rachel long

The ceiling is ever the same as Jaskier opens his eyes.

His head is heavy on the pillow and as he squints, he feels the crease of the sheets on his cheek. Another mark, then. How many times has he woken like that, limpless, tired after a rest, staring at the ceiling. And the ceiling stares back, a silent, wooden company.

He's not used to much else anyway.

Geralt is still asleep beside him and his fingers tingle with the need to touch him, feel him, trace his face. Make sure he is not still dreaming. Yet his hand remains pinned on his stomach and if he feels his breath hitching, he thinks none of it.

He cannot wake Geralt now. Perhaps he will never be able to. He was never meant to be a storm, after all.

No, he was not a storm. He wishes he was, especially every time he sees Yennefer, silently exploding every little corner she stands in, leaving behind her beautiful wrecks, sweet leftovers of a hurricane, crumpled sheets, empty bottles of wine, maybe lipstick smeared on the pillow, and forgotten on the nightstand, on Geralt's lips.

If he envies her for one thing, that would be it. Because he only tiptoed through Geralt's life like a child afraid of waking its parents at night and especially now, especially after everything they've been through, everything they pretend they never said.

Now he can only be silent. Discreet. Desperate not to leave any mark, in case it's not one Geralt likes.

A shadow of last night lights his thoughts.

So good. You feel so good, Jaskier. I missed you, you feel so good.

Yes, now this. This is what he is supposed to be, what he will be. He will be good, and he will be silent, he will barely breathe. Maybe he gets to keep Geralt like that, maybe he gets to be kept.

A deep breath sneaks out of his lungs and escapes, deep and triumphant in its disobedience.

He hates it. Hates that he would do anything, would lie himself on the floor under Geralt's footsteps, would choke on his own voice. Be silent, be good. What on earth left him so empty, what on earth made him so desperate to be loved?

Another breath, hard and broken. Geralt is asleep and he gets to breathe now, just for a little bit, now that he will not be heard.

Grateful, yes. That he is. Because they still laugh and talk and kiss and drink and make love but it's not like it was, it's just enough. As though if they cross the line, if they break the unspoken terms, a flood will take them both down. And it will only be his fault.

Because he is supposed to look from afar. He can't afford to be bold, not again. He can't afford to lose Geralt again. His heart has no pieces left to give away.

Geralt is asleep and the breaths turn into sobs. Now that he won't hear. Now that he won't see.

But it's been long since he last saw.

His head is heavy and pounding and he covers his mouth with his hand as he shakes, the ceiling blurred behind the tears.

He quickly wipes them away. He cannot let them leave a stamp on the pillow.

#also thanks for sending a photo but i eventually went for the short version <3 #anyway. don't try this at home kids #the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #chrysa writes #prompt fill #fic recs #poetry prompts #tinselonfire #hurt no comfort #they love each other but you know. the Issues

[cheaploafs]

they’re so gross, i love them

(based on this dialogue exchange between geralt and yen from in game!)

#witcher au #art tag #jayvik #when the au just feels . too niche so i fear putting it further in tags agsjdjf #ANYWAYS !!! this is divorce era . jayce has long hair viktor cut their own but i think i lost that plot somewhere .. along the way . #but ITS STILL THERE.. canonically in my brain for the fics i’ve written that’s there shdjfkf #i think it’s just the fact that viktors hair i feel is just very fluffy . at least when i draw it so no matter how ‘short’ it’s supposed to #supposed to be i will fail at it every single time <3 yeah #one bonus of being tumblr again is i cna just ramble in these tags .. i hope that’s okay ahsjdkf #i feel with twt i kinda never grasped the ramble biy .. now you will deal with me always <3

[corvo-bianco-lilacs]

Triss shivered slightly in the chill of the bedroom. While Novigrad had welcomed mages and non-humans back into the fold of daily life, she still shied away from wandering alone in the city.

"You're cold. Come here." It was Philippa's voice cutting through the dim room, drawing Triss' gaze to the owl sorceress.

"Even without sight, you always know..." Triss smiled, standing from the desk and making her way over to the bed, where Phil sat waiting with open arms.

"You shiver loudly." Phil teased, pressing a kiss to Triss' cheek as soon as she was settled in her lap, her head coming to rest on Philippa's shoulder. "But I do find it rather endearing that you would choose to suffer rather than come and sit with me."

"I don't choose to suffer, Pippa." Triss pouted, glaring at the older woman. "I simply wait for you."

Philippa chuckled at her words, hugging the younger woman closer to her, her nose pressed into auburn locks that smelled of verdania and lavender. She inhaled deeply, breathing Triss in, humming her appreciation of having her nestled in her arms.

"I would rather have you here with me all the time, darling. You don't have to wait for me to ask or notice. You are always free to come to me."

Triss smiled, wrapping her arms tightly around Phil's waist, pressing her face into the crook of Phil's neck, sighing at the other woman's warmth as it radiated through her.

"Very well, Pippa. I'll come to you." Triss breathed, pressing a feather-soft kiss against Philippa's skin, earning a hum of appreciation.

"Good. I love you, my little flower."

"And I love you, my owl."

#the witcher #witcher fanfic #triss merigold #witcher triss #philippa eilhart #philippa #triss x philippa #wlw #short fic #ficlet #the witcher 3 #the witcher fanfiction #soft #fluff

[saw3amanda]

Jaskier makes it fifteen minutes down the mountain when he realizes he has something to say. This wouldn't end on Geralt's terms.

read an excerpt below

The gravel crunched as Jaskier began his descent down the mountain. The sound was nowhere near loud enough to drown out every cursed word Geralt had screamed, and Jaskier could feel them rolling in his head on repeat. 

Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it!

Jaskier felt a pull in his muscles, lactic acid gathered from days' trek across rough terrain. He looked around quickly, and seeing no one, promptly fell to the ground. He propped his lute in his lap.

If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off of my hands.

His hands shook as he reached into his pack for his water skin. 

"Stupid fucking witchers," he mumbled then he took a swig. "Cowardly, emotionally useless fucking witchers.”

Jaskier shoved his water skin in his bag, and stood abruptly. He was in a small wooded area intersecting the path, surrounded by almost barren bushes and colorless trees. Whatever pale sunlight that made it past the clouds had to jump the next hurdle of filtering through the foliage, a weak imitation of a chiaroscuro patterned across the ground. The whole dim scene added a dramatic element that, for once, Jaskier did not want.

“How many times has he done this?” he said incredulously, hands running through his hair. “How many times has that perfidious bastard sent me away? And yet I came back! Every godsdamned time!”

A thought crossed through his mind. He’s come back too, I can’t forget that. 

And it was true, Geralt had returned more than once. Not nearly as much as Jaskier, but it can be said that soft apologies were whispered as he wrapped his arms around Jaskier in his bedroll. There were forehead kisses in the shape of I’m sorry , and small gifts left quietly in his pack, like a crow. Their first kiss had even been after an awkward apology dinner Geralt had made in their camp, until an impromptu rain shower interrupted it. 

“But it’s not enough,” he spoke quietly, remembering each harsh departure, each time Geralt had left in the middle of the night to not return for weeks, every angry word said between the two. Small gestures do not salve the end of a two-decade relationship, lovers or not. 

He looked down. His hands still shook, and he could feel the heat in his face, but he knew why now. This was anger .

Jaskier walked slowly back to his pack and pulled out a sheet of paper, his quill, and a small pot of ink. Broken prose and lyrics dotted one side of the paper, but the back was blank.

Jaskier smiled slightly as he set the quill to paper. Geralt wouldn’t get to dictate their end.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #dandelion #jaskier #the witcher #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #short fic #ny writing

[heytheredeann]

Febuwhump 2023, Day 8 - panic

Tags: Vague setting, Hurt Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fever

Notes: The context is just Yennefer using too much energy to save Geralt and crashing, that's all I got LOL. Enjoy!

.

(Ao3 version)

“It’s okay,” he says, only moments after waking up from his light sleep. “It’s okay, I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”

Yennefer clings to him, blinking like she can’t quite believe the reality in front of her. Even if he couldn’t feel the heat radiating from her body, the veiled look in her eyes would give away that the fever has yet to go down.

It startled him, the first time she woke up panicking, and he immediately assumed that she was confused about her surroundings, that she needed to be reassured that she was out of harm’s way, that he’d look after her. After a while, though, it became apparent that he was the core of her concerns, that she was merely scrambling for reassurance that she managed to save him.

Touched as he is, he vows to keep those precious moments close to his chest in the future, because he doubts that Yennefer will appreciated being confronted with them, once she will be less delirious.

At the moment, though, she shows no concern for her pride, her fingers resting against his throat like she’s clumsily looking for a pulse and her whole frame relaxing when he swallows.

She closes her eyes with an exhausted sigh, curling back against his chest and clinging to his shirt with both hands, and as she settles he dares to lay a light kiss on her head, wrapping his arms more tightly around her in return.

He keeps still as her breaths even out, fearing that any movement might disturb her, and he watches as the first rays of daylight peek through the window.

#febuwhump2023 #yeneralt #yenralt fic #the witcher fic #the witcher #geralt x yennefer #not spn #my fanfic #i hadn't written them in a while i think it was nice asdfghjkl #it came out a little short but hey if this is what it wanted to do loool

[write-ur-wrongs]

Geralt and Ciri's react to p/o being a rogue who uses stealth and is a thief. P/o stands for platonic other.

"Inviting them was a mistake," Geralt huffed, anxiously peeking around a corner before leading Ciri along behind him.

"Fucking right it was," Ciri muttered, checking her pocket for the hundredth time that day to ensure her favourite pin was still there.

"Language," Geralt warned simply without turning to look at her.

Ciri didn't bother responding. She just rolled her eyes, bit her tongue, and brought her hand back to her pocket; just to be sure.

Hearing something from around the corner, Geralt abruptly brought his hand up to signal Ciri stop in her tracks. Ciri, who was more focused on her own personal security, stumbled awkwardly into his arm, prompting another gruff reply from the witcher. 

Before she had a chance to give him grief for failing to give her adequate warning before going full brick wall on her, they got the life scared out of them by Lambert. 

“Fuck!” said both witchers simultaneously, sheathing their swords as Ciri fought to catch her breath. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Geralt hissed, sweeping his gaze defensively around the hall.

“What do you think, brother? I’m hiding from Y/N! They stole half my vials, Geralt, the good half.” Lambert bit back, evidently on edge. “This is our home Geralt. You can’t keep bringing over strays, no offence Ciri -”

“Sure, sure,” she mumbled dismissively, keeping an eye on her surroundings. 

“But them? This is getting out of hand.” 

“Y/N is an exceptional asset in the trade, they’ve saved my hide more times than I care to admit. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them -”

“Your rucksack would probably be here if it weren’t for them,” Ciri interrupted sharply, only to toss her hands up in surrender when Geralt shot her a look so intense it might knock over a hellhound. 

“- which is why,” he said pointedly, bringing his gaze back to Lambert, “I offered to have them join us at the keep for the winter.” 

“Well, great, Y/N saves your life and ruins ours. That seems fair.” Lambert says, each word dripping with sarcasm as he rolls his eyes and shoving Geralt in a way that could hardly be considered playful. 

This launched the pair of them into a bickering match so profane that Ciri couldn’t help but jump into the fray, throwing her own sharp witticisms at the witchers in frustration. 

Above them on the next floor, Y/N and Vesemir were laughing heartily as the voices of Lambert, Geralt, and Ciri’s verbal sparring match echoed through the keeps many corridors. 

“Good grief, Y/N! You said Geralt gave you that rucksack,” Vesemir laughed into his stein, the foam from his mead floating into his beard.

“I say a lot of things, don’t I?” they replied easily, quirking a brow cheekily. 

“Ha! Well, here’s to you keeping that lot on their toes, and me young at heart!” Vesemir chortled, bringing his stein up to theirs.

With that, the pair of them clinked steins happily as Geralt’s booming voice echoed from below. Who knows? Maybe a rogue like you could breathe new life into a place like this. 

#geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher series #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #Witcher #witcher fanfiction #lambert #vesemir #Cirilla of Cintra #witcher cirilla #anonymous #short and hopefully sweet???

[help-help-i-need-an-adult]

Aiden’s Worst Day

They do not speak of it.

Lambert thought for sure he’d seen Aiden in every state of panic there was. After all, they’re witchers. They go through hell on a daily basis and get a kick in the ass as thanks.

But this had been different.

“Where is it?!”

They’d been traveling all day. The last town hadn’t been friendly, but they’d at least let them stay the night at the inn for only slightly too much coin. Even so, Lambert had been happy to pack early and get the fuck out of dodge before most of the towns people woke up.

Now, they were in the middle of the woods somewhere. Their horses were tied to a tree at the edge of the clearing, munching on some grass. Lambert was busy cooking the rabbits he and Aiden had been able to catch for dinner. Aiden was setting up their bed rolls.

Or, at least, he was supposed to be.

Currently he was shaking all the bedding apart and onto the ground.

“Where’s what?”

“Aife!”

Lambert went still.

“She’s not in the bedding bag?”

Aiden had started to dig through their other bags. Lambert had never quite seen him like this. So frantic.

Well… maybe that time they’d been fucking around and Aiden had stabbed him a bit too well…

“No! I double checked! You said you packed her!”

“I could have sworn I did.” Lambert abandoned the fire and their dinner to start looking through more bags. “She’s gotta be here somewhere, damn it.”

After several minutes of looking through their clothes, their rations, and triple checking their bedding, it became clear that Miss Aife was nowhere to be found.

Aiden plopped down on the ground and began to cry. Lambert had never been good at this sort of thing, comforting. But he put an arm around Aiden and did his best.

“I haven’t gone a night without her since the trials.”

“I must have forgotten her back at that inn. We’ll go back and get her. I promise.”

“We’ll have to wait till morning to travel… the sun is already down.”

“Fuck, I know. I’m sorry.”

Lambert went back to the rabbits after a few minutes. He was able to coax Aiden into eating a bit before putting them both to bed.

He held Aiden all night. Neither of them slept much.

—————————————————————————

The next morning, they were up and on the path before the sun had truly risen. They barely stopped to relieve themselves all the way back to that fucking town.

When they arrived at the inn, the few people there all stopped to glare at them. Aiden stayed by the door as Lambert approached the counter.

“What d’you two want? ‘Nother room?” The innkeeper’s tone and expression made it very clear they weren’t welcome.

“No. We left something here the other night. We’ve just come to get it back.”

“Wasn’t nothin’ there but the beddin’ when I cleaned it.” The grimace on his face made it clear he disapproved of the evidence of his and Aiden’s evening activities that were surely still on the sheets the next day. “So you’s can leave now.”

“No! It has to be here!” Aiden had clearly lost his temper and was stomping to the counter. “We’ve checked all our things and we didn’t go anywhere else. Now give it back!”

“I said there ain’t nothin’ of yours here! Now get out!”

Aiden looked ready to launch himself over the counter and tackle the innkeeper. Normally, Lambart wouldn’t have stopped him, watching Aiden kick ass was one of the best sights on the continent, but they were on a mission. They wouldn’t get Miss Aife back if they were run out of town.

Fuck, he hates having to be the rational one.

So he grabs Aiden and hauls him out of the inn. Aiden is fighting so hard to get at the innkeeper that by the time Lambart has dragged him to the alley his arm is bleeding.

“Calm down, cat, we aren’t done here, but you need to calm down. We can’t save Aife if the whole town wants us dead.”

That seems to do it. Aiden deflates and chokes on a sob. “He must have taken her. Given her to some snot nosed kid…”

“Yeah, probably.” Lambert doesn’t have the heart to tell Aiden the innkeeper might have thrown her away, or worse. “So we’re just going to have to think of another way to get her, ok?”

“Ok.”

They leave.

They make camp in the woods just outside of the town. There’s not much daylight left, but enough to eat and make a plan.

They decide that they can’t directly confront the innkeeper again, and they can’t directly harm someone. But they can threaten.

“Maybe if we make enough bombs and demand Aife back ‘or we’ll blow the whole town up, us with it,’ we’ll get her back.”

“Create a hostage situation?”

“Pretty much.”

“And then never come back to this shithole again. Let’s do it.”

Lambert has always believed that any problem can be solved with the proper application of explosives, as long as you aren’t around when they go off. Having Aiden on board, he grabbed his bomb making kit.

Lambert opened the bag and there, right on top of all the explosives ingredient bottles, was a pink unicorn stuffy. The fabric of her fur so old that it wasn’t really pink anymore. The yarn main and tail coming apart would look more like hair if it weren’t a tangled mess. The horn had a blue patch sewn onto it where it had been ripped open once. One button eye mismatched from the other, clearly a replacement, but sewn on with care one can only give to a beloved childhood toy.

Lambert stood staring down at his bag a bit too long because Aiden got up and started to walk over. “What’s the matter? Did they steal your explosives too?!”

“No,” Lambart swallowed and gently picked the stuffed unicorn up and held it out to Aiden. “But we don’t need to blow anything up today.” Usually, Lambert would be upset by that, but right now he’s just relieved.

Aiden let out a sound that Lambert would never have guessed he was capable of. He ran the last few steps and snatched the unicorn out of Lambart’s hand, crushing it to his body in a hug.

“Miss Aife! Oh, thank the god you’re ok! I was so worried.”

“I must have accidentally put her in this bag. I’m sorry, Aiden.”

Aiden wasn’t listening. He had sat down and started to cry while holding his unicorn like a life line.

Lambert got out the bedrolls and somehow managed to get Aiden onto one. He was asleep within a few minutes. Worn out from all the worry, stress, and lack of sleep from the night before.

Lambert sighed as he watched his lover sleep, stuffy still clutched tightly in his arms. He knew that Aiden would be mad about it tomorrow, but for now, Lambert was just happy he was content and sleeping.

—————————————————————————

He was wrong. Aiden didn’t act mad the next day. (At least, not mad at Lambert.) He didn’t talk about it at all.

“Let’s get going. I’m sick of this fucking town and I never want to come back here.”

“Ok, cat. Let’s go.”

He watched as Aiden carefully made sure Miss Aife was put into the bedding bag, where she belongs during the day. Double and triple checking before he finally mounts his own horse. They set out back the way they had come the day before.

They never speak of it again.

(This is a follow up to a post I made a little bit ago detailing the Kaer Moron’s different best and worst days. I didn’t know how to summarize this one for Aiden’s worst day. I hope you enjoyed it.)

@toi-monogatari @0dde11eth

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #witcher #lambert #aiden x lambert #aiden #Aiden’s worst day #short fic

[eskel-loves-lilbleater]

Ahhhhh! I did it! I finally finished a short thing I started ages ago. Here's hoping it's not too crap and that it maybe reignites my writing. I have ideas and I have missed it!

It could have been longer but I thought I would stop while I was ahead and actually post it. Would be awesome if I actually manage to write more for it and other things! 💜💜💜

#eskel #the witcher #witcher eskel #witcher #wiedzmin #ao3 #fan fic #short fic #short fiction #kaer morhen life #kaer morhen wolf pack #jaskier is good friend #my writing #eskel & jaskier #eskel & geralt #dragon of kaer morhen