#'in my defense it was eskel this time and it's really funny'

[jaskiersvalley]

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

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

Choose a Different Path

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't though."

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

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

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

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

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

"This is it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you," hu murmured, eyes closed.

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

[laurelnose]

nah, eskel keeps it down! he’s exaggerating a little (he’s never actually been desperate enough to eat a drowner over literally anything else and he hopes he never will be) but there’s no reason a full-fledged witcher shouldn’t be able to handle a little bit of drowner flesh when they consume drowners as parts of potions all the time. 

outright lying to students is cheating—the object of the game isn’t to think up a fantastic lie but to know something that is so obscure and implausible-sounding that students are hard-pressed to believe it, because when they realize it is true, 

you get to watch them have a mini existential crisis over the fact that the world is really just that goddamn fucking weird

[lays on floor] my favorite game at marine field stations is “say increasingly implausible facts about the animals you’re bringing up and watch students’ faces squinch up as they try to figure out if you’re joking or not” and i can’t stop picturing Worst TAs Ever Geralt and Eskel elbow-deep in drowner corpses harvesting alchemy ingredients with a pack of trainees and geralt pauses and is offhandedly like “you can get drunk eating drowner flesh if you don’t prep it right, yanno”

trainees: that can’t be true. no one eats drowner flesh

eskel: nah, they eat them in skellige sometimes. it’s not drunkenness, geralt, it’s oxide poisoning.

geralt: d’yaeblen drunk, they call it.

trainees: *look to eskel like he’s going to be the sensible one in this madness*

eskel: *casually carving out a strip of muscle* anyways it doesn’t affect us.

geralt: *stifling laughter*

eskel: we witchers can eat drowners raw if we’re desperate. decent fallback if you get stiffed on payment and can’t afford food. *slurps down the drowner meat raw in front of god and everyone*

trainees: !?!!??!!??!!

[thearvariblues]

Sing Me a Song

“You Geralt of Rivia’s bard?”

Jaskier looks up from his notepad and grins at the man who’s just sat at the opposite side of the table.

“Technically, I used to be,” the bard says, taking a sip of his ale. “We had a tiny misunderstanding last year. I’m sure he’s gonna be fine, though, I’m just giving him some time to cool down and wallow in self-pity.”

Jaskier frowns, because his brain has finally caught up with his mouth and informs him that even though the man who asked the question is very pretty (and he is – a bit short, but lean and clearly very agile, brown-skinned, with dark, wavy hair and stunningly unnatural green eyes), he also has got two big, scary swords strapped to his back, way too many scars and has, in fact, only one green eye, the other being covered by an eye patch, presumably missing.

And then there’s the Cat school medallion on his chest.

As Geralt would say… fuck.

“Unless you’re here to kidnap me and torture me to lure him into a trap. If that’s the case, I’ve never met a Geralt of Rivia in my life. Also, if you harm a hair on my head, he will hunt you down and kill you, very slowly and painfully. Just a heads up,” Jaskier smiles, utterly failing to sound at least a little bit threatening.

“Thanks for the warning,” the Witcher laughs. “But I actually need you to write me a song.”

“Sorry, I’m afraid this bard already has a Witcher to praise,” Jaskier protests, shaking his head firmly.

“Ugh. Who says I want praise?” the man says, making a face. “I just can’t seem to find a friend of mine, so I need to make him find me.”

“With a song? Do I look like a fucking pied piper?” Jaskier smirks.

“A little, yeah.”

“Fair enough. What’s in it for me?”

“What do you think is going to happen once Geralt hears that his bard has found himself a new muse?” the Witcher grins.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, chuckling. “Oh, but that’s good.”

“Are you in, then?”

“Absolutely. And, uhm… What did you say your name was?”

“By the gods, where are my manners?” the Witcher laughs. “I’m Aiden.”

*

Geralt places two tankards of ale on the table and sits down with a grunt.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting old, Wolf,” his brother Lambert smirks and promptly pulls one of the tankards closer. “Because that almost sounded like Vesemir when he’s trying to get up from his chair.”

“You’re so fucking funny,” Geralt murmurs.

“I know, right?” Lambert grins, tucking a strand of curly red hair behind his ear. “So, how’s life on the Path without your beloved bard?”

“Not my bard.”

“So pretty fucking terrible, eh?” Lambert chuckles.

“Fuck off, Lambert.”

“You’re being very nice and friendly today, you know?”

“I bought you a drink. So shut up and… drink.”

Lambert shrugs and for once does what he’s told. Within a few seconds, half of the tankard’s content vanishes.

“If it’s any consolation, life without my Cat is also pretty fucking unbearable,” he says then.

“Hm.”

“Oh, really, Geralt? You’re using your famous hm against me? Me, your brother?!”

Geralt groans.

“By the gods… Why can’t I just run into Eskel for once? Why does it always have to be you?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess.”

“Lucky. Yeah.”

Lambert rolls his eyes and focuses on his ale again – until the local bard grabs his lute and starts playing a slow, romantic ballad. Lambert growls.

“Fuck, I hate that song!”

“Why?” Geralt blinks, because he’s never heard the song before, and to be perfectly honest, it doesn’t really sound that bad.

“A brown-skinned woman with dark hair who’s seemingly killed, then comes back to life already plotting her revenge, only to find out that her lover’s already avenged her? Always reminds me of Aiden.”

“Aiden wasn’t exactly… A woman, was he?”

“He also hasn’t come back to life, as far as I know,” Lambert mutters.

“Who wrote it?” Geralt frowns, listening carefully. “It sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Some Master Dandelion. Never heard of him, but it seems he’s very popular now.”

“Hmmm…”

“Oh, not again!” Lambert groans.

“It just… It really does sound like Jaskier’s song.”

“You just fucking miss the bard, Geralt, that’s all.”

“No. No, I actually think…”

“That might be exactly the problem,” Lambert says and places his empty tankard back on the table. “The second round’s on me.”

*

“Seems like your plan’s not working as intended,” Jaskier comments. He’s spent weeks traveling with Aiden, and they still haven’t even heard about another Witcher trying to find them.

“I’m aware,” Aiden mutters, chewing his dinner without even noticing its taste – which is, honestly, probably for the best. “Could you be, like… less subtle?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“I suppose.”

“Fine,” Aiden nods. “Do it.”

*

“It’s a man now,” Geralt frowns, listening to the song he’s heard countless times already. “That’s new.”

“Looks like Master Dandelion might like to, uhm, dual wield,” Lambert snorts.

“It still sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Does Jaskier like to dual wield?”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dreamily.

“All the more reason to apologize, then, eh?”

“Oh, shut up, Lambert…”

*

“Still not working!” Aiden groans. He’s been waiting for three months for his Wolf to find him, and to no avail.

“I could, you know… Try something more obvious,” Jaskier offers.

“Please.”

*

“It’s a cat now,” Geralt blinks. “Dark-skinned, dark-haired… cat.”

Lambert sighs.

“Yeah, I hate those fucking metaphors.”

*

“I’m starting to think I should have just… kept trying to find him,” Aiden sighs, staring out of the tavern’s window.

Jaskier, cheeks still flushed from his performance, downs his ale and shakes his head.

“Don’t give up hope just yet,” he says. “I’ve already made a few changes to the song.”

“Oh, have you?” Aiden smirks. “Does it now say Lambert, I’m alive you moron, stop hiding and fucking find me?”

“Well, not yet… But almost.”

“Great. I can’t wait to hear it.”

*

Lambert is staring at yet another local bard singing the fucking ballad. He doesn’t even blink. Geralt is getting a little worried that his brother’s brain might have actually exploded.

“It says a Cat Witcher now,” he says, hoping it would get a reaction out of Lambert.

The redhead finally blinks. That’s probably good.

“A Cat Witcher who comes back to life only to find out his Wolf lover has already avenged him,” Geralt adds.

Lambert blinks again.

“And you know, I’m almost sure that this Master Dandelion is just Jaskier’s new alias.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Lambert mutters when the song finally comes to its end.

“Which one of them?” Geralt smirks.

“Both of them!” Lambert growls. “I swear to gods, if I find out your stupid bard stole my Cat…”

“Excuse me, madam,” Geralt says to the innkeeper who’s just brought them their dinner. “Where did your bard learn this song?”

“That sappy ballad?” the innkeeper frowns. “From this Master Dandelion himself. He passed through the town last week with a Witcher.”

“And Master Dandelion…”

“You know the bard that calls himself Jaskier? It’s him with a fancy hat on,” she smirks.

“About this Witcher,” Lambert growls. “Does he look like in the song?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Kind of small for a Witcher, and almost too pretty, you know, but we had a little griffin problem and he slayed that beast like it was nothing, so…”

“I’m so gonna kill them both,” Lambert murmurs while Geralt has to try very hard not to chuckle.

“Would you happen to know where were they heading?” he asks.

“I would,” the woman says and looks at the Witcher expectantly.

“I see,” Geralt sighs. “You have another monster problem, don’t you?”

“Well. It turns out the griffin probably had a mate…”

“Of course it fucking did,” Geralt nods and picks up his fork. He simply refuses to deal with this with an empty stomach…

*

Jaskier critically eyes the clothes he’s picked for tonight’s performance.

“What do you think, Aiden?” he asks his companion. “Isn’t the purple a bit too much? It’s a small town, after all. Wouldn’t the steel blue look better?”

“I don’t know, I like the red one best,” Aiden shrugs from his spot on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Reminds you of Lambert’s hair,” Jaskier says, rolling his eyes. “Melitele’s tits, I wish he’d find us already, because this is getting really–”

As if on cue, the door of the room slams open and a big, red-haired man walks in.

“You fucking bitch!” he yells when he sees Aiden.

The dark-haired Witcher beams and gets to his feet.

“Lambs!”

“Oh. Okay. That was fast,” Jaskier nods.

Lambert growls and grabs Aiden by the collar.

“Asshole!” he hisses. “I fucking mourned you!”

“Oh, honey, that’s so sweet,” Aiden smiles.

Lambert pushes him against the wall, so hard that Aiden grunts.

“I cried for you!”

“In my defense, it wasn’t exactly my fault,” Aiden smiles.

Jaskier inches towards the door.

“I guess I’ll just… leave you two to it.”

Needless to say, Lambert ignores him completely.

“I fucking avenged you!”

“Yes, that was very kind of you,” Aiden grins, utterly unaffected by Lambert’s angry face so close to his own. “You saved me a lot of trouble.”

Lambert groans, buries his face in Aiden’s shoulder and sighs deeply.

“You fucker,” he mutters.

“Yeah, I missed you too, puppy,” Aiden smiles, wrapping his arms around Lambert.

Jaskier, who’s already standing in the doorway, places his hand on his heart and takes a deep breath.

“Oh,” he whispers. “I shall write the most beautiful ballad about this… Ow!”

He’s unceremoniously dragged out of the room and this time it’s his turned to be slammed against the wall by a big, angry Witcher – but this one is white-haired and dressed all in black.

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims, his face brightening up.

“You won’t write a fucking thing,” Geralt growls.

“Is that so? May I ask why, dear heart?”

“Because you’re mine. My bard. And if I ever find out you’re writing about another Witcher again–”

“Then what?” Jaskier asks, cocking his head. “But before you answer, I’d like to remind you that I am not yours anymore, as you have made it quite clear on the mountain that you are not interested in having me as a companion–”

Jaskier is effectively shut up by Geralt’s lips pressing against his with determination that makes it absolutely clear that Geralt hasn’t merely lost his balance and happened to be falling in Jaskier’s general direction.

“Mine,” he growls.

“Well,” Jaskier sighs, slipping his fingers into Geralt’s hair. “When you put it like that… Fuck the mountain, I suppose.”

“Fuck the mountain,” Geralt agrees. “But I’m sorry. For what I said.”

“Apology very much accepted,” Jaskier laughs. “I’d ask you to fuck me, but I’m afraid my room is currently… occupied.”

Lambert’s loud moan only confirms Jaskier’s statement.

“Hm,” Geralt hums. “Do you think this tavern has a bath? I think I still have some griffin blood in my hair from last week.”

“Oh,” Jaskier purrs. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure I could get some chamomile oil…”

They hear another moan, this time Aiden’s.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Geralt grins and grabs Jaskier’s hand. “Come on, bard. We have some catching up to do…”

[wolf-and-bard]

Bad Reputation

Part 2 I Part 3 I Part 4

Jaskier/Eskel, ~1.3k, rated T, no warnings

Written for @thewitcherbog fic train event together with @kueble, @professorjaskier, and @softdarlingjaskier so be on the lookout for their parts in the next few days. It was so much fun!! 😊💕

---

“Ta-da,” Jaskier says with a flourish of his hand, and gestures at the dress-form he has set up in the middle of the living area of his rooms at Oxenfurt, all furniture pushed to the side. The mannequin is clad in a positively stunning arrangement, an unpretentious doublet of deep burgundy with subtly golden ribbons at the cuffs and seams, a matching pair of cotton breeches. Underneath, an almost-black silken shirt. It’s plain for Jaskier’s tastes and habits, but it’s perfect for its recipient whose suspicious gaze is currently flicking between Jaskier and the clothes. 

“What is that?” Eskel asks, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He’s wearing his typical red-and-dark stripe with those small spikes on the shoulders that Jaskier thinks are honestly ridiculous. Not big enough to work as any form of weaponry or defense mechanism, too dismissable to count as a fashion statement. Yeah, right. Wolves and fashion. Ridiculous.

Jaskier snorts and watches Eskel watch the dress-form, wary and uncomprehending to a point that is just adorable. 

“That, my dear witcher, is an outfit. Your outfit to be precise. That is to say, the outfit you will wear tonight.” Jaskier puts on his brightest sunlight-smile, hoping it will cover up the awkwardness he can feel tightening his throat. This could have started better. But then again, this could have started so much worse. Eskel could already be out the door what with him just having arrived, swords still strapped to his back, one hand fisted around the plain linen sack he keeps most of his belongings in. 

“Do I look like Geralt to you?” Eskel asks, brow raised which contorts the landscape of scars that cover half his face, stretching them out. Jaskier’s fingers itch to reach out and trace them, they always do whenever Eskel graces him with a visit to his apartment.

It’s about the only place they ever cross paths. With Geralt, Jaskier is bound to stumble into him in the most ridiculous of places and predicaments, as though Destiny wills it so. With Eskel… well. Jaskier learned early on in their acquaintance that finding Eskel anywhere takes effort, so it’s easier to have Eskel find him. The wolf sticks to himself almost all year round, avoids big cities and gets by on mysterious, long-winded contracts that take him to places most of the rest of the world has forgotten about. Jaskier has never once accompanied Eskel on one of his hunts, and that is perhaps why he often feels that a certain distance remains between them, no matter how often Eskel comes around.

And Eskel does, with striking regularity. At least once, whenever Jaskier’s staying in Oxenfurt for longer than a handful of days. He’ll always bring something too; a fine Toussaint vintage for them to share, a hearty piece of salt-crystal cheese for them to put on their bread, some pickled fish straight from the Skellige Isles. It isn’t always edible or drinkable, sometimes it’s useful like a pretty button or a new set of lute strings. There is no rhyme or reason to Eskel’s little gifts, just one thing that threads through them, and it is that every time, they take Jaskier by surprise. Eskel is so very reliable and Jaskier’s brain still hesitates to form expectations. Expectations can get crushed and he has already invested more heart into this relationship than is strictly healthy.

“Jaskier?” Eskel asks into the silence which has speeded by for Jaskier with his mind reminiscing, but which must have dragged excessively for the witcher. To Eskel’s credit, he doesn’t show the slightest twitch of impatience. 

“Of course you don’t,” Jaskier says, shuddering inwardly. Outwardly, his smile freezes over.

You look nothing like Geralt, he doesn’t say though he knows that with taking away the scars and dyeing Geralt’s hair, they would look strikingly similar. There are no pictures of Eskel before, but it didn’t even need Vesemir telling Jaskier this for the bard to notice. They have the same cut of jawline, same set of their shoulders, a similar nose. But that’s artificial and if one looks closely, the similarities start to fall away pretty quickly.

You look much more beautiful than him – sorry Geralt, but it’s true, is what Jaskier also doesn’t say even though his rapidly beating heart keeps commanding him to.

“Then why would I wear this? What for?”

“Oh nothing special, just a wee little occasion, really.”

“Jaskier…”

“A-hem, right. The school-board is throwing a fancy dinner party tonight and I have been invited as a guest. I thought you might want to join me… be my partner if you will.”

Oh, but that feels daring. That feels very daring. 

Eskel cocks his head, golden eyes boring into Jaskier’s. Jaskier feels his cheeks heat and licks his lips. 

“Can’t I go the way I am?” the witcher asks finally. 

“Ah, well,” Jaskier says and swallows. “Well, you see… there’s nothing wrong with the way you are, necessarily, but… it’s, well. They are very important people and I have a certain standing within the university. A reputation to maintain, if you will.”

“You?” Eskel raises a brow. “A reputation to maintain?”

A reputation other than drinking and whoring around, is what Eskel doesn’t say, but it is heavily implied and not even in a condescending manner. Eskel knows Jaskier the flamboyant bard, Jaskier the man with an eye for a good party, Jaskier that will drag any conquest into his bed regardless of whether there’s a witcher crashing in his guest bedroom or not. And even though Eskel’s been visiting him in Oxenfurt, in his rooms at the heart of the academy, Professor Pankratz is a complete stranger to both Eskel and Geralt. They know of him, of course, but they don’t know him.

“Yes, me,” Jaskier says. “A Professor at this university and highly valued member of several poet’s societies and bardic unions.”

“Trust a fucking academic to demand I dress up for him.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to trust anyone around here?” Jaskier retorts in what he hopes is a light note, but something has settled in the pit of his stomach at Eskel’s words, even though they were meant in jest. If this was Geralt, there would have been a deeper meaning woven into the words. In this regard too, Eskel is very different from Geralt in the manner in which he deals out his faith. He was wary when they first met at Kaer Morhen, of course; careful. But one night under the tightly-woven tapestry of constellations above the keep together, watching from the battlements while the temperature still allowed it, and Eskel turned from cool indifference to a low simmer of secretive smiles and sidelong glances. Jaskier can’t help but wonder if - for all of Eskel’s straightforwardness - there is still a hidden fuse he’s about to light up like a damn wildfire one day.

“I thought you were the exception,” Eskel grumbles and sighs deeply. Still eyeing the doublet wearily, the wolf witcher begins to pace around it, circling it as though it is a ghoul about to jump him and not his dress for the night. It would have been quite funny too, if it didn’t make Jaskier ponder so much. He doesn’t like pondering, not before an evening of events. He isn’t here to think, which would lead to dissecting, which would lead to inspiration and doubt at the same time. Jaskier has many doubts, especially when the handsomely rugged witcher in front of him is involved and he suspects there’s no glazing over them now, not when big words such as trust have been thrown this carelessly into the room. 

“I hoped I would be,” Jaskier admits begrudgingly and carves out another smile, if dampened. “Will you come along then? It would mean the world to me.”

[havenoffandoms]

Eskel/Lambert You’re My Shelter

Based on Kashimalin’s 50 Types of Kisses prompt list. 

Prompt: “Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.”

Pairing: Eskel/Lambert

Read on AO3. 

“Smells like rain,” Eskel remarks conversationally from where he’s lying on the grassy bank of the lake, his hands folded behind his head for support and ankles crossed, “we should probably start headin’ back to the keep soon.” 

“Soon,” Lambert agrees absent-mindedly as he flips onto his side to gaze at his lover, “just five more minutes. I’m really enjoying the view.” 

Eskel cracks one eye open, a lopsided smirk tugging at his scarred lips as he glances at Lambert from the side, and for a second Lambert feels like the luckiest man on the Continent to have someone as gorgeous as Eskel in his life. These stolen moments they enjoy in the autumn, when the cold hasn’t had a chance to settle in completely in Morhen valley, act like a soothing balm for Lambert’s broken soul. 

“Flatterer. You don’t need to compliment me to get into my bed, y’know? All you have to do ‘s ask.” 

Lambert heaves a dramatically long-suffering sigh.

“Eskel, Eskel… of all people, I thought you would appreciate a cheesy pick-up line.”

A warm chuckle rumbles deep in Eskel’s chest as he, too, flips onto his side so he and Lambert are facing each other properly. The roguishly handsome smirk, coupled with the soft eyes shimmering with adoration, are enough to take Lambert’s breath away. Nothing compares to the intimacy of these moments, Lambert thinks, when he and Eskel just lie there enjoying each other’s presence and revelling in the fact that they’re both here, alive and well, and in the company of the person they care most about in the entire world. 

A rumble of thunder breaks the soft moment, and when Lambert looks up at the sky, he notices the dark menacing clouds rolling over the valley. He has two minds to not move - what’s a little rain and thunder gonna do? - but when Eskel shifts into a seated position and reaches for his boots, Lambert realises that he’s not being given a choice in the matter. He doesn’t realise he’s pouting until Eskel nudges his ribs with his elbow, and leans into his space to nibble at Lambert’s earlobe. 

“Don’t worry, lil wolf. I’ll still take care of ya when we get back to the keep.” 

“That’s so far away,” Lambert whines, dragging out the vowels petulantly, “I want you now, Kel…”

“I’ll make it worth the wait,” Eskel adds with a wink, before rising to his feet in a frankly cruel move, and whistling Scorpion over to him. Lambert rolls his eyes in resignation, but mimics Eskel’s actions. His own gelding is young and not nearly as well-behaved as Eskel’s stallion, but that’s what Lambert likes about Milo. He’s wild and temperamental, just like his owner. Lambert and Milo understand each other on an emotional level, and they’ve learned to tolerate each other’s mood swings over the past couple of months. 

“You and I both know that the second we step into that godsforsaken castle, Vesemir will assign chores for us to do,” Lambert grouses as he pulls himself into Milo’s saddle, gently clapping the gelding’s neck in greeting, “which means that I won’t get to touch you until after dinner, provided the old man and Geralt didn’t kill the mood.” 

“If tha’ happens, I'm sure I’ll be able to reignite that fire,” Eskel casts a cocksure grin over his shoulder, before mounting his own stallion. Scorpion huffs a soft complaint when Eskel’s weight lands in the saddle. “I’ve got a couple o’ tricks up my sleeve.” 

Lambert snorts in response, ignoring the flush creeping up in his cheeks and neck. 

“Alright, don’t blow your own trumpet too hard,” Lambert snides back, though there’s no heat to his voice, “might end up dying from asphyxiation.”

“Hmm. Can’t let that happen. Who else would set ya straight if not me, lil wolf?” 

Lambert bites back a snort at the comment, because what Eskel is suggesting implies that he’s the one in charge when they’re sharing a bed. More often than not, the opposite is true, but Lambert decides to let the comment slide for now. They both spurt on their horses just as the rain starts pouring down from the sky. The thunder spooks Lambert’s horse into almost rearing up, and were it not for Lambert’s quick reflexes which allow him to cast Axii right on time, Milo would’ve thrown Lambert out of his saddle.

“We need to find shelter,” Lambert has to shout so Eskel is able to hear him over the roaring of the thunder, “the horses are losing it!”

“Your horse is losing it!” Eskel roars in return, “I can see a cave entrance over there. Let’s go!”

They reach the cave despite the deluvian rain making it difficult for either of them to see, despite their enhanced senses. Milo is still under the influence of Axii, luckily, or the gelding might have actually bolted and gotten lost in the forest. By contrast, Scorpion is the picture of peaceful serenity, the fucking show-off. Figures that golden boy Eskel doesn’t settle for anything less than the golden boy of horses. Milo and Scorpion fit inside the cave, and almost instantly, Milo seeks the warmth and comfort of Eskel’s war horse. Lambert rolls his eyes fondly at his mount, but before he can work on untacking Milo, he feels two strong arms wrap around his waist and pull him flush against a broad chest. 

“Looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while,” Eskel breathes huskily in Lambert’s ear, “need to find a way to fill the time, hm?” 

Lambert turns around in the embrace and tilts his head to the side. There’s not much of a height difference between them, but if they want to split hairs, Eskel is perhaps several inches taller than Lambert. Eskel meets Lambert’s gaze again, and that fondly enamoured look is back, making Lambert’s heart flutter in his chest. Eskel is soaked, water trickling down his face and getting lost in the ridges of his scars. 

“Are ya gonna kiss me, or?” Eskel asks breathlessly, his hands securely framing Lambert’s hips. Lambert’s lips quirk into a smirk at the thinly veiled demand, and while he’s really tempted to deny Eskel his kiss and tease him a little more, Lambert can’t deny that he wants to taste his lover’s lips. 

So that’s exactly what he does. 

Eskel’s lips are wet, like Lambert’s, which admittedly doesn’t make for the best kiss, but it’s chaste and sweet, and soothing on Lambert’s soul. Eskel responds eagerly, his lips moving gently against Lambert’s. Before Eskel has a chance to deepen the kiss, however, Lambert feels his lover take a deep inhale and let out an impressive sneeze that resonates against the bare walls of the cave, spooking the horses in the process. 

“Great,” Lambert grouses, scrunching his nose up in disgust, “thanks for that. Sneezing in my face, you dickhead.” 

“It’s not like I meant for it to happen,” Eskel retorts, his tone turning defensive, “was an accident.” 

“You’re a fucking witcher, Eskel! We don’t fucking sneeze!”

“We’re not statues, Lambert! Our nostrils can get irritated, too. Geralt was allergic to pollen before the trials, he still sneezes when he’s too close to a field in the summer.” 

Lambert snorts in response to that revelation, even though he tries hard not to, but the thought of the famous White Wolf having a sneezing fit while trying to fight off a royal griffin is just too good not to laugh at. Lambert puffs his cheeks, trapping his laughter before it has a chance to tumble past his lips. Eskel levels him with a look, though Lambert notices the way scarred lips twitch into a half-smirk. 

“Stop that! It’s not funny,” Eskel chastises, biting back his own snort. 

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, my dear Eskel. Let me tell you exactly why this is fucking hilar-”

Lambert doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before scarred lips cover his mouth once again, catching him off guard as Eskel kisses him breathless. Lambert melts under the ministrations, and soon enough, all thoughts of Geralt and his strange bodily reactions to pollen leave his mind as Lambert focuses wholeheartedly on the feeling of Eskel’s lips against his. 

The rain is still pouring outside, but there’s no place Lambert would rather be than in this cave, wrapped up in Eskel’s strong and warm arms. 

[mordoriscalling]

48 Weeks (4/4)

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Throughout the 48 weeks that Geralt and Jaskier spend apart, their relationship develops.

Aka, part 3 of the Singer and the Sailor AU no one asked for but I wrote anyway. The events of this story happen after Stay or Sail Away but before Homecoming.

Weeks 37-48

Week 37

“I think I’m gonna write a book,” Jaskier announces.

“What about?”

“I’m not sure.”

Geralt snorts.

“I definitely have a story in me to tell,” Jaskier says defensively, “I can feel it. My music is about stories too, but I’m not ready to write a book yet.”

“When you think you’ll be ready?”

Jaskier smiles in a way that doesn’t bode well. “Maybe after my dear White Wolf tells me of all his sea adventures.”

Geralt does not like the implications of this. “No.”

“Geralt!” Jaskier whines, “You wound me! First you bewitch me body and soul, and now–”

“Don’t quote Pride and Prejudice at me, it’s not working.”

Jaskier pouts. “At least one little story? Pretty please?”

Geralt sighs. He still hasn’t learned to deny Jaskier anything.

Week 38

“I know this is a weird question but... is Eskel straight?”

Geralt feels a chill down to his very bones. “What?”

“I just... need this information. I don’t want to jinx it so I won’t say anything more for now.”

Geralt clenches his jaw. Eskel’s only two months older than him and in some ways, the two of them are all too similar. “He isn’t”, Geralt answers, “he’s mostly into women but there’re some men who catch his eye.”

Jaskier smiles like a cat that got all the cream. “That’s fantastic.”

Geralt grips the phone so hard his knuckle go white. “Indeed,” he grinds out.

Jakier’s face falls. “Geralt, what’s–”

“Have to go.”

He hangs up without another word and tries not to let this hurt him. He did see this coming. Yet, all the moments he and Jaskier shared, all the songs Jaskier sent him, everything of this is right there, painful like hell.

He misses home more than ever.

Week 39

“Geralt, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

Geralt doesn’t want to. He didn’t reply to any of Jaskier’s frantic texts since the last video call. He only sent a message about when he would be able to talk this week and sure enough, Jaskier called at that time. Geralt wishes he didn’t. He wishes Jaskier just left already.

“Not bored of me yet?” he asks bitingly, all the bitterness of the past week coming up to the surface again.

Jaskier blinks. “I don’t understand.”

That angers Geralt even more. It’s not that hard to understand that he’s fucking hurt. “Stop fucking playing with me,” he growls, “Just say you want Eskel and leave me the fuck alone.”

“What.”

“You seemed happy to hear that he’s into guys,” Geralt answers, “so fuck off and go to him.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen. “Oh gods,” he says, then starts laughing.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” Geralt spats, furious now. Rejection is bad enough but ridicule is so much worse than that.

Jaskier stops giggling abruptly. “Oh no. I hurt you.”

Geralt grits his teeth and doesn’t reply.

“I’m so, so sorry.” The look in Jaskier’s eyes seems sincere. “I asked about Eskel’s sexuality because I have a plan to set him up with my friend Essi. I was happy to hear that he’s mostly into women because Essi is most definitely a woman, and a wonderful one at that. I’m trying to talk them into a blind date because I’m just sure they’d hit it off.”

Geralt suddenly feels like an idiot.

“I didn’t want to give you that impression,” Jaskier goes on, “I apologize, dearest. Eskel’s great but I love you.”

Geralt finds he can’t say it back today; Jaskier is too good for him. Instead, he musters an apology. Jaskier accepts and slowly, the tension between them eases, but the hurt lingers for some time.

Week 40

“Lambert is such a prick.”

Geralt huffs a laugh. “I see the first meeting went well.”

Lambert returned from his deployment a few days ago. Jaskier met him and Aiden yesterday.

“Well enough, I suppose,” Jaskier replies, “We called each other names but that was the fun part.”

Geralt chuckles. Jaskier rambles on about what’s going on back at home: Ciri's doing good at her piano lessons, Yennefer still tolerates Jaskier, Eskel and Essi have agreed to go out together. As Geralt listens to the cheerful chatter, his chest tightens.

Christmas is in two days. Spending the holiday on the ship isn’t bad – their celebration is almost like home – but Geralt hasn’t seen his loved ones in nine months. Usually, he would be on his way home around this time. Nine months is how long his deployments typically last. When they’re longer than that, being away from home starts getting unbearable again.

The sea can’t soothe him today.

Week 41

It’s their last video call of the year and Geralt wants to come clean.

“My hair used to be dark brown, even darker than yours.”

“Geralt, you really don’t have to–”

“But then in went white in a matter of a few weeks.”

Jaskier says nothing for a while. He looks unsure but Geralt waits for him to ask. Finally, he does. “What? How?”

“Blaviken.”

“Blaviken?”

Geralt swallows hard. His hands start sweating but he makes himself go on. “That was the name of the ship. I was twenty-seven, only a lieutenant. There was a sub-lieutenant there, Renfri. She and I... we had an affair, but we broke it off before we got deployed. During the deployment, she... she wanted to take revenge on one of the officers in command who harassed her in the past. She had a few of the guys on the ship on her side. They... took one crew member hostage, demanding the officer’s immediate resignation.”

“Holy fuck,” Jaskier breathes out.

Geralt’s heart is hammering in his chest. He forces himself to continue. “I was ordered to reason with Renfri but I didn’t succeed. She told her guys to attack me. I defended myself and knocked them out. Then Renfri attacked me herself because I ruined her revenge, and I...” He takes a deep breath and takes in Jaskier’s face for what he knows is possibly the last time. After drinking his fill, he looks away and confesses, “I hurt her too. Really badly. She never fully recovered and left the Navy the moment she could. I faced trial, it was a miracle I didn’t get expelled. People started calling me a Butcher and I was so fucking...” He trails off because his eyes are starting to prickle. The cruel disillusionment of that time – when he realised he would never be a hero after what he’d done – hits him all over again. It haunts him, even now, just like the way Renfri’s body went limp in his arms.

When he can speak again, he only adds, “After everything, my hair went white.”

He can’t even glance at Jaskier. A mixture of self-hatred, shame and remorse rises up his throat like bile. He listens to the ringing silence, waiting for Jaskier to finally say that it’s over.

Jaskier’s words are quiet and sorrowful, “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

It’s such a shock that Geralt can only stare. Jaskier’s eyes are brimming with compassion, which he never got from anyone but his family. No one else cared what truly happened on Blaviken. He was reduced to the Butcher, hated and feared. His infamy followed him like a shadow and Geralt wanted to out-run it more than he ever wanted anything in his life. And so, he worked himself to the ground to prove himself, then to keep his job because Ciri came into his life.

Eventually, he got promoted to lieutenant commander, then to commander three years ago. From the Butcher he became the White Wolf, known not for how he had hurt people but for how he cared about crew safety, demanding complete adherence to the rules. He’s now feared for his strictness, and it’s said that he could even become a Royal Navy captain.

Yet, Geralt noticed that he'd started drifting away from his family, especially Ciri, he slowly understood that enough was enough. The sea is what Geralt knows and finds solace in, but he wouldn’t be where he is now without the support of his loved ones. He’s been choosing the sea over them for long enough. 

And now, somehow, Jaskier has become one of them. It’s irrational and too quick but Jaskier tells him he loves him even when he knows about Blaviken. Geralt decides he wants to keep him in his life indefinitely.

Week 42

“Happy New Year, my love.”

“Happy New Year,” Geralt replies, a smile tugging at his lips. He’s sure the year will be happy, with Jaskier there.

“I have a song for you,” Jaskier says, “to kick this year off with something good. It’s just... what I wish for us.”

“Something good” doesn’t begin to cover it. The song is slow and sensual, and it speaks of being in love. Of Jaskier being in love with him, loving and admiring him despite and because of knowing him well. Geralt listens to the song on repeat until he dreams of it, wishing that it was true.

He suspects that Jaskier has a wrong idea of him – an ideal which he won’t be able to live up to once he comes back. There’s a good chance that he’ll let Jaskier down and what they have won’t last.

And yet, he’s selfish and wants it to be real.

Week 43

Jaskier turns thirty-six today and Geralt has only one thing to say.

“I wish this too, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s smile is watery and beautiful. “Happy birthday to me, indeed.”

Week 44

“Ciri keeps talking about that boy –”

“What boy?”

“You know, the new one in her class? Dara?” Jaskier looks at him expectantly. After a moment, the name rings a bell. He nods and Jaskier goes on, “I think she likes him.”

Geralt freezes. “Likes him?”

“Well, not likes him likes him but... they’re attached at the hip already. It’s great to see her make a friend like that, you know.”

Geralt hums in understanding. Ciri is friendly but other children are a bit hard on her. Many teachers are fond of her and the kids are jealous, thinking that it’s because Ciri’s parents are of high status. Ciri did earn her position as the favourite but it is true that no teacher would want to get into the black boots of a high-ranking government official and a Royal Navy commander. Now, Jaskier entering Ciri’s life only added fuel to fire in this aspect.

Sometimes Geralt thinks he shouldn’t have fought Yennefer tooth and nail when she wanted to send Ciri to the poshest school they could afford at the time. Geralt didn’t want his daughter to grow up in that environment but Yennefer wanted her to receive a top-quality education. In the end, Ciri went to a state school with high educational standards, but when the problem with other kids’ treatment of her appeared a few years later, Geralt regretted his stubbornness.

At least Ciri has always taken it in stride. She’s even more stubborn than he was, refusing to let it get to her, and Geralt adores her for it. It’s a relief, though, that she’s finally made a close friend.

“Thank you for looking out for her,” he tells Jaskier.

“Honestly, Geralt, I’m honoured that you allow me to do it. Yennefer would never let me.”

Geralt chuckles. “She wouldn’t.”

“And yet, despite her clear disdain of me, I’m starting to like that witch-bitch.” Jaskier sighs dramatically. “Alas, it appears she’s actually admirable and has a good taste in everything. Especially men.”

Geralt rolls his eyes.

Week 45

“Essi and Eskel are now a couple!” Jaskier exclaims excitedly in lieu of greeting.

“That was... fast.”

“That’s because they’re a perfect match!” Jaskier boasts with a grin, “I knew exactly what I was doing, I’m one of the best matchmakers out there.”

“What does it make Lambert?” Geralt asks.

“What do you mean?”

“He did matchmake you. With me.”

Geralt can clearly see the moment the realisation hits Jaskier.

“God-fucking-dammit, I’ve been bested!” he laments, "By fucking Lambert!”

Geralt quickly regrets pointing that out. Jaskier refuses to shut up about it.

Week 46

It’s Geralt’s forty-first birthday. The crew sang him happy birthday to his utter disgust, at which the fuckers were delighted, and now it seems that yet another person wants to celebrate his existence.

“I have a gift for you, love,” Jaskier says with a smile.

He props the phone against what Geralt assumes to be the music rack. When Jaskier sits down, Geralt gets a great view of his face as he starts playing.

The slow piano melody entrances Geralt at once. After some time, Jaskier starts singing, his voice low and soothing. The song is full of gentle, loving, grand promises. Geralt’s breath is taken away as he watches Jaskier sway to the music with his eyes closed, basked in the afternoon sunlight, looking like a creature from another world.

All the songs Jaskier’s written for him speak of such a strong feeling that Geralt is afraid to reach for it when he returns. If it were to crash and burn, the disaster would be spectacular. All his previous relationships ended badly; he knows he should be cautious.

And yet, Jaskier lures him in. He’s bright and full of life, ridiculous and annoying, warm but sharp. Jaskier feels like safety, he has from the start. And so, Geralt lets himself have this.

“Siren,” he murmurs after the last notes of the song die down, “thank you. It’s a beautiful gift. You are a gift.”

“Godness, Geralt,” Jaskier breathes out, “don’t say such things.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t be responsible for my actions when I hear you say something like that.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to hold back,” Geralt replies, “You are a gift.”

Jaskier’s gaze darkens. “Just you wait, Geralt Rivia,” he says huskily, “the things I’m going to do to you–”

Week 47

“All right, young lady, time to show off!”

Jaskier angles his phone so that the camera shows both him and Ciri as they sit by the piano in his house. Ciri smiles at Geralt and waves in greeting. Geralt smiles back, giving her an encouraging nod, and she places her fingers on the keys.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and everyone in-between and outside of that spectrum,” Jaskier says in an announcer voice, “I present to you Cirilla Vengeberg-Rivia, who will play Chopsticks for this esteemed audience!”

Ciri snickers and then begins. She plays slowly, yet to Geralt’s untrained ear, she keeps the rhythm and doesn’t miss any notes. The song lasts only a minute or two but Geralt is still very proud of her.

“Good job, Cub,” he tells her, making her smile.

“Indeed!” Jaskier seconds, “You’re a talent, sweetheart.”

“Maybe I got it from dad,” Ciri jokes.

The joke warms him to his very core but he snorts because the very notion is beyond ridiculous. “I wouldn’t be able to play well if my life depended on it.”

“Have you tried, though?” Jaskier asks with a smirk that bodes trouble.

Ciri grins like a brat she is. “We could learn together, dad.”

“A splendid idea, Ciri!” Jaskier exclaims. “Now, how can we talk your dad into it?”

Geralt faces two pairs of bright eyes and matching mischievous smiles, and he knows he can’t say no.

Week 48

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe it.” Jaskier lets out a small laugh. “Am I dreaming? Just... it’s been so long.”

“Hmm.”

They don’t talk much, only smile at each other. Geralt can almost sense Jaskier’s excitement through the screen, and he shares the feeling.

Tomorrow, he returns to his family. Very soon, finally, he comes back home.

To Jaskier.

*** 

A/N: Thank you for reading! If you’d like to revisit this fic as a whole, you can do so on AO3. 

The list of "Jaskier's" songs in this fic: Vor í Vaglaskógi by KALEO Movement by Hozier Wish That You Were Here by Florence + The Machine Pass Them By by Agnes Obel Muddy Waters by LP Venus by Sleeping At Last Coming Home, Pt. II by Skylar Grey Angels by the xx I Hold You by CLANN

It would be... a hell of an album.

[chipchopclipclop]

Any ships for the Witcher?

I GOT ALOT

this WAS under a readmore BC TUMBLR LIKES TO BREAK WHEN YOU EDIT ASKS I GUESS bc it started to get embarrassingly long but im pretty much a multi shipper in any fandom or thing im into but also especially with geralt if hes involved bc i like to hc him as being in love with like…80 percent of the people he knows and is a hashtag #openrelationship king bc the way this game treats him being weirdly exclusive annoys the fuck out of me we, live in our city now.

geralt is involved

Geralt/Dandelion - ouch my dick ouch my balls the original brain dick pounding. I pretty much like any iteration of them with each other but no show geralt bc game geralt is superior in every way 2 me (PERSONAL PREF PLS NO FLAME (him with no beard is fucked up also)) i usually dont like the pair though if people depict dandy as some… naive pure waif or some such…. this man is a hoe and stupid through and through dont overlook this. its important.

I am also actually am a sucker for geralt singing his praises quietly fr no goddamn reason aside from hes infatuated with him and getting weirdly defensive about him and everyone else around him is just like. Christ. this is influenced by me never being able to pick the bully options when i was playing w3 ( i am whipped)

Geralt/Eskel/Lambert - soon as i knew they were more wolf witchers my brain entered a state of superflux. which means i followed them around making mooney eyes constantly, Im more fond of Geralt/Eskel leg of this ot3 bc they have such. old married couple energy and i am in love with Eskel but i love and respect our king lambert as well and he deserves a good ramming, DONT WE ALL? I REST MY CASE.

i also like to think like geralt, the two are pretty open relationship wise by nature tho i could say this about any of these characters bc i like poly hawhaw but something about witchers being seen as unemotional and unfeeling but these guys just having alot of love to give to each other and with others…poetry 😔

Geralt/Yennefer - i have complicated feelings on this pairing bc the show confounded me in how it happened and then it felt so faking weird in w3 bc of all the weird jealousy love triangle stuff i was forced to sit through as well as yen p much just calling me a dumbass donkey every hour before being like alright. time to fuck randomly. and it was executed bad. i didn’t like it and it was bad.

BUT. the potential here is still good and i like a cagey yennefer who finds it hard to trust opening up more slowly to geralt bc hes just like. straightforward…. i think their convo on the boat was kind of cute too… i think i just am really not into the THEY’RE TIED BY DESTINY TO EACH OTHER. LIKE. LITERALLY. aspect of their relationship especially when they seem to clash to hard against it. when she broke the wish with the djinn though and they were acting sweet with each other it made me kinda 🥺 uhu…. my goth wife….

i also dont mind these two deciding they work better together platonically as well though and being like, chummy exes lolol the ribbing that would entail…

Geralt/Yennefer/Dandelion - i think aqua gave me the idea for this but i am tickled by the thought of Dandelion landing himself TWO powerful beau’s who will step in to defend him from the stupid shite he gets himself into 24/7. Yennefer walking in front of him while he gets cussed out by someone just saying “Is there a problem?” smiling menacingly… does that not fuck…. i say it does !

i think her and dandelion’s relationship is just…..very funny and not dramatic so its very fun to think about even romantically. and also geralt is there and plays the beleaguered straight man.

Geralt/Regis - i am putting this here even if i have not finished blood and wine yet bc oh my godddddddddddddddddddddddddddd [smacks head with rock] also my first interaction with w3 was watching a friend play one of his quests with another friend and and all three of us go mad bc we were like IS THIS MEANT TO BE DRIPPING WITH SEXUAL TENSION AND INNUENDO. WHAT IS GOING ON. ARE WE LOSING IT. HELLO. we all deserve a big word speaking vampire boyfriend

Keira/Geralt - they are cute…. i dont need to defend myself….her being so pompous around him is so funny 2 me

Geralt/Zoltan - i like zoltan okay, actually these two have similar retired dad energy but zoltan is the one who makes them go out for date night still

Geralt/Zoltan/Dandelion - i am thinking about it i am thinking about it

edit: Yennefer/Eskel/Geralt/Lambert - poki put this idea in my head just now GEE YENNEFER HOW COME YOUR MOM LETS YOU SMASH THREE WITCHERS?

not geralt centric

Triss/Yennefer - oh my god they were schoolmates.png and yenn calling triss her best friend made me go hmmmghhh 🥺 also im sick of this series being like oh no my best friend slept with my boyfriend, DRAMA! they are also dating okay shut up #lovewins, i need to intake more witcher content to further solidify these two as a pair in my head but its on the agenda. i am looking. i am watching. WAITING.

Eskel/Dandelion - take my faves and smack them together like barbie dolls also dandelion having a type thats just - witcher is comedy gold on top of that? eskel being flattered a pretty dude like this is into him…cute

Ciri/That One Readhead Girl Whose Name I Forgot - you know in the quest where ciri asks you to come around with her in novigrad and help thank the people who helped her and one was the cute barmaid with freckles, they were so cute what the fuck it lasted all of 5 minutes and i cant stop thinking about it, ciri’s government assigned girlfriend (i am the government)

Regis/Dandelion - when i was walking around his sick basement in w3 he had a book that dandelion has written about him in there… and all it said was nice things… and regis kept it in clear view? much to consider… thinking on this….

Priscilla/Dandelion - these two…surprisingly wholesome… also god i love bards. i dont think about the end of the quest where she gets owned for no reason they’re just faking chilling in novigrad making bank. ALSO i still cant believe these two dont come with you when you’re forming the avengers crew to defend kaer morhen how r they gonna write about it if they arent there !!!!!!! let them sit in the rafters and throw bombs conspiratorially !!!!! smh !!!!!

Priscilla/Yennefer - think pris having a hero crush on yennefer is very cute… she meets her for the first time and her thoughts r just oh god shes even prettier than the song said she was [brain explodes into mush] also her singing about her when geralt rocks up dare i say gay activity ?

Keira/Lambert - find it very funny w3 was like ‘and then keira decided to pick up lambert to roam around with her like he’s some weird fucking stray cat whos hair she likes to fuss over’ also lambert being forced to behave around her scholarly friends lmfao

Dandelion/Everyone okay - this man be fucking

[generic-fandom-name]

A small ficlet I wrote for my friends OC in the witcher world set at Kaer morhen with a young Geralt, I've attached the sketch I did of it a while ago too :) I used pinterest references

Geralt needed a moment of peace.

Kaer morhen was loud. Voices echo through endless corridors and crumbling walls, even the clang of swords in training was grating to Geralts ears. it was going to be a long winter.

Made even longer by listening to Lambert and Vesimir have another "heated" discussion over their evening meal. He turned to Eskel who seemed content in concentrating on the warm stew.

With a heavy gruff, geralt left striding to the great doors of the entrance hall. He needed silence but allowing the door to slam behind him offers a small victory.

Taking a deep breath he makes his way down the steep path away from the crumbling citadel. The warn gravel walk only illuminated by the half moon when it broke through the winter clouds. No matter, Geralt can walk his way blind folded and backwards.

The walk to the bastion is steep, deceptively so. Geralt often forgets this lug of a walk, but the winter night keeps his skin cool and him mind alert. He halts at the ancient entrance, sword pulled slowly from its hilt, removing wraiths is a temporary chaos that Geralt is happy to oblige to find more peace.

Slowly he makes his way further into the ruin, ears pricked and yrden sign half formed on his left hand. But no wraith can be heard, and yet, his medallion hums.

He reaches the collapsed stone staircase when he hears the soft melody of a female voice, he cannot make out the words only the soft rhythm. Slowly he descends to what once was the lower ground floor. The vibrations of magic filling the air. He grips his sword tighter until his knuckles ring white. A few metres ahead is a young woman, swaying to her own melody, a magpie on her shoulder and Robin in her outstretched hand, she sings softly to the little bird as it tweets in time.

She shines, the moon illuminating her bright silks and small jacket. It is something Geralt has never seen in his travels~ he

The magpie caws, the singing stops. Geralt is frozen to the spot when the woman turns her attention to him. Her smile sends shivers down Geralts neck, it is a smile he has never experienced until now, a smile of pure joy as if all that matters is the person it is meant for. His grip falters and he sword grows heavy.

The woman bunches up the mass of fabric of her skirt in her arms, revealing silken socks, and polished shoes. She is running towards him, her smile growing bigger and her arms outstretched. Geralt raises his sword and takes a defensive stance. She stops. His blade inches from her jacket fabric.

"Geralt!" She beams. She moves swiftly around him, until she is behind him. Geralt curses to himself, _never let anyone face your back_

"What are you? You are trespassing on the witchers land. I suggest you leave before this sword is between your ribs." He growls and puffs as he turns to meet the woman head on.

"I cannot control where I land, geralt!" She jumps back when he turns. "You really shouldn't be moving so quickly with a weapon like that. You nearly got my ribbon." A small pout pulls on her lips but the humour never leaves her eyes and she lowers herself to the floor. Slowly Geralt Sheaves his sword, she may possess magic but his gut is telling him she is no threat. Yet.

He looks down at her, as she looks up. He can feel her gazing penetrating his, geralt is the first to turn away focusing on making his way to kneel by her.

"You look so young Geralt, how old are you?"

"You speak as if you know me."

"I do! But it seems you do not know me yet. Time is a funny thing don't you think?" She reaches one hand up into the air as if trying to catch the moon.

Geralt clears this throat and suddenly her attention is back on him."Your clothes... are like nothing I have ever seen."

Her head drops and her hands pull against her jacket. "This old thing!? I dont know why I am dressed like this either, but it happens each time. I think it makes me look more...mysterious."

Geralt nods ever so slightly in silent agreement. He looks away once more, her expressions and movements are so very unsettling, something he is not used to.

"Whe-" he looks back and the space beside him is empty. He is quick to his feet sword drawn in an instant and nose flared to pick up a scent, but his medallion lays silent now. His eyes fall upon Vesimir who stood at the top of the stairs.

"I see you have met the magpie." Vesimir makes his way down the broken steps until he is at Geralts side. "She is as ancient as time itself, stories of her from every corner of our world. With her comes luck and destiny. She is woven into your life it seems." Vesimir offers a strong pat on geralts shoulders as he guides his student back out of the ruined bastion.

Geralt's ears pick up the hint of a shout, as if it is passing through world to meet him " it's not destiny! I just like you!"

[lookoutrogue]

that said lambert IS the only trainee bullheaded enough to take a dare like that and he probably ends up vomiting all over the place and missing a week of training because he's not a full witcher yet 'voltehre dared him to eat a drowner' geralt says apologetically when he drops him off with the healer 'you're STILL eating drowners in front of trainees' vesemir sighs 'in my defense it was eskel this time and it's really funny' vesemir doesn't say anything because eating weird shit IS sort of an unofficial rite of passage for the trainees they're going to have to make it on their own in the wild and they can't be squeamish about meat or potions and. it is. really goddamn funny even if not to vesemir

^ @laurelnose​

YES!

Just Vesemir being resigned to these two scaring the crap out of the trainees every year. He probably let it slide because he never thought any of the trainees would actually copy them, though, because no one has before Lambert.

Poor Lambert, probably always falls for those dares. He’s just too stubborn to say no.

[lays on floor] my favorite game at marine field stations is “say increasingly implausible facts about the animals you’re bringing up and watch students’ faces squinch up as they try to figure out if you’re joking or not” and i can’t stop picturing Worst TAs Ever Geralt and Eskel elbow-deep in drowner corpses harvesting alchemy ingredients with a pack of trainees and geralt pauses and is offhandedly like “you can get drunk eating drowner flesh if you don’t prep it right, yanno”

trainees: that can’t be true. no one eats drowner flesh

eskel: nah, they eat them in skellige sometimes. it’s not drunkenness, geralt, it’s oxide poisoning.

geralt: d’yaeblen drunk, they call it.

trainees: *look to eskel like he’s going to be the sensible one in this madness*

eskel: *casually carving out a strip of muscle* anyways it doesn’t affect us.

geralt: *stifling laughter*

eskel: we witchers can eat drowners raw if we’re desperate. decent fallback if you get stiffed on payment and can’t afford food. *slurps down the drowner meat raw in front of god and everyone*

trainees: !?!!??!!??!!