#Geralt/Regis

[saltysalmonella]

[lilli-eyr]

old men brainrot

[sadfransisko]

Netflix Regis and Geralt if they were in Blood & Wine!

[aroshi-wish]

Thinking about how Geralt likes to see Regis smile with his sharp teeth exposed because it means the vampire trusts him, and what things would inspire the same feelings for Regis. Like not flinching when he leans in close, or baring his neck to him without fear, or simply sleeping in his proximity.

[reinvent-and-believe]

Trick or Treat!!!

2 Geralt x Regis

2. ghost

ooooh, you picked one of the halloween-themed prompts! this is situated somewhere vaguely post-books/pre-blood and wine. happy halloween! 👻

—

Wraiths exist. Geralt’s dispensed with enough of them to know that better than most. Noonwraiths and nightwraiths and dozens of other spectral incarnations, all miserable, pitiable, dangerous creatures.

But ghosts? The essence of a person’s spirit, not broken and distorted beyond recognition but simply lingering, clinging to loved ones or providing comfort, signs, communication from beyond the grave? No. Those ghosts exist in only Dandelion’s songs, pretty tales to disguise ugly truth.

No, Geralt doesn’t believe in ghosts. But the autumn breeze in Metinna carries wormwood and sage and coriander and anise as it smooths over his skin like a caress, blows through his hair, surrounds him and fills his lungs.

Geralt doesn’t believe in ghosts, but wandering the streets of Oxenfurt, he hears a wry, pedantic voice in the distance lecturing about ethics and philosophy and history and the properties of wolfsbane. There’s no end to pompous men with wry, pedantic voices in Oxenfurt, but no matter how long he looks, he never finds that voice.

Geralt doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he takes a bite of soup at an inn in Kaedwen, and tastes silver bream and celery and onion, and he closes his eyes, lets the warmth from the soup heat every bit of him except the longing trapped beneath his ribs.

Geralt doesn’t believe in ghosts, but as he’s drifting to sleep in front of a small fire in a forest clearing not far from the Chotla, he feels a gentle pressure like a lover’s hand against his chest, then cold, careful fingers brushing his hair out of his face. When he opens his eyes, he’s alone. He closes them again, hoping against hope to feel it again.

He doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he sees Regis out of the corner of his eye in Metinna, in Oxenfurt, in Kaedwen, near the Chotla. Glimpses him in crowds and alone in the woods, a league away and just beside him, just a fleeting flash of grey hair and sharp black eyes.

Geralt doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he feels him, nonetheless.

[sebdoeswords]

FINAL CHAPTER

On February 10th 2020, 1323 days ago (before even the pandemic), I opened a brand new Word document titled “so im writing a thing”. Later on, that document would be retitled to “All Was Golden”. This was my first ever Witcher fic, predating even “Woe”, the first one I ever posted on this account.

On July 27th 2021, I finished the first draft of that project, now finally called “To Pluck Wild Mountain Thyme”. At that time it came in at 408,191 words spread over 1196 A4 pages. That’s a daily average of 766 words written. Over the course of writing that first draft I listened to Sarah Calderwood’s cover of “Wild Mountain Thyme” 4,700 times.

After months of revision, on March 21st 2022 I posted the first chapter of 115 (a fact multiple people have expressed excitement, disbelief, and concern for my mental wellbeing over) to a resounding response of support and excitement. Today, eighteen months later, on September 25th 2023, I’m posting the last chapter of this behemoth. It has been a journey, to say the least, but I am glad I took it. Thank you for taking it with me.

[pinkatron]

Hello all I am back on my buklshit again coming to you with a steaming hot and fresh new Witcher story which takes place in the continent's future!

Fic preview:

The city was alive. Really, that’s all one could say about it and one could barely say that on the best of days. Fall rains which had been blanketing the coast of Bremervoord for nearly two weeks, had finally begun to let up. But once it had let up, fog and smog filled the already tar dyed cobblestones which lined the main road leading into the city center. Every house was burning coal and the result was a toxic miasma, which was being held close to the ground.

People rushed to-and-fro, even during this late hour. Houses would open, laughter and music would pierce the veil of fog and bright light would flood the streets for a moment as a couple quickly left, scurrying into one of the waiting carriage taxis like rats. The taxis, often with lame horses foaming at the mouth, would rush into the fog, taking their occupants to parts unknown without a care for who or what may be in their way. Several times, the sounds of the city were broken by the shrill screaming of humans and horses, followed by the sound of gunshots. The smell of horse blood was thick in the air too as carts hauled by mules would pick up the unfortunate beasts and cart them to less than savory places to be pieced out and sold or utilized to make glue and ink.

Electric lights lined the main road, their warm buzzing bulbs providing another sound which made the city seem even more unbearable to those who would avoid it if they could. They stood proudly beside the oil lanterns and the listless men who lit the lamps looked to them in fear of the jobs they would soon lose.

The world was changing. It always was.

The sound of steel horseshoes on cobblestone was not unusual in the city at night, but a singular rider, draped in a thick oiled wool cloak quieted the noise. Men and women looked on to the rider, who looked as a specter of death, riding silently as carriages rushed around him with shouted words.

He truly was a specter of death, for who could imagine one such as he could still be alive, still be riding even though he was born nearly three hundred and fifty years ago? His eyes, glowing golden, were hidden behind dark spectacles. They stared forwards, as ladies clung to their friends and pointed, before coughing and hurrying to find themselves back through their windows and into their houses.

It used to be, in times past, he would enter a city and he would run the risk of either being stoned or challenged. But these days, people didn’t know of his kind like they used to. These days works of historical fact were looked upon  as fiction and the idea that something like him could have ever existed was told to young boys and girls with an air of glory. He was a hero in the stories, always. He died a hero in those stories too.

But Geralt of Rivia had not died. He had lived and so too had the rest of his caste.

[unknownmusing]

The Witcher Fanstory - Ioroche Fic: 'Will Always be there to Save One no Matter What Happens' - (Part 1 of ?)

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Notes:

A 'what if' fic where Vernon is captured before getting back to the Kaer Morhen Keep by Imlerith and taken back to Tir ná Lia (Aen Elle homeworld)

Vernon is a half-elf from the Royal Bloodline of Half-Elves

Iorveth/Roche relationship

CW: Slight dark themes in this with some mild references to gore and violence (Eredin forces Geralt to drink Unicorn blood), recovering from injuries ascertained and unwanted advances

For @chamotea, @apastandfuturenerd, @altebar and other Ioroche shippers out there

------------------------

PART 1 - 'Captured and in the Enemy's Grasp'

The clashing of steel against steel, the constant stream of the soldiers of the Wild Hunt attacking the keep of Kaer Morhen seems relentless as Vernon, scrambles his way through half-destroyed walls, broken crates and tears in the earth due to just the sheer power of the King of the Wild Hunt's powers, nearly reaching the gate of the fort when out of nowhere something slams into the side of him.

He goes flying hitting going through a gap in a stone-wall to hit another one where his head harshly smacks against it that slides down into crumpled heap to one side, heavily dazed by the impact with every sound around him muffling to a faint din.

Trying to lift himself, his elbows shake in the effort, Vernon collapses back down with vision fading in and out focus fast that the last sight he sees is off a large armoured elf bearing a mace approaching before sinks into unconcious state. Remembering nothing thereafter.

------------------

It's a strange sense he's not in Kaer Morhen that makes Vernon flutter his eyes open weakly groaning in agony at the pain radiating still from the head-wound he ascertained - fragments of what happened come in, but quickly dissolve away like sand through one's fingertips before he can grasp and fully make sense of them.

He remembers running to the gate of the fort, but afterwards it was all a blurred jumble mess which he cannot make sense of then a large booming noise startles him into awareness with his vision fully clearing to reveal he's in large bedchamber placed on large bed with soft see-through drapes hanging down from the cieling over the bed. More booming, followed by orders being shouted in Elvish that his all body shudders immediatly - just the tone of it was overwhelming - that he finds himself letting out deep mewling noise - something he cannot stop from happening - rubbing himself into the sheets of the bed where a scent of....an Alpha.....Elf.....begins to make him move them with the pillows to create a Nest.

His rational human side is screaming at him to stop and realising what is doing goes to stop himself when a presance behind him makes him turn to look over his shoulder straight at one of the Wild Hunt, but their name he doesn't know just that the pheromones coming off them are so much he sways slightly because of them. "Little Omega..." they purr out to him, indicating with their gauntled hand for him to approach and gulping down saliva which has built up Vernon pads over to edge of the Nest he created using the large bed's sheets and pillows plus fur blankets to outline it.  Vernon keeps his head lowered down not wanting to look up at the large elf - Imlerith - he had found out when the memory of being knocked out by large mace had come flooding back, who stands near the edge of the bed sipping some wine, before places the goblet down on small circular table. "I see your confused." Imlerith says to Vernon, who flinches when gauntled hand reaches out for him - he can see it has specks of crimson flowers are still on it - that scrambles out of the makeshift Nest, grabbing a dagger placed on the table to hold it in front of him indicating to the large elf not come towards him.

"What do you want with me?!!!" He stammers out - his voice breaking with fear and horror, because he heard from Geralt the worst of the Wild Hunt was Eredin's Second-in-Command Imlerith, Slayer of Tulic - a Great Unicorn and the oldest of the Unicorn Clan who fought in vain to save his people only to be slain during the Battle of Frost and Horn as it was called in tales referring to how the unicorns gored the ranks of Eredin's Army and Eredin's Army used Frost against them. The large elf says nothing, just in few steps comes over to him to grab hold of his hand holding the dagger by the wrist tightening the gauntled hand around to make Vernon drop it then indicates to his other gauntled hand, forcing Vernon to look fearfully at it - Was he being asked to do what he think the large elf was asking him? - then shuddering leans forward to begin cleaning the gauntled hand of the crimson splatters and god knows what else.

"It's his blood you know. Manage to get me good for being a Leader of the Scoia'tael, but let's just say....he underestimated me. He will not be coming back, Vernon, my sweet little Omega." Imlerith smirks down at him, taking hold of Vernon's chin when he pulls back with widened eyes - the large elf had to be lying to him about Iorveth, there was no way he would go down like that.

"You're lying to me!!!? Iorveth would never.....!!!?" Vernon begins to argue back, only to cut himself off, trembling so much that he nearly revealed to the enemy how close he was to Iorveth beginning to mutter. "Iorveth.....would....he...."

A growl comes from Imlerith, indicating for him to stop muttering under his breath, where he knows the large elf will want out of his armour so moving his hands - his other which been holding the dagger which now lays on the floor - to start slipping the armour off the large elf, even though his hands are shaking and fumble slightly in the process.

--------------------------

The corridors of King Eredin's palace are wide and vast, marble polished floors, tall spiralling pillars and gardens placed in different layered tiers where right in the centre is a large lake connecting to endless waterfall tumbling over the edge to the valley down below where large expanses of forest spread in all directions, mountainscapes towered above and yet, there is the strange stillness in the air that indicated the whole area had been once a happy place. Geralt, sitting kneeling on both knees beside Eredin - who is busy sitting at a table perusing some documents and occasionally taking sips of some deep rich wine or actually Unicorn blood - something so barbaric that he hated seeing the elf slaughtering remaining herds of Unicorns in the valley below for that sake. Vernon, he had overheard the other human Slaves had been taken as slave by Imlerith due to a certain reason that only Caranthir knew - and knowing that elf, it was no doubt due to Vernon's half-elf status and bloodline - when he been brought bound and gagged into the throne-room after having been captured. He had decided while Iorveth was in coma to try and rescue Vernon. Maybe been brash and too hot-headed rushing in on his own - but Vernon was his friend. So he could not abandon him to a fate of being slave for the rest of his life.

"You seem lost in thought, my White Wolf." Eredin saying, makes Geralt come back to the present moment at hand seeing the dark elf is looking down at him - those piercing, harsh cold eyes staring his - that he knows he must say something or will face intense punishment for not saying anything.

"A fleeting memory." Geralt tells Eredin, who he knows is not convinced by this. A hand comes up to turn his chin, followed the glass goblet filled with the unicorn blood to be placed against his lips, he knows he must drink it all - this was for the sake of not being harshly punished.

Opening his mouth, he allows the substance to be poured into it, with him gulping it down struggling when too much is poured it trickles down the sides of his lips until finally only few dregs remain in the glass which is taken away from his stained lips, while he wills himself not to sick it back up.

He must endure it.

"Good, White Wolf. No sicking it up, like before, remember." Eredin states, wiping a thumb over his lips to smear the unicorn blood over them smirking at how Geralt looks.

-------------------------------

"Come." Imlerith commands Vernon, checking the leather collar attached to a chain around his throat making him get up from his kneeling position on the floor to be lead out the large bed-chamber, passing by other servants who stop and bow their heads low - their frightened gazes telling him that the dark elf sent wave of terror through them that no-one dare disobey him.

Vernon, sticking close to his 'Master' or 'Alpha' shudders at the coldness radiating in the hallway of the palace and also the fact that he's wearing nothing but chemise-lace Slave clothing which did nothing to keep him warm or cover him that all he can do is bear being looked at by the dark elves' Lord and Ladies, who are either standing talking amongst themselves or heading to their own sleeping qaurters or other parts of the palace.

Reaching the gardens, he notices under a large stone-carved temple-like structure sits a figure in ornate throne near a circular table with another person kneeling beside them on a pillow - the silvery-white hair shaved slightly at the temples and short ponytail, minus his beard - that Vernon, lets out a gasp of his name when Imlerith, brings him up to the two people recognising Geralt, who looks equally shocked at his appearance.

"Oh, what's this. Does your Little Lily, now, my White Wolf, Imlerith?" the other dark elf purrs out, sending shivers up and down Vernon's body he immediatly grips the nearest thing closest to him - Imlerith's arm - trying to hide himself from the gaze, which feels like could render his soul in half. 

This elf was dangerous, highly dangerous that he worries if Iorveth - if he is still alive - were to fight them he might not survive at all. 

Imlerith gives out chuckle, moving to sit down across from the other dark elf indicating Vernon to kneel on the pillow beside it which at first because still frightened steps backwards shaking his head from side to side which makes a large hand grab his chin forcing him to look into Imlerith's amber eyes knowing he must obey that gulping down saliva moves to the pillow to kneel down in same position Geralt is in.

"Good, little Omega." Imlerith purrs out, settling in the other throne-like ornate chair to begin talking to the other dark elf, who he overhears is called Eredin, King of the Wild Hunt and can feel is paying particularly interest in him everytime Imlerith, discusses the results Caranthir Ar-Feiniel had made of him especially the fact Vernon Roche is a Half-elf Omega from a Royal Bloodline of Royal Half-Elves.

Vernon, flicks his gaze over to Geralt, who moves to crawl over to him on his hands and knees where remembers a servant Slave had told him that Slaves could greet each-other in the presance of their Masters.

But anything further like discussing escape or even trying to escape or even speaking without their Master's presance would result in punishment - with the Witcher, nuzzling his cheek to reassure him everythings going be alright he turns to nuzzle back to hide his tears forming in his eyes.

---------------------

[witcherrarepaircommentexchange]

ship:

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy

fic:

Weather the Storm by SebDoesWords

Geralt sighed and felt his body relax, all the tension flowing from him. He felt he could fall asleep right then and there, but first it was the prickling warmth seeping back into his limbs that kept him awake, and then the sounds that surrounded them. Geralt couldn’t say he was especially surprised, given that they were in a brothel, but the coupling in the other rooms actually managed to be audible to his enhanced senses over the storm outside. And with how vocal some of the voices were, Geralt couldn’t help but imagine some things.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

My entry for the @witcherficwriters event “Witcher Writers Winter Gift Exchange 2022″, for @timelesstragedy

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Pining, Whump, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, contains a bit of blood and mentioning of a broken bone, Friends to Lovers, Wasted years, Hurt/Comfort, unrequited love (is it though?) 

Summary:

When Regis unexpectedly shows up at his door, it's like a glimpse into a past Geralt had tried to forget. But some memories are not so easy to bury – and sometimes, they mean a new beginning... 

Or: Geralt gets hurt, and Regis does not only provide comfort, but also a realization – the only question is, is it too late?

[saltysalmonella]

Regis took first watch that night and “accidentally” let Geralt sleep through his half of the night.

[loveaintforkeeping]

Rating: G

No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Geralt/Regis

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Injury Recovery, Getting Together

Word Count: 2k

Summary: A missing scene between Tesham Mutna and brewing the Resonance where Geralt helps get Regis home and start to recover. And maybe has a conversation about what exactly is happening between them.

[wolfsbane-and-nettles]

Finally finished Geralt’s back story!

---

“I mean, what have they been doing this whole time? We see them in passing only during meals and even then they’ve been taking their food and going away to discuss things. I thought wintering was supposed to be for relaxing and no work?” Clovis said, remembering what it used to be like.

“Times are changing,” sighed a melancholic Dettlaff who had appeared out of nowhere, making all the boys jump a little bit. He didn’t mist into the room, but he was still so lightfooted and swift that none of the boys realized he was there. “And tonight will be a marker for many changes,” he said with a tightly closed smile.

[thefandomlifechoseme]

@azures-grace dgdhhffhfgfhhr send help I've fallen down the Geralt/Regis rabbit hole I made the mistake of Crack Shipping Them at first and now I'm Actually Shipping Them

anyway this is giving me horrible terrible Geralt/Regis vibes I've not got grit in my eye shut up

[runandhide21]

Book Witcher stikers I did last month <3 VK | Instagram |

[sebdoeswords]

god i love geralt/regis so much. they deserve each other so so so much. someone who accepts them for who they are and doen't just nag at everything they do. someone they don't have to hide aspects of themselves from. someone they can trust despite or maybe even because of their natures. it's that monster/monster hunter dynamic that never misses. like oh yeah one of them was trained to hate the other and hunt and kill them. the other has learned to hide from the hunter, to stay undercover and to be wary of them. Yet they fall in love anyway and despite their instincts screaming at them not to, they sleep soundly in each other's arms. Yeah...