#Vesemir protects his sons

[eskelsgirl]

Labour?

(Title is still in the works) This is just a brief prologue. With an abrupt ending. Main pairing: Geraskier, Side pairings: Vesemir/Original Male Character, Eskel/Original Female character. Tags: Alpha/Omega/Beta au, canon divergence, arrange marriage -kind of? Vesemir looks down, unimpressed at the young omega at his feet, even less so at the omega’s beta ‘father’ that put him there. Male omegas were as rare as alpha females, unheard of but not impossible. The boy wasn’t a tiny thing like his omega; he was all limbs and about as tall as his oldest, with no hips to speak of. This wasn’t the first time men have tried to sell their unwanted children off to the witchers to pay their debts. But Vesemir already had enough pups and wasn’t looking for another.

“And what am I to do with him?” Vesemir asks, looking back up at the court. “He’s no child surprise, far too old for the mutations to take.” The beta growls a low warning, which is unimpressive, but Vesemir doesn’t allow the challenge to go unpunished. Growling back louder, a vicious snarl that sends the beta aback. A fraction of a movement caught Vesemir’s eyes: a young girl hanging off the skirts of her maid. The red swollen mark on her cheek would soon become a proper bruise. She was a timid thing, holding on to a well-cared-for doll. “She’ll do,” Vesemir says, his eyes narrowing on the girl. "She’ll make a fine playmate for my youngest.” “No!” The forgotten omega at his feet snaps, grasping Vesemir’s arm, pulling attention back onto him. “You will not touch her.” Cornflower blue meets harden amber, the first time Vesemir had seen the omega’s eyes full of defiance. The pieces clicked; maybe he would have a use for this omega after all. “Very well, then,” Vesemir shacks his arm out of the boy’s grasp. “I’ll take the omega off your hands, as well as his dowry.” “Dowry!” The beta yells, “Yes, if he is to mate one of my sons, a dowry is to be paid,” Vesemir explains, taking the time to now circle around the omega. “Then again, you are trying to cheat your way out of a 1,000 crown contract. You must not even have a dowry for your children.” A few snickers meet Vesemir’s ears, it seems someone else was enjoying the look of humiliation on the Lord’s face. After that, getting the dowry, a horse for the omega, and a bag of his belongings didn't take much convincing. “Go witcher.” The lord sneered, “Do not expect a warm welcome again.” —------- It was a long ride to where ever the Witcher alpha was taking him. While Jaskier was pleased to be away from his father, he will dearly miss his little sister and hope she will be safe without him there to protect her. The alpha didn’t speak much or at all, only deeming him worthy of conversation to command when to rest, eat, and water the horses. Jaskier wasn’t good at silence, so he spent most of the time lost in his head, humming songs or speaking softly to himself. He had made it through most of Hannelore Varidil’s epic poem, which he had memorized years ago. When they had stopped in a village outside of Kaedwen after weeks of camping outside, Jaskier was ready for a real bed, even if it was filled with straw. The Witcher dismounted effortlessly, while Jaskier still hadn’t mastered it. Once his feet touched solid ground, a young boy quickly gathered the reins in exchange for a few coins. “Come.” One-word commands. It seems that all the conversation Jaskier will ever have. Vesemir leads him to some form of market, stalls set up near two established buildings, the inn, and a tailor. Assuming they were heading for the inn, Jaskier didn’t think much but walked forward, only to be stopped by Vesemir. “Finally going to sell me then?” Jaskier couldn’t help the quip as it left his mouth. Then, he braced himself for a smack that never came, only a chuckle. “Not worth the hassle.” Vesemir answered, “They’ll probably arrest me for kidnapping.” “Fair. So what are we doing?” “Shopping.” Vesemir turned to the nearest stall, selling vegetables, and moved on before finding a traveling merchant with what he needed. “A master Witcher,” the merchant smiled. Vesemir didn’t need his secondary gender to tell him what he needed from the man. The Distaste was obvious, but he wouldn't turn down a paying customer.

“A blue Opal pendant to match your omega’s beautiful eyes.” The pendant was beautiful, and its silver wiring suited it better than the gilded sapphire next to it. Vesemir huffed but didn’t correct the merchant; instead settled on a crescent moon-shaped jasper with bronze wiring. “My mate prefers the simpler things in life,” Vesemir admits, holding the necklace in the light. “A young thing such as him-“ 

“He’s not my mate. He’s for my son.” Vesemir growls,

[winters-mistress]

Of big, gentle hands

Ciri hadn't known much -if anything- about witchers before her father of surprise had appeared like a mirage in that wet, sodden forest. Hells, she hasn't even known that he was a witcher until one of their first, awkward conversations after leaving Goldencheeks, her husband and sons. And from what she had seen on the road, Witchers weren't popular beings.

She and Geralt hadn't been at any inns, with Ciri being too fearful of human contact ever since her encounter with her used-to-be friends. But she had heard talk and mutter from the public when Geralt had looked at the notice board for jobs, even though he only took whatever they really, really needed. Both of them far preferred to hunt and rest in forests, and continue on the move, but the words still stuck with her.

Mutant. Murderer. Unfeeling. Unatural. Monster. Freak.

Ciri had been shocked, for the idea of monster hunters to defend humans, only to be turned upon and hated had been startling. But, after she thought about it, it wasn't that far fetched, seeing what had happened to her. What was happening to her.

Geralt wasn't a talkative man, she knew, and while he didn't seem to be affected by these words, Ciri wasn't sure if he had been or not. So, she had crawled over to him, ignoring the purse full of coin by his knee, she had wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

"You're not like them, Geralt. You're not what they say." she had insisted quietly. "You're good. Far better than what any of them could be."

He had grunted a reply, and didn't say anything else, but she knew that his grunt had been a pleased one.

The rightful Queen of Cintra was glad that she had swapped her fine, lush cloak for a couple armfulls of Goldencheeks' elder sons clothing. A couple pairs of leather trousers, a few tunics, a black fur cloak and a pair of brown boots. She doesn't remember the other clothes off the top of her head, but she's glad for them, being in this cold, creaky keep with a handful of witchers.

Her arms still burn from the hours with her training sword, and her hip and knee smart from falling off the various training machines, and her nose is cold, but her stomach is full and her anxieties are dulled. Who better to protect her rather than a harem of warriors?

The largest of the bunch, the only twice mutated one, she's learned, sits next to her as they listen to Lambert and Coën share stories of their yesteryears.

She giggles when Lambert looses his temper and spears Coën from their bench, falling upon the floor and beginning to wrestle and swing for each other, grunting as they roll back and forth.

"You'll break the damn furniture!" Vesemir snaps from the other side of Geralt, but there isn't an ounce of heat in his gruff voice. He's grinning, especially when his firey, asshole pup flips him the one fingered salute.

A wave of tiredness overcomes her. It's nice, being warm and full and safe and protected and loved, a feeling she hasn't felt since she wore pretty dresses and danced and swam and rode horses and was put to bed with a bedtime story. Now, she's raggedy and wild, a family of hardened men who were so soft and cuddly who sowed her how to disembowel her enemy and learn about monsters and how to swing a sword that one day, she may have the black knight's head upon a spike and her throne be warm for her.

But that's for the future, right now she's content being where she is, leaning her head upon her father of surprise and enjoying his warmth.

His arm surrounds her back, hand laying limply upon her shoulder. All witchers run hot, she's learned. It's an interesting thing to learn, unexpected, just as much as the cuddles were.

She leans deeper into him, eyes closing

"Tired?" His deep voice rumbles in her ear. His big, gentle hand runs from her shoulder to her back, soothing her like a mother soothes a baby. She leans deeper into him.

"M'hmm." she mumbled. If she had a blanket, she could probably fall asleep here.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

She doesn't want to, she's loathe to move from this really rather comfortable position, even if she's sat upon a splintery wooden bench, and Geralt really should take a bath soon.

She goes to pick up her head from his shoulder, but he beats her to it. The hand finds her shoulder again, and the other finds her knees.

She's in the air, before she's not, settling into her father of surprise's arms, nuzzling into his chest.

Unnatural be damned, here and now, listening to her new uncles fight and bicker, cuddling into her new father, it's the most natural thing in the world.

[definitely-not-iorveth]

the men we become

"Would you like to become a Witcher, child?" He asks her.

She gapes at him, speechles at first.

"Aren't all witchers… Men?" She asks hesitantly. Vesemir nods, watching her carefully.

"So they are."

—

They say all Witchers are men, and it's true in a way. But not all of them need to have started as such.

written for @thepassifloradiscord trans week

ao3

A newborn baby cries out their first cry. The mother, her face red and puffy, looks desperately at the midwife.

"It's a girl!" The other woman announces with a big smile. The mother sighs with relief, almost in tears. A girl. It's a girl . They don't take girls, do they?

Her baby is safe, isn't she?

—

The girl grows up with two older brothers and a younger sister. The boys are very protective of them both—that's annoying but normal, she supposes. But the way her mother sometimes looks at her, with fear and sadness in her eyes. The way she hesitates before letting her out of the house, the reluctance with which she agrees to let her wander off down the mountain—even after her sister is easily allowed the same privilege—that is strange.

—

She loves reading books and listening to fireside stories about the travels and adventures of brave knights and scary witchers. She wishes she could be just like them.

She envies their freedom, she thinks.

—

She doesn't like spending time with the girls, not because she dislikes them or because they bore her, but because of how much she doesn't belong.

It's not even that they like different things, precisely—she just knows that no matter how hard she tries, she will never be one of them. She will never belong.

It's different with the boys. Whenever she's with them, she feels more true to herself, somehow. Occasionally, she gets mistaken for one of them and her heart flutters with joy.

Eventually, she thinks that she may like being a boy better, so she tries it out, crops her hair short and dresses like one.

Her mother doesn't seem happy about it, but she tolerates it—until she- he decides he does like it better, asks her to use the masculine pronouns and call him her son.

That's when something breaks inside her.

She pales, her mouth working silently, then suddenly begins to sob uncontrollably and yell. No and you can't, calling him my little girl as she tears the clothes off him and begs him to change back .

The girl is so scared she doesn't try to be a boy again.

—

Something changes after that. Her mother becomes more and more anxious to see her disappear from sight.

She tries to argue of course, but no amount of pleading or yelling changes that. I'm trying to keep you safe , her mother always says. You'll understand one day.

She doesn't understand.

She runs away a few times, but her mother always has such a wild look to her, cries so hard with relief when she's found, she eventually resigns herself to her fate and stops.

—

One day In the late afternoon, when she's eleven, there's a knock on the door. There's no one else at the house—her mother is tending to the animals and her father and brothers had gone to town, so she runs to open it.

It's a man, his hair long and starting to grey. He looks like a dangerous sort, wearing leather armour and two swords at his back, but his smile looks amiable enough and, more importantly, genuine. She looks at him questioningly, and he speaks in a kindly tone.

"Are your parents home?"

"Mother is at the barn."

"Would you fetch her for me? Tell her Vesemir has come to collect what he's owed."

That makes her more cautious—debt collectors are usually not a friendly lot—but that smile is still on his face, so she obligingly runs to get her mother.

When she repeats the stranger's words, her mother blanches and goes stiff, then hugs her very tightly.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she whispers into her hair, stroking it lightly. "I tried. I tried to keep you safe." She holds her for a very long time and when she pulls away, her eyes are wet and puffy.

"What's wrong, mother?" She asks, but her mother only shakes her head.

"Perhaps you'll be happier there."

Where? She wants to ask, but by then her mother is already grasping her hand tightly and pulling her back towards the house and the smiling stranger—Vesemir, he had said his name was.

He nods at her mother.

"Is your son well?" He asks, but her mother shakes her head angrily.

"Spare me the pleasantries." She snaps, still tightly clutching her hand. It hurts, and she winces a little. "My husband thought he was saving my child, but it turns out all he did was exchange one for another."

Vesemir's smile turns sad, but he doesn't say anything. He simply waits. Her mother sighs and her hand slackens, then falls to her side.

"I will not fight you. I know there's no cheating destiny."

She looks questioningly between her mother and Vesemir. She doesn't fully understand what is going on, but she understands enough to know that it's something that will overturn her life. A deep sense of unease settles low in her stomach—but there's curiosity there as well.

Vesemir nods gravely at her mother.

"Very wise of you." He crouches in front of her, to be nearer to her eye level, and simply looks at her in appraisal for a long moment.

"Would you like to become a Witcher, child?" He asks her.

She gapes at him, speechles at first.

"Aren't all witchers… Men?" She asks hesitantly. Vesemir nods, watching her carefully.

"So they are."

Her heart flutters in her chest. Surely he can't be serious, and this is some kind of jest…? She blinks at him, trying to figure out his angle, but he simply continues looking at her with the same solemn expression.

"Yes." She finally says, her voice small and shaky at first, then repeats it with conviction. "Yes!"

Her eyes are wet. She hadn't noticed.

"It's a difficult process, and the training is harsh. Not all make it out alive." Vesemir says, his tone gravely serious. Her mother makes a choked off sound, but she doesn't care . If she can be a Witcher, if she can be a boy—it is worth all the risk.

Vesemir smiles and stands up, then reaches out his hand.

"Then come with me, boy."

She- he grasps Vesemir's hand. It is warm, warm like hope.

—

"What is your name, boy?" Vesemir asks as they walk towards his horse. Her- his heart almost leaps out of his chest with joy at those words—until the full meaning of them sinks in.

His face falls. His old name, a girl's name feels wrong somehow, and yet—what other name does he have?

Fortunately, Vesemir seems to notice his hesitation and, more importantly, to understand his dilemma even before he can articulate it out loud. He puts a heavy, comforting hand atop his head and ruffles his hair.

"Don't worry, if you don't have it picked out yet, boy. You will find the right one in time. You'll see."

—

Vesemir helps the boy cut his hair along the journey. It looks much better than anything he was able to accomplish by himself, and it feels so right when he sees his reflection that he nearly weeps with joy.

—

They arrive at Kaer Morhen after a few days, late in the afternoon. Vesemir shows him to a big room full of bunk beds. The boy counts 30, allowing for 60 occupants. It's empty when they enter, but many of the beds look to be in use.

"This is where you will sleep until the end of your trials." Vesemir explains. "If you survive, you will be given your own room in the castle that you will be able to come back to whenever you need or want to after your training finishes. It… Most likely won't be comfortable." Vesemir chuckles. "But it will become your home, if you allow it."

If you survive. A chill runs through the boy at those words—but he knew this beforehand, didn't he? He had made the choice voluntarily. He nods, trying to show a brave face.

"Okay."

Vesemir nods back, seemingly satisfied with this reaction.

"Today you can stay here. In your own time—which you will not have a lot of, starting tomorrow—you are free to explore the ground floors of the castle as you please. Other floors are off limits to new recruits."

Vesemir goes on about the training, about the meal times, about the special diet and many other topics.

The thing that the boy remembers best is that after all the trials, he will not yet fully be a Witcher (too much to learn still)—but he will fully be a man.

—

Mindful of Vesemir's warning concerning his leisure time, the boy spends the first evening exploring the castle's ground floor.

He meets a few yellow eyed men in the corridors. A couple of them are friendly. One ignores him completely. The others just give him pitying looks.

—

As he meets the other recruits, he makes many friends and learns that there are more sharing his circumstances than he expected—some already with new names picked out, others, like him, simply known as the boy.

There are four such recruits in particular he becomes steadfast friends with, all sharing his age—Geralt, Eskel, Janos and another boy.

The odds are against them, of course. After all, it is said that only one in ten receuits lives through the trials. They cover up their nervousness with humour, betting on who will be the last one standing. As the most sturdy of them all, Eskel is the favourite. Geralt, the poor sickly-looking sap, is immediately labelled the least likely survivor.

But it's Janos who dies first, his body unable to bear the strain of the preparatory diet of strange mushrooms and herbs.

Then the other boy dies in an unfortunate accident during training.

The fact that three of them make it to the Trials of Grass in one piece is still impressive.

—

They can't sleep the night before.

Plenty of the bunks are fully vacant by then, so they push two empty ones together and sit there, huddled up.

"When did you pick your names?" The boy asks quietly. It nags at him, that he still hadn't been able to find one that fits.

Geralt shrugs.

"Vesemir picked mine. I live in Kaer Morhen ever since I can remember. It felt… Right. "

"I found mine in a fairy tale." Eskel smiles and shrugs. "I just… Liked it so much, I've decided to use it."

The boy nods.

"It's a beautiful name. I wish I found it before you did."

Eskel grins at him.

"Why don't you use it too, then?"

The boy chuckles.

"Two Eskels from the School of the Wolf? I don't know, it sounds like a bit much."

Eskel shrugs.

"Well, I don't know if I'll be keeping it yet. Maybe a fairy tale name isn't such a great pick for a Witcher."

The boy laughs loudly, soon infecting Geralt and Eskel and waking some of the sleeping recruits. They glare at the three of them until their laughter subsides into quiet giggles.

—

It's difficult to face the Trial of Grass with optimism and a brave face, yet Eskel somehow manages to do so.

He squeezes the boy's hand and gives him a cheeky smile.

"See you on the other side!"

—

Passing out is a mercy.

Whenever he's awake, he can feel his body changing.

It's torture.

Fire is flowing through his veins. His bones are stretching, breaking and mending all at once. His joints and muscles throb with pain, as if he was overexerting them again and again. His insides feel like they're liquifeing and reforming over and over.

After a while, he starts hallucinating.

He sees his mother, sitting by him and alternately crying and singing an old mountain lullaby. Then his father and siblings, and then the other village children. They flit around, a face or two coming closer to tell him to be brave, to tell him that he's making a mistake, to say that they miss him. At one point he thinks he spots Janos and the other boy, but the pain makes it difficult to see and their faces are quickly lost in the crowd.

—

Eskel comes to him last.

He sits in the place previously occupied by his mother—that's when the boy realises that everyone else is gone, even the mages and elder Witchers—squeezes his hand and repeatedly whispers encouragement. You're almost there. Don't give up. Be strong. It makes the pain just a little more bearable.

And then, just once, he says, keep the name. It suits you. Then he kisses his forehead, waves goodbye and disappears through the door.

The boy loses consciousness.

—

He wakes up shortly afterwards, tired and in pain—but it's different than before. Much more subdued.

It's still an effort to open his eyes. They feel dry, like sandpaper.

The light is painfully bright, and everything seems somehow sharper and clearer—too much. It makes his head spin.

He notices he's no longer in the underground, but instead in a small room with a narrow bed he currently occupies, a bookcase, a wardrobe and a writing desk, a Witcher he doesn't recognize sitting in the chair.

He tells the boy that he's the third one to wake up, then forces some stew and a foul-smelling concoction into him.

"Tomorrow you'll feel much better." He informs the boy.

When the boy asks about Eskel and Geralt, the man is quiet for a long time. It's not a reply he offers when he finally speaks.

"Rest up for now, boy."

Too tired to protest, he falls into a dreamless sleep.

—

It is only later that he learns that Eskel had passed away during the trial.

—

Many years pass before he visits the desolate mountain village he came from.

They don't seem to recognize him—why would they, after such a long time? But an older woman with a braid like his mother used to wear beckons him close.

"What is your name, sir Witcher?" She asks.

"I am no sir, there's no need for formalities. My name is Eskel."

She nods.

"Eskel. A good, strong name." She simply stares at him for a while, and he grows a little uneasy. "Do you regret becoming a Witcher, Eskel?"

He smiles and shakes his head.

"No."

Her eyes are a little wet, but she wipes the tears away quickly.

"Then I am glad."

[yaskie]

Until we meet again

This is just a simple idea that popped out in my head, I am not writing for a very long time. I will be thinking if I should continue this via AO3 but it will depend on the status of my health - mental, physical and all. I just wrote this unplanned, I feel the need to write this. Apologies in advance for any wrong grammar. ---------------------- Title: Until we meet again The Witcher(Netflix Series) Pairing: JaskierxGeralt Warning: Whump, character death

Jaskier and Geralt had been married for many years and the bard adopted Ciri as his daughter, as she is Geralt's child surprise. They traveled the world together, fighting monsters and making music, and their family had never been happier. But one day, their happiness was shattered when they were ambushed by a powerful monster sent by Nilfgaard, accompanied by a little number of soldiers. They thought everything was over after the defeat of its King many years ago. But alas, someone wants to make a revenge against them.

Geralt and Ciri fought the soldiers and the monster with their strength, and so is Jaskier. But Ciri's strength dwindled because she used too much chaos. As their number is too great for them. Just as the monster came closer in impaling the former Princess with its claws. Jaskier threw himself in front of Ciri, using his sheer will to protect her, but the monster was too powerful. He died, sacrificing himself to save the life of their daughter. With all of the remaining Chaos, the pain, the loss. Ciri with Geralt's help has defeated their enemies. But with a huge sacrifice. "Until we meet again...my love...I will find you and Ciri....I promise....my child reserve your energy...everything is going to be alright..." this was the final words before the bard's heart had stopped beating.

The witchers were devastated by the loss of their friend and brother, and Vesemir was heartbroken, as he had lost a son. He knows how Jaskier fought with all his might, he knew this was coming, he knew that Jaskier is no longer young as he used to be. But he had hoped that the bard will die of old age, and not because of this painful tragedy.

At Jaskier's funeral, they burned his body, honoring the bard's life and sacrifice. Ciri was inconsolable, having lost both her parents, but Geralt, despite being in so much pain and Vesemir did their best to comfort her. Vesemir made a pendant to both Geralt and Ciri, and placed Jaskier's ashes.

As they traveled on, Geralt, Ciri and the remaining Witchers, often remembered Jaskier and his bravery, and his music that will be forever sang as new generations is born. They knew that he would always be with them, in their hearts and in the memories they shared.

And although they missed the bard terribly, they also took comfort in the knowledge that he was now at peace, and that his love and spirit would live on in the lives of those he had touched. Geralt believes that it might take eons, but he knows in his heart that they will meet again. "Until we meet again my bard...."

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

Sorry for any wrong grammars again. This was just written suddenly. @measurelessdreamer

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

I was reading something and had a stray thought occur to me. But what if, at some point on Jaskier’s travels, he had encountered one of the other Witcher’s (I’m saying Coën for the ease of writing this prompt)

But the two meet, Coën doesn’t realise that Jaskier is the same bard that Geralt has been ranting about for the past decade (because Jask gives the man a different name) and Jaskier doesn’t realise that Coën is a Witcher (more because he’s a bit past drunk, drowning his sorrows and was purposefully oblivious to the fact)

Obviously they sleep with one another. Jaskier’s kind of lost in his feelings and using it as somewhat of a distraction, though he can’t deny the attraction of the Witcher even with all the scars, “Adds to the charm.” Jask had told him.

Coën also can’t deny the attraction there, he’s also getting a bit addicted to the way Jaskier doesn’t flinch away from his touch or the way he looks. There’s no scent of fear at any point and the bard makes sure to pay attention to every single point of contact that gets a reaction from him, positive or negative.

When’s all said and done they’re slightly reluctant to part ways but they do, after one more romp in the sheets before going seperate ways.

Then season 2 happens and when everything has calmed down a bit after the final episode Jask and Coën finally look at one another properly. The scent of surprise, shock and joy is sudden and thick in the air, causing everyone else to look between the two.

Coën is the first to break, smile splitting his face as he walks over and pulls the bard into a hug, “It’s good to see you Julian.”

Jask doesn’t even protest or anything, simply pulls the other closer and breathes in the comforting and familiar scent with ease, “You as well Coën. When you said you were a Witcher I didn’t think it was this type of Witcher.”

Coën can’t help the laugh, rolling his eyes and pulling away to give the bard an exasperated look, “Same could be said for you Jules.”

Jask and Coën silently agree to ignore the brooding wolf who’s standing off to the side, instead turning to Lambert and Vesemir with bright smiles. Coën makes the introductions, Jask playing polite even though Lambert had readily disregarded him and Vesemir still looks shaken from everything.

Ves knows there’s something going on here but he’s not going to get involved in his boys problems and he’s still trying to register the losses that just happened under his roof. Instead he looks at all of them and offers a silent nod before looking directly at Jaskier.

“Help me with this bard.” Even if none of his boys end up with the bard he still has to make sure the man is worth keeping around otherwise he’s gonna kick him out first chance he gets.

Jask doesn’t give any protest, instead giving a single nod and following the older man’s moves to help clean up and retrieve any medallions before carefully giving them over. Ves likes him already.

But yeah that’s as far as my thoughts went. Geralt probs gets all jealous and Jask is still really hurt and angry while Coën just hopes he won’t lose Jaskier from his life.

[proheromidoriyashouto]

Vesemir being harder on Lambert because he's smaller than the other wolves.

Vesemir seeing Geralt mutated twice and thriving on the Path for it, seeing Eskel cast Igni and thinking Mage Fire, and seeing all that Lambert can't do like them.

Vesemir taking lessons to far, pushing Lambert's body beyond what he can stand just so he can take the next round a little farther, a little more every time, a little more a Witcher who will survive long enough to come home every winter once he's on the Path.

Vesemir keeping him from the other boys so Lambert doesn't compare himself to them and realize that he's lacking and not making the same degree of progress.

Vesemir knowing Lambert will not be as big and strong or naturally gifted, and these are not his fault, but he mustn't know how wide the gap lest he become embittered and resentful.

Vesemir training Lambert in more weapons than Geralt and Eskel. Lesser used tools of their trade, bombs and the Crane-designed grappling chain and knives that burst on impact, crutches for those Witchers who hardly came out the otherside of the Grasses any less human than they were to begin with.

Vesemir locking Lambert out of the Keep on the coldest nights during his survival training so he's forced to take on hibernating bears for the warmth of their fur.

Vesemir halving Lambert's rations in the summer, and again in the fall, to get him used to the starving conditions of the Path.

Vesemir forcing Lambert into armor that's cumbersome and heavy even though it restricts his movement because it's thicker over his soft parts.

Vesemir desperate to protect the Last Son of Kaer Morhen, the last little boy to come toddling through their halls and fall into his hands, no matter the cost.

Lambert, a grown Witcher, mind sharp as his blade and heart hardened against the world and his only home, not knowing how desperately he is loved.

[cherryjuicegf]

Hello dear, I hope you're doing great!

For the Spotify Wrapped ask: could you do Yenralt with song 26? :D (or Geraskefer if you feel more like it, as a treat haha)

Thank youuuu 💕

thank you so much for the prompt dear!! now it's a greek song and i went for mild horror (which i can't actually pull off), i only peppered some geraskefer and ciri in there, mainly it's yenralt and geralt having a really, really bad time. hope you enjoy 💜

wc 960, cw nightmares

26. o timvorihos (the graverobber) - miltos pashalidis

The stone is cold under his fingertips and he curses under his breath, shakes.

"No, no, please..."

There's fog. So much fog, reaching its tentacles around his ankles, up his legs, dancing between his fingertips and the stones standing in front of him, neatly in line with the same distance between them, like children's dolls, only that they got to play with him.

Geralt whimpers, deep in his throat so as not to hear it himself, and stares. Two stones, no, three. A cry rumbles in his chest. Four. He knows the names. Five, six. "NO!" he screams "PLEASE NO!" and the names carved on the stones gape like wounds of gushing blood, wide open and laugh at him and the blood runs down the grey marble.

He's not thinking. He knows, the day would come.

But gods, he isn't ready yet.

He takes some steps forward, falls on his knees. Fingers trembling, he touches the soil, wet still and he doesn't know if it's the rain, or the tears, or the blood. The letters are neat and elegant, a curve messing with them at the edges, just like she would want, just like she was. There's a lump choking his throat and his fingers dig into the ground. "Yen," he whispers and the fog twirls around him, invades his nostrils, blinds him. The stone laughs. "Yen," he says, "Yen this is no joke, Yen come back," and his fingers dig deep and before he knows it the dirt is subsiding under his hands and he digs, fingertips rough and skinned as he rips the ground in half and sweat drops from his forehead on his wrist, and it's red.

It's red. The blood, he thinks, and digs and digs and pants and growls and digs to get back what was stolen from him, and the stone laughs and he digs and his fingers brush over something soft and he stops.

Shaking. He knows this. He knows what he's touching. He's touched it so many times before, tender, a caress over silky shoulders. He knows. Shaking, he pushes the soil away, and there's more of it, more skin. Dirty and bloody and cold. More, and he raises his hand, and slowly wipes the dirt of her face and she's there, eyes staring at him, lips blue and curved in a dead smile and the stone laughs and he screams.

"What are you searching for, Geralt?"

He flinches, looks up and she's standing nehind the stone, and she laughs. But she's not there.

"Yennefer," he says, pleads, "Yen, please," and looks again at the face between his hands, the body he digged a grave to find and it's unmoving, and he looks at the name. It's blurry.

"Oh, Geralt," he hears her voice, thin like a siren's and oh, this is not Yennefer, it can't be. "You think you can save us now?"

It can't be Yennefer. Geralt stares, trembling, breathless, and the body in his arms is cold. It can't be. Yennefer has violet eyes.

"You are the one who put us here, Geralt," a pair of blue eyes strikes behind the fog and the voice is heavier now, and yet he feels blood flowing down his ears.

And he looks down at the body.

"Fuck."

He's there. Blue eyes, bitter and the stone laughs and the name is blurry and the laughter echoes like a coin falling inside a cave with no exit, like a shriek.

"Jaskier, no..."

"You promised to protect me, Geralt..."

Green eyes. A wail escapes his throat, and she's so small in his arms. "Forgive me, forgive me, Ciri, please—"

"No one left to forgive you, son."

"That's where your heroics got you, brother."

"A careless prick, you've always been, wolf."

"No," he's shaking and the body is cold and pale and it's Yennefer, Jaskier, Ciri, Vesemir, everyone, everyone and the figure behind the stone comes closer, spreads over him and stares at its own dead reflection and the eyes are violet, blue, green, amber, "Stop this, please forgive me, I didn't mean to, don't leave me alone, please, come back, don't leave me, no, no, come BACK—"

"GERALT!"

He jolts up and shuts his eyes and screams.

Something is flowing down his face, his back and then cold air hits him and he shivers and realizes it's sweat and gasps for breath, lungs burning as he sucks in all the air he can fit in them.

"Geralt, come back to me, I'm here, Geralt..."

Panting, he opens his eyes, stares at the sheets covering him, drenched. Grasps at them frantically to realize they're real. "Fuck," and his chest is so heavy, and his head hammering. Slowly, as though afraid of what he'll face, he raises his head.

Violet eyes. Wide, staring at him and drowning in worry, and a hand on his face, keeping him steady. Like the stone of the world raised from his shoulders, he lets out a breath, and Yennefer nods at him and he slumps. His head falls on her shoulder, her hands crawling behind his back.

There's warmth behind him and he feels a second pair of arms around his waist, a bit stronger. Then, hands, smaller, taking his between them and a weight curling on his lap. Tears down his face.

"Where is..."

"They're alright, Geralt." The voice is deep and melodic, it always is. A comfort.

Fingers tangle in his hair and Yennefer leans and kisses his head. Small hands squeeze his. He's spent so much time listening to their breaths. Can tell all three of them apart, and the rest of them scattered in the other rooms of the keep. It lulls him.

He's still trembling. He closes his eyes.

"It's not your fault, Geralt," they whisper and for once, he wants to believe them. "We'll be alright."

[dettitheholmes]

These are the fanfics I currently have in mind and want to write:

Modern!AU Vesemir adopting Eskel, Geralt and Lambert as little kids and bonding with them. (tooth-rotting fluff, papa!Vesemir, family feels, pieces of life + maybe getting together with Guxart)

The sacking of Kaer Morhen, in an AU where Vesemir hides Eskel, Geralt and Lambert in a secret corridor/room, and tells them to wait until he comes back for them, and if someone tries to open the door by force, run for their lives. They hear the massacre, and wait obedienty until it ends and attackers leave the Keep, but Vesemir doesn't come for them, so they leave their hiding spot. They find his body among the corpses, he is alive, but barely, and they try to nurse him back to health. Vesemir is sure he's not going to make it, and tries to give them instructions what should they do to survive without him, but then Guxart arrives, and with his help Vesemir survives his wounds. (angst, hurt with little comfort, some Guxart/Vesemir, tons of feelings)

Lambert finding out Aiden is a virgin just before they'd move thing further in bed, and he freaks out a bit, worrying he'll make it a bad experience for him, and he's a bit angry too, because Aiden should've told him this earlier. The Cat almost cries, which makes Lambert panicking more, but at the end they'll figure it out, and there's a happy end. (idiots in love, fluff and smut, minor hurt/comfort, good!boyfriend Lambert)

Vesemir giving Aiden the Talk. Yes, the one with the "treat my son well otherwise you'll regret that you were born" stuff. Aiden just smirks and promises that he'll take good care of Lambert, but Vesemir should be good for Guxart too, or he'll be confronted with a group of angry kittens very very soon. (crack treated seriously, protectiveness, family feels, short but sweet)

I'm a terribly slow writer but I want them to be done at least till April. Wish me luck.

[wherethewordsare]

Snowdrops Among the Buttercups Chapter 1

Hey guys, just a little heads up, please mind the tags on this one. This is a MCD fic, where it ends in self-sacrifice. This is not a happy ending fic. There will be at least two parts, the first part will not have the MCD part in it. Based off of the original Little Mermaid written by Hans Christian Andersen. Even if you don't read my fic, I highly recommend the original story.

And for those who would rather: You can read it on AO3 here!

Long long ago, high in the blue mountains, a pack of wolves had been tasked by forgotten gods to watch over their sacred wood. For generations, the pack did not hunger or thirst nor tire, propelled only by their duty, their destiny. 

And then man came, climbing into the mountains with their iron weapons and their fire and snares. The wolves fought back and drove the men back to the vallies below. Fearful they would return, the pack leader, a wolf known as Vesemir went to the witch in the woods and struck a deal. If she would cast a spell over the wood, protecting it from the evil hearts of men, the wolves would do her hunting for her. 

The deal was struck but to Vesemir, she gave a warning. One day, yellow flowers would bloom under the Elder Tree and when it did, one of his sons would be lost to the snow drift.

He thought nothing of this since flowers couldn't bloom when it snowed, not this high in the mountains. His sons would be safe. Their home too.

 Or so the old wolf had thought. 

Many years later on a clear spring morning, while patrolling the boarders of their forest, a white wolf, almost the size of a horse, came across something he had never seen before. A young human, barely a man but certainly no longer a boy leaned against the trunk of the Elder Tree, singing softly, his eyes looking up into the branches that swayed. 

The wolf thought that maybe the Elder Tree enjoyed the song and danced along, slender branches dipping in the non existent breeze. But men, humans were supposed to be dangerous, carrying steel and fire. Even, Vesimer had warned once, magic, stolen by the new gods from the old and passes along. But this one only carried a satchal, quill and papers strewn in the grass, and a lute across his lap.

The wolf only sat and watched, nearly forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. Years of instinct slowed down as he breathed in the scent of buttercups but under it something dank and ancient crawled in. 

The wolf leapt into the clearing then, startling the man who dropped his instrument and pressed himself against the tree. 

"Whoa! Whoa!" His eyes were bright blue and filled not with fear but wonder. "Aren't you beautiful," he cooed through a tremble in his voice. 

The wolf paid him no mind though as it crouched, growling and fangs bared. 

"Alright, you don't like com-" the young man yelped as the wolf lunged. But white fur only flashed past him and into the thick green. Something screamed as the wolf fought it and finally there was a sickening snap of something breaking, something vital. 

He moved back out of the woods, black ichor staining his muzzle and chest and the man only stood there, still staring. 

"I think you just saved my life! Thank you!" And he smiled. The wolf only tilted his head. "Here! May I?" The man pulled out a fine cloth and gestured to the wolf.

It was too easy to bow his head down and let the human clean away the foul gore. He still allowed the wolf his space, not crowding in while getting the worst of the mess. Part of him howled to tear into the man for trespassing into their wood, but this man seemed mostly harmless, if not a bit of a fool. 

Up close, the wolf could see the dark circles under the young man's bright eyes and smell the road on him. He huffed as the cloth carefully brushed against his chest. 

"I got a bit turned around, then I got a bit distracted, His other hand came up and in it, bright yellow buttercups in a tangle of stems.

The wolf only looked down and let his ears flick back. 

"Well I wasn't completely in danger was I? You came along and found me!" His smile brightened and something in the wolf thawed like the first warm day of spring. He pushed his muzzle into the young man's hand and let his tongue flick out at his wrist. 

"Right right. I'll be careful next time. But think you could do me one last favor to save my life," and fingers were behind his ear, scratching. "Help me out of here?"

The wolf only huffed and turned, letting his long tail swat the man's side. 

"Oh is that how it is? By the gods you're bossy," the man bent down and retrieved his bag and his lute and followed close behind the wolf. "Jaskier," he said suddenly. 

Geralt, the wolf thought but despite how the human, Jaskier, might understand him in the general sense, he thought that a name might have gotten lost in the translation.

"I'm guessing if I call you Snowball, you'll kill me after all," Jaskier hummed.

Geralt only turned his head and bared his teeth but instead of shrinking away, Jaskier only laughed and Geralt found he liked the sound.

The trek through the wood wasn't a long one, but the thick underbrush had made it hard on the human. Geralt had to fight the urge to scruff him like a pup and carry him. But as they made their way through Jaskier had explained that he was a student of the arts and he thought a walkabout to the old ruins of lost bard colleges, he might rediscover something.  

"Instead, I found something altogether new, a striking handsome muse," he flashed his teeth wide and Geralt only huffed, his eyes rolling as he turned back to the path.

At the edge of the wood, Geralt sat back, looking behind him at Jaskier. 

"I'd repay you for your kindness, but I have nothing to offer. I doubt wolves have much need for coin, and I would make a fool of myself trying to offer any kind of game," he chuckled. There was an easy manner to the way he reached out and patted the wolf. 

Geralt turned his large head and let it bump gently into the lute before he laid down in the grass. Even then, his head still came up to Jaskier's shoulder and so he turned, their eyes locking. Jaskier had understood with a smile and a nod. 

He too sat in the grass and plucked along his lute strings. Music was not something that relly ever came to the Blue Mountains. But the way that Jaskier’s hands fluttered over the taught strings fingers sometimes tapping a gentle rhythm underneath, it reminded Geralt of the song birds that sometimes migrated through. It was an old song, one Geralt nearly recognized but not quite. When Jaskier was finished, Geralt tipped his head down in silent thanks. 

"If you're ever in Oxenfurt, well," Jaskier laughed again. "I think I would know pretty quickly. Not too many giant white wolves at the college, let alone across the continent. He hesitated for a moment then leaned in. Geralt froze but did not pull away as the bard pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. They stood there for a moment before Jaskier pulled away, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Well, I guess that means you're not some cursed prince in need of rescue," he chuckled. Geralt furrowed his brow and snorted.

"Hey now, can't blame a man for trying. Thank you again, Snowball. I hope destiny finds us together again someday." And with that, he was gone.

Months went by and Geralt found that he could not forget the man that had stumbled into their forest looking for ancient secrets only to be distracted by bright flowers. It did not sound like the blood-thirsty men that Vesimer and the other elders had talked about. 

That season, buttercups seemed to have bloomed and spread further among the roots of the Elder Tree than Geralt could remember, all the while Vesimer seemed to keep his heckles up, snapping and more broodish. 

None of it made sense and all Geralt wanted in that moment was to go out into the world and find Jaskier. He wasn't even sure what Oxenfurt was or where to find it, but he knew if he could leave the mountains, he would at least have a chance. 

Midsommer was approaching swiftly and could fight it no more. Geralt made his way through the wood to where the roots had withered in the hard stone of the mountain and the trees seemed to play as morbid sentinels for the witch. However before he could step onto the path to her door, Vesemir stepped onto the path in front of him. He snarled, his ears back but Geralt did not budge, he barely blinked. He had to know and if he fought the Vesemir, that would never happen. He just wanted to be allowed to go in peace. The old wolf shook his massive head and huffed. The consequences of chasing after that human would fall onto Geralt's head alone.

 The witch of the woods was waiting for him on the small porch of her hut. The others of his pack had told him stories of the witch and what stood before him was not what he had imagined. She was not old nor hunched nor knarled. Some might have considered her quite beautiful, with dark curls falling over strong slender shoulders and a warm round face. She smiled at him, almost sadly. 

"I knew you would come one day, and I know Vesemir had hoped for more time. But destiny has always moved at her own pace." She stepped down onto the path and held out a bottle and a scroll in one hand, her other still hidden in her robes. "Geralt, I know what deal you have come to make this day. And this is what I can offer. Find your bard and win his heart. But you will have to do it as you had in this form. You won't have a voice. You have until the Winter Solstice to do so and if you fail, you will surrender your body, human and wolf alike, and become a snowdrift." 

In the woods behind him, a howl tore through the air. It was answered by others, a mournful call, grief already settling onto the shoulders of his pack. Geralt turned back to the witch and paused only for a moment, looking down at her offerings. 

"One is a potion you will take once you reach Oxenfurt. It will be easier on you to travel as a wolf than as a man. The second is simply your name. As sweet as the idea of him calling you Snowball is, I thought I would help you spare some dignity." 

Geralt knew her to be a powerful witch, one who had helped the pack in the past and who only ever asked for assistance in return if she really needed it. What he had not expected was for her to be cheeky. He made a small sound in the front of his mouth. and their deal was struck.

[peaktotheocean]

tell me more about the morhen mafia wip 👀

this mafia story went back and forth between mafia and witness protection and i still haven’t decided what it’s going to be. besides trans jaskier. who is my moral center.

the set up here is that kindergarten teacher jaskier has ciri in his class and calls every student prince, princess, or your royal majesty. vesemir’s sons are in charge while he’s on vacation

-

“Perhaps, before you go over your bugs in my classroom and panic over a pet name, you should consider who exactly is on your payroll. Idiots,” Jaskier mutters, getting angrier as he gathers his wits about him. He’d been terrified that his father’s men had found him. All that anxiety for nothing. For waking up with three large men who don’t even really know why they grabbed him.

He won’t be able to sleep for a week, which will feel like two when working with children.

“I can see why Vesemir calls you puppies,” he groans, stretching out his no-longer-cuffed hands.

“Hey!” The ginger one starts in but Jaskier cuts him off.

“Did anyone see you take me?”

The white-haired one, Ciri’s father. Eric, supposedly but Jaskier has never once believed paperwork in his life.

“No,” he says quietly. “We took you from your house. We disabled your neighbor’s doorbell camera.”

“Fantastic,” Jaskier says to himself. He wonders if he can convince Vesemir to let him move. Not because they wouldn’t find him again but once the bump on his head goes down and he starts to remember being taken from his bed, he won’t feel safe in that house again. Maybe he can leverage the idiocy of Vesemir’s puppies to guilt the man into getting Jaskier into a place with nice built-in bookshelves.

“We’re not completely inept,” the ginger argued.

“I don’t mean any civilians. I mean if anyone else saw you take me. Don’t be an idiot. Your father certainly isn’t. My life is at stake here too.”

“What?”

“He’s in hiding too,” Eric realizes.

“Finally,” Jaskier mutters. “Can I go now?”

[dapandapod]

Shards

Hello loves, this time I come bearing evil.

At the end of season 2, I couldn’t get this image out of my head. This is painful as shit, so don’t read if you have a bad day.

Warnings:  Witcher s2 end spoilers, MCD, loss and grief, trauma in the making, hurt no comfort.. I am so sorry...

On Ao3

In the heat of the battle, Jaskier is lying under a table. The witchers have their signs to protect them from the flying shards, but Jaskier does not. They run him through, hot blood seeping through his tunic.  He doesn't think about it at first, there is no time really, but then Yennefer and Geralt and Ciri disappear. 

When they come back, Ciri is a scared little girl again, and they have so much to take care of. 

There is no time, no more need for a bard.

So Jaskier is stepping outside, sitting on the bridge. The fence is gone, so he leans back against the cold. It doesn't feel cold. It should feel cold. His hands are shaking. 

The world up here is beautiful. Lonely and desolate.

The sky is darkening, his feet are hanging over the edge. It's so cold. But it's alright. THe others are safe inside. It's alright.

It's...

Ciri walks out the keep. She needs air, it's too much.

A bit further on the bridge sits Jaskier, leaning back at a pillar. He seems lost in thought, his eyes staring out over the vast landscape.

She approaches him. She should probably talk to him, now when things are less...everything. She sits down by the other pillar, her feet dangling as his are. She waits for the reprimand but nothing comes.

Looking over, she notices Jaskier's hands in his lap, still.

They are never still.

His eyes are unblinking. His face is pale. His shirt....

"GERALT!!!!"

His shirt is red. Blood red.

"YENNEFER!!"

Jaskier doesn't hear the princess cries. Doesn't hear her desperate please for forgiveness, for him to wake up.

He is far, far away. He feels like smiling, like flying.

It's alright. The air is clearer up here.

He can't be in the way anymore.

It's alright....

~

Vesemir has lost so many in the span of a day. He comes out to see Geralt and Yennefer despairing. He is so tired.

"Another one lost." He says, and Yennefer bristles.

"He is not just another faceless someone!!!" she snaps, because she was fond of the bard. 

They were friends....

"Neither were my SONS!" Vesemir yells back. 

Ciri sits quietly behind her pillar. Nobody notice her at first, despite her calling them here.

[jaskierswolf]

Would u write a thing about lil puppy wolf Witchers and Adult wolf vesemir learning to parent? Like father-son bonding thing or smth?

I am not entirely sure how this turned out, but.... I had the image of the wolves running through the woods together soooo.... this is what we ended up with? I hope you like it! 💖

__________

Kaer Morhen had powerful wards to fend off any unwanted visitors or curses, but that wasn’t always the case. Back when witchers were respected and not feared, back when humans came and went from the witcher keeps as honoured guests, before the siege and the massacre of almost everyone that Vesemir called family, there had been no protection. The witchers had been too sure of their own abilities.

It had been their downfall.

The keep in the Blue Mountains was cursed and the witchers of Kaer Morhen fell. Those who remained were victims of the spell, even decades later. The Wolves of Kaer Morhen. No one quite knew how accurate that name was.

Vesemir sat on his balcony watching as the sun began to set behind the horizon. All his pups were finally home for winter, with thankfully no fatalities. They could settle in for the season and enjoy the company of their pack. Vesemir’s medallion began to hum and a familiar itch crawled over his skin. He could already hear the howling from around the keep so he closed his eyes and let the magic take him. Pain ripped through his body, bones cracking and there was a ringing in his head as his senses adjusted to his new form.

The wolves were howling in Kaer Morhen once more.

Vesemir landed on four paws and made his way through the corridors, heading towards the barking and growling from pups. He found the three of them in the dining room, two older wolves, teenagers, one white and one sandy gold, between them lay a smaller pup with russet fur.

Lambert was jumping up at his brothers, biting at their ears and mouthing at their snouts. The older wolves let out low growls but allowed their brother to clamber all over them. Vesemir gave a sharp bark and Lambert dropped to the floor, rolling onto his back and wagging his tail. Geralt sat down next to Eskel, two pairs of golden eyes were fixed on Vesemir, tails wagging behind them. They’d all had a long day with chores, but they had a few hours before they would curl up in front of the fire, and it was time to play.

Vesemir took a deep breath and then howled, letting the wolf’s instincts take over. The three younger wolves joined the chorus, Lambert’s howl really more of a bark but his ears flopped forward and he pranced around with more energy than he ever had when he was a witcher.

And then they were running, flying through the woods surrounding the keep. Lambert kept up as well as he could but he had smaller legs than the rest, so every so often Geralt or Eskel would pick him up the scruff of his neck. Eventually, they reach the river and all hell broke loose.

Geralt and Eskel reverted back to cubs, splashing and playing in the water, Lambert started chasing and terrorising the fish, and Vesemir just sighed, laying on the edge of the river with his head on his paws. He would inevitably be pulled into the water but he would rest whilst he could, after all, he wasn’t the young wolf that he used to be. He sniffed the air as he looked up at the moon. It had been a devastating curse in the beginning but in the twilight of the era of witchers, it was almost a blessing.

[jaskiersvalley]

"Vesemir fretted over Jaskier like one of his own pups" Omg!!!! I love that!!! I'm now imagining Vesemir acting like a mom fussing over her son's clothing now and asking all the questions about are they eating enough? Are you hurt? Do you have clothes to sew?

You really are out there, bringing all the best ideas, aren’t you? Because Vesemir absolutely is Papa Vesemir now, isn’t he?

It started off with the aftermath of Kaer Morhen being destroyed and ransacked. Vesemir used to have dozens of pup and wolves under his care and he was run ragged. Suddenly, there were only three left and there were no means to create more. Not that Vesemir really wanted to anyway. The world was changing, it didn’t need witchers anymore.

All the love that had been spread wide and thin was now directed at the three survivors. Not that Vesemir could admit it, his pups were grown up, weathered by the Path and fiercely independent. They didn’t need an old mentor fretting over them. If anything, the three supported each other. There was a closeness between them all, they balanced each other out. With the other two, Lambert seemed a little less angry, Eskel was inclined to smile more, and Geralt’s self-loathing eased too.

That didn’t stop Vesemir from turning all his efforts to ensuring that their winters were the best they could be. Rooms were always warmed with fires, Vesemir ensured there were enough furs and pelts to keep warm, even when it was a puppy pile in front of a fireplace, there were enough soft things that they would all be comfortable. Food was as plentiful as he could make it, he even brewed some strong moonshine to make boring evenings a little more bearable for them all. Whether his efforts were noticed or not, Vesemir didn’t know. For him, it was enough to know that he was doing the best for his pups.

The year a griffin stumbled through the doors of Kaer Morhen, Vesemir welcomed him with open arms. Another witcher in the keep was always a nice surprise. And Vesemir found himself liking Coen. It took his pups a little while to accept a griffin in their den but, slowly, one by one, they warmed to him too. And suddenly, Vesemir had three pups and a griffin in his care. He did his best too, slowly becoming a little braver with his affections over the years. Eskel seemed the most accepting of his hugs while Lambert seemed to prefer a gruff ruffle of his hair which would get him yowling but never actually angry. By contrast, Geralt seemed to prefer sitting quietly, sharing a space but he was, by far, the most standoffish. 

Perhaps Vesemir shouldn’t have been so blindsided when Lambert came home late one year. The pass was barely open when he finally arrived, looking uncomfortable and almost terrified of his own family. Then the cat witcher slunk in behind him, wary and they both looked ready to run.

“I’ll get another room ready,” Vesemir had said solemnly.

“Don’t,” Lambert had barked, chest heaving in a way reminiscent of his panics as a child.

When nobody made a move, the two half backed out of the room, keeping a suspicious eye on everyone else. They weren’t seen for three days but the food Vesemir had carefully left out on the side kept disappearing. Once the pass was closed off, Lambert reappeared and it was only sheer familiarity with his own home that let Vesemir know that the silent shadow lingering by the door wasn’t his imagination or a gust of wind.

“Settling in okay?” Vesemir had asked as he passed Lambert two plates rather than his usual one.

“It will do.” Loading up the two plates, Lambert had obviously had enough because he was darting off again, two shadows through the keep.

They kept up this awkward game until Vesemir caught Lambert trying to raid the sewing kit.

“Just bring it down, I can patch it up for you.”

Hesitantly, Lambert shied away. “It’s not mine,” he said quietly.

“Leave it in the pile with the others’ things.”

He was happy to find a few unfamiliar shirts in the pile and didn’t even comment on the fact that they smelled of Lambert as much as the foreign, nameless cat witcher.

The thing about wolves was that they liked their pack and craved their company. With Lambert so torn between mate and pack, the strain was starting to show. Not just on him but the other two too. It was going to be an issue but Vesemir had obviously underestimated his pups once again. The afternoon was too quiet and he went searching for them, worried they’d got into some mischief. They were nowhere to be found until he walked past Lambert’s bedroom. There, on the bed were his three pups, tangled into a pile and slumbering away. Vesemir smiled softly and looked up when someone stood next to him. The cat witcher sent him a hesitant smile and nodded to the pile.

“Do they ever run or growl in their sleep?”

“No. But they fart, snore and drool like champs.” Vesemir’s answer got a laugh from the other witcher who glanced back at the pups.

“I’m Aiden.”

“Vesemir.”

Leaning in as if to tell a secret, Aiden’s lips brushed against Vesemir’s ear. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Papa Vesemir.”

With that, Aiden turned and left, leaving Vesemir rooted to the spot, old heart squeezed tight in his chest as he looked over his pups again.

For years after that, there were three pups, a griffin and a kitten that Vesemir could call his. Then along came the bard. If Vesemir had thought he was protective of his pups, it was nothing compared to the little sparrow Geralt brought home. He was bright, happy and Vesemir marvelled that someone like Jaskier could exist in the face of the bleakness that was the world. While he tried not to fuss, it was impossible. Jaskier’s clothes were pretty but impractical, he was human so needed more warmth and couldn’t be worked as hard as his pups. Not that they were pushed a lot either. Vesemir had learned to let them relax as much as possible. They’d trained and fought for their lives until recently, it was time they had a break.

What was unusual was the way Jaskier seemed to return his affections. More often than not, Vesemir’s favourite tea would be brewing in the evening and a mug of it would appear by his preferred seat, along with a book. At first, Vesemir had been worried that Jaskier thought he had to do it. But when carefully asked, Jaskier laughed and said he liked taking care of people too. All he asked was that if Vesemir read his book recommendations, he’d consider discussing them with Jaskier, debating the merits and downfalls of each story.

By the time Ciri arrived at Kaer Morhen, Vesemir was feeling like he had a brood, pups, griffin, cat, sparrow and now a lion cub. It got even easier when she skipped in, fearless and smiling wide. Without even having to say anything, Vesemir was down on his knees to catch her running towards him with a happy “Papa Vesemir!”. While Lambert and Aiden snickered at that, Jaskier looked ever so smug. There was no doubt about who had told Ciri all their names. Though, a look at Geralt and the conviction about that dropped because he looked a little guilty too.

“Uncle Lambert! You’re a prick!” Ciri greeted merrily and Aiden brayed like a donkey. “You must be Uncle Aiden. I’ve been told not to tell you that you’re the one who rides said prick. Does that mean you and Uncle Lambert likes to play horses too?”

Suddenly, Vesemir was terrified, the winter was going to be an interesting one. And he worried what Ciri might say to Eskel, who had always been more sensitive.

“Uncle Eskel,” Ciri stood opposite Eskel and curtsied primly. “You’re as handsome as they all said you would be.”

And that was how Ciri wormed herself into all their hearts within a few minutes of meeting them all. She even gave Coen a high five as they met. Vesemir looked around at his family. It was very much a patchwork of ill fitting pieces and yet, they managed to make it work. He had never been happier or more proud. 

[innocentbi-stander]

popping off with some more demigod son of Hades jaskier content due to popular request!

I feel like I need to start this out with the fact that jaskier’s mother 100% had a threesome with Hades and Persephone and that’s how he was conceived (jaskier proudly gets his slut genes from his mother)

jaskier gets his love of flowers from persephone and while he is technically hades’ son, has a blessing from her that gives him some of her wicked cool flower power (to quote @wimdywednesday)

after jaskier wakes up after passing out, geralt and yennefer force him to sit down and tell them everything (”details jaskier, we need to know what we need to protect you from and what you can handle”) Geralt is also a very enthusiastic supporter of limits and making sure his bard doesn’t surpass his again (he was scared but would sooner die than admit that)

they learn about the wonders of ambrosia and nectar and geralt wants to strangle jaskier for his casual declaration that he “ran out and forgot to get more” when asked why he didn’t use it when he was hurt

jaskier meets the rest of the wolf witchers (vesemir knows immediantly what jaskier is and is thrilled) and geralt doesn’t know if he’s reassured or fearful that they get along so well

the witcher does enjoy watching jaskier absolutely kick lambert and eskel’s asses on the training ground (it’s still weird seeing jaskier fighting so skilled but geralt isn’t above admitting he’s a little turned on by it)

he gets the shock of his life one day when mid-spar a giant hulking black shape comes hurdling out of the shadow of the keep and straight towards jaskier. he grabs for his sword, but before he could so much as get a decent grip he hears jaskier’s delighted shout of “Flower!” and then he turns around and his bard is giggling and being licked to death by a bloody hellhound of all things

that one takes a bit more sheepish explaining on jaskier’s part but anyone opposing Flower’s frequent visits to the keep gives up as soon as they see how delighted ciri is

nilfgaard may still be after them, ciri is still trying to get a hold of her magic, jaskier keeps summoning the dead and creating concerning fractures in the ground when he sneezes (a memorable occasion) ,but right now they are all safe in the keep and that’s enough

until jaskier’s father comes to visit

Some more demigod jaskier content because I keep getting more and more ideas! Feel free to send me any prompts or asks in my inbox for anything for this au or something else, I’d be more than happy to see them!

Also I mayyy be currently writing a fic under this au, so stay tuned

[ao3feed-geralt-jaskier]

by FilthyPagan

5 times the witchers drink a *Questionable Substance* and 1 time they think better of it.

Or rather, 1 time where Vesemir knows better and 5 times he learns his sons were idiots.

Inspired by a comment from Panur on my last fic, A Lesson In Perspective.

(Tags to be added with new chapters.)

. . . .  

“Damn it, Lambert,” Vesemir muttered, “what did you put in that booze?”

Lambert looked up from his spot next to the cask. A cheeky grin spread across his face. “What? Can’t you guess?”

“Something that tastes like rot and hits like a fucking hurricane,” Eskal huffed.

Geralt grunted, taking another swig.

Jaskier giggled — drunk, but not from Lambert’s newest poison, thankfully.

“I give. What’s in it?”

“Wart Root! And Black Mold.”

Geralt and Eskal stared at him.

“Oh,” Eskal said. “Oh, we’re fucked.”

Geralt watched the liquor swirling in his cup. “Hm.”

“And you drank it.” Vesemir shook his head. “Tell me your senses serve you better on the path.”

There was just a little too much hesitation before the chorus of “…Well-”

A familiar feeling dawned on Vesemir. “This isn’t the worst of it, is it.”

Words: 1095, Chapters: 1/6, Language: English

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen, M/M, Multi

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Vesemir (The Witcher), Eskel (The Witcher), Lambert (The Witcher)

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, 5 Times, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), Winter at Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Comedy, Light Angst, maybe eventually, Comedy of Errors, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Vesemir (The Witcher), Swearing, Lambert Being a Little Shit (The Witcher), Lambert Being an Asshole (The Witcher), Vesemir is So Done (The Witcher)

[inber]

Regency era AU, in which Geralt is the rich nobility, expected to marry advantageously. His younger brothers, Eskel and Lambert, are already wed. His father, Vesemir, is forever inviting families with agreeable young women to stay at their estate, in the hopes that his eldest son will actually settle down.

Geralt is polite and courteous, but he never so much as asks any of the potential matches to accompany him on a chaperoned stroll in the gardens. He spends much of his time with the dogs, or in the stables.

Yennefer is from a good family, but they are struggling financially. She finds Geralt attractive, and she knows that as a woman, it's her duty to marry well - much as she hates the restrictive idea of it. She pursues him, ignoring his passiveness.

She's the one who finds out about Geralt's taboo romance with the stable-hand, Jaskier.

Such a relationship is not only frowned upon, it'd also be an absolute scandal for Geralt's family if it became public knowledge. At first she struggles with the information, until Geralt pays her a visit and begs for her mercy. And then she sees how they truly do love one another, this lord and his servant.

So she agrees to help. She will marry Geralt, so that he might get to live with Jaskier more secretively. Because love is love, she thinks. And Geralt swears neither she nor her family shall want for any material thing, ever again. He will care for her.

The more time she spends with both men, leading up to the wedding, the more fond they grow of each other. At first Jaskier is like an alleycat, all jealous spitting, but he soon realises Yennefer is giving them such a gift. And he softens, becoming fond of her clever manner, and her fashionable dresses. He adorns her horse's mane with flowers regularly.

And Geralt loves her way with the dogs, how she's not afraid to wrestle and get dirty, laughing the whole time. He admires her quick wit and he's intrigued by her flashing temper when she sees injustice. She's a tempest of a woman.

When Jaskier catches them kissing, tangled in the hedges, he's not angry. He's not upset. There's a question in his wide blue eyes for Geralt - this woman. She was sent to us. We will love her, won't we?

And it's as easy as breathing for Yennefer to kiss Jaskier, too, the warmth of her strong fiancé behind her.

Geralt and Yennefer’s wedding is joyful, and the night even more so. At their manor, they dismiss the servants to their quarters early, ensuring they have wine and fine food to occupy them. In their master bedroom, Jaskier joins them, making use of a specially crafted passageway.

There is a bit of concern when Yennefer falls pregnant, because Geralt and Jaskier have strikingly different features, and if the babe is born with chestnut hair and doe-eyes, there might be questions. But Cirilla is born with Geralt's pale features, and she is utterly adored by the household.

Unfortunately, secrets are hard to keep when one has status. Word reaches Vesemir of his eldest son's trysts, and he drops everything to pay Geralt and his wife a visit.

He drags Jaskier into Geralt's office by the collar of his shirt and throws him down onto the rug. Geralt and Yennefer are furious. Jaskier is sobbing. The argument becomes so heated that Vesemir tells Geralt that he either gets rid of his secret lover, or he'll be disowned. Geralt shakes with rage and is about to accept, when Jaskier interjects.

Geralt must think of Yennefer and her family, he pleads. He must think of baby Ciri. If it will save them, Jaskier will leave.

Geralt is devastated. Yennefer is heartbroken. Vesemir stands in the rubble of the love he has destroyed, seeing Jaskier's sacrifice, and it tugs at his heart - although he holds Geralt back as Jaskier departs. He must protect their family name. He must protect his other sons from disgrace.

But it doesn't feel right at all.

The manor falls dark in Jaskier's absence. Geralt spends long periods out riding, or simply staring vacantly out the window. Yennefer throws herself into Ciri's care. At night, the bed feels too big for both of them.

Geralt doesn’t know where Jaskier went. He tries to make enquiries as subtly as possible, but to no avail. Jaskier is protecting him by staying away. He knows it. Yennefer knows it.

When Vesemir calls to visit his granddaughter, Geralt refuses to see him. Yennefer is guarded and brusque in the way she entertains her father-in-law. It's almost been a year; Vesemir was sure they'd have moved on. But he feels the anguish bleeding from the very walls of the house.

The weight of the family's reputation versus his son's happiness wobbles back and forth in his mind. Geralt would have chosen to be cut off from titles and money, had Jaskier not decided to leave. But even though Jaskier spared Geralt the disowning, Vesemir lost his son anyway.

This isn't right.