#and next year. next year I’m doing to by one of geralt’s swords.

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

Renn Faire was a blast and we didn’t get rained out like I was worried about

Now we return to the Grind™️

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Geralt realising how pissed you are after running into you again…

It was another busy day where knights, men and women of all corners came in to rest their battle-weary feet and drink mead. There would be the occasional brawl but they were nothing when you compared it to battling a cursed wyvern with a blindfold.

You exited the back room having just refilled the pitcher of cool mead when a familiar grunt caught your attention. Just behind a rowdy table of farmers, in the corner, sat the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia - and a bard who was far too chipper while sober.

Inching a little closer, you busied yourself with empty flagons while remaining within earshot of the pair.

“Come on - it’s not a bad lyric. Ah, what do you know? You can wield a sword but not understand the complex meaning behind a beautiful string of words.” The bard said.

Geralt scoffed. “It wasn’t complex.”

An old man slid a few coins across the table for the service which you pocketed and then moved on to the next.

“We can’t stay long.” Geralt told his companion. You glanced back briefly and saw the brightly dressed man staring into his coin satchel, concerned.

“I could swear there was more silver in here. Geralt, I think I’ve been indecently swindled.”

You wanted to confirm that the man could easily have fallen prey to the notorious pick-pockets that haunt the tavern but you stayed silent, now distracted by a customer who ordered some pies.

“Don’t forget the carrots this time.” He reminded.

You wanted to tell him where to shove his carrots but heard your name being shouted from across the floor.

“Y/n, I need a word!” It was the tavern owner who enjoyed paying you less than what you were owed. With a sigh, you trudged over to him away from most prying ears. “You’ve been waiting on those tables long enough. Deliver those pies and refill goblets on the double or I’ll show you out the door.”

You had half a mind to bite back but chose to hold the words at bay. In ten minutes, the pie was ready to be collected from the kitchens. As you walked it to the table, you made the decision to confront Geralt but upon approaching his table, found that the Witcher and his bard had vanished, leaving behind some coins for the hospitality.

Geralt would have heard your name being bellowed. He would have seen you answer the call. And yet, he still left?

Typical!

The farmer who had ordered the food found his plate empty as you swerved around his chair and rushed out the wooden door. Turning left, you followed the small path down to where riders often tied their horses, your own being one of them - spotting the familiar silver hair and lute of the bard.

Words appeared to have failed and rational thoughts had abandoned your mind the second you fled.

Your hand flipped the pie out of its casing and with one, well-aimed throw, found its mark. The bard screamed and the Witcher stopped in his tracks instantly stilling for a few seconds.

Then he turned, his jaw clenched. “Did you throw a meat pie at my head?”

You tossed the empty pan over your shoulder. “You bet I did and I’ll do it again.”

The bard at Geralt’s side grabbed his guitar and hid behind the broad-shouldered man fearing that he would be next. “Oh, they’re pissed. What did you do?”

Geralt exhaled as he pulled stray bits of pastry out of his locks. “I’m not sure…”

“Not sure? You fucking ignored me in the tavern! Friends for years and it doesn’t warrant a simple ‘hello’?” You yelled.

Jaskier peered out from behind, “Oh, he’s always like that. We’ve been friends for several weeks and he pretends to hardly know me - such a jest.” He chuckled to himself quite fondly.

Ignoring the brightly coloured song man, Geralt addressed you, now free from the discarded food. He had indeed acknowledged the your presence the minute he set foot in the tavern but found himself reliving old memories instead - some good, others painful.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after that business with the striga.”

“The striga?” You repeated, remembering the event he was referring to where he had taken claim over the beasts defeat instead of giving you proper recognition. “That was over a year ago, I was bitter for perhaps a few weeks but no more. But you wouldn’t know that because you ran off with Roach.”

“I didn’t run off - I just - you were injured and I had no reason to hang around while you healed.” The Witcher explained. “In hindsight, I probably should have checked in.”

You nodded vehemently. “And since you didn’t, you’re very deserving of that meat pie.”

“The pie was mean.” Geralt frowned.

“Oh a tale of a strained but beautiful friendship filled with battles and miscommunication - you must regale me with the details.” Jaskier grinned.

You would gladly do so if your old friend would have your company once more. Raising a brow at Geralt, you posed the silent question.

“Don’t you have a job?” Geralt asked.

You squinted in return. “I abandoned my post and stole a pie. I’m surely fired.”

“Fine - but only until the next village.” The Witcher negotiated, knowing full well that his friend would likely be staying for a longer time. He grabbed the reins and pulled himself up on his horse with a small grunt.

You shared a similar grin to the bard and sent a high whistle into the air to call forth your own steed for the journey ahead.

When the horse approached, you took hold of the reins and walked alongside Jaskier.

“While we’re on the topic, I’ll tell you about the time when Geralt fought an ifrit almost fully naked.” You winked and caught the eye roll on your friends face.

Jaskier pulled his guitar to the front and strummed a few strings to start a catchy tune. “Oh, I’m ready for this.”

~ More imagines here ~

[bunnyychi]

Brother Love

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

Masterlist

Summary: Young!Kaer Morons duelling because they have big egos Warnings: Swearing; Possibly bad descriptions of combat A/N: I need more fanfics of the young witchers, please get out there everyone and do the lords work. Also I know that in canon the story between how Lambert and Aiden met is different but I thought this would be cuter.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

“Ugh, just looking at his sly smile makes me wanna punch him in the face”

“Your’s isn’t any better though.”

“The punching isn’t exclusive to him, you know?” 

Geralt’s lips twisted into a grin as he heard the agitated voices of his brethren. He wiped the sweat off his brow after he fastened the Reins of Roach to the post right outside the fortress of Kaer Morhen. “They’re just mad cause I’m better than them- isn’t that right girl?” He patted the horse's mane lovingly before pulling an apple out of the knapsack which was hanging from the saddle and feeding it to the chestnut colored mare.

Having decided that he had eavesdropped enough, Geralt made his way up the stairs and into the large stronghold that he called his home. Even though the entrance hall seemed intimidating at first, he had learned to love the sheer vastness of it all and most of all, it was the people with whom he was sharing this particular space with that made him appreciate it. 

Although the very same people had been gossiping about him just before they heard the massive wooden doors creak as they were shoved open. 

“Your favorite Witcher has returned everyone!” Geralt winked at the two boys sitting at one of the two long tables, Lambert greeting him with a roll of the eyes. 

“Oh please, hold back on the applause Gentlemen! Lest I confuse you with one of the plenty maidens which nearly started brawling at the opportunity to simply share a few words with me!”

In a gesture of feigned modesty, Geralt threw up his arms as he stepped toward the two. 

“I need you to jump out of a window.” Lambert’s face screamed ‘unimpressed’ while he watched Geralt sit down next to him, cockily reaching for his mug of mead and taking a sip as if it was his own.

“Lambert’s just mad ‘cause he embarrassed himself on the contract, don’t worry about it.” 

Eskel smirked, seemingly recounting what had happened earlier today, ignoring the grumbling coming from the boy in front of him.

“What? Fell face first into the mud while trying to dodge a Drowner?” The white haired boy nudged the other with his elbow, taking another swig.

“That happened like when? 5 years ago? Besides, it’s not my fault that these slimy bastards love the swamp..”

Lambert snatched the mug from Geralt's hands, shooting him a challenging look which Eskel immediately recognized. “Oh no, don’t embarrass yourself Lam.” Duels were no novelty among the brothers. Vesemir’s original notion for those was to show the witchers what they lacked and could improve on yet often a simple training session would just result in a power show for the juvenile boys.

Geralt’s gaze wandered from Eskel back to Lambert who was still staring daggers at him. A smile crept to his lips. 

“You wanna go?” 

Lambert took one last swig of the mug before harshly letting it collide with the wooden table beneath him, wiping any excess alcohol off of his mouth. 

“You bet, pretty boy”

A few light hearted quips and glares later, the boys found themselves in the courtyard. The setting sun casting a mesmerizing hue of golden over the land and illuminating their faces.

Eskel stood to the side, sighing before clasping his hands together. He knew he couldn’t change the minds of both of his brothers, the only thing he could do was pray that Vesemir wouldn’t return any time soon or else he wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

“Alright guys!” Eskel raised his voice, something he still wasn’t quite comfortable with. 

“No magic, no grabbing off the actual swords-” Eskel’s gaze wandered from his brothers to the sword stands just a few meters away. 

“These wooden things make me feel like I’m a child..” Lambert mumbled under his breath, turning the wooden sword in his hands.

“And most importantly!” Lambert and Geralt looked expectantly at Eskel, both eager to finally begin.

“No biting and no hair pulling.”

“Aw c’mon, hair pulling is like the only good thing” 

“I’m the only one who has hair, you dork ass loser.”

“Not after I’m done with you!”

Once again, Eskel sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. He really prayed that Vesemir wouldn’t return any time soon. 

“Okay, to make up for the hair pulling:”

His brothers turned to him once again, their interest clearly piqued.

“How about you bet on something?” 

The proposal was instantly met with joy and as Geralt seemed to think hard about what he wanted Lambert to do, the other was quick as always:

“If I win, Geralt has to shave his head.”

“No fucking way.” 

“Yeah way, pretty boy.”

Lambert blew the white haired one a kiss, winking at him with a mischievous look in his eyes. The image of a bald Geralt seemingly enough to motivate him. 

“Geralt, you got anything in mind?” 

He absentmindedly scratched his chin (partly to emphasize the faint facial hair which the others weren’t able to grow yet. 

“If i win..” he began dramatically, leaving a pause in which he intensely stared at the boy across from him. 

“Lambert has to ask Aiden to accompany him for an entire day of contracts.” 

The grin which Geralt was wearing on his face was dirtier than if he actually fell into horse feces.

It was no secret that there had been something happening in Lambert's mind when they had that school exchange two years ago. Aiden was a fellow witcher from the school of the cat and while Eskel went to said school for about six months, Aiden had stayed in Kaer Morhen with Geralt and Lambert, training alongside them. 

The subject of whether or not Lambert fancied the boy had become good teasing material for Geralt and Eskel and yet, the youngest at least tried to seem nonchalant about it but apparently this time, Geralt's bargain was of another caliber. 

Lambert's face twisted for just a split second and there was an unfamiliar redness that lightly tinted his cheeks. One that a regular human wouldn’t have noticed, his brothers were anything but regular though, to his dismay. 

“Tz, why would that be a problem?” 

Lambert couldn’t get more unlucky with the way his voice cracked right when spoke. It only took one exchange of looks between the white haired boy and the brunette standing to the side for them to erupt into laughter. 

“What the fuck is your problem? I don’t see an issue!” 

After about two minutes of continuous laughter, Eskel wiped a tear from his eye, trying to regulate his breathing while Geralt mockingly repeated the voice crack.

“Alright, okay!” 

Geralt took one last shaky breath, readying himself for the duel in which he would give his all. The image of Lambert nervously asking someone out while he could watch with a self satisfied grin filled him with the determination to win. 

“Ready, Set, GO!”

Within milliseconds, their swords collided. Both of them change sides, their eyes locked in an intense game of guessing. Either one anticipating or better, waiting for the other to make a move. 

Just as Geralt had thought, Lambert took a small step forward, switching the weight from one foot to the other, raising his sword, trying to go for a strike which Geralt hurriedly parried.

Another strike, this time from above. Geralt took a few small steps back, making sure he kept himself steady.

As his sword collided with that of his youngest brother, he saw an opportunity. It was destined to fail but if he was quick enough he could strike him fast enough for him to become panicked. 

With one determined push, the white haired boy set to attack:

Parry. 

This time Geralt went for a lower stab while simultaneously blocking another attempt at a slash from Lambert. Swiftly, Geralt jumped to the side, giving him an advantage:

He struck again. This time, Lambert barely managed to block with the sword guard. 

The splinters were flying from the wooden weapons, Eskel had already taken multiple steps back so as to not get any more injuries to his face than he already had. 

Suddenly, Lambert went for a stab that Geralt just managed to jump away from. 

Both of them were beginning to become aggressive which meant that he had to be even more careful and regain a sense of calmness. 

It was a risky attempt but in his rush, Geralt decided to go for a broad slash, one that almost landed were it not for Lambert's quick reflexes. The younger one jumped backwards.

Now it seemed like Lambert had also noticed his impatience, the two boys were now standing across from each other, circling and watching. 

“I can’t wait to watch you talk to Aiden..” Geralt winked at him. Although he was talking, his attention was fully focused on the movement of his opponent. 

“Shut up dude.” Lambert wasn’t fazed by Geralt's attempt of distraction, guess he had to pull out the big ones, he thought. 

“Oh Aiden, it seems that my horse isn’t fit enough to be ridden..” The white haired mocked in a higher voice, another smile on his lips as he could hear Eskel cackling in the background. 

He closely studied Lambert's grip, ever so slightly tightening, his pulse quickening by just a smidgen. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I rode with you and held onto you and your strong, muscled biceps, would you?” 

Ah, there it was, Geralt thought as he parried a wave of slashes, pushing down the blade of his now agitated brother. 

He went for a stab and although it didn’t land, he was now in a position to win.

Geralt went for another slash, which Lambert parried but led him to believe he had an opening. 

The strike from above was dodged swiftly as Geralt ducked underneath the arm of the other and struck a fatal blow to the other ones side.

“FUCK!” 

“You suck.” 

Geralt put a hand on the shoulder of Lambert who was just staring at the ground now, his sword falling to his side. 

“You fought well though, don’t worry.”

“Thanks..” 

The youngest patted Geralt's hand on his shoulder and wiped the sweat off of his brow. 

“Guess Aiden will be a lucky man next time we visit… Ouch what the fuck you asshole?” 

And there it was, the hair pulling. 

“Eskel! Do something!” Geralt struggled to remove Lambert's hand from the tight grip he had on his roots, his scalp burning already. 

“The duel is over, the rules aren’t set anymore!” 

“Yeah you heard him! No rules anymore you cheap Amor!” 

“Just what is going on here?” 

Nothing froze the boys up as effectively as the authoritative voice of a certain mentor. 

Geralt let out a sigh of relief as the deathgrip on his hair was removed. 

“Stand straight you three!” 

Almost like they were the most obedient soldiers in the army, all three of them lined up, statues as straight as if they had been hammered into stone. 

“Eskel, just what the fuck have these two done?”

Vesemir seemed more fed up than anything rubbing the bridge of his nose in disbelief. 

Lambert and Geralt shot Eskel a pleading look, he could just rat them out, tell the truth about why they started the duel. 

Eskel sighed once again. “We thought it would be a good idea to train a bit more, we wanted to show you that we could be unsupervised and still work on our abilities.” 

Alright, both Geralt and Lambert thought, they would take over all of Eskel’s chores for the month. 

“Well that is noble.. And how’d that work out?” 

Vesemir narrowed his eyes at the few strands of white hair that clung to Lambert's glove, who just gave him a sheepish look in return. 

“Well,” Lambert began. “We simply wanted to emulate all different kinds of situations, like what if someone grabbed you by your hair in the middle of a fight?” He wanted to emphasize his point by putting his hand on Geralt's head once again, yet the older one just flinched at the gesture, shooting him a look that would definitely kill if Lambert hadn’t been his brother.

Vesemir looked unimpressed but eventually just signaled the boys to follow him inside. 

As Lambert and Geralt ran past Eskel and Vesemir to take over Eskel’s dinner duty, they heard Vesemir call out to them:

“And by the way Lambert.”

The boy turned around to the old Witcher.

“Eskel is way better at lying than you are.”

[shelf-care]

Welcome to my new series,

"Steel Crane, Silver Griffin"

This is a Witcher fanfiction that I’ve had in my head for a long time, all the characters in this story are original characters, I have only used the Witcher continent and the Witchers as a setting. Everything else is mine which I’m proud of.

There is no Geralt.

Just so everyone knows and I don’t disappoint you. This is set 1000 years before the witcher books, a 1000 years after the conjunction of the spheres.

I hope yall like it!.

______________________________________________________________

Mist clouded my view of the mountains from my room. The trees swayed from side to side as if waving to me and saying good morning. The sky said otherwise, angry and rumbling and threatening to let out a downpour of rain that would surely make the sea surly by the afternoon. In my next of blankets I sighed. I hadn’t been back to Kear Seren in a few months, the longest I had been away since I had first arrived. I stretched to feel the cold wood of my bed frame touching the balls of my feet. I wanted nothing more than to stay in here comfortable and warm as the sea breeze turned my skin to goose bumps. The embers in my fireplace had gone out hours ago, smoke and ash the only thing remaining. I turned, my body facing the window fully, and the cliffs below my window broke the waves of the ocean in a rhythmic pace. 

A breath escaped my lips once again as I closed my eyes. I was home, and I did not intend on leaving again so quickly. That is if it had been my choice.  My horns had wrapped themselves up into my sheets, putting a hole into the new set I had just been given. I ground thinking about what the headmaster would say this time. “Better not to say anything.” The thought escaped my lips. Stretching again as I sat up, I moved the bedspread aside, my feet now hitting the stone which had captured all the cold of the night. Spying my armor from across the room I couldn’t help but give a slight smile. The twin swords I had earned, the armor I had made myself over two years of work, and finally, my books which I had been memorizing since I could talk. I looped a belt over bandolier, Tunic over chainmail and finally boots slipped over my feet which had been covered in woolen socks. 

-

Coming to the end of the winding staircase I could hear my fellow witchers, clambering for breakfast while some had come to stay for merely a night, such was the life we had all been called to. I pinned my hair back behind my horns, hoping it would stay up during breakfast. “Marabella!” A hand waved to me as I stepped forward avoiding the many other warriors in the castle. “Took you long enough. What were you doing anyway?” Burett asked. His faded hair streaked with white and black made him appear older than I, but we were the same age of course. His face was stubbled aside from the mustache he had chosen to grow over the summer season, he laughed,  taking in his morning ale. “I dreamed I was walking in the woods, and low and behold the Gods had blessed me with a man. We were making sweet love before I was rudely woken up.” I gripped his tankard of ale, taking it from his loose hold and drank the remaining drops before he could. His jaw hung low before he laughed. “Marabella, the sweet, Marabella the soft. Marabella, the world would be too cruel to you.” He laughed as I sat down, tankard slammed down in jest. “It definitely was to you when you grew that horrid mustache.” I winked and gave a full hearted laugh, everyone else at the table joined in the jests as well and breakfast went over as well as one could in the keep. 

-

The master of our order; Master Aber of the gray hills came to the front of the hall, calling our attention just with the way he walked. His built body seemed that of a twenty year old youth, but his wrinkles and grey hair had said otherwise. He stepped on the center platform that was used for announcements, our new queries, the path was never too long abandoned. “War has broken out among the many lords of Zerrikania,” His words lazy and tinged with age, his blue eyes still very much alive with zeal. He held up a contract. “The royal family have asked Witchers of all factions to accompany them to a masquerade, there, they will choose a witcher to serve as their personal bodygaurds till the royals death, or when this war has subsided. It is a very honerable proposal, however I know how all if not most of you are, stubborn, flighty, and worst of all compulsive.” He was silent as the room rumbled with people talking amongst themselves. Burret waved off the idea. “Who would want to be some queen's lapdog? The path is what matters. The money is shit, however the freedom? You can’t wish to put a price on that.” He smiled slickly, taking a long draw from his pipe. “Some of us like living in luxury dear Burret.” I leaned over whispering in his ear. I could feel the chill run down his spin as I’d tickled his ear with my breath. He looked at me, and gave me a side smile which had been noticeable enough for most to see his teeth. He leaned closer his ear inches from mine. “I can show you luxury you could never comprehend dear Marabella.” His voice was thick and husky. My breath would’ve hitched if I hadn't known what he was like in the bedroom already. “We both know I am the one who knows best dear friend.” I hummed looking back to our master. “Do I have any volunteers?” He asked, breaking through the quiet of the room. “I will be our representative Master Aber.” I stood, my leathers shifting with my body. “Pack your things Ms Marabella. Your contract, and supplies will be provided for by the end of today.” I nodded my head and that was the end of that.

[pterodactylterrace]

Jaskier gets taken A LOT. Like at least once a year while on The Path.

The first time it happens, they are coming down the blue mountains from Kaer Morhen. Jaskier had wandered off, claiming the need to search for inspiration not long after they had made camp, halfway down the mountain. Geralt became worried when he wasn’t back within the hour. He was downright frantic when he caught the scent of a grizzly bear when the wind shifted directions.

He took off in the direction Jaskier had been wandering, his stomach dropping when the scents of the bear and Jaskier’s perfume met. He was damn near frantic by the time he reached the bear’s cave, steel sword in hand, only to be met with Jaskier sitting calmly by a mother bear as she kept him wrapped in her paws, licking his head as though he were a cub needing groomed.

“Oh, hello Geralt.” Jaskier greeted upon seeing him, the bear rumbling low in her throat at the intruder. “Oh come now, he’s no threat.” Jaskier huffed, carefully wiggling away and going to rejoin his friend.

“Geralt!” Jaskier gasped when he saw him take a defensive stance, seemingly unaware of the bear following after him. “She just lost her cub, have a heart!” He scolded.

“She’s going to eat you!”

“She is a grieving mother!” Jaskier insisted, moving between the two of them, hands on his hips as he glared at Geralt. “And I for one will NOT allow this cycle to continue any further! Beartha, while it has been a lovely afternoon, I’m afraid I must depart now. I wish you all the best, and I pray to all the gods to heal your broken heart.” Jaskier actually BOWS to the damn bear. Geralt thinks he is having a stroke when the bard just wanders back out after that, the bear rumbling sadly as she curls back up where she had been previously grooming the bard.

The next time had been significantly more terrifying. An archgriffon had swooped down and snatched him up, flying off before Geralt could even draw his crossbow. It took days to track it down, each passing hour feeling more hopeless than the last.

Geralt has never felt such a sense of relief than when he spotted the griffin’s nest, faintly hearing Jaskier’s singing floating down. His relief was short lived, however, as a shadow flew overhead before landing back in the nest.

Geralt doubled his efforts in reaching the nest, sure his friend was going to be griffin good by the time he reached him.

Instead, his ears picked up a rather interesting conversation.

“Isabelle, I already told you, I don’t eat raw venison.” Jaskier sighed, a few chirps and a slow squawk following his words.

“Deer is venison. I can’t eat it without cooking it and I don’t very well have access to fire, now do I?” Another slow trill.

“Exactly. I will be just fine with these lovely berries, if SOMEONE would stop trying to steal them! Violet! You eat the deer, let me have those!” Now a smaller, almost pouting chirp, followed by a low rolling rumble.

“Thank you, Isabelle! See? Even your mother agrees!”

Geralt slowly makes his way around the edge of the cliff, eying the nest warily. It’s tucked back in a corner of rock face, only a small ledge leading around to it. Jaskier spots him first, lighting up and marching towards him like this entire situation was somehow normal.

The griffin mother pounces instantly, her wings wrapping around the bard as she spits acid at Geralt who just barely manages to get his quen up in time.

“Now, now, Isabelle! Geralt is a dear friend and not a threat!” Jaskier huffs, carefully wiggling out from behind her wings and facing her with a stern look. The griffin tilts her head at him and chirps, Jaskier sighing and shaking his head in response.

“The one I told you about? I swear, it’s like you don’t remember a thing I say!” Jaskier huffed. “I told you I would only be able to stay until he came for me.” Now the baby griffin chirps from the nest, flapping her wings despondently.

“Violet, we knew this day would come.” Jaskier soothes, stepping around the mother and gently patting the baby’s head. “I had a wonderful time, but alas, I must depart. And Isabelle? No more kidnapping nannies! Violet is big enough to join you when you leave the nest. No one needs to stay with her now.”

Then there was the time with the succubus. Admittedly, that had been less of a bardnapping and more of Jaskier not having any self preservation instincts. All it took was the succubus asking him to join her for some annual festival/mating event and he was gone. Thankfully Eskel was the “prized guest” at said event and helped bring the bard back to Geralt. Turns out the Succubi consider the scarred Witcher a good omen and claim his presence at the event brings about a year of good fortune.

Geralt is currently working on the prototype for the continents first bard leash. So far it’s just a rope that he threatens to tie around his waist if he wanders off again. Jaskier thinks he’s joking. He’s not.

[dat-carovieh]

Stupid

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: G

Wordcount: 2.4k

Tags: intelligence, unexpected skills, 5+1, getting together, first kiss

Read on AO3

One: Monster parts.

Jaskier had usually acted pretty stupid. In the nearly six months, Geralt had known him, he had shown him multiple times how stupid. Starting with not staying back, when Geralt told him to for his own safety. Way to often he had nearly gotten gutted by some monster. He kept fucking married people or other people whose relatives might not agree with this and he had been beaten up by someone because of this at least three times since they knew each other. He absolutely wasn’t made for the life in the road. He didn’t know how to build a fire, how to hunt or how to protect himself against the weather when sleeping outside.

When they had been on their first adventure, he had yelled at the elves to not hurt Geralt and better kill him too if they killed Geralt. This might have been brave but also so incredibly dumb.

In short, Geralt had various reasons to think Jaskier was stupid. That was until he started to realize there might be other ways of being intelligent. Geralt had just killed a bunch of drowners and a water hag and Jaskier was standing behind him as he cut out the valuable parts for selling. He was mumbling something to himself as he watched Geralt do this. When Geralt got up he looked at Jaskier questioningly, the bard was still mumbling under his breath.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked.

“Calculating” he answered.

“What?”

“So, you got 12 drowner eyes, one is squished so only worth about half the price, four brains, need to be more careful with them, they’re valuable, six hearts and six livers, also water essence from the hag, her tongue and eyes as well. You should keep three eyes and a liver for your potions, because I saw you run out, so if the merchant you sell them to gives you what they’re worth you should get 63 crowns and 32 copper out of this,” Jaskier explained.

Geralt stared at the bard, his mouth open. Not only had he just calculated this in his head, he also knew the current prices of monster parts and had payed enough attention to know which potions Geralt had run out of and what ingrediences he needed for them.

“Did you just do that in your head?” Geralt asked pretty dumfounded.

“Yeah, of course. You know Geralt, despite what you might think, I’m actually highly intelligent. You do know, I’ve studied in Oxenfurt, right? I graduated as master of the seven liberal arts. People might think the student life is all partying and fucking around, which it is a lot, but it’s also a huge amount of work,” Jaskier started to lecture him. He was right, obviously, Geralt had to admit. He knew Jaskier had studied in Oxenfurt and knew he had graduated as Master of the seven liberal arts. He still pretended to be unimpressed.

“I’ve been a professor for a year,” Jaskier added and seemed to end his rant with this. Geralt’s head snapped around.

“You what?” Geralt asked. This he hadn’t known and he wouldn’t have expected at all.

“I taught poetry at Oxenfurt Academy for a year before I left to chase fame and adventure,” Jaskier explained.

“You’re only nineteen,” Geralt said.

“Well you usually graduate with seventeen and I was best in my year so I was offered the teaching position just after my graduation.” Now Geralt couldn’t hide anymore that he was impressed. To get offered a teaching position just after graduating he couldn’t just be best of his year. He must have been incredibly good. He felt a little bad for underestimating the bard.

Two Blacksmithing

“Geralt your sword looks like shit. Who fucking made this?” Jaskier asked while watching Geralt polishing his sword. He wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t a good sword but his last one had been broken and he hadn’t been able to afford a better one.

“What the fuck do you know about swords?” Geralt asked confused.

“Enough to know that this one has a shit quality and will probably break during your next hunt. You need a new one,” Jaskier lectured him.

“Too bad, I can’t afford a new one,” he answered. They were pretty low on coin so the sword would have to make do.

“Well, you’re not going hunting with this piece of shit. If I had a couple of smithing tools, I could probably improve it enough to at least be usable.”

“You what now? What do you know about smithing?” Geralt asked. He probably had read some books about it, but it was nothing you learned from a book.

“Everyone needs a hobby, Geralt. I learned it when I was still in Oxenfurt. It’s actually pretty relaxing. With all the reading and composing and studying I needed something more physical. Give me your sword, I will go to the local blacksmith and ask him to use his tools to fix what can be fixed with this piece of shit,” he explained.

Once again Jaskier had shocked him, that was not a skill or interest he had expected from the bard. But he did hand over his sword and watched Jaskier hurry off with it.

It took a couple of hours until he returned and the sword looked a lot better now, the bard himself was covered in grime but looked really happy.

“This was fun,” Jaskier announced. “Heinz was very accommodating. He was happy to meet someone who shared his passion and even allowed me to use his smithy for free. Here you go.” He handed Geralt the sword and the Witcher inspected it. Jaskier really had done a great job with it. It was hard for Geralt to believe what he saw.

Three: Instruments

Geralt looked at Jaskier who was sitting in a corner of the room. They had traveled to Lettenhove because Jaskier wanted to visit his parents. It was his father’s 60s birthday and they wanted to celebrate. The bard had a weird instrument in his lap.

“What the fuck is that?” Geralt asked, squinting.

“Oh, that’s my Hurdy-Gurdy,” Jaskier explained. That definitely sounded like it was fake. There was no instrument called a Hurdy-Gurdy, that sounded too ridiculous.

“A what now?” Geralt asked.

“Hurdy-Gurdy. Great instrument. I love playing it. But it’s not as accepted as the lute in the common folk and I had to decide on one instrument to take with me, so the lute is my go to instrument. But I have a lot of others, I love to play,” Jaskier explained, as he continued to turn the crank.

“Looks complicated,” Geralt said, watching him play.

“Some people say it is, but I always had an easy time picking up instruments. I started collecting weird instruments as a child and started to teach them to myself.”

Of course, he had taught this stuff to himself. Geralt didn’t think he could have been surprised again, but here he was, gaping at Jaskier, mouth open, as the bard looked down again, focusing on playing the instrument with the absolutely fake sounding name.

Four: Languages

“Geralt look at this book,” Jaskier cried out excitedly while his nose was buried in an old book. Geralt stepped over to him to see what the bard had found. Geralt was sure he had never seen such symbols before but Jaskier’s eye movements suggested he was actually reading it.

“What is it?” Geralt asked.

“It’s from the Vran, it’s so interesting, describing their culture. I need to take this with me. They’re nearly extinct and this knowledge can not be lost,” Jaskier explained, nearly tripping over his own words in excitement.

“You can read the Vran language?” Geralt asked shocked. He didn’t think he had ever met someone being able to understand more then a couple of words. He himself had learned about three words and he usually was pretty good with languages but this was the hardest he had ever seen.

“Yeah of course I can. Reading is easy. I’m not good at talking, though, learned it through books, mostly self-taught. I could probably write it but if I would talk to them, they probably wouldn’t understand me,” he explained.

Learning a language from books was a lot of effort and being good enough to read a book in the language meant Jaskier must be pretty good at it.

“Look at this paragraph,” Jaskier said and held the book in front of Geralt’s face.

“I can’t read this,” Geralt admitted.

“What? I thought you were really good with languages,” Jaskier said and seemed seriously shocked.

“I am, but that’s one of the hardest languages on the continent and it’s spoken by a race that’s nearly extinct. As nice as it could be to learn it, it’s not practical. I would suggest to rather learn dwarven or nilfgaardian,” Geralt said. He had a pretty solid knowledge of both of the languages. Good enough to haggle with merchants and tell Emperor Emhyr to fuck off in his native language.

“Vaer'truov me, essea, vatt'ghern,” he replied.

“Impressive,” Geralt replied. He had not expected Jaskier to be able to speak nilfgaardian.

“I also speak vodyan,” Jaskier explained.

“Seriously? Why?” Geralt asked.

“I just think learning languages is fun.”

“Hmmm.”

---

Jaskier looked at Regis with wide eyes.

“You’re a vampire?” he blurted out. Geralt rolled his eyes. This was rather rude from the bard.

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry, I can understand, if you rather not have anything to do with me anymore,” Regis answered. Geralt had to only take one look at the bard to know the opposite was the case, for some reason he was trembling with excitement. And suddenly a wave of words, Geralt did not understand left the bard’s mouth. Regis looked surprised at first but then a big smile manifested on his face and showed off his fangs and he replied, apparently in the same language. Geralt stared at them in confusion.

“Are you speaking the vampire language?” Geralt asked.

“Yes, it’s so refreshing to meet a human who speaks my language,” Regis said to Geralt then he turned to Jaskier. “You speak it quite well.”

“I had a lot of practice in a certain brothel in Vizima,” Jaskier answered.

In the following days, Geralt saw the both of them sitting together a lot, speaking a language, he didn’t understand. Maybe he should learn it, Regis was a close friend and it would be nice, being able to talk to him in his own language. He also felt a little left out.

Five: Potion making

“Geralt, what the fuck are you doing there?” Jaskier yelled. Geralt looked up startled.

“Making my potions?” he answered confused. Jaskier had seen him doing this countless of times.

“Like this?”

“What do you mean?” Geralt asked.

“That’s how they taught you to make swallow in Kaer Morhen? Drowner brains? Really? That raises the toxicity way too much. What you need instead is the heart of the drowner. Same effect but much less toxic. You won’t feel as much like vomiting afterwards,” Jaskier explained.

“How the fuck do you know that again?” Geralt asked. What did a bard know about Witcher potions?

“I’ve known you for a long time now, I did some research over the winter. Found a lot of old books from various Witcher schools explaining stuff. You really should have communicated with the other schools more. The cats perfected that potion.”

“Did you find out something else I might not know,” Geralt asked squinting.

“I’m so glad you asked,” Jaskier declared and jumped up. Oh no, that could be a long lecture. Jaskier opened his saddlebag and retrieved a book. As he opened it Geralt saw, it was written in Jaskier’s handwriting.

“In here I collected everything noteworthy I found,” he declared and flipped through the pages. When he found what he’d been looking for he started to read. It was a part about potions, Geralt had no idea about all the possibilities.

Soon after he got to the next part, going deep into the history of Witchers. There was so much Geralt didn’t know. Much had been lost over the years and he couldn’t believe, Jaskier had managed to get all of this together.

It suddenly hit Geralt that Jaskier had spent his winters researching stuff about Geralt’s origins and also information to help him. He didn’t know how to deal with that kind of affection.

+ 1 Stupid

Geralt was limping up the stairs of the inn they were staying at. The damn griffin had buried its claws deep in Geralt’s thigh and he had wrapped some cloth around it to stop the blood from rushing out. He opened the door and nearly collapsed on the floor. Jaskier jumped up and caught him before he could hit the floor. He basically carried Geralt to the bed.

“Pull down your pants,” Jaskier demanded in a stern voice. “I need to have a look at it.” Geralt had learned to not argue with Jaskier about stuff like that and complied. Jaskier opened the knot, holding the cloth around Geralt’s thigh and removed it.

“Sheyss,” he muttered. Geralt grinned at the nilfgaardian swear. Jaskier tended to go through different languages whenever he started to swear.

“You need to be more careful, Geralt,” he scolded as he cleaned the wound. “That’s so fucking deep, if you were human you would have bled out from that.”

“Good thing I’m not human then,” Geralt answered. Jaskier didn’t answer that, he just got on, tending to the wound. Gentle fingers fluttering over Geralt’s skin.

When he was done, they sat on the bed, shoulders brushing each other.

“I can’t lose you, Geralt. Please, I couldn’t stand, sitting in some room in an inn, waiting for you just to realize, you won’t come back one day. I just can’t,” Jaskier mused.

“Why?” Geralt asked.

“Because I fucking love you,” Jaskier blurted out.

“What?” Geralt looked at Jaskier shocked.

“I love you, Geralt, haven’t you noticed? How can you not have noticed?”

“Why would you love me? That’s stupid,” Geralt answered.

“No, it’s fucking not,” Jaskier answered.

“It is. I can never give you a nice and quite life, always hunting monsters, always being an outcast, you fucking deserve better.”

“I don’t want better. There is nothing better for me. If you don’t love me back, that’s fine, but I still love you, always have.” Geralt looked at Jaskier, took in the honest glint in his eyes. Then he leaned forwards and pressed his lips against Jaskier’s. Jaskier’s arms flung around him and the bard nearly crawled into his lap, just stopped because he avoided touching Geralt’s injury.

“Stupid,” Geralt muttered against Jaskier’s lips.

“You’re stupid,” Jaskier answered, gently cradling Geralt’s cheek.

“I love you and if that’s stupid, then I will just have to live with being stupid,” he said.

[queenxxxsupreme]

Homecoming (Eskel x f!reader)

A/N: This fic doesn’t necessarily spoil anything for s2, but it sort of uses a few things from s2 ep2 except nothing bad happens,

Warnings: may contain s2 spoilers! completely fluffy, mentions of a new scar/recent injury, nothing outside of canon, bath, brief and vague mentions of nudity but nothing sexual, kissing and lovey stuff

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Eskel comes home to Kaer Morhen for the Winter. 

“He should have been home by now.” You placed two tankards down in front of Coen, Triss, and Lambert then picked up their empty ones. 

“Relax, Y/N. He always makes it.” Lambert picked up his tankard and sniffed what was in it. “Did you poison this?”

“He’s usually here by the first frost.” You turned to place the empty tankards on the small pile forming at the end of the table. 

“Don’t worry about him, Y/N.” Vesemir told you. He sat at the table just behind Lambert with Ciri, Geralt, Yennefer, and Jaskier. “He’ll find his way home.”

“I know he will.” You paused for a moment, your eyes flickering to the two large doors at the front of the room. “But what if something’s happened to him?”

Silence fell around the room. No one wanted to think about anything bad happening to their fellow witcher. Your stomach churned at the thought and your hands began to get clammy. 

“Come have a seat with us, Y/N. You’ve been running around all day like a madman.” Jaskier gestured to the empty seat next to himself.

You looked over to him, shaking your head.

“I-I have to stay busy, Jaskier. I just…. If I’m not busy, I begin to worry.”

“You mean that’s not what you’re doing right now?” Coen raised his brows. 

“Shit, woman! Just sit down and have a drink!” Lambert exclaimed. “You’re getting all of us anxious with how worried you are over nothing. Eskel’s a grown witcher. Nothing’s gonna stop him from getting back here, especially to you.”

You knew Lambert’s words were true. Eskel would stop at nothing to return to Kaer Morhen. After such a long time on the Path, he always hurried to get back to the witcher’s keep as soon as he could. That was why when he was a whole month late, you knew something was wrong. 

Eskel always came with the first frost, but that had been weeks ago. Shortly after the frost, the other wolves and their allies had joined you. Geralt and Cirilla were the last two to arrive, having just shown up earlier that morning. 

You moved down to the small pile of dirty dishes at the end of the table. Triss stood up and walked around the table. 

“Y/N, why don’t you let me handle these?”

“Oh, that’s alright, Triss.” You smiled, shaking your head. 

“No really. I don’t mind. You should go get a bath. It’ll help you calm down.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet hers briefly and then you looked back towards the doors just behind her. 

“I suppose a bath does sound nice. If Eskel shows-,”

“I’ll let him know where you are.” She nodded her head.

“Thank you, Triss.”

Cirilla watched as you left the room. 

“Is Y/N a sourceress?”

“She’s human.” Geralt answered her. 

“What is she doing here in a witcher’s keep?” The child was curious. 

“She is Eskel’s partner. Has been for many years.”

“I didn’t think witchers took partners.”

“They don’t.” Vesemir sat down across from Ciri. “Not traditionally, at least. It’s uncommon for a witcher to take a lifelong partner, but it isn’t unheard of.”

“She seems very worried.” Ciri looked in the direction you had disappeared in. 

“Y/N worries often, and about everyone.” Jaskier said. “She always gets mother hen-ish when everyone comes back after being gone nearly all year.”

“I remember that year Coen came back with his arm practically ripped off.” Vesemir looked over to the wolf. 

“Ah, I remember that too.” Coen put his hand on his shoulder. “There was a fucking pair of wyvern in the woods. They spooked my horse. He threw me, left me to take care of the two bastards without my swords. The damned beasts nearly split me in pieces. The second I stepped through those doors, she was cursing me up and down one second, then sweet as could be the next.”

“I’d worry too if I had a whole keep of witchers to look after.” Triss returned to her seat next to Coen. 

“She doesn’t have to worry about us. She chooses to.” Lambert grumbled, lifting his tankard up to his mouth. 

“She loves Eskel, and you are part of that package.” Triss looked to him out of the corner of her eyes. 

The doors to the keep opened, letting in a gust of bitter cold wind. 

Eskel stepped in, pulling the hood from his head and letting the sack on his shoulder fall to the ground. 

“Glad to see you’ve made it safely home, wolf.” Vesemir stood up. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Lambert demanded. 

“I…. lost track of time.” Eskel embraced Vesemir in a firm hug. 

“Yeah? Well, next time you do, send a fucking raven or something. Y/N almost drove me to throw myself off a fucking cliff.”

“Surprised it’s taken this long.” Eskel grinned just a little, the scars cutting across the right side of his lips pulling at his grin. 

“Good to see you, brother.” Geralt hugged him tightly.

“You too, wolf.”

Eskel finished greeting the rest of the familiar faces, then his eyes landed on Cirilla. She was watching him closely, curiously. 

“You must be Eskel.”

“That I am.” 

“This is Ciri.” Geralt nodded to her. 

“Geralt’s Child Surprise.” Lambert whispered from across the room, but Eskel heard him just fine. 

Eskel stiffened up just slightly, yellow eyes flickering to Geralt. 

“Geralt.”

“We can talk later. I believe Y/N would be very happy to see you.” 

***

You hummed as you moved around in the tub, getting yourself comfortable. You put your head back on a folded towel that rested along the edge. Your eyes looked to the ceiling. Steam only somewhat distorted your vision, but you didn’t mind it. 

You closed your eyes and began to drift off. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed, but the next thing you knew, the door to the room was opening. 

You lifted your head, eyes opening to see who was entering. 

“Hello, doll.”

Your heart began to race at the sight of your witcher. He moved around the tub to be by your head. 

“Eskel! I was- I was worried!” You turned around so that you were able to kiss him properly. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your jaw. You brought one hand up to cup his face, forgetting it had been underwater and therefore your hand was wet. 

“Shit.” Eskel wasn’t expecting a wet hand to the face. 

“My apologies.” You smiled shyly, looking up at him. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“I’m sorry for being so late, my love.” He kissed your forehead. “I ran into a bit of trouble in Vengerberg. A contract took longer than anticipated. Then on the way here, there were a few others I couldn’t turn down.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to explain.” You placed your hand on top of his that rested on the side of the tub. “I just…. I was afraid something had happened to you.”

“I apologize, my love.” He leaned forward to kiss your hand that rested upon his. “Perhaps if I had known you would be waiting for me in a bath, I would have rushed a bit more.”

His teasing tone made your heart flutter and the sight of his stunning honey eyes set free a bundle of butterflies in your stomach. 

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, splashing water on to him. 

“Well you are here now, and the water is still nice and warm. Why don’t you join me?”

“I can think of nothing better.”

As he began to undress, you dipped a cloth in the water and dragged it along your arms, then up to your neck. 

You sat up in the tub so that he could get in behind you. His legs slipped around you, resting between yours and the walls of the tub. You leaned back against his chest. 

Eskel pressed a few kisses to your shoulder, one hand finding your side. 

He whispered a few words in a language you did not know under his breath and suddenly, the water grew a bit hotter.

“Missed you, doll.”

Your eyes fluttered shut and your head lulled to the side as he began to leave a trail of kisses along the top of your shoulder and the side of your neck. 

“Missed your eyes, your heartbeat.” He kissed the base of your neck, then he traveled up to the sensitive spot just behind your ear. 

Your hand reached for his, but instead you found his forearm. Your eyes flickered down to watch where your hand was. That was when you saw the pink line just above his wrist. It seemed to start just below his thumb and cut down and around his forearm. It had yet to completely heal, but it was going to be a scar. 

“What is this?” You sat up, tracing the mark with your fingertips. 

“Bruxa.”

“How long ago? It doesn’t look like it’s even had time to heal.” 

“Yesterday morning.” He pulled his hand away from you, instead using that arm to wrap around your waist. 

“Eskel-,”

“It’s alright, doll.” He promised, kissing your shoulder once, then twice. “I’m okay. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“But you’re a month later than usual.” You turned your head to look at him as best as you could. 

“Because I ran into issues like the Bruxa. There were a few monsters that I came across that I couldn’t just walk away from. They had to be dealt with, or many people would die. I knew that if I stopped, I’d be home late. But I…. I just couldn’t leave them.”

“That’s not what has me concerned, Eskel.” You murmured softly, turning back so that you could rest against his chest. “What if that Bruxa bested you?”

“I know you worry about that.” Eskel kissed the side of your head. “I understand. But the important thing is that I’m here now.”

You turned your head so that you could kiss him properly. Your hand came up to the back of his head, your fingers gliding through his dark hair. 

Sometimes you worried too much, and you knew this. But at the same time, you didn’t think it was possible to worry too much. The love of your life was a witcher for crying out loud! His very lifestyle was dangerous and required him to put himself in the most life-threatening situations possible. 

You, however, needed to remember to enjoy your time with him. You needed to relish in his company while you had him. The winter was short, and it was rare that you had more time than what the weather gave you to spend with your wolf. Once the snow was gone and the sun was shining, the Path would be calling for him. 

Eskel pulled away first, his thumb brushing along your cheek. 

“I love you, doll.” He reminded you, golden eyes lingering on your profile.

“I love you more, Eskel.”

A little smile came to his lips.

Taglist:  @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries  @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @genderfluid-ho @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an--actual--human--disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24  @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite @you-fxcking-wish-bish @thanks-bruh-for-nothing @maan2442 @thegaydeath​ @creatingstuffinpeace @wellthisstinks @andyrazzledazzle @ameliasmistake @winterwolf @caraqas @bluscryn @thefirelordm @y-napotat @henrycavillbesty @ta-ka-shi-ma @sulkyshengshou @spaced-out-state @thecollection @mayday1284 @babietrain @wandering-poetess @redneckstrash @marigoldsama @gryffi-ndor @thirstingovertoxicmen @many-fandoms-lover @silverrmistt @antoinette-2131 @kateroselin @local-gonk-droid-union @miss-rebel-without-applause @the-average-mastermind @sheisweeping @pawoui @smol-frijolO-o @shadowynemesis @triumph-of-form-over-content @lovelyladymayyy  @she-wolfoftheinquisition @titaniafire @awkward-turtles-world @ameliasmistake @miss-rebel-without-applause @shadowynemesis

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[darling-i-read-it]

Town Hall Party

Geralt of Rivia x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: weapons, talks of hunting 

Author’s Note: bestiessss i love geralt and i loved writing this 

Summary: You and Geralt, old friends, have always wanted to be something more. 

Genre: fluff

Song: Argeers by The Frye and Lighting Consort 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

You had not thought about Geralt of Rivia in a couple of days. You were far out in the wilderness, using your sword to gather you some coin. You were able to bring back some hide and meat to sell before you moved on to the next town.

You weren’t very good at maps but you were fairly sure of where you were. A small town by the water was where you were staying for the last couple of weeks. You were due to move on soon.

You did that as often as you could. You weren’t a witcher by any means, but you had done your fair share of bounty hunting here and there while floating around. You were wanted for crimes in a couple of places and once the town you were in caught on, you would move along.

It was a pity you had to leave this place. The town may have been quaint but you liked the place by the water. You were thinking about that as you walked, watching the trees and trying to stay nimble on your feet. 

Your bow was out but it wasn’t drawn. You held it and an arrow lax in your hands as you skipped over a small river and landed on a rock carefully. 

You smiled a bit at the landing but was promptly distracted by voices far away. They echoed off the wildlife and you leaned down to listen. 

====

Geralt was walking with Jaskier, regretting leaving the horses behind.

“What are we looking for?” Jaskier asked, hopping from rock to rock from being Geralt. Geralt let out another sigh, his fourth in the last couple of minutes. 

“For the last time, the Golden Horse.” 

“You really think it exists?” 

“I think if it does, we’ll have a wonderful amount of money to move along with.” Jaskier looked up at the tall trees. He couldn’t see much of the sky. It was only midday but it was darker than Jaskier had remembered back in town. They would have to turn back soon, he assured himself.

“I could write you another song!” 

“Please don’t.” 

Geralt heard a snap up ahead and raised his hand. Jaskier ran into it. He quickly caught his balance and instead of searching for whatever had made the noise (Jaskier had not heard a noise regardless) he looked at Geralt's studying expression. 

Geralt's eyes scanned the area and he bent down, trying to find the source of the small noise. Perhaps it had been nothing. Jaskier was talking too much, he concluded. He wouldn’t have been able to hear much if there were other noises.

After a moment of silence he stood up straight again and Jaskier started to breath. He didn’t get a very long moment before Geralt unsheathed his sword. He turned quickly on his side and put a sword up to you.  

You had appeared from behind a wide tree trunk. You had your bow up, arrow drawn with every intention of firing. When you realized who it was you didn’t put it down immediately. When Geralt realized who it was though, he lowered his sword.

“Y/N, it’s just you.”

“You left without saying goodbye. Bastard.” He pursed his lips. Jaskier smiled brightly at the sight of you, his worries quickly diminished. 

“I told him to wait but he took the horses. I’m sorry we didn’t say goodbye,” Jaskier apologized. You looked over at him and dropped your bow. You put the arrow back in your quiver and hugged Jaskier. He hugged you tightly, a smile on his face as he did so. 

“At least one of you has human decency.” 

“He complained the whole way to the next town,” Geralt grumbled. You smiled and nudged Jaskier.

“At least someone has my back.” You and Geralt shared a look. 

You and him had seen each other plenty of times over the years. When you met, you often stayed together for some company and then were able to get a decent night's sleep knowing you were protected. 

“What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were going west from where I last saw you.” 

“We did go west. Now we’re going east,” Geralt said. 

“Are you staying at the place over there? By the water?” you questioned. Jaskier’s face lit up. 

“Yes! Are you as well?” 

“I am.” Jaskier clapped his hands together and nudged Geralt. 

“See? I told you coming this way would be a good idea.” Geralt rolled his eyes and looked at you. 

“Are you searching for the Golden Horse?” Geralt asked. You shook your head. 

“I've heard it’s a lost cause. Which means of course that the two of you are searching for it.” Geralt nodded. He looked up at the trees and let out a sigh. 

“We’ll have to head in for the night. It’s getting dark,” Geralt said. 

“Walk with us?” Jaskier asked.

“If you would let me.” Your voice was challenging. Geralt knew that leaving without saying goodbye was a dick move and he had mildly regretted it as he traveled without you beside him.

“If you want,” Geralt finally said. 

“It’s settled then.” Jaskier concluded. “Let us walk.” 

====

You all walked back into town together. People pretended they weren’t staring and you barely noticed. The only person who really did notice was Geralt, who was always keenly aware of what was going on at all times. He rarely let his guard down.

“Pfff I believe Geralt will take that horse and sell it-”

“I don’t know-” You and Jaskier were bickering, as you often did when you were together. All in good fun and you always won, even when you were wrong.

“Miss?” You stopped walking when a small teen girl ran in front of you. Geralt had his hand on his sword hilt, as though the girl was any kind of threat. Both boys stopped beside you.

“Hello, can I help you?” you asked. She looked shy. She had long dark hair that covered most of her pale expression. She held out a small piece of parchment for you. 

“There’s a small party tonight at city hall. I wanted to be the one to invite you.”

“I love a good party,” Jaskier commented. You nudged him, taking the parchment and smiling down at her.

“Thank you very much dear. May my friends come?” The girl looked between the two guys and you could tell she was intimidated by Geralt. You leaned down to her eye level and whispered. “He’s not as brooding as he looks,” you promised. She smiled. 

“Yes, they may.” You stood up straight again.

“Wonderful! I’ll see you tonight.”

She was gone after just a moment and then you were walking to the small tavern where you were all staying. 

“I’m not going,” Geralt muttered. 

“Lighten up. Jaskier and I will go and someone has to be our big bad protector,” you said, shoving the door open. You walked up the stairs, passing the bustling people drinking and chatting. 

“You need a party,” Jaskier commented. 

“Agreed. Where something nice boys. I’m sure you have something,” you teased and then opened your door. They watched as it shut behind you. Geralt stared for a moment longer then he had intended to. Jaskier nudged him but didn’t say anything. Instead he just opened the door to his own room and slipped inside. 

======

You wanted to pull all the stops out today. You stared at yourself in the mirror and smoothed out the dress you were wearing. 

You didn’t wear dresses that often, simply for convenience purposes but you owned one. You figured today may as well be the day you wore it. Plus, you wanted Geralt to know what he was missing, not that you really admitted that to yourself. 

You and Geralt had known  each other longer than he knew Jaskier. You always had been friends and companions but never more. You wanted more. You wanted that last bit that you had never gotten. 

Geralt once told you he wouldn’t sleep with you because he liked you too much. You still weren’t sure how to take that. 

You left for the party and didn’t even bother knocking on their door. They would find you eventually.

Town hall was overlooking the water. There was a wonderful place where the main part of the party was being held that had big arches so that people could run out onto the sand if they wished. You were definitely tempted. 

When Geralt and Jaskier arrived, you were already dancing. You were laughing, hair pouncing with your movement. The music was upbeat and lively and you had found the teen girl who was now much less shy. You were both having fun and laughing as she pointed as boys and you danced around each other. 

Geralt immediately felt out of place. It was not an emotion that he was unfamiliar with. Jaskier had brought his lute and was ready to go and join the band in some fun. He nudged Geralt before he disappeared. 

“I know you don’t like to listen to me, but if you don’t make a move eventually, there are about a dozen people in this room alone that will.” Then he was gone, leaving Geralt with his words. He watched you dance and realized, with a little bit of horror, that Jaskier was right. 

Almost like clockwork, your eyes landed on him from the dance floor. Your smile didn’t fall, it only brightened. You danced over and took his hands in yours.

“You clean up nice Geralt,” you commented. 

“You look beautiful.” His voice was more serious than you had expected it to be. You got a little flustered but pushed it away quickly.

“Come dance.” 

“N-” he started, then thought about Jaskiers words again. He sighed. “Damn bard,” he whispered. 

“What was that?” 

“Let’s dance.” He grabbed you by the hip and twirled you around. You laughed lightly and let him lead you to the dance floor. He was not as lively as you but he was able to twirl you around a couple of times and once or twice you landed in his arms, swaying with him.

Jaskier watched, his fingers strumming his loot. He had a bright smile on his face when Geralt met his eyes. Jaskier winked.

After a while you grew tired and hungry. Your feet had begun to hurt. 

“Shall we retire from this event?” you asked, swaying slightly in Geralt's arms. You hadn’t even noticed how close the two of you were and still hadn’t, too high on the afternoon. 

“Yes please,” he said gruffly. You rolled your eyes and took his hand, dragging him out to the water. You slipped off your shoes and put your feet in the water. The cold water felt nice from the hot afternoon. Geralt stood behind you in the sand. You were alone, the rest of the party noises far back in the town hall.

“Why did you leave without saying goodbye?” you asked, not looking at him. He knew you were going to ask that at some point. “And don’t lie.”

“I don’t like how much I care for you. I was hoping we wouldn’t run into you again,” he said and he was being honest. He had left you for your own sake. Everyone around him died. He wanted to leave Jaskier as well but the man was already awake and preparing the horses. 

You turned around to look at him. The sun was setting. The orange light illuminated your skin beautifully. He had never seen you more stunning. 

“You knew I would find you,” you told him quietly. 

“Were you looking?”

“Admittedly, no. I didn’t know you were coming this way, I assumed I would find you when I was done being mad you left without saying goodbye,” you said. “When I was done being hurt,” you corrected. You turned fully and walked up to him. Your feet were still being washed over by ocean water. “I care about you Geralt. I know you want to get rid of everything good that has ever happened to you but you won’t get rid of me. Or Jaskier, from the looks of it,” you said and your laughter helped the situation along.

Geralt put his hand on your cheek and you leaned against his touch, locking eyes with him. 

“You cannot get hurt.”

“I won’t. I swear it.” 

He leaned down and slowly kissed you. Your eyes fluttered shut happily and he grabbed your hip with his free hand to push you against him. His lips tasted of alcohol but you didn’t mind. You pressed your forehead against his when you pulled away. 

“You’ve sworn to me,” he whispered. “Keep that promise.” You nodded a little.

“I shall.” You grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles, all of the bruises and cuts.

Jaskier looked at the two of you from one of the arches. He smiled so brightly when you kissed that he started to clap. He put his hands up to his mouth and whooped in happiness.

You looked behind Geralt and pointed with your free hand. He turned around and couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit.

“Now shove him in the water!” Jaskier yelled. You laughed heartily and pulled Geralt into the water. You only got as far as getting his feet in but when you kissed him again, he was putty in your hands. You tried to put your feet up on him to drag him down but eventually he went voluntarily so you were both sitting in the tiny waves. 

Jaskier came running down and splashed the two of you. 

Laughter filled the air as the sun set. You would likely all stay a few more days.

[transbuckaroo]

WITCHER SEASON 2 SPOILERS

this is a copy and paste of the thread i made on twitter because OH BOY AM I ANGRY

i have a fucking BONE TO PICK with episode two of #TheWitcher  it is FILLED with lazy writing and SPITS on eskel’s character for no reason whatsoever. the absolute DISRESPECT for one of the franchises MOST IMPORTANT CHARACTERS is disgusting. you had infinite source material. fuck.

#TheWitcher  had SO MUCH to work with for him and then INSTANTLY erased who he was and the kind of brother he is. i’ve NEVER been more angry at a piece of media. i couldn’t even start the next episode for nearly 15 minutes because i had to calm down and process the MESS i watched.

what’s even more fucked up is that you know it’s lazy writing and bad story telling from #TheWitcher  because we all CALLED IT the moment we realized basil wasn’t being interviewed and we barely saw eskel in the trailers and teasers. basil could have done so much for eskel. wow.

i was so excited. my darling boy. the big brother. the mentor. the lover. the caretaker. the goat dad. one of the main wolf trio. #TheWitcher  shouldn’t have done this to him. i hope they’re embarrassed about this colossal fuck-up and live in it for years to come. love you basil.

and to add to this,

i have not sat here since season 1 and consumed every fucking kind of material i could about this franchise for nothing. fan work, the books, the games, i watched the other live action things, i deep dove into the lore and the stories, i got a medallion, i bought merch, i made my own bestiary, i have the swords TATTOOED ON MY BODY FOREVER. these writers didn’t know what to do with this amazing character and they fucking killed him. they used him as a plot device and that’s it.

NOT TO MENTION the way they made him lazy in a fight against A LESHY???? eskel is THE SIGNS EXPERT. THAT IS HIS SPECIAL SKILL. HES THE BEST AT THEM. AND HE DIDNT KNOW YOU HAD TO KILL A LESHY WITH FIRE TO THE HEART???? HE FORGOT IGNI????? i’m so mad. because WHAT EVEN IS THAT? eskel had so much potential and basil eidenbenz could have absolutely rocked it. he could have done such amazing things and he didn’t even get a full episode to try and show us that. the writers destroyed eskel for nothing. for absolutely nothing. to move along other characters. it’s bullshit.

i am more angry now than when i watched steve rogers’ character get destroyed in endgame. and i’ve been up marvel’s ass since 2016 and had to watch that movie on my birthday. the witcher took one of the best characters, one of the main trio, and killed him off instantaneously. they made him an asshole and made him swing at geralt and then killed him. it was lazy writing and it is unforgivable. i will die on this hill right next to him if i have to. what the fuck.

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

“Draw Geralt like this challenge,” says I. “DON’T MIND IF I DO,” says @srapsodia​ (we can’t keep doing this)

2.3k of just complete and utter nonsense. Rated T for Tit (singular). The original art is by Michael Whelan and is called - no word of a lie - White Wolf.

~

“So...” Jaskier titled his head, plucking the thick fabric pinned to Geralt’s shoulders between his thumb and forefinger with a grimace he didn’t try to conceal. “... the cape?”

“Ceremonial.”

“Just like the harness, then?”

“Hmm.”

It had been quite some time since Jaskier had found himself in Toussaint, and he had been forced to admit that this was a tradition he wasn’t particularly familiar with. Perhaps it was some unearthed ancient ceremony, reignited by the anxiety of war: or, far more likely, the few times Jaskier had been in the fair duchy he’d been too distracted by wine and art and a stream of lovers to pay attention to much else, including local traditions.

Now, fastidiously stuck to Geralt’s side, there were no such distractions, and he’d found himself drawn along into the frankly ridiculous ceremony.

He knew that the Toussaintois could be eccentric in their rituals. He’d heard plenty of stories about shining golden armour and cursed maidens and noble (if foolish) young knights cutting down monsters as ill-conceived betrothal gifts. By all accounts, the bizarre courtship rituals worked, and they only added to the fairytale air that settled over the wine-soaked land.

But this? This was something else entirely.

As a poet, Jaskier would describe it as delightfully odd, as a noble tradition borne from times of rampant magic. No doubt he could pen some sparkling lines about melding rich history with a dull present, all caught up in the spinning of spheres and the twinkling of stars and the cycles of days and weeks, of seasons and years…

As himself - as one of Geralt’s oldest companions and very best friends - it only made him laugh.

When the beautiful Anna Henrietta - Duchess of Toussaint - had approached Geralt with the strange request, Jaskier had been sure he’d turn her down, even if she had offered him enough money to last them three months on the road. This was not a job for a witcher, and he would surely be keen to take the gold from the vampire contract and be on his way - via a few vineyards, if Jaskier had any say in it.

Yet… Geralt didn’t refuse. He sighed, muttered under his breath something about the time of year and “... just send Lambert next time…”, but had accepted the payment - half now, half later - and within the hour they’d found themselves outside the Seidhe Llygad amphitheatre, Geralt fastening the final buckles of the green and gold ceremonial outfit.

What the ceremony itself was, Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure, but any event that ended in Geralt dressing up like a fool - even by Jaskier’s lax standards - was an event Jaskier would have to be dead to miss.

“So,” he said, peering at the luridly coloured, tight fitting trousers, “this is… armour? Because I may not know a great deal about armour, but I’m not sure this could withstand an attack from anything more fierce than a kitten.”

Geralt huffed as he fastened the golden harness more tightly across his chest.

“It’s not designed to withstand an attack from anything.”

“But the duchess was talking about, ah…” he drummed his fingers on the stone of the toppled pillar he was perched upon, thinking. “A korred?”

“Korreds have been extinct for hundreds of years,” Geralt huffed, tugging a pair of golden, jewel encrusted cuffs over his wrists.

“So what are you—”

“It’s a ceremony, Jaskier. It’s just a big show. I go in, sword swinging and fuck about in the forest for ten minutes. When I return with the so-called korred they finally open the La Bête they’ve had aging since the last time one of us did this, five years ago.”

“So it’s just about wine?”

“Isn’t everything in Toussaint? There’s a story that goes with it, but...” Geralt shrugged, the movement constrained by the wide gold straps over his shoulders, “... it’s not as important as the wine.”

Jaskier barked out a short, sharp laugh. “Then we’re in agreement. Go and kill your fanciful korren, Geralt, and I’ll put aside a bottle just for you.”

“Korred.”

“Whatever.”

~

There was a brief opening ceremony, during which the duchess gave a grand, centuries-old speech to the gathered crowd while Geralt stood awkwardly at her side, cursing himself for forgetting to stay away from Toussaint, this summer.

It was Eskel who’d been unfortunate enough to be in the area for the last Run of the Korred. He’d complained about it all winter, even though he’d been sent away with more gold than he could spend and enough wine to last him months. The role of Knight Errant often fell to a witcher - even if the ceremony was a farce, they always sought out a hero for the role, and a wandering witcher was as close as they were likely to get most years.

Geralt squirmed uncomfortably in the tight green trousers. The golden harness - made of a real, if slightly burnished metal and covered in jewels - was equally restricting, squeezing his chest. The cape was fluttering in the warm summer’s breeze against his back. Capes. Useless and dangerous.

As Anna Henrietta spoke, Geralt sought out Jaskier in the waiting audience. He was right at the back, perched on the rubble of the amphitheatre, grinning - not even trying to bite back his laughter. When Geralt caught his eye, he waved with a cheeky wink, and Geralt suppressed the urge to groan. This was going to wind up in a song, he knew it.

Finally, the rambling speech was over. The trumpets blared, the drums beat out a marching rhythm, the crowd roared - and Geralt strode into the thick forest, keen to get the whole thing over with.

The korred itself was a toy stuffed with horsehair, no more than an oversized doll, this particularly korred nearing eighty years old. Geralt’s role in the whole thing was very simple: enter the forest, stage the chase, then emerge some time later with the “corpse” of the korred slung over one shoulder. Easy enough, then he could strip off the ancient ceremonial garb, pull his armour back on and get drunk enough to erase the whole unfortunate thing from his mind.

Although with Jaskier here, he rather doubted he’d be allowed to forget it for long.

He could already detect the tell-tale scent of horsehair nearly a decade old, so headed west through the trees to find the so-called monster.

~

The korred ceremony was, Jaskier had to admit, a rather fun affair. As soon as Geralt had stomped off into the forest, face like a storm cloud, the crowd had broken into drinking and carousing. The band had struck up a lively tune and Jaskier had found an overspilling goblet of wine thrust into his hand, the red liquid spilling over the rim and staining his fingers.

When in Toussaint, he thought, and resolved to enjoy himself while he waited for Geralt to return. It would be ten minutes, Geralt had said - enough time to finish half a goblet of wine and find someone for a perfunctory flirt - and then a whole evening of asking Geralt if he wanted a new pair of leaf-green hose for Yule.

But ten minutes became fifteen, then twenty. No one else seemed particularly concerned about Geralt’s absence, so Jaskier continued to enjoy himself, his goblet perpetually full.

And then it was half an hour. Forty minutes. Fifty.

He left his goblet on a low wooden bench and attempted to make his way to the stage where the duchess was sat, to enquire just how long this whole thing was supposed to last. But she was so well-guarded that approaching her was near impossible, and none of the soldiers were willing to speak to him other than to tell him to move along.

Well, then. If you wanted a job done right, you had to do it yourself. He straightened his doublet, tightened the laces on his boots, and strode into the forest.

~

I’m not sure this could withstand an attack from anything more fierce than a kitten.

When the bard was right, he was right.

Geralt rolled out of the strong grip of the closest ghoul, wincing as the tight fabric of the green tunic ripped beneath its claws. He skidded across the rocky ground, brandishing the ceremonial sword that the duchess had handed him before sending him on his way. Thank Melitele the blade hadn’t been blunted - while it wasn’t as honed as his own swords, at least it wasn’t dull.

The ghouls rounded on him, screeching. Being so outnumbered would have been fine if he’d been dressed sensibly, but the tight clothes, restricting harness and flapping, snagging fabric of the cape was slowing him down, especially without a suitable sword.

He dodged another blow, tumbling backwards, and there was another, louder rip. He quickly rose, pressing himself against a wide tree, and realised that the trousers were now flapping uselessly in shreds around his legs. Fuck. The garb likely wasn’t expensive, but it was old, and in Toussaint that was more important.

There was nothing for it, and given the choice between saving the clothes and saving himself he knew what he’d pick. He quickly tore away the useless scraps of fabric, leaving his legs bare, and leapt back into the fight.

~

“Ger-aalt?”

Jaskier pushed aside a low hanging branch as he walked further into the forest. Emboldened by wine and the atmosphere of the ceremony, he didn’t even consider the possibility of anything more dangerous than his witcher stalking the woods.

“Are you done yet? Because the wine really is exceptional but it’s just not the same without you moaning at me for—”

He ducked beneath another branch and into a small clearing.

“...Uh…”

As a boy, Jaskier had been near-obsessed with a book his brother had stolen from the library of a neighbouring lord. Unlike the rest of his books, this one had pictures to go with the overblown, courtly tales - and Jaskier adored it. They were picked out in luridly bright watercolours, showing handsome lords and buxom women and dashing, beautiful knights locked in fierce battle with snarling monsters.

When he was young, he loved the stories and fantastical pictures. As he’d grown older, he paid less attention to the tales and lingered for longer on the illustrations. The artist certainly had a type: and that type very often included swathes of rippling muscles and very little clothing.

The sight in the clearing in front of him reminded, suddenly and shockingly, of that book, long since lost.

Geralt was straddling - there was no other word for it - a ghoul. The ceremonial longsword was embedded in its neck as he leant back, eyes low, lips parted with the strain of the thrust. The impractical formal outfit had been nearly entirely destroyed, the final scraps of fabric clinging to Geralt’s skin with heroic effort.

The trousers had been ripped away, revealing the strong, scar-marked curves of his thighs clamped down around the monster, muscles coiling. The sleeves of the tight shirt were torn around Geralt’s wide biceps, and - Jaskier couldn’t help but notice - the front of the shirt, pinned down by the terrible golden harness, had been sliced nearly above his peck, revealing pale skin and a dark nipple. A brisk Toussaint breeze blew suddenly through the clearing, billowing the cape.

With a grunt and a twist of his sword, Geralt killed the ghoul as it writhed beneath him. His skin sheened with sweat in the low dusk light. The scars that painted his skin gleamed.

Jaskier could only watch, entranced, as Geralt rose in an agile movement, the bloodied sword hanging from his hand. Finally, he looked up, and caught Jaskier’s eyes.

“Jaskier.” He looked around, eyes wide, and Jaskier noticed the bodies of half a dozen more ghouls spread around the clearing. “Are you okay?”

Jaskier could only manage a short, strangled sound of assent. Geralt strode towards him, cape flapping, and Jaskier looked him up and down as he approached - taking it all in.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Did one of them…” He peered at Jaskier, clearly assessing for potential damage - damage that didn’t exist.

“No,” Jaskier said, finally regaining control over his heavy tongue. “I arrived just in time, it seems.”

“Good.” Geralt thrust the ceremonial sword back into the sheath still slung to his hip. “We should get back.”

He grabbed something from the ground - a misshapen, canvas lump that was clearly supposed to be the korred - and began to make his way through the trees, back towards the ceremony. Jaskier had a sudden, terrible thought.

“Geralt!”

Geralt appeared to be ignoring him, so he darted around to his front, stopping him in his tracks. Geralt lightly bumped into him.

“I rather think,” Jaskier said, breathlessly, “that you should consider taking a detour. Get some fresh clothes before you go and startle all those lovely drunkards.”

“What?”

“Just… let me find you some trousers and a tunic, at least.”

Geralt blinked at him. He was always like this, after a fight - a little adrenaline-fueled, a little dazed.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, with false patience. “My wolf. My witcher. I am afraid that I have to tell you…”

“Spit it out.”

“Your…” Jaskier waved his hand at Geralt’s chest. “Your tit is out.”

Geralt finally looked down. His eyebrows shot up. If he could blush, Jaskier was sure his face would be flaming.

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed. I’ll fetch you some clothes while you decide how you’re going to tell the duchess her two-century old ceremonial wear has been ruined.”

He gave Geralt what was supposed to be a reassuring pat on his shoulder - his bare shoulder, through the ripped material - then turned towards the amphitheatre. He’d barely taken ten steps before Geralt called after him.

“Jaskier—”

He stopped and turned back, trying to maintain eye contact. “Yes?”

“Bring me that wine you put aside, too.”

Jaskier grinned. “Of course.” He said. “I think you’ve earned it. Now for Melitele’s sake - put your fucking tits away.”

He could hear Geralt spluttering at him as he squeezed between two trees, into the woods and away.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Of Monsters And Men

(Season 2)

Chapter 8 - Dear Friend

Summery: Trying to help Ciri understand herself better have you made it to the Temple of Melitele where you meet someone you had not been expecting.

Warning: adventure, fluff, oh hello whats this some SMUT yes there you go

Word count: 9188

Masterlist - Of Monsters And Men masterlist here

Your life just can't seem to ever settle down now can it? Probably not, but then again you've never truly been one to just pack it up and find a nice little place in the hills away from everyone where you'd stay to live out the rest of your days. Though that would be nice at times, that's not you when it comes down to it.

However, and as always, you're traveling over the perilous land of the Continent with the goal in mind of bringing Ciri to this temple where hopefully someone within may find a way to better help her. She still doesn't understand her own gifts. And hell, neither do you nor Geralt.

Being a parental figure for the very first time is one fucking weird and stressful endeavor you're still not so certain is a good idea. Clearly too late for that, but alas, it is not all terrible as you had once thought. But the cost of Cirilla's safety so far has admittedly been a hectic one that's pushed you far more then you'd ever been expecting.

But like your mother who raised you through her wisdom and strength can you try and do the same with Ciri. You did have a pretty damn good childhood after all, your teenage years even better. Unfortunately Ciri can't exactly say the same, but you're determined to change that. She will find peace within herself, you'll make damn sure of that.

You've kept her alive this long after all.

Geralt found her in the woods, you both protected her from Nivellen's secrets, brought her safely to Kaer Morhen, protected and trained her there. And killed the chernobog when it's heart was set on murdering the poor princess, and now you and Geralt are leading her to the Temple of Melitele.

You can tell she is still conflicted inside about herself and everything else, but her power must be understood. And Triss can only do so much, Geralt doesn't know anything really, and you know fuckall about powerful magic. You may be able to sense it, smell it even, but you're no mage when it comes down to it. So this trek to the temple is a necessary part of raising Ciri and helping her to figure her shit out.

You just hope nothing weird happens. But when do you get so lucky? Not often enough is the correct answer.

Stepping over a grey rock sticking out of the grass can you see the bright blue sky above when you three make it out of the forest. You can still smell that fucking chernobog's blood on Geralt's sword despite it being cleaned and seated comfortably in his travel case. Not to mention the scent of Roach on your hands from where you pet her one last time.

You still feel bad about that. She was in the way and....next thing you knew she was on the ground with three deep claw marks in her side. It wasn't a pretty sight, and you'd rather block that from your memories forever.

"Y/N." Says Ciri, trying to gain your attention, "You have a little...a little blood." She points a finger towards her nose.

You immediately touch the skin underneath your nostrils, crusted blood is felt, "oh, I hadn't even realized. Thank you." She gives a mutual nod as you lick your finger to rub off the dry blood so you don't look like a mad woman of the woods.

The last thing you need are some random people to try and pick a fight with you out of brave fear or downright stupidity. People on this Continent do the oddest things when they feel threatened.

"I'm sorry." Begins Ciri as the three of you walk up a small hill, "About Roach. About all of this.."

"Don't be. I'm proud of you, Ciri." Replies Geralt, "What you did back there was courageous."

"I'm proud too my little lioness. Standing on a rock in the open as bait for a chernobog is no easy feat. Very admirable."

She gifts you a small smile from over her shoulder as she leads the way up the hill, "I had that feeling again when the chernobog came for me. The pull. But I...I don't think it wanted to hurt me."

You stop, causing both Geralt and Ciri to stop as well, she turns to face you. Your expression grows puzzled, "It didn't want to hurt you?" You pause a moment to think on this but simply shake your head and keep trekking onward, "Well it most certainly wanted to hurt us."

They both begin walking again, Geralt to the back of the pack and Ciri in the middle, "If the monsters are coming through the monoliths, it's my fault."

Geralt purses his lips together, "It's not that simple."

You glance back at them, "Well, that's partially truthful." He sends you a look over her head as she thinks about this.

You three walk in silence for a minute until she asks, "Geralt. Y/N." You immediately turn around and stop as they both do the same, yourself and Geralt gifting your full attentions to her, "When the Knight caught me, all I could feel was fear. I was...I was so scared. But I also felt...anger. Later, there were also some men from Cintra who found me. They were going to take me to the Knight to collect a reward. But I...I wasn't scared that time. I just....I knew what could happen."

"You screamed." Says Geralt as the obvious answer.

Ciri gives a little nod as she looks out over the great valley of forests and wild fields, "I killed them."

"How many were there of these dogs?" You ask.

"Four."

You share a half impressed glance with Geralt before raising a brow at Ciri, "Only four? You've got some catching up to do. I killed my first man when I was six, granted that one was an accident as I hadn't realized my strength at the time, but the point still stands."

Geralt snorts before playfully smacking your arm with the back of his hand, you share a smile between one another before giving a wink to Ciri and turning around to continue up the hill. Just reaching the nearing top can you climb up a few rocks as they follow to your high perch.

"So, what now?" Asks Ciri as she makes her way to the rocks while you check out the beautiful view of the river valley below and the Temple of Melitele on the far hillside surrounded by a great green forest, more rolling rocky hills to its left and far backside.

Geralt finds a spot by you, "Good question. I'm hoping we'll find our answers there."

When Ciri reaches the top does she turn her sights over to the great valley and to the temple seated comfortably across the land, "Where is there?" She gives you a questioning look.

"You'll see." ——

Pushing the great doors open does your senses awaken with the lavish scents of magic, incense, candles, and flowers. You have not stepped foot into this sacred place in centuries, not since Geralt dragged you into the care of the high priestess when you were on deaths door from a tangle with an old acquaintance long ago. And what a first impression that was.

The front portion is cavernous and tall within, intricately designed pillars hold to either side with tiny palm trees in brass pots right in front of the pillars. Candles held high and low on metal tables stand by a couple pillars as you three pass by. Many people dressed in beautiful orange and yellow robes move about their business across the opened space.

You feel oddly at home here, at peace even in such a calming and warm toned place such as this. You lock eyes with a young girl with books in her hands who almost drops them when she sees your scarlet eyes. You give her a wink and with that does she gift a quick bow before scurrying off. Clearly they don't get a lot of visitors like yourself around these parts often enough, probably for the best.

You keep walking slowly towards the tall statue at the far end and a golden case of incense that swings left to right from the ceiling like a grandfather clock a couple feet in front of it. The scent wafting into your nostrils as the curious princess leads the way down the long candlelit walkway to the far end where a great extravagant glass window sits behind the tall statue of a woman with a crown upon her head.

The great goddess in stone.

"Melitele." Reveals Ciri as she stops in the center of the long path away from the six armed statue, "Goddess of fertility and harvest."

Geralt nods, "I'm impressed."

You snicker to yourself as she looks to him with a little smirk, "I do, in fact, read." She looks back at the statue of Melitele, "The graduates of the temple school are known to become midwives, historians, healers..."

"And Witchers." Adds Geralt as she looks to him curiously, "Vesemir sent me here when I was about your age. It's where Witchers learn to do signs. Yes. I, too, was once a child." He muses as she grins.

You take a step towards the statue, "Hard to believe isn't it?" Ciri snickers lightly as the two of them follow you closer to the shrine of Melitele.

A dark eyed woman comes up to you and bows, "Blessings." She closes her palms and nods towards your dagger positioned at your hip, with a little huff do you semi-reluctantly take it out before gently placing it in her hand. She smiles softly in a genuinely friendly manner before turning and walking off with your elven dagger.

"Blessings. Good morrow." Says another woman in soft oranges and reds as she opens her palms to Geralt. He nods in respect before giving her his traveling case of swords without hesitation, then she's off to another room in the same direction as the first kind eyed woman.

"Where is she taking those?" Wonders Ciri as she watches the woman leave, a bit unsettled by this. You two never give up your weapons so easily like that.

"Don't worry. We're safe." Explains Geralt, "There's no fighting here. No politics. The temple is known for its neutrality."

"The temple is what you make of it." Says a familiar voice you haven't heard since a certain fateful evening a long time ago, "But, yes, some find it more giving then others." Says the woman in rose red as she approaches, dark hair cut almost to the scalp and two midnight eyes of warm chocolate that fall onto Geralt, "I have missed you."

She touches her palms to his like a mother meeting her child after a long time apart, he smiles fondly down at her, "I have missed you too, Nenneke." Speaks Geralt as the corners of her eyes crinkle with joy. She has truly missed Geralt, one of the kind few who do so in this world.

Nenneke slowly parts from him before taking a step to you, hands reaching out for yours that you gladly give her to take, "My dear princess. It is good to see your beautiful face once more, and with less blood on it this time. Good health is a welcomed and pleasing sight." She muses.

Letting out a breathy laugh do you shrug, "Not my intention to meet you in that way the first time."

"Nonsense." She smiles brightly at you before turning her gaze to Ciri, "Now, who are you?" Asks Nenneke, parting from your grasp to greet Ciri better.

"I'm-I'm Ciri." She says quietly when you give her a nudge, she swallows, "I'm Cirilla of Cintra."

Nenneke's gentle smile grows as she looks between the two of you, "Two princess' to cross my path at once, how fortunate this day moves in the most unexpected of ways. But I must ask, why, dear Ciri are you here?"

"She's here to help understand herself a little better." You inquire, "There's much she could learn from here...and from you. More then with us."

Nenneke raises an intrigued brow, "Fascinating. If this is so, come with me then my dear Ciri, we must talk and reflect on things. Come, my room is just over here to the right of the shrine." Nenneke leads Ciri into the room just as she stated moments ago. Shutting the wooden door right after they enter, leaving yourself and Geralt alone.

"You're listening aren't you?"

Blinking do you turn around to face him while crossing your arms over your chest, "Might have been."

"She's not going to harm her."

"I know that."

Geralt gives you a telling look, "Then why are you worrying?"

Your brows furrow at this, "I'm not-I'm not worrying."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"How so then? Oh great Witcher who knows all." You tease playfully.

Geralt chuckles as he leans against the closest pillar, "I see it in how you watch her, it's something I admire. You look like a mother."

You scoff and roll your eyes at this, "I'm not a mother."

"And the snow is just cold."

You laugh while taking a step over to him, "Oh is it now? I wouldn't know, but I do know that you're becoming uncharacteristically like a father if I've ever seen one."

"I'm not..."

"Her father?" You interrupt before smiling and nudging your elbow into his chest, "I think we're becoming more then what we had anticipated on my love. Whether we like it or not...but I must say, I don't hate it."

"Neither do I."

Suddenly the door opens and out comes a nervous young teenage boy holding a book, he gives you a small smile before walking past yourself and the statue with Ciri following right behind him.

"Help me." Whispers Ciri as she gives you a knowing look as the teenage boy leads her to the library.

You watch as she saunters off just as Nenneke walks out of the room, she gives you two a curious eye while walking casually between and around the pillar Geralt leans against. He locks eyes with her, "Now that you've had a chance to speak with her, what do you think?" She starts walking down the center pathway as you two follow from both sides.

"I don't see any side upon which you are not entirely fucked." Whispers Nenneke, "She's a princess. And unlike Y/N, kingdoms will want her for her status, no offense my dear but you understand what I mean." She waves off as you snicker to yourself, Nenneke continues, "Nilfgaard already does. You know how many have been killed in pursuit of her?"

"Thousands, yes, we know."

"And if she has Elder blood, she's a fucking tinderbox."

"By all means, go on." You quip, what riveting news this is.

"You two said she recited Ithlinne's Prophecy during one of her episodes."

"Yes, but I won't let what may or may not be folklore dictate my path." States Geralt.

"Could have been. We're not sure for certain." You add, that was weird when she mumbled part of it before passing out, she did smell of enchanted then as well.

"What does she know of the Wild Hunt?"

"She believes what most people believe. What are you driving at. Nenneke?" Asks Geralt as Nenneke stops him in the middle of the temples center with a hand to his left arm.

"She's a Child of Destiny. There are forces at play larger than we know. You.." She then glances from Geralt to you who's watching them, "...and you are part of her, she a part of you both. But it's not enough."

Geralt's eyes divert from her dark ones, "I know." He sighs as you take a step to press a comforting hand to his left shoulder as you look to Nenneke.

"What can we do?" You ask softly.

"I taught him. In all things...balance. Find what is missing in the girl. Then, maybe, you both stand a chance of helping her. Hmm?" Geralt gives a small nod as she nods back before turning around and walking away to give you two time to think about all of this. You watch as she disappears behind a pillar and out of sight before focusing on Geralt.

"Well that shit was cryptic."

Geralt snorts at your blunt sarcasm, "You could say that."

"I just did and that makes me feel a plethora worse about taking care of our little highly dangerous and valuable princess." You add with a sigh, "Why couldn't she have said everything was going to be sweet songs and rainbows ahead? Is that too much to ask?"

"You know things are never that easy."

"No fucking shit I know that." You mutter, pursing your lips together in distain as you pause for a short moment, "So she's a fucked up magical princess, so what if people want to kill her or wed her? She's with us now, fuck all of them Geralt, fuck'em. We can handle this, we can handle her, we're going to be fine and get her to her twentieth birthday together......and beyond that."

"I admire your optimism." Muses Geralt as you shake your head at him.

"I'm being serious you know."

"I know. So am I."

You uncross your arms, "oh. Well, in that case. Enough talk about all of this shit, it's stressing me out and I'm in the Temple of Melitele where I shouldn't have to feel stressed. Also I'm kind of hungry."

Geralt snorts before resting a hand on your shoulder, "Come on. They have a room for us, probably something to eat in there as well. Maybe we can rest for a little while."

"Yeah, alright."

——

Setting down your glass of red wine onto the bedside marble table does Geralt trail a finger gently across your naked back. You turn, smiling a fangy grin as you sit up while covering your bare breasts with the thin white bedsheet as soft oranges and reds fall onto his handsome face from the beautifully sun colored stained glass window in your room.

"Now this is better then Kaer Morhen." You muse, pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

He makes a face, "Better?"

"Yes I said better. You heard me the first time. And I speak only the truth of it too, I mean come on my love." You throw an arm to show off the room, "Look at this place. It's so peaceful here, we're relatively safe for once in our goddamn lives and Ciri is learning with the best we can find. A bit better then a dreary old fortress in the snowy mountains I'd say."

"Perhaps you're right."

You shove his muscular shoulder, "I am." He tries to hold back a smile but is forsaken by your stunning vessel when you freely and shamelessly drop the white bedsheet as you climb atop of him. Settling your naked womanhood upon his bare torso.

Geralt sighs sweetly as he lets his head relax into the softness of the pillow while his hands rest to either side of your hips. You press a hand to his right peck, "Now what is swimming about in my Witchers head? You thinking of something?"

He closes his eyes, "Your distractions. Very clever indeed...and very needed."

You grin at this, "I thought as much. All this monster killing and walking behind you for the most part gives me ideas."

"I can only imagine what kind."

You rub against him slowly, "The best kind...sort of pure....mostly dirty." He groans as you rub your wet womanhood against him in a meticulously rhythmic pattern, "Feel pleasant my love?"

His hands squeeze your hips, "Mhmm hmm."

"That's what I like to hear. When you can't say anything at all." You then lift yourself off of him to move down his body, hovering over his erect manhood that shows large and glistening in the colored sunlight of the glass. You bite your lower lip, one hand reaching down to gather his cock in your hand as you guide it to your wanting entrance.

Geralt's breaths steady as he anticipates the pleasure awaiting him soon enough. You gradually lower yourself down, his cock drips precum from the heavy love making session minutes before you took a break to drink your wine. His tip touches your mounds, it almost tickles as your excited nerve endings pulse and jump at the sensation. You're still so sensitive but you're far past caring about that at this point.

His cock fills you up as you let him push into you with his hips to gain full contact, you moan when he does this. Geralt smiles proudly, you take quick notice of his smug grin and retaliate by starting to ride him, slowly, lazily, deliberately rolling your hips which pulls a groan from his sweet lips that sparks your already highly confident mood.

You know this can't last for much longer as you're already burning with built up pleasure from before. But you want to hold this moment for as long as you can try, these days you don't have this much intimate time with him as you'd like. But when it counts, you're both always ready to steal as much time as you can in any given opportunistic moment. Like now.

Your hips roll against him deliciously as your pleasure grows steadily higher and higher, Geralt writhes underneath you the deeper you let him into you. Your legs part fully, he feels so thick and good it's like he was meant to fill you up to the brim. The way he stretches your walls so easily, it should hurt with how deep he pushes into you but you feel not an ounce of pain.

As your clit rubs against his naked skin does the pleasure electrify and spark, you moan, walls tightening around his cock and with that does he thrust up into you like a man who hasn't fucked for centuries. You gasp, falling forward, hands catching you on the bed as Geralt holds tightly to your hips for stability as he thrusts his strong hips up into you.

The poor bed shakes and shudders as Geralt fucks you deep and good from underneath you. He grunts hotly, pumping into you over and over again as he holds you forcefully upon him to keep you from losing balance. By now you're an absolute moaning mess as Geralt relentlessly thrusts his hips into you again and again without mercy. You're absolutely loving it.

Finally with a couple last deep pumps does he spill messily into your vessel for the second time today, his thrusts settle down and slow as he rides out his high. You take him like a rightfully brave princess though your legs are shaking, whole body practically vibrating with adrenaline and ecstasy as he fucks you till he's done. When Geralt stops is he breathing heavily, chest rising and falling as yours does the same.

Pushing your hair out of your face do you sit up to see him better, "Well don't you just love making messes." You quip, clearly aware of the potent scent and palpable sensation of his seed dripping out of you.

"This mess is the best kind."

You chuckle, "Well I guess it's only appropriate. Considering we're in the Temple of Melitele, Goddess of fertility and harvest. Though your seed will do little for me, your cock however has done a wondrous job."

"I'm glad you are well satisfied, my love."

"Oh I am. I am very much so."

Geralt chuckles as you close your eyes before leaning your head back, "You know you're still on me." He points out.

"Yes, yes I know. I'm just-I'm just enjoying the feeling of you inside me. And the sun on my face....feels rather lovely."

He snorts in amusement but let's you have a moment to yourself as he rests on the pillow, after a minute do you stir and get off of him before laying down by his side. Geralt shifts and turns to face you, golden eyes studying your crimson ones that do the same to his.

He smiles fondly at you, "I'm glad you're here with me, Y/N." Hand reaching over to take yours with his.

"Hmm. Where else would I be?" You muse, "Can't say I prefer to brood around Kaer Morhen. Lambert and Coen would make me want to drive stakes in my ears sooner or later."

He chuckles at this, "Well then lets consider it a better circumstance that we're here with Cirilla this time instead."

You both give a little laugh until your smile falters as you gently squeeze his hand. Geralt's golden eyes land upon your troubled gaze that looks at nothing in particular, though you can't seem to keep eye contact. You let out a gentle breath when your gaze finally locks with his, "That time, when he came back for me....sorry I never warned you about him." You sigh, "Werewolves are real bastards to deal with, and very good at tracking, especially when they're fueled by rage and revenge."

Your expression turns into a swift smile paired with a small laugh that's quickly snuffed out like a burning flame. Your troublesome features returning to you as you push some hair out of your eyes, "Fuck, I almost died then."

Geralt hums, "You almost did."

None of you say a word for a long moment until you shift closer to him to kiss him deeply before pulling away and resting a hand on his cheek, you let out a small sigh, "What uh.....what would you have done if I did die?"

Geralt let's out a heavy breath that fans your cheeks, clearly not to fond of that thought, he swallows, "I don't know."

"Yes you do."

He closes his eyes as you rub a thumb over his cheek, "I would have done as you have always told me. Save a vial of your blood to use when I need to save a life other then my own."

"After that?"

Geralt's golden eyes open to meet you, gently does he bring your knuckles to his lips, kissing them softly, "I would have taken your body and placed it on the top of the hill where you would be surrounded in all the flowers I could find. I'd have put your mothers dagger in your hand, a coin in the other, then I'd kiss you for the last time. I'd probably just look at you for a long time after that, take in as much of your presence as I could to remember you by. Then I'd force myself to set the pier....and I'd watch you turn to dust."

You fall speechless for a moment before leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. Pulling away does a small smile grace your lips, "To know you would honor me like that. I....Geralt, I am blessed by whoever is out there to have your heart. And I mean that too, all jokes aside."

"I was hoping you'd say something like that." He mutters, mirroring your soft lipped grin while giving your hand a squeeze, "And still, I am glad to have you with me."

"I know." You move a piece of hair out of his face, "I am glad as well....you, you mean the world to me Geralt and I mean that, always. And if someone ever dare try and take you from me, I'll rip their fucking throat out."

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles, "Oh Y/N, my lovely gentle flower."

"Only for you, love. Only for you."

He presses a kiss to your lips then your cheek, "You think she's alright?"

"Ciri?"

"Yeah."

You shrug, "I'd say so. The place isn't on fire yet and no one is screaming about her mysteriously losing consciousness.....or reciting anything prophetic. I'd say she's probably fine for the time being. So stop your worrying."

"Worrying?"

You give him a look, "Don't start this with me again you old wolf." ——

After a little while of laying lazily around with Geralt talking about less serious things and making him laugh more then he has in the past week. Had you decided it best to clean yourself up and put your clothes on considering it's still sunlight hours, no matter if the evening is on the horizon. Though if it was dark you'd never have gotten this chance since Ciri's bed is across the room from yours and Geralt's.

And unlike when Jaskier was traveling with you two, Ciri really doesn't need to hear the sounds of you and Geralt going at it in the dead of night when she's trying to sleep. Jaskier of course was never given that considerate luxury, he'd have to either pick up and sleep behind a tree or cover his ears and pretend your moaning was just you drowning in a pond.

Those were the days.

Adjusting the flexible leather torso armor that covers your stomach, back, holds your breasts in place, and hangs from two shoulder straps can you feel content with how the clothing feels. You've worn this thing or a few versions of it throughout the years and never have they done you wrong.

Underneath this clothing item is your red long sleeved shirt that really brings out your crimson eyes whenever you wear it. However your pants and boots are much less colorful with their greys and blacks, same colors as the torso armor. And at last do you put on your thin leather and lace forearm gauntlets to keep your sleeves from swishing around. Not that you plan on needing to fight someone here, they just complete the look, and they feel secure.

Setting the apple that you've been munching on to the side upon a marble table where the basket of them are, do you wander over to the only mirror as you look at the table underneath it for something you could have swore you saw earlier. When spotted, your smile grows as you reach for it.

"Oh a brush, how I have missed you."

"What?" Mutters Geralt as he eats a pear while seated in a chair next to the only table in the whole room.

You turn around to wave the brush in the air, "One of these fuckers. I left mine in Kaer Morhen and truly require one as of now." He watches as you brush your beautiful mess of hair, expression rather blissful as you feel the combs fingers against your scalp.

"I think you look wonderful."

You wave him off, "Oh I know you do. I could have blood all over my face and you'd still kiss me, however, I would like to look more presentable in this place."

He takes a bite out of his pear, "Never knew you were one to care about that."

"I'm not. But I am in Nenneke's temple and I am a princess after all. Might as well represent the royal status sometimes, make my queen mother proud even if she can't see me now. It's the principle of the thing really."

"Hmm."

You set the brush down, resting a hand on your hip as you look at him, "Maybe I like to look less like a feral forest woman, and maybe I....maybe sometimes I miss wearing shimmering jewels and my royal attire and having everyone bow as I walk past them."

"Do you?" He smirks, "I'm not stopping you from wearing a silken dress."

"Oh fuck off." You shake your head at him, "It wouldn't kill you to bath more then three times a week, or even brush your hair. You smell like blood, horse, and Witcher."

"And what's Witcher smell like?" He teases.

"A potent scent." You retort, "Like when I walk into a room from being outside and Lambert has made charred liver over the fire and the whole evening hall smells like that organ. It almost makes me gag."

He bites his pear again, "We don't smell that bad....do we?"

"It's worse in the summer months. The cold dulls the scent."

"Do I smell like charred liver right now?"

You give a casual shrug, "Now you smell like pears."

Geralt snorts, "A good thing I assume."

"A better thing if you take some for the road." You flash him a smile as you take a step towards the door, "I'm going out to, well, guess I'm just going to see what happens. I like the atmosphere of this place, maybe they have some old vampiric relic I could translate for them. Who knows, I'll see you later." You take another step but pause to look at him, "Maybe take a rest?"

"A rest?" He repeats, like you just told him to put on a jesters outfit and do a little dance.

"Yes. You haven't slept in awhile. And unlike myself, you need more sleep then I. So rest or I'll....well, you'll be asleep sooner then on your own."

Geralt's lips curl into a small smile as he sets his pear onto the table, "I'll try." He says half begrudgingly.

"Good. I'll be back." You gift him a wink before walking to the door, opening it up, and slipping through just as you pull the handle to close it.

Walking into the opened hallway can you take in the fresh scents of spices, plants, and magic floating on the air. The colors of the area warm and comforting as you pass down the hallway past pillars of intricate design and a glass window here and there. Letting rainbows of light dance into the room; a few people move along through the pillars as they hurry to wherever it is they're needed.

All dressed in their titular robes of soft warm colors that could match a sunsets. You like this place immensely, so different from the dull sight of snow and grey rock that is often what you've seen as of late. And being here feels oddly safe, it's relatively secluded, away from the war and it's on neutral grounds with all around it. There should be not a reason for trouble to find its way into the temple.

You're at least hoping this to be truth.

A blue and purple glass window catches your eyes on the left wall, drawing you into the blooming flowers made of glass and color. You stop to admire the craftsmanship of the architecture around it and the piece itself. Soon the presence of a young man is felt standing on your right. His heartbeat is normal as he stands there admiring the glass, though you can tell he means to start a conversation.

You give him a side eyed glance, "You lost?" He snickers at your humored question.

"No, no, quite the opposite in fact." You turn to face him. A young man with tan skin and dark black hair that just touches his shoulders, eyes the color of obsidian with a handsome face and a good built to match. A better one if he ever held a sword.

You raise a brow at him, "You think I'm lost?"

He smiles nervously, "Well I-I saw you arrive with that Witcher and the girl." His heartbeat quickens the longer he stares, he can't pull his eyes away from yours. "So much like what I've read." He whispers to himself though you can hear him easily.

"If you have a question just ask." You inquire, "I don't bite."

He blinks, shaking his head, eyes darting from the floor to you again, "I, am, so sorry about that. I'm Rafael Vexyus, a historian for the Temple of Melitele."

You give a respectful nod, "Y/N Targovishte."

Rafael grins brightly, "I know who you are. You're from Alcatraz, you're the Vampire Queens daughter." Oh.

"So I am."

He shakes his head again, a little flustered now, "I'm sorry I don't mean to be so blunt like this. It's just I've been so fascinated by your kind since I was a boy, to meet you here so unexpectedly is something I could only ever have dreamed of." His heartbeat becomes a steady thudding as his nerves pick up. "To meet the Y/N. I almost needed a chair when I saw you walk in."

"So you know of me to an extent then?"

"I do." Rafael quickly nods, "I enjoy studying on the nature and politics of vampires, how they are, how they become, and who's in charge. The hierarchy of it all, oh yes, and their gifts. Such fascinating beings indeed."

"We are aren't we?"

"Oh yes. Very." He says excitedly, "I had read about your family linage which is incredible I must say. You're mother came to the Continent during the Convergence, your father was human...and uh, there's not a lot about him unfortunately. But you. You are the first ever recorded offspring between a vampire and a human, especially a female vampire. No other dhampir's are conceived by a female vampire but you. It's-It's seemingly impossible."

"You know quite a bit then."

"Yes. And to meet you, a hybrid, both human and vampire." He pauses a moment to find his words, "Your distinctive features hold true to the books. You're just as they're described."

You raise a brow, "Described as?"

He points to his eyes, "The color you have, it's red as an apple. This is indicative of your royal status, where you land on the hierarchy of your kind. Only the most powerful vampires have red eyes, it's scientifically proven though we still don't know the true origins of this phenomenon. And Bruxa's always have blue and then all other non-feral of your species have varying degrees of oranges and ambers."

He knows a lot to your surprise, you give him a small smile, "Seems you know your stuff."

"I know that pretty well, yes. Also you have fangs for eating human food or for the consumption of blood, your ears are just slightly pointed almost barely noticeable unless you know to look, not like an elf at all. And you are specifically a plethora stronger then the average vampire due to your mother being as powerful as she is by nature." He laughs, "You could probably kill everyone here and they'd never have seen it coming."

Well he certainly can talk.

"Right, right." You nod, only slightly put off by him, "Well uh, it was a pleasure to meet you Rafael, historian of the Temple of Melitele."

You take a step to leave when he takes a step closer, "Could I just." He presses his hands together, holding them closely to his chest, "Could you show me something, your dark gift perhaps?"

Your eyes dart from him to a plant by the wall and back to him again, "Uh.....Yeah alright." Rafael grins brightly as you take a step closer to him, resting your hands on his shoulders, praying to Melitele that Geralt does not turn a corner to witness this right now. You give his muscle a light squeeze, "Just keep still."

Rafael nods, your hands trail from his shoulders the sides of his shoulders before you get a better grip around his upper arms and slowly lift up. His eyes widen, expression excited and joyful as you effortlessly lift him to where his feet no longer touch the floor.

"My gods, how incredible. Do I even weigh anything to you?" Exclaims Rafael as his feet dangle, large smile never once faltering.

"It's like lifting up a newborn kitten."

He chuckles while you set him back down again, taking a step away as he tucks a loose hair of his behind his ear. "I will cherish this time I've had with you, princess Y/N. My books mean the world to me but to have met you and bore witness to the real power of a dhampir. No book can compare."

You take a slow step back, "Good luck with your studies." Feet still continuing to move you away from him as you make a solid attempt to leave, escape more-like.

"How long are you staying for might I ask? It would be lovely to speak with you again, I have so many questions."

You force a smile, "A few days. I'm usually pretty busy though, nice to meet you. Goodbye." You give a wave before swiveling around on your heels and quickly walking away from him as naturally and casually fast as possible. Leaving a smiling and heavily blushing Rafael in the foreground, you made the young historians week, maybe even his whole year and don't even truly know it.

Turning a corner do you skillfully avoid smacking into two young girls with arms full of thin candle sticks who pass by, chatting away to one another. You slide by them and turn to rest your back against a pillar, "Well that was fucking bizarre. Well not entirely, still weird though." You mutter to yourself, it's not everyday some random person info dumps about your race. Good for him, but you already know all of that.

Hopefully you don't cross paths with him again.

Taking a breath do you push yourself off of the wall to wander the halls some more, sneaking in the shadows as you pass from pillar to pillar. Avoiding people here and there, lingering by the bookshelves in a study area before leaving that to touch a plant in some brass pot. So smooth and brightly green it is, greatly unlike the usual naturally occurring plant life around this part of the Continent. Nothing but trees, scraggly bushes, and moss around these parts.

Your thumb caresses the silky smooth leaf, mind wandering to the whereabouts of your lost dagger and a hundred other things when suddenly the familiar scent of lilacs and gooseberries wafts into your nostrils instantaneously. Your finger halts all movements as you tense, nerves sparking as they trickle over your entire body in one quick rush. No one else smells like that.

Your head lifts up, gaze focused from the tropical plant to a woman in red robes walking past through the pillars. Your eyes land on the flames of a candle as your ears adjust, they twitch as you listen closely, deeply concentrated. Footsteps walking down a hallway, passing a few unimportant people as they stop at a door. The door handle jiggles harshly but does not relent as it is locked.

The footsteps move onward away from this door as she seeks elsewhere to go, you follow her trail easily, quietly. Pillar by pillar, stalking like a silent wolf in the dark as she walks blindly unaware, seeking something unknown to you. You take a step into the hallway a short distance behind her, her dark long hair pulled back into a braid swings gently as she walks. Dress that skids against the floor only from the back sways when she stops, pausing as she takes a breath.

Her heartbeat picks up only slightly.

She turns around to satiate her curiosity but there's no one there. Her face grows puzzled, maybe she was just hearing things? She blinks, purple irises flickering from the pillars as she feels a familiar presence near. A small relieved smile tugs at her lips when she turns around to come face to face with you, someone she had not thought to see for a long time.

"Y/N."

"Yennefer."

Her gaze studies over your face that looks back in a stoic surprise until Yennefer's lips pull to one corner as she gives you a genuine half-smile, "It is good to see you."

Your expression shifts from a conflicted sadness to a newfound joy as you blink back your astonishment, "What happened to you? I thought you died? I couldn't sense you anymore after Sodden, I couldn't feel anything. Our link, gone." You quickly ramble out all at once, so many questions racing through your head.

Yennefer glances from the ground and back to you again, "I...I don't know why that happened. I would have found you sooner if I still felt it." She whispers. After all this time after Sodden, after realizing her powers are gone, after dealing with the damn Brotherhood in Aretuza, after it all and now her quest to find the gifted child with Elder blood has brought her back to you.

Is this destiny?

Yennefer takes a slow breath before enveloping you into her arms for a tight embrace, you hug her back, so grateful to know she's truthfully alive and well. You can't almost believe this is real, she's really here with you right now, not just a story in your mind spoken from a man you barely trusted. After a short moment do the two of you pull away, though your grasp is still to one another's arms.

You can't keep the smile off of your face, "How are you alive? You were just gone after you burned half the forest and Nilfgaards army....what...what even happened after Sodden? Where did you go?"

"I ended up somewhere in the woods. Then I was taken by Fringilla and some of the Nilfgaardian soldiers who were with her, the last survivors. I had no choice but to follow them until our camp was attacked by elves." She takes a breath, "Then I was a prisoner there, under the rule of Francesca and Filivandrel."

Your brows furrow, "But why didn't you.." You gift her a sympathetic look as your hand touches her cheek, "You've lost your chaos haven't you?"

Yennefer's smile falters as she begins to frown, "I don't understand it."

"That makes sense why we couldn't sense one another, when the magic left you so did our link given by the djinn....everything, gone." Taking your hand away from her cheek do you get a hard look upon your face as you glance from the ground to her again, "I shouldn't have left Sodden, I should have stayed and tried to find you, tried to see if you survived. I'm sorry."

Yennefer shakes her head at this, "You didn't know I was alive, nobody knew. Not even Tissaia."

You hum in thought before pursing your lips together in discontempt as you look to her, "I met your old lover. That's how I even came to the riveting conclusion that you were even alive to begin with."

Yennefer's dark brows furrow, "Istredd?"

"Yeah, him. A real shocker at the time too, and he was so casual about it. Even accused me of being a terrible friend for abandoning you in Sodden. I didn't fucking know."

"Where you in Aretuza while I was with the elves?"

You scoff, "Fuck no. I was in Cintra for something at the time and there he was in his study, he's apparently there with intention to help the elves if you can believe it." You shake your head, "Nilfgaard has taken over all of Cintra, unsurprisingly of course, it just feels strange. Now they're aiding the elves so who knows where that's going to go, everything's kind of a shitfuck of a mess right now huh?"

She lets out a breathy laugh, "You could say that."

The two of you don't say a word for a second or two until you nod, "How are you doing? Honestly? After everything that's happened so far."

Yennefer shrugs, "Could be better."

"You look pretty good for 'could be better'. Less blood and dirt covered then the last time I saw you."

She smiles, "I could say the same. But how are you? Find your Witcher yet?"

"I did. He's around here somewhere actually, doing something." You shrug as you get a puzzled look upon your face, "Now why are you here? I mean this is the temple of the goddess of fertility but I'd assumed you'd abandoned that path a while ago. Could I be wrong? Oh, or are you here to learn about healing properties, to find your chaos again? No wait, you're here to become a midwife, no, a historian."

Yennefer laughs at your teasing just as the familiar footsteps of your young princess walks down the hallway of pillars on your right, "Y/N, do you know what to do with this?" Both yourself and Yennefer turn to find the voice responsible.

Ciri looks down at some round metal silvery object with a small chain attached to its top before her greenish-blue eyes land upon you and Yennefer near a couple potted plants. She stops in her tracks, "Oh, are you busy?" She whispers, stealing a glance at Yennefer, "I'll just go ask Geralt.."

"No Ciri, it's fine." You nudge Yennefer's shoulder with your elbow, "This is my dear friend."

"Dear friend?" Teases Yennefer, she's surprised you didn't call her something derogatory first even if it was in a playful manner.

You let out a breathy laugh, "This is Yennefer...who's actually alive. Little did I know."

Ciri's intrigued gaze lingers on the woman next to you, "You're Yennefer."

The lavender eyed mage smiles softly, "And you must be her..." Yennefer turns her head to look at you, "...Child Surprise." She whispers, her tone almost sounding taken aback though she returns her gaze to Ciri, gifting her a convincing grin as she looks over the girl who she's been tasked with bringing to Cintra in order to reclaim her chaos again. Though you have not a clue about this valuable and troubling information.

You're just glad to have Yennefer back in the flesh.

You look between the girls, "Well let's have a seat why don't we, catch up a bit, tell some stories hmm?" ——

Seated on a plush silken couch opposite of the two of them surrounded by pillars and metal trays of flickering candles spread about. Do you watch as both Ciri and Yennefer make themselves comfortable in their own respective spots around the circular table in the center. A table covered with snacks of all kinds laying in trays, a silver tray in the center with six thick candles all glowing bright.

"Y/N." Begins Ciri who's leaned against a pillar, "Where's Geralt?"

You rest an arm casually against the back of the couch as you draw your attention to her, "Resting." Ciri nods as you send Yennefer a knowing wink which causes her to snicker as she pours a cup of tea for herself.

"Resting is he? Not very much like the Witcher I once knew."

"He gets grumpy when he doesn't catch enough sleep." You shrug, "Don't we all?"

"We do." She nods, "Except for you of course. Never one to sleep as often as the rest of the world, probably why you swore to me once that you saw a unicorn on your way back to Aretuza that one time."

"I did!" You playfully protest.

She tilts her head questioningly at you, "Unicorns don't live in that region of the Continent. It was probably a white horse or something."

"No, no, no, I definitely remember seeing with my own two eyes a damn unicorn. I saw it's horn and everything. I swear it." The two of you break out into laughter as Ciri looks skeptically between the two of you, not sure who to believe.

"You two really expect me to believe that unicorns exist?" Adds Ciri, unsure if you're both just pulling her leg.

"Of course they do." Says Yennefer matter-of-factly, "I used to own a stuffed one. Until it broke. Under mysterious circumstances." She sets the tall teapot onto the tray, giving you a humored look as you roll your eyes. That may have been your fault, no, it definitely was.

"Well, I'd love to see one some day." Adds Ciri as Yennefer takes a drink from her clear glass of deep red tea.

"You'd be in rare company." You begin as she looks to you, "They only approach those who are pure of heart. Which reminds me, how did you get your hands on one again?"

Yennefer makes a face, "My lady. I'm a beacon of purity." The two of you share a grin before snickering like two young girls with a hushed secret only you both know about. This feels like every time you would visit her in her room or on the balcony when she was alone in either Aretuza or Aedirn. The two of you would share stories and make each other laugh so easily, you miss those days.

"How..." Ciri pauses a moment as you both give her your attention, she sets her gaze to Yennefer, "...did you survive in Sodden?"

Yennefer's thoughtful gaze lingers upon the candle on the table, "I almost didn't. I'm one of the lucky ones, as is Y/N." She looks at Ciri, "Depending on your definition of luck."

Ciri thinks about this a second before turning her focus to you, "Well, Y/N says you're the most powerful mage she's ever known."

Yennefer's smile grows as she raises her brows to you, "Well, that's nice of her." You gift her a shrug as she continues, "You're staying here to heal? Have you been injured or something?"

"Of course not." You muse, "Monsters ceased biting and clawing ten years ago and I heal swift. But again I ask, what about you? A real answer this time. Because I crossed paths with another of your, uh, dear friends. He told me a little of the events in Aretuza. Is that why you're here? Hiding from the Brotherhood?"

She takes a sip from her glass, nodding, she swallows and sets the glass back onto the table, "Yes. It's been a difficult few months. But things finally seem to be turning a corner." She replies with a half-convincing smile that could be fully believed by the untrained eye, you want to believe it, but her aurora doesn't completely match up with her face.

This is strange but you let it go. She's Yennefer, her whole life is filled with her own secrets and agenda even you don't always know about, no matter how much she trusts you. However, in the end can you always figure her out, no matter how much she tries to hide it away.

"I...dreamed about you once." Mutters Ciri as she sets her gaze to Yennefer, "Before I even knew you existed."

"Dreams are powerful omens. Perhaps we were meant to find each other." Inquires Yennefer as the two of them share a mutual smile before Ciri glances between the two of you and sits up in her seat, "I'm uh...I'm going to go to bed." She stands, metal ball with the chain still in her hands, "Maybe I can dream about how to work this thing."

"This place is a maze. I'll walk you." States Yennefer as she moves to stand.

Ciri shakes her head, "No, it's—it's all right. I can, uh..find my way." She gives a purse lipped grin before nodding to you and turning around to practically bounce up the short three steps to the next floor. You watch as she goes, disappearing behind a corner and out of sight in an instant.

"Shut up."

Yennefer chuckles, "I never spoke a word."

You turn your gaze to her, "I know what you're thinking and.."

"Oh and what am I thinking about?"

"My unnatural ability to care for people despite my lack of...well, liking people."

"I wasn't going to say that. But close. I just think it's nice that you're being so, dare I say, motherly."

"Alright, now we're getting ahead of ourselves." You mutter with a roll of your eyes before shaking your head, "But I have given her a bedtime if you were wondering."

Yennefer snorts, "Oh now that's rich. You? Who would have thought of the day."

"Things have been weirder."

And they were certainly about to get there.

-

Hello all my lovely readers just wanted to say thank you all for sticking around to follow this story! I appreciate it very very much!! More chapters to come

Taglist: @littlewhiterose​​​ @galaxypox​​​ @maan24​​ @lilacs-lavender​​ @letseatnow​​​ @certainwonderlandperfection​​​ @rafecameronswhore​​​ @diegos-butt​​​ @ashleyforeverareject​​​ @seninjakitey​​​ @beck07990​​​ @kmuir1​​​ @a-girl-who-loves-disney​​​ @greengrassdiaries​​​ @canpillowscry​​​   @23victoria

[valdomarx]

“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

-

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

-

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

-

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

-

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

-

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

-

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”

[bettsfic]

i’ve been seeing a lot of posts on my dash about the witcher and it looked pretty interesting to me, but when i went on netflix the description was really vague and unhelpful. in attempt to not accidentally spoil myself by looking on the web, would you mind telling me a little about it?

first of all, to watch the witcher you need to replace your expectation of “good” with “totally unhinged.”

the show is about henry cavill in extremely tight clothing, carrying around a broadsword, facing moral dilemmas, fighting monsters, and having sex. he takes a potion before every fight (which isn’t explained) and no one in the story ages (which also isn’t explained) so people’s parents and grandparents look the same age as their progeny. 

the witcher is not a monster of the week show, nor does it have a coherent ongoing arc. it is not told in chronological order. most of the things that happen are unrelated to everything else that happens. the timeline might happen over weeks, decades, or centuries, and none of that is explained. lore is told in fits and bursts and makes no sense at all. the first episode is absolutely useless and you should not judge the rest of the season based on it, but it has a great sword fight and geralt (that’s henry cavill in extremely tight clothing) talks lovingly to his horse. that’s it. that’s the show.

what is important to know is that the season is adapted from short stories set before the events of the book series. so it’s not season 1 as much as season 0, which is why it feels like nothing is connected or makes sense. it’s a primer to what i’m assuming the next season will be (and i think/hope the fandom will really take off). 

everyone seems to have boners for everyone else. most of the characters are women and they are all absolutely feral. the showrunner is a woman, and most of the eps are written and directed by women. it’s like watching a really wild fanfic come to life. what i love about it is that it’s just so fucking weird. every expectation i had going into it was shattered, and even the moments that were cheesy or boring or cringey or dumb i found somewhat endearing. now that i’m done watching it, i kind of want to watch it again, which is something i rarely do. after every episode i thought, “i really don’t like this, and i don’t want to watch anymore.” and after every episode, i clicked play on the next. 

if you like hot beefy men who are deeply misunderstood as being the bad guy but are actually good-aligned, you’ll like the witcher. if you like complicated, all-powerful, borderline-evil female characters who are greedy and heartless and have ample room for growth, you’ll like the witcher. if you like isolated men who are chased by endearing comedic relief sidekicks, you’ll like the witcher. if you like stories in which seemingly self-centered men are made to become paternal toward helpless beings, you will like the witcher. if you want to ship everyone with everyone else and be totally overwhelmed by attractive people doing attractive things, you will like the witcher. if you like catchy bops that will be stuck in your head for 87 years, you’ll like the witcher.

the only way you will not like the witcher is if you’re expecting it to be good.

[havenoffandoms]

Hey congrats on 900 followers! Would I be able to request the touch starved prompt from your list with the pairing Aiden/Lambert please? Love all your writing!

Hello!! Thanks for requesting this prompt and this pairing! I’ve been on a right Lambden kick recently, so I felt inspired. I hope you like it! 

Prompt 13: Touch-Starved

Pairing: Aiden x Lambert

Warnings: None

Prompt List

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together. Being stabbed to death in his sleep comes to mind, or having Aiden go all batshit crazy if Lambert dared to beat him at Gwent. Lambert has heard many rumours about Cat witchers in his long life. Cats are batshit crazy. Cats are emotionally volatile. Cats are backstabbing sons of bitches… literally and metaphorically. Cats are bad. Cats are evil, etc, etc. All these rumours circulated in Kaer Morhen long before Lambert even set foot in that ramshackle castle. He was too young to have witnessed the Tournament, but he heard the older witchers talk. Later in his life, when only a handful of wolf witchers were left after the sacking, Eskel gave Lambert a more detailed account of the Tournament.

“The Cats betrayed us, went on a rampage. Killed many wolf witchers in the process. Geralt and I lost many friends that day,” Eskel told him one evening, when the oldest surviving wolf was too far in his cup to notice that he was oversharing. “Radowit’s court mage Astrogarus promised the Cats monopoly on killing monsters within Kaedwen in exchange for attacking the Wolves during the tournament. Turns out Radowit was a backstabbing motherfucker himself. He ordered his soldiers to shoot all of the remaining witchers of both schools in the arena.”

“Lemme guess,” Lambert spoke, his own speech slightly slurred, “pretty boy saved the day?” 

Eskel shook his head. “Fled. Mousesack helped him escape the massacre. Poor bastard never forgave himself for abandonin’ our brothers, but what choice did he have?”

Don’t get Lambert wrong. He’s not saying that Aiden is harmless, far from it. The guy’s lethal with his swords, deadly with a pair of daggers, not to mention a stealthy and clever thief. Aiden is mercurial, hot-tempered and a bit feral when he wants to be, and his morals are at best dubious. Whereas wolf witchers had their emotions beaten out of them at a young age, cat witchers feel too much, too strongly. Lambert’s witnessed Aiden flip tables when peasants beat him at Gwent, but he’s also witnessed the Cat shed a tear after bringing the news to a mother that her son did not survive the ghoul attack two villages down the road. 

Lambert was apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but the Cat had never ceased to surprise him. The most unexpected trait Aiden has displayed to date is his insatiable need for physical contact. It’s not like Lambert hates being touched - he’s only human, albeit a mutated one, but still human. He enjoys a hug as much as the next person, especially when said hug comes from one of his brothers (or, dare he say, Vesemir) at the end of a long and difficult year on the Path. Lambert has also never begrudged a bed partner a post-coital cuddle session. Aiden’s need for physical contact is… on a whole different level. 

The first time it happened, Lambert almost shoved the Cat off him and sent him packing, until he realised that Aiden was not only hugging him, but clinging onto him. His sharp nails were digging in the soft material of Lambert’s shirt, the fabric creaking in protest under the firm grip. When Lambert looked down, he noticed the pinched eyebrows and tears trailing down Aiden’s face. It wasn’t until a broken sob pushed past the Cat’s lips that Lambert reluctantly returned the embrace, arms wound tightly around Aiden’s trembling body. Aiden eventually settled in the safety of Lambert’s arms, his features softening as he sank back into a peaceful slumber. 

Neither mentioned the previous evening’s impromptu cuddling session, but from that moment one, it was like someone had flicked a switch. Aiden came up with every possible fucking excuse to touch Lambert. Their hands would always accidentally graze each other when they packed up camp, or tacked up the horses. Aiden would bump shoulders with him when they were travelling on foot. If they sat next to one another in a tavern, Aiden would press his leg against Lambert’s, and if they were facing each other, a tentative foot would gently nudge Lambert’s shin and linger there. It’s not like Aiden was trying to hide his intentions, either. They rarely paid for two rooms anymore, because even if they did, Aiden would always end up in Lambert’s bed anyway, arms wound around Lambert’s body like a koala clinging to its mother.

Lambert doesn’t hate Aiden’s need for physical proximity, he’s just… confused by it. Aiden rarely takes any lovers to bed, even though he clearly craves physical intimacy. Lambert is more than happy to cuddle with Aiden, especially when they are forced to sleep under the stars and the early autumn frosts begin to settle over the region. It saves them from lighting a campfire, which may attract the wrong kind of attention to them. That’s all that’s ever transpired between the two, though… cuddling. Lambert enjoys the cuddling as much as Aiden does, but for Aiden it seems to be about more than mere enjoyment. The Cat simply refuses to go without physical intimacy which at times can be… alright, it can feel overbearing, but Lambert’s not about to complain, not when most humans turn away from him in disgust and contempt when he tries to chat them up. 

Over the course of the next few weeks, Aiden almost develops a form of separation anxiety. He refuses to let Lambert out of his sight, going so far as to follow the man everywhere, and that’s the moment when Lambert snaps. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks, his tone hiding none of the irritation he feels at being tailed by this overgrown tomcat. Aiden stops dead in his tracks, his eyes growing wide at Lambert’s words. 

“Huh?” 

“You’ve been following me since this morning… I have errands to run and it’s hard to do that when you’re breathing down my neck!”

Lambert instantly regrets his words the minute they leave his mouth. Aiden’s shoulders visibly sag at Lambert’s comment, his content expression melting into something sadder and the sight tugs at the wolf’s heartstrings in all the wrong ways. Aiden averts Lambert’s eyes shyly, the tip of his ears turning a pretty shade of pink as embarrassment washes over him. Lambert heaves a sigh. Way to act like a fucking dick. 

“Sorry, Aiden. I… I didn’t mean to sound like an ass, but-”

“It’s alright, I… I knew this moment would come eventually.”

“What are you talking about?” Lambert asks, a confused frown etched on his face. Aiden doesn’t look at him when he replies in a voice far too small to belong to the lethal, cocky witcher Lambert has come to know over the past few months. 

“You’re gonna ask me to leave for good. I get it. I… I’ll go back to the room and pack my things.” 

As Aiden turns around to leave, Lambert’s hand shoots out and grabs a hold of Aiden’s wrist. Before Lambert’s brain has a chance to catch up, he finds himself pulling Aiden into a nearby alley, away from prying eyes of judgemental humans meandering the stalls of the midweek market. Aiden looks so unsure now, so vulnerable like this, and it makes Lambert want to wrap the Cat up in warm blankets and cuddle him and forget the world for a while. Instead, he settles on pressing Aiden’s back against the wall and draping himself around the Cat witcher as much as he can. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Lambert breathes in the air pocket between them as he locks eyes with Aiden, “you’ve just been… especially clingy recently. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Aiden averts his eyes once again, but Lambert is quick to grip the other man’s chin and force Aiden to meet his gaze. Even that simple touch pulls a small hiss from Aiden, whose eyes flutter shut as he relishes in the feeling of Lambert touching him anywhere. Lambert purses his lips, eager for an answer. 

“Aiden-”

“Winter is around the corner,” Aiden whispers, his tongue darting out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Lambert’s frown deepens. 

“And?”

His question is met with a pointed eye roll from Aiden. 

“And… wolves return to their dens for winter, don’t they? I was just… enjoying the last few weeks in your company before you leave and never come back.”

As the final piece of the puzzle slots into place, understanding dawns on Lambert. He pulls away from Aiden and the small whimper the loss of contact triggers does not go unnoticed. Something old and fragile aches in Lambert’s chest as the meaning of Aiden’s words sink in. Aiden isn’t just worried about being separated from Lambert for a few months, but he’s worried that Lambert will never come back.The wolf links his fingers with his Cat’s, squeezing softly as he leans into Aiden’s space and rubs his bearded cheek against Aiden’s jawline. The latter quickly melts under the soft ministrations, the soft content rumble deepening into a continuous purr as Lambert nuzzles the crook of Aiden’s neck. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” 

“Yeah, right,” Aiden snorts in response, “cause you’re so good with feelings and shit.”

“Not everyone’s a sappy sentimental bitch like you are,” Lambert teases gently, earning himself a half-hearted slap up the back of the head. “I don’t have to go back to Kaer Morhen this winter.”

Aiden tenses, his soft purring stopping abruptly as he takes in Lambert’s words. Lambert continues to rub his cheek against Aiden’s jaw, his neck, his cheek… wherever he can reach, the action meant to soothe the brewing storm in Aiden’s mind.

“It’s your home,” Aiden offers weakly, “I don’t want… I… it’s your home.” 

“I can send a letter to the old man. Let him know I’m alive. We could find a den somewhere else… an attic somewhere, or an abandoned castle.” Lambert nuzzles the spot right behind Aiden’s ear, earning a pleased hum from the Cat. “Or you could come with me.”

“Sure. Cause that’s gonna end well…” 

“That’s settled then. I’m spending winter with you.”

Aiden pushes Lambert away, their eyes meeting once again but this time, Aiden searches for any trace of a lie in Lambert’s amber gaze. He finds none, because Lambert is one hundred percent honest in his offer. He would ditch Vesemir, Geralt and Eskel for a year to spend it with Aiden… and the thought should scare him more than it does, truthfully. He’s only known the Cat for a few months, and yet… well, maybe Lambert was dreading the winter as well. How about that? It’s not like he felt equally anxious about leaving Aiden, it’s just… fuck off. 

“You mean that?” 

“Mhm. Fair warning… I hate the cold. If I’m spending the winter with you, you’ll have to find a way to keep me warm or I will bite your head off.” 

In Aiden’s defence, he does keep Lambert warm all winter long. Their cuddling finally turns into something more, and from the moment Lambert and Aiden cross that fateful line there is no going back. Aiden becomes insatiable, always seeking Lambert’s body in some shape or form, never letting the wolf out of his sight again.  Lambert may have been apprehensive about many things concerning Aiden when the two started travelling together, but it turns out that all his worries were for nothing. Turns out Cat witchers are still crazy, and feral, and mercurial… a tad possessive as well, something Lambert doesn’t hate... but they’re also the cuddliest sons of bitches on the Continent. 

Lambert can live with that, he thinks. 

Request a prompt.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Love (I Can’t Forget)

Pairing: geralt x jaskier Warning(s): minor jaskier x other Rating: mature

Summary: Jaskier is quite enjoying his morning with the innkeeper's daughter when he hears the cry of a golem. He knows a contract has been put out for a Witcher and that everything should be perfectly fine. Only the contract put out was for a rock troll.

There are few things in his life that Jaskier regrets as much as his extensive knowledge of all things monsters. And not even the majority of the time, just right now on this particular day at this particular time.

He's been stuck in Hamm for three days on his way to Cintra to check in on Ciri. But there's a rock troll that's been blocking the only safe route out, chucking rocks at travellers and being a general nuisance. Rock trolls aren't much trouble otherwise, but this one is affecting trade and travel, so the town has put out for a Witcher. Judging by the chatter in town, the witcher arrived this morning. So, unable to leave and unwilling to go out and get involved with the Witcher and his business like everyone else, Jaskier has holed up with the innkeeper's daughter Penelope and he's quite enjoying himself.

Or, he was, until he heard the cry.

Because right now, he's quite happily trapped beneath layers of lace and silk, pinned between soft thighs, and all he can think of is that the contract was put out for a rock troll and that sound? that was a golem. Which means that right now, there's a Witcher thinking he's going up again a calm and peaceful creature and is very much not prepared for what he's about to find. And Jaskier is torn.

Because on the one hand, he doesn't want anyone getting hurt, especially due to miscommunication - intentional or otherwise. But on the other hand, the likelihood of Geralt being the Witcher called to deal with the problem is very high. And Jaskier doesn't want to see him.

It's been months now, close to a year since he last saw Geralt, having received no apology or even acknowledgement since the dragon hunt. Which is fine; Geralt's an asshole and he can travel alone if he likes, but if that's the way it's going to be, Jaskier simply does not want to see him. Ever again, if he can help it. But he also doesn't want to see him die.

"Fuck," he mumbles and Penelope giggles as he drops his head, hair tickling her thighs.

"Mmhm, I hope so."

Jaskier crawls out from under her skirts, running his hands up her thighs and doing his best to look apologetic. Because he is; he'd rather spend the entire afternoon making her come than face Geralt for even a second, but he can't sit idly by when the man he, regrettably, still loves could be in danger.

"I have to go," he says softly and she frowns. "I'm sorry and believe me, I would much rather stay here with you, but an old friend is in danger, I can't leave him alone."

"The Witcher?" she asks and Jaskier nods. She must have heard the cry too. "Isn't it his job to fight monsters?"

"Yes, when he's given the correct information, but that's not a rock troll out there." Penelope sighs but pushes her skirts back into place, tidying them.

"You'd better go find him then."

Jaskier dips down, pressing a brief kiss to her lips before gathering his things quickly and hurrying off to find the Witcher. He prays under his breath that it isn't Geralt, but even as he does, he finds himself looking for traces of the man. He knows Geralt's habits, knows where he'll set up camp - the people here aren't friendly enough to welcome a Witcher into their homes or even host him at the inn - and so Jaskier heads for the woods.

It takes him a remarkably short time to come across the meagre camp. Roach is tethered to a tree just a few feet from the fire pit and Jaskier's heart aches to see her. She dances excitedly and he swallows back a lump in his throat.

"Hey, girl," he whispers. "I've missed you too, but I can't stay, okay? Geralt could be in trouble." He gives her a quick pat, regretting that this will likely be their only chance to see one another.

Jaskier drops to his knees next to Geralt's pack, rummaging through it. He finds the satchel of oils first, pulling them out until he recognizes the bluish hue of elemental oil. He sets it aside and continues looking for potions. Immediately, he finds swallow and thunderbolt sitting neatly in their sheaths and his heart clenches. He grabs them both and a third vial he hopes is white rafford's and tucks them all into his pockets, turning to hurry in the direction of the fight.

It's not hard to find them. The golem is loud and Jaskier follows the sound of its roars until he almost stumbles over a log in his urgency to get to him. Geralt rolls in his direction, dodging a blow from the beast, and when he sees Jaskier, his expression sours.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Jaskier?"

Jaskier stiffens, immediately defensive. He has to bite his tongue as he crouches down next to Geralt, still keeping one eye on the golem. It seems to have lost its target for now, but Jaskier knows that won't last long.

"Rude," he retorts, "considering I'm here to rescue you." He empties his pockets, listing off the supplies as he pushes them into Geralt's hands. "I thought you might need the assistance since a golem is a lot harder to talk down than a rock troll."

He's seething now, all the anger and hurt of the last year bubbling to the surface and it takes everything in him not to cry in front of Geralt. He's always been an angry crier and he hates it. But Geralt's head jerks up and a little bit of pride peeks through the anger. Because he does know what he's doing. He pointedly ignores it, eyeing a scrape on the side of Geralt's face that will need tending to later.

"Take the thunderbolt now," he says, "don't risk going at it again without it."

Geralt scoffs but he makes no attempt to take control of the situation, letting Jaskier continue. Jaskier focuses on the golem; there's no way Geralt can get the jump on it from here, so he'll have to distract it once he's ready.

"Oil your blade," he says and Geralt eyes him suspiciously, but he's already got the rag in hand.

Once he's finished, he keeps his eyes on Jaskier, no longer waiting for a command, but skeptical of what comes next. Jaskier knows he's realized something is up or else he would have just gone after the golem again, but he's waiting, he's letting Jaskier help.

"You're not going to like this," Jaskier says, rising to his feet, "but know that I'm only doing it for you."

He darts away through the trees and he can hear Geralt yelling after him, but it's too late. He ignores him, pushing on until he hears the golem turn its attention on him. This is closely followed by an angry fuck and Jaskier knows his plan is working.

Geralt still isn't at full strength, but with a distraction, he shouldn't have trouble taking the golem down. He just needs to keep it away from him without being killed until he has the chance. It's only then, that he realizes he didn't think his plan through all the way; once again, he was too concerned about Geralt's safety to consider his own and that's proved ill for him in the past.

He trips over a root - a root! - and fumbles backward to keep out of the way, but he's expecting this to be the end. He shuts his eyes and braces himself, but just as he can feel the golem's breath on his skin, it lets out a cry and whips around to turn its anger on Geralt.

Jaskier cracks an eye open to see it swinging at Geralt, now caught up and wielding his silver sword. Jaskier sighs in relief and scrambles to get up, ensuring he hasn't lost any of the supplies he brought with him. He doesn't stick around to watch the fight, heart still hammering in his chest, instead finding himself a safe spot to look out for Geralt until he takes the golem down.

And he does, shortly now that he has the right supplies, dodging its blow and pirouetting around behind it to deal a deadly blow. The golem collapses, shaking the ground beneath it and Jaskier holds his breath as he waits for Geralt to emerge from the pile of rubble.

But he doesn't and Jaskier can stand the wait any longer so he rushes out to him. Geralt's eyes are open when he reaches him, but his eyelids droop and his breath comes in hot heavy puffs. Jaskier drops down next to him, careless of the mud and blood that soaks into his trousers.

"'M fine," Geralt mumbles, but he doesn't sit up or make any attempt to move and in Jaskier's opinion, that's not fine.

He hauls Geralt up into his arms, propping him up against his chest and pulls out the remainder of the potions he brought with him. Geralt scowls and bats his hand away.

"I didn't come all the way out here to watch you die," Jaskier tuts, "I was having a very nice morning and I'd appreciate it if I wasn't interrupted for no reason. Take the potion."

Geralt rolls his eyes like a petulant child and takes the vial from Jaskier's hand, downing it like a shot of liquor.

"See," he says, "fine." Jaskier wants to smack him.

"Get up."

It's a struggle to get Geralt to his feet and Jaskier suspects his physical injuries are worse than the exhaustion, a prospect that has his heart racing, much to his chagrin. Geralt shouldn't mean anything to him anymore and yet he can't keep himself from feeling sick at the thought of anything happening to him.

Geralt uses him for support, leaning on Jaskier's shoulders as they make their way slowly back to the camp. Geralt complains about getting the necessary proof that he killed the golem and Jaskier does his very best not to call him a fucking idiot about it. He promises, with as little irritation as he can manage, that he can return for it in the morning.

He sits Geralt next to the fire and as he crosses back to Geralt's bag to collect spare linen and salve, Roach nibbles at Geralt's hair, nudging him with her nose. Jaskier smiles softly at her worry, he can understand it well; Geralt all but left him for dead, and here he is pulling him out of danger and bandaging his wounds like nothing has changed.

When he returns to him, Geralt has two of the clasps on his armour undone, but he can't reach the third and he's frowning at it. Jaskier sets the linen down with the rest of his supplies and sighs softly.

"Let me."

Geralt remains silent as Jaskier unstraps his armour and pulls his shirt up over his head. He's bruised mostly, but there are a few fresh wounds including one that spans nearly his entire stomach. There are a few scars he doesn't recognize, too, and Jaskier doesn't want to think about what caused those.

He cleans his wounds first, then wipes down the rest of his torso, relieved to find most of the gunk on him is not actually blood.

Once he's finished his work, he leaves Geralt to get dressed and gathers more wood for the fire. He lights it with bits of flint from Geralt's pack and while the smaller branches begin to crackle, Jaskier sets about finding something for them to eat. He's never been very good at hunting - that was always Geralt's job when they travelled together - but he knows his plants and with what he still has in his pack, he fixes something up for them. Not that he feels much like eating.

It's not until Jaskier is about to leave that Geralt finally speaks. Jaskier is just on the edge of sleep, exhausted from worry and the effort it takes to be so close to Geralt right now and he very nearly misses it.

"Why did you do that?"

"What part?" Jaskier asks.

"Risk your life. For me."

"I had to. I couldn't just let you die because someone was too stupid to know the difference between a rock troll and a golem."

"I'm impressed that you knew."

Jaskier's stomach does a little flip-flop and he curses himself for being so weak. "I learned from the best," he quips. "But you should sleep. I'll come back to check on you in the morning."

There's a long silence as he gathers his things and then, "Stay?" Geralt asks and Jaskier's heart clenches.

He wants to. Gods, he wants to. To lie down next to him and look up at the stars like he always has and to fall asleep to the crackling of the fire and the faint sounds of Geralt breathing next to him. But he shouldn't. That part of his life is behind him now and Geralt made it very clear that he doesn't want him around. This was just a means to an end; he couldn't with any good conscience, let a Witcher die on bad information. Even if that Witcher is the same one who broke his heart on a mountaintop so many months ago.

"I miss listening to you sing while I rest," he says and Jaskier's legs shake under him.

"You.. do?"

"Mm, I didn't realize how much I appreciated it until it was gone."

Jaskier stands still, unable to think through the rush of blood in his ears. He was angry and hurt and spiteful for a long time, but maybe it's time to let go of all that.

"Alright," he breathes.

He tries to remain calm as he can because he knows Geralt can tell when he's not. He can hear the sound of Jaskier's traitor heart and the way his breath comes just a little too fast. And he'll know what it means, the insufferable git. But in the end, it doesn't matter because Jaskier will always choose him over anyone.

He lays down in the dirt, folding his arms back to rest his head on - he's already covered in muck and Geralt's blood, what's a little more dirt? - and he sings. It's not an active choice, but he sings a love song. It's a lovely little tune, not one of his own, but one he's always been fond of, and as he sings, he closes his eyes and lets the warmth of the fire wash over him, remembering the nights when this was a common occurrence. Geralt is quiet, apparently genuine in his desire to hear him sing and Jaskier isn't quite sure what to make of that.

When he finishes, he thinks Geralt is asleep and he settles as well as he can against the rocky ground. He's tired enough that he could fall asleep anywhere, but then Geralt goes and opens his mouth again

"I looked for you," he says, "at first." Jaskier doesn't know how to respond, but Geralt doesn't seem to want a reply and he continues. "I knew what I said was wrong and I knew I'd hurt you so I tried to find you. You must have made it down the mountain before me. I was angry about what happened with Yen, I didn't mean it."

"I know," Jaskier whispers and he does. He realized a long time ago that he was not the intended target of Geralt's rage, but it didn't help to heal the wounds and it didn't bring him back. He's not sure what else to say and his heart beats too fast.

"Come here," Geralt says softly, shifting slightly to make space for him under the blanket.

Jaskier moves to lie next to him and Geralt pulls him close, wrapping an arm around him. Jaskier presses his nose into Geralt's shoulder, burying his face so Geralt can't see the emotion it betrays. He smells off, tangy, like blood and it makes Jaskier's chest tight.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"I'll be fine."

It's not a good answer, but Geralt tips his head down, burying his nose in Jaskier's hair and it's good enough. Jaskier presses closer, allowing himself this small bit of comfort.

In the morning, he wakes with Geralt's cloak over him, but Geralt himself is gone. As he rises to his feet, Jaskier realizes that Roach is still there, grazing happily at the edge of their camp and that means Geralt couldn't have gone far. He doesn't know how welcome his company will be, so he waits for Geralt to come back, but when he doesn't Jaskier starts to worry and he goes after him. It doesn't take long to find him.

Geralt is sitting on the edge of the forest, looking out over the town though they're far enough away that no one looking would notice them. Jaskier drapes his cloak around his shoulder and sits down, just slightly behind him.

"I thought about you," Geralt admits, "just before you showed up."

"Oh."

"I didn't think I'd see you again. I didn't want to die knowing you hated me."

"I don't," Jaskier says a little too quickly, "hate you. I can't, I tried. I was angry at you for a very long time and I was hurt for even longer, but I could never hate you." I love you too much for that.

"I have a... habit of saying things to you that I regret. Twice now I've nearly lost you for good and our last words would have been unpleasant."

"Twice?" Jaskier asks.

"Mm. The djinn."

"Right." Jaskier doesn't remember much about the djinn incident - it was fairly traumatic for him - but he does remember Geralt wishing for peace and quiet and saying some awful things about his singing voice. He mentions it, a little of the bitterness bleeding through.

"I didn't mean that either," Geralt swallows, "you have a beautiful voice." That voice fails him now as his stomach twists into a knot.

"Why now?" he asks because that's all that will come out.

"I miss you. I miss your company and seeing you again," he sighs like it's the most difficult thing he's ever had to say. Jaskier forgives him for that because this is already more than Geralt has said to him in a long time. "It makes me realize I was wrong before." He pauses again and Jaskier waits, nearly breathless. "I didn't actually expect you to leave."

"Then what did you expect?" he snaps, "Geralt I've put up with so much of your shit and I've stuck by you despite it. But you told me you didn't want me, that I was a nuisance, that I-" he turns and Geralt is right there. His words stick on his tongue and his throat goes dry.

"You're not a nuisance," he says and Jaskier nods dumbly. He looks at him and he can see how hard this is for Geralt to even get out this much and it's better than he was expecting. Anything else they can work out later if Geralt was genuine about wanting him around. Jaskier opens his mouth to speak to offer a compromise, but Geralt interrupts him.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he says, "I didn't want to, I wasn't thinking."

"Geralt-"

"You're important to me, Jaskier. And you saved my life yesterday," his lips quirk just so and Jaskier stares for a moment, trying to figure out if he's really seeing this.

"You never were very good at taking care of yourself," Jaskier shrugs. "You should have someone to look after you. Someone who knows something about these monsters you hunt."

Geralt huffs a soft laugh but says nothing, meeting Jaskier's eyes and holding his gaze. He tips his head to one side and Jaskier can feel the breath catch in his throat because Geralt is so close and it's been so long. He doesn't move, afraid to disturb the peace between them, but Geralt leans in, closing the space between them and cupping Jaskier's face in his palm. Their noses bump together, then Geralt's lips brush against his own so faintly he thinks he imagined it. But when he doesn't pull away, Geralt kisses him properly, leaning into it. Jaskier lets himself be drawn forward, lost in the press of Geralt's lips against his own. He hums softly as an arm winds around his waist, bringing him closer, and when Geralt breaks the kiss, he presses their forehead together.

"I know it's not fair," he breathes, "to ask you to come back after the things I said to you, but I want to make amends. Tell me how to fix this."

"Come back to the inn with me," Jaskier breathes, "I'll talk to the innkeeper, get you a room - or you could stay with me?" he's still a little hesitant, but this is Geralt. "We can talk about what comes next after a bath and some supper."

"Will you join me?"

"In the bath?" Jaskier stutters and he can see the flush that creeps across Geralt's cheeks.

"I didn't mean -" he starts, before glancing down at Jaskier's muddy trousers. "But if you want-?" Jaskier barely remembers to breathe, but he settles himself.

"Supper first," he says, "then we'll see about a bath." Jaskier smiles at him and Geralt smiles back, and for the first time in a long time, he finds himself looking forward to whatever comes after.

[samstree]

and the wolf was nowhere to be found (1/3)

In which Jaskier chooses to lie, until he can no longer tell the truth.

(lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, geralt apologizes, post mountain, miscommunication, rated teen, read on AO3)

A big thanks to @wanderlust-t and @a-kind-of-merry-war for the prompt! <3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]

“You are gonna run after him again, just like that? Don’t you remember what he did to you? What you went through?”

Essi leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as Jaskier packs a second bag.

“Come one, poppet. Geralt was having a hard time back then, and now he’s come all the way to Oxenfurt to apologize.

“So what?”

“So I’m forgiving him.”

She grumbles a few rude words regarding the witcher’s lineage.

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

“And this is way too easy! Why can’t you see a disaster waiting to happen until it hits you in the face?” Essi exclaims. “Do you know what I would have done? I would make him grovel! Give him the cold shoulder. Or…or at least play it cool for a while longer so he knows not to take you for granted again! Sorry, but I’m…not like you.”

“Um…excuse you. I am plenty cool!”

“There’s nothing cool about being utterly in love and then getting cast aside over and over again, Jaskier. You know that.”

Jaskier sighs, walks to Essi and pulls her into a tight hug, all his scattered doublets ignored.

“I’m going to be okay,” he tries to tuck her curls away from her eyes but fails.

“Are you?” When she pulls back, there’s something inscrutable in those blue eyes, the curtain of blonde hair obscuring her emotions. “When you came down from the mountain, the way you couldn’t even … I don’t know. I just need to make sure it won’t happen again.”

“It—” Jaskier opens his mouth to make an easy promise, but finds the words choking in his throat. “I, um—”

Essi squeezes him on the shoulder. “He’s apologized, profusely from what you told me, and he’s being nice now. He will certainly be nice for a while, but what happens after he wins you back? What’s preventing him from hurting you again?”

Jaskier has no answers for her, so he resorts to giving her another hug.

“At least, think about my cold shoulder tactic. Sometimes people need the reminder, just so they know what they can easily lose.”

“Essi—”

“Think about it.”

She presses a small kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and leaves him to his packing. Outside the window comes the familiar sound of Roache’s hooves, clicking against the cobblestone.

Jaskier straightens his tunic and lets out a heave. He can see Geralt is being good now, friendly even, after all these years of denying their friendship. Now, the witcher is even waiting downstairs to begin their next journey.

Essi is just being overly protective, Jaskier decides.

He winds down the stairs and finds Geralt cooing at Roach. The urge to melt in those golden amber eyes is overwhelming.

“We good?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s bags and secures them on Roach, side by side with his saddlebags.

“Good,” Jaskier lies.

 ---

The truth is, Jaskier has heard of this so-called “cold shoulder” tactic. He’s even contemplated it for longer than he’s willing to admit. Every time Geralt dismissed him as a friend, brushed him off, Jaskier couldn’t help but want to retaliate with equal measure.

What if he’s the one to give Geralt a time-out? What if when Geralt tells him to fuck off, he just…leaves? The same idea churned in Jaskier’s stomach for two decades, but in the end, he knows the answer—he can never bring himself to go through it. His feet would carry him back to Geralt before even taking a step away.

He was left anyway.

But now…

Jaskier can’t afford to be left again. Essi was right. He isn’t sure if he can pick himself up again. He barely managed it the first time.

Jaskier lets out an audible scoff as he comes to the realization. He’s going to do it. The cold shoulder tactic. It’s so cheesy that it feels like something only school girls would use to get attention from a crush. Keep your distance, string him along a little. That’s how you get him to notice you exist—

“Something funny?” Geralt turns on horseback, sunlight peaking through his silver hair, a curious frown between his brows. He’s towering, beautiful. He has always been the most beautiful person Jaskier knows, even if he doesn’t know it.

Jaskier strums an absent chord on his lute. “Just something Essi said.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nudges Roach forward. “I was thinking… You’ve never seen a basilisk, have you?”

“No?”

“There are rumors about a nest in the next town. Want to see it?”

A hint of smile hints at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart almost leaps out of his throat. A basilisk hunt is one he’s been dying to watch for years, if not decades. He’s drooling with excitement just thinking about the ballad that will certainly sweep the continent off its feet.

“Of course I want—" The sentence stops in its tracks. Jaskier bites his tongue to hide the slip. “You know what, I think I’ll stay in town. This new song needs some polishing before its debut. I’m sure a big witcher such as yourself doesn’t need a bard’s moral support for a meager basilisk, right?”

Jaskier adds a wink for good measure, but Geralt is not amused. He’s staring from his vantage point, his expression inexplicable. Is it really so shocking that Jaskier will turn Geralt down this once, after all this time?

“I understand.” Geralt pauses before continuing, almost too carefully. “Perhaps I can help? Sing it for me tonight?”

“Sing it…for you?” Jaskier asks, dumbfounded. The lute in his hands suddenly feels a lot weightier than it is.

“You wanted my review for so long, Jaskier. I’m giving it to you now. I’m sure your playing will be…nice.”

Geralt looks at him with hope in his eyes, and Jaskier can’t help but let his ego grow a little. It’s unbelievable that a simple refusal is what got Geralt to finally say anything positive about his music. The tiny triumph fills his chest with unexpected giddiness.

“Maybe I will. We shall see,” he replies. His fingers strike another chord.

Jaskier feels a spring in his steps, urging him forward to the mare’s steady gait. Golden amber eyes are burning a hole into his back, but he doesn’t dare to look back lest the tiny bubble of this perfect moment break.

 ---

Night falls, and Jaskier scribbles down another line. The door opens and Geralt drags his feet into their shared room.

Jaskier makes no effort to get up.

Once upon a time, he would have raced across the room to greet Geralt, checked for injuries and fussed over any scrapes and cuts, all the while getting dismissed with the witcher’s grumbled words. He’d help remove those heavy armors when Geralt’s muscles ache from exhaustion and get ichor all over himself.

He will not do that tonight.

Play it cool, Essi’s words echo in his memory. Right, he’s doing things differently now.

Jaskier fixes his gaze on the notebook in his lap and listens as Geralt shuffles around the room, putting everything back in place. One by one, his armor pieces drop in the corner of the room.

“How was it?” he asks with the most nonchalant tone as if he’s just noticed the other man’s existence.

“Fine. The basilisk’s dead.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chooses the single hum uncharacteristically as Geralt puts his swords against the doorframe and sits down on the single chair.

He’s so still, hovering even.

“What?” Jaskier finally looks at him. Geralt, as he claimed, looks fine, with only a smudge of a black ichor sticking to his hair. A frown appears between his brows.

Adorable.

Jaskier shakes the thought quickly.

“Your new song?” Geralt prompts.

“Oh yeah. Never mind. I don’t feel like singing.”

It’s another lie. A necessary one, Jaskier tells himself.

“You,” Geralt says, raising an eyebrow, “don’t feel like singing?”

Jaskier clutches the notebook to his chest almost defensively, not sure what to do with the accusation. Is it a tragedy that Geralt knows him like the back of his hand? Or is it a shame that Jaskier is indeed buzzing with excitement to test out this song, with the most important person in his life?

“Well, I don’t.”

Jaskier keeps his chin up and scrambles off the bed to put away his books and pens. Geralt’s intent gaze is on his back again.

“Twenty years, and I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to sing.”

“I guess you don’t know me that well,” Jaskier bites back with a force that seems to come out of nowhere. “The bard may not want to entertain all the time, darling.”

The endearment sounds false, more like a jab. He lets out a dry chuckle and hopes to ease the tension but to no avail. Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise. So Jaskier reaches for his bedroll as a distraction, but only serves to make the confusion deepen on Geralt’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier lays it by the fire, on the soft rug that magically seems clean enough. It should be self-explanatory, but apparently not because Geralt is still staring quizzically.

“Sleeping.”

Geralt looks at the double bed and then back at Jaskier. “On the floor?”

“Thought I’d give you the space. I know how keyed up you are after the potions.”

Jaskier can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing as more words he doesn’t mean comes out of his mouth. He crosses his legs on the bedroll and pulls the blanket onto his lap to hide from Geralt’s scrutiny. But then, something dawns on Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier…” Geralt rubs his forehead, his face pinched. “What I said in Oxenfurt, I meant it.”

“You do?”

“You can count on me now. It won’t be like…before.”

Their gazes meet, and Jaskier bears the intensity of it with everything he has. He feels bare, seen through by the amber gold he’s missed and cursed and loved so much.

“I’m here, and I’m all here, Jaskier. Please believe in me.”

“I do.”

It’s not the truth despite how much he wants to believe it. Jaskier wonders if lying to Geralt ever becomes easier.

He doesn’t know what is not convincing him. Geralt looks so genuine, and Jaskier wants more than anything to trust him again, but the smile on his face feels too stiff.

The plan is going as Jaskier wanted. He’s showing Geralt that his friendship doesn’t come freely anymore, and the witcher needs to make more effort, meet him halfway, somehow. Then how come as the quiet night creeps in, Jaskier only finds a hollow space in his chest?

The roaring fire in the hearth warms his back, but Jaskier clutches his blanket tighter. It can’t stave off the coldness left by the lack of a witcher’s body by his side.

 ---

Jaskier continues with the same scheme the next day.

Ignoring Geralt is not a difficult task in the beginning. The barmaid is a beautiful thing, doe-eyed and curious, has too many questions for her own good. She keeps asking about Jaskier’s ballads, and wouldn’t quite believe any crazy stories in them.

“Is it true that the White Wolf fought a sea serpent on the Skellige Isles? Surely, those creatures only exist in legends!”

She’s getting familiar, pressed up against Jaskier on the bench, almost pushing him back into Geralt’s side—the real subject of the topic, but it’s obvious her fascination lies only in Jaskier. Her brown eyes stay on the bard alone.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Is it a good one? It must be a heroic tale, isn’t it?”

“Heroic, of course. There’s also a twist. I won’t spoil it for you, but—” Jaskier winks, his fingers brushing past her wrist. “—it’s a love story that holds more heartbreak than you can bear.”

Her giggles are like soft wind chimes, and Jaskier guides her away from their table. He takes two steps and turns back, smacking himself on the head as if he’s only just thought of it.

“Oh, shoot! I know I promised to go the market with you, Geralt, but you see…” He gestures to the girl waiting expectantly in the near distance. There’s nothing I can do about it, he says with a shrug. “Have a good time, will you?”

Geralt is holding his tankard, his knuckles white and his face ice-cold. It’s like Jaskier is looking at one of those ice sculptures made by Oxenfurt’s art students every winter.

“You said you’d come.”

Geralt’s voice is so gentle, so full of dejection that Jaskier’s resolve almost breaks. He clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. Those acting coaches back in school would have been disappointed in him for letting his emotions peak through, but Geralt doesn’t seem to notice what’s underneath this front.

“Surely you can find a new bridle for Roach by yourself,” Jaskier waves his hand in dismissal. “You are a big witcher.”

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, before speaking again. “And the pastry shop you wanted to visit?”

Jaskier thinks of the lemon cakes he’s been itching to try and swallows the yearning in his throat. Gods, being with Geralt all day with not a care in the world, and with the best sweets on the continent. What is he doing turning all this down?

“Well,” he insists, “Better company comes before cake, my dear.”

With that, Geralt lets go of the topic. His amber eyes drop back to the half-finished ale. “Better company. I see…”

“Surely you understand, Geralt.”

“Just—” Geralt purses his lips in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t exaggerate too much.”

Jaskier should feel bad as he walks out the tavern door with a beauty on his arm, he should, but instead, a pang of anger rises in his throat. How many times did Geralt abandon him at the sight of Yennefer in the past few years? How long did he brood on top of that mountain, recounting every bad choice he’d made in his life and decided that it was all Jaskier’s doing?

For once, Jaskier doesn’t want to put Geralt first in everything, waiting for a bone thrown in his direction, and the witcher—this infuriating man—is going to act like a kicked puppy.

Horrified at this burning rage, Jaskier turns only to watch helplessly as Geralt walks down the street in the opposite direction. He’s planted to the spot, unable to chase Geralt down, and clueless as to whether this plan is doing him any favors other than the fleeting satisfaction of getting back at his friend who was at fault.

Was.

Geralt was at fault. Jaskier has forgiven him, or at least, that’s what he said at first sight of his witcher’s travel-weary face back in Oxenfurt.

And yet, he’s punishing him still.

The barmaid is still waiting for Jaskier’s stories, her cheeks still round with a timid blush and her eyes gleaming with expectations.

The colorful adventures taste stale on his tongue and she loses interest too quickly before returning to her post. His mood sours further as the day stretches on.

Jaskier ends up wandering around town without an aim in mind. The only place he’s carefully avoiding is the market, and the stable, and the smith’s shop. Anywhere he might bump into Geralt. When night draws in, a sudden downpour catches him off guard and drenches him from inside out.

Great. Just the perfect ending to the worst—well, the second worst day of Jaskier’s life.

Candles are still lit as Jaskier enters the room. He finds Geralt fast asleep already, and on the table, right next to his writing supplies, is a lemon cake.

It’s drizzled in honey and looks just as enticing as he imagined.

Jaskier picks it up and finds a lump forming in his throat, choking him with guilt. He wants to scream, to let out the frustration at all the mistakes made in the past and haunting him still. He wants to cry. It’s just…

Now, he doesn’t know if he still deserves to.

---

Okay, I know I'm being mean to Geralt here, but don't worry, I’ gonna be mean to Jaskier in the next one ;) 

Also, whatever Jaskier is doing here is very unhealthy. Don't try this at home.

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