#and when geralt asks about it regis talks about it like he picked up a casual hobby in the meantime. as if it were knitting or some shit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dapandapod · 3 years ago

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20 with geraskier but Victorian au and they're meeting in front of jaskier's parents

20. formal hug

YES Darling Jjay, you are absolutely right!! I have greatly enjoyed writing this, and a sincere thank you and sorry to my lovely @kuripon for helpig me beta read this, it was so very much needed <3

Please enjoy my very self idulgent way to get a formal hug!

Send me a hug prompt?

On Ao3 Hug collection here

They are not supposed to know each other like they do.

They are not supposed to have spent time together out of sight of a chaperone.

They are barely supposed to know each other.

But in their childhood, they have spent many nights running away from formal gatherings, birthday parties, anywhere with a crowd where they can escape unnoticed, as only children can. In their teen years, they were supposed to avoid each other at the gentlemen's clubs, racing events, and even in school.

New money and old money don’t mix well, Vesemir likes to say. And Jaskier’s father is of the opinion that his boy can do better than the social circles that Geralt comes from.

Despite it all, they became close friends. Now, as young adults and with marriages waiting for them at the end of the year, they spend as much time together as they possibly can get away with.

Which is not much, but Geralt enjoys listening to Jaskier strum the lute, and Jaskier is always suitably impressed with Geralt’s skill with a sword. Having a family consisting of mostly military officers will set certain expectations for you.

Geralt doesn’t want to get married.

Well, he does, but he doesn’t want what Vesemir and Tissaia are planning for him; a cold, loveless relationship. He wants what Jaskier is talking about. Friendship, at the very least, and respect, but he wants the spark too.

He knows he is greedy, but looking at Jaskier, he senses that spark, and he wants it. Wants it so much it hurts.

Today is the big day. Geralt is a strange mix of worried and excited for getting introduced to his parents' chosen one.

On one hand, that spark he feels when Jaskier is around is what he wants, craves, longs for. On the other hand, the promise to have someone at his side, and hopefully find affection for, for the rest of his time is appealing. Very appealing.

There has been lots of time spent with the Vengerberg family. The young lady Yennefer’s name is on everybody's lips, and she and Geralt have been getting along well on the outings. Her guardian, Regis Terzieff-Godefroy, has been encouraging the match. And Geralt wouldn't… mind, per say.

It just isn’t Jaskier.

They sit in stiff silence, the carriage pulled by Geralt’s two favorite horses, Roach and Pegasus. The neck of his collar feels too tight, and the top hat that Tissaia insists he wears rests on the seat next to him.

“Nervous, my boy?” Vesemir asks when Geralt can’t stop fidgeting with his sleeves. A habit he picked up from Tissaia, who always keeps everything neat and tidy.

“I just don’t understand why you won’t tell me who you picked.”

“Come now, Geralt, if we told you, you would have told Lambert, and then the entire town would have known,” Tissaia chastises.

Geralt pouts, but he knows she is right. It is a wonder, really, that his family doesn’t know how much Geralt and Jaskier have been seeing each other, considering Lambert has been his go-to cover. Maybe it is because Lambert has been using the same cover to go meet his Aiden.

The rest of the ride is silent, until Geralt recognizes his surroundings.

They are closing in on the Lettenhove estate. He tries not to let his surprise and excitement show but he can’t help to sit a little straighter. Out of the corner of his eye, Tissaia smirks.

The carriage comes to a stop, and outside the doors stands the entire Lettenhove family, Jaskier and his three younger sisters, his mother, (who has looked away more than once when Jaskier has snuck away), and his father, looking rather constipated.

“What…?” Geralt asks faintly, hope and nerves and confusion and a tinge of fear at being found out mixes in his chest, collides, fractures, builds. “I thought I was going to meet…”

“You are.” Vesemir smiles.

They can’t mean one of Jaskier’s sisters. Geralt doesn’t know what to do. He knows he is supposed to get out, to help Tissaia out, to spout pleasantries, to act as if he is just now making their acquaintance, as is proper.

It takes all his self-restraint not to just rush forward and pull Jaskier into his arms. All of it.

He helps Tissaia down, he gets properly introduced, as if they haven’t spent years in each other's company already, and he greets all of Jaskier’s little sisters with gentle smiles.

Their two families join in a stroll around the gardens, deliberately letting Geralt and Jaskier walk a little ahead of the others.

“Is this… do they really mean to have us engaged?” Geralt finally dares to ask.

“I think so. I must confess, Geralt, I might have been pestering my father about it.”

Everything in Geralt tingles, that spark exploding in a way that he feels all the way out in his fingertips. It translates to one word.

“Oh.”

Jaskier laughs, as if he has been holding a tense breath for a long time.

“Oh good, or Oh bad?” Jaskier asks, his mouth is smiling but his eyes are worried.

“Good,” Geralt breathes. “Definitely good.”

Jaskier’s smile is bright, warm, and Geralt can’t help but to reach out and link their arms together.

The small connection feels incredible as Jaskier’s hand tracing little patterns on Geralt’s arm, out of sight from their families.

As they part, Jaskier pulls him into a careful hug. A proper, formal one, holding back and hiding everything that is between them. Geralt can’t look away, can’t stop looking behind them long after the carriage has brought them far out of sight from the Lettenhove estate.

“I thought you had made arrangements with Lady Vengerberg,” Geralt says finally, looking at the couple in front of him.

“Not all connections are made for politics, my boy,” Vesemir says, smiling, taking Tissaia’s hand.

“Yennefer expressed a wish to pursue her studies,.” Tissaia says, smiling back at Vesemir as he brings up her hand to his lips and kisses it. “The Lettenhoves are not a bad match. And it helps that you seem to have a certain... connection to the young lord already.”

Geralt feels himself blush, and he looks out the window.

It would seem he’ll get his spark after all.

#the witcher #geraskier #victorian au #getting together #ish #getting engaged i guess #secret friendships #geralt x jaskier #vesemir x tissaia #geralt of rivia #julian alfred pankratz #vesemir #tissaia #yennefer of vengerberg #heavily inpired by pride and predjudice in that one scene #im sure you know it #geralt wears a top hat #hug prompts 2021 #dapanda writes

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jaskierswolf · 3 years ago

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My dearest darling Wolfie, I saw your idea for game gerlion friends to lovers in @thewitcherbog horny chat and I am here to ask you to write the fic. Pls 💜😘

Tada!! I can't remember if this was exactly what I had planned... but it's what we're getting. Lovingly beta'd by @comfyswitcherblanketfort.

CW: probably rated M? Briefly mentioned masturbation more horny than smutty.

____

A retirement at Corvo Bianco had never been what Geralt expected of his life. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told a young Dandelion that witcher’s never retire, but in recent years between looting caves and haggling for contracts, he’d managed to save quite a bit of coin. He was, objectively, rich. He had the best armour on the Continent, the most deadly swords and crossbow bolts, and thanks to B.B., his house was beautifully decorated, with the exception of the rather garish portrait of his most loyal friend. Yet, he was still gaining more money than he knew what to do with. He’d started investing in merchants and refusing payment but the vineyard brought in a steady income and Geralt had to admit that his life was pretty luxurious these days.

So it wasn’t exactly a surprise when Dandelion had turned up, in fine, brightly coloured silks and the elegantly decorated elven lute from so many years ago. Geralt sometimes wondered whether Toruviel had enchanted her lute. There was barely a scratch and Geralt couldn’t even recall Dandelion ever having to change the lute strings in all the years he’d known the bard. Geralt was no expert but he was pretty sure that you were supposed to change the lute strings.

The sun was shining over the fields of Corvo Bianco, and Geralt felt at peace. Perhaps that was why he was feeling so nostalgic, pondering over the events that had led him to this moment. His life had always been so busy, but with Ciri off touring the multiverse, and Yennefer doing whatever Yennefer did these days now the Djinn wish had been broken, he was… well… bored? He had every Gwent card currently made, and no one would play him. It was just him and the bard, living the bachelor’s life in Touissant.

So was it any wonder that Geralt had started to develop feelings for his friend? Perhaps they’d always been there, clouded by the wish that tied him to Yennefer, or perhaps their newfound domesticity had awoken something in Geralt that he had never expected. Dandelion spent a lot of time in the makeshift study, working on his latest book, but they always ate together and sometimes the bard would even accompany Geralt on his contracts in the fields, for old times sake. After long nights of drinking too much wine or vodka, it wasn’t unusual for the pair of them to fall asleep together, curled up in one bed just like they used to in their youth. Those were Geralt’s favourite nights, because despite his protests of being better alone, he enjoyed the familiar warmth of another body pressed against his, and Dandelion had always been a cuddler.

And as if on cue, the bard burst through the doors onto the patio where Geralt was watching the world go by.

“Ah, Geralt, old friend, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Dandelion announced with a flick of his wrist. “I was just in town.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt groaned. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Dear Henrietta will forgive me in time, my friend,” Dandelion winked, his tongue flicking out between his lips, “and until then I have plenty of friends who will offer me shelter if the guards are around.”

“You look like a man sized peacock,” Geralt scoffed. “How the hell does no one see you?”

“Ah, dear witcher, you forget that I used to be a spy,” Dandelion laughed, putting one hand on his hips. “Now, stop interrupting, Geralt, or do you not care about the gift I picked out for you in town today?”

Geralt hummed, knowing that it didn’t really matter whether he cared or not. Nothing would stop Dandelion once he was in the middle of a story. Some things just never changed. “Go on.”

Dandelion beamed, and from behind his back he produced a wooden box. The poet cocked his head as he opened the lid, revealing a set of tiny vials neatly lined up. Geralt almost choked, his breath catching in his throat.

“Oil?” he spluttered. A man such as Dandelion had to know of the more promiscuous uses of oil. Whilst Dandelion had never explicitly said as such, the way he talked of his lovers had always led Geralt to believe that he was rather flexible in his tastes, much like Geralt himself.

The poet blushed as he pulled a single vial from the box, his long lutist fingers wrapping around the glass. “Bath oils, Geralt.”

“Oh, of course,” Geralt cursed internally. Dandelion had bought all sorts of expensive oils and lotions when they had been on the path together, neither of them were shy with their bathing habits and the poet was a highly skilled masseur.

Which was not helping Geralt’s sudden rush of arousal as he remembered the feel of the poet’s hands on his skin. They’d laughed off awkward erections in the past, it was just a thing that happened… but Geralt was starting to wonder what would happen if, for once, they let it happen.

“This one will probably be a bit much for your witcher senses, my friend, but I rather like it,” Dandelion continued, oblivious to Geralt's inner turmoil. “This one,” another vial was plucked from the box, “however, I think you will like, and I managed to buy this,” Dandelion pulled a scroll from his pocket, “from a local mage. It’s supposed to move the water around the tub, like a massage!”

“And you’re telling me this, why?” Geralt sighed, rolling his eyes. As much as he adored his old friend, the man could take his sweet time getting to the point. It was even worse when the poet and Regis got together, Geralt honestly thought he might never know peace again.

“Because, Geralt, I am treating my dearest friend to an extravagant bath time experience!” Dandelion exclaimed with wide arms, almost knocking off his own hat in his enthusiasm. “Friendship and love, art and wine, Geralt. What more could you want in life?”

Love.

No, friendship. Geralt needed to focus on that. How many times had Dandelion called him his friend? Too many to count.

“Assuming you have wine, what’s the art?” Geralt smirked, enjoying the offended noises Dandelion made.

“Geralt, I’ll have you know that-”

“Relax, Dandelion. I’m teasing. So how about this bath then?”

The two men made their way upstairs, peeling off their outer clothes as they strolled past Geralt’s bedroom, and picking up a robe each. Dandelion had filled the room with candles, and there was a soft floral scent hanging in the air, roses, the oil vial that Dandelion had initially held up.

“I thought this one was too much for my ‘witcher senses’?” Geralt scoffed, peering at the magically bubbling water.

“Well, yes, but I did also say I liked this one, and I’ll admit that I got a little carried away. You don’t mind, do you Geralt?”

Geralt shook his head as he stripped off his final layer of clothing and settled into the tub. Dandelion sat in a chair, still wrapped in his robe, and picked up his lute. He plucked idly at the strings until he was seemingly happy that they were in tune, and then he began to sing. Geralt sighed as he sank deeper into the hot water, the enchantment really did feel like a sort of massage as jets of water pulsed against his skin, but he couldn’t help but wonder. The oils, the candles, the romantic ballad…

Was his friend trying to tell him something?

It was time for Geralt to test the waters as it was. He trod the water with his hand, gently splashing to the beat of Dandelion’s song. Normally, he would close his eyes and let the poet’s music fill the room, but instead he was mesmerised by the way Dandelion’s finger caressed the lute strings. Geralt could feel his cock harden as he pondered what other uses his friend’s delicate hands could have, the way they found their mark with such precision. The poet could make any instrument sing to the gods in his hands, Geralt was sure that he was no exception.

“Practicing your fingering?” he asked Dandelion with a tilt of his head.

The strings twanged unpleasantly, making Geralt grimace as the sound reverberated in his head. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Geralt smirked. “On your lute.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Dandelion muttered. “I’m just trying to figure out the next verse. I could use a hand, or an ear if you’d be willing to help.”

“I have a hand you could use, or two,” Geralt muttered not really intending for Dandelion to hear him but the poet had sharp ears and he spluttered incoherently as he set down his lute.

Geralt hummed and let his hand drop beneath the water, stroking his cock lazily. He wasn’t really chasing any real pleasure, but it was a good feeling, sending warmth across his skin. The bath, the candles, the song, they had to mean something even in Dandelion’s subconsciousness. The man was an insatiable flirt, and yet never seemed to notice when others’ affections were cast upon him, not unless it was blunt in its honesty.

So Geralt would be blunt.

He closed his eyes as he continued to stroke the length of his cock, the motion causing the water to ripple slightly, but not yet enough to draw Dandelion’s attention. The poet was too busy wittering on about his rhymes, only noticing when Geralt’s breath hitched as he cupped his balls.

“Geralt?”

“Dandelion,” Geralt grunted softly, his pleasure beginning to build from a warm ember to a roaring blaze that burned through him. The poet’s cornflower blue eyes were on him, dark and hungry. His cheeks were flushed rosy, and it seemed his dear friend was finally catching onto what was happening.

“I- I can leave, my friend, if you would prefer…”

“Stay,” Geralt insisted. “This not what you had in mind?”

“Well,” Dandelion laughed. “I had hoped, but I never thought it would actually happen, and well, really I thought it might take a little more convincing. Who knew all I needed all along were a few cheap candles?”

“Just get in the bath, Dandelion,” Geralt growled.

“Okay, okay,” Dandelion said with a roll of his eyes but shrugged out of his robe, allowing Geralt to admire his slender form. The poet’s cock remained soft as he stepped into the water. “So… how long?”

“Hmm?”

“How long have I been more than just a friend to you, Geralt?” Dandelion asked, settling into the water with a soft moan. His hands resting on Geralt’s thighs, fingers drawing patterns on Geralt’s skin under the water.

It wasn’t an easy question to answer. Could he even pin it down? Geralt wasn’t sure.

“Hard to tell, our friendship has never exactly been normal, Dandelion,” Geralt admitted.

Dandelion laughed, leaning forward in the tub, his hands stroking up Geralt’s thigh, the movement forcing the air from Geralt’s lungs. “You know, you’re right, and I think we should celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Mhmm, and how about we start with a kiss?” Dandelion winked, before falling into Geralt embrace with a splash.

#the witcher #geraskier #gerlion #the witcher 3 #tw3 #geralt of rivia #dandelion #geralt x dandelion #wolfie's witcher writing

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

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Hi babe 🥰

Happy Valentine’s Day! 💕

Si, i gotta ask. How do you think Dettlaff would celebrate Valentine’s Day with his SO/reader?

A/N: I saw my chance to answer another ask so I took it!

***

You gently tugged at the blankets that covered Dettlaff’s sleeping form.

“Dettlaff.” You sing-songed his name, a little smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

The Higher Vampire groaned, readjusting the pillows that he had stuffed beneath his head, and tucked his nose into their warmth.

You pulled away three different blankets from him, pulling them down to expose his bare shoulders to the cold air of the room. You moved from the foot of the bed to his side, your fingers trailing like feathers along his spine.

“Come on, darling. You’ve been sleeping for three hours.”

He shivered beneath your touch, your warm fingers a stark contrast to his chilly skin.

“Lay down with me for just a moment, my love.” His words were muffled by the pillows but you could understand him just fine.

“Now you know that isn’t a good idea.” You propped one knee up on the edge of the bed and leaned down to kiss the space behind his ear. “Then we’d never get out of bed.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

“No, but everyone will be here shortly for dinner.”

Finally understanding that he couldn’t stay in bed with you for the rest of the night, Dettlaff let out a heavy sigh and rolled over onto his back. He looked up at you for a few moments, icy blue eyes inspecting your features.

“How many of them are coming? Just Regis and Orianna, I hope.”

“Well, they are coming. But so is Geralt and Yennefer, and Lambert and Aiden. Eskel is bringing someone too, though I haven’t met them yet.”

“You know, I think it would’ve been lovely if we had just made plans for ourselves and no one else.” His hand came up to cup your face.

“We can make plans for ourselves any other night of the year. Tonight, we can spend time with friends.” You leaned down to kiss his chest just above his heart.

“We can make plans for friends any other night of the year.” He muttered. His hand trailed around to the back of your head, long and slender fingers carding through your hair.

“Dettlaff.” You sighed softly. “You were excited about it when we put the plans together two weeks ago.”

“That was two weeks ago.”

“I should know better by now. My lovely introvert.” You teased as you leaned forward once more to kiss him.

“You really should. You’d think you’d learn your lesson after spending half a decade with me.”

You were glad to see he was in a good mood. Hopefully that meant this evening would go over smoothly.

“Come on.” You patted his chest and slipped out of the bed. “We’re going to go for a little walk before anyone gets here just so we can have some time to ourselves. I’ll be leaving a note on the table should anyone arrive early.”

“Regis.” Dettlaff grumbled as he sat up.

“He does like being punctual.”

***

The moon hung high in the sky, shining down through the thick tree canopies.

Dettlaff walked alongside you, your arms woven together as you leaned into him.

“I think it will be fun.” You thought out loud.

“What will?” He turned his head to look at you.

“Spending the night with friends. Well, they’re practically family, aren’t they?”

“You could say that.” Dettlaff nodded. “Though I think it would’ve been wiser to spend Valentine’s night with you alone in our home than crowded around a table with a bunch of loud dogs.”

“Hindsight is 20/20.” You giggled. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ll have plenty of time after they leave to spend alone with me.”

He grumbled something incoherent under his breath.

“I do appreciate you agreeing to this, Dettlaff.” You came to a stop and turned to face him. “I know crowds aren’t your favorite and you aren’t one for socializing. It means a lot to me that you suggested we do something like this tonight.”

His blue eyes stayed on you as his hand came up to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“I know how much you enjoy their company. And I’m willing to sacrifice my sanity for a few hours to see you happy.”

You smiled.

“But that isn’t my only gift for you. I do have something else.” He dug his hand into the pocket of his coat. “Can I see your wrist please?”

“Which one?”

“Either one.”

You gave him your left, watching as he clasped a silver bracelet around your wrist. Before letting you go, he brought your wrist to his mouth, pressing a tender kiss to the veins on the underside of your wrist.

“It isn’t much, but it made me think of you when I saw it.” He explained, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, not exactly you. I-I thought that it would remind you of me. I know I’m not always around. Sometimes I’m gone with Regis and other times I’m just…. So I wanted you to have something that reminded you of me.”

You turned your wrist around, examining the piece of jewelry. There was a little bat charm on it that made you smile.

“Dettlaff, it’s beautiful.”

“You like it?”

“I do.” You nodded, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and squeezing him tightly. “Thank you.”

He hugged you back, tucking his nose into your shoulder.

“I have something for you too.” You pulled away, keeping one hand on his shoulder. “But it’s back home.”

“Let’s finish our walk and we can go back.”

***

You led the way down the hall towards your shared bedroom with Dettlaff.

He listened to the way your heart picked up pace, the way it changed from that of the flap of a butterflies wings to something more akin to a hummingbird. You were excited.

You guided him over to the bed and gestured for him to sit.

“Stay here and close your eyes. I’ll go grab it. It’s in my study.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes following you as you left the room.

“Are your eyes shut, Dettlaff?”

“Of course, my heart.” He answered, closing his eyes.

“Will you keep them shut?”

“Do you not trust me?” He teased.

“Don’t use any of your vampiric magic either.”

He grinned a little. Though his eyes were shut, he could still tell exactly where you were in the house. You were in the closet in your study, moving things around. You cursed a little and muttered under your breath about how cluttered things were. After a few moments, however, you were making your way back towards the bedroom.

Dettlaff couldn’t figure out what it was that you were gifting him. It had no smell, no taste that tainted the air. It emitted no sound. He listened more carefully, but was dumbfounded. All the ideas that had been forming in his head were disappearing.

“Darling, can I open-,”

“No.” You answered quickly, your voice sounding strained. “Keep them shut just-just a moment longer.”

It took all of the Higher Vampire’s self control to not open his eyes and see what it was that you had. But he didn’t want to upset you. He didn’t want to ruin your surprise.

You grunted a little and there was a deep thunk.

“Damn.” You cursed quietly.

“Is all well, my love?”

“Yes, yes. Just fine. You can open your eyes now.”

Dettlaff opened his eyes and instantly found you standing in front of him with a wide smile on your lips. Your hands were clasped together in front of you and you were messing with your fingers.

“I know how frustrated you get when you can’t find a mirror that works for you.” Your voice was quiet and timid. You stepped aside to reveal a large square mirror leaning against the dresser behind you. “The ones I have here, they are made with silver. So I had one specially made for you.”

Dettlaff’s lips parted as he looked at the mirror, seeing his own reflection in the surface. He couldn’t find the words to express what was going through his head.

Being that you weren’t sure how to take his silence, you continued to talk, your nervous ramblings getting the best of you.

“I know you like to get ready in the mornings with me and it puts quite a damper on the mood when you can’t see yourself. And-And you do take pride in your looks. You’re a dashing man-,”

“My heart?”

“Yes?”

“Come here.” He held his hand out for you.

You moved towards him, settling between his parted knees with your hands in his.

“Thank you.” He kissed your knuckles. “That was very kind of you. And very expensive, I presume.”

“That doesn’t matter.” You shook your head, reaching one hand around to place it on the back of Dettlaff’s head. You pulled his head into your chest and kissed his hair. “I wanted to do something for you.”

“And all I got you was a little bracelet.”

“It isn’t a competition of who gave the most expensive gift, Dettlaff.” You reminded him, pulling away so you could get a better look at him. “I’ve been planning this for a while, and it just happened that I had the means for now.”

His eyes lingered on you, a little smile on his lips.

“I am the luckiest creature alive, you know that right?”

“Oh, perhaps.” You grinned, giving him a chaste kiss. “I should go start dinner. I’m surprised Regis and Orianna-,”

A knock from the other room cut you off.

“You spoke too soon.” Dettlaff sighed. “It’s only Regis and Orianna. Hopefully the wolves are late.”

“Knowing them, they probably will be.” You moved towards the bedroom door. But at the last minute, you turned to look back at him. “I love you, Dettlaff.”

“I love you more, my heart.”

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

#dettlaff x reader #dettlaff van der eretein fic #Dettlaff van der eretein x reader #Dettlaff fluff #Dettlaff #the witcher #the witcher 3 #the wild hunt #tw3 #queenxxxsupreme

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gods-no-longer-tread-here · 4 years ago

Text

wrote this last night when I was sad because I need more happy Geralt in my life. The ending is not what I wanted it to be, but I like the rest of it.

Partially inspired by one of @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher ‘s fics. You are a most gracious person, Bouncey <3

Geralt returned home from work and immediately dashed to the bathroom, ignoring his housemate’s raised eyebrow. Regis just didn’t understand.

Geralt was so excited that he almost forgot to take off his socks before hopping in the shower. He hummed a little ditty to himself as he scrubbed his body completely with the soap he bought online specifically because his boyfriend had mentioned it off-hand.

His boyfriend was very refined. Jaskier liked nice smells, and soft clothing, and good food, and holding Geralt’s hand. He was all about sensuality, about indulgence in small things and being happy. And he said that being with Geralt made him happy.

Geralt grinned to himself as he washed his hair. Well, he was happy with Jaskier, too.

“Date night, date night,” he whispered to the tune of the song he’d hummed. “Date night and kisses, kisses and a date, for me for me for me!”

He already had an outfit picked out, but he worried over it for fifteen minutes anyway, before putting it on and tying his hair back again. He then grabbed his jacket, wallet, phone, and keys, and went out to sit in the living room, still excited but more contained. Regis still looked amused.

“Why haven’t you moved in with him yet?” the elder man drawled, turning a page in his book. “If you love him so much, why spend entire days fretting about seeing him when you can just be with him?”

Geralt scowled at Regis. Just because Regis had had a loving marriage for most of his life he thought he was better at relationships. “It’s not that easy,” Geralt retorted. “I want to… be sure.”

Regis looked Geralt in the eye and raised both brows. “My dear boy,” he said dryly, “You have been going on dates with him twice a week for several months. You have told me three times, only once drunk, that you want to marry him. What do you need to be sure about?”

Geralt scowled and refused to answer him.

There was a knock on the door, and Geralt jumped to his feet, smoothing the front of his jacket nervously. Regis smiled, but Geralt didn’t see, already rushing to the door.

He opened the door more quickly than usual, but he did that every time it was date night. And then he had to stop and stare, as always, because Jaskier was absolutely gorgeous.

Jaskier had gotten his hair cut; buzzed sides and back, smoothly sweeping up into a stripe of his naturally floppy, silky brown hair. His outfit for the night was velvet, panels of sea-green and sky blue, in a style that seemed to be all his own; high waist, slim legs, lace-up closures, and a doublet closed with hooks. He always wore silver rings, but there was a new one on a black velvet ribbon around his neck. Geralt’s eyes skipped over it.

Jaskier smiled, and as usual Geralt felt like he should be covering himself because surely he wasn’t worthy of such warmth and acceptance.

“Ready, love?” Jaskier asked cheerfully.

Geralt nodded and stepped out of the house. As soon as he closed the door, Jaskier turned Geralt’s face with his fingertips, so warm and gentle, and kissed him softly.

“I missed you,” Jaskier murmured. “I always miss you.”

Geralt kissed back, reveling in the warm, earthy scent of Jaskier’s cologne. “I missed you too,” he hummed, and kissed Jaskier’s cheek. “Where are we going, again?”

Jaskier smiled and pinched Geralt’s cheeks, snickering as Geralt scrunched his face in displeasure. “I’ll tell you in the car, love.”

Geralt linked his hand with Jaskier’s and went with him willingly. He would go anywhere Jaskier asked him to.

Date night, date night, date night and kisses, kisses and a date, for him for him for him.

Jaskier had snagged tickets to the final performance of a musical called “The Witchest”. They had already seen it twice together, but Jaskier insisted, and Geralt was happy to agree. It was a strange but amusing show, and Geralt liked to kiss Jaskier in the shadows of the Pankratz family box while listening to the laughter of the crowd and the bard’s singing.

Dinner was at a Skellige inspired restaurant, one of Geralt’s favorites. He wondered why Jaskier had chosen this place, when they both knew full-well that the intense scents of Skellige cuisine made him ill, but he couldn’t find it in himself to ask. Something about the way Jaskier fiddled with that new ring more and more as the night continued made him reluctant to say anything other than the million and one things he could only talk about with Jaskier.

Jaskier asked if they could take a turn through the park nearby; Geralt agreed, thinking that Jaskier wanted fresh air.

He did. But not for the reason Geralt has suspected.

“Geralt, my darling… will you marry me?”

Geralt didn’t cry, solely because he was too shocked. But when he put on the ring, warm from Jaskier’s skin, his eyes started watering, and he wrapped his arms around Jaskier and kissed him, relaxing so completely when Jaskier returned the embrace that he could’ve sworn they were floating on clouds.

Kisses, kisses and a date, and a ring. For him, for him, for him.

#Geraskier #Geraskier fic #Geralt x Jaskier #The Witcher

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rallamajoop · 4 years ago

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The Witcher: The Games vs The Books

Coming to the fandom this late, I can only assume the relationship between the Witcher games and the original novels has been long since talked to death by others. But I'm far too fascinated by the whole glorious mess that is this canon not to want to get down some of my own thoughts about how it all fits together.

See, on the one hand, the games (Witcher 3 especially) are arguably only too dependent on the novels to stand alone. They do a wonderful job of picking up a number of unresolved plot points the books left hanging, and a woeful job of explaining so much a player coming in cold would really like to know – Ciri's history with Geralt, Yennefer, her powers and the Wild Hunt itself just to begin with. This is an issue that only increases as the games go along: cliche as Geralt's amnesia may be, it's used to good effect to introduce the world to the player in the first game. By the third, Geralt has all his old memories back and two extra games worth of new experience, and good lord is it all alienating to the newcomer.

On the other hand, so much about the games (again, the third especially) contradicts the novels in painfully irreconcilable ways. That wouldn't necessarily bother me – adaptations are allowed to rework and reinvent, stories can and should evolve in the retelling – except, well, see point one above. So you're bound to come out of the games with a lot of unanswered questions if you haven't read the books, and just as many if you have.

Spoilers to follow, of course, for both the books and the games.

Here's one of the big ones: just how did the world – Ciri included – discover that one of her long-presumed-dead parents was actually alive and well and now ruling the entire empire of Nilfgaard? Fucked if I know. Neither the games or the novels have any explanation. In the novels, in fact, the world at large believes Ciri is married to the emperor of Nilfgaard. Naturally, this 'Cirilla' is a fake, but the scandal were the full truth ever revealed would redefine Emhyr's reign. Yet somehow, in the games, everyone seems to know he's Ciri's father, and that whole awkward incest angle is never mentioned. Continuity has been tweaked pretty significantly, and it's left to the player to guess how. If that wasn’t bad enough, the games apparently still included a Gwent card of the fake!Cirilla (artwork above) just to ensure maximum confusion.

Before I get too sidetracked with all that stuff that doesn’t add up though, there really is a lot to be said for what does work about how the games expand on the plot of the novels. The Wild Hunt itself is the big one. The spectral cavalcade appears several times through the novels and hunts Ciri across multiple worlds in the final book before apparently losing her trail and vanishing to make way for the 'real' big bad, never to be mentioned again. While TW3 left me pretty underwhelmed by the revelation that the spectral Wild Hunt were just a bunch of dark elves in skull armor, the books had introduced the Hunt and let us spend some time on the dark elves' world before we get the reveal that the two may be one and the same. So for all the ranting I could do about missed opportunities regarding the Wild Hunt, they're the natural candidate for the games to pick up on as their new big-bads.

To my surprise, Geralt and Yennefer's "deaths" and subsequent recovery in pseudo-Avalon also comes straight from the novels. That everyone thinks Geralt dead at the start of the first game isn't, as I'd first assumed, a convenient excuse to have him reappear with amnesia, but simply how the novels end. Why Ciri leaves them and goes world-hopping isn't clear, but "because the Wild Hunt was after her again" is as good a theory as any. So, another point to the games there.

And there's so much more. The Catriona plague has only just appeared at the end of the novels, but we know it's posed for a major outbreak – one that’s in progress by the time of the games. The second game in particular does a terrific job of taking the ambitions of the expansionist Nilfgaardian Empire and the still-relatively-new Lodge of Sorceresses and building an entirely new conflict around them – even taking two of the least developed members of the Lodge (Sabrina Glevissig and Síle de Tansarville) and expanding them into major players. Dijkstra similarly ends the novels on the run from those in power, and having already taken the same assumed name 'Sigi Reuven' he's using in the games – while the books assure us that prince Radovid will grow up to pay back his father's assassins (ie. Phillipa) and become Radovid the Stern.

The twisted fairy tale origins of the novels are something the games actually seem to have gotten better at as they went on: the 'trail of treats' to the Crones is the great example, the monster-frog-prince and the land-of-a-thousand-fables of the expansions are two more, and many more are hidden in sidequests. And I'd be remiss not to mention that in again asking Geralt to pick a side in the conflict with the Scoia'tael, the first two games not only recreate a scenario Geralt repeatedly deals with in the books, but a major theme. It's interesting too how much the broad structure of the third game feels like an homage to the books, with Geralt searching for Ciri, interspersed with sections from her POV. You can nitpick the detail of any of these examples, but the intent is unmistakable, and a lot of credit is due for it in the execution too.

Some of the detail that's gone into translating the world of the Witcher books into the games is just insane – not just in the geography and history of the place, but right down to the names of the wine you can pick up. There's the fact the Cat potion makes Geralt see in black-and-white, or the fact the basilisk and cockatrice monsters are clearly based on the same model, but the basilisk is reptilian where as the cockatrice is more avian – which is exactly how Geralt describes the difference between them in The Lady of the Lake. There's a point where Book!Regis recounts a detailed list of all the lesser vampiric species, ending with the only two violent enough to tear apart their victims: almost all can be encountered in the games, and the last two (Fleders and Ekimma) are indeed the most animalistic. This kind of thing is everywhere.

My favourite examples tend to be those that blend into the background if you haven't read the books, but will get a grin from those who have, such as a peasant in Velen who will call out to Geralt (paraphrased from memory, alas) "Sir, sir! We be up to our ears in mamunes, imps, kobolds, hags, flying drakes... oh, and bats!" – which is a lovely little reference to a couple of conversations from Edge of the World wherein Geralt explains that most of the monsters the locals want him to take care of don't actually exist. Or all those soldiers chanting "Long live King Radovid!" – natural enough, but it takes on a whole new life if you've read the passage in Lady of the Lake where the young prince Radovid grumbles internally about having to sit and listen to the city chanting 'long live...' to every other notable figure present except him.

Really, it would be faster to list the things the games introduced that don't come from the original source material in any obvious form, because it's a struggle to come up with very many. The villainous Crones of Crookback Bog and Master Mirror of the Hearts of Stone expansion are the biggest ones that come to mind, along with a great deal of the vampire mythology from Blood and Wine. To the witchers themselves, they’ve added mostly game mechanics: the use of bombs and blade oils, the names of most of the potions, and three new witcher schools (all with their own specialised gear). There are a number of new creatures and monsters – Godlings, noon-and-night-wraiths, botchlings, shaelmaars and so on – and though trolls are mentioned in the books, the games take credit for giving them so much character. Obviously, there are new characters, like Thaller and Roche – but not technically Iorveth, because a Scoia'tael commander of that name is mentioned in the books, if only in passing. And already, short of just listing off every new character the games introduced, I’m running out of ideas. Credit where credit’s due on that front: most of the new characters and locations they’ve created feel authentic enough that Kalkstein or Thaller would be right at home in the novels’ world.

But for all their dedication to the detail, it's hard to feel like the games have really managed to capture the spirit of the books in their storytelling: the mundanely corrupt bureaucracy that does so much to bring the world to life, or their cheerfully cynical sense of humour, or the flamboyant wonder that is book!Dandelion, or their enthusiasm for putting women in positions of power, or the bigger themes about the differences between the story that gets sung by the bards and what really happened – or so much else from the novels that came as such a surprise to me when I started getting really sucked in.

And if we’re going to talk about all the little things they got right, it’s only fair to point out there are just as many little things they got wrong, and sometimes pretty glaringly at that. "I thought you bowed to no-one" says Emhyr to Geralt – almost as if book!Geralt doesn’t happily bow in most every situation where it would be polite or diplomatic to do so. "This would never have happened if the council was still around!" says Geralt upon finding a sorcerer's lab full of human experiments – as if none of his experiences with Vilgefortz or the wizards of Rissberg ever happened, back when the council was very much still around. In TW2, he mocks the idea of a woman like Saskia leading a rebellion – almost as if women like Falka and Aelirenn haven't led some of the most storied rebellions in history (and we can't even blame the amnesia, because Geralt himself mentions Aelirenn later – oh yeah, this one annoyed me particularly).

Book!verse 'Lady of the Lake' is basically just Ciri being surprised while bathing

Yennefer's studious aethiesm and willingness to desecrate Freya's temple is entirely in character – but only if we forget that she had her own personal religious experience with the goddess Freya herself in Tower of the Swallow. And then there’s the fact the Lady of the Lake is now a literal lake nymph who distributes swords to the worthy, as if no-one writing for the games ever got past the title of that particular Witcher novel (let alone got the joke). And the list goes on. It's easy to get overly caught up in contradictions like this – it's hardly as if Sapkowski's novels don't contradict themselves in places, as almost any long-running series eventually will – but it's going to stick out to those who’ve read the novels nonetheless.

While we're talking about how the games pick up where the books left off though, the big contradiction that has to be touched on comes in bringing Geralt back at all, at least in any public capacity. There's plenty to suggest that Geralt survives the novels' end and even goes on to have further adventures, but it's also pretty explicit that the history books record his death in the Pogrom of Rivia as final. The last two novels by order of publication (Season of Storms and Lady of the Lake) go so far as to feature characters far in the future with an interest in Geralt's legacy, and they discuss the matter in some depth. As far as the world knows, Geralt is dead.

Book!Geralt fanart by Diana Novich

But it's hard to blame the games for ignoring this – true, thanks to Geralt's longevity, they could have set their conflict many more years after those future scenes – maybe even used Ciri's established time-travel powers to let you pop quietly in and out of the past (and, okay, now I've thought through all that, I'm kind of sad they didn't). But there comes a point where that kind of slavish devotion to preserving the source material really doesn't do a story any favours, and I'm not sure I could name any other successful adaptation that's bothered.

Besides bringing Geralt back at all, most of the bigger changes pertain to Ciri. In fact, as much as I'm about to get deep into the nitpicks below, you can make a surprisingly good case that the games have made only one really big change, and that's in simplifying the prophesies surrounding her. See, in the novels, all those world-saving prophesies aren't technically about Ciri, they're about her as-yet-unborn child. Who gets to impregnate her is the big driving force behind most of the villains of the books – one that all the main contenders seem to see as more of an awkward necessity rather than the inspiration for violent lust, but even so. To Emhyr, having to marry his own daughter is a bug, not a feature – but he's willing to do it to become the father of the savior of the world. But if Ciri is capable of fulfilling those prophesies herself, then Emhyr is already the father of the savoir of the world, and the revisions to his relationship with Ciri start to make a lot more sense.

Ciri's history with the Aen Elle elves seems to have been similarly revised – if not quite so cleanly. Avallac’h and Eredin are, naturally, both book characters – in fact, a lot of personality has been left behind in the books, since Avallac’h originally had a rather camp flair, and Eredin is less the power-hungry kingslayer you might imagine. When Geralt meets Avallac’h in the books – which happens briefly in Toussaint, for one of those "everything you're doing is going to make everything worse because prophesy" conversations – he's busy decorating a cave with fake prehistoric paintings in the hope of confusing future explorers. (Surprisingly, there does seem to be official art of this moment on one of the gwent cards – see above – though the Avallac’h who jokes about adding erect phalluses to the picture and admits his vanity won’t allow him to resist signing it hasn’t entirely survived the transition to the new medium).

We also meet the former Alder King, Auberon, whose death we see in flashback in the game. (Fun fact: Auberon is actually blowing bubbles through a straw in a bowl of soapy water when we first meet him in the books, hence the straw in the illustration below. The books just have more whimsy than any of the games would know what to do with.)

Ciri spends some time in the final book as a prisoner on the world of the elves, who are as keen as everyone else for their king to father her unborn child. Avallac’h eventually convinces her that this is all for the greater good: her child will be able to open gates to allow the people of her world to escape when the apocalyptic White Frost arrives. But their king, like most older elves, is impotent, leading to multiple nights where Ciri allows him to take her to bed (in some of the frankly more disturbing scenes of the series) to no result. Eredin, moreover, doesn't appear to have intended to poison the king: the vial that kills him was supposed to contain some sort of fantasy viagra, and even Eredin seems genuinely shocked to learn its actual effects.

Regardless, Ciri eventually discovers that Avallac’h and the Aen Elle have deceived her, and intend to user her child's powers to invade her world, not save it. Neither world is threatened by the White Frost for at least several millennia, it's just a pretext to make her cooperate. And so she flees, and Eredin (already leading his Red Riders aka The Wild Hunt long before he was crowned king) pursues her.

With the books as context, why Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h is very hard to understand. It's a little easier if that whole awful episode with her and the former king is subtracted out – Ciri's child is no longer necessary for Eredin's goals. So it's odd that the game still references the deadly vial Eredin gave to the king. Are we to suppose the vial genuinely contained poison in this version of continuity? I'd rather it didn't – Avallach's ruse is far more interesting if he underwhelms Eredin's support by revealing a half-truth – but the games aren't telling us.

And then we have to factor in that one last detail I'd forgotten when I originally started playing with this theory: TW3 does contain one last, dangling reference to the time the old king spent trying to impregnate Ciri, when Ge'els very reasonably asks why on earth Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h now. It's a damn good question, and the game offers no real answers. So in Avallac’h, we're left with a character who is vital to the final chapters of the games, who comes out of nowhere without the books as context, but whose role makes no sense with that backstory in mind. Frankly, the writers would have been much better off avoiding the whole mess altogether and inventing some new character to take Avallac’h's place.

The treatment of the White Frost is even more confusing. The books are ultimately fairly explicit about just what the White Frost is: a ice age, most likely caused by the same mundane climactic factors that produced the real ice ages of our history. The only escape is intergalactic emigration, as Ciri (or her children) might some day enable.

In the games, the White Frost has instead become some sort of nebulous, free-floating apocalypse which will eventually reach all worlds, which is basically fine – up to a point. We briefly visit a dead world that the Frost has decimated, and even the Aen Elle are now supposedly planning to invade Ciri's world because it threatens theirs as well (I mean, apparently – their motivations are so underdeveloped you could miss them by accidently skipping just one or two lines of dialogue). When the Wild Hunt appears, it's always in a haze of cold. Their mages can invoke its power still more dramatically through portals which can freeze you in your tracks. So obviously, the Frost has already reached their world, and time is running out, right?

Well, no – you visit their world too (again, briefly – to meet a character who has never been mentioned before and won't be again, for reasons which have also never been mentioned before if you haven't read the books) – and there's no Frost in sight, apocalyptic or otherwise.

So why does the White Frost follow the Hunt around? No idea. It's never explained.

At the very end of the game, a second "Conjunction of the Spheres" occurs (possibly because of the Wild Hunt's appearance?), and the Frost begins to invade (or possibly Avallac’h summons it, so Ciri can go into it and destroy it?) It's all painfully unclear. The game is too busy pulling a bait-and-switch over whether Avallac’h's betrayed you to tell you what's actually going on instead.

But if Ciri could destroy the Frost completely (at great personal risk, but still) why is this not more clearly set up? Why did the Aen Elle think that escaping to another world (which will ALSO eventually be destroyed by the Frost) was a better solution than sending Ciri to face the Frost directly? For which matter, why do the Aen Elle need Ciri at all if sending enough ships to carry an army is no problem? Why does Ciri spend so much of the game questioning Avallac’h's true intentions, if they were ultimately so noble? When did he tell her the truth? If Avallac’h did summon the Frost, why did he pick that particular moment? And if he didn't, and it all just happened spontaneously, we're back to questioning why invading that world ever seemed like a good solution to Eredin – it all collapses in on itself.

None of these questions couldn't have been answered with a little creativity, but then the game would've had to dedicate some real time to explaining its backstory and developing its core conflict – something it's bizarrely reluctant to do. And if you think I may be drifting from the point a bit in the name of getting all my gripes about the ending down in one place, you're not wrong, but I feel Avallac’h and everything surrounding him is pretty much the ur-example of what doesn't work about the way The Witcher 3 depends on the novels: the backstory the writers are building on doesn't actually exist in any format available to the rest of us.

There are plenty of ways TW3 could have incorporated its backstory into its own narrative (yes, even excluding the method "by expecting people to read many many more pages of text from in-game documents", because that's bullshit and always will be). There are times it does this brilliantly, such as in the quest ‘The Last Wish’: everything you really need to know is covered in Yennefer and Geralt's conversation in the boat, and without ever making the dialogue sound unnatural. In fact, TW3 has even more options here than many works with the same problem, because Geralt is famous and people already think they know his story. You could have bards singing Dandelion's ballads, you could have characters confronting him with misunderstandings about his past to force him to correct them. You could also have Geralt visiting people and places he knows Ciri remembers fondly because of the time they spent there together, or include playable flashbacks similar to the time you spend playing as Ciri. You could stick chunks of backstory in optional sidequests or scenes old-school fans can skip through quickly. So many of my questions (how did Ciri get so close to Yennefer if they were never at Kaer Morhen together? Why has no-one tried training Ciri in her powers before? What does the Wild Hunt even do while it's not hunting Ciri? Why is Ciri princess of Cintra if her father is Emperor of another country altogether?) could have been answered so easily.

Seriously, summarising the Witcher books is not that hard. Lots of things happen, but only a fraction of it is really relevant in retrospect, and you could hit all the major plot beats in a handful of paragraphs. (Heck, I’d do it here if this post wasn’t already ridiculously over long.)

But then, TW3 has a bizarre problem with leaving so much of its best material off screen, even from its own story. It's criminal that we never get to see any of Geralt's time (or Yennefer's) with the Wild Hunt, even in flashback or dream sequence. This is material that directly sets up the relationship between the main hero and the main villain, and the most we ever hear about it is a few vague allusions to it being like a strange nightmare. Really? That's it? What was it like? Was Geralt in a trance, unable to control his own actions – was he brainwashed into believing he belonged there, or was he merely unable to escape? What atrocities might Eredin have forced him to commit? Did he visit other worlds? Was he paraded among the Aen Elle as a captive? There is no way this isn’t a part of the story worth talking about!

We never see the moment Ciri rescues Geralt from the Wild Hunt. We never see how Avallac’h convinces her to trust him, we never see the moment he was cursed, or any of her efforts to save him – all these big, story-defining moments are left off-screen, to be vaguely recounted to you later in dialogue. Then there's the entire political situation in Nilfgaard – you hear about it second-hand, and it's all resolved off screen. And the list goes on. Yet you and Ciri still have time to run around Novigrad so she can thank a bunch of throwaway characters you've never even heard of before, nor will again. The priorities on display here are baffling.

The Witcher 3 was such a wildly successful game that it’s obvious these sorts of issues didn’t seriously hold it back, and it’s such a big game that I could have sat down and written just as many words focusing only on the parts that do work without much difficulty. It boasts stunning visuals, addictive gameplay and some truly wonderful characters, and so many parts of the story work brilliantly in isolation that it’s strange to come out of it feeling that it ultimately adds up to so much less than the sum of its parts.

I’m glad TW3 exists – if it hadn’t been such a runaway success I doubt I’d ever have discovered Sapkowski’s universe at all, but for myself, TW3 will probably always be remembered as a somewhat-overlong introduction to the really good stuff, in the expansions and the original novels it came from. I looked up the novels after finishing TW3 in large part because I’d been left with so many unanswered questions – and I’m glad I did, but I’m honestly surprised more people weren’t turned off by TW3′s scattershot approach to its own narrative. You’re allowed to change and rework in moving to a new medium, but I can’t imagine it would’ve hurt games’ success to tell a complete story in the process.

#The Witcher #Witcher Novels #The Wild Hunt #Geralt #Ciri #Emyhr #Avallac'h #Eredin #meta #long post is long

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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 4 years ago

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Prompt: Going to a Fair Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc): Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Teen Audiences And Up Content Warnings: None Summary: A beautiful thing about Toussaint is the fairs and masquerades the dutchess holds every now and then. And the big canopy beds. Oh, those are the best part.

[This one turned out to a little all over the place but I still really enjoyed writing it. Hope you’ll enjoy it too, my darlings.]

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Crossposted on ao3 here

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"Geralt, my love, you look wonderful, stop being so hard on yourself," Jaskier says, wrapping his arms around the witcher's waist and hugging him from the back, locking eyes with him through the mirror.

Geralt doesn't really share the bard's enthusiasm. He's used to his armour, to thick black leather with only a few elements of silver, and that is what feels natural, what feels right.

A dark-crimson - almost wine-red, really - doublet with intricate embroidery in gold thread does not.

He knows that he'd agreed to this himself, knows that Jaskier had told him that if he doesn't want to go, he won't get upset with him and just go with Barnabas-Basil or one of his friends. But Geralt always went out of his way to make his husband happy.

So, naturally, when Jaskier told him that there's going to be a masquerade and a fair in Beauclair, he couldn't say no.

"The dutchess herself is said to be there," Jaskier murmurs against his neck, smiling encouragingly. "I'm sure she will be delighted to see you. After all, we were personally invited, weren't we?"

"Isn't the whole point of a masquerade is for the participants not to recognise each other?" Geralt tries, weakly.

"Oh, don't be like that," Jaskier huffs, waving a hand dissmissingly. "It's going to be fun, I promise. Besides, isn't Regis going to be there?"

That's true, Geralt supposes. Regis is going to be there, which makes the event slightly more bearable. It's always nice to talk to an old friend.

"He is," he hums, adjusting the collar od his shirt. "Going to keep me company when you run off to flirt with the next pretty little thing you see."

Jaskier just laughs at that, circling Geralt to stand in front of him and take his face into his hands, getting a stray strand of silver out of his eyes.

"You know that never leads to anything," he smiles, leaning in to touch the witcher's dry lips with his own. "I can innocently flirt with everyone I see but it's only you I love, my darling. And only you I want."

Geralt does know that. He's not even jealous, never doubting Jaskier's faithfulness but missing an opportunity to tease would've been a waste.

"I know," he finally says, stealing another kiss. "And yet, if the dutchess herself is going to be there... She's got an eye for you, you know. Would be terribly rude of you to turn down such an important woman."

Jaskier snickers and shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Then it's a good thing that she's not going to recognise me."

When they arrive, the event is already in full swing.

Jaskier's eyes light up at the music that flows through the garden and the way he squeezes Geralt's hand suddenly makes the entire thing worth it in the witcher's mind.

Jaskier looks breathtaking in his dark-blue silk suit, the silver mask hiding just enough of his face for it to be almost impossible to recognise him yet leaving enough open for Geralt to still have the option of pulling his close and kissing him. in the witcher's mind, it couldn't be more perfect.

"May I hear the password?" asks one of the guards at the gates, his own face hidden behind a mask with a long beak.

"Waterlilies," Jaskier says, repeating what's been written in their invitations.

The guard nods and gestures to the doors.

"If you'll be so kind as to follow me," he says. "Our most generous dutchess Anna Henrietta has arranged a room for you so that you don't have to make a long journey back home at night."

There is nothing about Jaskier's expression - half-hidden by the mask - that gives away his delight but Geralt knows him well enough to be able to smell it on him. Jaskier is, after all, of a noble family, a court man, and Geralt knows just how much he loves it when he's treated like one, even though most of the time he happily trades it for the life on the Path.

Corvo Bianco, it seemed, was the perfect middle ground.

They follow the guard through the garden and into a big, richly decorated estate with stained-glass windows and luscious flowers hanging in big round pots. The guard takes them to the upper floor, opens the door with a key and gestures for Geralt and Jaskier to step inside and make themselves comfortable.

"If there shall be anything you need, the servants are on the ground floor, you need only call," he says, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves and handing Jaskier the key. "Enjoy your night, gentleman."

With that, he bows and leaves, leaving Jaskier and Geralt alone in the room.

"Oh, this reminds me of home," Jaskier sighs, a smile on his lips as he falls onto a truly enormous canopy bed covered with red velvet.

"Of home?" Geralt echoes, almost feeling out of place in such a rich interior.

"Well, you know, my childhood home," Jaskier says, propping himself up on both elbows. "I have to be honest with you, Geralt, I miss all of this from time to time."

The witcher comes closer, sits on the edge of the bed, runs his hand over the velvet and sighs, content. It does feel nice.

"Do you think we could get a bed like this for the vineyard?" Jaskier asks, pushing him down onto his back and lying down next to him, finding Geralt's hand and bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckles. "It's not only amazing to sleep in but also-" his eyes light up behind his mask, and Geralt knows a little too well what that means. "Look at those poles, my love. I could let you tie my wrists to them if you were to wish for it."

Oh, that sounds tempting.

"Hmm," Geralt hums, non-commital. "Sounds intriguing. Though I might need to try first and then decide. After all, finding this kind of bed is not easy."

It takes Jaskier a second to understand what exactly it is that Geralt is saying but then he gasps in mock offence and shoves him in the shoulder with no real force.

"Preposterous!" he gasps, a hand over his heart. "This is the dutchess' cousin's summer residence, and this is, I'm more than sure, the best guest bedroom. Anarietta herself might be sleeping in this bed while visiting."

"Yes," Geralt says simply, knowing that all of that only adds to Jaskier's interest. "And tonight this bed is ours."

Before that conversation can take them anywhere, Jaskier demands they go back to the garden.

Geralt doesn't object, just follows the bard down the stairs and helps him adjust his doublet before they step out the door. He feels just a little strange with his hair done up in a complicated bun but then again, Jaskier told him that it will help the witcher be even less recognisable, and there was never anything that Geralt could deny him.

The disguise was, it seemed, working effectively for they've almost bumped into Anarietta - Geralt recognised her by smell - when passing the gates again but she didn't notice them. Or, at least, she didn't come up to them, to Geralt's immeasurable relief. He'd only ever said it to Jaskier but the dutchess was getting on his nerves and if he could avoid her, he gladly did just that.

"There's a Gwent tournament somewhere in the north side of the garden, as far as I'm aware," Jaskier says, making a non-descriptive gesture in the general direction, as they walk past a table with all sorts of baked sweets. "If you're interested."

Even with Jaskier, Geralt feels somewhat out of place at an event like this. And a few rounds of Gwent sound like a perfect way to forget about it.

"Sounds tempting," he says, reaching to brush his fingers over Jaskier's and take his hand into his own. He's still getting used to it. "Though you know I prefer to play with you."

Jaskier rolls his eyes in fond exasperation.

"That's because every time we play, you insist that we play strip Gwent, knowing perfectly that you're a better player than me," he chuckles. "Honestly, Geralt, all you need to do for me to undress is ask."

"I know," the witcher grins, pulling Jaskier closer to shamelessly press a kiss to his cheek. "But where's the fun in that?"

He plays a few rounds without Jaskier, winning effortlessly every time while the bard is making new acquaintances by the wine vault where there are multiple tables with all the best blends of reds and whites.

Geralt can't see him but he can hear him, Jaskier's voice soft and beautiful as he tells a group of young women stories about Skellige. They all gasp almost in unison when the bard tells them about that one time when they've been travelling between the islands on a boat and nearly drowned when a pack of sirens toppled it over.

Geralt chuckles to himself, knowing perfect that they were never in any real danger for it was near the coast of And Skellig and if anything happened, fishermen or sailors would've picked them up almost immediately.

Jaskier refers to him as "my husband", not giving away any names, including his own, and every time the witcher hears that, a little piece of his heart seems to melt. It's been more than five years since they've gotten married but in a way, Geralt is still not used to it.

When the time is moving towards late evening, Jaskier joins him at the table, nodding a greeting to Geralt's opponent and leaning down to brush his lips over the witcher's cheek.

"Winning, my love?" he asks, blushing just a little when Geralt pulls him into his lap.

"As usual," he grins, to great displeasure to the man across the table.

Jaskier murmurs something content, throwing his arms around Geralt's neck and sneaking a look at his cards. Geralt tries to hide them from him but the bard scratches his shoulder through the doublet and that's all it really takes for the witcher to give up and let him see.

Geralt's a long-time player and his deck is pretty much as good as it gets, nearly every gold card there is being in his possession but it's the final round and Geralt's opponent's got four cards in hand while as the wither only ahs three. By now it mostly depends on luck. But Jaskier might just know a way to get it onto their side.

"Win this round for me," he murmurs into Geralt's ear, quiet enough only for him to hear. "And I'll think about what you said back in the bedroom."

Geralt's golden eyes light up with a flame that Jaskier knows well enough to know that his words have been effective.

It all goes very fast from there. Though Geralt's only got one gold card in hand, it's a Cirilla card which has the power of fifteen and that is what ends up getting him the win, when the man across the table, with his overall score of sixteen, throws a water card onto the table, making both of Geralt's archers drop from four to one.

He wins by just one point, but he wins.

Jaskier can feel his heart flutter with anticipation as Geralt grins at his opponent, reaching over the table to get the coin they've put up. It's a rather impressive amount. The other player must be a count or something like that.

He's clearly not too happy about losing his gold but he takes it as a good player, standing up and shaking Geralt's hand with a congratulation. Then, he wishes them both a pleasant evening and leaves, waving to someone by the fountain.

"I won," Geralt states, still grinning and oh so pleased with himself. "What was it that you said, bard? If I win, what is it that you're going to think about?"

Jaskier laughs and pulls him into an affectionate kiss, one hand coming up to cup the sharp of the witcher's jaw.

"You just wait until we're back in the bedroom, my dearest."

It's closer to midnight when they finally find Regis.

Or, rather, when Regis finds them.

"Fascinating how people always seem to want to disguise themselves," he says instead of a greeting, appearing out of nowhere, just like he always does. "And how they seem more attracted to each other when they don't know who is hiding behind the mask."

He's got a full-black velvet suit on, adorned with raven feathers, and a matching mask that hides most of his face. If it wasn't for his voice, Jaskier would've never recognised him.

"Mystery is always thrilling," the bard smiles, taking a sip of his Est-Est. "There's something irresistibly captivating about a man in a mask. A woman, too, of course, but women are mysterious creatures in general."

Regis nods knowingly and also raises his wineglass.

"Yes, women are... A mystery no man will ever solve."

They all fall silent for a couple of moments, and even though Jaskier knows that Geralt is thinking about Yennefer, there is no more pain. There hasn't been, for years now.

It took them a long time to figure it all out, to talk everything over, and though it would come with tears what seemed like every time, eventually, it was all over. And it brought them so close that if Jaskier had to go through all of that again twice, he would.

"Well, my dearest friends," Regis finally says, breaking the silence. "I've heard that there are prize-winning games starting at midnight, would you care to join me in testing my luck?"

Regis turns out to be a rather talented fisherman.

That is, given that what he's fishing for is a gold ring with a bright-red ruby in the centre - one of the three main possible prizes in the game.

The other players look at him with both jealousy and fascination, loud applause echoing through the garden.

Regis looks very pleased with himself - as much as Jaskier can tell, keeping the mask in mind - but it's only when they leave the deck of the pond that he asks for Jaskier's hand and places the ring into his palm.

"Beautiful work," he says, closing Jaskier's hand around the ring before he has the chance to refuse. "But it just so happens that gold suits you better, my friend."

"Regis-" Jaskier breathes out. "I cannot accept this. You've won it, it's yours."

Regis smiles - one of those tight-lipped smiles of his that doesn't show his teeth.

"I'm afraid I must insist," he says. "If it puts your mind at ease, I don't wear jewellery at all. It gets in the way of making my medications."

"Of making your moonshine, you meant to say," Geralt chuckles teasingly.

"The most effective out of all of my elixirs, my friend."

Jaskier knows said elixir a little too well and shakes his head with a fond smile, opening his hand to examine the ring closer.

"Thank you, Regis," he smiles. "I shall treasure this gift forever."

Geralt refrains from any other games, saying that he's very happy with his winnings from Gwent and doesn't want to push his luck any further.

Jaskier, however, overhears that there is a bardic competition about to start and he nearly runs, having grabbed Geralt by the hand. They get there just in time for him to take one on the last remaining places.

All of the participants are given their preferred instruments and are told to improvise for three and a half minutes. Whoever comes up with the best song and gets the loudest applause, shall win five long ribbons of the finest Toussaint silk that the winner can then take to a seamstress and get their clothes adorned. Jaskier's eyes shine like the stars above when he sees the royal-blue ribbon.

Geralt and Regis take their places in the audience, the witcher secretly worried, and try their absolute best at hyping Jaskier up by rolling their eyes at the other participant's songs to indicate just how non-impressive all of those attempts are.

Jaskier smiles at them from behind his mask and giggles when Regis implies that he's so bored by one of the songs that he's about to turn into smoke and disappear.

When it comes to Jaskier's turn, the bard adjusts the collar of his doublet and the cuffs of his sleeves, stands up because he hates to perform sitting down, runs his fingers over the lute strings and takes his first note, practised and beautiful, as always.

He sings about two people meeting at a masquerade and falling on love with each other immediately. Sings about them kissing in the dark alleyways of the garden and promising each other the stars. And sings about them not recognising each other when they cross paths the next morning while also searching for one another. They part, having nearly touched hands at the gates, to always look for each other, aching with love, but never meet again.

By the time Jaskier touches the strings one last time, half the audience is wiping at their eyes, including Regis.

It's an immediate win and Jaskier shines with it when the judge hands him his silk ribbons and compliments both his singing and his lyrics.

"Such a beautiful story," Regis says when Jaskier joins them. "Tragic romance is never going to get old."

Geralt can almost smell Jaskier's blush.

"Thank you, my dearest," he smiles, only a little coy. "I'm going to make sure to write more pieces like this."

When they part, it's nearly dawn.

Most of the games and shows are over, the tables with food and wine nearly empty, and all the guests start slowly making their way home.

Jaskier isn't necessarily tired but he's grateful to all the gods he knows that there is no need to ride back to Corvo Bianco.

When they're saying their goodbyes, Geralt invites Regis to come visit them for a day or two - or even a week, he says - and Regis, in turn, suggest they come visit him at his crypt. Jaskier realises that they've knows each other for so long now that it doesn't even sound strange to him.

Nearly all the guests are already gone when they get back to their room.

"Remind me to send a note to the dutchess to express our gratitude for being so considerate," Jaskier says, shrugging off his doublet and rolling his sore shoulders.

Geralt just hums, non-commital.

"That song you've played," he says, letting his hair down which is a gorgeous sight to see. "Had it really been an improvised one?"

Jaskier blushes under the gaze of his golden eyes, untying the laces of his mask. Geralt's always read him like an open book.

"No," he admits, averting his eyes when the witcher comes closer. "I've composed it a few weeks ago, when we've just gotten the invitations."

"Hmm," Geralt hums again, his half-grin making Jaskier's heart stutter for what seems like the millionth time. "Thought of me?"

The bard blushes even further, grateful the dim light of the fireplace is making it less apparent.

"Always think of you," he says, leaning into the touch when Geralt hugs him from the back and noses at his neck.

Geralt breathes a pleased noise against his neck, low and rumbling, knowing a little too well just how much of a weakness it is for the bard.

"Of course you do," he murmurs, undoing the buttons of Jaskier's shirt one by one without looking and leaving long hot kisses on his neck.

Jaskier lets out a shaky breath, throwing his head onto Geralt's shoulder and just forgetting about everything else for a few long moments before the witcher slips the shirt from his own shoulders to take it off, and he has to put the silk ribbons he's still holding down. They're all incredibly beautiful, they really are but as he sets them down onto a small round table, it's a pale-lilac one that catches his eye.

"What are you going to do with them?" Geralt enquires, letting the fabric of Jaskier's shirt fall to their feet and trailing his kisses down, onto his shoulders. "Order a new doublet from the court seamstress? Or change up one of those that you already have?"

Jaskier picks the lilac ribbon up, unties the bow that's keeping it folded, wraps it around his wrist once, twice, and pulls to see how it feels. The silk is pleasantly cool against his skin.

He bites his lips and turns around in Geralt's arms to lock eyes with him and run his hand through his hair.

"I might have a better idea."

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt and jaskier #my writing #calton writes

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vampire--dad · 4 years ago

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This is so exciting omg

This ficlet was part of a bit of an exchange with @drachedraws after they well and truly convinced me to ship Regis/Geralt. they’re just Two Crotchety Old Men In Love

the wonderful art that accompanies this is theirs. i cannot thank them enough, this was like a dream come true for me, and don’t forget to go follow them!

——————

��Have you thought about what you’ll do with your prize? Shall you hang your swords over the mantle and take to pruning vines?”

The witcher is quiet, looking down into the cup of wine in his hands. This rare moment of peace has allowed him to collect his thoughts on all that has happened and all that the vampire has done for him. It’s impossible for him to ignore. Regis has given up everything for him. Dettlaff, the closest thing he ever had to a brother, any respect his own kind had for him, and on more than one occasion, he’s come close to giving his life for him. Geralt knows why. He’d be an idiot if he didn’t know. Regis thinks he’s subtle, but when he’s in love, he’s about as subtle as a wine stain on a white dress. Geralt sees the looks he tries so hard to hide, hears the compliments he mutters so quietly that even the witcher struggles to catch them, notices the hitch in his breath when Geralt leans in close enough that he can smell the faint scent of sweat and leather that clings to the witcher’s skin.

Geralt knows exactly what he wants to do, but he doesn’t know that he has the courage to ask.

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Where do you plan on going?”

“Don’t answer my questions with questions, witcher,” Regis says with an affectionate smile, unafraid to bare his fangs. “If you must know… anywhere but here. As far as I can possibly get. I might venture south.”

Geralt swallows thickly. Somehow this is scarier than facing any monster.

“Would you mind if I… came with you?”

Regis only smiles wider, but this time there’s a bashful, almost hopeful glint in his eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

So the witcher does hang his swords over the mantle, but not at Corvo Bianco. They are laid to rest in a little cottage in Metinna, in a village just west of Claremont. Geralt sold the vineyard, much to Anna Henrietta’s annoyance, but neither of them really planned on coming back. They never did make it to Nilfgaard, opting for somewhere a little closer to the coast. Geralt preferred the warmer weather, and Regis rather liked the soil in this area. Perfect for all the herbs he had planted in the small garden around their cottage.

Geralt hears the clatter of a wooden bowl, the rustling of the plants that hang above Regis’ bench, and words he can only assume are swearing as he enters the house, a basket full of bundled herbs and flowers under his arm. The witcher can’t help but smile to himself. He does love to hear Regis speak the language of his ancestors, though he could never pick it up himself. Too complex. But the swearing and foul moods won’t do. He sets the basket down where he found it and steps up behind the vampire, watching him work over his shoulder. Regis’ work has always fascinated him. He seems to be the witcher’s exact opposite. Witchers were made to hurt, to hunt, to destroy. With gentle hands, Regis undoes the damage Geralt was made to inflict. He heals with the salves and balms he’s spent so long perfecting and soothes even invisible wounds with sweet words whispered to the witcher in the dead of night.

“Thank you, my dear,” Regis mumbles absently

It seems the witcher will have to work a little harder to lift the vampire’s spirits, and he knows just how, though Regis will probably insist that he’s being a bother. He brushes away the thin leaves caught in his lover’s hair, thinking that he must have gotten tangled up in one of the plants hanging above him. It happens all the time.

“You’re welcome.”

As Geralt speaks, his arms settle around Regis’ waist and he buries his nose into the crook of his lover’s neck with a smile. The vampire grumbles low in his throat, but Geralt knows better than to think he means it.

“Must you insist on bothering me while I work?” Regis sighs.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re working. Sounds like you’re swearing,” Geralt mumbles into his neck.

“Yes, well, those two things tend to coincide…”

The witcher makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a laugh, far too distracted by the wonderful scent on Regis’ neck that he hides under all those herbs. That musky, earthy scent that to Geralt has begun to smell like home.

“Geralt, I’m trying to get some work done…” the vampire grumbles again, but the way he bares his neck to the witcher’s lips gives him away.

“But you smell good,” Geralt replies between kisses.

“I smell of herbs. You don’t like how strong they smell.”

“You don’t when I’m this close to you. And I don’t hate it, it’s just not my favourite.”

“And what is your favourite? Lilac and gooseberries?”

“Stop that.”

Geralt feels Regis chuckle, content now that he’s cracked through his lover’s foul mood and brought a smile back to his face. Despite the creases and wrinkles in Regis’ skin, Geralt has always thought him the most captivating man he’s ever seen. The vampire slips from his grasp, but only far enough that he can turn and face his lover. Noticing the red splotches on Geralt’s face, he frowns softly at him.

“Have you gone and gotten sunburnt again?” Regis asks, brushing his fingers across Geralt’s nose. “I told you to wear a hat when you go out there, you’re paler than me and you burn so easily—”

“Regis, you sound like a worried mother,” Geralt interrupts.

“I suppose one of us has to be the responsible one.”

“You calling me irresponsible?”

“Never, my dear witcher,” Regis chuckles.

Geralt grumbles and presses his cheek into Regis’ palm, along with a kiss on his wrist.

“Just don’t make me put on any more of that salve you gave me last time. It stinks,” the witcher says, almost petulant.

Regis laughs but before he can respond, a raven lands on the windowsill, hopping back and forth and fluttering its wings. Regis glances over at the bird with a soft smile. Geralt nearly rolls his eyes.

“You spoil them, you know that, right?” he teases as Regis plucks a stem with small white flowers from a bundle hanging next to the witcher’s head.

“I know, and I spoil you, too, so unless you’re going to start complaining about that, I don’t recommend you pursue that topic,” Regis says, patting the witcher’s cheek. “Besides, all she wants is something for her nest.”

With a shake of his head, Geralt releases his lover and Regis glides over to the window, offering the stem of the flower to the bird. She crows softly, takes the stem in her beak, and then she’s off. Geralt chuckles.

“You’re like some fairytale princess. Talking to birds and giving them flowers.”

Regis raises an eyebrow at the witcher. Geralt has always adored the humour he shares with the vampire, the dry, empty jabs at each other, the silent understanding they have of each others’ limits.

“So does that mean you think yourself a knight in shining armour?” Regis asks.

The witcher smiles devilishly and before Regis has a chance to slip away, he lunges forward and sweeps the vampire off his feet, holding him close to his chest as he laughs. The moment he stops, Regis pulls him down into a kiss and Geralt feels him smile against his lips. They might be old— and gods, Regis is old— but neither of them feel it. With each other, they’ve never felt more alive.

Tags: @lovelyeskel @elliestormfound @jaskierswolf @patchwork-doublet @feral-jaskier

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crowleyellestair · 5 years ago

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Scent - Geralt Drabble

AN// I know it’s only been like an hour since I posted, but I just burst from my prison of writers block. Check out Another Morning- Geralt Drabble and all of my other Witcher stuff! (Geralt, Jaskier and Regis fics)

The night was long, but the day was longer. Geralt had set off at dawn to help rid the people of the near by isle of a specter infestation. He had assured his two companions that though it would take a day minimum, it would only take two max. The bard had played at every venue in the small village, leaving only the inn, tavern and private shows the richer farmers divulged in. There were only four or five Gwent players and it seemed no one needed a healer, so the day dragged for Y/n just as much as it did Jaskier.

Normally, she’d have enough to do around the village to keep her mind occupied, but it seemed fate was trying to be funny. That fate wanted to see her have a small panic attack while focusing on all the things that could go wrong. Of course, she knew why neither of them were allowed to go with, hearing lecture after lecture as to how they were liabilities. They both knew though that it was really because he cared.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to worry, however.

Jaskier laughed when she came to his door later in the evening asking for his laundry. Usually they would convince the inns to do it for them because of their heroics, but Y/n needed to get her mind off of the horde Geralt was facing. The way the Peller had sold it made it seem as though there was more to it- that something more sinister would befall the isle whilst the witcher was eradicating the face valued threat. Y/n had mentioned it before he left, and he had agreed, but went without back up anyhow. So, in this uneventful day, laundry it was.

To try and be respectful to the residence of the town who were nice enough to let her use the wash stations for free, she did the laundry n increments. Y/n started with Jaskier’s, knowing it would take the longest. She wanted to keep the quality of the fabric and colour, so she spent time to delicately wash everything. An hour later she went back with her things. The three of them had fell into the habit of the bard taking his own room while Y/n and Geralt shared one. This was to both her excitement and disdain. She had an infatuation, but she didn’t think it was right to admit it. Geralt was a powerful man that can’t afford to be tied down. He lived longer than an ordinary human, and could find a handful of others that would suit his timetable. The healer was left to give as much affection as possible without stepping that line. Oddly enough, she had been getting bolder recently without any resistance on the witcher’s part.

She had made her way back to the room, stripping herself of the close she wore now to be able to wash them with Geralt’s. She had been undressed down to her small clothes, picking up discarded pieces along the way. It wasn’t until she found a semi clean black shirt of Geralt’s did she dress. At first, she had sniffed it to make sure it was dirty, but then noticed his scent lingering. Chamomile, steel, silver and sweat. The scent had calmed her for a moment, before realizing how late it was getting. She threw the shirt on, rushing to the wash. Everything was cleaned, but her nerves had come back full force.

Y/n could never find sleep when Geralt was alone, even if he scolded her. He always said it was because he didn’t want her whining on the road, but they both knew she wasn’t the whining type. Silent suffering, sure, but the outbursts had been all Jaskier. The healer decided to stay in front of the fire, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around herself. The shirt was baggy, but bunched up perfectly so that when she nuzzle her chin into the little crook her body made, his scent wafted. It was more calming than before, and she let her mind wander to warmer places- to times were the scent was most prominent.

When they were sharing a bed. No matter the temperature, she always found her limbs tangled with his come morning. They used to try and stay on the other side of the bed, but nowadays they start off wrapped around the other.

When he had to overexert himself into a job that didn’t deserve it, and she had to patch him up. Geralt would sit in a chair, Y/n kneeling between his legs to stich a particularly deep cut on his lower stomach.

Being shoved together in dark corners of the tavern, needing to share the same space because the bard brought back too many friends.

Sharing the same breath when he throws his body over hers in a protective way. Or fighting side by side, moving as one to try and fight their way out of whatever sticky situation they had found themselves in.

“Help.” Y/n jumped so much that she could have landed standing up. She turned to find Geralt smiling but a grimace was quickly taking hold. Nodding and rushing to her bag, she motions for him to sit at the desk. Heaving the larger bag onto the table, she huffed.

“Don’t sneak up like that, we have talked about this.” He focused on shedding armor, his voice rumbling and setting in her bones.

“I didn’t.” Y/n looked to the door, finding his weapons on the floor and the door wide open. A flush creeped up, rarely being caught in such deep daydreams. The gash on his shoulder wasn’t horrible, but there was a lot of specter dust and dirt in the wound. She stood, slotted between his legs, arching him so his forehead rested on her stomach. His hands came up to slightly squeeze her hips when she had to dig deeper into the cut. After she started the sutures was when he spoke up again. “My shirt.”

Y/n knew lying wasn’t an option, and since he couldn’t see her fluched face, what was the harm?

“I was doing laundry and needed to borrow it. But then um… the- ugh, now it just sounds weird. The smell calmed me down because I was worried about you. It seems I had somewhat of the right to be, however, so I don’t feel too guilty about it.” He simply hummed in response, but it sounded amused. She finished by rubbing salve around the area, and giving a quick pet to his hair before detaching. She made her way to the bed, getting under the covers, and pulling out the book she had started. Geralt washed himself before asking where his clothe were. “Oh, uh, they’re still drying. I thought I’d have more time, sorry.” Y/n apologized, but knew he wouldn’t care considering she did his laundry.

The witcher crawled into bed next to her, and she blew out the candle. There were a couple of moments where everything in the room was still before she felt two arms bring her flush to his chest. They laid on their sides, facing each other. His hand found its place behind her head, bringing it to curl and rest under his chin, which started to slightly move. It wasn’t until moments later that she realized his cheek was rubbing against her hair, and her nose shifted to press against the column of his neck. Trying to be subtle, she inhaled the smell.

The smell of safety.

Her whole body followed suit in curling closer to the man, and the arm covering her wrapped firmly to the compliance.

#witcher imagine #witcher x reader #geralt imagine #geralt x y/n #geralt x reader

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hanzajesthanza · 2 years ago

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one day at breakfast

regis: [turns his head away from the table and sneezes, into his arm] oh excuse me cahir: gesundheit geralt, smiling: you know, regis, you fascinate me more and more every day regis, confused: ... thank you. may i ask why- geralt: i mean, the medallion thing, the silver thing, alright. but how did you learn to *sneeze*? i've never seen a vampire sneeze before. i didn't think you *could*. how did you do that? regis: i- regis: ... regis: you know, i'm not certain i've ever sneezed before. up until just now. geralt: ... regis: ... milva: can you pass the stewed eggplant. thanks.

regis getting inexplicably even better at mimicking humans during their stay in beauclair is . not only an amusing thought but also a very satisfying one. narratively. the character arc nears closer to completion. the snake ouroboros is about to bite his own tail

#oh by the way he subconsciously learned this from hanging out with angouleme. the resident sniffler and sneezer #this is the same phenomenon as when you hang out with your friends and adopt their slang or tone or typing style #but here it's those little mundane human behaviors of imperfection and bodily existence #things like yawning - sighing - scratching your neck when you're nervous - wiping your brow when you're overwhelmed #i used to headcanon the opposite of this. that he developed new vampire powers but played it straight like #he would be able to levitate a little off the ground. but as hes having a conversation with geralt hes acting like its nbd #and when geralt asks about it regis talks about it like he picked up a casual hobby in the meantime. as if it were knitting or some shit #'you're... floating' 'yeah it's just something i started doing while i had some free time'#and then at the end of the 'episode' (because these are sitcom episodes to me) it comes up again as the background plot #and geralt is like 'you're not levitating anymore' and regis is like 'yeahh i got bored so i decided to drop it for now'#but i think this is much more fascinating. the mimicry is... unsettling and simultaneously fun and brilliant concept #the witcher books #s: the anthropomorphism speaks through me #txt #c: geralt #c: regis #it's giving michael at the end of the good place finale vibes #it's just fun to remember that regis is not human but he is precisely imperceptibly human. just think about that #if it quacks like a duck...

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benisalilbitch · 4 years ago

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Emhyr or Dettlaff lol ❤

It seems Detlaff is a favorite and I can already see why, holy fuck I love them vampires, so I'll rate him and Regis in another ask.

Also, thank you so much for picking Emhyr, I fucking love him

Emhyr var Emreis

I will definitely fuck this man and become Ciri's new mom. 14/10

Holy shit. That was my first thought (thot hehe) when I saw and heard this man. I clearly have a thing for deep voices, so sue me. Emhyr is the type of man that just knows how fucking hot he is, you can't convince me otherwise.

His Imperial Majesty gives me strong dom vibes and you really don't wanna get on his bad side... Unless you're a hoe like me and you wanna get punished. He strikes me as a guy that gets what he wants and he can definitely get this, if you know what I mean. Also, isn't Emhyr one of the hottest names you've heard? I wouldn't mind saying it for the rest of my life as he takes me apart.

I also love his hair and his clothes. I'm a sucker for men who put effort in how they dress, Geralt's thot ass should start taking notes by now and step it up. We like to see strong confident men in nice clothes in black and gold. Do I have an outfit kink? Maybe. But that's none of your business. I'm stupid and made the wrong choices so Nilfgaard didn't win, but in my mind Emhyr is still the emperor of everything, incluiding my heart.

Also, who wouldn't want to fuck an Emperor? Like, if you say no, you're just lying to yourself and you a hoe. Emhyr is my favorite ruler in the game and he can rule me anytime he wants. I know I've already talked about his voice but fuck, I just can't get over it. Everytime he spoke to Geralt in that stern tone with a slightly raised voice, it did things to me that I will not discuss at length in here... But you get the idea.

Emyhr van Emreis can definitely get it and I'll happily provide. He is my one and only king and I'll kneel to him anytime.

Send me The Witcher 3 characters and I'll rate them along with my thot thoughts.

#Ask me #The Witcher 3 #The Witcher #emhyr var emreis #emperor emhyr #Geralt #geralt of rivia

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

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(1/2) Personally, I could never get into Geralt's relationship with Yennefer when I started reading the books. The first thing we learn about their relationship in The Last Wish, is that he broke up with her because he couldn't stand her possessiveness and the way she treated him. That was massive red flag on it's own already, but then I got to the scene in The Bounds of Reason where Geralt tells her that he doesn't care anymore if she forgives him for breaking up with her. And he's

I’ve finished up my work for the day so I’m going to break this down to pass the time lol. My journey with Yennefer of Vengerberg has basically been:

Hearing about her prior to getting into Witcher stuff and being legitimately excited to meet this sexy, badass sorceress that everyone is head over heels for.

Meeting her in The Witcher 3 and hating nearly every moment we spent together (with a few exceptions) because she is rude, self-centered, cares little for the boundaries of others (like frequently invading Geralt’s mind), and will destroy everyone and everything necessary to get what she wants. The fact that what she currently wants is Ciri’s safety doesn’t change how horrible her actions are.

Getting reassurance that CDPR butchered her characterization and believing it because when has an adaptation not messed something up? God knows that’s happened to many of my faves.

Reading The Last Wish for myself and going, “She’s not better here. She worse.”

Coming to the Realization™ that Sapkowski, as an author very interested in undermining fantasy tropes, must be deconstructing the concept of True Love/Love At First Sight. After all, we’re not actually supposed to believe that a woman who treats Geralt like Yen does, a man who is canonically so lonely he’s picking up bards on the side of the road, and the both of them being bound together by highly suspect magic is supposed to be representative of real, healthy, destined love. These two are incredibly dysfunctional together and the point is for them not to stay as a couple, demonstrating that neither the characters nor the reader can bank on tired structures (like Hot Male Protagonist meeting Hot Female Protagonist) as evidence of “true love.” Sexual attraction and a djinn wish does not a healthy relationship make.

The further, disappointing realization that this is not, in fact, the point Sapkowski is trying to make. Or if it somehow is he hasn’t done a good job of writing it.

Struggling with other aspects of the series, notably how many of the women are written/treated. Finding it difficult to get into the main story-line. Coming to the conclusion that, like Doyle, I massively prefer Sapkowski’s style in a short-story format.

Deciding to put the books on hold for a while and check out some other material. Maybe I’ll like Yen in the comics!

I do not like Yen in the comics. Neither does Vesemir.

I post a few times about this dislike and marvel at how often events are twisted to paint Yen as a victim. One moment stands out regarding Yen dumping you in the lake in Witcher 3. When I expressed discomfort that she would do this to Geralt and then “jokingly” threaten to kill him next, someone basically asked me, “Well, did you pick the dialogue option where you’re an asshole to her?” It was asked with such confidence that for a moment I floundered. Had I chosen something that justified such treatment? Yet this is the exchange:

“Yen... Told you already. I lost my memory.”

“And I’ve lost my patience.”

(Side note: Yen is fully aware of how much Geralt despises portals.)

I begin to realize that a lot of the fandom truly believes that “Expressing a fact” equals “Being an asshole” to Yen. That any disagreement is automatically asshole behavior. Which is how Yen herself views the world. As fans have pointed out – myself included – she has a habit of rejecting responsibility and convincing others she’s the victim in most situations (with the one exception I can think of being her admitting that she destroyed the sacred site in Skellige), whether we’re talking about her condemning Geralt for sexualizing her (ignoring that she orchestrated that situation) or likewise condemning him for leaving her (ignoring that her behavior is what drove him away). I find myself re-emphasizing to others that my issue is not with flawed characters, but rather how Sapkowski’s story and the fandom insist that Yen isn’t actually flawed in these ways.

Watching the Netflix adaptation and promising myself that I’m going to give Yen a clean slate. Let’s start over. I connect with her for the first few episodes and then everything falls apart once she starts blaming others for her own decisions, getting obsessed with a biological child in a world filled with adoptions, abandoning a woman to die because she dared to insult her, having to re-watch her taking over Geralt’s mind only this time with an orgy that’s super iffy in regards to consent… There’s a lot going on there.

My friend – who knew I disliked a character but didn’t know who/why because I didn’t want to bias her ahead of time – slams into my texts talking about how much she hates Yen too.

I make a few more posts expressing my personal discomfort with their relationship + how the fandom tends to erase her behavior for endless praise, rather than just acknowledging that they love the ship and Yen has done horrible things. I get a couple of anons (which I delete) about how I’m just a misogynistic – and now racist – asshole who can’t understand how badass she is.

I grapple with the fact that my primary ships are indeed Geralt/Jaskier and Geralt/Regis. Maybe I am drawn only to Hot White Guys and have internalized misogyny to work through? Then I remember the hundreds of other het/femslash ships I adore, the thousands of other badass women in media – including the Witcher – that I love and conclude that no, I just really don’t like relationships where parties are cruel/disrespectful/borderline abusive to one another. Hence why I criticized Netflix for taking an already wonderful relationship between Geralt and Jaskier and making Geralt insult him all the time/punch him.

More and more I find myself uncomfortable with fans taking scenes where Yen verbally accosts someone, assaults them, or otherwise does them dirty and talk seriously about how they aspire to be her. I experience an intense need to remind everyone that being a badass and standing up for yourself does not mean treating people the way Yen frequently treats others.

I read a lot about how many fans can’t get behind a Geralt/Triss pairing because of how Triss treated him in the past, even if she’s now improved. I completely agree. I wonder though why the same doesn’t seem to apply to Yen. I’m told I just need to read more of the books (which I’m honestly not eager to do) because she gets so much better later on. Don’t you care about character growth? When I respond, “Yes, but even if she does grow I’m not comfortable with that relationship because of all she’s done in the past – to say nothing of what she does in the future if we take the games as canon too.” That response does not go over well. So Triss’ past actions justify a reader’s discomfort with the relationship, but Yen’s past actions have to be forgiven? Witcher and RWBY are the only fandoms I’ve come across where women can commit truly heinous acts and the response is “Yas queen!” rather than, “Huh, that’s a cool antagonist.”

As I work through these differing opinions I’m constantly reminded that Yen is an excellent mother to Ciri and each time I wonder what bearing that has on how she treats Geralt.

I’m likewise reminded of all the Big and Important sacrifices Yen has made for her family. Those deserve acknowledgment! But it doesn’t change her everyday behavior. Even if Yen stopped pulling shit like mind control, torture necromancy, and scaring people to the point where they assume she’ll rain fire down on them if they disagree, she just doesn’t extend basic kindness/respect on a day-to-day basis. Some people love that in a character. I personally don’t. I find Yen to be a vain person who puts her own self-comfort over others’ lives just as often as she deigns to save them. Dandelion is just going to have to wait until she’s had a bath before his curse is lifted. Margarita will have to do without her help because Yen doesn’t want to get her clothes dirty:

“Mucking through ruins and sewers, hmm. I’d rather leave it to the expert.”

“Meaning you’d rather waltz in once the hard work’s done.”

I finally finish The Witcher 3 and find Yen tolerable from the boat onward, mostly because we don’t have to do much with her.

I start the first Witcher game, wondering how I’ll find her in the first two installments. Frankly, at this point I’m not terribly optimistic.

And every once in a blue moon, in a sea of post-Netflix Yen adoration, I see a post going, “Hey, ship what you ship but can we just acknowledge that this relationship isn’t the happy-go-lucky, super healthy, #goals pairing that most of the fandom wants to paint it as?” and I’m compelled to reblog :D

#hauntedcollectorapple #witcher #mymetas

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dapandapod · 4 years ago

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You love things

So I hear it is a little @too-many-fandoms-no-social-life ‘s birthday. So a little bird told me. And I so happen to have a wee bit of pining as a birthday gift for this Birthday Cam!

Hope you had a lovely day, cutie!

There are three or four things that Geralt can admit that he loves. Roach is one. Ciri is another. He loves Gwent and he loves his family. There. Geralt loves things.

Jaskier is still pissed about that fucking farmers wife, letting Geralt kill their problem and send him of with an insult. The audacity.

If Geralt hadn’t put a hand on the scruff of his neck Jaskier, seen the look in his eye, there would have been words. Many. Words.

But Jaskier speaks Witcher rather well, in his own humble opinion, and the words shall be saved for a more important purpose. Meaning, telling Geralt exactly how much shit that lady was talking.

He can still feel the sensation of Geralt's hand lingering on his neck when they sit by their little campfire that night. Roach is munching happily among the trees and the sounds of the night have settled around them. It is peaceful, but Jaskier is not happy.

“You love things.” Jaskier says suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Pardon?”

“You love things!” Jaskier repeats again. “Lots of things! And people! Sometimes!”

He is possibly working himself up into a rant, but this is really bothering him. Geralt loves so much, in all the way that matters.

“This has been bothering you all this time?” Geralt asks with a small smile.

“Yes!” Jaskier says. “You are not incapable of feelings!”

“No I am not.” Geralt agrees, looking amused. He is fiddling with a small wooden carving, Jaskier is rather certain that he got it from Eskel.

“Like right now. What are you feeling right now!” Jaskier demands, staring intently at the witcher. The fire crackles merrily between them, a stew bubbling in a pot above it.

Geralt looks up, meets his eye. Jaskiers heart rate picks up, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips. A habit he just can’t seem to shake.

It happens when he feels a little nervous. Rather common when he is around Geralt, to be honest. Sometimes his chest is fluttery with it, or like right now, a gentle ache.

“Curious” Geralt says, tilting his head.

“Why is that?” Jaskier asks, hoping to gods and bog monsters and wyverns or anything that Geralt isn’t picking up on it.

“Why you care so much if I love.”

Ah.

Oh.

See, that is another thing he didn’t want Geralt to pick up on. Because Jaskier knows that Geralt loves. Just not necessarily him. Which is… not all that fun.

“Not if. I know you do. I'm just ranting because that lady.” Jaskier tries to play it off, but he can hear his own words falling flat.

Geralt studies him for another moment, and then shrugs, letting it go, returning to his fiddling with the carving.

Jaskier fantasies about Geralt pushing it. About making Jaskier tell him. Tell him how much he loves him, wants him, wants him to love him back.

But Geralt doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push it.

“I care, because I know that you do.” Jaskier says before he can change his mind. “You love so many, Roach, Ciri, Yennefer, Eskel, hell you even love that idiot Zoltan. And Lambert and Vesemir and Triss and stupid old Regis. And it is frustrating to me, and I can only imagine how it must feel for you.”

Geralt looks at him again over the fire and Jaskier can feel his cheeks heating up.

“I do.” Geralt says quietly. “But you forgot someone.”

“Oh?”Jaskier says, licking his lips again. He needs to stop that.

“You.”

Oh.

Fuck. Shit, fuck, bloody-

“You do?”

Please please please please please-

“I do.”

Jaskiers lungs burn. He wants to draw in a deep breath and calm himself, but that would be telling. His heart beats like crazy and he is trying to stay composed but it is so damned hard.

He is loved. Maybe not as he loves Geralt but-

“Jaskier.” Geralt catches his eye again. Jaskier can’t breathe. “I love you too.”

Fuck.

Jaskeir can’t take it. He stands up abruptly and turns around. He is not sure where to go, what to do. There is a pressure behind his eyes, he can feel his chin do that wrinkly thing it does when you are holding back a sob.

He is clenching his fists, his fingernails biting in hard into the palm of his hands.

A hand grabs his, big fingers prying his fist open carefully. Then the other one. Geralt turns him around and pushes Jaskiers head down on Geralt's shoulder. His forehead connects with Geralt's tunic, and he finally draws in that deep shuddering breath. Geralt's hand lingers on the back of his neck, warm and grounding.

“Sorry.” Geralt mumbles and Jaskier pinches his side.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He grumbles, and then wraps his shaking arms around the witcher. They don’t hug much, but Geralt started it.

“I love you too, Geralt.”

Maybe Geral might not love him the way Jaskier loves him. He would like to think that the soothing thumb drawing circles on his skin means more. He would like to think that the hand Geralt wraps around him and hugging him tighter is more than just friendship. The way Geralt's nose press into neck, the way Geralt’s fingers curl in his shirt.

This love is enough. More than he ever thought he would get.

#happy birthday cam!#hope it was a good one!#here is a lil gift for you!#hope you like it!#pining #pining!jaskier #geralt does love #he does #and probably even more than jaskier thinks #but i dont think geralt is ready yet #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #mean words #dapanda writes

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riviae · 5 years ago

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what if geralt catches regis looking in the mirror, tells him to close his eyes, and starts softly touching different parts of his face and describing them to him. or he has someone paint a portrait for him to look at instead ;_; im sorry your post made me sappy

It became an odd habit of sorts–checking his nonexistent reflection in the mirror–Regis realizes as he brushes off specks of dust from his jerkin. The standing-length mirror situated in the corner of his crypt had been a bit of an inside joke at first–he was already a vampire living in a cemetery, after all; what was stopping him from indulging in a few more lighthearted jokes? He already felt a secret pleasure at the garlands of garlic and collection of silver utensils he kept in his makeshift abode, so it was only in due time that he picked up an antique mirror from one of the stalls in the Beauclair marketplace, careful to keep the glass wrapped in a heavy, dark green fabric until it safely passed the threshold of his home.

And so the mirror remained, half-hidden in a dusty corner of the mausoleum, a few stray candles on a nearby table offering only a meager flicker of light. Not that Regis needed the candles either, but candles were a very human invention and one the vampire knew made humans feel just a little bit safer. Even if his only human visitor nowadays was Geralt, a witcher who could see perfectly fine in the dark, he had grown accustomed to the warm orange glow, the way the tiny beacons of light reminded him of his time spent amongst humans, learning and growing into the person he was today.

Just as Regis moves to adjust the cuffs of his shirt, he hears it: a familiarly slow heartbeat and with it, the faintest whiff of blood. Not Geralt’s, thankfully, but as the witcher grew closer, Regis could tell that he had recently bathed and cleaned his armor–it was his swords that carried the scent of old blood–both monster and human–a scent that could never be washed out completely. The swords had spilled so much blood despite Geralt’s best attempts at pacifism. He was a kind-hearted man by nature, but he knew when his only option was to kill.

“Hey,” the witcher greets, an easy grin upon his face. He meets his own gaze in the mirror before his eyes dart to the vampire. “Hmm… thought you hated mirrors.”

Regis turns away from the mirror, giving the witcher a fond look. “I hate that I have to avoid them. It’s the same with dogs, sorcerers, and telepaths–I have no hatred for them, I just dislike that I must go out of my way to avoid them.”

“I remember us having this conversation before. Think that was the first time I saw you really smile.”

“Is that so?” Regis begins, “Your memory is impeccable as always.”

“Only for certain things. Certain people,” Geralt replies, giving a tired shrug of his shoulders.

The admission, no matter how casual, sends a pleasant thrum of warmth through the vampire. For a man allegedly devoid of emotions, Geralt had quite a way of expressing them. Regis didn’t bother hiding his teeth as he smiled, lips pulling into a wide, happy grin.

“Careful with those fangs. Someone’s bound to notice,” Geralt teases.

“The only prying eyes here are the dead so I don’t think I have much to worry about.” With a lighthearted roll of his eyes, Regis turns back to the mirror, fiddling with his cuffs yet again.

Geralt’s voice suddenly sounds distant–but perhaps that isn’t the right word. Regis knows what grief sounds likes, the hollowness of it, the way it echoes in the emptiness of what was lost; the witcher’s voice sounds bereaved, but there’s an underlying fondness to it. It’s reminiscent; hopeful, even. “Remember when we first got to Beauclair? How everyone crowded into your room to get ready for the banquet?”

Regis huffs out a laugh. “How could I forget? Angouleme came in brandishing a pair of garden shears and asked me to cut her hair.”

“You even humored everyone with your floating scissors routine.”

Regis grew silent, unable to stop the flurry of memories that Geralt’s words had conjured up.

There was Milva begrudgingly slinking into the chair in front of the mirror to let Regis trim her bangs, expression softening as the rhythmic motions of having her hair cut lulled her into a light doze. When she stirred, she gave Regis a serious look and thanked him for his services. Whether she knew that the vampire had noticed her slipping out into the stables near the palace to cry at night, had noticed the tired bags under her eyes, and had helped her fall asleep peacefully for the first time in weeks, Regis wasn’t sure, but he did know that it wasn’t long until Milva began saving him a seat beside her during breakfast.

There was Cahir, usually silent and pensive, who suddenly showed a polite interest in all things related to Regis’ culture as a higher vampire. It was a unique parallel that they shared, both being sojourners in lands they did not belong to. Beauclair was as close to home as Cahir had been since Ciri–and then Geralt–had spared his life despite his connections to the Nilfgaardian Empire. Perhaps he had simply been feeling homesick as he sat in front of Regis’ mirror, invisible hands carefully trimming the are of his head where an axe nearly severed his scalp from his skull.

Even Dandelion had stopped by his room at some point, waxing poetic about the Duchess while Regis ran a brush through the musician’s long, blond curls. Their conversation drifted easily from topic to topic, spanning the arts and politics until undoubtedly returning to news about their company. Dandelion had always shown a near selfless interest in Geralt’s safety, that much was obvious to Regis, and only solidified that, despite appearances, the man was a genuinely good friend to have.

Then, his mind drifted to Angouleme. Perhaps the greatest tragedy of Stygga–he preferred to think of happier times, of happier memories, of the lopsided grins and loud laughter that she brought every day to the breakfast table while they wintered in Beauclair. And, of course, her endearing antics, which only increased in creativity when she realized that Regis had no reflection.

When he finally spoke aloud, his lips twist into a wistful smile. “Ah, that was quite funny, wasn’t it? That was the first time anyone–human, vampire, or otherwise–saw my lack of reflection as interesting, as something to be explored and, dare I say, something endearing about me. I enjoyed having dear Angouleme on my shoulders… even if she did kick me a few times by mistake during her theatrical performance.” Regis pauses, his hands reaching on reflex for the leather strap of his satchel that wasn’t there. Instead, his hands found purchase in the fabric of his jerkin, fingernails scraping harmlessly against the surface. “You know, I would do it all again. Even knowing what I do now, knowing how this all eventually ends, I wouldn’t trade my time with our little rag-tag group for the world.”

“Neither would I,” Geralt affirms, reaching over to squeeze Regis’ shoulder. The vampire was acutely aware of how his touch lingered there, the warmth and weight that radiated from the man’s simple comforting gesture.

The reflection in the mirror shows only the witcher, one hand stretched out into the dark, grasp loose and empty.

“It’s a bit strange, isn’t it?” Regis says. “It’s like I’m not even here. Without a reflection, it almost looks as if you’re talking to a ghost. It was difficult after Stygga to piece my body back together. Even with Dettlaff’s help… I was, well, I’m almost ashamed to admit it, but I was convinced for some time that I was truly dead. There was nothing left of me aside from my consciousness. And once I did grow strong enough to begin the arduous process of becoming flesh and blood again, I had no real memory of myself to work with. I could only build back my appearance based on how I’ve heard other people describe me, of how Dettlaff described me when I was naught but a bloody smear in a dish.”

“Well, I think you did a good job,” Geralt replies, watching his own reflection as he–almost as if driven by instinct, some vestigial trait from the few vampire genes that were added to his mutated genome–reached up to gently cup the right side of Regis’ face. He knew exactly where Regis was, knew him well enough to reach out while his gaze remained fixed on the mirror, as if he was actually there beside him in the glass. It was only when he spoke again that he met Regis’ eyes, voice barely above a rumble. “You look a bit older, a bit more world-weary, but I recognized you immediately.”

Regis immediately leaned into the touch. Here, in the privacy of the crypt, he allowed himself a brief respite. He had spent so long trying to hide parts of himself, to hide the parts of himself that had realized long ago that he had fallen for the witcher. But now, after all the weighty events they had lived through, Regis was tired–and this, the warm hand on his face, the feeling of a sword-callused thumb rubbing absentmindedly at the high point of his cheekbone… it threatened to undo him entirely. He knew Geralt would never so much as point his sword at him now, unable to even think about harming him despite his relative immortality–and yet, the steady, consistent thrum of affection he felt for the witcher? It sometimes felt like it was cutting him to pieces, reshaping him into something that would rather turn into a pillar of ash than never see Geralt again–but it also felt a lot like love. Adoration. A warmth in his chest at the sight of the white-haired witcher, gold eyes lidded in contentment whenever his gaze wandered over to Regis.

“It’s really a shame you can’t see yourself,” Geralt says, hand drifting into Regis’ hair, gently combing a few dark grey locks behind his ear. “But I can help… if you’d let me.”

Regis inhaled sharply, unable to do anything but give a shaky nod of his head, mind spinning. He feared what he might say, what tightly-held secrets he’d divulge for Geralt alone, his thoughts centering upon a simple mantra: I’m not alone in these feelings–I can’t be…

Geralt’s thumb traces the edge of the vampire’s brow almost reverently and Regis can’t help but shiver at the touch. “You’ve got dark, thick eyebrows mixed with a bit of grey and silver. It suits you. You didn’t always have as much grey in your hair as you do now… but I like it. Feels right, somehow.”

The witcher’s hand drifts to the corner of the vampire’s left eye, index finger curled underneath a few black lashes of his bottom eyelid. “Your eyes are dark–almost as black as your eyelashes. It isn’t easy to see the separation between your iris and pupil. It makes it difficult to tell what’s going on in that head of yours sometimes, but I like that. Sometimes it’s too easy to read people. Ah, and you’ve always had a very obvious set of crow’s feet in the corner of your eyes. It just means you’ve smiled plenty. That you’ve been happy, and that even subconsciously, you were aware of the happiness you felt, that you let it show on your face after regenerating.”

He continued, stepping away for only a moment, as if he were trying to put Regis’ entire visage to memory. As if this would be the only time he would get to see him like this again: unguarded, open, hopeful, a vulnerable side that clashed so obviously with his near immortality as a higher vampire. Geralt smiled, drawing closer yet again. “Hmm… your features all together make you look aristocratic. Like I’d see a painting of you in a castle. You’ve got an impressively crooked nose and a sharp jaw. Your cheekbones are high too and you’ve got a few wrinkles on your forehead that make you look distinguished. You’re stunning–you’ve always been stunning. ”

“Geralt…” Regis breathes, tone bordering desperation. “Please…”

Wordlessly, Geralt closed the gap between them with a kiss, hands cupping Regis’ face. The vampire encircled his arms around Geralt’s shoulders, closing his eyes as he felt the tension in his body disappear. There was only the touch of Geralt’s lips against his own, the warmth of his hands against his cheeks, and the heart-tugging realization that he was truly home. It didn’t matter where he was, so long as Geralt was with him. Because Geralt knew him, knew all of him–the dark, the ugly, the cowardly, the parts of himself that kept him teetering on the edge of relapse–and still loved him.

It had always been Geralt who saw him–the one person he trusted to be his mirror, to help him see the parts of himself that were worth loving. And it had made all the difference.

#geralt of rivia #emiel regis #geralt x regis #so sorry this took so long ;v; idk how but the drabble got away from me #love the idea of geralt being regis' own moral mirror so to speak #as well as just pointing out all the physical features he loves #anyway i'll probably edit this more later & upload it to ao3 when i get the chance!! hope y'all enjoy it~#[frantically cleans out drafts]

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