#don't worry Letho

[sunbentsky-archived]

He’s a 10 but fish fear him and women want him (sarah is the woman, she wants you letho)

SEND “THEY’RE A 10, BUT..” AND FILL IN THE REST TO CALL OUT MY MUSE!

"Wish fish wanted me instead. No disrespect to women, but they don't taste nearly as good in bouillabaisse."

[ohwhoopsok]

It's been two years since you posted the Birdsong series, and I think I've read it through 9 times since because I love it so much. Your writing is so lovely, and it reads so smoothly that I get captivated so easily. It's what I come back to when I get fandom fatigue, and every time, it's like a perfect embrace from an old friend.

My last read through I actually read the series description and saw you were thinking about what it would be like if Jaskier found a viper instead of the cats and I thought it would be an insanely different story.

I was just wondering if you ever thought more about it? Please don't think this is me getting on your case, I just remembered it and wanted to ask, sorry!

Hi, oh my goodness, you're so sweet! I'm glad you liked the series so much, I had a blast working on it and the response has blown me out of the water 😅💕

And no worries, I don't feel like you're getting on my case, but to answer your question in short: sorta?? 😂

The viper fic has like 4k words right now, but most of that is outline that hasn't been sorted into sense yet. So I can't make any promise on an end date if there will be one, but I did sort out Jask meeting Letho if you want a peek at the rough version of it:

A bard singing in the woods is nothing much worth paying attention to; he’s done it for years without interruption. So, he makes up a song on the fly—a very thinly veiled warning about conniving nobles and the traps they set for hissing creatures. It’s the best he can do.

Apparently, his best is good enough this time, because when he turns around to head back to his room for the night, he nearly smashes his nose into a witcher’s chest.

Barely managing to stifle the startled shout that starts to leap out of his throat, Jaskier finds his mouth hanging open as he cranes his neck back to look up, and up, and up into the slit amber shining down at him out of the face of a truly massive witcher. “Gods alive—”

“You’re not that lucky, kid,” the man replies like the base of a mountain decided to speak from his throat. “Take it you weren’t singing that for the gods, though.”

Jaskier continues gaping rather unattractively for a moment before he gets his mouth to cooperate with him. “I—Well, no, not unless you think particularly highly of yourself,” he replies, clutching his lute like it’d do him a damn bit of good in a fight. Besides the two swords on the witcher’s back, he’s got two truly intimidatingly large daggers on his torso, not even counting the ones Jaskier probably can’t see. “Hasn’t been my experience with witchers, but I’ve never met you…” he leaves the end of the sentence hanging hopefully.

The witcher’s expression is hard to catch in the shadowed moonlight, but he doesn’t appear to be interested in responding to Jaskier’s prompting. “You’re that bard.”

“Guilty as charged,” Jaskier replies with a slight bow, “unless I’m actually being charged with something, in which case, I’m an entirely different bard and I have no idea what you mean.”

[flatoutin-eaurouge]

My beloved tyhmä poika

Pairing: Mika Häkkinen x JJ Letho

This fic is for the beloved @kimizilla 🫶🫶. A redemption arc for JJ after my recent fic. I remember how we situated this prompt in 1989, so Michael wasn't really that much in the picture yet. Therefore no heartbroken Makkinen 😇.

It all happened way too fast to comprehend. Driving in fifth position and nearing the Bombhole corner, he saw a backmarker spin in front of him. A flash of blue, white and yellow coming to a halt only meters in front of his Dragon Motorsport car. He neared the solid object with staggering speed, and had to give a harsh tug at his steering wheel to prevent himself from crashing into it.

Turning his steering wheel like that - with this speed - was an unforgivable mistake in usual circumstances, but Mika knew he might have saved his own life and the life of the backmarker with the manoeuvre. Mika saw how quickly the tyre wall grew more prominent into his vision. He closed his eyes and braced for impact.

His ears were ringing, the faint sound of steam coming from the engine only slightly audible. He could feel the bruises forming along his chest and suspected that it was due to the safety belts that had kept him inside of the car during the crash. It took a couple of blinks to get rid of the blurs and make sense of where he was: Snetterton, August 6, 1989. He smelled the scent of petrol, and quickly unclasped the safety belts that still had him trapped in its bruising hold. Mika could feel his body drop a few centimeters down onto the tarmac, which meant the car had landed upside down. As soon as he had crawled from underneath the wreckage, he started to walk away from his car until the unsteadiness in his legs forced him to drop to his knees.

His limbs were trembling and his heart was racing. It didn't take long for marshals to appear around him, telling him he needed to see professor Sid Watkins. Mika shook his head. What did he need a doctor for?

"No, I am fine. I can walk so I am fine." The tremblings and his heavy breathing had everything to do with his state of shock, didn't it? There was nothing wrong with him. He wasn't hurt.

A marshall grabbed his shoulder. "Mika, see a doctor. You don't know if you're fine until the adrenaline has worn off."

Mika ignored him. He stood up and wandered off in a numbed, apathic state. Feelings and emotions shut off for the moment. He just wanted to reach his motorhome and lie down on his bed. He didn't need a doctor.

On his way to the paddock Mika tried to fend off worried members of his team. He himself had no idea how terrible the accident had looked from their point of view or how much debris had flown over the track. He didn't notice the tyres of the tyre wall strewn across the tarmac. He didn't even register the very obvious fact that the race was red-flagged, meaning that he kept the points for his fith position.

Somehow his efforts to dodge his worried team members were unsuccessful, because before he knew it, he was pushed into Sid Watkins office by his team principal. "Don't be stubborn, Mika."

Mika sat down on the examination table with his race suit unzipped to his waist as Watkins shone into his eyes with a flashlight, making his dilated pupils shrink the seize of thumbtacks.

"Everything seems to be okay. You haven't been unconscious, have you?"

Mika shook his head. "No." He was well aware that he'd crawled away from the wreckage in a matter of seconds. Pure driver instinct. Smelling fossil fuel and running away from it as far as you can.

"Alright." Watkins inspected the bruises on his chest. "Do you have trouble breathing? Did you hurt your ribs?"

Mika shook his head once more. "No, Sir. I am fine. Really."

"Okay, then. I am going to dismiss you, but if you find out about any ailments later, don't hesitate to contact me."

Mika rolled his eyes when the doctor turned around. Was all the fuzz really necessary? He zipped his racesuit back up and jumped off the examination table, ready to hole himself up inside his motorhome, far away from the British press and the nosy people.

On his way back, Mika noticed that there was indeed a lot of press gathered around parc fermé. Really? For a F3 race? He looked at the standings on the electronic board located at the pit exit and noticed Paul Stewart on P1. Of course the English press would love it when the son of Jackie Stewart gets his maiden F3-victory. Mika smiled despite everthing. Good for him.

Jyrki Järvilehto had been absolutely terrified when he saw the crash happen on the tv-screens in the paddock. Contrary to believe, the impeccable, unfazed Finn was shocked to the core. He had watched the car of his beloved catapult through the air by the sheer speed of his car and the heavy impact against the tyre wall. He needed to make sure Mika was ok, so he waited for him at his motorhome.

As soon as he saw his younger compatriot, he took a heavy breath. There he was! Seemingly alright! He ran towards his favourite blondie and pulled him into a tight hug. "Mika, kulta. Are you okay?"

Mika was startled by the swiftness in which the familiar blonde guy standing by the door of his motorhome turned up in front of him and pressed him so tightly against the other's body that he only barely refrained from whimpering against the pain it caused his bruised chest.

"Jyrki! Hi! Where did you come from?"

The older Finn caressed a hand through Mika's fluffy hair and pecked his lips. "I took a plane to England to see you drive. Can't believe you scared me like that though! Are you okay?"

Mika sighed. Why was everyone so worried all the time. Especially Jyrki, he wasn't the type of guy to worry. He is so tough! I can't show any weakness to him. "Yeah, I am fine even with the adrenaline worn off. Stop fuzzing!"

Jyrki ruffled Mika's hair and smirked at his adorable, grumpy face. "I don't know if I can, kultaseni." He stroked Mika's cheek with the back of his hand. "I saw the crash. You told me you're physically fine, how are you dealing with it mentally?"

"Not," Mika replied curtly.

"What? 'Not' what?"

"I am not dealing with it mentally, because I don't need to. I am not fazed by a crash like that. There is nothing wrong, Jyrki." His heart banged against his ribcage. He tried to calm it with slow and steady breaths. Anything to not show weakness to his tough compatriot.

"Okay. Fine." Jyrki didn't believe him. This would no doubt have an impact on the younger Finn. Mika couldn't be that stoic, could he? The aftermath of this crash would sent him spiralling soon. Jyrki himself had been there once. "And by the way, you need to call me JJ now."

Mika grinned. "Is that your street name?"

Jyrki slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "Tyhmä poika, Keke told me it's better for marketing. You know that, tease."

Mika chuckled. "Come on inside, Jykri."

Jyrki rolled his eyes as he followed the younger Finn into his motorhome. Upon arriving in the living space, he grabbed Mika by his hips and pressed him against a wall. He stared into the boy's sparkling blue eyes and kissed him on the lips with great vigor.

"My handsome kultaseni! I missed you so much."

His finger caressed the lips he just kissed and it downed on him that Mika could have died this late afternoon.

"I can't lose you! You know that?"

"What?"

Jyrki's arms wrapped around Mika's frame and he could feel the slight tremors running through his body. Was that the adrenaline finally wearing off? He grabbed a hand full of the sturdy material of Mika's racesuit and pressed him closer against his body.

When Jyrki let go off him and looked him up and down, he saw tears being held hostage in the corners of his eyes, he saw  lips pressed in a thin line, and he saw hands balled into fists. Mika was trying to force his emotions away.

"Ssshhh. Don't do that, Mika."

"Do what?"

"Don't try to act unfazed. Don't hide your fears and emotions for me. You can hide them from the people in the paddock, but not from me."

Mika glared daggers at him, his usual kind eyes glimmering with anger. The squint of his grumpy frown caused the tears he had held hostage to roll down his cheeks. Jyrki couldn't know he was secretly shocked by the crash. "What are you talking about?"

Jyrki swallowed. He felt bad for his beloved who tried so hard to uphold his impassive mask, but the stony facade of it had fractured on all its sides, and tears were leaking through its cracks.

"Don't be angry with me, Mika."

Mika's lips twisted into a pout as more tears flowed down his face, betraying how upset he was.

Jyrki's thumb tracked their damp trails. "I only mean well. All young drivers go through this." His fingers wrapped around Mika's trembling hands, blanketing them in warmth. "I have been there too."

Mika untwisted a hand from Jyki's grip and rubbed it over his chest with a pained frown. Why did his body hurt so much all of a sudden?

Jyrki followed the action with worried eyes. He grabbed Mika's hand. "Hey, are you hurt?"

Mika shook his head. "Not really. Only a little bit."

Jyrki didn't believe him at all. He had been lying before... His fingers let go off Mika's hand and went to the zipper of his racesuit. He swiftly unzipped the overalls down to his boyfriend's waist and rolled his fireproof up to his chest. He swallowed upon seeing the red and purple bruises blooming on his chest. His hand ghosted over the hurt skin.

"The safety belts?"

"Yes, but it's nothing." Mika pushed Jyrki's hands away. "Stop fuzzing!"

Jyrki halted Mika and grabbed his hands between his own. "No!" Jyrki said strictly as his voice bellowed through the trailer. "You are hurt and I need to take care of you!"

Mika took a step backwards. He knew the older Finn was very serious. His act of playing unfazed had failed. He had shown way too many emotions for a stoic Finn. Pathetic.

"Lie down on the bed." Jyrki's voice brooked no arguments or excuses.

Mika hesitated only for a second, before he walked to the bed and lay down on top of the blankets quietly.

Jyrki walked towards his beloved and stared at him in admiration. The moisture on his damp cheeks gleamed in the dim lights above his head, his teary-eyes shimmering in the same glow. His sweat-matted blonde hair was sticking in all kinds of directions. He was breathtakingly beautiful.

Jyrkie walked to the fridge and grabbed an icepack. He returned to the bed and pressed the pack against Mika's bare chest.

Mika hissed and shuddered as the cold icepack came in contact with his skin. "This makes it hurt more!" He fumbled with the icepack trying to get rid off it.

"No!" Jyrki lay down on top of him and forcefully pressed the icepack solid in position with his sternum. "Keep it there!"

Mika's cheeks turned a brilliant red, as he stared into Jyrki's beautiful ice-blue eyes. The icepack forgotten due to the heat that spread inside his body.

Jyrki caressed a rosy cheek of his boyfriend's precious face. "You're stubborn, tyhmä poika."

He leaned down and trailed a path of sloppy kisses down the younger Finn's neck, breathing in his scent. "You're my beloved tyhmä poika. Don't ever scare me like that again." His lips trailed further down, sucking a hickey on his collarbone.

When he felt the hickey forming on his skin, Mika's hands tugged at Jyrki's hair. "That will be another bruise, Jyrki!"

Jyrki stood up from the bed and smirked at his boyfriend. "Be glad I didn't suck it somewhere people can see." He stared at Mika and grinned some more. "You must be cold now."

He grabbed the blankets of the bed and started folding them around Mika like a burrito, trapping his arms in the blanket coccoon.

"Jyrki, what are you doing?" Mika giggled as the older Finn lay down on top of him and enveloped him in a solid, octopus-like hold.

Jyrki leaned down and pecked his nose. "Can I offer you some tea or hot chocolate?"

[major-trouble]

you said it. now do ittttt

Title: Only one top catboy!

Oh. Oh no. I hope this fulfills your wishes.

Only One Top Catboy!

The apron strings were digging into his waist. The skirt barely covered the tops of his thighs, but he’d insisted on wearing opaque leggings underneath so at least he wasn’t flashing anyone everytime he bent over.

He smirked. Not that anyone in the cafe would mind.

The owner had presented him with a pair of ridiculous, huge, fuzzy cat ears at the beginning of his shift. He’d baulked at first, but the softness of the fur brushing against the top of his bald head actually felt nice. Not that he’d tell anyone.

“Letho! Are you paying attention?” Aiden asked, setting the rest of the cups of tea and sandwiches on his tray and frowning up at him.

Letho considered for a moment before shaking his head. “Not really. You were complaining about your boyfriend’s girlfriend again and I tuned it out.”

He picked up the tray and headed back out into the cafe proper before the other man had a chance to formulate a reply. Carefully he maneuvered his way around the tables, smiling politely back at the regulars when they smiled at him. He placed the tray down on one of the round tables decked out in dark red fabric embroidered with tiny gold cats and let his face relax into a proper smile.

"Good afternoon Miss Priscilla, Miss Essi," he rumbled, setting the delicate teacups out in front of the two women. "I trust your day has been good so far?"

On his left, Priscilla laughed lightly. "It's warm and sunny, and we're finally done with uni for another year."

Essi grinned up at him. "Now that we're here it's even better."

It had been weird and not a little unnerving to have so much attention focused on him, but after six months he'd slowly gotten used to it. Now instead of being apprehensive everytime he walked in the front doors, he looked forward to it.

"I'm glad to hear it," he answered, stepping back slightly after removing the rest of the tea service and sandwiches and picking up his tray. "Is there anything else I can do to make your time at Coen's Cat Cafe more pleasant?"

Both women smiled at him, full unabashed smiles with not a hint of guile or fear.

"No no!" Essi replied. "Thank-you, Letho. You're such a gentleman."

Letho smiled back before turning and threading back between the tables, maybe wiggling his hips a little to make the tail attached to his waist twitch back and forth.

So of course he was a little jealous when Coen hired a new guy. Maybe. Just a little.

Gaetan was lithe where Letho was bulky, sleek where he was rippling, cunning where he was implacable.

Letho hated him.

"Why do you keep staring at him like you want to eat him, then?" Aiden drawled, pouring them both cups of tea after they'd finished cleaning up for the evening. It was a proprietary blend of black teas that Coen had gotten made especially for the cafe. Letho liked it because it tasted like a warm Autumn evening. Aiden liked it because the caffeine content was on par with an espresso.

"What? No I don't," he protested. Wrapping one massive hand around the steaming chipped mug, he inhaled the comforting aroma as his brows furrowed downwards, pulling at the scar between them. "He's a nuisance. He flirts too much. Talks too loud. It's like he's hiding something."

"Are you sure you don't want to eat him?" Aiden pressed. He raised one eyebrow in challenge before taking a sip of his too hot tea.

"Never even crossed my mind."

They were silent for several long minutes, each staring into their own mug before Aiden sighed.

"Are you worried he's going to take away your title of top cat boy?" he asked slyly.

Letho choked on his tea.

[essskel]

hi!!! if you don't mind me filling your inbox i want to talk about roche a lil bit because i have many thoughts about that one specific line in tw3 and i wanted to share it with you.

if you bring letho to kaer morhen and pick the third option roche will tell geralt this:

'You know what Geralt, I've done many things in my life I wish I hadn't, but I always respected those who I served always put my trust in them'

this makes me think that maybe he's not THAT bad! i saw a lot of your roche takes and while i agree with most of them i don't think that roche is an irredeemable monster who enjoys killing (he's for sure brutal) or he doesn't have regrets regarding his crimes. DON'T GET ME WRONG THO he's still a terrible bastard and his crimes can't be justified in absolute any way. i just don't think he's a lost cause and it's not so wrong to put a lil bit of fate in him. regardless of how he acted in tw2 (the man was going through an emotional rollercoaster and that might've changed him in a way).

also love your autistic roche hcs they're so real

Don’t mind at all!! And don’t worry I agree, I don’t think he’s irredeemable over all, he spends nearly all of tw3 making generally misguided but ultimately good willed decisions, and I’ve always found his relationship with Ves to be nothing but genuine and kind (even if their lives are fucked up and they have some issues with each other) Also this is the witcher … we’re hard pressed to find a protag that has not done something horrific lmao

However, I personally don’t think he’s anything but a villian from and Elven perspective - at least not with the canon material we’ve been given. He may ‘regret’ some of the things he did, but he never breaks that down further or offer any form of apology/aid to the Elven community as acknowledgment for his part in Temeria’s war crimes. On the Scoiatael, he just says he doesn’t care anymore. So this regret - what does it mean and does it even matter? But I also know that this is pretty much just because he’s a minor character and his scenes with Iorveth got cut from tw3 so … there’s not really anything to analyze either way.

That’s sort of the core of it. I see no canon reason that the Elves (Iorveth esp) would ever be comfortable around him, so it’s all up to fanon to fill in that gap. And tbh that is a massive gap that I didn’t think I was handling with the consideration it needs given the source material. Hope that makes sense ?? Thanks again !

[bryd-one-brere]

A Round Of Gwent by Agizir

[on-a-lucky-tide]

A prompt/ request? More fluff mixed smut with Eskel and the other three Vipers. It’s very sweet and your last fic with them was very wonderful.❤️

Now on AO3: A Viper’s Wolf

Letho finds Eskel beaten and broken on the side of the road. He won’t make it home in time for winter, so Letho takes him back to Gorthur Gvaed, the Bloodgate Keep, former home of the School of Viper. However will he repay their hospitality? 

Part 1 (of 2): Come South With Me

That horse looked familiar.

It was a huge, black stallion with all its tack and bags still in place but no rider within the vicinity. It walked listlessly through the fields surrounding the village, and every attempt to bring it in was rebuffed with gnashing teeth and kicking hooves. Letho watched it for some time from a distance, identifying familiar markers, before finally approaching with outstretched palms.

Scorpion looked at him in what could only be the equestrian equivalent of suspicion, leaned his head down and sniffed tentatively at Letho’s offered fingers. Acknowledged. “Where’s your master, pretty thing?” Letho asked quietly, gliding that same palm down the beast’s neck. He never bothered with horses; anything big enough to carry him was far too conspicuous to fit well with his current line of work, but Scorpion was a fine animal. Strong. Belligerent. But loyal.

The horse snuffled a bit more and then began to walk away towards the woods. When Letho stayed put, Scorpion paused and looked back at him, ears swivelling forwards. He moved a couple more paces, stopped, looked back. Follow me. So Letho did.

He found Eskel broken and half dead on the side of the road barely half a mile away. His body was obscured by some thick foliage and his trademark red gambeson was so heavily damaged that it couldn’t be seen from the path. Something had taken its pound of flesh - monster, human, it was hard to tell - and blood pooled beneath him, his breathing shallow.

He shouldn’t still be this far south. They were barely two miles outside Beauclair and the first snows were due in the north any day. There was no possibility that Eskel would reach the foot of the Blue Mountains and ascend the Witcher’s trail to Kaer Morhen before it was buried in several feet of snow and ice. Letho crouched down by his side, pleased when Eskel jolted in response; not all of his faculties had faded. “Got yourself into a bit of a mess here, wolf.”

“Mm,” Eskel opened his eyes and stared up at what must be a rough, hazy outline. “Letho?”

“One and the same,” the Viper responded, only for Eskel to fall unconscious seconds later. It was simple enough to pluck the wolf from the floor and drape him across the saddle of his loyal steed. Letho led Scorpion back towards the village by the reins, glancing back only occasionally to check that Eskel was still alive. 

Once they were safely sequestered away in an inn room, Letho stripped Eskel bare and tended to each of his wounds. A deep cut in his bicep, another across his chest - they were too clean, definitely steel - and some claw marks in his ribs. A hunt gone wrong then? A betrayal? Letho sewed him up, wrapped clean bandages around his arm and torso from his own kit, and then settled in to supervise. They were deep, and Eskel was probably exhausted. The last hunt of the season and it’d nearly killed him.

A few hours in Eskel stirred and accepted a sip of Swallow. He wasn’t strong enough to take an entire serving and Letho eased him back onto the poorly stuffed pillows once a few drops hit his tongue. His skin bleached ashen grey, dark veins appearing briefly up his neck, before his body worked through the toxicity to the helpful ingredients.

Morning crept up on them slowly. Letho spent the majority of the night in meditation, surfacing occasionally to check that Eskel was warm and alive. His skin had been the colour and temperature of marble in the woodlands, but now it was back to a shade close to its normal honey hue. The heat would return more slowly. When those amber eyes flickered open, squinting at the ceiling, Letho leaned forward and waited for his patient to surface properly.

Eskel growled in discomfort. “Where am I?”

“In a bed,” Letho answered unhelpfully, paying more attention to the minute facial twitches and the ripple of tense pain that passed down Eskel’s body. “Get on the wrong side of something with claws or shady morals?”

“Bit of both,” Eskel sat up slowly and felt the mattress dip as Letho sat on the edge, one thick arm sliding around his back. “Look, I’m fine, I - ahh.” He hissed as Letho pressed gently into his side.

“No, you ain’t,” the viper spoke softly and Eskel was surprised by the tender palm that brushed over his head, fingers nursing through the knots of his matted hair. “You’re miles from home, it’s nearly winter an’ you were about to bleed out on the side of a road.” 

“Anyone’d think you were worried about me, Letho,” Eskel grated, trying to wriggle out of Letho’s arms only to feel one of those big palms sweep around his side again. The pressure was more careful and the warmth bloomed through his chest. “Thank you… for not leaving me to die.”

“Never would, wolf,” he cupped Eskel’s jaw and tilted his head up, examining those soft eyes with interest. “You’re not goin’ to make it home in time.”

“No. I’ll have to bed down somewhere in Beauclair. Always a nobleman looking for an extra bodyguard against a vampire,” Eskel sighed.

“Nah, you’re comin’ with me,” Letho released his wolf and left the bed. “To Gorthur Gvaed.”

“To your - ?” Eskel looked up quickly. “Didn’t think there was anything left.”

“There weren’t,” Letho turned his back and began to root through his bags in search of more Swallow. In a few hours, Eskel would be strong enough to ride on Scorpion’s back with a few rest stops, but he looked about ready to fall unconscious again. “Me and the boys were, uh, inspired by what you’ve managed to make out of Kaer Morhen, so we went home and began tidyin’ up. It’s livable, and a damn sight more comfortable than slumming it in Beauclair.” He paused, and looked back at Eskel’s pensive expression. “Wolf, I’ve fucked you until you’ve cried, seen you high as a kite, you’ve sucked Auckes and Serrit dry, we’ve fought together, got drunk together. Don’t be developin’ debilitating clan loyalty now.”

“It’s not that - it’s - ,” Eskel sighed heavily through his nose and finally gave in to the dizziness throbbing in his head; if he’d been more with it he might have flushed at his list of exploits with the nest of vipers he’d somehow… befriended. “They’ll worry. It’ll be the first time in years that I haven’t been home.”

“Hm,” Letho rubbed the back of his shaven head. “They’ll live. You won’t though if you try to make the trip north. Sleep more, we’ll leave before sunset.”

As predicted, Eskel found the journey south taxing. Letho monitored his condition and pulled Scorpion to the side of the road whenever the wolf needed time on even ground to catch his breath. The injuries were healing slowly, Eskel’s body in desperate need of rest after a tough year on the Path and the toll of deep, grievous injuries. It took them a week to pass through Mag Turga, with its mountainous terrain, and Letho had never been more relieved to see the flat, green plains of Gheso stretching towards the horizon in the west and yielding to the Tir Tochair mountains in the east.

As he led Scorpion towards the beginnings of the mountain pass, the sun was rising above the snow-capped peaks and Eskel huffed. “Thought you said it was warmer down here during the winter.” His throat hoarse, his skin pale; Letho took a moment to judge whether they needed to stop before he answered.

“It is. Much. You’ll get a nice tan, don’t worry, wolf.”

The path up to Gorthur Gvaed was no less of a trial than the Killer. Eskel gazed down at sheer drops and up at jutting ledges, imagining a younger, smaller Letho throwing himself across the huge chasms as part of his training. Hm. Had Letho ever been smaller, or did they just carve him out of that rock over there? The delirium washed over Eskel and he slumped in Scorpion’s saddle…

***

“And we get to keep him for the whole winter?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t wait ‘til he’s healed.”

“Letho said he might say no.”

Eskel was warm. And comfortable. He recognised those voices, even if he didn’t recognise his surroundings.

“He won’t say no, has too much fun with us, and he loves cock. Loves it.”

A chuckle. “Yeah, and he’s so pretty on one.”

“So pretty.”

The wolf’s arms spread out slowly beneath the blankets - silk, linen - and pressed down into the plush mattress beneath him. Aching muscles relaxed again after a brief wave of uncertainty, and he took a deep breath of familiar scents; the Vipers - Auckes, Serrit, basically twins but for Serrit’s shaggy brown hair - with cloves, and cinnamon, freshly baked bread…

“He’s awake.”

“Yeah.”

Footsteps.

“Hey, puppy dog,” Serrit whispered as he shuffled on the edge of the bed. “You had us worried for a moment there. Open those pretty eyes, let’s see ‘em.” 

Eskel blinked. The room was dimly lit with candles and a large fire in the hearth. The ceiling was tall, vaulted; he could see wooden rafters draped with old tapestries. When he tilted his head, he saw a tall set of double doors leading out to a balcony, beyond that only a darkened horizon. The bed was huge. There were a few furs here and there, but the blankets were mostly silk, woven linen and a supple material he couldn’t identify. It felt gloriously soft against his skin, brushing over sensitive scars, the sensation muffled by the bandages wrapping his torso and arm. 

Naked. 

“Where’re my clothes?”

“Off for cleanin’,” Auckes offered, sitting down at Eskel’s other side. “You won’t be needing them this winter anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” Eskel croaked, head lolling to the side as Serrit swept a hand beneath the blankets and stroked across his upper chest.

“Yeah, you gotta’ repay our hospitality somehow,” Serrit murmured. “Don’t worry, puppy dog. We’ll take real good care of you… like always. Get some rest, and when you wake up next we’ll have some food ready.”

The two vipers wriggled beneath the blankets and bracketed him in. Dressed in loose fitting linen shirts and woollen breeches, Eskel could feel their warmth against him. Their hands wandered over his chest and stomach, fingers fluttering lightly over the bandages, caressed his thighs and petted his arms until he melted completely. He fell asleep half hard, exhaustion winning out over arousal. The last thing he saw before his eyes slid closed was a large outline walking through the heavy oak door at the far end of the room…

“You two can’t keep your hands off him, can you?” Letho smirked, placing his bowl of fruit and dried meats on the bedside table. It’d be there for when Eskel woke again.

Auckes nuzzled into Eskel’s hair. “We waited until he was awake.”

“And he looked cold and lonely,” Serrit sat up a little, just about restraining himself from grinding his swollen cock against Eskel’s muscular thigh. 

“This is the best solstice gift you’ve ever bought us,” Auckes closed his eyes with a yawn, arms coiled around their sleeping wolf. His brothers settled in around him, each dreaming of the moment Eskel was strong enough for them to break him apart in a very different way.

[jaskiersvalley]

I don't know where the Vesemir/Guxart ship came from, is it even a ship? But I'd love to see some content if it's up your alley. I just imagine a keep full of young witchers being a lot for Vesemir and I think he deserves someone to lean on like the others lean on each other.

It took me a little while to get to this and I apologise. But I now bring you some supportive wolf pups and kitten, giving Vesemir and Guxart the happily ever after they deserve. Also, Vesemir/Guxart - Vexart or Guxmir for a ship name? 

The suspicions started out quite early for Lambert. He’d known Aiden for a little while, they fucked before they even knew each other’s names. The acrobatic sex had settled down into something that was more than just burning off energy with someone who didn’t reek of disdain. Loathe the admit it, Lambert would almost call it domestic, as if that term could ever be applied to Witchers. It was small things first like when he got back from a dip in the river and Aiden fixed him with a stern look.

“Did you wash behind the ears?”

“Of course!” It was a lie but Lambert wasn’t going to admit it. “Why do you care? You’re not my mother.”

“Wolves never wash behind their ears,” Aiden replied. “Everyone knows that.”

Which was not quite true because when Lambert asked Coen that winter, he was told that nobody cared about the poor hygiene habits of Witchers as a whole, let alone be worried about different schools’ habits.

When Lambert met up with Aiden again, he told him exactly how full of shit he thought Aiden was. He didn’t expect to be met with an unimpressed stare and a list.

“Wolves don’t like spicy foods, Wolves need cuddles even if they pretend they don’t like them, Wolves are loyal to a fault.”

Sulking, Lambert crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t argue. He did however invited Aiden to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Purely so the others could marvel at the idiocy the Cat spouted. It didn’t quite work out that way. The old keep was already more full of life than it had been for decades. As well as the usual four Wolves there was now a Griffin, a bard, a child surprise, a sorceress and a Nilfgaardian insistent he wasn’t actually Nilfgaardian. Adding a Cat to the mix wasn’t even a blip in the norm. At least, not obviously, not until Lambert started paying attention. It was small things to start with.

“Aiden, I’ve set aside that bowl for you,” Vesemir had nodded at a full bowl as everyone got together for dinner.

Suspicious at first, Aiden sniffed the bowl then his eyes went wide. He didn’t say anything but devoured the food in record time and, when he thought no one was looking, even licked it clean. Half an hour later Lambert was whining up a storm and drinking copious amounts of water, cursing about burning lips. It seemed Vesemir had made an extra spicy bowl of stew just for Aiden.

It didn’t stop there. The hearth in the tallest tower was lit and kept warm. Not that anyone realised to start with but, when Lambert couldn’t find Aiden anywhere for an afternoon nap, it was Vesemir who pointed him in the tower’s direction. Sure enough, Aiden was lounging on the wide windowsill, looking rather pleased at being able to enjoy the afternoon’s sunshine up high.

Then Ciri’s training began to include playing around in the rafters. None of the Wolves were keen on the game but Aiden bundled in without hesitation. It was difficult to tell who was having more fun - him or Ciri. When Lambert asked Vesemir about it, he got a shrug, “I knew a Cat once.”

The mystery thickened and Lambert and Aiden spent hours up, discussing how Vesemir could know so much about Cats. And how Aiden knew so much about Wolves. Not even Letho seemed to know so much despite having travelled with Gaetan a fair amount. At least, he denied knowing such things when confronted in the summer. It had Aiden frowning in contemplation.

“I have an idea. Trust me?”

That winter Lambert brought yet another guest. Another Cat. Guxart seemed reluctant to join them but Aiden wheedled and pestered, eventually winning some complicated sword dancing game which secured his wishes and Guxart travelled to Kaer Morhen with them.

“I don’t know why you’d want me in the Wolves’ stronghold,” he grumbled. “Their pack is very tightknit. They won’t take kindly to an old Cat like me.”

How Guxart knew the Wolves had a tightknit pack was a mystery. Except it really wasn’t. Aiden knew Guxart was the one he learned all he could about Wolves and Vesemir knew a lot about Cats. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. They walked into Kaer Morhen, heads held high.

“New guest, everyone, this is Guxart,” Lambert announced. “Guxart, this is everyone, Mostly.”

A couple of people were missing but most nodded and waved at the newest wintering buddy. The general hubbub died down when there was a gasp from the doorway.

“Gux?” Vesemir’s eyes were wide wide.

Turning slowly, Guxart looked just as hopeful. “Miri?”

Off to the side, Eskel mouthed ‘Miri?’ at Lambert who shrugged. It was all redundant though when, in a blur, Guxart and Vesemir rushed to embrace each other. Vesemir lifted Guxart off the floor in a spin, a disbelieving laugh in his throat that sounded a little wet with tears.

“Please excuse us,” Vesemir said to the room at large, even if his eyes never strayed from Guxart. “We have a lot to catch up on.” Hands linked, he led Guxart out of the room, the Cat all too happy to follow, smiling all the way.

[bloededhoine]

witcher memes 14/∞

ID under the cut

[ID: alignment chart titled "how to deal with: lending money to a friend". the chart is divided into labeled multiple sections with the witcher characters. the first is "i insist to be repaid as soon as possible" and has vernon roche, dettlaff and letho. the second is "i don't need to be repaid, but they'll owe me one" and has ves, lambert, and thaler. the third is "i write up a contract, so there can't be any misunderstanding" and has annarietta and iorveth. the fourth is "i don't worry about it, debt is fine in true friendships" and has eskel, zoltan, and cerys. the fifth is "i don't need to be repaid, i like to help those in need" and has regis, dudu, and corinne. the sixth is "i will probably remember it the next time i'm broke" and has dandelion, keira, and hjalmar. the seventh is "eh... that's why i am almost low in money..." and has rita and elihal. the eight and final is "you call it 'lending money', i call it 'investment' ". end ID]

[sunbentsky-archived]

@refallens​ wished to be cursed

“Say, what d'ya do when you come across an elephant?”

[afterhoursfic]

I watched a trailer for sense8 and I don't think it's something for me. It kinda creeps me out. It your idea is chefs kiss.

So what if only witchers can have such a connection with another witcher. And Eskel and Geralt being connected with each other. Maybe Geralt willingly letting Eskel use his body to take Jaskier? And afterwards Geralt takes him with him as a gift for eskel? -🐭

Warning: Non con, dub con, manipulation

Dont worry I get that its not for everyone, but the possibilities with it are 👌

And yes Geralt letting all the other witchers use him to take advantage of Jaskier, maybe Lambert would just bend him over a fence in the edge of town and fuck him there where anyone could see. And Eskel will pull Jaskier onto his lap in a tavern and just slowly fuck hin there where anyone could see.

Maybe Letho even gets a turn and he's happy to press Jaskier against a wall, legs open and hooked on his arms as he fucks him.

Maybe Jaskier doesn't know and just think Geralt is a kinky fucker, or maybe he does know or figures it out when he goes to Kaer Morhen and he's known the wolves not even an hour before he's pulled onto Eskels lap and fucked in front of all of them. Maybe he resits and when he turbs to Gedalt who just shrugs because they've been fucking him this whole time, now they finally get a turn themselves so Jaskier should be happy.

Jaskier can't even escapes after Eskel is done with him, ass sire and cum dripping out of his hole before Lambert bends him over the table to take his own turn.

[eredins-a-king-aint-he]

Hi, I was just curious as to why you asked folks don't tag your Lethskel art with noodlepup? I'm new to fandom so don't understand and don't want to upset folks by accidentally using the wrong tag.

No worries anon!! This is gonna get a little wordy/ranty so I’m gonna pop it under a cut

So basically the reason why I dislike the name no//odlep//up is because I think it’s very woobifying. Eskel and Letho are two big, kinda scary, intense dudes and reducing them to noodle (because Letho is from the school of the viper, so snake) and pup (because Eskel is from the school of the wolf, so dog) just feels…. Icky.

I think a decent amount of my distaste for this is because I feel like I’ve seen a lot of woobifying happening to characters like these two, especially gay men? Like making gay pairs just uwu soft bois and kinda ignoring who the characters are and how they present… I feel like gay men are often woobified and made softer or cuter to be more consumable? Which isn’t just icky feeling, it’s kinda harmful and just not great in general.

I love Eskel and Letho as a pairing, and I think they’re a fantastic couple even though they’re big scary dudes, aka I think it’s nice to have representation of all types of gay love, even when the dudes aren’t flamboyant or feminine at all.

That all being said, people can do whatever they want here, I’m not trying to police anyone. I simply have requested that my own personal art/content not be tagged with certain things, like no//odlep//up. (I should probably make a carrd or something but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.) If someone tags my stuff in a way I don’t like, I may ask them to not do so, and if they’re a dick about it then I’ll just block and move on. I highly recommend curating one’s own internet experience in general, even if it means blocking because of simple stuff. It’s certainly made my tumblr usage much more fun and less irritating. (There’s absolutely aspects of the witcher fandom that I deeply dislike, so I try to distance myself from them as much as possible.)

When it comes to ship names, I personally prefer to tag stuff with name mashups, because then anyone has a fighting chance of guessing what the ship is, instead of it being something abstract so only the people who use it know what it is. But that’s just me🤷🏽

Thank you for asking though!! And welcome to the fandom!! It’s kinda a wild and crazy place, but there’s some fantastic creators here and some really lovely and fun people as well❤️

[sleepystarsiri]

Drabble for @thedwellertavern!!

A little fluff piece about my character Letho (AfterSwap Papyrus) and their OC Mati!

With mentions of Letho's brother, BlueBird (AfterSwap Sans), and Letho and Mati's four children; Draven, Malibu, Mako, and Levi (in order of age — youngest to oldest).

Art by them!!

—

Letho's heart beat rapidly, his fangs clicking as he stared at Mati.

His face was tinted a soft silver and a low purr escaped his throat.

She was stunning... So, so stunning...

He loved her with all his Soul...

Seeing her caring for their children just made him fall harder in love.

He could feel his eyelight turn into a heart, his purr continuing.

Mati was playing with Draven, Malibu, Mako, and Levi. She was keeping all of them busy, playing tag and catch and even using her Dweller form to gently toss them into the air and catch them.

She was having fun and so were the children.

Letho's Soul was melting, pounding hard in his chest.

Tears formed in his good socket before trickling down his cheek.

Draven noticed immediately and pointed it out to Mati with a worried, “Mommy, daddy's crying...”

Mati gently set the children down, shifting back to her normal form.

“Go play, I'll see why daddy's crying. Okay? Don't worry.”

Mati soothed before heading over to Letho as BlueBird took over occupying the children.

Mati stopped in front of Letho, who reached up to scrub at his tears, wrapping his other arm around her.

“What's wrong, my love?” Mati asked and he looked down at her.

“Nothin'... 'm jus'... So happy. I didn't, in m'wildest dreams, ever think I'd have a wife... Especially not one as beautiful as ya... An' I didn't think I'd get m'bro back... Or ever have kids...”

He gripped the hoodie above his Soul.

“It jus'... Makes me so happy, Mati... Gettin' ta see our children — MY children — play wit' their mama — MY WIFE... It jus'... It fills me wit' so much happiness... I jus' can't contain it...”

He scooped Mati up, giving her a soft kiss, pouring all of his love for her into it, even as more tears trickled down his cheek.

“I love ya so much, m'darlin'... M'sweet love... Love of m'life...”

He whispered against her lips, pulling away after a moment to set her down.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

I was wondering if you could do a poly relationship with Letho/Eskel/Gaetan? I don't think you have written that yet, (if you have please point me in that direction!) Maybe Eskel is Letho's winter lover and Gaetan his summer one. They know of each other and they are alright with it. Then one day in the spring they meet, just them, no Letho. They get to talking and begin to learn what Letho sees in the other. They don't have to sleep together, I leave that up to you. Thank you you are wonderful!

A/N: Eskel and Gaetan encounter each other on the Path when Gaetan is there to help Eskel repel an ambush. Gaetan, who has been missing Letho's company that season, invites himself to Corvo Bianco, only to have some quiet misgivings about intruding on Eskel and Letho's time together. He needn't have worried. Warnings: canon-typical violence and prejudice, hints of animal injury/death (brief, not explicit).

Eskel was being followed.

The contracts had dried up in Temeria and the entire region was becoming unstable as various nobles and vassals jostled for position under their new lieges; Eskel hoped to cross the Pontar to Redania and find some stability. He picked up his tail as he headed north out of Dorian. His companion was discreet. For the most part, they stayed downwind and stuck to the trees. When Eskel crossed open ground, his tail disappeared for a few miles only to reappear when the foliage became dense again. A good tracker who was able to remain mostly obscured from a witcher’s senses. Eskel hoped his fan was either scoia’tael or another witcher, because the alternatives were a bit more of a pain in the arse.

Whoever it was--whatever they were--they didn’t mean Eskel harm. There had been several opportunities to ambush Eskel on difficult ground and they had taken none of them. So, if they didn’t mean him harm, that left curiosity. The thought made Eskel touch the right side of his face, the rough hems of his gloves rasping over the raised scars. He pushed it down. If they didn’t reveal themselves by the time he reached the Pontar, he’d make camp and wait for them.

Despite Eskel’s best efforts to outrun political intrigue, keep his head down and his nose clean, sometimes the poisonous tendrils of the geopolitical climate managed to snag his proverbial ankle. He was passing through yet another path of woodland when his ears picked up the drumming of hooves on dry earth. It accompanied the jangle of mail against plate and the deep, guttural bark of a commander. Cavalry?

Eskel dropped from Scorpion’s back moments before the riders swarmed him like circling vultures. There were eight men in total. A small unit, perhaps the dregs of one that had fallen during a recent campaign. “Well, well, lads, what do we have here?” the commander drawled, lips twisted in disgust.

“S’a witcher, sa’,” replied one of his men as he primed a crossbow in Eskel’s direction.

“I’m Eskel of Kae--.”

“I don’t give a flyin’ fuck what your name is, witcher,” the commander snarled. “There’s a toll for passing through our land, and laws against huntin’ in the king’s forests.”

“The king’s forest laws only extend as far as Vizima. Witchers are protected by outlaw status.”

“Ah, ah, put your hands up!” the commander clicked his fingers and two more crossbows aligned with Eskel’s head. He relaxed the fingers that had been curling into axii as he spoke and the commander sneered. “I know all about your type of witchcraft. You bewitch us, I’ll see you swinging from a scaffold. Hands where I can see ‘em.”

Eskel lifted both hands from his sides, stilling them by his shoulders as the commander clicked his tongue. Too close to his swords and those trigger fingers would become a little unsteady. “Search his bags. Take anything of value.” As two of the soldiers dismounted and walked past him, Eskel took a moment to study his robbers. They were covered in thick cloaks despite the mildness of the weather, obscuring the white and red of their tunics and the black shield with its silver fleur-de-lys underneath. This was no sanctioned scouting mission. It was a highway robbery.

It was becoming more and more common. Without Foltest and an heir, the entire kingdom had fallen to ruin. The Temerians had borne the brunt of Nilgaardian savagery, with some of the bloodiest battles taking place inside their borders. It was said that the Temerians were still ferociously determined to seize and freedom, and that ‘in the shadows lurked not one dagger, but the power of a nation of daggers, waiting to deal justice's blow’. Well, the nation’s daggers were currently rooting through Eskel’s saddlebags, and they certainly weren’t going to find any fucking justice in there.

Eskel tilted his chin down, counting the bolt-heads pointed in his direction, calculating their angles. He was five miles from the White Bridge. When he broke these trees, he’d probably be able to see La Valette castle on the horizon. They’d take his coin, maybe some food; the potions were worthless to them, his weapons were all strapped to his body and not even he wanted to go near his spare underwear. Waiting it out was the safest option. They would take their winnings and leave…

The commander was clearly disappointed by Eskel’s lack of response. His head would have made a fantastic trophy to ride back to their outpost with. “That’s a mighty fine destrier for a mercenary. Where’d you steal him from?”

As if on cue, the two men at his back ran their hands down Scorpion’s neck and over his haunches. Eskel felt his hackles rise. “I got him through the law of surprise.”

“A surprise horse!” the commander barked, his men cackled on cue, but their leader’s fake mirth soon devolved into a distasteful snarl. Everyone knew what the usual reward from the law of surprise was, or at least thought they did. More often than not, Eskel ended up with a fat goose, a random item of furniture or a bag of turnips. “Bet you were disappointed, weren’t you? Hoping for a young boy to drag back to your keep. Heard you’re not makin’ any more of ‘em, witcher’s got no need for a servant, bed warmer then.”

Eskel’s teeth clenched to cracking pressure as his temper seared to the surface. His fingers coiled to his palm. He was clearly more tired than he thought because the next words that slipped out were read straight out of Lambert’s handbook. “Why’d I need another? Got your mother for that.”

There were a few surprised guffaws from the men around and the commander’s face reddened. Eskel had a handful of seconds to savour his moment of triumph before dealing with the repercussions, and his dour grimace turned into a wry smirk. It added a little fuel to the fire and the Temerian commander served his intended revenge with his next order. “Beast’s tainted by its history. Hamstring it, take everything.”

The next set of dominos all tumbled at once. Or so it felt to Eskel, who reached immediately for the hilt at his shoulder. An arrow whistled from the canopies and cut through the throat of the nearest man who had managed to draw a knife from his belt. The soldier fell with a startled gurgle, closely followed by the second. Scorpion shook his head, stamped at the dusty ground unhappily and backtracked.

Eskel’s sword rang against the locket of its scabbard as he turned his back to the bodies, prepared for this new threat. He needn’t have worried. His once-stalker-turned-saviour sprang from a nearby tree with a shrill, chirping battle cry that marked him as scoia’tael. Except he wasn’t a Squirrel. The two swords on his back and the flash of yellow eyes marked him as a witcher.

The witcher landed on the rump of the nearest horse and hooked the wooden limb of his bow around the throat of its rider, drawing back and twisting harshly to snap his neck as the horse reared. Cavalry fought best on horseback, but trapped in the trees they were at a disadvantage. Eskel curled his left hand and threw an aard that knocked one more rider from their mount, sending horse and soldier careening into nearby tree trunks with sickening cracks.

It was simple enough to dispatch the others. With four down, the remaining soldiers abandoned their horses and drew shortswords from their belts. Eskel ducked the first swing and shoved the man’s elbow to send him off balance, before slicing through his side on his way past to his second assailant. The whole battle lasted no more than a handful of seconds after the initial strike and the commander turned his horse to flee. Eskel snatched a crossbow from the floor, rammed the bolt home and lined it up. He was no Griffin, but the bolt hit true, slicing through the back of the Temerian’s neck. For a fleeting moment, he remembered cold afternoons spent in an empty hall shooting apples from the heads of overstuffed target dummies at a good friend’s side.

“Why would I need another?” said an amused voice through panting breaths. “Got your mother for that. Fucking. Savage bastard.”

Eskel dropped the crossbow and plucked his sword from the floor, he spun it over his hand as he turned to face the witcher that had intervened on his behalf. “If I were honest, it’s probably more likely than not at this point,” Eskel said, his expression deadpan despite the wide-eyed delight of the man opposite. “Don’t think we’ve met.”

“Oh, we haven’t,” the witcher dropped his gaze to the bodies on the floor. The spare horses were milling around listlessly amongst the trees, awaiting guidance from their dead masters. “But you know who I am. We have a mutual friend with an outrageously huge benefit.”

Eskel squinted and then raised an eyebrow. The right side of his face hadn’t quite repaired to the point he could muster full surprise, so a disapproving frown was all most people could hope for. “You’re Gaetan.”

Gaetan spread his hands with a cocky tilt of the chin as if to present himself for appraisal. Eskel looked away, eyeing the bodies littering the ground around them. Bodies dressed in Temerian livery. He slid his sword away and reached for the hunting knife strapped to his thigh.

Everything needed to be burned; the graveirs were particularly brutal around here and Eskel couldn’t risk hanging around in hopes that a contract might appear to get rid of them. Vesemir had taught him many lessons over the years and he’d taken them to heart sporadically, but one that had always stuck fast was to put as many miles between your arse and a fuck up of your own making as possible. The rule applied to everything from accidentally cuckolded husbands to murder.

“What? Nothing to say? I’ve been dying to meet you. Letho’s currently Lethoing where I can’t follow, and I heard the locals muttering about a scarred witcher dealing with their haunting, and--you’re not listening, are you?”

Eskel looked up from where he was busy rifling through a soldier’s pockets. The weapons were in poor order, their clothes wouldn’t fit him - two were just as emaciated as some of the villagers he had passed on his way north. He braced his elbow on his knee, twiddling the hunting knife through his fingers. “Thank you for your help. I can take it from here. You should head south.”

Gaetan opened his mouth to protest but stopped short at Eskel’s pointed look to the northwest. Velen. “You know about that, huh?”

Eskel nudged at his scars with the hilt of his blade and then wiped the smear of blood away with the back of his hands. “Look, s’nothin’ personal. We all make mistakes, but being caught near a second Temerian bloodbath isn’t gonna do you any favours, is it?”

“Be quicker if we work together,” Gaetan said, arms folded across his gambeson. There was blood-streaked up his arms to the folded sleeves of his shirt. Eskel was surprised there weren’t more armless cats.

Eskel stared at Gaetan and Gaetan gazed back with hopeful eyes. There was something else afoot here. There was no reason to follow Eskel’s trail for miles, to step in to save his stupid arse, which meant Gaetan wanted something. Eskel could feel another string attaching itself to his relationship with Letho and he made a mental note to sever it as soon as he could. “Fine. Get the tack off the horses. Let me check it over before we destroy it.”

They worked methodically, dragging the bodies up into a heat pile with dried leaves, twigs and any other debris they could use to light the fire. As soon as they set the fire high enough they’d have to make tracks swiftly north; the black smoke would attract attention for miles. Human attention was better than necrophage attention. Eskel got himself a new cloak, a handful of orens and a spare hunting knife for his troubles, before abandoning the corpses, including one unfortunate horse, and setting the whole thing alight.

Gaetan had kept a horse for himself and they left the woodlands at a canter. Even if the entire copse caught fire, it wouldn’t really matter. The bodies would be destroyed and the local graveirs without a reason to track so close to a public highway.

They didn’t stop riding until they crossed the White Bridge into Redania. As La Valette castle faded on the horizon, Eskel felt the tension drain from his shoulders and called a halt a few miles out from Rinde. He needed a break from humans - from civilisation - for one night. Gaetan was a quiet companion, but Eskel knew he was being watched closely. Once they were both chewing on tack, a fire crackling quietly between them, Eskel finally broke the ice. “What do you want from me, Gaetan?”

Gaetan chewed over his mouthful like a cow working over cud, swallowing only to heave a sigh through his nose. “I miss Letho. Summer’s our time and I haven’t seen him much. He’s been busy.”

“You’re skirting around the question.”

Gaetan huffed. “I thought we could… get to know each other, and maybe I could come and stay at Kaer Morhen, or at the, um, the place down south? What’s it called? Gwyn Cerbin.”

“Corvo Bianco.”

“Well, yeah, if you want to use the colonist’s name for it, sure, go ahead.”

Eskel raised an eyebrow and snapped off another piece of hardtack. “Why don’t you ask Letho whether you can come?”

Gaetan blinked at him as if Eskel had proposed they share a bedroll that very evening. “Geralt not still a bit sore about the whole… tournament thing? I wasn’t there, you know. Guxart made me stay behind, and…”

“Geralt’s mellowed with age.” Eskel threw his remaining biscuit on the fire - it was stale, tasteless - and leaned back against the saddle behind him. “At this point, it’s easier for him to hold onto the good things he has than all the good things he lost.”

“Huh.” Gaetan folded his arms and slouched back too; the Temerian saddle behind him was a little less sturdy and he’d padded it out with saddlebags.

“What?”

“I was struggling to figure out what he might see in you. Traditionalist wolf, sooner roll over for some Temerian thugs than fight, rod shoved so far up your backside I could probably stick you on a rotisserie, but… I think I can see it now.”

“And what’s that?”

“Let me come to Corvo Bianco and I’ll tell you.”

For the hundredth time since Gaetan had been in his presence, Eskel touched his scars. He didn’t want to look too closely at what was triggering the response and instead hummed. “Fine. As my guest, then.”

“Ah-ha! I’ll tell you when I’ve got the first goblet of wine in my hand.”

Eskel rolled his eyes. Cats, paranoid fuckers.

***

They agreed to meet again at the turn of the eighth Savaed in Brugge. Gaetan proved to be good company on the walk south. Even though autumn was drawing on, it was still swelteringly hot in the Niflgaardian provinces, and Eskel spent most of their journey in just his shirt, slacks and riding boots. Gaetan struggled to keep his eyes off the line of Eskel’s collar bone and the curve of his chest when the ties fell open, and Eskel found himself considering the dynamic that might play out that winter.

Toussaint’s rolling hills and patchwork fields of vineyard and wheat sprawled out before them and Eskel felt better the closer he got to home. He had never been the type to attach to a place; witchers were transient by nature and even Geralt left his vineyard for a few months every year to roam the wilds. No, Eskel attached to people. Home was Geralt, Lambert, Ciri, the far too proper Barnabas-Basil and, in recent years, Letho too. He glanced down at Gaetan as Corvo Bianco’s tiled roofs appeared before them. Could he make a little room for one more?

Geralt was there to greet him, grasping his forearm and hauling him forward so their foreheads pressed together. “Good to see you, Wolf.”

“Likewise,” Geralt said, his eyes closing briefly as he grounded himself in the pleasure of having Eskel at his side again. The sound of shuffling feet drew his attention away and he squinted at Scorpion or, more precisely, the anxious pair of yellow eyes watching him over Scorpion’s saddle. Geralt’s lips pursed and he looked to Eskel for an explanation.

“I invited Gaetan to winter with us,” Eskel explained evenly, searching Geralt’s face for the honesty of the response that came next. He had been sure that Geralt would take it in his stride; he had let go of the pain of losing Gweld a long time ago. But then Eskel had been sure of a lot of things when it came to Geralt in the past and felt the sting of his errors of judgement come back to whip him.

“I’ll get the good wine out then,” Geralt said dryly.

Eskel feigned shock to cover his relief. “I thought you always got the good wine out for me.”

“No, you and Lambert get the cheap shit.”

Eskel slung his arm around Geralt’s shoulders with a deep, booming laugh and they headed into the courtyard. That night, Geralt invited Gaetan to his table and they drank together as if Gaetan had always been there. They laughed and caroused long into the early hours. Barnabas appeared as the crickets worked in the long grass of the fields beyond and their laughter subsided into sleepy contemplation.

“Will Master Gaetan be needing his own quarters, sir?” asked Barnabas, hands tucked behind his bed. Eskel took a moment to school his face so his amusement didn’t show. Barnabas was always very polite, but what he was really asking was easily translated: will sir be shagging Gaetan tonight or is sir awaiting Letho’s arrival for that?

“He can bunk with me, Barnie,” Eskel slurred, shaking his empty bottle of Chateau Dadam Reserve with a disappointed frown. “Well’s dry. Gonna take a leak.”

Geralt snorted awake where he’d drifted off in a snooze. “No goats, Eskel. No… no goats.”

“Fuck off, Geralt… it was… was one time.”

“He likes… horns, you know,” Geralt chuckled, shoving Gaetan in the arm to share the joke, before promptly falling asleep again. Gaetan was left wondering whether Eskel had indeed fucked a goat or perhaps pissed on one, but by the time Eskel got back, he was too tired and too drunk to ask.

Barnabas placed a blanket over Geralt before heading to bed. Eskel and Gaetan passed out on top of the blankets in one of the guest rooms.

***

Gaetan enjoyed watching the workers from the barn roof. They were like tiny field mice amongst the vines. He would be very much lying if he denied enjoying the sight of Eskel working in the fields too; he had to hold his jaw closed when the big wolf took his shirt off and revealed far too much bronze skin. Apparently, winter wasn’t so much a time for rest as a matter of swapping a sword for a rake and a pair of shears.

Harvest was in full swing and Gaetan didn’t want to get in the way, but the more he watched Eskel unwind from the weight of the Path, the more attracted he became. It had been passing fancy at first: if Letho liked Eskel, then so should Gaetan. It was only right. But now Gaetan wanted to fall asleep on that softening belly or that full chest, with those strong hands stroking down his neck and back. But then he remembered Letho and reasoned that he might want to do the same, and Gaetan really shouldn’t be greedy, so...

One afternoon, Eskel called him down to the barn full of huge vats, they spent a fun hour jumping around inside and Gaetan delighted at the cold fruit mulch working its way between his toes. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, they climbed out and Eskel knelt down at Gaetan’s feet with a towel. He was far gentler than he needed to be, holding Gaetan’s ankle while he wiped away the traces of grape mulch. “Might be red for a little while,” he said. “Can ask Marlene to heat some water later.”

“Eskel, uh… if I get in the way this winter, you can just… I can sleep in a separate room.”

Eskel looked up, but Gaetan noticed how his thumb circled thoughtfully over the ankle in his grasp. “How do you figure you’ll be in the way?”

“It’s… uh, look, stop that, for a moment,” Gaetan pulled his foot free and placed it down on the cool stone floor, “I’m used to taking what I want. It’s the only way I’ve ever had anything, you know? And I wanted to spend time with Letho, so I took it. From you… I took your time, and I took Letho’s time… with you. And that… I don’t wanna do that.”

Eskel’s head tilted and he picked up Gaetan’s other foot. “You’re not taking my time, Gaetan,” he said quietly, “I’m sharing it with you. And there’s plenty of him to go around, right?”

Gaetan understood the meaning of the words under the humour and smirked right back. “Sure is.”

They headed into the main house to freshen up, leaving wine prints on Barnabas’ meticulously clean floors. He cleaned and then gave up when Geralt stumbled in with riding boots caked in river mud, reeking of fish. The master hunter had caught them supper, it seemed. Marlene was delighted.

***

Although Eskel took pains to reassure Gaetan more, even in the middle of the night when he woke to find Gaetan staring at the ceiling with his hands folded on his chest, Gaetan’s fears didn’t fully dissipate until the man himself finally arrived.

Letho had never been one for horses. The beast big enough to carry him for any length of time needed far too much food and maintenance to sustain it. Instead, he carried a pack over one shoulder and his sword belts over the others, his double fangs crossed over his front for easy access. The giant viper crowded the entire doorway as he stepped inside and Barnabas always felt a slight flutter of trepidation as he stepped up to take his bags. The majordomo was too young to remember Gorthur Gvaed in its prime, but its spectre still haunted the stories of the local population and the exploits of its most famous son filled their history books.

“Eskel here yet?” Letho asked, plucking open the catch of his cloak so that Barnabas could hang it by the door.

“Sure am,” Eskel appeared in a doorway to Letho’s left, shoulder propped against the frame. “Brought a guest too.”

Gaetan peered around Eskel’s arm and then shuffled through the doorway sideways to stand in the hall. He bounced on the balls of his feet, fingers flexing against his palms. “Looking good, scales,” he said, hopefully. It was almost a question, seeking some reassurance that he hadn’t broken the longstanding official-unofficial arrangement.

He needn’t have worried, Letho opened his arms with a wry smirk. “Must be my lucky day.”

Gaetan cleared the distance in three bounds and launched himself into Letho’s embrace. The viper cradled him effortlessly in one arm, and Gaetan nuzzled manically at the stubbled line of Letho’s jaw as he walked over to take Eskel’s chin. “This your idea?” the viper drawled.

“No, his.” Eskel tilted his head into Letho’s fingers and accepted the light kiss pressed to his bottom lip. “He missed you. You were slacking this year by his account.”

“Mhm,” Letho tugged Gaetan away far enough to make eye contact. “That true?”

Gaetan pressed his lips together, glanced at Eskel and then huffed a sigh. “Yeah, I… uh, yeah.”

“Suppose I’ve got some making up to do then.” Letho slid his arm around Eskel’s waist and pulled him into the embrace. They stood together in relative silence, Letho breathing in their scents with slow, deep draws until he had enough to see him through a bath. Afterwards, they curled up together beneath the soft linens of their bed and Eskel watched both Gaetan and Letho fall asleep, the smaller cat curled up on the viper’s broad chest.

Eskel’s own head rested on Letho’s bicep, one big palm splayed on his lower back, and Eskel’s last thought before he fell asleep caused a faint, wry smile. Perhaps an additional string attached wouldn’t be too much of a hardship.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

For the Emhyr and Letho picture. Don't worry. My mind went to the exact same place. So, just know you are not alone. I have been so good on the amount of rare pairs to obsess over. Then bam! I saw this. I am in hell. Le sigh...

Oh good! I'm glad I wasn't the only one. Our Letho thirst knows no bounds and we own it. The art was gorgeous!

And there can never be too many rarepairs. They're so interesting; all the different dynamics and the conflict.