#geralt is a Good Dad

[aramblingjay]

#that's her dad

[fluffyapathybunny]

*sobbing in the corner*

[youaremysunshine-court]

The saddest thing is the witcher could have portrayed healthy found familial relationship in a non-traditional way, but they went and forced yennefer into the role of mother, geralt into the role of father, completely did away with jaskier, and didn't even bother to consider that every single witcher in Kaer Morhen could be considered ciris father, but no, there's a husband and a wife and a child and that's all there is to it

[hanzajesthanza]

this looks like a long time but initially it said 1 MONTH 15 days

[winters-mistress]

Raindrops and Roses

"Here, girl." Vesemir says, placing a wooden plate upon Ciri's lap. The dog in her lap shifts, hid weight a conofrting presence. Icy blue eyes snap in Vesemir's direction, and Thunder growls at him. He's a breeding stud, and one of Ciri's favourite dogs that are here in the Keep. Hunting dogs, they tell her, a soft of wolf shepheard cross, but all Ciri sees are enormous fluffy beasts who she adores. He'd been napping on her ever since she'd returned from lunch, and she had been comforted by the weight and the warmth of the fluffy black and white dog.

The girl looks up from her camp of an old mage's settee settled by the fire, piled with blankets and furs and pillows, her skin pale as she looks up at the oldest witcher.

He reminds her of Eist, warm and strong and commanding and reliable, although Eist definitely wasn't as prickly as the old witcher was. The Skelligan jarl never handed out chores or lashes or scoldings in the way Vesemir did, but her beloved grandfather never lectured Mouseack or Calanthe the way he did Geralt, Lambert and Eskel when he felt they were treating her unfairly or too harshly. It wasn't often, and the quiet talking to's during pillowtalk the Skelligan had with Calanthe never produced the same results as the venomous lectures or whip lashes that the eldest witcher gave out to his pups.

Both men are strong and wise and raggedy and trustworthy and loyal, and Cirilla's heart aches with how much she misses him. The way he would tuck her into bed and curl around her when she had a nightmare, dump blankets upon her little head or rub his knuckles against her temple, tell her stories of his homeland and sneak her cookies and tartlets after one of the nannies had sent her to bed without supper when she had snuck out to play knucklebones or throw rocks in ponds. She misses him horribly, but there is an echo of him in the old wolf that tells her that he will be just as instrumental in healing her hurting heart as much as his pups would.

Geralt is her echo of Calanthe, strong and brave and wicked with a sword. Parental and forceful, antagonistic with her when she needs it just as much as they were gentle when the times for love came. Protectors in their own rights, a strong pillar coming in quick after grief.

Eskel is her echo of Mouseack. Magical and eerie, spiritual and gentle with a gruff exterior. Mouseack's imposing height and large beard spooked off as many people as Eskel's bulk and scars, thick, large hands that are scarred and powerful are the same ones that brush her hair back and wrap bleeding cuts and kiss her hair and light up her room with beautiful images when her ghosts threaten to tear her apart.

She cannot pinpoint who Lambert stands in as just yet. Perhaps a mix of Eist and Lazlo? Eist, who would teach her all the dirty tricks of knucklebones and rook and all the drunk card games, and Lambert, who tells her each and every dirty trick he has with a blade and at the card table as he taught her gwent. Lazlo, who would keep her in line when she would run off with her group of little companions scolds her just as much as Lambert does when she edges too close to poison ivy in the woods or in the caves below Kaer Morhen when the two of them go fishing one afternoon. He is rough and gruff, but he sits outside her room whenever she's woken up from a nightmare, gives her an extra slice of bread and slips her a couple sips of Rivian cherry liqueur whenever Geralt wasn't looking as the witchers hit the bottle.

She loves them all, as gruff and snappy and imposing and scarred as they all are.

Ciri comes back to earth and looks down at the plate Vesemir places in her lap. She doesn't understand why he's feeding her at first, they've had lunch two hours ago. Thick slices of chicken with warm bread and green wild vegetables, as well as some lovely strong and hard cheese and a couple berries Eskel hadn't useful for the pies the day before.

She still thinks about that hunk of cheese and bread, slick from the freshly churned butter that melted into the thick slices. Her mouth waters at the thought.

It's honeycomb. She realises, looking down at the plate. Two large and uneven hunks of the stuff, dripping and slick with honey, and four cookies with dollops of strawberry jam in the middle. The dog snuffles, uninterested at the food, and closes his eyes again.

Her eyes widen at the treats, and she looks up at the old wolf.

"Uh-" he scratches at the back of his neck, an uncharacteristic show of nerves. "I know our tonics and herbs fucked up your-" he points at her stomach underneath the dog and the blankets, and she wishes she hadn't. She'd forgotten about the pain for a few minutes, warm from the dog, while her back was similarly heated from hot waterskin Eskel had gotten for her that morning when she'd woken up in a panic, her sheets slick with blood and horrible cramping in her abdomen.

The witchers ran in, swords at the ready, one after another, and she couldn't find the words to stop their fears, blinded by tears and shaking with the pain.

She remembers when Triss was here and she'd gotten her cycle, when it came to light that the tonics they had her on were fucking her up good and proper. Her bones refusing to heal right, blood thinner than it should have been, the nausea and the headaches and the vivid nightmares and the aches and pains all coming to light, as well as the lumps Triss had found inside her after an examination.

They'd wear off in time, and she had thrown all the bottles of tonic and tea leaves in the fire after slapping them all silly. Verbally and physically.

She'd left for now, promising to come back at the end of spring with word of Ciri's pursuers, and warned all the witchers to never, ever, ever give any type of supplements to the girl again, otherwise she'd rip their balls off and shove them down their throats.

It's only been a month, Ciri supposed, Triss said it would take a while for the cysts to heal. She'd done all she could, made sure they wouldn't rupture, but she was no surgeon who could ease them out, and all they could do was wait for them to come out on their own.

But good gods, this is horrific.

"-the breadseed poppy's milk'll help the pain. But I thought these would make you feel better, try and make the next couple days a bit more bearable." He looks so earnest that it makes Ciri's heart heart a bit.

They hadn't meant to hurt her, hadn't realised the effects the supplements were happening. All they saw was her endurance and muscles were improving, and they all felt awful when Triss beat them all to Ciri's shaking doorframe as the girl screamed in pain.

Kaer Morhen should never hear a child scream like that again, not when it's seen so many.

They'd all apologised, seeming to be beating themselves up and be in worse shape than Cirilla herself had been. Lambert drunk himself into a stupor, Eskel had run -just like those first couple weeks when he couldn't separate the two granddaughter's of Kaer Morhen from each other- and Geralt had gone to slay one of the beasts in the caves wearing too few armour. And Vesemir had slapped them all and brought them to the girl so they could apologise and promise never to do it again.

All the pups think that suffering barters suffering, it seems.

"Thank you." She whispers, touched. These remind her of the honey cookies and strawberry tarts of her childhood, and her heart hurts with the memory and aches with the love she feels. "I-thank you."

Vesemir gruffs and pets her hair like he would the dog upon her legs.

"Eat up, girl. Need all the strength you can get right now. Then take a rest, 'll get Eskel to drop off one of those books you like whenever he and wolf get back from their hunting trip. Lamb's experimenting with some powder he found, so don't be surprised if the keep goes to shit and I have to dig the whip out again."

Ciri giggles, and Vesemir cracks a smile.

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

***

“Well, I can see how I would be seen as the paternal figure inside the Fellowship, as Gandalf is not much of a father figure.” Aragorn mused. “However…”

“Oh, sir.” Crowley groaned dramatically. “Accept that the four little ones are your children! I’ve had to accept that the Antichrist is mine for some reason.”

“Gentlemen.” The therapist called. “It’s fine. As you all became dads by accident…”

“I still don’t agree with that.” Obi-Wan grumbled. “Anakin is a pain in my ass, but I refuse to be saddled with that much responsibility over him,”

“He did say you’re the closest thing he’s had to a father.” Aragorn pointed out.

“Not by choice!”

“Just accept it.” Geralt growled. “Honestly, it becomes so much easier after you do.”

“You say that because you have the cutest princess ever.” Obi-Wan threw at him.

[lesbianholyspirit]

I’m gonna just pretend that Geralt from the witcher 3 is my dad from now on.

[jay-arts-t]

Geralt probably cried the first time Ciri called him dad

Ciri: hey Dad can I go down to the creek with Lambert and engage in childlike tomfoolery

Geralt: yeah that's fine just be careful to not split your head open. I know you like Lambert but you don't want to end up like Lambert

Ciri: fair enough, thanks!

Geralt: dinners in an hour by the way!

Ciri: okay Dad!

*two minutes later*

Geralt: oh my gods she called me Dad

Vesemir: you just realized that?

Geralt: *already tearing ups* y yeah

Vesemir: she called you it twice

Geralt: OH MY GODS SHE CALLED ME DAD TWICE IM THE HAPPIEST FATHER ALIVE

Vesemir: Bud, that's like the bare minimum to fatherhood-

Geralt: ITS NOT FOR PEOPLE LIKE US. I HAVE TO TELL EVERYONE I KNOW. THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

[retrocatastrophy]

I've seen the Witcher memes so I jumped on the wagon as well lol

[vulpinesaint]

so glad to see my little geralt of rivia post getting notes. i am the world's most average witcher lore understander (two seasons of the netflix show and three of the books and a bunch of time spent gleaning real lore from what people use in fanfiction) but i Do consider myself more correct than most people when it comes to understanding geralt of rivia. this is because i want to put him in a centrifuge and spin him around and my judgement is therefore unclouded by things like liking him as a character

[spellwing777]

I suggest a random prompt generator if you're bored. Especially when it gives you cute ones like this.

[bomberqueen17]

[image descriptions: a set of four animated gifs from the Witcher 3 game, showing an event related to the quest Where The Cat And Wolf Play. A little girl says “Mommy always said if someone’s nice, ya gotta thank ‘em,” and hands Geralt something. The second gif shows Geralt’s face as he reacts to this with mild surprise. The third gif shows his hand as he looks at what she has just handed him. It is a piece of paper with a crude ink drawing of the little girl holding hands with Geralt, who is depicted with his prominent facial scar, two swords on his back, and his medallion. The fourth gif has a caption to the side saying “New Item Received: Thank You Card”, and shows Geralt’s head and shoulders as he puts the card in his pocket and says, smiling, “If only more people believed that.”]

[insomniaticvoids]

Also on a random note Geralt of Rivia would in fact be a great isekai protag cause he'd just make it work. Be very exasperated the whole time and mutter 5000 fucks but he would somehow fix everything wrong.

Or absolutely destroy the system.

Find another ciri moment and accidently adopt a squad of kids cause let's admit it he has a soft spot he refuses to acknowledge and I push the dad Geralt agenda in the he tries way but can not do emotions for shit way but he's there for you way.

[hanzajesthanza]

the short stories are actually really provocative and profound, heartrending and disturbing and thought-provoking and funny all at the same time and in such a short amount of space.

but i feel like when n*tflix touched them, they were the first victim of a withering away and soul sapping for me, in which i couldn't bear to be around the kinds of discussions and jokes and everything which were coming up at that time as fundamental misunderstandings of them so it just became very painful and very banal because they were all, in essence, forgotten.

however, that damage is not irreversable.

particularly in the case of a good adaptation, the musical, i have begun to remember all of why i love the short stories so much, just how good and painful to my heart they are, as well as thinking more deeply about some aspects which i had not previously considered or paid a lot of attention to (in lieu of other things which excited me more).

i think the biggest strength of a "good" adaptation and a "good" fandom is that they make you realize things you hadn't, interested in parts that weren't your 'favorite,' and generally expanding your mind and love of the source material. in contrast, a "bad" adaptation or "bad" fandom is that which makes you wish to forget and eventually end up forgetting your love and leaving it behind yourself. "good" is to remember, "bad" is to forget.

[winters-mistress]

The wolf pups

Of all the things Cirilla expected to find when Geralt had taken her to his mysterious Keep, the dogs were the things she hadn't expected. The horses were obvious, pigs and sheep and cows, all livestock equally as expected. Housemice and cats, less so until she saw how dusty and dirty the Keep had become. But dogs? That had been the unexpected one.

They're somewhere between wolves and shepherds. Too big and fluffy to be just shepherds, but too obedient and faithful to be pureblood wolves. But they're beautiful and such a pro to the cold, windy keep that Cirilla couldn't help but squeak in excitement as she looked upon them all for the first time.

They're beautiful creatures, white, black, red and grey. Some are pure colour, some a mix of two, three or all four colours. Beautiful and fluffy and large, a mix of brood studs and breeding bitches, old dogs and young pups all together in the largest room behind the kitchens, warm even in the coldest winter weeks.

Geralt had told her that they're for hunting. Vesemir says they make good company in the months he doesn't stray far from the keep. Eskel says they make good friends with the sheep, give them good exercise so they don't get too fat to breed. Lambert says they're annoying, slobbery mutts who get in the way. Coën finds them charming beasts, often grinning whenever one of the dogs come close. Aiden took a bit longer to get used to them, and rather stays with the cats who find unusual places to sleep, but even he has been caught rubbing their fur and squishing their faces.

Ciri loves them, spending a lot of time with the bigger beasts who are permitted to roam the large keep, and the smaller pups who are confined to the room. They're so soft and fluffy and make perfect makeshift blankets when she lay at the fireplace and two large bodies splay over her, keeping her warm and weighing her down, keeping her in reality when the nightmares disturb her slumber.

Geralt finds her one day, giggling with the pups as they wrestle and climb all over her, running her fingers over the soft fur and kissing their gentle snouts. He grins as she laughs, a little tounge licking at her face. She deserves something nice after so many hardships.

He puts the shovel down. The stables can wait.

[madamebaggio]

Notes: I guess I’m out of control with the support groups.

***

“Welcome to our support group, ‘Exhausted Accidental Dads’. We’re happy to have you here.”

“I am sorry, but…” Aragorn looked around. “I am not a father. I do not know what I’m doing here.”

Crowley arched an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you polite? But the lad has a point.” He turned to the therapist. “I’m not a dad either.”

“No, you are.” The therapist insisted. “An accidental one.”

“How does one become a father by accident?” Aragorn frowned.

Crowley turned back to him. “Well, that’s actually very common.”

“Not that type of ‘accidental’! The therapist hurried to say. “I mean accidental as ‘I don’t know how I became the father figure of this child that is certainly not mine’.”

Geralt grunted. “I know how I became a father.” He grumbled. “I got a surprise child at this party, after a fight.”

Aragorn turned to him. “What?”

“Wait.” Obi-Wan cut them. “Are you saying that Anakin is my child?”

“Yes.” The therapist confirmed.

“Well, I’m certainly exhausted because of him.”

“Who’s my child?” Crowley wanted to know.

“And mine?” Aragorn pressed.

“We have a lot of talking ahead of us…”