#its going to be like ‘then geralt did some witchering’ and i’m going to be bored but i dont care.

[hanzajesthanza]

the new witcher novel is going to be mid as fuck. and you know what. i’m so ready for it

[witchthewriter]

𝐆𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!   

a/n: I watched the new season of The Witcher and somehow Geralt got even hotter??? Anyway, he has dilf energy and I'm in love

Warnings: family abuse, curse previously put on reader

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ        

・He had saved you, and yet, your family still did not want you.

・Geralt found out that it was your own father who cursed you

・A noble family that saw you as less than. And they banished you from their land, not wanting you anywhere near them.

・And when Geralt spoke on your behalf, asking what you were supposed to do, your father shrugged his shoulders and ignored the Witcher.

"You won't even keep y/n on as ... as anything?" The Witcher was disgusted when your father kept on ignoring him. It got to the point where Geralt threw a golden plate just above your father's head and his attention snapped to the white-haired man.

"I could have your head for that." Your father's voice was cold, it was always cold.

"And I could have yours," snarled Geralt, whose eyes were ablaze. But he knew he couldn't do anything about your family. Only about you.

・So, Geralt couldn't leave you to fend for yourself. And he didn't.

・Besides, you had no idea how to look after yourself. You had been a monster, trapped inside a form that was not yours for 7 years

・You were filthy, tired, and utterly defenseless.

・And even though Witcher's weren't known for their grace nor kindness, Geralt was different.

・He took you with him, damning your family for casting you out. Promising that you would rise above what they had done to you.

・But for now, he had to clean you up and ... catch you up on life.

- ✦ -

・Geralt sat you in front of him, Roach slightly grumpy with the extra weight. But once you reached Geralt's destination, he rewarded the steed with extra food

"Thank you, old friend," he whispered into the horses' ear.

・Helping you inside, he had arranged a room that had a bathing chamber

・The water ran hot as Geralt added in oils and different kinds of herbs

・It was an odd situation, yes, helping a stranger clean themselves.

・But Geralt couldn't live with the knowledge of you being left on your own. The possibility of so much danger. Of being taken advantage of.

・Helping you undress was slightly embarrassing, for the both of you. Your body was still getting used to its original form. Your balance was off, and your posture wasn’t very good. Geralt had to keep on correcting it.

・Easing you into the bath, he grabbed a cloth and started gently rubbing the grime from your body. The dirt, sweat and mud that caked your body

・Even when you transformed back into your normal form, the dirt still remained, as did the torn clothes that you had worn before being cursed into a great beast

・Speaking was difficult as well, but it was becoming easier with time. Even though not much had passed.

・The bath was the best thing you had felt in 7 whole goddamn years.

・Hot; like it was ridding you of all the hurt that built over time

・You swished your fingers through the water, delighting in the ripples they made. Such a small happiness. Yet you found glee in small things now. Grateful for a second chance.

・Geralt kept on scrubbing at your skin, using a bristled brush on some areas, careful not to be too rough or stay in one spot for too long

・Next he used this delicious smelling soap. Your knowledge of herbs was next to nothing, due to a lack in education, but you thought it smelt homely, earthly and calming. Lathering it in his hands and massaging it onto your own, you both worked the soap into different areas of your skin

“I’m going to wash your hair now,” he said. Voice soft yet still rough, like he wasn’t used to being kind to others. If that were true, you wondered why he was doing this for you.

“But first we need to brush it,” his eyes squinted at the tangled mess but started on it nonetheless.

・It hurt at first, but you knew Geralt was being as gentle as he could be, but there were so many knots.

“What do you think about cutting it?” You shook your head. Your hair was one of the only things that made you feel … beautiful.

“Ugh, fine. But this is going to take a while.”

・You shrugged your shoulders and happily kept on sitting in the tub, taking over some of the scrubbing, especially your feet, which felt so sensitive.

・Once they were large and clawed, now … they were human

・Your eyes stilled as the water reflected the glow of the candles around the room

・And you sighed. Not in sadness, or pain, or grief. But with the knowledge that you no longer had to be someone that you were not. Whether that was a beast or playing a role in your family that you didn’t want to have to play.

“You alright?” Geralt had made significant process, practically finished with your hair. And he grabbed a bucket and told you to lean back as he poured the water onto your hair.

・Geralt grabbed a different kind of soap and placed it in your hair, massaging and rubbing it, making sure there wasn’t a spot unwashed.

・You weren’t used to the sensation and let out a laugh. It tickled a tiny bit, especially when he rubbed behind your ears

・Unbeknownst to you, Geralt was slightly smiling. He enjoyed seeing you experience some happiness.

・After he had washed your hair a total of three times, he stood back satisfied with your appearance and held out a towel for you to wrap yourself in.

・Helping you out of the bath, he set down a pair of clean clothes on your bed and said he would be back in a few minutes.

・He wanted to give your privacy, while also wanting to check on Roach.

・The clothes were a big pair of brown pants and a long white shirt. They were a fresh pair from the Innkeeper's husband, who had recently passed away. Geralt had paid extra for them.

・After twenty minutes, Geralt came back into the room to find you asleep on the floor. The usual place you slept.

・A place you had slept for 7 years.

・7 years without a bed. Without a blanket or pillows. Nor were you given any sort of comfort.

・A rage so hot spread through Geralt that it practically radiated off of him.

・In that moment he swore you would have a better life, the best he could find … or give you.

[renren-006]

Heyo! How are you? I was wondering if I could put in a request for a Geralt x fem reader one shot?

Reader is injured in some sort of way but tries to hide it from Geralt coz she doesn’t want to worry him but he obviously finds out?

I’m bad at descriptions😪

Please and thank you xx

Wounds and Kisses | Geralt x fem Reader

a/n: hello! thank you for the request and i hope you like it!

fluff and angst

word count: 966

You tagged Geralt along on another one of his quests. You had before, and Jaskier seemed to think it was an excellent idea to have another person join them. So it was you and Geralt on Roach and Jaskier on his own horse, Fawn, playing tunes on his instruments. You were not a Witcher, but you did have basic abilities passed down from your mother, who was a half-elf and half-sorcerer, making you a mixed-blooded woman. Your abilities revolved around the elements, like your mother and her mother before her. You were trained by her before she died and before you had met Geralt.

He was adamant about letting you on quests; he wouldn't tell you why, but you knew the brooding man had some form of feeling towards you. The two of you never discussed it, but there was always something between them. You had slept together, kissed in halls, and spent the nights together, but no relationship was formed, and no words of love were ever spoken. You wished he would; you wished he would just tell you he loved you so you may finally not have to steal glances at the man without him knowing. 

The beast was something of a bigger size than either you or Geralt had previously thought it would be. Jaskier was back at the tavern drinking away and singing about adventures, while the two of you were stuck dealing with a beast that continuously terrorized this poor town. You didn't expect it to also be so difficult to defeat but its hard armor made things worse. It also made things worse when the beast tail slammed into you sending you flying to the ground. Geralt was too busy with a second beast that charged that he had no idea you had been flung by the beast. You stumbled back over to the fight, trying not to clutch your side. Your powers roared in you as you launched yourself on top of the beast, shoving your sword in any place between the armor before finding its weak spot. You shoved your sword deep into the spot by its neck in between the brakes in its armor, it wailed loudly before it fell. You stumbled off the beast intime to see Geralt doing the same with the second beast. Once you stumbled out of the muddy water onto land your side erupted in pain, you bit back a cry as you got onto Jeskier horse, Fawn, and rode back alongside Geralt who was far ahead of you and determined to finish the job fully and get home. You didn't dare touch your side or grimace about it, not wanting the boys to know you got hurt. 

You sat by Jaskier who held his nose by the stink of the beast coming off you. 

“Damn Y/N you stink” he said “Oh and Geralt smells worse…both of you go take a bath!”

“Were fine Jaskier” Geralt said, not wanting to jump to the bath and instead started drinking whatever it was he bought.

“Ill go” you said. As you stood a flash of pain crossed your face, making Geralt straighten. You stumbled your way to the room finding that someone had already filled the bin with hot bath water. As you undressed you didn't hear the door open or the heavy footsteps of Geralt entering.��

“Y/N” he said, standing still at the sight of the entirely too large gash and hole in your side. The beast tail had been spiked and its tail punctured your side while also slashing the entire length of your stomach. The blood and ooze that gushed from you seemed like it didn't matter under the eyesight of Geralt who stumbled over to you. “Why didn't you say anything?” he asked you. His voice was…soft. 

“I didn't want to worry you” you told him. You clutched the bin, your vision blurring as Geralt caught you, finished undressing you and got you into the hot water. You screamed a bit from the feeling of the hot water in your wound. Geralt held you, sliding in after undressing himself and holding you close to him.

“I want you to tell me when you're hurt. It means nothing against your skills when you are” he told you, making you feel worse about not mentioning it.

“I'm sorry,” you told him. 

“No apologies. Just heal” he told you, knowing that with concentration and his strength behind you, using the water and your magic can help heal the deep wound on you. The water swirled slightly as you used the magic in you to heal what you could. The deep gash slowly faded to a large gash, and the scratches along your stomach turned to scabs and then to scars. Your body had enough scars that you hated the sight of them but your magic only worked so far.

“I'm sure Yennefer would be happy to show you how to heal scars” He told you, pulling you even closer to him. “I know we never talked about what is between us…”

“I love you” you spoke faster than he could finish his thought. 

“I love you too y/n…if you had let me finish” he said, causing you to laugh. 

“Sorry, just wanted to say it before I couldn't” you told him looking at his face. 

“I should have told you sooner. I took advantage of your feelings before mine came around..”

“I know, but i never told you to stop” you said, “I just wanted all your love not just parts”

“Now you have it all” he told you, “so no more hiding your wounds” 

“Promise,” you said, kissing his cheek before falling back and laying on him.

[companionjones]

Un/Wanted

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix)

Summary: After Geralt and you spend a night together, you’re left with many welcomed reminders about the night before. However, Geralt has an adverse reaction to them...

Warnings: Many references to smut

*******

    When you woke up, you were facing the edge of the bed. That was not the direction you preferred in that moment, obviously. You moved to turn your head, only to find that there was a dull pain when you did so. You smiled to yourself, looking at the ceiling.

    Turning your head all the way, you were surprised and alarmed to find the other half of the bed empty.

    You moved to sit up, and let out an audible pained groan. From where the soreness was coming from, there was no mistaking that it was another result from the night before. You smiled to yourself again, biting your lip. You didn’t mind the pain at all. You checked your arms and the rest of your body. You were littered with bruises in the shape of fingertips, and a few looked like bite marks. You smiled again. When Geralt agrees to something, he sure does commit to it.

    Getting out of bed, out the door to your room, and down the steps to the inn took some effort. You could barely walk, and had to use the walls and railing for support. It seemed you got downstairs at just the right time; however. You spotted Geralt paying the innkeeper and turning toward the exit of the establishment.

    Oh no he didn’t.

    Straightening yourself up and supporting your own weight, you called out with all the seriousness your could muster, “Geralt of Rivia.”

    That got his attention.

    Probably out of sheer surprise that you were already awake, he turned to you, “...Y/n?”

    You didn’t miss his eyes worriedly working over you, or the hesitation in his voice.

    “Just what do you think you are doing?” You squinted at him.

    The confrontation had drawn the eyes of the innkeeper and some of the passersby of the inn, and something about it all made the Witcher nervous.

    “Come with me to the tavern,” he urged, marching up to you and carefully ushering you toward the connected eatery and bar.

    You took one sore step and hesitated.

    Geralt noticed right away. He took your hand in his, put his other hand on the small of your back, and slowly walked with you to the connected tavern. As he did so, you thought you heard him mumble something like “I’m sorry.”

    It was the breakfast rush and there were plenty of others to strengthen the voice of the room, but you and Geralt were able to find a table. He helped you sit before his large frame found a seat of its own in the chair next to yours.

    Because of the loudness of the room, you didn’t keep your voice down when you harshly questioned, “Were you about to leave me?”

    He didn’t look like he knew what to respond with when a server came over to take your order.

    You weren’t in the mood for anything, and you couldn’t imagine Geralt would’ve been either, but you both asked for some breakfast.

    Geralt didn’t have anything to hide behind once the server left. “Yes, I was leaving you,” he sighed, defeated.

    “Why?”

    He didn’t immediately respond to that either, and you were getting impatient. “Why, Geralt? Dammit, I thought I finally got through to you, and you were going to leave me like I was someone you paid for--?”

    “Look what I did to you!” Geralt’s eyes flashed over your body. “You can barely walk, and you look as if you’ve been through an animal attack. I’ve certainly never done this to a person I’ve paid for.” He leaned back in his chair.

    You took a moment to think, but his words only made you giggle. “Well, at least I now know what we have is different from them.”

    “Now is not the time for jokes.”

    “I’m serious!” You cocked your head at him. “Sweetheart, do you think I would’ve let you do these things to me if I didn’t want them?”

    Geralt looked at you from the corner of his eye. “Do you think you could’ve stopped me if I really wanted it?”

    Ignoring the fact that you knew in your heart of hearts that Geralt of Rivia would never do something like that, you instead opted to say, “Geralt, I would’ve said stop.”

    He didn’t react to that.

    “Think about it. Was there any point last night that I said the word ‘stop’ without the words ‘don’t’ or ‘never’ said in front of it? The answer is no. Which is another word I didn’t say last night.”

    He still didn’t say anything, but he looked at you.

    “Baby, there is not a single thing you did to me last night that I didn’t want done to me. I was with you every step of the way.”

    He swallowed, “Are you sure?”

    “I’m sure.”

    “And you promise to tell me if I ever take it too far?”

    “I promise.” You leaned forward to capture his lips with yours.

    Geralt relaxed and leaned back in his chair, and you followed him, ending up in his lap. You put your hands on his shoulders, and Geralt’s hands were on your waist.

    When you parted, you spotted a few people trying to hide their stares at your display of affection. “Let’s take this upstairs,” you prompted. “I may not be ready for the next round yet, but I do want you to hold me while I get a few more hours of sleep.”

    Probably to avoid more of your pain and trick the patrons into think you two were going upstairs to do something else, Geralt carefully picked you up. “Whatever you say, princess.”

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[irrlicht-writes]

forget-me-not

And you’ll strew some sage and lilies And roses where I rot Of all the flowers you picked I knew you would forget forget-me-nots

~*~

Sometimes, Jaskier stares into nothing.

Over the years, Geralt watches him and he doesn’t understand. He never asks, because Jaskier is simple. But sometimes, Jaskier stares and Geralt wonders what he’s seeing.

“Geralt,” the bard asks one day, mindlessly strumming his lute, “have you ever seen one of the fair folk?”

“No,” Geralt replies, “at least not to my knowledge. They are tricky creatures; you’d best to stay away from them. Why do you ask? Writing a song about them?”

“No,” the bard replies, “I was just wondering. Is there a way to tell if you meet them?”

“Do you think you met one?”

Jaskier blinks up at him, his lute forgotten in his arms. Geralt’s rarely seen Jaskier so unfocused and it worries him a little. Is the bard catching sick? He’s usually incredibly hardy. Jaskier looks to the side, away from Geralt, into the forest around them. He doesn’t answer.

Geralt listens. He can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, just the normal sound of the woods. Somewhere there is a nest of Nekkers, and Geralt hopes it’ll be a contract in the next village.

Jaskier tears himself away from the forest and starts moving again.

“I’m just wondering,” he whispers, almost to himself and Geralt isn’t sure whether or not he was supposed to hear that.

The bard plays a soft melody but he doesn’t sing. He doesn’t look behind him and Geralt worries he might just disappear completely. Slowly, Roach starts moving, following the bard’s lead.

The day had been normal before, but now, now it feels eerie. It feels like someone else is watching. However, when he looks around, Geralt cannot see anyone beyond the trees.

In the tavern, the bard returns to normal, all talk of fair folk forgotten. Geralt breathes a sigh of relief, almost audibly. Jaskier is weird, when he isn’t his usual, chatty self. The bard performs songs for the crowd, securing them a room and a hearty meal for the evening. Tomorrow, Geralt will look for the alderman about the Nekker nest. Today, he will drink the bad ale in the tavern and watch Jaskier perform.

The Witcher isn’t sure why, but he’s hesitant to leave. This time, this feels precious, like he wants to remember this. When Jaskier spots him at the table in the crowd, he smiles. Geralt feels like he has to treasure it.

And it scares him.

Jaskier is humming.

“Sing the song to me?”

“No, I can’t.”

Jaskier is humming.

“Your bard is floating.”

“I told you not to hex him.”

Yennefer scoffs. “Oh, I’d wish. But look.”

Geralt looks.

Jaskier sits at the campfire Geralt made and Yennefer is right; he’s floating. He’s humming the same tune he had been humming a few days ago, with a faraway look in his eyes. By all rights, he should hear them, but he doesn’t react. Quietly, he is humming, staring into nothing.

“I’m worried. He’s been – off, for a while now. When I leave him for winter – I don’t –“

“You want me to watch over him? That’s not going to happen, Geralt, I’m not your dog.”

Geralt sighs. He hadn’t meant that. He is simply worried. Summer is nearing its end, and he cannot take the bard with him to the Keep. Not only because of his brothers and Vesemir, but also because Jaskier would be so terribly bored after a week.

Jaskier stops humming and looks up. He doesn’t look at them, yet he seems to listen to something nonetheless.

“Jaskier?” Geralt calls out to him but the bard doesn’t react. His eyes are transfixed above the flame, staring into the trees again. He moves his lips, but no sound comes out.

“Bardling?”

Jaskier turns his head toward them and still, he can’t fix his eyes on them.

“Geralt,” he whispers, “what does the fair folk look like?”

Geralt gets up immediately. “Where did you see them?”

Jaskier shakes his head.

“I can’t,” he whispers desperately, “I can’t. I’m scared.”

He resumes his humming, louder this time, with utter despair laced into it.

Geralt scans the treeline, but he finds nothing.

“Geralt,” Yennefer says.

Geralt turns and he sees the witch holding the bard’s hand.

“Your bard is floating.”

And Geralt can see him float away, even though Yennefer tries so hard.

*

Jaskier picks flowers in a field.

Geralt and Yennefer are standing a distance away, Roach sticking close to the bard. She seems to be picking flowers for her mane for the man to braid into it.

The wind is soft today, and there’s no cloud in the sky.

Jaskier is slipping through Geralt’s hands and he doesn’t know what to do. Whatever fair folk Jaskier might be seeing, Geralt can never find them.

That evening, Geralt doesn’t complain when Jaskier braids his hair full of flowers. The bard laughs and behind them, the flowers are softly waving.

In Geralt’s hair, there are forget-me-nots.

“Promise me, Geralt,” Jaskier says one day.

“Hm?”

They are lying on the earth, looking up into the starry night sky above them.

“Forget me not, when I’m gone?”

“I’m not letting you go.”

Jaskier laughs, a melody on the wind.

“Darling, I’m already on the path.”

~*~

On this day, it rains.

When Geralt turns, the path behind him is empty.

*

Years, and years later, when Geralt is older than he ever thought he would be, he finds himself at the coast.

He remembers a bard, young and yearning.

We could head to the coast, eh?

They could have.

The horse under him is Roach, but she doesn’t remember a bard. And yet, Geralt catches her watch the woods sometimes, like she’s looking for something.

Geralt is watching too. He’s never found the fair folk, never found the path the bard had taken.

He thinks about leaving. He thinks about dying.

He’d die in battle is what he always thought. But now, fights are his no longer.

The waves in the distance are soothing and Geralt closes his eyes.

If he forgets he’s at the coast, the waves sound much like humming from so long ago.

I can hear the cannons calling As though across a dream And I can smell the smoke of hell In every stitch and seam And like flowers, the bodies tumble Around this muddied lot I cannot hear them scream "Forget me not"

On this day, it doesn’t rain.

When Geralt turns, there is someone behind him on the path.

[dotlookstired]

It’s kinda cringe as fuck, but I made a multi chapter Witcher fanfic. Lots of cute Lambert/Aiden.

Winter was always a tough time in the keep. The howling winds, negative temperatures, and chest-high snowdrifts weren’t the worst of it—no, it was the lack of non-destructive and harmless outlets for everyone to focus their energy on. With nothing to hunt, no contracts to fulfill, and no outside work to be done due to the snowstorms, the inhabitants of the keep turned a bit crazy. Boredom had brought out their “creativity” in the most spectacular and worst ways.

“Lambert, if you blow up the lab one more time, I’m throwing you out into the snow without boots,” Vesemir growled, his voice echoing down the frigid halls.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, old man,” Lambert shot back, though his mischievous smirk said otherwise. He leaned casually against a wall, tossing a small vial of something volatile-looking between his hands.

Lambert had been an absolute menace, teasing and bothering just about everyone in the keep and blowing things up with his experiments in the lab. He’d been intentionally prickly to everyone except for his boyfriend, Aiden, but even he wasn’t exempt—Lambert had unintentionally gotten on his nerves as well.

Speaking of Lambert’s boyfriend, behind him—or more like above him—was the stir-crazy Cat Witcher who had miraculously survived an assassination attempt by his brothers a year earlier, escaping with only a missing eye and a damaged eardrum. He sat on one of the running support beams for the roof, occasionally flipping down to the floor and then back up again. If Lambert’s shenanigans weren’t enough, Aiden’s “zoomies,” as Lambert had explained it, and his insistence on climbing everything in sight only added to Vesemir’s growing headache. At least he was cleaning the rafters as he went—Vesemir had reluctantly handed him a duster after the third time he’d climbed to the highest point in the keep without going outside to “stretch.”

Geralt, meanwhile, had come down with some seasonal depression and had isolated himself from the rest of the keep. He only emerged to train Ciri briefly before retreating once again. Yennefer, frustrated with Geralt’s reclusiveness, had spent the past week bossing everyone else around and had gotten into a spat with pretty much everyone in the keep, even Ciri—but she especially had it out for Lambert and Dandelion. One morning while she was bathing, Lambert, having had enough of her, seized the opportunity while her guard was down and threw a snowball at her. That had led to a shouting match that still echoed in Vesemir’s ears.

Eskel wasn’t much better. Because his brothers had been caught up in other things and didn’t feel like interacting with him very much, he’d been very clingy and had not let Vesemir have a single moment to himself—until Vesemir had assigned him to look after an orphaned baby goat after its mother died. The sight of the hulking Witcher cradling the tiny creature like a newborn had at first been endearing. But now he had become obsessed with the goat and was treating it as if it were his actual son. Vesemir’s patience was tested when he heard Eskel softly cooing, “Shhh, darling, it’s just a storm,” to the goat in his room one night during a particularly bad blizzard.

Dandelion had gotten severe writer’s block for writing anything decent and had started composing roast ballads in which he mocked whoever had gotten on his nerves that day (almost always Yennefer).

Coën was in the infirmary with relatively minor injuries considering he had been attacked by a bear. One morning, he had been fishing on the local river and had caught quite a large salmon. However, a hungry bear had noticed and also wanted his fish. Coën did not want to share, and a struggle ensued that ended with Coën coming home with not only a salmon but also a bear for dinner.

Even Ciri was joining in the chaos. Because Geralt was too depressed to spend much time with her and Yennefer was in such a terrible mood, she’d started clinging to Vesemir. When she wasn’t clinging to Vesemir, she was helping Lambert with his projects and mayhem, trying to watch and imitate Aiden’s parkour, or sewing Eskel’s goat a little outfit. The keep smelled of singed wood and sulfur more often than not, and Vesemir was certain the explosive sound earlier had something to do with her and his youngest son.

Vesemir sighed. The keep needed order. Or at least a distraction.

The rumors came with the latest supply run from the village at the base of the mountain. A fox-like creature had been spotted in the woods, strange and humanoid, with glowing eyes that unnerved even the bravest hunters. Stranger still, the creature seemed to curse those who encountered it—transforming them into either animals or elderly for a few days before the curse wore off on its own.

At first, Vesemir dismissed it as winter boredom. The villagers, like the witchers, had little to do in the cold months but gossip and weave tall tales. But the stories were persistent, and strange enough that they couldn’t be ignored. Vesemir gathered his pups and honorary pups around the hearth.

“You’re all going to investigate,” he announced, his voice leaving no room for argument. “The fox creature. At the base of the mountain.”

“You just want the keep to yourself,” Lambert muttered, earning a sharp glare from Vesemir.”Yes, I indeed would like a few days where nothing explodes, and with no goats are in my house,” he said.

Ciri perked up. “I want to go too!”

But Geralt placed a hand on her forehead. “Not with the fever you currently have, you’re not. You’re staying here.” Ciri scowled but didn’t argue. “Eww, stay away, keep your plague to yourself” Lambert sneered as he took a few steps away from the sick teen.

Yennefer, overhearing that Gerlat was leaving and not being able to tolerate being alone with Dandelion, quickly volunteered herself for a “vacation” away from the madness, leaving Vesemir to babysit a sick Ciri and a creatively blocked Dandelion.

The Witchers—Geralt, Eskel, Lambert, Coën, and Aiden—set out into the snow. By the time they reached the village at sunset, the welcoming warmth they were used to was nowhere to be found. Most humans were hostile toward Witchers, but this village had always been different—trading food and supplies and offering shelter in return for protection. Something had changed. Doors remained shut, and familiar faces turned away.

The new mayor, who had seemingly taken over by force, was a staunch bigot. He’d declared all non-humans unwelcome, expelling those who had called the village home and imprisoning any humans who stood up for them. His glare lingered on Aiden in particular. Not only was the Cat Witcher a Witcher, but he was also three-quarters Sun Elf, a fact unmistakable from his appearance. In truth, no one would suspect any human ancestry in him unless he explicitly disclosed it.

Geralt stepped forward. “We’re here to help. The fox creature—”

“We don’t need your kind of help,” the mayor snapped. “Leave. Now.”

Disgusted, the Witchers turned away.

“Well, it’s not like the creature is in the village—it’s outside, in the woods,” Eskel said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, but I’m not sure we’re going to be able to find it in the dark,” Lambert replied bitterly. “The creature has only been reported during daylight so far, and I really don’t want to sleep in the cold, snowy woods. We also didn’t bring much food or sleeping gear because the villagers usually accommodate us.”

As they neared the edge of the village, a woman gathering firewood hesitated before hurrying over to them.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a hushed voice. “The mayor doesn’t speak for all of us.”

Coën was about to respond when he shivered and flinched in pain from his still-healing wounds. The woman noticed and asked if he was okay, but he assured her he would be fine. Lambert, however, wasn’t convinced Coën would manage a night in the woods and voiced his concerns openly.

At this, the woman paused, her expression thoughtful.

The Witchers watched her closely, curiosity evident in their faces.

Finally, she spoke up. “Can you guys move quietly enough that no one would notice you?”

“If you can sneak into my barn, you can stay there for the night. I’ll bring food and blankets.”

The Witchers exchanged glances.

“We’d be grateful,” Geralt said.

The barn was warm, insulated with hay stacked in the loft. Lambert flopped onto a bale with a sigh of relief. “Better than freezing to death in the woods,” he muttered.

As they settled in, however, they noticed that Coën was shaking. Coën caught everyone staring at him. “I’m fine, just a little cold,” he said.

Eskel walked over and placed a hand on Coën’s forehead, finding it too warm. “You’ve got a fever. Maybe you caught what Ciri had?” he suggested.

Coën shook his head. “No, I don’t feel sick—just... off,” he replied.

Eskel pulled up Coën’s tunic to examine his wounds. His frown deepened. “You’ve pulled some stitches, I'll have to redo them. You also might have an infection. Does anyone have any medicine?”

Geralt opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, a sudden sneeze echoed from above. Everyone glanced up to see a sniffly, trembling Aiden perched on a rafter.

Aiden cleared his throat. “Sorry—it’s dusty up here,” he lied.

“Well, come down, then. I want to go to sleep anyway,” Lambert told him.

In truth, Aiden wasn’t feeling well enough to climb down. He’d been feeling off since halfway through their journey down the mountain, but it hadn’t fully hit him until now, when he had a chance to relax. Still, he didn’t want to worry anyone. If he’d been with his Cat brethren, he knew he’d likely be berated—or even left behind—if they realized he was sick while on a mission.

Aiden shook his head, immediately regretting it as dizziness washed over him. “Why don’t you come up here and sleep, love?” he suggested, trying to hide how rough his voice sounded.

Lambert narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I can’t balance up there while sleeping. I’d fall and break my neck, and you know Wolves don’t share the Cat obsession with high places,” he reasoned.

“Well, the hay is gross. What if it has bugs in it?” Aiden countered, his voice rasping despite his efforts to hide it. “I’ll just stay up here by myself if you won’t join me.”

Lambert’s suspicion deepened, tinged with a bit of hurt that Aiden didn’t seem to want to lie with him. He was about to press further when the farm woman appeared, carrying a pile of blankets, a pot of warm tea with honey, bowls of delicious-smelling stew, and a first-aid kit.

“I thought, given how sick the injured one looked, some herbal tea with honey might help, along with fresh bandages,” she said, glancing at Coën, who offered a weak smile. “And with all of you being out in the cold all day, I thought some warm stew would be nice.”

“Thank you,” Eskel said gratefully. “We’d be in much worse shape without your kindness—especially since it looks like another one of us is coming down with something.” His gaze shifted upward to Aiden, who was now lying on the roof rafter.

Aiden raised an eyebrow, his glowing yellow Cat eye peering down at them. The farm woman startled, clearly unnerved. Aiden tried to jump down as he normally would, but his strength failed him.

He began to fall—but Lambert reacted quickly, catching him before he hit the ground.

“Easy, love. I’ve got you,” Lambert said, cradling Aiden. “You’re burning up!”

Aiden mumbled something incoherent to Lambert before managing a rasping apology to the farm woman. She waved it off with a kind smile, setting the supplies down.

“There’s medicine in the kit,” she said gently. “Take care of each other. I’ll keep watch for the mayor.”

The Witchers decided to prioritize tending to the sick and injured before anything else. They laid blankets over the hay bales to create makeshift beds and carefully helped Aiden and Coën out of their armor. Both of them were visibly exhausted. While Coën allowed himself to be gently guided to his makeshift bed, Aiden was far more reluctant.

He had been terrified of any medical treatment ever since the trauma caused by the surgeries he underwent after surviving an assassination attempt by his brothers. The injuries, including an arrow that had to be removed from his eye and brain, along with other severe wounds, left deep physical and emotional scars. Given that Witchers don’t have much money, anesthetic hadn’t been an option for most of the procedures, making the experience all the more harrowing.

Lambert sighed in frustration. “Your child has given Aiden her plague!” he hissed at Geralt.

Geralt, too focused on helping Eskel tend to Coën, barely acknowledged him, muttering a distracted, “Neat.”

This only made Lambert angrier. “This is not neat! As I’m sure you’re aware, a virus must be particularly nasty to have any effect on a witcher!” he screeched, his voice rising enough to make Coën flinch and Aiden cover both his functioning ear and his barely functioning one.

Realizing his outburst was affecting Coën and Aiden, Lambert muttered an apology before turning his attention back to Aiden.

“Relax, love,” Lambert murmured, crouching beside his partner. “I’ll be right next to you soon enough. Unless you’ve been hiding injuries from us, you don’t need stitches like Coën,” he added with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “We just need to check your temperature and maybe give you some medicine, that’s all.”

Aiden’s single cat-like eye was hazy with fever, and he swayed slightly, clearly disoriented. Lambert gently guided him to lie down, though Aiden, still foolishly trying to convince the group he was fine, muttered a few sleepy protests about “being fine.” The heat radiating off him was alarming, and Lambert suspected the fever was making him delirious.

Meanwhile, Eskel began re-stitching Coën’s wounds. The Griffen School witcher winced but stayed mostly calm as Eskel worked, talking softly to distract him. When Eskel was finished, he gave Coën a dose of antibiotics. Coën, though pale and weak, swallowed the pills without resistance, muttering his thanks before curling up under the blankets.

Aiden, however, was a different story.

Geralt joined Lambert to help him check an uncooperative Aiden’s temperature, which turned out to be dangerously high. Lambert frowned, brushing damp hair away from his lover’s sweat-soaked forehead. “That’s not good,” he muttered.

Eskel, after finishing with Coën, returned with the first aid kit. “If it’s that high, we’ll need to get some medicine into him,” he said, rummaging through the supplies. Unfortunately, the fever medication had to be injected.

Lambert paled at the sight of the syringe, glancing down at Aiden, who was now mumbling incoherently. He knew very well of the Cat Witchers' deep trauma surrounding medical procedures. Lambert had even been present for some of the gruesome procedures.

As Lambert tried to reason with Aiden, Eskel prepared the syringe. “Aiden, you need this,” Lambert said, cupping his lover’s flushed cheek. “It’ll help, I promise.”

But Aiden’s eyes widened and his pointy ears folded back defensively at the sight of the needle, and he instinctively tried to pull away, weakly struggling despite his fever.

Geralt, who had also had a bit of medical trauma from the additional experimentation as a White Wolf, knelt beside Lambert. “Aiden, please be reasonable. I know you’re scared—these kinds of things make me uncomfortable as well, I know how you feel. But if we don’t do this, the fever could kill you.”

The words didn’t seem to reach Aiden, who shook his head furiously, tears welling up in his yellow eye. “I don't want anymore poking and prodding” he rasped, his voice weak and scratchy. “Please, no…”

Lambert ran a hand through his non-existent hair, clearly distressed. He didn’t want to hold Aiden down or force him, but the fever was getting worse. He glanced helplessly at Geralt and Eskel.

“Can either of you jab him while the other restrains him?” Lambert asked in a low voice. “I… I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want to hurt him.”

Geralt sighed. “I’ll hold him. I’ve been where he is—I can’t jab him either.”

Eskel nodded. “I’ll do it, but you need to stay with him, Lambert. He’s going to need you.”

Lambert nodded, though he was already feeling guilty at the thought of what they were about to do. Slowly, Geralt approached Aiden, who blinked blearily up at him. “Hey, Aiden,” Geralt said as gently as he could with his gruff voice, sitting down beside him. “I’m just going to sit here, okay?”

Aiden hesitated but nodded sluggishly. Geralt carefully slipped an arm around him, then swiftly pulled the feverish Cat Witcher slightly onto his lap. Aiden startled at the sudden movement, his body tense, but Geralt began running a soothing hand over his arm. “Shh… It’s okay,” he murmured. Aiden’s tension eased slightly, and he started purring softly, the sound vibrating weakly against Geralt’s chest.

Lambert joined them, sitting beside Aiden and taking his hand in his own. He pressed a kiss to Aiden’s knuckles. “I’m here, love,” he whispered, squeezing Aiden’s hand.

Aiden’s purring grew louder, and for a moment, it seemed like they might get through it without much resistance. But as Eskel approached with the syringe, realization dawned on Aiden, and panic flared in his fevered eye. He started weakly struggling, begging them to stop.

“Don’t! Please, don’t!” Aiden pleaded, his voice breaking.

Lambert cupped Aiden’s face, turning his head away from the needle. “Look at me, Aiden. Just look at me, okay?” he said softly. “It’ll be over before you know it. You’re strong—you’ve been through worse than this.”

Eskel took the opportunity to quickly jab the syringe into Aiden’s arm. The Cat Witcher let out a sharp cry, his body tensing as he tried to pull away. Geralt tightened his grip, holding him steady while Lambert continued to murmur reassurances.

“It’s okay,” Geralt said firmly, his hand still stroking Aiden’s hair. As Eskel pushed the plunger down and withdrew the needle, Aiden’s cries turned into soft whimpers. Geralt loosened his hold, and Aiden immediately wriggled free, drunkenly and wobbly climbing and retreating to the rafters of the barn while Lambert tried to stop him, fearing he'd fall again. He perched there, trembling and blankly staring into the void with tears rolling down his face, his ears twitching every once and a while with agitation.

Lambert sighed, running a hand over his face. “I hate this,” he muttered.

“We did what we had to,” Eskel said gently, though his expression was troubled.

Coën fell asleep almost immediately after eating, exhausted from his injuries and infection. Eskel wasn’t far behind, snoring softly on his hay bale. Geralt and Lambert, however, stayed awake, trying to coax Aiden down from his perch with a bowl of stew.

Eventually, the medicine seemed to take effect, and Aiden began to think more clearly. He cautiously climbed down from the rafters, though he kept his distance from the others. He sat with his back to them, nibbling at the stew in silence, refusing to meet their eyes.

Lambert approached slowly, sitting down beside him. “Let’s take this off for the night, it’s not good for it to be covered 24/7” he said as he reached for Aiden's eyepatch, but the Cat Witcher flinched away.

The rejection stung, but Lambert didn’t push.

“I’m sorry,” Lambert said quietly. “I didn’t want to do that to you, with what you’ve been through.”

Aiden didn’t respond, his ears flattened against his head. But the fact that he’d come down at all was a small victory. Lambert decided to give him space, hoping that with time, Aiden would forgive him.

Outside, the horrifying scream of an unfamiliar creature echoed through the hills. Geralt’s eyes narrowed as he stared out the barn window. “It’s close,” he said.

“Good,” Lambert muttered, his voice low. “I need something to stab.”

[glwstic]

Rec List 4: The Witcher

-  Worth More Than Your Songs by Chaos_Breeds

“Jask, you’re bleeding,” Geralt growled, his free hand starting to pat for injuries, and-

Jaskier relaxed a bit, slumping in relief. “Good morning to you too,” he greeted brightly, ignoring how raspy his voice was. “Damn witchers and their sense of smell. I’m fine, don’t worry, just my hands.”

The room froze.

———

In which Jaskier runs himself ragged, convinced he must prove his value.

Geralt and Yennefer will not stand for it.

Oneshot,  1,676 words

-  Defying the Odds by Chaos_Breeds

Geralt didn’t care to eavesdrop, really, even less than he wanted to hear another bawdy ballad. It was better to keep his eyes on his ale, stay out of trouble, and wait for Jaskier to be finished. “So how much longer do you think he’ll live?” asked the baron, drumming his fingers on the table. “Such clever songs. I hope we’ll hear another few years’ worth before he goes.”

Geralt immediately stilled, the performance fading into the background.

———

In which Geralt learns that traveling bards are one of the most dangerous professions for very good reason. He overhears some nobles betting on how long his bard would survive on the path, and Jaskier’s odds apparently aren’t good.

Geralt will be damned before that happens.

Oneshot,  1,705 words

-  Bard Assassin by Hyrulehearts1123, sageclover61

Collection, 8 works, 88,968 words

>>>  Edge of Nowhere by sageclover61

Jaskier needed no introduction to Geralt of Rivia, not when he knows who this Witcher is on sight. On the other hand, this is his opportunity to make a new and different name for himself, a guise within a disguise, and perhaps fame that'll hide the secrets that he keeps.

Oneshot, 1,361 words

-  why were you digging, what did you bury by ruffboi

"You'll be coming with me," his father said, rather abruptly and with no room for argument.

"I thought no one but the elders and the witch could know where the clearing is," Julian said slowly.

"This is your duty as my son and heir," his father snapped.

"Of course, father," Julian replied. "I'll be ready after supper." He wondered, a chill running down his spine, what this duty actually was.

Oneshot,  1,776 words

-  I Have Heart-Fire and Singing to Give by inexplicifics

Jaskier is invited to come and sing at Oxenfurt - an honor he has never dreamed he would be granted so young. But leaving Kaer Morhen has its perils...and there are those who would very much like to get their hands on the Consort of the Warlord of the North.

5/5 Completed, 23,311 words

-  And I'll go up, up to find us by thequeenofsong

Geralt's thoughts when he goes up the mountain after finding out about the husband hunters coming to Kaer Morhen. Also includes a flashback to the night in Redania after Geralt finds out Jaskier was sent as a sacrifice and Jaskier's confession of love. Inspired by Inexplicfic's Accidental Warlord AU.

Oneshot,  2,909 words

-  No More Monsters by ruffboi

When Geralt leads his army into Tretogor, they expect most of what they find.

What they don't expect is the near-silent, trembling figure they find tucked against the wall in Radovid's rooms after Eskel runs a sword through the bastard's throat.

Oneshot,  1,219 words

-  Dandelion Wedding Crowns by sageclover61

Twenty years after conquering Kaedwen, Redania sought a treaty with the Warlord of the North, and offered with it an arranged marriage.

Geralt, the accidental warlord of the north, would very like human nobles to stop doing monstrous things, like marrying off their children. Needless to say, the marriage won’t last. Now if only he could figure out how to help Jaskier and his sisters, too.

Inspired by Inex's AW AU and Pallidus' As long as the sun and moon are above.

Oneshot, 16,303 words

-  dead man running by peaktotheocean

Jaskier handed her the spare dagger and breathed easy when she took it without question. "Ciri, darling. We're going to get out of this dungeon together. You know how sometimes, humans call things monsters that aren't monsters at all? Rather just, things they don't understand?"

She looked at him with fierce determination in her eyes. "Yes, I do."

Oneshot,  7,512 words

-  Little Lark in Our Hearts by Chaos_Breeds

Based on inexplicifics Warlord!Geralt AU. Jaskier thought he was over what his father had done, when he was sent away as tribute to the White Wolf. During a conversation about sending tribute to another king, Jaskier realizes he very, very much is not okay.

Good thing he’s got a whole pack to help him through it.

———

(In which they get a stark reminder of Jaskier’s circumstances before becoming part of the Witcher’s keep.)

Oneshot, 1,604 words

[slumberingcorpse]

The Wolf and The Fox

Part 10 “Too Quiet”

Summary: It’s too quiet in Kear Morhen. It’s an unnerving silence that sends a shiver down the pup’s spine but what’s causing this odd silence? What’s caused Lambert to stop talking?

There was only one thing Geralt and Eskel loved about training, being able to soak in the hot springs for hours on end.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Geralt lets his body melt into the heated water feeling his muscles slowly relax as he closes his eyes.

After a few moments, he hears Eskel join him and nudge his arm, “Come on, let me wash your hair.”

Without answering, Geralt slowly opens his eyes and adjusts his body giving his brother full access to his long snow-white hair.

Gently, Eskel hums as he detangles his hair with his fingers. After a few peaceful moments, he breaks the silence, “You know, I can cut your hair if you want.”

“Why would I want that?” Geralt questions leaning into his brother’s arms.

Eskel shrugs, “Well with your short stature, soft voice, and long hair someone might confuse you for a girl.”

A growl emits from Geralt’s throat as he shoots him a deadly glare only causing Eskel to smile, “Don’t worry, you look like a very pretty girl.”

“Don’t make me punch you.” the younger witcher threatens as his cheeks quickly heat up.

“No, of course not. I’ll never do anything to upset the princess,” Eskel continues only to be splashed in the face by a wave of water.

“At least I don’t look like a disgusting drowner like you!” Geralt huffs only to be met with another mischievous smirk.

“A drowner huh? Well last time I checked, drowners feed on princess flesh,” Eskel darkly chuckles before bear-hugging his smaller brother, trapping him in his arms as he tickles his sides.

“Eskel, you bastard! Let me-hahaha! S-stop! I’m g-going to k-kill you!” Geralt laughs struggling against the grip as he violently kicks his feet. Water flings everywhere and yet miss its intended target.

“Kill me? I’ll like to see you try!” Eskel challenges only continuing his torture.

Desperate for an out, Geralt did the only thing he could think of and led and bit down hard against his brother’s arms feeling blood against his fangs.

Eskel yelps in pain and let's go, “You whoreson! Fangs are against the rules!”

“Who says!? The last time I checked the princess is the one who makes the rules!” Geralt proclaims loudly causing an echo throughout the springs.

After a few seconds, the two stared at each other before bursting out in laughter.

“Alright! Alright! Come. Let’s finish up before Vesemir comes to yank us out.” Eskel pants trying to stop himself from laughing before sitting down.

With a satisfied smile, Geralt walks over and goes back to his position, “I didn’t bite you too hard, did I?”

“Nah, it’s already healing. Your fangs are getting too big though. You haven’t shaved them down at all, have you?” Eskel asks as he resumes his brushing.

Geralt sighs and looks down, “It’s overwhelming...when I cut my hair or try to shave my fangs down it’s just...too much...”

Eskel’s gaze softens, “Have you told Vesemir?”

“No...”

“Maybe he could-”

“I’m not going to tell him and I’ll kill you if you do!” Geralt threatens.

Eskel rolls his eyes. He knows better than to argue against Geralt’s stubbornness, “Are you going to kill Lambert too?” he remarks finally acknowledging the smallest brother quietly scrubbing down his body with soap at the other end of the spring.

Geralt cocks his eyebrow up in confusion before glancing up at Eskel, “Want some help? I can wash your back and hair if you want.” he suggests.

Lambert simply shrugs and slowly makes his way over before sitting between Geralts legs. Both the older pups shoot each other worried glances but don’t say anything throughout.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fireplace in Eskel’s room was comforting while the dozens of furs covering the room made the room cozy. On top of the fireplace was a huge deer skull that he hunted himself last winter. In a way, the room was Eskel. Warm, cozy, and dangerous. It was Geralt’s favorite place to be.

Leaning back, Geralt lets Eskel braid his hair.

“Do you think Lambert’s okay?” Eskel asks, his voice filled with worry.

“Not sure. He hasn’t been talking for a few days now. He isn’t eating much either.” Geralt confirms causing his brother’s frown to deepen.

“Think he’s homesick?” he suggests.

Geralt shakes his head, “Doubt it. I don’t know any details but I’m sure his parents were assholes.”

“Then what could it be?”

“Don’t know. I can’t read minds.”

“No, but we can cheer him up,” Eskel suggests.

“How?” Geralt asks tilting his head up towards his brother.

“I got a few ideas.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning was freezing, a new patch of snow covered the keep, and like usual it was the pups’ job to shove it up.

Like the night before, Lambert was quiet as he shoveled a small part of the courtyard only to be interrupted by Eskel, “Lambert! Wanna play? Vesemir is busy making breakfast so we have a few minutes to ourselves.”

Immediately, the youngest pup beams and nods excitedly as he drops his shovel and rushes over to his brothers.

Smiling back, Eskel hands Lambert a snowball. “The rules are easy. The one who gets hit the most loses. The winner gets the last sweet roll from the pantry.”

Lambert quickly nods and takes the ball before tossing and hitting Geralt. Just like that, the intense snowball fight began with the three boys refusing to accept defeat. Being the smallest and the fastest, Lambert easily dodged their attacks.

Geralt refused to let him get away and locked in on Lambert with a hail of snowballs. Most of them missed but it took one ball to hit the youngest pup straight in the jaw for him to drop to his knees and whimper cradling his cheek.

The older pups quickly rush to Lambert’s side, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Eskel frantically asks only for Lambert to shove him away.

Not saying a word, the boy runs inside hiding his face in his hands.

“Ow!” Geralt exclaims as Eskel punches his arm, “You were supposed to let him win!”

“It was an accident! I didn’t mean to hit him so hard!” Geralt tries to defend only for Eskel to shoot him a glare.

Time for plan B.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moon rises on Kear Morhen and in his small room, Lambert huffs as he tosses and turns under his fur blankets trying to get warm, but no matter how many logs he tossed into the fireplace or how many furs he piled on, he was still freezing.

Finally giving up, he curls up under the blankets and closes his eyes only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. He felt a murderous urge as he reaches for the dagger under his pillow.

“Hey Lambert, are you asleep yet? Can I come in?” Eskel whispers from the other side of the door. Glaring at the hinged wooden door, Lambert forces himself to get up and open the door.

Quickly his scold is replaced with a look of confusion as sees his oldest brother smiling down at him holding a pillow and wool blanket.

“It’s freezing in my room so how about a sleepover? I asked Geralt but he was sulking again.” Eskel lies trying to make up a believable excuse.

Luckily, it worked, and the youngest pup just shrugged and let him in before crawling back into bed. Following him close behind, Eskel sets down his pillow and adds his blanket to the pile before tucking the both of them in.

Lambert moves toward the edge of the bed only to yelp as a pair of strong warm arms pull him back into a tight embrace. Confused he looks up at his brother only to be met with another goofy smile.

Compared to Eskel, Lambert was tiny not only in height but also in muscles. If the older pup wanted to, he could snap his back in half with no effort, but instead, he snuggles his baby brother close.

He was like the heater. A large comfy heater and the young witcher couldn’t help but curl up against him, pressing his head against his large chest right over his heart.

Lambert can feel Eskel smile against his hair but tenses as he starts to rub his back.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just relax,” Eskel coos before softly humming a sweet lullaby.

Lambert quickly starts to do just that up until...he recognizes the lullaby. His mother used to sing it to him. No. She used to sing it to his brother, he just happened to be in the room as she did so.

“Lambert? Hey, what's wrong?” Eskel asks tenderly wiping away the tears he didn’t even know we were there.

Panic starts to fill him. Why are they trying to act so nice all of the sudden? Sure they were nice but never like this. They often spent their time just teasing him. Was this a trick? Were they just toying with him?

“Lambert?” Eskel asks again cupping his freckled cheeks, only for Lambert to violently shove him away. Forgetting how small his bed was, the small boy falls hard to the ground.

“Are you okay!? What’s wrong!?” Eskel asks worriedly scrabbling to check on Lambert but before he could do or say anything. The young pup had already bolted from the room.

Eskel did his best to look for him but Lambert was nowhere to be found.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun’s rays gently bathe the keep’s stables with warmth causing Lambert to whimper and stir against Roach’s warm body.

It wasn’t the smartest idea but he knew that no one would find him there. Also, Roach was the only horse in the stable that didn’t scare him. She was surprisingly gentle and laid down just to keep him warm. He was starting to understand why Geralt loved her so much.

Noticing the boy waking up, Roach gently nuzzled his cheek before snorting against his face. The young witcher giggles and yawns before finally opening his eyes only to be met face-to-face with Geralt.

“You stole my spot,” The older pup says. There was no anger or sadness on his face. He was just stating a fact. Even so, Lambert felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment as he quickly got up. Behind him, Roach did the same.

Geralt chuckled before giving Roach a carrot, “Thank you for taking care of him, girl.” he says before turning back to Lambert.

“Want to go for a ride?”

Lambert hesitates and shrugs looking down at the hay-covered floor.

Geralt sighs and walks over picking the hay off of his younger brother’s hair, “A shrug isn’t an answer. If you don’t want to talk it’s fine but I’ll need a definite answer.”

After a few moments, Lambert answers him with a nod earning a pet on the head, “Good.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two ride through the forest’s path like before. The trees were as tall as ever and the snow glittered in the sunlight but soon, Geralt starts to stir off the pathway and into some wild bushes.

Confused and nervous Lambert glances up at Geralt.

“Relax, I want to show you something.”

With that, Geralt takes them up one of the smaller mountains before reaching a small cave overlooking a cliff at the top. The cave was shallow with a bedroll and a firepit set up. From the looks of it, this place was used often.

“Here we are,” Geralt announces hopping off of Roach before helping Lambert down, “Home sweet home.” he finishes before looking over the cliffside.

Baffled, Lambert followed his brother only to stand stunned when seeing the view from up there. It was beautiful. No, more than beautiful. The whole island could be seen from here.

“Can’t beat that view huh?” Geralt says before sitting down on the floor. Dangling his legs over the edge, “I found this place the third time I tried to run away. Vesemir told me that I had to go through another trail and...I panicked so I ran. I found this place on the third night. I was freezing and starving but I couldn’t help but just sit here and stare at the view. Vesemir found me a few hours later...told me that this trial would be the last I’ll ever take. What he didn’t say was that it would cause my hair to turn white.”

Listening to his story, Lambert silently joined him. For a few long peaceful moments, they just sat there letting the island’s sounds fill their senses.

“I didn’t mean to hit you...Eskel didn’t mean to make you cry either...sorry for that...it was stupid but we’re just worried for you. Believe it or not but we like your constant noise. I mean, you’re annoying as hell but it's...nice.” Geralt bluntly says before continuing, “Look...You don’t have to tell us anything...but we want you to know that we aren’t your parents. We won’t hurt you on purpose and you can trust us with anything. We just want you to be okay. After all, we’re the only ones we got.”

“W-what are you talking about?” Lambert finally asks staring at Geralt with the most confused expression.

“What am I- Are you serious? You haven't been talking for days! You haven’t been eating much either! That’s what I mean!”

Lambert’s eyes widen, “Oh...that’s just because it hurts.”

“Hurts? What hurts?”

“Talking...eating...it just really hurts. I thought if I didn’t talk so much it would help but it hasn’t worked. When you hit me with that snowball it hurt like hell too!”

It was Geralt’s turn to be dumbfounded only for everything to finally click into place, “Open your mouth.”

“What!? Why!?”

“Shut up and open your damn mouth,” Geralt orders.

With a huff, Lambert does as told.

“Of course...” Geralt chuckles feeling both relieved and stupid.

“What?” Lambert asks innocently.

“Your fangs are growing in, dumbass. You’re teething. Come on, let me gather some herbs to make some medicine for you.” Geralt grumbles getting up.

Lambert beams at the news, “Fangs!? Really!? Like yours!?”

“Yep. You’re celebrating now but it’ll be a pain later on.” Geralt says. He sounded annoyed but he wasn’t. Not at all. His brother was okay and that’s all he can ask for.

<- Previous part Next Part ->

Tags: @wrongdodo @yeeterboi420

[moviemunchies]

Family movies often have two secondary comic relief characters that barely understand what’s going on, to act as comedic foils to the main characters. In its early days, Dreamworks decided in its contest with Disney, to make a movie about Those Two Guys.

Hence, The Road to El Dorado, a comedic (familyish?) animated take on The Man Who Would Be King set in Mesoamerica right before the Spanish Conquest.

The Road to El Dorado tells the story of Miguel and Tulio, two hustlers from Spain that find a map to the City of Gold and (accidentally!) stowaway on Cortes’s ship to the New World. Upon arrival to El Dorado, they are mistaken for gods. Being con men, they roll with it, though keeping up the charade becomes pretty difficult the longer they stay, even with the help of Chell, a native dissident.

There is a persistent rumor that the movie was originally conceived with the leads being a gay couple, and that Chell was added later as Tulio’s love interest to please censors. That’s not actually true, and the earliest work we’ve seen on the movie includes Chell. The Internet loves to roll with these things, though, and as TV Tropes notes, Kenneth Brannagh (who voices Miguel) apparently added openly affectionate bits to his dialogue, calling Tulio ‘darling’ and such. This was cut from the movie, but somehow made it onto the subtitles of some home releases?

It’s undeniable that the leads have very good chemistry, though. They managed this by putting Kline and Brannagh in the same recording booth. That sounds like an obvious choice, but you’d be amazed how seldomly this is done, probably due to scheduling issues with voice actors. Usually you can’t tell when it happens or not (though sometimes you can–look at how both Geralt and Letho say the name ‘Louis’ in The Witcher III while talking to each other, and see what I mean). The result is a very believable relationship between the two characters. You believe that these two have been through a lot. They’re loads of fun to watch throughout almost the entire film, and they bounce off each other very well.

Wikipedia claims that the gods that Miguel and Tulio are mistaken for, and who appear on the art for El Dorado, are the Hero Twins. I don’t know that there’s any indication that’s the case, other than there are two of them and they’re Mesoamaerican.

Also, Jim Cummings? Is Cortes? I know he’s an experienced voice actor with a ton of range, but Winnie the Pooh is voicing Cortes and that’s darn weird.

[Random side note: like, okay, I’m not a huge fan of Cortes, but in real life he didn’t sail from Spain to go conquer Mexico. In fact, he wasn’t even supposed to conquer Mexico. He went and did that on his own, much to the frustration of his superiors.]

On the subject of characters: Chell is… interesting. Like, okay, she’s an indigenous woman with her own goals, who is clever, and is pretty forward about getting what she wants. On the other, she’s quite blatantly designed and animated to be fanservice, and there are times when she comes across as a stereotype of a Spicy Latina, and I’m not thrilled about that. This would have been helped, I think, if we learned more about her backstory.

Random character note: The armadillo, Bibo, was supposedly (I can’t find a source on this other than TV Tropes) originally going to be revealed as some sort of divine figure, and explained why the characters are so lucky. That got cut from the film.

The movie WAS originally planned to be a more mature film–strands of which remained. Remember Prince of Egypt? The idea was that animated movies didn’t have to be for kids, so The Road to El Dorado was thought of as a way to cover heavy topics and ideas, making an epic film with some humor that just happened to be animated. They decided to tone it down to be more marketable, and I’m wondering if that was the smart choice. The movie IS quite fun, I think, and I love watching it. That being said, there are obviously more mature jokes and bits in there (Tulio and Chell have what seems to be an implied, off-screen sex scene?), and the topic of Pre-Columbian Mesoamerica wasn’t at the time really seen as a popular topic for kids.

This movie was also supposedly hell to work on, with constant changes in direction, script, and style. I think it shows in some places. There are a couple of rushed elements–Tzekel-Kan comes to mind as an underdeveloped figure other than being a religious nutjob who wants to sacrifice people. I’m unclear why the people of El Dorado followed his directions if apparently none of them liked the human sacrifice thing. And the final act of the film feels very, very rushed: Tzekel-Kan meets up with Cortes and leads the conquistadores to El Dorado, but the heroes find this out from a guy we’ve never seen before rush up and say that he saw them coming. The people of El Dorado immediately come up with a plan and enact it. Seems a few steps were missing there?

TV Tropes claims sequels were planned, though I don’t know if I’ve seen any proof about it. Maybe that explains what happened at the end? They planned to address it/do more with it in sequels?

I don’t know. I’m bummed that this movie wasn’t successful enough for sequels, though I am quite happy with what we did get. It’s an incredibly fun movie. There’s a REASON you keep seeing gifs of it online–it’s quotable, and hilarious.

The music is magnificent. They got Hans Zimmer, Elton John, and Tim Rice working together on the soundtrack, I suspect from trying to make something as epic as The Lion King. They don’t quite reach that level of awesomeness, in part because the movie isn’t as serious as that one, but it is very nice to listen to.

I love the art in this movie? At that point, Mesoamerica was not a topic pop culture liked to do anything with other than human sacrifices, so looking at how colorful the movie is… well, it’s fantastic. And even before they reach El Dorado, the landscape images we see of the jungles and mountains that Miguel and Tulio explore are wonderful to see. I want more animated films in settings like this.

It’s a memorable movie, and a fun movie, and a very funny movie. I really wish it was more well-known outside of Internet circles, because it’s quite good, if not the epic film that was originally planned to be. Maybe that would have been a great film; however, I’m alright with the film we got.

[hudine]

First chapter of a crossover fic that came to mind after talking to a new friend who likes writing crossovers. Something I also always find to be fun. So this is an unholy fusion of Netflix Witcher and Doctor Who. WIP first draft of an idea and the first chapter. Even though I should be finishing my Doctor Who fic Sideways Parenthood… will get back there eventually. Is some references to it here briefly but don’t need to have read any to follow along. Working title is currently Free Bird

-x-x-x-

Geralt had just said yes to Borch about going on the dragon hunt and was watching Yennefer at the bar. Jaskier had been grumbling to himself but suddenly stood up knocking his chair over and pointed at someone new who just walked into the tavern and yelled out in the most angry voice Geralt had ever heard come from the bard, “You!”

The man he yelled at froze. He was near the same hight as the bard and build, had the same blue eyes and hair colour, but that’s where similarities ended other than the predilection to dress weirdly. He was older than Jaskier, his face was shaped differently, hair was cut another way and what he wore was more like a military uniform than bard clothing, with a strange grey military long coat that belonged to no military on the continent. The man held his hands out in a warding off gesture as the bard approached and said, “Jaskier! It’s great to see you again!”

“Captain Jack Harkness! What did I tell you I’d do if I ever see you again?” Jaskier asked as he poked him in the chest.

“I’m not sure I quite caught all of it… it did involve my balls and a cheese grater… or was that that friend of yours, Pricilla, and you were the one that said you’d stick my head in a wine press?”

“Give me one good reason I don’t kill you where you stand!” Jaskier snarled.

“I didn’t know the artefact would do that! And solved the time loop problem, everything put back to normal.”

“After getting me and my friends stuck reliving the same day over and over for how long exactly? No, really? How long? I genuinely lost count sometime after loop number eight hundred. Wouldn’t have even been that bad if it didn’t always end with Pricilla dying every time but the last one! I had to watch my friend die, over, and over, and over again, with no one other than the three of us and Valdo Fucking Marx able to remember it,” Jaskier ranted.

“Jaskier,” the man tried to say but got interrupted by the bard.

“All because you had to have a cover and a way in to get into Countess deSteele’s vault. Then I drink admittedly too much and run into that idiot over there,” Jaskier points at Geralt this time, “trying to wish away all his problems with a djinn of all the crazy shit to do. Just because he is running away from his aforementioned problems as usual. Then almost gets me killed.”

“He takes me to her,” the bard points at Yennefer who was now standing beside Geralt watching the spectacle, “who was good enough to get rid of the djinn’s spell. Thank you by the way Yennefer because quite frankly death via asphyxiation is my least favourite way to die that doesn’t involve dismemberment. Only for her to go and try to capture the djinn herself by becoming its vessel… Just be glad that didn’t work out by the way… saw someone do that once, it was not pretty…. They exploded like a bladder filled with really chunky soup all because they used that spell you tired. You never want to do that by the way. The elder was transcribed wrong and djinn being the masters of loopholes that they are… well… like I said… really chunky soup.”

Jaskier paces as he gets fully into his rant. “Then those two have been hooking up ever since. I mean Geralt can fuck whoever else he wants. We’ve never even pretended to be monogamous, but it’s obvious the djinn did something to both of them. It makes them get so wrapped up in each other they don’t notice a damn thing else going on until they fuck. Seriously they didn’t even notice an entire house almost falling down around them. I have a little issue with consent and how much I really believe people should consent to things. I’m not entirely sure how much either of them actually are consenting to it all, and how much is the spell making them think they are.”

“Bad time, huh?” Jack asked.

Jaskier took a deep breath to calm himself and asked in turn, “What do you want Dad?”

Geralt and Yennefer looked at each other confused and mouthed, ‘Dad?’

“We need to leave, they found us,” Jack replied without missing a beat.

“What? How? We picked this backwater planet, devoid of nearby heavily trafficked space lanes, in the ass end of nowhere on the edge of a not so well populated galaxy in order to hide. I’ve spent the last three hundred years without indoor plumbing on this technologically back slidden world. We’re only about two steps up from hiding with my great uncle Brax on Legion! And in the wrong fucking universe!”

“Three hundred years?” Geralt asked without thinking.

“Seriously Geralt, for a really smart man and a Witcher you can be really fucking unobservant at times,” Jaskier sighed, “just look at me Geralt. Really look at me. Have I aged a day since you first met me over two decades ago now?”

“Actually now you mention it… but I’ve always known you’re not entirely human. The second heartbeat gives it away.”

Jaskier puts his head in his hands and makes a frustrated groaning noise. “Fuck. I now owe Vesemir three hundred crowns. He bet you wouldn’t say or notice anything about it until I said something first. Fools bet really. That man knows his pups.”

“Ok. I’m not going to get into how you know Vesemir or bets. What are you? I never could figure that one out,” Geralt asked.

“Time Lord. Just a bit over half human and the rest gallifreyan. You see he,” Jaskier pointed at Jack, “fucked one of his best friend’s daughters, and I was the result. Which was a surprise since gallifreyan women are supposed to be sterile”

“It really sounds worse than it actually was when you put it like that,” Jack complained, “I didn’t even know she was related to the Doctor at the time, yet alone she’s his long lost daughter from back on Gallifrey. Heck I thought Gallifrey and the Time Lords where all destroyed in the time war.”

“Yea well I inherited Dad’s gift… or curse… of immortality. We don’t know how. Just that I literally can’t stay dead. Same with him but we know why he is like he is. A goddess of time liked him too much and decided she wanted him to live… she just was new to the whole goddess thing and brought him back permanently. Time Lords are happy enough with that explanation… what they aren’t is why I am the same way. So we’re now on the run from the Time Lords because they want to cut me into lil biddy pieces to see how I tick and I’ll be alive during the whole thing and experiencing it.”

“What’s a gallifreyan or a time lord?” Yennefer asked this time.

“Just another species like humans, elves, dwarfs, and so on. Just not one you’d typically find on this planet or sphere as you say here. Time Lords are pretty much all Gallifreyan but not all Gallifreyans are Time Lords. Time Lords are a bit like Witchers in a way. We’re made not born. Taken from our families at a young age, normally eight, exposed to secret ways of mutating the body. No one I’m aware of has died from the process but not all make it through with their minds intact.”

“That explains a lot about you then,” Yennefer quipped.

Jaskier ignored her and continued, “Then we go to the Time Lord Academy for about a hundred years where we learn a lot of academic stuff, not just how to control our mutations. I’m not a typical time lord. Time lords have this thing they can do twelve times if they’re dying where they can repair every cell in the body but it is uncontrollable and makes us change, new body, new face, new everything. We become a different person in a way. All the major stuff about us is the same, but we tend to get new personality traits here and there. That’s a normal time lord. I’m not normal.”

“Nothing new there,” Geralt said with a smirk.

“I, much like my grandfather before me, take great pride in embracing being a weirdo. Thank you very much. Anyway as I was saying I’m different from the other time lords because I have died so many times and in so many ways now I’ve genuinely lost count. I’ve never regenerated, just came back to life. If I’m in pieces when I die I do a mixture of regrow new ones and my old ones reattach and it’s like nothing ever happened. Not even a mark. Which is why a secret society within the time lords want to experiment on me.”

Jaskier walks over to Geralt and surprises him by pulling him into a passionate kiss in front of everyone then said, “I’m going to miss you the most.”

“Jaskier?” He asks questioningly.

Jaskier ignored him and actually surprised Yennefer this time by hugging her. “Look after him Witch.”

“We need to get a move on. Reading a Gallifreyan life sign headed this way,” Jack interrupted looking at the scanner on the vortex manipulator around his wrist.

“Do you know who?” Jaskier asked as he looked over at Jack.

“No. Never stuck around to check. The proximity alarm went off to say they where on the on the planet and came right here. Better do your thing and we get out of here.”

“Already have, no one will remember anything we said except for Geralt, Yennefer, and Borch over there.”

“Not wanting to take the time to break the mental shielding of a sorceress and a Witcher to wipe memories I get… But the old short guy? Really?”

“Oh that’s right, you’ve never met Villentretenmerth before. You weren’t on that little misadventure. I’d introduce you properly but we need to go. Sorry I won’t get to write a song about your grand adventure Vill. Although why a dragon wants to go on a dragon hunt I have no idea.”

“My mate is injured, our egg is in danger and cannot be moved yet.”

Jaskier sighed and shook his head. “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”

“Didn’t want to blow your cover. You do play the part of the harmless and hapless bard very well after all,” Borch replied.

“We can’t leave Dad,” the seemingly harmless and hapless bard said to his father.

“Time Lords coming right this way. They’re outside,” Jack reminded.

“It’s ok. I picked up their telepathic signature now. False alarm. It’s just—“

A man with flyaway brown hair in a blue pinstriped suit walked into the tavern with a blond woman. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked curiously at them. “Jack?”

“Doctor? What are you doing here? This thing must be on the fritz. It’s never been the same since you scrambled it with your sonic screwdriver.”

“Jack!” The blond woman exclaimed and ran over and they hugged enthusiastically.

“Rosie!”

“Jack!” The metacrisis Doctor warned.

“I’m just saying hello,” Jack replied without missing a beat with the old familiar argument.

“You never just say hello Dad,” Jaskier replied rolling his eyes, “He’s worse than I am and that’s saying something,” he added in aside to Geralt and Yennefer. “So turns out it’s a false alarm and I don’t have to scramble to get off this planet as soon as possible. It’s only my grandfather… sort of… Anyway any chance I can get either of you to forget everything I said because I would have regretted leaving without telling you?”

“Not a chance bard,” Yennefer replied smirking.

“Wait… Dad…” the Doctor trailed off looking over Jaskier and really looking at that with what senses he had left to him because of the metacrisis. “You’re a Time Lord, and you’re related to me…. And apparently Jack?”

“How much does your other body pickup from the other universe?” Jaskier asked, “It’s just some of it could be universe endingly bad if he knew at this point in your timeline.”

“Not much now. We get impressions of what each other is doing but not what exactly what unless we both concentrate really hard when both of us are at a weak point between universes. So we gone from being the same person in two different bodies at the same time pretty much, to being connected individuals. Nothing you tell me will get back to him,” the Doctor answered.

“Gallifrey stands.”

“What?”

“Yea you pretty much used the moment to move Gallifrey into a pocket dimension and the Dalek’s destroyed themselves when trying to fire on a planet that was no longer there and made it look like Gallifrey was destroyed.”

“What?”

“But you already knew that didn’t you Rose?” Jaskier asked.

“What?” The Doctor asked again looking at Rose this time.

“It’s not like I could tell him. Like you said the universe could have exploded from the giant paradox that would have created if he knew too soon. Especially bad since I’m a giant walking paradox as it is. I only exist because of bad wolf. In all the realities I went through to find the Doctor there wasn’t another Rose Tyler for that reason. It was better to just play stupid and pretend I didn’t remember bad wolf, or the moment, or any of it.”

“You where there…on Gallifrey… you brought me to see my future… It wasn’t a projection was it? It was actually you. Bad Wolf. You said you ended the time war but you didn’t mean the Daleks on the game station…” the Doctor started remembering.

“Like I would ever let you kill so many innocents when there was another way,” Rose added. “I hated every moment of letting you think you had.”

The Doctor’s head was spinning with the new information. “You still have access to that power don’t you?”

“Some. No where near as much as when I was acting as the moment. Can’t do anything a time lord can’t do. Sorry Jack about the whole immortality thing. I can’t actually fix it.”

“What about him,” Jack asked pointing to Jaskier. “He’s my son. I’ve had children since the whole immortality thing started but he’s the only one that inherited it from me.”

“I really don’t know,” Rose replied.

“I don’t know either. It really shouldn’t be possible Jack,” The Doctor added then turned to Jaskier, “Now how are you related to me?”

“I’m your grandson. Or will be. Depends on your perspective I suppose. I’m pretty much an accident, your son who just regenerated and became your daughter at the time got curious about what sex is like as a woman. Susan is my older sister if you’re wondering which of your kids.”

“I swear I didn’t know she was related to you!” Jack exclaimed with his hands out in a defensive posture.

The Doctor just deflated and sighed. “I really should be surprised, but I’m not.”

“Ok be careful what you say, people are going to notice soon and some of them really aren’t the people we want knowing anything,” Jaskier said holding his hand up and levelled a glare at his grandfather, “That includes you. Some of us don’t want to pick up and leave sooner than they have to.”

“Mass hypnosis to make them forget? Not very ethical,” the Doctor replies with a raised eyebrow but just sits beside Borch.

“Literally all I did was make people forget about a conversation on what to most of these people is a boring Tuesday. Besides. You’re going to lecture me about ethics? You? Try that on someone who doesn’t actually know you granddad.” Jaskier replied and took a seat beside the Doctor. “I’ve kidnapped my granddaughter’s school teachers for example.”

“You don’t have grandchildren,” Jack pointed out as he took a seat as well.

“Not the point,” Jaskier shot back.

“I panicked!” The Doctor defended. “I hadn’t been off of Gallifrey for long then. I hadn’t quite worked out yet that no one is going to take notice of two humans claiming to have followed a student into a police box and it turned out to be bigger on the inside. Now I know that if I leave a bloody big blue box in the middle of somewhere obvious that it shouldn’t be at, no one even notices. I swear most of the time it’s not even the perception filter, people just can be that stupid at times.”

“Susan still talks fondly of Ian and Barbra though,” Jaskier added shaking his head and laughing.

“I thought you where her at first. Picked up on the telepathic signature soon as I arrived. Wasn’t until I saw you I picked up the supple differences.”

“I get that a lot from people that know her. She used to volunteer to babysit me when I was a kid. Practically raised me before I went to the academy. Sorry to say I haven’t seen my sister since before I escaped from the division three hundred years ago now. I can tell you she made it out the other side of the time war though. All your kids have except for Zaiden, yet I’ve met an alternate version of him. He’s running around with an alternate version of you, Narvin and Rose.”

“Narvin?! Celestial Interventions Agency Coordinator Narvin? Really?! What is any version of Zaiden doing with the CIA?” The Doctor asked perplexed.

“He was in it. Apparently he joined just to spite both you and your father. Besides Narvin’s not so bad. You and him aren’t actually all that different, especially after the war. There’s a lot of stuff he’s not as comfortable with that he once was. Narvin helped me escape the division, had access to the axis to get me out of that universe, and had access to a TARDIS that will work in most of the multiverse. If it wasn’t for him and Great Uncle Braxiatel I’d still be being cut into little pieces to see how I work and if they can replicate it.”

“That’s the second time you mentioned the division, who, what?”

“A secret society within the time lords that’s older than the time lords themselves. They claim to have discovered the secret to regeneration, yahdee yahdee yahdah… Did they really? I got no idea. Let’s just say they’re crazier than Rassilon, well not surprising, he was one of them. Anyway they’re a bunch of crazy time lords who want to experiment on me. I’m hiding on this planet because of all the natural rift energy should cover me on any scans they do to look for me, and we where very panicked a little while ago because Dad thought you where one of them.”

“He’s supposed to be one of the exclusions on the scanner. Must be the metacrisis messing it up. What brings you here anyway Doctor? I thought you had been stranded on Earth.”

“Grew a new TARDIS out of a bit of the old one. She’s still got a lot of growing to do so we came here because of all the rift energies. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I don’t know how this universe yet alone this planet is in one piece.”

“I don’t know what happened but probably ripples from the time war. They call it the conjunction of the spheres. The whole planet is covered in scars from it. Something happened that brought a lot of different people from different races here. I don’t think they all came from this universe, and certainly not all from the same time period. There’s examples all over the place of it,” Jaskier explained.

“I only understand about a third of what they’re talking about,” Geralt said in aside to Yennefer.

Overhearing, Rose replies to them, “I only ever understand about half of what comes out of the Doctor’s mouth on a good day. I find it easier to just nod and take in what’s going on around us. I swear for someone really smart and observant he has a tendency to miss the obvious sometimes.”

“Jaskier has a tendency to play dumb but is actually one of the smartest people I know. He also notices everything. Unless it’s something like a horse about to run him over because he’s too busy composing something in his note book to look where he’s going.”

Rose groans and makes an exasperated gesture, “That’s exactly what I am talking about! The Doctor does that sort of thing all the bloody time. Your friend is definitely his grandson then. Why couldn’t he inherit some of your common sense Jack?”

“Common sense? Me? We met because I was a conman who was too stupid to think that just maybe an ambulance from an advanced civilisation might contain medical equipment on the subatomic level so of course I won’t be able to see it. I even had nanogenes in the ship I was using from the same civilisation and time period.”

They all talked amongst themselves for a while before Jaskier started playing as he’d arranged to earlier with the tavern owner. He did a number of the ones he was famous for including much to Geralt’s annoyance ‘Toss a coin’.

After a while just to be obnoxious Jack called out, “Free bird!”

“You can’t play that one on a lute Jack,” The Doctor replied.

Jaskier took that as a challenge. It sounded a little weird but he actually managed to do a passably recognisable version of the opening cords without the metal sound and started to sing.

If I leave here tomorrow,

Would you still remember me?

For I must be traveling on now,

'Cause there's too many places I've got to see,

But if I stay here with you, girl,

Things just couldn't be the same,

'Cause I'm as free as a bird now,

And this bird you cannot change,

Oh, oh, oh, oh,

And the bird you cannot change,

And this bird, you cannot change,

Lord knows, I can't change,

Bye-bye baby, it's been sweet love, yeah, yeah,

Though this feelin' I can't change,

But please don't take it so badly,

'Cause Lord knows, I'm to blame,

But if I stay here with you, girl,

Things just couldn't be the same,

'Cause I'm as free as a bird now,

And this bird you cannot change,

Oh, oh, oh, oh,

And the bird you cannot change,

And this bird, you cannot change,

Lord knows, I can't change,

Lord help me, I can't change,

Lord, I can't change,

Won't you fly high, free bird, yeah.

He finished without the solo metal part at end became they’re really is only so much he can do with strings made from gut, and even he knows when to admit defeat. He bowed at the claps he got from the three people in the room who actually knew what that song was supposed to sound like, and a few others who seemed to like the song. “You’re right, that really does need metal strings to sound right.”

And so the night went on with The Doctor, Rose and Jack challenging him to convert rock songs to play on the lute.

Later that night Jaskier was surprised when Geralt joined him in bed in the room he’d earned them with his performance. He’d expected him to forget all about him as usual and go off with Yennefer wherever. He was even more surprised but presently so that he was being very affectionate with him.

“Not that I’m complaining, but any particular reason you’re so determined to kiss every inch of exposed skin I have?”

“There’s a few inches of skin not so exposed right now I’d also like to get my lips on,” Geralt replied giving a feral grin as he smelled the spike in Jaskier’s arousal. “You’re normally horny after a rowdy performance like that one. You didn’t disappear off with anyone so I thought I’d help you out.”

“What about Yennefer?” Jaskier couldn’t help asking.

“Well if you really want to I could probably talk her into joining us, but I rather like having you all to myself right now,” Geralt said only half joking and started sucking on his neck causing Jaskier to moan.

“Not what I’m talking about. Normally you’d be in bed with her by now.”

“I’m not good with words,” Geralt said being serious now. “I’m trying to do better by you Jask. You almost left today, and for good. Not just a few weeks or months but gone forever. It hit me if you left here tomorrow like that song you sang, I’d not only remember you I’d be devastated. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

“‘But if I stay here with you, things just could be the same, cause I’m free as a bird now, and this bird cannot change,’” Jaskier quoted. “There’s truth in that too. I’ve loved being Jaskier the bard. The problem is I don’t age. People assume I got some elder blood in me and don’t make much of it lots of people do. Even then though there’s only so long I can keep up the rues before I need to move on. I love you Geralt and I’ve stayed so long already because I needed to be near you. Pathetic I know.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” Geralt stated. “And you’re not pathetic.”

That caught Jaskier by surprise and he gasped running a hand over the Witcher’s face. “You come with me?”

“You’ve followed me around for over twenty years now. Maybe it’s time I followed you for a change.”

“You’d do that?”

“Yes,” Geralt replied running a hand through the bard’s hair.

“What about the path, and you’re tied to Yennefer by destiny and all that.”

“I love you and I know it’s not some damned wish from a djinn causing it all. You had a point earlier when you said you didn’t know just how much either of us are consenting to it all. Truth is when she’s not around I barely think about her then I see her and it’s like some sort of spell comes over me and she’s all I think about. When you’re not around I’m thinking about you constantly. Just ask any of my brothers they complain about me moping every winter.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Jaskier added.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me too. You may have hidden your identity but not the small things about you. I know you have cold feet in the mornings, hog the blankets, but always end up cuddling during the night. You prefer to drink wine over ale and like things spiced with ginger. FYou hate geese but love pretty much all other animals. You spoil Roach rotten with treats. You once made a pet of a mouse you found with its leg stuck in a trap because it refused to leave after you nursed it back to health. His name was Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, you called him ‘Nearly Legless Nick’ for some reason, and he lived in your pocket. Those things and twenty years worth of getting to know you like that isn’t made up. But I’d like to get to know the rest.”

“Fine. Run away with me for once. After we help Borch, and stop whatever ill advised plan Yennefer is concocting. Maybe we should kidnap her and take her with us when we run away. She needs protecting from herself. If you had to bind yourself to a sorceress at least you picked an interesting one.”

“That’s enough about Yen. I believe we where in the middle of something that most definitely doesn’t involve her,” Geralt replied before kissing Jaskier.

[vesemirsexual]

‘Witcher Geralt?’

He swallowed the prawn and turned around. A sorcerer who looked familiar smiled faintly, touching the embroidered facings of his purple doublet.

‘Dorregaray of Vole. But we are acquainted. We met . . .’

‘I remember. Excuse me; I didn’t recognise you right away. Glad to . . .’

The sorcerer smiled a little more broadly, taking two goblets from a tray being carried by a pageboy.

‘I’ve been watching you for some time,’ he said, handing one of the glasses to Geralt. ‘You’ve told everyone Yennefer has introduced you to that you’re enjoying yourself. Is that duplicity or a lack of criticism?’

‘Courtesy.’

‘Towards them?’ said Dorregaray, indicating the banqueters with a sweeping gesture. ‘Believe me, it’s not worth the effort. They’re a vain, envious and mendacious bunch; they don’t appreciate your courtesy. Why, they treat it as sarcasm. With them, Witcher, you have to use their own methods. Be obsessive, arrogant and rude, and then at least you’ll impress them. Will you drink a glass of wine with me?’

‘The gnat’s piss they serve here?’ smiled Geralt pleasantly. ‘With the greatest revulsion. Well, but if you like it . . . then I’ll force myself.’

Sabrina and Marti, listening intently from their table, snorted noisily. Dorregaray sized them both up with a contemptuous glance, turned, clinked his goblet against the Witcher’s and smiled, this time genuinely.

‘A point to you,’ he admitted freely. ‘You learn quickly. Where the hell did you acquire that wit, Witcher? On the road you insist on roaming around, hunting endangered species? Your good health. You may laugh, but you’re one of the few people in this hall I feel like proposing such a toast to.’

‘Indeed?’ said Geralt, delicately slurping the wine and savouring the taste. ‘In spite of the fact I make my living slaughtering endangered species?’

‘Don’t try to trip me up,’ said the sorcerer, slapping him on the back. ‘The banquet has only just begun. A few more people are sure to accost you, so ration out your scathing ripostes more sparingly. But as far as your profession is concerned . . . You, Geralt, at least have enough dignity not to deck yourself out with trophies. But take a good look around. Go on, forget convention for a moment; they like people to stare at them.’

The Witcher obediently fixed his gaze on Sabrina Glevissig’s breasts.

‘Look,’ said Dorregaray, seizing him by the sleeve and pointing at a sorceress walking past, tulle fluttering. ‘Slippers made from the skin of the horned agama. Had you noticed?’

He nodded, ingenuously, since he’d only noticed what her transparent tulle blouse wasn’t covering.

‘Oh, if you please, rock cobra,’ said the sorcerer, unerringly spotting another pair of slippers being paraded around the hall. The fashion, which had shortened hemlines to a span above the ankle, made his task easier. ‘And over there . . . White iguana. Salamander. Wyvern. Spectacled caiman. Basilisk . . . Every one of those reptiles is an endangered species. Can’t people bloody wear shoes of calfskin or pigskin?’

‘Going on about leather, as usual, Dorregaray?’ asked Philippa Eilhart, stopping beside them. ‘And tanning and shoemaking? What vulgar, tasteless subjects.’

‘People find a variety of things tasteless,’ said the sorcerer grimacing contemptuously. ‘Your dress has a beautiful trim, Philippa. Diamond ermine, if I’m not mistaken? Very tasteful. I’m sure you’re aware this species was exterminated twenty years ago owing to its beautiful pelt?’

‘Thirty,’ corrected Philippa, stuffing the last of the prawns – which Geralt hadn’t been quick enough to eat – into her mouth one after the other. ‘I know, I know, the species would surely have come back to life, had I instructed my dressmaker to trim my dress with bunches of raw flax. I considered it. But the colours wouldn’t have matched.’

- Time of Contempt, Andrzej Sapkowski

[thesleepy1]

Flapjacks 'n Pancakes

A/N: I know I’ve been gone for ages. I’m very sorry for that. I am trying to get back into the swing of things. This fic was anon requested from ages ago. I hope it’s alright. 

Pairing No pairings

Summary: The continent is infested with monsters and there is only one sort of person able to kill those beasts, witchers. Usually they're not four feet and ten inches tall, but we can't all be winners. 

Or, "Platonic, Geralt, Ciri, Yennefer and Triss: Geralt, Ciri, Yennefer, and Triss react to reader being short as their height is between 4'10 and 5'1. They are very capable of defending themselves as you shouldn't underestimate someone's size. Reader has a platonic relationship with them." 

Word count: 1,313

Warnings: sass, language, past child abuse, 

Geralt

Geralt came out of the extra mutations with white hair and eyes too sensitive for sunlight. The older witchers said that he’ll regain his ability to see properly in a couple of weeks or so but there was nothing that could be done about his hair. They had tried to experiment with dark dyes made from root and charcoal but nothing would permanently stain his locks. He was left an abomination among mutants. 

He stood alone in the courtyard. The other pups were afraid to get close to him. Deep down he knew that they were afraid of receiving the same treatment he did, but he couldn’t help but feel hurt the next time a boy ran an extra lap down the hill just so he wouldn’t have to stand next to Geralt.

Geralt didn’t want to be alone. He saw how the other pups played with each other. They used to play with him just the same. Now they wouldn’t even eat at the same table as him. 

Although, that part may have been less of his fault and more of your doing. Geralt had not noticed you at first when he took the seat near the fireplace. His hazy eyes drew to your figure when you began growling.

The bow instructor had walked too close to your bowl. The older witcher’s hands had been moving in conversation and you feared the instructor would make an attempt for your meal. You snarled at him. The older witcher was hardly a normal instructor and slapped you over the head for your attitude but you merely hugged your meal closer. 

“Would you like some of mine?” Geralt offered his bowl to you. He took notice of how small you were, even at your age. He wasn’t all that different but the mutations had made him weak. You looked as though you would be the size of a small child the rest of your life if you didn’t get a proper meal in your system soon. 

“I’m not sharin’,” You told him upfront. 

“You don’t have to. I’m offering.” He pushed his bowl towards you. “C-could we be friends?” 

“Can you get me another bowl?” 

Geralt got up from his seat and made his way to the kitchens. This time he did not mind the way the other pups steered clear out of his way. It made grabbing seconds all that much easier. 

Ciri

Ciri stood frozen in place at the sight of the yak near the gates. Its horns curved toward the sky, the ends sharp as blades by the way the sun glinted off of them. Its fur was thick, covering its large body in dark layers. It was larger than any yak that she had seen, greater than any cattle she had ever laid her eyes on.

And it was coming their way.

"Geralt!" Ciri shouted for the white haired witcher, her training sword already in her hands. She rushed towards him, her voice carrying through the wind. “Geralt!” 

At the sound of Ciri’s yells, Geralt dropped everything and rush to her side. His swords were in his hands just as quickly. “What’s wrong?”

Ciri pointed towards the gates. The yak lumbered its way up the hill to the gateway. “We have to do something!” She urged Geralt in a panic. There was a great beast coming their way and it didn’t look like it planned on stopping anytime soon. 

However the older witcher only laughed. “There is nothing to worry about, Ciri,” Geralt explained with a smile at having realized what was going on. The young girl looked unconvinced so he guided her down the hill by a hand on her shoulder. He could smell the nerves rolling off of her in waves. Her hands gripped her training sword until her knuckles went white. 

“Good afternoon!” Geralt yelled down to the yak like a buffoon. 

“What are you doing? Are you trying to get us killed!” Ciri scolded the witcher. She was quick on her foot, standing in front of him as if to block the yak’s possible attack. If it wanted to get to Gerald, it would have to get through her first. 

“Good day!” A voice seemingly came from the yak.

“W-what?” Ciri’s mouth was open ajar at the sight. The yak stopped just past the threshold of the gate and lowered itself to the ground. The creature was larger than a bear up close, its stomach fat from grazing. It was so big that it managed to hide the small witcher carrying it.

You stepped away from your kill and smiled up at Geralt’s daughter. You gave her a little wave in greeting, ignoring the yak blood dripping down your hand. 

Ciri looked down at you. The top of your head just reached her chin, but with her on the incline of the hill, your height difference was laughable. Even without, you knew that Geralt would have given a chuckle. “Thought you were gettin’ raided there?” You teased the girl, gesturing to your kill. 

“B-but how did you manage to kill that thing? It's bigger than Geralt.”

You snorted, a sound that was more akin to something a pig would make than a witcher. Geralt made no comment on the remark. His eyes merely crinkled in amusement. “I’m a witcher,” You explained simply. “With Geralt’s wonderful teachin’, I’m sure you’ll be the one huntin’ for supper in no time.”  

Yennefer 

“I don’t have a potion to cure you of your height. You’ve only got your parents to blame.”

You were told the mage of Vengerberg was not the kindest, but you had assumed she would have at least greeted you first. 

 “I’m not here for a cure,” You said through gritted teeth. “I need help killin’ a vampire.” 

“A witcher asking for help?” The mage laughed. Her smile was not unpleasant. “I’ve seen it all.”

“It was either this or walkin’ into my own grave.” You adjusted the sword on your back. “I’m not so sure I made the right choice.”

“How much?” 

You considered for a moment, weighing the options and trying to count out how much gold you needed to get to the next town. “A quarter of my pay.” 

“Half.” 

“I need to eat, mage.” 

“A third.” The look in her eyes dared you to refuse her offer. “And you can call me Yennefer.”’ 

Triss 

Triss did not expect to see a witcher tending the tavern. She did not expect to see one so short that their shoulders could barely be seen above the bar. If someone had placed a tankard in the right spot, Triss may not have even noticed the witcher at all. 

“You can’t be serious,” Triss remarked, looking over the bar at the figure standing there. “You can’t be human.” 

“Hello to you too,” You greeted with a snarl. “Pleasant day, we’re havin’, huh?” Outside the thunder roared like a hungry beast. “I’ve been doin’ quite well, thanks for askin’. How are you farin’ these days?”

“I don’t mean to be rude—”

You raised a brow and glared up at Triss. “That’s you tryin’ not to be rude? I don’t wanna see what you’re like when you are then.” 

“That obviously came out wrong,” Triss backtracked. “I’m Triss Merigold and I’m one very curious mage.” 

“I’m goin’ to stop you right there, Merigold.” You waved away at the usual comments you knew were just bubbling inside of her. “I was simply born like this. No other folk in my blood from my knowledge. My folks must have been just as short and that was the hand I was dealt in life.” You shrugged. “Nothin’ I can do about it and it doesn’t affect the huntin’ much either so I don’t let it bother me.” 

“But honestly, how have you made it this long?” 

You sighed and pulled up a stool. 

[roughentumble]

wrote more. these are all vaguely connected/unconnected snippets that will be woven together if i make it a full story

“I’m not completely defenseless! I can make a circle out of mountain ash just by throwing it in the air.” He never did much with his spark, because it was only ever a little thing. He could maybe make a pen float, if he wanted to be exhausted all day. But the mountain ash trick had saved him multiple times.

Geralt mostly just looks confused, though. “I’ve never heard of mountain ash as defensive.”

“And how do you make a circle by throwing it?” Jaskier adds, curious.

“A mountain ash circle doesn’t stop werewolves here?” He asks, ignoring Jaskier for a moment. Geralt shakes his head, and Stiles groans. “So the supernatural works differently in this world too… great. Just great.” Now he really does feel useless. All the magical knowledge he’s built for himself, collected over the years, used to save his and other’s lives, and it’s all for nothing here. He really is useless. He can tell Jaskier’s going to ask again, though, and he sighs. “I… have a little something. My old… teacher, I guess… he called it a spark. It’s just a tiny bit of magic. I can’t really do anything with it, except for the circle.”

“So you went to school for it, then?”

“No. Magic isn’t known about where I’m from, there are no magic schools. He was just a local druid who gave me a few tips.”

“If all it was was a few tips,” Geralt says, “then maybe you should take a few lessons. Might give you better control of what you can do.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I’ve never been able to manipulate anything but mountain ash, not really.”

“What about the tree it comes from?”

Stiles sits there for a moment, dumbfounded. “What… what?”

“I assume that mountain ash, the tree species, is the same in both worlds. And that’s what you’re talking about. Could you make a mountain ash tree grow? Or move? If you can turn the branches into a circle, could you turn them into projectiles?”

“The mountain ash is a powder.” He says weakly. “Not a full branch of mountain ash, it’s been powderized.”

Geralt hums. “Turn the powder into a circle, then. Still, it’s worth a thought. If we encounter any mountain ash, we’ll collect some and put your magic through its paces.”

“Okay. Yeah. Okay.” Stiles feels dazed. Why hadn’t Deaton ever suggested that?

``````

“Alright. Show me what you know first.” Geralt says.

Stiles feels a little embarrassed. It’s a cooler party trick when the other person can’t throw literal fire. He digs into a hidden pocket in his flannel and pulls out an emergency stash of mountain ash. Since he’ll be here a while he doesn’t worry so much about using up the now useless supply, and throws a great big handful in the air. He closes his eyes, focusing on the feel of the dancing dust, and when it settles, it does so in a perfect, obedient ring around his feet.

Geralt looks thoughtful, brow furrowed. “That’s… not how magic is cast here, generally.” He touches his medallion, takes a step closer. “My medallion didn’t vibrate…”

“Is it supposed to?”

Geralt looks unimpressed. “Yes.”

“Oh.”

“…Well, I might be able to give you a few pointers, still. And if anything comes of it— and she’s willing to take on another pupil— Yen might be able to do more for you than I can. Witcher signs are a bit different from sorcerer’s magic.” Geralt holds out his hand. A mountain ash branch has been sectioned into equal cylinders and sits waiting in his palm. “Take one.”

Stiles does, pulling it up to his face to inspect it. It’s very unassuming. “Even if I can move this, what’s the point? I could annoy someone to death?”

“Or you could carve it into a dagger and throw it through their head without moving an inch.” Geralt replies, nonplussed.

Stiles boggles. “Yeah. Or I could do that.”

“Enough blabbering. Put it in your palm. Yes, like that. Now, find your center, and do what you do when you move the powder. Just this time, focus solely on the block in your hand.”

Stiles sucks in a shaky breath and closes his eyes. It’s hard to focus, his mind a cacophony of what ifs, and hows, and maybes. But he pushes anyway. He furrows his brow, and thinks push with all his might. The stick rolls off his hand and lands on the grass. His eyes snap open in excitement, and he beams at Geralt. “It moved! It moved, did you see?”

“Your hand wasn’t flat.” Geralt says, and Stiles’ heart plummets.

“Oh.” He says again, and Geralt bends to retrieve the piece. He places it back in Stiles’ hand, this time on its end so it can’t roll.

“Try again. Clear your mind.”

Stiles wants to shout, because his mind is never, ever clear. Never. But he can do it with the powder, so he just— he just has to find that same space, in his mind. How does he do it? On instinct. Instincts, which happen before thought. He breathes in, out, follows that thread of thought, chases it down deeper into his own mind. In, out. In, out. He needs to do it without thinking about it, it needs to feel like a thought before thought. Trying doesn’t work— he has to do it. Do or do not. There is no try. In, out. In, out. The mountain ash circles more perfectly than he could ever imagine a circle. The mountain ash will move further than he can picture, will hit targets better than he can aim, he knows, he just knows, if he can just make it happen. The instinct of what he wants to happen hits him so suddenly, so unconsciously, it’s like a slap to the back of the head.

And the stick goes flying.

Only about a foot. But his hand didn’t move. The mountain ash did.

(note: he’ll need to 1- learn to do that better and more quickly and 2- learn to marry unconcious desire with concious ones. if all his unconscious desires come true, it could mean serious damage. he’ll need a lot of control. this is why deaton didnt want to let him know how his spark works, because he thought stiles wouldnt have the control for it, and he thought someone powerful would upset the balance. stiles eventually figures that out.)

`````````

“You need to learn to meditate. To center your mind.” Geralt says for what feels like the umpteenth time, and Stiles groans.

“I’ve told you, I can’t, I have ADHD. I know that doesn’t mean anything in this world, but in mine, it’s a pretty big deal! And I’m slowly running out of my medication, so that’s a double anti-mediation whammy, do not pass go, do not collect one hundred dollars, capisce?”

Geralt’s brow furrows. “If ‘capisce’ means ‘understand’, then not really.” He says. “But obstacles don’t mean the skill is any less necessary. Plenty of trainees came in unable to focus, and all of them learned this skill.”

“All of them? One hundred percent success rate?” Stiles asks snidely.

“The ones who lived.” Geralt replies.

That takes the wind out of Stiles’ sails, and he deflates a bit. “It’s not that I’m a stubborn asshole who just doesn’t want to. I really, truly can’t sit still. Even on my medication. If I try and sit still and think of nothing, I’ll go crazy. My mind is never, ever empty. Ever.” He admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then you won’t sit still. Come on, stand up.” Geralt guides him up, then a bit away from the fire. “Trainees start young. There are multiple methods to ease them into it, because the mind is a tricky thing. Pace here, until you can do it with closed eyes.”

“I feel kind of stupid.” Stiles says as he paces in a small circle, back and forth obediently.

“You look kind of stupid. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is taking baby steps that will lead you to your goal. Now, close your eyes. There will be other thoughts. Your mind wants you to think. But you have control, no matter how much the horse is bucking. Keep a steady grip, and focus on only one thought. ‘I am centered’. Say it to yourself over and over, let the other thoughts clamor for control. They won’t get it. Because the only thought that comes purely from you is ‘I am centered’.” Geralt’s voice is smooth and even, guiding Stiles forward, encouraging him.

Stiles’ mind is loud. A thousand random thoughts fly by, begging him to follow them down the thread. Where is his dad right now? What is his old pack doing? Is there a new Star Wars movie out? Why does his leg suddenly itch? Should he scratch it? You definitely don’t scratch during meditation. No, he won’t scratch. What if it’s a mosquito? What if it’s a worse bug, crawling up his pants? He slaps his hand against his thigh where it itches, and the immediately feels guilty.

“One thought. Just follow the one thought.” Geralt repeats, and Stiles sucks in a breath.

Right. One thought. One thought. Here we go, it’s his one thought. He can do this. He can do this. I am centered. What a silly phrase. He’s certainly not centered yet, maybe it should be I’m going to be centered or I’m trying to be centered, but he’s certainly not centered now. No. No, he’s getting distracted again. He paces faster, as if he could outrun the thoughts. I am centered. I am centered. I am centered. He chants it to himself, half desperate, makes the thought so loud that his head has no space for other thoughts. But it doesn’t make him calm. What if I never do it? slithers in like a snake, and he physically turns his head to avoid the thought. I am centered. The questions come faster. What if I’m a failure forever? I am centered. What if I never figure it out? I am centered. What if it’s like those boys Geralt mentioned, and I die because I can’t focus? I am centered. I am centered. I am centered.

He doesn’t catch the moment it happens, but it’s like… his racing thoughts bleed down his racing legs. They're there still, but quiet, leaking away, dribbling out of his mind. His mantra slows too, until it goes from a repeated chant, to a singly held truth, one single thought that stretches forward and back. I am centered.

He slows to a stop. Opens distant eyes, that look unseeing on the fire before him. His mind is… is… blessedly empty, for perhaps the first time in his life. He looks over at Geralt, beautiful Geralt, wonderful Geralt and whispers “I did it.”

Geralt smile is small, but so proud that Stiles knees want to buckle. Earning pride from this man is, is— that he could earn anyone’s pride is—

“We’ll keep practicing like that. Eventually you’ll be able to do it sitting. Centering yourself is an important skill, and one that could save your life. Your quick mind is an asset, but don’t let it overwhelm you.”

An asset. His mind, his crazy, fucked up mind that needs drugs to focus is an asset. He collapses on the ground next to Geralt and leans against his side, desperate for the support. “Thank you.” He says, soft and vulnerable.

Geralt stiffens, seems unsure of what to do with the vulnerability. But then he puts an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “It’s nothing.”

“No,” Stiles replies, “it’s everything.”

Jaskier returns from having relieved himself and retrieving water from a nearby stream. “What have I missed?”

`````````

Stiles shifts the pack on his hip, filled with mountain ash darts. Geralt had been kind enough to carve them for him, and they look deadly as hell, thick as his finger and sharpened to a point. He can levitate them now, and he always hits his mark, but they don’t always fly with enough force to stick to a target, meaning they don’t always move fast enough to save his life, which means he needs to keep working at it. It comes easier and easier each day, though, like flexing a muscle he never knew he had. He levitates the few he’d thrown and deposits them magically back in their pouch. Geralt touches his medallion again, seemingly put off by the fact his magic doesn’t activate it.

“You need hand to hand.” Geralt says.

Jaskier looks intrigued. “Oh, two strapping men going at it? Don’t mind if I do.”

Stiles snorts. “I’ve never been strapped for anything but cash. And why do I need hand to hand when I can throw magic murder darts?”

“What if your darts get lost? What if your magic fails and they don’t fly fast enough? What if there are no gaps in an opponent’s armor? What if you lose your concentration because you got punched in the face?” Geralt lists off, looking unimpressed. “You need to have a back-up that isn’t just running and flailing.”

“I don’t flail! I— I wave my hands manfully.”

Geralt and Jaskier share a look. “You flail.” Jaskier says. “Nothing to be ashamed of, darling, but you do.”

“As do you.” Geralt says.

“Please! I’m an artist Geralt, I would never do anything as base as flailing. My every movement is calm and poised.” He says dramatically.

“You could use hand to hand too, you know. I’d rest easier if you knew more than how to knee a man in the balls.”

“I am, as I said, an artist, Geralt. The point of me is to sit back and watch the soldiers roughhouse. And now I’ll have a second bodyguard, hand trained by the first! I truly believe I am perfectly safe in your knowledgeable hands.” He folds his own hands in his lap, and that’s seemingly the end of that argument. “Now go ahead, put on a show for me.”

Geralt rolls his eyes fondly, then hands a knife to Stiles. It’s still in its sheath, but it’s a real knife, heavy and sharp. “Now. I want you to slit my throat with this.”

Stiles stares down at the knife. A pit opens up in his gut. Murderer. Murderer. “I- I can’t… I could hurt you.” He holds it loosely, ready to drop it.

Geralt smirks. “Trust me. You wont cut me. Especially with the sheath in the way.”

Stiles shakes his head, holds the knife out. “No. I mean, I, I could really hurt you. I can’t, I can’t—“

Geralt’s smirk falls away. He places a gentle hand on Stiles’. “One day, it will be you or them. Taking a life is never, ever simple. If you are attacked, run. If you cannot run, speak. And if they will not listen…” he wraps Stiles’ fingers more firmly around the knife handle, tightens Stiles’ grip. “Then protect yourself.”

There’s always another way.

Some of us are just human, Scott.

Stiles closes his eyes against the memory. Geralt wants him to live. Geralt knows it’s a burden. Geralt knows it’s hard. And he still wants Stiles to choose to live.

Geralt allows him a moment, then adds “Besides, how can you kill a drowner if you can’t even cut it?” Stiles’s head whips up, and he starts at Geralt’s face, smiling but serious, and Geralt would do it, Geralt would teach him how to hunt— at least maybe the easier monsters, at least to defend himself against them, and he just— he’s so overwhelmed, he just—

Stiles lunges with the knife, straight for Geralt’s throat.

Jaskier whoops behind him, and Geralt dodges like it’s easier than breathing, slipping to the side like water and grabbing Stiles’ wrist as he goes, twisting until it’s behind Stiles’ back and useless. “Good,” he says, even though it didn’t feel good, it felt very useless. “Never feel above a surprise attack when it’s life and death. And never assume your attacker is above it either. Expect a dirty move, sand in the eyes, a kick to the balls. There’s no referee for life. Now, come at me again.” He drops Stiles’ wrist, and he massages it for a moment.

“You should take off your shirts. Less wind resistance while you spar.” Jaskier throws in airily.

“Trust me, no one wants to see that.” Stiles mutters. “Tell him to stop heckling.”

“A real fight will have distractions. Better to learn now how to assess what’s an oncoming threat you should be mindful for, and what’s a nothing sound that will get you distracted and dead. Now come at me again.”

Stiles fixes his grip on the knife and lunges towards Geralt’s throat. He does the exact same move again, and Stiles can’t possibly see how he could dodge it. “Good aim, but you telegraph your movements. Your footstance is off too. Here, stand like this.” Geralt kicks his feet apart until it’s just this side of awkward, and then pushes Stiles down until he’s almost squatting. it feels really, really weird. “From here you’ll have a wider range of movements. We’ll practice this stance daily, until you can fall back into it without thought. If you have to think about your feet in a battle, you’re dead. Now, lunge again.”

———————

Stiles feels like they’ve been going at this for hours, and yet he doesn’t lay a single finger on Geralt. He figures he should’ve gotten one lucky shot by now, but it’s nothing. “Footwork! Fall back into your stance!” Geralt barks, smacking the side of Stiles’ knee. He growls in frustration and launches himself at Geralt, hoping for something, anything. Maybe he’ll bite the man’s throat out. He’s a frenzy of movement, and Geralt subdues him like he’s an ornery cat. “A berserk attack with no theory behind it will never give you the upper hand. You need to apply what I’m showing you, even in the heat of the moment.” He sounds so fucking placid. Stiles wants to tear his hair out. He lets out a screech of fury, and drops his knife… only for it to fly up and smack Geralt in the back of the head. Everything goes still.

“Did you… throw that?” He asks cautiously, looking at the blade on the ground.

“No.” Stiles says, nervous. “No, I just… really wanted to hit you with it. And then it was like, it just… listened.”

They’re all three silent for a moment. “We’ll need to work on your magical training.” Geralt says seriously. If he can move things other than mountain ash darts, then…

“And his hand to hand. Even I can tell his footwork is atrocious.” Jaskier adds from the sidelines.

“Yes. Thank you, Jaskier.” Stiles spits.

“Only trying to help, dear.” Jaskier says, then strums his lute.

“The magical training will come later. For now, back to hand to hand.” Stiles groans pathetically. “Come on. No use whining. If you want to learn, then apply yourself.”

“I’ve been applying myself.” Stiles mutters, but he falls back into position as best he can.

Geralt has a few corrections, but then tells him “Better. You’re starting to get the hang of it.” and Stiles feels like he’s glowing. He has Stiles practice some lunges into the air, corrects form where necessary, which is most everywhere. He finds himself slowly falling into the same place he had while meditating, doing the same motion over and over, focused on nothing but doing it just right, the tune from Jaskier’s lute carrying away all thought. He’s got no idea how long he moves like that, other than the fact he’s sweating like a pig. The music weaves in and out, starting and stopping, but the accompaniment is actually… nice. He’s almost sad when Jaskier gets bored and the playing peters off. They keep moving, through one stance into the next, from one lunge into the next, with hands on him and quiet words to keep his form in check.

“Surprise attack!” Suddenly Jaskier appears from nowhere and leaps onto Stiles’ side, knocking both of them to the ground in a flurry of limbs and squawking. Once they both land with an ‘oof’, Jaskier looks down at him and says “Boy, your situational awareness is shit.”

“You utter and complete ass!” Stiles groans as he rolls out form beneath Jaskier.

“Just helping with the training.” Jaskier says cheerily. “Ugh, you are disgustingly sweaty, though.”

Geralt just smiles and offers his hand. “Better to learn now.”

“So you saw him coming and you just let him tackle me? You’re both asses.” Stiles grumps, but he takes Geralt’s hand, even as his muscles scream in protest.

“Come on. We’ll go get cleaned up in the stream, and then we’ll call it a day. Any more practice and your limbs won’t work right.”

“Finally, sweet relief!” Stiles tugs on his shirt for air flow, absolutely drenched in sweat. he’s surprised to find his hands shake, and he looks down at them in shock.

“You worked hard.” Geralt says, answering his unasked question. “You’ll sleep hard tonight, too. It’ll be good for you.”

“If you think you’ll be bathing without me as well, you’re sorely mistaken.” Jaskier says as he sets his lute aside and scrounges in his pack for his bathing kit.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Jask.”

[hey-that-hurt]

@ksx-22

The vast majority of what I like is fandom-based, but I can recommend some things!

The fanfic Break Him by Prince_Ash_28 is a recently completed story and one of the most intense whump fics I’ve ever read. It’s an impressive 133K words, and features the character Natsu Dragneel from Fairy Tail. It also has a satisfying recovery arc.

Kegare by Zillasafe is a MP100 fic, very intense and sad, also with an eventual recovery arc. Currently incomplete. Heads up though: the whumpee is a child.

To Light a Fire by IcyPanther: an ATLA fic where Zuko is brought back to his father, disowned, and sold into slavery. Also features a recovery arc.

The Redemption Line by BabyCharmander: Robot whump! A Portal fic where Wheatley is brought back to Aperture Science and tortured by GLaDOS.

Showtime by ElAurianBarkeep: a 16K word fic where Phoenix Wright has a very bad time. NSFWhump, so definitely close to the whumpiest a whump fic can get, but might be too much for some. Mind the tags. Also spoils some key stuff about the third game. NO RECOVERY ARC. This one is ALL hurt.

Cloak and Dagger by RoachIsJudgingYou: A Witcher (primarily TV) fic. Geralt gets captured and tortured while Jaskier works on recovering from an injury so he can go on a rescue mission. I, personally, always enjoy reading about strong, seemingly unflappable characters slowly being broken down.

White Wolf (he’s not a wolf) by Archenfane: Almost more angsty than whumpy but it’s one of few stories that’s made me at least teary-eyed so it goes on the list. Another Witcher fic where Geralt was subjected to extra mutations, is ostracized, hurt, and mocked at every turn, and has internalized this. The story focuses on uncovering the depth of his trauma and terrible self-perception, and Jaskier helping him recover.

Like Father Like Son by eternalglitch: a Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles where Leonardo is basically forced to become a villain through an ai-powered shock collar that pretty much acts like mind control without the mind control. The story is incomplete and currently in the recovery arc, but the recovery is going poorly. Extremely angsty and whumpy, basically over 100K words of extreme mental distress, pain, and hopelessness.

left my rights at the door by SimpSupreme: a DSMP fic that I really need to reread, because there’s a sequel in progress that I’m far behind on. At its core, it is an obedience curse story focused on character!Technoblade. Honestly quite similar to Like Father Like Son in terms of the themes of mental anguish and hopelessness. It’s rough.

the inner mechanism of a black box by Bee_4: more psychological whump than physical, but I would still categorize it as whump. Another DSMP c!Technoblade-centric fic, this time focused on the horror of being trapped in a prison that amounts to little more than, well, a black box.

Alien Life Form by telm_393: An easily digestible 5500 words with a recovery-focused sequel, this fic probably did a lot for getting me into whump long before I actually learned the word “whump”. A 2012 Avengers fic where Thor is captured and experimented on before the rest of the team can rescue him.

Anyway, this is just a small portion of the whump fics I have saved. Hope this helps!

Edit: @evilwriter37 also reblogged this and I second their statement that they’ve written a LOT of very intense whump.

Hello, I wanna get into whump. What's the most extreme whump fic/story you know of?

Hiya friend! I'm so glad you're dipping your toes into whump! It's such a fun thing to write/draw/what have you!

Unfortunately, I'm not that much of a reader (I'm trying to change that though!) so I can't really think of any extreme whump fic or story. I can ask my followers and the community though!

HEY FOLLOWERS AND WHUMP COMMUNITY! Any extreme whump stories you can recommend? :D

[thedevilishlyangelic]

Tagged!

Tagged by @shadowy-dumbo-octopus

Tagging @platypusafro @gharashambles @deacf-coffee-is-a-sin and anyone else who even thinks about doing this, you’re tagged too!💙 no pressure though!

3 Ships:

Geralt/Regis(witcher): This is the first paring I was introduced to in the witcher fandom years back and it has and never will leave my brain. The monster hunter x monster pairings has my soul in a vice grip and it aint ever letting go. Those two old farts will forever hold a dear spot in my heart.

Dettlaff/witcher oc (witcher): I can’t help but ship my OC Dessi with that sensitive dark hair and brooding vampire because she is the light that will never burn his gentle soul. The games did that man dirty in the dlc at the end. Like how the fuck do you make the manipulated victim the monster and killing him the good ending while saving his lover(human) who practically tortured the vampire by making him believed she was being held ransoms/in danger, so she can make him kill what he believes are innocent people with the lover’s sister being the last(does not quite happen) victim. (I can write a damn paper on how I feel about that dumb deal)

The Commander (OC)/Trahearne (Guild Wars 2) I am so in love with this MMO and when I first met Trahearne and through out the core story as he grows as a leader, I just couldn’t help but imagine how my character would be falling in love with that sweet salad. Still grumpy how they did him in the Heart of Thorns expansion because people wanted to complain. 

First ship

Honestly can’t remember but I know they were self inserts. I know they were with the supposed ‘villains’ of the stories because apparently i’m just like that. Shoot I had a crush on Crowley from supernatural that a friend and I both cowritten our OCs with mine of course with the king of hell. 

Currently consuming:

Soon to be coffee as I got it brewing. (I got distracted with the coffee and then other things happened and didn’t come back to continuing this post till hours later...oops)

Currently watching:

Does watching a game playthrough count? cause it is GOW: Ragnarok but only a lil bit at a time since i’m either working or sleeping. but OMG Kratos growing into being a proper dad and of course I have a soft spot for talkative know-it-alls that support the main character AKA Mimir. 

Last movie:

It was a while back but it was The Old Guard. That shit was amazing, and I need a sequel like PRONTO!

Last song:

Filthy Freaks by Bones UK

Currently reading:

I was reading the witcher series but after the last move, I have all the books packed up and i’m going to move again in a month or so i guess so I just haven’t unpacked them..but I probably should get those books out since my counselor said it would help with my creativity and since reading has always been a positive impact on myself. 

Currently craving:

A really good soup. like eggdrop soup or french onion soup. I’m always in the mood for a soup. Updated, I found some canned Potatoe leek soup and got excited thinking it would taste the same as what I would get in the college dining hall but alas, the cooks would make it from scratch and from a can its only ‘meh’.

[valdomarx]

Julian Alfred Pankratz, master of the seven liberal arts

The seven liberal arts: seven subjects from classical antiquity believed to be the foundation of wisdom and moral excellence.

Grammar, or the structural constraints of language

“And so cried the witcher, he can’t be bleat?” Geralt’s nose scrunches up. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

“It’s evocative,” Jaskier objects, pouting.

“It’s bloody nonsense,” Geralt grouses.

Jaskier scoffs. Geralt never did understand imagery.

Rhetoric, or the art of persuasion through words

“Toss a coin to your witcher, o valley of plenty!”

Jaskier is bored to tears with this gods-forsaken song and Geralt has always hated it. All the same, Jaskier makes a point of singing it at every tavern he stops in because by the end of the chorus his lute case is always heavy with coin.

And gods know they could both use a hot bath and a good meal.

Logic, or reasoned argumentation between opposing viewpoints

The barkeep’s face pulls into a sneer the moment he catches sight of Geralt. “We don’t want your type in here,” he snarls.

“Your type?” Jaskier’s eyes narrow to angry slits. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean,” the barkeep spits. “He’s barely human.”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?” Jaskier bellows, launching himself bodily over the bar.

Before his hands can close satisfyingly around the smug arsehole’s throat, however, he is brought up short by a firm grip around the back of his neck.

“Not now, Jaskier,” Geralt grumbles, hauling him away from the bar and out into the street.

Arithmetic, or the study of numbers

“Well.” Jaskier empties his coin purse onto the inn table. “I’ve got five Orens, a lot of fluff and, for some reason, a single Mariborian crown.”

Geralt grimaces. “I’ve got seven Orens from that drowner contract last week.”

“Looks like we’ll be sharing a bed tonight then.” Jaskier shrugs. It’s a simple matter of economy. And if he isn’t exactly opposed to the idea, no one needs to know.

Geralt’s face does something which isn’t strictly a smile. “Fine. But if you get fidgety in the night, I’m lying on you.”

Jaskier isn’t exactly opposed to that, either.

Geometry, or the properties of shape, size, and distance

“Love is like a pear,” Jaskier muses, tapping his quill against his lips.

Geralt doesn’t look up from sharpening his swords.

“A pear is sweet and has a distinct shape,” Jaskier expounds, warming up to his theme. And then the flourish of genius: “Try to define the shape of a pear.”

Geralt grunts. “It’s fucking pear shaped, Jaskier.”

Alas, the depths of Jaskier’s artistic musings are entirely lost on his current audience.

Music, or the arrangement of sounds into pleasing forms

Geralt twitches, his skin sickly white, his eyes blown wide and surrounded by black veins but seeing nothing. Jaskier has cleaned his wounds as best he can, and now there is nothing left for either of them to do but wait for the potions’ effects to run their course.

It’s always like this after a difficult hunt, and Jaskier has learned both how he can assist and the limitations of what help he can provide. He settles Geralt on a bedroll and draws a blanket over him, then grabs his lute and perches on a nearby tree stump.

He plays quietly, barely more than tapping against the strings, creating a gentle melody which undulates back and forth like the swell of waves onto a calm shore.

The lullaby drifts through the night, soft and soothing, and some of the tension seems to seep from Geralt’s jaw as he drifts off to sleep.

Astronomy, or the study of heavenly bodies

“That’s the Hunter, right there.” Jaskier points to the seven-star constellation visible to the east. “And there,” he moves his hand across the sky toward the west, “there’s his prey, the Stag.”

“An endless pursuit,” Geralt says, voice softened by the impressive quantity of mead they’d worked through. He shuffles closer, resting his head on Jaskier’s thigh as they stare up at the clear sky and its blanket of stars above. “Always linked yet forever held at a distance.”

Jaskier unthinkingly cards his fingers through Geralt’s hair. It must be the warmth of the summer evening, or maybe all that mead, but Geralt doesn’t pull away. Instead he hums, quiet and relaxed.

“I like to think they’ll meet one day,” Jaskier says, hovering perilously close to veracity. “They’ll be together eventually.” Geralt’s hair weaves silver bands around his fingers. “When the stars align.”