#like Roach is better at talking than Geralt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

roughentumble · 3 months ago

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oh, i forgot! i worked on this and finished it forever ago, in my notes app. i'd already uploaded a partially finished version, but i filled in the missing pieces, added some yennefer, and gave it an ending. @fangirleaconmigo had liked it the previous time around, so hopefully she likes this finished version! link here to the old version, in case you're curious what got added.

fic summary: geralt gets sent back in time to the dragon hunt, and makes changes at key points in the timeline to lead to a better future. he can't remember that he went back, or what choices he's supposed to make, he just gets vague feelings.

======

geralt wakes up in a daze.

there's something on the tip of his tongue-- like when you don't remember a dream, but you remember the shape of it. he fights to recall it, because it seems so big, so important, as the last strands slip through his fingers. his body wills him to stand up, and so he does, as if he could chase the fragments that way, but moving only seems to dislodge them further. he doesnt even recall falling asleep. he sees-- jaskier, a few feet away with his back to him, far enough he'd have to call out to be heard, and everything is hazy as he stumbles over, some sort of need he cant name thrumming under his skin. he could get angry about it, or-- or...

he places a hand on jaskier's shoulder, and jaskier whips around in surprise, blinking owlishly at him. he starts to say something, brow furrowed with concern and sympathy, but geralt cuts him off with a squeeze of his shoulder. "i think you were right. we should go to the coast."

concern gives way to joy, like the sun breaking through the clouds, lighting up his entire face. "you-- really? actually, you'd want that? what caused the change of heart, did you whack your head or something?" he waves his hand in dismissal, keeps speaking before geralt can interject. "doesn't matter, really, what matters is that you did. i'll pack my things right away, and we can load up dear old roach, and i can compose a stunning ballad out of this whole mess because i am a miracle worker, and-- oh you'll just /love/ the coast i'm /certain/ of it! fine wine and pearls and the salty sea stretching out forever over the horizon, and the sunsets, oh! to die for, truly!"

perhaps he did hit his head. there's dirt in his hair, more than usual, and he doesnt think he woke up in a bedroll... but he can't find it in himself to care. it all came out so easy, and something about it had felt right. he reaches out to take jaskier's hand in his own, and jaskier only trips over his words for a moment, glancing down at them in confusion, then smiling even brighter, if that was even possible. that feels right, too. in the same way he cant put his finger on. he'll examine it later, when he's a little more awake. for now he just pulls jaskier gently by the hand towards camp, so he can do that packing he was talking about.

they leave the mountain, and the cursed dragon hunt, behind, without much fanfare or a word to the others.

===========

he doesnt like the coast much, as it turns out. sand isnt great for poor roach's hooves, salt sticks in his long hair making it unmanagable, and the large swath of ocean in front of him makes him edgy in a way he doesnt want to put a name to, because geralt of rivia does not /do/ being afraid. it's all logic, is what it is, giant sea monsters lurk in those depths, and surely no witcher is equipped to deal with their likes. a certain healthy cautiousness makes sense, he reasons.

he likes jaskier at the coast, though.

happy and free, laughing, backlit by the sun, sand on his cheek and pants rolled up to the knee. fancy shoes dangling from his fingers.

/foolish bard/, he thinks, stepping closer, brushing away the sand, /foolish, silly little bard, never brings the proper footwear anywhere we go./ out loud he says "i'm in love with you."

he watches closely the play of emotions across jaskier's face, the joy morphing into shock, disbelief, mouth gawping open like a fish. in the next moment he's dropped those fancy shoes to grab geralt's head, yanking him down into a kiss that's equal parts frenzy and passion and finally coming home. they kiss until the water laps up to their ankles, arms tangled around each other.

the incoming waves claim just one of jaskier's fancy, impractical shoes, and he curses the sea, running into the water as if he could fish the thing out, or else batter the sea into compliance. geralt laughs, and laughs, and pulls jaskier from the salty sea to kiss him again, and again, and again, even as he complains about his lost shoe. "you'll be compensating me for that, witcher." he warns, shaking his finger.

"wouldn't have it any other way," geralt responds, breathless with joy, and jaskier sinks into his grip.

========

"i want you to come with me. to kaer morhen."

jaskier stares at him with open-mouth. it isnt an offer given lightly. even in all their years of on-again off-again, geralt never extended this particular invitation to yennefer. maybe he was too scared of being known, or too scared of being trapped in one place-- if things went sour when they couldnt just leave, would it go away for ever? she's gone away forever anyway, for all his clinging and carefully calculated space. she said no, and he found-- he found--

years he's spent, dragging his feet. years, and with jaskier it's so old and yet so new, and he's decided that he is sick of the waiting, of the right pace. he wants jaskier with him, now and always. "this winter, the two of us. up in the blue mountains."

jaskier is nodding before geralt can finish speaking, tears welling in his eyes. "i want that too, love. gods, you know i'd follow you anywhere." and then he laughs, free and joyful and it's the best sound geralt's ever heard in his life. jaskier reaches out, touches his cheek, like he's confirming this is real, and geralt leans into his space to press their foreheads together. inhales the scent of his tears mingled with pure joy, and it smells like the ocean.

=================

they keep heading south, because it isnt time to head north yet, and because geralt's got a feeling he'd really like to disprove. can't explain where it comes from, exactly, just that he feels a tug, senses a rumbling in the earth, hears whispers on the streets. he climbs the rocky outcropping while jaskier waits by roach, idle and bored. he wants to be wrong. wants it so badly he hasnt even shared his theory with jaskier. he looks out over the path below.

he is not wrong.

a sea of black and gold. cintra is the gateway to the rest of the north, and it's about to fall.

============

he tells jaskier to wait in the cintran marketplace. if this works, geralt will be able to meet him there without injury, or at least be able to send someone to fetch him. if it doesnt, he'll need to resort to drastic measures, which should put him in jaskier's path too. he's grateful for this decision when he ends up surrounded on all sides by calanthe's men-- he has no doubt jaskier would be able to extract himself from the danger as he always does, but he still doesnt like seeing it. he holds a knife to the throat of an old friend, and wonders why it feels familiar. wishes that it didnt.

when they fall through the portal, dodging calanthe's trap, jaskier is far enough away from their stall that he doesn't hear the commotion-- presumably, anyway. geralt wishes he could see him, just to confirm he was safe, confirm he actually made it, but he's too preoccupied to linger on the thought.

he's led through bullshit and lies, attempts to buck fate, but he can feel the tightening noose of destiny and knows its all pointless. he'll walk away with his child surprise, it's just a matter of whether that leaves him with a target on his back.

calanthe orders him gone, and eist escorts him.

"i remember when you honored the Law of Surprise. what changed?" geralt asks, needs to provoke something real out of one of them, desperately hopes for a chink in someone's armor.

"i had a granddaughter." eist throws at him blithely.

"so protect her." geralt says through gritted teeth. the conversation feels like one he's had a million times. "what if calanthe's wrong? what if they come and ciri is trapped?" he presses.

"i fight side by side with my queen." eist replies, unmoved.

"you put too much faith in that woman."

"well, you weren't there. after pavetta died, calanthe would wake up howling in the night. The Lioness, nearly broken." eist shakes his head, looking off in the distance as he relives the memory. geralt's temples throb, lips ghosting over the words along with him, wondering why the hell it's so familiar. "someone who's able to pull themselves out of that, they'll have my confidence till my final day."

geralt wants to scream. its not enough. it isnt enough. why do their minds never change?

"i need your promise you won't come back." eist says, and geralt pauses in the entryway, weighs his options.

it's so godsdamned familiar. and yet, he cant say anything but the truth. "if i hear ciri's in danger, you know i can't do that."

"i know."

the bars fall.

jaskier was shopping nearby. he hears the clatter, and comes running. its so like them-- somehow they always find each other.

he calls for geralt, running up to place his palms on the bars, face screwed up in fear and outrage.

guards close in, shouting at jaskier to step away from the prisoner, and geralt whips around to face eist. "dont hurt him." geralt pleads.

"he's your companion. a weasly little thing, there when you claimed the law of surprise in the first place. how do i know he wont try to break you out? or take the child surprise for you?" eist asks, and geralt's stomach plummets.

"you're a reasonable man, eist. i understand your commitment to calanthe, but jaskier hasnt done anything. he isn't bound to ciri by destiny, he has no claim to her. nilfgaard is nearly at the border, don't doom him by locking him in the dungeons when he's harmless." he grips the bars tighter, knuckles turning white from the strength of his grip.

eist looks considering, so geralt presses on. "please. as one old friend to another, he's just a bard. don't punish him for my folly."

"we were never old friends." eist disputes. "...but i dont see the harm one bard could cause." relief hits geralt like a tidal wave, and he lets out his breath in one big exhale. "i dont think i've ever seen you scared before." eist cuts a look at him, and his eyes seem to pierce through geralt. he steps closer to speak in a low tone. "nearly at the border, you say?"

geralt nods, trying to project just how seriously he means it. "i wouldnt lie about this."

eist thinks for another moment, then says "i'll get him a guest room in the castle."

geralt's knees nearly buckle with relief. a guest room he can move freely in, and the castle will be the most well-fortified place during the inevitable seige. jaskier has a chance of survival. "no!" he hears for behind him, and he whips around to stare at jaskier.

"no, geralt, i wont leave you! they cant imprison you, you havent done anything!" he presses, tears welling in his eyes. he knows what's coming as well as geralt does, and he stinks of fear. geralt walks to the other side of the small cell to grasp jaskier's hands through the bars.

"jaskier, it's alright. i'll be right where i need to be. it's destiny, remember? i just need to know you'll be safe while i do it." jaskier looks unconviced, but geralt squeezes his hands tighter. "promise me you'll stay in your room. promise you'll wait for me. /promise/."

jaskier blinks back tears. "i promise." he says, and geralt lets out another sigh of relief. he leans forward as jaskier does, foreheads as close to touching as the bars will let them.

"alright. let's go." eist says, and a guard finally steps forward to place a hand on jaskier's elbow. he looks geralt in the eye, shoulders squared, a silent promise that they'll see each other again.

geralt meets his gaze. and then he's taken away.

============

++++++++++++

"this is cirilla. ciri, this is--"

"ah-ah, let me do my own introductions, i get to say it so rarely, after all." he says, cutting geralt off and turning to ciri. his shoulders roll back, posture straightening, carrying himself with a sudden air of gravitas. "my name is julian alfred pancratz, viscount de lettenhove. graduate of oxenfurt, master of the seven liberal arts, and esteemed poet and minstrel, better known throughout the kingdoms as the famed bard jaskier. at your service." he bows deeply, a fluid, graceful movement, and when he comes back up he looks rather pleased with himself.

there's a beat of silence. "...my partner." geralt finishes his earlier statement, eyebrow raised and thoroughly unimpressed. ciri mostly just seems surprised. "don't worry, you get used to the chatter."

jaskier splutters, cheeks turning red in offense. "you! that was a perfectly lovely introduction, you

great big oaf, i dont know why i put up with you."

ciri giggles nervously, then claps a hand over her mouth, a much needed moment of levity for the young girl. it cant last forever, though. geralt says "we need to go to sodden hill."

"why?" ciri asks, dread filling her stomach at the thought of all that destruction, and geralt places a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"i think yen is there and i need to find her." he explains, and jaskier rolls his eyes.

"always chasing the old witch," he says, with maybe an undercurrent of jealousy, insecurity. it's something geralt will need to address, but not now. not like this.

"come on, bard." he says as he mounts roach and pulls ciri up with him.

"oh, left to walk as always while she gets the royal treatment? just a simple, gruff 'come bard', like im some dog who'll heel for you, i see how it is. so much for partner." he says with a sniff, and ciri giggles again, still a little uncertain. geralt bites back a smile.

"you can walk the other way, if you please." he replies, and jaskier sputters once more.

they quiet as they reach the battlefield, empty but for destruction and corpses. jaskier holds his nose for the stench.

geralt steps away from them to speak to the first person he sees, a woman in obvious shell-shock, looking around as if she's lost everything. perhaps she has. she looks at and yet through geralt as he speaks to her, seeing him without seeing him. then she speaks, and all of jaskier's disdain falls away with a gasp, hand flying to his chest.

"yennefer is dead."

it hangs in the air, dampening sound, stilling the trees. yennefer is dead. she is no more.

geralt's heart pounds in his ears, and he has so much and so little that he wants to say. he opens his mouth, and then stops. feels so faint, blinks away the fog in his mind, as certainty overcomes him.

"no, she isnt." he says, and tissaia looks at him with such pity, like he's in shock. and he doesnt know why he said it, except that it feels true. he feels almost lightheaded, shaky on his feet, anchored only by his knowledge that yen is alive.

"we are bound by fate. i would feel it if she were dead," he says, and he doesnt know if that's true, but he knows the certainty, and has no other explanation for it. it makes something like hope flicker across tissaia's face, warring with the absolute desolation.

"it cant be," she says, unwilling to trust the words of a strange man she's never met, one who couldnt know

"i'll find her," he says. "we'll meet again."

===

"i'm sorry." jaskier says, his voice so quiet. ciri is uneasily asleep, and jaskier and geralt sit around a fire.

"there's nothing to be sorry for. we'll find her again." geralt says, because it has to be true. it feels true. it must... it must...

jaskier lays a hand on geralt's arm, his voice soft and sympathetic. "then im sorry she's missing." he says, even though he clearly doesnt believe it.

the jealousy and insecurity has bled away now that she's gone. now that he /thinks/ she's gone, anyway. "all our old fighting... it was all so petty. even up till the last--" he stops himself, changes tracks. "...it was all so pointless. i know i pulled you between two people you cared about very much. and im sorry for it."

"i never minded. not really, not the little stuff. you and yen wouldn't be yourselves if you didnt bicker." geralt says, and jaskier shoots him a wane smile. he leans in to kiss geralt's cheek.

"then i promise i'll find something to be catty about when we find her again." he says, tucking geralt's hair behind his ear. "just-- i know this insecurity is gauche, considering the circumstances of her... disappearance. but if we do see her again, you'll still pick me, right?"

"yennefer means very much to me. but now that i have you, you're it for me, jaskier. i promise." he leans in to kiss jaskier on the mouth, short and quick and still so emotional. "she's my destiny, but you're my choice."

jaskier lets out a shaky breath, and pulls geralt in for another kiss.

===========

"tell me, friend, who changed you."

geralt smiles to himself as he considers his answer. "yennefer. ciri." he pauses, looking over at his companion, currently fiddling with a tchochkey on a shelf. "...jaskier." said man turns around when he hears his name, then freezes as if caught, item still in hand. when he meets geralt's eyes, though, he smiles, and geralt smiles back.

"well, you've the girl and the bard. but where is this lovely lady yennefer?" he asks, and geralt's smile falls.

"...she's gone." he says, and jaskier's mouth twists.

"last we heard, she was dead." jaskier says gently, and geralt flinches. he still refuses to believe it.

"she isnt," geralt insists, "but... wherever she is, she's still lost to me. who knows where she's gone to lick her wounds."

there's silence for a moment, pity etched into nivellen's eyes. "...i am sorry." he says, and geralt nods. let him think what he likes. geralt knows better.

=========

+++++++++

eskel says that if he had a princess surprise he would fuck her, and geralt feels blind rage rising in his chest, overpowering his mind as he thinks to ciri, little ciri, broken ciri, /his/ ciri. a child.

eskel would never say that, geralt thinks to himself, the absolute wrongness of it all settling over him like a cloak. something in his chest urges him forward. he wants to take eskel aside and slap sense into him, wants to know what happened to his most trusted brother, his most beloved, his other half, but he feels that same faintness in his head. he's starting to notice it, but it doesnt want to be noticed, it leaves him foggy and confused.

a vague impression seats itself in his mind. it almost sounds like 'i should have...' but it's gone just as quickly. he moves as if in a dream, filling a tankard with white gull, dosing it with sedative hidden away from when they were boys, when they needed to subdue witchers for medical treatment in a full keep.

eskel takes the mug and drinks it so fast, drinks like he's trying to outrun something, drinks like there's horror nipping at his heels. he falls asleep at the table, and geralt volunteers to bring him back to his room. vesemir offers to help, and he has no excuse to turn him down when carrying a full grown witcher's weight is such an ordeal, though he sweats under the collar when eskel cant even drunkenly stumble between them, fully dead to the world. vesemir must know something is wrong. he must.

they get him to his room with a lot of grumbling but no real issues, throw him down on the bed. "he drank himself into quite the stupor," vesemir says with shrewd eyes, brow furrowed.

geralt doesnt know what to say. "what's going on here, geralt?" he asks, and geralt's stomach plummets.

"i have to-- i cant explain, i just have to--" he starts, struggling for the words. "something is wrong. he's hurt." vesemir sends him a look that screams 'duh'.

"so you drug him to work on him in secret? this isnt like you." vesemir says, and geralt gets the crazy urge to laugh, because it isnt like him, he doesnt know what the fuck he's doing, except that he /must/.

witchers are allowed to lick their wounds in private, theyre allowed to come home angry and changed. geralt pushed them all away after blaviken, and none of them held him down, forced him, none of them acted like the mages that made them. he feels sick.

"we have to. vesemir, we--" he starts, grabbing eskel's shirt and lifting it to look at the damage. vesemir holds out a hand to stop him, and then they both fall still with a gasp. there, in his chest, right above his heart, is a piece of embedded wood.

it's big, not like a splinter, maybe the size of a fist, with spindly roots that anchor it, spreading out like veins under the surrounding skin. it pulses, just a bit, and embedded within the center of it is something else, a chunk of rock that almost looks like obsidian. rock gives way to wood gives way to flesh.

"we have to get it out of him." geralt says suddenly, going for the knife at his hip.

"we don't even know what it is," vesemir says, though the disgust is plain on his face. "what if removing it kills him? it could be in too deep."

"and what, just let it grow? it's right above his heart, it'll kill him soon anyway. and it's /moving/." geralt says, and vesemir looks pained.

"...i'll keep him out using somne," vesemir says, "we need to get it out fast but careful. dont leave a single branch behind."

they nod to each other, and geralt heats up the knife using igni, lets the flames lick the blade, then he gets to work.

eskel screams in his sleep, fighting against the drugs, against vesemir's hold, the first touch of heated metal enough to make his whole body tense. the wood contracts, roots tightening visibly beneath his skin, and geralt grits his teeth. one by one he pries them out of his guildsman's flesh, the wood sizzling and popping when touched by the hot blade. blood streams down eskel's chest, and he screams again, whole body arching

the roots convulse in the open air, trying to return to the safe haven of his veins, only to be cut off and thrown to the floor. a new root tries to grow in the old one's place and geralt cauterizes the stump, pressing the flat of the knife to it to produce even louder sizzling. if the thing could scream it would be, and eskel convulses once just like the thing in his chest.

suddenly, footsteps. the other's had heard his screams. lambert bursts in, shouts "what the fuck's going on?!" and geralt shakes his head, knowing what a strange scene they make, how threatening he looks holding a red knife.

"there's no time!" he says.

"go get every healing potion in the keep, now!" vesemir shouts, struggling not to break his own concentration. there's stillness, and then some of the gathered witchers run to do as told, while the rest watch in silent horror

geralt gets his nails under the edges of the thing and begins to lift, eskel once more arching up to follow him. it moves agonizingly slow, tearing eskel's flesh as the bark is dragged past his delicate muscle tissue. it seems to go on and on as geralt pulls, and to his own horror, he realizes something. it isnt just growing out, it's growing down. down into him, down towards his heart.

sweat drips down vesemir's forehead from holding the sign so firmly and so long. the root on the bottom extends down into eskel's chest, down towards his heart. geralt has to act fast and careful all at once.

his knife wasnt made for cutting wood, but he pushes it between the lump and eskel's body anyway, carving away at the spot where the root connects to the whole. there's so much fucking blood, he can barely see, and he has to drag the knife back and forth to get even the tiniest bit of progress, utterly devoid of leverage or the proper teeth to dig into the plant's flesh. then, finally, with a twist of his wrist, he snaps the wood chunk free from the root, cauterizes it, and throws it to the floor. only one last step.

he pushes flesh aside and sees the root go down, wrapped firmly around a rib, and then...

his heart. beating. right out there in the open, skin and muscle shoved aside to make way for that /THING/. the root is wrapped around the heart, squeezing, causing his convusions, and geralt feels sick, but there's no time to stop or wait. vesemir's control is slipping. blood is flowing faster now.

his fingers slip through blood and fat and viscera and things meant to be kept inside as he tries to untwist the root from the shock-white of eskel's rib bone. it snaps, apparently brittle now that it's disconnected from the whole, and geralt throws another piece at his feet. his hands arent clean, arent washed, but there's no goddamn time, so he slides a finger down beside his other half's very heart and hooks the back of the root. pulls so slow, so careful.

it pops free with a spray of blood, and all falls still.

"g'r'lt?" comes slurred from the bed. "did th't come outta' me?" eskel asks, and then immediately falls unconcious once more.

vesemir slumps against the wall. "gwain, coen," he says, panting just a bit, "the pig we were keeping for meat? slaughter it. we need a skin graft, clean and quick. everard, merek, sutures and everything else we need to clean and bandage."

only lambert remains, pale and silent, staring at the floor where the pieces of now inert wood rest. time seems less linear, suddenly, and nobody has much clue how much of it passes. all they know is that lambert cleans up the pieces of foreign blood-soaked thing into a jar for safekeeping, and the supplies filter in. eskel gets healing daughts poured down his throat, and geralt keeps working to stitch his chest together with pig skin, wont let anyone else touch him. they both breathe easier once the final stitch is in place, and geralt steps back with shaking hands as the other witchers wipe down his skin, slather it in healing poultices, and cover him in bandages. geralt falls asleep on the floor, trembling, without the sense in his head to clean away his brother's blood.

when eskel wakes up, he thanks them. tells them his head felt wrong, something whispering in it, ever since that leshen got one lucky shot. says the leshen didnt look right, didnt act right, that he couldnt remember how to kill it once it embedded in his chest. "it's like it went to seed in him," vesemir says in horror, and everyone shakes their heads, and they dont know what to do. but eskel is there. he is weak, and he is bedridden, and he is /there/.

finally, kaer morhen can rest.

=========

vesemir doesnt think these flowers are the answer. he doesnt recognize them-- though if he knew every part of the formula, it wouldnt be lost to him as well. still, though, it doesnt sound right to his ear, even if he doesnt know as much about flora as one might if they'd dedicated their life to the study of it. he can imagine, though, being desperate enough to believe it. he thinks back to eskel, and how they'd almost lost him to such a stupid error. he feels the loss of their way of life, their traditions, weighing on his shoulders in a way he never thought he'd face in his lifetime.

the little scrap of paper in her hand is so innocuous. and even if it's wrong, or merely an approximation of what once was, he feels the need to keep it, to catalogue it, preserve it as he has everything else in the keep... even the unsavory ones. the metal rack so many boys died on, that countless others were changed in, /chained/ in, sitting in the basement like it's a coffee table. like it's nothing. like it isnt horrific.

but it's all he has. and it's what they needed.

his fingers curl around the paper. "how many other people know of this blossom? would be likely to put two and two together?" he asks.

"not many at all, i would imagine. even fewer would know how to apply the knowledge , or enough inner workings of witchers to make the leap. and it's only a theory, anyway, i cant confirm it as of yet." she replies, watching him closely.

their numbers, so weakened, so devastated. the continent is running out of monsters, but it hasnt run dry just yet-- witchers are still needed, and theyre dwindling. and yet...

he flicks his fingers, and the page goes up in flames. a little cast of igni, and suddenly the secret is unknown once more. "cant let anyone know how we're made-- sorcerers have been after the information for as long as there have been witcher schools. no telling what havoc they'd wreak across the continent if they had the recipe. and... there will be no more boys."

he looks at the ashes in his hand, and he aches in ways he doesnt have words for, for the life he had and the men he lost and all those boys. "i thank you for your diligence, and your offer," he says diplomatically, "but i urge you to forget what you've discovered, and tell no one. and if you do decide to divulge our secrets, then i can only pray your approximations were wrong."

she had looks surprised when the fire burst to life, but understanding settles across her features.

there will be no more potions. no more blood spilt for these old stones. and there will be no more boys. he never even mentions their clandestine conversation to ciri. she deserves her choices, but she's a traumatized child, and he's an adult. he doesnt need to burden her with this.

=====

+++++

"yennefer of vengerberg." jaskier says in awe. cant believe geralt was right. cant believe she's alive. "shouldve known you wouldnt stay dead, rotting necrophage that you are," he says, catty and mean and a little breathless because she's /alive/. but then her arms are around him, and she's hugging him so tight he can barely breathe, and he lets out a shocked grunt. "uh? hugging? you're hugging me, you do know you're hugging me, right?" he asks, mouth running faster in his confusion.

"oh jaskier," she says, "it's so good to see you."

"good. to see /me/. did you hit your head at sodden? is that where you've been all this time, wandering the countryside mindlessly?" he asks, and she snorts. snorts! like he's funny! which he is, but she's never admitted it before.

"oh how i miss when my problems were as small as a single sing-songy twit." she says fondly, taking him by the shoulders and leaning back to take a look at him.

"now i'll never admit to having said this, i'll deny it if you ever try to tell... but i am very glad you're not dead, yennefer." it comes out so damn soft, and for all their bickering it's hard not to be soft about someone you've known at least ten years. he cradles her arms in his palms, so they're both holding each other but at arm's length. "but i really must ask, where the hell have you been? we've been looking for you!"

"it's a long story," she says evasively, and he narrows his eyes.

"ah, well, if it's long then you certainly wouldnt want to tell it twice." he says, and leads her down the corridor, towards a closed door. "here," he says gently as he pushes it open, "i figure if you're here, you'd like to see geralt, too."

the room goes so still. "i knew," geralt says. "i knew we'd find each other." he says, and yennefer runs into his open arms for a hug, stress melting away as she tucks her face into his neck. for the first time in a long time, she feels /safe/.

jaskier watches them fondly, shoulder resting against the doorway. they'll have time for questions and answers. for now they can just be happy the world has a touch less death in it.

=======

"yen," he says gently. "im sorry for what i said. you would make an excellent mother."

yen's face does something complicated. "geralt--"

"ciri will need one." he says, and yen recoils in shock, to hear him offer it so plainly.

"so-- what, you want you and i to play house with your little orphan?" she asks, and it comes out harsh, but she doesnt take it back. geralt shakes his head.

"it wouldnt be like that. im... im with jaskier now." geralt replies, and that makes yen's eyebrows fly up in shock. "we wouldnt be... together like that. but we would be friends. partners. equals. i think it might be good for us, to take the heartache out of the equation. and ciri needs a teacher, someone like you. i think you'd be good for each other." he pauses, and when yen has nothing to say to that, he says "think about it."

she steps through a portal with ciri anyway. she sees him beg them not to leave, and she walks away anyway. but his offer rings in her head as loud as voleth meir's promises, and halfway to their destination yennefer brings them to a stop. ciri is so bright. so bright and beautiful, and with such great power, hair like geralt's and a heart like geralt's, so hurt and yet longing so deeply for love, and she looks at yennefer with such /trust/. so much trust, and she's leading this doe-eyed girl astray, what could be hers, what /should/ be hers, and yennefer is tired of sacrificing and sacrificing and sacrificing. she loves hard and she loves vicious and she loves selfishly, and when ciri demonstrates her powers yen thinks /my daughter did that. my. mine./

she thinks /you cannot have her,/ she thinks /you will not take this from me,/ she thinks, /i will no longer have no choice. i have a choice. i am making it./

and she turns on her heel and leads ciri in an entirely different direction. she leads ciri away from doom that ciri never even knew was hanging over her head. voleth meir screams, and she walks away anyway, down a road where she knows an equally angry geralt will find her. she only hopes she can talk him out of his rage before he sends her away.

====

"i want to know where yennefer of vengerberg is going." geralt says to codrinher and fenn. they look at each other, and then back at him.

"and you think we know this? we dont keep track of EVERY person on the continent, geralt." fenn replies

"i dont have time for games. i just need something, anything. where was she recently. she has--... someone very dear to me. and i must find them." geralt says, hands balled into fists.

they exchange a look. "we truly cant tell you her whereabouts. she hasnt been seen in quite a while. all that's known is that she was mumbling to herself last she was seen, before she vanished."

"what was she saying?" he presses, and codringer looks thoughtful.

"something like 'turn back to the forest, turn back to your mother'?" he says, scratching his chin.

"turn your back to the forest, hut hut. turn your front to me, hut hut." geralt says, understanding dawning on him.

"could be. our ears on the ground didnt hear it any clearer." fenn says, seemingly annoyed that there's information she doesnt know.

"i know where she's going " he says, throws a bag on coins on the table, and leaves as quick as he came.

===

geralt has his sword drawn before they even see him, terror lancing through him at the idea of ciri being taken to that being. ciri shouts with joy when she spots him, then with fear as he presses his sword to yen's throat. she lets him, no fight in her.

"i couldnt do it. i turned back. back to you." she swears, and geralt glances between the two of them, trying to assess if ciri is alright.

"geralt, what are you /doing/," she begs, looking so young and so frightened.

"what did she promise you? money? power?" geralt asks, betrayal running deep, burning him up inside, because he'd /trusted/ yen, and first chance she got she ran off with his child. /his/. to sacrifice her to something old and foul.

yen looks decimated. "...i cant be ciri's teacher. my magic... it's gone." yen says, and geralt startles at that. then she whispers, soft and broken and desperate, "geralt, she's in my head."

suddenly geralt sees her for what she is. someone very hurt, and very alone, who fought through the promises and manipulations of a demon to bring his daughter back to him. he slowly lowers his sword and pulls yennefer into an embrace. "we'll fix it." geralt promises

====

it doesnt get any easier to ignore voleth meir, but she looks around and sees kaer morhen, and the family that she's been welcomed into, and remembers that she's allowed to stay. that she has fought tooth and nail for every inch of her life until now, and she can keep fighting. that ciri is /hers/.

she teaches magic anyway, without demonstrations. it's hard for ciri, and it's hard for yen, but she isnt as worthless as she feared she'd be powerless. ciri looks up to her. ciri hugs her. ciri asks her hair be plaited for dinner. ciri is her choice, and she makes it every morning.

until one morning, it changes.

it starts small, just a creep, just a tickle. but she snaps her fingers, and a book by her bedside begins to float.

she'd burned herself out, ran her magic dry, scorched the channels it flowed through, but it healed. it came back with time. it was always going to come back with time.

she collapses to her knees and sobs, sobs like a child, for what has been returned to her.

and without her magic to tempt her, voleth meir loses her foothold in yennefer's mind. the whispers quiet and fade until theyre nothing but a memory.

and finally, yennefer is free.

=========

when geralt lays down that night, he dreams.

"ive found a djinn," yen says,

and geralt sees himself ask "another one?"

"except i wont try to tame this one." yen says, insists that it could be the answer to their problems. "we could keep ciri safe, teach her how to use her powers, if we phrase them just right the wishes could be the thing that saves us."

the scene changes. once more, he has a seal in his hand. "i wish i had the hindsight not to get into these problems anymore." he says, because he never makes the right choice.

the dream falls away with the sunlight streaming in, bright on his face. he looks down around him, at the little family he's created; jaskier by his side, ciri's head in his lap and feet near his face, yennefer asleep on a cot with her hand on ciri's. and he decides that this time he did make the right choice. he decides that he's happy.

#witcher tag #ogc tag #writing tag #did i really never post this??#if i posted this before and just forgot then everyone ignore me #witcher #geraskier #the witcher

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maul-of-shame · 20 days ago

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Catching Up & Charging Into 2025: Schedule time!✨

Well, friends, the end of the year decided to hit harder than a kick from Roach on a bad day. Between holidays, deadlines, and the ADHD doing what ADHD does best (i.e., everything but what I planned), I’m finally wrangling my chaos into a schedule. Yes, shocking, I know—a schedule. The wildest magic of all.

Here’s the plan:

Gilded is officially returning with weekly updates every Wednesday! That’s right, mark your calendars because the angsty Elrond/Galadriel not very slow "slow burn" and the Nimue/Gil-Galad will be marching into Rivendell like Geralt storming Kaer Morhen.

The other WIPs? They��ll be sprinkled throughout the week like lembas crumbs (but tastier, I promise). No specific dates or like "days" for them but you'll see them!

One-shot requests? I know I’ve been saying I’ll get to them, but listen, the end of 2024 hit like the Wild Hunt, and I’ve been dodging their chaos ever since. I will post them ASAP—thank you for being the Samwise to my Frodo and carrying me through this madness.❤️

On the resolution front, I’m keeping it ambitious but self-indulgent:

Write more and write better—because if I don’t have at least one ridiculous metaphor per fic, am I even me?

Get more detailed. I want vibes so strong you can taste the Rivendell wine.

Finally, finally—this is the year I work toward getting published because, honestly, why not shoot for the stars? Or at least the vast, chaotic, occasionally troll-infested nebula that is Amazon KDP. If Frodo can lug the One Ring all the way to Mordor, I can certainly wrestle my way through formatting, covers, and self-promo attempts that are somehow both cringe and iconic. I’m not just dipping my toes in—I’m cannonballing into the world of publishing like Geralt diving into a lake full of drowners. Will it be messy? Oh, absolutely. Will I probably cry over an ISBN at least once? Without question. But this year, I’m not waiting for the stars to align. Oh no, bestie, I’m grabbing a baseball bat, swinging for the fences, and making them align. If the constellations won’t cooperate, I’ll just rearrange them myself—Orion better scooch over because I’m aiming for a home run. Because if there’s one thing I understood in 2024, it’s that I’m tired of saying “maybe someday.” Someday is now. Whether it’s the self-indulgent dark fantasy epic no one asked for but I need to exist, or a collection of my most chaotic and heartfelt one-shots, I’m ready to stop talking about it and start doing it. And when the time comes, you better believe I’ll be aggressively yelling about it into the void like Éowyn calling the Witch-king the "B*tch King of Angmar". To the Amazon KDP battlefield I go, pen in hand, ready to plant my flag in the great realm of indie publishing! Wish me luck—and maybe a little patience. This hobbit has a long road ahead, but the snacks will be worth it.... Right?✍️

Dive headfirst into writing more self-indulgent stuff, from supernatural AUs to niche pairings, because we’re here for a good time and a creative time. Speaking of which, prepare yourselves for my return to writing Supernatural fics—it’s been since 2018, PEOPLE. Dean Winchester is calling, and I’m answering.

If 2024 taught us anything, it’s that self-indulgent content—be it fics, art, playlists, or even random headcanon rants—makes everything better. Why settle for "leaning into it" when I could be diving headfirst into the deep end? No hesitation, no looking back—just full steam ahead like a hobbit spotting second breakfast or Geralt running straight into a fight without preparing his potions (*cough cough* if you know you know LMAO).

Here’s to chasing exactly what sparks joy basically, being unapologetically self-indulgent, and creating the kind of stuff that makes me grin like I’ve just discovered a hidden stash of Rivendell wine. Whether it’s that one wildly specific AU, the niche pairing nobody asked for but everyone needed, or art dripping with vibes that are just for me, I’m beelining for it like my life depends on it.

Because life’s too short not to make the content you love—and if others love it too, well, that’s just the icing on the lembas.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience, your comments, and your enthusiasm. You’ve been absolute legends this year, and I promise 2025 will be filled with even more fics, chaos, and banter (because let’s face it, I can’t stop being salty and dramatic—it’s my calling).

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to wrestle my schedule into submission like Geralt facing a noonwraith. Stay tuned, stay fabulous, and get ready for a new year of epic fanfic adventures.

#elrondriel #Gilded choices: the reaping of stars #galadriel #elrond peredhel #elrond x galadriel #galadriel x elrond #the rings of power #trop #rings of power #fic updates #lotr #lord of the rings #y'all i know i made a post yesterday but i forgot to mention the schedule LMAO #SO HERE YOU GO XD

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the-not-so-silent-back-up · 1 year ago

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The Love We Choose

Geraskier ModernAU

a big THANK YOU @cherrychapsticksteve for helping me out figuring some stuff out

Summary: Geralt is a Firefighter, but more important he is a single Dad to 4 y/o Ciri. Regularly they go to a cute little Coffeeshop where Jaskier works. And little Ciri is on a mission to help her Dad to find somebody to love.

Chapter - 1 -

Geralt is waiting outside the Kindergarten to pick up his daughter, there are a few other parents who are talking. But Geralt only knows one of them really so he just waits in silence. He has been alone with Ciri for a few months now, but it's still a weird feeling to come home and see Yennefer's desk empty.

They have loved each other, they really did but he is bound to his hometown and she needed to be flexible and be able to go on Business trips all the time. Geralt believed that after Ciris' birth things would be different, and things were different for a year at best. But then everything went back to the same old routine. Yennefer was in New York or London or Berlin and Geralt sat at home, the only thing that was truly different, Geralt wasn't alone, no there was Ciri, his daughter, his whole world that he needed to protect.

When Ciri was old enough to go to the Kindergarten Yennefer and Geralt figured out that they needed to go separate ways. Yennefer loves her Job to much, she really was the unpaid intern that made it to the top of this really big Marketing firm. And she isn't a family person, she tried to be one for Ciri, but she was afraid that she will regret that and will blame Ciri for it in the future, and her daughter didn't deserve this.

So now when Yennefer is in town, the three spend time together as a little family. It wasn't the family Geralt hoped for, but it's real. And some parents might not believe it but they are all really good with this. In the time they spend with Ciri they are really happy, and the phone calls Ciri has with her mother weekly are really good for their relationship.

Geralt came to the conclusion that having a family that is really happy and working is much better than to force a family together to fit the image everyone has.

Roach is pulling on the leash, Ciri has to be in sight. This Dog really loved this Child, and she would do anything to protect her. She once growled at a pigeon because it scared Ciri.

"Daddy, Daddy did you know that hedgehogs eat slugs?"

"No ,I didn't know that, where did you learn this from?" Geralt picked the little backpack up and took Ciris tiny hand.

"Miss McHall read a book about hedgehogs and there was a list of what they eat. And then in the garden Benni searched for a slug to try it himself, but he didn't find one."

"Hmm" Geralt didn't know how to reply to that.

"Daaaad is today a hot chocolate day?"

"sadly not sweetheart, I forgot my wallet at work but tomorrow is a hot chocolate day I promise"

"Oh Daddy, you really forget everything when I don't remind you" Ciri shakes her head a bit "But this time I wanna try the strawberry pie for real this time"

"I think Benni wanted to impress the girls," Ciri said at the dinner table "with the slug". What a strange topic at dinner. Geralt frowns in surprise.

"He always does those stupid things and then he runs up to the other girls and shows what he did. When Dara and I were spies we saw that."

Geralt carefully listens to his daughter.

"I mean finding a slug isn't impressive, and eating one is kinda mean because what will the hedgehog eat ? What you do is impressive Dad, you save people and teach other people how to save people."

"Thank you darling" Being a Father and a Firefighter isn't always the best mix but everytime Ciri says things like that it makes Geralt so proud.

"Uhm Dad, did you see that woman again, the one you went on a pizza date with?"

"Hmm no, she called me this morning and told me that I am nice but she has some family trouble and needs to focus on her family."

"Oh okay"

Yeah Geralt had a few dates every now and then. Yeah Ciri is his whole world, but he still is a Human and he misses the Romance in his life. The truth is Geralt hasn't the best dating game. He doesn't know what to talk about, when he doesn't talk about Ciri or his work or his Dog. He doesn't mention his daughter on the first dates, and when they actually reach a second or third date and Geralt tells them he is a single dad, most people refuse to see him again, it's just a big commitment for them. But also some of them just saw the big strong firefighter with all the muscles and not the man behind them and that's when Geralt says this isn't working out.

Ciri lays awake in bed, she could hear the TV from the living room. For sure her dad is lonely, but all this adult stuff is so confusing. In Kindergarten everything is easier, like you ask someone if you wanna be friends, then they ask you what you like to play and what's your favorite animal and then you are friends. And one day you draw a picture just for them and you are best friends. But adults don't work like that.

"My Dad needs my help to find someone to watch those silly romantic movies." Ciri whispers to herself. And she already has someone in mind and she has a plan, sort of.

The next day Geralt brought Roach back home before he went to pick up Ciri, and he checked for his wallet three times. He waited as usual in front of the kindergarten. Ciri is running right up at him, in her beautiful green dress. This morning they had an argument because Ciri wanted to wear her favorite dress so badly and Geralt was afraid that she would mess it up in the Kindergarten, but as Ciri promised it's all fine and she looks like the little princess she is to Geralt.

"Hot Chocolate Day!" Ciri is chanting as she is running to her Dad.

"Yes Sweetheart today I am fully prepared for the Coffeeshop."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

The Coffeeshop is near the Park where Ciri's favorite playground is. That's how they discovered it. Geralt pushed Ciri on the swing when a heavy rain surprised them. Geralt covered his daughter under his jacket and ran in the next building he found. The sweet little Coffeeshop at the Park. Geralt liked it because it wasn't that big and not many people fit in there and Ciri loved it because it's near her favorite playground and because they have so many beautiful cups and mugs.

They arrived at the Coffeeshop and because they already became regulars so they got greeted nicely. At first Geralt didn’t like it that strangers knew Ciri’s name, but he got used to it and the staff here is really nice.

A young tall man came up to their table and Ciri jumps up and ran towards him

"Jaskier! Look that’s my favorite dress”

“Oh hi Ciri it’s really beautiful, you look like a princess”

Geralt watches the scene with eagle eyes, but he knows Jaskier is no harm for his little girl, he is usually their waiter when they are in the Coffeeshop.

Jaskier lets Ciri twirl around herself, so the pretty green dress starts flying.

“My Daddy says that too.” Ciri stops spinning.

“Your Daddy says what ?” Jaskier seems to be confused with that statement.

“This morning my Daddy also said that I look like a princess. And when I am a princess my Dad must be a king right?”

“Then lead me to your king, princess Ciri.”

Jaskier could clearly see Geralt sitting at their favorite spot at the window, but he likes to play along with Ciri’s little games.

“Your Majesty I present to you, your daughter princess Ciri” Jaskier takes a bow in front of Geralt and Ciri tries to stay in character but could resist a little laugh.

“I have been sent directly from the kitchen to ask what the King and his daughter would like to eat and drink today.”

Geralt is a little lost for words, normally these silly games stay between Ciri and Jaskier, but now he is dragged into it like a theater play and he hasn’t learned his lines. Geralt tries his best to play along because he knows how much it means to his little girl if he does.

“May he bring us hot chocolate and strawberry pie for the princess and mint tea and cheesecake for me the King.”

Ciri giggles again.

“I like Jaskier he always so funny and nice to us”

“Yeah that is true”

Geralt stares out of the window, and he just enjoys the quiet coffeeshop. It wasn’t actually quiet but it wasn’t stressful like his day at the fire station. There was a fire near in the forest this morning, just because some stupid assholes had Barbeque last night and didn’t end their fire properly.

He turns around and on the table are the ordered pies and his tea but no hot chocolate is there and Ciri is gone too.

Panic runs through Geralt's veins, where is she? He was just looking away for a second. But then he saw her holding on to Jaskier’s hand as they picked a cup for her hot chocolate. How could he forget that she always picks a new beautiful cup to drink her hot chocolate from. She walked back to her Dad and sat next to him on the bench.

“I picked a cup with stars and the moon on it”

Jaskier walks over to their table and places Ciris cup right next to her pie.

“I saw there was smoke in the forest, was there a fire?”

At first Geralt is confused because he never told Jaskier that he is a Firefighter, but then he remembered that Ciri talks a lot with Jaskier if he has the time.

“Yeah there was a fire, but gladly it was near the forest not directly in there.” Jaskier looks relieved.

“Some people made a barbeque there and the remaining hot ashe lit the dry grass on fire”

Geralt could see the disbelief in Jaskier’s face, he really couldn’t hide his emotions.

“I hope you and your crew are okay”

“We are good, it was just another fire because of careless people”

He didn’t wanna say drunk people in front of Ciri, but the look on Jaskier’s face showed him that he did understand what he meant with “careless��.

“Ciri, your Dad is truly a hero, he and his crew saved the forest”

Ciri grinned and cheered “yes they are all heroes, my Dad, uncle Eskel, uncle Lambert and Vesemir”

New customers enter the place and Jaskier has to leave Geralt and Ciri. They eat and drink and Ciri told stories from the Kindergarten and from her best friend Dara. Even more people entered the coffeeshop as they left. They waved Goodbye to Jaskier and left the busy place. With Ciri’s tiny hand in his own he was so happy he had a daughter like her and this little coffeeshop they could call their special place.

#personal #jaskier #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #witcher #the witcher netflix #modern au #Alina writes #ciri #kinda a coffeeshop AU

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a-case-of-attachment · 2 years ago

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Rating: T

Pairings: Geralt x Jaskier

Warnings: people treating Witchers like dirt ~ protective Jaskier ~ swearing ~ mentions of blood and injuries

The Lover ->

<- The Hunter

Geralt gritted his jaw, hands curling into fists on the bar top as he tried to keep his anger in check but it was getting hard and harder with every word that was coming out of the inn keeper’s mouth. “We ain’t got room for your kind freak,” he spat out, arms folded across his chest and looking at Geralt like he was the scum of the earth.

Geralt was used to this or he had been used to it but travelling with Jaskier had made him soft, these sort of things happening so rarely now that he had almost forgotten that so many people still hated his kind. Almost but places like this reminded him quick enough. Jaskier wasn’t with him now, had gone running back to the countess de Stael just after the incident with the djinn with nothing more than an enthusiastic wave as he practically ran towards her awaiting carriage they had come across by chance and a promise to meet again soon but that had been months ago.

Not that Geralt cared.

It was better without the bard’s constant noise and habit of finding trouble when there shouldn’t even be any. It wasn’t like the silence was grating on him or that on the long and lonely days he missed Jaskier’s warm and ever optimistic presence or that he had started to talk to Roach more just to fill the silence. Geralt was doing fine on his own but in situations like this Jaskier and his flamboyant way of talking would have come in useful for once. He had a way with words that could either end up with him getting exactly what he wanted or a punch in the teeth. Either way he would probably have better luck then Geralt currently was.

He was tired, covered in monster guts and swamp water and had a gouge on his side that needed cleaning and then probably stitches. Geralt knew he looked a mess, like the monster people often called him but he had just freed the villagers of a Kikimore infestation that he had already been underpaid for by the alderman and his patience was beginning to wear thin. He didn’t want much just a hot bath and something to eat and drink. Sure a warm and dry place to sleep would have been a welcomed luxury but he would settle for the bath and food but the inn keeper wouldn’t even give him that.

“I just want…” he started but was cut off by the sound of several chairs scrapping across the floor, the gentle mummer of chatter dying. “You heard him freak, we ain’t got room for the likes of you here”. Geralt sighed at the gruff voice, able to tell that at least three men stood behind him. They all reeked of drink and anger, ready for a fight that Geralt didn’t want to have.

Resigned to his fate Geralt pushed away from the bar, mumbling a quiet thank you to the inn keeper as he went. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he left, hunching his shoulders and curling in on himself in an attempt to make himself seem smaller. He really wasn’t in the mood for a fight or to be chased from the town whilst being pelted with rocks so he would go quietly, using this as a good reminder as to why he shouldn’t let how Jaskier was with him cloud his judgment of other people.

Feeling dejected and stupid for it Geralt made his way back to the stable where he had left Roach. He had already paid for her lodging for the night but he didn’t want to have to come back for her in the morning and risk getting stoned for it. It was a shame, she could do with a good nights rest as much as he could but these things happen and thankfully the stable hand had already fed her. She wasn’t happy about it, huffing and nudging Geralt in the shoulder but she is a good horse and with a slight tug on her reigns she follows after him.

“That’s it girl. Next time I promise we’ll stay all night,” he mumbles, stroking down her snout as he leads her down the road and back towards the woods. It’s a lie, a promise he couldn’t keep and they both knew it, Roach huffing and nudging his shoulder again. This part of the continent wasn’t very friendly to Witcher’s though and Geralt doubted they would have any better luck at the neighbouring villages in the next few days.

That was fine.

He would manage.

Like always.

“Geralt?” He stopped at the familiar voice, head snapping up and in the direction it had come from. There in the middle of the dirt road stood Jaskier. The confusion on his face quickly morphed into excitement and even in the dark of night Geralt could see his blue eyes lighting up. “GERALT!” he exclaims loudly, throwing his arms wide and before Geralt really knew what was happening Jaskier was pulling him into a hug, arms squeezing tightly and patting him on the back.

Geralt grunted, not even having time to react before Jaskier was pulling away, clasping Geralt by the shoulders and smiling widely. “It has been to long my friend,” Jaskier beamed. “Not your friend,” he grunted back automatically, so used to giving that response after all these years despite it no longer being true. Jakier waved him off, stepping back and still smiling brightly as if he hadn’t heard Geralt. “Are you just on your way out or in my dearest Witcher? In I would assume looking like that but it doesn’t matter, regardless of what one it is I insist you join me for a drink. I simply must know what you have been up to these last few months,” Jaskier took Roche’s reigns he spoke, leading the mere back towards the stables they had just come from, the horse gladly following after him at the prospect of getting to return to the warmth and comfort she had been taken from.

“I don’t think…” Geralt started to protest, following behind the bard and eyes darting around the darkened streets, looking for any sign of villagers who would want chase him off with pitchforks and torches. “I simply must insist Geralt,” Jaskier cut him off as they walked back into the stables and towards the bemused stable hand. “You back already?” he grunted, eyeing them suspiciously. Jaskier looked between the two of them, frowning slightly before realisation seemed to dawn on him but Geralt would put money on him not coming to the correct conclusion.

“No rooms left at the inn?” he asked as he passed Roach off to the stable hand along with a couple of coins. Geralt would have told Jaskier not to bother, that Roach’s stay had already been paid for but the boy snatched the money up quickly and was leading the horse away before he could, only just giving Geralt enough time to slip his saddle bags off before she was gone. “No,” he growled, glaring at Jaskier but it didn’t seem to bother him.

Technically Geralt hadn’t lied. There had been no room for him at the inn, even if there had been empty rooms available.

“No bother. I already have a room and you my friend could do with a nice hot bath and something to eat, my treat for killing whatever it is that you are covered in,” Jaskier wrinkled up his nose in disgust as he gestured to Geralt, already on his way out of the stable and back up the road towards the inn. Geralt should say something, should warn the bard that he wasn’t welcomed here and he might find himself out on his ass for bring Geralt back with him but he was tired and sore and he had a small flicker of hope that Jaskier would do what he does best and use his face words to confuse the simple locals and get Geralt into his room without too much trouble.

Geralt trailed after Jaskier, listening to the man ramble on about how the countess had once again left him but this time it had been in Jaskier’s best interest because her cousin had shown up not long before his departure and the man had wandering hands that always seemed to have a fondness for Jaskier’s pert bottom, as the bard so eloquently put it. Geralt just grunted, barely listening to the words as he gripped his bags and tried to make himself look as small as he could.

Jaskier was still talking when he pushed the inn’s door open, the whole room going quiet when Geralt stepped through the door but Jaskier didn’t seem to notice, strutting right up to the bar and leaning against it, smiling brightly up at the man who was scowling at Geralt. “Evening kind sir, I would like a bath please and two bowls of hot stew sent up to my room along with two cups of your finest ale,” he tipped his head back slightly, his bright eyes finally looking up at the inn keeper, only for his smile to fall when he noticed the look on his face. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told ‘im-” he jerked his head towards Geralt, his scowl deepening, “-we ain’t got room for his kind”.

Jaskier stood up straighter, his frown deepening as he looked around the room and taking in the hostility that was directed all at Geralt. “Right,” he mumbled, something dark flashing behind his eyes as his frown twisted. Geralt knew that look, it was he same look he got every time someone insulted Geralt or implied he was less simply because he was a Witcher. It also normally ended up with him getting in a bar fight and Geralt was too tired to take on the ten men that filled the tavern.

‘Jask,” he sighed, every intention of telling him not to worry, that Geralt was fine but like always Jaskier was quicker with his words than Geralt would ever be. “Do you not require coin to run this establishment?” Jaskier turned his cold blue eyes back to the inn keeper, his voice just as cold and seemingly taking the man by surprise. “Yes but,” Jaskier cuts him off, talking over whatever he was going to say but Geralt suspected it would have been a slur on him and his kind. “And do you not rely on the patronage of passing travellers like myself and my friend to earn said coin?” Geralt could feel the tension in the room, could smell the anger and fear but just at the edges something else was starting to creep in, people already shifting in their sets as if they knew where Jaskier was going with his little rant.

The man crossed his arms over his chest, his beady eyes narrowing at Jaskier as he grunted his response, “what is your point bard?” Jaskier smiled slightly, something soft yet some how full of mischief that wouldn’t be out of place when he was in the middle of playing one of his more risqué little ditties. It seemed out of place here where no one was singing along, full of alcohol and joyous in spirit. “I don’t know if you know this but I’m quite famous, wrote a popular little ditty called Toss A Coin, maybe you have heard of it?” Jaskier paused for effect, his eyes sweeping across the room and taking in the uncomfortable look on more than a couple of the men’s faces. So that forsaken song had even made its way to this hell hole.

“It’s quite amazing the power a simple little song can have, so imagine the damage that could be done to an already nameless little shit hole that is nothing more that a mud stain on a map if a song started to circulate about how unwelcoming and vile the people there are. I hate to imagine how quickly said town would fall into ruin, wouldn’t you?” Jaskier said it all with a light and friendly voice, as if he was having a conversation about the weather with an old friend but his eyes stayed cold and angry, fixed on the inn keeper and almost daring him to assume Jaskier was lying about his prowess.

The smell in the room changed once more, anger spiking but the rancid smell of fear began to grow. Towns like this relied heavily on passing trade, selling their wears and skills to those who passed. Its what got them through the long and harsh winters, what kept their families fed and safe and Jaskier was threatening that safety, their livelihoods and all in the name of Geralt’s honour. Sometimes he thought that Jaskier was wrong in the head, making unnecessary enemies because they didn’t treat Geralt how Jaskier thought he should be treated but it also brought a warmth to his chest, his heart beating just that little bit faster for a second or two. Jaskier cared enough to defend him, wanted Geralt to have the luxury of walking the Path and not having to fear he would be turned away or chased by an angry mob. He wanted people to see Geralt how he saw him, a hero, a defender, a person and he wouldn’t settle for anything else.

“What do you want bard?” the inn keeper gritted out between clenched teeth, looking at Jaskier like he wished him dead. Jaskier smiled brightly, his cold anger disappearing as he went back to his normal, cheery self. “As I was saying, my friend here as kindly just rid you of a…” Jaskier looked at Geralt expectantly. “Kikimore,” he grunted, rolling his shoulders and standing a little straighter now that he could feel things shifting in his favour. “A Kikimore, how ghastly. How lucky of you poor, defenceless people that a helpful Witcher come along and got rid of the vile beast before it could eat you all,” he raised his voice, letting it carry across the room and his eyes quickly flickering around the room. The men shifted, an unease settling on them that Geralt would liken it to guilt if he thought the men of this town had it in them to feel anything other than contempt towards him.

“After all that hard and dangerous work you can see that my friend is in desperate need of a hot bath and food and some fine ale so if you could have two bowls of hot stew and two mugs of your finest ale sent up to my room that would be much obliged. Oh and the hot bath as well”. Jaskier looked at the man expectantly, that sickly sweet smile still on his lips. The inn keeper grunted, clearly annoyed by the whole situation. “Cost extra and it better stay in the room,” he jerked his head towards Geralt but didn’t look at him, keeping his angry glare on the bard. Jaskier rolled his eyes but took out his coin purse, laying a few down on the bar top that the man snatched up quickly.

Jaskier didn’t waste any time, getting behind Geralt and shoving him towards the stairs. He could stop him if he wanted to but Geralt allowed the weaker man to direct him to the stairs but Jaskier stopped half way up, he anger getting sharper again. “Oh and no extra bodily fluids, my friend here will know,” he patted Geralt’s shoulders as he spoke and Geralt turned his head to glare at the inn keeper, playing his part in Jaskier’s little intimidation. He would know, always knew when people spat or pissed in his food or drink. It was disgusting but it happened, though no one had yet been stupid enough to try it with Jaskier. Geralt would have made them regret it if they had.

Jaskier didn’t give the man a chance to answer, pushing Geralt back up the rest of the steps before slipping around him and heading towards his room at the end of the corridor. Geralt had only just gotten into the room before he started fussing over him, hands flittering about him but not touching all the gore that clung to him. “Jaskier,” he grumbled, his tone heavy with disapproval. He appreciated the other man’s efforts but Geralt really wasn’t worth the trouble he could get into.

Jaskier scoffed, rolling his eyes at Geralt as he headed to the door when a loud bang came. “Oh hush, they were being bigoted assholes and after you saved their ungrateful lives as well. They should truly be ashamed of themselves,” he didn’t even look at the three rather burly and angry looking men on the other side of the door as he yanked it open, holding it ajar as they brought in a bath tub and the first few buckets of what Geralt could already tell was tepid water.

They didn’t look at Geralt as they placed the tub in front of the already lit fire and then quickly disappeared. Jaskier left the door open, obviously optimistic that they would continue to fill the shallow tub and not leave it with the inch or two of water that was in it. “Still,” Geralt grunted, knowing that Jaskier would understand what he was trying to say without him having to use the unneeded amount of words that Jaskier was so fond of. Geralt could take care of himself but Jaskier was human and if anything happened to him because of Geralt, well he didn’t really know what he would do.

Jaskier sighed, heading towards Geralt as the men came back with multiple buckets and continued to fill the bath. He stopped in front of Geralt, looking up at him with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “Its nothing Geralt really. You know I hate how these people treat you, plus what are friends for if not to help each other out in difficult times,” he spoke softly, hands hovering above Geralt’s chest as if he was going to put his hands on him but seemed to have thought better of it.

“Not your friend,” Geralt grunted but he could feel a small smile tugging at his lips, no heat to his words. Jaskier smiled at him, understanding what Geralt was truly trying to say. “Of course, how silly of me to forget that Witcher’s don’t have friends,” Jaskier teased, any lingering anger subsiding as the smell of wild flowers and summer got stronger, Jaskier feeling happy. Geralt liked that smell, wished that he could bottle it for when the other man wasn’t there, for when he came to places like this with people who only saw a monster. It would be a good reminder that there was at least one person out there who cared, one person who he could make happy, who didn’t think him anything more than a man.

They stood there for a long moment, staring into the others eyes and smiling, neither of them really paying attention to the men filling the tub until someone slammed the door closed and Jaskier jumped back, clearly surprised by the sudden noise. The bard laughed nervously, stepping away from Geralt and towards the bed and his own bags, rifling through them in what Geralt thought was an obvious attempt to make himself seem busy. “Well? Come on now Geralt, into the tub before the water gets cold. When was the last time you had a proper bath any way, your hair looks like a rats nest. You need to start looking after yourself better Witcher or you will end up having to cut that precious hair of yours off and wouldn’t that be a travesty,” he called over his shoulder, brandishing a hand behind him towards the now filled tub.

Geralt smiled as he began to work on the buckles of his armour. Jaskier had started to hum, that same sad and wistful tune that he had been working on for a couple of years now. The tune was so familiar by now that Geralt instantly felt himself relax. He had missed this, Jaskier’s gentle nagging and soft humming though he would never admit it to the bard. It was rare to have someone show this much concern for him, even among his brothers and it made him feel warm and wanted to have such attention.

Geralt made quick work of stripping out of his armour and clothes, leaving them to the side to be dealt with latter. Jaskier truly was a good friend and Geralt knew he was lucky to have someone care about him the way Jaskier did. Not many Witcher’s got that and he should tell Jaskier how grateful he was for it but words were never his strong point and he didn’t want to fuck it up. He always felt actions were better than words anyway and he hoped that from his actions Jaskier knew how he felt.

“By the gods Geralt, why didn’t you say someone had tried to gut you like a fish,” Jaskier screeched loudly.

Fuck.

He had forgotten about the gouge in his side.

#the witcher #the witcher tv #netflix the witcher #jaskier #dandelion #geralt #geralt of rivera #geraskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt x dandelion

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fllagellant · 10 months ago

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Round 2 motherfucker me and you and KILL THAT MAN !!! please <3 kisskiss!!

YESSSYES

I love 2 talk about my wips SOSOSO much ..

Round 2 motherfucker but more plot explanation this time .. dandelion’ s canon bad family but with the joys of giving him a bunch of sisters that are Better than the rest .. he gets a summons to attend a gathering in Lettenhove hosted by his father to try and get him to … do his Duties as a Vicount . Duties he would rather die than do . Love a man that uses a title to give himself some sort of air of trust when he is literally a Spy ..

It’ s mostly going to be the Horrors of being a borderline bastard in a family + the joys of being able to take ur friends along and say that they are your ‘ bodyguards ‘ and ‘ court sorceress ‘ . And knowing 90% of your family currently present would like to throttle you but … they cannot ….. lmfao

I promise I will get them out of Novigrad soon I swear just give me 5000 more words

excerpt :

The Chameleon- Once the Rosemary and Thyme, another show of the shedding skin of Novigrad- stood tall, having managed to stay after each one of Geralt’s visits. Unsurprisingly, really. Dandelion had a firm grip when he wanted to, and would only give up The Chameleon if it was pried from his dead hands.

Well, Dandelion’s and his co-owners dead hands. Dandelion would be a nightmare on his own, but Zoltan and Priscilla? No wonder the underworld bosses didn’t bother with trying to retake the ex-brothel-now-cabaret.

Though, he didn’t want to test the strands of Destiny, not as he passed through the gates into Novigrad. Roach distantly whinnied, left in care to the horsemaster just outside the gates of Novigrad, watching Geralt walk out of her sight. To his right, a snort echoed a shared humour at the horse’s known cling to the Witcher. It didn’t worry Geralt, she wasn’t alone, kept company by Scorpion and Widow. She just enjoyed throwing a hissy fit when she could.

Geralt wasn’t going to turn back around to reprimand her for her high-pitched whiny. So she did it once more. She knew when she could misbehave.

—-

KILL THAT MAN !!!! I need Giilvas to have a weird night . Just an all around strange and uncanny night . But he is also allowed to commit massive amounts of violence so he Is winning … also Giilvas + Jaheira bonding in here I forgot to mention that ! Learning the weirdo that is like a stand in son - ish rn for you was once of a Druidic clan and you learn this via brutal murder combat … Hand of Bane vs Werebeast that is biting you and biting you and biting you who WINS ?? ( you already know )

excerpt :

-And sent her off to bed with a ‘love you, soulsister’ and a ruffling of her hair. Karlach laughed, for the first time in that long day. It was rough and dry, but it was a laugh. And she ate supper with Wyll. And she accepted a hug from Jaheira.

Giilvas wouldn’t.

Giilvas shook his head, yet Jaheira did not scoff or tsk or push in her own cattycaring way. She nodded, and went to her tent. With an uttering of a talk that must be had come morning, Cub.

So when exhaustion, rapid and steady, sunk its teeth into the backs of their necks. When it dragged them under. When it finally demanded payment and when everyone finally curled under the waning night sky, Wyll waited to feel Giilvas’ form slip beside him.

But he didn’t.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #giilvas #the witcher #wip wednesday thursday #MWAHHH MWAHMWAH

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slumberingcorpse · 1 year ago

Text

Music and Gunpowder

Geralt/Jaskier Fanfic Western AU

Part 1 “Riding Towards Destiny”

It happened so quickly. One minute they were having dinner like every night and the next they were being surrounded by the Pinkertons.

Geralt cursed under his breathe as his grip tightens around Roach’s reins keeping Ciri close to his chest as possible.

They almost got Ciri. If it wasn’t for Eskel—Christ…he didn’t even want to imagine it…

“How the hell did they find us!? Surround us no less!” Cöen asks breaking the tense silence surrounding the gang as their horse’s hooves thunder against the dirt road.

They were so focused in escaping with their lives they must’ve forgotten that we had the ability to do so.

“I don’t know! Do you have any clue on how this could happen? Geralt!?” Lambert accuses with his fiery eyes shooting daggers at the white haired outlaw.

Geralt knew he just wanted to get a raise out of me, like always. There’s nothing more that he wanted to do other than have another shouting match with him, but I knew it was a waste of time, Ciri however, didn’t.

“Yennefer would never do such a thing! You’re just full of shit!” Ciri shouts angry and disgusted by the even suggestion of such a thing.

Lambert scoffs, “I don’t know who’s more stupid! You or your hopeless father! Who else could’ve known!? Who else would’ve want us dead!? Especially after the incident with Marigold!”

“Triss? W-what are you talking about? What incident with Marigold?” Ciri asks with her blue eyes looking up at her father expectingly.

It was Geralt’s turn to glare over at his brother before sighing and looking back over at the young girl sitting in front of him. His mouth went dry.

He hoped to never tell her. The last thing he wanted is to trouble her even more, especially when it has to do with the stupid decision he made.

He can feel my lips tremble as he opens his mouth to explain but either by fortune or misfortune a loud thud catches all our attention.

Geralt whips his head back towards the noise only for his eyes to widen in horror seeing Eskel laying limply on the ground next to his horse.

“Shit! Eskel!” He hears myself say as he leaps off his saddle. Lambert and Cöen were close behind as they rush to Eskel’s side to help him sit down.

Thankfully, Eskel was still breathing, be it, harshly but it was better than nothing. Though with the bullet wound in his stomach bleeding like crazy, he might not be breathing for long.

“Eskel? Eskel? You hear me?” Geralt asks struggling to keep his voice from sounding panicked as the stench of blood fills his nostrils.

“W-wolf…I’m…I’m o-okay…j-just got dizzy…” Eskel slurs out hiding his pain from his younger brothers.

“Like hell you are! Blood loss is different from dizziness, you dumbass! Why didn’t you tell us!?” Lambert shouts not bothering to hide his fear and worry from anyone.

And yet, Eskel forced himself to smile up at his brothers, “I…I’ll be okay…I..I h-had worse…y-you know that.”

“Damn it! Where’s Vesemir and Aiden!?” Cöen curses looking around for their leader and fellow brother.

“I’m sure they’re fine. Cöen, give me some gunpowder! Lambert, start a damn fire!” Geralt orders.

“What are you planning to do?” Lambert asks.

“Damn it, Lambert! Just do what I say for once in your life!” Geralt snaps causing the younger man to finally nod and run to do as told.

While the other two are gone, Geralt quickly tears off a peace of cloth and presses it against Eskel’s stomach.

Eskel hisses in pain as he weakly smiles, “Hey, hey I’m o-okay…don’t cry…I’ll be o-okay…”

Geralt glances at him confused before following Eskel’s glaze and remembering about the young girl in his care.

Frozen in place was Ciri, starring at the blood on Geralt’s hands as tears run down her pale cheeks.

Geralt’s heart sank as he forces himself to turn away from her, “It’ll be alright. Just keep an eye out alright?”

Ciri doesn’t answer but Geralt can hear her turn around and walk away.

“G-Geralt…g-go to her…”

“Not now, you idiot, you’ll bleed out.” Geralt sighs focusing on the wound.

Soon enough, Cöen and Lambert rush back with what they need. Once the fire was started he takes out his knife and holds it over the flame.

“Alright, you two hold him down.” Geralt orders moving Eskel’s bloodied shirt out of the way. Unlike before, there was no back talk, Lambert and Cöen held Eskel down as Geralt pours the gunpowder into the wound before pressing the hot blade against his skin.

Eskel’s howls in pain as he thrashes around. Cöen turns away as Eskel claws against his arm. Lambert’s eyes fill with tears before squeezing his eyes shut to stop them from spilling. All while, Ciri’s soft sobs are heard in the background.

Geralt’s heart ached. Below him was Eskel. His best friend, his brother screaming and begging him to stop. Behind him was Ciri, his daughter sobbing in fear needing him by her side.

Soon enough, the screams stopped leaving nothing but the sound of crickets and crackling firewood to fill the void. Eskel, laid limp but breathing. He was alive.

Numbly, Geralt wraps Eskel’s stomach with the cleanest cloth he hand as the sound of hooves come closer. All of boy’s immediately reach for their revolvers but relax once seeing Vesemir’s and Aiden’s horses ride up.

“Thank god! Are you boys alright?” Vesemir asks getting off his horse.

“Eskel was shot, I…I stop the bleeding but…it’ll take a while for him to get back on his feet.” Geralt reports calmly.

Vesemir’s gaze softens as he walks over and places a hand on Geralt’s shoulder, “You did good, son. Go get yourself cleaned up. We’ll camp here for the night. We’re gonna be alright.”

Geralt nods before walking towards the small river next to the camp. With trembling hands he bends down to wash the blood off his palms and fingers before splashing his face with the ice cold water.

“I-is he…” Ciri asks with a trembling voice.

Geralt hesitates but finally turns over to her, “No, he’s alive. He’ll be alright.” He says trying to comfort her but instead Ciri just nods and looks down with tears running down her pale cheeks.

Geralt frowns and reaches over to hold her hands, “He’ll be alright. I…I promise. Trust me, he’s survived much worse. I mean who else can survive having dynamite blowing up next to him.”

Ciri shakes her head and cries, “I-it’s all my fault!”

Geralt’s heart drops as he cups her tear stained cheeks, “No, no, none of this is your fault. None of it.”

“B-but the Pinkertons, they want me! If it wasn’t my for me, no one would’ve gotten hurt!”

“Ciri. Cirilla, listen to me. None of this is your fault and I will never let them get a hold of you. No matter what I’ll protect you. I promised I would, remember?”

Ciri sniffles and nods as she wraps her her arms around Geralt. Geralt holds her close and tenderly rubs her small back, “Come on, let’s get to bed alright? I’m sure in a few days Eskel will be back up on his feet and you two will be out hunting together in no time.”

“G-Geralt…can I…sleep with you tonight?” Ciri softly asks.

Geralt smiles softly before kissing the top of her head, “Yeah, I can do that. Come on, princess.” He coos before leading her to their bedroll. Making sure they both were comfortable and warm, Geralt holds Ciri close.

It might’ve been the knowledge that Ciri was safe in his arms or the pure exhaustion after the turbulent day, either way, his eyes fail to stay open.

His peaceful sleep doesn’t last long however, as Cöen starts to nudge his shoulder, “Geralt. Wake up.”

Geralt groans and glances down to check that Ciri’s still sleeping before turning up towards Cöen, “What is it?” He whispers as he carefully sits up.

“It’s Eskel,” Cöen sighs causing Geralt’s stomach to drop and turn away, “I-is he?”

“No, not yet…he has a fever. A bad one. I’m pretty sure he has an infection. Vesemir is out trying to look for some herbs to help but…he needs medicine.” Cöen explains glancing over at Eskel in his bedroll.

Geralt sighs and runs his hand down his face, “Alright, I’ll go get some. I’m pretty sure I saw a town nearby.”

Cöen nods before glancing down at sleeping Ciri, “How is she taking it?”

“As well as anyone can…I guess…” Geralt mutters carefully getting up to not wake her.

“You guess?” Cöen questions.

“I…I don’t know…she thinks it’s her fault. She’s scared and…and I don’t know what to do…”

Cöen smiles sympathetically as he pats Geralt’s shoulder, “You’re doing your best. That’s the best you can do. I’m sure no matter what she’ll understand. Besides, you aren’t alone. Remember that alright?”

Geralt smiles softly and nods, “Keep an eye on her? I’ll be back soon enough.”

Cöen nods and sits on the ground next to Ciri, “She’ll be fine.”

Geralt let’s out another sigh as he puts on his hat and boots, “Make sure she eats all of her breakfast. Even the mushrooms.” He says sternly.

Cöen chuckles, “I’ll make sure she eats every one.”

Reassured, Geralt relaxes and heads over to Roach.

“Surprise to see you up so early.” A voice asks from behind causing Geralt to tense up and turn only to be faced with no other than Aiden.

“Aiden. How’s Lambert?”

Aiden lets out a worried sigh, “Freaked out to say the least. He’s worried for Eskel. For Ciri. They almost got her back there.”

“I know but we’ll work on it. I’m gonna get some medicine for Eskel and once healthy enough to move we’ll leave to someplace safe.”

“Safe? This isn’t some gang we are talking about, Geralt. This is the Pinkertons. The government who swarms all over the place. The real question is how long until they kill us all.” Aiden argues.

Geralt turns away as he puts his saddle on Roach’s back, “We’ll figure something out…” is all he manages to say before riding off.

The sun was only beginning to raise in the distance and yet only the crows seem to be singing their song.

Geralt is finally alone and for a moment he can let his emotions roam free, “Fuck! What am I doing!? Aiden is right! Last night they almost got us! They almost got Ciri! What do they even want with her!? She’s just a kid! A terrified lost kid! How am I supposed to…how am I supposed to protect her?”

Roach neighs in response causing Geralt to continue, “Yeah, I know, I know but I wasn’t made for this. How am I supposed to raise her? All my life all I learned to do is shoot, steal, and scam. It’s no way to raise a Ciri. She deserves…deserves more! To live in high society like her mother and grandmother! Worrying about dresses and shoes instead of catching a bullet through the skull. Why did her grandmother entrust her to me?”

Roach neighs and nudges her head back towards her master making Geralt relax as pat her mane, “I don’t regret taking her in. It’s not that. I just want her safe…” He sighs and looks up at the gloomy sky, “Maybe Yennefer was right that’s all. Maybe Ciri should’ve stayed with her…” he mutters only for his ears to pick up a scream near by.

“Help! Help me! Someone please help me!”

Perhaps it was instinct, maybe it was destiny, either way, Geralt immediately turns Roach around and rushes towards the cry for help.

As he got closer, growls, barks, and howls can be heard as a man clings onto a tree branch. He was younger than Geralt, with soft dirty brown hair, filthy and yet expensive looking clothes, and a fancy looking guitar slung over his back. Must’ve been gotten lost.

Geralt glances up at the sobbing man before glancing back down at the pack of wolves clawing at the tree trunk trying to take a bit out of the terrified man who’s starting to lose his grip.

Geralt takes out his revolver and shoots a few rounds at the sky causing the pack to scatter about and for the man to finally fall against the grass.

“You alright there?” Geralt asks walking over only for the man to pounce him into a tight hug.

“You saved me! I t-thought it was all over! But you saved me! My hero!” The man sobs looking up at Geralt with his big watery blue eyes and his snot, tear covered face.

Geralt couldn’t help but tense up. The only person who hugs him is Ciri and last time he checked, this man was not Ciri. Without hesitation, he pulls away and clears his throat, “Glad you’re alright then…see you around then.” He says walking back to Roach.

“What!? You can’t leave me here!” The man cries out rushing behind him.

“And why is that?” Geralt questions looking back at him with an amused look.

“Because what if the wolves come back! I’ll die out here!” The man cries.

Geralt shrugs and saddles up, “Better get out of forest as fast as you can then, city boy.”

The man runs in front of Roach and looks up at Geralt with his big blue eyes, “Don’t leave me here to die…please?”

Geralt has seen those eyes before. Ciri always uses them to get what she wants and just like when she does it, he couldn’t say no. He sighs and grumbles, “Fine.”

The man’s eyes light up, “So you’ll give me a ride to Toussaint?”

“What!? No!”

“Why not!?”

“I don’t even know you!”

“Me? Oh, Umm I’m…Jaskier!”

Geralt looks down at the younger man with a glare. He wasn’t sure either to laugh or punch him, “Like hell you are! You made that damn name up!”

Jaskier let’s out a fake gasp, “Me!? Lie!? I would never!”

Geralt sighs and runs his hand down his face, “Just get on the damn horse before I leave you here.”

Jaskier just smiles and hops on behind him.

Geralt was starting to regret this.

#witcher #the witcher fandom #the witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #witcher eskel #witcher Cöen #witcher lambert #witcher vesemir #aiden witcher #witcher ciri #ciri #witcher yennefer #western au

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magdelanesingerin · 1 year ago

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Session 29: Vulnerability

“I’ve been…trying to talk about this work shit more. With people. Like you said,’ Geralt says haltingly, hating how awkward he sounds.

“Oh? That’s great!” Nenneke beams, and Geralt can't help but feel a warm glow of pride, though it's shaky at best. “How has it been going? How does it feel?”

“....good.”

“Take her around again, I want to watch that canter again,” Ren asked with a thoughtful frown. He stood back in the center of the round pen as Geralt cued Roach into movement on the longe line. He kept his eyes glued to her as she ran, but spoke to Geralt. “It’s admirable that you want to help this kid escape her mother, and it sounds like you’ve already done a lot for her. But isn’t this woman going to find out that it was you who helped her file paperwork and squirrel away assets, get a new apartment, all that stuff? Is she going to come after you for it?”

Geralt grunted and kept Roach pushing forward. It was still hard to talk about work so openly, but he had to admit that it was helping.

“Probably. She isn’t stupid, and it won’t be hard to figure it out. I don’t think she’ll do much more than get me fired, though.”

“Aaaaand are you okay with that?” Ren asked dubiously. “Turn around and swap leads, please.” Geralt gestured with the whip and Roach obediently made a tight turn and resumed cantering in the other direction.

“Yeah,” Geralt answered slowly. “I am. If that’s what it takes…this kid deserves a chance at a normal life. A life she chooses. I can’t not help her just because it’s risky for me. Besides, I’m ready to do something else for awhile anyway. So fuck it.”

“Walk a lap then stand,” Ren directed them, taking his eyes off Roach and turning toward Geralt instead. “Well, shit. I hope she appreciates what you’re putting on the line for her,” he said, still looking worried. Geralt nodded and brought Roach to a neat halt. She was perfect, despite his fidgeting and nervous energy. He didn’t deserve a mount as honest and smart as Roach.

“So?” he asked shortly, not able to keep the tension out of his voice. Ren sighed heavily and patted the big bay mare on the neck.

“The Pessoa is helping, so keep that up. She’s looking good, better topline, that canter was way more collected than a few weeks ago. She’s less tender and painful when I palpate…We can keep treating with chiro and steroid injections, keep her comfortable and moving, strengthen those muscles.”

“Surgery?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it at this point, though we can try ISLD if you feel really strongly about it,” Ren shook his head, scratching Roach behind he ear. “But I think she’s responding well to PT and anti inflammatory treatments. If you want, we can put her on the water treadmill at the clinic, or try acupuncture as well? I’ve seen great results, and I can recommend a gal who does it locally.”

Geralt hummed and petted Roach’s velvety soft nose. She headbumped him happily, pulling a smile out of him despite his worry.

continue on Ao3

#Horse Girl Geralt #the witcher #modern au #my fic #A Life Alone #Geralt goes to therapy

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astarab1aze · 9 months ago

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🩵 for any of ours you feel!

muse relationship headcanon game

who curses more?

oh this one's easy because vita doesn't like cursing herself - obviously, it's geralt, and i don't think he really curses that frequently himself? at least, i haven't seen you write him cursing...although i'm sure there is definitely a 'yet' in there. i will say that vita hasn't sworn it off entirely. get her mad enough and 'fuck' comes as naturally as breathing.

who is more patient?

hmmm... i would say vita, but that seems wrong. she is very patient, but occasionally prone to bouts of anxiety and paranoia, so there's a sort of rush on certain things at certain times. geralt'll have to take the cake on this one, what with everything we've talked about and how unwaveringly solid he is under the circumstances. i do imagine him to not be patient at specific times, but with her? with each other? mmm. patience is key. short answer? geralt. long answer? geralt and sometimes vita, but still mostly geralt i feel.

who does the driving?

they each have roach and tali, so both. though it is nice to imagine them riding together on roach, in which case geralt is 'driving' and vita has her arms around him, and that's good enough for me, ahh

who is louder? who is quieter?

vita is the louder one, guaranteed. she is a harpy, after all, and harpies are known for their songs, dances, and unique proclivities toward combat, really just generally being a bit noisy. well, i should say she's probably just a bit more chatty, where geralt is generally...quieter but even, in volume. hm. i need them to talk more, for science-- compare, contrast, u kno unu

who is more physically affectionate?

i'm going to say...between the two, most likely vita, though that isn't to say geralt is less than? necessarily. he strikes me as affectionate when he feels he can be and is comfortable enough to do so, at which point he becomes a sort of puppy about it, in a sense. rather, he just does it somewhat differently to vita, who would, of course, be all over him if given the opportunity. i do imagine they tightly embrace each other more often than not, when they get to that point. that she reaches out to him, rests her head on his chest or shoulder, fixes his hair, dusts off his armor or clothes, ever and always tender with him.

who is more likely to tease the other?

oh i think they tease each other, an easy 50/50, just maybe more conversationally than any way else and possibly not terribly often but often enough. friendly sarcasm and snark to share between the two of them. besides, vita's playful when she's comfortable.

who is better with time management?

this is another one of those things where it's both of them. they're both goal-oriented in their own ways, and sure sometimes they might get thrown off the path due to one obstacle or another, but i think it's fair to say they're about even here. vita's experience in court may affect this in terms of propriety, but i don't think it makes that big of a difference.

who wins the arm wrestling matches?

geralt. that is a solid man with actual weight to his bones where vita is a bit delicate and potentially easy to break if just the right amount of pressure was applied. i don't see her backing down though, potentially attempting to pull one over on him and, yes, she realizes that's cheating but he can forgive her once or twice, right?

who controls the music in the car ride?

well, considering there are no cars in sunjatta and vita doesn't bother with vehicles at all even in modern verse, i'm going to say neither of them. she might sing on occasion but never loud enough to draw attention to them, or herself, unless at home. that's different and also not the question--

who covers dinner when they order in?

y'know, hm, i'm not sure. i think they both do the hunting, together and separately, and also that they probably help each other when preparing certain meals. but that's at home- going out? different story. i think it's hard to really tell though. geralt doesn't strike me as necessarily proper, but he's not ignorant or non-gentlemanly either, in some ways. ???? but vita is so insistant that she takes care of everything and that it's not a problem at all, shush and eat-- so i can't confidently say.

who is more outgoing? who is more shy?

geralt isn't shy but i wouldn't say he's outgoing either, and vita's effectively the same if only slightly more outwardly sociable. she's friendly and polite, but she's not going to go out of her way to make friends or build relationships with other people. i think they have a similar, maybe not thought process, but something here. 'i would like some peace and quiet away from other people.' 'what a coincidence, me too.' kind of a deal (i mean honestly their entire journey together is about getting as far away from people as they can ksjdhfsd)

who has the more outlandish fashion sense?

vita, entirely. i don't think i even need to explain, though 'outlandish' isn't really the best word to use for it, since everything she wears is relatively common in some places of the world. and everything is custom, too. much as she loves her road leathers, there is just nothing like her feathery, not-so-modest bedlah.

who starts the tickle fights? who ends them?

hm, tickling would not end the way anyone would think. but i don't think tickling is a thing for them either, though that isn't to say they wouldn't playfully touch each other. just...maybe not tickling specifically.

who has the darker/more "edgy" sense of humor?

p-probably geralt, i think. i could be wrong, but that seems...close to accurate. to me. maybe.

who is more competitive when it comes to games?

vita. :I not because she hates losing or anything but because the game itself is fun for her, and she knows she'll probably lose anyway if it's not like...chess, or something. but she gets into it, will try to win by any means necessary. her red flag is she cheats at cornhole kjsdhfkjsdf

who has the bigger appetite? the bigger sweet tooth?

geralt has the bigger appetite, i believe this entirely and i don't think my mind can be changed on the matter. and it's totally okay that he does because vita is a firm believer in the whole 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach!' thing, so naturally she feeds him and his happy to do so. she just thinks he's charming, like a bedraggled stray finally getting to eat after a few days of starving. which...okay maybe not the best words to use, but you get me. this is not at all to say vita doesn't go bananas over a roast because she does. she's every bit a raptor as she is a woman and she can and will pick some bones clean. likes sweets, but probably to a much lesser degree than geralt, who is just happy to have some actual food--

who is more likely to get in a confrontation in public?

mmmmm geralt. although actually, i'll say it depends. she very much does not like it when anyone insults him. herself? whatever. him? 'sir i will end your life if you call him a freak again.' she hates it, and i'm willing to bet she has from the very beginning, just moreso over time. and she's naturally defensive/protective of the people she cares for anyway. she just absolutely will not tolerate things like that directed at him. but i imagine he's sort of the same, if able to deal with it 'better'. otherwise, i think context really matters here. like are we talking fistfights, swordfights, a good slap?

who hosts the parties/hangouts? who organizes them?

vita organizes the parties and geralt begrdugingly humors her sksk but i think that's different when all the kids come to visit. it depends on who is coming over. otherwise, when it's just them, i think they're probably a fair bit more...spontaneous? if given the opportunity to just be. i don't think organization really has that big a role to play here, honestly.

who is better at cooking? do they ever cook for each other?

yes and yes, next question. oh, but i think vita does a lot of the cooking herself and doesn't mind it. they help each other though, i'm pretty sure of that. i don't think it's necessarily a matter of who does it best, but who just. does it.

who is more likely to engage in dangerous and/or illegal behavior?

i'm pretty sure they're both inclined to do very dangerous things. often. and, well, they have killed and will probably kill again, each. 50/50. but maybe vita has done more specifically illegal things in her service to askarra.

who is more likely to notice when something is wrong with the other?

i don't think anything gets too far past geralt, and vita's hyperaware, so i think they'd catch on to something fairly quickly each. i imagine geralt would notice when vita's headaches start acting up, when her eye's bothering her, but not necessarily how she fares emotionally, and i think...to a degree, vita's much the same, if a little more sensitive to the emotional aspect of things. there are things geralt can understand but not necessarily readily see since she has a tendency to bury a lot of it, and vice verse, honestly. 50/50 here too

who does the talking in public settings (i.e. to the waiter at a restaurant)?

i think it depends on who they're talking to, but they're both very independent and don't need one or the other to do all the talking for them.

who is more likely to extend a helping hand & provide emotional support?

i think this depends too, on the context. i imagine them both to be there if/when needed. simple as that, regardless of whether they're good at it or not. yeah, that sounds right to me hmmm

who is the bigger prankster? do they get the last laugh or do they suffer for it?

oh, vita. it's gotta be vita. small, silly things, of course, nothing crazy. she and asu join forces to mess with him a little, but it's all in good fun and with love. in a way, that goes to show he's part of their little family...that they treat him like he is.

#☿ || Asks.#✘ // Oh Be Still My Heart - I am His Forever; Geralt.#gyofukuki #/ i debated so hard with myself over whether to do this for them or not #/ but the brainworms are feasting and i just couldn't help myself #/ so here we are ToT

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podcastenthusiast · 2 years ago

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"Here should be safe to set up camp," Geralt says, scanning the treeline with his eyes in that odd witcher way. Like he's seeing much more than a mere mortal could.

"Thank the gods," sighs Jaskier, who's been really starting to regret skiving off those physical fitness courses at Oxenfurt.

"Get a fire started while I tend to Roach."

"Oh Geralt, I'd love to, I would. Truly it's colder than a sorceress' shapely—"

"Jaskier."

"Well, as they say: you can lead a bard to timber, but you can't make him—"

"Just do it, Jaskier."

"I don't know how! All right? I've never built a fire in the middle of nowhere before! It's not one of the seven liberal arts, and I much prefer my fires stoked by comely barmaids in taverns."

Geralt looks at him for a long moment. It's a complicated look—frustration and amusement and a hint of regret. Mostly it's a look that says Jaskier is an idiot for joining him on the Path.

"Right," Geralt says slowly. He begins building the campfire himself.

"I imagine they teach wilderness survival to baby witchers at witcher school."

Geralt looks at him again and there's something different in his expression. The ghost of a smile? Jaskier doesn't quite know how to read it.

"Kaer Morhen," he says. "And yeah. Something like that."

"Oh?" Jaskier has to rein in his enthusiasm, his curious questions. Geralt so rarely reveals anything personal about himself or his past. Not that Jaskier has been forthcoming in that regard either. They live in the moment, day by day, but some context would help his creative process.

Besides all that, he genuinely wants to get to know Geralt a little better.

"Vesemir took me out into the forest one day. Gave me a knife and left me there for a month."

There is no bitterness in his words. If anything, the witcher sounds...almost fond. Nostalgic. Proud of his younger self for overcoming the challenges his mentors set before him.

It takes a moment for the true meaning of that to sink in and, once it does, Jaskier is horrified. His own parents weren't great, but even they would never simply abandon him.

"He just— like as a test— what—?"

"Real eloquent, bard. I doubt he had any choice. Probably wasn't even supposed to give me anything."

"How old were you?" he demands, unsure if any answer will make this revelation less abhorrent.

"Six? Seven? Maybe eight. I don't know." Geralt makes a gesture with his fingers and the pile of wood beneath his hand sparks with flame. "Not old enough to have learned Igni yet."

He can picture it, too, so vividly. Curse his dammed artist's imagination. Geralt, just a kid, alone and scared and definitely cold—because no one bothered to teach him how to start a fire.

"Stop it," the witcher snaps.

"What?"

"Looking at me like that. I'm fine. I was fine back then. Wasn't so bad at all compared to the Grasses. Vesemir came back for me like he said he would. I survived the trial—no, I didn't just survive; I exceeded all expectations, which is why they..." The witcher trails off. Takes a breath.

All of that... It's quite a lot of words for Geralt. Honest words, even.

It's his job to talk, to sing, to commit the most painful and difficult experiences to beautiful poetic verse. But Jaskier doesn't know what to say to his friend right now. Surely he has to say something.

"Geralt..."

"Don't waste your pity. Save it for the ones who didn't make it through. I did."

"Okay," the bard replies, careful and tentative. He isn't a brave man, nor a particularly kind one. But Jaskier considers himself an honest fellow so he adds, "Just because you made it through, you know, that doesn't mean what happened to you was all right, Geralt. Children aren't supposed to be left alone to fend for themselves."

The witcher laughs—a humorless, wretched sound. He doesn't say anything at all to that. Which is okay, really; Jaskier just needed him to hear it.

There is a long silence. The fire crackles. Jaskier absently strums his lute.

"You're gonna write a ballad about this, aren't you," Geralt says after a while.

"No!" Maybe. Yes. He won't perform it.

"Hm."

The fire crackles.

Quite out of the blue, Geralt tells him, "I befriended a wolf back then."

"What? You're joking!"

"Witchers don't have a sense of humor. Common knowledge."

"Common misconception. Most people are just stupid. No, hang on, stop distracting me—You had a pet wolf?!"

"Not a pet," the witcher corrects, smiling faintly. "Fangtooth was her own wolf."

"Fangtooth?" Jaskier repeats, struggling to contain his amusement. "Not Roach?"

"No."

"Forgive me, but that's adorable."

"I was just a child. I wanted to stay with her in the wilderness. Be a wolf, too. Or a knight." He shakes his head dismissively. Silly childish dreams.

"But you didn't," Jaskier says. And feels stupid for saying something so obvious.

"Too late for that," Geralt replies without reproach. "I was already a witcher."

"As a child, I wanted to run away and join the circus," the bard offers.

"Of course you did."

They're quiet for a moment then. Comfortable, shared silence. Just the sounds of birds and forest creatures, and Roach contentedly eating grass. The fire crackles.

"Geralt, will you teach me to light a fire? Without witcher magic, obviously, since I don't have any."

"Why?"

"Because...well, because I could be a more useful traveling companion. Like Fangtooth must've been."

"...Fine," Geralt agrees after some thought.

It is a skill he will be very grateful to have on freezing nights in the coming years, especially whenever the witcher is too injured or ill from those dreadful potions to help set up camp. He will try not to think of the child Geralt once was, subjected to horrific tests of his ability to survive all on his own.

Except he hadn't been on his own back then, not completely. And he isn't alone anymore, either.

#whisking canons and headcanons together until i get the hurt/comfort i need #this time it's twn jaskier and stuff but some hexer geralt backstory #the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier fic #witcher fanfiction #possibly part of a series where jaskier realizes how fucked up geralt's childhood was

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cinebration · 2 years ago

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Only Ours (Geralt of Rivia x Reader) [Request]

Geralt x fem!reader. Old friends find each other again after many years apart. Used to be lovers or almost lovers (up to you) that parted ways due to circumstances out of their control. They still care for each other a great deal and reminisce about their past together and what could've been. Can end up together or not. Not looking for angst per se, more just wistful, bittersweet tone. Thank you!—Requested by anon

Warnings: none

Gif Source: lamberts

In all the taverns in all the world, you walked into the one Geralt had been forced to take refuge in to give Roach a rest and to escape the rain. He noticed you first—not because he saw you, but because your familiar scent constricted his chest and made his nostrils flare. Glancing up from under his damp hood, he tracked your movements across the tavern as you went up to the barkeep and slapped coins onto the bar, calling out an order of thighs and a flagon of ale.

The barkeep happily obliged.

Balancing your plate in one hand and clutching your flagon in the other, you surveyed the dearth of available tables.

Geralt tensed as your attention moved closer and closer to him. The pain in his chest tightened, made it hard to breathe. He desperately wanted you to notice him, while at the same time he wanted to hide.

He remained frozen.

Your gaze passed over him, then shifted back, recognition dawning instantly. A faint, tentative smile pulled on your lips as you slowly made your way over.

You looked better than he remembered. He didn’t understand how—you were no sorceress—but the fact remained you did. He pushed off the hood as you reached the table and set down your dishes, your eyes never leaving his.

“Geralt,” you murmured, surprise and hesitation in your mellifluous voice.

He murmured your name back, the sound of it sacred on his lips. He hadn’t spoken it since you last parted years before.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” you continued, your voice still soft, as though afraid to spook him like a deer. “How long has it been?”

“Eight years, give or take.” The rasp of his words sounded worse than usual, perhaps worse.

“Closer to nine, I think.”

And Geralt knew you had been counting, just like he had.

Staring down into his tankard, he watched the foam shift as the liquid sloshed underneath it. The din of the tavern faded to the background, all his attention arrested by your presence. The smell of you, the close proximity, made his head spin.

“You look good,” you said.

He chuffed a laugh. “For a right bastard.”

Chuckling, you bit into the chicken thigh, chewed as you scrutinized his face. He wondered what you saw there, anxiety sparking beneath his skin the longer you looked. Would you see the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf? Or would you only see him, as you always had before?

“I hear stories of hard times for you.”

A chill slithered down his spine. “Still a mind reader, I see.”

“Your eyes don’t lie, Witcher.”

Grunting, he shrugged and covered his expression with a long swallow of his ale.

“Well, there’re stories of hard times for me, too,” you added when he set his tankard down. The momentary flicker of a haunted look in your eyes made his fist clench tighter around the tankard. “But I’ve no interest in recounting those and ruining the evening.”

“I’m told talking helps,” he noted dryly.

“Not here.” You gestured with your chin at the other patrons in the tavern. “Prying ears and all that.”

He nodded. “What do we talk about, then?”

A sly smile pulled at your lips. “Did you ever find that griffin?”

Snorting, he shook his head. “Low-hanging fruit, mind reader.”

“What? No reunion is complete without mention of the griffin!”

“Give it a rest.”

“So I take it you did not find it.”

“No, I did.”

You waited for an elaboration. The faintest smirk touched his mouth. “You didn’t take it out, I know that. I would’ve heard, what with that bard immortalizing you and whatnot.”

He remained silent, enjoying the agitation building up in you.

“Pfft. If I had to guess, you found it and got new scars for your trouble with no head for a prize.”

The smirk faltered.

“I knew it!”

“Mind reader,” he groused, but his eyes were bright with amusement.

“See, should’ve had me by your side for that. Maybe I would have taken its head while you gave it new meat to chew on.”

“Hardly. You would be lucky to snatch a few feathers.”

Clicking your tongue in disagreement, you countered, “No way am I doing that again.”

“How disappointing. I rather enjoyed watching you prance around.”

You laughed. “I bet you did!”

Geralt offered another chuffed laugh, feeling himself filling with the warmth of your presence and the brightness of your smile. Neither had he ever forgotten, but his memory didn’t compare to the flesh-and-blood vision before him.

“I’ve missed you,” you said, reading his mind once again.

He didn’t know how to answer that, the tightness in his chest making it hard to breathe, let along speak. You nodded as though you knew his response, however, and offered him a smile that threatened to shatter him.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave.”

You glanced up from your plate, then shrugged. “We didn’t have a choice, Geralt.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Not an acceptable one.”

“Acceptable varies by degrees.”

“I know,” you whispered, staring down at your food. Shaking your head, you looked back up at him, regret fading into a rueful smile. “But it didn’t kill us, the separation.”

“Something died.”

Silence weighed heavy in the space between you.

You sighed quietly. “Things are what they are. I’ve accepted that.”

He grunted, not trusting his words.

“Still, sometimes I think about…I never did work up the nerve, did I?”

“Your nerve was never in question.”

“I’m not blaming you. I could have taken the initiative as much as you.”

“Fine,” he conceded. “We both were too afraid.”

You nodded, the rueful smile returning. “Funny how much that fear pales in comparison to the things we’ve seen in the last few years.”

Grunting again, he lifted his tankard and met your gaze. Lifting yours, you clinked the metal cups softly, the ringing sound of their meeting subdued.

“I’m surprised the bard doesn’t know the story,” you said after swallowing a sip of the ale. “Our story, if that’s what we can call it.”

“I didn’t tell him.”

“Why not? It’s exactly the kind of thing bards would kill to sing about.”

“Because it’s ours,” Geralt growled. “Only ours.”

#Geralt of Rivia x Reader #Geralt of Rivia #Geralt of Rivia imagine #Geralt x Reader #Geralt #Geralt imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #The Witcher #requests

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bigfan-fanfic · 2 years ago

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A Captive Bard (Male!Reader x Geralt x Jaskier)

Requested by @capturingthecountryside Can we get more ? Perhaps a scene in season 2 where Jaskier is shirtless in the pond in his tight breaches and riding boots.. perhaps Geralt ties him up for some kink play ;-) or vice versa please leave the tight pants and riding boots on this time :-)

"Honestly, Geralt, you ought to take better care of your rescuees. I nearly got impaled on those swords of yours."

Geralt growls. "You're the only person I know who complains about being rescued."

"Who asked for your help? I would have gotten out of there on my own. Probably."

Geralt lets out another huff. "Then I won't bother rescuing you the next time your mouth lands you in trouble."

"Now, I didn't say that. Goodness, you're sensitive."

"Jaskier." Geralt snaps. "Do you EVER stop talking?"

The bard doesn't miss a beat. "No."

He whips off his red longcoat, to the witcher's surprise. Jaskier strides into the lake, pulling off his shirt as he goes, and for a moment, Geralt is stunned, just looking at the bard's surprising physique. And an idea starts to form.

He's no idiot. It's been clear that Jaskier talks a big game and flirts with everything that moves, but hasn't been taken care of for far too long. He needs a bit of punishment.

Geralt grabs a coil of thin black rope that you gifted him with after he insisted you teach him how to bind captives in your special ways. Now, when you tied him, he had been willing, and Jaskier might not take too well to this, but oh well.

The bard had been chattering incessantly, deliberately pivoting so that the witcher would have a good view of his flexing muscles.

He dunks his shirt into the water, the splash concealing the sound of Geralt slipping into the lake behind him.

Jaskier glances onto the shore, registering for just an instant that Geralt has disappeared, before rope falls across his vision and Geralt yanks it tense, pulling Jaskier's arms against his torso with no small amount of force.

"Geralt, what the hell are you doing?" Jaskier protests, as Geralt plants a knee on his back as he pulls Jaskier's arms behind him, using more rope to draw his elbows as close together as possible before adding another knot.

Jaskier grunts with discomfort as Geralt binds his wrists, his arms bound harshly behind his back, preventing much shifting.

"If you're not grateful for my rescue, then you can just be my prisoner instead."

Jaskier makes a noise, not of distress, but of interest, when Geralt yanks his arms up, forcing him to bend forward, the tips of his hair dipping into the water. He wiggles his rear against Geralt's crotch as the witcher forces him to walk like this out of the lake, and he swears he feels a hardening sign of interest before Geralt spanks him.

Jaskier yelps. "Geralt, Geralt, wait."

"What?" Geralt growls simply.

"Are you really mad, or is this for... am I going to be played with?"

Geralt growls again. Jaskier shudders.

"You're mine now, Jaskier, and I'm taking you away to my prince."

Jaskier shudders, then futilely attempts to struggle. "You'll never get away with this, you brute! I have a witcher who will rescue me!"

Geralt rolls his eyes and shoves Jaskier's wet shirt in his mouth and takes a leather strap from Roach's saddlebags to secure it with. Jaskier moans in protest as Geralt takes another coil of rope to wind around his torso and arms, pulling his arms almost painfully against his torso, ensuring he wouldn't be able to move anything independently.

When Geralt gently rubs his hands, checking for circulation, it occurs to the bard that the witcher definitely knows what he's doing, and it sends bloodflow straight to his crotch. Which Geralt pays absolutely no mind to as he lifts Jaskier over Roach's back, lashing him down like cargo.

"MMMMMPH!" Jaskier does yell this time when Geralt folds his legs, crossing his ankles before tying them together, and attaching them to his wrists and back. He's nothing more than a helpless parcel, and with this position, his rear, clad in his tight leather pants, pushed into the air, any movement makes him feel precariously placed. He feels like nothing more than another set of saddlebags.

Geralt simply packs up Jaskier's things and coat, and grabs a bolt of silk cloth to wrap around the bard's eyes, concealing his face and blocking his vision.

Giving into temptation, Geralt twists in the saddle to rest his hand on the swell of Jaskier's rear, making the bard whine eagerly, trying to get any semblance of stimulation. Geralt simply spanks him again before urging Roach on.

He definitely wonders how Jaskier will respond to any passing travelers, seeing a handsome, well-muscled shirtless prisoner struggling in a tightly packaged bundle - and then he grins at the idea of Jaskier covered in rope marks that the witcher put there.

And then the idea of being bound WITH Jaskier occurs to him, and he eagerly spurs Roach on faster.

#jaskier x male reader #geralt x male reader #male reader x geraskier #the witcher x male reader #the witcher x reader #the witcher headcanons

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flowercrown-bard · 2 years ago

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Ridiculous or Grumpy

I’m tipsy and tired and khalea’s comment on the Roach fic made me laugh so here you go with a silly little sequel

“Don’t you look pretty today, Pegasus,” Jaskier cooed, as he stroked down the white stripe of the horse’s nose.

The rhythmic sound of Geralt sharpening his swords stopped. When Jaskier turned to look at him, Geralt was staring at him with a grimace.

“What did you just call her?”

“Pegasus,” Jaskier said lightly, never taking his attention away from the horse.

“That’s not her name.”

“False, that’s not the name you gave her,” Jaskier corrected. “But since she liked me before you, I claim the right to name her.”

“We’re not naming her Pegasus,” Geralt insisted.

“Well, I’m not calling her Roach.” Jaskier put his hands on his hips and jutted his chin out defiantly. “She’s far too pretty and nice to have such a name. Besides, since she likes me, she obviously has good taste. Which means - “ at this, he lifted a finger triumphantly, pointing it at Geralt’s nose, “- that she knows better than to react to a name like Roach.”

Geralt frowned, though the expression looked more like fond exasperation than actual irritation.

“You never had a problem calling my old horse Roach.”

“Exactly. Your old Roach. This lovely lady is ours. You said so yourself. No take-backs.”

Geralt put the sword and whetstone down to cross his arms. “I also said she was our Roach.”

The horse snorted and pushed her nose in between the pair, clearly demanding more pets.

“Alright then,” Jaskier said. “How about she chooses what she’d like to be called.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, rolling his eyes, “She’s a horse.”

“So? You always talk to her anyways. What’s the difference in letting her choose her own name?”

“And how would she do that?”

“Easy,” Jaskier spread his arms wide. “You stand over there,” he gestured to the far end of the field. “And I stand here and we both call her by the name we think would suit her best. Whoever she goes to first gets to pick the name.”

“Fine,” Geralt said, lips twitching. “But you’re not going to wear your doublet.” He paused, giving Jaskier a once-over. “Or these breeches.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier nearly choked on his own spit at Geralt’s words.

“I know you keep treats for her in your pockets and ridiculously puffy sleeves. I’m not risking you cheating.”

Jaskier shot Geralt a dirty look, muttering something about cheating and simply using all of his advantages to make people like him. Despite his grumbling, he shrugged off the doublet.

“You know,” he said, as he untangled his arms from the sleeves gracelessly, “if you wanted to get me out of my clothes, you could have just said so. But it’s always ‘this colour is too flashy’ or ‘it’s summer, why are you wearing a doublet’ or ‘you have treats in your sleeves’ with you.”

He dropped his doublet to the ground carelessly and opened the top buttons of his chemise for good measure. “You know you could show some solidarity and get rid of your shirt too.”

“Jaskier.”

“What?” Jaskier gave him his most innocent look, as he fumbled with the laces of his trousers. “Who guarantees me that you don’t keep treats for Pegasus in your sleeves?” He paused, cocking his head to the side. “Well, maybe not your sleeves. There’s barely enough space for your bicep in there, I don’t know how you would hide anything else in them- but the point still stands.”

“Fine.” Geralt rolled his eyes again and began tugging off his shirt. “But only because it’s hot and I just want to get this over with.”

“Sure,” Jaskier agreed. “You being so ready to undress has nothing to do with you wanting to show off a bit for your dearest bard.”

Geralt only grunted, the sound muffled by his shirt.

Immediately, Jaskier’s eyes went to Geralt’s chest and roamed over his muscles. His gaze wandered lower.

“You know,” he said slowly, “I’m actually pretty sure that you’ve got a treat hidden in your trousers. You should take them off as well.”

That, apparently, was the horse’s cue to decide that she’d had enough of the bard’s nonsense. She snorted right in his face, turned around and walked away. From anyone else, Jaskier would have appreciated the bit of privacy, but in this moment, the horse trotting away from them was the last thing he wanted.

“Hey!” He called out, as the mare galloped merrily away, back in the direction of the farm where they had just bought her. “Hey, Pegasus, come back!” “Roach!” Geralt called. He thrust his hand out to cast Axii, but his arm got stuck in one of the sleeves.

“Pegasus!” Utterly undignified, Jaskier ran after her. Or rather, he tried, but as it turned out, it was rather hard to chase a horse, when your trousers were around her knees. He nearly fell over after two hops.

The horse didn’t seem to care. She threw her head neighing and it almost sounded like she was laughing at them.

“Arsehole,” Jaskier hissed. “She really does take after you, Geralt.”

“I don’t know,” Geralt said, as he finally freed himself from his shirt. “Her voice is about as lovely as yours. And she definitely is as dramatic as you.”

“The audacity!” Jaskier squawked. He shimmied out of his trousers and flung them at Geralt’s face. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Roach neighed again, making him reconsider. “Er, maybe we should catch her before we continue this debate?” he asked.

Geralt grunted his assent.

“We could just call her both names,” Geralt offered with a shrug. “Pegasus when she’s acting like a certain ridiculous bard...”

“...and Roach, when she’s all grumpy,” Jaskier agreed.

Half-naked, Geralt and Jaskier took chase, each one trying to coax the horse to come back to them.

“Roach, come back!” Jaskier caled, at the same time as Geralt shouted, “Come here, Pegasus!”

#my nonsense #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #roach #pegasus #inspired by a comment #fic #ficlet #my writing #witcher #the witcher #just silliness

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freetheworms · 2 years ago

Note

Perhaps "I love you" as a promise for the prompts? 💚

hiiiii wren <3

a million thank yous for sending this and also your patience because it took me soooo long to write this lmao (life is insane, what else is new!!!) but finally it's done! idk what it is exactly but here! for you!!

(Geraskier, 1.2k words, warning for MCD i guess? reincarnation tho don’t worry)

**********

Geralt names all his horses Roach.

It is strange, he knows. He’s been told, even, that it’s too boring, too impersonal, too cold, and yet still he does not change.

“Don’t you think it’s a disservice to the love of the last Roach? To name them all the same?” Jaskier had said after that third winter; the first time Geralt had spotted the bard from the back of a new young mare with the same old name.

(Well. Truthfully, the first thing Jaskier had said upon introduction to the new steed was, “Geralt, not to alarm you, but you do know this is an entirely different horse, right?” but Geralt doesn’t feel much like laughing just now.)

Geralt had merely grunted in lieu of an answer, and blessedly, Jaskier had shrugged and prattled on about some colleague or other that had wronged him over his winter at Oxenfurt. He hadn’t yet learned to push his fingers into the cracks of Geralt’s armour.

Good. Better Jaskier not ask about the why.

Because the why is something even Geralt himself doesn’t quite know how to name.

The why is the way his mother left him all those years ago; doomed him to a life of loneliness and loss that doesn’t follow him, but begs him to ride along the soft curve of it’s back. The way he accepts time and time again because at least it’s something to hold onto.

The why is his brothers lost. The family he was never meant to have, but now mourns in the dark of the night when no one can see him. The men that did not return to the keep one winter or another, no word, no warning, no goodbye. The children they were, are, could never be, will never stop being.

The why is Geralt, just a few years on the path, holding axii to that first mare’s coat, gritting his teeth against the flood of emotions he’s been told he no longer has. It’s the way his shoulders shake as her heavy head lolls in his lap, no pain left in her, but neither any life. The way that suddenly, he’s never felt more alone.

The why is the way Renfri had looked at him, all dark eyes, pleading for something Geralt couldn’t give her, let alone himself. The way he’d watched that look bleed out across his trousers, the cobblestone, sink into his skin. The way he’d refused to play the game and yet somehow lost anyway.

The why is Jaskier.

The why is having known, the moment he’d met him, that this would be a pain to end all pain. That this was going to crush him beyond all recognition, and worse still, leave him standing. Whole and wholly emptier than ever before.

The why is something about pain and loss and having no control over either. Something about a life so long you’re afraid to live it, for fear of the holes it tears in your soul to leave love behind. Something about the lies we allow ourselves in order to keep living.

***

“Geralt, darling?” Jaskier asks now, so many years later, “Why do you name all your horses Roach?” His eyes are just as blue as ever, though his lashes now are silver as they catch the midmorning light.

Geralt’s grip on his bard’s frail hand tightens almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Not now. He wants to run. He wants to hold tighter. He wants to fall apart right here in this chair and let his love put him back together again. He wants to lie.

But he owes Jaskier this.

And so he takes a deep breath, and he says, “I have spent my whole life losing. I couldn’t bear to lose her too.”

(“I can’t lose you,” he doesn’t say. He thinks maybe Jaskier hears it anyway.)

“Oh, my dearest,” Jaskier sighs, a small smile on his lips. His voice is like rain after a long drought. “You have spent your whole life loving.”

Geralt thinks about that for a long moment. “I suppose you could say I have,” he says at last. “Love, and loss. One and the same when you live a life like mine.”

“Ours,” Jaskier corrects.

“A life like ours,” Geralt concedes, strokes a thumb across the back of Jaskier’s weathered hand.

Ours.

“And what a life it has been,” Jaskier breathes. He sounds tired, nostalgic, alive. “A life by your side. I wouldn’t change it for the world, my love. Would you?”

He’s thought about it. Really, he has. He’s spent countless nights by the light of the fire, watching Jaskier breathe, pondering this inevitable loss; wondering whether he’d be better off having never loved at all.

(There’s a poem in there somewhere, he thinks, but poetry has always belonged to his bard, and so he leaves that thread alone.)

“I wouldn’t,” he says finally, and he’s almost surprised to find that he means it, even after all of this pain. “Of course I wouldn’t.”

Jaskier beams at him then, like Geralt himself has hung the moon. “See, I always knew you loved me under all those—” he gestures with the fingers of the hand Geralt isn’t holding like a lifeline. The movement is slow and stilted. “—lovely muscles,” he finishes with an exaggerated wink that deepens the crows feet around his eyes.

It’s a joke, Geralt knows, but he has to be sure. “You do know though, don’t you? That I—“

“I do,” Jaskier interrupts. “Oh Geralt, my love, of course I do. My only regret is that I’ll hate to leave you.”

Gently, Geralt raises Jaskier’s hand to his lips and kisses it softly, willing it to convey all the things he could never say out loud.

(I hate it too. Please don’t go. Take me with you.)

The silence stretches out between them, and Jaskier’s eyes slip closed. His heartbeat is faint now, even to witcher’s ears, and Geralt steadfastly does not go to pieces. He holds Jaskier’s hand a little tighter.

Not yet, not yet, not yet, he silently pleads. He is still pleading when Jaskier cracks his eyes open and says, so quietly that were he human, Geralt isn’t sure he’d have heard it, “Before I go, will you promise me one thing, my love?”

“Anything.”

Jaskier grips Geralt’s hand as tight as he dares and looks, for all the world, as if, of every word he’s ever written or uttered, this may well be the most important. “Will you promise to find me? In my next life.”

“That, and every life after,” Geralt says, because he knows this is his last chance to say it. “High and low, my lark, I will search for you. I will love you, always and forever.”

The rapture that washes over Jaskier then is so palpable that Geralt himself feels awash with it, despite everything. “I love you,” Jaskier says, and it’s almost an echo. “In this life, and the next.”

And then, with a sigh of relief, and Geralt’s hand firm in his, Jaskier is still.

***

Geralt names all his horses Roach.

It is strange, he knows. But when he once again meets a travelling bard with bright blue eyes and a flower for a name, all those years after he made a quiet promise, he finally knows how to answer his question.

The why is knowing that goodbye is not always the end. That no matter how many times they say it, the love is never lost. That the love of the last does not cheapen the love of the extant, no matter the name.

The why is Jaskier. Always and forever. In this life, and the next.

#geraskier #gracie writes #geraskier fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #witcher fanfic #twn #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #ive been meaning to write a fic about geralt naming all his horses roach for MONTHS now #and ive also been thinking in circles about this prompt so. i figured why not combine!

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