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mlm-writer · 1 year ago

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Old Friend (Geralt x GN!Reader)

Pairing: Show!Geralt of Rivia x Gender Neutral Reader (can be interpreted as platonic or romantic) Rating: Mature Words: 1670 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 21 - “I did what I had to do to protect those I love… I had no choice!” Note: Don't @ me for still posting things that were supposed to come out in October. Tags: angst, mention of Ciri & Yennefer, ft. Jaskier & Milva, murder and dark magic

Everyone would agree that Ciri was an unlucky girl with a life tainted by tragedy. Every time you spoke with her about her past, you felt a little pang in your heart. However, sometimes you envied her. The way Geralt reserved his warmest of smiles for his charge, the way the most powerful sorceress spent her time teaching Ciri and the power Ciri possessed sometimes made you feel like she was, in some way, a very lucky girl.

You spent life on the run with Ciri, Geralt and Yennefer. Most of the time you felt like you were family, sometimes you felt like an extra, an unnecessary weight, but no one told you to leave. You had nothing to teach Ciri that Geralt and Yennefer couldn’t. They had it covered from sword to spells to alchemy.

Then things kept going to shit and before you knew it, Geralt was flirting with death and Ciri was missing. You wanted to go find her, but Yennefer insisted you stayed with Geralt. “You can heal anything!” Geralt exclaimed as you exhausted yourself once more. He was capable of loud verbal abuse. You should’ve counted that as a win, but it was hard to, when Geralt was still bed-bound.

“I’m doing everything I can!” You yelled back. Milva entered, her hand landing on your shoulder. It has been the same song over and over again ever since Jaskier revealed Ciri was on her way to Nilfgaard. Geralt proceeded to demand more of you. Milva forced you out. Jaskier was waiting for you with a brew of herbs that would help you recover your strength. “I’m really doing everything I can,” you sobbed by the fire.

Jaskier put his arm around you, comforting you the best he could. “I know. He knows. He is just… Geralt.” You leaned against the bard, letting his body’s warmth seep into yours. You sat by the fire until it got dark. Jaskier eventually let you be to mull over your thoughts in peace. When you had the strength you used your magic on those that did appreciate it. You were weak, but even a little was for many enough to pull their foot out of the grave.

Exhaustion gnawed at your bones. Your muscles felt like they were weighed down by the state of the world. You took a stroll out of the camp, trying to avoid Jaskier and Milva. They meant well, but their words were not enough to distract you from the power you lacked.

When the lights of the camp were far behind you, you stopped walking. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, knees colliding with the muddy ground of the forest. From a secret pocket sewn into the coat you’ve had for over two decades, you procured an amulet you haven’t worn since you met Geralt all those years ago. The deep red gem reflected the light of the moon onto your eyes. Deep within the stone you could see an old friend. You promised Geralt you’d throw this trinket away; you promised you would never give in to temptation again, but despair had forced you quite literally to your knees. You clenched the charm tightly in your fist. “All is fair in love and war,” you whispered as you stared down at your fist, noticing how red light seeped between your fingers. “These are times of war and… I love him.”

Those words spoken aloud strengthened your resolve. You closed your eyes as you put the thin golden chain over your head, letting the amulet fall right where your heart was. As soon as that metal hit your chest, you felt an old friend occupying your mind once more. “I always knew you’d come back,” it told you. It gave you visions of how to help Geralt. The methods dancing on the grey moral spectrum, but led by these visions, you made your way back to the camp. You entered the tents of the sleeping patients you had helped earlier. You touched those that you didn’t think would make it to the morning. Their life force entered through your fingertips. They breathed their final breath. You felt the weak energy pooling together. One tent, two, three, you passed though the whole camp, taking what you needed from those that were not likely to hold onto it for long anyway. Each time you took, darkness rose to your skin, revealing your deeds in the night.

Your veins had turned black by the time you entered the final tent. Geralt was fast asleep as well, too injured to even hear you entering, too unwell to open his eyes and ask you what you were doing there. A black tear rolled down your cheek as you placed your hand on his chest and let go of all the energy you had collected. The life energy of the people that died that night flowed from your chest down to your fingertips. In his sleep, Geralt inhaled deeply as the energy filled him. It only took a moment, but it felt like an eternity as you felt the weight of the lives you took to save the one most dear to you.

When you were devoid of all the energy but your own, you collapsed on the ground, legs too tired to keep you up. You took deep breaths, trying to avoid looking at your hands. However, in the end you just needed to know how bad things were. You raised your palms, the sight - though expected - still horrifying. Your skin had blackened from the dark magic. Your hands felt fine though. “You did well. This is only the beginning of what we can achieve. You’re meant to take what you please,” the old friend’s voice echoed through your skull. The words were reassuring, but you knew all too well where things could lead. You reached for the amulet, ready to rip it off you. “You need me. Without me you’re useless. You can’t protect the ones you love.”

Geralt had you once believe otherwise, but it only took one glance towards him to show you where his faith in you had led him to. Even the great White Wolf could be wrong sometimes. Defeated, you slowly let go of the amulet, allowing it to occupy its old spot. “Everything will be fine. You will be fine,” the being spoke through the amulet to you. You had heard those words a million times from Jaskier, but only now did they actually soothe you.

The next morning you woke up from stirring on the bed. You hadn’t dared to leave the tent and slept on a chair. “Geralt,” you whispered, aware of your surroundings the moment your ears picked up on the rustling of blankets. You forgot what you looked like, immediately rising from the chair and joining Geralt at his side. You inspected the wound on his leg, but it was not there anymore, a new scar adorning his skin.

Your eyes didn’t meet Geralt’s until he sat up on his own. “What did you do?” His voice dripped of venom. You lifted your head to meet his yellow eyes, darkened by the deeply furrowed eyebrows. Your throat felt tight, so tight that not a single syllable could make it through to the cold space between you and the Witcher. He called your name and reached out. You were frozen in place as his calloused fingers traced the black marks on your face. “What did you do?” He repeated the question, emphasising each word with urgency.

Black tears pooled in your eyes, the first few already rolling down your cheeks by the time you found your voice once more. “I did what I had to do to protect those I love…” You swallowed a lump in your throat. “I had no choice.” Your voice trembled, each word shaking more than the previous one.

Geralt was visibly seething as he grabbed your arm, his grip tight. “What did you do?” He demanded, voice booming in the small space. You tried to free yourself.

“Geralt, please, you’re hurting me!” “Say it!”

He knew you. He knew you from the moment he met you. He knew the person you could be once you gave up on your ‘old friend’. He knew what you did then and he knew what you did last night. He knew, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be wrong. He wanted to have mistaken that familiar amulet around your neck. However, things were exactly as it seemed and just like things never changed, Jaskier and Milva came in right on que.

Jaskier called out for Geralt, tried to calm him. He immediately commented on how he seemed to be better, proceeded to ask how. Meanwhile, Milva freed you of Geralt’s grip. A crowd had formed at the entrance, but you couldn’t see anyone in the room but Geralt. “How many have died tonight?” Geralt demanded to know, Jaskier and Milva now in between you two. They tried to calm him. “How many?” He roared.

His fury eventually ripped the answer out of you. “I don’t know! I only took from those that were not likely to make it to the morning anyway.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt’s voice was quieter now he got his answer from you. He turned to the bard. “How many people died tonight?” Jaskier turned to Milva, hoping she held the answer.

“42,” she spoke with surprising steadiness. She then looked at you, shaming you with her eyes alone. She was not the only one who despised your existence after that night. Jaskier pleaded for your life, then left with Geralt to find Ciri. You had to go your own way, fend for yourself once more. If it wasn’t for your aching heart, it was like you never met the Witcher at all. He never wanted to see you again, but even as you walked with your backs facing each other, you felt like you would see him again. It was a funny thing… destiny.

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#gender neutral reader #male reader #the witcher #the witcher s3 #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x male reader #geralt x gender neutral reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x gender neutral reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n #the witcher fic #dandelion #jaskier #milva

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holylulusworld · 10 months ago

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Broken Rose (2)

Summary: He may have stolen your kingdom and freedom – but he’ll never own your heart. Right?

Pairing: Alpha!Geralt of Rivia x Queen(Omega)!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of forced/arranged marriage trope, a/b/o, magic, mentions of character’s death

Broken Rose masterlist

Broken Rose (1)

“You won’t walk away from me like that, omega!” Geralt calls after you. He’s walking faster to catch up with you. “I told you to stop.”

“You conquered these lands, and the castle, but I am still the queen of this kingdom. Someone must look out for the people who are not under your spell! The knights only listen to your command and don’t care for my people any longer.”

“I did not say that.” Geralt’s features darken. “Your knights follow their usual routine. The only difference is that I forced them to accept me as their king and alpha.”

“You promised me to free them!” You twirl around to glare at Geralt. “You lied! Just like back then, you lied!”

“I did not lie back then!” He yells back. “I wanted to court you! I asked your father for your hand, and the honor to claim you. I wasn’t good enough!”

“You’re a liar! I know you left to whore around with that witch,” you sneer at him. “What was her name?”

“This doesn’t…” He grits his teeth. “I was with her to gain more powers. It was the only way! She meant nothing to me!”

“She meant enough to you to fuck her!” You raise your voice, and walls start to shake. “Do not lie to me!”

“What are you doing?” Geralt watches you with darkened eyes. “Stop this! I will force you into submission if you don’t stop angering me.”

“Yennefer, that was her name,” you step closer to Geralt to run your hand over his chest. He follows the motion, wondering what you are up to. “Did you never question her disappearance?”

You laugh darkly when his stoic mask slips for a moment. Worry flashes in his eyes for a second. “Y/N, stop talking about the past.”

“Did she mean so little to you that you don’t care if she’s dead or alive?” You coo the words, a smile on your lips. “Did you not call her your love too?” You lean closer to whisper in his ear. “Or did you lie to her too?”

“How’d you find out about Yennefer?” He watches you walk around the room, fingertips sliding over the bust of your father. “Y/N! How did you find out about her?”

Geralt raises his voice. Yennefer was close to winning his heart over. He almost forgot about his plan to get you back and take over your kingdom.

She was a sly witch. Yennefer enchanted him with her beauty and magic, almost breaking his resolve to never give his heart to anyone else.

“Father,” you place your hand onto the bust, tapping your fingers. “I pleaded with him. One last time I tried to convince him that a bond between you and me would strengthen our kingdom.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I can be very convincing,” you push the bust off its rightful place, watching it crack into two halves. “Father was almost convinced.” You dip your head and smirk. “That was, of course, until he found out about your wench.”

“I—” He swallows thickly. Geralt you can be hard, and unforgiving. “What did you do?”

“I accepted a bond with his friend’s son, a prince,” you walk toward the next bust showing your father at a younger age. “A nasty man who only wanted one thing.” This time you punch the bust, making it tumble and fall to the ground.

“Let me guess,” Geralt steps toward the next bust. He gently runs his hand over it, admiring the handiwork. “He wanted to tame you.”

“All men want to tame a woman,” you step next to Geralt to look at the bust of your younger self. “He’s not alone.”

“…and they failed. One, after another,” Gerald muses. “Like your knights when they tried to stop me. They fell. One, by one, by one.”

“They didn’t fall,” you snap and turn your attention toward the last bust. The one they made shortly before your father passed away. “You used your magic. This has nothing to do with strength or talent.”

“Strength, talent, magic,” he shrugs while circling you like prey. “It doesn’t matter, Y/N. In the end, they were weak and let it happen. You on the other hand,” his eyes glow when he looks at you again. “Still nothing. I cannot enchant you with my powers. Even if I wanted to.”

You cock your head, mirroring his smirk. “Did you ever wonder why?”

“Your will is too strong,” he replies. “You inherit a different kind of magic deep within your soul. A magic so strong that it cannot be broken by my powers.

“Back to your lover,” you push against the last bust, watching it shatter on the ground. “Do you miss her?”

“Y/N let’s not talk about the past. We have a future to build. I want these lands to grow and blossom. At the moment, it’s rotten and not fruitful.”

“Like your seed,” you smirk darkly, knowing about the price Geralt paid for his powers. “It’s rotten, just like your wench’s womb. Isn’t it?”

“What happened to her?” Geralt watches you caress your mother’s bust. “Y/N, what happened to her?”

“She paid the price for conspiring with my father to make me forget about you,” you chuckle darkly. “Imagine her surprise when her powers did nothing for her. She was powerless while facing me.”

“She conspired with your father. This cannot be true,” he shakes his head. Geralt is proud of his sharp mind, and his talent to see through any lie. “No.”

You kiss your mother’s bust and sigh. While she was still around, your father was a different man. He would’ve never tricked you into marrying another man than Geralt.

“I was surprised too, Geralt. I heard rumors and believed you simply found a better mate,” your voice cracks. “Imagine my surprise when the very same woman came to collect on my wedding day.”

“Wedding day?” Geralt gasps. “No. You’re not married! You’re my queen, no one else’s!”

“I didn’t say I got married,” you chuckle darkly as you grab his hand to place it onto your heart. “Can you feel this? This heart got broken one too many times. I’ve had enough and took matters into my hands.”

“Y/N, what did you do?”

“What had to be done,” you hold his hand in a tight grip. “He denied me my future so…”

“So…” Geralt furrows his brows, already knowing he answer.

“I took his…”

Tags in reblog.

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #a/b/o #alpha!geralt of rivia x omega!reader #royal au #Broken Rose (2)#the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia x you

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witcher-and-his-bard · 2 years ago

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Love Letters

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): none Rating: general

Fic Summary: Jaskier writes down all his feelings in a letter he never expects Geralt to see - only for Geralt to arrive shortly after, snowed out of Kaer Morhen.

For @jackironsides 💜

My beloved Geralt

Dear Geralt

Geralt, my love

No matter what he writes, it sounds wrong. Too intimate, too casual, too... much in one way or another. Jaskier hasn't even gotten past the introduction and he already wants to give up on the letter. It feels so easy over the summer, when he and Geralt spend long, muggy days walking side-by-side. Jaskier sings and Geralt rides, and occasionally, Geralt will even sing along with whatever he's playing.

Now, in the dark of his room at the academy, those feelings feel dull and distant. Not Jaskier's feelings, of course, but the potential reciprocation. These days, he finds himself thinking about Geralt's relationships with Eskel or Lambert, or even Vesemir. He wonders how different those relationships are to the one he shares with Geralt. Maybe those gentle things Geralt says to him in the comfort of their shared inn rooms are just things Geralt would say to anyone.

Ugh. Jaskier flops backward in his chair, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He wishes there was an easy way to know these things, and for the first time in a long time he finds himself envying Yennefer. She could just read Geralt's mind, she could just know. And Geralt? He can smell emotions or something like that; at least, he always seems to know when Jaskier is upset about something. Maybe he took the wrong path in life. Maybe he should have tried to get into Ban Ard and become a mage. Surely there is some chaos in him, enough, at least, to be able to read minds.

Briefly, Jaskier considers contacting Yen. They've had a better relationship as of late, and she might be able to give him some insight, if nothing else. But he doesn't want to drag her into something that isn't really any of her business. Not because he's afraid to tell her, but because she might not want to know. She's happy now - travelling with Triss and Istredd last he heard - but there might be some leftover feelings there and he doesn't want to bring up Geralt in a romantic setting if he doesn't need to. Plus, he doesn't want to feel like more of a burden than he already does.

Jaskier looks down at the half-started letter in front of him and angrily crumples it up before blowing out the candle and shoving his chair back. He flops forward onto folded arms, looking out into the blue of the night sky, speckled with snow. Normally, he would take comfort in a view like this, but tonight, it just reminds him of how far away Geralt is.

Is it even worth beginning a relationship when they spend so much time apart? Would Geralt even be interested? Even if he was madly in love with Jaskier, would that be enough? What's the point when you have no one to cuddle with and watch the snowfall? But then maybe Geralt would want to visit some winters if they were more.

Gods, he wants that more than he can even properly comprehend. The idea of falling asleep in Geralt's arms feels like the height of romance. Already, Jaskier treasures the moments he falls asleep listening to Geralt's voice, even if he does feel a bit bad about it in the morning. Despite himself, a dopey smile spreads across his face at the thought. He misses Geralt more than he can say while they're apart in the winter. It's only a little into the season and already the long, dark winter feels endless.

Jaskier inhales deeply, sighs, and sits up to write. He's determined to finish this letter, even if it never reaches its intended audience.

Geralt,

I know it's barely been a month since we parted, but I find myself longing again for your company. Teaching is hectic as always, and my students love a tale of your heroism. I know you don't consider yourself a hero, but I do. Though lately, I find myself recalling different moments from our travels. I find myself thinking of the evenings after a contract has been completed and paid. I think back to the ale or tea and the stars hanging low in the sky. The way the firelight flickers on your face. I miss that. I miss the way your hair falls in your face when you take it down to sleep. I miss how stubborn you are about that awful headband. And I regret to tell you now that I've grown... rather fond of it, actually.

Rather rarely do I find myself at a loss for words, but they escape me when I try to nail down all the things I feel for you. I know I am a mere mortal, doomed to die years or even decades before you, but given the chance, I would happily live out the rest of my life at your side. Perhaps even in your arms.

I know love is not a word you use often, but the way I feel it could very well become something so all-encompassing. I can't promise that love is how I feel now. I find myself mixed up in a way I've never felt before. That's not to say that I don't love you, because I do. As a friend, as a companion, as something more. Perhaps one day, even as a lover. Even if you don't feel the same, I want you to know that you are deeply cared for in every way one person can care for another. I don't mind if you don't want to see me again, so long as it is your wish, and one borne out of intention rather than fear. Because although I've never spoken the words, I've longed for you for days and weeks and months and years, silently staying by your side. Perhaps one day you will have me there on purpose - despite, or maybe even because of, my feelings for you.

Until then, I remain yours, as always.

Jaskier.

Jaskier looks over the letter once more and, feeling an uncomfortable swell of emotion, folds it neatly and tucks it into an envelope that just reads Geralt. He's only just finished hiding the evidence when there's a knock at his door.

"Yes?" he asks.

"Sorry to interrupt so late," the voice on the other side of the door says. Jassa, Jaskier thinks, his assistant at the university. "You have a guest."

"A guest?" Jaskier asks, perplexed. Who on earth would brave this weather just to visit? The only guests he normally has are students or his fellow professors, either of whom would just come to his room and knock themselves.

"He says he's a friend. Geralt? I think," Jassa says.

Jaskier's heart somersaults.

"Right," he says, "of course. Send him up. I'll leave the door open."

"Certainly," Jassa smiles. "I'll send him right up. Have a good night, Professor."

"And you," Jaskier finishes, barely aware of what he's saying.

What is Geralt doing here? Of all the years they've known each other, he's never once come to visit over the winter, so why now? Jaskier turns around, leaning on the door, and is struck by the state of his room. For the last two days, he's done nothing but lie around and sulk, and it shows. He absolutely cannot let Geralt see his room like this.

Given he has roughly four minutes, maybe a few more if Geralt stops to talk to Jassa before coming up, it's not going to be easy. So Jaskier starts with the worst of it: the clothes and things laying all over the bed and floor. There is a surprising amount of mess considering Jaskier is the only one residing in the room, but he manages to get the worst of it tidied before the knock at the door. A final glance tells him only the desk and table are still cluttered, but that much is acceptable so he crosses to the door.

As he pulls it open, Jaskier is struck by Geralt's smile. He always is when they haven't seen each other for some time, but this feels more. Maybe it's because he's been considering his own feelings lately, but looking at Geralt, here and in person, makes his legs weak.

"Hi," he says shakily.

Geralt gives him an odd look, but it quickly turns into a half-smile and he steps into the room when Jaskier moves aside.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he says gently, "it's no trouble to find a room at the inn if-"

"Not at all," Jaskier interrupts. "I'd be happy to host you if you're staying.”

"I had hoped to," Geralt says.

"What brings you?" Jaskier asks.

"The route to Kaer Morhen was snowed over by the time we arrived in Kaedwen," he explains, "I thought this might be the best place to stay."

Part of Jaskier is delighted at the thought, though when he considers it further, Oxenfurt is further than any of the other places Geralt would be more than welcome to stay over the winter. There's no good reason for him to have travelled all the way to the coast, when surely Yen would have taken him in without question. Their relationship may not be romantic anymore, but Jaskier knows there is still a deep love between them. And he's happy for it, which makes it all the more confusing why Geralt is here. He thinks to ask, but reconsiders.

"Please," he says, remembering his manners, "make yourself at home. I can have a bath poured if you're tired? Was Roach properly cared for? Shall I call for supper-"

"Jaskier," Geralt says gently, "Roach is fine. A small meal would be nice, but there's no rush. Right now I'd just like to relax."

Of course, Jaskier thinks. He must have been travelling for weeks if he first attempted the path and then had to turn back. Jaskier had left him just north of the Pontar, between the mountain ranges, so that must have been-

"Jaskier?" Geralt asks, cutting off his train of thought. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine," Jaskier assures him. "Just wasn't expecting company and I'm not prepared for it- Not that you're not welcome!" he corrects quickly, and with a little too much vigour.

"Perhaps you're the one who needs a rest," Geralt says, half-teasingly.

"Just to get my head on straight," Jaskier assures him. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable and I'll go fetch something warm for you to eat."

Jaskier slips from the room, only stopping one he's far enough away that Geralt won't hear him. He stops and sighs, pressing a hand to his chest as if to stop the mad beating of his heart. Surely Geralt has heard it already and he’s given himself away, but he was hardly expecting to be visited like this out of the blue.

He takes another few calming breaths before continuing on down to the kitchen. He's close with the chef - with most of the staff if he's honest - and has more than once helped him out of a sticky situation with less-than-edible herbs, so his request for a private supper is granted with a smile. In the meantime, Jaskier makes his way back up to the room, holding his breath for a moment before opening the door.

Geralt is standing over the desk in the small room, mumbling quietly. As Jaskier approaches, slipping up behind him, he realizes Geralt is reading the poetry he'd been working on. Jaskier has never been so relieved to know how little Geralt thinks about his poems, as these ones are nearly explicitly about him, the only relief being that his name is not used. Wolf, he uses once or twice, but it's a metaphor and Geralt always says he doesn't care for flowery things like metaphors.

"This is... lovely," Geralt says, though he sounds a bit off as he does.

"Thank you," Jaskier says quietly, slipping around to Geralt's side to see which one he's reading.

"You- your narrator sounds sad."

"Ah, yes. Been a bit of a downer lately, I suppose."

Jaskier tries to laugh it off but Geralt turns to look at him, something like concern in his expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing's wrong," Jaskier assures. "I've just not been feeling myself."

"Can I help?"

Jaskier is taken aback by the blunt suggestion and his head jerks up to meet Geralt's eyes.

"I'm not sure you could, love," he says gently.

"If someone has hurt you-"

"No," Jaskier says quickly.

"You reek of heartache," Geralt says bluntly.

"Right. Well." He considers for a moment before deciding against lying to Geralt. "Unrequited love, I'm afraid."

"How do you know it is?"

"Unrequited?" Jaskier laughs, "oh, my darling, he'd have to be the stupidest man alive not to know. Or perhaps the most oblivious. I'm sure he would have said something if he felt the same."

"You haven't," Geralt counters.

"Right, well- He wouldn't want someone like me, surely."

"Perhaps he feels you think the same of him."

Jaskier had considered that option, but it seems unlikely.

"Either way, it's best just to tell him. I'm sure he'll be flattered if nothing else."

The mere suggestion of it makes Jaskiers stomach turn and he nods slowly. Thankfully, at that moment, supper is delivered to their room and he is spared the thought of confessing his feelings - out loud - to Geralt.

His relief is short-lived as supper is finished shortly, but he makes an excuse about taking the dishes away and dashes out the door with them. Jaskier wants to cry. He can't believe he's gotten himself into a mess like this and he can only hope Geralt doesn't continue to bring it up.

He's so distracted thinking about it that it seems like seconds before he's standing back in front of his door. He hesitates before opening the door, keeping his eyes closed until the last possible moment.

When he opens his eyes, Jaskier's heart jumps into his throat. As Geralt turned to see him, a piece of paper had fallen from his hands and Jaskier can't take his eyes off it. He'd been so preoccupied worrying about the mess when Geralt showed up that he'd forgotten to hide the letter. And it was addressed to Geralt, he had every right to read it, but-

"Jaskier?"

Jaskier scrambles across the floor, reaching for the letter, but Geralt catches his wrist, holding him still.

"Is this just another one of your poems?" he asks quietly.

Jaskier shakes his head. There's no use denying it.

"It's… me. I'm the one you were talking about earlier."

Jaskier half wishes he could fall through the floor and never have to finish this conversation. Sadly, despite how hard he wishes, the floor refuses to open up beneath him. He nods.

"I want to hear you say it."

Jaskier's tongue feels heavy in his mouth but he manages, "I don't know what to say. I don't want to make any big confessions I can't live up to."

"Then how about this?" Geralt says.

He leans in, taking Jaskier's face in his hand, and softly presses their lips together. For a moment, Jaskier forgets to breathe and has trouble believing this is real at all. But when Geralt pulls back again, he's smiling, his cheeks a faint shade of pink. Jaskier's first thought is that it's quite a pretty colour on him before he presses forward and kisses him again.

"Yeah," he breathes, barely pulling away to speak, "I think that's a good start."

#rex writes #i just barely managed to sneak in a fic in January #first one of the year #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher

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atlasthegreatest · 1 year ago

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- Atlas Masterlist - [Requests are open]

▪️Male reader

▫️Female reader

🔲 Gender neutral

🔳 Male/ Female Oc

Avatar: The Legend Of Korra/ The Last Airbender:

Asami Sato:

🔳 - War of Hearts- I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, XI, X , XI

Avatar Korra:

Butterfly Effect

Lin Beifong

Katara

Suyin Beifong

Mako

Bolin

Azula:

▫️Unexpected Shelter

Senna

Kya

Kuvira

Percy Jackson:

Annabeth Chase:

🔲- Strategic Minds and Wild Hearts

Percy Jackson

Jason Grace

Thalia Grace

Piper McLean

Hazel Levesque

Nico DiAngelo

Sally Jackson

Silena Beauregard

Drew Tanaka

Harry Potter :

Hermione Granger

Harry Potter

Narcissa Black

Lily Evans

Daphne Greengrass

Narcissa Black

Ginny Weasley

Fleur Delacour

Penny Haywood :

- Baby Problems

Cassandra Vole:

▪️- Unexpected Surprises

▪️- Tme Wrap: Bizarrely Adventures!

▪️- Beneath the Starlit Tower

Scream:

Sidney Prescott :

▪️ Flight or Figth

Tara Carpenter:

▪️ A Nigth Out

Gale Weathers

Sam Carpenter:

▪️A Nigth to Remember

Fairy Tail:

Erza Scarlet:

🔲- A Taste of Love

Natsu Dragneel

Grey Fullbuster

Lucy Heartfilia :

🔲 - Friends…? Friends.

Mirajane Strauss

Juvia Lockser

Irene Belserion

Attack On Titan:

Mikasa Ackerman:

▫️ Fake It ‘Till You Break It - I

▫️She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not

Eren Yeager

Historia Reiss

Annie Leonheart

Pieck Finger

Jean Kriestean

Sasha Braus

Hange Zoe

Marvel Universe:

Natasha Romanoff:

▫️A Hero’s First Flight

▪️Breaking the Chains

Laura Kinney:

▪️Into the Wild

▪️Into the Void

Jean Grey:

◾️ Unspoken Truth

Emma Frost

Wanda Maximoff

Maria Hill:

▫️A Hero’s First Flight

▫️ A Trick of the Light

Cindy Moon:

▪️ The Bat, The Spider, and The Mutant

Gwen Stacy:

▪️ Tangled in the Web

🔲- Through the Webs of the Night

Felicia Hardy

Mary-Jane Watson

Ororo Monroe

DC Universe:

Cassandra Cain:

▪️The Bat, The Spider, and The Mutant

▪️The Super’s Bats

🔲- Silent Glances and Secret Smiles

🔲- Shadows of the Past — Birds of a Feather pt.2 — Weight of Memories pt.3 — Weight of the Past pt.4

▪️Shadows of Grief

🔲- A New Begining

▫️ Quiet Echoes of Love

▫️ Cracks in the Shell

Helena Bertinelli:

▫️Under the Spotlight

Barbara Gordon:

▫️- Cards on the Table - Wild Card pt.2

Dick Grayson:

🔲- Breaking the Ice

Poison Ivy

Kara Zor-El:

▫️The Flight of the Owl

Wonder Woman:

▪️The Wonder and the Guardian of Themyscira

▫️Unseen Bonds

Cassandra Sandsmark

Zatanna Zatara

Talia al Ghul:

▫️Duty and Devotion

▫️ A Not-So-Quiet Visit

Lady Shiva

Starfire:

▫️Tangled Paths

The Vampire Diaries/ The Originals:

Caroline Forbes:

▪️ Late Night Talking

Katherine Pierce:

🔲- Blood Ties

Rebekah Mikaelson

Hayley Marshal

Bonnie Bennett

Hope Mikaelson:

🔲- Bound by Blood

Davina Clare

Freya Mikaelson

The Witcher:

Cirilla of Cintra

Geralt of Rivia

Yennefer of Vengerberg

Acotar:

Feyre Archeron

Nesta Archeron

Morrigan

Elain Archeron

K-pop/K-drama girls (to add more):

Aespa:

Yu Jimin:

▪️ Where it Begins

Aeri Uchinaga:

🔲- Fractured Lines

Kim Minjeong:

▫️Sweet Beginnings

Ning Yizhou:

▫️Heat of the Moment

Red Velvet:

Bae Joohyun:

▫️ Nobody Knows

Park Sooyoung:

🔲- The Way You Make Me Feel

Ive:

Ahn Yujin:

🔲- Bound by The Distance Between Us

Twice:

Sana Minatozaki:

🔲- Operation: Sweet Serenade

🔲- A Love Worth Celebrating

Park Jihyo:

🔲- A Winter Surprise

Mina Myoui:

▫️Soundtrack of the Heart

Katseye:

Yoonchae Jeong:

🔲- A Glance Across the Field

Sophia Laforteza:

▫️Twinkling Lights and Crimson Blushes

Le Sserafim

Girls Generation

All of us are dead:

Choi Namra:

A Spark in the Chaos

Doona

Squid Game

Manhwa/comics ( to add more):

Navier Trovi :

- 🔳 Honor me of this dance

Penelope Eckart

Samantha Wilkins/ Atom Eve

Mark Grayson /Invincible

Video game girls ( to add more):

Laura Croft:

🔲- Between Adventures — Beneath the Surface pt.2

▪️ Treasures of the Heart

▪️ A Game of Hearts and Ruins

Jill Valentine:

▪️Through Fire and Ruin Against the Clock pt.2

Haley Carter (Stadew Valley):

🔲- Daylight

Sadie Adler (Red Dead Redemption)

Sam Giddings (Until Dawn)

Kitanna (Mortal Kombat)

Sonya Blade (Mortal Kombat)

Claire Redfield

Ada Wong

TV Shows/ Series (to add more):

Miraculous Ladybug:

Marinette Dupain- Cheng/ Ladybug

Kagami

Chlöe Bourgeois

Arcane/League of Legends:

Caitlyn Kiramman:

▫️The Edge of Loyalty

Mel Merdada:

▪️ Alchemy of Minds

Luxanna (Lux)

KD/A

Got/HotD:

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Daenerys Targaryen

Alicent Hightower

Teen Wolf:

Lydia Martin

Kira Yukimura

Allison Argent

Bridgerton:

Daphne Bridgerton

Francesca Bridgerton

Kate Sharma

Fate: The Winx Saga:

Bloom

Stella

Flora

Scooby-Doo: Mysteries S.A:

Daphne Blake

Power Rangers:

Rpm:

▪️Reunion Amid the Chaos

Megaforce/Supermegaforce:

▪️Good’ol Journey

Grey’s Anatomy:

Meredith Grey

Christina Yang

Addison Montgomery

Lexie Grey

Naruto ( to add more):

Hinata Hyuga:

▫️Blossoms Between Clouds

Sakura Haruno:

▫️A New Tide

Tsunade Senju:

▫️Quiet Storm

Kushina Uzumaki:

▫️Unbreakble Ties

100 notes · View notes

pikapeppa · 9 months ago

Note

Genuinly just inhaled the chamomile and gwent series and I don’t know how long it’s been since you even thought about it but thank you so much honestly for writing it. I only know the Witcher games from my gamer friends (I just suck so bad at video games and have given up) and i am so glad I did or else I never would never have found this amazing piece of writing. Honestly I don’t know much about the relationship between Gerald or Yennefer and now I don’t even want to from how amazing this relationship was. Again, thank you for being your talented self and I’m so excited to read more of your work!!

Ahhh omg this is the nicest ask, thank you so much!!! 🥰 I'm so thrilled that you got to experience the game through your friends -- it's honestly one of my top-three favourite games of all time! And okay, I'm obviously biased, but I'm extremely flattered that you enjoyed my fic enough to not be curious about Geralt and Yennefer's past LMAO. 🤣

Thank YOU for taking the time to leave me this wonderful comment and for brightening my day!!! I will leave you with this happy Geralt in thanks!

For anyone who is curious and wants to check out the series: Chamomile and Gwent is here on AO3! Geralt x f!Reader, 3 fics, 600k+ words, rated E for smut! 🥰

-- love and thanks from your friendly neighbourhood Pikapeppa! xoxo

#geralt of rivia #geralt/reader #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt smut #the witcher #the witcher 3 #tw3 #pikapeppa writes #fanfic writer's life

17 notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 2 years ago

Text

The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter Five

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 6 - Ch 7

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I recommend reading it there

Warnings: canon-typical violence (blood, gore, disturbing ways of killing people), angst, grief mention, swearing

Word Count: 2799

Masterlist

Tag List Form

“Viper!”

You shot up, dagger held out, ready to defend yourself. You were met with wide, blue eyes. Once your mind caught up, you sighed and dropped it back into your lap.

“Hurry up,” he breathed out urgently. “Eyck is missing and Hendrick, he’s… well…”

“He’s what, Jaskier?” You rubbed sleep from your eyes. Where the hell were you? Oh, yeah, that’s right. Jaskier slept in your bed last night and you slept sitting on the floor. No wonder your arse hurt like hell.

The bard sighed. “Someone killed him.”

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. There were no lies to be found in the sympathetic look he held. You pushed yourself up, rushing past him and out of your tent, to see for yourself what had become of your employer.

You burst through the tent flap, eyes wide and wild. Geralt was already there, kneeling by the Temerian man who lay dead in his cot, neck sliced open. The body was hours old - blood no longer poured from his neck, already cooled into a thick, dark ooze. The Wolf’s eyes found yours. They held just as much sympathy as Jaskier’s.

“Oh, fuck.” Yarpen came up by your side, keeping his distance from the pool of blood. It soaked through the soles of your boots. You didn’t care.

“Was bound to happen eventually.” You didn’t have to turn to know it was a Reaver talking. What was their ringleader’s name? Broheni? Bolbolm? Something Redanian, you knew that much. He stood just at the tent opening, peering inside with a forced grimace. His dark gaze turned from the corpse to you. “A Nilfgaardian guiding a Temerian?” He scoffed. “Like a rat fucking a hag.”

You ignored just how Yarpen stepped away from you, as though you were going to slit his throat open next.

“Our people used to mine these mountains. We know a shortcut that will take half a day off our journey.” The Reavers were far ahead by now. The rest left behind slowed down to listen to Yarpen. “Let the Reavers take the long way around. We’ll nab the treasure before they even set foot in the cave. We’ll watch each other’s backs until we reach the next peak, then every man for himself.”

Two bodies were found that morning. Yennefer’s escort, Sir Eyck of Denesle, and your employer’s, Hendrick of Temeria. Nobody else suspected Yennefer of killing Eyck. You, on the other hand…

All morning, you had trudged along far behind everyone else. Still, they glanced and peered over their shoulders to make sure you weren’t about to make a move against them. The only few who trusted you - Borch and his guards, Jaskier, and Geralt - could not sway the minds of the Reavers and Dwarves. Yennefer, you suspected, did not trust you for your title as a Nilfgaardian alone.

“What say ye?”

“Let’s go!” Borch answered.

“Only thing: that murderer can’t come,” Yarpen spat, glaring at you as he spoke to Geralt.

The White Wolf’s lips curled into an offended snarl, brow furrowed and eyes burning with a fire reserved only for monsters. But before he could say anything, your hand was on his shoulder, turning him away from the Dwarf to face you. The flaming eyes of the Witcher met with your own, gleaming with the warmth and comfort of an amber mead after a long day.

“I’ll meet you at the top.”

You both just stared at each other, as if speaking with your eyes. You were deadlocked once again, only this time it was not with blades.

If Geralt tried to insist you come along, he could be left behind, as well. It was pertinent to reach the top before the Reavers, who would not think twice about slaying the dragon. But doing nothing left you at a disadvantage. You would be forced to follow the Reavers.

The scowl faded from his lips.

“Fine.” The word was grit out between clenched teeth. Even as the group began moving, he lingered for a moment longer, searching your eyes to make sure this was alright. They gave nothing away.

The Dwarves led the way down a side route, Borch and his guards following close behind. You stood at the crossroads. Your path was to follow the Reavers, the group of arsehole dragon-killers who framed you for murder; there was nothing you could now do to prevent it. If you were lucky, you would be able to sneak ahead while they slept.

Jaskier stopped to stand by your side, watching as Geralt chased after Yennefer to bring her along on the shortcut. He sighed.

“Guess I’ll see you at the top, then? You don’t really have to come now that… Well…”

You scoffed softly. “I wouldn’t wish to pass up the opportunity of seeing a dragon.” You turned to look at him, nodding down the side path. “You best catch up before they leave you behind.”

He glanced over the hill the Reavers crested moments ago. “So should you.”

You lifted your hood. The dark cloth ghosted your face with shadows, hiding your eyes and making you appear more intimidating. The easy, almost playful, grin on your lips ruined the illusion. “Stay safe, Jaskier. I would hate to hear what treachery you encounter without me.”

He chuckled, calling after you as you began the trek down the main road. “I won’t leave anything out!”

“I hold you to that!”

And in moments, you disappeared over the hill, and Geralt returned with the Witch in tow.

The dragon was dead when you arrived. Long, slender neck and powerful body curled around her still unborn child. It made your soul ache. To see a creature so magical, so formidable, being protective over a life so small…

When you neared, Téa and Véa appeared from the shadows, weapons armed and prepared to cut you down. You could not even spare them a glance, far too entranced in the ‘monster’ behind them. You mindlessly removed your blades and tossed them to their feet as you whispered a promise not to touch the egg or they could kill you where you stood.

They watched, prepared to do just that, as you carefully rounded the egg and sat by her head. Her scales tingled with magic as you brushed her snout, but she was cold; she had been for a while now. The stench of rot tainted the air around her. You wished you did not know the smell as well as you did.

Your chest was tight with emotion. Not mourning, but a semblance of something like it. She did not just remind you of home, of Stuldweck protecting and caring for you as she did now for her egg, even in death. She reminded you of a home you once had. Of your own mother, and father, and that big old farm horse. Of the frogs, and the well, and stitching by the fire. Of that grand oak on the hill.

Through the haze of a long-lost life, you heard boots scuffing against loose dirt and hard stone. Rushing in, carrying all manner of mismatched weapons, were Reavers. They charged head first into battle. Geralt, the Zerrikanians, and the Witch, all defending the egg.

You could mourn later.

You carefully sidestepped the egg, keeping your eyes up on the fight as your hands reached down and grabbed your abandoned sheaths. Holding the hilts, you flicked your wrists, and the leather casings flew away, revealing curved blades laced with Basilisk venom.

Reavers charged for you, confident they could kill a Witcher trained for killing humans. They were wrong. You cut them down, one after the next. You almost didn’t think about it anymore. Your mind was solely focused on defending the egg and the dragon laying with it; you could not feel the tension against your arms as you plunged your weapons through flesh and muscle, nor their own weapons landing hits on you.

You were snapped back into the fight when a long blade from behind sliced through your armor and traced almost directly over an old scar. You had to grit your teeth to hold back the scream. You turned and caught the man in the temple. Your hilt touched his skull. Someone bodied you, forcing you to abandon the silver dagger in his head.

You stood from the blow, raising your dagger defensively. There, not even ten feet away, was the Reaver that taunted you. His deep, sunken eyes stared at you from within yellowed skin. Crooked teeth malformed into a crooked grin. In his hand was a heavy, two-handed war hammer.

He charged forward, closing the distance, and driving the spike of the hammer in an upward swing. You dodged back sharply. He struck again and again and again. A seemingly endless barrage of attacks.

He got in close, swinging for your chest. You couldn’t block it. The war hammer would shatter your wrists before ever slowing down. All you could do was dodge. He was counting on this.

He swung. The adrenaline in your veins clogged your judgement; you dodged the wrong way. The butt-end of the hammer slammed against your sternum, sending you careening toward the hard floor. You landed hard on your arm. Your ribs bent, a sharp prick shooting through your side. Lightning-hot fire shot up the cut in your back.

“It would be easier to lay down and die, wouldn’t it, Rat?”

You couldn’t stop. You only had a second to look up. His teeth grit together, flames alight in his dark irises. The war hammer was coming down on you, sharp end poised to puncture. You bit back a groan as you rolled out of the way, just in time for the spike to impale the floor instead.

“But you have to get up. You have to fight.”

He ripped the hammer out of the stone. You kicked his knee, forcing him to kneel as he grunted in pain. One handed, the other clutching his knee, he swung again.

“C’mon, Rat. Fight.”

A scream tore from your throat as you reached up to meet his hand with your dagger. It was your bad arm. White, searing hot shocks of pain ran all the way down your shoulder to your wrist. You gripped your dagger with enough force to break the skin of your knuckles as the blade connected with his wrist and sliced through it.

The hammer, still gripped in a disembodied fist, flew past your head and skidded across the cavern. He screamed. You took in a breath, preparing yourself, holding it in your chest. You forced yourself up and jabbed the steel into the hollow of his throat.

His whole body froze. Wide eyes reflected your disheveled state back at you. His tongue moved inside his gaped mouth, forming words without the oxygen to speak them. Blood soon flooded it, pouring from the corners of his down-turned lips and into your lap.

The blade crunched and squished as you pulled it from the hollow. His expression was frozen. His body collapsed toward you, unable to stay upright any longer, before you shoved it to the side.

Waves of agony washed over you as the adrenaline fully left your system. Your hands trembled as you forced yourself to your feet. Nausea settled in your gut as the tight pain in your chest reached the forefront of your mind.

You were covered in blood. Most of it was his, you knew that much. You could taste the distinct, mutated flavor of copper on your tongue. Every breath was agony. But you could breathe, and that was worth something.

You scanned the room. The floor was littered with corpses. One was burnt; the closest to the egg. The egg…

You whipped around, much too quickly. Blood rushed to your head, your vision spinning with your mind. Rough, but surprisingly gentle, hands grabbed you. Their face came into focus before you could slash at them.

“Calm down,” Borch advised. The slight scratchiness of his voice, undertoned with knowledge and age, clicked immediately. He held you upright by your shoulders, waiting patiently as you shut your eyes and let the world catch up to you. “You have fought valiantly.”

You looked at him again. His face no longer blurred or warped. He smiled.

“Thank you for protecting her.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but could find no words. He seemed to understand, though, as he let you go. He turned back to the green dragon. His shoulders hunched, as if a heavy weight rested on his shoulders. You did not stay to watch.

Jaskier was the first one to greet you outside.

“Well, you look like shit.” You forced your eyes to focus on him. He was dirty and unkempt, watching his every step as to not walk on any of the many bodies strewn about. He was a welcome sight. His grin at his little joke fell when you did not react. “What’s wrong? What happened?” His hands floundered around, hovering over your arms and shoulders as he tried to figure out whose blood was where.

“I’ll tell you later.” Your voice was so quiet. You blamed it on exhaustion, but the ache in your chest was not purely from the war hammer.

His brows knit together in concern, but he nodded nonetheless. He made a motion, gesturing as he tried to find the words. “Uh, uhm, potion- Swallow. Do you have any…?”

You nodded. You lifted your arm, drawing his attention to the line of bottles along your belt. Your sheaths and silver blade were still discarded inside. You loathed the thought of having to go back for them, but you would not be leaving without them.

You tried to reach for one of the vials, but he stopped you when you winced. “Here, let me.” He didn’t touch you - as much as he could avoid it, anyway. Nimble fingers slipped it out of its holder, uncorked it, and held it out to you. You tossed back the strange liquid without hesitation.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

The words echoed through the mountain valleys. Jaskier’s fingers rubbed together, itching for anything to fiddle with as the insults sank into his chest. His throat felt tight. His eyes burned. Someone he had considered a friend - someone he could trust, depend on - only thought of him as a burden, wreaking havoc on his life.

“You fucking bastard.” Geralt’s piercing gaze shifted from glaring at Jaskier to where you sat up on the hill. You grunted as you forced yourself to your feet. The potion was working - it didn’t hurt as much to breathe, and you could use your arm again, but you hadn’t had time to clean and bandage the cut along your back. For now, the blood was slowed down enough you weren’t immediately concerned about it. Loose pebbles and rocks shifted under your boots as you shuffled down them until you stood protectively in front of the bard. “No one asked you to claim the Law of Surprise, or make that wish with the djinn. You only have yourself to blame.”

The Wolf’s lips curled into a sneer. “If he hadn’t dragged me-”

You scoffed bitterly, stumbling the rest of the way down the hill to stand directly in front of Geralt. “No one forced you to go! Friend or not, you could have declined, you pompous git! You did this to yourself! No one else!” You stepped back. Despite your injuries, you stood with your shoulders squared, ready to fight. Your eyes burned into his own, daring him to test the waters. You would fight at a disadvantage to protect Jaskier, who he saved over and again just to throw away.

But Geralt’s shoulders fell. He averted his eyes, staring pointedly at the distant horizon. He would not be fighting you.

“Congratulations. Your blessing has been granted.” You stepped back, watching the Witcher to see if he would do anything. Instead of gearing up for an attack or trying to argue again, he just huffed and turned to gaze out at the view. The tension in your muscles faded, eyes losing the burning anger.

He was your last opportunity for a family. For brotherhood.

You turned your back to him and clambered back up the hill. Jaskier was speechless for once. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Geralt. You touched his shoulder, and blue eyes, wide and glossy, tore through you like a knife. You offered him a thin-lipped grin.

“C’mon, Jaskier.” You nudged him gently away from his old traveling companion. He glanced back once, before swallowing down his hurt and helping you climb. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be halfway down the mountain by nightfall.”

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@adozenforks

@plaguedoctorsnake

@solomonssimp

#fanfic #fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #jaskier x reader #jaskier #jaskier the bard #witcher jaskier #the witcher jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt & reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gn reader #x gn reader #cross posted on ao3

54 notes · View notes

mattmurdock42 · 1 year ago

Text

Geralt of Rivia X Yennefer

Fluff

Yennefer and geralt at the bathtub.

Yen and Geralt were silent at the bathtub, just apreciating each others body.

Yen: sit in front of me and turn your back, let me massage it.

Geralt obeys. They both continues silent.

Geralt: we should do this more times. It feels nice.

Yen: i´m glad you liked it. (she says smiling, melting because of the compliment)

They kept silence for more two minutes. Yen massagin geralt´s white skin, passing her hands on his scars, kissing his shoulder, throuing water on it. She hears a soft groam when she passes her hand on his lower back, dicovering his secret sensible spot. She appreciated the unexpected information.

Yen: I know I never asked about your scars, but i wanted to know about your hair. It is not commom to find people with white hair, and not all witches have, only you and Vessemir. Did you already born with it?

Geralt calmly says: No, the original color of my hair was light brown. It got white during the transformation into a witcher. It happens to kids who dies but returns back to life, your body becames week in the first months, but then it gets more strong before. In my case it happened, but my hair never grew back the original color. It´s rare to occur. Vessemir´s is white because he is old.

Yen stops the massage and hugs him, feeling petty for his past. But she would never let him know that. She starts to massage his scalp. He relaxes his head on her arms, she couldn´t be happier to see the man she loved felling safe with her. She could sense he was getting sleepy with the massage.

Yen: let´s go to bed.

Geralt: no

Yen: come on, you are sleepy, i´ll continue the massage there if you wants.

Geralt stand up and dries himself, then he takes Yen on his arms and dries every inch of her. Then he lifts and take her to bed, putting her on his lap and cuddling.

Geralt: i´ll retribute the massage.

Yen: you don´t need to, i´m glad to do it. (she says closing her eyes)

They both fall asleep, enbraced at each others arms.

#henry cavill #superman #henry cavill fanfiction #yennefer of vengerberg #the witcher #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #geralt x yennefer #geralt fanfic #the witcher fanfiction

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sometimesraven · 11 months ago

Text

20 Questions for AO3 Writers

I was tagged in this FOREVER ago by @the-frankenman-writes I'm sorry it took me so long to get to!

1. How many works do you have on A03?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

84,067 (my fics are usually pretty short haha)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Quantum Leap (TV 2022) (18)

Dragon Age (Video Games) (17)

Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) (11)

Original Work (10)

Dead by Daylight (Video Game) (10)

The Witcher (TV) (6)

The Sandman (TV 2022) (5)

Doctor Who (5)

Elder Scrolls Online (2)

Critical Role (Web Series) (1)

Torchwood (1)

F.E.A.R. (Video Games) (1)

Mass Effect Trilogy (1)

The Champions (TV 1968) (1)

Baldur's Gate (Video Games) (1)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The Cold and Dark (Detroit: Become Human)

Holy, Holy, Holy (Original)

Her Sweet Kiss (The Witcher)

Just A Scratch (The Witcher)

Less Than Stellar Judgement (The Witcher)

(,,, people really like my Geraltskier whump fics huh XD)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I respond to basically every comment I get, even if all I can usually manage is some variation of "sfkgjhsfkgj thank you!!" because I have no idea how to take praise but I want the commenter to know they mean the world to me

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angiest ending?

Ooooooooof uhhhhh probably the little Detroit: Become Human ficlet I did called I Will Go Down. TW for suicide XD But there are a lot of angsty fics on there so who knows lmao

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics end pretty bittersweet but I think Hope (Doctor Who) is one of my happiest endings <3

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, surprisingly! My fics don't usually have much reach tbf. The only time I got anything close to "hate" was an ableist saying my disabled Dragon Age Inquisition OC is unrealistic to the setting and would likely be "with their clan or dead".

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Sometimes! Usually it's abstract (a la Holy, Holy, Holy) or porn with feelings (a la A Tale of Yearning) but I've been known to indulge in a lil PWP on occasion

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Just one! I have an ongoing Torchwood x Quantum Leap crossover 'verse thanks to @chaos-of-the-endless 😂 I also wrote a Baldur's Gate x Dead by Daylight AU recently!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I'm aware

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't believe so (please tell me if you ever do!)

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

no but some of my fics were inspired by other people or based on RP I've done in the past

14. What is your all time favorite ship?

Oh don't even XD uhhhhh right now it's Jenn&Ian from Quantum Leap and Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier from the Witcher but my shipping loves go so far back I could never name an all time favourite

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Family Reunion :( I've been trying to write it for,,,, basically as long as I've been writing but I can never finish it and then years pass and I hate it and think it's cringe and want to start it from scratch, rinse and repeat)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Taking an impulsive headcanon and running with it. I have so many ficlets just because I thought of a headcanon and NEEDED to put it to the page. I also enjoy angst and hurt/comfort, things that expand on already existing angst and make it WORSE :3

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

In fic writing it's definitely description. I tend to get carried away in dialogue and forget to Say Other Stuff but I think I have a good handle on it now. That and smut, I enjoy writing it but I have to be either In The Mood or shut off my brain so I don't cringe so hard I delete it all bc I struggle with explicit content and get embarassed when things I'm writing are at all Kinky bc I have a crippling fear of judgement

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language for a fic?

As a reader I enjoy it! As a writer, just be careful, stick to one or two words rather than full dialogue if you don't have the time or energy to deep-google that shit

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Doctor Who <3

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

this changes daily but at the moment I'm loving Something More and the rest of my Sandman fics revolving around the dream OC I made for it. I'm in love with them and I enjoy writing their dynamic with the Endless siblings too <3

Tagging: anyone who wants to do this <3

#about #writing #ao3 writer #fanfic writer #tag game #fanfiction tag game #writer tag game #writers on tumblr #quantum leap 2022 #quantum leap nbc #doctor who #torchwood #the witcher #the sandman

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hanzajesthanza · 2 years ago

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i’m sitting on a ton of fanmixes that i’ve made over the past two years, and i can’t decide in which order to draw covers and post them, so i’ve decided to ask your opinion! (+ i decided to share these because of this very kind anon ask!! thank you!)

my fanmixes are narrative-based playlists of music that follow an already-established story by sapkowski or a canon-compliant plot or character development which i headcanon for them. each of these fanmixes is about a specific character, dynamic, or setting from the witcher book series; if you want an example of what my fanmixes are like, here’s a link to some i’ve already posted. (note how, when i post a fanmix, under a read-more i go through all the lyrics of each song and explain how they relate to the story/character/dynamic!)

every fanmix listed on this poll is already complete, each has between 12 and 26 songs

i tried to hint at the feel of each playlist by listing the decade(s) and genre(s) they pull from, but note that the mixes usually have a few outlier songs from another decade or genre, and are not strictly composed of only what is listed, it’s just to give you an idea

the results of this poll will determine which order i publish them in (most votes = published first, least votes = published last), but i will be publishing them all at some undecided point in the future

feel free to reblog for your witcher mutuals' opinions

#feel free to send an ask if you’d like clarification of the artists how many songs are currently on each playlist etc.#the witcher books #geralt #emiel regis #angouleme #dandelion #gerlion #geryen #geralt's hanza

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geralt-of-vengerberg · 2 years ago

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Fanfic

Title: Flowers (click title to read on AO3) Ship: Yennefer x Geralt Word count: 1.3k

The days are getting longer and the ruins of Kaer Morhen have been left behind for quite some time now, but not all that’s happened is completely behind them. The blooming flowers at least make up for the gloom that surrounds them most days.

Geralt still wakes up from screams in the night. When it’s Ciri she seeks solace with Yennefer, but when it’s Yennefer herself, it takes all his willpower to not let her sleep by his side, where he knows she feels safer. He can’t cross that line, not yet.

They’re still not really talking, mostly discussing where to go next, what to eat and where to sleep. Ciri can’t seem to help but roll her eyes whenever he remains cool and distant. The girl has completely warmed up to Yennefer after everything that happened, so whenever he doesn’t treat the mage accordingly in Ciri’s eyes, she gives him the silent treatment for a while.

“If she still had bad intentions, you would already be dead by now,” Ciri had grunted at him the night before while they were out hunting and she’s right. Yennefer has her magic back, she’s regained her strength during the past few weeks. If she really wanted she could probably kill or betray either of them in the blink of an eye. That’s how he knows she’s fully on his side and she cares for Ciri and for him, after everything. While she hasn’t outright said it, she’s shown it on more than one occasion.

Today, they’d decided to just spend the day leisuring around, without having any goals or expectations in mind. The first rays of sun are peeking through the forest leaves and Yennefer and Ciri went out to train for a bit. For some reason leisure still means draining herself with magic according to Ciri, but it just tells him how much she just wants to spend time with Yennefer, and he wouldn’t take that away from her.

He trusts her enough to not feel the need to have his eye on her all the time. He started trusting her again the second she slit her wrists for Ciri. That’s when he realised she was Yennefer again. No longer having the voice of a demon in her head, commanding her what to do. He knows it all had a toll on her. He can still see her sulking away once Ciri has fallen asleep in her arms. He doesn’t fully get it, because she finally has what she’s been longing for all this time. He would’ve expected her to feel happier . So he takes it upon himself to at least try to make her smile.

Down by the banks, flowers bloom and if he remembers one thing, it’s that women like receiving flowers. Yennefer and him might not be talking, mostly because of his own need to put a barrier between them, but that doesn’t mean he can’t show her a little appreciation. She’s so good with Ciri, he sometimes forgets she wasn’t even around from the start.

He picks out a few, mostly violet ones that remind him of her eyes. When he’s done he ends up with a colourful ensemble after all and he finds himself a blade of grass to bind it all together. The result looks nice and he can only hope Yennefer agrees. When he returns to their sleeping area, she and Ciri haven’t returned, so he’s able to leave the bouquet behind on her bedroll unseen.

Sudden rustling and footsteps startle him and he quickly spins around to find Ciri walking closer, but she’s alone.

“Where’s Yennefer?” he asks and Ciri must’ve picked up on the worry in his voice, because she rolls her eyes before she responds.

“She’s freshening up by the river,” the girl says. She quickly notices the colourful flowers behind his crouched figure and smiles to herself.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he tries, because he doesn’t want to give Ciri the impression that he’s trying to win Yennefer back or that there might be more between them at the moment.

“What’s it supposed to look like?” she asks with a smile, but her question remains unanswered as she leaves again, armed with a knife and a sword. He assumes she’s out to let off some more steam.

He feels an urge to go check on Yennefer, to see for himself that she’s indeed down by the river and that she’s okay. But he doesn’t trust himself if there’s a chance he might see her naked body and he’s sure not ready for how it might affect him in some way.

The minutes alone seem to go on forever, but after some time Yennefer reappears. Her hair is still a bit wet, but he remembers that will make it all the more curly once it’s dry. He yearns to feel her soft tresses between his fingers again, to tell her he still cares too, to let her know he wants to try again too, but he can’t.

From a distance he can see how her face lights up when she sees the flowers, a shy smile appearing. She picks them up, smells them and it’s as if her eyes start to sparkle. He can’t help but feel a little bit of pride to make her smile like that again. Finally he can see some happiness radiating off of her again.

The rest of the day is spent collecting food and firewood for the evening. The flowers aren’t brought up, until later that night.

In the evening, when they’re sitting around the fire, Ciri snuggles up to Yennefer. Seeking out comfort for the long night that’s to come. Her nightmares have been getting more frequent and more intense lately. Even to the point where Yennefer tried discussing it with him, but he didn’t have any useful answers to offer.

“Thank you for the flowers,” Yennefer says softly as she presses a kiss to the top of Ciri’s head.

“They weren’t mine,” Ciri smiles at the mage and Yennefer raises her eyebrow in surprise.

Before she’s able to seek out his eyes with hers, he’s disappeared back into the woods for a while. He can’t face her while she knows, she might want to thank him, might make more of it than it’s supposed to be. Maybe he should’ve thought this through a bit better before he picked out those flowers for her in the first place. He just needs her to know that he cares too and that maybe he’s forgiven her and has for a long time now. The problem is that he still hasn’t forgiven himself for being too distracted by her to see a looming threat when it was right in front of him. If he’d paid more attention, he would’ve seen there was something wrong. If he’d given her a chance to open up to him, to tell him what she’d gone through, things might’ve gone differently.

When he returns, complete darkness has fallen over them and both Yennefer and Ciri seem to be fast asleep. The fire from before is still smouldering and giving off enough heat to warm up his hands and feet. The days might’ve gotten longer, but the nights are still cold. He decides to get some sleep too once he’s warmed up again and that’s when he notices something on his own bedroll. There’s a small note waiting for him.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

-your dear friend

After that he finds it hard to fall asleep, having her this close and still so far out of reach. It’s his own fault, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less to not be able to hold her close to him. All he has now is her little note, scribbled in her neat handwriting. While the moon and stars stare down on him, he takes out the piece of parchment and brings it closer to his face. Just like her letters, the note smells of her.

#geralt x yennefer #the witcher fic #the witcher netflix #yenralt #post-season 2 fix-it #I don't like what we've heard so far about the beginning of season 3 so I guess I decided to fix it before it's even started

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my-jokes-are-my-armour · 2 years ago

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The muse saga

Hi there. This is the masterpost for my Jaskier's fics regrouped under the "muse saga" title. Here is what to know about it.

Jaskier is the main character. He is bi or pan. He loves Geralt platonically but he is his muse so it means that this is the strongest kind of link for him. Can be read as romantic also.

The muse saga covers all the seasons of the witcher and are a mixte between the TV show and the books.

All the fics are mature. Contain depressive state to suicidal thoughts, and alcoholim. Some are whump and have blood. I try no to be too graphic though. But some scenes can be disturbing. On my blog you can access each chapter separately with detailed warnings. Follow the # "muse saga" on this post to find them.

Here are my fanfics in chronological order with characteristics and pitch :

Endless pain [x] : OS just after the mountain. 1,2k words. Jaskier never felt that much pain in his life but when Geralt shattered his heart. This is how he entered a world of endless pain.

Bleobheris [x] : Multichapter. ~ 20k words. Whump (mature only : because has disturbing scenes) This is the story of how the raid of Bleobheris turned Jaskier into the Sandpiper.

A bird in a cage [x] : Multichapter (8). 21,5k words. Whump. Jaskier has been put in jail after Yennefer had disappeared in the whorehouse. He has wounds that need some time to heal, both physical and emotional. Time he doesn't really have... He will have to dig deep to find the light in him.

Where do I belong [x] : Multichapter (6). 11k words (has disturbing mindsets moments). After the battle of Kaer Morhen, bluntly rejected by Lambert, ignored by most, Jaskier struggles to find where he belongs and why he is still there. [Multi POV]

A shard of glass [x] : OS. 5k words. At Kaer Morhen, Vesemir noticed Jaskier is skipping dinners. A conversation with the bard reopens old resentment toward humans and leads to a bad judgement. Harsh words are shared but kind too. And maybe Jaskier will finally find the comfort he needs. [Vesemir POV]

A place to rest [x] : OS. 5.9k words. (This is set after the end of the books - spoilers). Zoltan had received a letter from Jaskier asking him to meet him in Rinde for a short travel together. He knows his friend his not well for a long time but this may be the time to address some issues and reconnect. [Zoltan POV]

The man that never smiled [x] : OS. 7k words. (This is set after the end of the books and references more than is shown on the TV show so it can be spoilery) The Continent had drastically changed but some beacons of the past are still there, wandering in the garden of the academy of Oxenfurt. Elika, a young student, will meet this strange man that never smiles and would change her life, somehow... [OC POV]

(All the fics are on FFnet. I know nobody likes it but this is my historical account so I stayed here.)

Part of the Muse Saga, there are also the unsent letters that are inly on tumblr.

To Geralt - Winter's heart : [x]

To Geralt - What should I've been [x]

To Ciri : [x]

#jaskier #muse saga #masterpost #my fanfictions

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shipazia · 1 year ago

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𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓾𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 & 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ୨♡୧

───── 💮🌸 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 🌸💮 ─────

❝ 𝐼 𝒦𝐸𝐸𝒫 𝐹𝒪𝑅𝒢𝐸𝒯𝒯𝐼𝒩𝒢 𝐵𝐸𝐸 𝐼𝒮 𝒞𝐼𝒮𝐻𝐸𝒯❞

```˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ sinking ♡ ships • she/her • minor • multifandom

!!╱| 、 (` - 7 |、⁻ 〵 - i’m shipazia on archive of our own! ~ じし ˍ ,)ノ```

╰┈➤ armature creative writer!

✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡ aliases ~ bee, beety, gloomy, brownie, shipazia, sinking-ships

꧁•⊹٭𝙳𝙽𝙸 𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃٭⊹•꧂

✵╰┈➤ Racism, Homophobia, Anti-semitism

✵╰┈➤ 18+ Content

✵╰┈➤ 13+ only!

✵╰┈➤ Jokes concerning physical appearance

✵╰┈➤ Disturbing Imagery

✵╰┈➤ Political

꧁•⊹٭𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙸𝚃𝚂٭⊹•꧂

✵╰┈➤ PFP: Smile! Precure

✵╰┈➤ BANNER: Smile! Precure

✵╰┈➤ DIVIDERS: @kgymz, @silkholland, @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

──── 💮🌸 interests 🌸💮 ────

⚜ ⊰────── lego ninjago ──❥

❝ reading is the first step to any adventure! go reading go!❞

╰┈➤faves morro, lloyd, kai, jay

╰┈➤ships jaya, destiny, polyninja, kaiylor

╰┈➤platonic destiny, green cousins, ghosts, watermelon

♡ ⊰────── originsmcrp ──❥

❝ once upon a time, there was a small and quaint house❞

╰┈➤faves eden, kol, shino, ooo!xylo, fto!devin, lara, biblico

╰┈➤ships devintchie, eclipse,

╰┈➤platonic neopolitan ice cream,

➴ ⊰────── genshin impact ──❥

❝ i never embark on a journey without a good book to accompany me❞

╰┈➤faves wanderer, nahida, keqing, childe, twins, cyno

╰┈➤ships beiguang, zhongchi, cynonari

╰┈➤platonic chiscara, mc & scara, nahida & scara

♔ ⊰────── the witcher ──❥

❝ only myths and fables do not know the limits of possibility ❞

╰┈➤faves jaskier, ciri, yennefer, tissaia, fringilla

╰┈➤ships geraskier, yengilla

╰┈➤platonic ciri and geralt, yennefer and tissaia

*please no spoilers past season 1, or for any of the books!

☠ ⊰────── the nevernight chronicles ──❥

❝ you're a daughter of words. a girl with a story to tell.❞

╰┈➤faves mia, jonen, naev, cloud, ashlinn, jessamine, mercurio

╰┈➤ships ashlinn x mia, bryn x waker

╰┈➤platonic jonen & mia, mercurio & drusilla, adonai & mari

꧁•⊹٭𝙷𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚜٭⊹•꧂

︶⊹︶︶⠀୨e୧⠀︶︶⊹︶

✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ art ✦ʚ♡ɞ✦

╰┈❥ art blog @gloomyglosse ♡

✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ reading ✦ʚ♡ɞ✦

╰┈❥ high fantasy, y/a

✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ writing ✦ʚ♡ɞ✦

╰┈❥ fanfiction, original stories, roleplays

──── 💮🌸 masterlist 🌸💮 ────

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

• ༺❀༻ • 𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓼

➽──❥ N/A

• ༺❀༻ • 𝓭𝓻𝓪𝓫𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓼

➽──❥ N/A

• ༺❀༻ • 𝓹𝓸𝓮𝓽𝓻𝔂

➽──❥ N/A

• ༺❀༻ • 𝓶𝓾𝓵𝓽𝓲 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻

➽──❥

• ༺❀༻ • 𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼

➽──❥ N/A

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

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whittlewitchypoo · 2 years ago

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Geralt X Yennefer X Jaskier but Yen and Geralt are both extremely protective and jealous. Their fine with his past lovers, but only if they respect that he’s now off limits. He’s fine with it at first, adores the way they smother him to keep him safe yet trust him to take care of himself when need be. He enjoys how wild they both get when someone flirts with him, how he will end up pressed between them with love bites being littered all over his body. Geralt is very much an animal at times, only wishing to bite and mark and claim, while Yennefer is the same but more because she’s a little fucked in the head. It’s good, makes him feel pleasure yes but also validated in a way he only ever dreamed about. When issues arise with his lovers protectiveness, he handles it well, scalding them for ruining his little gig in the tavern just because a man complimented his arse, even telling them to put a little trust in him for once. He’s truely grateful when they protect him from the more ill meaning folk, but they can’t drag him away just because they feel intimated. It’s fine at first, then arguments become common until eventually Jaskier breaks down and tells them that he can handle it, he has handled it for years! He’s dealt with abuse, slander, shaming, ridicule, false rumours, the whole lot! He dealt with it from his own family since he was born for fucks sake! He breaks down and tells them things he’s never told a soul, that he thought he was over, that he had hoped lost his power over him…

His lovers are quiet, both seething as they take in his words, before promising to be more understanding and patient with his fans and the idiots that aren’t. To prove that he has love, that he has people who will stay and want to be with him, they ask him to mark them too, only this time a littler more permanently.

#the witcher #geralt of rivera #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #geralt x jaskier #julian alfred pankratz

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leighsartworks216 · 2 years ago

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The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter Four

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I recommend reading it there

Warnings: swearing, grief, crying

Word Count: 5331

Masterlist

Tag List Form

“The hunt begins at sunrise.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” Jaskier gestured anxiously as he spoke, eyes flicking back to Yennefer nervously. He could still remember precisely how his last encounter with the sorceress had gone. “That’s only four teams. You said there’d be five.” The bard looked to Geralt for confirmation, or even just someone to back him up at all, but the Witcher’s golden eyes were stuck on the witch.

“Ah.” Borch Three Jackdaws sat back on his bench. His hands were intertwined and resting on the table, fingers fiddling with the handle of his ale.”They won’t be arriving until tomorrow. So I’ve heard, it’s a knight from Temeria.” His wise gaze turned to the distracted man before him. “They say he has a Witcher with him, too.”

Geralt was brought back to attention instantly.

“Another Witcher?”

Borch nodded, humming.

Jaskier perked up as well, leaning closer as if a secret was being shared. “Do you know what they look like? Or where they’re from, maybe?”

The man shook his head. “No.”

Jaskier turned to Geralt, hand on his shoulder and eyes wide. “Do you think it could be Viper?”

Geralt hm’d noncommittally, but didn’t answer.

“What’s got your goat?”

“Someone’s stolen my pack.” The Dwarf glared past Jaskier at another team, who was already glaring right back. “Probably those FUCKIN’ REAVERS!”

Jaskier jumped at the shouting and decided it may be within his best interests not to be in between the two teams. The Dwarf, Yarpen, walked beside him, his team of Dwarves following him with their bags and packs in tow. “Aye, well… three days’ journey and only one route to the top. Leaves plenty of time for me to PISS IN HIS GRUEL!” Yarpen cackled coarsely back at the Reavers.

“You needn’t shout so much.”

Jaskier nearly pissed himself as he whirled around toward the voice, only to come face to face with a hooded figure. Their focus was not on him, however, but on Yarpen, who frowned in a way only a belligerent drunk with years of practice could.

“An’ who the fuck do ya think you are?”

You removed your hood. Jaskier’s eyes grew wide with recognition. Yarpen stepped back a little once he saw your face, and the piercing yellow eyes that stared back at him.

“I’m the Viper of Nilfgaard,” you replied calmly, “and your yelling is hurting my ears. My advice? Keep your mouth shut. Making enemies on a lone pass with a reward this grand only paints a target on your back.”

Yarpen grit his teeth, lips curling in a snarl, as though he wished to unleash a barrage of curses in all the languages of the Continent. Instead, he cursed under his breath (though still quite loudly) and continued down the trail with his men.

“Wow. Well, you showed him.” You and Jaskier stopped on the path, watching as the Dwarf introduced himself to Geralt. Blinking himself back to reality, he turned to you. “Gods! It’s been months! How’ve you been? Did you catch those deserters?” He looked you up and down. You appeared almost exactly as you had the last time he saw you, albeit now with a small scar along your cheek. He cut you off before you could reply. “Wait, nevermind. Who’re you here with?”

A soft, almost endearing grin played on your lips at Jaskier’s familiar charms. His mind always seemed to be running a mile a minute. “I’ve been hired to guide Hendrick of Temeria through the mountains,” you informed him. You glanced up the hill to your employer, who struggled to gather his bags and swords from his horse. The equipment in his arms clattered to the ground. He tried to play it off by waving at the Reavers. “He has no experience hunting monsters - or of the world, for that matter. It is his belief that with a Witcher at his side, he will be able to pull through by sheer luck.”

The bard snorted. “I don’t think he knows what luck is.”

As if he could feel two pairs of eyes on him, Hendrick waved you over with one hand and cupped the other around his mouth to call, “Viper! I need your assistance!”

You sighed through your nose, but smiled at Jaskier anyway. “I’ll catch up with you later.” You began your way back up the hill, but turned and walked backward to speak to him once more. “And I will answer all of your questions, I promise.”

Excitement coursed through his veins. The promise of a new story to tell thrilled him to no end, especially with a subject actually willing to give him details. He watched as you began donning Hendrick with bags and equipment, and as you took a moment to press your forehead against the nose of your own horse.

The gruff, aggravated voice of his own Witcher calling him fell on deaf ears.

Hendrick made it quite clear when hiring you of how unused to the Wild he was. He grew up well-off, he never worked a farm, never even went fishing with his father (he mentioned this several times). Unfortunately, that left you to take the brunt of his complaining. Less than an hour in, he was complaining of his feet hurting. (“Is there anything you can do to ease the pain? Perhaps there is an herb I might take?”) Thirty minutes later, he complained of his back aching from the weight of the bags. (“Would you be able to carry one more? I’ve heard tell of a Witcher’s enhanced strength; surely one more bag would not weaken you any.”)

You would have gladly welcomed the pain in your feet or the ache in your back, should it provide a distraction. As it was, you were stuck trying to focus on the birds and flora of the mountain.

“Mighty fine lord you’ll be,” came a sarcastic jibe from in front of you. It was one of the Reavers. He looked like someone you would hunt for a small sum; crooked teeth in an equally crooked smirk, and skin yellowed from months of unwashed grime. His dark eyes, filled with emotions you wished not to know, turned to you. “And you, freak? What’ll you do if this prick slays the dragon?” He cackled as he offered up his own suggestion. “Become his little monster-hunting consort?”

“Why do you wish to know?” you bit back. Your face remained neutral and wholly unfazed. “Looking to fill in an application?”

His grin became a grimace as he spat at your boots. You were grateful he missed - his saliva was probably as acidic as a Basilisk’s poison, and you quite liked these boots. “Fucking mutant.”

As he stomped ahead like a toddler that lost an argument, you distracted yourself once again with a chickadee gathering twigs for its nest.

You couldn’t tear your eyes from the fire. Even as the world quietened and the sky grew dark, the dance of flames held you entranced. The tendrils reached into the air, reaching for the stars gleaming overhead in the thinning mountain air. For a brief moment, you could let yourself imagine a burning hand cupping the sky, gathering all of the stars within its palm, and swirling them around. Constellations churning and sifting, until they all stilled; new and beautiful.

But your mind always wandered. The hand crushed the stars. The sky became completely dark, lit only by a lonely moon. The hand morphed and changed until it caressed stone, tore down archways, consumed flesh. You could not look away. Faces in the fire became the screaming faces of your brothers. Of Ivar Evil-Eye clutching priceless scrolls to his chest as he clawed toward an exit, uncaring of the death of your siblings. Of Oalvir running from the burning grand doors, only to meet his doom at the hands of Nilfgaardian soldiers. Of Stul…

All your childhood, you looked up to him, even more than the mentors. He would sneak you scraps of bread when you were locked away for misbehaving. He’d cradle you to his chest and whisper soothing words into your hair as terror gripped you, body and soul. He was always there for you. And the moment he needed you most, you were prancing around the Cintran palace, acting as a hero.

“You should rest.”

The grumbling voice brought you back to the present. You blinked away the memories, and were met with the dying ashes of the campfire. It went out long ago, it seemed.

You looked up into the eyes of Geralt, sat across from you, yellow a warmed amber in the dim light of nighttime. You cast a glance around - everyone was gone, asleep in their tents - and to the sky. The stars were still there, in the same constellations they always had been.

“I’ll keep watch,” he added.

You shook your head. It took more effort than you would have liked to avoid looking at the embers again. “I’ll be fine. I can’t sleep anyway.”

His gaze burned through you, studying your movements. Foolishly determined to prove you could handle yourself, you grabbed a few sticks and tossed them onto the pile. They would not light on their own. Yet, when you tried lifting your hand to cast Igni, it remained like a solid brick of lead in your lap.

Without saying a word, Geralt raised a hand. A burst of fire erupted from his palm and claimed the sticks like a starved beast. You flinched at its warmth.

“What happened?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and stared into the flames once more. You were not lost in their flickering, but you could not bear to look at the Wolf. He sighed.

“Last we met, you told me to be careful.” He tilted his head, searching for answers. “You seemed lost in another world when you spoke of your brother.”

You visibly swallowed. His question lingered in the air, alongside the distant cries of owls and bats, and the droning melodies of crickets. With a deep breath, you finally met his eyes. Your own burned with unshed tears.

“Gorthur Gvaed… The Viper Keep… It- It was burned down,” you whispered. Your voice would not go any louder. Geralt sat up straighter. “The Usurper commanded it. My brothers-” A trembling gasp broke loose from your lungs, silencing you.

He watched helplessly as you wiped at your eyes, determined not to cry. He remembered the attack on Kaer Morhen. Hiding in the cellar, waiting for the humans to find him and kill him like all the others. The screams, the fire, the blood. He knew too well what it was like to sit by and watch everything dear be ripped from you.

“Stul-” You cursed, frustrated with your emotions. “Stuldweck, my brother, he- he hunted that djinn with me. He gave me Bayard. He helped me, comforted me.” A strained sob forced its way through grit teeth. Your shoulders hunched with grief; you contained so much agony it radiated from you. “He’s gone and I- I couldn’t even do anything to stop it.”

The world fell still as you cried. Fat, ugly tears that clench your chest, prevent you from breathing. Your hands tightened, holding onto the figment of Oalvir’s body. The last time you cried was over his corpse. Too long ago. Months and months of build up, ripping through you like a tsunami. An earthquake. Any number of natural disasters - none were as powerful as your grief.

Geralt could do nothing but sit and watch. There was nothing for it; no remedies, no cures. The only balm for loss, sorrow, despair, was to let it out, lest it consume you forever.

It may have been minutes, or hours - days could have passed and you would be none the wiser - before your cries lessened to hiccuping gasps. The stars watched coldly as you wiped away snot and tears, making room on your cheeks for more.

As your tears ran out and dried on your face, you had nothing left but whimpers. Mere ghosts of the wails that came before. Geralt formed his hand into another sign, casting Aard on the flames to put them out. Even in the dark, he could see the sorrow across your face.

“Get some rest,” he insisted as your body stopped shaking. His usually grumbly voice was now as soft and soothing as he could manage. Despite everything, you were still just a child. “We’ll still be here come morning.”

You sniffled, whimpering at the dry pain at the back of your throat. You would think it a mercy no one awoke, but you knew if they had, they stayed hidden inside their tents, powerless to do anything but listen to your cries.

You took in a trembling breath and stood. You stayed there a moment, before reaching out a hand to Geralt. He grabbed it. His hand held more calluses than yours. It was cold, as were yours - a side effect of the mutations and the slow heart rate that came with it. But it grounded you there, beside the dead campfire, up on the mountain, beneath the stars.

He squeezed your hand with tempered strength, and slipped from between your fingers. You did not have to speak your thanks. With a quiet sigh, drenched in relief, your exhaustion took place where your emotions had been. He listened through the darkness as usually inaudible footsteps scraped and slid across loose dirt, all the way to your own lone tent. His ears did not leave you until soft, even breaths were all he heard.

“Are you alright?” Jaskier was breathless from jogging to catch up to your brutal pace. You were just doing your best to stay ahead of Hendrick so you could avoid his ceaseless complaining. You slowed down to fall into step beside him. “I heard what that Reaver said to you yesterday. Just wanted to, you know, be sure.”

“I’m fine,” you assured. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever been called.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Geralt was far in the back, walking alongside Borch. The Witcher’s eyes kept drifting to Yennefer, walking alongside her escort, though she seemed to pay Geralt no attention.

“Like ‘The Butcher of Blaviken’?” he asked tentatively.

You nodded. “No matter how hard we try to help, humans will always be against us. To them we’re just mutants, freaks, bloodthirsty killers that snatch children in the night.” He frowned, a deep crease formed between his brows. “It’s just how it is.”

“It shouldn’t have to be.” His voice was determined, disgusted with the treatment you and his adventuring partner faced every day. “I’ll write a thousand ballard if that’s what it takes to-”

“No number of fancy words will change their minds, Jaskier,” you interjected sternly. “At the end of the day, he will still be the Butcher and I will still be the Viper - there is nothing you can do to change that.” His throat dried up, closing at the futility of it all. “We’ve made our peace with it. You should, too.”

You pulled yourself over a large boulder that blocked the path and helped Jaskier up after you. You held a hand down for Yoran who followed close behind, but he just knocked it away, claiming that he and his men could get up by themselves. Jaskier and you stopped a short ways ahead, watching with little interest as the Dwarves and Reavers raced to get up before each other, all the while spitting insults back and forth.

Jaskier cleared his throat. “You, uhm, said you’d answer my questions,” he reminded you. “About the deserters?”

You hummed and turned all your attention to him; he was far more interesting than any Reaver or Dwarf. “I caught them in Novigrad, working together to sneak onto a ship transporting cargo to Kovir. They offered me money to let them go. Naturally, I refused - all they could offer me was 10 crowns and a pamphlet to a brothel in Oxenfurt.”

He chuckled at the thought. He knew better than anyone how the city favored poets, craftsmen, and prostitutes. The bordellos in Oxenfurt were nearly as infamous as the school was famous. “I’m guessing they didn’t come quietly.”

You huffed, remembering the trouble they gave you. “I wish they had,” you said. “They each bolted off in different directions. Pain in the ass to catch them both again.” You stopped yourself short of the gorey details, watching as Geralt helped your useless employer over the rock.

“What then?”

You turned to him with a tight, concerned smile. “Are you sure you wish to know? I am not Geralt - I do not spare lives for the sake of sparing them.”

He opened his mouth to say Yes, of course! but the look in your eye made him think twice.

It was easy to follow Geralt and his heroics when all he tried to do was slay monsters and save towns. Unless it was absolutely necessary, Geralt refused to kill people, and only when they attacked first. The Wolf told him about Vipers when he did not stop prying. He told him about the contracts they take, how they were more assassins-for-hire than beast-killers. Perhaps he didn’t want to know the end of your tale. Perhaps he only wanted to imagine a scenario for himself, where you went through the effort of bringing the deserters back alive, or even let them go free for a mere 10 crowns.

As his silence persisted, you watched the groups pass you both by. The Reavers went first, determined to get to the next campsite and steal all the good spots for themselves. The Dwarves were close behind. Hendrick gave you a carefree grin and an assuring, “Don’t worry - I’ll meet you at the camp!” Yennefer and Sir Eyck came next. Then Borch and his Zerrikanian warriors, with Geralt firmly in last place. When he passed, you nudged Jaskier by the shoulder and fell in step behind the Wolf.

“What about you and Geralt?” you changed the subject. The Witcher in question turned to look at you over his shoulder. Your lips quirked into a soft yet mischievous grin. “Asked me about a djinn last we met, but you never explained why.”

Geralt grunted and walked faster. Jaskier’s eyes seemed to glow with the change in topic, as he launched into the tale of the djinn, their encounter with Yennefer, and a blooming romance between the Witcher and the Witch.

“You should eat something.”

You glared at the carcass roasting over the fire, lips curling in a disgusted scowl. Your cat-like eyes remained set as you watched Eyck cook and eat the innards of the Hirikka, so proud of himself and his proclamation of Knights never waste a kill. It turned your stomach to see the desecration of an innocent creature. The head, resting on a pike behind the great knight, stared into you.

“I’d rather starve.”

Borch, Geralt and Jaskier all looked at you with concern and understanding. Or maybe it was just pity. Your words of rage still echoed at the forefront of their minds, even Yennefer’s, who tried to appear supportive and adoring of Sir Eyck.

“Oh, yes, how brave of the knight to murder a defenseless, starving, endangered Hirikka. You stupid bastard. You’ve worn the moniker of Sir too long - you are nothing more than a coward masquerading behind a sword.”

Despite the fear Jaskier felt when the creature stood to its full height, he knew that Geralt’s call for everyone to sheath their weapons had been the better option. If they had handed over the berries he picked, perhaps even a scrap of bread, it would have left them in peace, unharmed.

Soft hands, calloused at the fingertips, lifted your hand from its place on the log. They peeled your fist apart with little effort, and placed something within. “Please,” Jaskier pleaded in a whisper. You did not need to look to know they were the berries he picked earlier.

Jaskier watched, helpless, as you pressed the berries back into his palm and rushed from the campfire. All eyes seemed to follow you as you jerked your tent open and disappeared inside. He wished to run after you; toss the berries into the fire and comfort you as best he knew how, with ballads and poems and tales. But he caught Borch’s gaze, and, at least for now, the thought died.

By the time he was brought back to the conversation, it had shifted to be of politics. At least Sir Eyck had left, hunched over and clutching his stomach.

“The rightful son of Nilfgaard has returned, burning through the south!” cried Yarpen.

Yennefer scoffed. “With Fringilla as his mage.” She laughed. “Nilfgaard’s a joke.”

Yarpen shook his head, voice tense. “I saw it with my own eyes down in Ebbing. Those zealot freaks are inching closer by the day. Won’t be long till they try and take Sodden.” His eyes shifted to Hendricks. “Next it’ll be Temeria. Redania.” Your employer sunk under his gaze, staring forlorn to the ground. “Cintra.”

“No.” Jaskier swallowed. He surprised himself with his sudden outburst. Maybe it was the threat of Nilfgaard, or knowing you hailed from it, but something stirred inside him uncomfortably. “Queen Calanthe would die before letting them take what’s hers.”

Geralt tried meeting his eye, but the bard’s gaze was set to the ground and unfocused.

“Perhaps if Nilfgaard’s religious zeal had been tempered earlier by a stronger hand…”

Jaskier abruptly stood. He floundered out some excuse about needing to polish his lute, yet in his daze, he had to turn back to grab it. The berries fell uselessly to the ground. Nobody pointed out how he stumbled over to your tent; he tried to make it seem casual - looking down to his boots and the ground as though they were more interesting than anything else, kicking pinecones and meandering around. But everyone knew he set up on the opposite side of camp.

Now that he was in front of your door - er, tent flap - he didn’t know what to do. After a moment’s hesitation, he awkwardly knocked on (slapped the back of his hand against) the fabric. “Knock knock?”

It was quiet. Inside, he could hear bottles clinking together. He glanced over his shoulder toward the fire, making sure no one was watching him.

“Who’s there?” called your tentative voice. He found his worries eased by the mere sound of it. He knew, beyond any doubt, that you couldn’t possibly be as ruthless as the Nilfgaardians were.

“It’s Jaskier.” Quiet again. Perhaps he didn’t think this through enough. Should he have just gone to bed and left the issue alone? Maybe you wanted to be left alone for the rest of the night, and he could ask tomorrow. Maybe you didn’t want to see him.

Before he could stumble out an apology or excuse, the flap was pulled aside. You stood at the entrance, sans your usual cloak and weapons, and gestured for him to come in. He nodded his thanks as he slipped by.

Just before you closed the tent again, you caught Borch’s eye. He had a knowing grin on his face, as though he carried more secrets than you could wish to know, and the only ones he shared them with were Téa and Véa, who giggled softly at the cryptic knowledge. You shut the door before you could decipher his wisdom.

“Erm, thought you’d like to know that the Hirikka made Eyck sick.”

“Good,” you hissed. “Bastard deserves it.” You started for your cot, but stopped when you realized Jaskier was stood searching in the dark. With the embarrassing realization that he could not see as well as you in the dim light, you lit a hanging lantern. You tried not to flinch when the small, controlled burst of flame left your palm and caught on the wick.

You went back to your cot, where laid out over ratty sheets were dozens of vials and your twin daggers. Jaskier sat on the corner of your bed, careful not to disturb anything, as he looked around the small tent. It was much like his own - just large enough for one person to stay comfortably, with a single cot and a folding stool. In the corner were your bags, undoubtedly filled with strange herbs and monster bits.

He turned to look at the vials. Some were filled with odd liquids, some were filled with substances just a bit too thick to be called liquids, but not yet thick enough to be deemed solid. He reached out and carefully picked up one of the bottles, turning it over and over to watch the red liquid slosh around. “What’s this do?”

You frowned at the question, looking at the potion in his hands. “Geralt doesn’t tell you about them?” You picked up one of your daggers and a whetstone. The scraping sound of metal against the whetstone filled the tent as you sharpened your weapon.

“No,” he scoffed. “He won’t even tell me what he had for breakfast, let alone about a monster he just slayed or what any of this,” he gestured to the other bottles with the one he already held, “does.”

“Okay, well, the one in your hand is called Swallow.” Jaskier, eager to learn, held the bottle close so he could peer into the container better. None of the ingredients that went into making a concoction like this were decipherable anymore. “It’s named after the bird and the coming of spring. It helps us heal faster for a time, and can even stop bleeding. It’s a Witcher’s best friend.”

He set the bottle back down in its place and picked up one that contained a whitish-yellow almost-liquid. It clung to the glass walls as he turned the container over. His nose scrunched up in disgust. “What about this one?”

You set the silver dagger back on your bed and picked up the steel one. You didn’t expect to need it on a contract like this, when you were only hired to kill monsters, but one could never be too careful with characters like the Reavers around.

“White Honey,” you answered with hardly a glance. “Witcher potions are toxic; they poison our blood. Deadly for humans, but we’re able to withstand the toxicity for longer. If we take too many potions, however, it begins to take a toll on our bodies.

“This,” you gestured to the bottle with the whetstone, “detoxifies our blood.”

Jaskier was utterly fascinated, in awe even, at the info you so easily gave him. Aside from traveling with Geralt and spreading his heroic deeds, all Jaskier ever heard of Witchers was how ruthless, bloodthirsty and savage they were. Nobody ever mentioned anything about their knowledge of alchemy, their wits, or their courage.

Another question slipped into his mind. He never asked before, nor did he really ever think about it, yet it came unbidden, as easy as a farmer slipping inside at nightfall after a hard day’s work. Something about it (all of it, in fact) felt wrong to question, but you had been so generous with your life and knowledge so far…

He set the bottle back down just as you finished sharpening your weapons. He watched, mulling over whether to ask the question, as you sheathed them in their leather casings and slipped one under your pillow. The other was placed lovingly back in your pack.

Before he could stop himself, he asked.

“What’s it like… becoming a Witcher?”

You visibly tensed up. Back becoming rigid and hand tightening where it still held onto your dagger. You would not turn back to face him.

Realizing he fucked up and overstepped probably a hundred boundaries, he dismissed it. “Nevermind. I don’t need to know. Forget it.”

You relaxed slightly into a huff of laughter at how quickly he backpedaled. Jaskier was always curious; he fed on new information like a starved man ate stew. To see him take back a question for your own comfort, rather than press forward as he probably would have with Geralt, was… nice. You couldn’t figure out any other word to call it. Any other person, anyone curious enough to question a Witcher, didn’t let up until they were sure Witchers were the mutated freaks the stories said they were.

You stood and went back to the bed, sorting out potions to figure out what you needed more of. “It’s alright, Jaskier,” you assured him with a quiet voice. He relaxed, knowing he didn’t fuck everything up. “I… I don’t think I can go back to that place just yet.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Viper.”

“One day, I promise, I’ll tell you.” You were determined to tell him. Your eyes gleamed in the firelight, absolutely certain. You did not want to carry this knowledge with you any longer than you already had. But it felt too soon to discuss the Trials, knowing you would never again see the mentors that guided you through them.

Voice as soft as a butterfly’s wingbeat, he said, “Take as long as you need.”

It was silent for a moment. Not a thick, awkward silence, but a warm, easy one. Outside, he could still hear distant conversation from around the fire, mixed with the scattered calls of crickets. A distant wolf howl mixed with the clinking of bottles.

But Jaskier was awful at leaving silences alone. “So, a dragon,” he began. His fingers fiddled with each other, desperate to have something to do with them. “Why did so many people sign up for a quest for something that’s not, you know, real?”

“Dragons are real.”

He gave you an incredulous look. You shot one right back, lining a belt with your current potions. (Two Swallow in the front, a gold one he didn’t know the name of, a greenish one he also didn’t know the name of, and one White Honey.) You didn’t even have to look as you did it; it was purely muscle memory.

“Dragons are real, Jaskier. Treasure hunters and poachers have hunted them to near extinction, but I’m sure many still exist, hiding away until their numbers recover.

“The one we’re after is a green dragon,” you continued, “they’re the most common. Red dragons are rarer; black ones even rarer still. And, finally, gold dragons are the rarest of them all. No one even knows if they’re real. Nobody’s seen one in ages.”

Slack-jawed and starry-eyed with wonder, Jaskier fumbled around the inner pocket of his jacket until he pulled out a love-worn journal. He flipped to a fresh page and hurriedly wrote down what you told him. He would ask about the rest of your potions - their uses, ingredients (you withheld the specifics; it was forbidden for Witchers to divulge how they’re made), discovery. When the topic came up, you told him (and even demonstrated a few) of the spells Witchers could cast. Axii fascinated him the most.

As you busied yourself with grinding herbs, mixing potions, and preparing for tomorrow, the questions trailed off. When the silence returned, it was intermixed with snores. Still sitting upright, pencil in one hand, and journal in the other, Jaskier was fast asleep.

You saved the journal from falling to the floor and tucked the pencil inside. After a moment of consideration, you worked to carefully remove his jacket, laying it with the journal on the stool. All it took was a little shove to get him to lay down. He curled into the flat pillow instantly, cradling it longways under his head and to his chest. You covered him with the thin sheets, blew out the lantern, and sat on the floor beside the bed. Your cloak acted as a blanket, and the dagger from your bag became your new defensive weapon.

You fell asleep to the distant sound of crickets and the bard’s heavy breathing.

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@adozenforks

@plaguedoctorsnake

@solomonsimp

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