#regis makes geralt need life alert

[gerlat-apreciation]

Vampiric Protectors Part 1

Ciri, Geralt, and Avallac’h are travelling worlds and about to go home, when Ciri, low on energy and distracted, teleports all three of them to a separate place. Geralt finds himself in a world seemingly like his own, but Regis and Dettlaff are younger, and one is much much more drunk.

This was beta-read by @oversharingskeptic !! Thank you hun for the help!

Also!! I’d like to thank @witcher-not-quitter , @gridelincarver , and @sosaisdming for helping with the idea!

———————————————————————-

Geralt gripped onto Ciri’s hand, their fingers intertwining. Ciri and Avallac’h’s harsh breaths ringing out from the poisonous gas that filled their lungs. Geralt, was unaffected. Witchers could hold their breath much longer than any human or elf ever could. Speaking of elves, the witcher's eyes met the sage’s from behind Ciri’s back, grey meeting brilliant gold, They both immediately glared at each other, Geralt taking the time to bare his sharpened teeth, the elf returned it, albeit with much blunter teeth. Geralt stifled a laugh.

“Are you two ready?” Ciri breathed, looking at them, who suddenly had innocent looks on their faces. Ciri huffed in disappointment, and Geralt suddenly felt guilty, but, taking one last look at the stunning but brutal world around him, he nodded, a soft grunt in his throat to speak for him, his throat felt raspier than usual. He waved it off to the gas, and let the feeling of his daughter moving worlds overcome him.

Time itself seemed to slow, which gave the witcher enough time to be overcome with a feeling. Pride. Pride for his daughter, who had come so far from the little girl running the halls of Kaer Morhen, following around Eskel, or Vesemir like a baby duckling, chirping for stories, or someone to play with her. Geralt had to admit to himself, she was very good at emotional blackmail. He was proud of that too, just like Lambert.. he couldn’t say no to the tiny thing, clinging to his thigh and giving him the dreaded puppy eyes. If Geralt could shiver he would, those puppy eyes forced him into an odd tea party here and there, and now he permanently holds a teacup with a pinky out. No matter how much his brothers told him his courtly manners would be godlike, he didn’t agree.

He was brought back to himself by the sharp sting of hitting the ground, on his back. He opened his eyes and was met with the bright sun, he groaned. What the hell, he thought, a scowl forming on his face. Slowly, he sat up, taking in his surroundings slowly, letting it sink in. During their travels with Ciri, they got separated often, but quickly came back together. But earlier, Geralt reminded himself that Ciri told them both her energy was going low, and that this teleport would be the one that would take them home.

So he was stuck here for a little bit, okay. That was fine. As Geralt drew into a stand, he groaned once more, hands going over his head and curling his back. A simple stretch that popped his back in the same go. Afterwards, Geralt adjusted his many belts, potions, and bombs, then sniffed the air, once, twice, thrice. Soon after the smell of civilization filled his nose, mostly cow and pig shit, but the faint tones of human sweat. There was something about it that made it significantly human. Probably the large amounts of salt? There was something about it that smelled like a bad mix of salt and onion, where and why they ate that much salt Geralt didn’t know, neither did he know about the onion thing. He’d have to ask Regis if he ever got the chance again. Not that he would, or could, Regis was in Nilfgaard, after he hunted down Dettlaff.

Geralt sighed once again, brooding at the loss of his trusty companion, who was always by his side. Sadly Ciri couldn’t teleport him, Avallac’h, herself, and Roach travelling different worlds, but it would have been nice to be able to ride his mare the long distance to the village. But without his trusted companion and confidant, he would have to walk, and of course, Geralt being himself, would complain the entire way there. What was stopping him? Gaunter?

Geralt held back another laugh, he wouldn’t be bothering anybody anytime soon.

So he turned his attention back to following the scent of humans, brooding and complaining the entire way there, in his head of course. Vesemir would have his ass if he found out he complained in view of random people.

**

“You can’t possibly be asking that much for a zeugel!!”

The human male gasped. He was reaching his fortieth winter, with two healthy girls who currently had their heads pressed to the bedroom door, watching them argue. Geralt resisted the urge to eat him instead of a turkey from a nearby inn. Of course that was a joke, he wouldn’t leave the girls without a parent. So, Geralt just sighed in reply.

“150?” He offered. Eyebrows pinching in suppressed anger, he could feel his mutations working overtime to pull back the surprisingly powerful urge to punch this man. But, as if Gaunter himself, the man of mirrors, dickhead extreme, pressed a gentle kiss to his left ass, because the man instantly nodded, and relief flooded each man.

Maybe Gaunter was back..

Nah.

Geralt grunted in agreement, and turned on his heel, slamming the door shut as soon as he exited, and made his way to the location provided, a sewer entrance a little out of town, which flowed into a river that curled around a mountain that the little village was nestled in. It was..quaint..the white haired witcher kneeled in front of the entrance, taking his silver sword and a sharpening stone, raking it quickly against the sides, not enough to chip or damage, the smooth movements calming the swordsman.

Soon after he stands once more, downing a blizzard and a wraith decoction, just to be safe. Geralt was experienced, yes, but even master witchers had trouble with grown zeugls. As the potions slipped down his throat, he shivered, the tingling sensation of his quickened movements caused him to move with an inhuman swiftness, more so than he already did. With grace, he stepped into the sewer tunnel and directly into the flowing water of it. The wolf had no time for disgust, he had a job to do. Walking down the tunnel once more whilst trying to push out every thought of how disgusting it is, he came into a larger room with thick brick walls, and while the entrance was now far far back, he could still see enough to not have to down a cat. Piles and piles of trash, knick knacks, and whatchamacallits that even a blacksmith had no name for, he sniffed the air. Of course the first thing that he smelled was the invasive and frankly rude scent of the piss and shit of the larger (and wealthier) civilization down the road. Of course they built through the mountain, and allowed the probably humongous zeugl to be the villagers problem. This was another of the many reasons on Geralt’s list that he didn’t like nobles in the slightest. But, under all the stench he smelled rotting flesh and the unique rancid stench of a zeugl.

Now that he knew where it was, he started looking closely. He was most likely sharing a room with the thing.

With a little bit of help from his nose, he found a tentacle resting on the edge of the side path. As the Witcher stepped towards it to cut it off and initiate the fight, the floor suddenly cracked, and broke.

He was falling.

And falling.

And falling.

And now he hit the ground, sword tightly gripped in his palm.

There were many many hisses, hisses of Arachas in fact. Fuck.

Geralt sprang up, inhumanly fast and cast a stream of ingi, momentarily lighting the five Arachas (five Arachas too many) on fire. Geralt then, in a smooth movement, flittered to one and started cutting. 1,2,5. Twirling around and snapping his wrist left and right in the move affectionately named ‘Whirl’ by Vesemir. Very soon after the Arachas was very dead, and he moved onto the next one, the others were still on fire. Repeating the move on the second Arachas, they were quickly downed as well. The shrieks of death and the ones on fire filling his ears like daggers.

Not soon after, he had three of them on both his left, right, and front. Geralt in response lurched to the side to get the one on the left, only for the ones on the middle and right to attack him from behind. He growled, rolling away from the three quickly.

There was another, fourth hiss. One of a venomous Arachas. Geralt’s heart was too busy pounding in his ears for him to be able to tell where it was coming from. Grabbing a dancing star from his hip, he slung it in an arcing motion, the Arachas in turn light right back on fire.

But, while attacking, he, in a rookie move, forgot about the very venomous and very dangerous Arachas behind him, and he felt a bite in his thigh and venom filling his muscles. Vision dizzying, he stumbled, gasping and growling desperately to stay awake. But the world was swimming, Geralt couldn’t keep his balance and his vision was going dark. In the commotion Geralt’s sword slipped from his hand causing the Witcher to panic, he keened, and then everything went black. The last thing the Witcher saw was a figure surrounded by smoke lurching at the Arachas from the shadows, claws extended and teeth bared as smoke twisted around their form.

[gayregis]

i wrote this before on how character appearance/dress affects their characterization in the witcher:

geralt:

wears regular jerkin or jacket despite being a swordsman, clothes are old usually. he doesnt have money for clothes NOR for food

his boots being dusty suggests he travels a lot. in baptism of fire iirc he literally steals the boots off of a dead man because ya know. footwear is expensive

he is not affiliated with any kind of higher order, military, etc. the only order he belongs to is the caste of witchers, represented in his coin-like medallion, which he sometimes hides under his shirt (suggesting he would like to hide this part of his identity, or perhaps is always alert and wary because he wants to keep the bauble that warns him of magic and danger close to him)

always wears stupid headband. because he is stubborn 

use of dark colors, combined with white hair, and gaunt features, is reminiscent of death, but also suggests that he wants to blend into the shadows and not be noticed

yennefer:

extremely well-dressed, formal but not extravagant, black and white ONLY, earrings and necklace ONLY. she is not looking to show off, but she is looking to make a statement. her image is specifically crafted and well-thought through, demonstrating her ability to plan

she is powerful as she is a sorceress and has enough money to dress well, but does not flaunt this and is not outwardly arrogant about it, she is tastefully feminine and "classy" and focuses on this self-image. 

lack of color suggests to me that she may hide her innermost feelings and desires, she does not lay all of her cards on the table

she thinks a lot about what she does before she does it. seen in how restricted her wardrobe is, she has obviously put a lot of thought into how she presents herself.

dandelion: 

always wearing some different shit, all colors of the rainbow, sometimes he curls his hair sometimes he doesnt, hes grown his hair out over the course of the series, he does have an iconic bonnet though

he does not and perhaps cannot settle on one thing, one place, one love, one song, one outfit. hes everything at once.

he doesnt restrict himself to any one thing, hes all about extravagance and enjoying life and earthly pleasures

hes very open about what he feels and what he likes, he may have put thought into what he wears but in eternal flame he suggests that geralt "doesnt follow the fashion," suggesting that he himself does

he never has money to eat or drink but is somehow always wearing something different? so. "please help me budget: 300 crowns on blue kaftan, 20 crowns on passiflora, 0 crowns on food"

iconic bonnet is about his fame and how he enjoys it and enjoys being recognized

ciri:

sod: a little princess wears nice princess clothes! she is wealthy and has enough to be dressed finely

sm: she has adopted the wear of the wealthy peasantry who have been hosting her, left to the kindness of strangers

boe: she has lost everything. her jerkin is sewn shittily from scraps because her dad is trying, but he sucks at thse finer things in life

toc: her outfit is nice, but doesn’t stand out. yennefer has taste and also is trying to keep her presence a secret bc she knows she is a target

bof: shes wearing a beret and a bandana and stuff because shes a teenager experimenting in things, including her own cruelty. keep in mind how the rats only procure nice things by stealing them or stealing gold

tos: shes horribly injured and thus is wearing bandages

lotl: not really specified iirc but shes just ya know. a girl . and maybe that also means something, about how shes JUST a child and shes just been a little girl all this time

milva:

"men's clothes" = she is gender nonconforming, she doesn’t find it empowering to play to ideals of feminity and instead has beat the men at their own game

braid = she has come from an upbringing which values women's virginity. this is a virgin's plait, which she then cuts when she feels that she “doesn’t deserve it,” which demonstrates how her social upbringing has affected her self esteem and valuation

regis:

black cloak = you Are a vampire. it is obvious

apron and medic’s bag = you Are a doctor. it is obvious

cahir:

bird of prey helmet scars ciris nightmares, armor is imperial and represents the empire, he actually has nothing of his own, which represents that he has no individual identity under being an agent of imperialism

armor that he had to take off dead bodies because he needed protection, demonstrates how he didnt have shit like he did when he was back home, he has to scrounge as he is in exile

[vampire--dad]

Can’t Win A Battle For A Lost Cause - Part 1

Part 2

I don’t think I’ve ever written something so quickly, wow

I just love writing Lambert. I love exploring his character and breaking it down. And of course, as with any of my favourite characters, I love hurting him :DD

——————

Fucking vampires.

Monsters are so much easier to deal with when they’re stupid, like nekkers. Nekkers are idiots that would probably walk into a sword on their own if you gave them the chance. Vampires are smart, which is half the reason Lambert hates taking contracts on them. They know how to hide, or even worse, they know when they don’t need to. The whole damn duchy knows the duke’s new wife is a vampire, but none can get close enough to kill her. So what do they do? They hire a witcher, someone who can add more fuel to this political bonfire and walk away unscathed, right? Yeah, sure, that’s what we’ll go with.

From this spot in the lower gardens of the duke’s mansion, Lambert can see the vampire on the balcony. The guards are well aware that he’s there, they’re the ones that hired him, but they couldn’t let him inside in case a servant alerted the duke of an unwanted visitor. So here he sits, hidden among the bushes, watching. She’s ballsy, this vampire, sinking her teeth into his neck under the moonlight. The power she has over the duchy must have gone to her head, or the blood, but he knows he can’t underestimate her. Blood is almost like alcohol for a higher vampire, but that doesn’t mean she’ll be weak, if anything, this is going to be even more of a pain in the ass.

The duke stumbles back into their bedroom and the creature turns her face to the moon, her skin a ghostly white and nearly shimmering under the pale light. It seems to pass right through her, as she casts no shadow. Lambert shifts his weight under him and stays low as he creeps along the wall. The ivy that clings to the bricks is strong enough for him to haul himself up to the balcony. As quiet as he can try to be, he’d be an idiot to think she didn’t notice him.

“Tell me, witcher,” she says, opening her icy blue eyes but not turning away from the sky. “How much did they offer you for my head? I’d like to know how much they thought I’d be worth.”

“Looking to buy your way out of this?” Lambert replies. “I’ll warn you, it won’t be cheap.”

“Please, witcher. Killing you will be easier… and more fun.”

Lambert barely has time to roll his eyes before the vampire launches herself at him and they tumble over the edge of the balcony. He was really hoping she wouldn’t say that. He hits the ground with a grunt, barely holding the snarling duchess back. He mumbles something under his breath and suddenly she is launched across the garden, hitting the far wall and slumping against it for a moment. Lambert draws his sword and rolls his neck, considering what he might do with his reward for killing her. Well, not that he can really kill her. Hopefully her body being burned will teach her a lesson while she spends a few decades regenerating.

Her head lolls for a moment, but then she becomes very still. Her neatly manicured nails grow into long, razor sharp claws. The delicate features of her face are drawn back into a hideous, animalistic form. She lifts her head with a disgusting grin. Lambert centres himself and raises his sword as she launches herself at him once again. The duke’s blood has her all riled up. She’s crazed, swiping her claws at him and screeching, only to be met with his blade, at the very least redirecting her attacks away from his body. The witcher can’t risk taking his eyes off her for a second, lest he lose an arm to her talons. She’s lightning fast, but she is at a disadvantage. If she slips up, his sword will tear through her like paper.

His blade catches against her arm. She roars, more out of indignation than pain, but her pause gives him an opening. He surges forwards and his blade plunges through her lithe figure, lodged just beneath her ribcage. A crimson stain blooms across her abdomen and her breath leaves her lungs suddenly. Her claws recede, followed by the rough features of her face. She assumes the gentle beauty she used to get herself into this mess in the first place. Lambert smirks cruelly and cocks his head.

“Fucking vampires. You’re all the same,” he says. “You all think you’re the biggest and baddest thing out there. It’s pathetic, really, how cocky you all are. I’ve faced far worse things than you, sweetheart. You really think your kind is the worst on the Continent?”

His words light a cold fire in her dying eyes. She grins, baring her fangs.

“See for yourself.”

She grips the hilt of his sword and pulls herself into it, the blade sliding through her body with an obscene sound. With the last of her strength she throws her weight forward, opens her mouth and latches onto Lambert’s neck. He groans out a curse, expecting to feel a drag against his skin. He’s been bitten before, but those before her quickly learned that witcher blood tastes vile. But he feels no such drag from his veins, rather he feels a burning sensation spreading across his skin. Suddenly he feels dizzy and short of breath. He feels her smile wickedly against his throat. His knees buckle beneath him. The last thing he hears is a cruel laugh, a sputtering cough, and the sound of his own body hitting the ground.

Lambert wakes with a yelp in an unfamiliar room. He grips the sheets and feels something sharp pressing into his palm through the linen. As he recoils, he notices the pointed nails on his fingers and frowns. Then his memory comes flooding back.

The vampire. His hand finds a bandage wrapped loosely around his neck. She bit him, but didn’t feed. No, he felt something going in instead. It burned like hellfire through his veins. He vaguely remembers being picked up by the guards… then everything ached… he vomited a few times, he thinks. It wasn’t unlike the trials that made him a witcher. With wide eyes he stumbles out of the bed and, in the soft light from the window, looks for a shadow. Nothing. He looks up at the window now, expecting to see his reflection, but yet again, there is nothing.

Shit.

Shit.

He runs his tongue over his teeth and tastes blood. His canines have grown long and sharp.

Fuck.

She turned him. He’s a vampire.

He runs a hand through his hair. What the fuck is he meant to do now? He was made to hunt monsters, it’s all he knows, and now… he is one. Destiny really can’t give him a fucking break, huh? He sighs and sits back down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. What are his brothers going to think? They wouldn’t try to hurt him… would they? He’s their brother…

He stops that train of thought the moment tears threaten to well up in his eyes. Now isn’t the time. He needs to figure out what to do. Perhaps there’s someone who can help him… His mind wanders back to his brother’s, but instead of getting emotional, he latches onto a vague memory. Geralt’s friend, what was his name…? Regis. That was it. A higher vampire that Geralt had befriended on his search for Ciri all those years ago. He mentioned he had taken up residence in Nilfgaard. Lambert can think of no better person to go to than another vampire.

Well, he can. He wants to go to his brothers. He wants to find them and just hear them say that they still love him. That’s all he wants and all he fears he won’t get. How could anyone love him like this?

Lambert shakes his head and stands, finding his things in the corner of the room. His medallion rests atop his jacket. He puts it on and clutches it to his chest, ignoring the feeling that he shouldn’t wear it at all. He dresses quickly, collects his things, and emerges from the room into a shop he recognises. The healer’s. He bought a few herbs from the woman who now stands at her workbench across the room. She looks up at him with a friendly smile.

“You’re up,” she states. “Good. How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” he lies quickly. “I should be on my way.”

“A moment, witcher. I assure you I won’t breathe a word of it, but… can witchers be turned if they’re bitten by a vampire?”

“No,” he lies once again. “Our bodies reject their… venom, I guess you could call it. We can’t be turned.”

He notices her glance at the floor behind him as he makes for the door.

“Very well,” she says carefully. “I wish you the best in your travels.”

Nilfgaard, to Regis’ surprise, is quite peaceful. Winneburg is a big enough place for him to fade into the background, but small enough that he doesn’t run the risk of getting involved in any silly political games again. His home is humble, but thankfully filled with books and things to keep the endless days passing by quicker.

It came as a relief to him to live a normal life again, or at least the mirage of one. He is generally regarded as one of the more reliable surgeons in town, as he had studied enough to know that blood-letting and leeches never work and opts for the use of medicinal herbs and salves for wounds. After all, he’d had almost 400 years to perfect his trade.

He knows he has a visitor well before the knock at the door sounds through the small house. He hears footsteps, hurried and nervous. Regis closes his book and sets it aside, expecting someone in need of his care. Instead, on the other side of the door stands a witcher. He has dark brown hair, a scar across his right eye, and he wears the same medallion that he saw around the neck of an old friend.

There’s a look in the man’s yellow eyes he’s never seen in a witcher before. Fear. Geralt was good at hiding his emotions, brilliant at it. Over the years he saw many things in his friends’ eyes; joy, despair, anger, content, but never fear. That was the one thing he never showed. But this one seems unable to hide it.

“Regis?” he asks.

“Yes, witcher?”

Given a moment to analyse the man before him, Regis quickly realises why he is here. Small details give him away. The bluish tint to his skin that makes him look far paler than he should be. The small cuts around his lips. The pointed nails that he digs into his palms as he looks around nervously.

“I need your help,” he pleads.

“I know. Come in, we have much to discuss.”

He stands aside and lets the man in, noticing the tension in his shoulders and the bags under his eyes. It’s not uncommon to see such things when someone is turned, but he’s never seen a witcher turned. He can’t imagine what this must be like for him.

“What is your name, witcher?” he asks as he closes the door.

“Lambert,” he says. “I’m one of Geralt’s brothers.”

Regis can’t help a small smile as he says, “Yes, I do remember him mentioning you. He spoke of his little brother quite fondly.”

Lambert seems to grow even more nervous at the mention of his brother. Regis drops the subject and gets to the point.

“How long ago were you bitten?”

“A week or so.”

“Where? Show me, it’s not uncommon for bites to get infected.”

Lambert sheds his leather jacket and rubs his neck before tilting his head to bare the scar. He had spent what little coin he could spare on a new jacket with a higher collar. Regis notes his lack of eye contact. Anxiety isn’t a good look on a witcher.

“That healed quite nicely, actually. Of course. Now, where was this?”

“A duchy in Maecht. The duke’s new wife was a higher vampire. She was slowly draining him of—”

Lambert pauses and curses under his breath. His fingers come away from his lips bloody.

“Pull your fangs back a little,” Regis says. “It should feel like tensing the roof of your mouth, and it might hurt a bit, but try it.”

Lambert finally looks up at him with a look of surprise, like he didn’t expect to be met with compassion. He makes an odd face as he tries, then clamps a hand over his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. Regis chuckles slightly.

“I told you it would hurt.”

“Yeah, a bit…” Lambert grumbles

“You’ll get used to it. Now, a higher vampire in Maecht? What has become of her?” Regis asks.

“I assume the duke’s guards burned her body like I told them to. It’ll at least put her out of action for a few decades.”

“Good. I assume you know there is nothing I can do for you in terms of curing you—”

“Yes, I know,” Lambert snaps. “I just… I needed someone to… I needed…”

Now that he thinks of it, he can’t explain exactly why he came here. He just thought seeking out someone who knew better than he did what was happening to him would be a good idea.

“Guidance,” Regis finishes for him, his tone comforting and soft. “That is what you’re looking for. Guidance and reassurance. Would I be right in thinking so?”

Lambert nods meekly. Regis offers him a comforting smile.

“Fret not, dear witcher,” he says. “You can stay with me while you find your footing. I may not have been turned myself, but I can understand what this must be like for you.”

Lambert resembles a puppy more closely than a wolf. He looks far more vulnerable than Regis had ever pictured him. Geralt had described a man with biting humour, a tendency for sharp remarks, and more often than not, a cruel smirk. But the man Regis sees before him is, for lack of a better word, broken.

“Thank you, Regis,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck again.

“Come, Lambert. Let’s get you settled in. I have a spare room, you can stay as long as you like.”

——————

Tags: @elliestormfound @jaskierswolf @lovelyeskel @feral-jaskier @patchwork-doublet

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!!

[hamliet]

I finished The Witcher Saga

I’m not okay, no. 

8.5/10 though. That’s pretty high for me. 

I will say this: it’s lovely to have a fantasy series explore the female gaze and female autonomy without even defining the characters by the men in their lives. Looking at you Star Wars and Game of Thrones. Not that it’s flawless, because it’s not, but it ultimately fulfills its theme: destiny is not determinism. Destiny is hope. 

I’ll do metas later (I have like four outlined, lol). For now have my sarcastic summaries of each book (spoiler alert):

The Last Wish:

Yennefer: I don't need your help!

Geralt: Unfortunately I've managed to somehow f*ck up Snow White, Rapunzel and Rumplestiltskin, the Frog Prince, and Beauty and the Beast; I'm not letting Aladdin end badly. My nonexistent childhood is at stake. 

Jaskier: Man I'm going to have to sanitize all these stories before publishing under my alias, the Brothers Grimm.

Sword of Destiny:

Geralt: The Little Mermaid and the Snow Queen are now dead to me too.

Yennefer: Crushing childhood fantasies? You're the personification of life itself.

Geralt: If I'm life itself then I can surely protect Ciri's life but not her childhood but hell, I'm gonna try.

Yennefer: ...

Yennefer: I didn't mean that so literally but damn, I'm good.

Blood of Elves:

Geralt: I am a good single dad who don’t need no help. I can do this myself.

Triss: Now where have I heard that before...

Geralt: I don't need Yennefer's help.

Triss: Are you going to talk to Ciri about periods and PMS?

Geralt:

Geralt: I heard a kikimora calling.

Time of Contempt:

Yennefer: Geralt, make love to me like it's the last night on earth.

*half a chapter later*

Yennefer: I didn’t mean to make it the actual last night on earth. 

Baptism of Fire:

Yennefer: right so... the fate of my daughter rests in the hands of:

my on/off non-communicative sulking baby of a boyfriend

a vampire dad

a pregnant teenage elf cosplayer

an overdramatic slam poet

a goth trying to overcome his Edgar Allen Poe stage

Yennefer: I think the task of saving our daughter who ran off with a group of backpacking millennials falls to me.

Yennefer: Also: Regis, adopt me; Milva, I'm godmother; Jaskier, shut up; Cahir, just embrace the aesthetic; Geralt, we're on again.

The Tower of Swallows:

Geralt: I haven't had the chance to exercise my Dad instincts lately. I hate everything. I especially hate you Cahir. Please do something to justify my hatred.

Cahir: I shall handle this insult to my honor most maturely. *punches Geralt in the face*

Milva: *spanks both of them like misbehaving children*

Three days later:

Cahir: *is wounded*

Angoulême: exists

Geralt: *Dad mode activated* much better.

Lady of the Lake:

Geralt: instead of destroying traditional fairy tales I’ve moved on to modern ones. 

Milva Amidala: deserved better than life gave her.

Angoulême Erso: This is a rebellion isn't it? It's not? Oh well. I rebel.

Regis Skywalker: goes full emo but dies like the hero he is.

Darth Emhyr Palpatine: fucked and still fucks; have fun with that image in your nightmares.

Vilgefotz the Hutt: thinks imprisoning Yennefer was a good idea.

Boba Bonhart: deserves a Sarlacc fate.

Cahir Ren: dies after a glimpse of reciprocation from his crush.

Geralt Solo and Yennefer Organa: lo, are with their adopted daughter always, just not physically.

Ciri: is able to become Just Ciri because she is enough.

[celticbabs13]

CHAPTER 22 - Shadow of Destiny - Added!

Summary:

With a couple months before Ciri's due date, Geralt traveled to Toussaint, the fairy-tale duchy in northern Nilfgaard with its knights, tourney, a fair share of mysteries, and with hopes of finding a home there. The contract was to kill The Beast of Beauclair that terrorized the region. Gamers know the events of the DLC expansion Blood and Wine happen here and it's assumed the reader has played through that awesome story line.

However, things did not go as planned and Geralt faces the consequences of choosing the lesser evil. It's Midsummer's Eve and as Ciri's time draws near, a rather serious obstacle stands in his way in getting back to her. But in the midst of this struggle, he realizes his true feelings for Ciri. Will Geralt make it back to her in time to greet his son into the world? Readers and gamers alike will love the return of Geralt's good friend Regis - a higher vampire from the good old days... :)

**CONTENT WARNING - SPOILER ALERT - This chapter contains spoilers regarding the Blood and Wine DLC expansion and follows one possible ending. Mild use of strong language.**

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Chapter Excerpt:

Unable to breathe, a frigid chill raced down his spine, clamping closed his throat. Hands shook in his lap and his heart pounded in his ears affecting his hearing and clouded any ability to think.

CIRI.

“He’s all yours.” De la Tour turned and gestured at the guards.

Geralt did not even hear the warden enter nor Damien passing the orders of his execution.

CIRI!

No… NO! He couldn't die now, not when his son would arrive in a matter of days! He had to be there for it... witness it! He must be there for Ciri!

Rough hands gouged into his shoulders yanking him out of the chair. Shoving him out of the warden's office, he staggered down the steps, knees weak, feet numb. Slipping, he tumbled into the guard ahead of him knocking him forward. In a rage, the guard whirled and clobbered him in the jaw with the back of a studded glove, the force of the blow sent him reeling into the wall. Cracking his head against the stone, a sharp pain hammered his temples. Wincing, he regained his footing. Merciless hands clutched his arms, hauling him away.

Glancing behind, Damien de la Tour stood at the top of the steps, watching him with a grave gaze. The warden, behind him, rough and weathered, looked as if he had just been roused from bed, rolled up a parchment and tucked it away in a desk drawer. The letter declaring his death.

A silver glint caught his eye when the warden turned around. A silver chain with a wolf-head medallion dangled from a front pocket. Geralt still wore his medallion… the bastard had Ciri’s pendant - the one he had killed that crone to retrieve! It was a gift for her, the blasted son of a whore!

Shoved from behind, he stumbled down the rest of the steps and in another minute, bodily hurled inside his cell. Crashing to the floor, he slid across loose pebbles scraping knees, palms and elbows. The door slammed closed behind him.

"Sleep tight, Witcher," mocked pockmarked man and the other guards hooted along with him.

Sucking in air, Geralt curled up on the floor, struggling to breathe as the lock slid home and the jangle of keys rattled in his soul. The symbolism hit too close to home.

Bloody hell! This wasn't happening! He would not miss the most important and exciting thing to happen in his life! Fuck this place! To hell with Corvo Bianco and Toussaint! He was sentenced to death, he wouldn't need it anymore so why the fuck was he holding himself here?!

Hauling himself to his feet, he groaned at the throbbing pain in his jaw and temples. Clutching the bars of the window, he gazed out across the mirror-like surface of the lake, and at the city celebrating the arrival of summer. Music reached him, the smells of savory food, cheerful and laughing voices. The sounds of... Life. He had a hand in bringing a life into this world and he was not, by the gods, going to lose his.

It would be dawn in another couple hours. Clenching his teeth, he swiped back grimy hair and stood straight. No witcher died in his bed. Nor rot in prison awaiting execution. At least none that he knew of and he'd be damned if he were the first.

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Read the entire chapter HERE on AO3!

Many Thanks to @vic-of-thor again for your continued support and kindness. 

Many THANKS TO ALL THE READERS WHO HAVE STUCK WITH THIS STORY FOR OVER A YEAR AND CONTINUE TO SHOW ENTHUSIASM. I am so grateful and humbled that this non-canon story-line has been well received. THANK YOU!

[witcherfic]

CorvoBianco May 08, 2020 at 10:45PM

by CorvoBianco

Ciri, Geralt, and Avallac’h are travelling worlds and about to go home, when Ciri, low on energy and distracted, teleports all three of them to a separate place.

Geralt finds himself in a world seemingly like his own, but Regis and Dettlaff are younger, and one is much much more drunk.

Words: 1559, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Dettlaff van der Eretein, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy

Relationships: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dettlaff van der Eretein/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Dettlaff van der Eretein/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dettlaff van der Eretein/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia

Additional Tags: ot3: witcher sandwich, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Post-Hearts of Stone (The Witcher 3 DLC), The Witcher 3 Spoilers, Regis needs better friends, Dettlaff crushing, Dettlaff shy, Young!Regis, Young!Dettlaff, Geralt needs a brace for his knee, protective vampires, flustered Geralt and Regis, Regis has a huge manor he knows nothing to do with, Geralt helps, taking the saying “sword or no sword a Witcher brings gore” to the next level, forks as weapons, Regis makes Geralt need Life Alert

[gayregis]

ok also. i don't think geralt's into pet names BUT he's really just like. thoroughly physically affectionate. like he's not good with words but he knows very well just how and where his bf wants to be kissed and touched and what makes him feel good and what makes him feel appreciated both in terms of sex and in just in general and in turn jaskier is very vocal abt how good geralt makes him feel or abt how much he really appreciates him and his company and how he loves him bc They Know Each Other

in a little sacrifice when geralt begins tripping over his words around dandelion and essi... he was shortcircuiting from the pressure of having to speak in front of two poets. ... the thing is that geralt has the capability to be incredibly eloquent, but it’s only when he’s not thinking about it, and also usually when it’s about something he scorns, or a hateful situation (the nature of humanity, impending doom, the dangers and woes that ciri is facing...) ... when he has to speak about good things and love, he kind of becomes reduced to “you make me feel good in my heart :)” 

i know that this isn’t the ship on the table right now, but, i mean, it took geralt four books and like what, 10 years, to tell yennefer he loved her... i feel like with dandelion, there was less, ahem, drama in their relationship (they don’t really on again/off again, it’s more of a mutual everlasting thing) so it could have gotten to that point sooner between them, but it also has to be considered when exactly it turns romantic or geralt Realizes that he’s not only capable of love but legitimately loves dandelion ... not just in a friend way... 

(personally i understand the appeal of a ship that has love at first sight, but i really like the “love at second sight” dynamic in which they realize they’re important to each other right off the bat but only really realize their feelings later... also i think falling in love / realizing that you have fallen in love with your best friend is a common gay/bi experience...)

so i like to put the estimate of when geralt Realizes actually exactly at the point where dudu changes into dandelion in eternal flame. because at that moment geralt realizes that all he wanted to do when faced with dandelion is hold him, talk with him, be with him somewhere quiet, peaceful, and safe... that he loves him, even if he is wearing that stupid gaudy blue kaftan... that all he ever feels towards dandelion is this desire to be with him, spend time with him, protect him from anything that may come their way... dudu and geralt in this moment both were expecting geralt to raise his sword, geralt was already reluctant and never wants to harm innocents, but after dudu shifted form into dandelion, any kind of drive he possibly could have had for unsheathing his blade in an act of violence just got knocked out of him, blew away like the wind. (also worth noting that right before dudu shifted into dandelion’s form, he was in geralt’s form, and that only made geralt actually more OK with using violence than he was with dudu in any other form... geralt’s self-loathing knows. only a few bounds.)

the reason why i bring it back to this time geralt realizes he’s in love is because of that moment where all he wants is to just sheathe his sword, rush forward, and hold dandelion in his arms... feeling horror at the fact that his sword is glistening in his hand. he doesn’t know what to say, actually, in this moment. the dialogue becomes a monologue as dudu continues speaking in dandelion’s voice and form, and where geralt is supposed to repond, it just says: “geralt nodded reluctantly.” “the witcher said nothing.” “the witcher said nothing.” i interpret this scene as him basically being paralyzed with feelings, especially after a shard of ice where he and istredd went toe-to-toe and was told he can’t experience love because it’s a biological impossibility. he’s still thinking about this question throughout eternal flame, and it comes to a head in this scene, because what else, other than love, stayed his blade, paralyzed him?

geralt’s situation relating to his feelings and love are intensely complex. it’s not the simple “oh i have feelings for you but i’m too abashed to say them uwu,” but rather “i was born to be emotionless so i could fill a societal role and specific caste laid out for me but your presence in my life has changed everything and now i think i might be able to feel love, and i feel love for you” ... so yeah he has difficulty verbalizing all of that. especially when he hasn’t had a traditional upbringing with the presence of fairy tales and stories of love told to him since childhood, he’s missed out on a lot of “normal” societal things like this so he does not have a framework to understand his feelings through! no one told geralt that when you want to spend night and day with someone, sleep in the same bed, talk to them endlessly, and you feel like you can be completely honest and truly yourself and seen for who you really are around somebody... that’s love! 

before dandelion’s presence in geralt’s life, the idea of pleasant touch was really foreign to geralt. from contracts, he felt claws and teeth and maybe the sewing of a wound afterwards. from other contact with other humans, he felt nothing except the ocassional contemptous spitting or throwing of stones (legit what it says in the last wish). the witchers in KM seem to go for that masc shit (he and eskel hug for an imperceptable moment, blink and you’ll miss it) and i can imagine witchers roughhouse for fun and stuff like that, but in the outside world, with no one who could ever understand who he is, what he is, what role he was meant to play... it’s a very isolating life. 

i’m stealing an entire paragraph from this other post i wrote a while ago: “tbh there was probably an entire first week of their friendship where geralt flinched or became immediately alert when dandelion got close to him to speak, touch his arm in jest or gentle motion, or grabbed onto his hand, forearm, or sleeve in anxiety, because geralt just…. wasn’t used to anyone touching him, even in a passing or platonic manner.” geralt wasn’t used to kind touch, but he has highly trained mind-body coordination. i think in one part of tower of the swallow in a chapter prelude, witchers are called a “caste of warrior-priests” which just makes me think of the monk class in D&D... which can be a good analogy. geralt is NOT just a sellsword. his profession goes entirely much deeper, it’s literally what he was genetically altered to perform. this is why he has such a difficult time separating himself from his work, because it almost cannot be done. witchers do undergo extensive training, and especially individuals like geralt who are focused on ethics and morality take time to reconcile the physical and mental effects on their body. it’s not really just “guy with sword feels things physically bc that’s just how he’s wired,” but geralt has really tuned his soul and body together as a result of both his profession and coping with being forced into his profession.

so i think when dandelion introduces this concept of good touch to him in addition to the idea that he can be loved / deserves companionship, it’s natural for geralt as he becomes more in-tune with his emotions to feel them more physically. i ask whomstever is reading to take their mind out of the gutter bc this part at least is a nonsexual context, because they can put it straight back into the gutter later, since this post does involve dandelion.geralt’s emotions are practically on the same level of chronic pain as his shattered leg later on in the series. you know when you feel despair and grief in your chest, the tingling sensation of love in your arms and shoulders, the bristling anger on the back of your neck... it’s along those lines. 

so when he’s feeling emotions very heavily, and can’t begin to craft the statement beginning with, “so, i’m not supposed to feel emotions, but...” he just acts with his body. this can actually be seen in all the times he saves dandelion, saves yennefer (debatable b/c she’s pretty badass; it’s more like he helped her), and when he just runs to ciri without even needing to say anything in something more. 

in his worst times, geralt’s a man of philosophy and surmising and indecisiveness... like in baptism of fire, regis says that the cardinal directions have no meaning to him, as long as he is going somewhere... he paces around, and also like in baptism of fire, the song about the ornery wolf... look how the wolf dances in the holt / teeth bared, tail waving, leaping like a colt (...) look how the wolf is dragging his paws / head drooping, tail hanging, clenching his jaws (...)” ... but in his best times, he’s a man of action. he acts when it’s most important.

ok time to put your head back into the gutter now! i’ll put the nsfw stuff under a cut to save all of your eyes

this part can be treated like an add-on to the post. wow, all this writing just to say geralt doesn’t suck at sex... ok. 

well in terms of geralt x dandelion i think that after their first time together, dandelion accuses him of lying about how many people he’s fucked, because ‘it can’t possibly be that small of a number’ because geralt wasn’t awkward. he was very emotional as to be expected, but also we know he doesn’t tend to show emotions on his face, so the intense rippling feeling of love & desire he feels when dandelion pushes his hair back behind his ear flew under the radar. which is good in geralt’s perspective, because he strongly feels that it would be embarassing if dandelion knew how much he’s affected by him. honestly similarly, dandelion who’s not embarassed by much is at first apprehensive to think about his and geralt’s relationship, because usually he can just leave whenever he feels like it... but with geralt, it became different, geralt was no fling, and realizing this very early on in their relationship was alarming until dandelion did what he usually does and just drops it and remains happy. 

honestly you could make the argument (not outright STATING it... i’m not being h*rny on sideblog...) but you could argue, that geralt and dandelion have bomb ass sex because both of them are canonically good in bed, weirdly enough. geralt is pretty giving and loving in his sex scenes, even when it’s not even romantic and rather a crazed passion, like with fringilla. it’s canon that he’s a proponent of oral sex b/c he defends the concept in discussion with regis and also gives it canonically, so idk what to really say here except geralt’s a real one and sapkowski had a vision i guess for his main character. 

another important thing mentioned in geralt’s sex scenes is that he’s pretty intuitive with pacing. in the last wish, he and yennefer take their time and have quite a soft and loving experience, and in lady of the lake, he and fringilla experience this more sort of intense scenario. but i think these differences are meant to speak to the differences in love and relationships between the pairings... while geralt and yennefer experience an all-consuming love of mind and body, geralt and fringilla had more of a ... bad decision. this makes us have to headcanon for what the pairing of geralt and dandelion would be like, i’m inclined to say it would be a lot like geralt and yennefer because the thing about geralt and yennefer is that they find intimacy in each other that they’ve yearned for their entire lives, and geralt and dandelion have a lot of that similar energy of finding something in another that you’ve always longed for. 

especially towards the beginning of their relationship, i feel like just their abilities to be vulnerable are what drives them. of course, having emotional sex is a fireworks-type event for geralt, while for dandelion it’s more just like, 3 PM on a tuesday afternoon, so that affects their dynamic a lot, again especially in the beginning of their relationship before geralt met yennefer and villentretenmerth, because geralt really was just not sure of himself. dandelion’s very sure of himself so he kind of doesn’t realize that it’s the beginning of an Emotional Journey for geralt and not just something casual like eating brunch together. geralt becomes more confident over time though and that’s good but he still gets just regular pangs of gay love that stops your heart momentarily, from being ... in love... 

as for actual dynamic during i think it would be funny and good to keep them both in-character and interacting as they normally do. cue humorous arguments with no vitriol or consequence: “stop moaning in musical scales, it’s ruining my concentration” “no— fa so!”