#set: redania

[hanzajesthanza]

‘No one’s going to shout ‘Long live Radovid’, thought the prince (…) ‘No one’s even going to look at me. No one will raise a cry in honour of my mother. Nor mention my father; they won’t shout his glory. Today, on the day of triumph, on the day of reconciliation, of the alliance to which my father, after all, contributed. Which was why he was murdered.

He felt someone’s eyes on the nape of his neck. As delicate as something he didn’t know–or did, but only from his dreams. Something like the soft, hot caress of a woman’s lips. He turned his head. He saw the dark, bottomless eyes of Philippa Eilhart fixed on him.

Just you wait, thought the prince, looking away. Just you wait.

No one could have predicted then or guessed that this thirteen-year-old boy–now a person without any significance in a country ruled by the Regency Council and Dijkstra–would grow into a king. A king, who–after paying back all the insults borne by himself and his mother–would pass into history as Radovid V the Stern.

Lady of the Lake, Chapter 10.

[inanoldhousewrites]

(you'll never) guess who's coming to dinner

It was clear as soon as Geralt walked in the door that something was bothering Jaskier. When he gave a kiss to his wife, Yennefer kissed back, but when he kissed the top of Jaskier’s head walking past, Jaskier leaned into it, but didn’t say anything. Quite the change from his usual response of dramatically demanding more. Geralt raised his eyebrow at Yennefer in question, but she just shook her head and shrugged.

Dinner was stilted. Jaskier was clearly distracted, but didn’t want to bring up whatever was bothering him. As soon as dinner was cleared away, however, Jaskier made a pass at them. It was not uncommon for one of them to work out their feelings through a round (or more) of vigorous sex, so Geralt and Yennefer followed him to the bedroom.

It was only after they’re sated and snuggling that Jaskier brought up what was on his mind.

“I know you don’t mind me sleeping with other people,” he begins, and Geralt tries not to tense because that was not the direction he expected. “But would you be okay if I maybe wanted to date someone?”

“Are you getting serious about Vespula?” Yennefer asked. “I thought you were currently off again.”

“No, it is. It’s not Vespula. I… met someone.”

“Hmm,” Geralt encouraged.

“He’s, well, he’s different. I’ve never met anyone like him, and I really like him.” Jaskier looked strangely vulnerable between them, nervous as he thought about his feelings for this other man. Geralt, as always, wanted to give him everything.

“Well, ask him out and when you feel like he’s ready, invite him to dinner so we can meet him,” Geralt told him, and that was that.

The next day, Jasker texted them ‘He said yes! Date tomorrow ❤️’ and from then on they heard about nothing but Jaskier’s new boyfriend.

“Raddy has the best taste in wine.”

“Raddy looks so good in furs.”

And once, looking particularly rumpled as he came back to their apartment after a date, hickies showing under his collar, “Raddy loves my new song.”

It’s just under two weeks from their first date that Jaskier finally tells them “Raddy is eager to meet you, so I invited him to dinner tomorrow night.”

Yennefer was pulling dinner out of the oven while Geralt set the table, so she had her back to the door when Jaskier walked in with his guest. “We’re here! I’m so excited for you to meet!” As she closed the oven door, she heard Geralt make a noise of surprise and shock. Curious, she turned to see for herself and her jaw dropped when she recognized Jaskier’s guest.

After he quickly introduced everyone, Yennefer linked her arm around Jaskier’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you excuse us for a moment?” She tugged Jaskier into the bedroom, leaving Jaskier’s two boyfriends making awkward and stilted conversation in the kitchen.

“Isn’t he great?” Jaskier asked.

“Yes,” Yennefer answered, as calmly as she can, “he’s really something. But tell me, Jaskier, in the past two weeks, you’ve called him your spoon, a knife, the only music critic worth listening to, and even your ‘little love rat.’ So I ask you: why did I have to wait until he’s standing in my kitchen to find out that you are dating the crown prince of Redania?”

[winters-mistress]

The Bloody Princess

"She's still weak," Yennefer says, standing up and turning towards Geralt. "dangerous to move her."

"I am still here, you know." The girl spits bitterly from her place upon the bed. But the cannot dispute the accusation of weakness, being so pale and brittle and bloody.

The two look at her. "We know, and we're trying to find a way to help you heal." Geralt rumbles, but he doesn't walk towards the girl, given the anger in her eyes. Her expression is all Calanthe.

"Am I supposed to be greatful that you've decided not to go away and fuck each other in my time of need, again?" she spits, scowling. "And that goes for you, too, by the way. Don't think I don't know where you were last night when you were supposed to be protecting me, who you were with, who sent those men for me." Ciri looks at Jaskier, who has the decency to look ashamed, sitting on the floor with his head down.

"I know. And I'm sorry. We let you down." Jaskier says, his voice low. "All of us."

"Indeed you did." she glares, but she can't find the energy to muster up any more anger or resentment. Her side hurts too much, she's lost too much blood that too many people find valuable.

After shit had hit the fan in Thanedd, both Yennefer and Geralt had been forced to make the journey on foot to get back to Loxia. Yennefer couldn't risk portalling them and risking being found via magical tracing, and there was nothing left in the stables apart from hay and horse shit by the time the squirrels and Redania had ambushed.

Their hearts were racing, chests heaving when they finally made it back to Ciri and Jaskier, but the sights that befell them couldn't have been what they had been expecting.

Twenty seven bodies baring the Redanian flag had been laying on the ground, as well as a snivelling Crown Prince who had quickly been sucked away by a portal, no doubt by the Owl herself. Ciri had been on her knees, shaking and bleeding and pale, with Jaskier coming out of hiding behind the second little cottage.

The girl had barely set her eyes upon them before her bloody side had forced her onto the ground, eyes rolling back in her head. Jask had squealed as he managed to catch her from hitting her head, while Yennefer had ripped Ciri's gillet and tunic away, leaving her only in her chest band, to reveal the bloody wound.

Geralt had growled loudly when he saw the state of the injury. Deep and long, made from a fine, sharp blade. He could clearly see a deep gash, at least 12 inches in length running diagonally from her right side to her upper abdomen. Ciris tattered had been used to dab at the blood, trying to get a better sight of her injury. Once he'd cleared away some of the blood, he was able to see that the wound was extremely deep and had penetrated through the layers of skin and fat and had exposed the muscles of the abdominal wall, straight to the bone. He can see her fifth and sixth ribs, and the sight makes him sick.

Geralt's idea of Philippa's fog having some anti-magical properties proves fruitful as Yennefer tries and fails to heal the wound, again and again and again until she's simply giving energy she doesn't have. A glass jar of picked cabbage had been the sacrifice to the sorceress' temper, she had screamed and punched the thing with such force it went flying, smashing into the kitchenette area.

With her own knuckles bloody, they sew her wound closed after reliving Geralt of any and all vials of clensing tonics, pouring half down her throat and half over her wound. Her wound is bandaged now, as tight as they can make it without cutting off precious blood flow, and Ciri was now awake. And she was not happy with them.

"Where can we go, to get her healed?" Yennefer asks, folding her arms around her ribcage. Perhaps to hide her hand, perhaps to guard herself form unpleasant memories, perhaps to keep her stomach contents on the inside.

"The temple?" Geralt suggests. "Nenneke took a shine to her when we were there last."

Yennefer flinches at the memory of that place as if his words had struck her across the face. The manipulation, the betrayal, it was too much to bare.

"And then what?" Ciri asks. "Lay in wait like sitting ducks, waiting for Vilgefortz or Rience to come for me? Again? Or what? Get me out of the way for more bedsport?"

"Ciri, for the love of gods, we aren't sex crazed maniacs. We're trying to protect you after failing, trying to make it right. I think Geralt can agree with me that you mean more to us than we mean to each other." Yennefer turns to her.

Geralt nods silently, his eyes intently locking on her. Jaskier looks at her silently, for once.

She huffs. "Making up for something you did wrong doesn't make what you did right. Healing a cut doesn't make the scar go away." She reaches over and winces at the feeling of her wound, grasping for the cup of water on her bedside. "But, even the temple is the best course of action, how are we going to get there? Yennefer can't portal, the horses are across the sea, and the chain ferry is probably long lone, and even of it was, its a stones throw away from the island, with soldiers and rebels surrounding that itself. So, tell me, what's the plan?"

Geralt huffs, shaking his head. Jaskier looks back down again.

"You." Yennefer says.

"Of course it is." Ciri rolls her eyes.

"You can portal us there. You didn't use a spell to get us out of the other sphere. You didn't use a spell to get us across that broken bridge." Yennefer explains. "I know they'll instantly track me if I use my magic, but you and yours? I'm not so sure."

"Yen, she can't." Geralt takes her wrist. "She can't even stand up, let alone portal four people miles away. You said it's dangerous to move her."

"Do you have a better idea, witcher? It's only a matter of time before Redania, Vilgefortz or a greedy commoner sees us. We need to leave this place, we need to get Ciri help. And we can't do anything to help her standing here bickering." she huffs. "Radovid will tell phillipa where we are and the fact that Ciri's here, and killed almost thirty guards by herself when they tried to take her by force, he even distracted Jaskier by fucking him and waited until the spell wore off to let them know she was alone and vulnerable. Phillipa or Dikstra or some other Redanian will find us sooner or later, they already know where Ciri is. And when she or the guards don't show up wherever the meeting point was, they will come for her again. I can't do magic right now, and you only have two hands to kill however many there are. This is the only way to save her."

"Can you even do that laying down?' Jasmier asks, his voice quiet. He probably still suffers with his heartbreak, poor thing. "Those times, you were standing and healthy. Now? You're neither of those. And don't think of standing up. You could rip your stitches."

"Don't tell me what to do or treat me like I'm stupid or like a child." Ciri growls. "May I remind you all that I'm only in this position, in this part of the fucking continent because of you lot? And now I have to save your arses because of your mistakes and misguided hospitalities?"

A silence flows over the small cottage.

"Yeah." Geralt whispers. "Yeah."

"Is that all you can say?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you're sorry! That you won't put her in front of me, because if you haven't noticed, every time you do, shit happens to me! In the temple, in Cintra, at the festival and now this. Have you not noticed by now?"

"Uh-"

"Ciri, stop. We don't have time for any of this. We can fight out our issues when we're in a safe place and you aren't in a deathly state. Now, can we please all shut the fuck up and work on a way that gets us all out of here?"

Ciri silences, licking her lips. Her head falls back into the pillows.

"I don't know how it happens." she whispers. "Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn't when I do the same things each time. I think of a place, and all of a sudden I'm there. In Cintra by the river, in the sphere to Kaer Morhen, that's how it happened. But-"

"No buts. Just try. Because we don't have another option. Get us out of here, Cirilla."

Ciri closes her eyes, and pictures Nenneke. The temple and its pretty architecture. Jarre and the mazes of corridors, the candles and the sweet tea. Nenneke's grin when she forces Geralt to dig up root vegetables, claiming a sore back. Jarre's flushed face when he looked at her, and Geralt's murderous frown when he took sight of it. The sweet smell that the incence gave off, the pink smoke and the comfy beds and the hearty helpings and the clean clothes and hot baths and-

She lands on the marble floor with a choked gasp. She gasps for air, winded, feeling the blood seep from her side once more. She heaves for breath, opening her mouth to cry out, but a voice interrupts.

"Geralt! What's happened?'

"She's hurt, Nenneke. She needs help." Her body is grabbed and hauled into thick arms. She looks up at Geralt with wide eyes, seeing Yennefer a few feet behind them, rushing over, Jaskier's wide blue eyes. She writhes in pain, feeling her wrappings quickly become damp with blood.

"She was attacked in Loxia, and-"

"Why are you just standing there, boy? Get to the infirmary, you fool!"

And Geralt takes off in a flash of black and white. Ciri cries out at being jostled about, but a bitter tonic is forced down her throat and everything becomes hazy.

"Don't fight it, Ciri. You don't have to. Just sleep, you'll be better when you wake."

[roughentumble]

i feel like the witcher netflix is setting everyone who cares about ciri against her, and its kind of upsetting

yennefer, her loving mother? tries to sacrifice her to a demon

vesemir, her loving grandfather figure? steals her blood, uses it to make more witcher mutagens, tries to turn her into a witcher which had something like a 2 in 3 chance of killing her

eskel, her big brother and mentor, only ever kind and sweet to her? basically calls her a bitch the first time he sees her, says that if he got a princess surprise he would sleep with her(despite ciri being like 12-16)

lambert, her fast friend, her best buddy? sneeringly calls her a princess, tells her she's not good enough, blames her for things that arent her fault

jaskier, nee dandelion, her loving uncle, who actively lies to spymasters to protect geralt and ciri's location? selling her out to redania for his own safety, in the hopes that the man who tortured him dies

no one is truly on ciri's side anymore. who does she have left who hasnt betrayed her in some sense? this vulnerable young girl with the whole world against her? its heartbreaking. why does this series not want ciri to have /anyone/?

[27dragons]

New Year Countdown: Dec 5

Click through for a Geraskier Mob AU snippet!

Dec 5 - Geraskier - Mob AU - Mittens

Of course Jaskier had known what he was getting into when he’d attached himself to Geralt, the biggest, baddest enforcer that the Witcher Clan had at its hand. But the truth was, if you couldn’t succeed as a musician in Redania, then you weren’t going to succeed anywhere else on the continent. And if you were going to make it in Redania, then you were going to have to ally yourself with one of the several clans that ran Redania’s dark underbelly. The Witchers were far from the worst option. And the Butcher of Blaviken was already such a fascinating character -- when Jaskier had almost literally stumbled over him drinking in a tavern, he’d considered it a gift from the gods and hitched himself to the man, for good or ill.

He hadn’t quite intended to fall in love, but that was both the blessing and the curse of the artist, wasn’t it? One fell in love too easily, and lived almost constantly with a broken heart, relieved only by the rare moment of bliss. It hurt, but it made for such brilliant music. Jaskier had known that even when he’d barely been a boy, just setting out from Oxenfurt with stars in his eyes.

Jaskier knew Geralt wouldn’t ever love him back. Geralt hadn’t said more than a dozen words to him all day as they’d shuffled through the freshly-fallen snow, chasing some rumor that had Vesemir concerned. Jaskier wouldn’t complain aloud -- that would earn him Geralt’s disdain and impatience and irritation, far worse than simply being ignored. But he tucked his hands into his armpits and hoped they’d stop soon, before he turned into an icicle.

“Wait here,” Geralt grunted and went into a shop. Jaskier allowed himself a sigh. Now he wasn’t even generating the heat of walking. He stepped over to a nearby cart that was selling roasted nuts and pushed his hands over the little kettle of coals.

“Ye need gloves, young sir,” the cart’s owner chided.

Jaskier shrugged one shoulder to bounce the lute against his back. “Can’t play with gloves,” he told the woman. “A true bard must be ready to play at an instant’s notice!” He gave her his most winning smile, and she laughed and gave him a handful of nuts that were too cracked or singed to sell.

He ate them slowly, savoring the remnants of their warmth, and was just finishing the last when Geralt emerged from the shop. Geralt shoved a small package against Jaskier’s chest and strode off down the street without even waiting to be sure Jaskier had taken it.

Jaskier flashed the vendor another quick smile and scrambled to follow, jogging to catch up before looking down at the package. It was a pair of mittens, good woolen ones lined with sheepskin, with a pocket in the palm for a warmer and a top that folded back to expose the fingers when they were needed. He stared at them for a long moment. “What--”

Geralt glanced back over his shoulder, expression unreadable, even for Jaskier, who’d learned to interpret even the smallest twitch of Geralt’s face. “Your teeth were chattering,” he grunted. “It was annoying.”

He could’ve told Jaskier to leave. But he hadn’t.

And he’d given him mittens that a musician could use. Jaskier hadn’t even had to explain it to him.

He pulled on the mittens and sighed happily at the warmth. Maybe Geralt wasn’t entirely indifferent to him, after all.

[kirkenovak]

The Witcher AU where everything is the same except Jaskier and Radovid have been married the entire time.

Like, that day that Jaskier and Geralt meet for the first time Jaskier has just recently run away from the Redanian court and is desperately trying to get as much adventure as possible before he is inevitably dragged back to his husband. Which is exactly what happens when one day Radovid - a very disappointed and exasperated Radovid - shows up in the inn they are staying and asks nicely (ok, demands) that Jaskier stops this idiotic temper tantrum and come back with him. Has he not humiliated him enough? Even the king noticed that Julian has not been around lately and given the amount of interest the king has in anything that Radovid has ever done (which is near zero), that is saying something.

So Jaskier leaves, leaving a stunned Geralt behind not to be seen again… until several months later when he is is once again “out and about”, bothering Geralt. Court life is grand and splendid but if he had to sit in the castle for one more day, he’d jump out of the highest tower.

And so the cycle continues. Sometimes Jaskier is the one that leaves, sometimes he announces that him and Radovid had a falling out and he’s being exiled (temporarily), sometimes he says nothing just… shows up and stays until he’s once again summoned or decides to go back.

Pretty much all the events happen as they happen until s2 and 3 where all the politics and intrigue starts to catch up with Jaskier. His work as Sandpiper is twice as dangerous and carries a lot of political implications for Radovid (how easy would it be to say he’s complicit, get him executed for treason, shift the balance of power a bit, set up some worthy cousin as the heir). Dijkstra and Philippa cackling in glee realising that they have the husband of heir presumptive to the throne of Redania in the palm of their hands. S3 comes and the mess gets even worse. Suddenly Radovid and Jaskier have to spend time together actually talking and not just politely existing in the same spaces at the same time, and, to make the matters worse, after 20 something years of marriage they are suddenly, inexplicably starting to fall in love with each other? Like, for real? The hell??

And then Vizimir dies. Radovid ascends to the throne. Lord Julian, Duke of something or other becomes Prince Consort Julian. And you know what is the one thing that everyone would very much like to see? Radovid marrying Ciri. Alas, he’s married…

Unless… 🔪 👱‍♂️

Jaskier once again has to run but this time not because he wants to go on an adventure but because he’s literally hunted by a lot of interested parties with a lot of clashing interests and Radovid can only help him as much.

[lumesati]

Does the Prince King of Redania know how lucky he is to finally have you?

He does.~

Drawing: The result of my love for fantasy worlds & Radskier (+ my drive to give them a dreamlike, magical and happy setting I think they absolutely deserve).

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon (Modern AU) - Error 404 Brain Not Found: Bonus Scene - Part 7

Geralt had thwarted Jaskier's every attempt to get him with water balloons, eggs, and various nerf darts, citing that his Witcher reflexes were just too good.

Jaskier knew Geralt wasn't bragging. It was just a fact. An annoying fact that often runined his fun. Some pranks just weren't as fun when your target kept effortlessly dodging the bit that would make it funny.

Jaskier had decided to test just how good Geralt's reflexes were. He challenged him to Slappsies.

Jaskier failed miserably at slapping Geralt's hands. By the time he even thought about moving his hand, Geralt's hands were already safely out of the way and Jaskier was hitting empty air.

Then it was Geralt's turn.

A few rounds later, and the backs of Jaskier's hands were as red as a smacked ar*e.

*disgruntled bard noises*

*smug 'hmm'*

"Yeah, well...let's see how you do if you have to start with your hands behind your back!"

*sound of massive Witcher paws smacking the backs of human hands at the speed of mach Jesus*

*pained squealing*

Jaskier, inspite of being a rational adult, had paused to check the floor, just to prove to his brain that his hands hadn't just been slapped off his wrists.

No. They were still there, and functioning normally, if a little tingly. Okay, maybe it was time to try a different test before he ended up having to make a career change. Or learn to play all his instruments with his feet.

Which wouldn't be a bad thing. Some people had a thing for feet. Jaskier was absolutely not a kink-shamer!

Jaskier had to come up with a test that 1) wouldn't make a mess that Yennefer would yell at them about, and 2) was much more challenging than the old catching-a-falling-ruler, or Whack-A-Mole.

"I bet you can't take a block of cheese off a rat trap without setting it off!"

"I can, but I bet you can't!"

"Please! I've got very nimble fingers. All the ladies say so! And there's no way you can do it with those clumsy sausage fingers. I've seen your f***ing text messages. Every other word is misspelt!"

Geralt looked at Jaskier.

Jaskier looked at Geralt.

A trip to the hardware store was made, and shortly after, Jaskier was frowning as Geralt casually plucked a cube of cheese off the rat trap without setting it off.

Geralt 'hmm'ed in a smug tone.

Jaskier scoffed, "That doesn't look so hard. Even I can do that!"

Geralt nodded towards the trap, "Hm!" (Go ahead then!)

Jaskier went about very carefully resetting the trap. His hands shook slightly as they set the fiddly mechanism. It was a delicate operation that required a light touch...

Trap, for no apparent reason: *snap*

Jaskier: *shrill scream*

Geralt: *snort*

"Shut your gob!"

Jaskier got the trap set, studied it for a few breaths, then went for it. He crowed triumphantly, holding the little cube of cheese in his fingertips and pretending like he hadn't been sh*tting himself the whole time.

"Hah! I told you I could do it! I have very nimble fingers. I work very hard and put in long hours of practice to be as good as I am at fingering."

"I can finger for hours and not miss a beat. I've been told by various members of the nobility, and even commoners, that my fingering is the best in the Continent!"

"Hmm!"

"Mouthing off? Excuse me, but just the other day, the f***ing Prince of Redania told me that he quite enjoyed my fingering, f***youverymuch!

Geralt's brain had to take a moment to process the very idea that Jaskier was not making any kind of innuendo.

He was completely serious, and it was mentally throwing Geralt off. This was unnatural. The Universe was out of balance.

"And he said my tongue was quite talented, too! He was begging for more! You can ask Madeleine, she was there!"

"Then show me how good you are with your tongue," Geralt rumbled, feeling like he had to make the jokes now.

Jaskier blinked, then tried to hide a cheeky grin. "I don't know, Geralt. Sounds like a bad idea. I mean, what if Yen walks in?"

Geralt realxed. Ah, that was better. The balance had been restored. He lightly smacked Jaskier on the back of the head, saying "Stop bragging about your fingers. If I could play guitar, my fingering would be four times better than yours. And since I'm a Witcher with superhuman reflexes, just imagine how good I am with my tongue!"

"Ow! Why don't you prove it, Mr. Super Witcher Reflexes? I bet you can't knock the cheese off the trap with your tongue!"

Geralt baited the trap, set it on the table, and then crouched down to eye level with it. There was a tense moment of silence where he and Jaskier eyeballed each other distrustfully.

"You better f***ing not touch me or the trap!"

"I won't!"

"You just stay over there! Don't move, don't say anything, don't even f***ing breathe!"

"I'm not going to do anything, you suspicious b**tart!"

Geralt grunted, then slowly extended his tongue. It touched the cube of cheese, barely brushing it...

He must have twitched, or breathed too hard, because the trap went off with a snap!

One second, the tip of Geralt's tongue was touching the cheese, the next second, the hammer was snapping down across his tongue.

Geralt stood up with a loud ululation of anguish, the rat trap dangling from his tongue.

Jaskier went from gasping in shock, to laughing until his sides ached. He couldn't help it. Geralt was making this distorted screaming sound and doing jazz hands while he danced round, the trap hanging from his tongue.

Jaskier was too busy clinging to the kitchen counter, tears streaming down his cheeks as he howled with laughter as Geralt gained enough brain function to start yelling "Fffukhhhh! Fffukhhhh! Helm me!"

Geralt pawed at his tongue, trying to remove the trap with fingers that were suddenly clumsy.

Jaskier swallowed his laughter and came to the rescue.

"Holy f**k, are you alright?" he asked as Geralt prodded gingerly at his tongue. It felt swollen and numb, yet painful at the same time.

Geralt stood there, looking pitiful for a moment, then said in a small, lost voice, "I fink I neeb uh popfikool."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Maybe you should try enunciating?"

"Ahthhoww!"

"Say 'I was born on a pirate ship'!"

Geralt glared angrily at Jaskier

"Do it and I'll give you a popsicle!"

*put upon sigh* "I wath born on a piol-a' sh*'"

Jaskier: *ugly cackling*

Geralt: "now gib me mah ffukhim popfikool!"

"Sorry, we're all out of the F**k Him flavored ones. Do you want blue or green?"

Geralt: *unamused glower* "Boo."

The popsicle was handed over, the trap was disposed of, and Geralt prayed the swelling would go down before Yennefer got home at the end of the week.

[limerental]

ficletvember 2024 - day 30

isengrim/dijkstra

Isengrim cares for his human lover in his frail old age.

The townhouse stairs creak as the elf climbs, balancing a dinner tray, and though he navigates them easily, his reflexes honed by years of combat in wild Northern forests, Isengrim curses as he always does the steepness and uneven breadth of the stairs.

“We should've retired to the coast,” he says as the final landing gives way to the fire-warmed bedroom. “Anywhere but Novigrad. I fear the house grows more crooked by the day. I'm liable to finally break a leg on these damn steps, and then who will take care of you?”

He sets the tray on a bedside table and leans to fix the pillows that prop up the old man in bed. 

“You gettin’ old, Grim?” asks Sigi with the crack of a dry smile. Though it's midday, he only woke some time ago and is likely to sleep again soon. Isengrim adjusts the pillow so that his head doesn't list and touches his lips briefly to his bald crown.

Isengrim truly does feel old, nearing three hundred years with most of them squandered on joyless, ill-fated ventures that have amounted to nothing. Sigi has just passed eighty-five. Not ancient for a human by any means, but this past winter was hard on his health and his damaged ankle and arthritis and varying other ailments plague him and these days even rising from bed is an ordeal.

It aches to even look at him, each time expecting the hale and massive man he'd met in the wilderness. Age has shrunk the human to alarming smallness, stooping his back and leaving his limbs frail as bare bone, his cheeks hollowed.

Isengrim remembers thinking he'd looked terribly old back then, as most humans do to him, how he had once balked at the things he felt. Surely, he could not feel any attraction toward an ugly, oafish human past his prime. Surely said human could feel no desire for some disfigured, rangy elf. 

But both had, in deep and fierce ways that lasted.

“We could be sunning ourselves on the beach,” Isengrim says as he pours out a mug of tea, stirring in just the right amount of cream, “but no, you couldn't possibly sell this wretched place.”

“It's our home,” says Sigi. He coughs, and Isengrim helps him drink small sips, barely a moment before he's waved a way. “The beaches in Novigrad are shit anyway.”

“Somewhere further south then. Or in the East.”

“I’ve had my fill of travel. I've had my grave plot in Redania paid for for years, and I'll not have that go to waste.”

He may have made some quip about human burials being both needlessly tedious and lacking the artistry of Elven crypts, but it feels a little too real and raw these days, the time approaching when Sigi will pass.

Sigi wanted a simple stone on the round of a hill. No inscription but his name. He'd balked at the thought of Isengrim commissioning a statue of him, something looming and life-like. He'd rather fade into the shadows of history, as forgotten as any spy.

It's been months since the human has left the bedroom at all, far longer since he navigated the cumbersome stairs without aid. Years ago, they'd argued often about relocating, at least in converting one of the downstairs rooms to a bedchamber, but Sigi has always been ceaselessly and wretchedly stubborn and will be to the very bitter end.

The townhouse has been their home for nearly three decades, and the top floor bedroom is the safest and warmest place that Isengrim has ever known. Seeping pleasure and comfort and security, all felt between these walls, in this bed, in the arms of this man.

Once he finally leaves it, he's unlikely to know something close to those feelings again. 

Isengrim tries to coax the old man into eating the bowl of soup he's brought up on the tray, but as usual, Sigi has no appetite and resists the offered spoon. It’s a futile effort, but Isengrim is stubborn in equal measure. 

Part of him think Sigi's choosing not to eat, forcing himself to dwindle faster so as not to burden Isengrim more than need be. The thought clenches something in his chest. If need be, he would clean chamberpots and help Sigi bathe and carry him anywhere, always, for hundreds more years.

“Speaking of the coast,” says Sigi.

“Not this again.”

“Reliable sources say there's a fleet of vessels readying to sail. That there's a gate across the sea that the elves plan to cross through.”

“It’s a fairytale,” says Isengrim. “Your bard's been telling you bedtime stories.”

He knows it's true, that for years the remaining elves have planned to depart this world. The efforts of the Scoia’tael have amounted to nothing, few left alive, and even the elves in Dol Blathanna have grown weary of human hostility. Francesca had been bold enough to request he join them, but he could tell she'd known his answer even as she asked.

What could any other world have to offer him?

His place is here.

“I have the coin. Pay someone to mind me, and board a boat, Wolf.” His beloved speaks slowly, trailing off with weariness.

“Pity the poor bastard who took that job,” says Isengrim. “You know they'd never do a single thing to your liking.”

Sigi hums in agreement and closes his eyes.

He sleeps until dusk and wakes as he does some evenings, delirious and agitated, not knowing how many years have passed since their long nights in Zerrikania. 

He asks for a drink, that mulled wine they bought in the market last summer.

“You downed the lot of it, remember?”  Isengrim recalls the spice on his tongue, kissed off of warm lips. The remainder of that night blurs with the rest of them spent in the East. 

Had that been the night Sigi dared to hoist Isengrim over his shoulder to drag him off to bed?  Or the one where they'd gotten so drunk they'd nearly toppled from the balcony? Or when they had first offered hushed confessions, quiet with the impossibility of the feeling, to be so close to another living person, to feel subsumed by him entirely.

Isengrim is glad at least that Sigi has yet to wake and not know him at all, to balk at the presence of a strange, disfigured elf in his bedchamber. When his memory fails him, he is always brought back to the earliest days of loving one another, feeling young together, living their tenderest moments over again.

Sigi spends an hour telling stories he told yesterday, and when Isengrim goes downstairs for more firewood, he returns to find him sleeping again. 

The tired elf feeds a log to the fire, dresses for bed, and climbs in beside the old man to lay a hand on his sharp breastbone as it rises and falls, waiting for the end.

[tigerlyla-of-metinna]

I want to tag you for Give me a character game: Eskel, Olgierd von Everec, Radovid, Cerys an Craite

Yay! Another one. Thankfully I'm playing TW3 again and have gotten re-acquainted with the characters while on a quest to become the imperial paparazzi to Emhyr. My replies will be longs, so check em out underneath the cut

How I feel about this character:

Eskel

I never find this guy hideous. In fact he is probably more popular that Geralt when it comes to TW3 game fandom. He's charming all around and cuddly!

Olgierd von Everec

I am torn between helping this poor sod or handing his smoldering skull to O'Dimm. Mr. Olgierd "David Beckham" von Everec is hands down the most well designed Redanian I've set my eyes on. He is desperation personified and how that drove him into signing his soul to the devil.

Radovid

...Mad Rad is a result of mistreatment. As much as I want to sympathize with the Redanian king, I'd rather relieve the North of him. He is so black and white in the game that I can't see the shades of gray.

Cerys an Craite

Cerys is an anomaly. She is that rare gem glittering under a pile of pebbles. Wise, patient, but feisty. The thinking Skelliger and it's just right to place her on the throne of the Isle than her impulsive brother.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Eskel

The guy has no interest in relationships imho (that means Im not sold on the Trisskel ship), but I've been meaning to launch a rarepair with the scarred wolf with an equally scarred lass: Cerys. Story is still rolling in my head but I dub the ship Cerskel!

Olgierd von Everec

The OG pairing Iris x Olgierd. The canon pair for me. But since that ship has sailed, Olgierd is the lone surviving von Everec, maybe Im up for a Shani x Olgierd. Im also down for Ciri x Olgierd since I saw a fanart of it and it piqued my interest.

Radovid

Honesty I wouldn't bother shipping him. But if I must, then his one and only Adda the White and no one else.

Cerys an Craite

As I mentioned above, I'll be launching the Cerskel (Cerys/Eskel) ship someday. Other than that, I ship her with Ciri as two powerful monarchs that finally, or at least, smoothen the animosity between their realms. Make love not war and all that. Apart from that, I paired her with Folan, if he didnt die in the Battle of Kaer Morhen.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

Eskel

Wolf Brother Lambert. Eskel is the only guy who has the patience to put up with his prickliness. They share stories and frustrations over mugs of The Gauntlet or vodka.

Olgierd von Everec

As I am also open to a Shani x Olgierd, I am also shipping them in a non-romantic concept. Shani cheers a newly mortal Olgierd of the fun she had with Vlodmir and help him professionally with moving on. Kinda farfetch since Shani is a medic, not a therapist. But she is a kind and caring individual regardless of their colors.

Radovid

Radovid and Roche. If Radovid wins the war, Roche takes the role of mentor for his future queen Anais and an ambassador of her kingdom to Radovids' Redania. Roche will have to get used to trading his blue stripes with red.

Cerys an Craite

Yennefer and Cerys. The queen of the Isle sees Yennefer as one powerful woman who knows how to wrap a man, any man, around her little finger. heck, Yennefer even had a romantic history with Crach, so Yennefer acts as a good council when dealing with these menfolk who might see Cerys as a wet behind the ears wench. And having Yennefer in an advisorial capacity can be the bridge between Cerys kingdom and Ciri's empire.

My unpopular opinion about this character:

Eskel

He is clearly an expert in his own right, maybe even more than Geralt. Calling himself just a simple witcher is a disservice to his craft, and a wasted potential.

Olgierd von Everec

Now that I think about it, he should be handed over to O'Dimm for squandering his gifts and not treating Iris right.

Radovid

For a genius, he sure is dumb for not figuring out that Sigi Reuven is a name put together from his old enemy Sigismund Djikstra and Djikstra's loyal secretary(?) servant Ori Reuven.

Cerys an Craite

Instead of sending Svanringe to exile or death (as is the tradition of Skellige), she should've pardoned him because he played no part in Birna's schemes, even denounced her own mother: that shows character. As the heir of Bran Tuirsseach, Svanringe could be useful as an advisor or ally.

One thing I wish would happen/had happened with this character in cannon:

Eskel

Decides to stay in Kaer Morhen after the end of the game.

Olgierd von Everec

Visits Vlodmir's grave for the last time and we get to see this before he sets out for parts unknown.

Radovid

All his men becomes aware that their king is dead so I don't have to pass by any of them proclaiming "Long Live Radovid".

Cerys an Craite

Diplomatic talks with Emhyr, or with Ciri in the empress ending.

Whew! Thanks for the tag @gauntermetaverse

[hannibard]

"I'm choking from the taste (but I can't help but swallow)"

Pairings: Geraskier, Radskier

Summary: "There's too much at stake Geralt, it's not worth it. Go back to Kaer Morhen and forget about me."

"You're more than worth it Jaskier and I'll do anything in my power to get you out of this hell. Melitele help anyone who stands in my way."

Jaskier is taken by Radovid in the midst of his travels with Geralt and Milva. The Redanian king, changed from his recent ascent to power, is determined to get everything he wants, with Jaskier having the misfortune of being on top of the list. Jaskier spends time serving Radovid in the Redanian court, drowning in despair and losing parts of himself in the process, his only consolation being the knowledge that his friend was safe from the Redanian army due to his sacrifice.

Sometime after Geralt has united the north under his rule, he decides to pay a visit to Redania in the hope of reuniting with his bard. But Jaskier is not as he remembers, his psyche having been fractured in their time apart. Will the witcher be able to help him escape his tragic fate?

Inspired by the song "Poison" from Hazbin Hotel

Click here to read on Ao3

---

Chapter 1: How it all started

He had been traveling together with Geralt and Milva for a few months when they took him. The three had made good progress on their way to Nilfgaard, occasionally adding other skilled individuals that were willing to aid in their cause to their group, like the high vampire/surgeon Regis, and the possibility of reaching Ciri was becoming more apt with each passing day. Jaskier was, despite the sharp worry in his gut for the girl he had come to consider something akin to a daughter, relatively content.

Things were in no way easy, but at least he was (finally) at Geralt's side again. Plus, this time around he was actually able to pull his weight. Gone were the days of him being barely more than a burden that slowed the witcher down and made his life harder, as his role had been for the majority of their acquaintance.

(If life could give me one blessing-)

He had been by himself in some backwater village, because they needed to make money somehow and Jaskier was, despite all his faults, an excellent bard. His ability to be useful, even amidst such impressive individuals, filled him with pride. The others had made camp a few miles away in order to not draw attention. It was risky enough for Jaskier to make those semi-frequent appearances in the public eye, even with the new moniker he had adopted in his attempt to pass as different person. He had rarely traveled this far south in the past, so he wasn’t too worried about being recognized.

(it goes without saying that he avoided performing any songs from the vast repertoire he had created centered around his greatest muse, the White Wolf.)

His set was coming to an end, and he was looking forward to drinking an ale after gathering his earnings, before starting his long way back to his companions. He was in the middle of just that when he was approached by a hooded figure. They moved gracefully, weaving skillfully through the crowd before sitting down across the bard.

“Beautiful voice you’ve got there.” Their face was hidden in the shadow created by the hood, which was dark and modest, not carrying any identifiable markings.

Jaskier didn’t let his alarm show. “Thank you friend, I’m always one to appreciate compliments.” He took a long sip from his tankard methodically in a show of nonchalance.

The hooded figure cocked their head to the side and reached their hand out. “With talent such as yours, it’s a wonder you’re not more well-known Master…?”

Jaskier gave a bright grin, subtly wiping the sweat making its way down his forehead, and shook the stranger’s hand. Their grip was firm, and its hold lasted a bit longer than was considered socially appropriate. “The name’s Dandelion. And you are…?”

“A beautiful name to match the beautiful voice.” The figure avoided the question and tilted their head back so that their matching grin could be visible to the bard. Jaskier couldn't see their eyes, he had a nagging impression that he was being checked out from top to bottom. “Of course I can't neglect mentioning the beautiful appearance. Though if you don’t mind my humble opinion, I’d say there’s another name that would suit you more fittingly.”

The bard’s grin twitched ever so slightly. “And what would that be my dear fellow? Do say so.”

The stranger leaned forward. “Jaskier.” they said almost conspiratorially.

The bard’s smile fell all together, and he looked around with the corner of his eye. None of the inn’s patrons seemed to have heard, too busy drinking, eating and chatting loudly with each other. The innkeeper himself was curiously missing from the room.

“What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“If you want to find out then follow me and don’t make a scene. It wouldn’t benefit either of us.”

Jaskier gulped and slowly stood up. He made sure to grab his lute and not to let his nervousness show. “As you wish.”

They made their way outside, and as soon as they were out of people’s sight the stranger grabbed his arm with a strong grip that left no room for resistance, no matter how much Jaskier tried to pull away. They reached a building that stood tall in the periphery of the village, and the hooded figure surveyed their surroundings before opening the front door and pushing Jaskier inside. The force made the bard fall to his knees and he hissed in pain, his lute thankfully tucked safely against his back. He vaguely heard the door close and lock behind him just as he looked up, his mind too busy short-circuiting at the sight he came across.

“Hello darling.” said Radovid as he stood up from a makeshift throne, making his way to the bard and dropping to one knee in front of him. The newly-crowned king took Jaskier’s chin in one hand and gently stoked his cheek with the other, smiling gently. “Oh how I’ve missed you.” He said wistfully and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Jaskier was left speechless, his brows furrowing together in confusion. He hadn’t seen Radovid since that fateful day in Aretuza after the Thanedd ball, in the midst of all the chaos. Their parting had been hopeful but it didn’t take long for Jaskier to hear about Radovid’s sudden enthronement, so he had resolved himself to the reality that their story would remain forever unfinished. His regret lessened more and more with the time he spent at his witcher’s side.

“Radov-, Y-your majesty, to what do I owe the honor of this, ah, sudden summons?” he said when he finally managed to make his mouth move.

Radovid’s eyes hardened almost imperceptibly at the bard’s term of address. He let out a defeated sigh and hung his head low. “I never once stopped thinking about you my dear, every day we spent apart was pure torture, and now that my reign has stabilized I though it was the perfect time to pay you a visit." He looked up and stared unblinkingly into the bards blue eyes. "Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Jaskier swipped his lips with his tongue, a motion that Radovid tracked hungrily. “Oh, I uh, I’m elated to see you, truly, but I’m just a tad confused. You see, your buddy over there that escorted me here, let’s just say they weren’t very gentle in their approach. In few words and with no offense, it left a lot to be desired. I was expecting to encounter some sort of Nilfgaardian general ready to chop my head off and not… you.”

Radovid huffed and offered a hand to Jaskier, helping him up. Now that Jaskier was somewhat over his initial surprise he was able to take in the king’s appearance. There were some subtle changes, like the short beard that had replaced his previously clean-shaven face, his once lean body seemed to have filled with muscle, but the biggest change, the one that made Jaskier’s breath catch in his throat, was in his eyes.

Before, Radovid’s eyes were like a window to his soul that only Jaskier had a key to, full of intelligence and softness, specifically towards his person, but now… Now his gaze was guarded. The only thing Jaskier could detect besides the current show of the king’s emotions, was darkness. It was something he was only able to decipher after his years of experience performing in countless courts and dealing with all sorts of people in his travels. It caused a chill to run down his spine.

“You don’t have to worry about Nilfgaard any more my love, you won’t have to deal with them ever again.” Radovid said as he patted down the outrageously large fur that hung from his shoulders.

Jaskier blinked rapidly a few times and raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that Your Majesty?”

Radovid looked at him as though he’d asked a very stupid question. “Redania’s power has grown vastly in recent months as I’m sure you’ve heard. Nilfgaard wouldn’t dare take a single step towards us. Also please cut all the ‘Your Majesty’s, our relationship has evolved beyond such formalities.”

Jaskier nodded tentatively “I’ve certainly heard about your accomplishments, but I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

Radovid rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “You’re coming with us silly.”

Jaskier’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He had been bombarded by shock after shock in such quick succession that he hadn’t been able to calm his racing mind in a minute.

“I appreciate the offer, truly, Your Majes- Radovid.” the bard quickly corrected his words after seeing Radovid’s face twist in displeasure. “But I’m afraid I have to decline. You see, I’m currently in the middle of a very important quest that I must see through to the end.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. “So you’d choose that witcher over me? Even after everything he’s put you through? I could give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of, comfort and luxury beyond your wildest dreams, but you’d seriously rather continue following that monster like a lost puppy?”

The bard wasn’t happy with the name Radovid used to describe his dearest friend, but he let it go, choosing to focus on the matter at hand. “I’m sorry Radovid. It is what it is.”

A glimpse of hurt flashed in the king’s eyes and his shoulder’s slumped as he turned away from the bard. He took a few deep breaths before he straightened up again. When their eyes met once more, Radovid’s hardened gaze was filled with resolve. Jaskier waited with bated breath for his response.

“If you won’t come with me willingly… I’ll just have to bring you by force.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and his blood ran cold. Before he was able to do anything, two guards surrounded him and grabbed his shoulders from each side. He thrashed wildly but it was for naught, the bard being much weaker than his captors. “No-, Radovid- please don’t do this, I’m begging you!” He asked desperately.

The king looked down at him with his chin up and an air of confidence surrounding him, for the first time appearing as ruthless and regal as his title implied.

“I’m afraid I can’t listen to you darling. One of the perks of being a king is that I can do and have whatever I wish for, and nobody can stand in my way.” He waved his hand towards the bard nonchalantly as he addressed his followers. “Bring him a pen and paper. Have him write a letter to the witcher and deliver it to the innkeeper. He’ll know what to do.”

The guards dragged Jaskier towards a desk and deposited him in a chair, writing tools bring placed on the surface before him a moment later. His hand was shaking as he picked up the pen. A tear slid down his cheek as he tried one last time to change the king’s mind. “Please Radovid... Let me go.”

The king crossed his arms and his mouth formed a tight line. “That’s ‘Your Majesty’ to you.”

Jaskier let out a sob and stared down at the paper, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear his blurry eyesight. His mind was racing trying to find a way to leave some sort of secret message to alert Geralt of his situation. Radovid seemed to read his thoughts however, because he gripped the bard’s nape tightly and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Don’t even think about pulling any tricks or your dear witcher and the rest of your group will leave their last breaths at the camp they’re currently stationed on. My soldiers have the place surrounded as we speak.”

With those words the bards last hope was extinguished. The last thing he wanted to do was put his friends in danger. Even with their combined extraordinary strength, he didn’t want to chance either of them getting seriously injured. If obedience was the price to pay for their safety, then so be it.

“At least promise me you’ll leave them alone.”

Radovid gave a chaste kiss to the bard’s neck and ran what would be considered under normal circumstances a comforting hand down his back. “You have my word. I didn't care about them in the first place.” He gave the bard one last squeeze and went to sit back in his throne.

Jaskier took a deep breath and started writing. The single tear that hit the paper, while certain to be identifiable with the witcher’s heightened senses, would probably be assumed to have been a product of Jaskier’s typical sentimentality and nothing more.

Dear Geralt,

You’ll find me dearly saddened to inform you that our long-standing companionship must come to an end. You see, I’ve had time to think while staying in this lovely little settlement away from you lot, and I've come to realize what it is I truly want. That of course being king Radovid of Redania. I’ve talked to you about our ill-fated relationship before as you might recall. Somehow, things for us two don’t seem as bleak as they one were. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel and thus I’ve decided to go to Redania and try to build a future with him. Love conquers all and the like.

For the first time in my life, I’m putting myself before you. I’m choosing my own happiness. I hope you’re able to achieve your goals and manage to locate Ciri safe and sound. When you do, which I've no doubt you'll achieve, give her all my love. Please inform the rest of our group about my decision. I’m sorry for doing this so suddenly but you know how matters of the heart can be. They leave no room for patience.

Ever your affectionate friend,

Julian Alfred Pankratz.

[thedemonofcat]

Ahead of the upcoming airing of part two of season three next week, I am eager to share my prediction.

The conclusion of season three ought to feature Geralt, Yennefer, Ciri, and Jaskier, each finding themselves separated from one another.

In season two, a prominent theme was the idea of reunion and unity. Geralt and Ciri finally found themselves together, embarking on a journey to embrace their roles as father and daughter. Subsequently, the narrative also showcased the reconnection between Jaskier and Yennefer. As season two concluded, fate intervened to bring them back together, solidifying their bond as a newfound family. As part one commences, the four characters are undeniably a close-knit and loving family.

As season three reaches its climax, it would be fitting to witness them again facing solitude, separated from each other. This sets the stage for an intriguing season four, where the storyline revolves around their determined efforts to reunite and find each other again.

In my earlier prediction for Geralt, I suggested that season three could culminate with him making a sacrificial decision, choosing to join the Wild Hunt.

As hinted in the trailer, Ciri finds herself alone in a desert, seemingly having harnessed her ability to blink (teleportation/Diminosal travel). Additionally, considering the upcoming spin-off show about the Rats, it is plausible that Ciri might conclude season three by aligning herself with their group.

Jaskier's newfound connection with Radoivd may lead him to stay in Redania by the conclusion of season three. On the other hand, an unfortunate event could strain their relationship, resulting in Jaskier being on the run from Redania as season three ends.

As for Yennefer, it is difficult to determine the specific reason for her being alone. However, she will likely be fiercely determined to reunite with everyone else, putting forth her utmost efforts to locate them

[mantra4ia]

I didn't think it was possible for an adaptation to break my fandom heart, however

I just finished season 3 of the Witcher on Netflix

and I cannot yet put into words how disheartened I feel about it except to say 1) bigger in scale doesn't always mean better in quality and 2) I feel like 90% of the commentary in "the making of season 3" is hype.

In my opinion, a majority of the dialogue in this season is painful no matter how hard the actors try to deliver them sincerely and the people who are trying to upsell how faithful it is to the books are clearly omitting much context of the books. I do not feel like reliving the dialogue to site a litany of grievance, but "you'd be dead already" was beaten to death, as was "never lost, always found." The scripting pen was a lot more clever in the days of death and destiny circa season 1. Not just clever, but cutting, sassy even in the midst of purposeful crudeness, artful, and complex. It didn't need to spell things out for you and could let you stumble into unraveling meaning whereas this season clocked you over the head. And it wasn't just the actual lines on the page, but the timing of their delivery — for example the monologues in combat — that makes a bad situation go from rough to rags. Cahir ("my life is yours" speech) and Vilgefortz ("the hardest part was holding back") have some of the worst offending instances. That, and when they threw in a "he's having a heart attack" medical drama one liner in the midst of battle on the Isle of Thanedd, I wanted to 🤦 smack a skull.

The set dressing, when it's not overwhelming —the outlandishness of Redania, back to back with the bombastic excesses of mages on the Isle hardly gives you a moment to discern the differences, it seems homogeneously over the top — makes be sad (footnote: random bowls of apples in hallways of an academy where people can conjure magical meals at will is just sort of silly in a very 90s movie, castle interior stereotype way). I don't think that one set or scenic shot caught my eye in a memorable way, and considering we saw Shaerrawedd this season that's a shame. Yarpen's tiny house is one of my few exceptions of well designed spaces. We also could have used more contrast in design by seeing life/ stylistic choices within the empire — given that the story from here on goes into the war trenches —and so it is disappointing that the few shots we get of Nilfgaard center around an underwhelming Emyhr as opposed to culture, mentality, and actual sense of the opposition and the scale of them.

Also, there were a few props that made me want to shut off my television in terms of quality on camera. Example: the first time we see Milva draw her bow. That poor, ridiculous bow that is neither a good example from text or a nod to any archers.

The fights do not all have their own distinct style as the commentary suggests, and the ones that do have distinguishable flare are filled with artful camera work for the sake of itself; as opposed to adding to the fight it was often distracting. There were also excessive cuts at various camera angles that were superfluous, as evidenced in the walk up leading to Geralt vs Vilgefortz. Two fight sequences were a joy to watch: the Rats escape and one of the opening sequences where Geralt confronts the bounty hunters and we see him walk away through the eyes of the man that he just beheaded as the skull hits the ground. It was an interesting stylistic choice with memorable impact. Nothing that hits like Blaviken combat, but a highlight.

The monster design (the flesh monster and others) makes me miserable, the rendering of which take me out of the fights built around them. Gone are the days of the Stryga and the Bruxa.

Not concluding the the first or the second act of season 3 with the siege of Aretuza and the destruction of Tor Lara was a mistake of timing. Following the battle, the subsequent desert scenes (and Brokilon to some extent) dragged on. Even weird, trippy cameos couldn't save them. Freya/Ciri has some decent beats of progressive desperation descending into madness leading up to finding "little horse" and confronting the demons of her psyche, but the cutting and the placement of the desert sequence does it no favors.

Speaking further on Aretuza, the battle of mages and scoia'tal missed a lot of moments. If we were going to spend precious screen time dividing the familial core four (Yen/Jaskier/Geralt/Ciri) so that Yen can go back for Tissaia— knowing that very soon in the plot it will be divided again when Ciri is portalled and someone is captured by Vilgefortz — then the battle better be worth it. It wasn't entirely. The conflict opened with a very "for the stage" kind of choreography with the assembly of mages. The conflict ramped up with dimeritium arrows (kinda predictable) and elven guts, and then ended on a strange note with Alzur's Thunder, an interesting nod to game play with 50/50 execution on screen. Given that this season likes narrative voiceovers, there was a lot they could have done with Alzur's Thunder in terms of sound, flashbacks, interior cuts of Tor Lara, narration, or even spell work of Yennefer being able to enter Tissaia's mind, to nicely harken back to the themes of control and deepest fears, when Tissaia's spell casting and loss of control parallels Yennefer's early years (lightning in a bottle), and each character comes full circle in pulling chaos back from the edge. But those themes are overshadowed by flash and bang. The opportunity for a contrasting small / personal moment with Yennefer and Tissaia amidst the larger battle is lost.

I'm sorry, but when LSH says this season is very character driven, I don't know what final cut she's watching. It feels like we're racing through plot points A-Z while nearly none of the character relationships get time to breath and impart their emotional beats. Spoiler alert: I should feel devastated when Vilgefortz beats Geralt, literally breaks him, but I don't. I should feel bad when Tissaia dies, I don't. They're trying to rush feelings between Triss and Istredd, Fringilla and Francesa, that I really can't be bothered about because there are so many characters given side quests that no one really gets their due. Least among them in the supporting cast Phillipa, which has animosity with Tissaia that doesn't land, a relationship with Dijkstra that doesn't land, a sidepiece that doesn't land, and is (apart from some interesting wardrobe, hair and makeup choices) reduced to a presence that provides forewarning about Lydia and Vilgefortz. And least among the main cast Geralt, who spends a whole lot of screen time in passive action exuding quiet contempt for other characters. Which is a shame, because if this truly is the last time we see Henry as Geralt, they should have given this man free reign to burn the barn down.

One shining note: I truly appreciate that we bookend this season with narration from Yennefer and, to a lesser extent, Geralt. It is a nice, if slightly less eloquent, homage to the corresponding letters in the novels (pieced together from multiple books). I would have loved far more for each episode to make some use of narration, as a kind of through-thread for this season, in order to get equal turns from Ciri and Jaskier. Ciri has some great internal dialogue of things that she wishes she could say to Yennefer but doesn't before their family splits apart (unspoken moments of respect, adoration, and love that get quickly summarized by ice skating montages). Ans Jaskier is quite often the "unreliable" narrator in sections of the novels, which flashes backwards and forwards from his slightly mythologized autobiography as a world famous bard. Both of them really needed their turn in this season to be an overarching voice.

This season hurts. I'm glad if you are a Witcher / Sapkowski fan and you enjoyed yourself in season 3. But it really let me down, the creative direction and didn't seem to come together into a cohesive tone (it couldn't strike the balance between humor and gravitas), vision, or unfolding of the story.

I don't know if I can bring myself to rewatch this season a second time with fresh eyes and hope for the best. But I will miss Henry Cavill, and have much respect for cast and crew.

[freetobeeyouandme]

Shrike

Tags: Rated T, No Archive Warnings Apply, Bylerween 2023, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, Witches, Wizards & Necromancers, Blood and Gore, The Witcher AU

Words: 1.9k

Summary:

His ears pick up on the soft, calm breathing of the wizard, and he tries to copy it. His body is still too alert for meditation to be of any help, but there are other tricks, he has learned. His travels with companions, especially this one, have taught him. He focuses on the wizard’s light touch, the in and out of his breath, the crinkling of leaves under his feet as he shifts, unable to stand completely still. The rustling of fabric, the heat of another body so close to him. The sounds he makes as he opens his mouth and then closes it again, deciding not to say anything. Mike lends his companion the focus that he had prepared for the monster, and that stops the rest of the world from spinning so fast. - Or, Bylerween Day 7: Witches, Wizards & Necromancers

read on Ao3 or below; see whole collection

A/N:

Here we are, the last one shot of this series: A Witcher AU feat Wizard!Will and Witcher!Mike having a sweet little moment post battle. I hope you enjoy! CW: Blood and gore

-------

The demogorgon crashes to the ground in two parts. Its body lands at Mike’s feet while its head hits the forest floor and rolls a little way down slope. A leather boot, sweeping out from under purple robes, brings it to a halt.

With the monster’s death, the woods turn deadly quiet, and Mike’s senses pick up on everything else now that there are no more enemies to focus on. There is a small brook nearby, bubbling hectically. The threats dispersed, the neighboring birds swoop in to examine places previously off limits. This immediately leads to disputes over food, the robins especially contentious, their little claws tip and tapping in the branches above as they twitter at each other angrily. In the distance a wolf howls. A herd of deer has found the brook, lapping up the water. Their hearts begin to race with fear, tap tap tap, and the smell is not far behind. Soon the wolves will find them and their blood will turn the brook red. Maybe if the deer would head in Mike’s direction they could avoid that grizzly fate, but the smell of monster guts deters them.

Later, perhaps, after the wolves have already had their fill, a few of them will stumble along this path. But only once the witcher and his bounty have long left the woods behind. When the sharp tang of undeath and cold, preserved flesh is replaced by the sweet smell of rot.

Above the woods the clouds shift, letting in a rare beam of sunlight. He closes his eyes against it, the light too bright. On the path are riders. The wolves sniff the ground, take up the hunt. The deer scatter. Tip tap, tip tap go the birds. Another fight, another set of wings beating as the loser flies. The sound of horses pawing the ground. Leaves crunching under leather boots. The squish of dead flesh as it hits the ground beside his feet. A shrill peal of laughter on the road. The stench of the head, the dark taste of the demo-creatures’ blood in the air.

The hand on his cheek is warm despite the cold weather, fiery magic not yet abated, and Mike tries to focus on it as he brings his breathing under control. His head already begins to ache as the entire forest tries to get his attention. Without a monster to focus on his senses are running wild, trying to find a new enemy in every small woodland creature and every passing rider. It is different up in the mountains, where settlements are far and few between and he has to wander quite a bit until he finds whatever cave troll or wyrmling is going to bring in enough crowns for him to eat and sleep until the next monster warrants slaying; there it is quiet. The middle of Redania, with its close settlements and constant foot traffic is hell, compared.

Especially with another war brewing, kings and queens all vying for his help, somehow, because they mistake him for a sell-sword instead of a monster hunter. And because they think he will deliver the brown haired sorceress to them when he finds her.

“Sheathe your sword, love.”

Mike does as he is told, trying not to cringe at the rasp of silver against leather right next to his ear. The hand on his cheek holds him in place. Holds him together.

Light fingers wander over his skin, tracing the dark veins below his eyes, visible reminders of the poison in his blood, self inflicted to prevent worse pain: Becoming demogorgon food.

His ears pick up on the soft, calm breathing of the wizard, and he tries to copy it. His body is still too alert for meditation to be of any help, but there are other tricks, he has learned. His travels with companions, especially this one, have taught him.

He focuses on the wizard’s light touch, the in and out of his breath, the crinkling of leaves under his feet as he shifts, unable to stand completely still. The rustling of fabric, the heat of another body so close to him. The sounds he makes as he opens his mouth and then closes it again, deciding not to say anything. Mike lends his companion the focus that he had prepared for the monster, and that stops the rest of the world from spinning so fast.

He peels his eyes open again, watching the expressions shift on the wizard’s face. His eyes, made greener than they are by his heightened senses, blink, and in that blink shift from worried to joy as he realizes Mike is watching him. The mouth, lips pink and soft, ticks upward in a smile.

“Hi,” Will says quietly.

“Hi,” Mike replies roughly.

There is another trick, but that one only works with Will. Mike pulls off his gloves, sticks them in his belt, and cups his lover’s face in his hands. Will follows his directions all too willingly, crossing that last half-step of distance between them.

Someday, perhaps, Mike will stop feeling bad about taking what Will so freely offers. He has not had the chance to wash up, and he knows some of that monster blood has found its way into his mouth in the heat of the fight. He can taste it there, bitter and rotten, and he knows Will must taste it too. Will must taste him the acidic aftertaste of the potion, and the cold, bitter saliva it leaves forming in his mouth. He is a sick thing, a cold beast, no longer human, not like this.

Mike will stop feeling bad for it when he learns to accept that Will does not care and does not mind. Perhaps because wizards themselves are not quite human anymore with all that magic running through their veins. Perhaps he has charmed, how he has no idea, the wizard into simply not caring, the blood and the rot and the poison a small price to pay for Mike’s company.

And so Will lets him kiss him. At first careful, the simple touch of mouths already flooding Mike’s senses like the swipe of a claw that got under his armor. Then Will opens up, and Mike presses forward readily, still wanting more. The first desperate gasp for air turns into a moan.

Mike pants as Will leaves off his mouth, lips brushing over his cheek, teeth scraping along his jaw. Dextrous fingers find the collar of his armor and start peeling it away, granting a hungry mouth access to his neck. The cold seeps in before the lips can warm his skin, making him shiver.

Above them October sunlight dapples through the trees. Birds twitter aggressively, still fighting. Hooves clomp on the road, wooden wheels creak as they roll over gravel. Their own horses whiny impatiently.

Mike pulls away, loathe to leave Will’s careful hands behind but suddenly unable to stand the sensation. He doubles over as his stomach turns – he doesn’t throw up, hasn’t thrown up from any of his potions since he first left Kaer Morhen for the Path, but sometimes, when he’s had too much, his body still fights him.

Will knows what to do with him in these moments too, though. He crosses the distance Mike has put between them with his first stagger and, placing a firm hand on the back of Mike’s head, keeps him down. Mike sinks to the ground, onto his knees, trying to hold his spasming body in place and Will follows, never breaking contact.

Sometimes, in moments like these, it scares Mike how much he depends on the wizard and the kind hands on his body, helping him hold on.

“Love,” Will whispers, and it means the same thing as I forgive you.

Mike curls into him, taking the darkness offered by pressing his head against Will’s chest. Will’s arms come around him, holding him there, promising safety until the pounding in Mike’s head has subsided and the adrenaline in his veins has settled down.

He doesn’t speak again until he can feel Mike’s breathing evening out. “There is a little brook nearby, love, we can get you washed up there.”

Mike nods, but it takes him a second to peel himself away from his lover’s warmth because once they are moving again they will not stop like this until the night hides their embrace.

He dreads already the evening, the dingy tavern and Dustin’s incessant singing. He dreads most the drunkards, liquid courage lying to them that bothering a witcher about tales of adventure is how they want to end their night. Sometimes riding back into town after a successful contract has people stare at him wearily, watching the cooling heads of monsters dangle off his saddlebags and his easy handling of them with disgust. He prefers that reaction. Rather a freak than a curiosity.

When he realizes Mike has wandered off into his own head, Will turns downright chatty, trying to draw him back out: “I think we should maybe take a break once we’ve found El. Winter is approaching fast, and I could just portal us all back to Lod, and then we ride up to Kaer Morhen from there. You haven’t wintered with your brothers in years, I’m sure Hopper will be happy to see you, even if you bring uninvited guests. And it might be a good place to hide El. I know you witchers like to stay out of the business of kings and queens, but…”

Mike only grunts in vague assent as he ropes together the heads of the demogorgon and the pack of younglings it had ran with, then says a quiet prayer that the amount of heads might be enough to make him a freak tonight. He drops them over Paladin’s back, always glad that his horse has long gotten used to the smell and is less harsh in her judgment than some humans are. Taking up the reigns, he follows Will’s lead, still chatting on about how he’s heard rumors Lucas had fallen in with a female witcher, now isn’t there something you don’t see every day, they say she’s a cat, maybe he’ll bring her if he comes this winter.

They’ll clean up at the brook, then head back to Rivia to collect their reward and their bard. Then they’ll continue searching for the tattooed sorceress and maybe, if they can make it in time, actually winter somewhere instead of continuing to work during the snow time. Perhaps that is what he needs, a rest from the potions, the danger, the bleeding. Warm furs and an even warmer body by his side.

It scares him, too, though, how much he depends on the wizard for that now: companionship, comfort and rest. How intertwined their futures seem to be, not just because they’re bound to keep running into each other as they both pursue their professions, or even because they’re both involved in the hunt for the Eleventh of Father’s Mountain. They won’t just split up once Mike has found the sorceress that keeps haunting Will’s dreams – there are plans beyond that, vague things defined only by their commonality: They’ll face all that is to come together.

The only people Mike has trusted like that were his brothers, Lucas chief among them, and perhaps the bard, his oldest friend. Never a lover, though. And especially never a mage.

But when Will turns back to check on him, mouth moving a mile an hour, lips turned up in a genuine smile, his face open – not the careful mask Mike has come to know on other mages, not the manipulative act that seems almost like an instinct to their order – he thinks he has grown to like that quite a bit. To love that, even. And perhaps that is what scares him the most.

Previous Prompt < View Collection on Ao3

written for @bylerween2023

[weareallstoriesintheend]

The Grudge (The Witcher x OC; Jaskier x OC)

Summary: Set between Episode 2 & 3 of Season 2 of The Witcher. Rinah Saov is living with the consequences of saving Vessimer from the Leshy, as the other witchers make her life a misery she decides there is somewhere else her heart and mind need to be.

Words: 2,267

Notes: Just trying something new, writing some new characters/universe that I haven't written before. I know that not many people like OC characters etc. but I really wanted to write this so I hope some of you like it. Just trying something a little different for once 🤷‍♀️

Rinah Saov was the nightmare parents told their children to keep them quiet. She was the stuff of Cintran legend; Redania denied her existence despite her long studies at Oxenfurt - stories and songs and tales of vast pain have been created in her wake.

The last name she adopted was a moniker of her kind, Saov meaning Soul in the elder language. Rinah was a ‘Second Soul’, a creature split in half by ‘good’ and ‘evil’. Equally in control; switching between a strong, extraordinary, but un-magical existence and a being of pure unfathomable power, sporting blood-red eyes and a magic not even the oldest mages of Aretuza know.

She was the origin of it all; the origin of the darkest magic in the continent, older than Chaos itself, a burden she knew all too well.

Their kind had existed before The Conjunction, few and far between, but by the time it was over Rinah was the only one left. Seemingly, she was now one of the oldest creatures on the continent inhabiting the body of a twenty-something year old woman. After The Conjunction, in an effort to placate the many creatures of this new world order she locked away the darkest part of her soul in a cage of her own minds making, vowing that her magic would remain dulled until war ravaged the lands she swore to protect.

A task that she had not been able to fulfill during the first Nilfgaardian war, a war she’d spent mostly unaware of what was happening as she remained locked in dimeritium chains in the dungeons of Cintra alongside Geralt of Rivia.

Geralt had met her by chance, some 30 years previous when he was a young Witcher. Fascinated by his lack of fear Rinah had followed him, irritating him into companionship. Eventually he stopped telling her leave; one day he handed her his sword to fight as hers was kicked from her grasp and that ostensibly insignificant act had sealed a formidable duo that was equally revered and feared across the many kingdoms. Her legends became entwined with his until she was not just two souls but three.

There was however a fourth, one that more belonged to her heart. Jaskier, Viscount De Lettenhove. 

Since their chance meeting in a tavern deep in the northern mountains the bard had wormed his way into her heart, a heart she had never once given to another. A thousand years of loneliness came crashing down around her, a feeling she never knew the sound of till she knew him.

Passing each other like flittering nymphs they had flirted with the prospects for years, seemingly only toying with it rather than solidifying any feelings. Geralt dutifully ignored his companion, the most powerful entity he had encountered in all his years, acting like a love-struck child. Swooning every time the loud-mouthed bard would cross their paths.

Then, one night in the woods outside Novigrad, as Geralt had slept, they had spilled their hearts open. Agreeing that the other may do what and whom they pleased, as long as they always made it back to each other.

Rinah was thousands of years old, monogamy wasn’t her style – a fact Jaskier embraced heartily.

Then came the dragon hunt, then Geralt’s rage and an issue neither of them had discussed – the fact that both would follow Geralt’s instructions without question, a different sense of loyalty. Hers to stay and his, with a shattering heart for both his love and his best friend, to leave.

Rinah paced the cold corridors of Kaer Morhern, cracking the bones of her neck in agitation, “Ignore him,” Vesemir said calmly, leaning casually against a damp wall. The silver adornments on his Witcher armor glimmered in the moonlight that shone in from the windows beside them.

The night air around them was peaceful and still, making the echoing thumps of her boots on the stone passageway sound like the walls had a heartbeat.

Shooting a look of daggers his way Rinah snorted incredulously, “I don’t know if you noticed but the little lamb makes it rather hard to do that.”

“Lambert is a feckless brute; he will come around.”

She sighed, halting her pacing and looking at Vessmier much kinder, “What I did to Eskel was…”

“… For the best.”

Rinah’s eyebrows furrowed in sadness, “I would never hurt any of you, but that… the Leshy had taken over, I had no choice.”

Vesemir grunted with a confirming nod, “So let it go child.”

Rinah smiled at his use of child, so tender and yet so incorrect. It had been a long time since she’d been treated like someone’s daughter. Vesemir smiled back as if he knew; his cold-grey eyes watching her curiously for a moment, as he so often did, before leaving.

------------------------

Dinner was noisy as usual, clattering cutlery and mingled voices. The air was thick with tension however, Geralt and Rinah sat at the opposite end of the room to the rest. Ciri sat by Rinah’s side too, side glancing at her every now and again with wary worry.

Suddenly Lambert's voice rose above the rest, “Can’t trust anyone these days!” he shouted in a jovial but pointed tone. His words were followed by a boom of bass-filled laughter.

Rinah rolled her eyes as Lambert peaked over his shoulder intentionally in her direction.

“This is impossible,” Rinah muttered under her breath. Geralt grunted dismissively by her side, shoveling spoonfuls of broth into his mouth, “They’ll move on.”

Sighing, she turned to him, lowering her chin so she could whisper, “They don’t want me here, and who can blame them.”

“You did what had to be done.”

A flash of the Leshy’s face, a mimic of Eskel, blinked across her memory, “I killed their brother! It doesn’t matter.”

Geralt was definitive, “Let it go.”

Rinah pushed herself up, plates clattering as her hips knocked the table as she clambered out from the bench, “I can’t.”

She stormed from the dining room, avoiding eye contact. Her feet carried her forward, cold air whipped her face as she made her way down some stone steps at the back of Kaer Morhern. 

Ice filled her lungs as she breathed down, trying to loosen the rope tightening around her chest. Her mind raced like a flood rushing down a hill, pointless to stop. She couldn’t stand their eyes on her, their judgement and rightful emotions.

She had no right to be angry, no right to be upset that they hated her. The only reason not a single one hadn’t tried to take her out wasn’t because of their history together, it was because of Geralt. Her mere presence was faltering cracks in their unbreakable mountain of bond. Geralt would pay a price that wasn’t a debt he owed the longer she held on.

But where would she go? Home was a foreign concept lost on her many thousands of years ago.

Then a face appeared in her mind, a memory that only made the rope around her chest more taut. The string-plucking sound of a lute like a call across the wind.

She’d go to him.

-----------------

Geralt heard Rinah before he saw her. The clatter and her weapons strapped to her back, thudding against the leather of her heavy pack.

“Vesemir,” she called out, gesturing him closer. Vesemir's eyes raised to hers casually before he caught sight of her appearance and despite the concerned furrowing of his eyebrows he rose to his feet and crossed the room.

Geralt stood when he saw her dressed in thick armor, his feet getting closer as she asked, “Do you have a horse you could spare?”

“A moment Vesemir,” Geralt spoke, cutting off his answer.  Vesemir didn’t move for a split second before a sideways glance from hard, gold eyes encouraged him away.

“What are you doing?” his graveled voice rumbled her way.  

Rinah sighed, looking past him to see if Ciri was still sat at the table, she found it empty, “I need to leave this fucking place.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows just a touch, understanding her reasoning but silently questioning it. She huffed in annoyance, “Geralt, you are not my guard I can come and go as I please.”

She pushed past him, making some more headway towards the doors at the back of the room. A gloved hand grabbed her bicep and tugged, “Enough of this,” he growled.

“They do not want me here,” Rinah replied, sounding out each word, “This is only going to get worse. You deserve better… she does too,” she lowered her voice to a whisper.

Geralt rolled his eyes, so used to her constate of quick to reaction, “You’re moving too fast, give it time,” Geralt said, his voice almost lilting down towards soothing as he loomed over her blocking Rinah from the prying view of their company.

“I know where I must go,” Rinah said with tentative words, carefully eyeing Geralt to see if he understood.

“You’re going after him, aren’t you?” Ciri appeared from the darkened corridor at the side of the room, smiling with a dreamy, doe-eyed happiness.

An understanding of a memory passed between them, one night at camp whilst Geralt hunted for food. Neither had ever had friends such as this to gossip about, Ciri asking all the questions with girlish glee that an age-old creature wouldn’t think too. Like sisters, tittering over some boy, Rinah had opened her heart once more.

Softly smiling, Rinah nodded and Ciri bounced on her heels, bounding towards her, “Go after him!”

“We’ll come with you,” Geralt adjusted his armor and looked around, deciding which direction to go first. Armor or to load up Roach with supplies, Rinah could see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

Even Ciri balked at the words, staring up at him incredulously. Had the weight of her decision not weighed her down Rinah may have smiled.

Rinah shook her head, “I will do this alone.”

“Rinah,” his grumbling tone warned her, eyebrows furrowed in frustration and disagreement. She placed her hand against his chest to stop the forward step he was taking.

“You will stay here, for her,” she kept her hand against his chest, a physical stop in his tracks, and tilted her head in gesture, “And for you.”

His eyes said everything his lips did not. Squinted in disapproval as he looked down at his friend.

Rinah rolled her tongue in the hollow of her cheek, swallowing her irritation, “Need I remind you Geralt, it’s your fault he isn’t here. Do not begrudge me this.”

Her heart ached, fear of not knowing what she’d find, but she knew she had to follow this feeling. This was not a habit she made practice of very often, her years were deeply lonely before the witcher had strolled into her life. But this was different, like an invisible string was pulling her Jaskier’s way.

She’d more than likely find him in bed with some wench he’d found at a local tavern but even that brought a twitch of a smile to her lips.

Rinah raised her eyes to Geralt, her expression somewhat pleading. A wave of her forgotten grudge swirled around them, Geralt's nostrils flared as if he could smell the scent of her fear, her pain. “If you knew Yennefer was alive, you’d go after her, am I wrong?”

Geralt stayed fixed in brooding silence as she continued, “Don’t insult me by telling me it’s not the same thing.”

Rinah’s hand reached up and rested against his armored shoulder, “I have to do this,” she urged, “Even just to see him once,” she continued under her breath so only he would hear, “I don’t even have to speak to him, I just… need this.”

She had no way of explaining the ache in her heart, although she feels the level of anger that she threw at Geralt in the months after the dragon hunt may have given him a hint. They barely spoke for weeks as she tried to forgive him. And as she tried to forgive herself for not telling her friend to fuck off and running after Jaskier before he stepped one foot off that mountain.

Geralt spoke in-kind, “This is a bad idea. You don’t know where he is or even what you’ll find, he could be anywh- “ 

Suddenly arms were around Rinah’s waist cutting off their muted conversation and ice blonde hair smothered her, “You’ll come back?” Ciri asked softly, muffled by her cheek against Rinah’s chest.

Pulling back, Rinah grabbed Ciri’s face, hands cupping her cheeks so she would look at her, “Always, I will always come back.”

Rinah took one last knowing glance upwards towards Geralt before turning her back, collecting her sword from the table behind them. The other Witcher’s watched in silence, it was unusual to hear this hall so quiet. The air felt a little colder in the absence of rambunctious energy.

As she made her way to the door, she passed Lambert; raising an eyebrow accusingly she quietly spat, “You got your way, little lamb.”  

“Rinah!” a booming voice echoed after her before Lambert could speak.

Turning on her heels she saw Geralt taking tentative steps towards her, he opened and closed his mouth as if to speak despite his face remaining steely and unfaltering.

As it had done so many times before, understanding passed wordlessly between them.

Rinah smiled tenderly before turning her back once more, calling out over her shoulder, “Our girl better be more skilled than you with a sword by the time I get back Geralt!” 

[lucigoo]

Weekly Roundup 9th June - 30th June

So, im a little behind with weekly round up as im sure you can see. A broken wrist and RL really has been kicking my arse. Thankfully my wrist ismuch better and Rl seems to have calmsed down somewhat so im back. Between the 9-30th June I uploaded 19,849 words (thats not all I wrote but I didnt keep track lol) and as always I will put 6 recs and mine under the read more.

So, as always, recs first: The Best of You and Me - giddytf2 - The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, I love it hwen they are both idiots tbh)

Summary: In which Jaskier discovers that he's mysteriously pregnant but wants the baby, Geralt finally learns to use his words after twenty years, Yennefer is so done with two idiots in love and their communication problems, and Ciri gains a new family.

A Dream or Something More - amloveabledeathmo - The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)(Bilbo/Thorin, Quest retelling, The Rivendell scene is just so precious)

Summary: Bilbo gets a second chance, but how long is it before he realizes it. He does things to make himself happy and treats the dwarves like the lovely family they are. Also setting Bilbo a bit younger here not middle aged but about 40ish so like 10 or so years earlier to give him more time with his dwarves.

My Ego Dies - Conkers - The Hobbit (Jackson Movies) @conkers-thecosy (Bilbo/Thorin, this is just all around adorable)

Summary: What if Frodo Baggins visited Erebor ten years after Bilbo returned to the Shire, and met with Thorin Oakenshield.

White lies - ylc - The Witcher (TV) (Geralt/Jaskier, Fake/pretend relationships are just so much fun) Summary: In Jaskier’s defense, he hadn’t actually believed Geralt would come looking for him eventually, so he figured that telling his mother that the Witcher was the father of the child he was carrying would be a completely harmless lie. And then of course Geralt had walked back into his life and things got… complicated.

Moonlight Feathers - Akikofuma - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, both are griffins and its so bloody cute)

Summary: Due to his coloring, Geralt will never have a family of his own, he's sure of it; until he meets Jaskier.

Learning how to be free - tashaxxxxxx - Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, A/b/o, please mind the tags but this is so beautifully done)

Summary: Jaskier is a badly beaten omega belonging to King Vizimir with little hope for the future. He had even less hope when he’s told he’s going to be given away to the Witchers, bloodthirsty beasts, as assurance that Redania will keep to the peace treaty.

Jaskier has little hope of surviving the next few days, let alone of finding freedom and love.

And, as always, my fics. I have 6 fics to share with you for this time period <3

Ereborian Pride (Bilbo/Thorin and the final of my Baggin-shieldtober series that took me 9 months lol. Once again, thank you @smolestboop for the amazing prompts. Summary: On the afternoon of Kili's 18th birthday, Thorin and the rest of the company and their families) remembeed their past lives. Their quest, living in a thriving Erebor.

Thorin remembered loving and losing Bilbo. 4 year later there still hasn't been any word from their burglar. Thorin needs to find the other half of his heart.

Count, Count, Count before you Cry: Count, Count, Count before I Die (Bilbo/Thorin, written for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt count the days, very sad, please read the tags)

Summary: Thorin and the dwarves are Gold sick and they have NOT forgiven Bilbo his betrayal

A pair of scarlet rain boots (Geralt/Jaskier, My very first Witcher fic that I think is one of my fav things I've written)

Summary: Jaskier passed away a long time ago. The only human in a family of non-humans.

Cirilla has just had her first child and she wishes with all her heart her only human parent was here. Of course, he loved her so much he has never left her.

My brothers, my boys, my twins (Horry Potter, its Percy and George, gen fic for the @hp-abandonshipfest, its also part of my FireSeeker (Percy/Viktor) Series)

Summary: Percy was unintentionally parentified at a young age. He was tasked with being an extra parent to the twins. Now, having dumped his boyfriend, the night before the twins 22nd Birthday, the first birthday without Fred, he finds himself with George and Harry. Reminiscing about the boys he all but helped raised. His twins, and one is missing forever-more.

For the Abandon ship fest, prompt 67: Pre canon, Percy being the one who mostly watches the twins.

Dorcas the Orca, The Maruaders and a jail cell (A marauuders gen crack fic for a wonderful friend of mine)

Summary: Sirius, James and Remus are put in a jail cell.

As annoying as it is, Remus would have dealt with it, but theres an orca in the corner of the cell somehow...

If I sing it loud and clear, will you finally hear? (Geralt/Jaskier, for the @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - House of cards)

Summary: Jaskier has a new song and is as subtle as a drunken Lambert.

If Geralt doesnt see Jaskier's feelings for him now, well theres no hope for him.