generallynerdy
GenerallyNerdy
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chapter 4 is up!
Summary: Obi-Wan is summoned before the Council to make his decision. Feemor interrupts. Mace keeps telling Depa classified information.
Summary: Anakin Skywalker was a miniature sun in the Force; Obi-Wan could understand why Qui-Gon was enamored. But this? Intending to take the boy as his apprentice, while Obi-Wan was standing right next to him? The shame that burned red on his cheeks was a familiar friend. He felt it countless times growing up beside Qui-Gon, a master too good for him and the rage he carried.
(Or: Obi-Wan finally gets tired of being nothing but a burden when he has given everything he has to give. He’s setting Qui-Gon free.)
Relationships: Qui-Gon & Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan & Feemor & Jocasta Nu, Obi-Wan & Anakin
#star wars#generallynerdy#novakitty#sw#obi-wan kenobi#qui-gon jinn#anakin skywalker#jocasta nu#feemor#disaster lineage#star wars prequels#star wars fic#star wars fanfiction#ao3#mace windu#depa billaba#making special appearances bc i love them
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chapter 3 is up!
Summary: Master Koon bonds with his new charges on the way to Naboo, very subtly teaching Anakin the ways of the Jedi. Dooku calls Nico, resulting in much bitching. Feemor and Obi-Wan bond in the depths of the archives, and the former is quickly discovering how well they get along.
Summary: Anakin Skywalker was a miniature sun in the Force; Obi-Wan could understand why Qui-Gon was enamored. But this? Intending to take the boy as his apprentice, while Obi-Wan was standing right next to him? The shame that burned red on his cheeks was a familiar friend. He felt it countless times growing up beside Qui-Gon, a master too good for him and the rage he carried.
(Or: Obi-Wan finally gets tired of being nothing but a burden when he has given everything he has to give. He’s setting Qui-Gon free.)
Relationships: Qui-Gon & Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan & Feemor & Jocasta Nu, Obi-Wan & Anakin
#star wars#novakitty#generallynerdy#sw#obi-wan kenobi#qui-gon jinn#anakin skywalker#jocasta nu#feemor#disaster lineage#star wars prequels#star wars fic#star wars fanfiction#ao3
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chapter 2 is up :)
Summary: The aftermath. Obi-Wan panics, Feemor makes his move, Jocasta calls an old friend, and Anakin makes some new ones.
Summary: Anakin Skywalker was a miniature sun in the Force; Obi-Wan could understand why Qui-Gon was enamored. But this? Intending to take the boy as his apprentice, while Obi-Wan was standing right next to him? The shame that burned red on his cheeks was a familiar friend. He felt it countless times growing up beside Qui-Gon, a master too good for him and the rage he carried.
(Or: Obi-Wan finally gets tired of being nothing but a burden when he has given everything he has to give. He’s setting Qui-Gon free.)
Relationships: Qui-Gon & Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan & Feemor & Jocasta Nu, Obi-Wan & Anakin
#star wars#generallynerdy#novakitty#sw#obi-wan kenobi#anakin skywalker#jocasta nu#feemor#qui-gon jinn#disaster lineage#star wars prequels#star wars fic#star wars fanfiction#ao3
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Summary: Anakin Skywalker was a miniature sun in the Force; Obi-Wan could understand why Qui-Gon was enamored. But this? Intending to take the boy as his apprentice, while Obi-Wan was standing right next to him? The shame that burned red on his cheeks was a familiar friend. He felt it countless times growing up beside Qui-Gon, a master too good for him and the rage he carried.
(Or: Obi-Wan finally gets tired of being nothing but a burden when he has given everything he has to give. He’s setting Qui-Gon free.)
Relationships: Qui-Gon & Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan & Feemor & Jocasta Nu, Obi-Wan & Anakin
#star wars#generallynerdy#novakitty#sw#obi-wan kenobi#qui-gon jinn#anakin skywalker#jocasta nu#feemor#disaster lineage#star wars prequels#star wars fic#star wars fanfiction#ao3
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Here’s the start of the Inquisitor!Cal fic I promised over a year ago :)
River’s Tags: @hahaboop @mystoragehatesme
also @pearlll09 bc i know hes ur scrunkly
hope yall enjoy im gonna go disappear into the void again
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Hey! Was looking for the old masterlist with all your old /reader stuff, any idea where I can find it?
hi here's the old masterlist link
please read some of my newer content for my sanity even if it's just one. i am begging. thank u
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hihi! Thank you so much!! I don’t currently have plans for a part two, but if I end up writing more for this I will absolutely tag you! :D
And pray our embrace is not a history repeating itself
AO3
Summary: Thanks to Prauf, Cal is able to escape Bracca sooner than he’d expected. Better yet, he’s able to connect with an undercover Imperial by the name of Tala, who offers to smuggle him to yet another stranger who will bring him to a sanctuary for Force-sensitives. Funnily enough, the teenager recognises this stranger.
Warnings: mentions of Knightfall, implied past character death (canonical), grief, loss of a parental figure, loss of a child/apprentice, persecution, canon-typical violence, minor Kenobi spoilers! (a featured character, planet, and some worldbuilding but nothing really plot-wise)
Author’s Note: I am back on my bullshit! This is entirely the fault of Kenobi and also Wolf who is enabling me as much as I am enabling them. Sob. Anyway, come join me in my Aayla being Cal’s Master agenda. The title is from ‘When Puffy says, and we won’t stop, ‘cause we can’t stop’ by Rasheed Copeland.
*
Admittedly, Mapuzo wasn’t much of an improvement from Bracca. Sure, there weren’t collapsing shipwrecks practically drowning the planet’s surface, but it was practically a desert planet considering what the Empire had done to it. And Cal Kestis? He couldn’t stand desert planets.
His heat tolerance was next to none and his skin was paler than an albino bantha, so it sunburnt like no Jawa’s business. Naturally, desert planets didn’t agree with him.
Mapuzo was temporary, though, as he frequently reminded himself. Everywhere was temporary for a Jedi nowadays. Even Bracca.
“You deserve more than this junkpile, Cal!”
Sitting in a rotting transport vehicle, much like the one he and Prauf took every day back on the scavenger planet, Cal couldn’t help but think of his friend. He wondered how he was doing.
Prauf had insisted on sharing his meagre earnings with Cal from the first day they met, when Cal was even more babyfaced and freshly traumatised by the slaughter of his people. After he found out who he was a few months ago, though? There was no arguing with him after that, no slipping credits back into his jacket pockets. Prauf practically shoved him into the transport off Bracca, begging him to follow this safe, underground path for fugitive Force-sensitives.
He would never admit it, but it was nice to be cared for again.
Master Aayla would have liked him, Cal thought.
“We’re here.”
Keep reading
#i'm so glad you liked it!!#i stop checking notifs for three days and suddenly ppl find this JSDLFKJ#generallynerdy#mod river#and pray our embrace#tag list
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And pray our embrace is not a history repeating itself
AO3
Summary: Thanks to Prauf, Cal is able to escape Bracca sooner than he’d expected. Better yet, he’s able to connect with an undercover Imperial by the name of Tala, who offers to smuggle him to yet another stranger who will bring him to a sanctuary for Force-sensitives. Funnily enough, the teenager recognises this stranger.
Warnings: mentions of Knightfall, implied past character death (canonical), grief, loss of a parental figure, loss of a child/apprentice, persecution, canon-typical violence, minor Kenobi spoilers! (a featured character, planet, and some worldbuilding but nothing really plot-wise)
Author’s Note: I am back on my bullshit! This is entirely the fault of Kenobi and also Wolf who is enabling me as much as I am enabling them. Sob. Anyway, come join me in my Aayla being Cal’s Master agenda. The title is from ‘When Puffy says, and we won’t stop, ‘cause we can’t stop’ by Rasheed Copeland.
*
Admittedly, Mapuzo wasn’t much of an improvement from Bracca. Sure, there weren’t collapsing shipwrecks practically drowning the planet’s surface, but it was practically a desert planet considering what the Empire had done to it. And Cal Kestis? He couldn’t stand desert planets.
His heat tolerance was next to none and his skin was paler than an albino bantha, so it sunburnt like no Jawa’s business. Naturally, desert planets didn’t agree with him.
Mapuzo was temporary, though, as he frequently reminded himself. Everywhere was temporary for a Jedi nowadays. Even Bracca.
“You deserve more than this junkpile, Cal!”
Sitting in a rotting transport vehicle, much like the one he and Prauf took every day back on the scavenger planet, Cal couldn’t help but think of his friend. He wondered how he was doing.
Prauf had insisted on sharing his meagre earnings with Cal from the first day they met, when Cal was even more babyfaced and freshly traumatised by the slaughter of his people. After he found out who he was a few months ago, though? There was no arguing with him after that, no slipping credits back into his jacket pockets. Prauf practically shoved him into the transport off Bracca, begging him to follow this safe, underground path for fugitive Force-sensitives.
He would never admit it, but it was nice to be cared for again.
Master Aayla would have liked him, Cal thought.
“We’re here.”
The boy was snapped from his thoughts by the gentle voice. Coming back into focus, he realised all the other passengers were beginning to stand and exit the transport. As he moved to join them, the woman beside him held out his bag.
“Stay close to me,” Tala warned.
With a sharp nod, he took his belongings and followed her off the transport.
He hadn’t travelled since before the Fall, and it showed. Every step he took was one of uncertainty. His eyes never stayed in one place, flying to and fro in an effort to spot everything that moved. He looked tenser than a tooka stuck in a tree, ready to pounce at anyone who got too close. Tala had told him to try and ease up on Bracca, but he couldn’t.
The last time he eased up, his Master died.
The last time he relaxed, Bly tried to kill him.
“This way,” Tala murmured as they split from the crowd of travellers. “Keep your head down.”
As if she had to say so. His robe, one of the few things he kept alongside his and his Master’s lightsabers, was already tugged up over his head. The shock of red hair on his head wasn’t exactly subtle. He was used to hiding it, as it was too easily recognizable.
Tala brought him to a safehouse. It looked like a typical building, but Cal knew better. He could recognise safehouses and underground outposts like the back of his hand. That was, unfortunately, something he got from the war, not from Bracca. There weren’t any sanctuaries on Bracca, except the one in Prauf’s apartment.
Inside the safehouse, a loader droid closed the door behind them.
“Hello,” Cal greeted.
The loader droid waved, at which point Tala cleared her throat. “NED-B isn’t capable of vocalising, but he’s been very helpful here. The contact should have arrived already. NED?”
NED nodded, then pointed towards the back of the safehouse.
Despite the certainty with which he’d left Prauf and Bracca behind, Cal felt something lodge in his throat. Tala was fine. She was nice, even. But now he was to be handed off to someone who specifically “handled Force-sensitives,” as he’d been told. Specifically younglings. He was not a youngling. 15 standard was practically an adult.
Before Tala could take a step towards the backroom, Cal grabbed her sleeve. Thankfully, she paused, eyeing him curiously.
“Do you trust them?” he asked quietly.
Tala frowned. “I do. But I think you would trust him more than I do. Most of the other Jedi that have come through here did.”
Force, everytime she said that Cal felt a surge of hope. The other Jedi.
For years, he was convinced he was the only one left. Without being able to touch the Force, he couldn’t check his own bonds, so the only indication he had as to other survivors was Imperial propaganda, which obviously wasn’t in his favour. He wanted so desperately to believe Tala when she said there were others like him, others that escaped. But at the same time, he didn’t want it to be true. He didn’t want the Jedi to have to hide away like rats, living half-lives in desperate attempts to survive like he had on Bracca. This wasn’t what they were meant for.
“Okay,” he whispered, releasing her sleeve.
The other Jedi trusted him. So Cal could, too. Right?
He followed Tala to the backroom. The walls were bathed in yellow light and drowned in writing on the walls, even drawings. Cal didn’t focus on it, though, as his attention was drawn to the person inside.
Dark hair, a yellow line across his face, yellow-tinted brown eyes—he was running before he could even breathe again.
Cal collided with the Jedi Master with a bone-rattling cry.
Of course, the man hesitated, entirely unaware of why this young teenager was hugging him. To be fair, he’d had former Jedi hug him simply for being the first familiar Force signature they���d felt in years, even younglings hugging him as thanks for rescue or just for understanding, for being Force-sensitive. But this was different.
“Master Vos!” Cal wailed, abandoning all sense of decorum as he grasped the man’s ratty outfit like they would be ripped apart again.
Beneath him, Quinlan Vos lost his breath. Before his brain caught up, he was curling his arms around the teenager and tugging him close. His hood had fallen off in the rush, revealing dirty ginger hair and a pale, scarred face.
“Cal,” he breathed. Tears filled his eyes as he realised who he was holding. “Cal—”
For the first time in years, Cal let someone else shield him from the rest of the galaxy. All that mattered was burying his face in Master Vos’ chest and crying it all out. All that mattered was that his grandmaster was alive.
“Shh, sh, it’s okay, I’m here,” Quinlan whispered into his hair. “I’m here, you’re okay. I’ve got you now.”
He howled as if wounded, but in truth his scars were being ripped open. Here, he couldn’t deny his solitude or the reason for it. In Master Vos’ arms, he had to accept the fact that his master was dead, and all that was left of her was the blade on his belt, the gap in his heart, and his slowly fading memories. Here, his broken heart was laid bare. Yet still, Master Quinlan tugged him closer and whispered reassurances, sounding tearful himself as they collapsed to the ground together.
“Cal, you have to be quiet,” he warned, although he hated to say it. “You have to be quiet, buddy.”
Despite the fact that he hadn’t been a padawan in years, Cal obeyed in an instant. His cries lessened to hiccuping sobs that he drowned in the folds of Master Quinlan’s tunic. He still didn’t dare let go.
A few feet away, Tala watched the pair with consternation, although it seemed like a pleasant surprise.
“Vos?” she questioned lightly.
He swallowed harshly, shutting his eyes. “Aayla’s,” he croaked.
It was half an explanation, conveniently leaving out exactly how much Cal Kestis meant to him. He was Aayla’s, that much was true, but he was not only Aayla’s apprentice. He was her son, and that made him Quinlan’s family, his grandson. Cal was all that remained of his daughter.
“Oh,” Tala breathed, understanding dawning. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”
As much as this was a reunion, she knew it was also confirmation. Aayla Secura was dead on Bracca, otherwise she would be with Cal. Nothing could have taken her from him but her duty or her death.
“I’m sorry,” Cal whispered into Quinlan’s shoulder. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop them—”
Quinlan shook his head fiercely. “It’s not your fault. You were—you are a kid. I’m so proud of you for making it, Cal, and she would be, too, okay? You’re safe now. I have you.”
Desperate for grounding, the boy shifted his arms to rest around his grandmaster’s neck. His hands trembled and, not for the first time, he was grateful for the mouldering gloves he wore. It wouldn’t do to pick up Quinlan’s Echoes, especially not in such an emotional moment.
“Are you gonna send me away?” he asked.
“No, no, Force, never,” he hissed. “Never again. You’re staying right with me, do you understand?”
He made a noise between a whine and a hum of confirmation.
However, when the older man reached out into the Force to wrap him in a blanket of warmth and comfort, he found…nothing.
“Cal, buddy,” he said breathlessly, pained at the realisation, “you can stop shielding yourself in the Force. It’s okay; they won’t find you here. You can breathe.”
He tensed in Quinlan’s hold. For a long moment, he was afraid he’d have to comfort the boy further, reassure him that it was safe enough for him to let the Force run through his veins once more.
“Cal?”
The boy shook his head.
“Buddy, I promise you’re safe.”
He shook his head again. “I can’t,” he croaked.
Quinlan’s blood ran cold. His shaking hand gently pulled on Cal’s chin until he was looking up at him, still attempting to avoid eye-contact as tears welled in those beautiful baby blues. “You can’t?” he repeated, his voice cracking. “What do you mean you can’t?”
“Master, I can’t.”
Almost desperate for some other answer, he sought him out in the Force again, but he wasn’t there. He was Force-null, utterly blank like most life in the galaxy. There was no bright, affable light that Quinlan could recognise as his grandson without a smidge of effort. He had expected their bond to be absent after all that time, of course, but not for Cal himself to have ceased to exist in the Force. Where was his little star?
“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, holding his small hands close to his chest. “After—when Bly got the comm, it just—it all hurt and there was screaming and then Master Aayla—”
His connection with the Force was broken. If he could touch the Force at all, he could barely do so.
“Cal…”
Quinlan pulled him back into his embrace. Cal cried into his chest, while he tried to come to terms with all of it.
Alright. So Cal needed help to reach the Force again. It would be painful and full of tears and he may not even want to do it in the first place, but that would be okay. That would be okay, Quinlan told himself. Because he didn’t think Cal would be alive to feel the Force again.
He’d take Cal’s life over the Force any day. Maybe that made him a bad Jedi, but so what?
The Jedi were dead. Cal was not.
*
River’s Tags: @hahaboop, @mystoragehatesme
River’s Masterlist
#star wars#sw#sw fanfic#star wars fanfic#jedi: fallen order#quinlan vos#tala durith#aayla secura#commander bly#cal kestis#cal kestis & quinlan vos#mod river
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Just recently got around to watching Crimes of Grindelwald (don't come @ me akdjdjjs I love the first movie but didn't hear anything good about the second so I never really put in the effort to watch it) and, as a result, came back and read your mermaid reader fic now that I can understand it! And i want to say 1) what a way to please my inner child at pretending to be a mermaid I did that so often as a kid, that was lovely 2) I didn't think of Theseus that way until your fic and now I'm rethinkin everything.... anyway just wanted you to know how much I loved it!!
HI PEARL I just saw this I'm so sorry but I'M REALLY GLAD YOU LIKED IT!! That was one of my favourites, honestly! I don't interact with Harry Potter stuff anymore (for good reason lol) but dear god do I love Theseus Scamander's character concept. Every day I think about how I could've done it a thousand times better than JKR. Every day.
#thank u for reminding me of my favourite oneshot <3#pearlll09#pearl#generallynerdy#mod river#river answers
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EHEHEHE I AM HERE AND YOU ALL SHALL SUFFER WITH MY AC RAREPAIRS!
and speaking of revivals, everybody welcome mod Wolf back to GenerallyNerdy! @thewolfprince is their main and they wrote one fic on here a long time ago, but now they have intentions to swarm your feeds with Assassin’s Creed. I would apologise but I am his enabler <3
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and speaking of revivals, everybody welcome mod Wolf back to GenerallyNerdy! @thewolfprince is their main and they wrote one fic on here a long time ago, but now they have intentions to swarm your feeds with Assassin’s Creed. I would apologise but I am his enabler <3
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@thewolfprince don’t look at me im in shame
well FUCK i guess i’m writing star wars fanfic again god DAMMIT
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well FUCK i guess i’m writing star wars fanfic again god DAMMIT
#i am so unbelievably normal about star wars rn#i did not scream incoherently when they said That Name in kenobi#no your honour i did not#objection. hearsay#generallynerdy#river#rivika
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I don’t know a love that doesn’t destroy (The Witcher)
AO3
Work Summary: The sorcerer grasped Ciri’s hair and dragged her upwards, exposing her throat. “Tick tock, Yennefer,” he crooned. “The child or the bard. It’s your choice.” At his feet, hunched over and still spitting blood, Jaskier lifted his head to meet Yennefer’s gaze. Her fists clenched at his determined expression, disgust pooling in her gut. He wanted her to save Ciri. She wouldn’t let either of them die. Unfortunately, they were at a standstill.
Prompt: Angstpril Day 1 - “I didn’t mean for this to happen”
Word Count: 3,810
Warnings: canon-typical violence, major character death, whodunnit except it’s who’s the corpse, on-screen death, canon-typical language, angst, description of a corpse, knife wounds, blood
Author’s Note: The title is from the poem Anniversary by Diannely Antigua. Sorry about this one, gang, and for the fact that my return to fanfic is through angst. Also, uh, sorry Pearl.
*
It was a crisp summer morning when they hit the narrow trail. They’d been travelling for days already, but finally, they were approaching their destination. Despite the exhaustion that chilled the trio’s bones, their spirits were higher than ever. In fact, for once, Yennefer found herself enjoying Jaskier’s company.
“Ciri, dear, give us a song.”
Nevermind. She hated the bard and his stupid fucking lute.
“Don’t you dare, Cirilla,” Yennefer growled out from atop her horse.
The other was occupied by her companions, dearest Ciri at the reins and Jaskier back-to-back with her so that his hands were free to annoy Yennefer to death. If she still had her magic, she would’ve cursed him with silence before he could open his mouth. Alas, she was stuck with his endless portfolio of songs and his even more endless babbling.
Ciri giggled, which would have been endearing in any other moment. The girl put a finger on her chin, in mockingly deep thought. Finally came her rumination: “Do Toss A Coin.”
Yennefer groaned a rumbling noise as if a dragon lived in her chest. “Not again.”
“It would be my pleasure, my lady,” Jaskier said. He gave his lute a wild strum with a flourish, a dastardly, falsely genial smile on his wicked face. Without hesitation, and despite Yen’s glare, he began to sing. “When a humble bard graced a ride along…with Geralt of Rivia—”
The great sorceress rolled her eyes. “The one time we are without the oaf and all you want to do is sing his praises.”
“Good gods, Yen, you could at least pretend to miss him!” he teased.
“It’s nice, just us three,” Ciri chimed in, knocking her elbow into Jaskier pointedly. “I don’t miss his hovering.”
Yennefer huffed a laugh. “You’re just glad he’s not here to stop you from stealing our wine. Hm?”
“And I get to hear the bawdy songs!”
The bard cackled. “Oh, you haven’t heard the truly ribald songs.”
“Even Jaskier is somewhat responsible, darling,” she said. “Geralt would kill him. He’s an idiot and reckless, but he hardly has a death wish.”
“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”
He scoffed, looking between them with a scandalised expression. “Always the butt of the joke. You know, I thought I’d get a break from it being without Geralt, but no, he’s rubbed off on both of you now! Cirilla, I truly expected better of you.”
“Grave mistake,” she chirped with a silly grin.
Yennefer spotted Jaskier’s scandalised face, his open mouth, and interrupted him before he could start rambling. “Enough, the both of you. We’re here.”
Ciri brightened significantly, while the sorceress shared a look with the bard, a disgustingly fond one.
This trip of theirs was not for Jaskier alone, though it had begun as a chance for him to perform for a crowd that wasn’t witchers at Kaer Morhen. The festival he’d pointed out in a nearby town was one Yennefer was fairly familiar with, so she decided to tag along. For herself, of course. Not to keep an eye on the bard. And when Ciri found out that they were going to a festival, a warm, flower-themed one at that, she absolutely begged to go. It didn’t take much to convince Geralt—no, just one pleading look from his girl. It took a little more to convince him to let them go alone, but eventually, they managed it.
It wasn’t that they didn’t want Geralt to go. They knew, however, that he wouldn’t enjoy the festival, nor would he be welcomed in the first place, annoyingly enough. So, Lambert and Coën, two of his closest brothers, dragged him along on a job and told him to let them bond.
Leading Ciri and Jaskier into the town, Yennefer reminisced on it fondly. Despite herself, she smiled. Lambert had called them all Geralt’s: Ciri “his girl,” Jaskier “his bard,” and Yennefer “his witch.” Her own nickname wasn’t exactly affectionate, but she knew he meant it lightly.
To think they were Geralt’s droll little group. Was there even a word for what they were to him? She couldn’t think of one.
"Yen, look!"
Her attention was drawn back into the present at Ciri's insistent hissing. The girl had their horses sidled up next to each other, close enough that she could tug on her sleeve. She pointed into the square of the town as they entered, eyes bright with wonder.
Ciri was pointing at the decor, she thought, gaze drifting over the sight.
Every inch of the market stalls and walls was covered with flowers of all colours. Purples and blues seemed to be the favourite, though, with smatterings of reds and yellows and pinks. People wore flowers around their necks, wrists, and ankles. They handed them to each other, as well, in single stems, bouquets, and even artful pieces of jewellery. It was a sight to see, the beauty of summer here. Most other villages celebrated these holidays in spring, but this environment was perfect for flowers in summer, what with their frequent rain showers. Legend had it that it was some sorcerer's fault a hundred years ago.
Yennefer probably would've thanked them if they were still alive, just for the look on Ciri's face when a girl, much younger than her, offered her a necklace of carnations for her steed.
“They’re lovely, thank you,” the young princess murmured.
She ran her fingertips over the petals, apparently in deep thought.
At her back, Jaskier sat up. “Ooh, bookshop! We should see if we can find anything for dear old Vesemir.”
“Necessities first, bard,” Yennefer chided, swinging her leg over her saddle to dismount. “Then we can spend all Geralt’s coin.”
Snickering, Ciri let Jaskier hop down before she followed him. Once they got their horses situated for the night, they took to exploring the festival. Yennefer split from the other two briefly, haggling her way through the market. Ciri found her way to her later, hiding her giggles at the annoyed vendors as they attempted to bargain with an unstoppable force.
When Jaskier reappeared, he held something out to Ciri.
“For me?” she asked, eyes wide.
He nodded encouragingly, a blinding smile on his face. “Go on, princess.”
Without further questioning, the girl ripped into the brown paper packaging like the child she was. Yennefer gave their companion a questioning look, but he only smiled and shook his head. When she looked back at their girl, she saw a dumbfounded Ciri.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, hesitant hands drifting over the gift.
It was beautiful; a curved, decorative hairpin forged of rose gold and decorated with sparkling white gems. The metal twisted like branches with leaves on the offshoots, the entire thing shaped almost like a tiara. The eye-catching part, however, was the line of three pink roses it bore. They were real flowers, enchanted to stay alive for decades. Of the three, the middle rose was the largest, but each was perfectly pristine. The jewellery was ideal for a princess, Yennefer thought. It was practically made for Ciri.
“I love it!” she cried.
Unexpectedly, she threw herself at Jaskier, tackling the bard in a vicious, witcher-trained hug. He took it with a grunt and a laugh, hugging her back the moment he could. Yennefer smiled at them both, eyes bright.
“Thank you,” Ciri whispered into his shoulder.
He petted her hair gently. “Any time, dear. Now, I think Yennefer has her eye on yet another vendor to harass. Help me make a song out of this one?”
“Only if you call Yen something wicked,” she bartered.
Said sorceress brightened, while he gave a dramatic, beleaguered groan. “If I must.”
Yennefer bore a devious smile. “That’s my cub.”
That night, Ciri and Yennefer retired to their room in the inn long before Jaskier, whose voice echoed throughout the tavern and its halls far into the night. While he belted out his songs and made all the village girls swoon, Yennefer helped Ciri undo her braids and settle in for bed. They stayed up longer than intended, a fact they would keep a secret between themselves, lest Geralt find out and never let Yen watch over Ciri again.
“I’m happy that Geralt found you and Jaskier,” Ciri said during a long silence.
Admittedly, Yennefer was somewhat dumbstruck. “Oh?”
She gave a sheepish smile, her free hand playing with her hair. “Everything that happened was…scary,” she continued, “but you’re both with us now. I like it better with you here. So does Geralt, even if he doesn’t say it. He’s happier with you two around. More, uh, complete.”
At that moment, Yen’s heart broke. She didn’t even like it around simply because she liked them, but also because Geralt was apparently all the better for their presence. The way she said it, too, with such love in her eyes, killed the sorceress right there. She almost wanted to bundle her in blankets and never let go.
Before the clock struck midnight, however, she tucked the girl into bed alone and kissed the crown of her head.
“Sleep, dearest,” she murmured, sure she was already asleep. “I’ll keep watch.”
And keep watch she did; her keen eyes drifted over their room what must have been a thousand and twelve times before Jaskier arrived. There was a sag in his shoulders but a pep in his step as he entered. The sight of Ciri’s hairpin on the nightstand made his eyes all rheumy, disgustingly enough. Yennefer greeted him with a nod, ready to turn in herself now that he was there.
“Good show?” she asked, her voice barely a breeze.
“Not as good as Kaer Morhen,” he admitted with something like longing in his words. “But good. Ciri’s alright?”
She nodded as she climbed into bed beside the girl, leaving Jaskier on his own. “No nightmares yet. I’ll wake up if she does.”
“Good.” He curled into his blankets. His speech was slurred. “That’s good.”
Yennefer huffed out a chuckle. “Goodnight, bard.”
“Goodnight, witch.”
She was very nearly asleep the second she laid down, but her mind kept her up a moment longer. We’re Geralt’s family, her traitorous thoughts decided. That was the word she was looking for earlier. We’re family.
~
“GERALT!”
It was a bright summer day in Kaer Morhen, a rare occurrence, when Lambert burst through the doors to the library. Vesemir and Geralt dropped their conversation in an instant, the latter getting to his feet with a hand on his sword. He knew his brother and that tone of voice meant bad news.
Lambert turned the corner, finally coming into view. “Geralt,” he said breathlessly, “it’s Yennefer. At the gate. She—”
He never did finish, what with the way Geralt ran out of the room like a bat out of hell. His feverish escape didn’t go unnoticed by his fellow witchers, many of whom followed at a somewhat slower pace. Of course, he ignored them all, gaze set on the front gate. Underneath his ragged old boots, soft grass parted for him without resistance.
It was rare for him to be home in the warm months. He was used to the crunch of snow under his feet and the biting cold of the mountain snows. This summer at home felt almost new to him after so long of being deprived of the experience, but he’d grown fond of it. It was all for Ciri, who loved Kaer Morhen dearly and needed a stable environment while she learned to use her magic. Everything those days was for Ciri. Even Lambert and Coën visited more frequently to see her. (And her alone, they’d claim. Perhaps for Jaskier’s music. Yennefer loathed the bard’s boasting when they said as much.)
The trip to the festival was for Ciri, too. But the fear in Lambert’s voice had Geralt choking on air. He knew it was a bad idea for them to go alone, without him, especially such a distance.
One of his brothers had just managed to get the gate open when he appeared, rushing through without pause. On the other side, a single horse stood. At its side was the trembling shadow of Yennefer of Vengeberg, a ghastly looking image of a once-powerful sorceress who held the reins with a deathly grip.
“Geralt,” she choked out, voice raspy, as though she’d been screaming.
Geralt was starting to hate his own name.
He took a few steps toward her but stopped at the sight of something on the horse. Someone. Almost someone.
A limp body lay across the saddle, buried under blankets.
The witcher felt his stomach leap into his throat. “Yen, what—?”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she cried. Her voice trembled in a way he hadn’t heard in years, something broken and shattered in every word. “Geralt, I’m—”
When she tried to step forward, her body seemed to collapse on itself. The white-haired witcher barely caught her, holding her in his arms when she lost the strength to stand on. He wondered, absently, if she had walked the whole way here. Did she transport herself, the horse, and the…the corpse with magic?
The corpse. He couldn’t see their face. He couldn’t tell which of their companions laid dead before him; nausea crawled up his throat all of a sudden. For a moment, he almost didn’t want to know.
Was it Jaskier, his lips never to quirk up in a smile or open for a song again? Or was it Ciri, her bright eyes dead and cold?
“Geralt, I’m sorry,” Yennefer gasped. She grasped the back of his neck, desperate for something to ground her. “I’m so sorry.”
~
“Let them go and I won’t turn you into ashes,” the sorceress hissed.
She gathered flames in her hands. Before Sodden, it might have been an empty threat, but the sorcerer in front of her knew very well what her ash-ridden palms were capable of now. In fact, she would do it for lesser things than this, far lesser.
On the floor before him, Ciri squirmed dangerously. The skin of her cheek was unnervingly close to the blade in the other sorcerer’s hand, but she clearly didn’t care. On the ground beside her, Jaskier had been beaten to the floor for daring to open his mouth. Unfortunately, it was a situation he was all too familiar with. This time, however, his insults had been to keep the filth’s hands off Cirilla. It worked too well.
“I was sent to break you, Yennefer,” the sorcerer said. She didn’t even know his name. “I only need one alive to do that, so…pick your favourite.”
He grasped Ciri’s hair and dragged her upwards, exposing her throat.
It was the same way he’d pulled her out of her soft bed in the inn. Yennefer barely had a second to react and even that was too long. By then, Jaskier was flying at the man with his lute and beating him over the head with it, folly as it was. With both the bard and the princess in hand, the sorcerer had Yennefer as well.
“Tick tock, Yennefer,” he crooned. “The child or the bard. It’s your choice.”
“Over my dead body.”
He only laughed. It was a mid-tier cackle, she thought. She’d certainly heard more villainous attempts. “Not the deal. One dies.”
At his feet, hunched over and still spitting blood, Jaskier lifted his head to meet Yennefer’s gaze. Her fists clenched at his determined expression, disgust pooling in her gut. He wanted her to save Ciri. She wouldn’t let either of them die. Unfortunately, they were at a standstill.
“And if I don’t choose?” she questioned fiercely.
“Yen,” Jaskier hissed, receiving another swift kick to the stomach for his gall.
Ciri glanced at the bard. “Don’t you dare.”
The sorcerer rolled his eyes. “I’ll stand here as long as I have to. Or, if I get bored, I could always kill them both.”
“You wouldn’t live to make the second hit.”
“But the first, well, that one’s easy,” he mocked.
Ciri met Yennefer’s gaze. There was childlike terror in her expression, but trust as well. It was nothing like Jaskier’s determined, knowing look he gave the woman a moment after.
This was not Sodden. Making a rash, desperate decision would not have her kidnapped and without her magic. One wrong move here would lose her something far more precious and dear to her than any form of Chaos.
She clenched her fists, quenching her fire. Jaskier nodded sharply.
“The bard,” she declared, her voice sickeningly steady.
The sorcerer grinned and moved his knife away from Ciri’s throat just as her eyes went wider than plates. “Very well.”
“No! Jaskier!” the girl cried. She tried to move to him, but the sorcerer stopped her with a click of his tongue.
“If you love the girl so much, I’m sure this will hurt more.”
Despite his early words, he lunged for Ciri. She yelped. Before she or Yen could do a damn thing, Jaskier flew at the sorcerer with a furious cry. He tackled him to the ground, both of them falling. Yen blinked and the bard was horrifyingly still above their kidnapper, a muted shock on his face.
He lifted his hand, and blood dripped off his fingers.
“JASKIER!”
Her scream was drowned out by Ciri, who wailed. From deep in her chest came her Chaos and its wind, driving the room into a restless hurricane. Yennefer blocked her face with her arms, but couldn’t hold against it. Her back slammed into a wall. The shrieking of the young girl had her ears ringing and similar screams from the sorcerer indicated his were as well. Regardless, he’d been thrown off Jaskier, leaving Ciri to run to him.
The girl didn’t take a breath, shrieking her heart out as she held Jaskier with trembling hands. When she finally did stop her screams, she broke them with heaving sobs.
“Stay awake, stay awake—” she begged. Her voice was gravelly, worn from the rage and the fear and the grief. “Hold on, please, Jaskier!”
Yennefer sent a ball of magic at the other sorcerer, who had just been standing again. With a shout, the two were at it, sparks flying and Chaos going wild.
Ciri didn’t spare them a glance, desperately putting pressure on the massive wound across Jaskier’s doublet. He held her hands back, one of his own reaching up for her face. With a gentle, pale hand he caressed her cheek.
“It’s alright,” he whispered, hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. “I’ll be alright, dear, don’t cry. Shh, shh, it’s not your fault. Look at me. It wasn’t your fault, I swear.”
“He was going to kill me.” She hiccupped, tears streaming down her cheeks and turning them red. “You stopped him. Why? Why? It was supposed to be me!”
His hand grasped her shawl, the precious one from her grandmother. “No. Never, do you hear me? I would do it again, Ciri, again and—” he was cut off by his own hiss of pain.
“Brat!”
Ciri opened her mouth to scream, but a calloused hand slapped over her face, silencing her. He ripped her away from Jaskier, dragging her toward another corner, where a portal appeared with a quick flick of his hand.
Yennefer, recovering from a nasty blow, cried out. “Ciri!”
“Yennefer!” She screeched, the sound muffled as she pushed and kicked against the sorcerer’s grasp. “Yen! Jaskier! Yen—”
A woosh of magic cut her off, and then she was gone.
Yennefer howled, racing forward even though the portal was long gone. She slammed her fists against the wall, quivering with rage. “Fuck. Fuck!”
Her palms fell against the wood a moment later, defeated.
Then, she realised.
“Jaskier!” she gasped out, whirling around. She flung herself to the ground next to him. Her hands went to his shoulders, shaking him viciously. “Bard! Bard, wake up! Wake up, damn you!”
The bard moved with her, putty under her hands. She realised he wasn’t moving an inch, not even looking up at her through his dark hair. Quickly, she brushed aside the locks. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw his eyes.
They were dull now, cold and empty and wrong. His skin was still warm under her touch, as was the blood staining his fanciful clothes.
“Come on, you useless fuck, he has Ciri! We have to—” Yennefer gasped for breath, shaking her head as if to shake off the idea that he wouldn’t respond. “Get up! Get up, damn it!”
He did not move.
She pulled him close, her face in his hair. “Please, Jaskier. I’m—I’m sorry. Gods, I’m so fucking sorry, please just get up. Get up.”
In his limp, lithe fingers, he clutched a blue shawl with golden tassels.
“Jaskier?”
~
Geralt couldn’t bear to let go of Jaskier when he pulled him down from the horse. Vesemir had appeared, barking orders to the other witchers to deal with the horse or something like that. He could hardly hear over the cotton in his ears. Maybe, if he’d had the ability to, he would have been crying. Instead, he felt a gaping hole in his chest.
Yennefer cried enough for the both of them, her face buried in his shoulder as she avoided looking at the bard anymore.
Meanwhile, Geralt had brushed his hair out of his face and done nothing but stare.
He almost looked asleep. He was…peaceful, like those nights out under the stars with all four of them. Ciri would try to last the night with them, but she always drifted off beside Jaskier, whose lilting voice lulled her right to sleep.
More than anything, Geralt wished for this to be a nightmare. Then, he could wake up and find the three of them worrying over him, ready to coddle him into his grave. Ciri would curl up under his arm and snore into the early afternoon, utterly dead to the world. Yennefer would run her hands through his hair with gentle mutterings of comfort. Jaskier…Jaskier would tease him, the big, bad White Wolf, but he would always have a cup of something warm and a tune to hum him right back to sleep. It was silly, wanting a comfort he never needed.
“Where is she?”
Yennefer nearly jumped at his voice. She only shook her head, unable to cry anymore. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“Shh, it wasn’t your fault,” he murmured, tucking her close. “It wasn’t.”
Her shoulders shook. “Ciri’s gone, Jaskier’s—and I’m here. Fuck, he still has her, fuck—Geralt, what do we do?”
“Fuck.” He grimaced, a grunt barely passing his lips. “We’ll find her, Yen. We will.”
“He’s gone,” she whispered, weaker than she’d been before. “He’s not coming back; I can’t—I can’t bring him back, Geralt. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
It was a crisp summer morning when they buried Jaskier.
*
River’s Tags: @hahaboop, @mystoragehatesme
Masterlist
#angstpril2022#day 1#i didn't mean for this to happen#the witcher#yennefer of vengerberg#jaskier#princess cirilla#geralt of rivia#the witcher fanfiction#rivika#generallynerdy#suffer :)
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:squinty eyes: I read the tags. What are you doing
:) don't worry about it. don't worry about jaskier.
#im making deranged goblin noises rn#Its Time To Hurt The Boy#river#generallynerdy#rivika#river answers#pearl#pearlll09
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Angstpril 2022
Hi everyone!
It’s that time of year again! Due to the huge response to the first ever Angstpril event last year, we are excited to announce that we are hosting the event again this year!
All prompts, FAQs and rules can be found in the graphics and below the cut!
Keep reading
#oooooo shall we go for more finished fics this year?#hmmm#pearl is going to hate me for the idea i have for day 1#angstpril2022#generallynerdy#river
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