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my-jokes-are-my-armour · 7 months

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He was not ready, neither was I.

I initially planned to make a very long post explaining why I feel so much during the reunion scene in Brokilon between Jaskier and Geralt, but in the words of the bard himself: plans have changed...

So I won't detail the 5 emotional shocks he goes through that leads to his almost breakdown when he see Geralt so hurt. I will take just the third and the fifth because there are linked and they have roots in the first two seasons.

If we put the feelings aside, Jaskier is our miroir inside the movie for a part of how we perceive Geralt. This is not "through him" but more "like him".

We are linked by what we know and what we believe.

Geralt, to many aspects, is the ultimate warrior and painted like a force of nature, from the very first frames. We witness him defeat strong monsters, fight many ennemis at the same time, even survive nearly fatal wounds (strigga).

During his many years on the road with him, Jaskier has witnessed too those skills and has gathered informations about the fights he didn't see (S1 : knows every stories behind his scars, takes notes from the witnesses).

Like us he has built a strong belief that Geralt is unbeatable when it comes to fight. He trusts him to come out victorious. And this is shown several times through the series.

Mostly S1 with some little reminders in S2 and S3 :

From their first adventure, he believes in his mutant skills, he doesn't know shit about, to get them out of the tricky situation.

But then he overlooks at his victories :

S1 : A Selkiemore has swallow him, naaaahh he is fine and has the confirmation bias when Geralt reappears very much alive covered in the monster's guts. A dragon hunt, sure ! Several agressive dwarves ? It's OK, Geralt can take them in his sleep.

S3 : Geralt gambles with his life to obtain informations ? He doesn't worry for a second and even laughs at how easy it is.

S2 : Even when he is tortured, this is what he says about him : Geralt has no weaknesses.

Sure he has a protective side to him too and he fears sometimes for the witcher. Also he has probably seen him wounded before. But since, in their more than 25 years shared history, Geralt has never been defeated, he is the heros he cannot imagine to fall. Very much like us.

But no-one is unbreakable, even the strongest hero... Much like in the books, this is what we learn from the Vilgefortz fight.

So here comes the third shock for Jaskier. Shock that makes him having an emotional roller-coaster but doesn't shake his inner believes.

Quitting Radovid who told him Ciri is probably dead, he learns from Yennefer that there is hope for her but that Geralt has been sent by Triss in Brokilon to heal and that he may die from his injuries.

But there is what he knows and believes that comes in between that sinister fact. And this is confirmed in the reunion scene later. Jaskier knows that Triss has already healed a deadly wounded Geralt so why not this time, right ?

And there comes the fifth shock : reality.

As spectators, we know before him how bad it is and in which gloomy mindset the witcher is (he wants to die, just as a sweet reminder...). So when Jaskier catches up everything, trying to hold back the cascading emotions, failing multiple time, but still trying to be strong for his friend, it hurts. (Or at least I do, I don't know about you).

That very first moment, especially, when he cannot hold his lute, while trying to keep control, is brutal to me, because this is when emotional pain is so strong that it becomes physical pain.

And there is nothing that prepares him to confront a still deadly wounded Geralt when he entered the hut. There is nothing to undo his inner preconceptions beforehand. To the best, Milva just says : he is not well. Which Jaskier seems to take like his friend probably depressed to be stuck here healing. So he is just bracing himself to deliver a bad news under normal circumstances, not having to do this dealing with raw emotions he is barely able to keep in.

I remember crying on this scene, because I was in sync with Jaskier's emotions. I was fearing his reaction and it was harder than what I anticipated, pretty much like him facing his friend.

#jaskier #geralt #yennefer #i blame joey's acting on this #am i analysing too much ?#let's try posting things

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geraltofriviacollection · 1 year

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Paring: Geralt × Reader

Summary: Reader is thrown into the Witcher's world. Will she survive? This takes place in the second season .Eventual smut may come about. (Not for a while but will let you know😉)

A/N: This is the second part in a series. Slow burn. I have not edited or proofread. Please do not repost, translate or copy my work with out permission. Please leave comments! Also @purplegardenwhispers sorry this took so long but I wrote this just for you. That being said tell me if you like it 😬

Chapter One

Masterlist

Chapter Two

I feel warm. I must be back in my bed. Back? Giggle. It must have all be a night mare. I move my arms to stretch and pain erupts from my side. I open my eyes instantly. I look around. I am not in my bed. I’m in ….well I don’t know where the fuck I am I feel the panic begin to rise in my chest and my mouth opens to scream.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” I look over and see Geralt. Well at least I know where I am again.

“If I want to scream because I got fucking shot and saw a fucking monster rip though a man I should be able to scream if I fucking want! Don’t you think?!” I yell. Geralt narrows he eyes at me then sighs before handing me a cup of water.

“Who are you and How do you know my name?” He ask me. I look from the ceiling back over to him. I see the otherworldly golden eyes looking back at me.

“I’m Y/N. You are from a video-” I try to tell him as a massive throbbing starts in my head. The frown on his face deepensas I whimper. “It’s difficult to say.” I explain rubbing at my temples as the pain starts to fade away.

He stares at me and then leans back and crosses his arms. “Hmm” he says. It’s hard to look away from him. I struggle to sit up. And wince at the pain in my side. “I wouldn’t move too much, I haven't had to stitch someone up in a long while.” He says.

“I need to know exactly where we are.” Demanding him to tell me. He just squints his eyes and looks at me. Just then the door opens and Ciri, who can only be Ciri, walks in the door.

“Geral-“ She starts but then looks at me. A look of recognition stretches across her soft face. She turns to me, wrapping her arms around me as best she can in this position. I place a hand on her. “I know you.” She says. Geralt looks at Ciri with confusion and concern written on her face. The shock must be written across my face at her words.“I’ve seen you in some of my dreams. I’m-”

“Ciri, yes I know.“ I say interrupting her. I stroke her hair. Something clicks into place inside of me and begins to build when she pulls back.In that moment I feel as I am exactly where I should be and it shocks me to my core. She steps back sheepishly. I blink a few times before bringing my hands to my face, rubbing my eyes. When I move my hands from my face Geralt has his sword at my throat. Ciri makes a distressing sound and tries to tell Geralt to stop.

“Ciri not now.” Geralt interrupts his eyes, never leaving mine. “Answer my question.”

“I’m not from here…. I '' I stop. How do I even begin to explain that last night aI fell asleep on my couch watching Seinfeld and now here I am in the middle of what will be an epic shit show.

“What do you mean you are not from around here? Are you from Nilfgaard?” Ciri questions stepping towards me. Geralt ushers her back with his hand.

“She means she is not from our world.”

“How…”

“Explain to me then how you know our names.” Geralt demands

“Where I’m from you-“ Something blocks the words from coming out. “You and Ciri are-“ The words seem to be sucked out of my mouth. A second after my attempts I feel white hot pain lick through my body. Worse than the throbbing in my head. My whole body is still frozen in pain.

“Something is preventing you from saying anything isn’t ?” Geralt says moving his sword. I try once more before the pain radiates more intensely throughout my body. I fell the air sucked from my lungs. The rising panic and pain begins to overwhelm me. Slowly it starts to decrease and breathing becomes easier.

“Okay okay so I can’t tell you where I’m from. I can’t tell you how I got here either, that's because I don’t know.” I sigh in frustration.

“She’s coming with us right Geralt?” Ciri asks as if I am not in the room.

“First I am right here. Second, not to sound needy or anything but I would prefer to stick with you guys. All the shit going happening right now is very concerning.” Smiling at the both of them trying not freak out at the thought of being left behind.

“It’s not safe if you come with us.” Geralt says with the ever present frown on his face. I look to Ciri and almost see the pleading on her face. Geralt looks to Ciri before sighing. “Fine, but I will kill you if you try anything stupid.Ciri, ask Nevillen for some proper clothes for her.” At the sound of his name I jerk up stupidly forgetting about my wounds. The thing building in me grows heavier at that new. Ciri pauses at my movement. I smile at her she smiles back briefly before leaving the room.

I look back to geralt. “We need to leave.” The desperate tone in my voice has geralt frowning again. “You feel something is off here don’t you?” Geralt leans back, shock flickers so fast across his face I barely recognize it. “You don’t want to admit it, fine. We need to leave now all the same.”

“Why?”

“Something-“ The headache starts. “I can’t tell you. You don’t know me. I know you don’t trust easily but at this moment I need you to believe me when I say we should leave.”

“Ciri will be back with clothes for you. I would suggest you bathe while you have the chance.” He says and leaves the room.

“Wait!” I call out and he turns to me. “Thank you for saving my life.” I offer a smile that is returned with a grunt and slight nod of his head.

His evasive grumpiness is going to get old very fast. I huff looking around the old house seeing the holes in the ceiling. Knowing the danger lurking does nothing to easy my anxiety about being here. When the door to the room opens I jump in fright.

“It’s only me.” Ciri breathes out a small laugh. “I brought you clothes. Nevillen has prepaired a bath for you through that door. Do you need help getting there?” She ask with as small smile.

“Yes, please.” I tell her smiling back at her. Ciri come around the bed and helps left me up with a groan coming from my lips. She places a gentle hand around my waist and gides me to the bath. Looking at the warm bathtub with steam rising and bubble has me sighing until I remember that getting in will be painful. Ciri helps me balance on the edge of the tub and holds me as i swing one leg over the other. I sink into the warmth. I pull my nightgown over my head as ciri turns and I drop it with a wet plop to the floor.

“I know you won’t harm us.” Ciri says as she turns and takes a seat on the small stool nex to the bath.

“What do you mean?” I ask, rubbing the dirt from my face.

“The moments I have seen you in my dreams. You were always protecting me like geralt does.” I look at her in shock. “I’m sorry I did mean to overwhelm you.” She looks down at her hands.

“Ciri, what you said doesn’t overwhelm me. Knowing you trust me makes it easier for me to keep you safe if I can.” I place a hand on her arm. She smiles at me again and helps me wash my hair. Eventually We manage to get me out of the tub dried off and into a dress that is warm and unsurprisingly fits perfectly. The issue is taming the wild main of wet curls. Ciri opening a jar and starts running some type of cream though my hair and I manage to braid it in to something acceptable. Ciri loops an arm around my waist and helps me to the dining room. Where Nevillen and Geralt waited for us. Nevillen stands at our entrance.

“Thank you so much for this. My other clothes were ready to run away by themselves.” She says walking to take a seat on one side while I site opposite of her in front of the fire. I give Nevillen my thanks less enthusiastically as Ciri.

When we have taken our seats Nevillen conjures food for us that falls from mid air and smacks the table with a loud thud. Creating messes across the table. I begin eating as the conversation around me continues. I try not to stare at Nevillen, he reminds me of the beast from beauty and the beast. Definitely not as attractive.

“Tell me, fair maiden, how you managed to be traveling with this lot.” Nevillen says, turning his attention to me.

“Well I was about to be raped and sold as a slave.” I stare directly into Nevillen’s eyes as I say that. I see a flash of guilt roll across his face. I continue on. “Until a spider-like monster killed the men who wanted to sell me, Geralt showed up and killed the monster, and saved my life.” I peek at Geralt and find his eyes on me quite intently. “Which pretty much sums up my first day here.” I laugh. The awkward tense moment is broken as Nevillen begins to tell the story of how he met geralt. He’s quite entertaining. I could find myself liking him if only I didn’t know what he had done.

The conversations turns, when geralt when geralt ask about his curse. Nevillen pause for a moment and launches into his tale about desiccating the temple.

“This priestess cursed me to live like this. Forever alone.” Geralt grunts at this before replying.

“All curses have cures. What did she say?” He ask.

“She screamed something about love and blood. I don’t remember. I’ll be honest. I have tried to end it, more than once. But I kept coming back.That priestess won’t let me off so easy.” He finishes.

“Surely something that tragic would be burned into your memory. Are you sure that is all that she said? I doubt a priestess would curse you to live forever alone for simply trashing the temple.” I push him a slight edge entering my voice. I wince slightly as I feel a sliver of pain through my head as a warning for me to shut my mouth. I stare at him again. Out of the corner of my eyes I see Geralt's eye practically burning in my direction.

“As I said , I don't remember much.” He says looking at me before breaking eye contact. He knows I know he’s lying. About what specifically he’s not sure. I can tell by the slight wrinkle in his head.

We move to the sitting room. I sit across from ciri letting her teal me how to play the board game between us. Geralt mentions the village being abandoned asking what happened. Ciri and I both pause the game to listen. Nevillen gives almost believable explanations as to why there is not a person in sight down there. Going on about the wild hunt. Saying he’s seen them moving across the sky. Ciri joins the conversation as i sit back and make brief eye contact with geralt before his attention returns the conversation.

The conversation halts as Ciri ask about Nevillen having a cat. Nevillen reassures her that the cat is fine. I feel the anger at his lies as my stomach seems to coil into tight knots. I try to keep my face expressionless. He goes on to tell us he’s glad of her company calling her vereena. I see the poker face on Geralt as he questions Nevillen about his curse. Ciri joining in as well. I see Nevillen quickly change the subject.

Geralt ask about scouting the house. Assuring our safety. Ciri reassures him that we will be fine. He looks at me and I give him a small nod telling him I will keep Ciri safe before walking out. Nevillen the breaks out a moving lamp and begins telling us about the fall of the elders. I simply observe the conversation until Ciri beings to talk about Mousesack. The regret of not being able to save everyone.

I feel an ache in my heart I have not felt fully in a long while. “Ciri, there is nothing that could have been done. I know that will not stop that ache in your chest. All of them loved you so much they gave everything to keep you safe. You must love them by continuing on uninhibited by guilt.” I say softly. Tears well in her eyes at my word and I stoke a hand down her hair in comfort. I feel Nevillen’s eyes on us.

The conversation turns to loneliness, something we all seem to share even if I don't express it. I hear the guilt in his voice and a war begins inside of me. He offers to show us to our rooms and when I try to stand I find that I am physically unable to move. I curse at this as they both turn to look at me.

“I will stay here for awhile ,you go on to bed.” I smile. I desperately try to move to get to Ciri. Eventually my head begins to throb this time I can feel the blood dripping down my nose as I fight against whatever this is. My energy drains quickly and I. I sit there awhile staring into the flames of the fire trying to figure out my roll in this fucked up renesance fair at seemed to be trapped in. I take a deep breath knowing Ciri will be safe but I’m here and that could change the course of things .Ciri insists that I am here to help her. That still doesn’t explain how I got her or when I will be able to go back home.

Feeling stiff I try to stand again and nothing holds me back . I stand and begin to explore the house. The first room I walk into is a rather nice sized library. I huff out a laugh at the sight. Feelin the beast and the monster vibe instead of beauty. I grab one book and find I understand the strange symbols on the page,even though I know it's not of my world. I dive in the tail in the book about the beginning of mages when I hear thwack against the wall. I close the book and set it to the side walking down the hall hearing the voices of Nevillen and Geralt.

“-start with the obvious. How in the name of all that is sacred, How did you find yourself looking after a young girl?” Nivillen questions.

I promised her grandmother before she died.” He says.

“And the rather fetching young maiden?” Nevillen ask.

“I’m not sure. That is yet to be seen.” Geralt says. I hear another thwack and Nevillen laugh asking Geralt what his plan is.

“Keep Ciri alive. Figure out what to do with Y/N.” Well I can’t say I’m surprised at that. However little does he know I will not be going anywhere without Ciri. Her dreams of me makes me think I could be here to help her somehow. This strange connection between the two us might explain some things. If I can keep her safe maybe I will be able to go back home. I return back to the conversation between the two of them. I hear Nevillen questioning geralt claiming a child surprise asking him what made him change.

“Who….Yennifer of Vengerberg.

“And where is this rarest and fairest of all maidens?The one who could crack an icy Witchers heart?” Nivillen laughs.

“She’s dead.” Geralt says. The lightest bit of sadness bleeding through.

“I’m sorry, my boy. How long ago?” He ask. Sorrow more openly lacing his tone.

“A few days.”

“How are you not heart broken?”

“Who says I'm not?” Geralt answers back. I feel my own heart breaking as I thought of my parents death for the second time since coming here. They have been gone almost 17 years and listening to geralt's words makes it feel like it happened yesterday. I wipe the tears I didn’t know that I had off of my face. I turn and start walking down the hall to the room I’m sharing with ciri. I hear the chittering in the ceiling. I look up already knowing what’s up there. I see her peak an eye in a hole looking at me.

“I know what you are, Vereena.” I call out looking at her. Cringing as the light throb. She pulls herself from the whole climbing down the wall like something in the grunge. My heart starts beating faster as she gets closer.

“I know what you are. You are like the child but different. Is she your daughter?” She ask me. Her voice echoing in my head.

“No, she is not. She is someone I care for though. I don’t want to see her hurt.” I tell her.

“I have no intentions of hurting the child.” She says her head twitching from side to side.

“Good intentions often lead to bad actions.” I tell her. The weight inside gets heavier.

“Will you tell the monster killer about me?” She turns her head to the right waiting for me to answer.

“No.” I whisper. Desperately wishing I could.

“Then I will not hurt her.” She says with finality and begins crawling back up the wall and in to the hole she came from. I sigh, questioning how I’m supposed to help when I can not warn a single person about anything. Even knowing what happens next is completely out of my control. I walk in to see Ciri's face soften in her sleep. I smile before getting into the bed next to her. Even after being awake for a few hours I feel drained so much so the second my head hits the pillow I'm out like a light.

#geralt fanfic #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #witcher netflix #geralt x you #geralt and ciri

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paintreedrawings · 18 days

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So let me get this straight. Emperor Emhyr the “tactical genius,” when faced with being overthrown by his nobles because of his incessant wars and the fact he wouldn’t marry a nice Nilfgaardian girl and produce a nice Nilfgaardian heir, forms a foolproof plan that involves:

Abdicating in favor of his daughter, who has no training, no political connections, knows no one in his court, who in fact has no qualifications for ruling at all. Even her blood claim to the throne is tenuous as she is the product of his marriage under a false identity to a northern woman. He thinks this will go over well and definitely satisfy all those nagging nobles. (Also this daughter possibly shares an identity with his wife, depending on if False Ciri exists in the game universe. There’s conflicting information on that. Awwwkward.)

Getting said completely unqualified daughter back by hiring a) a powerful sorceress he had locked up and tortured, and b) a witcher who was quite willing to die rather than let Ciri be taken to Nilfgaard. At least two thirds of the series is devoted to Geralt trying to keep Ciri away from Emhyr at any cost. Emhyr really thinks that’s going to work out well for him.

Leaving Ciri (the heir he’s relying on for his continued survival) to fight the whole Wild Hunt with only like 6 people because he got into a dick-measuring contest with Geralt and lost. They (somewhat implausibly) win the battle, but with some loss(es). What the heck was Emhyr planning to do if they lost and Ciri was taken? Pat himself on the back as he’s assassinated for having shown Geralt who was boss?

I could discuss that seriously, but I know that it's only Marina with some lines stolen from other people. So I'll better answer with this:

#marina mart #witcher 3 #emhyr var emreis #the witcher #meme redraw

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endiness · 2 months

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"does the witcher know how lucky he is to have you?"

okay, but the radovid and radskier of this line though? like, radovid has grown up in court and lived there his entire life and he's had to wear a mask to at least some degree or another at all times to survive that place. and regardless of whatever feelings and relationships he may have with other people in whatever capacity that is, even just platonically with his brother, he's probably still needed to be on guard at all times because of just how disingenuous that type of environment is and how out for themselves everyone around him is.

and then meanwhile jaskier comes along and radovid's already a fan of his music and surely he has to know how much jaskier improved geralt's reputation from what it was and jaskier is so clearly opposed to the idea of "settling down" yet he's willing to sacrifice his own freedom if it means keeping the people he loves safe and jaskier willingly throws himself into the viper's den to seek out radovid's help for geralt's sake (and ciri's) and he's able to get it. and then on top of that, jaskier is able to see through radovid's mask in an instant and he's honest with radovid in a way that no one else in his life has been before?

of course radovid would express that sentiment when jaskier is likely the first genuine, true, loyal person that radovid's met in his life and when so much of jaskier's loyalty is dedicated to geralt. (like, the only person and relationship that radovid has in his life that even remotely comes close is probably his brother. but even then, i think a lot of their relationship is also probably surface level even with how much they love and care about each other.)

(also, interesting to think about that line in context of the next scene, too, wherein, despite it ultimately blowing up in his face, radovid is offended by how disrespectful dijkstra is to his brother and he tries to defend him and prove that vizimir is smarter than dijkstra thinks he is.)

#radovid #radskier #jaskier #the witcher #!txt: the witcher

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dftea · 5 months

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Follow me, Eurydice

Geralt is auctioned but Jaskier is there - hurt/comfort, geraskier/geraskefer/family of destiny

[read on ao3]

Geralt jolts awake, the tingle of magic itching at his skin. He is upright, barely, leaning against a cold pillar of stone with his wrists chained around it.

Around him, through a shimmering shield, he can hear a crowd of murmuring shadows, echoing strangely in the cavern surrounding him.

He reaches for the memory of how he came to be here, but it’s blurred in a thick fog, part magical and part related to the clot of blood he feels tugging at his hair. His bad leg is throbbing in protest, and he has a dozen half-healed injuries that speak of an intense and bloody fight.

The shield abruptly falls, and the cavern hushes, but it is still too bright, too loud. He doesn't remember taking a potion but he feels sensitive, disorientated.

“Who will start the bidding at one thousand crowns?”

Geralt thought the underground auction house was merely a rumour, but he should’ve known better than to doubt a story that spread so far and wide.

If Jaskier has taught him anything…

Jaskier.

Where is his bard?

The memories hit him sharply - the ambush on the road, the sheer numbers of them, telling Jaskier to leave him and not believing for a moment that he actually would.

Did he run for his life, like Geralt demanded? Was he another lot in this perverse auction? Or was he lying dead in the road, abandoned by the auctioneer’s mercenaries as not worth the effort?

He tries to look around, but the lights are blinding and he cannot get his bearings. The auctioneer is taking bids, but Geralt has lost track of how much these cretins think he’s worth. Of how much they think Ciri's location is worth.

He will die first, of that he is certain. A slow and painful death, but he endured the Trials as a mere human child - he can do this for his daughter, for his family.

If Jaskier is gone, it will make it easier to die.

“Who will give me–”

“Fifty thousand crowns.”

The voice is loud and resonant, cutting straight through the muttering and excitement - and Geralt would know that voice anywhere.

He’s going to kill him for this - after he's finished crushing him to his chest like a drowning man.

At least he’s alive to pull this stupid stunt.

Geralt tries to follow the sound, but he can only make out the silhouette of a ridiculous hat adorned with long feathers - the master bard is putting on a show for the crowned heads of the Continent, for the Emperor who hungers for his prize.

The auctioneer is momentarily stunned, not expecting such an escalation in the bidding, but he smoothly recovers.

“In coin, you understand, sir. The coin in your possession, tonight.”

“Oh, I am good for it,” Jaskier says, confidently, and Geralt doesn’t need to see him to know that he is giving the eye to every one of the competition. Impressing upon them the degree of their stupidity if they failed to account for him.

Geralt could kiss him. And then lightly shake him for a fool, for robbing whichever bank gave up that kind of money.

“Fifty-two thousand,” another voice calls - a mage, if Geralt isn’t mistaken, but he cannot place which one. Of course, the nobility hadn’t come themselves - it’s the surviving court mages and spymasters who are playing this game.

“Sixty thousand,” Jaskier says, easily.

Another silence, the soft jingling of coins in pouches. Trying to scrape together something to match that outrageous bid.

“Sixty-one?” comes a tentative venture, even as a hissed whisper tells the man to wait.

Jaskier scoffs. “Sixty-five.”

Geralt senses the defeat, the quick calculations regarding potential alliances - all dismissed. They have the money back in the palaces and vaults, but not here in this cavern, not tonight.

“Going once… going twice…”

Geralt feels the surging anger, the crackling of undischarged chaos - and whatever is holding it all at bay. An ancient dimeritium mine, perhaps.

The mages could probably break through its effects if they worked together - but they won’t, and they can’t burn their bridges to this place and its valuable treasures.

“Sold, to the Viscount de Lettenhove. If you will just bring your coffer, sir.”

The solid thud of a wooden chest hits a slab of rock, and Geralt hears the counting commence, by magic and by hand.

If he listens carefully, he can hear Jaskier humming, the gentle strumming of his lute. He vaguely recognises the song, he thinks, and that is likely the point. Jaskier is reminding him that he’s near, that he’s still able to breathe, to play.

“It is all verified genuine,” the auctioneer declares, clearly a little surprised. “You may remove the lot now.”

“And the auction house guarantee?” Jaskier says, a little sharply.

The auctioneer sighs, before reciting the words dully. “Not for ten years may the same lot pass through this house, dead or alive.”

“Quite right,” Jaskier says, and he’s clearly intimidating the other bidders again, heedless of their relative power.

The wind don’t cower to powerful men.

The bindings release, and it takes everything Geralt has not to collapse to the ground. Jaskier may be strong, but he can’t carry him out of there. They cannot afford to show any weakness to these predators and their masters.

The auction guards clear a path between him and his new owner, who he still can’t see all that clearly. Is he well? Favouring injuries? Everything within him longs to know.

Someone laughs in the crowd. “He’ll fall before you’re free, little bard. And then we’ll have him.”

Suddenly, Geralt feels something descend over him, very like a cloak. The light and sound is muffled again, and the crowd roars as if deprived of a spectacle.

“The lot will be concealed for ten minutes only,” the auctioneer intones. “After that, the auction will end and all participants may depart.”

Jaskier, apparently unperturbed, bows to his audience - and turns his back on Geralt. And he walks away, playing the same tune again and humming, not even glancing back over his shoulder.

Geralt stumbles after, concentrating on keeping his feet under him. He thinks it must have been some time since he was rested and fed, because his body would usually tolerate magic and deprivation better than this.

The tunnel is narrow ahead, and he bumps against the walls occasionally, keeping his eyes fixed on Jaskier. The bard is singing now, and Geralt finally recognises the Song of the Seven. Because Jaskier cannot help but prod the lions in their dens.

Every step feels like an eternity, but Jaskier doesn't speak to him, doesn’t run - he just swaggers onward, playing and singing as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

At first, he thinks he imagines the faint glow of light ahead, but as it grows, he recognises the silvery fall of moonlight. They are nearing the end, their escape.

He hopes Jaskier has a plan, because he isn’t sure he could fight a kitten right now.

Jaskier steps out into the full night, but still does not turn. He plays a few more notes, as Geralt doggedly follows, step after agonising step until he is just behind the bard.

A roar of sound rushes up the tunnel behind them, and Geralt feels the cloak of magic fall away.

Jaskier finally turns, his face lighting up as he sees Geralt, naked relief on his face and infusing his scent.

He steps forward, an embrace and a necessary intervention to stop Geralt falling to his knees.

Geralt hears the urgent whisper - “Yen, I have him.” - before the telltale light of a portal opens before them, lilacs and gooseberries spilling out into the clear night.

Jaskier drags him forward, all but carrying him, and Geralt feels Yen’s lips brush his cheek with the briefest touch.

But it does not stop there - another portal, and another, and yet another, each carrying a different scent and another dizzying, nauseating blow to Geralt’s self-control.

Finally, he stumbles into a room that radiates safety, Jaskier hauling him over to a bed he calls his own.

“--barely conscious, could hardly–”

“--risk with potions. I would need–”

“--promised she’ll be back before I could miss her, and she always–”

The fragments wash over him, and he allows his eyes to close.

When he opens them again, he finds himself propped up in bed, with Jaskier’s chest for a pillow and Ciri’s hands warming his, as she sleeps in the chair. Yennefer is busying herself by the table with Vesemir, sorting through various ingredients and tinctures, quietly debating what will and won’t work for whatever ails him.

A gentle kiss brushes against his ear. “Welcome back,” Jaskier murmurs.

His voice draws Yennefer and Vesemir’s attention away from their alchemy, and Ciri stirs at their movements. Geralt feels minutely scrutinised and overwhelmingly loved, which he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

“How…?” he rasps.

“Drink first,” Yennefer says, producing first water and then a series of potions in consultation with Vesemir, before he leaves to prepare…breakfast? Geralt has no idea what hour it is, what meal he should eat, or even what day or month.

The potions all taste awful, but he can feel them working within him, knitting him back together from the inside. Still, Yennefer hovers close by, sitting on the edge of the bed to watch over him.

Jaskier is back to humming, rocking him very gently, and Geralt can smell the stale fear, exhaustion, and guilt on his clothes.

He means to tell him that he did the right thing in running, that he was unbelievably stupid to come and rescue him, and that he’s glad to be home.

Instead, he says, “Sixty five thousand crowns.”

“We actually had sixty-seven,” Ciri pipes up, excitable in a way only a child could be when discussing the budget of a small kingdom. “So I think you were a bargain, really.”

“How?” he says, again, because he doesn’t know how to ask why?

“Oh, this and that,” Jaskier says, evasively, as if this were the kind of spare change one found in the bottom of a pack.

“I sold four manor houses,” Yennefer said, rolling her eyes at Jaskier, which slightly dulled the blow of four manor houses. “And I called in some favours of a financial nature.”

“Yen…” he says, though it comes out rough, his body fighting fatigue and foundering with it.

Her hand strokes over his arm, catching on a bandage, and he belatedly realises he’s bare-chested save for bandages. A great many bandages.

“Please. What need have I for manor houses when I have a winter holiday home in the mountains?” She gestures to the room, which Geralt’s brain sluggishly informs him is his bedroom at Kaer Morhen. Their bedroom.

“But Jaskier…” Ciri begins, then trails off.

Geralt can almost feel the intensity of the look Jaskier is shooting her from beside his ear, and he tries to turn his body to catch sight of his bard’s face.

But he really is too tired even for that small movement, and instead submits to drinking more water and some kind of bone broth that uncomfortably reminds him of recovering from the Trials.

“I think they kept you in some kind of cursed sleep for the past two weeks,” Yennefer says, with distaste. “Not a proper stasis, which is why your body has barely healed and you’ve lost so much strength - amateurs.”

That’s why it feels as if Jaskier is holding him up, why that familiar embrace feels so much more like support.

That, and the sum of sixty five thousand crowns smothering him.

“He’s brooding,” Yennefer teases, fondly, directing the remark over Geralt’s shoulder. “You’ll have to tell him.”

“When he’s better,” Jaskier says, firmly, trying to shut down the conversation again.

But that comment only worries Geralt more - what can’t he be told now, in his present state? Is he really so frail, or is Jaskier’s secret so terrible as to destroy him?

“He looks pretty upset now,” Ciri says, dubiously.

Jaskier sighs deeply, knowing when he’s outnumbered.

“I sold my title,” he says, blandly, as if talking about some cheap trinket. “The title, the holdings, my place in the succession for the Earldom. It’s not like I was doing anything with them anyway.”

Geralt knows very little about Jaskier’s noble life, but he knows enough to see that this is not some trivial thing. A noble title is currency, power and privilege. “I’m sorry, Jask.”

“Oh, really, Ferrant will be a much better Earl. Don’t get all emotional on me again.”

Geralt still can’t see Jaskier’s face, but he can see Yennefer and Ciri well enough. He’s missing something here.

“That…doesn’t add up,” he says, quietly. Even with the addition of the manor houses, he doesn't see how a minor Earldom in Redania could raise that kind of capital.

A quieter, more subdued sigh. “And Valdo Marx paid an extortionate sum for me never to play in a tournament or court again.”

Geralt cannot help his involuntary gasp, searching Yennefer and Ciri’s faces for the truth of it.

“You didn't.”

“Geralt, I don’t care about accolades half as much as Valdo does. I haven't entered a tournament in three years. No court will pay me after I just swiped you out from under their noses.”

“We got what we wanted,” Yennefer says, softly, her eyes boring into his to make him understand.

“And we wanted what we got,” Jaskier adds, quietly, pressing another kiss to Geralt’s ear and drawing his arms tighter around him.

“It’s too much,” Geralt whispers, brokenly. “I’m not–”

“If you dare say you’re not worth it,” Ciri says, sharply, “I’ll remind you of all the times you've told me never to say that or to even think it.”

They close in around him then, Yennefer and Ciri enfolding him in their arms, as Jaskier continues to hold him. His family, a fortress greater than any built of stone or silver.

He feels his breath hitch in his chest, even if the tears that should fall deserted him long ago.

“How did you know…I was there?”

“The auction house broadcast their finds–,” Yennefer begins, but Geralt shakes his head, trying to find the right words.

“After, with the spell?” He turns his head slightly towards Jaskier. “You knew I was there.”

To his surprise, Jaskier huffs out a laugh. “I’m supposed to say something grand here about true love and destiny and that sort of thing. But the truth is that I could hear it. I was playing so I could hear the echoes in the cavern - I knew there was a solid something blocking the sound behind me and I just hoped it was you.”

“That is appallingly clever, bard,” Yennefer says, clearly impressed.

“That was scarily complimentary, witch.”

“I love you. All of you.”

It takes him a moment to realise that he’s the one who’s spoken, but then they fold themselves around him again, closer. And he feels that perhaps he could be worthy of it.

#the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskefer #geraskier #hurt/comfort #family of destiny #dftea writes

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lucigoo · 13 days

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Weekly Roundup: 5th May - 12th May

Some on forgot to mention it had gone Sunday. Having both broken and dislocated my wrist on Saturday its all a little higgldy piggldy on my brain right now, whoops. I have a weekly goal of 10,000 words but I think im gonna lower it to 5000 atm nd try and give myself some grace. So, I managed 10,492 words last week with 3 uplodaded fics But first, as always, recs <3 Got A Secret Need To Keep It - BindiTheSkunk - The Hobbit (Bagginshield, Bilbo is just plain feral in the best way) Summary: Bilbo tries to do what Thorin told him to with his supposedly dying breaths and return home to his books and armchair...but a sudden revelation makes him go to return to the place his heart was left at, but he is set upon by Mirkwood's elves who wish to use him... From Hobbiton With Love - Dimity Blue (Arnie) - The Hobbit (this is just adorable, Bilbo/Thorin) Summary: The Battle of the Five Armies is over with everyone surviving. Back in the Shire, a lonely Bilbo turns to writing novels about "Noti the Spymaster". They're surprisingly popular, especially in Erebor. Your Own Faithful Land - 61Below - The Hobbit (Bilbo/Thori, little Frodo is the most precious thing around) Summary: Uncle Bilbo lived Very Far Away, so he never stopped by for tea, and he missed the fireworks Gandalf lit off at the Lithe. It was too unfair. Instead, Frodo had to content himself with the letters and the wonderful stories that Uncle Bilbo would write to him. All Manner of Things - Drel_Murn, nimblermortal - Wiedźmin | The Witcher - (Geralt/Jaskier, I have discovered I am a glutton for Accidental Warlord/Arranged marriage Au's and this one is golden) Summary: Julian is pretty sure he's not the Count of Lettenhove's daughter, but after he's thrown away his other marriage prospects, his father sends him to forge a political marriage with the Warlord of the North. Julian's just trying to survive, but in the face of true kingship and the Kaer Morhen Fanon Hot Springs, he might just learn to thrive.

Accidental Warlord AU in which Jaskier is trans. With, perhaps, a few other changes along the way. A Wolf and a Bard Walk into a Bar... (I Forget the Rest) - SuperFrikinAngsty - The Witcher (Geralt/Jaskier, Aiden/Lambert, I adore after the Mountain fix it fics) Summary:

The bard’s first drink was nearly gone when the door to the tavern was thrown open. All conversations stopped as every patron turned to look at the newcomer. The air tensed around him, and Jaskier sighed.

Witcher. Mutant, the people around him whispered. Hatred and fear colored their voices as they cursed the man walking inside with uneven steps.

Jaskier sniffed the air tentatively and sighed in relief when the scent didn’t match the one he’d spent the past months avoiding. Instead of horse and onion, this witcher smelled of sulfur and blood.

Well. That wasn’t good. Of Swords and Songs - ThedemonCat - Multifandom (Geralt/Jaskier, The Withcher/Sweeny Todd Au i never knew I needed,) Summary: Years ago, Geralt Rivia enjoyed a peaceful life with his husband, Jaskier, and their daughter, Ciri. However, an affluent Judge became infatuated with Jaskier, leading him to orchestrate a scheme that wrongfully accused Geralt of a crime. This resulted in Geralt's imprisonment on a remote island.

Now, Geralt has returned, driven by a thirst for vengeance. He discovers that Ciri is now under the judge's care, and the fate of Jaskier remains a mystery to everyone. Hope someone likes at least one of them <3

And now, like always, my fics. Sharing Spaces (Because you want me to) _ An animal bday gift fic for the wonderful @hobbityalse, Cat Bilbo/Lynx Thorin Summary:

Thorin has been relcated to a new zoo, he needs a friend. Well, th ehumans think he needs a friend, Thorin disagrees.

Bilbo just doesnt want to be alone anymore. A dwarf alone: Not all alone, I'm here cousin (Gen fic, exploring the familial relationship that should have existed betwee Gimli and Frodo) Summary: The fellowship is grieving Gandalf, but there is a dwarf who is mouring more the just their fallen Wizard, he is mourning his family and their legacy.

Dwarves are not supposed too mourn alone, but Gimli is a lone dwarf, until he isn't alone in his grief any longer. Whoops, I spilt the tea (Sirius/Remus ay Hogwarts. For @flashfictionfridayofficial, prompt #262, Spill the tea) Summary: McGonagall has ordered Sirius to spill the tea, so that's exactly what he does. So thats it for another week, have a good one, take care, and try not to fall over and break your wrist, it sucks ......

#weekly roundup #Fic recs #others fics #my fics #The Hobbit #Bilbo/Thori #Bagginshield #The Witcher #Geralt/Jaskier #Harry Potter #The Marauders #Sirius/Remus #Wolfstar

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fatatoes · 29 days

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M’kay I have some thoughts about the witcher and wlw representation in the Witcher book series!

CW for sexual abuse and spoilers

Tbh when I had just read the Last Wish and half way through the first book I just gave up on the series. The women were just written so weirdly to me. Ciri was so innocent it was almost fetishised and the long and meticulous description of Triss and her sexual history was really unnecessary.

IN FACT when Triss’ “experiments” with women were mentioned it was almost explained as like ‘she tried EVERY deviance. EVEN *gasp* the THAT’ :| it was weird.

That’s not to say the writing didn’t get better later, like I guess Sapkowski spoke to a woman since finishing Blood of Elves.

BUT. He insisted on pointing out gay people exist in his world. Which is fine. He also insisted on telling us how people of his world felt about gay people. Also fine. You can write homophobia in your stories, not the worst thing I haven’t been warned about.

But in the entirety of the literature I’ve read from the Witcher series, I haven’t come across one i think more about than the Mistle and Ciri sex paragraph.

For anyone wondering how they’re supposed to feel about this: NOT GOOD. It was a not good thing that happened :||

Mistle took advantage of Ciri’s vulnerability and fear and, yes, practically raped her. But it was written???? As if it was a good thing???

I didn’t expect any better from Sapkowski having read the previous Witcher books, but I still feel like this is a fascinating part of Ciri’s story.

Were I not more aware of tone armour surrounding this event in the book, I would’ve said it was an interesting study on queer youth because IT COULDVE BEEN RELATABLE.

From my own experience as a queer woman: as a teenager, finding a queer friend group with people who are actually interested in you was everything! Even if those initial friend groups are full of lying and manipulation and violence and yes, sometimes even sexual harassment, you finally feel safe, why would you ever give that up?

I feel like a lot of my friends ended up being dragged into problems with vandalism, drugs, sex addiction etc exactly because they stuck in the environment that raised them to be used to that as a price of love of their chosen family.

Mistle and Ciri are a toxic couple. Ciri WAS just a child when she joined the Rats and having peers who harness her skills and treat her as one of their own was a treasure to her. Even if that family came with drug abuse.

I have no doubt in my mind Ciri loves the Rats and that she loves Mistle, just as I have no doubts Mistle loves her just as much. But they are hurt queer kids in a homophobic world that feel like they have nobody else, who else would they love?

I am SO SURE Sapkowski didn’t write them in with this in mind tho pffff. Honestly? The Rats feel like an afterthought in the books.

If I were to write the Rats arc into the Witcher series, honestly I WOULD have the Rats survive, but Ciri to still be taken away. Them dying might’ve felt like a resolution to some people, but I would argue that having Mistle survive to break up with Ciri would’ve been a better resolution.

I’m not done with the book yet but it seems as though they are going for a familial love angle where Ciri will not take any of her remaining love interests, but it would be so cool if she were to face her sexuality and admit the toxicity of her past choices.

Idk sounds like a *lmao libtard* kinda ending, but it seems to me like Sapkowski just wrote that relationship in there to be able to say he has a bisexual character in his books so I’m no more shallow than that kind of thinking.

Also also

This is kind of why I would’ve loved to see the Netflix version of this story. As much as I hate how much they changed the story, as a standalone piece of media, it isn’t that bad. At least it has more believable women. Were they to adapt the wlw relationship with Ciri and Mistle though, I’m sure they would’ve sanitised it, which isn’t the BEST adaptation but at least one that doesn’t make me want to die

#the witcher #witcher books #mistle and ciri #cirilla #ciri #wlw #media criticism #media critique #queer media #andrzej sapkowski

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aramblingjay · 2 years

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The paint that was left in the pot Geraskier, Geralt & Ciri, Modern AU (3K)

“Dad, do you think you could paint my nails?” Ciri asks him one afternoon, and Geralt is not too proud to say that he panics. Or: Ciri gets her nails painted, but she’s not the only one.

ao3

“Dad, do you think you could paint my nails?” Ciri asks him one afternoon, and Geralt is not too proud to say that he panics.

“What do you mean?” he asks in lieu of having to answer that. He hasn’t the faintest clue how to do nail polish; it most certainly was not covered in the Vesemir school of parenting. The only person he’s seen wear any is Yennefer, and he’s mostly convinced she just stares at her nails hard enough until they morph into the exact shape and color she wants.

“Well, the spring formal is next week, and all my friends are going to the spa today to get their nails done, but I know we can’t,” Ciri explains, and something heavy sinks in Geralt’s stomach. “And normally I’d ask mom, but since she’s away, I thought maybe you could do it.” She frowns, then, and her voice turns small. “It’s okay if not, you don’t have to or anything. Actually, it’s not even a big deal, nude nails are pretty in right now—”

That look on Ciri’s face, lost and wounded, is the surest way to spring him into action, and Geralt finds himself saying, “Of course I’ll do it,” before he can think twice about what he’s committing to.

Ciri should be able to go to the spa with her friends. She shouldn’t have to worry that it’ll cost money they don’t have to spare right now, or that there’s no one to drive her there because the car is still in the shop—but that isn’t the life they live, and Ciri has always been more perceptive than anyone her age should be.

The least Geralt can do is try to give her this one thing.

“Don’t you worry, my little lion. I have it covered,” he promises, feeling pretty good about it when she gives him a wide, brilliant smile and chatters for the next ten minutes about the exact shade of purple-blue that’ll match her dress.

With Ciri sufficiently occupied waxing lyrical about colors, Geralt pulls out his phone to sneakily search up how to paint nails for beginners. Of course, that’s when Ciri decides that she’s done enough talking and wants to put her words into action, taking him by hand and all but dragging him up the stairs to, presumably, where the nail polish awaits.

It turns out the exact shade of purple-blue she wants is not among the five-pack of basic nail polish Eskel bought Ciri for her birthday last year. Geralt eyes the colorful little jars with trepidation, surer than ever that he has no idea what he’s getting into. How does one transfer the paint from there to—he glances at Ciri’s hands, nearly squinting to see her tiny little fingernails, and cannot fathom how this can possibly work without some sort of magic.

Then Ciri picks out the bright lavender bottle and holds it out to him with a look of such hope in her eyes that the wait I don’t know about this on the tip of his tongue dies right there. He has survived boot camps the likes of which would make the military blanch, has seen any number of horrors in this world, has managed to keep all his limbs despite regularly spending time with the most terrifying person the world has ever produced (Yennefer)—he will not be defeated by one little jar of paint and ten (tiny, unbelievably tiny, were they always that tiny?) bits of keratin.

He takes the bottle from her hand, holding it up to the light. It’s actually a beautiful color, bright and lively like his little lion. If he can just figure out how to get it on her hand, he knows without a doubt that she’ll look incredible. As she deserves, for her spring formal dance.

(At least, he thinks it’s a dance. Jaskier told him it was a dance, and Jaskier tends to know about this type of thing)

“C’mon then, little lion.” He assumes this is the type of thing one does in the bathroom to avoid making a mess. “Let’s go paint your nails.”

Ciri follows behind him with a clear skip in her step, and he wonders whether she thinks he’s done this before, assumes he’ll just know how once he starts, or truly hasn’t thought that far ahead. In any case, she’s far too cheerful for someone about to have bright purple splotches all over her skin.

(Is that how nail polish is applied? You just…pour it over the skin and wipe off whatever isn’t on the nail bed? It’s the only technique that comes to his mind, although something about that doesn’t seem right. And he doesn’t want this purple substance and the chemicals it might contain to be all over Ciri’s skin, in any case)

Ciri sits on the edge of the bathtub and holds out a hand, peering at him with absolute trust in her eyes. He feels more unworthy of it in this moment than perhaps any before, but gives her the best smile he can conjure and studies the little bottle of purple like it holds the key to life itself. Right now, it all but does.

Well, first step first. Geralt twists the cap off the bottle, nose wrinkling immediately at the sharp, pungent smell. He hopes it doesn’t smell like that on the nail, too, or he might have to subtly avoid Ciri for the next several days.

Some of the mystery is revealed when he realizes the cap isn’t just a cap, but in fact contains a tiny brush on the end of it. Tiny—he sneaks another glance at Ciri’s nails, held out ready and waiting for him. Tiny enough to be fingernail-sized, in fact.

Oh, dear. He’s supposed to paint this, with that, on those?

“What’s wrong? Do you not want to anymore?” Ciri asks. She’s always been able to read him a little too well.

Geralt looks into her big, guileless eyes and sighs. You can always be honest with me, he tells her about once a week, and what kind of father would he be if he didn’t follow his own rules?

“There’s nothing I’d love more, I promise,” he says, because doing things for Ciri is what he does, and it’s the most important job he will ever have. “But to tell you the truth, I have no idea what to do.”

And that is how he stands in the bathroom doorway fifteen minutes later, watching Jaskier paint his daughter’s nails like he’s been doing this his whole life.

(Maybe he has? Geralt files that question away for later)

“Do you want any patterns on this, Ciri?” Jaskier asks her, sounding for all the world like he can make anything she wants happen. Looking at how neat and even he’s painted the purple, Geralt doesn’t even doubt it.

“Well—” Ciri hesitates, shooting him a guilty look, and Geralt understands.

“I’ll be outside,” he rumbles, wondering what kind of design she’d want to keep secret from him, but unable to deny her the privacy all the same.

He can’t deny her much of anything, really. She’s going to be a lot more dangerous once she realizes just how true that is, he’s sure of it.

They’re done in just a couple of minutes. He hears the squeak of the bathroom door open, then Jaskier telling Ciri to sit in bed and not move her hands for at least the next thirty minutes (“Yes, alright, I’ll put some music on so you don’t get bored. But don’t you even think about touching your phone, you hear me?”), the light patter of feet as Ciri heads to her bedroom, and then the steady beat that Geralt recognizes as the first song of Ciri’s current favorite album.

The volume is set low enough that all he can has to hear through the door is the low pulse of the beat, not the grating high-pitched whine of the melody, and Geralt is reminded once again of just how lucky he is to have Jaskier.

Jaskier, who can paint nails like a beautician and talks to Ciri like she’s his own and knows Geralt better than anyone ever has.

(Geralt knows, has known for quite some time now, that he will marry this man. The question is only when, and how)

Jaskier comes into the bedroom with his lips curled in a self-satisfied smile. “Nails are done. You’re going to love the design she picked out, just you wait.”

Geralt is sure that he will, if and when she decides to show him.

“She’s going to show you, don’t worry,” Jaskier says, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. One of these days, Geralt is going to figure out how Jaskier seems to read his mind about these things. “Just wants to wait until it’s all dry and done.”

“Thank you,” Geralt says, taking Jaskier’s hand and staring at the bitten-down nail beds. Jaskier has beautiful, musician’s hands, strong but nimble, clearly as adept with a brush as with a lute. He’s never seen Jaskier’s nails painted before.

“Oh yeah, coming over to my boyfriend’s house and spending time with his daughter was a real hardship.” But Jaskier squeezes his hand in acknowledgment, and Geralt knows he understands. Ciri is the most important thing in his life, and what’s important to her is important to him. Even something as seemingly insignificant as nail polish.

“I didn’t know you could paint nails,” Geralt says, because otherwise he might ask Jaskier to marry him right here and now, and he deserves a better proposal than that.

“Oh, yeah, I used to do it all the time. Stopped in uni once I really got serious about the lute—kept chipping my polish and getting upset about it. Eventually I realized I’d be saving myself a lot of unnecessary stress if I just didn’t paint them in the first place.” There’s something wistful in his voice, though, that tells Geralt maybe Jaskier misses it more than he lets on. Sure enough, he continues, “I’m glad you asked me. It was nice, to paint somebody’s nails again.”

He sounds so happy about it, this one tiny little thing, and Geralt thinks, if one small bottle of paint can bring both his daughter and his boyfriend so much joy, maybe—

“You want to do mine, too?” he asks before he’s really even thought the words through in his head.

Jaskier’s grin is blinding. “Oh my god, yes! Do you even know how incredible you would look with nail polish? I would be honored to do your nails, darling. Come, come, I’m sure one of Ciri’s colors would look amazing on you. Come on.”

Not dissimilar to Ciri, Jaskier pulls him by the hand back to the bathroom with a skip in his step, chatting the whole way. Geralt doesn’t pay attention to the actual words, knows it’s mostly filler anyway, but lets the tone and cadence and familiar melody of Jaskier’s voice wash over him. He should ask Jaskier to move in with him, he thinks suddenly—there’s no other sound in the world he wants to hear after a long day at work, except maybe Ciri’s laugh.

“What do you want, Geralt?” Jaskier asks, pushing him to sit on the tub’s edge just as Ciri did. “Bright pink, perhaps?” Jaskier holds up what is indeed a bright pink nail polish bottle, and Geralt immediately shakes his head. Jaskier huffs, though he obviously expected that answer by the way his grin only grows wider.

“Lime green?” Jaskier’s whole face is alight with teasing mirth.

Geralt rolls his eyes. If he remembers correctly, there was some sort of blue among the colors, and they’re both aware that’s what he’s going for.

Jaskier picks up the bottle of white polish and puts it to the side immediately, not even having to ask. There’s a clear one that he sets aside as well. Then he taps his finger twice on the only remaining bottle, a bright cobalt blue.

“Blue, then?” Jaskier’s tone says it’s more a rhetorical question than a genuine one, so Geralt stays quiet and watches Jaskier prepare.

He shakes the bottle up and down several times before twisting it open, just as he did with Ciri’s purple, then dabs a drop onto his left thumb, right beside the large purple splotch from testing Ciri’s color earlier.

Something about it warms Geralt’s heart in a way he can’t explain.

“Color okay?” Jaskier asks, holding out his thumb for inspection.

Geralt runs a finger down the side of Jaskier’s proffered thumb, careful not to get too close to the polish, and nods. It looks good on him. Really, really good.

Jaskier takes one of his hands. “Ready?”

Geralt hums, unable to speak.

With practiced ease, Jaskier dips the brush in the bottle, dabs away the excess paint on the rim, and brings it toward his hand.

Geralt’s throat tightens, and the ghost of a once-familiar panic wells up in his chest. The idea was a good one in theory, a great one, even, on Jaskier, but on him it’s—

He draws his hand back before he can stop himself.

It’s—there’s—he can’t—

He hopes desperately this is one of those times when Jaskier can just read his mind.

“Do you want me to start with your toes instead?” Jaskier asks softly.

Geralt lets out a shaky breath, unable to meet Jaskier’s eyes. He should be better than this. What must Jaskier think, Jaskier who has never shied away from anything he wants, never thought for one moment to be anything other than himself, who lives and loves with his whole heart and paints his thumb without a second thought just to make sure the color is—

“Darling, come back to me,” Jaskier says, still in that soft voice. Geralt blinks, tells his brain to shut up, and looks at Jaskier. “There you are.” Every bit of teasing amusement is gone from Jaskier’s face, leaving behind nothing but kind, achingly kind sincerity. “I can start with your toes, if you want. Or we don’t have to do this at all. It was just a silly idea, there’s no pressure here. Nail polish isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay.”

There’s no judgment in Jaskier’s tone, in his expression, and Geralt knows that if he shakes his head now then they can be cuddling on the bed with this whole moment behind them in under a minute. Jaskier won’t bring it up again unless he does first, and it’ll be something they can laugh about together some day in be future.

But. He looks at Jaskier’s thumb again, the two purple and blue spots, and wants.

“Toes,” he says firmly.

Jaskier smiles, tiny and proud. “Alright then. Here, put your foot in my lap, that’ll be easier.”

There’s something strangely intimate about the whole thing, as Jaskier dips the brush back in the bottle, again dabs away the excess on the rim, and paints a stripe right down the center of Geralt’s left big toe. And then again, and again. He watches Jaskier’s hands instead of the color blooming on his toes—it’s easier to keep himself calm that way, to remember that this is something he’s allowed to want and allowed to have, that no matter whether it looks good or hideously out of place amidst his pale skin and monochromatic style, no one will mock him for it.

Besides, looking at Jaskier isn’t exactly a hardship. He’s clearly good at this, his fingers deft and sure, never spilling even a drop onto Geralt’s skin. His tongue pokes out adorably between his teeth as he works, too, the way it usually only does when he’s several stanzas deep into a new composition, and Geralt finds it incredibly endearing that Jaskier is taking this as seriously as he does his songwriting.

“All done,” Jaskier says sooner than he expects, moving Geralt’s feet from his lap to rest on the tiled floor.

Geralt looks down, finally, and his heart skips a beat. He can’t put a name to what he feels, looking at the little pops of color and realizing it’s him, those are his toes, delicately painted like he’s something precious. Something beautiful.

“You like?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt can only nod, overwhelmed.

He likes. He really, really likes.

“I’m glad,” Jaskier says, and it’s gentle. He understands, Geralt is sure. Probably understands better than Geralt does, but as always, he’ll wait patiently for when Geralt catches up. “Alright, let me put on the top coat then.”

Geralt hasn’t the slightest idea what a top coat is or does, but watches Jaskier paint over the color with the bottle of clear polish and assumes it’s important.

“Fingers too?” Jaskier asks him when that’s done. It’s patient and level, noncommittal in a way that says as clearly as if he’d used the words, only if you want.

There’s a part of Geralt, one that’s only grown larger in the last twenty minutes, that wants to say yes, but he shakes his head. He isn’t ready for that yet, not quite.

“Thank you,” he says as Jaskier accepts that with a murmured okay and starts to put everything away. He can’t stop staring at his toes, flexing them a little to see the way the color catches the light. It’s—yeah. There’s a wetness building behind his eyes that he doesn’t understand, and something swirling in his stomach that he isn’t ready to name, but he knows that as always it’s Jaskier who brought him to this moment, led him to water like a horse and very gently suggested he take a drink.

“Of course, darling.”

It settles over him differently, today, the darling that’s been Jaskier’s favorite endearment for him ever since the beginning.

Geralt stands from the tub, walks the three steps over to the full-length mirror hanging on the wall by the sink, and lets himself look.

He’s the same and he’s different.

“Jask—” he stops. Even though he knows what Jaskier will say, asking takes a different kind of strength.

Jaskier lets the silence hang for a few seconds, but when it becomes clear that Geralt won’t find the words himself, he drapes himself over Geralt’s back, arms settling over his chest, and meets Geralt’s eyes in the mirror.

“Beautiful,” he says with a kiss to the shell of Geralt’s ear. “My handsome, beautiful man.”

Geralt looks at his blue-painted toes, and smiles.

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt & ciri #*fic #*writing

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thenerdyindividual · 2 years

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I think the most baffling part about this is the decision to recast at all. (Liam Hemsworth is a fucking weird choice too but recasting at all is already so weird that they may as well cast him.)

Like I get why Henry Cavill would reprise his role as Superman. I know people are saying he’s rich/doesn’t need the money so something else might be going on behind the scenes, but Henry Cavill is wealthy, not rich. He still has to work, and he still has to consider what roles will net him more money. Superman will be a massive blockbuster backed by dozens of big name production companies. It makes sense he’s taking that over streaming service money.

What doesn’t make sense is Netflix thinking that recasting the role is the solution to a scheduling conflict. Like if Netflix couldn’t afford to wait to film season 4 for some reason, then they could just cancel it at 3 seasons like they do almost anything else. Or they could produce a series of small side stories to keep The Witcher in people’s minds, there’s plenty to work with in Yen’s past and the effect of the Battle of Cintra on the surviving sorceresses of Aretuza to work with in the source material. It would keep interest, make them some money, and allow room for Henry to return.

There were so many other choices that didn’t involve recasting?

I’m trying to follow the logic here. Maybe they were contractually obligated to Anya Chalotra and Freya Allen to make at least four seasons, and couldn’t afford to buy them out? But I don’t see a world in which Netflix would be contractually obligated to Yennefer and Ciri, and not contractually obligated to Geralt as well. In which case Henry Cavill would have had to buy himself out of his contract but it doesn’t make sense to. Negotiations are expensive as hell, Superman would probably cover the cost but it doesn’t seem like it would cover the cost and leave him with significantly more than if he’d just stayed for a fourth season. If the contract theory is even remotely true.

I’m just genuinely so confused why they thought recasting the main guy would work. What kind of weird agreements are going on at Netflix to make this happen?

#the witcher #idk I’m baffled #needless to say #I won’t be watching s4

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unapologetic-ciri-shipper · 6 months

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Snippet from Oblivion Part 3 - Chapter 4 - Raven, Wolf and Swallow

She jumped from portal to portal and each landscape appeared only for a split second. Ciri was worried. Geralt had only told her about an emergency, something about an old friend and that she should come to his estate as soon as possible. She was confused and worried. Who had he been talking about? She paused for a moment as she entered his estate. Everything seemed normal. The workers were already leaving and everything seemed quiet. The door opened and Barnabas greeted her.

"My lady, the master of the house is expecting you."

"Geralt!" Ciri hugged him quickly "What kind of emergency...?"

Geralt broke away from the hug a bit and held her by the shoulders, and couldn't help the big grin that crossed his face.

"All good, admittedly I wanted you to get here quickly. It's not an emergency, it's more like a surprise for you. Ouch - Hey!"

Ciri nudged him rudely in the side as she looked at him with feigned annoyance.

"Geralt, I was worried." She smiled, how could she ever be angry with him? "Which old friend did you mean?"

Regis stepped out of the shadows and smiled. "Hello Cirilla."

Ciri's eyes widened as she whispered his name and ran toward him, straight into his arms.

"Regis, how...?" Her eyes shimmered and with a quick wave of her hand she wiped away her emerging tears of joy. Regis smiled, still holding her in his arms, and finished her sentence. "...I survived? That's a long story, do you want to hear it?"

Ciri's eyes shone as she broke away from the embrace. "You bet."

The two sat down as Geralt fetched the crystal glasses and poured them some of Regis' Mandrake Moonshine. Regis talked about his regeneration and about Dettlaff. Ciri literally hung on his words. Then he told about Geralt’s and his experiences in Toussaint. It was already dawn when Ciri rose and packed her things. Geralt looked sadly at her.

"You're leaving again? I thought you could at least stay here until tomorrow and we could have breakfast together?"

Ciri looked at her foster father with a guilty expression.

"I have to go to Queen Cerys. There have been attacks on villages and caravans on the island. She explicitly asked for me and wanted to talk about it tonight at her banquet. She insisted."

Geralt grinned when he heard that. The Queen of Skellige was a strong, independent woman and had known Ciri since childhood, as they grew up together for some time. Cerys never made a secret of her personal preferences and if it were socially accepted, she would have officially asked for the hand of the future heir to the throne Cirilla. But this way it was easier. Ciri was officially a witcher and could now be at the ruler's disposal at will, which Ciri did with joy.

Geralt laughed and crossed his arms.

"Well, if the Queen of Skellige officially requires your services... Enjoy your date, Ciri."

A sofa cushion flew across the room, but Geralt made no effort to catch it. With a dull plop, it landed in the Witcher’s's face. Only when it fell into Geralt's lap did the witcher's now red face reveal itself.

"Geralt! It's also about a contract..."

But Ciri's dirty grin betrayed her feigned indignation. She went to Regis and then to Geralt to say goodbye. Geralt held her in his embrace for a long time, not without whispering, "Take good care of yourself, little swallow."

Ciri looked him in the eye. "I will..." She summoned one of her portals and disappeared with a flash of bright green light.

#fic Oblivion #ciri #cirilla fiona elen riannon #the witcher #ciri & geralt & regis fluff

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