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shy-urban-hobbit · 10 months

Note

#34 for Laiden/Lambden if you are feelin’ it?

34 - "Please don't do this." - My brain decided to go down the 'hurt them to keep them safe' route with this one. Hope you like it!!

"Please don't do this." It wasn't quite begging, but it was a near thing as Lambert heard his own voice tremble slightly, "Please don't leave."

Aiden gave a derisive huff of a laugh from where he was shoving on his boot, not bothering to look at Lambert as he replied, "Cats get bored easily and you I'm afraid, have lost your entertainment value." He stood and started to strap on his swords and armour, "Don't get me wrong, it was fun while it lasted. But that was all it was ever going to be."

"Not to me, it wasn't." Lambert snarled, attempting his usual trick of hiding vulnerability under anger.

It didn't work as Aiden laughed fully this time. A cruel sounding thing Lambert had never heard from the other before as he turned to look at him, "Oh, you poor naive thing." Aiden's condescending tone matching the twisted smile " You Wolves really are starved for it aren't you? Typical stray, follow anyone who sees fit to throw you a few scraps."

He let his gaze briefly sweep over the room one last time before leaving with a curt "Don't follow me." Letting the door slam behind him.

Aiden made it about two miles from the outskirts of the town before he allowed himself to break, dropping to his knees by the roadside and heaving as if he'd just run from one end of the continent to the other as he tried to take in a full breath. His chest in a vice grip as he was sure he could physically feel his heart crack.

He'd had no choice. There had been talk at the Caravan for years but what was idle gossip had now turned into a very real threat.

They had been watching him. Watching them. There had been whispers and accusations that winter - from Jad especially - about whether Aiden was no longer trustworthy, how he favoured a rival school over his own, how he'd 'changed' spitting the word as if it were a curse (so what if he didn't take human contracts anymore!?), accompanied by threats from various other groups and individuals that if Aiden didn't put an end to it, they would and they wouldn't spare either of them. It's not as if relations between the two schools could get any worse. What difference would it make if they put down one more Wolf? Aiden couldn't care less what they did to him, but the thought of them hurting Lambert made him panic in a way he hadn't since the day of the first Trial.

The most worrying part of all of this was that Guxart had stayed silent on the matter. Whether those involved had managed to keep him in the dark or whether the older Cat agreed with them Aiden didn't know, and it was a risk he wasn't willing to take. Not if it meant Lambert's life on the line, not when he'd caught glimpses as the two of them travelled together. His brethren careful to keep themselves hidden from Lambert, but reminding Aiden. Waiting.

And so, he had made his choice. The words burning as they fell from his mouth, as he pushed all of the hate he felt towards himself outwards and hoped it would be enough to convince Lambert that it was directed at him. Trying not to look at Lambert until he absolutely had to, knowing he would lose his resolve if he did. He could only hope now that his act had been enough to convince any prying eyes or eavesdroppers to keep Lambert safe, if they believed he was now nothing more than a discarded toy.

Eventually, Aiden came back to himself enough to drag himself to his feet. Even though he wanted nothing more than to roll himself into the ditch which ran alongside the road and not move until either starvation exposure, or a monster got him. Whichever came first.

"Stay safe, Love." He whispered under his breath, casting a longing look over his shoulder and praying that Lambert had had the sense to travel in the opposite direction if he wasn't still in the town.

"You're a Witcher yes? I was wondering if you might be for hire, so to speak."

Aiden peered at the man from over his tankard. Well dressed, well spoken. Potentially the first decent pay he'd had in weeks.

"Depends on the job." Aiden answered as he put his tankard down, leaning forward to show the stranger he was listening, "I don't take human contracts. Find another Cat for that."

"Oh, no. Nothing as crude as that!" The stranger said, flapping a hand as if he were warding off a bad smell, "I seem to find myself with an Ogre situation. Tell me, what do you know of curses?"

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden/lambert fanfiction #lambden #aiden x lambert #lambert/aiden fanfic #lambert x aiden #lambert/aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

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mentallyinvernation · 9 months

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Dreamling Bingo - Witcher AU

Summary: Dream is a Witcher from the School of Cats, but he’s runaway from that life to be a bard. Hob is a Witcher from the School of Wolves, and has no idea that the bard he’s grown close with is in fact also a Witcher. Funny ole world.

2023 @dreamlingbingo fill for square: B5 Witcher AU

｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“He’s just a bard!” Hob shouts, thrashing against his binds to break free, the rope rubbing the skin of his wrists raw.

“Oh?” The blond says, tilting their head mischeviously at Dream. “Is that what you told him? All these lies, tut, tut, tut. How do you keep up with yourself? I mean, a bard, really? You?”

“Don’t.” Dream whispers, desperation wavering in his eyes. “Please, don’t.”

The blond puts on a mocking pout. “Do you think it’s true what they say? That us cats always land on both feet? I suppose there’s only one real way to find out.”

And Hob is helpless but to sit there and watch as Dream is pushed straight out the window.

ANOTHER SNIPPET FOR THIS AU BECAUSE TWO FOR THE PRICE OF ONE.

“Well, thank fuck you survived, Dream. Do you know how awful it would have been if you died and left me all by my lonesome with this wolf?”

Hob swallows the urge to bare his teeth.

“You pushed me.” Dream grits through his teeth, “out the window.”

The blond raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re still in one piece, are you not?”

“What do you want, Desire?”

“What?” Desire drags out the word innocently, bringing a hand to their chest in earnest. “Can’t a concerned sibling check up on their brother from time to time? You don’t write, you don’t visit, I was beside myself with worry thinking you’d been ravaged by beasts of the night.” A wicked grin crawls onto red lips as they tilt a knowing look Hob’s way. “Though, I now see that’s perhaps not an outrageous assumption.”

Dream bristles. “I left for a reason.”

Desire pouts mockingly. “Oh, I know. But nobody truly leaves, do they? And you know, I really was quite distressed to have found out about this - “ they wave lazily between Dream and Hob. “- partnership of yours. To think that you’ve been gallivanting with wolves all this time - oh Mother will be heartbroken. To shame with you.”

“This has nothing to do with Hob. Leave him be.”

“Nothing to do with him? You know, I think he growled at me, Morpheus. Growled. Should I hiss back?”

#dreamling bingo #dreamling #Witcher au #dream of the endless #hob gadling #The Sandman #astrophel_hireath wips #ao3 #the witcher #Dream x Hob #my writing #Desire is such a little shit I love them so much #younger sibling energy of the fucking charts

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cryptid-called-ash · 1 year

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Witcher thoughts

Sorcerer Jaskier / Yennefer (version one)

Just after the mountain drama

jaskier get blinded by a bruxa on his way down the mountain.

So he decides fuck it he’s had enough with people for the next decade

He dyes his hair and becomes a pseudo- hermit, throwing himself into perfecting his magic

He starts going by Julian again

Yennefer hears about this mysterious sorcerer living in the mountains who helps the local village and goes to investigate

Lo and behold it’s jaskier

She shocked, confused, but not angry. She can’t bring herself to be. Not when he invites her into his cottage for tea

She very quickly becomes angry, but not at jaskier, no her fury is solely on geralt for leaving jask alone

Winter falls and jask asks yenn to stay with him

They start getting close and before they realize it, they’ve fallen in love

They decide to wed for real

Rip geralt he’s got two angry sorcerer newlyweds to deal with now

Witcher jaskier

Do y’all watch the Witcher George on YouTube? You should. Go watch the school of the leshen video! I’ll wait.

School of the leshen Jaskier.

His dad, Alfred, is also a Witcher of the same school, he had jask before undergoing the mutations.

A 22 year old newly minted Witcher Alfred is out on a contract in lettenhove and runs into the woman he had a one night stand with, and surprise, he’s a father.

She gives a rather neglected 5 year old Julian to his father.

Panicking about his new status as a father, he takes his son back to the elder keep and raises Julian as a Witcher.

Julian has a surprising affinity for signs, Axii in particular, which he learned to incorporate into his voice. Earning him the nickname ‘siren in the wood’

{oc time} the Witcher Berek Ebonstone is roughy around Julian’s age and the two become quick friends. Even traveling together when they become full witchers

Jul gets sent to study at oxenfurt and bring new information back the the school, where he takes up his infamous persona of Jaskier the bard

Julian is out on a contract in Posada, having just completed it when he meets geralt.

Now Julian, ever the little shit, decides he wants to see what all the fuss over the white wolf is about.

Things play out as normal, albeit with jaskier always seems to have more coin when geralt comes back from a contract than when he left, there always seems to be one less contact too. He’s sure it’s nothing though.

It’s not until the infamous break up that things really change.

Jaskier seemingly drops off the face of the earth.

Berek and Julian are once again hunting together regularly, occasionally interacting with the other wolves but, blessedly, never running into geralt.

Julian knows his luck won’t hold, and he’ll have to face geralt eventually and tell him the truth. But he going to wait until he has no other choice.

#yennskier #witcher jaskier #witcher au #thoughts and ideas #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer x jaskier #school of the leshen #let’s make it happen #julian alfred pankratz #non human jaskier #feral jaskier #bamf jaskier #goth bi x prep bi #sorcerer jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #geraskefer #siren in the wood au

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hudine · 9 months

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Still don’t have a name for this fic. Will put on AO3 when I got one. Anyone got any ideas for a name feel free suggest them.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

60 years later

Jules was in the human realm again for the first time since the sacking. He had wanted to go home long before now but his mother wouldn’t let him out of her sight at court. He became an adult by fae standards ten years ago but that didn’t mean his mother couldn’t find other means to keep him from leaving. Eventually though he got hold of a lute, some bard clothes, snuck back into the human realm and took up the name Jaskier to make it harder to find him. He’s been wondering the continent as a traveling bard trying to hear anything he can about what was left of the wolf school ever since.

Finding out knowledge of any Witchers yet alone a particular guild of them was easier said than done. In the past year he’s only managed to find two, one viper and one cat. He didn’t get much out of either of them but the viper and cat schools got never along the with the wolf school in the first place so it wasn’t that surprising.

He was going to give it a few more months then actually pluck up the nerve to go back home to Kaer Morhen and see what is left and go from there. Right about now Jaskier wishes he didn’t put such a good anti tracking spell on the medallions or he could find anyone he wanted. The majority of those who where out on the path during the sacking wore medallions he had enchanted in the first place so it wouldn’t have been hard otherwise.

He was playing in a small tavern at the edge of the world in the town of Posada when it happened. Jaskier was playing a set that was pretty much designed to get food thrown at him so he wouldn’t have to pay for lunch. Also he didn’t want to stand out so he didn’t want to showcase his true talents. Then seemingly out of nowhere Geralt of fucking Rivia unexpectedly walked in and took a seat in the back corner where no one would see him. The bard almost missed a note in shock. So knowing how literal minded his old friend was he started singing in metaphors using monsters that don’t exist or at least shouldn’t exist.

He finished his song and on queue got bread thrown at him. He started muttering at the crowed as he stuffed bread rolls in his pockets. He looked up to see Geralt hadn’t bothered to even look up at the spectacle. Didn’t surprise him much. He had enchanted the medallions to ignore his magic so he could get up to magical mischief as a child and Geralt always had been particularly resistant to magic even for a Witcher. It’s why Reidrich singled him out for his ‘experiment’.

The fae stood up, took a tankard from a passing barmaid, had a drink to brace himself and walked up to Geralt. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

“I’m here to drink alone,” Geralt replied not even looking up.

“Good. Yea, good.” Jaskier ignored the Witcher and sat down across from him. “No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance… except for you. Come on. You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

“They don’t exist.”

“What?”

“The creatures in your song, they don’t exist.”

“And you apparently still wouldn’t know a metaphor if it bit you in the ass Geralt.”

Geralt really looked at him for the first time, brow furrowed. “Do I know you?”

“Gee thanks. Nice to know I’m that forgettable. It’s been sixty years I know, but I hadn’t been able to get away from my mother until now. She had guards watching me and a tracking spell for when I slipped the guards. She was convinced if I came back here to see what was left of Kaer Morhen I’d be killed. Took me finally reaching age of majority and another ten years of court responsibilities she made up, before I managed to slip the leash. Anyone asks, my name is Jaskier and I’m a perfectly normal human bard, thank you very much. Really don’t want to be dragged back there. Court is boring.”

It took a moment for Geralt’s brain to catch up with the rambling and put it together. “Jules? You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I got out. Managed to make a portal and took the children with me to the fae realm along with Birman and Deglan who dragged my unconscious father along with them.”

“Vesemir said he was the only one left alive in the keep. Does he know?”

“Considering he shoved me through my own portal when I tried to talk sense into him about coming with me, yea. I would have jumped right back through there and dragged his ass back through with me but I hit my head on the other side and got knocked out. So Vesemir is still alive?”

“For now. Might be a different story when I get back to Kaer Morhen and have a ‘talk’ about him letting me think you’re dead for the past sixty years.”

“Don’t be too hard on him. He was probably just covering for our escape, didn’t want any rumours any of the mages made it out. The brotherhood was behind everything. Saw some of their council members, not just mages, among those attacking.”

They got interrupted as a farmer walked up to the table. “Excuse me… master Witcher. I need your help. I have coin. A devil has been stealing from our grain stores.”

“A devil?” Geralt asked sceptically.

“Well I don’t know what else to call it. It looks like a goat that can run on two legs.”

“And it’s been stealing from your grain stores?”

“Yes. I have a hundred and fifty crowns for you to go take a look.”

“Alright. You coming Jules?” Geralt asked as he got up.

“Sure. Maybe I can write a song about it or something, Eric,” Jaskier replied, getting up and following.

“Don’t call me that,” Geralt snarled annoyedly at Jaskier.

Jaskier haven grown up around Witchers, didn’t find it in the least bit intimidating. “Don’t call me Jules and I’ll not call you Eric.”

“Fine, Jaskier. What kind of name is that anyway?” Geralt asked as they left of the tavern.

“A whimsical one like you’d expect a bard to have. Also kinda fae, it being a plant name and all. They’re weeds. Hardy, will grow anywhere, near impossible to get rid of, and poisonous,” Jaskier proclaimed proudly.

“Hm. Put that way, very you,” Geralt replied as he got Roach out of the stable.

They walked out of town a bit before Jaskier couldn’t help asking, “Isn’t that one of the horses I grassed?”

“Her name is Roach.”

“And she lets you ride her? I remember most those horses becoming like demonic hell spawn afterwards…”

“Took a while but she trusts me. She makes a good Witcher horse; fast, lots of stamina, isn’t afraid of pretty much anything, won’t let anyone steal her. She’s also older than me and still going. Why did you grass horses anyway?”

“Oh. They had me practice on animals before they let me preform the trail of grasses on a person. I take it you haven’t come across the rats… those sneaky little bastards are why they decided we should move on to bigger animals who can’t hide as easily.”

“Rats? Is that why we have a colony of half feral mutant cats?”

“I only grassed two… to catch the rats. How was I to know the cats could still have kittens afterwards? Most creatures mutate so much they’re not compatible with the same species anymore and renders them infertile,” Jaskier explained exasperatedly.

“What happened the people you escaped with?”

“They decided to start over. Got the fae to take them to a new part of this sphere far from the continent. After all it’s not just here that has a monster problem. They’re thriving last update I had, and far away from the influence of the brotherhood. People actually look up to Witchers there and don’t have the superstitious beliefs about them so less die each year because of humans.”

Geralt had a far away look for a moment. “Must be nice.”

“I could take you there.”

“Maybe… someday. I can’t just abandon those that are left here.”

“How many are left?”

“The number dwindles every winter. Last count there where about twenty that came to Kaer Mohen to winter, not all of them wolves. There are also a few stuck in wolf form who live in the woods around Kaer Morhen. We’ve tried to help them but nothing seems to work.”

“I can change them back. I turned Varin into a giant chicken once because he was being an asshole. So transforming them back to their Witcher state shouldn’t be a problem. The problem is if they’ll stay that way. Might be that they’re not stuck. Might be that they’ve grown tired of life on the path and decided they’re better off as wolves. Seen it happen a time or two. Usually from the mistreatment they get from humans. I could quite happily do some really horrible things to whoever started the rumour that Witchers don’t have feelings.”

“They’re supposed to have been burned out of us during the trails.”

Jaskier actually smacked Geralt upside the head. “Don’t. That’s a load of nonsense. Actually if anything emotions are heightened because believe it or not that is a sense and all senses are heightened. You feel things more intensely than humans. Sometimes though it gets stuck inside and they get trapped where you’re unsure how to express them or are too overwhelmed to do so. Makes it hard to speak for some too. Of course the cats are the only ones who openly admit this. The rest of you all pretend otherwise because of a toxic culture that sprang up long before I was around. You think you had it bad as a kid? It was a lot worse in the past. Most the outright abusive ‘training’ was stopped.”

“I find it hard to believe with Witchers like Varin training us.”

“They used to all be like him… except Vesemir. He was always fair from everything I heard. Varin was just an asshole they had to confine to the keep and had to give him something to do while there. He learned not to mess with me though. The chicken incident just being the last in a long line of shit I did to him when he was being an ass.

“Actually I was the reason a lot of it got stopped. The mages never paid much attention to how they trained new Witchers until Vesemir decided I was old enough to be put in training with them. They where horrified by the shear number of boys who died before the grasses just because they hadn’t been fed enough, or exposed too long to the cold, or beaten for no good reason. Dad didn’t believe me at first when I told him about it, so I went to Dagobert, then Reidrich. Eventually I made enough of a fuss with them they checked it out, watching through magical means.

“They pretty much unanimously told Rennes they where leaving if they didn’t stop all of that. He came up with some bullshit excuse about selecting the toughest of the boys. Then my father informed him that there is nothing tough about surviving all that, mostly just luck. They wanted healthy boys for the trails and if they stop killing them off maybe they’d have more pass and their low success rate probably has everything to do with malnutrition. He wasn’t wrong about that. That was just part of the puzzle though. The rest was in quantity of elder blood, freely given, and different mutagens, and a touch of original genetics. If you have some elven or fae in you you’re more likely to make it. Or some chaos.”

“Like Eskel. He’s always been good with signs.”

“It’s also how I was able to teach him how to do some minor magic like glamours. Same with you. Actually you got more raw chaos than Eskel. Just Eskel has better control of his,” Jaskier proclaims to Geralt who just looks sceptically at him, “It’s true. I’ve had a closer look at both of your magical cores than most. I did the grasses on you twice, and the dreams on Eskel. Did my best to make sure you both maintained access to it. Hence why you both can do more than signs. I’m just surprised you both still talked to me after, yet alone became my friends.”

“If you didn’t do it one of the others would have. You where also known for being gentler about it than the others, actually trying to dull the pain, and had the highest success rate. It’s why I begged you to do my second round of grasses. Never trusted Reidrich. Besides you may have been one of the mages officially by the time I came along, but you where always one of us. You didn’t hold yourself above us lowly Witchers unlike Reidrich or Dagobert. Your father wasn’t so bad either, if a bit scatterbrained. But you Jules, you ran the walls with us as punishment like the rest of us when we got in trouble. Got stuck in the middle of whatever childish mischief that was being planned. Protected us from people like Varin. I’m also convinced you’re responsible for most of Vesemir’s grey hair. After all I can quite reliably say you’re responsible for my own hair going white.”

“It really wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“Relax it’s a joke. I have been known to make those on occasion. I got used to it a long time ago.”

“You joke? Actually you’re communicating in more than grunts. Are you ok? You haven’t been cursed with gift of the gab or something?” Jaskier asked sarcastically.

“Hmn,” Geralt grunted also sarcastically.

“Now that’s more like the Witcher I know and love,” Jaskier replied, grinning.

@xxx|}::::::::::::::::::::> <::::::::::::::::::::{|xxx@

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #joey batey #henry cavill #fanfiction #needs a name #seriously taking all suggestions for fic names #fae!jaskier #wip

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multifandombullshitbabes · 1 year

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HELLO

ok cool now that THAT is done, hi :) I'm Sara/Sera. Aro. Lesbian. Genderqueer (she/they/he). Libra. 20. Art college. INFP. etc.

This is a blog where I'll do whatever the fuck i want with the fandoms I like, even the ones i have blogs dedicated to. Just because.

My og posts are all tagged "hey look i posted a thing" so. yh.

I'll put here some fandoms that I DEFINITELY will be at least talking about:

both Top Gun movies

Merlin BBC

Sherlock BBC (yh ik sue me the show was fun)

Warrior Nun

The Magnus Archives

Outer Range

Our Flag Means Death

Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom (ONLY the books. That show sucked, I'm sorry not really)

Treasure Planet (most underrated movie EVER, yep)

Rise of The Guardians

all Kung Fu Panda movies

Nope

Everything Everywhere All At Once

Wednesday

The Haunting of Hill House and The Haunting of Bly Manor

The Untamed

Anne with and E

Teen Wolf (i have a weakness for this show yall, idk)

Arcane

First Kill

The Witcher (only the show, sorry)

The Sandman

Girl From Nowhere

Abbot Elementary

Suits (i have not finished season 5 cuz i know its gonna get shitty so apologies)

Black Sails

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

both Venom movies

Like Minds

Moon Knight (TV show)

Sharp Objects

Suspiria 2018

Whiplash

Jennifer's Body

The Pirate (1948)

Derry Girls

Criminal Minds

Cocaine Bear

Knives Out + Glass Onion

Into the Spider-Verse movies

TMNT 2012

Reservation Dogs

The Bear

Marble Hornets

Creepypasta

Stardew Valley

8 Women (2002)

Nimona

The New Girlfriend (2014)

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem

Harlan Coben's Shelter

Malevolent (podcast)

ATLA

Blue Eye Samurai

Kubo and the two strings

Midnight Burger

After School Lessons for Unripe Apples

CURRENT HYPER-FIXATION: Blue Eye Samurai, Malevolent

Theres a TON more, I'll add them as I remember them and as I also consume them. From this list tho, pls send ur thoughts!! Just know im more active in some fandoms than others. This list is not on a particular order, so yh!!

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AO3 Link: SpookySweet (please check out my works, I will love you foreva)

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TAG LIST:

"hey look i posted a thing" - any posts originally mine

"rebloggin time" - every time i reblog something and I add to it in the post itself, not the tags (text, images, etc.)

"come get yall headcanons" - all headcanons/au posts of mine, reblogs included

"shit talking but seriously (or not)" - discourse/fan wank tag, any criticism posts/reblogs i might make

"this is me writing lads" - my writing

"shitpostti" - shitpost/crack posts of mine

"YOU ASK I ANSWER" - answering things from inbox

"so artsy rawr XD" - art tag

#hey look i posted a thing #fandoms list #i hope this will be fun lmao

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faetxlity · 2 years

Note

Would you be interested into writing "Who hurt you?" "You want a list?" "Yes actually." for Lambert & Voltehre? Either as a couple or friends and in whatever AU you want. Thank you, Ledgea!

So, once again. I apologize for the hurt.

Ao3

Rated T Summary:

Life was so damn weird. Why shouldn't his dead best friend come back to life to haunt him? That was just a normal Tuesday in Lambert's shitty book.

Life was so damn weird.

Almost two years had passed between the Battle of Kaer Morhen and Lambert had found himself in the south- not because he liked visiting Geralt at his pompous vineyard or because he had some insane hope of seeing an old friend - but because the weather was nice and the coin somewhat better than the north. He was in Temeria when the second conjunction split the sky and his world was rocked again. What were the odds of having five major world shaking events happen in less than fifty years? Too damn high in Lambert’s opinion. But what did he know? He was just a damn witcher.

He was still in Temeria when it seemed that the dead rose and walked the earth, wearing the face of a friend long lost but not the one he’d been looking for. Voltehre, sweet and kind and dead , had come stumbling down the road toward Vizima like a dream come true although he was mud splattered, bloodied, and dazed from what seemed to be a show of chaos unheard of. The Second Conjunction screwed with a lot of things; Lambert’s head was just the beginning.

“Oh, thank the gods .” The imposter breathed, quickening his limping pace toward Lambert with a lopsided but exhausted grin. “I’ve not seen another Witcher since…” It sounded like Voltehre, a little lower than Lambert’s voice and with the slight whistle on his 's' sounds, but those details only made Lambert put that much more venom into his command that the imposter ‘stop where he was’. He was too damn tired for these games.

The thing that was not Voltehre froze, mouth snapping shut.

“Who are you?” “Voltehre, of the Wolf School.” His eyes snapped to the medallion on Lambert’s chest like it was a betrayal that he hadn't been recognized. “I’m not sure how I arrived here, just that some weeks ago I was at my trials and then the sky was tearing open and I was south of Vizima. Is it true? Has there been a second joining of the spheres?” The evidence was all around them, hundreds more monsters walked the Continent without more than a few dozen witchers to deal with them. Anyone with eyes could see that and Voltehre had never been stupid. He didn't have an ounce of self preservation around strangers either, “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. Are you-”

Lambert drew his sword, silver and leveled it at the thing. The sunlight, tinged red by the lingering chaos in the air, glinted off the blade. The Thing put its hands up.

“I’m sorry? Really I don’t- I don’t know what to do here. You’re of the Wolves, yes? I can- I can prove that’s where I’m from though I don’t have a medallion yet. My master was Vesemir.”

“Put your arm to the blade.” Lambert said, ignoring how his heart clenched at the memory of the old wolf and the ashes he had left on top of that mountain.

“What?” “Prove that you aren’t a fucking doppler or some shit. Put your damn arm to the blade.” It stepped forward, rolled up the sleeve of its dirty white shirt, and pressed his entire forearm against the length of silver. He didn’t burn but his eyes narrowed, sweeping over Lambert from his hair to his boots. Then he turned his arm and drew it back so that a well of blood rose to the surface. Red. Human red.

“You want me to cast Yrden? Prove that I’m a witcher too?”

“Yes.”

Voltehre’s specialty was never signs but he was better at them than Lambert and the trap that glowed some feet away was dull but passable. It was also unfathomably correct in that the blond had always had a certain flair to his magic. That trap on the side of the road had the same off color that drove the mages to tears trying to find the reason for it. It wasn't something that could be replicated.

“ Fuck .” Lambert laughed, manic and rough. “Fucking- I-” He sheathed the sword and took a step forward, then two steps back. No. No he wasn’t going to run. Not this time.

“Lambert?” The - Voltehre breathed. As though Lambert was the one back from the dead.

He gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yeah, it’s me. Lambert.”

So then two worlds were shattered.

The side of the road in nowhere-Temeria wasn’t the place to piece together their stories so, while still holding Voltehre - fucking Voltehre - at arms length they set off in search of a safe place to settle down for a few days. It came just up the road in the form of a manor, abandoned after the village was decimated by the new wave of monsters and earthquakes. The noble family of the region had lasted a little longer than their fieldhands but not by much and Lambert had no compunctions about looting the clothes and blankets and whatever jewelry he could find. If he came across any Sc’oiatel he’d have to point them in this direction for supplies- a conjunction was probably the best chance they had to peacefully reclaim territory after all.

“Find a room that we can defend, one that gets a lot of sun so we don’t need the fireplace.” He was practically barking the orders like he was an old master and he couldn’t make himself stop. If he stopped he would have to look at the barely-a-man that was his long lost best friend and he’d fall to damn pieces. To see the judgment in his eyes as they sorted through the possession of the dead like common bandits. “You uh- you want furs or woven blankets? Woven, right?”

“Yeah.”

Twenty-seven years. A voice whispered. Twenty-seven years and you still remember his preferences. Pathetic memory chaser than you are.

He gathered two blankets for Voltehre and set them on the table with the rest of his pilfered supplies. He moved on to the storerooms which held preserves and he took as many as he could, planning to raid it again when they left. Peaches, beans, even watermelon that must have cost a small fortune in this part of the world had been jarred. Little luxuries only afforded to their ilk in the time of greatest sorrow.

He arrived in the west wing bedroom just in time to see Voltehre stumble and catch himself with a soft curse.

“You alright?”

“I’ve been jerked through time and have had three weeks to heal from a blow to the knee and head from the trial on top of nearly losing my leg to a kikimore in a swamp -" He sighed, shoulders slumping, "- no, Lambert. I’m not okay.”

“I- yeah that’s pretty shit.” Maybe they were both in shock. Witchers didn’t really get shock but there was a first time for everything. “Sit down and let me take a look at your leg then. Actually wait, strip. I’m sure I can find you cleaner clothes to change into after I make sure you’re not about to d- uh. Not about to fall over.”

“It’s kind of nice to know that you didn’t get any taller since the trials.” Voltehre said, almost like he was making a joke to ease the tension. Lambert, unsure whether it was a joke or not, snorted anyway. Just because Voltehre hit a growth spurt at sixteen to rival Geralt didn't make Lambert tiny.

“Well not everyone can have the genes of an ice giant.” Lambert knelt, worked his gloves off and then, carefully, placed his hands on Voltehre’s clammy skin gently. He probed around the calf, up to his knee and then a little higher. It was swollen and bruised, likely torqued from a fall but it would heal if he could simply rest it for a day or so. It certainly wasn’t enough to waste a potion on.

“You’ll be okay, just need to rest.” He might even be able to wrangle a wrap for it. “You can take the bed and I’ll make a pallet tonight.”

Voltehre had a little scar on his knuckle from training, the only time he’d ever been in trouble - in trouble on Lambert’s behalf no less. It caught on Lambert’s skin as he reached out, holding him still by the shoulder where he knelt. The simple touch made his breath catch and his muscles tense. He wasn’t the same man he’d been… he wasn’t Voltehre’s best friend. He was a bitter asshole outrunning fate and somehow surviving when all his friends were dead. A wretch.

“Who hurt you?” Voltehre asked, soft and earnest with his wide eyes and too-young voice. As if they were both still boys, hiding from their instructors and finding some pleasure in the horrors of their days and that there could be a single figure to blame. He always was trying to protect Lambert like he was worth it somehow and Lambert couldn’t handle it. There was love and trust and stupid belief so he sneered.

“What? You want a list?”

“Yes, actually.”

He looked up and swallowed thickly. “It’s been a really bad time. Thirty years of shit and it’s just- I missed you.” The voice in his head that sounded like Aiden whispered praise for his honesty. It was always a little kinder than his own thoughts. "This entire situation is insane and I don't know what's going on half the time."

“I know it’s different now but I’m not and I’d very much like it if we could pretend it wasn’t for a night?” The blond witcher said. “You can tell me all the shit that has happened, the good and the bad and all about whoever you’ve charmed into staying by your side. Just don’t sleep on the floor? Please?”

Lambert sighed and closed his eyes. He nodded.

Voltehre tapped his scars gently. “Tell me about these?”

“Well I didn’t have my best friend to watch my back.” Lambert rose and jerked his chin up at the pillows. “Lay down and I’ll do story time for you, better to get your knee lifted sooner rather than later.” Voltehre wiggled his way into the blankets, six feet of gangly limbs and lightly freckled skin. Once he was settled, Lambert continued. “It was a nest of harpies. I was up in Poviss, climbed the cliffs fine and cut down the first four down in minutes.” He tossed a blanket at the blond and then began to pull his own armor off for the evening. “So I’m thinking it’s done with, throw the proof in my pack with some eggs and start back down. Well I’m hanging in the air and just happen to look up when two more of the damn birds get on me - I’m fighting one handed, high enough that the fall is going to break my damn legs, and one of them gets me in the face with her claws.” He pulled on a pair of stolen pants and bundled himself in his own furs to sit against the ornate headboard.

“It made a good story that year. Won the stupid competition about who had the best scars. Got a whole bottle of gull out of it.”

“You said earlier that this conjunction… there’s not enough Witchers left to handle it. What did that mean? Is the school-”

“It’s gone, has been for years now. Nothing but dust and rock up there. Geralt’s around, so’s Eskel. Geralt set up in Toussaint a few years ago and I’m sure he’s got the place ready for war. Probably adopted every orphan that glanced his way since this started like the idiot he is. That’s where we’ll be going.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Don’t ask about the others. Just let it go.

Voltehre fell asleep without more words exchanged between them and Lambert felt almost wrong for watching him when he was so vulnerable but he was really there and a fear was rooting itself in the back of his mind that screamed the moment he looked away Voltehre would be gone again. There were so many little things he had forgotten; how there was a streak of blue in the iris of his left eye that the grasses couldn’t take away, how his hair was a little shorter than he’d conjured in his mind but just as thick, the way that one canine was a little too big for his mouth and how it cemented the overgrown puppy look that he’d somehow come to associate with Eskel rather than the specimen laying on the fine feather bed beside him. He was only twenty.

Lambert had once told Aiden, quietly and as a secret, that he had loved Voltehre. Loved him in all the same ways he loved Aiden but didn’t have the words to tell either of them until it was too late.

He loved them still. But looking at the young man, with his hand curled loosely atop Lambert's thigh and his breathing even he knew that it wasn't the same, it couldn't be that same. He had loved him as a boy and he had loved truly and deeply but that wound had been torn open and healed over again and again. He wasn't the same, he had lost the softness of youth and the belief that he could do something about it, and it wasn't right or fair but it was true. Love alone did not a good thing make. Whatever happened next would be another willing scar on his heart and he would choose to disappoint the golden spectre of his youth. His first love; alive and well despite the odds and utterly unprepared for the things he was asking to know.

Who hurt you?

Lambert tucked the blankets higher around the young Witcher’s shoulders.

You did, sunshine.

#prompt fills #witcher lambert #voltehre #my writing #ledgea

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iam93percentstardust · 4 months

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For the 2023 writer asks!! 1, 22, and 30

Asks from bestie fren! Thank you! (As you know because I just complained about it to you, tumblr is now incredibly shitty about posts with numbers, so ignore the terrible formatting)

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again? I wrote a bunch of new pairings this year! I wanted to try my hand at a bunch of loosely interconnected stories focusing on different pairings (the high school au). It was a passion project for me, and I'm really proud of how they turned out, but I wouldn't say they were particularly well-received or anything by anyone else. One of my plans for a future Christmas fic involves a similar concept of different pairings and interconnected stories, but I definitely think I'll see how it goes with one story instead of a series of individual fics.

22. Share an excerpt from your favorite scene. From Sweeter Than Fiction (aka the Witcher Jaskier au)

At the end of it all, when the Witchers have united under Geralt’s name, when Geralt stands in front of them, when he tells them that in two days’ time they march for Ard Carraigh— It’s Jaskier who first shouts his agreement, “White Wolf!” The hall seems to hold its breath for a moment and then, a great rumble like thunder in the distance, coming from every voice in the hall, “White Wolf!” Jaskier could swear, even though he’s only one of hundreds, that in that moment, Geralt looks directly at him, golden eyes burning into his soul.

30. What’s something that you want to write in 2024? Well, considering my incredibly bad decision to get into Teen Wolf six years after the show ended, I guess I want to write the stupid true alpha rewrite au that I've been discussing with you for the past several months

#alle answers

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avatarskywalker78 · 9 months

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Six Sentence Sunday and there are two extracts for you today!!! First of all, one from my Angel & Riley story which I've recently gotten back to and which currently stands at over 9k words (this was intended to be short fic how did this happen). This is a few days after Riley's near death experience in 5x04 - which goes a little differently than in canon and Angel helped saved his life, which is a milestone in their relationship.

Things were still a little strained between them, but it was clear Riley was making an effort to unlearn a lot of things and genuinely seemed to want to spend time with him as well, so Angel would make the effort in return.

And it was…better than he thought it might be. It was clear that under it all Riley really was just a country boy, and he talked about his life in Iowa with such fondness…

But he was happy here. More so, now that the government were off his case and he and the Scoobies were starting to talk about things, but there was still that undercurrent of insecurity – and uncertainty, because as he told Angel over drinks one night, he’d wanted to become a soldier in order to protect people, and instead he’d been used and lied to and sometimes the real monsters were people. He was a military man without a military, because he didn’t trust them not to pull the same shit years down the line.

“I thought I knew what was right and what was wrong,” he’d said mournfully, “and now I don’t, and I can’t help but wonder how many lives I ruined because of what I was a part of, what I refused to question.”

“Good.” Angel had replied. “That’s a good sign, Riley, trust me. I know it’s not easy – believe me, I know – but you’re starting to make amends. You’re learning from Giles and planning to train with Buffy once your strength’s back up, and you’re not going to run blind into anything again.”

“I hope not, but…what if I do? What if I do something stupid and I don’t know how to fix it?”

“You pick yourself back up, and you try again.”

There's still a while to go because it turns out they have a lot to say.

The next extract is from chapter 3 of when a friendship is found (across the seas) - set in 1949, the morning after the banquet in Cintra, and Jaskier is getting to know Áine.

“I noticed, my dear Islander, that you didn’t seem at all fazed by the White Wolf.”

“That’s because I’ve never believed that Witchers are monsters. Besides,” she continued, her expression turning fond, “I’m friends with a Witcher myself.”

“You’re what?” Jaskier could hardly contain his excitement and wished he had his lute with him. “Oh, this I must hear, Áine – you’re friends with a Witcher.”

“Yup - have been for several months.”

“Who? How? What’s he like? Is he of the Wolf School? Do you think I could meet him?”

“That’s a lot of questions, Jaskier, but—”

Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a familiar voice calling her name.

Jaskier is just about to find out she's Eist's kinswoman (and is utterly delighted by this fact).

#Six Sentence Sunday #Angel #Riley Finn #Angel & Riley #OC: Áine an Tordarroch #Jaskier #fic: when a friendship is found (across the seas)#the warrior the witcher the firebird and the bard

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type40thiefoflight · 2 years

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Thoughts on Season 2:

They’re just letting anyone into Kaer Morhen these days, huh?

White wolf, white wolf, what do you see? All!

Did they make Geralt’s eyes extra yellow this season to contrast with the rest of the witchers?

Is Ciri drinking White Gull? I was under the impression that humans couldn’t handle that stuff.

Who are you and what have you done with Eskel?

Why are all the Wolf medallions different designs? At first I thought it was just Vesemir’s, which would make sense since he’s older and maybe the design had changed since he became a witcher. Then I saw the tree and everyone else’s and no, they’re all different.

Isn’t Coen supposed to be a Griffin? They never really explain why he’s at the Wolf school.

Stregebor is a master manipulator: are his hands really an illusion or are the burnt stumps just a piece of theater to garner sympathy?

Don’t try to make Cahir sympathetic, he’s a weasel

Demon Baba Yaga

Did Francesca and Fringilla start out genuinely wanting to be friends or just use each other and then the friendship happened?

Dara!

Burn by Lin-Manuel Miranda who? I only know Burn by Jaskier the bard.

How does Jaskier know Yennefer is part elf?

Do they really expect us to believe a professional elf smuggler’s going to risk his life just to argue with a dock worker?

RIP Filavandrel’s lute, you will be missed

Wait actually, is this show really expecting me to believe that Jaskier just stopped carrying his lute in a case? Especially since he’s sneaking around and it has a one-of-a-kind, very recognizable design?

If the School of the Wolf needed a certain mutagen to create Wolf witchers, shouldn’t it come from a wolf creature? Or were we supposed to infer that the Elder god the blood came from was a wolf creature?

Not a fan of Geralt’s new armor

RIP Roach, you were the best horse on the continent

I love Jaskier’s tuning fork necklace

Oh so now Geralt talks, just not to Jaskier

This has got to be the smallest continent ever; everywhere is way too close together

Wait that girl was supposed to be Yennefer? She looked nothing like her.

Is Ciri this hyper-plot relevant in the books/games?

Duny is the White Flame?! (queue the book/game fans laughing at me)

Kinda wish we got more monster hunting but that’s just a nit-pick

Valdo Marx when?

As someone who’s only seen the show and read fanfic (how I know about Eskel and Coen), I feel like the show relies too much on watchers having prior knowledge of the books and games. There’s a lot of “witcher stuff” that isn’t really explained.

Across both seasons, the signs are hardly explained and not even referred to as such until the second season; you just have to accept that witchers can do some level of magic, but it’s never said why, what the signs are, or what they do.

The only hints we get at the signs are: in season 1 Yennefer and Geralt are defending the dragon and Geralt kisses Yenn to boost his Aard and in season 2 Ciri asks Geralt what he did to Roach to calm her down and he tells her about Axii, then later Nenneke tells Ciri to ask about the Aard Incident, but that’s it.

The different schools aren’t brought up at all, which I thought would be a natural progression once Coen was introduced. I figured Ciri would notice his medallion and ask why it was different, prompting Geralt or Vesemir could explain the schools to Ciri and serve as exposition.

The trials are mentioned as a throwaway line without going into detail. We see through Vesemir’s flashbacks that they’re painful and not many boys survived them, but not what they are or what they do to the ones who do survive.

I expected that Ciri learning about the trials would prompt her to ask why Geralt looks so different to the other witchers, serving as further exposition, but that never happened. This was especially odd to me since we saw how he looked as a child in a season 1 flashback where he had grey eyes and brown hair. How did he go from that to extra yellow eyes and white hair?

Vesemir has white hair, but he’s the oldest living witcher and that’s to be expected. It must have been the trials, but everyone else went though the same ones and their hair color didn’t change and they all have the same eye pigmentation. It’s only through checking good old fandom wiki that I learned that Geralt was the only boy in his group to be selected for an extra dose of mutagens which gave him white hair and hyper-pigmented eyes.

I understand that some media is by fans for fans, but it really doesn’t seem fair to not include so much essential information in a show that acts as many fans’ first introduction to the story it’s telling. For someone who already knows what’s going on it’s probably not that big of a deal, but for a newcomer to the IP like me, it was really frustrating having to constantly look up how things were supposed to be.

And to only be aware of many of the details or characterization changed or omitted from season 2 because I happened to read some fanfic or check the fandom wiki seems kind of like lazy writing. “Oh it’s not a big deal, they’re already a fan or they can just look it up if they want to.”

No, you made a show to tell a story, so tell the story. don’t rely on prior knowledge or supplementary materials to do your job for you.

#the witcher #another post lost to the drafts #this got longer than i thought it would #lol whoops #this sounds like i hated everything about season 2 #i promise i didn't

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moramewhq · 4 years

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note to self: witcher!Kyoutani and countess!Yachi

#mmmmmm while the obvious school for kyou would be wolf #i kind of like the idea of him belonging to the school of the cat #bc of intensified emotions and Very Angry Kyou #but i also want emotionless kyou as well #anyway i'm daydreaming about kyou being contracted by yachi's mother #and him hunting...idk a vampire?#or NO breaking a curse on yachi #yes #and yachi scared of him bc big scary witcher #but oh he's gentle with his horse and her puppy follows him around and it's kind of cute #and wow yes she might have saw him bathing by accident and NICE #but also he finds a way to break her curse and that's obviously another push toward a Crush #but then he goes away bc that's what witchers Do #BUT then he comes back years later being dragged by Bard!Oikawa #and yachi is trapped in a political marriage #and idk yachi spilling her guts to Oikawa about her unhappiness #and Oikawa convincing her to run away #and kyou begrudgingly helping bc it's the only way to make Oikawa Shut Up #and i really don't know where else to go with it #but i just like the thought of yachi looking at the stars with kyou in a witcher au

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thewitcheress2389 · 2 years

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I need a part 2 of the shy healer!!! It was soooo cuteeeee!!!!

Thank you!! Of course!💖

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The Shy Healer of Kaer Morhen (Part 2)

Vesemir finds his pups talking about you after the mess hall scene, and he can’t help but get involved.

#100 “You wouldn’t understand how shy you make me.”

“Man, I feel like we’re boys again.” Eskel sighed as he and Geralt sat crisscross on the snowy grounds in the training yard, trying to keep themselves hidden from any eavesdroppers or passing glances.

“Don't start." Geralt responded to his brother with a sigh.

Immediately after Geralt called you cute in the mess hall, the witcher enlisted the help of his brother Eskel because he was not there to witness the display. Also, he is the only one that Geralt really trusts for something like this.

So, here were two grown ass men, witchers to be precise, conspiring like school boys on how to talk to a woman.

"I don't know why you want my help. I don't exactly have a lot of experience." Eskel said while shrugging. Geralt's response was simple.

"You're not Lambert." The witcher said, and Eskel sighed. He wanted to help his brother out, but had no idea where to begin.

"She seems to like you...just be yourself." Eskel said, trying give Geralt some generic advice, but that just made the white-haired witcher sigh.

"Eskel...look at me. I need to actually communicate with her, and she's too shy to talk to me." Geralt said with a frown, looking off towards the snowy mountains.

"Are you asking me how to...talk to girls?" Eskel asked in a rather confused tone. Geralt resisted the urge to sigh again because he loved his brother, but why does Eskel think Geralt brought him out here.

"Maybe you can use actions instead of words. Like flowers or something." Eskel offered, brushing some snow out of his hair.

"Where would I find flowers?" Geralt asked, and they soon realized they had another problem. The witcher really didn't want to go to Jaskier, but he was getting rather desperate here...

However, he was not about to sing.

"What are you boys doing out here?" An older voice caused the two witchers to freeze. Slowly, Eskel and Geralt looked over to see Vesemir standing there with his arms crossed.

"Umm...Eskel, tell Vesemir what we're doing." Geralt pushed the attention onto his fellow witcher, who began to fumble around for some sort of excuse.

"Is this about Y/N?" Vesemir hit the nail on the head. He figured after you fled the situation in the mess hall with Lambert and Coen, something was going to happen. When he saw Geralt scurrying off with Eskel, he was certain.

Just what were his pups planning?

"We were just brainstorming!" Eskel tried to defend his brother, who just looked annoyed.

"Well, you know how bad that is for the both of you." Vesemir said in a fatherly tone. Both of the men glanced at each other before Geralt let out another sigh. They were caught, might as well fess up.

"I need help...talking to Y/N." Geralt said in a defeated tone, not really wanting to admit this to Vesemir.

"Ah, that scene in the mess hall was quite something." The older witcher pondered and Geralt could only nod in agreement. It was silent for a bit as Vesemir thought about how to help his brother in arms.

"I might have an idea to help you...I'm sure it'll be more effective than anything Eskel could've said." Vesemir said with a grin, causing the scarred witcher to deflate. Geralt felt himself pale when he saw his mentor's face.

"She's a healer, right? There's only one way to get Y/N to talk to you." Vesemir began to unsheath his sword slowly, making Geralt pale and Eskel scoot away.

"What are you...?" Geralt began to say, and Vesemir flourished his steel sword with a smirk.

"Be a man, Geralt. Take a couple hits for your lady. Are you ready for this?" The older witcher asked, wanting to ensure that Geralt was ready for this. The white wolf sighed, and stood up to face his mentor with open .

"Don't strain yourself, old man." It was that comment that struck a cord in Vesemir, and with a smirk, he lunged at his pup. In typical Vesemir fashion, his attacks were harsh, but also meaningful. He knew he was doing the right thing.

However, Eskel quickly ran off. He didn't want to be a part of this anymore...

"Geralt?! What happened to you?!" You exclaimed while fixing up his wounds. The witcher has bloody gashes on his shoulder as well as one on his collar bone.

"Training accident." He simply responded, thinking back to how he let Vesemir swipe at him just so be could be where he is now.

Being patched up by you. It was the only time where you seemed to be confident, when you were in your zone.

"I thought you were more careful than this." You scolded slightly as you tried your best to stitch up his shoulder. Geralt couldn't help but chuckle a bit, causing you to look at him.

"What's so funny?" You asked as you moved to grab some more alcohol to prevent infection.

"You." Geralt said simply in that rough voice of his, getting you all flustered and causing you to nearly drop the bottle.

"W-What about me...?" You asked, suddenly returning back to your shy and meek state making Geralt chuckle again.

"This. Berating me one moment and then shy the next." He said while gently fingering over the scars. This made you walk over and slap his hand away. However, you were a lot more flustered and quiet than before.

"You wouldn’t understand how shy you make me.” You admitted while cleaning away some dried blood from another cut. Geralt hummed at that, tapping his fingers against his legs in an obvious anxious manner.

"On the contrary, I do understand. "

Geralt's words caused you to freeze, and drop the needle you picked up to stitch his wounds. That ping echoed throughout the entire keep, and once again, you and Geralt were unsure of what to say to each other.

"Um...I-I..." You started to say, but Geralt cut you off with a raise of his hand. You immediately shut your mouth as he spoke.

"I feel at a loss for words around you as well. That’s well...why I got myself all scratched up...” He admitted while bringing his hands together and wringing them about in a nervous gesture. You widened your eyes at his confession.

“W-What? You got yourself hurt just to talk to...me?” You asked in a surprised tone, and the witcher simply nodded.

“I didn’t know how else to approach you.” Geralt said in a shy manner as you went back to stitching him up. You tried your hardest not to start smiling, but you couldn’t help it. Still, it seemed there was something on Geralt’s mind.

“Since...neither one of us are good at talking...would you prefer to go on a silent ride on Roach with me?” Geralt was surprised that he was actually able to say that, and you couldn’t help but get all flustered. However, no matter how tight your throat felt, you couldn’t stop your answer.

“Y-Yes.” You said with a smile, blood rushing to your face. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t even notice the proud smile on Geralt’s face.

“How...H-How did you get hurt, by the way?” You asked after a couple minutes of calming down. The witcher tried to block out the embarrassing scene of Vesemir giving him a friendly slicing while Eskel laughed hysterically.

“It’s a long story.” Was all he said, and you left it at that. He was just happy that it was worth it in the end.

Later...

“Oh my god...” Coen said while staring at the scene in front of him. You seated behind Geralt as the witcher rode Roach out of Kaer Morhen.

“Someone write to Jaskier. This is history being made.” Lambert added with a smirk, him and Coen sharing a mischievous look. Eskel tried not to laugh when he thought of how Geralt got there.

Meanwhile, Vesemir stood off to the side, smiling like a proud father. But he felt bad for Geralt, as he looked off to his other pups.

The white-haired witcher was going to get teased to hell.

#the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt imagine #witcher geralt

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waiting4inspiration · 3 years

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In his Eyes (Geralt of Rivia One-Shot)

Summary: Every soulmate is born with the other's eye color. To be sure it's them, they dream of them on the night they meet. Being born with Witcher eyes doesn't make your life easy. It only means that you'll live in heartache and isolation for most of it if not all...

Warnings: soulmate au, strong language, angst, mentions of killing monsters, mentions of death, i only realized on the day on posting that there really isn't any fluff in this which means i'm back to naturally writing angst..., this is unchecked so please pardon any mistakes until I can check this

One-Shots Masterlist

You were pitied from the moment you were born, from the moment your eyes opened, before you even gave your first screams. You are supposed to share the eyes of your soulmate but you were born with the eyes of the cursed. A Witcher. Everyone knows the kind of life those monster slayers live, how they never live the same lifespan a normal person would live because of the dangerous Path they take.

You were frown upon everywhere you went, stared at by everyone, and barely made any friends. The children you did play with would quickly forget about you when their parents came into view. And the game that you were playing where you were pretending to be an actual Witcher would stop immediately.

The pretending to be a Witcher continued. You learned how to fight like one and when you became a woman, you started to travel to do the job that they were doing. Killing monsters.

Of course, word got out that there's a female Witcher wandering around. It attracted unwanted attention from some schools. But it was nothing you couldn't handle and soon your ruthlessness also got out. It made you being hired a whole lot easier.

And even though you've met a few Witchers on your travels, you've never dreamt about them after your meeting. They weren't your soulmate.

You just finished a job and even though you're injured, you just want to have a drink in the tavern. You don't think your injury is too bad anyway. You've experienced worse in the past.

At the noticeboard in front of the tavern, you notice someone stare down the various jobs pinned up there. From the white hair and the double swords strapped to his back, you can tell this is another Witcher to cross your path. You breathe out a loud sigh, not in the mood for any confrontation from him.

Maybe if you just slip past him quietly, he won't notice you and won't bother you.

That's easier said than done because of the mud covering the ground. When you slip slightly, you groan in pain at the pressure you have to put on your injured leg. And that draws the Witcher's attention to you.

"That looks like a nasty bite," he speaks, turning his body towards you as you stop in your tracks, keeping your head down so that he doesn't see your eyes. "What did that?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle myself," you snap, placing your hand over your wounded leg to stop him from staring more at it.

He shifts on his feet, lifting his eyes up to your face as he steps forward. "You didn't take on this monster by yourself, did you?" he asks.

You scoff, rolling your eyes to yourself as you stop yourself from looking up at him. "Like I said, it was nothing I couldn't handle," you mutter, moving to walk away from him.

His hand shoots out to stop you from walking away. He wants to tell you that you shouldn't be going out there and risking your life to kill some beast, that you seem like a nice girl, and that you could find someone to settle down with, that this isn't the life you should be chasing.

But your head snaps around to him, your eyes glaring coldly at him and revealing the golden eyes you had been born with. It makes him let go of your arm and you immediately recognize him from the stories you've heard being told. He's the Butcher of Blaviken. The White Wolf. Geralt of Rivia.

From the look on his face, you know he recognizes you from the stories going around about you. And just as he does, you raise your head up in confidence, not ashamed of those stories.

"You're that female Witcher everyone's talking about."

"And you're the White Wolf everyone's talking about." You fight back, taking a step away from him as you fold your arms over his chest. "Seems as though we're both as famous as the other."

Geralt grunts, his eyes staring into your, amazed at how strikingly similar in color they are to his. It's like he's staring at himself in the mirror. "But there's a difference between you and me. I'm a real Witcher," he states, keeping his stare as he takes a step forward, closer to you. He knows who you are. He knows that you were born with these eyes, not given them through a mutation from going through the Trials. You've been unfortunate in being given a Witcher soulmate.

You smirk at him, running your tongue over your lips as you lock eyes with him. "Well then, I'm sure I wouldn't mind some advice from a real Witcher."

"You want my advice," he starts, his voice low and gravelly, like he had been shouting a lot recently. He takes another step forward. "Stop pretending to be something you're not. It's dangerous."

You scoff. "What is? Pretending or actually doing what you and others like you are afraid of doing?"

"I didn't say I was afraid."

"No, but your eyes said it," you snap back just as quickly as he had.

You know why he's here. It's the same reason you came here. There's a terrifying monster in this village and has taken down a few Witchers in its lifetime. You have seen the notice on the board. But you felt you weren't ready to tackle it yet. You needed a warm-up and the Drowner contract seemed to be the best option.

Geralt hadn't taken the mighty beast's contract either, most likely feeling the same way you had felt when you had seen it. And you've learned how to read a person's emotions from their eyes. Even though people say that a Witcher's eyes are emotionless, you could see everything in Geralt's eyes. It was like you were looking at your own eyes.

"I've lived my entire life being judged because I was born with Witcher eyes," you start to say, stepping closer to him so you can drop your voice, preventing any unwanted ears from listening to your conversation. "I might as well do what your kind do to spare myself the humiliation and the taunting. It's easier pretending to be a Witcher than being called cursed because Fate decided to give me a Witcher soulmate."

Geralt shifts on his feet, still keeping his eyes on yours. It's like the longer he stares into your eyes, the harder it is to look away. He's never had this feeling before or been in this situation before. He wonders if you happen to be his soulmate, but quickly pushes that thought aside. There's no way Fate would give him a soulmate and a Child of Surprise. "You say that now. But when you come across a best you can't defeat you'll wish you had never taken this Path," he mentions, making you laugh at his words.

You shake your head, your arms dropping to your sides as you shift on your feet again, trying to keep as much pressure off your injured leg a possible as you try to hide the fact that it's painful to stand. "You say that like you know me. You don't know a damn thing about me or the beasts and monsters I've faced before. I've come farther than you could ever imagine," you sternly say, narrowing your eyes at him, unable to look away from him.

"Did you know that I am the only one to have been born with Witcher eyes that made it past childhood?" you question, resting a hand on the hilt of your sword.

You don't have the luxury of having both a silver and steel sword. Only having a silver one you were given by a Witcher who had been like a mentor to you, you felt that it would do as much damage to humans as it does to monsters.

"I've checked records of every town, village, and city I've visited, wanting to know if there were any other people like me," you explain, your eyes flickering away briefly when a person passes a bit too closely. "But they were killed before they even hit puberty because they started showing powers you Witchers have." You look back at Geralt. "Not the signs you know, but the fighting strength. I thought it was just because I came from a family of fighters, that it was in my blood. I'm lucky to be where I am now and I will never regret taking the Path."

Your upper lip sneers slightly as you speak, showing that you care very much about the situation you're talking about. Like you're passionate about it all. Passionate about trying to find someone else that was born with a Witcher soulmate.

Geralt tilts his head to the side, his eyes falling to the sword at your side before looking up to you again. He almost expects to see a medallion around your neck. "And if you happen to find your soulmate?" he questions, his voice sounding softer than before.

Staring at him for a moment, you think about it for a moment even though you had been thinking about it basically the entire time you've been on the road, living a Witcher's life. "I don't believe Fate is kind enough for that meeting to be a pleasant one. And knowing Witchers, they'll probably leave me alone the first chance they get."

Only your mentor had stayed around longer than one day. You've learned that Witcher's isolate themselves, that it's just the way they are and there's nothing you can really do about that. You're not a Witcher so you don't feel like that. You do enjoy some company. That is if you can ever find someone that stays around longer.

"You don't know that."

"Don't I?" you chirp up, raising an eyebrow at him as you tilt your head the same way he had. "What makes you so determined to tell me I'm wrong?" you ask, folding your arms over your chest again. "Go on. Tell me, Geralt of Rivia," you tease, smiling up at him with a playful smirk.

Geralt sighs as he blinks, rolling his eyes briefly as he licks his lips. "It's believed that Witchers have their soulmates torn out of their being when they go through the trials, making them destined to be alone. I think, given the chance, some Witchers would like to have the reassurance that they'll have someone beside them every day for the rest of their lives. Someone that will love and accept them for who and what they are."

You're surprised at his words, at the soothing tone in his voice, and the longing look in his eyes. He looks over your shoulder, zoning out as he speaks, lost in thought.

There's a kind of sparkle in his eyes as he speaks about soulmates. The kind that makes your heart skip a beat and almost yearn for him to carry on talking. It's weird that you're feeling this way.

"Are you speaking from experience?" you question, your voice becoming softer too when his eyes land back on your face.

"No. Just from other Witchers I've met before," he states, turning to the side and walking away from you.

But you're not going to let this conversation just end like that. "And if you were given the chance, would you stay with your soulmate?" you ask, following him and hissing to yourself as the pain shoots through your injured leg.

"I don't have a soulmate."

"How can you be sure about that?" you ask again, feeling like a child now as you ask question after question. You're sure he must feel irritated about that.

"I just am," he bluntly says, carrying on to walk away from you.

"Then I'm just sure mine won't stick around when he finds me," you say, raising your voice as you quickly move in front of him to stop him from getting away from you. "I'm willing to bet on it too. If I'm right, you owe me 100 orens. If I'm wrong, I'll owe you the same amount," you taunt, smiling at him as you hold your hand out in front of you to make a deal with him.

He just sighs, grunts to himself, and then steps around you to walk away again. "What? Are you scared that I'll be right?" you shout after him, smiling at the fact that you might be right.

"I don't gamble on silly bets," he says over his shoulder to you.

Your leg aches too much for you to follow him any farther and you stop. Smiling to yourself, you watch him walk away and shake your head. "Pussy," you whisper to yourself, thinking to yourself that you were right.

You were right about all Witcher's never staying for long.

That night was weird for you. You're used to dreaming strange, vivid dreams sometimes, but you've never had one that makes you wake in a cold sweat and your heart beating wildly. You thought it had just been the thunderstorm outside that had woken you, but when you rest a hand over your chest, it feels as if it's going to tear through your chest.

Running your hand through your hair, you feel as if you need a drink but you know that the bar will be closed. You push yourself off the bed, your feet hitting the cold wooden floor as you take in a deep breath. Closing your eyes, you try to recall the dream you had. And the prominent face you saw.

You know it's your soulmate. You know because everyone dreams about them the night after the first meeting. It's a way that you can be sure it's them even if your eyes match identically. You just never thought it would be him.

You never thought it would be Geralt.

But your dreams about your soulmate always shows you what's happening to them or what they're doing or about to do. And in your dream, you saw him riding away from you, not looking back as you call out his name. You know that will happen the next time you see him. The next time you see him will be when he walks away from you.

And your racing heart breaks as the realization that you were right about your soulmate not sticking around after he finds you.

#geralt #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt one shot #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia one shot #the witcher #witcher one shots #soulmate au #the witcher netflix

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thearvariblues · 3 years

Text

Sing Me a Song

“You Geralt of Rivia’s bard?”

Jaskier looks up from his notepad and grins at the man who’s just sat at the opposite side of the table.

“Technically, I used to be,” the bard says, taking a sip of his ale. “We had a tiny misunderstanding last year. I’m sure he’s gonna be fine, though, I’m just giving him some time to cool down and wallow in self-pity.”

Jaskier frowns, because his brain has finally caught up with his mouth and informs him that even though the man who asked the question is very pretty (and he is – a bit short, but lean and clearly very agile, brown-skinned, with dark, wavy hair and stunningly unnatural green eyes), he also has got two big, scary swords strapped to his back, way too many scars and has, in fact, only one green eye, the other being covered by an eye patch, presumably missing.

And then there’s the Cat school medallion on his chest.

As Geralt would say… fuck.

“Unless you’re here to kidnap me and torture me to lure him into a trap. If that’s the case, I’ve never met a Geralt of Rivia in my life. Also, if you harm a hair on my head, he will hunt you down and kill you, very slowly and painfully. Just a heads up,” Jaskier smiles, utterly failing to sound at least a little bit threatening.

“Thanks for the warning,” the Witcher laughs. “But I actually need you to write me a song.”

“Sorry, I’m afraid this bard already has a Witcher to praise,” Jaskier protests, shaking his head firmly.

“Ugh. Who says I want praise?” the man says, making a face. “I just can’t seem to find a friend of mine, so I need to make him find me.”

“With a song? Do I look like a fucking pied piper?” Jaskier smirks.

“A little, yeah.”

“Fair enough. What’s in it for me?”

“What do you think is going to happen once Geralt hears that his bard has found himself a new muse?” the Witcher grins.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, chuckling. “Oh, but that’s good.”

“Are you in, then?”

“Absolutely. And, uhm… What did you say your name was?”

“By the gods, where are my manners?” the Witcher laughs. “I’m Aiden.”

Geralt places two tankards of ale on the table and sits down with a grunt.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting old, Wolf,” his brother Lambert smirks and promptly pulls one of the tankards closer. “Because that almost sounded like Vesemir when he’s trying to get up from his chair.”

“You’re so fucking funny,” Geralt murmurs.

“I know, right?” Lambert grins, tucking a strand of curly red hair behind his ear. “So, how’s life on the Path without your beloved bard?”

“Not my bard.”

“So pretty fucking terrible, eh?” Lambert chuckles.

“Fuck off, Lambert.”

“You’re being very nice and friendly today, you know?”

“I bought you a drink. So shut up and… drink.”

Lambert shrugs and for once does what he’s told. Within a few seconds, half of the tankard’s content vanishes.

“If it’s any consolation, life without my Cat is also pretty fucking unbearable,” he says then.

“Hm.”

“Oh, really, Geralt? You’re using your famous hm against me? Me, your brother?!”

Geralt groans.

“By the gods… Why can’t I just run into Eskel for once? Why does it always have to be you?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess.”

“Lucky. Yeah.”

Lambert rolls his eyes and focuses on his ale again – until the local bard grabs his lute and starts playing a slow, romantic ballad. Lambert growls.

“Fuck, I hate that song!”

“Why?” Geralt blinks, because he’s never heard the song before, and to be perfectly honest, it doesn’t really sound that bad.

“A brown-skinned woman with dark hair who’s seemingly killed, then comes back to life already plotting her revenge, only to find out that her lover’s already avenged her? Always reminds me of Aiden.”

“Aiden wasn’t exactly… A woman, was he?”

“He also hasn’t come back to life, as far as I know,” Lambert mutters.

“Who wrote it?” Geralt frowns, listening carefully. “It sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Some Master Dandelion. Never heard of him, but it seems he’s very popular now.”

“Hmmm…”

“Oh, not again!” Lambert groans.

“It just… It really does sound like Jaskier’s song.”

“You just fucking miss the bard, Geralt, that’s all.”

“No. No, I actually think…”

“That might be exactly the problem,” Lambert says and places his empty tankard back on the table. “The second round’s on me.”

“Seems like your plan’s not working as intended,” Jaskier comments. He’s spent weeks traveling with Aiden, and they still haven’t even heard about another Witcher trying to find them.

“I’m aware,” Aiden mutters, chewing his dinner without even noticing its taste – which is, honestly, probably for the best. “Could you be, like… less subtle?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“I suppose.”

“Fine,” Aiden nods. “Do it.”

“It’s a man now,” Geralt frowns, listening to the song he’s heard countless times already. “That’s new.”

“Looks like Master Dandelion might like to, uhm, dual wield,” Lambert snorts.

“It still sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Does Jaskier like to dual wield?”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dreamily.

“All the more reason to apologize, then, eh?”

“Oh, shut up, Lambert…”

“Still not working!” Aiden groans. He’s been waiting for three months for his Wolf to find him, and to no avail.

“I could, you know… Try something more obvious,” Jaskier offers.

“Please.”

“It’s a cat now,” Geralt blinks. “Dark-skinned, dark-haired… cat.”

Lambert sighs.

“Yeah, I hate those fucking metaphors.”

“I’m starting to think I should have just… kept trying to find him,” Aiden sighs, staring out of the tavern’s window.

Jaskier, cheeks still flushed from his performance, downs his ale and shakes his head.

“Don’t give up hope just yet,” he says. “I’ve already made a few changes to the song.”

“Oh, have you?” Aiden smirks. “Does it now say Lambert, I’m alive you moron, stop hiding and fucking find me?”

“Well, not yet… But almost.”

“Great. I can’t wait to hear it.”

Lambert is staring at yet another local bard singing the fucking ballad. He doesn’t even blink. Geralt is getting a little worried that his brother’s brain might have actually exploded.

“It says a Cat Witcher now,” he says, hoping it would get a reaction out of Lambert.

The redhead finally blinks. That’s probably good.

“A Cat Witcher who comes back to life only to find out his Wolf lover has already avenged him,” Geralt adds.

Lambert blinks again.

“And you know, I’m almost sure that this Master Dandelion is just Jaskier’s new alias.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Lambert mutters when the song finally comes to its end.

“Which one of them?” Geralt smirks.

“Both of them!” Lambert growls. “I swear to gods, if I find out your stupid bard stole my Cat…”

“Excuse me, madam,” Geralt says to the innkeeper who’s just brought them their dinner. “Where did your bard learn this song?”

“That sappy ballad?” the innkeeper frowns. “From this Master Dandelion himself. He passed through the town last week with a Witcher.”

“And Master Dandelion…”

“You know the bard that calls himself Jaskier? It’s him with a fancy hat on,” she smirks.

“About this Witcher,” Lambert growls. “Does he look like in the song?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Kind of small for a Witcher, and almost too pretty, you know, but we had a little griffin problem and he slayed that beast like it was nothing, so…”

“I’m so gonna kill them both,” Lambert murmurs while Geralt has to try very hard not to chuckle.

“Would you happen to know where were they heading?” he asks.

“I would,” the woman says and looks at the Witcher expectantly.

“I see,” Geralt sighs. “You have another monster problem, don’t you?”

“Well. It turns out the griffin probably had a mate…”

“Of course it fucking did,” Geralt nods and picks up his fork. He simply refuses to deal with this with an empty stomach…

Jaskier critically eyes the clothes he’s picked for tonight’s performance.

“What do you think, Aiden?” he asks his companion. “Isn’t the purple a bit too much? It’s a small town, after all. Wouldn’t the steel blue look better?”

“I don’t know, I like the red one best,” Aiden shrugs from his spot on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Reminds you of Lambert’s hair,” Jaskier says, rolling his eyes. “Melitele’s tits, I wish he’d find us already, because this is getting really–”

As if on cue, the door of the room slams open and a big, red-haired man walks in.

“You fucking bitch!” he yells when he sees Aiden.

The dark-haired Witcher beams and gets to his feet.

“Lambs!”

“Oh. Okay. That was fast,” Jaskier nods.

Lambert growls and grabs Aiden by the collar.

“Asshole!” he hisses. “I fucking mourned you!”

“Oh, honey, that’s so sweet,” Aiden smiles.

Lambert pushes him against the wall, so hard that Aiden grunts.

“I cried for you!”

“In my defense, it wasn’t exactly my fault,” Aiden smiles.

Jaskier inches towards the door.

“I guess I’ll just… leave you two to it.”

Needless to say, Lambert ignores him completely.

“I fucking avenged you!”

“Yes, that was very kind of you,” Aiden grins, utterly unaffected by Lambert’s angry face so close to his own. “You saved me a lot of trouble.”

Lambert groans, buries his face in Aiden’s shoulder and sighs deeply.

“You fucker,” he mutters.

“Yeah, I missed you too, puppy,” Aiden smiles, wrapping his arms around Lambert.

Jaskier, who’s already standing in the doorway, places his hand on his heart and takes a deep breath.

“Oh,” he whispers. “I shall write the most beautiful ballad about this… Ow!”

He’s unceremoniously dragged out of the room and this time it’s his turned to be slammed against the wall by a big, angry Witcher – but this one is white-haired and dressed all in black.

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims, his face brightening up.

“You won’t write a fucking thing,” Geralt growls.

“Is that so? May I ask why, dear heart?”

“Because you’re mine. My bard. And if I ever find out you’re writing about another Witcher again–”

“Then what?” Jaskier asks, cocking his head. “But before you answer, I’d like to remind you that I am not yours anymore, as you have made it quite clear on the mountain that you are not interested in having me as a companion–”

Jaskier is effectively shut up by Geralt’s lips pressing against his with determination that makes it absolutely clear that Geralt hasn’t merely lost his balance and happened to be falling in Jaskier’s general direction.

“Mine,” he growls.

“Well,” Jaskier sighs, slipping his fingers into Geralt’s hair. “When you put it like that… Fuck the mountain, I suppose.”

“Fuck the mountain,” Geralt agrees. “But I’m sorry. For what I said.”

“Apology very much accepted,” Jaskier laughs. “I’d ask you to fuck me, but I’m afraid my room is currently… occupied.”

Lambert’s loud moan only confirms Jaskier’s statement.

“Hm,” Geralt hums. “Do you think this tavern has a bath? I think I still have some griffin blood in my hair from last week.”

“Oh,” Jaskier purrs. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure I could get some chamomile oil…”

They hear another moan, this time Aiden’s.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Geralt grins and grabs Jaskier’s hand. “Come on, bard. We have some catching up to do…”

#the witcher #witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #lambden #lambert x aiden #idiots in love #(but mostly they're just idiots)#aiden lived bitches #major character resurrection #they're stupid your honor #my fics #attempt at humor

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

Note

Good morning, I had an idea and I wanted to share (could be a prompt if you want): So, Jaskier definitely, absolutely wants to learn Geralts potions and which to give when. But they aren't labelled at all and you've got to discern by shapes and colours. I firmly believe Jaskier writes a little ditty for that and maybe it spreads or maybe Geralt wakes up after a hunt with vague memories of that song after Jaskier saved him...

Jessi you know exactly what to say to get a fic out of me. Invoke my musicality! Just for you, not one, but two songs Jaskier uses for Geralt's potions!

Witcher's Brew

wc - 2476

Geralt wakes up after a hunt gone wrong and finds himself patched up in bed. He waits for Jaskier to arrive and overhears him singing a strange song to himself as he fusses with Geralt's potion supplies.

Rabbit stew, warm and fresh from the pot. It was the first thing Geralt could remember upon waking. They’d had rabbit stew at midday, just before the hunt. He almost imagined he could taste it on his dry, cut lip, but the lingering bitter taste of White Raffard’s Decoction chased the last of the memory away. He could not recall taking any potions. In fact, he had trouble remembering what it was he’d been fighting. His head was vague, all the details swirling at the edges in a haze. Someone had been speaking to him, he thought. Was it the chanting of a kitchen maid, timing her baking with a prayer? Or was it a song?

A song.

Geralt sat up with a grunt. “Jaskier,” he called, voice rough and catching in his throat. He looked around the darkness of the room, but he was alone. He scented the air. Jaskier had been near in the last hour or so, his smell not yet faded. It tasted bitter on his tongue, like the decoction: bitter like the musk of fear. The tang of salt hung in the air as well. Tears. But there was more. From the table at his side came an earthy scent and he discovered a bowl of mushrooms upon it. Sewant mushrooms.

That’s right. They’d been in the caves. The vision of the beast rose to the forefront of his mind and he remembered that they’d been fighting not a wyvern as hired, but a slyzard. It had been a deadly miscalculation, for the beast could breathe fire over a great distance. Geralt felt the fresh burns on the back of his neck, smelled the poultice pasted there. He remembered pulling Jaskier behind cover. He’d not had the chance to see whether he’d been burned as well. There had been too much to distract him; he did not even know if he’d slain the beast.

There had been mushrooms in the cave. Someone had to have brought them. Jaskier would be foolish enough to return to the caves, even if the beast still lived. But for mushrooms? Geralt could not imagine why.

“Sewant from the sewer caves, crows’ eyes, fang of beasts; blood from all the nasty things, and myrtle pure as priests.”

Geralt turned to the sound of Jaskier’s singing beyond the door. It cracked open and there the bard stood, arms hidden beneath a mass of white flowers. He had, too, a leather pouch dangling from around his wrist. Unloading his burden upon the table, he flipped through the open bestiary, still singing under his breath. It was not his usual kind of song; it was lifeless, simple rhyme and meter without passion. He did not even glance Geralt’s way as he set to work, grinding ingredients together in a mortar.

“Mistletoe and mutagen, aloe leaf of wolf; green mold, han, and celandine, then in the flame engulf.”

Jaskier poured the concoction into a potion bottle and hurried to the fire. He bent to light it, cursing as the matches failed beneath his shaking hand. He cursed louder, his hand slipping again. His voice began to shake as he continued his chant.

“Remember Raffard’s recipe and count it by this rhyme; be ye neither quick nor slow to measure out the time. Once the brew has bubbled and its color turns to red, let cool and cork then brew again to raise him from—”

Jaskier’s voice caught in his throat as he failed to light the match once more. He gripped the potion bottle in his hand and wiped at his eyes, unable to finish the line. “To raise him—”

“From the dead,” Geralt concluded.

Jaskier whirled around, dropping the bottle upon the floor. It shattered, spilling its contents into the hearth and over his boots. But he didn’t pay it any mind. He ran to Geralt’s side and knelt before the bed. His hands were everywhere at once, prodding gently, examining him.

“Geralt,” he breathed. Then everything came out in one great rush, each new thought interrupting the last. “Oh fuck, I was—! You weren’t moving. You just dropped to the ground the minute your sword—! I had to carry you back, and you only had one vial left. I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to make more before …”

“One vial is enough,” Geralt said. He nodded toward the supplies on the table. “Is that White Raffard’s?” he asked, knowing it could be nothing else.

Jaskier nodded, silent.

“What was that song just now?”

Jaskier bit his lip, looking guilty. “I … didn’t meant to pry,” he murmured. “I promise never to share trade secrets but … I had to know how it was made. It’s one of your most important potions. If you couldn’t make one, and if we were ever in a situation where we couldn’t find a healer, I needed to know that I could save you. So I watched, and I wrote it to remember.”

“You wrote a song to remember how to brew a potion?” Geralt asked. He looked at the ingredients. They were all correct, and well-measured from the look of it. Jaskier had prepared three bottles, two still sat empty on the table. Before them, their ingredients lay in even piles, waiting to be ground in the mortar.

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand in his, pressing his forehead to it. “I can brew Raffard’s, White Honey, and Swallow. I know you need Swallow with Raffard’s, for the toxicity. And … if I ever brewed a faulty potion, I would have the Honey.”

“You know what potions to take,” Geralt said. It was less of a question, more an expression of awe. He’d never taught Jaskier about the potions, merely asking for them as needed if Jaskier were in reach to fetch them. And from that, Jaskier had learned what was needed when.

“I wrote a song for that, too. All of them: what they’re for, the ones to take before a battle, and the ones to take after.”

Geralt blinked.

“All of them?” he asked.

Jaskier looked up. He once more turned his head away in shame. Witchers’ potions were not for men to know, let alone theirs to brew. But he nodded. There was no denying it now.

“Sing it to me.”

The look on Jaskier’s face was nothing short of complete and total astonishment. Geralt never requested songs. “You … right now? You want me to sing the song?” Jaskier faltered.

When Geralt gestured toward the lute, Jaskier smiled.

“It hasn’t got music,” Jaskier said. “It isn’t meant to be sung, really. Not in that way at least.”

“But you could put it to music, I bet.”

Jaskier flushed. There was a bit of praise in there somewhere—an admission of skill. At Geralt’s request, he stood and fetched the lute. “You seem to be doing much better,” he said, sitting at his side on the bed.

“Raffard,” Geralt replied. “Are you in tune?”

Jaskier strummed the lute slowly, emphasizing each open note with pride. “Always am.”

“Sing, then.”

It only took a minute of experimental plucking before Jaskier had a set of chords prepared. He strummed them twice in succession, then began his song:

Before one fights vampiric beasts

Drink Black Blood down to spoil their feasts

And if there’s acid on the rise

First taking Bindweed would be wise

When fighting something swift and cruel

Down Blizzard quick before the duel

And if the brawl takes place at night

Take Cat to see in dimmest light

Geralt watched with open admiration as he listened. Jaskier had learned it all on his own. He’d made a careful study of the potions without any help, and what Geralt heard was thus far correct. There were trainees who’d not kept such simple things in order, even with proper instruction.

When fighting wraiths one cannot spy

De Vries’ Extract evolves the eye

And wolves will howl in perfect tune

When given life by the Full Moon

At the play on wolves, Geralt rolled his eyes. Even so, he was impressed. He’d only encountered two wraiths with Jaskier at his side. He would’ve had to pay very close attention to remember De Vries’ Extract’s purpose.

The bit about the wolves did not escape his notice either. There was a little crook in the corner of Jaskier’s mouth as he sang the words. Of course the potion made for jokes among the witchers of the school of the wolf, but they weren’t the only ones who used them.

But if one’s poisoned first, let’s say

Oriole takes the sting away

And when one bleeds, to stop the aches

A simple Kiss is all it takes

If long the task you must endure

Then take a dose of Maribor

And if one’s signs aren’t up to snuff

Then Petri’s Philter is the stuff

If one cannot avoid a hit

The vengeful Shrike takes care of it

And if you’ve time while under cover

Swallow aids a slow recover

If the battle leaves you tired

Tawny Owl may be required

And while weak one cannot parry

Thunderbolt will make foes wary

When hope is lost and at its end

White Raffard’s revives your friend

And if while brawling stunned you be

Then Willow is the remedy

For power in your every blow

Take Wolf to strike against your foe

And though it makes one wobble blind

With Wolverine their fate is signed

Remember this what else you do

White Gull is base for every brew

And when the potions start to strain

White Honey lets you start again

“You ended with White Honey,” Geralt remarked.

Jaskier lay a hand over the strings of his lute, quieting them. “It lets you start again, does it not? Once you swallow a dose of White Honey, it nullifies the effects of all potions,” he said in his most academic voice. “I thought it would be fitting to end the song there; it certainly helps to remember the purpose.”

“And you know how to brew it.”

“I find it ironic that there’s not a trace of honey in it whatsoever. In fact, far too many of your potions involve the use of vinegar, the very opposite of honey. Would it ruin the potions beyond use if I were to add a bit? A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, they say.”

Geralt smiled. He waved his hand, gesturing for Jaskier to come closer. He put a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. “I think whatever potions you brew for me in the future will be made sweet enough by that sentiment,” he said. “So don’t fuck up my recipes, bard.”

Jaskier stammered, then laughed and batted Geralt’s face. “You cheeky thing! For a moment, I thought you actually intended to compliment me.”

“Didn’t you hear me the first time?” Geralt asked. “I did.”

“Not a compliment if you insult my cooking right after. Or—well, eh—brewing, as it were.”

“Alchemy.”

“Oh, yes, that’s much more flattering. Assistant Alchemist! I do like the sound of it.”

Geralt chuckled. “You’re my assistant now, are you?”

“But of course,” Jaskier replied, waving a dramatic arm in the air. “Always have been. I only needed a proper title.

“Then tell me, assistant: what became of the slyzard?”

Jaskier grinned and leaned over to grab the leather pouch from the table. He tossed it for show and caught it with one hand before emptying its contents. A collection of sharp, bloody teeth fell onto the sheets, some with bits of pink gum still attached to the yellow base.

“I believe Raffard’s called for fang of beasts in the list of ingredients,” he said. “And there was no other beast nearby to take from. Your sword was still lodged in its back; all I had to do was give it one last thrust through the heart.”

Jaskier winked and produced another bag from his doublet, heavy with coin. “Needed proof anyway,” he said, setting it alongside the teeth. “I needed some distraction while you were out, so I checked off the list: put you on the mend, finish the hunt, get the pay, replenish supplies.”

For a moment, his cocky expression faltered. “I was just finishing up when I got a little …” he trailed, bundling up the teeth once more. “Well, it’s easier to get lost in worrisome thoughts when doing quiet tasks like foraging. But you woke up, and now there’s nothing left to fear. I’ll have a new set of potions ready for you by the time you’re well enough to get out of bed.”

“… You … killed the slyzard?” Geralt said.

“You did most of it. I just gave it the last push. It barely twitched. Honestly, its innards made more of a fuss when I went to bottle them. I think you’ll be well stocked for some time.”

Jaskier killed the slyzard. He stooped to rummaging in its bleeding corpse for the most vile and disgusting of ingredients. For his potions. Which Jaskier brewed. Which he knew how to brew by merely observing, putting it all together in simple songs to remember. And still he’d found time to collect his pay.

“Fuck me,” Geralt said in wonder.

“Maybe once you’re healed,” Jaskier laughed, ears a touch pink.

“Then kiss me,” Geralt amended. He lay his hand over Jaskier’s arm, leaning forward, enraptured. It was a simple revelation and he wondered just how long the idea had been bubbling in the back of his brain. “Kiss me,” he said. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Jaskier blinked twice, his cheeks flushing as he took in the seriousness of Geralt’s tone. “Did … you put too much White Gull in that last batch of Raffard’s?”

Geralt shook his head, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s. “Will you kiss me?” he asked again.

“I …”

“You killed a slyzard for me.”

“Yes.”

“And you memorized my potions. In case I needed them.”

Jaskier nodded.

“You love me,” Geralt concluded. His heart gave a leap at the notion. Yes. Yes, this was something he never knew he wanted. No, not wanted—this was something he needed. If all that didn’t add up to love, he didn’t know what would. It was such a simple thing, and he was a very simple man in every meaning of the word.

“Love me, Jaskier,” he said. “Love me and kiss me, please.”

But Jaskier already did. And before the final plea could escape Geralt’s lips, Jaskier did.

I’m going to take care of you, Geralt thought. He would take care of Jaskier just as Jaskier had always taken care of him. Good care.

“I do love you,” Geralt corrected.

Jaskier chuckled. “Don’t need to think about it?”

“I don’t think I ever really did.”

#asks #my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #you know i wish that i had jessi's tag #actually let's tag this as a ficlet too it's a bit longer than usual #ficlet

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