Flapjacks 'n Pancakes
A/N: I know I’ve been gone for ages. I’m very sorry for that. I am trying to get back into the swing of things. This fic was anon requested from ages ago. I hope it’s alright.
Pairing No pairings
Summary: The continent is infested with monsters and there is only one sort of person able to kill those beasts, witchers. Usually they're not four feet and ten inches tall, but we can't all be winners.
Or, "Platonic, Geralt, Ciri, Yennefer and Triss: Geralt, Ciri, Yennefer, and Triss react to reader being short as their height is between 4'10 and 5'1. They are very capable of defending themselves as you shouldn't underestimate someone's size. Reader has a platonic relationship with them."
Word count: 1,313
Warnings: sass, language, past child abuse,
Geralt
Geralt came out of the extra mutations with white hair and eyes too sensitive for sunlight. The older witchers said that he’ll regain his ability to see properly in a couple of weeks or so but there was nothing that could be done about his hair. They had tried to experiment with dark dyes made from root and charcoal but nothing would permanently stain his locks. He was left an abomination among mutants.
He stood alone in the courtyard. The other pups were afraid to get close to him. Deep down he knew that they were afraid of receiving the same treatment he did, but he couldn’t help but feel hurt the next time a boy ran an extra lap down the hill just so he wouldn’t have to stand next to Geralt.
Geralt didn’t want to be alone. He saw how the other pups played with each other. They used to play with him just the same. Now they wouldn’t even eat at the same table as him.
Although, that part may have been less of his fault and more of your doing. Geralt had not noticed you at first when he took the seat near the fireplace. His hazy eyes drew to your figure when you began growling.
The bow instructor had walked too close to your bowl. The older witcher’s hands had been moving in conversation and you feared the instructor would make an attempt for your meal. You snarled at him. The older witcher was hardly a normal instructor and slapped you over the head for your attitude but you merely hugged your meal closer.
“Would you like some of mine?” Geralt offered his bowl to you. He took notice of how small you were, even at your age. He wasn’t all that different but the mutations had made him weak. You looked as though you would be the size of a small child the rest of your life if you didn’t get a proper meal in your system soon.
“I’m not sharin’,” You told him upfront.
“You don’t have to. I’m offering.” He pushed his bowl towards you. “C-could we be friends?”
“Can you get me another bowl?”
Geralt got up from his seat and made his way to the kitchens. This time he did not mind the way the other pups steered clear out of his way. It made grabbing seconds all that much easier.
Ciri
Ciri stood frozen in place at the sight of the yak near the gates. Its horns curved toward the sky, the ends sharp as blades by the way the sun glinted off of them. Its fur was thick, covering its large body in dark layers. It was larger than any yak that she had seen, greater than any cattle she had ever laid her eyes on.
And it was coming their way.
"Geralt!" Ciri shouted for the white haired witcher, her training sword already in her hands. She rushed towards him, her voice carrying through the wind. “Geralt!”
At the sound of Ciri’s yells, Geralt dropped everything and rush to her side. His swords were in his hands just as quickly. “What’s wrong?”
Ciri pointed towards the gates. The yak lumbered its way up the hill to the gateway. “We have to do something!” She urged Geralt in a panic. There was a great beast coming their way and it didn’t look like it planned on stopping anytime soon.
However the older witcher only laughed. “There is nothing to worry about, Ciri,” Geralt explained with a smile at having realized what was going on. The young girl looked unconvinced so he guided her down the hill by a hand on her shoulder. He could smell the nerves rolling off of her in waves. Her hands gripped her training sword until her knuckles went white.
“Good afternoon!” Geralt yelled down to the yak like a buffoon.
“What are you doing? Are you trying to get us killed!” Ciri scolded the witcher. She was quick on her foot, standing in front of him as if to block the yak’s possible attack. If it wanted to get to Gerald, it would have to get through her first.
“Good day!” A voice seemingly came from the yak.
“W-what?” Ciri’s mouth was open ajar at the sight. The yak stopped just past the threshold of the gate and lowered itself to the ground. The creature was larger than a bear up close, its stomach fat from grazing. It was so big that it managed to hide the small witcher carrying it.
You stepped away from your kill and smiled up at Geralt’s daughter. You gave her a little wave in greeting, ignoring the yak blood dripping down your hand.
Ciri looked down at you. The top of your head just reached her chin, but with her on the incline of the hill, your height difference was laughable. Even without, you knew that Geralt would have given a chuckle. “Thought you were gettin’ raided there?” You teased the girl, gesturing to your kill.
“B-but how did you manage to kill that thing? It's bigger than Geralt.”
You snorted, a sound that was more akin to something a pig would make than a witcher. Geralt made no comment on the remark. His eyes merely crinkled in amusement. “I’m a witcher,” You explained simply. “With Geralt’s wonderful teachin’, I’m sure you’ll be the one huntin’ for supper in no time.”
Yennefer
“I don’t have a potion to cure you of your height. You’ve only got your parents to blame.”
You were told the mage of Vengerberg was not the kindest, but you had assumed she would have at least greeted you first.
“I’m not here for a cure,” You said through gritted teeth. “I need help killin’ a vampire.”
“A witcher asking for help?” The mage laughed. Her smile was not unpleasant. “I’ve seen it all.”
“It was either this or walkin’ into my own grave.” You adjusted the sword on your back. “I’m not so sure I made the right choice.”
“How much?”
You considered for a moment, weighing the options and trying to count out how much gold you needed to get to the next town. “A quarter of my pay.”
“Half.”
“I need to eat, mage.”
“A third.” The look in her eyes dared you to refuse her offer. “And you can call me Yennefer.”’
Triss
Triss did not expect to see a witcher tending the tavern. She did not expect to see one so short that their shoulders could barely be seen above the bar. If someone had placed a tankard in the right spot, Triss may not have even noticed the witcher at all.
“You can’t be serious,” Triss remarked, looking over the bar at the figure standing there. “You can’t be human.”
“Hello to you too,” You greeted with a snarl. “Pleasant day, we’re havin’, huh?” Outside the thunder roared like a hungry beast. “I’ve been doin’ quite well, thanks for askin’. How are you farin’ these days?”
“I don’t mean to be rude—”
You raised a brow and glared up at Triss. “That’s you tryin’ not to be rude? I don’t wanna see what you’re like when you are then.”
“That obviously came out wrong,” Triss backtracked. “I’m Triss Merigold and I’m one very curious mage.”
“I’m goin’ to stop you right there, Merigold.” You waved away at the usual comments you knew were just bubbling inside of her. “I was simply born like this. No other folk in my blood from my knowledge. My folks must have been just as short and that was the hand I was dealt in life.” You shrugged. “Nothin’ I can do about it and it doesn’t affect the huntin’ much either so I don’t let it bother me.”
“But honestly, how have you made it this long?”
You sighed and pulled up a stool.
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