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sayafics · 2 years

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Soul-bonds & Heartaches

A.N.// reposting this onto a new blog, but hey guys this is a fanfiction I've started writing and I am very excited about it. Let me know if you want the rest of this draft!

Geralt made two claims many years ago. One he did not believe he would ever have to face. And the other he spent years running from. It seemed that fate had made it so he could avoid neither.

Accepting Cirilia's presence in his life has been easy enough, but her? She was too much. A burden.

Andromeda was Cirilia's aunt, although not biological - taken in at a young age by Queen Calanthe she grew up alongside Pavetta, her youth seemingly never fading. See what most of Cintra did not know was Andromeda was an elf, her scarred ears from where her own father hacked off the abominations were proof enough of that. Hoping the pain was worth the safety his daughter would get in return as he sent her towards villages and kingdoms.

It was.

That is until the night of Pavetta's banquet. Geralt made a claim, a claim he hoped with all his heart would not bind itself to another - Pavetta was bound to another so surely claiming the one dearest to Calanthe's heart would result in nothing.

Except it seemed Andromeda had weaseled her way into the heart of the woman who had taken her in, had found comfort in her arms and love in her heart. If destiny would not give him Pavetta, they could give him Andromeda.

Calanthe, Pavetta and Andromeda knew the consequences of his words, as he spoke his claims - their fears worsening as Pavetta's pregant state became public knowledge. They would now face the consequences of their gratitude it seemed.

---

Andromeda had escaped Geralt's existence for almost thirteen years, as far as Geralt was concerned his second claim had no effect and Fate had given him a pass. The only surprise he had to worry about was his Child Surprise. A secret vow, bounding him to the person Calanathe held close to her heart and considered a daughter? That was not his concern at all.

And so, Geralt remained oblivious of her existence until it became too hard to deny.

---

When Geralt had bedded Yennefer, Andromeda felt it, how it tore at her heart and how her soul roiled and burned in its place inside her. The betrayal to the bond and vow he made tying them together punished her for the actions of a man she wanted nothing to do with.

But she was used to it. It would not be the first time she had experienced such pain. So she sat, with Cirilla on one side and Jaskier on the other, her heart sinking in her chest as she forced herself to keep up her cheery charade knowing what was happening behind the closed doors of the inn they were resting at.

Geralt was betraying a woman he had no clue he belonged to.

The pain had subsided, but the feeling of misery only strengthened as she watched Geralt come down the inn stairs with Yennefer at his tail. The two looked perfect together, both warriors in their own image - strong and brave, nothing like she was. She could feel jealousy begin to claw at her throat, the tears slowly beginning to burn her eyes.

Andromeda composed herself, turning away from the duo to face Cirilla instead - "I think I'm going to head to bed."

Cirilla looked up at her in curiosity, knowing Andromeda rarely slept at all, especially during the night. Her fears of the dark outweighed her need to sleep, but as she looked over her shoulders towards Yennefer and Geralt - the two leaning on eachother, engaged in a bout of flirtatious commentary- she nodded her acceptance before agreeing to join her soon. Her aunt needed a moment to herself, and so Cirilla would give her atleast that.

Andromeda pushed herself to her feet, stood there for a moment as she took in a deep breath from her nose, careful to not change her expression. She avoided Jaskier's questioning eyes and breezed passed the distracted duo, unaware of Geralt's trailing eyes and flared nostrils as he scented her - he could hear her heartbeat, it was fast and harsh, but she smelt of the sky when it was about to rain.

As Andromeda made her way up the stairs she made eye contact with a rather slender man who was walking in the opposite direction, he had blue eyes and ginger hair that reached his shoulders, a thick beard decorated his face and scars lined his eyes - one blind and one seeing. But most of all, what caught her attention was the gentle aura about him, his clothes were simple tunics and despite his lumbering size he seemed to be a humble man - everything Geralt was not.

She found herself slowing down in front of him - after all the pain Geralt has caused her seeking his own pleasure, why can she not grant herself this one moment of gratification. Why wait, why save herself for a man who had no care of his own purity or sanctity. Why should she reserve herself, when she could be free like he acted. When she could cause him the pain he had been feeding her for years since he had made his proclamation.

"Hello there," Andromeda's voice had dipped, taking on a sultry tone as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. The coy expression that slid across her face had immediately caught the man's attention, his face heating to match the colour of his hair as he turned to face her - Andromeda's attention only bolstered his confidence as he leaned towards her unconsciously.

"Now who might you be, little lady."

"The best thing that may happen to you tonight," Andromeda laid her hand on his arm, her fingers unconsciously tightening around it as she felt the the muscle that outlined his lean figure. She felt her heart race for a reason that was completely different to jealousy - this was the first time she had given into her desires, and Fortunes did it feel good.

The two continued to flirt, exchanging subtle brushes of skin-on-skin, the man - who she now knew as Elias - tucked hair hair back for her, his fingers trailing her jawline. Until finally, his hand dragged down her shoulder, down her arm until he intertwined his fingers with her own - his head jutted in the direction of the stairs and just like that Andromeda followed his lead.

Unbeknownst to her, and much to the dislike of Yennefer, Geralt had been watching the two ever since she had approached the man, his heart began to thump harshly in agony and anger at the sight of her with another man, at the sound of their hearts whispering to one another, of the smell of his arousal and her excitement. But why?

It did not matter, Geralt gave into Yennefer's pestering and turned her way - accepting the fretted petting and flirtations that came along with it, trying to force his mind off the giggling pair who had escaped to the confines of an inn room.

#geralt x yennefer #geralt of rivera #geralt x you #geralt x ofc #geralt x reader #jaskier #cirilla of cintra #geralt smut #jealousy #pining

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cressida-jayoungr · 10 months

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One Dress a Day Challenge

August: Fantasy & Sci-Fi

The Witcher (s2e5, "Turn Your Back") / Gaia Mondadori as Princess Pavetta

This costume appears briefly in a flashback/dream sequence. I wish we could get a closer look at the embroidered panel on the bodice that seems to have a design of white flowers, possibly water lilies? (See detail below.) We can also see that the skirt is of a slightly deeper color than the bodice, and it looks like velvet.

If they're going to give her such a light wig, I wish they'd lighten up her eyebrows a little. They don't have to be as light as the hair, which would make them disappear, but they're far too dark as it is.

#the witcher #fantasy costumes #gaia mondadori #one dress a day challenge #one dress a week challenge #television costumes #tv costumes #green dresses #green dress #the witcher s2 #the witcher season 2 #turn your back #the witcher tv #princess pavetta #the witcher netflix

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hanzajesthanza · 8 months

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Emhyr for the character bingo ask! I don't think you ever talked about him (or I missed some posts?) so I'm curious what do you think about him.

alright time to do this character bingo that i reblogged and forgot about for two weeks

i summarized most of my thoughts about emhyr in this post from almost a year ago and i still agree with most of those thoughts. his story is really just so dark and i think he embodies a real kind of hopelessness for both himself and everyone who comes into contact with him.

everyone else is wrong about him - fans seem to love to try to redeem him or find some 'happy ever after' with him, i feel like the essence of his character is inherently opposed to that. even the 'glimmer of hope' at the end in the form of false ciri - even if you interpret it that she and he lived a happy life together, and that through her he came to terms with his sins towards ciri and pavetta - that heals nothing for anyone except him. i really don't see him turning any corners and becoming any kind of "good person," i think what's left for his character is to meditate on what he planned and how he chased it for all of those years and what he willingly sacrificed in the process.

bastard - not said affectionately.

no. - he is probably the best example of the phrase, "sick!" said with a contemptuous and disgusted glare. i don't particularly "enjoy" talking about his character simply for reason of the subject matter. especially taking into consideration that vilgefortz approached him with the crucial information shortly after ciri was born, so emhyr committed to these plans before ciri was probably even walking and talking. i don't know how one can look at their own daughter and plan that.

not for me but i can see the appeal - he's entirely twisted, but not unhinged one bit. by the time of the saga, he seems entirely in control of his emotions and his manner is just cold authority. it's a vile mind, with tragic outcomes, but like a serial killer's, something to dissect. i also think he's very interesting when compare-contrasted with geralt, because geralt sacrificed all of his power to protect his daughter ciri, whereas emhyr would have done the opposite in sacrificing ciri for all power. to his own flesh and blood! it's one of the ending 'guns' which hit the hardest about the witcher.

this exchange between geralt and he really summarized it all:

‘(...) Now you have her, you have Ciri, your own daughter, whom you once basely deprived of parents, and with whom you now mean to vilely beget incestuous children. Without demanding love. Rightly, as a matter of fact. You do not deserve her love. Just between us, Duny, I don’t know how you will manage to look her in the eyes.’ ‘The end justifies the means,’ Emhyr said dully. ‘What I’m doing, I’m doing for posterity. To save the world.’ ‘If the world is to be saved like that—’ the Witcher lifted his head ‘—it would be better for it to perish. Believe me, Duny, it’d be better if it perished.’

i also always think of this quote from geralt when thinking about emhyr's character:

‘(...) Evil has stopped being chaotic. It has stopped being a blind and impetuous force, against which a witcher, a mutant as murderous and chaotic as Evil itself, had to act. Today Evil acts according to rights–because it is entitled to. It acts according to peace treaties, because it was taken into consideration when the treaties were being written...’

character bingo

send an ask

#ask #kajenus #c: emhyr #emhyr var emreis #ask meme

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year

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The Viper: Rewritten

Chapter Three

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7

Jaskier x gn!Witcher!reader

AO3 - I recommend reading it there

Warnings: blood, violence, death, mentions of killing animals + children, grief, a lot of angst in this one boys

Word Count: 4059

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“You would have killed him.”

The gentle clinking of buckles stopped. Within the silence, footsteps approached, heavy and self-assured. Geralt stood like a disapproving parent at the door to the stall.

Determined to avoid his burning stare, you continued saddling up your horse for the long ride ahead. Bayard, a dark brown horse, speckled with white and grey on his flank, bobbed his head at the Wolf.

Your answer went unspoken, and yet was quite clear to him.

“Why?”

Even as you said it, it felt wrong. “Because it’s what I was hired to do.” It left a sour aftertaste in your mouth. Bitter, ugly guilt.

He said nothing. You were young, younger than most Witchers he knew. You were practically an infant still learning the harsh realities of the world and a Witcher’s place in it. He’d made mistakes in his own time - it was guaranteed you would make some, too.

You grabbed the bridle off the wall and slipped it over Bayard’s head easily. You were fortunate to have a horse that enjoyed riding so much. He was a gift, after all; you could not simply leave him behind.

“What happened?” you asked after the silence stretched too long.

Geralt sighed, crossing his arms and leaning against the wooden frame of the stall. “Duny,” he enunciated the strange name, “insisted he needed to repay me for saving him. I called the Law of Surprise.”

“Didn’t learn your lesson, then.” The tease fell flat as he shook his head.

“Pavetta’s with child.”

You stared at him with wide eyes. He studied your horse to avoid your gaze.

“You… So you’re going to claim the child?”

The Witcher grumbled, displeased at the idea of raising a little one of his own. It was no wonder why. All Witchers were ill-suited to family life. The constant traveling, the emotional distance, the contracts they had to take - their whole lives were like a warzone for younglings.

“Mousesack is staying, to look after it.”

“‘It,’” you mimicked, half-amused. “You should have asked for money.”

He hummed, agreeing, as you guided the Appaloosa from the stall. Bayard followed your movements easily, as though he knew precisely what you would do next. You could drop his lead and he would walk to the open doorway of the stable and wait for you to get on his back. You ran a hand down his neck affectionately.

Geralt’s eyes shifted down to your other hand. The cut he made to get you to drop your weapon was wrapped neatly with a fresh bandage. It would heal.

“Where will you go now?” he asked. Word spreads fast, he was really saying. The humans will try killing you before they let you help. You understood nonetheless.

Nilfgaard would be more trusting than the North, since you were one of their own. Your thoughts returned to the Viper Keep, flashes of your brothers bickering and the expansive library held within its walls. It eased your heavy guilt, golden eyes mellowing at the memories.

He followed you most of the way down the stables, but stopped by a separate stall with a brown mare inside. With a foot in the stirrup, you hoisted yourself overtop Bayard and adjusted yourself in the saddle, all the while turning your steed so you could better see the Wolf.

“Home.” Pride swelled and simmered in your gut. You swallowed it down to admit, “I still have much to learn.”

He said nothing, but hummed in silent agreement and commendation. It was hard as a youngling with enhanced abilities and magics to admit when they have done something wrong. At least you could own up to them.

You tilted your head respectfully to the other. “I’ll see you on the Path, Wolf.”

After a week in the saddle, you were overjoyed to be home at last. Nights of sleeping on cold, dirt ground and slicing down pesky beasts that got too near to the road would all be worth it to wander the grand halls and fall back into your old, worn-out cot. The time it took to ride up the mountain was over in a brief moment as excitement lifted your spirits-

No.

No, no, no.

Please, no…

Your blood ran ice cold as you bore witness to the horror in front of you. Flames billowed out of windows, banners turned to ash carried along the wind, blood covering every inch of worn cobble.

Bayard snorted and whinnied, anxiously moving his feet as the heat of the blaze hit him.

A body lay prone on the bridge from the Keep. Without thinking, you slid off Bayard's back and rushed forward. The stone scraped your knees as you fell hard by the corpse’s side, but you could not feel it. You didn’t care. Shaking hands turned the scrawny, scorched body over.

A sob ripped from your throat as the face, wide-eyed and mouth agape in terror, came into view. Oalvir. The idiot didn’t pass his final test when you did; he was forced to stay behind and continue training until he could. If he had just killed that stupid ferret, he could have- He wouldn’t have…

It didn’t matter.

None of the scenarios you could dream up would change the outcome. It could not bring back your brother. Hot, fat tears blurred your vision and fell onto his singed clothes. Dead, empty eyes stared into the smoldering sky as you closed his mouth and pushed his eyelids down. Your chest heaved and throat ached as another sob forced its way out. You tried to fight it. You were a deadly assassin - you shouldn’t be crying.

You shouldn’t…

It was useless. You wrapped your arms around him and held his body against your chest, and pressed your face against his silenced pulse, letting your emotions take over as your home was reduced to ash and burnt rock.

“Hey!”

Your head shot up, a flicker of hope igniting in your heart. The scratch of blades being drawn snuffed it out.

“It’s another Witcher!” the man called behind him. He was haloed by the fire pouring from the doorway of the Keep. Your tears blurred him until he was merely a moving smudge of black.

Three men, clad in the armor of the Nilfgaardian, advanced on you. You gently laid Oalvir back on the stone, crossing his arms. May he find rest in a merciful and kind afterlife.

As you stood, you wiped away your tears on the back of your wrist. They would serve you no longer. Dual blades were pulled silently from their leather sheaths. The soldiers held their blades up.

“Stay where you are, Viper,” the first spat. Your very existence repulsed them.

Good.

You rushed forward, reckless, at the man in front. Your steel blade collided with his, pushing him back with the force. With his attention on one hand, your other reached past the interlocked weapons and sliced his throat. He gurgled on his own blood as he collapsed.

The other two hesitated. They did not expect their friend to go down so quickly. The one to your right charged forward with a battle cry. You rolled under his wide swing and came to your feet behind him. Your steel dagger swung in a wide arch behind you and slotted itself under his helm. His body froze as shock took hold. You ripped the blade out. He fell atop the first, a sticky pool of blood stretching out like tendrils as it flowed along the cobble.

The last soldier backed away as you approached. Your steps were calculated and unafraid. You had nothing to lose - your brothers were dead, the mentors were dead, Ivar Evil-Eye was dead. Stuldweck was dead. Everything you held dear was ripped from you. You could walk into the Abyss and face down scores of demons without flinching.

“Stay- Stay back!” he cried. His voice trembled. You did not stop. His foot caught on the uneven stone and he fell backward, helmet flying off with the blow. One arm held his sword up as the other helped him crawl back. “Please! Please- I have a family!”

In one flowing movement, you shoved his sword away and sliced off his hand at the wrist. He screamed. You stepped on his chest and pressed down against his sternum to keep him in place. His hand clawed at your boot, desperately trying to shove it off him. You leaned forward, elbow resting on your knee, until you were nearly face to face with him. He groaned under the pressure.

“So did I,” you hissed. He whimpered. You scowled as his blood tainted your boots. “Who ordered this attack?” He sputtered and pleaded for his life. You pressed your dagger to his throat, an obvious warning. “Tell me, else I’ll cut off all your fingers and toes, your ears, your-”

“Alright! I’ll say! I’ll say!” He sobbed, resigning himself to his fate. You would kill him either way. His chest shuddered under your foot as he inhaled. In his last moments, he wanted to be thinking of his wife and kids. “The Usurper. He ordered it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” he cried. Tears poured down his face to the stone below. “Please, that’s all I know, I swear.”

You studied his face for a moment, then sighed. “Rest easy.” His eyes met yours, confused, before the light faded from them. Your dagger lodged itself in his heart, through the tough leather of the armor. A quick death.

You looked up at the school. Memories of kinship and growing up went up in flames with the scrolls and books you studied. Loss and grief filled the hole. Your eyes flicked to the spot in the courtyard where you completed your final trial to become a Witcher. The dark blood against the snow, melting it with its heat. Your precious steed, dead at your hand. You had cried for a week in Stuldweck’s arms.

If you hadn’t killed Bayard, you would not be here to mourn Oalvir’s death, nor the death of all your fallen comrades. You would have fallen with them; side by side, one last time, with your family.

There was nothing left for you here.

You exhaled shakily. Your limbs felt heavy. Your soul felt heavier.

You retrieved your dagger from the soldier’s ribcage and wiped both clean on the cloth of his pants. Bayard watched from the start of the bridge as you slowly trudged back to him. He pressed his nose against your body, sensing your sadness. You only managed a slight pat on his neck. His hooves against stone and the crackling of the great fire followed you back down the mountains.

These woods were supposed to be quiet. It was late at night - the moon was high in the sky, and crickets were singing their sad songs. The next village wasn’t for several miles yet. Not only that, you knew there were no individual huts or shelters nearby.

So why did you hear music?

Your first thought was bandits. It wouldn’t be unusual for them to camp out in the woods, waiting for unsuspecting travelers to jump. But, if it was bandits, why would they draw attention to themselves by playing an instrument and singing? It was a lute, or something stringed, by the sound of it. The carefully plucked notes hid a tentative voice. A bard, perhaps?

Then came the second round of questions. Why would a bard compose his music in the woods? Surely, he would prefer the luxuries of an inn or even a brothel, should he desire company.

You couldn’t imagine this being a camp of the men you were after. The village never mentioned any inclinations towards music, nevermind that they ran away several days ago. They would not linger this close to the town they were running from for so long. No, this was something else entirely.

Curiosity took its hold as you slipped off Bayard’s back and led him off of the dirt road into the trees, opposite of the bard’s music. Satisfied he was hidden enough from anyone traveling late at night, you crossed the path and made your way through the underbrush. Only the wind and stars knew of your presence.

Leaves and twigs whispered your whereabouts as you stepped upon them, or as they snagged onto the fabric of your riding cloak. It seemed to blend in to the breeze that rustled the trees. This, after all, is what you had been trained for.

The orange glow of a fire guided you like a beacon through the dark forest. As you creeped ever closer, you were surprised to find the bard from the banquet, alone. He sat propped up against a log, lute cradled in his lap as he seemed to speak to himself. Wasn’t Geralt supposed to be traveling with him? Surely the Wolf hadn’t abandoned him out in the wilderness.

You tensed, your whole body becoming rigid as cold steel touched your neck. As slow as you could manage, you turned in your crouched position to see who your attacker was, hand farthest from them coming to rest on the blade at your hip where they would not see. A tall, hulking brute of a man stood over you, white hair glowing in the moonlight. His eyes were hidden by the shadows of night. Your face was hidden by your hood; all he could make out was from the tip of your nose down. Two strangers ready to strike at any moment.

Quickly, you pushed his sword away with the back of your hand against the flat edge of the blade and stood, gathering a safe distance. Distantly, the singing stopped.

You each stood there for a brief moment, assessing and waiting for the other to make a move. Your dagger glinted in the firelight as you flipped it around in your hand. He stepped forward and swiped at you with his sword. You easily deflected the hit, using the momentum to guide it along your dagger and away from your body. He recovered too quickly for you to attack within the opening, and struck again.

It was a dance amongst the brambles. You deflected or dodged his every swing, and he shut down every opportunity you could find to attack him. It felt oddly familiar. Everything about the man’s fighting style was reminiscent of the fight you had months ago, within palace walls and along polished floors.

You were briefly distracted by the thought. He swung his blade in a motion that would easily cut off your head at the shoulders. You backed away just in time for it to avoid your neck and catch the skin of your cheek instead. It did not hurt, as adrenaline was pumping through your veins, but you could feel the warm ooze of blood as it slipped down your face.

He seemed… relieved to have cut you, as though you could have been a mere figment of his imagination. The fact you could be hurt only grounded you into reality. You used the opportunity to lunge forward and slice at his belly in a wide arc. Your blade was mere inches from his body, stopped only by the shout that pierced the haze of battle.

“Geralt!”

It was not the fact someone shouted that kept you from reaching out those few more inches - pleas for mercy often fell upon deaf ears. It was the name.

The arc of your attack stopped short as you rapidly backed away. The man you were fighting stood still and tense as he studied your actions. The bard stood just before the underbrush, blocking the firelight as he looked back and forth in horror.

You squinted into the dark; it was almost too thick for your enhanced senses to peer through. Sure enough, as the man turned his head toward the bard (perhaps to tell him to back away and stop being an idiot), the orange light of the flames caught his yellow irises.

Your dagger lowered as realization set in. “Wolf?”

He stopped and stared. You lowered your hood with one hand, revealing your face to his enhanced vision. The bard couldn’t make out any features.

“... Viper?” His sword fell uselessly to his side.

You huffed as you sheathed your weapon and stepped closer to punch him in the shoulder. As you stepped into the light, the bard recognized your eyes and the face they belonged to. You effectively saved his life that night; he wouldn’t dare forget your complexion for the great kindness you did for him.

“You son of a bilge rat!” you cursed, pulling him back to the present. “You should know better than to sneak up on people like that!”

He huffed a laugh. “Look who’s talking.”

You rummaged through Bayard’s saddlebags for herbs. He snorted and playfully reached back to nose at your shoulder. You couldn’t fight back the smile as you shoved him away. All the while, Geralt tended to the campfire and the bard talked his ear off.

“This is the Witcher that protected me that night!” he exclaimed in a hushed voice he thought you would not be able to hear. He went on in dramatic fashion. “It’s just as I said: a table, carried by the powerful winds of love, came hurtling toward us! In a flash, they covered me just as it slammed into the wall, shooting splinters in all directions!”

“I was only repaying the favor,” you added on as you joined them by the fire. The bard seemed startled at your input. You expected him to flinch as you leveled your yellow eyes on him. But just as he had months ago, he wasn’t afraid, merely fascinated. “It was you who protected me first after I slammed into the wall and had the air stolen from my lungs. It can’t have been easy to remove all that glass from your hair.”

Geralt looked to the bard, a hint of a smirk on his lips. The bard flushed and nodded his head to the side. “Yeah, well… The selflessness of a hero.”

Geralt scoffed. ‘Selfless’ was not a word that could be used to describe his traveling companion in a thousand years.

You picked apart the herbs you retrieved - celandine and white myrtle petals - and dropped them together into a mortar. The soft grinding sound filled the air. “I don’t think I ever caught your name, bard.”

“Oh, my sincerest apologies!” He stood and bowed deeply, still holding his lute in one hand. “I am Julian Alfred Pancratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, but you may call me Jaskier.” When he rose, Jaskier’s face was split in a brilliant smile.

He sat back down, waiting for you to introduce yourself. Geralt couldn’t help noticing the way your face fell, your eyes distant and unseeing, before you focused back on your herbs. After a moment, you cleared your throat.

“Viper,” you answered. You forced a strained smile at the bard. “You may call me Viper.”

Before Jaskier could ask questions (having missed your constrained emotions), Geralt changed the subject. “Where are you headed?”

Your body relaxed into the new topic. They watched as you set the mortar on the log next to you and drew a blade. The reflective surface, although not perfectly clear, helped you to see where the cut on your face was. With one hand holding the dagger by your face like a mirror, the other scooped up some of the makeshift salve and brushed it overtop the inflamed skin.

“I picked up a few contracts.”

“Monsters?” came Jaskier’s voice, hopeful.

The White Wolf stayed silent.

You shook your head and stood to return your new ointment to your saddlebags. You pulled two flyers from the pouch and held them out for the other Witcher to take. “Deserters,” you explained. “They ran away a few days ago; were headed out this way. Seen them?”

Jaskier leaned over, pressing against Geralt’s side, as they looked over the ink faces.

WANTED

50 CROWNS

DEAD OR ALIVE

“No,” the Witcher grunted.

You sighed and took the papers back. “It’s no matter. If they’re smart, they’ll be heading for Novigrad.”

Jaskier sat up straighter. “How come?”

You stuffed the flyers back into your bag. “Novigrad is the best port to take if one wishes to get to Kovir and Poviss,” you said. You sat back down on the log. “Kovir is bound to strict neutrality; it’s unlikely anyone would search for them once they get there.”

You look at Geralt. He was focused on stoking the fire once again. “Where are you off to, then?”

He hm’d. “Next town over to look for work.”

“Have you ever fought a djinn by any chance?” You and Geralt turned to the bard. He seemed to flounder under the attention. “I just m-mean, uhm, we happened to encounter one recently and I wondered if you’d ever dealt with one before.” Jaskier strategically avoided making eye contact with Geralt, who glared so intensely at the bard he could feel it burning his skull.

“Once, with one of my brothers,” you admitted.

Your eyes darkened at the memory of Oalvir laying on the bridge.

“What happened?” he pressed, fingers resting on the lute’s strings.

You swallowed down the past. “A woman was bringing up water from a well when she found its pitcher. When she realized what it was, she wished for it to grant her freedom from her husband. From what we gathered, he was a right bastard. Nobody liked him.

“It twisted her words. That night, she was hypnotized into killing her husband where he lay. And it forced her to kill her children, so she no longer had any ties to the man. She was distraught with grief at what she’d done. We found her body in the well.

“My brother and I worked to send the genie away before it could latch onto any of the other townsfolk. The only way to get rid of a djinn is to have it grant three wishes. It was a bloody mess when we finished.”

Jaskier’s eyes were wide, mouth agape in awe. He stumbled over his words and himself as he rushed to his own bags to grab his journal and pencil. “Tell me everything. This is- Geralt never tells me details!” You almost laughed at his enthusiasm. “Start at the beginning. How did you get the contract? Where was this?”

“I would love to stay and have a glorious ballad written of my exploits,” you mused as you stood and worked to untie the knot in Bayard’s lead. “Unfortunately, I must be on my way.”

“You’re traveling at night?” Geralt spoke up.

You hummed. Free from the tree he was tied to, he followed as you led him past the campfire and toward the road. “It’s better for my work if I do,” you said. “Most travelers, deserters, bandits, what have you - they travel during the day. Less monsters that way. But at night, they’re stationary. It’s easier to catch up to them this way, and there’s less traffic.” You grinned slightly at the bewildered way they stared at you. Your methods confounded and amazed them.

“Wha- When do you sleep?!”

“When the job is done.” You turned to guide Bayard through the trees, but stopped. You took a hesitant breath and looked to Geralt, watching with attentive eyes from the fire. “Wolf…” Your mouth opened, ready to tell him of everything that happened to the Viper Keep. To warn him that if Gorthur Gvaed could fall, he should be wary of the same thing happening to the Wolves. But no words came out. The wound was still too fresh.

Your face was one of pure concern and seriousness. He couldn’t see the child you were as easily anymore.

“Stay safe out there.”

His brow furrowed, but he asked no questions. He nodded; a silent promise. “You, too.”

Satisfied, you walked with Bayard through the trees and underbrush, back to the dirt road, worn down from decades of travel. Your steed bobbed his head and kicked up the dirt, excited to ride and run once more. You were barely in the saddle before he took off in a gallop.

Back on the road. Back to your contracts, to your job. To your life.

As the last Viper.

---

Tag List:

@writeawaythepain

@sleepyqueerenergy

@lex-caspartine

@lastwandastan

@adozenforks

@plaguedoctorsnake

@solomonsimp

#fanfic #fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #jaskier x reader #jaskier #jaskier the bard #witcher jaskier #the witcher jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt & reader #x reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gn reader #x gn reader #cross posted on ao3

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dukeofdogs · 1 year

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Ciri

Chest 1: How was it that the fates of Geralt and Ciri – a witcher and a princess of Cintra – became forever intertwined? The Law of Surprise. After the witcher had lifted the curse afflicting Duny, the Urcheon of Erlenwald, he was asked what he desired as reward. Geralt replied, "That which you find at home, yet did not expect." Shortly thereafter, Duny would learn that his wife Pavetta was with child - Ciri. Though Geralt had no intention of encforcing the Law, it had simply become a matter of destiny...

Chest 2: A dark period of Ciri's life came when she joined a bandit gang known as the "Rats." Constantly on the run, exhausted, Ciri had found a semblance of refuge among the young, cutthroat outlaws. At first, she refused to kill as they did, though her reluctance wouldn't last long. To her own horror, she enjoyed killing - and she was good at it. Eventually, however, her comrades were slaughtered to the last. Ciri barely survived and was nursed back from the brink of death under the care of a hermit, Vysogota of Corvo. Had events turned out differently, who knows... Perhaps Ciri would be known today not as a heroine, but as a villain.

Chest 3: Before Cintra fell to ruin, as a young princess, Ciri would spend her holidays on the Skellige Isles at the family estate of Clan an Craite. It was there with the jarl's children that she learned to ice-skate. As fate would have it, this skill would later save her life when confronted by Nilfgaardian assassins on the frozen waters of Tarn Mira. In a dense, milky fog, the assailants could only hear the eerie scrape of her skates, coming from all directions... Followed swiftly by blood-chilling screams of surprise and pain as they fell one by one to her blade.

Scroll 1: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon. The Lion Cub of Cintra, Swallow, Zirael, Falka, Child of the Elder Blood, the Lady of Time and Space. An impressive collection of monikers for an impressive woman.

Scroll 2: Daughter to Pavetta and Duny, the young princess enjoyed an early childhood of royal splendor. But then everything changed... Cintra was engulfed in flames and violence, Ciri forced to flee from family and home...

Scroll 3: Eventually, she found a new home in Kaer Morhen, a witchers' fortress and seat of the School of the Wolf. There, under the watchful eye of Geralt of Rivia, she began a grueling training regimen. And it's good that she did, because this peace of her stay there would not last forever... And it couldn't, for after all, the Elder Blood flowed through her veins.

Scroll 4: Due to her lineage, Ciri was endowed with extraordinary gift - the ability to traverse time and space. However, she quickly began to see her ability not as a blessing, but as a curse. For many obsessively coveted her power and sought to exploit it at any cost...

#gwent: lore #gwent: assets #gwent: seasonal #ciri #gwent #mad kiyan

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limerental · 2 years

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Limerental's Ficletober 2022 Masterpost

This year I challenged myself to write a ficlet a day for a month for the third year in a row, and this year I focused mostly on Witcher book missing scenes and rarepairs. I ended up writing a total of 44.8k words.

The whole collection is already posted together here on ao3.

Day 1 - tumblr - ao3 - proximity - dijkstra/isengrim

Day 2 - tumblr - ao3 - a small and foolish love - ciri & yen, ciri/mistle

Day 3 - tumblr - ao3 - to gather intelligence - dijkstra/philippa

Day 4 - tumblr - ao3 - some other dreams - cahir/geralt

Day 5 - tumblr - ao3 - far above dark water - vilgefortz/geralt

Day 6 - tumblr - ao3 - a mortifying ordeal - frinfran

Day 7 - tumblr - ao3 - the trouble with rumors - geralt&dandelion, dijkstra/isengrim

Day 8 - tumblr - ao3 - an ageless sort of love - rita/tissaia

Day 9 - tumblr - ao3 - a family meeting - yenralt, ciri/mistle & extended weird family

Day 10 - tumblr - ao3 - a unicorn for tea - yenralt & ciri & ihuarraquax

Day 11 - tumblr - ao3 - such lasting sentiment - dijkstra/isengrim, phil & dijkstra, merihart

Day 12 - tumblr - ao3 - of a feather - merihart

Day 13 - tumblr - ao3 - the sea takes what it takes - ciri & pavetta

Day 14 - tumblr - ao3 - the hope was real - milva & fringilla

Day 15 - tumblr - ao3 - rumors fly through new skies - emhyr/vilgefortz

Day 16 - tumblr - ao3 - matches burn after the other - steddie

Day 17 - tumblr - ao3 - from such great heights - yenralt

Day 18 - tumblr - ao3 - too late for us both - isengrim & cahir

Day 19 - tumblr - ao3 - as a wave returned to shore - yenralt

Day 20 - tumblr - ao3 - the usual pleasantries - geralt/regis

Day 21 - tumblr - ao3 - the arrow and the hot sand - ciri & aplegatt

Day 22 - tumblr - ao3 - a bezoar is not a fruit - trissbert ft. yennskier

Day 23 - tumblr - ao3 - degradation for degradation - dijkstra/geralt

Day 24 - tumblr - ao3 - as you taught me long ago - triss & tissaia, tissaia/rita

Day 25 - tumblr - ao3 - but yours has just begun - steddie

Day 26 - tumblr - ao3 - or the last thing i see - yenralt

Day 27 - tumblr - ao3 - the creature in the corn - ciri & geralt

Day 28 - tumblr - ao3 - your picket fence is sharp as knives - yenralt

Day 29 - tumblr - ao3 - ever to watch from the shadows - yengilla ft yenstredd

Day 30 - tumblr - ao3 - a place where the sun doth shine - yenralt

Day 31 - tumblr - ao3 - the haunting of the rivia-vengerberg manor - implied geraskefer & ensemble

#my fic #ficletober 2022 #if any of these links are broken it's fine no they're not whatever #whewwww

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kuwdora · 10 months

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My 3x07 The Witcher Netflix Ciri Reactions. I love Ciri. I love ALL versions of Ciri across the canons. For TWN I’m in love with how much Freya got to bring her best to these Korath desert scenes.

Under a cut cause I'm rambling for another 1k cause it's Ciri. my brain might be soggy right now but goddamnit I have CIRI FEELINGS.

This was like 36 minutes of Ciri all at once! God. those scenes in the book were so much and overall I’m very happy with how they translated it to the screen. I mean… there’s still plenty of WTF moments. Why were there unicorn balls?? Why were they in the background of so many shots??? They were so big. And obvious. I couldn’t look away. Unicorn balls.

Throughout the episode I appreciated hearing Ciri’s thoughts spoken as dialogue. Talking to herself as she is thinking about what Geralt would say about her dislocated shoulder. About what Vesemir said about the Korath desert being the frying pan of the Continent. She makes a reference to some advice Coen gave her about morning dew on rocks. This is her family she thinks of, that she’s holding onto amidst her isolation. It's great.

When she’s trudging through the desert at night singing A Little Sacrifice I got worked up. It was a nice touch to have her sing the song that Jaskier’d been singing to her back in the cottage. But then they had to do the memory-flashback sequence of Happy Family Times from earlier in the season while she was singing?? I love this pain so much.

She starts to lose it after she realizes she spent the whole day and night going in a fucking circle. Ciri becoming increasingly feral!! Mad with dehydration and desperation!! I have been waiting for these moments for years!!

I fucking adored the way they shot Falka appearing in the background throughout the episode. Observing silently until Ciri was desperate enough for her to show up (but not reveal herself yet). Ciri bends down to suck up those lizard eggs and bam, Falka’s dark cloak in the distance. Ominous. I fucking love this shit.

Then begins the Ghosts of Ciri’s Past. The main thing I took away from this episode is how only the dead ghosts have speaking lines. Ciri’s memory about her current family is always conveyed through dialogue or flashbacks, or the in that vision of a possible future for them in pain.

Pavetta shows up. It’s a joy and relief to Ciri until Pavetta starts telling Ciri how her family’s abandoned her. Just gaslighting the shit out of her. Stoking Ciri’s rage. Ciri just beating the shit out of a snake and eating it even though it makes her sick. Hard too have a healthy outlet in the middle of a desert. Illusions are not great therapists. I. love. this. so muuuuch.

I really love the sequence where Ciri wakes up in the tavern with Falka. The whole discussion about future possibilities and women’s rage and breaking the system is delicious. I really want the show to go hard and follow through with this explicit examination of women embracing their rage and having catharsis with it. And still come back to the core of Ciri's love for her family after all the bullshit she’s gonna be going through.

On my first and second viewing of this episode I’m still so excited... but I know the way the books go and I know how the showrunners and producers have flattened so many other things. For reasons that I understand and reasons that make me want to stab things. So I don’t want to hope so much. Cause I know I'mma get disappointed when they simplify or change other things that will make me go “what the ever living fuck?” again and again. I know better than to hope.

But anyway. FALKA. I love the actress they’ve cast for her, and this dialogue I’m just really impressed with this:

Falka: Honestly, it was the system that failed me the most.

What a killer line. And then I also really love this exchange, too:

Ciri: I think I have the power to change things. Falka: You’re not the first person to feel that way….not the first… But you, my friend… you could be the last.

Delicious possibilities. Ciri's a little distracted with the whole surviving a desert thing to be able to think through the meaning of that.

Ciri and Little Horse wandering through the desert. Unicorn balls. That’s all I got. No, that’s not fair. I did like all the monster encounters. Ciri stabbing the shit out of the giant arachna thing with it’s own carapace. The rage. The fucking rage. She’s so feral and I’m HERE FOR IT.

Calanthe shows up as another illusion/ghost. I’m still sad at the changes they made to Calanthe for the show. I feel like it was just a strange choice to make her character a racist for whatever narrative reason. So Ciri has something she can rail against and deride her grandmother’s reign, so she could eventually be the one to do things Differently? This is just all my book feelings here, I know. Calanthe was good and just and….not a racist?? Just another example of the show doing strange things to change certain things and ignore the other socio-political things that are morally complex that are actually in the books.

But anyway I do like that this is still another piece of Ciri’s past. The dead continues to gaslight the shit out of her. I love the actress that plays Calanthe. Freya’s despair and anger and the way the helplessness is just coiled hot around her!! Punching rocks and eating snakes. It’s so good! The emotional build of this episode! I fucking love it.

Ciri’s other conversation with Falka is also getting to me and I'm still kind of 👀 about it, but in a good way, I think? Except I'm still trying to hedge my feelings.

Falka: You know you’re powerful. Is that another thing we have in common? I always had a talent for attracting friends. I should have been queen. But when my father denied me my royal destiny, I decided to rally the common folk. And with their help, I took back what was rightfully mine in the only way I knew would send an unforgettable message. Blood and fire. Ciri: I’ve heard that story. Falka: Fitting, since in the end they tied me to a stake and burned me alive. Ciri: You’re Falka. The stories say you were a demon. A cursed elven monster. Falka: Stories created to convince naughty children to do their chores. In the end, it was much easier to cut my ears into points and let myself be what they accused me of being.

Mmm, yeah I find that delicious. Wonderful delivery by the actress playing Falka. Freya’s shock and indignation was excellent.

Little Horse’s injury and Ciri drawing upon fire magic to help seal the unicorn’s wound. Falka telling Ciri to embrace her power. Yesss!!

The horrific vision time!! Geralt and Yen and Jaskier in pain and agony! I’ve been excited for this sequence, too! Actually I wasn’t that impressed. Not that it’s bad CGI or anything. But I thought it could have been more gory. But I love Freya’s acting here so I’m just grooving with her pain anyway.

Ciri making that choice to relinquish her powers because she doesn’t want to give them up. I LOVE IT SO MUCH. I love Ciri. SO MUCH.

previously on kuwdora watches twn season 3: 3x06 - Ciri reactions 3x01 - 3x05 reactions

#i know i have more to say but executive dysfunction is fucking me up right now. words are hard #but i got the initial squee out! CIRI #kuwdora's witcher screaming #ciri #kuwdora watches #twn #twn season 3 #textpost

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