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limerental · 2 years

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yennskier post-s2 canon, warnings for spoilers

She stumbles, coughs, and catches herself in the touch of steadying hands. The world blurs, and her body aches, and she is--

She looks up into the poet's eyes, a question in them, worry creasing his brow, and all at once, she is a girl again.

Your worst fear, she thinks, hearing his frantic rush of thoughts as if they are her own. Chaos thrums and burns and eclipses, and that awful gnawing emptiness she had felt as a powerless mortal smacks shut like a parted sea crashing back to stillness.

His very worst fears and hopes and dreams are so small in the wake of her own, but she thinks for the first time, the epiphany striking like a sharp pain, how close our wants truly lie to our fears.

It is only an instant that she looks at him, his thoughts rushing panicked and loud into her head, and then awareness of the rest of the world returns.

The air stinks of sulfur and the sweetness of blood, and she is needed here. She is needed, if not wanted.

She turns aside from the poet and does what she can. She heals wounds and saps out poison and lays shrouds over the ruined bodies.

Geralt does not glance her way, let alone look into her eyes. If he did, she does not know what he would see. Fear tangled in a wish. Longing and regret.

He does not look at her.

She finds the poet, after.

"I read your mind. As my chaos returned to me," she confesses. He sets aside his journal, having been scribbling notes most of the afternoon, and she is surprised to see that he looks curious rather than angry.

"Oh?" he says, leaning forward as though she is about to tell him a very good story. "I thought mages did that all the time." He waves a hand vaguely. "You know just. Plucking thoughts from the masses. Eavesdropping."

"No," says Yennefer. "It's impolite. It's… I didn't mean to."

She feels as though she has said those words again and again and again now.

I did not mean to. I had no choice. I felt I had no choice. I feared that I would become nothing but a sum of the choices I made with my back to the wall. I made a mistake but I did not know what else to do. I have fought my whole life to be allowed a say in my own future. I do not know how to do anything else.

"You saw something bad?" he asks. "Oh dear, I can't say I remember what i was thinking in that moment. Tend to turn off the lights up there when in crisis, you know. Ah. Ah dear, was it nipples again? It's always--"

"I saw your worst fear."

"Ah," says Jaskier. He does not sound the appropriate amount of violated she feels that he should. "I fear a lot of things, you know. Not nipples, at least. Can cross that one off the list."

His expression goes a bit dreamy.

"Stop thinking about tits," she says. "This is a serious conversation."

"I thought you said it was impolite to read someone's mind?"

"I don't have to read anything."

"Drat. I'm making a face aren't I? I always attempt to be subtle about it."

"Jaskier, you could not achieve subtlety if your miserable life depended on it."

"Hey now, I kept up a secret refugee rescuing identity for months."

"While singing songs every night about the crown princess of Cintra and exactly who she was sworn to."

"Er… right." He flushes pink. "I thought you were apologizing for wronging me immensely. Go back to that bit."

"You're insufferable," says Yennefer, but she's smiling. She sits down beside him against a drafty wall, close enough that their shoulders brush. It is the first warmth she has felt in a while. The closeness of his body.

"What's my worst fear, Yennefer?" he asks.

It still takes her off guard how his voice can carry that note of quiet sincerity. She supposes it shouldn't be a surprise. That the endless chatter and frivolity is in some ways an act, only part of who this man is.

She meets his eyes. Something grows taut in the atmosphere between them.

"Irrelevance," she says. "You fear being left behind. Not leaving a mark. Making yourself small for others. Not being remembered."

"Oh," says Jaskier, voice cracking in embarrassment. "Well. Right to the heart of the matter there."

"As I said, I should not have read it in your thoughts. For that I'm sorry. My… control has not been what it should be."

It is difficult. To admit her weakness. His strangely earnest expression makes her believe that he understands this.

"Then why tell me at all?" he asks. How soft his voice is. How quiet, for all his usual volume. She is learning that this strange, peacocking man contains multitudes. That she does not really know who he is at all.

It is difficult. As difficult as it always has been to set aside her pride. As impossible as ever to look directly at the truth of all that she fears.

She breathes deeply, feeling that this foolish man has somehow ended up the bravest among them. He, at least, does not hesitate to speak his mind, thought most words he says are frivolous nothings to fill the silence. But he too has things he does not dare speak aloud. She has heard them. She has felt them herself.

"We are the same," she says. "Our worst fears."

With a careful sort of bravery, she touches the back of his hand pressed against the stone floor. Wordlessly, he turns his palm up to meet hers, and their fingers catch and entangle. He squeezes, once, and she feels as though she may break open along the delicate fracture lines of her body. She may overflow.

Somehow, impossibly, she trusts him to catch the messy spill of her. If he is the vessel that will hold her, it would hardly feel like a trap.

"Yennefer," he says. How gently he says her name. With such awe and heaviness.

"My fear…" she says. "It's…"

"I know." He nudges their shoulders together, tightens his grip on her hand. "You don't have to say it. I understand."

And he does.

They sit slumped together on the floor of a ruined keep. They cling to one another, gripping tight. And for a moment, and in many moments after, Yennefer feels what it must be to be loved.

#yennskier #the witcher s2 spoilers #yenskier #yennefer x jaskier #the witcher #spoilers #thats dynamic

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teresa-of-ficwill · 3 years

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[Geraskier] In the name of love

Summary: Jaskier did not remember where but one day he heard a proverb that said something like "if you fall in love with a witcher - you will die." Then he considered it utter stupidity but now... It turned out that it was not just a proverb.

Or the story of why witchers don't fall in love.

***

Chapter 2 "It's better to burn out than to fade away"

Missed Chapter 1? You can find it on ao3 right now!

Jaskier woke up suddenly, emerging from the embrace of sleep. Dull pain in the temples was a little distracting so it took the bard a few seconds to understand where he was. The day was breaking. Julian wrapped himself in a blanket and unconsciously scratched his right hand but this simple movement suddenly hurt. Jaskier looked down and saw the swollen veins on his wrist again. He gently ran his fingers over them, trying not to cause more pain.

Geralt said he was dying. Memories of yesterday evening were blurry and indistinct but these he remembered clearly. He was dying but for some reason, he wasn’t scared at all although he should be. It should be by all the rules. Julian didn’t understand anything.

“I'm sorry,” a voice sounded from nearby and Jaskier looked up. Geralt sat a few steps away from him and had probably been watching him for a long time. In the eyes of the witcher were guilt, pain, and a bit of despair.

The bard shrugged his shoulders.

“We’ll all die someday,” he said, looking down again at the swollen veins. They were like a drawing. Beautiful drawing which was not finished yet. Who would have thought that such beauty is hidden under his skin?

“Please, don't be so calm,” the man said because such indifference was frightening.

“But I am calm,” Jaskier answered and hid his hand under the blanket. He felt that his behavior made Geralt nervous so he tried to pull himself together. He was okay. At least for now.

“How are you feeling?” the witcher asked, throwing more logs into the fire. Dawn was coming but it was still cold outside and the fire was the only source of heat.

Julian didn’t answer right away, listening to the sensations, but he didn’t notice anything except a dull pain in his temples and a slight throbbing in his wrist. Even consciousness seemed to Jaskier extremely clear.

“I'm fine,” the bard replied and reached for his clothes to get dressed. Geralt was watching him. “So, will you explain what happened to me?” asked Julian, pulling on a shirt and for the first time in many hours feeling himself in his body. It was like he was in control again.

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” the witcher asked because of the state in which Jaskier was he could be barely called sane. Before Geralt kissed him, the bard was hardly conscious at all.

“I confessed my love to you, you said something, and then we had sex,” replied Julian, listing only events he was sure of. Memories of the evening seemed to be shrouded in a dense haze and he hardly caught even the outlines.

“Was this what you wanted? Did you want to have sex with me?” asked the man and it seemed to be a really important question for him.

Jaskier looked surprised, “Of course, I did. I confessed my love to you.”

“You were delirious.”

“No, I wasn’t yet,” the bard replied, surprising even himself. But he really wasn’t. Before he spoke these three words, he was fine. But then it's ... weird. Why did he not notice such a dramatic change in his state?

Julian confessed impulsively because he is an impulsive person but he could swear that at that moment he was completely sane. And then things got worse.

Geralt sighed and hid his face in his hands. Jaskier watched him with concern.

“It's my fault,” said the witcher after a couple of seconds of silence. “You're dying because of me.”

“What do you mean?” the bard immediately asked because he still didn't understand anything and, for some reason, it wasn’t becoming clearer at all.

“Do you know why witchers don't fall in love?” the man asked, looking at Julian again, and he shook his head negatively. “Because our love kills. Take a look at your hand. You will die as soon as the poison reaches the heart.”

“But...”

“It's my fault,” Geralt repeated, staring into the forest. “I liked you, and I allowed this feeling to grow, become bigger, stronger. It's such a temptation to love someone and I just succumbed to it. I was sure that you would never love me back and I made a terrible mistake. Now you are dying.”

“I don't understand ... how does it work?” Jaskier asked, trying to figure out whether Geralt spoke so indistinctly or his consciousness has begun to grow dim again.

“The curse works only if the feelings are mutual. I could love you without reciprocity for the rest of my life, and you would be fine. Or vice versa.”

“Can it be cured?” asked Julian, pulling on his pants, but, in fact, he has already known the answer. His mind was not as clear as it had been after waking up and Jaskier just wanted to make sure that he was not missing anything.

Geralt shook his head, “You must stop loving me to survive.”

The bard nodded, pulled his boot over his right foot, and said, “Welp… then it can’t be treated.”

Julian loved his life but he wouldn't even try. It was pointless. It wouldn’t work. And Jaskier didn’t want to spoil the remaining days with unsuccessful attempts to stop loving someone who mattered so much to him.

The bard pulled a boot on his left foot, closed his eyes, and tried to breathe in deeply. The noises in his head became louder but were still tolerable. His state was as after good drunkenness so Julian swore not to drink anymore. Never.

“Jaskier?” Geralt's voice was worried and the bard realized that, most likely, he sat with his eyes closed for too long. He clearly did not fall asleep because he seemed to remain conscious but still fell out of time.

Julian opened his eyes and it took him a couple of seconds to focus on the witcher.

“It's hard for me to concentrate, I'm sorry,” Jaskier said knowing well that he had nothing to apologize for but he did anyway.

“It will only get worse.”

“You’re not helping,” the bard replied and then looked down and laughed for some reason. “I always liked the phrase that love kills. Moreover, it's true,” Julian grinned and got to his feet. “Who would have thought that fate would take it so literally?” Jaskier wanted to take a step but a sudden sharp pain pierced his head through he stumbled.

“Shh, Jaskier, I’ve got you,” Geralt picked the bard up, not allowing him to meet the ground. Julian clung to the man with both hands, feeling that the pain has softened. It was still throbbing in the back of his mind but it became easier to think. “I'm here,” the witcher said as gently as he could and carefully touched his cheek. Jaskier closed his eyes and enjoying the touch which made the pain go away.

“It gets easier when you touch me. Why?” he asked, leaning forward and burying his nose in the man's neck. It became easier to breathe.

“My love is killing you but eases the pain in the process,” Geralt answered and Julian felt that the man felt in pain only from a thought about it. “Fucking injustice.”

“Then help me,” asked Jaskier, wrapping his arms around the man's waist.

“I can’t cure you.”

“I’m not asking about it,” the bard replied, pulling back slightly and looking Geralt in the eyes. “Help me as only you can.”

The witcher smiled softly and then leaned forward, gently touching Jaskier’s forehead, nose, cheeks, chin with his lips, and then finally getting to such beautiful mouth. Julian held them open and immediately responded as soon as their lips touched. Jaskier didn't think about anything, just enjoying the sensations and letting the pain go away.

It seemed to him that an eternity has passed since he first felt it but, in reality, it was just one night. Even now, when Geralt was kissing him, Julian couldn’t think as clearly as he did before he became ill. There was no more fog in his head but time around seemed to slow down, distort, deform, making Jaskier an unreliable storyteller. He was no longer sure that everything that was happening to him was actually happening, or that he remembered everything that happened before right. His head was in a terrible mess

“Are you okay?” Geralt suddenly asked and the bard realized himself sitting on top of the witcher while the man lied on the blanket. Julian was not wearing a shirt again and he really didn’t remember how they ended up in this position.

Jaskier didn't answer, shook his head, and silently slide off the man. He asked for help, they started kissing and then there was emptiness, unintelligible noise, and echoes of old pain. The bard brought his hands to his temples and pressed lightly. He couldn't forget what just happened, could he?

“Jaskier?” Geralt took a sitting position and gently touched his shoulder. “Did I do something wrong?”

Julian turned and looked at the witcher, unconsciously combing the veins on his arm.

“I don’t remember,” he said, and there was more pain in this phrase than should fit in it.

“What?” the man asked because this was definitely not the answer he was expecting. Not even close.

“I don't ... I don't remember what just happened.”

The poison was playing with his brain. Geralt didn't say it would be like that but Jaskier was smart enough to guess on his own. The curse was not only killing him but also making the remaining days unbearable... and it would be only getting worse. The bard felt a tear roll down his cheek and he knew that the witcher saw it so he turned away. He had the right to cry, that’s true, but he didn’t want the man to see it.

Geralt leaned forward, hugged Julian, and kissed his temple, whispering incoherent apologies. He was the one to blame for this. Jaskier didn’t know that this can happen and he didn’t have to control his feelings. But the witcher was obliged: this was his curse and his burden. He shouldn't have fallen in love, shouldn't have let this feeling take root in him. He could have just walked away when he realized that it would be impossible to contain his feelings. But he stayed with Julian. Stayed from a selfish desire to love Jaskier, albeit at a distance, and now the bard was dying and Geralt could do nothing to help him.

“Please don’t apologize,” the bard asked, and the witcher stopped. “I'm glad that my feelings are mutual. Let me love you.”

“This is killing you.”

“I know,” the bard said and looked back at the swollen veins on his wrist. “But it's better to burn out than to fade away.”

Geralt chuckled. Jaskier was still such a Jaskier.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Of course,” Julian smiled. “I want to continue where we stopped.”

“If you suddenly feel bad, just tell me and I'll stop, okay?”

“I'll be fine,” the bard said, climbing back onto the man’s lap. “When you are with me, I don't feel pain.”

To be continued

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witcher-smut-sideblog · 4 years

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E-O5 (sensory deprivation) for Geraskier Kink Bingo

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26106073

Geralt watched Jaskier from the back corner of the tavern, trying to tune out the ambient noise around him and focus on the bard's voice and the notes he plucked from his lute. He wasn't even really listening to the words, just letting Jaskier's smooth tenor wash over him. It was hard to admit, but he really did love Jaskier's voice - it was soothing, and easy to hone in on when things got overwhelming. The end of some jaunty ballad or another faded out, and Geralt grimaced as he recognized the first notes of Toss A Coin; he caught Jaskier's eye and jerked his head toward the stairs, going up to their room before the drunken rabble became unbearably loud. The song was a large part of why he was able to pay for a bath and a bed in most towns they passed through, and he didn't mind Jaskier singing it to every crowd he could, but everyone liked to sing along to the chorus, and some nights it was just too much for his sensitive ears. So, they'd fallen into a routine: whenever Geralt needed to leave a performance early, he'd catch Jaskier's eye to let him know, and then wait for him in their room or their camp, wherever they'd chosen to sleep that night. Jaskier always cut his performances off a little early on those nights, coming back to his witcher as quick as he could, and Geralt was grateful, though he had trouble saying as much.

"Hey." Jaskier's voice was soft as he stepped into their room, another thing Geralt was immensely grateful for. "How're you feeling?"

"Tired. Tense. Everything's just... too much." He'd left the lamp on for Jaskier, but had his eyes shut tight against the light, and even from two floors up and with three or four tankards of ale in his system, the crowd downstairs was grating on his nerves.

Jaskier made a small sympathetic noise, setting his lute in its case on the table and toeing out of his boots before moving to join Geralt on the bed. "Can I touch you?" Geralt nodded and Jaskier pulled him closer, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck. "I had an idea about that, actually."

"Mm?" Geralt leaned back into Jaskier's touch, nearly losing his balance as the bard reached down to root through his bag with one hand, the other still curled protectively around Geralt's waist.

"Oop, sorry dear. Anyway, you don't have to use them of course, but..." He pulled out a few things and held them out in front of Geralt: a pair of small wax plugs, and a wide, thick piece of supple black leather.

"What are they?"

"A blindfold and earplugs." Geralt turned to look at him, almost confused, and Jaskier immediately began to worry this had been a mistake, something he shouldn't have pressed. "L-Like I said, you certainly don't have to use them, I just thought what with-" He broke off midsentence as Geralt leaned in, kissing him softly.

"Thank you." The raspy whisper against his lips made Jaskier shiver. "Help me put the blindfold on?"

"Of course." Jaskier pulled the leather up to cover Geralt's eyes as the witcher put in the earplugs, checking in that the tightness was okay before tying it carefully behind his head. "What do you think?"

Geralt didn't respond for a moment, but he could feel the tension bleeding out of his shoulders, and he was sure Jaskier would be able to feel it too. The blindfold was wide enough and thick enough that it actually blocked out all light, and the earplugs worked well enough to block out the buzz of ambient noise and chatter from below them, but Jaskier was close enough he could still be heard. It was the first time in decades he had known this particular sort of peace - usually the closest he got was by slipping under the water of a bath and holding his breath as long as he could, but even that didn't stop all the light and noise. Not like this.

"Geralt? I just want to make sure you're okay." Jaskier was growing tense even as Geralt relaxed in his arms, and the witcher quickly nodded to reassure his bard.

"I'm okay. Better than okay, this is... this is really nice. Thank you, Jaskier." His voice was soft and warm, and it made Jaskier's heart leap in his chest to hear the usually-reticent witcher thank him so genuinely. He reached out a hand to trace down Geralt's arm, but pulled his hand back and leaned away when the witcher jumped.

"Geralt?"

"Still okay, just... usually I can see you, or at least hear you, when you move. I can't remember the last time I was surprised to feel someone touch me." Dimly, Geralt registered that the relaxation he was slipping into was tearing through the carefully-constructed walls he put up like they were naught but paper, but between the darkness and the ale he couldn't find it in himself to care right now.

"Huh. Can I...?"

"Please." Both of them spoke in little more than a whisper, as if the moment would be shattered by any sound too loud, as Jaskier reached out again and touched the same place on Geralt's arm. This time, the effect was substantially less, though the surprise was still evident in the brief pull of his shoulders. Geralt shivered a little as Jaskier dragged the tips of his fingers up his arm, to his collarbone and up over his throat. The air bloomed with the warm, heavy smell of arousal, and his breath caught in his chest.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," Jaskier whispered against his ear, leaving one hand wrapped loosely around his throat and bringing the other to trail up his thigh, his stomach, his chest. Geralt whimpered as he pinched one of his nipples just a little roughly, just how he knew the witcher liked, though it had never been quite so effective in the past.

Geralt's skin felt like it was on fire everywhere Jaskier touched him, his fingertips leaving trails of heat in their wake, his legs and chest a deep, constant warmth where Geralt leaned into him. He could hear his own blood pounding in his ears, could see pops of color sparking behind his eyelids as Jaskier toyed with him. Never in his life had he been so turned on so quickly, and soon Jaskier had him panting and writhing without even touching his cock.

"Color?" Jaskier's voice filled his head, unaccompanied by the usual cacophony of background noise and chatter.

"Green," Geralt gasped out. "Jaskier, please..."

"Please what?" Jaskier traced a fingertip teasingly along the waistband of Geralt's smallclothes, feeling the witcher jump in his arms. "Be specific, love."

"Touch me."

"But I am touching you."

"My cock, please, Jas, won't even take much just please let me come." He groaned as Jaskier's hand slipped down under his waistband, wrapping firmly around his cock, the hand around his throat still holding him gently in place. Lute-calloused fingers teased and stroked and Geralt's hips bucked, it was too much and not enough all at once and he reached his arms up to loop around Jaskier's neck, stretching taut as he got closer. A few more pumps of the bard's fist was all it took for Geralt to fall apart in his arms, a soft, punched-out whine escaping his throat as Jaskier worked him through it. When he was done, he collapsed back into Jaskier's lap, panting and shivering, but the bard instead guided him to lay himself out on the bed, head on a threadbare pillow.

"I won't be but a minute, I promise." Geralt felt Jaskier's weight vanish from the bed, and not being able to hear or see him was more alarming than he'd expected, but he trusted Jaskier to come back quickly. "Here." The musician helped him sit up, pressing a mug of water to his lips. "Do you want me to take the blindfold off?" he asked as he set the empty mug aside. Geralt only nodded, too tired and wrung out for anything else. He felt deft fingers untie the knot behind his head and before he knew it he was in a dark room, staring into deep blue eyes, and the affection he found in them threatened to overwhelm him yet again.

"Jas..." Geralt reached sleepily for his bard, but Jaskier only tutted.

"Soon, darling. First I want to clean you up a bit." He tugged Geralt's smallclothes down, and the witcher had to admit the cooling come trapped against his skin hadn't exactly been comfortable. He hissed through his teeth as a cold, wet rag wiped across his skin and Jaskier used a free hand to stroke his hip soothingly. "I know, hon, almost done though." Satisifed that Geralt was at least clean enough he wouldn't be uncomfortable come morning, Jaskier tossed the rag into a corner of the room with a wet thud, then shimmied down to lie beside his witcher, pulling a blanket up over the two of them. "How are you feeling?"

"Mm." Geralt's voice was heavy with pleased exhaustion and Jaskier smiled softly, placing a soft kiss to his forehead and wrapping his arms around his sturdy frame. "Wait, but you didn't..." a sleepy murmur rumbled against his chest.

"That's okay, love. Tonight was about you." Geralt made a grumpy noise at that, hugging Jaskier tighter. "Contrary to popular belief, I can go a night or two without orgasm now and then," he chuckled. "Now c'mon, get some sleep. You've earned it, being so good for me."

"Mmmfine," came the soft reply, and Jaskier threaded his fingers through his white hair as he held the nearly-sleeping witcher close.

"Goodnight, love."

#my writing #prompt fill #kink bingo #sorry there's no readmore i'm on mobile

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mantra4ia · 4 years

Conversation

The Doctor meets The Witcher

The Doctor: I never interfere in the affairs of other people or planets.

Geralt, The Witcher: I don't get involved in the petty squabbles of men.

Amelia Pond: Unless there are children crying?

Jaskier: Yes, you never get. involved...except you do, all the time.

Geralt: I don't uphold the law.

The 10th Doctor: It is defended!

The 12th Doctor: I had a duty of care.

Geralt: Do not touch her. If you touch one hair on her head, yours will be next on the ground.

Rose: Would it kill you to give me some Spock?

Geralt: I don't show off.

Yennefer: The famous White Wolf...

Ashildr: The Hybrid who will stand in the ruins of Gallifrey...

Jaskier: The Butcher of Blaviken....

Ashildr: Destroying a billion hearts to heal its own...

Mousesack: The Mighty Witcher!

The Family Blood: Like fire and ice and rage...the Oncoming Storm!

Renfri: Mutant?

Amelia Pond: Space Gandalf?

Geralt: sighs* Witcher.

The Doctor: sighs* Time Lord.

Yennefer: I thought you'd have fangs or horns.

Geralt: I filed them down.

Rose: If you're alien, how come it sounds like you're from the north?

The Doctor: Lots of planets have a north!

Yennefer: I'd like to see what little spells you can cast with those hands. Call it professional curiosity.

Geralt: Indulge me, and I'll show you for the rest of the night.

The Doctor: Did I mention it also travels in time?

Yennefer: I dreamed of becoming important to someone.

The Doctor: 900 years of time and space, I've never met anyone who wasn't important.

Geralt: You're important to me.

Clara: Clever boy. Now that’s just showing off.

Geralt: My plan worked all along.

The Doctor: Hold tight and pretend it’s a plan.

Yennefer: You had no plan, any fool could see.

The Doctor: Never ignore coincidence. Unless you’re busy. In which case, always ignore coincidence.

Geralt: Destiny helps people believe there's an order...

Tissaia: Chaos. Balance. Control.

Geralt: ...There isn't. Destiny can go f--- all. I need no one, and the last thing I want is someone needing me.

The Doctor: You need a lot of things to get across this universe. The thing you need most of all...a hand to hold.

Jaskier: Yet here we are.

Amelia Pond: Don't be alone.

Queen Calanthe: We have a renowned guest tonight. Perhaps he can entertain us with tales from the edge of the world.

The 12th Doctor: Once upon a time...

Ashildr: At the end of the universe...

The Doctor: I'm the last of the Time Lords. Gallifrey is gone.

Queen Calanthe: Tell me, why are there so few of you left?

Geralt: It's no longer possible to create more of us since the sacking of Kaer Morhen.

The 10th Doctor: I've been a father before.

The 12th Doctor: ...The end. Dad skills.

Geralt: I would rather use my Child Surprise as Bruxa bait than subject it to this life. Witchers shouldn't play at being white knights.

The Doctor: I have no sword. I don't need a sword. I am the Doctor.

Clara: Robin Hood, I've loved that story since I was a kid.

The Doctor: The heroic outlaw...he's made up, there's no such thing...Old-fashioned heroes only exist in old-fashioned storybooks, Clara.

Clara: What about you?

Cintran noble: What of the song, Witcher?

Clara: You stop bad things happening every minute of every day.

The Doctor: When did you start believing in impossible heroes?

Geralt: None of it's true. At least when Filavandrel's blade kissed my throat, I didn't s--- myself. Which is all I can hope for you lords at your final breath. Though I doubt it.

Robin Hood: You are her hero, I think.

Borsh: Perhaps you should become a knight...sir Witcher.

The Doctor: I am not a hero.

Geralt: I'm not better.

Robin Hood: Well neither am I. But if we both keep pretending to be— perhaps others will be heroes in our name.

The Doctor: We're all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?

Geralt: A fitting end, eh Roach?

Robin Hood: And may those stories never end.

The Doctor: Just this once...everybody lives!

Geralt: ...F---!

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