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lambden · 3 years

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Here’s some belated Geraskier fic that I finally get to post, as last week’s flash fic challenge has wrapped up! This was originally published anonymously; kudos to those of you who guessed that I was the author. Head to the collection to see the picture prompt that inspired this, as well as view the other works. I've been having a great time participating in fandom events like this; I promise there's more on the way!!! (Read on AO3)

Up To Date

prompt: "You were so hot that when you asked if I was the blind date you were looking for, I lied and said yes. But then your actual date comes up to introduce themselves and I'm so embarrassed."

G, 2.3K words, modern AU, Geralt/Jaskier

It shouldn’t be this difficult to find inspiration. He never used to struggle like this in high school, finding his muse in everyone and everything. Even his mundane trip on the city bus to and from school would give Jaskier hundreds of ideas, for poems too personal to publish or lyrics too deep for his band to use. Back then he had thought he lacked discipline and experience, so the clear choice had been to take his interest in poetry one step further and go to university.

The problem, as he’s now discovering halfway through his second year, is that he maybe hates university. He loves it, of course; he loves the praise from his professors and peers, he loves learning about the history of literature and art. He even loves the academic rivalries that wax and wane every term, and the competitions that ignite a mean streak in him he didn’t know he had.

But his assignments are of worse quality than anything he’s ever written before, and try as he might, they aren’t getting any better. Putting words on the page just to meet a count is impossible for a poet, not when the space and thoughts and images are all supposed to be cohesive. Poems used to flow from him so freely he hadn’t been able to keep track and now his well of motivation has just about run dry.

That’s what led him here, for the third time this week. His creative dysfunction has forced him into the day-to-day habits of an elderly man who spends his days reading in public gardens. It hasn’t helped so far, but maybe this third time will be the charm. Jaskier finds his favorite place: right by the koi pond, next to a strange art installation with ivy crawling along it. He sits at the base of the giant question mark, dropping his backpack onto the bench beside him.

“This better fucking work,” mutters Jaskier to himself and the koi, opening today’s book to a random poem. He refuses to let his mind wander at first, gluing his eyes to the page and reading with intense intent. The first poem he sees is about love.

Groaning, Jaskier flips the page. The next poem is also about love.

The third poem is about war, and Jaskier thinks that might be alright, until he realizes what this long-dead poet is trying to tell him, which is that war is also about love. Because it is, of course, but also of course it is. Jaskier scowls deeply and flips through the book to a random page, hoping to find something to spark inspiration that won’t just make him feel hopeless and single and hopelessly single.

Before Jaskier can get through the title, someone speaks to him, startling him so badly he jumps. “Are you Yennefer’s friend?”

Jaskier scrambles to catch the book by its cover and nearly drops it. He hadn’t even heard anyone approach. “Sorry?”

The stranger audibly sighs, as if Jaskier has inconvenienced him terribly. With all the force of someone announcing their presence at their own death row, he grits out, “I’m here for a blind date she set up. With you.” Jaskier looks up at the man and sees him wearing a blank expression, pointing at the question mark in front of the bench. “By the thing.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, still looking at the man. It takes a second for the words to sink in because the stranger is perhaps the most handsome person Jaskier has ever seen. He could write a thousand poems and still fail to capture his beauty. He has golden eyes, for one, and a sharply chiseled face. Even grimacing like this, his jaw is set in the loveliest way, and his stern brow is framed by platinum white hair, half-tied up. He’s wearing a fairly gloomy outfit for a blind date, but maybe he told whoever Yennefer is that he would be dressed in black. Regardless, he’s making it work.

The gorgeous stranger is still waiting for an answer, scowl worsening as Jaskier tries to make his decision about how the fuck to handle this. Really, there’s no decision at all— he just impulsively takes the leap. All his best ideas come when he’s stumbling forward blind anyway. “Yes,” he finally says, jumping to his feet. “Yes, um, I’m sorry, you caught me off-guard. I’m Jaskier.”

“Geralt.” They’re of a similar height, but Geralt is so much wider. Jaskier wants to climb him like ivy on a question mark. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“It’s fine! I got here a while ago. You know, can’t be too early!” Jaskier has never been early for anything in his life. He sits down again and shoves his books into his bag as quickly as he can. Geralt shifts his weight back and forth between his feet before awkwardly sitting on the bench next to Jaskier, looking out at the garden. “I’ve never done this kind of thing before,” he admits, which is true. His usual lies and schemes are much less chaotic.

Geralt doesn’t reply to that, leaving Jaskier to privately wonder about his dating life. He stares at the plants, giving the impression that he might be hideously nervous. Jaskier has no idea why someone like Geralt would be nervous about anything but it’s an awkward situation, to say the least. Right as Jaskier’s about to suggest they get out of here before Geralt’s real date shows up, the man asks, “What were you reading?”

“I was studying, sort of,” Jaskier says. “I’m a student.” Then abruptly he wonders how much Geralt knows about who he’s supposed to be, and he swallows, pulse racing.

Glancing over, Geralt’s yellow eyes meet his. There’s no obvious doubt there, just a curiosity. “What’s your major?”

“Poetry,” Jaskier grins as their conversation starts to pick up something resembling a rhythm. “What about you, are you in school?”

“No,” says Geralt, cutting his dreams of a normal date conversation short. “Are you any good? At writing poetry?”

What a weirdo. Jaskier’s heart thrums. “I’d like to think so!” This, at least, is something he knows how to talk about. Except, of course, it isn’t really the truth. “Well… recently, I’ve been in a bit of a creative rut. Just waiting for the right burst of inspiration to come along.” Perhaps this blind date that he’s stolen will suffice, but he doesn’t say that. “This place is great for that, actually. I mean, it hasn’t worked yet, but I’m sure any day those fish will sing for me.”

Geralt blinks. Jaskier feels a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. He tries a different tactic, crossing his ankles and asking politely, “Are you a reader? What kind of things do you enjoy?”

“Nonfiction,” Geralt answers, slightly stilted. His gaze drifts over to the plants once more. “Not biographies, more like… encyclopedias and field journals. I like field journals.”

“Alright,” Jaskier says, shrinking into himself. This is going terribly. “I’ll have to go bribe some scientists for their field journals, then.” The corner of Geralt’s lip twitches, and Jaskier’s stomach flips. Gorgeous and weird and maybe, although he’s trying his best to hide it behind seven layers of nerves, maybe a little amused by Jaskier. Jaskier is going to fuck him right here in the garden. “Do you take journals of your own for work?”

A rather roundabout way of asking ‘what the fuck is it that you do’ but somehow, it lands. “I’m a… researcher,” Geralt mumbles. How very vague. “But I don’t publish my findings very often.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Do you work… for a company?”

“No.”

“Right. So you’re just keeping all your findings to yourself for no good reason at all.”

“No.”

“Then it sounds like you’re a pretty terrible researcher, actually.”

Geralt’s eyes flash as he turns to glare at Jaskier. “What?”

“Well, if you don’t share what you’ve found with anyone—”

“My… colleagues—”

“Aha! So you have colleagues!” Jaskier pokes Geralt’s side. “You aren’t just holed up in some depressing storage unit with months and months of research just for you.”

Once more, Geralt half-smirks. Not even half— more like a one-fifth smirk. “Years,” he admits.

“Years…” Jaskier tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. “Why do I have the feeling that you’re perhaps a significant number of years older than me?”

“I had the same thought when I saw you sitting here,” Geralt mumbles.

Jaskier snorts. “Seems like something Yennefer should have warned us about, perhaps. I would ask you directly how old you are, but I’m fairly certain that the only response I will get is a very gruff no.”

“No,” says Geralt, nearly smiling.

Making a show of pouting, Jaskier folds his arms over his chest. “Is that your favorite word?”

“No.” Geralt breaks into laughter as he repeats himself, and his whole face lights up with it. Jaskier laughs too, delighted by how joyous Geralt looks. He’s even more beautiful when he’s happy like this, and Jaskier wants very badly for this not to be their last date. “If I tell you my favorite word, you’re bound to judge me for it, as a poet.”

“As a poet, I swear not to mock you,” Jaskier raises his hand to cover his heart, barely restraining himself from grinning.

But before Geralt can share whatever it is, someone else approaches their bench. A second stranger— a woman about his height with short brown hair, wearing a pretty blouse. Jaskier notices her much more quickly than he’d noticed Geralt, and he makes the connection instantly. This can’t possibly end well.

“Oh, Yen wasn’t kidding,” says the stranger, eyeing Geralt. “You are very distinctive!”

Geralt stares back at her, slack-jawed for a moment. “What?”

“I’m Renfri,” Geralt’s date introduces herself. Jaskier wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole, especially when she glances over at him. Her gaze slides back to Geralt, as does Jaskier’s, and yeah, he is very fucking distinctive with that white hair and those yellow eyes. Damn. “My friend Yennefer set us up for a blind date…?”

As Jaskier contemplates throwing himself into the koi pond, Geralt twists to stare at him. Jaskier can only imagine how mortified he must look right now; his face burns as both Renfri and Geralt look his way. Perhaps Renfri will figure it out before Geralt says anything; she looks like a smart woman.

But Geralt just gets up, dusting himself off and shaking his head. “No,” he tells Renfri, which would almost be funny if it weren’t the weirdest thing Jaskier has ever seen anyone do. Then Geralt leaves, turning to walk away from both of them, leaving Jaskier and Renfri alone together in the garden. Renfri frowns, watching him go with obvious increasing confusion. Jaskier also jumps to his feet, equally confused but determined not to lose sight of Geralt.

He chases the man— and it does feel like a chase, Geralt must be fucking speed-walking away— and finally tracks him down well outside the garden. Geralt is thundering down a set of stairs leading to a parking lot and he doesn’t stop at the sound of Jaskier careening towards him. Only when Jaskier desperately calls his name does he finally stop, slowing until he reaches the bottom landing and then standing there, still.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier calls down the stairs, breathless. He begins to descend them but Geralt doesn’t turn around. “Fuck, you’re fast! Shit. I’m sorry, Geralt.”

Without looking his way, Geralt complains, so quietly that Jaskier nearly misses it, “Yennefer is going to kill me.”

“I would have fucked off,” Jaskier says quickly, hurrying down the rest of the steps until he gets to the bottom. Geralt still doesn’t look at him so Jaskier slides none-too-gracefully into his space, demanding his attention. He’s hardly red in the face or anything, but he looks embarrassed. Jaskier crumbles. “I’m sorry. I— seriously, I don’t care, I would have fucked off. I should’ve left, I should’ve— You should go back there, she’s beautiful!”

Geralt’s nostrils flare but he doesn’t look away. “Why did you lie,” he demands, flat.

“Well,” Jaskier deflates. “Um. You’re beautiful.”

“Hmm.”

“I really am sorry,” he offers.

Geralt, still watching him closely, says, “You don’t sound sorry.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jaskier throws his hands in the air, breaking away from Geralt’s stare— in the greenhouse, surrounded by bright lights and open, manmade nature, it had been easy to sit under the weight of Geralt’s eyes on him. Down here, at the end of a staircase and the entrance to a dark garage, chest still heaving, it feels too intimate. He puts some distance between them, sighing. “You want me to go back there and explain the whole situation to poor Renfri?”

When Jaskier finally turns around again, Geralt’s gaze hasn’t left him. “I want you to come have dinner with me instead,” he says, slowly but purposefully.

“Oh,” breathes Jaskier. “That’s— well, if you want that.”

“I already made a reservation for two. My name’s on the list.” Geralt is fidgeting with the end of his sleeve at first but when he approaches Jaskier he drops it, striding forward without hesitating. “Table for Geralt and one young brunet friend of Yennefer’s.”

Jaskier chokes on his own surprised laugh. “I don’t actually know Yennefer,” he needlessly explains.

“She’s going to hate you,” says Geralt, half-smirking, and then he adds, “Well, she’ll hate both of us now.”

They get to the restaurant twenty minutes late, Geralt’s hair mussed up and lips a bitten red and Jaskier wearing his backpack and a shit-eating grin. The host sees them and immediately tells them their table has been cancelled, and they end up getting terrible two-dollar slices from a hole-in-the-wall pizza place. They eat on the way back to Geralt’s car and then he drives Jaskier back to campus, kissing him soundly in the door to his apartment until Priscilla comes home and yells at Jaskier to get a room. As they squabble Geralt apologizes, polite and nervous, and kisses Jaskier’s cheek and tells him it was nice to meet him.

Jaskier goes inside and spends the next thirteen hours writing the best poetry he will ever write.

#my writing #geraskier fic #geraskier #flash fic challenge #events

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dapandapod · 3 years

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You bring me colours

Hello and welcome to mean and angsty hours. Today I bring to you a soulmate fic, but it is sad and hurtful.

Thank you my lovely enablers for helping me bringing this to life, despite my very weak protests. Be mindful, my loves, if you are having a bad day you might want to skip this one. It ends happily, do not worry, but the way there is ouchie.

Warnings; Implied character death (real and not real), vauge description of drinking and depression, just, sad in general. A little bit soft too, and hopeful, but mostly sad. Im sorry.

On Ao3 here

Everybody has a soulmate. When your One comes into the world, they bring colors with them. And when they go, so do the colors. Many a poet sings of a world gone gray, of a love unknowingly lost. Because you don’t always meet your one. For some, it is enough to know they are out there. For some, the hunt lasts their entire lifetime. Some lucky few find each other, and some never do, settling in peace anyway.

---

For Vesemir, he had color for almost a century. But a witchers life is rough, and he knows not to seek them out. Not to give hope, not to feel greed. Just gift them with colors as long as he is able. He has an inkling who is His. His One. They must know too, but they never say.

Vesemir sits at the teachers table. It is lively in the hall, the children are laughing and making a mess as children do. They are his pride and his burden. Not all will be allowed to grow up, but he will do his best to give them a fighting chance. He raises his spoon towards his mouth, the soup smelling warm and rich.

The spoon falls with a clatter to the table.

Everything is black and white.

He is in front of everybody. In charge of so many lives. He was gifted with color for such a long time, this was to be expected. But if his One is who he thinks it is, then….

The screaming begins outside. The sacking of Kaer Morhen has begun.

---

Jaskier has always seen color. Always seen the color of the sky, the flowers and the nuances of snow.

When Jaskier is six years old, that changes.

He runs to his mothers, tears streaking down his face. Her dress used to be a bright green, her eyes a rich blue.

“Where did the colours go?” He cries. He knows he is too big to cry, but he is scared and sad.

Mother seems to be sad too. Heartbroken in fact, and she picks him up and holds him close.

After that day, the only color Jaskier can see is yellow. The color of the sun, of buttercups, some cat’s eyes. Of puss, of stains and of age.

There are many ways to die. The old Geralt dies when his knife plunges into Renfri's neck.

Geralt's colors came some years ago. When it happened he didn’t panic. He followed Vesemir's advice and pushed it as far back as he possibly could. It was only a small disappointment that the world didn’t turn grey when Renfri died. Because that is what Geralt felt like.

The colours stay, and he despises them. They glare at him, blaming him for still being there. How can he think he ever deserves happiness?

-----

In Posada, Jaskier finds someone with yellow eyes. They call to him like no other, so he goes. It is the best decision he has ever made, if the most difficult one. But with Geralt around, it is almost as if his memories of colours are springing to life. Sometimes he remembers that poppies are red, that water can be rich blue, and that autumn leaves can look like a fire. The fire he remembers from his past, but around Geralt they are so vivid they almost look real.

His mother told him not to tell. To hold those memories close. She taught him the colors through names and pictures, so that if someone asked, he would know.

Jaskier knows that his lost colours means that his One is dead. Some kind of dead, at least, if the professors are to be believed. If you get to keep a colour, even if it’s just the one, there is a chance. So Jaskier leaps at every chance he gets. He is one of those who chase, and will continue to chase.

----

Geralt is reluctant to Jaskier. Reluctant, because when he is around he is starting to feel alive again. Jaskier pokes and prods and smiles and sings and talks, and it is all Geralt can do to fight it.

---

A hot summer day Geralt finally gives in and they're just being goofy and like wrestling in a river. All the sudden Jaskier can see the color of the grass and he freaks out and scrambles out of the river and just lays down in front of a tuft of grass like 'holy shit geralt look at that.”

The bard is absolutely mesmerized for a moment, but when Geralt comes to look at what caught his attention, before he catches himself. Shit. Geralt can’t know.

So he plays it off, especially when the tuft of grass slowly fades back to grey. There is a lump in his throat, hope so big in his chest he wants to explode. They are out there, his One. They are still here.

---

There are many changes during their travels. Yennefer, for one. It is with her arrival that Jaskier realizes he is in love with Geralt. Deeply, desperately in love with him.

Another change happens on a cold and lonely mountain top. Geralt finally breaks, breaks everything, and Jaskier feels a spark inside himself diminish.

The further away from the mountain he gets, the more muted the world becomes. Even his memories stay out of his reach, as in fear of the pain he feels.

----

The moment Jaskier leaves the mountain, his world goes gray. Things click into place. He closes his eyes against the pain, letting it tear through him, cut him open.

Jaskier was his One.

And he killed him.

---

Geralt doesn’t know why the sky is still blue. He doesn’t understand how Ciris cloak is not grey, her eyes as startling blue as the love he once lost.

He thought he lost Yennefer on Sodden hill, but when he meets her, she is wearing a dress the color of Jaskiers eyes.

He breaks down at her feet, finally crumbling after all this time. He tells her everything, and she wipes his tears with infinite patience. How he deserves that from her, he doesn’t know.

“Why blue?” she asks him. “What relationship do you have with blue?”

And Geralt thinks about it. It is Ciri who finally puts the pieces together. Blue as Jaskiers eyes, he had said. And if you get to keep a colour, even if it’s just the one, there is a chance, or so a bard had told her in her grandmother's ballroom.

---

There are many ways to die. Jaskier is drowning. Drowning in pain and alcohol, sinking to a bottom, looking up at a golden sun. Not even the bright yellow can cheer him up, not when it reminds him so much of Geralt's eyes.

He doesn’t chase anymore. He accepts. Accepts that he will be alone, that nobody wants to be with someone destined for no one.

---

Geralt finds him in a tavern. Geralt walks in, so Jaskier must out. The one thing Geralt asks of him, after all these years. The least he can do is listen.

But Geralt follows him outside. Grabs his arms. Cups his cheeks. Asks for forgiveness. It takes time for Jaskier to register his words, he is deep down, he is drowning. But the sun seems closer now, becking him upwards.

He doesn’t understand why Geralt is here, but his broken heart is held together with Geralt's arms around him.

---

Geralt is scared to tell the bard. After all the pain he caused, how can he possibly make things right.

Geralt does everything he can to get the colours back, but they won’t come. Now that he has had a taste, now that he knows that it was his words, not his hands, that took them, he fights. He won’t make Jaskier follow him anymore. He tries something new.

They walk beside each other, a careful pace forward is set. It takes time, but his colours return. Jaskiers smiles are brighter, his eyes cornflower blue.

Then Jaskier confesses to him, he sees no colours but gold. How he carried it inside all this time, hoping that his One is out there, and Geralt can’t wait any longer.

“I want to give them to you. The colours that you bring to me, I want to give back to you.”

And he tries. Everyday he tries. And Jaskier holds his hand all the while.

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

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Ok so this is an idea that's been plaguing me but couldn't find it in fic anywhere. Feel free to not write it btw, I just had to share it with SOMEONE. Anyway, imagine a de-aging curse that wears off gradually and in the process, the cursed individual gets older. Like, aging years in a night while staying mostly the same during the day. Imagine the angst potential of Jaskier meeting a pre-Blaviken Geralt who's chatty as fuck. Imagine him meeting Geralt who's just heard of the sacking of KM.

You. I love the way you think. Because this is an idea that I had been toying with about three fandoms ago but wasn’t writing at that point so it never came to anything. Now you come along and reignite the spark. Thank you for the excuse to write it!

CW for injury and past abuse (of the witcher trials kind)

If Only Every Day Was A Birthday

In the grand scheme of things, it was a dumb as fuck thing to do. A ring of toadstools had cropped up on the doorstep of Kaer Morhen one winter morning. Naturally, it was Jaskier who found it and decided that this was within his skill set to deal with, primarily in the form of charming the fae with his songs, charm and overall delightful existence. Even worse, it worked. The witchers watched him chatter away with their less than desirable guests, filling a whole morning with stories, songs, poetry and even a few cruder jokes. In the end, Jaskier talked about birthdays and how sad he was for his witchers that they had forgotten when theirs should be celebrated.

“We wish to reward you for your time,” the fae crooned, getting ready to leave.

“Oh thank you but I couldn’t possibly accept. I have everything I need to make me happy right here.” Jaskier shot Geralt a soft glance.

“Very well. Your reward can be transferred. May the birthdays be as good as you described.” Just like that, the fae melted back into their realm and the toadstools withered.

Looking around, nothing had changed so Jaskier shrugged. Maybe the fae were mistaken or their reward was something like a cake being delivered on a certain day. Cake was always good, Jaskier hoped it would be chocolate. If only the gift had been a simple cake. Nobody was any wiser until the next morning.

“What the fuck?!” Lambert’s shriek was heard throughout the keep and everyone rushed to him in a panic.

In the hall where they had a tendency to gather after dinner, there was a child sleeping in Geralt’s chair. The very chair he had fallen asleep on in fact.

“Where’s Geralt?” Jaskier asked, a sinking feeling in his gut.

The child stirred and blinked sleepily up at the men peering down at him. Brown eyes, brown hair but the features were familiar despite the changes.

“Fuck.”

Child Geralt was chatty as anything. He happily followed them all around, was inquisitive and playful. Jaskier watched him beg Eskel to throw him in the air again or for Lambert to spin him. Even Vesemir was approached with a request to read him a story for an afternoon nap. Maybe the fae were onto something, Geralt had needed a break from everything and if this gave him a chance to enjoy life, Jaskier wouldn’t dream of begrudging him a few days.

Only, it wasn’t just a few days. It was all fine for the first few days. Eskel especially seemed happy to dote on Geralt, carried him around on his hip and even showing him how to cook things in the kitchen. Truthfully, Jaskier was a little enamoured, especially when he walked into the kitchen to see Eskel had Geralt sat on the counter, a whisk clutched in tiny hands as it was licked clean diligently.

If only things could have been so simple. Nobody expected Geralt to wake up on the third morning in tears, crying out for his “mama” and rushing around the keep, trying to find her.

“It took him a while to settle here,” Vesemir said sadly. “He was loyal from a young age.”

Each day, Geralt changed a little, grew older. A tension settled around the witchers that Jaskier just didn’t understand. On the whole, after that one day of Geralt tearfully looking for Visenna, he seemed to settle. A little quieter but still bright eyed and eager to please.

Then Geralt woke up with a black eye, a gash across his arm and looking generally miserable.

“Training.” That was all Lambert had managed to grit out before he stormed out. “Means he’s about eight.”

A birthday a day. Jaskier swallowed at the realisation and the knowledge that it was his fault. He watched from the sidelines as Eskel patched Geralt up, brought in a cloth packed with snow to put over the bruising. In a way, Jaskier envied Lambert and the fact he could just storm off to deal with his emotions. It wasn’t a luxury Jaskier was afforded. This was all his doing and he wasn’t a coward to run from his mess.

The next day the bruising and the cut were gone. However Geralt was timid, especially around Vesemir, kept his eyes to the ground. The only one who could coax a smile from him was Eskel. Not even Jaskier’s singing and attempts to pull Geralt into activities seemed to do much. That night, Geralt went to bed and the others sat in a heavy silence around the hearth.

“He’s what, 10 tomorrow?” At least Lambert had come back but he was no less agitated. If anything, he seemed to avoid Geralt at all costs. “I really hope this spell wears off tomorrow.”

The spell didn’t wear off. A bloodcurdling scream signalled the fact Geralt was awake. As one, the witchers were rushing to the room he had been given considering he didn’t remember his own and Jaskier couldn’t face leaving what had been their shared room.

“Don’t go in,” Lambert had warned but it was too late. Jaskier had peered into the room and blanched. There was blood. So much blood. Eskel was sat on the edge of the bed, holding Geralt down who was crying red tears, fingers flexing, trying to fight off the grip so he could claw at his own face. A foot caught Eskel in the ribs and he grunted but didn’t let go of Geralt.

There was hope in Jaskier that maybe the pain would last maybe a few minutes. At worse, an hour. He was proven wrong when the gurgle screams and cries lasted into the afternoon. Not once did Eskel leave him. It was only as midnight came that silence fell across Kaer Morhen once again. That night, Jaskier stayed outside Geralt’s room, the sheets had been freshly changed from filth sodden to something cleaner. The Lambert had dragged Eskel to his room and Jaskier was grateful he didn’t have witcher hearing. Even his human ones could pick up on the dry sobs coming from the room.

In the morning, a yellow eyed but still brown hairs Geralt greeted them with his arm in a sling. As Jaskier made conversation with him, he could hear Vesemir’s murmur of “one down, four to go” and that was the most chilling thing Jaskier had heard.

Sure enough the next day was more choking screams. Eskel looked haggard and they didn’t even snap at Jaskier to get out. Even though Vesemir tried to give Geralt potions to numb him or even knock him out, they didn’t seem to work. Three days of torture. On the second day Eskel barked at Lambert to take over and he hurried out. Each night found not just Lambert and Eskel curled up but Vesemir and Jaskier also ended up in the pile. It wasn’t a pile borne of good moods and love though. Some nights Jaskier watched the witchers, they all looked lost in their own heads, hollow and haunted. It wasn’t a good look on any of them.

White hair on a young teenager looked odd. But Geralt didn’t seem too fazed by it, he looked almost proud when he next woke up coherent. He was also a lot more inclined to tussle with Lambert and Eskel, gleeful in their battles. Even when he woke up with broken bones, on one memorable morning a locked jaw, he still seemed in good spirits. On the surface, the others were too but more than once Jaskier had walked in on Lambert and Eskel looking downtrodden.

“I’d forgotten how bright he was,” Vesemir said, leaning against the wall next to Jaskier while the others were engaged in some kind of strange wrestling that seemed to end up with Lambert and Geralt teaming up against Eskel and tickling him until he was on his knees and laughing while begging for mercy. “The Path had not been kind to him.”

It was an understatement. Watching Geralt grow up and become a witcher was difficult enough. To see him each year, sometimes cocky and sometimes lean with a spark of fury burning through him was fascinating. Until he woke up sullen and quiet. Still a young man but so much more like what Jaskier knew.

“I should have been there,” Geralt murmured and looked at the other witchers. “We’re all that’s left.”

That evening was somber, Geralt leaning heavily against Lambert’s shoulder as they drank.

“It doesn’t get easier,” Lambert murmured darkly. “But you learn to live with it.”

The next day Geralt seemed better but the others were clearly suffering, unable to shake everything that each of Geralt’s birthdays was bringing up. And just when Jaskier thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.

Things had been going vaguely okay in their own way. Injuries, aches and pains came and went. Until Geralt woke up and didn’t get out of bed. He was scarily thin, looking worn and in pain on a level beyond physical.

“Renfri,” Eskel had muttered and, without another word, slipped into Geralt’s bed, curled up behind him.

“The year the whole Butcher of Blaviken shit went down, Geralt didn’t come home for winter. Never did tell us where he went or what happened.” Lambert cast a look into the room where Eskel was holding a shaking Geralt. In the end, Vesemir brought them up food and drinks, a second serving for Geralt when he saw how emaciated he was. Everyone ended up curled together in Geralt’s bed that night, quietly grateful that Geralt did actually come back from that disaster.

Not that the next several days were much better. Gone was the cocky, confident Geralt. In his place was a ghost. He ate, he replied is spoken to but stayed out of the way. Lambert was the one to track him down to any hiding place and try to forcibly draw Geralt out.

“It’s what I wish I had done all those winters,” he admitted quietly in the dark one night.

When Geralt laughed about a week later, Vesemir looked ready to cry. He hurriedly excused himself to the kitchen and Jaskier followed.

“He’ll be back to his usual soon,” Vesemir said, trying to keep himself busy by starting on dinner preparations - only three hours too early. “It gets better from now.”

“What changed?”

“You came along.”

Sure enough, Geralt slowly blossomed again. Not at all like what he was, he was more thoughtful, much less likely to rise to Lambert’s asinine riling. But he was no longer a storm cloud haunting the halls of Kaer Morhen. Jaskier went from a terse “bard” to “Jaskier” to “Jask” and, in the end, he was “mine” which was a relief.

They lost track of the years, not like any of them knew exactly how old Geralt was. But the last few days of the spell were only trackable by the scars Geralt’s skin bore.

“Do you think it’s worn off?” Eskel asked one morning.

Geralt gave him a funny look. “What’s worn off?”

So probably not. It was another two days before Geralt sat up in the middle of the pile eyes wide and he growled.

“Fucking fae.”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #long post #cw: blood and injuries #cw: witcher trials #tldr: geralt relives all his (unhappy) birthdays

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frenchibi · 4 years

Text

A rant-essay about The Witcher books (and comparison to the show)

((after having read book one, and started into a good chunk of book two.))

Proceed at your own discretion, there will be a lot of frustration and swearing. Also, spoilers for basically the entirety of the Netflix show. Also, there is discussion of sexual assault and objectification and lots and lots of sexism.

The structure of my rant is as follows (because yes I structured it):

1. Things that I enjoyed in the books

1.1 Geralt talks more

1.2 Geralt and Jaskier have a better relationship

1.3 The fairy tale theme

2. Things that made me want to scream

2.1 Geralt (is not a good character)

2.2 Yennefer (deserves better)

2.3 Jaskier's sexism (Netflix!Jaskier would NEVER)

2.4 Female Characters; Sexy Fantasy That Fucks (it's bad)

2.5 Narrative devices and structure (it’s bad)

3. Bonus: Why the audiobook grinds my gears

Total length: 4k words :’) Click to proceed.

(So, we’re doing this? I think forty likes is sufficient general interest, so... okay. Obligatory disclaimer here: This Is My Opinion. However, I am not fabricating any of the… grounds for my opinion, it is based on the content of the books, that I read, and which are broadly available, so anyone can read them and see for themselves. Personally, I would not recommend the experience, and below I will detail the reasons why. If, like I was, you’re hesitant about reading them, this essay might sway your decision either way. You might go “oh thanks op now I know I won’t like it” or “huh I think I wanna see this for myself because you’re yelling a lot”. It’s all equally valid. Anyway, let’s proceed with “things I enjoyed”.)

1.1 Geralt talks more Geralt in the books is a bit of a mess as far as characterization goes - but I don't hate that he's less stoic here and less... idk, arrogant/superior towards humans than he is in the show. He talks to people, engages with them, discloses opinions and thoughts and… it's a good look. We even get several pages of monologue from him at one point (because he is talking to a priestess who has taken a vow of silence, but I’ll take it – the books in general have a monologue/structure problem which I will address in 2.5) which is way more than the show ever provided us with. I’d like to say it gives us an insight into the character but maybe that’s a bit of a stretch, see below (2.1).

1.2 Geralt and Jaskier have a better relationship

Geralt and Jaskier are FRIENDS. And I mean that literally the first thing we hear Geralt say about Jaskier in canon in book one is "of course I want to see him, he's my friend". Which - Netflix!Geralt could NEVER and I'm salty about it. Jaskier in the books has his own problems (2.3) but I still think he's my favorite overall, he's fun and Geralt genuinely enjoys his company. They travel together and ENJOY it, they joke, they reminisce and it is Good. Netflix, take notes.

1.3 The fairy tale theme

This gets lost in the Netflix adaptation altogether but. The idea in the books is that all these monsters that Geralt encounters are dark twists on fairy tales and I'm HERE FOR IT. Renfri is literally Snow White But Badass. Cinderella, Rapunzel and Rumpelstiltskin’s stories are mentioned in passing, and other ideas that are explored here have fairy tale elements, e.g. slaying the dragon. It's cool, but apparently the story loses this aspect in later volumes so I guess it makes sense that the show decided to omit it. Still a bummer tho bc I liked that.

So. Now on to Things that made me want to Scream, which is what we’re all really here for.

2.1 Geralt (is not a good character)

Geralt, oh Geralt, I wish you weren't such an obvious Mary Sue, Saviour™ and thinly veiled Jesus allegory. Geralt is always, ALWAYS right and it pisses me the fuck off. Geralt gets all the women he wants with NO PROMPTING and it makes me angry. Geralt always has the last laugh in every and any situation. Geralt is always smarter and more powerful than the Idiot Humans. Geralt ignores advice and suffers no consequences for it. Geralt has no well-thought out character, no consistency - he just is the "main character" and "hero" that the story needs - if the story needs him to be smart, he is, if it needs him to make a mistake, he does - he has no AGENCY and it’s BORING. Why am I supposed to care about him, exactly? Because the plot tells me to, and because everyone else is framed like an idiot in comparison and you’re supposed to like strong and smart characters. Cool. Bleh.

2.2 Yennefer (deserves better)

Strap in, because this is the longest part.

Yennefer in the books is… a badass (but sexy) until the plot needs her to be a damsel (but sexy). She also occasionally has one (1) other character trait and that trait is Crazy Bitch.

I’ll admit I was not her biggest fan after the show (I didn’t really connect with her that much after she became vindictive™, though I gotta say her role in the last battle was Very Cool) but in the wake of what I have read so far, I have decided to AGGRESSIVELY STAN because she fucking. Deserves better. Oh my GOD it makes me so angry. Here’s how I think her character creation probably went:

"Ok so here we have Geralt, who is a badass, and So Cool, and he could have any Female he desires. But his Female can't be inferior and giggly and vapid like literally all other women - she needs to be the ideal fantasy Fantasy.

First: she needs powers. So we'll make her a Cool Sorceress! And more powerful than the other sorceresses because Geralt deserves the BEST. But also, he needs to be able to be Cooler and save her so she needs to be (like all females are, because they are inferior) emotionally volatile and vulnerable, and Geralt will also be the only one who gets to see that Vulnerability because Geralt has the biggest dick is her love interest. So she will be weak around him because he's just so hung wonderful.

Secondly, she needs a believable weakness (besides being too emotional because all women are too emotional), and as we all know, women have one purpose: to bREED. But not Yennefer - oh no, Yennefer is (wait for it, this is the dramatic backstory, hold your breath) broken, she's BARREN, USELESS AND EMPTY AND SHE HATES HERSELF FOR IT!!!!!

*pause for dramatic effect*

I know right that's so SEXY

[This is the point where I’m like… this might, possibly, maybe, under very different circumstances have been a compelling storyline if the author had ever consulted a woman. Or, you know, if the story was written by a woman. This is objectification and fetishization of the worst kind and I hate it. The show has this element too and it’s bad there too but it’s nowhere near as pronounced as in the books. Anyway-]

Speaking of sexy - obviously Yennefer is the sexiest of all the women Geralt has ever encountered. And because I, as the author, am aware that's unrealistic, I will drop in YET ANOTHER PIECE OF DRAMATIC BACKSTORY: She used to be a HUNCHBACK!!! *air horns* I KNOW RIGHT OH MY GOD and now she made herself SEXY with MAGIC because YOU KNOW ALL WOMEN WANT TO BE OBJECTIFIED BY MEN!!! SEXY FANTASY THAT FUCKS!!!!

[also? This is revealed to Geralt (and the reader) not by her telling him, or by a flashback, but because he "sees that she has the eyes of a hunchback". I can’t even begin to state how much I hate this.]

Anyway every time she shows up it will be mentioned how shapely her legs and breasts are and how young she looks despite the fact that she must be Old. She will turn heads and men will scorn her because she is too pretty and not interested in them and men hate anything that has any amount of sexual power or agency. but not Geralt, no, because he gets to fuck her at the end of the day so he's the only one who doesn't objectify her out loud. (but he does in his internal monologue. hooray.)

Also, to emphasize this point, we will have a side character sexually violate her while Geralt is tied up because that is The New Hotness™"

And if that wasn't enough, she as a character subscribes to what is known as "Female Hysteria For No Reason" and will become a Woman Scorned over absolutely nothing if the plot needs her to be angry.

The plot regarding her relationship with Geralt is also a bit different - in the show, she gets angry once she finds out Geralt's third wish ties them together (whether this is justified may be subjective - except yeah, no, she’s absolutely right, Geralt what the fuck??). In the book, she hears his wish as he makes it because MAGIC and is somehow SUPER INTO IT because this author has never met a human woman before.

...and then I need to complain about the storyline with the dragon. Because, you will remember, in the show, she gets angry and storms off after learning of the third wish, but that can’t be the case because she already knows about it in the books, right?

Well.

The story in the books goes like this:

Six years ago, after one of their affairs™ Geralt leaves without waking Yennefer (but like. Leaves her flowers instead) and admittedly that's kind of rude but also like... ok. That doesn’t seem too strange a thing for Geralt to do. Maybe he just wanted to let her rest? Anyway.

They don't meet for six years, in which Geralt idk... idly misses her or something, and Yennefer develops a deep lasting hatred based on her abandonment issues…? (I am. grasping. there's no good reason if this relationship is as casual to both of them as they have made it sound, but she is SUPER MAD because the plot needs her to be ANGERY).

So with his backdrop, cue the search for the dragon. Geralt is like "eh I'll join them. I have nowhere better to be, also Jaskier is here and he's not boring so ok" and then he hears Yennefer will also be there and goes "oh well all the better, haven't seen her in a while"

And when he follows her to her tent to greet her, she spits verbal FIRE at him and is like "bitch you're lucky i didn't gouge your fucking EYES out" and other lovely statements of a similar calibre, and Geralt just stands there and takes it and tells her he missed her.

which implies either a) he knows what he did and he thinks he deserves this, or b) he has done nothing wrong in his own eyes and this is just "bitch crazy" to be ignored. It is heavily implied to be b), because, in our third person POV narrative, we get NO REMORSE from him, no indication as to what he thinks about this whole thing Yennefer is accusing him of, nothing at all in terms of emotional response to her. Cool. She yells at him and then storms of, and he just… idk, shrugs I guess?

So, they travel, Yennefer is Icy Bitch Queen but also everyone hates her and insults her to an absurd degree (see above, she's Too Sexy and Powerful and also like, a Woman) and she takes it without saying anything back but it's obvious that everyone's trash talk is affecting her (so it’s obvious that at some point she will be Vulnerable again). Jaskier, who seems to have no personal grudge against her at this point in the books, joins in the teasing because he's there to make fun of everyone I guess? (boy.) No deeper malice from him than from anyone else though.

And then, for drama, the party reaches a narrow bridge. They’re debating whether or not it is safe to cross with all their supplies and then BAM! there's a landslide so they have no choice. The events go like this:

- Geralt lets the others cross first. Right as he wants to cross, he hears Yennefer yell because her horse fell over, because of course it did

- Geralt abandons his own means of escape to go help her up, and then she proceeds to save his ass because SHE HAS FUCKING MAGIC THERE WAS NO POINT IN YOU GOING TO SAVE HER YOU FUCKER she just makes a shield so nothing hits them and they stumble to the bridge

- they get caught on the bridge as it collapses, and of course Yennefer is the one who falls first, and he catches her, so they're both hanging there and he's holding on to her suspended over this. Canyon or whatever.

- Jaskier, from above, yells to the others to get a rope to help pull them up but they respond to "wait until the bitch has fallen, then we'll pull the witcher up"

which. wow. but ok.

Yennefer can barely hold on, and HERE is where Geralt asks her to forgive him for… his wrongdoings…? (you know, can't have her die with a grudge, I guess? Or whatever?) He's like "Yen, forgive me" and she says "NEVER"

((and also, she has consistently kept telling him to stop calling her Yen (which he first started when they started... having Relations™ so obviously now it has bad memories attached to it for her), which he blatantly ignores because her feelings don't matter))

In the end, Jaskier gets the others to help despite their reluctance and hatred of Yennefer and they travel on. Yennefer's back to being Ice Queen - and then they find the dragon. Some fucker tries to fight it alone and gets injured. Yennefer is in charge of healing this dude, and so she ends up alone with Geralt in a tent – where she asks him to double-cross everyone else and kill the dragon himself (after telling them all she would cooperate with them) - "for me. I want the dragon, Geralt, for myself. All of it. I don't want to share. Kill it for me" and then explains that not all is lost because with certain parts of the dragon, SOMEONE CAN CURE HER BARRENNESS and i want to launch myself into the fucking sun

Geralt is like "uhhhh"

she says "on the bridge, you asked for my forgiveness- if you do this, I'll forgive you"

and then HE GOES "well, that no longer matters to me. I'm over it now" which hsadjlkfhsajdklfhsajkldfhaskdfsj I cannot begin to impart to you how many levels of “UGH” I felt at the predictable reversal of roles because he can’t ACTUALLY have to apologize to her – it’s HER who has to apologize to HIM for being an irrational Female

and now SHE'S all like. quivering lip and wanting him back or whatever and I am SICKENED that SHE IS THE ONE WHO HAS TO GROVEL NOW BECAUSE THE PLOT CANNOT HAVE GERALT EVER MAKE A MISTAKE AND OWN TO IT?!?

Thanks, I hate it.

Oh and I almost forgot in all my rage about that storyline – when we first meet her, we learn that Yennefer apparently doesn’t “bother with the whalebone [i.e. corset] nonsense other women use” (literal quote from the book) so I guess her tits are magic???

This just in, if she needs boob support SHE’S A THOT, if your knockers don’t stand on their own you’re INFERIOR and NOT DESIRABLE, GTFO.

2.3 Jaskier’s sexism (Netflix!Jaskier would never)

Jaskier, you have been done dirty.

It could have been so cool too - Jaskier in the books is witty and likeable and makes friends wherever he goes because everyone likes a bard?? Also he's really smart and knowledgeable because "a bard needs to know about many things" which is SO VALID??? And Geralt trusts him and cares about his opinion??? And also it's clear Jaskier likes Geralt, not just for the purpose of writing ballads about him, but because they're old friends, they've travelled together a lot - yes, their relationship is good here, regardless of your shipping preferences. (Also, he wears a hat with a large feather on it, which is how Geralt recognizes him in crowds, and it's amazing and hilarious.)

HOWEVER.

Jaskier treats women terribly. At his first introduction, he literally gropes a priestess (and then makes fun of the high priestess for chastising him for it). He sees women very much as objects to be… maybe not “won” but, well, persuaded, which makes him a tiny bit better than most of the other men, who are basically straight-up rapists. But then there's the scene with Yennefer which. Made everything turn sour tbh. It goes like this:

Yennefer wants to go after the dragon alone (see above), but before she can get Geralt to do it for her and double-cross everyone, she's overwhelmed by some of the other men in the party and they're all tied up (Jaskier, Geralt, some other pacifist sorcerer who is around, and Yennefer). And one of the men, who hates her for her (sexual) power, rips open her blouse and exposes her and assaults her while she screams, so then he gags her. And then when he’s done he walks away and leaves her exposed. Geralt looks away after she screams at him not to stare (wow, points for chivalry, the standard is literally So Low - also his justification for obeying her wishes is that he’s already seen her boobs so it’s not a big deal to him anymore) but Jaskier shamelessly stares at her even after she makes it absolutely clear she does not consent to ANY of this and has no choice because SHE IS TIED UP, and he even jokes that he'll write a ballad about her perfect breasts. And I'm over here like.... no. no, no, no, no, no. Jaskier deserved better characterization and Yennefer deserves a better fucking franchise.

2.4 Female characters; Sexy Fantasy That Fucks (it’s bad)

I have touched a lot on this already so I'll try to be brief, but. Ugh.

Sexy Fantasy That Fucks™ is practically a legit genre and sadly a lot of semi-progressive fantasy falls into this category - where we have moved on from having only like one or two named female character (see: LotR) to having several, and look, they can even fight, but only as long as they're aggressively sexually attractive to men while they do it. Poor Harley Quinn suffered the same treatment in Suicide Squad - The Male Gaze Filter.

Here in the books it goes like this: Oh look, “vaguely tribal” women who fight - but they're also the most overtly sexual and involved in a canon off-screen orgy with Geralt and an older (practically old) man and are portrayed as Perpetually Horny. Oh look, Yennefer, a badass sorceress who falls apart when Geralt so much as looks her way because Geralt is so fucking great I guess. Then there’s the 14-year-old striga princess who needs to be described, once her curse is lifted, with emphasis to her “perky breasts”. SHE'S FOURTEEN. And there’s the young priestesses, who are subtly flattered by Jaskier's direct "advances" because, you know, they've dedicated their lives to serving a goddess but understandably they just WANT TO FUCK™.

There is a single female character who is not sexualized - the head priestess, Nenneke. She's described as fat and old (and wise though, throw her a bone). Geralt respects her because of her wisdom but that's it - she has a Use™. And also, he ignores her advice in the end anyway. Pity she wasn't more beautiful I guess. I am Sickened.

2.5 Narrative devices and structure (it’s bad)

Now, we get to the bones of the thing. There's... one main thing that really bothers me and that's a CLASSIC - the fact that this author prefers to have action explained to the reader through monologues by characters that inexplicably have All The Information, rather than have us, you know, experience the action first hand. There are a couple of fight scenes of Geralt vs A Monster, sure, but that's all we get - everything else is told to us through monologues. (and yes it's still a monologue even if Geralt interrupts to say "go on" or "get to the point". It's not really a dialogue if the other person is only being expositioned at. Now Geralt just looks impatient and annoying.) Even the short story format (of the first two books) is explained this way: the individual short stories are monologues within conversations in the base timeline, explaining to the reader (and to Nenneke in the narrative proper) backstories and how characters met.

Which... it's a choice? It makes more sense than the show with it’s wack-ass timeline with absolutely no conext. But like. Why can't you have us at least discover the respective monster through someone else's POV though? I get that we're always staying with Geralt because Geralt is oh so great, but rather than have some Constable explain to him for like twelve pages how the princess (who is, without any intrigue, an incest-princess - this is not a mystery, everybody is aware of this at the beginning of the story and freely provides this information without prompting) became a striga and how many people she has killed and what people say she looks like and how to allegedly cure her - can’t we see that shit happen? Like... ok, thanks? I hate it. The show did this better.

3. Bonus: why the audiobook grinds my gears

Last and definitely least - the audiobook is BAD (but I don't want to buy physical copies, and my library won't have the English version because I live in Germany, so I guess I'm stuck with it). The guy who reads it is Bad At Reading Out Loud because his emphasis/cadence is incredibly unnatural (also regrettably all the books are read by the same guy) and his pronunciation of names (most notably Jaskier, who is called Dandelion in the English version of the books) is inconsistent??? He started out by (correctly) calling him dandelion in book 1 and now has changed to pronouncing it dandelion, like the flower, which is not how you say his name (and... no offense if he’d started out that way because I, too, thought that was how you said it just from reading the word - but he says it CORRECTLY in the first book and then changes it to the wrong pronunciation in book two so I’m confused?? How does that happen?)

Also - different accents for different characters are only a good idea if a) you're good at accents and b) they aren't overtly connoted? Like. Don't give a guy in a fantasy setting a bad russian accent??? Also what part of Geralt as a character made you think SCOTTISH???? Oof.

And another thing - these little descriptors after direct speech? They MATTER.

"Don't touch me," Yennefer hissed

and

"Don't touch me," Yennefer screamed

are two very different sentences and should be read as such. You can't just. Say "Don't touch me" seductively and then add "she yelled". That's not how voice acting works. Please, pLEASE I'M SUFFERING. I was already struggling enough with some of the content of the books and now you’re making consuming them really difficult and irritating :’) Oof.

In conclusion – I don’t even know. I was mad and now I’m tired.

Anyway, all this to say – I didn’t hate every aspect of the books. I will keep reading (in my case listening) because I’m stupid, I apparently love to suffer and I am, thanks to the show, invested in the storyline and want to know what happens. But I will most certainly keep complaining about them because that’s the only way to make this fun for myself. And are you not entertained?!

Who knows. Maybe stuff will get better.

Take from this post what you will, and if it’s only my personal hypocrisy then that’s fine. I hope you had a nice day – I’m gonna go make myself some tea to calm down. And I’ll have you know that despite what you may have heard, I have never worn a bra in my life, because I’m not like other girls.

#The Witcher #The Witcher netflix #The witcher books #Geraskier #Geralt x Yennefer #Geralt of Rivia #Jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #French speaks #am I worried about posting a possibly controversial opinion on the internet? yes #am I going to do it anyway? also yes #or should I say #and yet here we are

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elderbwrry · 4 years

Text

Jaskier has long hair and Geralt is o b s e s s e d. That’s pretty much it.

Wordcount: 5420

Rating: Pt.s 1 & 2 are general audiences, Pt. 3 is explicit so read with discretion.

Pt. 1

Geralt came trudging into town by the main road, pocket heavy with the reward of a job well done. The weather was a drudgy, overcast grey, but mercifully dry, and the promise of a night at an inn and a nice stable for Roach had him in relatively positive spirits. After day or two of rest and decent meals, and some new shoes for Roach, they could be off again.

The inn he dismounted in front of seemed suitably underpopulated, away from the town centre, but not so far that every traveller on the road would be staying there; it was usually better for him to stay at places such as this, happy for custom, even the strange kind, with fewer people for him to scare away. It looked clean and well-kept, and when he lead Roach round to the stables, she snorted and stepped into a pen eagerly.

“I'm glad you like it,” Geralt rumbled, patting her flank and heading in to find the owner.

The place was dry and warm when he stepped inside, a few patrons scattered around and the tuneful strums of a minstrel's lute somewhere just out of sight. The barkeep seemed wary of him, but was polite, naming a reasonable price for the room and board, which Geralt could respect. He was glad; Roach would have been grumpy if he'd had to move her after she had already gotten comfortable.

He retrieved his bags, lugging them up to his room before spending a little time removing Roach's saddle and brushing her down some. There was food waiting for him when he returned inside again, and he found an agreeable corner from which he could see the door and keep himself in shadow. The ale was good, the meat was good, and he felt himself start to unwind. Perhaps this spring would be fruitful.

So rapt by his meal was he, that he barely noticed as the minstrel struck up a new chord until they were well into a familiar song.

“...Where are beasts that stalk, and bite and scratch,

And live below the water,

He wades along the marshy banks...”

His ears piqued. That was definitely Jaskier's song – the bard had certainly bitched enough about how if he was going to get new boots he may as well get a song out of it at the same time – but at a glance, that person wasn't Jaskier. Geralt turned back to his food, wondering if he should say something. It wasn't as if he knew how musicians shared their work with each other, or who could use what. Then again, Jaskier had feuded with other bards before because they'd stolen his music.

Geralt huffed out a small laugh at the memory of one notable altercation away from which Geralt had to physically carry him. Idiot, he thought fondly.

Still, perhaps he should do something.

He turned to fix the singer with a glower, thinking that he could catch them after the inevitable discomfort of amber eyes burning out of the shadows had driven them to stop. However, when he looked at the singer properly, he did a double take. The minstrel really did look like Jaskier, except... the man had long hair curling just past his shoulders.

His locks were luscious and thick, practically that of a fairytale princess. As opposed to the somewhat mousy brown Geralt remembered on Jaskier's head, the man in front of him now wore a cascading crown of highlighted and chocolatey fronds. A strand slipped in front of his eyes and he gently flicked his head to move it away again, not pausing his song.

Geralt frowned and took a deep sniff of the air. That was Jaskier's smell; there was the lemon oil of the lute that by now had ingrained its way into the crevices of his fingers and the polishing handkerchief he always carried – the scrappy one, not the one for giving to ladies. There was the smell of the lavender soap he was so fond of. There was also the darker, more masculine scent of sandalwood sitting just under it, and of course the man's natural scent under that still.

The bard flashed Geralt a smile, giving him the sense that he had been noticed early on in his arrival, and that Jaskier was amused Geralt hadn't noticed him back. Truth be told, Geralt was surprised as well. Usually he was much better at taking stock of his surroundings. It was just so unexpected, he had dismissed the possibility out of hand, it being enough to know that there was a minstrel there without identifying exactly which one it was.

He turned back to the table. He hadn't seen Jaskier in... how long now? He stretched his fingers out in front of him where his wrists rested on the table, counting the months, boring his eyes into them as if they would give him the answer. He'd spent the most recent winter at Kaer Morhen, but he'd parted ways with Jaskier in mid summer some time, not long enough for Jaskier's hair to have grown that long. Unless... that had been the summer before? His mind reeled; the passage of time sometimes escaped him, having spent so many seasons going to so many different places and climes, but he had hoped he was better at taking stock of things than this.

The bard finished up his song with a long, sustained note, after which there were some words of praise and the metallic sound of a coin being flicked through the air and caught. “Thank you, everyone. Yes, I may find it in me to perform again a little later, but for now I am parched,” Jaskier said with his familiar lilt, and the next second, he plopped himself down in the chair opposite Geralt, absolutely beaming. “Oh, Geralt, it's wonderful to see you! Where have you been hiding yourself all this time?” he exclaimed.

As Geralt meet his eyes, he felts a pang of guilt in his gut. How had he not noticed how long he had gone without seeing Jaskier? And how could he possibly begin to make it up to him? “South,” he grunted out eloquently. Fuck. He could kick himself.

“Perfect, you shall have to regale me with tales of your exploits. Thank you, my good sir,” Jaskier accepted the ale the barkeep brought to their table, unbothered. The barkeep still looked wary, although this time Geralt sensed it was about the bard rather than himself. Geralt nodded at him by way of reassurance that he wasn't being bothered, although perhaps the man just had a face like that.

“I've certainly had an interesting time,” Jaskier began, taking a swig of his drink and plunging into the story of some festival or other where his honour was insulted or something. Geralt tried to pay attention, he really did, but his gaze kept being drawn back to the hair. It was just so bountiful, and... strange on Jaskier's face. Not wrong, per se, but unusual and new and... lovely. Quite unprompted, he wondered what it would be like to touch it.

Suddenly, Geralt realised Jaskier was looking at him expectantly. “What?” he asked, hoping it didn't come out too blunt.

“Are you alright Geralt? I don't think you caught a word I just said.” there was a little doubt on the bard's face.

Fuck, he cursed inwardly. He'd spent an inordinately long time without seeing his friend, and there he was, immediately being standoffish. “I apologise. I'm just,” his eyes flicked up to the little fringe Jaskier had cultivated. “Tired from the journey.” He tried for a smile, and it appeared to put Jaskier at ease. Geralt appreciated that Jaskier could read his stunted expressions so well.

“I should have known. Just back from killing something, I suppose? You certainly smell like it. And without me? The scandal!”

Perfect, Jaskier was straight back to complaining about his cleanliness.

Jaskier glanced around at the place. “I think I've travailed all the entertainment venues this particular outpost has to offer. When do you set out again?”

Geralt raised a brow.

“Well you can't just avoid me for a year and a half and then expect me not to join you again immediately. This is a long time coming, mister, I have ballads to write and there is no better ballad fodder than one white-haired witcher.” Jaskier stabbed a finger at him, but there was no attack behind his tone. Geralt wasn't sure there was a joke either, so he suspected things were exactly as Jaskier said they were; he'd run out of new material.

Unsure how he felt about the flippancy with which Jaskier had announced their renewed partnership, Geralt broke the eye contact he'd been holding, finding his focus back on the ends of Jaskier's hair.

“Anyway so I'm joining you.”

“Hmm.”

“Ah yes, there's that enthusiasm I remember.”

Pt.2

It has been a month of Jaskier being back on the road with Geralt. A month of hell.

Geralt had never considered himself particularly attracted to any one type of person or style. He could recognise it if someone was attractive, but usually anyone willing to share his bed was either deluded or had been paid, and he wasn't really around anyone enough for a relationship to present itself, so it wouldn't be an issue in the first place. As for Jaskier, of course Geralt had noticed he was attractive – his slim waist, carefree attitude and sparkling eyes would have taken care of that even if the bard wasn't always sending men and women swooning everywhere he went – but it had never occupied his thoughts quite so presently as it was now.

It's that damn hair, Geralt thought, slapping the boot he was polishing down harder than he intended.

Because the hair, Jaskier's hair, had been the bane of Geralt's existence. The man was always playing with it or tossing it or pulling it back and it was distracting, not least because of the smells it wafted every time it moved, but also because it was just gorgeous.

He was familiar with long hair, having it himself, and he supposed enjoyed the way it fell on others; the long tresses of the paid women he would spend nights with when money was easy, the firelight on Renfri's curls, the sleek cascade of Yennefer's as she worked her magic. Yennefer's, especially, he had previously thought to be entirely captivating, but nothing had prepared him for the way Jaskier's was occupying his thoughts.

At that moment, the bard was scratching around the clearing for herbs. They'd stopped for the evening, plopped down their bags and Jaskier had immediately stretched, arms pushing upwards and hair stretching down between his shoulder blades so sweetly. Then, he'd busied himself with laying out his things, thoroughly oblivious to how the golden light of the closing afternoon filtered through it like honey, and cast his face in gentle shadow.

It was at that point that Geralt had turned away, trying to ignore it all, but haunted by images in his own head of the way Jaskier's hair fell across his pillow when he was asleep, or how messy it looked in the morning, and how it would feel twined around his fingers-

He looked up again. This was no good.

Jaskier had stood up again, twirling a flower between his forefingers. A strand of hair slipped in front of his eyes, and he huffed and tried to flick it away. Then, he seemed to think better, letting the flower fall and searching in one of his pockets. A second later, he drew out a small strip of leather.

No, Geralt thought, eyes fixed, no, don't do that. It was as if watching a catastrophe unfold slowly in front of him, thoroughly unable to do anything about it.

Jaskier was gathering his hair up into a messy bun, catching up the stray pieces as they fell out from between his skilled fingers, raking it all up and back before tying it in place with the strip. By the gods, it tempted Geralt. It made his fingers twitch and tingle. It was a kind of loss of control that he was unfamiliar with.

Task completed, Jaskier picked up the flower again and examined it, oblivious to Geralt's turmoil. “Geralt, I think this is wild garlic. What do you think?” He turned, offering out the flower towards Geralt and started, met with what was probably a too-intense expression. “Oh no, have I picked up something poisonous?” His face fell. “Gods, I just hope it doesn't itch again. I can't stand the rash.”

“It's garlic,” Geralt grunted out, “you'll be fine.” Then, “Why did you grow your hair out?”

Jaskier stops for a second, frowning and doing that little move of his where he pulls his head back, like a bird. “I don't know. Felt like it, I guess. There's a bit of a style going around at the moment. And... do you remember Valdo Marx?”

“Never met him,” Geralt replied flatly, although Jaskier certainly mentioned him enough that it was a moot point.

Jaskier ignored him. “He cut his hair short and I did not fancy hearing about how similar we looked.” He shrugged, looking down at his flower again. Then, he smiled cheekily. “Why, do you like it?”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, finally breaking his gaze and starting the work of polishing his other boot.

“You do! Why Geralt, I'm flattered.” There was the sound of plants being ripped from their stems, and next thing Geralt knew, Jaskier was hopping over to him and laying his hands down on his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to put a touch of warning into his voice.

“No need to be so grumpy. I'm going to plait your hair,” the bard said, forcibly turning Geralt's head to face forward. If Geralt wasn't used to Jaskier's antics, he would be taken aback by the audacity.

“Jaskier,” he protested instead of stopping him.

“I've picked up some skills,” Jaskier informed him, “I spent the winter with some very lovely ladies and we did braid trains.”

“What?” he asked, but couldn't resist humming in pleasure when Jaskier took out the leather tie without pulling his hair at all.

“Braid trains. You know, you sit in a line and do the hair of the person in front of you.” Jaskier got to work, making sure to loosen Geralt's hair up before methodically pulling it back. It made his scalp crawl, but pleasantly, and he was forcing himself not to shudder with the sensation. This appeared to be yet another winning quality he hadn't known about hair. “So technically, I was there to teach the Lord's daughter music, but she spent most of the time trying to set me up with her older sister. Right little matchmaker, that one.” Jaskier prattled on as he went. “There,” he concluded, and the patch of his warmth from just behind Geralt was gone in a second. “It would have looked better with columbine, but needs must.”

Geralt's hands immediately flew to his head, feeling the way the plait criss-crossed from the crown all the way down to where it finished between his shoulders.

“Here,” Jaskier was offering him a small round mirror that he had just retrieved from his bag.

Taking a look at himself, Geralt realised it actually looked quite nice – somewhat feminine though it was – tightly woven strands except for two Jaskier had left twirling down from just by his cheekbones. There were garlic flowers woven in, a few of which he could catch when he angled the mirror just right, not the prettiest flower, but matched well in terms of colour; white like his hair but with that ever so slightly blueish tinge that he didn't know if Jaskier could even see with his human eyes. He hadn't ever imagined this kind of thing would suit him, but...

“You like it?” Jaskier asked with all the atmosphere of a cook just after serving dinner, breaking Geralt out of his reverie.

“Hmm,” was all he could find to say, and Jaskier nodded, a small, genuine smile taking up residence on his face as he went back to foraging.

Geralt watched him for a minute more, the descending sun still gently lighting Jaskier's movements gold, disappointment sitting low in his chest that with hands built for fighting, he couldn't return the favour.

Pt.3 - explicit!

Jaskier was killing it. The entire tavern was spellbound as he told his ballads and sung his songs and then performed them all again when they inevitably asked him to – not that he was refusing. He'd just sung the damned coin song for the third time, and probably would again before the night was over. The light cast all around the place from seemingly nowhere was orange and warm though it was well into the night, giving the room an otherworldly glow. There was a particular confluence of alcohol and something else that just meant that the place was in love with him.

Geralt, however, was just tired. It had been a difficult day of chopping things up, the nest he had been sent to deal with having been significantly larger than he'd expected. He'd had a few drinks himself, but he still smelled vaguely of monster guts and he had no desire to stay for much longer around such a rowdy group of humans. Besides, the air was thick enough with alcoholic fumes that he was probably halfway drunk already.

He stood, turning to wish Jaskier a good night, or at least signal that he was going to turn in, but the bard was far too entrenched, a maiden practically on each arm, leaving only enough space for him to strum the lute. Instead, he just squeezed through the heavily populated tavern to the staircase to the rooms above.

Their room – he only ever shared with Jaskier now, there was no point in even pandering to privacy – was two flights up, thankfully far from the ruckus the bard was causing on the ground. He lit some candles, casting the room in a gentle light which was kind on his tired eyes. When he went to take off shirt, however, he caught a whiff of exactly what he still smelled like, leaving no other option but to have some kind of bath.

Making his way down to the kitchen, it was clear everyone was far too busy to do it for him, so he silently got down to the task of hauling water up the stairs and into the tub situated in the small adjoining room to his. It didn't take too long, and tired as he was, the simple process of lifting and climbing and pouring and repeating set his mind at ease some.

He hadn't bothered to warm the water beforehand, instead casting a quick spell when everything was ready. He stripped off and lowered himself in the water, letting out a low moan at the warmth soothing his aching muscles. He got to work scrubbing the dirt off himself with soap, raking his fingers through his hair and rinsing until he was happy, before finally putting the bar down and reclining in the steam. Ah, the perks of magic.

Geralt couldn't be sure how long he'd been sitting there when Jaskier burst through the door into the room, drunk, hair all over the place, like it had had fingers run through it. Fingers that weren't his. “Geralt?” he said, plopping down the lute on the bed and looking confused when he didn't immediately catch sight of Geralt through the open adjoining door. “Oh, There you are,” he closed the door behind him over-carefully, before approaching.

On the whole, this wasn't entirely unusual; they shared spaces with each other like this a lot, and Jaskier had more than once taken forcing Geralt to have a bath into his own hands. They didn't bother with privacy. Jaskier had also been drunk before, and Geralt was no stranger to the traces the bard's adoring fans left on his person after one of his performances. It just so happened that this time it was tousled hair that had Geralt's fingers twitching.

“Oh, tonight was wonderful, truly one of my best performances,” the bard fumbled just a little over the word, waving a hand to dismiss the slip. “In fact, I should write about it...” He hummed a short melody and muttered a line about golden light.

Jaskier began removing his clothes, getting ready for bed, Geralt thought, until he was removed of that illusion by a hairy leg plunging into the water next to him as a fully naked Jaskier got in the tub. Water sloshed over the sides when he settled in, and Geralt had to hurriedly cross his legs in order to make room for him.

“This is rather toasty,” Jaskier commented, reaching for the soap and beginning to lather up his hands. “Since when do you take a bath without prompting?”

“Since when do you join me?” Geralt replied. His tone was more accusatory than he'd intended, and Jaskier pouted.

“Come now, there's no point in wasting good water.”

“Hmm.”

“We should stop somewhere with a proper bathing room,” Jaskier informed him, spreading suds over his body. Geralt did not fail to notice how the very tips of his hair reached the water and dipped under only to emerge again plastered to his chest. “I need a deep clean one of these days.”

“Do you want me to..?” It was out of Geralt's mouth before he even knew what he was offering, but his traitorous hand had already gestured to Jaskier's head.

The bard paused, mouth drawing into a thoughtful little circle. “My hair?”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier looked at the soap in his hand, then back towards Geralt. “Yeah, why not?” he muttered, before turning in the bath – sending more water cascading over the sides, of course – and shuffling up until he was sitting between Geralt's spread thighs, back to chest.

Geralt cursed internally. The water was warm, but Jaskier's skin was like a firebrand when his side brushed against Geralt's leg. He wasn't leaning back yet, but should he do so, Geralt would be forced to embrace him in order to do anything at all with his hands.

“Here's the soap,” Jaskier said, passing the bar back over his shoulder, but let it slip from his fingers just as Geralt reached up to retrieve it.

“Shit,” he hissed, peering into the water and descended to groping around, as the low light from the few candles flickering around them illuminated nothing. He finally found it, certain he had accidentally touched Jaskier's butt more than a few times. Worse still, his dick was getting... interested in proceedings.

To distract himself, Geralt got down to business, reaching for a cup that had been left on the side. He filled it with water and dumped it over Jaskier's head, causing him to splutter and elbow Geralt's knee. “Hey!” he protested, to which Geralt smiled, making sure to pour it more carefully.

Eventually, Jaskier's hair was wet enough that Geralt could start working soap through it and teasing out the knots. He hit a few snags, but he was careful – more careful than he ever was with himself – until eventually he had cleaned all of it. But he couldn't quite bring himself to stop touching it.

This was the hair that had been haunting him for months now, calling to him; here it was, wound through his fingers. This close, it was just as rich of a chestnut brown as it looked from far away. Some of it was straightened out, weighed down by the water in it, but other bits were curling a little as they dried, delightfully happy ringlets. He could feel also that Jaskier took very good care of it, something he knew from their travels anyway, but now he held the evidence.

Then, entirely separate, was the experience of being so close to a wet, naked Jaskier. For starters, the man was not nearly as tipsy as he was pretending to be, as Geralt could tell from his smell. He was warm, pleasantly relaxed and content, but it was due to the influence of something other than alcohol. Geralt could smell... longing, with just a hint of lust.

The revelation caused him to pause where he had been gently massaging Jaskier's scalp.

“No, don't stop,” Jaskier complained, leaning his head back into Geralt's hands. “That was really nice.”

Instead, Geralt picked up the cup again to begin the process of rinsing Jaskier's hair, but found himself unwilling to inundate Jaskier as he had before, lest he get soap in his eyes. He placed a hand on Jaskier's shoulder, guiding his back to lie across his chest. “Lay your head back,” he rumbled, and Jaskier glanced at him for only a second before complying, closing his eyes as he settled down into the curve of Geralt's arm.

Geralt let out a small exhale, gently placing his hand over Jaskier's eyes now to protect them from the water, and beneath him Jaskier drew a surprised breath, but did not stiffen or withdraw. Continuing his gentle actions, Geralt emptied two cups over Jaskier's hairline, rising out the soap.

When he lowered his hands, it was as he'd thought it would be before, with one arm wrapped around Jaskier's side, and the other resting on his stomach. When Jaskier didn't move away, he took up the soap again as an excuse to let his hands wander, over his chest, over his collarbones, down his stomach and then lower.

Still Jaskier didn't pull away. When Geralt checked, he was biting his lip.

“May I?” Geralt asked lowly, circling his finger over the part of Jaskier's hip that led down to his groin.

Jaskier nodded.

Forgoing any pretence of cleaning, Geralt dipped his hand further into the water and wrapped it around Jaskier's cock, which he found to be just as hard as his own. He stroked it a few times, absently lamenting that it was hidden beneath the water level, but far more interested in the sounds he was drawing from the bard, who was just melting into him, letting out little hums of assent and plaintive sighs when Geralt changed speed. It was funny though, he would have thought the bard would be more vocal.

“Mmm, Geralt,” Jaskier muttered, as if on cue.

Geralt hummed in a questioning tone, bringing his hand down to the base of Jaskier's cock and squeezing.

Jaskier whined. “Faster. Touch me, Geralt.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, bringing the movements of his hand back up to their previous speed and beyond. With his other hand, he pulled Jaskier so he was flush against his body – all of his body – before he lifted it up to thumb across one of Jaskier's nipples. That had the bard squirming in delightful ways, pushing his chest forward and his ass back, a breathless gasp escaping his lips.

“I've wanted this for – ungh, so long,” Jaskier forced out as Geralt continued to move his hand, swiping over the head of Jaskier's cock every few lengths. Jaskier's hand had found its way to Geralt's thigh, and was gripping it tightly. Words spilled out of Jaskier's mouth now as he climbed higher – Geralt could smell the beginnings of desperation on his skin – praises passing his lips unhindered – “Gods, Geralt, your hands,” – and Geralt hardly wanted to let Jaskier come, just so he could continue to hear them; but when Jaskier uttered a breathy, “Please”, he had no choice but to twist his wrist just so, and then Jaskier was coming, throwing his head back over Geralt's shoulder with a groan, breathing heavily.

Geralt stroked him through it, but removed his hand when he felt Jaskier might become uncomfortable. They sat like that for a long moment, and Geralt felt suitably uninhibited that he twirled his fingers through the thinner, drying ends of Jaskier's hair where it had fallen in front of his chest from his movements. Predictably, it didn't take too long before Jaskier spoke.

“I haven't come that hard from someone's hand since I was a teenager.” He shifted around to face Geralt better, a cheeky grin on his face, but with the movement realised that Geralt was still hard, his eyes dropping to get a look. “Do you need some help with that, Geralt?”

Jaskier placed his hands on Geralt's abdomen, and something about the pose put Geralt in mind of a nymph or a mermaid, his hair draped over him in a wild way that made him look more supernatural than human. The light of the candles glinted against his wet skin, but the twinkle in his eyes was all his, and Geralt was so captivated that he barely noticed the assenting rumble that rose up from his throat.

The bard leaned further and further forward, sliding his hands further and further downward, and the moment Jaskier finally touched him was the same moment he brought their lips together.

Geralt was already achingly hard, but Jaskier insisted on teasing him with light touches, following the initial deep kiss with several smaller ones, trailing his way along his jaw and nipping at his neck. The feeling was driving Geralt crazy – he wanted Jaskier's lips back on his, he wanted to get lost in the pleasure of his hands and the passion of his touch and the warmth of his kiss. A little growl escaped his throat as Jaskier traced the dip of his neck with his tongue, and he tightened his hold on Jaskier's hips. The bard wasn't far away, but he wasn't close enough.

All at once, he couldn't help himself, his hands flew up to twine in Jaskier's hair, manoeuvring him back down to kiss him again, biting his lips and growling as Jaskier's grip tightened. The bard groaned out a soft “Yes,” and returned the kiss fiercely, moving his hand faster. Geralt was getting closer, and, losing himself somewhat to pleasure, he tugged on Jaskier's hair until his head fell back, giving Geralt unrestricted access to his neck.

The pale column of Jaskier's neck had been much obscured to him these past months, and he relished its reveal – the return of the mole just behind his ear, the subtle line of muscle climbing from his shoulders, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed – Geralt attacked it all with teeth and tongue.

Jaskier, for his part, only moved his hand faster, giving out lusty sounds and encouragements that only drove Geralt further and further over the edge until, with one last stroke from base to tip pleasure coursed through him.

Geralt came with a growl, his grip loosening as blue eyes turned down to fix him with a fascinated gaze. Under scrutiny, he tried to keep his breathing even, dropping his head forward to breathe into the bard's shoulder.

Jaskier's fingers were playing delightfully over his chest as he came back down, tracing a long scar that crossed over his shoulder before moving onto the next. With the tail end of the high still washing over him, Geralt barely had time to wonder if he had potentially wrecked his relationship with Jaskier when he spoke up.

“What changed?”

Geralt frowned, finally raising his eyes to look up at the vision still kneeling over his lap.

“All these years and you could have done this any time you wanted. You've certainly looked me over enough times.”

Well, it was certainly true Geralt had cast glances in Jaskier's direction a few times in their travels – after all, the bard was not unattractive, and he liked him very well – he just hadn't been motivated to take action until...

“Your hair,” Geralt said.

“My hair?” Jaskier frowned in return. “You're saying my hair was what tipped the scale?”

Geralt shrugged.

“Well then. I should have grown it out ages ago.” Jaskier shook his head with an incredulous laugh. “We'll be taking advantage of it more I suppose?” Geralt grinned. “If you'd like.”

Jaskier widened his eyes comically. “My dear witcher, how dare you even doubt.”

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #the witcher netflix #my writing #long hair

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b-witchered · 4 years

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Eeeeeeeeeee! I love tgia SO MUCH❤️ Any chance of more Renfri and Renfri&Yennefer? 🥺 The parallels on chapter 11 were f***ing amazing. (Thank you for writing the alive!Renfri we all deserved)

Renfri and Yennefer definitely get more scenes together! However, I do fear I’m setting up some of my readers for failure oops. Renfri/Yennefer as a couple isn’t going to happen within the scope of tgia for a few reasons

PUTTING THIS UNDER THE CUT, plus a little tgia snippet from the next chapter, because i have never been accused of being concise in my life

Honestly? They might have slept together at some point when Geralt and Yennefer were on the outs. They’re both very attractive individuals, danger and almost dying clearly gets Yennefer fired up, and Renfri has been known to make questionable sexual choices when it comes to Very Dangerous Individuals. So their relationship probably does include some flirting, some pushing of boundaries, some erotic subtext where Renfri has at least once put her sword under Yennefer’s chin and tilted it up

But when it comes to an actual relationship, Renfri at least is smart enough to put her foot down. They’re fine as rivals-friends-frenemies, but Renfri has some serious trust issues. Especially with mages. Especially with brotherhood mages. Yennefer knows Stregobor. She might not like him, but they belong to the same order.

And then there’s the big thing between them: Yennefer wants kids. She wants, desperately, to be a mother. This is tied into her whole desperation for unconditional love thing she has going on. Renfri? Does not want kids. Absolutely against them. If she somehow gave birth tomorrow, that kid would be either adopted out or in Jaskier’s care quicker than you could say “curse of the black sun”. It’s not even that Renfri doesn’t like kids. She’d be a great weird-aunt-who-gives-an-8-year-old-a-real-sword-as-a-present. But Renfri does not want to be responsible for a child’s life and health and safety.

There are other little things. I love comparing and contrasting Renfri and Yennefer in tgia honestly because it’s so much fun? Yennefer was born a peasant and clings desperately to the power and prestige her magic affords her. Renfri was born a princess and cast it aside with pride so that she could be as unladylike as she pleased. Both of them knowing that power means sacrifice. It’s a gilded cage to be sure, but it’s still a cage. Yennefer was willing to make the sacrifices and change herself to gain power while Renfri ran. Granted, Renfri ran for many reasons but let’s be real, tgia!Renfri wouldn’t have stuck around to be married off and shuffled away to a quiet corner of the kingdom, out of sight out of mind.

Renfri was a princess, but her father was a King with male heirs. No matter what parallels I draw, her situation was vastly different from Princess Pavetta, sole heir of Queen Calanthe. And even then, even then with circumstances giving her great importance and a parent in power who should have been sympathetic to her plight, Pavetta was still a pawn on a board who was expected to marry a man she did not love for a political match and then become a background trophy. But even so, Pavetta would always have been Queen and the keeper of her bloodline, and so retained at least some power. Until she produced an heir of course, after which she would have become... less important to keep alive.

Renfri on the other hand? After Jaskier’s birth, she’s a spare. Jaskier is the male heir, and so he got to leapfrog over Renfri in the inheritance. Renfri is officially a bargaining chip, one that doesn’t even have to be compromised with because she is not going to be running the country. As best she could maybe hope to strike a political match with a prince and become a queen of somewhere not her homeland, with little power and easily replaceable. But Stregobor claimed Renfri had internal mutations, ones that might make her sterile, and so as a bride she would be... undesirable to say the least, except perhaps as a bride to a widower who already had heirs to follow him and needed no more. Perhaps to a second son who needed a bride but whose family tree needed no new branches. Which means she would likely be married off to a man, possibly very much her senior, probably not a King but perhaps a Lord (or lord’s son) currently in the king’s favor. This choice would have been made for her, and she would have been expected to accept her new position with grace.

Yennefer’s father sold her away as well. Yennefer’s father struck a financial deal. Renfri’s father’s deal would have been political in nature, likely. Yennefer was bargained away to the brotherhood, Renfri would have been bargained away to a man.

(me, loudly: what about the implications of a mage organization comprised of all genders being called the brotherhood.)

Renfri and Yennefer each have. A lot of issues. A lot of these issues would make then incompatible for a longterm relationship. Renfri needs someone she can feel safe with, and that someone is never going to be a brotherhood mage, even if it could even be a mage at all. Yennefer needs someone who loves her unconditionally, who places her first, always. She needs to be someone’s first priority. That doesn’t necessarily have to be a romantic relationship mind you, but either way that person can’t be Renfri. For Renfri, her first priority is Jaskier. Always. Just like Jaskier’s first priority will always be Renfri.

(He loves Geralt, he does, but if Geralt was his first priority then he would have told him about his sister long ago. Geralt is important to him, and he would move heaven and earth for the Witcher, but his sister is the only family he dares to claim and he defeated death itself in her name.)

Yennefer and Renfri both have serious control issues as well. Yennefer has literally mind controlled Geralt before, has manipulated him, and keeps him on his toes. She has this need to be in control, and for the most part Geralt is fine with following where she leads, and that makes her feel safe with Geralt. Up to and until she finds out that Geralt’s wish might be the reason why she loves him, and then all of a sudden it isn’t her in control, it’s some untamable uncontrollable magic, and she absolutely flips her lid. She’s furious! She feels betrayed! All this time she thought she was in control, but then she finds out that Geralt tied their fates together or whatever.

(Thankfully, this isn’t an issue in tgia, but Yennefer also doesn’t exactly love Geralt in tgia so much as she loves being loved. Their major conflict in tgia is probably going to be about children, honestly, because Geralt sure as fuck doesn’t want any.)

Renfri? Also would very much need to be in control of a relation. Maybe especially the sexual aspects of it considering her trauma involving that. She’s pretty, and that hasn’t done her any favors. She bristles under restrictions and has broken the door of every cage people have tried to shove her into, including death though she had a little bit of help from Jaskier breaking out of that one. She’s protective, and secretive, and has trust issues a mile wide. She never even tells people her name. Every piece of personal information is carefully controlled. And who can blame her for her trust issues a mile wide? She was assaulted when she was fifteen. At least one man she willingly lay with literally murdered her the morning after (thanks Geralt). Renfri has issues with intimacy.

So yes, while I love throwing them in scenes together and I love their snarky terrible friendship where Yennefer proposes they do something terribly dangerous and Renfri is like “...i mean i GUESS i’ll go.” unless she has a prior commitment OR it conflicts with her primary motivation of protecting Jaskier (getting too close to Geralt threatens this purpose), they won’t be getting together in the scope of the fic

which i hope people won’t be too disappointed by oof

sorry for writing you a whole essay about Renfri and Yennefer when you probably did not want it lmao, as you can see this has been pressing on my mind and tumbled about more than a little bit.

(honestly though if Pavetta hadn’t been married to Duny and hopelessly in love with him, I might have shipped her and Renfri tbh. They had plenty in common, Pavetta had magic and would have been powerful enough to defend herself but wasn’t a brotherhood mage, they got along well and had inside jokes, the only thing standing in the way of that ship (besides Duny and. you know. the whole death thing) is that Renfri wouldn’t be too keen on becoming a queen/having to deal with shithead nobles again and the whole issue of Stregobor. But Renfri is a princess of a royal bloodline, was raised to be royalty with knowledge of court customs, and is a trained and blooded warrior. Let’s be real, Calanthe would have loved Renfri as a daughter-in-law. Renfri is exactly the ruthless sort of heir Calanthe would adore. There would be the issue of an heir of course, but as long as Pavetta was the one pregnant it wouldn’t be a big deal because Pav’s the one with the important bloodline to carry on.)

ANYWAY you have been very patient with me so here is a tiny Yennefer and Renfri snippet from the next chapter -

As soon as they’re alone, Renfri turns to Yennefer. “I’m going to kill you for this. One day. Sleep with one eye open, Witch.”

“Come now,” Yennefer teases, “It can’t have been that bad.”

“I genuinely can’t tell if he’s criminally stupid or just ignoring the obvious.” Renfri hisses, “I’m carrying a sword. What kind of handmaiden beheads a bandit?”

“A very loyal one.” Yennefer offers, but she’s trying way too hard to keep a straight face and Renfri can see the smile she’s doing her damnest to contain.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill him in his sleep the fourth time he started extolling your virtues for taking an ‘unpolished peasant’ under your wing.”

That makes Yennefer break face and give a most unladylike snort that she covers with one dainty hand. “You know,” She says, laughter still in her voice, “I wouldn’t need him if you just agreed to go with me.”

“If this is you trying to annoy me into going on an adventure with you, the answer is no.” Renfri immediately states. “Need I mention the last time you talked me into going monster hunting for you? There was a fucking manticore nest, Yennefer.”

“You enjoyed yourself, admit it.” Yennefer smiles with a flip of her hair.

Renfri presses her hand together and then presses them to her lips like she’s about to start praying for Yennefer to get some sense in her empty, empty head. “You are literally insane. You know that right? Stark raving mad.”

#tgia commentary #the witcher #tgia #to grow in adveristy #tgia snippet #tgia spoiler #renfri and yennefer are weird rival bros and that's all they shall have to be unfortunately #renfri disapproves of yennefer's dragon fighting companion #renfri: you aren't a bard yennefer you can't just fuck your way out of problems #yennefer: i CAN and i WILL #i do love comparing and contrasting them though #the noble who cast abandoned her birthright #and the peasant who clawed her way into power #yennefer #renfri #sorry to everyone shipping them in my fic #i gave it a lot of thought!!#but it ain't happening #in the scope of my fic that is #y'all can decide i'm being dumb and headcanon what y'all wish #or write aus where they get together i don't mind #where's my poly renfri/pavetta/duny v relationship #renfri and duny only tolerating each other for pavetta's sake but also like. kicking each other under the table #when they think she isn't paying attention #(she is)#renfri: this is my gf pavetta and unfortunately this is her bf duny #duny: you're right but hey #everyone else: i ship yennefer and renfri in your fic!!#me: we can go more obscure

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cami-chats · 4 years

Text

Shrike To Snow

Fandom: The Witcher (TV)

Pairing: Geralt/Renfri

Warnings: Blood, Serious Injury, Mention of past rape

Summary: Shrike is a villain hellbent on revenge. Renfri is a housewife that spends most of her time cooking/cleaning and trying to think of good lies about her injuries to tell her husband, Geralt.

Renfri glanced away from the frying pan to see what was on the news. Ah, Shrike. She'd been pretty busy this afternoon, but she'd gotten away unscathed. Of course, Shrike was considered a villain, so the news was detailing all the property she'd damaged and the people who'd gotten hurt. She didn't know why they were freaking out when only one person had died. A few people had gotten hurt sure, but that's because they were in her way; they were cops anyways, who gave a shit if they got a little hurt?

But she needed to stop thinking like that when Geralt was on his way home. She turned back to the food, but she kept an ear open for the news and what they were saying about her alter-ego. This whole secret identity thing was starting to wear on her. Geralt had a big thing about trust, and they were married. She should have either stopped or come clean, but how could she? Renfri believed in a necessary evil, and Geralt believed in only choosing good, none of the 'lesser evil' discussions that everyone else partook in. She'd gotten lucky today, no more than two or three bruises, but she was running out of excuses for the more serious injuries. There were only so many times she could claim to have been mugged or taken a hard hit in her kickboxing class.

The news was starting to debate if Witcher was going to have to stop Shrike when she heard the door close. Renfri didn't bother to change the channel since Geralt would have already seen it, and if he wanted to watch something else he could do it himself instead of her getting vegetable oil all over the remote.

Geralt came up beside her, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He sort of slumped over, giving her a hug from behind; he must've had a hard day at work.

"Rough day?" she asked sympathetically, tilting her head to give him a proper kiss.

"I've had worse," he said, which meant it had been a shit day.

"Why don't you get changed? Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes."

Geralt hummed, kissing her again. "You're wonderful."

And that right there was why she didn't tell him. She smiled and shooed him off to change. He smelled like smoke from whatever fires he'd had to put out, which meant there was a shower in his future. Not that she minded the scent, but he always seemed uncomfortable when it rubbed off on her.

She listened to the news a bit longer, but they switched from talking about Shrike and the rise of villains versus superheros to some businessman who'd been embezzling money. Businessmen embezzled money all the time, she didn't understand why that would make the news. She wiped one hand off and flipped channels until music started playing. It wouldn't be on for long, but she wasn't going to stand here and listen to a whole bunch of assholes blow wind.

Geralt came back to the kitchen, rubbing at his face and drinking some water. "How was your day?"

She shrugged. The meat finished cooking, and she took it off the burner. She'd already taken plates down, so she started portioning it out. Mostly her day had been annoying and unfulfilling. Working with bad information always ended that way, but she couldn't say any of it to him. "Exercised a little. Caught up with the men."

"How are they?"

"Good." She brought the plates over the table, already set before Geralt came home. "Getting a little bored settling into their lives now that they're not off adventuring over the countryside."

"You're never bored." Oh if only he knew. "Did you give them advice?"

"I'm not sure 'more exercise' was what they wanted to hear," Renfri said wryly. "How was your day?"

"Rough."

"You lose anyone?"

Geralt shook his head, joining her at the table as she sat. "Few hurt." He couldn't stand any casualties of any kind, and she understood but maybe he should look into a career change; firefighting wasn't going to be the best profession for avoiding anyone getting hurt. It was hard to imagine what else he would do though, it's like he was made for that job-- silly as it sounded when she put words to it.

Renfri had heard about Witcher; of course she had, he made the news almost as often as she did, but in much more wish-washy ways than her. Sometimes they called him a vigilante and called his motives into question even though it was painfully obvious he was a hero. Other times they called him a hero and praised his courage, only to turn around a week later and question him again, but that didn't happen to everyone that was a hero. Buttercup, for example, was a widely recognized hero without flipping back and forth, yet no one thought it made Witcher one too, even though they worked together often. In her opinion, the problem was that he was ruthless. He gave villains and various monsters the chance to back down, but once the fight started it wouldn't stop until someone was dead or dying-- compared to Buttercup's more neutralizing nature.

She avoided fighting Witcher for a lot of reasons, and that was the main one: he didn't stop. She was playing the long game, she could afford to retreat early every now and then we he came on the scene. The other main reason she avoided even seeing him was because he also fought with a sword and she wasn't so sure she'd win in a one on one fight against him. And if Buttercup was with him, she didn't stand a chance.

All that being said, she tried to avoid all the fights she could, whether it was against Witcher or not. She wasn't as enhanced as most of the other supers out there, and without a healing factor (and with an added vulnerability to silver), the less injuries she had to explain to Geralt, the better.

And so it fucking followed that she was going to get in a very messy fight later the same day that the news was doing another think-piece about Witcher and his possible villainy towards the city and its populace. It didn't really matter how evil everyone thought he was, because whenever she had finally tracked down Stregobor, Witcher was standing between her and her goal. Something in her cracked at being so close to her goal-- so close to finally being done with all of this-- but with him in her way.

"Move," she growled. Her blood started to boil, heating her entire body as rage clouded her brain.

"You don't have to do this," he said, his voice deep and distorted from whatever he used to help protect his identity-- she used something similar, a gift from Tissaia before she'd gone to ground-- and it occurred to her that she'd never spoken to him before; she'd always kept as much distance between them as possible. "You can walk away, go back to your life and forget about this."

Go back? After everything she'd lost, everything she'd sacrificed? There was no going back. She'd been a wealthy heiress until her stepmother decided she wanted to see her bleed, there wasn't any undoing what her and Stregobor had done to her. "No I can't."

"There's no coming back from killing someone in cold blood." It was hard to tell with the mask and voice modulation, but it sounded like he was talking from experience.

"And I can't stop, either." She had tried once, right after her and Geralt got serious, but it had been a lost battle in less than a week. She raised her sword, stalking forward. "I would kill everyone here to get to him," she spat, and it was the truth.

Their swords clashes, and they spun around each other, dodging and weaving as they tried to gain the upper hand. In the beginning he was trying to stop her, but as the fight went on, he realized that he may not have a choice-- and since when did Witcher try only to pacify? She got a slash high on his thigh, but he put a hole in her side, and she couldn't believe that this was how Geralt was going to find out. An unmasking, a quick check of her identity, and he was going to be told that he was the widower of a villain. They'd look into his life, trying to see if he was in on it with her, and when he showed up clean, he was going to try and live without her. He was going to have to live with the knowledge of everything she'd kept from him and never shared. She wondered if Witcher would pass on a message if she asked; she just didn't want Geralt to go about his life thinking that she hadn't loved him.

She faded too quickly to think about passing on the message, sure that she was going to die right there in this fucking building, but there was a familiar swirl of purple, and then Yennefer was hovering over her, cursing as she put her hands on Renfri's wound.

The pain turned searing, she screamed, and blacked out.

Apparently Yennefer had a tracker on her. Nothing big, she claimed, just a way to let her know when certain idiot friends were trying to die (the witch's words, not Renfri's).

"Isn't it dangerous for Witcher to know we're friends?" Friends in the loosest interpretation of the word, because it was only in a professional capacity that they knew each other. Yennefer sure as hell wasn't coming over for dinner and cocktails at her home where her very normal-- if normally heroic was a term, he was a firefighter after all-- husband lived.

Yennefer rolled her eyes so hard it must have hurt, but otherwise ignored the question. "You're not completely healed, but you're not going to die from it, either. You know the drill, rest, don't pull on it, change the bandage and clean gently daily," she listed, waving a hand vaguely.

"Yep." Renfri gingerly pulled her shirt back on, then her jacket-- she had some back-ups at Yennefer's place just in case. "Thanks for the save."

"Don't do it again," she said, handing Renfri a bag that had her bloodied suit, mask, and gear in it. That was Yennefer's way of saying 'you're welcome'.

"I won't," Renfri replied, even though they both knew she might be inadvertantly lying. "I'm so close to the end of all this. If fucking Witcher hadn't shown up, I would've done it."

"You'll get him, it's only a matter of time."

"Yeah, but I don't want it to take another ten years, either."

"Rushing will only get you hurt."

"No shit." She made her way-- very slowly-- to the door, bag over one shoulder. "Thanks again."

"See you around."

It was a slow, slightly painful trip back to her house, but she made it with plenty of time to get everything in order before Geralt got home-. He was sitting on the couch when she opened the door, staring at the television. It wasn't the news, thank fuck. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Where you been?" He must've gotten injured, because there was no other reason for him to be home at this time when he didn't have the day off, especially since he was in his comfort clothes: loose sweat pants and a zipped hoodie that likely didn't have anything underneath it.

"Kickboxing," she said automatically, because she hadn't prepared a lie in advance and that was her go-to. It wasn't until he frowned that she realized her mistake.

"I thought kickboxing was Monday/Wednesday/Friday."

"It is, i was just getting some practice in."

"Does that mean you got in a fight?"

"Oh yeah. You know me, throwing punches for the last melon on sale."

Geralt chuckled, clearly finding the idea of her fighting ridiculous. "Wanna watch some Friends with me?"

"Sure. I'll just use the bathroom first."

He nodded, and she slowly made her way there, hoping that he wouldn't ask about her speed or the way she was favoring her left side. It wasn't the worst injury she'd ever had, but it was up there. At least this was nowhere near the bullshit she'd had to deal with after her coma and recovery.

It didn't take her very long to use the toilet and double check that she didn't have any blood showing, and then she was walking back out in to the living room, prepared to pretend like everything was okay except some killer PMS. Except Geralt was holding Shrike's mask in his hand, completely frozen as he looked at it. And it- it fucking killed her because that had been such a stupid mistake. Geralt saw that she was injured and wanted to help by unpacking her bag like he did every time she came back from kickboxing (or villainy) hurt-- or sometimes when she had groceries that he hadn't been able to go to the store with her for-- and she should have remembered that.

But she hadn't remembered in time, and the mask was out.

"What is this," Geralt asked quietly.

Renfri swallowed. He wasn't going to take this well, she knew that and it's why she hadn't told him. "I think you know."

"Why aren't you dead?"

"What?"

He looked up at her, mask clutched in a white-knuckled grip. "You got stabbed today, in the stomach. How are you walking?"

Ah. Apparently he'd been watching the news earlier, even if it had been off when she got home. Behind them, the laugh track sounded. "Violet Witch held me together."

Geralt stomped towards her, lifting the edge of her shirt. His expression was pained at the thick bandage around her ribs. "Take off your shirt. I've got a salve to help the healing." He let go of her shirt and went to their room, hobbling a little. He must have gotten hit in the leg at work.

Getting out of it was a bit of a pain, and she was going to switch to button-ups until she could bend over properly. It was only after it was off that it occurred to her how strange it was for Geralt to have something like that on hand. She settled on the couch, blowing out a tired breath. He came back out, and he popped the cap off a glass container shaped like an old candle holder. He peeled up the tape with a muttered, "Sorry," then dipped his fingers in the container and smeared the light blue goo over her wound. The campfire smell of magic was familiar, but not around him. He pulled the bandage back into place and set the tape securely back on her skin.

"Where did you get that?" she asked as he leaned towards the coffee table and capped the mixture.

He didn't answer.

"Geralt? Are you alright?"

He was quiet for a long moment, taking more time to wipe his hand clean than was necessary. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "I'm sorry."

She tried to keep a brave face even as her stomach dropped. "You're turning me in?"

His head jerked towards her, eyes wide. "No. Fuck, no, Renfri, never."

"Then what-?" she asked, confused.

Geralt swallowed, then shifted, pushing his sweats down to his knees, and she understood. There, right on his thigh was a thick bandage from where her sword had cut through Witcher's armor. Instead of tape like she had, it had been wrapped around his leg several times, and then the end was tucked inside to keep it from unraveling.

She hadn't realized that she was holding a breath until she let it go. "I'm sorry too."

He didn't say anything and pulled his pants back up. She should probably get a shirt. The conversation looming over them was probably one she wanted to be fully clothed for. But she'd have to go to their room and pick one out, and she really didn't feel like getting up.

She leaned against him, careful not to press on her wound, and gently laid a hand on his leg.

Geralt covered her hand with his own, then turned and pressed a kiss to her head. "It was hard to believe that you were happy staying at home all day cooking and cleaning. Guess it's because you weren't."

"I wasn't miserable," she offered, but it was a pale comfort in the face of everything else. "Are you actually a fireman?"

"Yes." He paused. "Two days a week."

"Kickboxing is only on Wednesday's."

"I work for Jaskier to pay the bills. Firefighting was..."

"A cover for the injuries and odd hours," Renfri finished. He'd had his usual scheduled shifts, but there were times where he was on call, and sometimes he'd leave in the middle of the night. A pretty neat package, much more so for him than her. Mostly she planned around when she thought he'd be gone and hoped that she didn't get injured. "He knows?"

"Yes."

He was probably a hero as well, but she didn't want to- Buttercup. It had to be Buttercup, there was no way he knew about Geralt being Witcher and wasn't the one he was working with. But she wasn't going to say it aloud and force Geralt to make the decision of either betraying Jaskier's trust or lying to her again.

They watched the characters on screen have a stupid fight, and it reminded Renfri of when she and Geralt were first dating. Canceled dates with barely an excuse, and they'd taken turns getting mad at each other. On her side, all of the last minute cancels were from villainy, and all of his were probably from heroism.

"What did Stregobor do to you that was so bad?" he asked suddenly.

"Does it matter?"

"You were trying to kill him."

"Am."

"Hm?"

"I am trying to kill him. I love you Geralt, but I'm not letting you stop me. I'm not going to let anything stop me when I'm so close."

Another pause, where Geralt remembered her words in the hallway. I would kill everyone here to get to him. "I can't let you kill someone."

Renfri sighed, leaning into him further. She could hear his heartbeat through the jacket, and his warmth seeped into her face where it was pressed against his chest. It was a completely inappropriate thought that she wanted to kiss him and have sex right here on the couch. They were disagreeing over something serious, and that's what popped into her head. "I'll tell you later."

"After he's dead isn't an option."

"Don't give me orders," she said sharply. Though she was loathe to do it, she pushed herself up to look him in the eye. She immediately missed his warmth, but he couldn't keep thinking of her as his helpless housewife; she was more than that.

He met her gaze, his will just as strong as hers. "I don't know if you could live with yourself after that."

"He hired someone to rape me."

Anger flashed through Geralt's eyes.

"You want to know why I want him dead? That's what it is. Him and my step-mother were working together to get my father's business. She killed him, but in the beginning she only wanted me out of the way. It would be suspicious for me to die, but if I signed away the company to her, she'd be rich by the end of the week, and she'd give Stregobor his promised share. When my spirit didn't break, they tried more and more cruel things. I don't want the company back. I don't even want my old life, I just want him gone where he can't hurt me or anyone else. He can rot on that pile of money he stole into the afterlife, and my step-mother is already waiting for him." Renfri grit her teeth, feeling the familiar rise of anger in her. "You don't have to kill him. You don't have to do anything except let me do it."

"If Shrike kills someone, they'll want to throw her behind bars."

"Shrike will vanish after this is done."

"I want to believe that. But it's a part of you. You can't cut out what you want and keep on living."

"I'll find something else to do with my time."

"Revenge controlled you. That is not easily undone."

"And what is controlling you?" Renfri challenged. "Would you give up Witcher if I asked?"

He said nothing, which was answer enough.

"If it makes you feel better, Stregobor would kill me if he knew I was still alive. I changed my last name, faked my death, I planned to go underground and crush him."

"Why didn't you?"

Renfri softened, just a little bit. "You."

Geralt looked more uncertain in his resolve.

"I was a complete idiot, and I fell in love instead of focusing on my goal. He would have died years ago if I hadn't stayed with you. All I am asking is that you let me finish this. If I need to volunteer at the homeless shelter every single day for the rest of my life to make it up to you, I will, but I will not forfeit this."

"No."

"No what?"

He looked away, jaw clenching.

"Geralt?"

He let out a ragged breath, dropping his head to the back of the couch. "I don't compromise."

It felt like an icy grip around her heart, but she'd known this was a possibility.

"But-" he continued, looking pained "-he's it. One, that's all." He rolled his head over to look at her. "Promise me."

"Just him," she said immediately, the switch from fear to relief so quick she felt as if her heart were on display. "He's the only one, I swear." She leaned forward, hands on either side of Geralt's face, pressing quick, desperate kisses to his mouth. "Thank you. Thank you." She hadn't been careful enough when she moved, so her side started throbbing in pain.

Geralt realized that and put a hand on her back. "Careful. Do you have a healing factor?"

"No," Renfri said with a grimace, straightening to make breathing a bit easier.

"Fuck, Renfri, you should be more careful."

"Don't tell me what to do," she muttered petulantly, sounding more like a toddler than an accomplished fighter and feared villain-- and trying to reconcile goofy Jaskier with the absolutely lethal (if chipper) Buttercup was that same feeling multiplied by fifty.

Despite her objection to being more careful, she started to watch her movements more, pulling down the zipper of Geralt's jacket and sticking a hand inside to refamiliarize herself with the feeling of his skin under her fingers. He was the same he'd always been, she was the same she'd always been, but the new information changed her perception. She'd touched him a hundred times, but it felt different, knowing that the formidable Witcher was still her soft and loving husband that kissed her like she was the most precious being on the planet. Geralt knew she was a villain-- knew the dozens of horrible things she'd done-- and he was still putting a hand inside her jeans to rub at her clit the way he always did.

Her last outfit had been black. Newly rebranded as Snow, she was dressed in dark blue. She didn't see the difference, personally, but Jaskier swore up and down that it was important to her new image.

"Don't you think it hurts your image to be walking around in bright yellow?"

"Not at all," he replied cheerfully, and she couldn't even argue because he was one of the most dangerous superheroes out there. He just looked fucking ridiculous.

"How come Geralt gets to wear black and I don't?"

"Because that would be too close to Shrike. We're creating a new image for you, that's why your mask is different too. You get to keep the voice modulator," he offered, as if that really mattered. She'd liked the full face mask, but now she was getting the one that went from chin to just under her eyes like Geralt had.

She sent a pleading look to Geralt, but he shrugged. "I had to do the same when Jaskier recruited me."

"You didn't always work together?"

"Oh please, he's hopeless without me," Jaskier said, shooting Geralt a smug grin. "We'll be like the Three Musketeers! Maybe I should incorporate some yellow in your outfits..."

"No," they said together.

Stregobor was dead and thank fuck for that, but she had definitely not expected to get shoved into heroing after many of his misdeeds came to light. Well, nothing for it. Going out fighting with Geralt was a lot more fun than waiting at home for him to get back.

#geralt of rivia #renfri #geralt/renfri #the witcher #fanfic #my writing

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