dragonlady7

peace-tied, iorveth vs influenza

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so i wrote this and was like hm idk if this timeskip works i gotta think more on this structure but

uh now well the structure has become load-bearing so it just has to work

apologies it’s sort of a cliffhanger-then-timeskip but like, c’mon, it’s me, you know it’s gonna be mostly fine

so like chapter 6 of growing out is on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/38098480/chapters/99008658 and Roche shows up, super helpfully, and of all things to get resolution to, I wrap up the stupid romance novel he got from Geralt in uhh whichever story that was. ah it was chapter 3 of Lion.

He’d brought the book with him, in order to force himself to read the whole thing and attempt to appreciate it in context, but it was irredeemably terrible, he finally had to admit to himself. The only thing that had been compelling in it had been the question of how the hero and antagonist could maintain such delicious tension while also fucking, and the extremely unsatisfying and boring answer was, they weren’t fucking, that was how. Nothing else was interesting; even their tense scenes were no longer interesting, with that context removed. (Your picture was not posted)

Iorveth/Roche, Faengil, meet death sitting

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I couldn’t think of any warnings for this chapter. it’s Iorveth being tired and feeling old. With a side of Reappearing Trashy (With Love) Romance novels, and Faengil continues to be Baby.

Feel like I’ve posted this snippet before but now it’s part of a whole chapter that’s on AO3. https://archiveofourown.org/works/35008744/chapters/87386494

“What if we say the wrong thing,” Faengil answered, half under his breath. “What if someone says something so offensive we have to respond and then it’s our fault. Why did I insist on coming here? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here.”

“Language, darling,” Iorveth said, feigning sharpness, though of course they were speaking Hen Llinge and no one would know the difference. “It’s all right.”

“Don’t call me that,” Faengil grumbled; Iorveth had used a standard endearment and it was precisely the sort of thing a boy Faengil’s age would object to.

Well, vernín. He’d called him vernín, and Vernon Roche, standing a few paces away, had turned his head and was frowning at him. Now that Iorveth considered it, it was just barely plausible that Roche’s personal name was somebody’s misspelling of an overheard Hen Llinge endearment, and he frowned back at Roche as he tried to decide how he could possibly ask him about it. He’d noticed how close the phonemes were before, of course, in bed, and had called Roche by the endearment to be funny, but in the cold light of day it was slightly more jarring.

Roche crossed the intervening several paces. “Did you call me?” he asked.

“No,” Ioveth said. Faengil had relaxed very slightly, and Iorveth realized the boy now considered Roche a comforting presence. What a world this was.

“Oh,” Roche said, and scowled. Iorveth let the awkward moment stretch out, suddenly rather enjoying it. There was just something so delightful about Vernon Roche’s expression of discomfort, when you had him on the back foot. It made any social setting much more entertaining to navigate. (Your picture was not posted)

peace-tied, the witcher, roveth, Roche/Iorveth, Witcher 2

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happy monday. i’ve been trying to finish up the edits on the second half of the scene of the Roveth thing and when I realized I had to split it in half for length I put in an H1 chapter heading that just said CHAPTER ?? because i can’t remember what numbers are on any of my chapters ever

(it’s in a Google doc with suggestions enabled, since I have the great good fortune of having attracted beta readers, plural, as enumerated in the credits {all hail})

and one of my betas very tenderly suggested “6″, because that is in fact the number of the chapter

<3 <3 <3

anyway!!

oh ha ha no, that’s the number of the next chapter. This one is chapter 5. Which has all the good stuff I promised before.

Chapter 5 of Peace-Tied, on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/32023453/chapters/81073057/previewhttps://archiveofourown.org/works/32023453/chapters/81073057

“I’m the one with the sword,” Iorveth said. “For the purposes of this… exercise, I’m in charge. I’ve defeated you, remember. And I’m going to have my wicked way with you.”

“I seem to recall being fairly badly injured after that fight,” Roche mused. “Should we pretend that, as well? Should I be lying here bleeding?”

“I could just– injure you,” Iorveth said. “Since you seem to need all this verisimilitude.”

“Might be hard to explain,” Roche said, but sat very still as Iorveth brought the sword down and traced it, just a whisper, across his chest, demonstrating truly impressive fine point control to keep contact but not cut him. Iorveth pulled the sword back, as if to plunge it straight into Roche’s ribcage, and Roche stopped breathing for a second, staring at Iorveth– surely he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t dare– but it made his heart suddenly thunder very loudly in his ears, to think about it.

“Trousers off,” Iorveth said, voice low and husky. (Your picture was not posted)

keira metz/lambert/aiden

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This still doesn’t get us quite to the smut, but we’re enroute.

chapter 10, on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876890/chapters/73641267

In previous chapters Aiden’s noticed he can press some of Keira’s buttons to get entertaining results: here, Keira is starting to explore what buttons she can press in return, and they’re mostly about emotional manipulation.

Lambert had hauled himself out of the water and was wrapped in his beautiful robe, standing at her elbow and watching her work. “Will it scar, doctor?” he asked, mock-serious, when she turned her head a little to acknowledge him.

“No, ma’am,” she said, smiling slightly, “your husband’s beauty will be no more marred than it already is.”

Lambert’s gaze went funny and indirect; he really liked the word husband, but obviously would never have thought to use it for himself. A quick glance at Aiden confirmed he’d gone very slightly pink in the cheeks and was studiously looking away; he liked it too and was trying not to let on. She laughed at them, though she was a bit startled to realize how fond the sound was when it came out.

“You two are precious,” she said. “Here, Aiden, I got you a robe, put that on and let’s go back to the real world.”

I was really dying to have her say you guys are so gay right there but the limitations of the genre constrained me.

Rest assured that in the modern a/u of this [which only exists for this headcanon purpose] she has so much fun teasing them like a middle-schooler that at one point a well-meaning busybody bystander scolded her for her homophobia, to their wild entertainment, and only Aiden was nice enough to tell the busybody that it was all consensual.

Also, fuck, I really want to write an indulgent epilogue where everyone’s in exquisite lingerie, and commission fanart of it, and I’m just– listen, we know Lambert’s into lace but would Aiden be in velvet or leather?? (Your picture was not posted)

lambert/aiden, empress ciri

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Folks I am like on another plane rn and I wish it was drugs but it is Not, but, in the midst of that, I bring to you a new update in the Ongoing Saga Of Keira Learning To Have Human Feelings, Lambert Domesticating His Asshole Tendencies, and Aiden Learning To Clown Again, and after way more of an involved process than I’d like to admit, I named the fic…

An Involved Process https://archiveofourown.org/works/28876890

oh ha i just used that phrase in the previous paragraph hoo boy ok yes i mean to do that.

This chapter, at least, isn’t heartwrenching. I hope. Not that I have any sense of perspective remaining whatsoever.

“Geralt,” Aiden said, and reached over to clasp his hand in greeting.

“You know each other?” Lambert asked.

“We met briefly,” Geralt said. “Years ago. I didn’t know then that you knew him.”

“I might not’ve yet,” Aiden said. “Depends on the year.”

“Don’t recall,” Geralt said, “I just know you look familiar.”

“You didn’t fuck, did you?” Lambert asked warily.

Ciri threw her head back at that and really laughed, like she hadn’t in ages. “That would just be the perfect capper to all of this,” she said.

Aiden quirked his eyebrows suggestively at Geralt, and Geralt laughed too. “If only we’d thought to get our stories straight before this,” he said.

“Oh, Lambert,” Aiden said, in exaggerated tones, “of course I never– I have never seen this person before in my life, let alone had a sordid encounter with him out back of a tavern in Novigrad thirty-five years ago.”

“Wait,” Geralt said, frowning, “was that you?” but he wasn’t a fantastic actor and Ciri could make out the mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Fuck you,” Lambert howled, laughing, and punched Geralt, and then they embraced rather violently and then Lambert hauled him inside and they all went into the house. (Your picture was not posted)

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Chapter 4, on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276716/chapters/70091700

Listen there’s a lot going on so here, have a chapter update. We all need the distraction.

Mages could read minds, Aiden knew that, so he narrowed his eyes and thought Hey, fuck you, as hard as he could.

She didn’t seem to notice; she only had eyes for Lambert, who had reached over and kicked the bottom of her chair leg. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you failing to empty that bowl,” he said. “I didn’t make that special for you and then put such a reasonable amount into that bowl for you not to eat it.”

“I ate a lot,” she protested. “I don’t have your metabolism, Lambert. Aretuza gave me tits, not a hollow leg.”

Aiden was distracted from his attempts to psychically insult her by attempting to parse that sentence. “Aretuza… gave you… tits,” he mused, and then screwed up his face and said, “What, like, as souvenirs?”

“Why do you think all sorceresses have more or less the same rack?” the mage asked, poking herself in the side of one breast to jostle it. It moved as though it were in a supportive undergarment of some kind instead of more or less suspended in midair behind an embroidered panel that only half-covered it. “There’s a fellow whose job it is to give us the Look at the end of our schooling, and he has very conventional tastes. I didn’t grow these myself, like some sort of peasant.” (Your picture was not posted)

geralt thinks he is old and jaded but he is not yet, baby's first trauma, ok not first but it's one of the early ones

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One last update for the year, bringing my 2020 wordcount total up to 387k, firmly cementing 2020 into second place for words published in one year on AO3 by me.

Learning Experiences https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121523/chapters/69720408, the story I wrote in collaboration with Anoke about Baby Lambert and young Geralt, gets its sort of sad, sort of hopeful epilogue, set about ten years later. Please do heed the warnings in the notes.

Geralt made his way up into the craggy mountainous area separating Herrick and Munwyck, noting from a distance that there was a collection of vultures kettling in the air currents on one side of the peak. Now, vultures did just collect sometimes, but it was likely that there was something dead attracting them. So he aimed for the set of valleys near the largest concentration of vultures, and as he drew nearer, sure enough he caught a whiff of the scent of death on the air currents.

He set to tracking and found, sure enough, hoofprints leading up one of the paths, to a particular valley near where the vultures were collecting. And then Roach whinnied and another horse answered, and Geralt followed her pricked ears into a valley.

There was a horse there, a reasonable-quality gelding, secured on a long picket line, and he’d eaten the grass to the ground as far as he could reach. From the quantity of manure, he’d been tied there two or three days at least.

And Roach seemed to know him; their whickering noises were those of horses who were familiar to one another. She trotted over and greeted him as if they were friends.

There was a stash of luggage piled near the picket under a tarp, the horse’s tack and a set of saddlebags and a bedroll and assorted other things, and it took Geralt less than a breath to ascertain that it was absolutely Witcher gear.

Fuck. (Your picture was not posted)

lambert/aiden

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Dusty Corridors, on AO3, Chapter 1 https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276716

oh i do not have the brainspace for chapters to have titles, getting a whole title on this fic was like, more than my feeble mind could handle.

I would not normally post at night but I’m trying to squeeze this out ahead of yuletide shit and people like. christmasing and whatnot.

Aiden laughed, not moving his head from its safe harbor. “Geralt does always seem to have some bizarrely epic problems.”

“Like you would not believe,” Lambert said. “I think like, you know how if sharks stop swimming they drown? I think if Geralt doesn’t get a pretty regular dose of drama, preferably dick-first, he’ll just dry up and fall apart.”

There’s sex in this one too. that was my goal, to get that up for Christmas. It’s not like. Great sex, or elaborate sex, or the coveted threesome, but it’s still sex. And a good solid reassuring cuddle, which I think we all need.

And we have officially eclipsed 2015 on the leaderboard for words posted on AO3 in a single year, so now 2020 is in third place! Only 9k words to go to overtake 2014, which also sucked, so. I could, but people are going to be busy with Yuletide and such.

I still might tho guys, depending on how bored and sad I am. (Your picture was not posted)

complete, all of this is me learning about not leaving wips lol, keira metz/lambert

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You know what?

I’m going to stick a pin in The Ideal Man https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847148?view_full_work=true and call it done with today’s chapter update. So that’s a completed work. It’s a whole story about Lambert and Keira stumbling into a kind of an arrangement and taking care of one another’s grief and loss and starting to maybe heal a little bit.

And all of it is backstory for a plotty thing I was working on before that and kept working backwards from because I hadn’t made that relationship between them into anything, yet, and so the plot wasn’t interesting and didn’t hang together because I didn’t know who these people are.

So the plotty thing is… largely written as well, and I just need to come up with a title and finish arranging it, and then I can post that. It’s got a lot more of Keira’s Deal in it, and we’re going to start to maybe address something of a forward-going plot about fixing some of this damage.

But this can kind of stand alone and just be a cute story of a couple of people figuring out some answers of how you go on, in the aftermath, and what you do and don’t have to be.

Feeling something was a hell of a lot better than feeling nothing, even if it was hard to keep up with.

keira metz/lambert

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bomberqueen17 https://bomberqueen17.tumblr.com/post/631251093623537664/new-fic-the-ideal-man :

OK I finished enough of it that I’m putting the first chapter up. Lambert doesn’t get pegged in the first chapter, which is the sole reason I didn’t just call it Lambert Gets Pegged. Chapter 2 will follow soon.

Chapter 1: Uncertain Welcome, on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847148

She was awfully pretty, and he wondered how much of it was real. What he liked about her were the tantalizing glimpses she gave him of the real person, but she was wrapped up in so much bullshit, like she felt she had to put on a show all the time. Of course the very most attractive part was the way she could shoot fucking lightning out of her hands and destroy enemies, but that was also the most frightening part of her and you couldn’t really build a relationship on that sort of aroused terror. Her sarcasm and dry sense of humor and fantastic tits had filled in the rest and at this point he was fairly hooked.

Well, it didn’t matter; he still wasn’t sure what it was she liked about him, and figured it was too much to ask for to try and get her to just be genuine with him. This was pretty explicitly a convenience thing, not like, a marriage of true loves, so.

reblogging for the morning crowd, and also adding a note, since someone pointed out that readers who’re just along for the series ride and started off blithely with Netflix Geralt and Jaskier– this story takes place about ten years later, after the events of Witcher 3, and some sad shit has happened even with the happiest (I think) possible ending, so while the story’s subject matter seems pretty lighthearted it’s also underpinned with some genuine grief. So, brace yourself going in, and I’m gearing up for the happiest possible ending probably but it’s not starting from a cheerful place. Both characters have been through some heavy shit. So it’s really not… entirely a fluff piece.

listen some people? get pegged? to cope? j/k but not really

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Baby Lambert and Young Geralt have a chapter update

i don’t have time to write it up super well because i’m in charge of homeschooling today plz excuse but:

chapter 3, they only train boys https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121523/chapters/64610968

in which we get our first inkling that Lambert’s gender is Fuck You, though he’s politer about it when he’s little.

warnings in notes if needed

“They’ll teach you more once you’re through the Trials,” Ksenya said.

“If I make it,” Lambert put in, narrow-eyed.

“If,” she conceded. “So, Lambert, are you a boy?”

Lambert hesitated, darted a sidelong look at Geralt, and then looked back at her, eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said, unconvincingly.

“Because they only train boys,” she said, smiling and pointing at him as if he’d said something very clever she was pleased by.

“Exactly,” he said, satisfied, in on the joke.

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New chapter for the Geralt Meets Baby Lambert story https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121523/chapters/63926845, in which the story finally does what it says on the tin and so Geralt gets to meet not quite so baby Lambert.

“I got a feeling maybe grown-ups shouldn’t hit this kid in the face,” Geralt said. “Like, just as a general practice. I bet if another kid did it he wouldn’t have a problem.”

“I’m not scared to get hit,” the boy said suddenly, his expression sliding from terror to angry determination.

“It’s not about scared,” Geralt said. “That fit you had, that’s what happens when your body’s telling you too many things at once. For me it was after I got mutated and I couldn’t handle all the sounds and smells and sensations all at once, and I’d just stop working until I got a chance to sort them out. But I bet someone taught you not to fight back when they hit you, and then Varin’s been teaching you that you have to fight back when you get hit, and it’s real hard for your brain to figure out how to do both of those things at once.”

The boy looked astonished, then furious, then mutinous, but he didn’t have anything to say to that, and Geralt figured it was true. Some adult had beaten him as a kid, and had surely beat him worse if he’d tried to resist. It wasn’t that hard to connect those dots.

“So I just have to figure it out,” the boy said, a little sullen but determined.

the witcher

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FINALLY

Finally, Fugitive is complete, with a Chapter 5
<https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670274/chapters/61782070>. Fic earns
its M rating with some non-explicit sex (as opposed to earning its M with
violence and such, LOL).

Lots of chat and gossip and some fun background on the Wolf pack.

Axel gestured vaguely. “Incidentally I’ve told a lot of people that you and
I are close friends, when they’ve asked about the song. I tell them all you
and I go way back, and then I go on and on about how noble and
self-sacrificing you are. By then they’ll usually buy me a drink, and if
they seem receptive I tell them some of Lambert’s stories about you.”

“Lambert’s stories,” Geralt said, dismayed.

“The one about how you threw him out a window always goes over really
well,” Axel said.

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I felt like we all deserved the diversion of some slobberingly-incoherent morning-after sex.

chapter 15, Worth The Wait, which I know is a soppy title but listen I have seen so goddamned many stories in this fandom and specifically this pairing where the participants lament that because they’ve waited until the standard human in the pairing is so incredibly aged at the age of 41 that they’ve got practically no time left to fuck before he keels over of just being Too Wizened To Continue, and like, listen,

no.

“You’re impossible,” Jaskier said fondly. And then, possibly because he was drunk with pleasure and fondness, he said, “Thank you for not fucking me when I was a stupid kid.”

Geralt glanced up then, eyebrows quizzical. “Yeah?” he said. “I figured you were mad at me for wasting all that time.”

“No,” Jaskier said. “I mean, yeah, it would’ve been great to have all that sex, and I feel like I could’ve kept up with you better when I was young maybe, but I was absolutely trying to use you to hurt myself and it would’ve been a disaster and you don’t deserve to be treated like that. And then we couldn’t have had this. So, no, it wasn’t wasted time, and it was worth the wait.”

“I didn’t have to be quite such a cock about it,” Geralt mumbled into Jaskier’s neck.

“Well,” Jaskier said. “I could’ve done without some of that, to be sure, but. The overall point remains. At least you didn’t fuck me and then pull that shit.”

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I have stolen an hour-long break this morning to rest my sore jelly muscles and post a chapter of Fugitive. We finally meet the mysterious hunter.

chapter 4, on AO3

“A Witcher,” Sandro said. “What, like– like your White Wolf?”

“Well, it’s fairly obvious this isn’t him,” Jaskier said. “No offense, of course, friend, but nobody would call you a white anything.” There was a reason Axel hadn’t worried about his skin catching the firelight, to put it mildly; he was of an excellent coloration for night-hunting. “And that medallion is certainly not a wolf, though I’m not sure what animal it does represent. If you know who I am, you could introduce yourself, to be polite.”

He sounded so calm and icily composed: his Wolf was certainly nearby if he was so calm, but it was too late to run. Should’ve waited until they hit a city, to level the advantages, but too late now.

“Axel,” he said, “of the School of the Cat. I assume your Wolf is waiting nearby, and so perhaps I should address my apology to him instead?”

“I assure you,” Jaskier said, “I am a more receptive audience to apologies that are due to me, thank you very much.”

“Well,” Axel said. “Then I apologize, because the old man told me only the name he gave you, and never once hinted that you were the Toss A Coin kid.”

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So, Fugitive gets another chapter. The Plot Thickens in Chaper 3…

and we get to meet Jaskier’s friend Nerio, mostly known from an overheard segment when Yennefer’s spying on him in earlier chapters of The Ancient Sea– another young foppish Redanian noble who mostly means well and has no sense of self-preservation. They’ve been comrades-in-brocade since small times, no doubt, but Nerio’s had rather more success at being left alone to degenerate into academia.

Still sharp, Jaskier said, “Where did you leave from?”

“Ah,” Nerio said. “I– just now?”

“No,” Jaskier said. “Did you leave from Oxenfurt?”

“Well,” Nerio said. “I mean, I started there.”

“Did you go to Redania?” Jaskier asked.

“I,” Nerio said. “Oh, yes, I stopped home.”

Jaskier’s voice went slightly strained. “Did you stop by Lettenhove?”

There was a pause. “We shouldn’t stand here and discuss this,” Nerio said, scent subtly shifting from fear to nervousness. Evasive little shit.

“Did you?” Jaskier demanded. Geralt didn’t know exactly where Lettenhove was but it rang a faint bell. Some little something in Redania probably.

“I,” Nerio said, then, defeated, “yes, Jaskier. I did. I talked to the old man. He really is dying.”

“Good,” Jaskier said savagely. Then, “What did he give you? To bring me back? Did he pay you up front?”

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So inspiration struck after all on a chapter 2 of Fugitive, the one where it’s a sequel to Little Fishie and Geralt comes across a despondent Jaskier who’s dealing with some awful family shit. I’d initially written about 2,000 words beyond what I posted, but it wasn’t going anywhere so I’d truncated it and posted that first chapter, but eventually I wrote uhhh over 10,000 words more, and introduced new characters and made a whole Thing out of it, so.

Here’s chapter 2 and there’s a chapter 3 that’ll come soonish.

But, meanwhile, it did what it was supposed to, and got me out of my slump of not being able to write the big climactic Dick Appointment Scene for Jaskier in the Ancient Sea, so here’s hoping the next Ancient Sea update comes next.

Still, here’s a little tide-over, featuring Jaskier having a real shitty day and Geralt dealing with some consequences of his own powers. A gentle trigger warning for a desperation-born suicide attempt and some magical mind control.

Geralt heard a voice, and slowed his pace to approach in complete silence. “– be daft, lad, we won’t hurt ye,” a stranger was saying, in coaxing tones. “He only wants to know that you’re all right.”

“If that were true,” Jaskier said, scornful, “then you could leave me here and just go and tell him you’d seen me, so I think the fuck not.”

How was Jaskier managing a standoff? Geralt had left a crossbow behind, amid Roach’s baggage, but he didn’t think Jaskier would particularly know how to use it. Maybe he was up a tree, and the bounty hunters– surely, that was what they were– were trying to talk him down. He hadn’t demonstrated any particular climbing ability in the time Geralt had known him, but then, he was forever full of surprises. But his voice didn’t sound like he was up high.

Geralt could see the back of at least one of the bounty hunters, now. Big man, hands out, empty, facing away. Another at his right, a few yards away, likewise standing still, no weapons out, though knives in their belts. Third one was out of sight.

“Come now, boy, you don’t want to hurt yourself,” said the hunter Geralt couldn’t see. “It’s not like you’re a wanted criminal or somewhat. There’s no call for this sort of histrionics.”

“You don’t know what there’s call for,” Jaskier said, a vicious edge to his tone. “It’s not your business to know, or I wager you wouldn’t have this job.”

All three hunters gasped in alarm in unison, the two Geralt could see making visible flinching motions– starting forward, as if to stop something, and then froze, simultaneously.

“No,” said one of the ones Geralt could see, “don’t–”

“I read this correctly, then,” Jaskier said, sounding deadly calm. “You get nothing if I’m dead. I suppose that’s a valuable bit of information.”

Did Jaskier have himself hostage?

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Jaskier comes to Kaer Morhen for his dick appointment, but there are other matters to deal with, like– meeting the family.

At Home, on AO3. No warnings, I don’t think, but as usual, do let me know if I should’ve tagged for something.

Geralt had heard the song before, and was already rolling his eyes a little bit. “You should sing along,” Jaskier said.

“I don’t sing,” Geralt pointed out, which was true; he pretty much never had, that Jaskier had heard. Not even really humming.

Jaskier plucked out the rest of the song and then put his hand against the strings to stop them ringing. “Oh!” he said. “This is my chance, then, to ask– all the weird shit Geralt does, how much of that is Witcher stuff and how much of that is that Geralt’s just weird?”

“Geralt’s a fuckin’ weirdo,” Lambert said immediately.

Geralt leaned forward slightly, and Jaskier could read that it was him weighing his options insofar as attempting to hit the other Witcher. He decided against it, and sat back, glaring. But he wasn’t really mad, and he wasn’t really afraid of anything Jaskier might find out. It was… refreshing.

“So you can sing,” Jaskier said to Lambert.

“I mean,” Lambert said, “not great, but yeah.”

“See in the dark,” Jaskier said.

“Standard,” Lambert said.

“Sarcasm,” Jaskier said.

“Part of the schooling,” Lambert said.

“Obsessive about sword care,” Jaskier said.

“Oh,” Vesemir said, “I personally beat that into all of them.”

“Good to know,” Jaskier said. “Weird obsession with giving your horses all the same names?”

“Oh that’s just Geralt,” Lambert said.

“It does get tedious coming up with new names,” Vesemir put in.

“The baths thing,” Jaskier said. “Absolutely no personal hygiene but really fond of baths.”

“That’s just him,” Lambert said, “most of us know how to wash our faces.”

“The teeth thing,” Jaskier said.

Lambert, Coen, and Vesemir all looked at Geralt, for some reason, and Geralt sat up, abruptly losing his bored expression. “You told him–” Lambert said.

“I have never told him one gods-damned thing about my teeth,” Geralt said, indignant and slightly– horrified?

“It’s not funny,” Vesemir said, sternly.

“I did not,” Geralt said. There was an unexpected depth of feeling in that.

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I did it, I posted the missing scene as a standalone fic.

i am having so much goddamn trouble finding both the time and the focus to fucking finish the next chapter of Ancient Sea, it is not going well y’all, but I have this to offer instead for the moment.

featuring Geralt and Eskel being super childish and also super adult, and Ciri being Super Done With Them Both even though she’s only been at Kaer Morhen for like, a full day at this point.

Forty, on AO3.

Geralt was still lying on the floor, and he rolled his eyes and made no attempt to get up. “It’s all right, Ciri,” he said, “Eskel was trying to beat me up but he didn’t succeed.”

The crack widened slightly, and a small face peered suspiciously out until Eskel was within her angle of view. “Why would he do that?” she asked.

“Because he’s basically rotten,” Geralt said, sitting up onto his elbow. “Don’t worry, I won.”

“You don’t look like you won,” Ciri said doubtfully, and Eskel started laughing, laughing so hard he bent double.

Geralt whipped to his feet and had yanked Eskel down and pinned him again before Eskel even stopped laughing. He lay on his back on the floor under Geralt, still laughing. “Never assume a fight is over,” Eskel said.

“Well,” Geralt said, “maybe it is now,” and that was when he realized that Eskel’s left hand was still mostly free, and just as the realization hit him, so did just enough of an Aard that he flew backward approximately his own bodylength and slammed quite hard into the wall. “Fuck,” he wheezed.

via https://ift.tt/2wGnbK4

This is the sequel to Little Fishie, which I’d toyed with making longer and still might but for now it’s one chapter long.

In which Geralt meets up with Jaskier again, for the first time after the plague, and has occasion to return the favor of buying dessert. Featuring a ridiculous endnote about, of all things, Witcher teeth.

Fugitive, on AO3

“Must be nice,” Jaskier said hollowly, and then shook himself and looked up, grimacing in horror at himself. “See? See! Stupid poor little rich boy self-pity.” There was a self-directed viciousness to his tone that was jarring.

Geralt looked at him for a moment, then looked down at his hands, this time making much of gathering himself, for humorous effect. “I can’t believe,” he said slowly, “that I am going to have to be the one to say this to you, Jaskier, but– your feelings–” He paused, breathed out, and breathed back in again. “Are valid, and other people seeming to have it worse or not doesn’t change that.”

It worked; Jaskier laughed. “Did that hurt?” he said. “It sounded like it hurt.”

“It did hurt, a bit,” Geralt admitted. “Now don’t make me say it again. I’m sorry to hear of your trouble.”

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Entries tagged with fic update

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