#cirilla drabble

[frenziedflame6]

Event: Belleteyn 2025 Prompt: green noise 🌿

"The Foxglove Lullaby" [ao3 link]

Dew drops drip gently onto my skin,

Green blades shuffle beneath my feet,

A grasshopper chirps softly, so discreet,

Only him and me, me and him.

Far in the gloom the hollows weep,

And they’ll soon arise and seek,

Across yonder in the greenwoods deep,

So will he, awaken will he.

The moon in full swing whispers its plea,

Tells me to hurry, to hide and flee,

But his cold’s inviting, I cannot see,

That I’m the dagger he plunged into me.

But sometimes I run, I run and hide,

Inside the burrows of foxes so sly. 

He sings to me sweetly, twirls in my eyes,

Picks me like flowers, I am the one.

My vision’s blurry, knees getting weak,

We do not speak, the dance’s our tongue.

With a flick of his wrist he makes me forget,

Of the wounds so deep I cannot amend.

Of grasshoppers, moons, mosses and ferns, 

And silhouettes of the swallows foretold.

Under these pyres blazing and high,

I celebrate the loss of my life.

Among the bodies, naked and hot,

I contemplate the things that I am not.

And sometimes I run, I run and hide,

Inside the burrows of foxes so sly.

[astaldis]

@fluffbruary​      @femslash-february​

For the Fluffbruary prompt 14 "swim" and the Femslash February bingo prompt "Does that feel good?". Enjoy!

Chapters: 3/?             Words: 500 Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Francesca Findabair | Enid an Gleanna/Fringilla Vigo, Angoulême/Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon Characters: Fringilla Vigo, Francesca Findabair | Enid an Gleanna, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Angoulême (The Witcher), Kelpie (The Witcher) Additional Tags: fluffbruary's Fluffbruary Prompt Month 2025, Femslash February, Fluff, Girls Kissing, Drabble, Girls in Love, Double Drabble, Drabble Collection 

Summary: A little collection of drabbles and double drabbles for Fluffbruary 2025 and Femslash February bingo 2025.

[bookcalanthedaily]

ciri stands face to face with emhyr var emreis and thinks of the woman girl who birthed her.

him and i are nothing alike, she thinks to herself. my eyes, my hair, even my face. it all comes from her. from the girl who was as innocent as i have never been on the day she birthded me.

she wonders, did it excite him how she drank his every word, did it amuse him how she believed every lie?

she clenches her hand around the handle of her sword. it does not matter. the princess is gone. and the beast must die.

[savage-rhi]

"Quick, hide in the closet!" 😆 For Roche/Ciri and Geralt please 🙏

"This is stupid," Ciri muttered to herself, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, and exhaling. A faint huff left Roche's lips, making Ciri grimace as she turned to face him with a frown. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Roche said slyly, his gaze drifting away from her to take in the dimly lit room. The faint glow of the lit beeswax candles did little to make the ambience welcoming. "Given how overprotective Geralt is, I'm surprised he'd drag you somewhere like this."

"It beats hiding out in the brothels," Ciri remarked matter of factly, crossing her arms. "Y'know, if he catches you here, its both our necks on the line."

"Which is precisely why I waited until I knew he was out of town to come see you."

"Vern-"

"Don't."

He stepped forward, taking her right hand in his. His fingers gave a gentle squeeze as his gaze traveled up to meet hers, a warm smile curving his lips. For all their quips and banter, Roche had to admit, Ciri was beautiful when she was worried on his behalf. Even if the poor lighting didn’t do her any favors. Not that he’d ever say that aloud.

"If you keep fretting like this, it'll be the death of me."

Ciri froze as he bent forward and kissed the top of her hand. She felt a warmth rise to her face and gently removed her hand from his grasp and pulled away. "You're a fool."

"So I've been told," He said with a grin.

Ciri quietly regarded him, unable to leave his eyes alone. They held an exhaustion that was unfamiliar, almost as if she wasn't looking at Roche but a weary stranger.

"I'm beginning to sense you're not here for our usual pleasantries."

"Am I that obvious?"

Ciri nodded, smiling faintly. "I'm afraid you're losing your touch."

"I'll make a note of that," Before she could protest, his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her into a long overdue embrace. The relieved sigh that left her body made Roche's heart ache as he buried his nose into her hair.

"You said I'm losing my touch," he murmured, "but at least I'm not losing yours."

"You'll never lose me," Ciri whispered. She nudged upward, feeling Roche's chin leave her head and met his gaze. "Now c'mon, out with it. What's going on?"

"Well I-"

"Quick, hide in the closet!"

"What?!"

Before he could react, Ciri yanked him forward. In a blur, Roche found himself stumbling, barely catching his breath before he was shoved into a tiny dark space. Instead of Ciri’s beautiful face, he was met with the sight of green mold creeping along a wooden door that had seen better days that made his body shudder involuntarily. Just as he opened his mouth to protest through the cracks, he heard the creak of the main door opening, followed by the heavy steps of Geralt.

Roche’s eyes widened. Hands clamping over his mouth, he went as still as a man facing down a viper.

Geralt let out a slow breath, rubbing grime and blood from his face. He barely acknowledged Ciri as he strode toward the table, grabbing the complimentary pitcher of water the innkeeper had left behind.

"Geralt," Ciri cleared her throat, furrowing her brows while she watched him drink straight from the pitcher, ignoring the cups entirely. She flinched when making eye contact with him. It was obvious he didn't want to talk about whatever happened, but that didn't stop her from trying.

"I take it the meeting didn't go as planned?"

"You have no idea," Geralt muttered, swallowing down a mix of water, blood, and spit. "We're safe for the night, but come sunrise we should leave. Be on the look out, have a weapon ready just in case."

Ciri stepped forward as he moved toward the entrance, confusion in her gaze. "Where are you going?"

"Intel," Geralt said curtly. He paused in the doorway, glancing back at her. His eyes darted to the closet for a fraction of a second before returning to her face. "And I'm giving you fifteen minutes to wrap up whatever is going on between you and your companion."

"There's no one-"

"Please," Geralt held up a hand, unimpressed. "Take me for a fool as often as you'd like, but I'm not an idiot."

His smirk was quick and fleeting, but Ciri caught it before he shut the door behind him, and even though she sighed in relief, she knew this wasn't over; already envisioning the verbal onslaught that was to come. Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud, followed by a yelp as Roche unceremoniously tumbled out of the closet.

"I slipped," Roche said in his defense, holding out his arms in surrender.

"You sure did," Ciri placed her hands on her hips, raising a brow as she peered down at him, unimpressed. "He's going to kill you one day. Y'know that?"

Roche grinned up at her, admiring the view as he took in the way her lips were desperately trying not to smile back.

"But today," he said confidently. "is not that day."

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[dxrklydrexming]

"Where Madness Could Rest"

[Seraphine ’Sable’ Moreau x Elira Drake [circa] Early 18th Century during The Golden Age of Piracy A past life of Cirilla Ashcroft]

"You are the hush of darkened hours, a lull of warmth and steady breath— while I a storm, weary and ravenous, tearing at the edges of the world. We were never made for daylight, you and I— but in your eventide, I found where my madness could rest."

It was near midnight when the sea turned to ink and the stars blinked faint behind a veil of cloud—thin enough to let moonlight bleed through in pale, broken fragments. The Wailing Vesper swayed as if in dream, sails slack, anchored in the cradle of a forgotten inlet on the edge of the Spanish Main. Even the wind had stilled. It was a strange quiet, and Sable did not trust it. But then, trust had never come easily.

She stood at the prow, arms folded, chin tilted slightly as if she could force the heavens to speak. Salt tangled her curls, and a storm sat behind her ribs—an ache that had not yet broken but would, soon. She felt it. She always did. Storms spoke to her like old lovers. They came crawling to her in whispers and rage.

And yet tonight... her chaos did not command the moment. It unraveled quietly.

Behind her, the lantern’s golden glow spilled through the cracked door of her quarters. A silhouette stood in it—slim, steady, draped in twilight and cotton. Elira. Always Elira. The name pulsed somewhere low in her chest like an old bruise: warm, familiar, tender to the touch.

“You always find the places where the sea goes to hush,” Elira said, her voice coaxing the silence instead of breaking it. “Like it’s trying to soothe you.”

Sable didn’t turn. She couldn’t. Her jaw was clenched too tightly with something unspoken. The storm in her blood twisted, looking for a place to land. She had conjured typhoons with a flick of her wrist. Had drowned warships and cursed men to rot in their skins. But this—this ache that lived between the heartbeats when Elira looked at her as if she were still something whole—this she did not know how to tame.

Elira came up behind her, steps soft, grounding. One hand slid to Sable’s waist, the other curled gently against her back. And just like that, the chaos inside her folded in.

“You’re trembling,” Elira murmured against her spine.

“I am always trembling,” Sable rasped.

Elira held her tighter. “Then let it be here.”

Sable’s breath left her like a breaking wave. She turned slowly, as if afraid the moment might shatter—and there she was: Elira, in all her quiet fury and relentless grace. Skin warm from candlelight, hair mussed from sleep, a small freckle just below her left eye that Sable kissed when she could no longer bear not to.

Their foreheads touched. Sable’s hands slid to Elira’s hips, grounding herself in the solidity of her. “You are the hush of darkened hours,” she whispered, “a lull of warmth and steady breath... while I—a storm, weary and ravenous, tearing at the edges of the world.”

Elira’s lashes lowered, brushing her cheeks. “And yet you always came to me when the storm broke.” Words whispered ever so softly against Sable’s lips. Against her skin.

Sable swallowed. “We were never made for daylight, you and I... but in your eventide, I found where my madness could rest.”

Elira brushed a kiss to her brow, soft as prayer. They stood like that, swaying with the ship, with the sea, with the heartbeat of something older than either of them. Sable breathed in her scent—jasmine, lavender, and ink, with a faint trace of rum—and wondered how something so devastating could be so gentle. Love, she thought, is not always thunder. Sometimes it is the lull that follows.

“I do not know how long I have,” Sable admitted. “The sea... she is greedy. And I’ve given her too much already.”

“Then stay with me now,” Elira said, her voice no louder than a spell.

And so she did. She let her madness curl up at Elira’s feet, tamed not by force but by sanctuary. And when the sky finally wept in the hours before dawn, it was Sable who slept soundly, cradled in the soft dark hours she had once believed herself unworthy of.

Not saved. But stilled. If only for a night.

[imagineredwood]

4. First conversations alone

I'm gonna do quick little soft drabbles with which ever character speaks to me from this prompt list. I'm not doing requests for them, just little blurbs to get back into writing more often. Especially that I could just throw together in a few minutes when/if I find downtime at work lol.

Edit: Not this turning into an almost regular length fic 🧍🏻‍♀️

“Mind if I join you?”

EZ stood up straight, droping the random beer can back onto the floor so he could turn around and look at you. He smiled when he recognized you, his head tilting.

"Join me in picking up trash?"

He chuckled but you only shrugged, the shy smile still present on your lips.

"Sure. Why not?"

Your words threw him a bit, not really ever having spoken to you apart from quick small talk, practically yelled over the music in the clubhouse. When he found the time to talk that was, the life of being a prospect not an easy one. He always thought maybe you were just trying to be nice. Perhaps felt bad for him always getting the shit jobs. Maybe that was true, but still, here you were offering to help him long after the rest of the people who hung around had gone home. EZ nodded a few times, a bashful smile on his face that mirrored yours.

"Yeah, ok. But you hold the bag. Don't want you getting your hands dirty."

You obliged and took the garbage bag from his hands, walking around with him, holding it open for him to toss the trash into.

"How much longer do you have to do this? Angel said you're getting close to a year."

EZ threw in a paper plate and nodded.

"Yeah, three months or something like that."

You smiled and shook the bag, letting everything settle.

"That's good. You work hard."

EZ stayed bent over but looked to the side over at you, brows raised. Your shoulders shrugged as you laughed, embarrassed.

"I've just seen how much you run around at the parties. Never really get a break much. But you always have a smile anyway."

He stood upright, both gloved hands holding a cracked solo cup. He walked it over to you and tossed it into your bag, eyes stuck on yours. Your gaze was warm.

"It suits you."

EZ could feel the heat rising to his cheeks and he laughed, casting his eyes down.

"Well thank you."

You smiled softly, tying the bag up with your eyes down too, that warm feeling starting to spread in your chest.

"You're welcome."

General taglist (tagged in all work)

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @woahitslucyylu @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114 @destynelseclipsa @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben @all-the-boys-to-the-yard @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @weirdosandhopelessromantics @kola95

@cruzwalters @myakai13 l @lyly00 @Zsakaystacks17 @cole-winchester @alexxavicry @savagemickey03 @fanfic-n-tabulous @xbloodyxangelx @carma-fanficaddict @gillysoldlady @choochoo284 @whitetxilwxlf @ravennaortiz @flowercrowns-goodvibes

Mayans MC taglist 

@dazzledamazon  @briana-mishell24 @wrcn9fvlcver @thesandbeneathmytoes @krysiewithak @appropriate-writers-name @blessedboo @megapeacelovemusic-blog @emoengelfurleben @blowmymbackout @abby-splace @kola95 @redpoodlern @myakai13 @cruzwalters @po3ticb3auty @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @angel-121 @fanfic-n-tabulous @carma-fanficaddict

[kuwdora]

Witcher Recs - Villains & Bad Guys Edition, part 1

Please enjoy these 23 fic recs featuring Emhyr, Dijkstra, Radovid, Vilgefortz, and the Wild Hunt. I tried to indicate what witcher canon is predominant but sometimes people blend the canons. I'm a voracious reader when my brain lets me read, and I read so many different things. I have many tastes! I haven't done a witcher recs post since 2022 and I have 18 billion more recs in the pipeline that I had collected since like 2021.

With any luck and squeeful motivation I'll share more villain recs in the future.

These recs feature mostly rarepairs. I'm still experimenting with formatting these recs on tumblr, let me know what y'all think on that front. Hope you enjoy the fic!

This got pretty long so I'm putting it under a cut.

Emhyr

Prickly Urchin by @seventfics. Game canon. Dijkstra/Emhyr. 2200w. Pre-relationship and tagged ‘Shady Rich Parties with Questionable Ends.’ Based the prompt ‘cursed’ and Dijkstra meets a prickly Duny. Few people still alive can say they've met the emperor before his ascension to the Nilfgaardian throne. A young Count Sigismund Dijkstra is one of them. It's just that neither of them knew.

A great little AU/missing scene, tackles the premise of these two meeting shortly after the Law of Surprise in a great way.

the sweetest flower by @witch-and-her-witcher. Ambigious canon. Emhyr/Yennefer. 700w. Explicit. Oral sex, cunnilingus, power dynamics. Satisfaction comes when Emhyr relinquishes power.

The way Cee opened up my brain with this ficlet made me gorge myself on everything in the Emhyr/Yen tag after I first read this. The possibilities of this pairing, whew. This ficlet sdlfjasldfkjasldfkjasl.

Quills by @bittydragon. Game canon. Emhyr/Geralt. 7500w. Teen. PTSD, Flashbacks, nonsexual touch. Emhyr can feel the quills and claws growing from underneath his skin again. It’s only a matter of time before they burst out—so it’s lucky that a witcher has ended up in his rooms.

There’s so much great Emhyr/Geralt fic out there, and I’m such a fan of this one because of Geralt managing to soothe Emhyr during an anxiety attack.

Animal Symbiosis by @seventfics. Game canon. Emhyr/Dandelion. 3400w. Teen. Soul bond, Fake/pretend relationship. An emperor and a bard accidentally tie their souls together.

I can’t get enough of where sevent’s ideas take me. This pairing sounds wild on the surface and it is but I am so fucking compelled by the dynamic, esp when it’s been an accidental bonding.

Wild Hunt

Schneeweißblind by jo_writes_fic. Game canon. Emhyr/Eredin. 2200w. Explicit. Temperature play, political sex, unsafe sex. Pre-TW3. Eredin’s been coming to Emhyr’s temporary court in Vizima for several months now, about once a fortnight. At first it was to weasel information out of Emhyr, to try and find Cirilla, but the elf quickly learned that Emhyr knew less than the king of the wild hunt himself about his daughter’s whereabouts. And once he realized that, their meetings turned into the pretence of a tentative political alliance to cover up the carnal truth of what really happens when Eredin deigns to visit. Ice magic and masochist Emhyr.

My brain whited out from how brilliant this fic is and I think it changed my brain for the hornier.

Plaything by @eatingcroutons. Game canon. Geralt/Wild Hunt. 100 words. Explicit. Rape. Voyeurism. Eredin and his Riders enjoy making use of Geralt in their down time.

😈😈😈

Outplayed by zemyr. Game canon. Geralt/Wild Hunt. 100 words. Explicit. Rape, size difference. Remix of crou’s Plaything.

🔥🔥🔥 This drabble lives rent free in my brain.

Commander’s Discretion by @witch-and-her-witcher. Game canon. Eredin/Geralt. 100 words. Explicit. Anal fingering. Eredin has a soft spot for pretty, lethal things under his possession.

😳 Cee still making me go wild with this drabble.

Radovid

Spymasters and secrets by @dancingwiththefae. Show canon. Radovid. Radovid/Dijkstra. 3400w. Explicit. BDSM, daddy kink, impact play. Radovid always pushed and pushed Dijkstra. Sometimes he needed to be put in his place.

Faye serving up a heaping mess of with this messy messy Radovid with Dijkstra. I could have put this in the Dijkstra section but ahhhh I wanted it here with the Radovid fic. 🔥

Villains Aren’t Born, They’re Made by ALJordan. Game canon. Radovid/OC, Radovid & Philippa. Mother/son relationship. A storm counts omens as Radovid hunts Philippa Eilhart to stand trial for treason.

The worldbuilding with the OC and vibes and characterizations in this fic are outstanding.

The Shade of Your Eyes by @kuwdora. Game canon Radovid & Philippa. Post game, canon AU. Body horror, existentialism, magical theory as torture. He remembers the weight of the crown that used to sit upon his head but he doesn’t remember his own name. Anger and resentment curdles because he cannot recall his mother’s face or the last food he ate before he died but he knows the source his ire. It originates from the woman who chortles when she sits at the table. Her laugh stokes the rage in his disembodied soul.

Philippa tortures Radovid’s soul. Radovid POV. I couldn’t help but play around with the darkfic idea for Phil getting some revenge.

Don't worry I have a whole other stack of Philippa fic to rec later.

Dijkstra

You Seem To Enjoy The Feeling by galactic_roses. Game canon. Dijkstra/Gaunter. 2800w. Explicit. Dijkstra has made a deal with a merchant of sorts in exchange for something he values above all else: information. However, the price he has to pay is not quite what he was expecting, and now he has to face the consequences of his words. Sharing a body, smut, body horror, some more tags,

My favorite tag from the author: dijkstra is an adult he can enter into a sus contract with a sort of demon man if he wants to. This is like the most galaxy brained rare pair idea and can’t stop thinking about it when I consider rare pairs that changed my brain.

Diagram: Master’s Weapon Repair Kit by butt_muncher_seven. Game canon. Dijkstra/Geralt. D/s, PWP, 2500w. Djikstra knew men the way Geralt knew monsters; how to kill them, how to hunt them, what their motivations were, what they were going to do next. And in Geralt he saw a man about to do something incredibly rash and self-destructive. A normal man would've gone home, drunk himself stupid and got in a fist fight with the nearest person he could beat. Maybe he'd recover, maybe he'd burn his life down around him, because the chaos of such upheaval was worse than the certainty of reprisals, of consequences. It was the kind of thing a skilled spymaster knew how to counteract proactively. For a less valuable player he had less personal means of redress, but for Geralt… Geralt required a personal touch.

This Dijkstra fic is my everything and I fling the link to anyone I can because it’s so fucking good.

Hostages by @limerental. Isengrim/Dijkstra. Book canon. 26k. Mature. Rescue missions, fairy tale elements. When Isengrim Faoiltiarna's commando is taken captive by the Aen Elle, Sigismund Dijkstra must play unlikely hero in order to come to his rescue.

Lim’s written so much great Isengrim/Dijkstra that I want to rec it all but if you are a fan of some plot and amazing storytelling, hostages is a great gateway. Click to see Dijkstra’s feelings for Isengrim as he mounts a rescue for his old elven husband.

He Comes With Gifts by @bittylildragon. Game canon. Dijkstra/Geralt. 4800w. Explicit. Slice of Life, King Dijkstra, snarky Geralt, PTSD and more. A little slice of life with King Dijkstra and his sometimes-resident witcher boyfriend.

I live for bratty snarky Geralt and Dijkstra putting him in his place. It’s fucking delicious and hot.

Bath by GilliganGoodfellow. Dijkstra and Bart. 1200w. Mature. Fluff and humor, slice of life. Dijkstra gets a relatively good idea of how his evening is going to go when, while descending into the basement to check on his troll, he slips on the ladder.

I can’t help but love anything with Bart and Dijkstra and this is so cute and lovely.

Bloody little beast by @gleaming_silence. Game canon. 100 words. Gen. Domestic Gruff. Dijkstra with a kitten. Even after Geralt broke his other leg, daily life goes on for Sigi Reuven and Novigrad’s underworld never sleeps.

This fic was written for me so I love it. Cutest drabble for a Novigrad crime lord.

Degradation for degradation by @limerental. Book canon. 1700w. Explicit. Geralt/Dijkstra. Humiliation, facials. Over a decade later, Dijkstra finally has the opportunity to repay the humiliation Geralt subjected him to in the wake of the Thanned coup. He doesn't expect both of them to like it so much.

I can’t get enough of this Geralt and Dijkstra dynamic. Eating it up with a spoon and always wanting more.

Vilgefortz

The Need For Love, Revolting by ptork66. Show canon. Rience/Vilgefortz. 2200w. Explicit. Dubcon, posessive sex, choking, drugging, bdsm. Vilgefortz wants to consume Rience like Rience’s fire consumes the air.

🔥🔥🔥 Fucked up fic for a fucked up pairing. All the kuwdos from me.

the mirror man by seasofglass. Show canon. Rience/Vilgefortz, 12,000w. Mature. Canon divergence, d/s, manipulation. When a mysterious benefactor frees Rience from prison after the fall of Cintra, he decides to play along in his dangerous game and try to further gain Vilgefortz' favor. Little did he know that playing with fire was the fastest way to also get burned by it.

This is a messy intense look at Rience getting swept up in Vilgefortz’ plans. The shaving scene drives me up the wall in the best way. I love me posessive fuckedupness in this pairing.

Yours, lock and key by zemyr. Ambiguous canon. 100w. Explicit. Rience/Vilgefortz. Master/Servant, magical sex toys. prompt: possessiveness kink deluxe while fucking.

Zemyr’s fic melts my brain in the best way, and the drabbles are 100 words of hotness.

Staves by @sassaffrassa. Show canon. Geralt/Vilgefortz. 100w. Explicit. Object insertion. inappropriate use of vilgefortz's magical staff.

😈 This drabble gets me cackling.

Ouroboros by @kuwdora. Show/book canon blend. Geralt/Vilgefortz. 20,000w. Explicit. Show/book canon blending, fanon continental art history, illusions, sexual fantasy, dubcon, masturbation, d/s, body worship. Geralt turns Vilgefortz proposition down at Thanedd. Vilgefortz makes a Geralt painting and masturbates to it and it spirals into an elaborate sexual fantasy.

Okay this is the fic that ate my brain while writing it last summer. It has layers of book and show references, literary inversions and way too many metaphors.

You know that tumblr post "you're so obsessed with imagery and symbolism, you stupid homo"? That's this me with this fic, lmao.

So come for 20k of Vilgefortz wanking to the Geralt fantasy in his head. Warning that the fic seemed to have driven the 8 people who managed to read and finish it and sounded insane after reading so take it with a horny grain of salt.

Previously on Kuwdora's Witcher Recs:

Istredd Recs

❤️❤️❤️

[wretchedanddivinee]

a witcher drabble from jask's POV, i wish he had held more anger for geralt tbh so this is that, i might expand on it (probably, at some point) [future geraskier, not canon compliant + non-human jask]

contempt

ire

wrath

fury

lividity

rancor

indignation

r a g e

You would think being Master of the Seven Liberal Arts, Jaskier would be able to find more than mere words to describe the deep-seated ache in his chest, the fire that ran through his vein. After all it was the only thing that was keeping him going in this god forsaken war.

What kind of fucking idiot leaves their supposedly human best friend on the top of a possibly monster ridden mountain after 22 years on and off by his side.

The answer was simple, apparently, Geralt of fucking Rivia.

And Jaskier knows okay, he knows that Geralt didn't really mean anything he said on that thrice damned mountain, and with Nilfgard sniffing around the continent, he has a pretty good guess as to where he is.

Knowing, doesn't excuse each word that hit like a physical blow because Geralt wasn't emotionally regulated enough to ask for space when he needed it.

Knowing, doesn't excuse the lack of apology and contact for four years, not until Geralt deigned to grace him with his presence because he needed something.

Not anything for Jaskier himself, but for Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Lion Cub of Cintra. (Melitele rest Queen Calanthe's weary soul.)

Jaskier could never hold the anger and hurt he feels when he looks at Geralt against the princess.

Yet when he watches Geralt open up and become something almost approaching verbose and gentle, he wants to. He aches with the weight of the last twenty six years.

Because Geralt could do that so easily within four years for a child that the destiny he spat vitriol at and claims to hate, gave him.

And all Jaskier gets is brush offs, he got "I'm not your friend.", "I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.", "like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling."

So the truth isn't that Geralt doesn't know how to be better, the truth is that Geralt was unwilling to be better for Jaskier.

The truth is for Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier simply wasn't worth the effort, whether that be because he thought Jaskier interpreting the little he is willing to say accurately as enough of a basis for a good relationship or because he simply didn't want to try was up in the air.

Either way, where does that leave Jaskier but once again abandoned (emotionally this time), and alone.

__________________

Apparently that leaves him on a journey to take Geralt's child surprise, who mind you knows nothing about him, up another forsaken mountain to Kaer Morhen.

The Witchers Keep.

Where he is one hundred percent certain he will find that no Witcher, friend or family will know anything about him in relation to Geralt, outside of possibly the songs he sings of the White Wolf.

What a load of bollocks.

[hughiecampbelle]

Fairytales (Ciri Drabble)

Character/s: Ciri

Word Count: 709

Requested: anon

Word Prompt/s: Snow

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt

A/N: Thank you for requesting my love!!! I’m so sorry about the wait!!! I hope you’re staying safe, looking after yourself, and I really hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

~ FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. ~

MINI FIC REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

As a young child, she used to be so afraid of the snow. Stories passed from child to child, beginning as a warning from a mother or father, but warping into something else as young minds took hold of it, spinning it in their small hands. Creatures with blackened fingers and toes hobbling, crunching through the snow in their bare feet. The tips of their noses purple, rotting, dying. They did not speak your language, instead moaning in the cold, wailing over the sounds of the screaming winds. Their only mission, the very thing keeping them alive, was the need to find warmth. Children whispered of pounding fists against front doors, the numb hands of these creatures smashing into the wood, blind by the fire, doing anything to get to it. When she questioned what happened if they didn't let these things in, they said they became crazed, blind with rage, calling out so that more may find them, hoards of them breaking through, making those inside pay for making them wait in the cold a second longer.

When the leaves fell and the temperature dropped, fires were lit in every room of the castle. Crackling through the night, an orchestra of fear. By morning they'd be blown out, drowned from a cup of water her little hands struggled to carry. No one knew why, how, but you had your suspicions. Word spread quickly through gap toothed smiles and chapped lips. You'd heard about these things as well, though unlike your sweet sister, you knew better. You were old enough to ask questions. If they'd never seen one of them, how did they know they were real? Where do they come from? Why had there never been any news about attacks? When they were unable to answer, you disregarded everything they said. Their words were hollow, like most myths.

You waited in her bedroom, the last place she let freeze, ice covering the windows by the time the sun rose due to lack of heat. You couldn't spend another night wondering why you were shivering, and neither could she. You called her over, sat with her in front of flames, hushing the fears that paralyzed her young mind. Ciri always had been so trusting, so naive. The day she was born you vowed to protect her, even from the scary stories of others. Across your lap, her cheeks reddening, you told her a different one. No rotting limbs or an insatiable hunger for something they could never have, no taste for flesh and bone if they were refused.

No, nothing that violent.

Instead, there were children of snow. Skin like clouds, their eyes bright, lilac, their hair as blonde as her own. Smart, like her, too. You watched her smile, giggle at the thought. They were not evil, but sweet, kind, cheerful. They brought the winds, the cold, the snowflakes that slept atop her own eyelashes, melting on her tongue. They were the cause of all the snow that fell. They'd creep into the night and play with one another in the empty streets, enjoying the bare grass and leaf piles while they could. When the night disappeared, so did they, their light footsteps making no prints where they walked. They were their own family, traveling across the lands. They'd always return, though, following the same trail, bringing winter back every year. When fires were lit, it was an act of gratefulness, a thank you to them for their work. It made them happy to see that people were staying warm and safe, with their own families.

Ciri imagined them now, the children, their laughs of cool air, their giggles in the breeze. The more fun they had playing, the more snow that fell. She wished she could join them. Trudging through the woods, shaking, shivering, she kept an eye out for the lilac eyes, light, soringy, just how you described them. Her home was gone, you and your Grandmother dead, but she had your stories. That's ehat she clung to, what made her keep going. Maybe if she followed them, their trail and invisible steps, the winter would wain, the snow would begin to melt, and all of this would be over. She'd finally wake from this nightmare.

[dapandapod]

There are few scarier things with Lambert than when he’s around children, and the children likes him. This Jaskier learned the hard way when he heard him and Ciri making smalltalk by the fire, thinking it was a perfectly innocent conversation. Which he shouldn’t have, because it is Lambert and Ciri.

“No, you are not thinking big enough. Dream big!” Lambert had said, waving around with his arms, and Ciri giggled. Could have been innocent, right?

Wrong.

The explosion rattles the already shaky foundation of Kaer Morhen.

From the distance, he hears a loud woop and an even louder “LAAAMBEEEERT!!!!”

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Drabble Challenge #2

my second entry for the @thepassifloradiscord drabble challenge! 

CW: none its fluffy af

__________________________

Arriving at Kaer Morhen near midnight was commonplace for Geralt, so he knew he’d rather bathe before heading up to his room; he could surprise his family in the morning. Hair wrapped in a towel and a clean set of clothes he stole from the hooks by the springs, he shuffled into his room ready to collapse on the bed only to find three person-shaped lumps under his blankets.

“What are you doing in my bed?”

Ciri’s head emerged as she blinked sleep from her eyes, “We missed you,” holding back the blankets, she revealed Jaskier and Yennefer, “Come snuggle.”

[astaldis]

@smubbles-etc​

Chapters: 1/1    Words: 400 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & The Hansa | Geralt's Company Members (The Witcher) Characters: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon Additional Tags: near miss, fish soup, Smubbles, Melancholy, Book: Chrzest ognia | Baptism of Fire, Flash Fic, Quadruple Drabble

Summary: Travelling through space and time, Ciri happens upon a recently abandoned camp that smells of fish.

[bookcalanthedaily]

maps spread in front of her, ciri plays with her dagger. wishing to pluge it into the very heart of all this evil. nilfgaard's heart. emhyr's heart. she never thought of herself this way - that she would be there, an army behind her, like her grandmother did, once upon a time.

" something bothers you. " the voice echoes. it is reassuring, and ciri no longer feels alone. she smiles. " no. nothing, grandmamma. " she promises.

the spirit's barely visible features twist in a look ciri knows all too well. calanthe always knew. somehow, she always knew.

" is it fear, that holds you back? " ciri digs the dagger into the soft wood of the table. she raises her eyes at the ghost of her past. " no. i am not afraid. not anymore. " " then what is it? " she wants to command her to go, but she does not want her to go. so she sighs. leaning back in the chair, her head resting against the top of it, eyes averted towards the ceiling.

" am i worthy? these people... they believe in me. but should they? " " you are a daughter of raven. like me. legend says, that as long as there is a raven on the throne of cintra, the kingdom will be happy. it will prosper. " ciri looks back at her. sitting up, eyes shining with hope. " is it true? "

calanthe chuckles, shaking her head. if ciri wants to be queen, she needs to understand... " it does not matter wether it is true. but wether the people believe it. "

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

For @thepassifloradiscord drabble challenge!

Warnings: Implied Geralt/Jaskier, good dad Jaskier

-

Shaking his head, Jaskier untied the scarf from around Ciri’s neck, adjusting it before twisting it around her neck again. It still wasn’t quite right. The young girl huffed and slapped at Jaskier’s hand as he reached up again to adjust it. “It’s fine, Jask.” “Fine isn’t good enough, Princess. You deserve nothing but perfect.” Ciri rolled her eyes and surged forward, wrapping her arms around Jaskier’s neck. “Jask, can I go to school now?” He felt tears fill his eyes as he looked up to Geralt hovering behind her. Their little girl was growing up, and he was scared.

[dxrklydrexming]

"Let The Sea Try."

[Seraphine 'Sable' Moreau x Elira Drake (circa) Early 18th Century during The Golden Age of Piracy A past life of Cirilla Ashcroft]

The storm had been carving its fury into the night for hours, thrashing the sea like a beast unchained. Thunder rolled low and long across the horizon, a guttural sound like cannon fire from gods at war. The Wailing Vesper groaned against the tide, its white sails half-furled and trembling, the carved sigils along its bones pulsing faintly with warded light.

At the helm stood Sable. Rain clung to her like ink, painting her in glistening shadows. Her eyes, sea-glass green and sharp as harpoons, scanned the horizon where lightning cracked the sky into pieces. She stood bareheaded in the tempest, her coat flaring, dark curls plastered to her brow. One hand clutched the wheel. The other was outstretched, fingers twitching in rhythm with the wind—casting, commanding. Her lips moved, soundlessly. Her magic throbbed in the marrow of the ship.

And then—Elira was there. Not a whisper of footstep announced her, only the sudden scent of lavender clinging to damp silk and the glint of firelight in her eyes. She stepped from the captain’s quarters like a ghost pulled from softer dreams, wrapped in a crimson cloak that snapped in the wind, her hair loosed from its usual bindings. She was noble blood and exile’s grace, a blade sheathed in velvet.

“You’ll tear the sea in two,” she said softly, just above the roar, voice steady as always.

Sable turned, and something inside her eased. “Elira,” she rasped, rain running like tears over her cheeks. “Go below. It’s not safe here.”

“I was not safe the moment I fell for you.” There was a fierceness in her that even storms could not drown.

Sable laughed, bitter and sweet all at once. She stepped from the helm, letting the first mate take her place, and crossed the slick deck to where Elira stood unwavering. Thunder cracked above them. Salt spray lashed them. Still, neither looked away.

Their kiss came like the crash of a wave—sudden, full of heat and salt and all the things they’d never said aloud. Elira tasted like defiance, like nights spent tangled in stolen linens and wine-slicked secrets. Sable kissed her like a drowning woman might kiss air.

When they broke apart, breathless, Sable touched her brow to Elira’s. “If this ship goes down, we go down together.”

Elira smiled, soft and sharp all at once. “Then let the sea try.”

Below their feet, the Vesper groaned again, her wards flickering with arcane light as another bolt of lightning speared the horizon. But Sable no longer watched the storm. Her eyes were full of Elira—of her storm-forged love, of the woman who’d refused a gilded cage and instead chose the gallows-bound embrace of a pirate queen. It was not a kiss that saved them, nor a spell, but the simple act of standing together—two hearts bound by ruin and reverence—when the world came to drown them.

Later, as the storm passed and stars reemerged like scattered coins across the black velvet sky, the crew whispered of what they’d seen. Of how the storm broke only when the captain held her strange lover in her arms. Of how the sea quieted when Sable murmured something ancient and aching against Elira’s lips.

They did not know the words. But Elira did.

[cherryjuicegf]

yennefer and ciri or yennefer and jaskier, call me?

thanks so much for this prompt my dear!! here have some yen with toddler ciri, i cried while writing this :')) hope you enjoy!! 💜

wc: 546

prompt – call me

Yennefer stares sleepily as Ciri's shoulders rise and fall in peaceful breathing.

She dares not move on the bed beside her, not even to shift as her leg starts to go numb in the same position. Afraid that the slightest sound, the slightest breath louder than the others would wake her. And she needs to sleep peacefully for once.

A smile creeps upon her lips. Gods, she's so small.

And she's been through so much. She's barely five.

She tries to think about how she would be as a baby. So tiny, so vulnerable, she would definitely fit inside Geralt's palms. A silent snort escapes her. No doubt. Geralt's palms are huge.

She tries to think about how it would be to hold her then. Somehow, it doesn't feel right. The way she holds her now, the way her little arms fit around her neck when she hugs her, sometimes it doesn't feel real. But it feels right. The right time.

She has to make it right, she will burn everything to succeed if needed. Ciri didn't have much of a choice after all. It's on her now.

She wonders, will she ever love her as her mother did? She's not her mother. Not in that way, in the way that she feels the same blood flowing in her veins. She wants to laugh. When did she start believing in nonsense? Her own blood never did her good anyway.

Suddenly the girl's breath hitches, and she moans in her sleep. Yennefer feels her heart jump in her chest. Her hand hovers over Ciri's shaking shoulder, uncertain. Ciri moans again, a complaint, and then flinches and whimpers, and Yennefer wishes she didn't listen closer. Mommy, she is muttering, her voice weak like a baby songbird, mommy, mommy.

Yennefer feels a lump forming in her throat. It won't ever change. A child wants its mother.

Gently, she shakes Ciri's shoulder. "Ciri, wake up," she whispers, ever so faintly, and maybe she should have been used to the nightmares by now, maybe, but the way the girl's face twists with tears makes her heart weep. "Wake up, child, I'm here."

She doesn't know what the fact that she's here means. It has to mean something.

She shakes again, a little more firmly, and Ciri flinches and opens her welled eyes, looking up at her. Her eyes widen for a moment, then a thin whine escapes her lips and she jolts up, falling in Yennefer's arms. "Mommy, a dream..."

For the barest of seconds, for as long as she dares to go without hugging her back, Yennefer freezes. A child wants its mother.

Her.

Slowly, as though she will break the bubble of magic, she wraps her arms around Ciri's back and holds her tight as the girl sobs in her shoulder. "Shh, hush, dear," she whispers shakily and, on instinct, her voice finds a melody, an old lullaby she doesn't remember where she heard first. Silently, she sings.

Ciri slumps in her arms, her little body still shaking with some last sobs. Yennefer caresses her head as it rests on her shouder.

"Shh," she says again and when did she start crying? She leans her head on Ciri's, closing her eyes, and through her tears, she smiles. "Mommy is here."