#emiel regis rohellec terzieff-godefroy imagine

[spellwing777]

[teatitty]

For anyone curious, this is what Dandelion's writing has to say about Regis in the Blood and Wine expansion of TW3:

Firstly, when penning the quest that has Geralt running into Regis again for the first time in years, Dandy writes this

Here I must explain that, years ago, Regis had joined Geralt's band of fellow travelers (of which I was a proud part) and set off with us in search of Ciri. Together we lived through many fascinating adventures and Regis proved himself a loyal friend, the kind you can trust with your life.

And then, on a bookshelf inside the crypt where you run into Regis, you can find a book titled "Biography of the Vampire Regis, From the Quill of Dandelion." Of course, like all large tomes in games, you don't get to read the whole thing but you do get a nice few passages of Dandelion talking about who Regis was and the friendship they shared

One of the most extraordinary individuals I have encountered during my numerous adventures at Geralt's side was the vampire known as Regis. To be precise, he was known as Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. By his own reckoning, he was 428 years old and was the descendant of unfortunate beings trapped in our world during the Conjunction of Spheres. You are surely thinking, Dear Reader, about katakans, alps and other such monsters and are pondering how it was that the witcher – who, it must be admitted, is a slayer of monsters – came to keep such company. I must here explain that Regis was a higher vampire, a creature which physically does not differ all that much from a man. Higher vampires are also much more powerful than their wild confreres, and their regenerative abilities significantly outpace those of anything else you have encountered or can even imagine. But it is not because of his outer appearances or inner strengths that Regis became our dear companion. True, he could be pretentious and rather pompous in his frequent length perorations, but one would be hard-pressed to find in him the haughtiness usually present in higher beings. Regis valued human life dearly and refused to kill unless forced to do so. As he once confessed, higher vampires do not in fact need to drink blood at all in order to survive. They treat it somewhat as we treat alcohol. A rough grasp of this dynamic might be given to you by the fact that, when we met him, Regis had been abstinent for years. He never revealed to us why he decided to join our search for Ciri. He had never met her before. Nor did he live to see her. He died at Stygg Castle, during the battle against the mad mage Vilgefortz, who was responsible for the whole affair. He died for a cause which he surely did not fully understand, but he did it to defend those he held dear and simply because it was the right thing to do. I shall always remember him as a rural surgeon reeking of herbs – that is how he came to us during our first encounter at the Fen Carn necropolis, when he treated me and my companions to a fantastic brew me made from mandrake root. Wherever you are, my friend, bottoms up!

[dykedteach]

imagine getting banned from social media for saying what geralt did to emiel regis rohellec terzieff-godefroy

[fangirleaconmigo]

For the WIP asks: I haven’t read the books yet and therefore have only a very basic understanding of Regis and his relationship with Geralt, but I’d love to hear more about “Regis is Ciri’s Professor”!

Aw yay!

Geralt x Regis Modern AU from the WIP game.

I’d love to talk about Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy and Geralt of Rivia! Their relationship is one of the best gifts the books give us. It is a goddamn delight.

But I’d never written them! (ETA other than peripherally in a one shot about Eskel meeting Regis) I always get into these long multi chapter Geraskier WIPs and don’t have time for anything else. And my friend Ro over on Twitter doesn’t read Geraskier and so I said…hey Ro, I want to write you a fic. Gimme a prompt.

And Ro said…how about a modern Geralt x Regis AU where Regis is Ciri’s professor? Well that’s perfect. One of Regis’s defining personality traits is how much he loves to go on and on. Perfect for a professor.

That was many months ago so Ro probably assumes I forgot and at some point this is going to get ridiculous I know but I’m still trying to find some kind of gentle little twist for the ending.

But the premise is that Geralt has just moved Ciri into her dorms and said goodbye. He is sitting on a bench, trying to work up the courage to go home to an empty house, when a handsome stranger asks him how he’s doing. He assumes this man is a fellow parent and believes that when he lets him walk away, that he missed his chance. But has he?

Excerpt

——

“I’m proud of her. I’m excited for her. But…” Geralt stopped. Not sure what to say.

“Change is always painful,” said Regis, “even when it is exactly the thing we want. Even good change tests us.”

Regis watched him for a moment. Geralt heard a voice in his head whisper...he’s handsome. Geralt had always loved a strong nose and a face that looked like it had lived a little and laughed a lot.

“You sound like you have experience with this.” He tried to gather his composure with a question

“Oh,” Regis looked out over the park, “I go through this every year it seems.”

“You must have a lot of kids.”

“So very many.”

Geralt chuckled. He had only had Ciri, and she had kept him on his toes every day of her life. He couldn’t imagine having more.

“How do other people do this?” The breeze pulled a lock of his hair from the tie, practically whipping his eyes. He shoved it behind his ear.

Regis looked at him thoughtfully. “You go back home, and you rediscover yourself.”

“The things I used to like?” Ciri had actually sent him a few articles about parents finding themselves again after their children left home. It was full of bullet points about reconnecting with yourself. Remembering what you’d done before your life was absorbed by parenthood. Ciri had also offered her own advice.

“Hit the clubs again, dad.”

“Very funny.”

“Maybe,” said Regis, “it could be the old things. But it might be new things. It’s not a rewind, exactly. It’s forging ahead. It’s freedom to build something new. Dream new dreams. Try new things. ” He smiled rakishly as though daring Geralt to do something brave.

New things. Thought Geralt. He couldn’t help noticing that Regis was new. But it was doubtful he was available, even if he was attracted to men. Geralt put the very unlikely thought out of his mind. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I can even remember who I was before.”

“That’s good! It’s the you now that matters. In this phase of life. It’s time to meet this new guy. He’s the same as the old one, but different.” Regis smiled. “I hope that makes it clear.”

Geralt laughed and shook his head. “As mud.” His chest loosened. He felt a tiny, hesitant bloom of hope. “Thank you, Regis. Thank you for taking the time to listen to a stranger.”

Regis touched him on the shoulder. “One day at a time, Geralt.”

Geralt liked the sound of his name on Regis’s lips. He also liked it when he touched him.

“And look after yourself,” he continues. “Do you have a system of support? Friends? Neighbors? Partner?”

Partner.

Did he want to know? Or was he just rattling off a list? There had been the slightest pause before he said it.

Geralt blew out a breath. “I have brothers, a father. They live pretty far away. I have a best friend, and an ex who is also a friend. But they’re always traveling.”

“Maybe it's time to add some new friends to the mix. You don’t want to be one of those parents who call their child every day and guilt trip them when they don’t pick up.”

Geralt groaned. “I do not.”

Regis smiled again. “You can do this Geralt. I believe in you.”

Geralt really did believe that he had faith in him. It was odd. Oddly comforting.

“Thank you.”

Regis nodded. “Maybe jump back into the dating pool. You are kind, caring. All of that is clear with one conversation. You’re obviously a loving father. And you are also, as I’m sure you must know, absurdly handsome.”

Geralt’s jaw dropped.

Regis continued casually, completely comfortable, perhaps even enjoying Geralt’s state of pleasant shock. “Geralt, I am absolutely certain that there are many men who would be thrilled to be on your arm.”

“Men? How did you know?” breathed Geralt.

Regis stood, and grinned again. “I didn’t. But now I do, don’t I?” He winked and walked away as Geralt spluttered under his breath, unable to come up with a single word in response.

---

[astaldis]

Nauseous - Creatures of the Night

@whumpers-monthly​

Fandom: The Witcher TV, The Witcher novels

Whumpee: Cahir

Caretaker: Jaskier

Published: 2022-10-0; Completed: 2022-11-11; Words: 22,898; Chapters: 14/14 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Categories: F/M; M/M; MultiF/F 

Summary: While Geralt's Hanza is staying in Beauclair, the famous fall event is coming up. An event the Witcher cannot refuse to take part in, even though he does have to dress up for it. However, not everything goes as planned and the members of the Hanza are in for some surprises. Blame it on the grape punch. Or is it the bard's fault after all?Written for the Witcher Trick or Treat 2022.

Relationships: Geralt of Rivia/Fringilla Vigo;  Anarietta/Jaskier; Angoulême & Anna Henrietta; Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach & Jaskier; Milva & Fringilla Vigo; Geralt of Rivia & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy; Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Jaskier; Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy

Excerpt from Chapter 12 - Too perfect masquerades and mismatched mates

Fuck. His head hurts like seven hells. No, seventeen. At least. Like caught between hammer and anvil with the most powerful Mahakam dwarf wielding the enormous iron tool. Every few seconds causing a crashing boom to explode in his woozy brain. Like the reverberating roll of thunder directly next to his eardrums. Perhaps it is the clap of thunder and not just a figment of his imagination? There were no clouds last he checked but a perfectly clear, dark velvet sky dotted with a million stars and an unusually big and round silver moon. Perfect weather for Toussaint's famous fall masquerade. However, he feels wet. Very wet actually. In between the echoing booms he believes he can hear the patter of water, too. A sudden deluge? Which he was too deeply asleep to even notice? His eyelids are far too heavy to open just yet to check, though. Damn, has he really drunk that much? He remembers a few glasses of freshly made wine and then there was this delicious grape punch ... He must indeed have had a cup too many as he can hardly remember anything else. Or two cups. Three. He moans softly and tries to sit up but immediately lies back down again, this time with a much louder groan, his head spinning and his stomach doing somersaults. Gods, now would be the perfect time for Geralt to kill him ... He groans again. Then, with an effort he forces his sluggish brain to process a few more of the incoming sensory signals from his surroundings. He stiffens. Shit! The perception processed by the few brain cells that are actually working is rather disturbing. Besides feeling cold and wet and - naked??? - he realises that the booming sound is neither in his head nor the roll of thunder but somebody snoring straight into his ear. Darn, there is a hand on his chest, too, that definitely does not belong to him. And another one in a place that is far too indecent to even mention. Cahir racks his brain who the mysterious woman could be that snores like a hog and seems to be lying right next to him. Very closely next to him. Extremely closely next to him. A woman who seems to be as completely naked and wet as he is. However, no matter how much he strains his muddled memory, his mind is totally blank. Not the faintest of faint ideas as to her identity. Fuck. Cursing colourfully in both the common speech and Nilfgaardian - inwardly, mind, as his tongue is much too heavy and his throat far too parched to utter any sound besides a soft groan - Cahir vows to himself - and on the heron as Toissaintois tradition demands - never to drink any alcohol ever again. Then, as in his current situation this is as helpful as shutting the stable doors after the horse has escaped, and wild guesses will not avail to anything either, he decides that there is no way around it - he has to open his eyes.

Very slowly and carefully, Cahir blinks his eyes open. And immediately closes them again. The light is terrifyingly bright. Well, no use moaning, it has to be done if he ever wants to find out where he is and with who. Preferably before this obscure female starts to wake up. Which would give him the chance to run, if necessary. If he can get his legs to work. A very big if. Another soft groan escapes his lips. How he wishes he could just open a portal and get out of here. Preferably to a dark and quiet and dry place with lots of extra soft cushions and warm, fluffy blankets. Where is a bloody sorceress when you really need one? On the other hand, Cahir would definitely not want Fringilla or any other sorceress or, come to think of it, any other person - or non-person - at all to see him like this. Including the person next to him. Shading his eyes with his dripping wet fingers he tries once more to lift his heavy lids. And catches a vague glimpse of the hand on his chest. Slowly it comes into focus. A pretty big and somewhat hairy hand. Gods, who is this woman? And how on earth have they ended up together like this? Stark naked - in a huge puddle of rain? They haven't ...? Gods, please, no. He shudders at the thought. Shit, shit, shit. Maybe it is just a costume, not the unknown lady's real hand?

Suddenly the lady starts to stir. Water splashes around them as she drapes her not only somewhat but decidedly hairy leg over his and moves her lips even closer to his ear.

"Mm, you are truly magnificent, my dear heart," a drowsy voice half-whispers into his ear. A voice Cahir knows. And it is definitely not the one of a woman.

"Jaskier?!" He jolts upright, panicking at the realisation. And at the sound of his own voice. Which is at least one octave too high. Compared to his dangerously low no-nonsense-commander-voice two octaves. Minimum. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Now he remembers. His costume. Fringilla's voice-altering potion. Gosh, what an extraordinarily stupid idea to masquerade as a woman. An idea which seems to have landed him in the hairy arms of Jaskier, the bard, of all people. In the middle of a fucking waterfall? Cahir cannot verify his first vague impression of his surroundings, though, as his stomach somersaults again and he just so manages to turn around and heave himself onto his arms and over the rim of the shallow, water-filled basin they are lying in before he starts to retch convulsively.

"Cahir?" Jaskier asks, staring at his heaving and very naked comrade incredulously, his voice thick with sleep and the last remnants of inebriation. "What the fuck?" He looks around searching for clues to what has happened. "Melitele's tits!" he then exclaims. "You are her? The Countess Ava???"

Read the complete story on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41477553/chapters/105627054

[witcherrarepaircommentexchange]

ship:

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy

fic:

Weather the Storm by SebDoesWords

Geralt sighed and felt his body relax, all the tension flowing from him. He felt he could fall asleep right then and there, but first it was the prickling warmth seeping back into his limbs that kept him awake, and then the sounds that surrounded them. Geralt couldn’t say he was especially surprised, given that they were in a brothel, but the coupling in the other rooms actually managed to be audible to his enhanced senses over the storm outside. And with how vocal some of the voices were, Geralt couldn’t help but imagine some things.

[hanzajesthanza]

No one asked about Regis? So here: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy

this bingo card is more awash with red than the north when he was arounddddd. ok ok

"they are so cool looking": i'll split this part up into three parts:

his fashion. i'm happy to have a fave character that dresses all in black, because i dress in all black. i have realized that there is a lot of creativity to be explored in all-black outfits, because you can do so much with silhouette, textures, patterns... and how he dresses. aprons? thank you. capes? thank you. velvet jacket? thank you again. i love regis' fashion because it's well done yet not begging for attention - because there was once a time in which he was begging for attention - he's happy to exist without trying to appeal to others...

his looks. i'm happy that he appears middle-aged because - and i have said this before, but will reiterate my theory and opinion - that vampires appear how they feel they exist, and regis coming back from his youth and now appearing as an adult demonstrates what he has learned, how he has changed, and that he has symbolically, personally aged, and that age, learning, and humanness is beautiful.

his powers. come on. he can disappear and hypnotize and fly as a bat... these are insanely cool. emerging from the shadows is sick as fuck. and it looks cooler when you're wearing a cape.

"everyone but me is wrong about them" + "they got done dirty by the fans": i made @burnfalka to address two evils: firstly, n*tflix, as it is everybody's enemy. but secondly, regis' treatment in the games and by the fandom. people who are h*rny about regis because they think drinking blood is hot are my enemies. or people who focus on regis' horrible drama-filled pain from blood & wine... i have most of the fandom blocked i think just because that type of content is insufferable to me. it's confusing, it's not who regis is...???

"not as deep as they seem": regis is very funny and a comic relief character but he is not seen like this by the fandom because of misperceptions that vampires are dramatic and not funny. to the contrary, read baptism of fire, he's very funny. his entire backstory is not that deep, it's just dark comedy and a parody of a human story of alcoholism, there's parody like "fly drunk" instead of "drive drunk," "didn't return to the crypt for three nights" instead of "didn't return home for three nights." he's just a comic relief character in so many circumstances but it's overlooked.

"wasted potential" + "they're deeper than they seem" + "they work better as part of a dynamic": related to how the hansa needs their relationships explored, regis' character arc is completed by existing in the hansa and learning what a family is, because humanity = family, to be part of a human family makes him human. his relationships in the hansa aren't just funny and for fun, they change his character for the better. i don't think this is necessarily "wasted potential," because i do believe it's canon, but it's just something i've decuded from the text and added some imagination to, which isn't apparent upon a first read of the books

i think the entire thing about toussaint being a dream they want to dream but in the end must wake up from is integral to the plot of lady of the lake and all of their characters - toussaint is really deeper than it seems, or how it gets treated - because it's symbolically the dreamland, the fairytale land, the perfect land where everything is ok and they can pretend to be whoever they want and forget about the harsh world of reality and their dark pasts. and i think regis' connection to this is that dreaming a dream and being in a drunken state are symbolically the same thing (which is why toussaint is not only the fairytale land, but the wine land) so he is no stranger to this kind of temptation. i think that part is really interesting, and it's much more deep than him showing a silver fork to the high nobility.

i can't answer this part of the bingo without talking about regis and angouleme but instead of writing an entire new post i will link to the masterpost found in my previous pinned post which is here...

but the sparknotes of it is that angouleme is wild, crazy, young, and fucked up with so many problems, and regis was once exactly like her. because they are like these kindred spirits, he could guide her into discovering peace and humanity, but also, he doesn't fully understand humanity because he's still learning about it, so angouleme could also guide him into humanity by teaching him what it is like to care about a child, which is a very human feature (because human immortality is achieved through raising children which will outlive their parents). basically, they could lift each other's character development up like the troll physics forklift meme. the blind leading the blind, the "never knew humanity" leading the "lost humanity". and also since they are both funny characters they can be funny together and get into hijinks and trouble and regis can get his cape caught in a doorframe . and he's like her dad if dads were not your dads but your teachers and guardian angels and bartenders instead.

"got too much screen time": it's a challenge because he's talkative and thus needs more page space to speak, but in lady of the lake, i feel his page time needs to be balanced with milva's page time, since they balance one another. for example, in baptism of fire, his page time is well-balanced with milva's, milva gets the first and second chapters, regis gets the third and fourth chapters, they unite in the fifth chapter, and divide the seventh chapter between them.

in lady of the lake, regis has too much time that becomes unbalanced by milva due to her physical and emotional injuries taking her out of scenes, i need to have scenes with milva speaking to regis or geralt about her injured ribs and about her turned-down relationship with amadis.

"they are literally me!": i, too, must explain things at length to people and act like an insufferable know-it-all or else i'll die.

regis talks soooo much and what i love about his talking is that most of the time he is talking about his own thoughts or assessments, which ultimately do not matter and have little effect. in dandelion's words, "He had the unnerving habit of announcing allegations and truths with the tone and air of a prophet, to which we soon stopped responding, because the announced allegations either actually were true, or at least seemed to be sound, or they were unable to be verified, which amounted to the same thing."

"i like them enough to project my own issues onto them": the reason i started to like regis in the first place was because i projected my internalized homophobia onto him and worked through some issues... everybody say thank you regis.

now i project my issues onto both him and angouleme so if you add them together, you'd get me.

"i'm mentally ill about them" + "they are like a blorbo to me" + "i want to carry them in a handbag like a tiny dog": i constantly think about regis and angouleme's mentorship-friendship, so for that reason i am mentally ill (or maybe they help me with my mental illness... it's like a chicken or the egg question, which came first?). regis is blorbo from my shows books because i will talk about him incessantly and extrapolate information from passages of the text you had forgotten about or thought were irrelevant. and i do sometimes carry a regis keychain-necklace (i broke the necklace chain last week. yeah that sucked so now i have to get a new one) that i feel like functions as a talisman of protection. you don't have to believe me but read the prelude to chapter 3 in baptism of fire about mandrakes. like the mandrakes, he helps with trials. thank you sir surgeon

send me character opinion bingo now that i'm off hiatus (bingo post)

[imaginethewitcher]

Hey, can we maybe get an unkowingly hurtful, busy Geralt/Regis who accidently blows off the reader when the reader excitedly tried to show off something sepcial to them, and Geralt/Regis don't realise until they haven't seen the reader in a while.

The long-awaited imagine is finally there! Thank you for your patience :D

Geralt: Thelast few days were the most exhausting ones you’ve ever experienced. Dandeliontaught you every single detail, no matter how seemingly trivial it was. Youaimed on writing the perfect ballad for Geralt. So you’ve asked theself-acclaimed master himself for advice, which he generously gave. Afterlistening hours and hours about every possible way to interpret a single lineof some poet, written by him self-explanatory. However it was worth the effort.You grinned wide as you put the last full stop and stretched your arms afterthe long hours of crossing out words, crumpling up papers and rewriting versesagain and again until you found the perfect words.With a wide grin and melodic humsyou skipped to Geralt. He sat at the desk of the room filled with numerousbeautiful paintings, old books and yellowed letters. The flickering of a candlethat was almost burned to the end of its wick, enlightened his face and ahalf-filled letter. His forehead was laid in wrinkles while he starred at thewords he wrote.You cleared your throat, but didn’tget a reaction. You were thinking of showing him the ballad later, however,your determination was stronger. So you tiptoed closer to him. As whispered inhis ear a “boo”, he turned around abruptly, hands already on the daggerfastened on his belt. You raised your hands immediately. On seeing you heexhaled and put his dagger back.“That could have ended muchdifferent. You know that”, he said and gave an annoyed grunt.“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you werethat focused”, you said and looked over his shoulder. “What’s with this letteranyway? It seems to stress you out a bit”.He quickly turned the letter.“It’s nothing”, he replied.“If you say so”. You wanted to keepon asking, but you knew how much of a pain he could be once he’s reallyannoyed. “So, I’ve been doing something for quite a while now. It’s finallyfinished and I thought you might want to hear what I wrote”.The only reply you got from him wasone of his uninterested grunts.“You asked me what kept distractingme, you remember? I’m done with it now. Even Dandelion said it’s wonderful and‘would melt the heart when reading the lyrical syylables’”.You looked at him, in anticipationof an answer, but all he did was staring at that piece of paper and dipping thequill in ink.“Did you listen to me?”, you asked,clearer and louder this time.“Maybe later”. He didn’t turn tolook at you.“I see”, you said after a break, “Ifyou say so”.You stomped out of the room, yourcheeks and eyes felt like burning flames, only cooled by salty tears. All thework for nothing! The papers containing the most loving words fell to theground.

Geralt felt the heat from thedancing flame on his face. It was annoying, distracting from writing andthinking. Since months he didn’t know how to formulate this letter. Dandelionsaid he should ‘just write from his heart’, which was easier said than done. Herubbed his hands over his forehead. The words didn’t flow today how heimagined. With a deep sigh he got up from the chair. Another day without aproper result.“[Your name], are you there?”, he asked as he looked around the house. But theywere nowhere to be found, however, paper lied all over the ground. “Hm, odd”,he mumbled, picking them up.He recognized the cursivecalligraphy immediately, it was theirs. The writing told a heroic tale about alone witcher with white hair. The more he read the more he realized it wasabout him. The ballad ended with him being contented and finding a companion,who stays with him in united love until the end of their days.He cried their name again, but noanswer came back.“Dammit”.That was what they wanted to showhim and he replied to them with curtness. He could have slapped himself forsuch a manner. And all that for this cursed letter, which should have resultedthe opposite way. It was supposed to be a poem for them. Now he stood there,his gaze still captured by the graceful words, telling the story of them and him.Fortunately he knew where to find them, when they want to be alone or areupset.

Geralt went to the garden, seeing themsitting there with sunken shoulders, looking over the fields, which assumed thecobalt-blue of the night.“Hey”, he said in a quiet tone, “youlost something”.They shook their head.“It’s not important. I’m sorryhaving distracted you”, they replied still staring at the wide fields.”There is nothing you need to apologize for. It was my fault, not yours”.He took a seat beside them. For awhile both of them merely sat there in silence, looking over the fields.After a while Geralt broke thesilence.“I’ve read a few lines of it, but Iwould like to hear from you much more”.Now they looked up at him. He heldthe pages to them and their lighted up slightly.“If you say so”.So they sat there while [your name]read the ballad of a witcher, who is not lonely anymore.

Regis: Regishung over countless documents about a variety of statistics, scientificfindings, and anatomical sketches. He was literally buried under stacks ofpapers and books, as was the case most of the time. You opened the door to hishumble personal library. A creaking sound escaped from the old wooden door. Youhid your hand, keeping a little surprise, behind your back and walked towards himwith sedate steps thus not distracting him from working. You took a glimpseover his shoulders. Papers filled with notes in every corner.“You should take a break. I didn’tsee leaving this room since the early morning. It’s already late”, you said.“Thank you for your worries, but I’mstill not finished with the documents about herbs, that might cure variouspoisonings”. He pointed to yet another high stack of documents.You sighed with your hands on yourhips. It’s almost as if he’s addicted to work even though he has so much timeto live, work and learn.“I have a surprise for you”, yousaid optimistically, “You will love it! Believe me! Also you can continueworking later. A little break won’t disturb your studies. Take my word for it”.One book after another, one researchpaper after another, one herb after another, you collected every fact andinformation about herbs curing poisonings in a herbarium.He turned around and looked deepinto your eyes.“[Your name], I’m really not up to abreak right now. These studies are much more important than it might seem atfirst glance. They could save someone’s life, maybe even yours someday. And Ihope not to lose you, because I took a little break. We all profit from them”,he explained.He talked to you like a mother to achild, that just did something incredibly foolish. It was his way to staypolite, yet telling someone to leave him with his work alone. Your face wentred and heat grew in it. You knew he just wanted some quiet time and normallyyou didn’t bother him as he doesn’t bother you when you are busy, however, inthis case his whole work of collecting relevant information was senseless.“I’m aware of that. It’s just ashort little moment”.“Then I keep this small littlemoment for later as a reward for the finished studies”, he concluded and gaveyou kiss on your forehead, his way of apologizing.It was of no use to discuss with himfurther at this point. All your work was for nothing, an unsuccessful surprise.You left the room and banged the door. Sometimes you couldn’t understand Regis.Why he was so interested in human and their well-being and spent his whole lifewith studies about them. He has all this time for it, but you won’t be thereforever.There was one person who understoodthat struggle and that was Orianna. Tears ran down your face while you workedto her estate. It was silly, yet, they didn’t stop coming. You threw theherbarium in the grass. It didn’t matter anyway.

You knocked on the door.‘Stupid tears!’, you thought, wipingthem away, but the swollen red eyes gave the shed tears away.Orianna opened the door, already inher dressing gown. Before she could ope n her mouth, you fell around her neck.“Come in first and then we can talk.I’ll get you some wine”. She stroke your shoulders and pulled you carefully in.You tried to hold back, however, themoment she closed the door the words escaped your mouth like a waterfall.“I collected every littleinformation, every small detail about those cursed herbs, but of course he’s working.That’s all he does! I seem to be air to him. I wanted to give him a surprisewith a herbarium and he’s working continuously without taking a break once in awhile. He has all this time, all this time to do whatever he wants, but can’tspend only a few minutes with me”, you cried and tried to calm your heavy breathingdown, breathing in and out slowly. “I just want to spend some time with himwithout all this work”.Orianna loosened the hug. Her handsheld still onto your shoulders.“He knows”, she said.“What?”, you asked surprised andlooked at her with big eyes. “How do you mean this?”“You’ll see. I get you a glass ofwine”.She stepped away in her elegantattire and left you alone and confused.‘What did she mean by that?’, askingyourself, realizing you felt much better now.Standing felt like an eternity thereuntil the unexpected happened. A knock from the door was heard.“[Your name], are you there?”. Itwas Regis’ voice!You sprinted to the place the voicecame from, but stopped shortly before pulling the door. You didn’t want toargue with him. You didn’t want to have stress with him. Nevertheless youwanted things to change and be clearer about what you wanted. After moments of silencehe broke it.“I’ve made a mistake. It wasn’t myintention to make you feel as if you were naïve or perhaps even a waste oftime. My studies seem to be my prison, I have to get out of in order to spendmore time with you, the person I love. Can you forgive me?”, he talked in acalm soft voice.You inhaled the cold air. Regis’ noticedquickly were his weaknesses laid, and you were thankful for that, as well ashis will to ask for forgiveness.“I wasn’t the most understandingperson either”, you sighed, “I know how important all of this is and I admireyour sense of care. I still wish to spend more time with and not always see youburied in work”.You opened the door and hugged himtightly. He closed his arms around you. You stood there like this under themoonlight for a wonderful while.“I found your herbarium on the wayhere. Fortunately it wasn’t damaged greatly. It’ a valuable piece of information.Thank you, my love”.“I’m glad to hear this”, you smiledand nestled closer to him. “I have made it just for you”.

[tauntingcrow]

Sensation of falling. The void eternal. — What did Regis feel/experience while regenerating?

[sebdoeswords]

To Pluck Wild Mountain Thyme (Geralt/Regis) - Full Chapter 1

Link to AO3

Chapters: 1/115 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Barnabas-Basil Foulty, Marlene de Trastamara, more characters will show up later in the fic Additional Tags: Betaed, Mutual Pining, Yearning, Domestic Fluff, domestic home life in general, they're basically married, Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Toussaint (The Witcher), other familiar locations in later chapters, Explicit smut in later chapters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, despite the size of the fic this is not a slow burn, based on games and books, spoilers are a given,

Summary:

The familiar sight of him as he clutched the strap of his satchel warmed something inside Geralt, something that had gone cold over the last few months. A grin spread across his lips as Regis descended into the courtyard.

Regis has left to find and help Dettlaff after the Night of Long Fangs, and Geralt has gone into semi-retirement at Corvo Bianco. But despite the new peace, the Witcher finds something is missing. Only when Regis unexpectedly returns one day does Geralt realise there is much they have yet to discover about each other and what connects them. After all, a love story does not end when those famous three words are said – it only just begins.

Full First Chapter (Continued under Read More)

He’d started missing him shortly after his departure. Once the shock from his stay in prison had subsided, Geralt had turned to learning the ways of a vintner. He resided at Corvo Bianco permanently now, only leaving for more than a day when the Toussaint locals came to him with requests of slaying a monster.

Missing him was a sneaking feeling, one that manifested first in simple memories of their time together – sometimes of working towards finding the Beast of Beauclair, and sometimes older, from when they’d travelled with their little hansa. But after weeks turned into months, Geralt found himself thinking of Regis more and more.

Sometimes he’d spend the day in his laboratory down in the cellar, replenishing his supplies of oils and potions, and he’d think of Regis and his love for alchemy. How he could go on and on about the effects of different ingredients, or what prompted certain chemical reactions.

Whenever one of his workers got hurt, Geralt wished for Regis’ calm and professional demeanour, his abundance of knowledge and steady hands to mend whatever wounds had been inflicted.

Geralt developed a habit of picking up some bottles of mandrake cordial during his visits to Beauclair. He told himself he’d keep them for when Regis would inevitably materialise on his doorstep, smile his tight-lipped smile and greet him as if he’d been gone for mere hours. But Regis didn’t come, and Geralt drank the bottles himself, sitting on the porch of Corvo Bianco as summer turned into autumn and the harvest began. The booze he’d bought from a fancy shop never tasted as good as what Regis distilled with the cobbled-together equipment he could find.

Winter was when the feeling really became apparent. He thought long and hard on whether to travel to Kaer Morhen, but ultimately decided against it. Something told him to stay where he was. Just in case… In case of what? Even in his own mind Geralt tried to pass it off as logic and not what his gut told him. The keep wouldn’t be the same now anyway, without Vesemir. Maybe Eskel and Lambert would be there, but what would they do for three long months besides playing drinking games? He couldn’t imagine mustering up the motivation to work on restoring Kaer Morhen. They hadn’t done it with Vesemir still alive, and now it seemed all too pointless.

So Geralt stayed. He watched all the seasonal workers who’d helped bring in the harvest and process the grapes leave to spend winter doing whatever odd jobs they could find, or maybe, and with the generous salary Geralt paid them it was quite possible, spend the colder months with their families.

Only those who were in charge of upkeep and other year-round duties remained, and they were few by comparison. Geralt had grown accustomed to the bustle in the courtyard, the people walking up and down the alleys, the smiles and nods they gave him in passing. He’d grown fond of having people who respected him, who saw him first and foremost as a man, not a witcher or mutant. He even enjoyed the occasional chat, getting to know his staff’s families, their history, thoughts and desires.

Now he watched Barnabas-Basil sweep the empty cobbled courtyard, gathering up the fallen leaves to throw them on the compost heap. It felt empty and cold and alone, and Geralt found himself longing for the open, warm gaze of a certain barber-surgeon.

One of those days, a dreadfully dreary and rainy one, Geralt set out for Mère-Lachaiselongue cemetery. He wore his swords – a rarity these days – as he sat on the wagon he’d strapped Roach to. It was covered with a tarp to keep the empty loading area dry. Bristling in a sharp gust of wind, he tugged his coat tighter around himself.

There wasn’t much traffic on the roads, and the people he did encounter were either too miserable to speak in the cold rain or didn’t recognise him, so no more than a handful of words passed Geralt’s lips on the way. As he neared the overgrown cemetery, the cart dragged deep furrows into the soaked dirt path. At the entrance to the crypt that housed Regis’ former dwelling, Geralt jumped from the wagon and stepped through the entrance.

A repressed, soundless sigh came across his lips and he brushed off his hood, always ready to be attacked by a ghoul or kikimore, as had been the case on his first visit. Geralt’s lips quirked into a brief smile at the memory.

No sounds of monsters met his ears and the medallion lay still against his chest, so Geralt took the first steps downwards. His boots produced soft splashing sounds on the wet stone, echoing from the walls, but he made no effort at silencing them.

As he’d expected, the crypt was flooded after days of ceaseless rain. The water stood several inches high at the lowest level, but Geralt didn’t mind much as he sloshed through it. The air was humid, which was the reason he’d come here.

Without admitting why he did it, Geralt sniffed the air, but there was no residue of wormwood and thyme anymore, just the smell of damp stone and leather.

As he climbed the steps, Geralt gathered a few empty, mismatched crates from Regis’ abandoned living area, which he proceeded to fill with books from the vampire’s library.

He was careful handling the books and other texts, as he assumed some of them to be quite old and therefore valuable – if not in price, then in a sentimental sense. Not for the first time did Geralt wonder why Regis had left them all behind. Maybe he hadn’t expected to be gone for so long… but then what was taking him? What if Regis didn’t even plan on returning to Toussaint? What if he planned on making a fresh start somewhere else? Something inside Geralt struggled to accept this possibility, so he pushed it aside in favour of glancing at the book titles in passing before stowing them away.

One of them in particular caught his attention: Biography of the Vampire Regis, From the Quill of Dandelion. Geralt flipped it open carefully, skimming a few passages. They brought back memories from a time he remembered fondly, but which had ended tragically. A sad smile flitted across Geralt’s lips, and he made a mental note of coming back to that specific tome later to read it in full.

It took all the crates lying around, plus some trips with lose books clutched in Geralt’s arms to transfer the whole library to the wagon. Geralt had only come back to do a last once-over of the place when he noticed a thin, beat-up booklet shoved under the mattress in Regis’ living quarters. Frowning, Geralt bent down and picked it up. It bore no title on the cover, and the edges of the leather binding were roughed up from use. Sitting down on the chair at the end of the bed, he flipped it open.

My Last Thought Before I Succumb To Sleep

If there is no death, does life exist?

Hate is a very interesting feeling. I have noticed that people improve themselves with it to great effect.

The book thudded shut as Geralt realised he was reading Regis’ journal – his most private thoughts. He stared at the blank cover for a long while, fighting the urge to open it again and read everything it held. The ache to talk to Regis was heavy in his chest then, and for the first time he realised he missed his friend. Geralt didn’t usually allow himself to miss people. His profession meant he was constantly on the move, constantly drifting past people. Even though he’d made many a friend during his travels, he didn’t see any of them on a regular basis, sometimes going months or even years between visits. But he missed Regis. Very much so.

Geralt’s bones felt heavy as he rose from the chair and tucked the book inside the light armour he wore underneath his coat. It felt like it was calling to him, like something familiar, something that just felt like Regis, and therefore Geralt wanted so desperately to hold on to it. But he decided he would rather hold on to the book than the words Regis hadn’t meant for anyone to see.

Toussaint was far enough south that it rarely snowed there. But that only added to Geralt’s foul mood. If there had been snow to cover the landscape it might not have looked so foreign to him as it did this winter. He’d never considered himself to be one for seasonal depression, but now that he had nothing to do and no one to talk to except B.B. and Marlene, he found himself affected by it after all.

To combat his boredom and loneliness, he took to writing letters. First to Dandelion and Zoltan in Novigrad, then to Triss, who’d settled in Kovir. He attached a letter to Yennefer as well, whose location was unknown to him, but he knew the sorceresses were close and Triss would pass it on to her. He also wrote to Eskel, Lambert and Ciri, hoping the letters would reach them wherever they were on the Path. Another letter he addressed to Dudu, or Whoreson Junior, as he was more well known in Novigrad. Olgierd von Everec received one, and so did Vernon Roche. He’d have liked to contact Iorveth as well, but he had no notion of where the elf currently was, and somehow he doubted it was a place letters were delivered to anyway.

After many more recipients came a time when Geralt didn’t know who else to contact, so he began meticulously refreshing his already fresh knowledge of anything Kaer Morhen had taught him. He read all the books in Corvo Bianco, among them the ones from Regis’ library – including the biography Dandelion had written about him, which made him chuckle.

It came a time when he wondered if retired life wasn’t for him after all, but just then the first field workers came back in and Geralt’s loneliness started to wane. One day in mid spring he went out to the far corners of the vineyard, where a worker of his had reported Archespore sightings. Geralt wasn’t surprised – the plants were most vicious now after wintering underground.

It didn’t take much to get rid of them, and he was back by late afternoon, when the sun was just touching the horizon, casting golden light across the landscape. It was then, as Geralt wiped the last traces of Archespore acid from his armour by the stables, that he heard B.B. call out to him.

“Master Geralt, sir,” he announced. “You’ve a visitor.”

Geralt looked up and tossed the soiled rag into the bucket of sickly green water. B.B. stepped aside, but Geralt had already spotted the visitor. Elevated on top of the stairs leading to the main building of Corvo Bianco, illuminated by the golden sunlight, stood Regis.

The familiar sight of him as he clutched the strap of his satchel warmed something inside Geralt, something that had gone cold over the last few months. A grin spread across his lips as Regis descended into the courtyard. His hair was darker than Geralt remembered, but he was still wearing his usual dark gambeson and earthy green tunic with the intricate, delicate pattern that clashed with its frayed hems.

“Greetings, Geralt,” he said as they met in the middle.

Geralt huffed and shook his head at Regis’ nonchalant approach, and instead of answering with words he slung his arms around the vampire, holding on tightly. He could hear chuckling before strong arms wrapped around him, betraying Regis’ portrayal of himself as a defenceless barber-surgeon.

They parted after longer than Geralt usually embraced people for, still not completely letting go, holding on to each other’s shoulders.

“How long have you been here for?” Geralt asked as he walked Regis back to the house.

“A few hours,” Regis said, his gaze sweeping over Corvo Bianco. He seemed pleased with the state it was in, well maintained and populated by healthy workers. “I passed the border to Toussaint in the morning, but found my residence at Mère-Lachaiselongue cemetery emptied of most of my remaining belongings. Very carefully so, too, if I might add. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, my friend?”

The look Regis gave him as he walked through the door Geralt held open betrayed the entirely rhetorical nature of his question. Huffed laughter rose from Geralt’s throat, and it felt foreign, as if he hadn’t laughed in a long time.

“Yeah. Transferred your books and equipment here after some rainy winter days,” Geralt supplied and motioned for Regis to sit across from him at the table. “Thought the humidity might ruin them. They’re in the guest room.”

“I see. Thank you for your concern, Geralt.” Regis sat down and watched as Marlene emerged from the kitchen with a tray of cheese, olives in a little dish and a carafe of wine, of which she poured them each a glass. “Why, thank you, my dear.”

Marlene chuckled and waved a hand in Regis’ direction, then looked at Geralt. “You have such a charming friend, Geralt,” she said before drawing back into the kitchen.

“I guess that means I don’t have to introduce you to my staff,” Geralt said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Your majordomo was so kind as to let me wait for your return here after I explained myself to be a friend of yours. Miss Marlene insisted I have a bite to eat – by which she meant a full course meal, as I quickly came to understand. We had some very fascinating conversations, among them your noble deed of lifting the curse that had been inflicted upon her.”

“Not much noble about tasting that brew she concocted as a wight. Some of the vilest stuff I’ve ever tasted,” Geralt explained, making a vague gesture with his hand before tucking it back into the crook of his other arm.

“You took the time to come up with a plan to help her and followed through with it. Not many would have done the same, even fewer let her stay at their estate,” Regis said as if complimenting Geralt came as naturally to him as turning into a puff of smoke.

“Mhh, needed a decent cook anyway. Wasn’t all selfless.”

“I see you are still determined not to let any of your good qualities be acknowledged.” A mischievous twinkle shone in Regis’ eyes. “But enough of that. I will make an effort to relocate my belongings to the cemetery as soon as possible. Thank you for storing them. I admit, it was foolish to leave them all unprotected when I left, but I was desperate to go after Dettlaff as soon as possible.”

There was a long pause as Geralt sipped his wine and debated his next words. “You can leave them here, if you want.”

“That is very kind of you, Geralt, but I’m afraid must have access to them at a moment’s notice whenever the need arises.”

“No, I mean… not just the books. You could stay here. Don’t have to go back to that crypt,” Geralt mumbled awkwardly. Initially, he wasn’t sure why he even offered, but when the feeling of loneliness he’d experienced in winter flashed in his mind, he knew he yearned for some company. “The guest room upstairs is empty, and I’m sure Marlene would appreciate having another mouth to feed, let alone have the company of someone more talkative than me in the house.”

Regis’ dark eyes scanned Geralt’s face and he took a moment to deliberate. “I wouldn’t want to impose my presence on you—”

“Not imposing if I’m offering. Besides, the workers in the fields constantly get hurt. Having a surgeon around would be pretty handy.”

“I see,” Regis hummed. “Then allow me to think on it. I shall get back to you in the next few days.”

Geralt nodded. It wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for, but it was the one he’d expected. Grabbing the carafe, he refilled Regis’ wine glass. “Now elaborate on the Dettlaff situation. Did you find him?”

“Unfortunately not. As I assumed, he doesn’t wish to be found, so there is nothing I can do,” Regis said, taking a sip of wine. He traced the immaculate surface of the glass with his pointed nails, producing soft clinking sounds in the silence. “I followed his steps far south, past Vicovaro even, but he must have sensed me and shut himself off. I tried to spread the message that I was looking for him and would be glad to speak with him. If he wishes for it, a meeting will happen eventually.”

“He probably just needs time,” Geralt mused. “You two are close, I’m sure he’ll contact you when he’s ready.”

“I do sincerely hope so.” Regis put down his glass and looked at Geralt as if he was contemplating something. “I must apologise. What happened before we parted, that you were imprisoned, it was my fault.”

Geralt peered at him over the rim of his glass, frowning. “Sounds awfully like what I said to you back in the warehouse. And I’ll say it in your own words so you might understand: no one twisted my arm to let Dettlaff go,” he said, putting down the glass and looking Regis in the eyes. “If I got a chance to choose again, I’d do the same.”

“Geralt, I made a vow to you that day. I vowed that no harm would come to Syanna and I have failed you. And her, too.” Regis’ voice was heavy and gravelly with regret.

“Yeah, you did. You fucked up. We all fuck up sometimes, no use dwelling on it.”

Regis looked exasperated at that. “This isn’t some minor mistake. Granted I held no love for Syanna, but she was still a person who died because of my carelessness. I failed to protect her—”

“Dammit Regis, do you think I’ve never failed to protect people? People I cared or didn’t care about? You were there for some of them!” Geralt’s voice was hard and angry, his eyes burning into Regis’. “Protecting people… I failed at that so many times I lost count. So, if you’re gonna spend tonight beating yourself up about your mistakes, then you’ll have to beat me up for mine too.”

Regis considered Geralt silently for a long while. There were so many things in his eyes Geralt didn’t have words for. Eventually, Regis lowered his gaze to the table. “Thank you, Geralt. Thank you,” he whispered almost inaudibly.

[spellwing777]

[rallamajoop]

Geralt/young!Regis

So, a question for the gallery: has this been done? (Links and further deets eagerly solicited if so.)

In what seems to becoming my personal quest to ship Geralt/Regis in all possible variations – and especially the underappreciated* – you can only ignore the possibilities of Regis’ troublesome younger persona for so long, especially in a canon already filled with magic, time travel, amnesia, etc. But I mean, I am joining this fandom years late – surely someone has done current!Geralt/young!Regis before me, right? Because otherwise I may have to figure out where this blasted ficbit is actually trying to go (not to mention how it got here to begin with), and damnit, I have so many WIPs already...

“Goddamnit, Regis.” The futility of getting through to his friend in this state hung heavy over the conversation before it had even begun, but Geralt had to try, whatever the odds. “I need you to listen to me! I know you.”

“Interesting,” said Regis, looking him up and down, the limp body in his arms slumping gently to the floor. He wiped his mouth on the back of a hand. “I don’t know you. At least, I don’t remember meeting you.” The high-pitched giggle that followed this statement was distressingly un-Regis-like. “It must have been quite a night if I don’t remember meeting a witcher.”

“You were sober,” said Geralt, through his teeth. “This isn’t you anymore. You’re under a spell.”

“Mm, the intoxicating spell of the ichor,” Regis grinned in a way that showed all his teeth. “No better way to be!”

“I’m being serious, Regis.” No part of Geralt’s witcher training had prepared him for this. “I… ugh, I can prove I know you.”

“Can you, now?” said Regis, looking genuinely – if somewhat unsteadily – intrigued. “Go on, then.”

That was the problem, though: most of what Geralt knew about Regis would be centuries too late. Still, he had to try. “Your full name is Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy. You’re from the clan of Gharasham. Your friends include a Dettlaff Van der Eretein, and a woman called Orianna, and… damnit, I never got her name; she’s living up in Vizima now.”

Regis laughed – at least it wasn’t another giggle. “Is that the best you can do? Any number of people could have told you that much.”

“No,” said Geralt, though he was already running very thin on material. “I can tell you your idea of fun involves turning into a bat and terrorising the peasants. And…” Were Geralt less enraged, he might have thought better of what he said next, “I can tell you that you started drinking blood because without it, you never had the confidence to talk to girls.”

Regis bristled. “Well, whoever told you that was no friend of mine. Must we resort to slurs against my character?”

Geralt shook his head, helplessly. “Regis, the man you’ll grow up to be would be ashamed of the way you’re acting now.”

This did not have the impact he’d vainly hoped for; instead Regis burst out laughing again. “Oh, of course! Really, now, which of the elders sent you? Was it Carolotta? I must have seriously embarrassed someone if this is what they’ve resorted to.”

“What?” Geralt could only stare at him blankly.

Regis ignored him. “I suppose next you’ll tell me you’re the ghost of Samhain-future, here to convince me to change my ways? What a lark! Far more imaginative than I expected of them, but they’d have had to catch me much drunker than this if they hoped to make me believe it.”

“Regis…”

“Still,” said Regis, advancing on Geralt with purpose, “perhaps I would like to get to know you, witcher.” Thus far, all Regis’ movements had been so unsteady that Geralt was in no way prepared for the sudden turn of speed with which his friend was in front of him – had caught both Geralt’s wrists and twisted them behind his body, leaving him chest-to-chest with the vampire in a crude mockery of a hug.

He knew what came next.

“I would certainly,” Regis drawled, “like to know how you taste.”

The bite sank deep into Geralt’s neck. For long seconds, it was all he knew.

“Oh,” Regis breathed against his skin, “you’re simply delicious!” And what little hope Geralt had had that his friend might have stopped at ‘a taste’ sank, as Regis fastened himself eagerly back onto Geralt a second time.

Just wait, he told himself, he’ll lose concentration, let go of your hands – you can make a sign. If all else failed, he knew his blood was richer than that of an ordinary human; Regis was already drunk – maybe he’d pass out before Geralt would. Maybe…

* Book!verse: check, Game!verse: check, Amnesia!Geralt/Regis: check, Geralt/Regis/Yennefer: in progress (in both book and game variations), Geralt/Regis/The Succubus: also in progress

[sunflowersupremes]

The Children of the Night, What Music They Make

Dandelion pushed his fork onto one of the slices of meat, forcing red liquid to leak out of it. “I’m not hungry for food,” he said softly. Then he drew back his lips, showing Geralt teeth that had an unusual shape to them.

The Witcher’s mouth went dry. “Dandelion-”

“I want blood Geralt. I- I think I’m turning into a vampire.”

Suddenly it all made sense.

The inn. The letter. The swords.

Dandelion was trying to force a confrontation. He wanted to force the Witcher’s hand: take him to a place full of innocents, make sure he was armed with a silver blade, and then-

He wanted Geralt to kill him.

Author: SunflowerSupreme Prompt: Monster Hunt [Geraskier Week Day 2] Verse: Games (post Blood and Wine) Triggers: Blood Rating: General Word Count: 1286

Read on AO3

Written for @geraskierweek

He didn’t know what to make of the poet’s letter, which requested to meet at one of Toussant’s many inns. The Witcher was tempted to remind him - yet again - that he shouldn’t be in the Duchy, not if Anna Henrietta was around, because the two of them were nothing but trouble together, but as soon as he saw Dandelion the scolding words he’d planned died on his lips.

The bard was curled in the back of the tavern, an untouched plate of food in front of him, tapping his fingers slowly against his glass. He was paler than Geralt had ever seen him, and his hair was ruffled. But most alarmingly, was the fact that his shirt was rumpled and the lace on his sleeves was ripped.

When he saw the Witcher, he seemed to relax, his shoulders slumping hunching inwards over his untouched cup of wine.

“Did you bring it?” he asked as Geralt sat across from him, looking up with tired blue eyes.

“I never go anywhere without my swords, Dandelion.” Oddly, the poet had only specified that he needed the silver one.

The poet swallowed and nodded. As Geralt sat down, the bartender placed food in front of them, which Dandelion must have already ordered. There were two plates, and he wasn’t certain what to make of Dandelion’s, which was a steak that was so undercooked it was nearly raw.

But the bard began cutting into it without a comment.

“What is it, Dandelion?” Geralt asked, ignoring his own food.

Dandelion put a piece of meat in his mouth, chewing with a wince. “You should ask them to finish cooking that,” Geralt told him softly.

“It tastes like ash,” Dandelion said softly.

Geralt stabbed a piece with his own fork and ate it. “It takes like raw meat,” he said with a shrug.

“Everything tastes like ash,” said the poet mournfully.

“You’re being ridiculous, Dandelion,” scolded Geralt. But there was a creeping sense of unease in his stomach. Dandelion would, as a general rule, eat anything you put in front of him. People always expected the poet to be a picky eater - and yes, he put on airs and whined when food wasn’t to his liking - but Geralt had never know him to push it around with plate with a wince.

Dandelion looked up at him with a hurt expression. “Geralt,” he whispered. “Geralt, I’ve been cursed.”

“With an inability to taste food?” Geralt snorted.

The poet looked away, giving a slight shake of his head. “Geralt I- I don’t know what caused it. It started one morning. I was with Annarietta - don’t give me that look - and suddenly I was so hungry.”

“Then eat,” he said, pushing the plate back toward the poet.

Dandelion pushed his fork onto one of the slices of meat, forcing red liquid to leak out of it. “I’m not hungry for food,” he said softly. Then he drew back his lips, showing Geralt teeth that had an unusual shape to them.

The Witcher’s mouth went dry. “Dandelion-”

“I want blood Geralt. I- I think I’m turning into a vampire.”

Suddenly it all made sense.

The inn.

The letter.

The swords.

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut. Dandelion was trying to force a confrontation. He wanted to force the Witcher’s hand: take him to a place full of innocents, make sure he was armed with a silver blade, and then-

He wanted Geralt to kill him.

Geralt leaned forward, grabbing Dandelion’s wrist across the table, dropping his voice so that he was certain no one else could hear him. “Here’s what you’re going to do, poet,” he growled through his teeth. “You’re going to get up and walk out of this godforsaken tavern, get on your horse, and go back to Corvo Bianco with me.”

“Geralt-”

“And if you even think about causing a scene, I will hog tie you then whip you in front of this entire tavern.”

“Geralt, I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” he snarled, already pulling coins out of his pocket, dropping them on the table to pay for the food and ale he hadn’t even had time to touch. “Now start walking.”

But Dandelion didn’t, so Geralt stood and grabbed him, pulling him to his feet with a vise-like grip on his wrist. “Come on, you brat.”

Dandelion didn’t struggle as he was drug outside and practically thrown onto Pegasus, the gelding giving an irritated snort at the sudden weight. For good measure - and because the poet looked as though he still wanted to cause trouble - Geralt wrapped a rope around his wrists and tied it to the saddle horn. Then he swung onto Roach and grabbed Pegasus’ reins, leading the horse down the road.

Corvo Bianco wasn’t a long ride from the inn, but Dandelion seemed determined to make it as long as possible, refusing to speak at all, hanging his head and not saying a word when Geralt talked to him.

“I need to know what caused the curse, Dandelion,” he said. “I can’t break it if I don’t know a thing about it.” He’d never even heard of such a curse, after all, and no doubt Dandelion had very little idea what had caused it. The poet never seemed to understand why he got into as much trouble as he did.

“I don’t know what caused it,” mumbled the poet, speaking for the first time since he’d been drug out of the inn.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “You just… woke up wanting blood?” he asked doubtfully.

“No! Zoltan punched a man and broke his nose,” Dandelion explained. “I- I could smell the blood on him, Geralt.”

Then he went quite again, refusing to say anything else. Geralt finally gave up on holding a conversation and they finished the ride in silence.

Once at Corvo Bianco, Geralt handed the reins off to a servant after unceremoniously untying Dandelion from the saddle and heaving him off the horse. It was a testament to how strange his employees found him that none of them questioned why Dandelion - who they had met and knew to be Geralt’s friend - had been tied to the saddle.

He pulled Dandelion into the wine cellar, and then off into the side chamber that he’d ordered be left empty in case he ever had need of it. He’d imagined needing it for a monster, but not for his best friend.

“Geralt-”

“Quiet Dandelion,” he said. “Stay here, and don’t you dare run off. I’m going to send for Regis, he’ll know what to do.”

“What does Regis know about curses?”

“He knows a hell of a lot about Vampires.” He’d know if it was possible Dandelion had turned into one, and - hopefully - what to do with him to prevent him from causing any trouble.

Dandelion dropped onto an empty barrel with a grunt. “Very well,” he said haughtily. “Although I doubt it will change anything.”

Geralt didn’t answer, turning and slipping back out the door, dragging a thick bolt across it to keep Dandelion from wandering off or trying to start another fight. Perhaps the poet had given up on himself, but Geralt hadn’t. Not yet.

Going back up to the main house he located Barnabas-Basil who was puttering about in the main room, doing… something. Geralt still wasn’t certain what a Major-Domo did, after all.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“But of course.”

“Go to Mère-Lachaiselongue Cemetery, there’s a man - Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy - in the crypts there. Stand in the cemetery and shout until he comes out. Tell me I need him as soon as possible.”

If Barnabas-Basil thought that was a strange request, he didn’t say. “Of course, sir. I shall return soon.”

[astaldis]

Witcher Wheel of the Year - Yule

@witcherwheeloftheyear

Words: 1,885 Chapters: 1/4

Characters: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Jaskier | Dandelion, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Maria Barring | Milva, Angoulême (The Witcher), Fringilla Vigo, The Hansa | Geralt's Company Members (The Witcher)

Additional Tags: Yule, Presents, Surprises, Friendship, breakfast in Beauclair, Toussaint (The Witcher), Echoes, Suspension, straw, Holly, Unexpected Guest, Chains, Cake, gift wrapped, A Witcher Wheel of the Year Challenge 2023, Humour

Summary: Another festive event is coming up in Toussaint and Jaskier has the perfect idea for how to celebrate it with his Hansa. He only needs to convince Geralt and the others that his idea for their Yule party will be fun, lots of fun.

Written for The Witcher Wheel of the Year Challenge - Yule

(Set during "Lady of the Lake" while the Hansa is wintering in Toussaint, between chapter 3 and chapter 4. But you don't need to have read the books to enjoy the story.)

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Visit

"Ah, dear company, good morning!" Jaskier exclaims, swinging the door wide open with a flourish. "I knew I'd still find you breakfasting here in this cosy little kitchen of yours! It's only half past eleven, after all, the perfect time for this earliest of daily meals. Even Geralt and the Lady Fringilla are here. I am in luck!" He intones the last four words while waving his hat about, then he bows to Fringilla with a grin.

"Look who the cat dragged in. Jaskier, the Duchess's famous poet in the flesh. What do we owe your unexpected visit to?" Geralt asks ironically. The bard is here with the rest of the Hansa far less often than he and Fringilla, and whenever he does find his way down to the kitchens, it means— "Jaskier, you don't want us to take part in one of your inane festivities again?" Geralt looks sharply at his old friend, furling his eyebrows with suspicion.

"You did have tons of fun at the Fall Masquerade, old grumpy, like everybody else, didn't you? Admit it! And this will be fun, too, you'll see." Grinning broadly, Jaskier flops down on a free chair. "I promise, it'll be just the six of us and Fringilla this time," he adds before Geralt can raise any objections. "A very low key celebration. Some delicious traditional food and drink, a tiny bit of season decorations, the music fitting for the event, of course - and a nice surprise present for everybody."

"A surprise?" Angoulême pricks up her ears. "I love surprises! And presents!" She puts down her mug with hot cocoa and beams at the bard, her upper lip adorned with a moustache of brown chocolate. "What kind of surprise, n'uncle? When will I get mine? Is it a new, extra-sharp dagger? Or a bottle of cask strength whiskey? Can I have my present now?" She looks at the bard with big wide eyes.

"Not so fast, little miss nosiness," Jaskier smiles, totally immune to the girl's Puss-in-Boots expression. "And you cannot have it now, sorry. If I told you what it is, it wouldn't be much of a surprise, would it? Anyhow, I have no idea myself what will be your present as it's not I who chooses the gifts, but you!"

"We? Do you expect us to go shopping for presents?" Cahir asks sceptically. "You are aware that - unlike you - most of us don't have any money, not a single floren."

"Money, who's talking about money, friend? Be a bit more creative!" Jaskier says enthusiastically. "Let your imagination soar! Only the sky's the limit, as you all should know! Money!" he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Then what, bard, if we don't buy the gifts?" Milva asks irritatedly. "Can you speak plainly so that a simple girl from the forest can understand what this is about?"

"Sorry, dear Milva, I apologise most humbly for my lofty choice of words. But I am a poet, after all, heart and soul. However, it's not difficult at all. Actually, it's easy as pie and a piece of cake. We will make the presents ourselves." 

Continue reading on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51673288

[little---games]

The witcher needs to apologise for all the cruel things he said.

[imaginethewitcher]

Could you do an angsty Regis imagine where the reader was his lover before he died, however since his death she's been neglecting herself and became very depressed and she finds Regis in the cemetery in Beauclair and the fluff begins?

Hopefully I gave your request the justice it deserved, because it’s really good. I love that scenario!I’m not very far in the book, but now what a terrible fate Regis has met. Still I didn’t want to write anything wrong, so I kept this part very short and tried to focus on the emotions. I hope you will enjoy it nontheless :)

You loved him more than anything inthe world. He was your red rose in the painful thorn bushes. A red rose whichis to live for eternity, yet the blossoms wilted.

It’s been many years now, since thedeath of Regis. You sat on a creaky chair in the corner of your dusty, gloomyroom of a cheap tavern. That’s what you did for hours, which became days. Thedays became weeks, the weeks became months. For how long did you just sit aroundin this grey room? You didn’t know the answer, could be years or only a fewmonths. Time didn’t matter to you since that ill-fated day. Regis never gavetime much concern he was a vampire after all and wouldn’t be taken by theendless flow. Thinking of him put a smile on your face you felt the illusion ofhappiness that only lasted as long as a blink of an eye. Your friends andfamily were worried about you, sending you letters and visiting you, but theletters filled with scripted words of pity and the put on acts of visiting youto speak of grief became less. It didn’t bother you. They wouldn’t tell you tobrush your once silky hair, to wash your once unblemished clothes or to formyour once fair smile.You knew it was not possible to spend the rest of your life in mourning and inthis city. This city you adored was now a place of gruesome nightmares.Countless times you tried to go away, to flee from Beauclair, but every time thewistfulness hanging around your neck pulled you back. Nevertheless there wassomething else. Hope for seeing him again. Regis could be still alive, but the disappointmentof many passing years of loneliness gave no consolation.As you sat up from the old chairyour limbs hurt unpleasantly. Today was his anniversary of the death. Youneeded to visit his grave in the cemetery he loved dearly back when he wasstill there. You visited him several times there amidst the green forest, swayinggrass and soughing water and amidst the forgotten names, timeworn gravestones andwilted flowers, as you would do on this day.

The sunset coloured the streets orange,soon changing to a dark blue enlightened by stars and the moon. You envied themoon for it was not alone, but had companions too great a number. You wanderedthrough the cemetery in the cold air of the evening, a bouquet of red roses inyour hands.This place made you melancholic no matter how often you visited it. The smellof loss filling the air, yet you couldn’t cry. The tears were locked away. Youalready cried them all in the moment you found out about the dreadful end ofthe person most dear to you.His grave was hidden among themyriad graves, although his deathbed was accompanied by a strange loneliness.You walked on the overgrown path, but it was different this time. The grass wasdisturbed by new footsteps. You walked this path mostly with no trace ofanother person having taken it. Your heart began racing. You didn’t dare to hopeit was the person you expected and tried to calm yourself, but the excitement didn’tstop. Your feet moving faster, your bright eyes widened. There he was, standingin front of his own grave, turning his head to look at you, smiling a rare grin.“It’s been a while, my love”, hesaid, “Everything is fine again”.You stood there. Trying to formwords, but they wouldn’t come out. Tears rolled down your face.Both of stood there in silence. Afteryou took a deep breath, you ran in his arms.“Where were you? I’ve been waitingfor you such a long time”, you cried, “A time too long”.“It’s a long a story. A lot hashappened. I will spare you the details for now. Now I want to hold you in myarms”.He tightened the consoling hug afterthe eternity of being separated from you