#eskel and lambert yap

[winters-mistress]

Know your limits, know your worth

Ciri's running with the dogs. It's unusual that they get this much exercise when they are not hunting with the witchers, but Vesemir wanted the newest pup to run the killer and through the woods before supper. And much to their surprise, the little one didn't bitch or whine and moan. She simply agreed and went back to her lunch, slurping up her apple juice and pitting another small handful of greens into her mouth.

Geralt had been suspicious of the quick submission, she had been miserable and grouchy the first time they had run the killer together. And each time, she grumbled and groaned like Lambert with a hangover, and he was uneasy about this new acquiescence until she got up with Eskel and the two of them went outside.

Geralt follows, because of course he does, Lambert calls him a nosy, overprotective prick when it comes to the young Queen of Cintra. But he's intrigued by the change in the kid, and Eskel's apparent knowledge of it. And while he knew the girl liked the hunting dogs they kept in the Keep, he didn't think they would be used as bribes.

But bribes they were, he thinks with a grin, looking at the girl as she runs with the dogs. It's not all of them, the breeding bitches and a couple siring studs and the youngest pups are still in their kennels in the Keep. They yap amd bark with her, depending on their ages, the lot of them looking like an unusual multi species pack, running in the wind and sucking gown air greedily as they make their way through the woodlands.

Eskel was spotting behind her, making sure the dogs were still in line, and none were left behind. Presumably, he's there to make sure Ciri doesn't fall or hurt herself, but he keeps back a few yards so she feels free and wild as they run with precision, steps measured as they acclimatise to the rocks and mud on the ground.

Geralt grins at the sight of his girl laughing into the wind, leading the pack of hunters as she runs. It reminds him of when they first met, finding her wet and wild and rugged with leaves in her hair and mud on her torn cape. But they are in much happier circumstances in this moment. Cirilla is settled and fed and happy, and he has found a peace in which he had never known, being around this kid.

For all he resents Volentretenmerth and his prophecies and all they cost him, he knows the man was right in his knowledge that being with her soothed the itch he could not scratch, the Queen of Cintra being the thing that kept him up at night, their separation making him ache. And being around her now, teaching and protecting her, it soothes something he didn't even know was so drawn tight.

She gives him purpose, she gives Vesemir a reason to slip into the old master's role once again, one he had sorely missed since all his pups left the Keep. She has given Lambert healing from his bastard of a father, and gave Eskel reason to come to peace with what happened with Diedre.

Ciri's much like him, he realises. Light hair and glowing eyes and fresh out of tragedy. But now, they can all heal together as the winter continues to settle in the Keep, even if they do have the help of a few dozen paws and floppy ears along the way.

[queenxxxsupreme]

He Comes With The Storm (Lambert x reader)

A/N: Hi babes! I know it’s been a while, but my summer has yet to be a chill and relaxed one. But I will continue to write what I can, when I can :)

Warnings: nothing outside of canon, 

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: Lambert comes home.

***

A clap of thunder made you jump, your hand coming to cover your heart. 

Your cat, Bread, meowed loudly and weaved between your legs. 

“It’s just a little thunderstorm, handsome boy.” You leaned down to pet his head. 

You returned to the soup you were making, stirring a few bay leaves into the pot. 

Even though it was late in the evening and the sun had long since set, you were just getting around to making dinner for yourself. Time had escaped you earlier in the day. You found a rather intriguing book and dived into it, losing all sense of time as the day went by quickly.

The next thing you knew, it was nighttime and a thunderstorm had rolled in. 

Bread meowed again, rubbing against your calf. 

“You’ve already had your dinner, silly.” You smiled down at him. 

A sudden echoing thud against the front down made you jolt, a squeak of surprise escaping your lips. Your hand slapped over your mouth as you listened for the noise again. 

Your heart began to race in your chest at the possibilities of what could have caused the noise. A fallen branch? Debris the heavy wind could have stirred up? A person even?

The thud came again. 

Goosebumps began to rise on your skin. There was no way the wind caused that noise. It had to be someone. 

Who the hell would be at your door at such a time of night and in the middle of a storm?

Worries began to swarm your mind. They mustn’t be here for anything good.

You picked up Bread and began to take slow, quiet steps towards the hall that led to your room. 

“Y/N– Fuck!” A familiar voice shouted. “I can hear you in there! It’s just me!”

You put Bread down on to a chair and hurried to the door. You pulled it open, then quickly pulled Lambert into your home. 

He was soaked to the bone and his red ringlets were disheveled from the wind and the rain. 

He let the satchel over his shoulder fall to the floor, then he took the sheath for his swords off. 

“I didn’t know you’d be coming so early in the spring.” You picked up his satchel and placed it on the table.

As you turned to face him, his arms suddenly embraced you and he kissed your lips. You were pleasantly surprised by the kiss. Your hands came to hold his shoulder and his cheek, fingertips brushing over his scruffy jaw. 

“Missed you.” He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing. 

“I missed you too.” You smiled. “And as much as I love your hugs, I am not a fan of getting my clothes wet.”

He stepped back, looking down at his attire. 

“All my shit’s drenched from the fuckin’ rain.” Lambert moved to his satchel. 

“I think I have one or two pairs of your trousers from last autumn.” You turned to go to your room.

Lambert followed behind you. 

“How are Vesemir and your brothers doing?” 

“Vesemir’s good. Old bastard’s still runnin’ around annoyin’ the piss outta whoever he comes across.”

“He only annoys you.” You grinned a little. 

Once you were in your room, you began to search the wardrobe for the trousers you had folded away months ago. 

“What of Eskel, Coen, and Geralt? Anything exciting with those boys?”

“Geralt brought his bard. He was annoying too, like a little gnat always yapping.”

“Who doesn’t annoy you?” You paused your search to look over to your witcher, a teasing grin playing on your lips. “Me?”

“Nah. Everyone annoys me.” He grinned. 

“Hmm. I’ll keep that one in mind.” 

“Coen got himself a new nasty scar just across his collarbone. Said a pair of griffins did it to him.”

“Oh, you boys worry me– Aha!” You found the trousers and pulled them out. “There. You can change into that and then come out to the kitchen. Dinner should be done momentarily.”

“You made me dinner? How sweet of you.” The witcher teased, taking the trousers from you. 

In truth, you had just made enough soup for a couple days, so there was plenty for him. 

“Get out of your wet clothes. We’ll string a line up in the front room so your clothes can dry quicker.” You smiled at him, your hand lingering on his arm before you began to make your way towards the door. 

But Lambert caught your hand, ushering you to stay for just a moment. 

“I really did miss you, bug.” His voice was quiet. He squeezed your fingers gently. 

“Missed you too, Lambert.” You smiled. 

Taglist:  @samuraigrl89 @burningcoffeetimetravel @open--till--midnight @beautifulsweetschaos @gm_abbo @thefirelordm @here4thespice @many-fandoms-lover @one-eyed-captain-kinky @sparrowsparadise @bluscryn @blushingskywalker @buckysxgal @lady-of-glass-and-bone @super-calithehamm @invelda @eddyofthetruth @hc-geralt-23 @persephonehemingway @adhdhufflepuff @Purple-Tsuki

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Im OBSESSED with the cute mutagens and I love your writing so much. Could I suggest a prompt? Jaskier staying in Kaer Morhen for the first time with the wolf pack (throw Aiden in there if you like, the kneading fic was so fucking adorable) and losing his absolute mind over how CUTE they are when they let their instincts take over. Just... purring, yapping, kneading, licking into each other's mouths as a greeting, scenting, howling at the moon, chasing squirrels... anything you wanna throw in there. They are usually more reserved on the Path, but when they come back home and relax everything just comes out double force and Jaskier is IN LOVE

Jaskier is privy to the rare sight of Witchers at play...

I have something similar here. But, two cakes, right?

Geralt was nervous about Jaskier visiting Kaer Morhen. They’d been friends for near a decade, but this was the first time he’d ever suggested they winter together. For his part, Jaskier had never been more excited about something in his life. He knew the names and the vague, monosyllabic descriptions attached to them courtesy of his laconic Witcher companion, but he longed to infuse his imagination with the colour and energy of the real thing.

Eskel. Lambert. Vesemir. Aiden. Perhaps even Letho, and Gaetan. Names meant adventures. Adventures meant stories. Stories meant songs. Oh, how he longed to immortalise the cutting sarcasm of Lambert, or the gentle, loving heart of Eskel. He just needed material, dear reader. And he knew Kaer Morhen would be brimming with it.

“Jaskier, there’s something I haven’t mentioned,” Geralt said over the campfire barely a day out. “When we’re at home, we – Witchers – behave a bit differently.” 

“Of course you do. Who wouldn’t when at home and hearth? I would expect nothing less,” Jaskier beamed over the flames.

“Hm,” Geralt remarked, and then poked at the logs as they popped and disintegrated in the heat. “Well, just… don’t be surprised.”

“I’ve been walking at your side for nigh on ten years. Short of Vesemir turning out to be a deity, or Lambert a goat, I don’t think much could phase me.”

He was not prepared. 

The first dinner was raucous – full of boisterous laughter, the expected stories and plentiful alcohol – but nothing untoward. Indeed, even the first day – training, chores, a tour of the castle – all very as expected. Lambert and Eskel were breath-taking, and Aiden’s sharp sense of humour was almost enough to take the edge off the disappointment when the promised Last Viper didn’t show.  And as far as behaviour went – well, Geralt was no different. A few more smiles here and there and a softness to his face, but still very Geralt. 

And then… they started to unwind.

It all started out very slowly.

Lambert chased a squirrel across the parapets of the outer walls but stopped immediately when he saw Jaskier watching him. Later the same day he sat down opposite Aiden to assist in chopping some herbs for dinner when the Cat looked up and began to stare at a point over his shoulder. Jaskier looked behind him hesitantly, expecting to see a wraith melting from the grey walls.

Nothing.

He looked back. Aiden was still staring, pupils narrowed to slits, face completely impassive. Jaskier opened his mouth to ask, but the Witcher looked back to his work suddenly and without comment.

Alright. A little strange.

 One evening Eskel and Geralt began to play fight in front of the fire. Geralt knocked Eskel’s book from his hands, antagonising him into a confrontation, and then pinned him to the floor with a feral snarl. Jaskier, who until this point had been plucking idly at his lute, gazed on with wide eyes; both the others seemed unphased. Geralt snapped and mouth at Eskel’s neck and shoulders, while the larger Witcher bowled him over to do the same. A cacophony of growls, yips and snapping teeth rose up from the tangle of limbs upon the rug, until finally Eskel pressed his open mouth over Geralt’s.

The White Wolf fell still, and when Eskel pulled away tilted his head back to expose his throat. With a pleased huff, Eskel leaned back down and nosed soft skin, before accepting tentative, submissive licks on the underside of his chin with a contented growl.  

 Well… that wasn’t arousing at all.

From that moment on, Jaskier could only watch with barely contained glee as his band of Witchers began to display more traits linked to the mutagens coursing through their veins with each passing day. 

When he got lost and stumbled across Lambert in the recesses of the keep one afternoon, he asked after Geralt only for the Witcher to throw his head back and howl. The throaty worble echoed through the cavernous halls in isolation for a handful of seconds, before three more voices joined the chorus. Lambert sniffed, head tilted to the side. “Geralt’s in the east wing, c’mon, I’ll take you.”

They preferred to sleep together in a pile around the fire, limbs tangled together, heads on soft bellies and barrelled chests, with Vesemir on the edge to watch over his pups in their slumber. The old man was more reserved, preferring to watch on as his sons chased each other around the keep and played in the courtyard than partake himself. But even he displayed his wolfish side one evening when he bit Lambert’s ear in reprimand for cheek. The youngest wolf yelped, bared his teeth, only to think better of it moments later when Vesemir’s eyes narrowed. 

Aiden too seemed to be melding with his inner feline. He kneaded Lambert contentedly in the evenings with long, indulgent flexes of his hands, before settling down to groom him. His tongue rasped through Lambert’s beard, across his head, behind his ears, down his neck; the wolf fussed at first but always rolled over. They retired to Lambert’s room before it got any more intimate, but would return later sated and smelling of sex. For Aiden adored his wolf, and Jaskier often found him watching the pack train, pupils blown so wide they swallowed his entire iris, chest vibrating with a deep purr that would rival the thunder of a summer storm.

Not all of Aiden’s behaviours were adorable though. Geralt knocked him down in training one morning, and then retired to bed that very same evening to find a drowner brain soaking into his linen sheets. While Eskel gloated over a game of Gwent and then pulled his boots on later only to have his toes squelch through two half desiccated rat carcasses. Revenge was a dish best served bloody, apparently.

As the weeks went by, Jaskier was fully inducted into Kaer Morhen’s odd little family. They sniffed and scented him as if he were one of their own; Eskel grabbed his jaw one day and licked into his mouth without warning. When Jaskier turned red, flustered and abashed, Eskel smiled shyly. “Sorry, you just looked a bit pale… I, uh, do you want some mead?” Geralt told him later it was a health check. Well, a daily check up was definitely in order, couldn’t fall ill while so far up in the mountains, no sir.

They yipped, barked, nuzzled, howled at the gibbous moon, ran through the fresh winter snows after fleeing game in just their trousers. Chests and feet bare, eyes wild. The three younger wolves brought down a deer between them with just their hands, wits and speed. Jaskier had never seen Geralt so relaxed, so effortlessly happy. At home, with his family, he could be his true self.

The winter drew to an end. Spring and the Path beckoned them back, but they still had a few precious days left together. Jaskier sat in an armchair and gazed down at the pile of Witchers before him. He held a quill in one hand, the pot of ink perched precariously by his elbow, with his notebook open on his lap. What would the world think if they knew what happened to Witchers in the winter? What would they say when they discovered that wolf Witchers played and hunted as a pack? How would they react to a Cat Witcher that kneaded his lover with his tongue sticking out, eyes hazy with bliss? Would they hear his purr and bask in the warmth of its love?

No.

Jaskier placed the quill down in the centrefold of his notebook and closed it.

The Continent wouldn’t see the beauty in his Witchers’ feral abandon. They’d see only the beast. 

Jaskier slipped from his chair and found himself a comfortable spot before the fire, happy to revel in the familial love of his Witcher pack and this rare moment of true happiness.

Some songs - the rarest, sweetest songs - were best left safe inside the heart.

[wolf-and-bard]

*Giggles at all of your cute chaos cousins posts* *Imagines Ciri’s royal family meeting her Witcher family* I was just wondering if you might wanna write a little something to satisfy my craving for some everyone lives fluff? ❤️ I’m honestly just imagining sweet sea hound Eist meeting and making friends with the wolf boys XD

My friend ♥️ Do excuse the long wait, my brain was not in the mood for fluff for a bit there. This did turn out rather silly, but I hope you can enjoy it anyway! Maybe don't take it too seriously 😂

Everyone lives family-floof (with some vaguely implied Lambskel), rated T, 3.1k. Enjoy!

„Welcome, welcome,“ the crashing mine-cart voice of Crach en Craite boomed up the gangway which Geralt treaded lightly, Ciri clinging to his backside. The girl had slept through half of their ship’s journey and was still softly snoring. Geralt could feel drool against his neck, but he didn’t mind so much with her. It made him bite down on a smile as he set foot on the wooden planks of the dock.

The air around them was filled with the general clamour of Ard Skellig’s harbour, people that embarked and disembarked from various vessels, traders that carried wares to and fro, merchants that advertised their wares, children that spent their lazy afternoons watching the various ships dock.

Nothing of the wars with Nilfgaard had reached the Skellige Isles, not a single galley of the Black Ones, nor yet a spark of the fires that consumed the Northern Kingdoms. Nothing of the wars had reached their host either. Crach stood as a proud and stout warrior with open arms and a stately set of his shoulders, smiling broadly through his thick beard.

“Well met, Jarl,” Geralt said.

„Geralt of Rivia,“ he hollered and laughed and came up to Geralt to greet him before he noticed Ciri on his back. „By Freya, if it isn’t my dear cousin.“ Ciri perked up at that, and laughed when she saw the low bow Crach was giving her. She tugged on Geralt’s hair and he let her down with a grunt.

“Cousin Crach,” she squealed and barrelled into him under his thunderous laughter.

Geralt crossed his arms and smiled as the two of them hugged out their reunion, Crach bent low to wrap his huge arms around Ciri’s body, still small in spite of all the training she had done under the witchers’ careful instruction. Speaking of which…

“Man, this place stinks,” Lambert complained as he joined Geralt on the dock. His face was slightly pale, had taken on a greenish taint, and he wore a constant scowl. “Please don’t tell me all they have to eat is fish, I’d kill for a roasted chicken leg right now.”

“Fine, I won’t tell you,” Eskel said and he too took up position on Geralt’s side. Vesemir was the last to leave the ship, having chatted with the captain about sightings of rare sea creatures all journey long, and he looked as vivacious and happy as Lambert looked annoyed and sickly. A flush was spread over his cheeks and a bounce suffused his step making him seem younger than the lot of them which was a ridiculous notion. Geralt huffed, and jostled Lambert lightly.

“Fuck off!” the youngest wolf yapped and jostled him right back.

“I brought my family,” Ciri announced when she wound out of Crach’s embrace and her eyes glittered, a sea-weed green under the afternoon sun which hung in a cloudless sky. Her chest swelled in pride as she waved Crach over to introduce them.

“You know Geralt of course,” she said and Crach and Geralt exchanged another nod. Crach winked and Geralt bit down on his laughter. “The greatest witcher to ever walk the Continent!”

“I have a thing or two to say to that,” Vesemir huffed.

“You’re right, the second-greatest witcher to ever walk the Continent. Vesemir taught him,” Ciri explained and Crach saluted Vesemir loosely, then turned to the other two.

“These are my uncles Eskel and Lambert.”

“Not your uncle, kiddo,” Lambert grumbled.

“As you can see, Uncle Lambert is a massive killjoy. But he can be fun if he wants to be, he taught me how to make bombs.”

Geralt waited for the realization to hit Crach, the sudden understanding that having this girl live with four witchers of all people might have been the worst thing to happen to her, and that he should have them all executed for their crimes against the crown. But Crach only chuckled which, if anything, made Lambert even more suspicious. Geralt could see it in his narrowed eyes.

“Uncle Eskel is the best cook ever and he’s so strong. He once carried me and Uncle Lambert to bed when we fell asleep playing Gwent on the battlements. He makes a super strong herbal tea and he knows all about the weirdest kinds of monsters, those even witchers get to fight rarely. But don’t cross him, I hear his Axiis can knock you right out.”

“They can,” Eskel said, a faint blush clinging to his cheeks. “But so can my fists. Thank you for having us, Jarl.”

“I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about, but I’m sure these men are great people and fine company. Welcome to all of you and my sincerest thanks for taking my cousin in. Her family is ours also and shall be welcomed on Ard Skellig henceforth. Please, dear witchers, follow me, there is much ale to toast with and a few other people that should like to make your acquaintance. Our servants have prepared a royal feast in your honour.”

“Royal feast, who gives a shit. Don’t think we will be wooed by manners and wine,” Lambert muttered and Crach laughed. “We’re only here because the brat was nagging us about it.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle Lambert,” Ciri said and batted her lashes at him. “There’ll be beer and cuss words and all the types of fish you can imagine, it’ll be right up your alley.”

“Call me uncle one more time,” Lambert said through his teeth and Eskel drew an arm around his shoulder to pull him close, then whispered something into his ear which Vesemir and Geralt heard, but the others couldn’t. Lambert flushed red, Eskel smirked, and Vesemir scowled at them. Geralt shook his head, biting down on an amused smile.

“We would love to join you in the keep,” he said. Ciri beamed at him, and so did Crach. Lambert was suspiciously quiet all the way up.

---

The moment Crach threw open the grand double doors at the end of the bridge that led into the entrance hall of Ard Skellig’s keep, a blur of reds and browns came shooting from a dark corner and barrelled straight into Ciri, knocking her over. All four witchers fell into various fighting stances immediately, their focus trailed on the heap of limbs on the floor, but as soon as Ciri’s excited giggles echoed through the great space, they relaxed.

“Cerys,” Ciri laughed and they tumbled about on the floor, Ciri and a girl that was no more than a couple years younger than she. She had flaming red hair and wore a version of Crach’s armour, adjusted to fit her still growing body. The girl grappled with Ciri, then tried to pin her down, but Ciri’s training kicked in – Geralt noticed her perfect execution of a manoeuvre that flipped their positions – and she gained the upper hand. Cerys stared up at her, wide-eyed, then burst into laughter that too matched the thunder of her father. It was amazing, coming from such a small person.

“You,” Cerys hissed between hiccups of laughter. “You abandoned me. You promised to be here for my birthday, but you abandoned me for what? This group of stinky old men?” She glared at the witchers, or tried to, but her eyes spelled mirth.

“We’re not adopting another child,” Lambert said and Eskel jostled him. Vesemir and Crach were both smiling into their beards.

“My darling Cerys,” Ciri said and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, the cheeks, the nose. Cerys howled in dismay and wriggled in Ciri’s grip, all in good humour. “How you’ve grown.” With that, Ciri let her go and pulled her cousin up with her. The girls regared each other for a long moment, then fell into a bear hug.

Geralt watched them, arms crossed, and felt his heart warm at the sight. He hadn’t realized prior to this trip, stupidly hadn’t realized, how much family Ciri still had, how many connections to the world. When he’d taken her in, the only thing on his mind had been getting her to safety. He’d thought she had no one left and now here she was, a bright young girl, on her way to become the first ever female witcher, with two families to call her own. There were doubts there too, of course. Should he have brought her here in the first place?

“You did good with her, wolf,” Vesemir said as he came up to Geralt’s side and placed a light hand on his bicep.

“We all did, even Lambert,” Geralt said. “But maybe it’s time to give her back to the world?”

“She would have your cock sizzling over a campfire for that if you even implied it.” Geralt’s eyes widened and he stared at Vesemir. Vesemir had his gaze fixed on the still hugging girls, but his moustache twitched. “She’s one of us now, Geralt.”

Geralt accepted that in silence. Right then, his ears pricked up as he heard two more people approach from a stairway to the right. One of them Geralt recognized instantly in his proud bearing and his weathered face. Eist Tuirseach, former Jarl of Skellige, King of the fallen country of Cintra, always bore himself with pride, nobility and mischief woven about his person like an invisible cloak. Geralt liked the old sea bear, even though he’d only met the man briefly at his and Calanthe’s betrothal. The day Geralt had claimed Ciri as his child surprise. He saw Geralt and nodded slightly, then his eyes fell to Ciri – who had finally let go of Cerys – and they widened, lips parting in a gasp as though, up until now, he hadn’t quite believed she would come.

“Cirilla,” he said, oh so quietly, but she heard. She’d been wintering with wolves, she heard. And in an instant, she was across the space between them, had hurled herself into his arms. Ciri shrank then, back into the girl Geralt had first picked up in the middle of the war and Eist’s eyes filled with tears as he crouched down to envelop her in his arms which were clad in furs. He buried his face in her hair and both sobbed quietly.

“Who is he?” Eskel asked under his breath.

“Her grandfather,” Geralt replied to put it simple. Titles would mean nothing to Eskel, nor to Lambert. His brothers actually cared as much about politics as Geralt pretended to care about them which was nothing at all.

“I had not known King Eist had survived the war,” Vesemir said to Crach. The two warriors were standing off to the side, heads tucked together while Eskel stood with Geralt and Lambert… Lambert sat cross-legged on the floor, caught in a staring match with little Cerys. In all of that, the broad but hunched figure of what Geralt assumed was Cerys’ brother, got lost somehow. He stood close to Eist, eyes trailed at the ground. Geralt dismissed him as unthreatening and insignificant, and refocused his attention to Eist and Ciri who were still holding onto each other as though the White Frost was about to sweep over the lands and they could only fend it off by hugging. Something barbed lodged in Geralt’s throat at the sight. He swallowed it down. He was not Ciri’s father.

As if she could sense his distress, Ciri detached herself and walked back to the wolves, beckoning Eist to come along.

“You’ve got to meet them all,” she said to the old king. “You can’t imagine what they’re like.”

“I really can’t,” Eist said. There was a healthy flush on his cheeks and he wouldn’t meet Geralt’s eyes. It was a good thing because if he had, they might have just both lost it over Ciri’s antics. It was like she’d de-aged by half a decade, childish excitement replacing the determined wolf she’d become.

“You have met Geralt. And this next to him is Eskel, my favourite uncle,” Ciri expained and Eist and Eskel shook hands.

“Hey, I heard that!” Lambert called and Cerys whooped, having won the staring match upon Lambert’s indignant outcry.

“I thought you weren’t my uncle,” Ciri retorted and they spent a moment sticking their tongues out at each other as Eskel and Eist briefly chatted about the sea journey to which Geralt hummed along. It was a lot, all these people in a room together, and he had expected them to clash, but somehow… it worked out.

At first, they’d all thought it was a terrible idea. They’d gotten word from the Skellige Isles, a coded message that had contained an invitation for the witchers and Ciri – if the rumours of her survival should be true – to sail to Ard Skellig and stay with the an Craites who’d become part of her family by her grandmother’s marriage to Crach’s uncle.

Vesemir had been completely against it, Eskel had refrained from commenting on the matter and simply gotten ready for another year on the Path, Lambert had kept spewing all the reasons why they shouldn’t at anyone who would listen. Geralt… Geralt had wanted to do good by Ciri and he’d known she needed it. To be with normal people, people that knew her in a way the witchers couldn’t. He’d also painfully understood Lambert’s arguments. It was dangerous for anyone involved. But in the end, Ciri had put on all her charms, had gotten out her arsenal of annoyance, and had convinced them to dare. They rarely did that these days, daring. They’d discussed it over the fire one night, and had decided, collectively decided because unfathomably, the girl wanted them all to come, to indulge her. And here they were.

“So,” Vesemir said as he approached Eist, both thumbs hooked into his belt and one eyebrow raised in his best impression of the hard teacher he used to be. Eist did not cower. “You are the reason this girl has been playing all manners of pranks on me.”

“I should hope so. Someone has to be around for her to fill their shoes with muck and put hair dye in their soap and so on. I would be direly disappointed in Cirilla if she hadn’t found someone to pester while he were separated,” Eist said and extended a hand. Vesemir glanced down at it, pretended to ponder, and Geralt and Eskel turned their heads down to hide their smiles. “Call me Eist.”

“Do you know, Eist, that I have woken up with my feet coated in honey and ants only yesterday?”

“That was Lambert’s idea though,” Ciri protested.

“Well, this Lambert must be an absolutely charming young man then,” Eist chuckled and from Lambert’s glare he did not cower either.

“I’m older than you, grandpa, I’ve had enough of this,” Lambert said. “You know what? That bridge looked funny. I think I’ll just go and jump over the railing it and see how many somersaults I can do on the way down. Aiden taught me a new way to get more spinning power.” With that, the youngest wolf got up, gave Cerys a pat on the head and made a run for it.

“LAMBERT, NO,” both Vesemir and Eskel shouted and gave chase, and Crach and Eist bellowed out laughter. Geralt and Ciri rolled their eyes at each other. It was then that Ciri finally noticed her other cousin, and only because Cerys stood by his side now. That close, the similarities were uncanny, brother and sister no doubt. They had the same long nose, the same hands. Hands that had wielded steel before and often. In a way, then, Ciri might fit in better now than she had before. Before Kaer Morhen, before the war. Before her life had fallen to pieces around her.

“Hjalmar,” Ciri said and approached the pair of siblings. Hjalmar shrugged, then walked away without sparing her a glance.

“He’s having a phase,” Cerys huffed. “We’ll hang out after dinner! Now that you’re apparently a fighter, we ought to spar. We can, father, right?” Both girls looked to Crach who seemed a little forlorn all by himself, eyes darting between where the witchers had disappeared to, where Hjalmar had disappeared to, and where Cerys and Ciri made puppy eyes at him.

“Cerys may fight, of course,” Crach said. “But I cannot decide for Cirilla.”

“Cirilla can damn well decide for herself,” Ciri said, fist clenching as if around the grip of an invisible sword. Back in Kaer Morhen, she would be scolded for backing down on a challenge and so she shook Cerys’ hand now before the girl trailed after her brother.

“I should… make sure they don’t set the place on fire. Eist will show you to your rooms once the rest of your family returns,” Crach said with a wave and followed his children with heavy steps, each a sigh against the carpet.

“Right then,” Ciri said and turned to Geralt and Eist, now the only people left in attendance. “What have you been up to, grandpa?”

“Oh, we’ve been spending our days on the terraces, watching for whales and counting seals. Calanthe has been bored out of her mind, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Geralt froze and so did Ciri. They exchanged a long look and Geralt could smell the tears prickle in Ciri’s eyes, but they didn’t manifest. Geralt gave an almost imperceptible nod and Ciri turned back to Eist, drawing a deep breath.

“She’s alive then.”

“She’s alive.”

“I want to see her,” Ciri demanded and held out her hand for Eist to take. To guide her. This was not a reunion Geralt needed to pry into, and so he inclined his head and gestured for them to go on.

“But Ciri,” Eist said and squeezed her hand. His voice had fallen to a quieter key and Geralt cocked his head to listen for his heartbeat. Not faster, slower if anything, but a certain tension was there nonetheless. There was something wrong with Calanthe. Something significant. “She might not be awake. She… rarely is.”

“What happened to her?”

“I think I should see how many somersaults Lambert managed,” Geralt interjected carefully and made to leave, but Ciri grabbed his hand before he could. Their eyes met again and hers were hard around the edges, softened on the inside. I need you, Geralt, the flicker in them said. And Geralt was not her father, not yet, he thought, and he didn’t know if he ever would be, but he would never deny her a request like this. She needed him, Geralt was there.

Eist glanced at where they held hands and his weary expression was washed away by a wistful smile.

“Knowing Calanthe, she should like to explain it to you in due time. You will see that she was wounded in the storm on Cintra and is still in recovery.”

“She’s the Lioness,” Ciri said simply. “She will roar and rise again.”

That she will, Geralt thought. And you right alongside her.

[jaskiersvalley]

So for your modern shifter au does Ciri ever make an appearance? And would she be a shifter too? Like a little lion cub who at first us mistaken for a cat. And how would the others acquire her? Would she find them or they find her?

The shifter AU is one that I have been wanting to come back to for a while, especially for this prompt with Ciri. As it happens, I was talking to @ohnomybreadsticks who is the best enabler and source of inspiration. Thanks to this video (which is absolutely Lambert) we now have Ciri and reminiscing of when the wolves were pups.

Baby’s First Roar

Rumours of an unusually large house cat in the area were not something the wolves were really bothered about. They lived in a secure and safe area thanks to Jaskier’s success which meant people with money around them. And people with money did idiotic things like have exotic or unusual pets like hairless cats and extreme sized dogs. So one large house cat wasn’t a worry. What was an issue was when animal control was called in. It seemed the cat didn’t belong to anyone and, if Jaskier was out and about as a fennec fox, he was in danger. The only sensible thing to do was not to let animal control handle it but to have a patrol to find and chase the cat out of the area.

They had a rota in place, one wolf snuggled up to Jaskier, another slept on the doormat by the front door while a third took the garden door. It left the fourth free to patrol the neighbourhood to track the stray cat.

There was no smell of cat that Lambert could find and he sulked the whole of the next day, pouting that he was going to be outdone by one of the others. Not that Eskel had more luck, he said he caught an unusual scent on the wind, one he couldn’t identify but tracking it was a whole other problem because it just vanished by some bins. On the third night, Vesemir went out. He made a beeline for the bins and hid behind one of the carts. If his pups couldn’t track the mystery cat, it meant it was no ordinary animal. To evade Lambert and Eskel meant it was intelligent. Therefore hunting it down wasn’t going to work. But it the trail led to the bins, it might be back.

Sure enough, in half an hour, Vesemir’s nose picked up a musky scent. Approaching the bins was a large cat with even bigger paws. It was no cat. Vesemir rose to stare down a lion cub. He had to hand it to the cub, its hackles rose and a warbling rumble of a growl vibrated through it.

Shifting, Vesemir held up his hands. “I mean you no harm.”

The cub sat down with a surprised blink, looking up at him. From one moment to the next a dirty young girl was sat in the cub’s place. She stared at Vesemir then looked at the bins.

“This is my find. Get your own bins.”

Really, Vesemir couldn’t not soften at that, she reminded him too much of his own pups.

“Or I could go and eat something from my fridge. So could you if you want.”

Shrewd eyes stared at him. “Whose are you?”

“I’m my own. But my pack runs with Jaskier.” That name seemed to at least spark a bit of recognition in the girl’s eyes. “I’m off for a midnight snack. Join me if you want.”

With that, Vesemir turned around and headed home in wolf form. The smell of the cub followed him and he felt quite smug.

As Eskel had been out the night before, he got prime spot next to Jaskier that night, leaving Geralt by the backdoor and Lambert by the front. With a bit of a shove, Vesemir opened the door, pushing his youngest pup out of the way. It earned him a snarling growl as Lambert responded while still half asleep. As soon as he realised it was Vesemir, he quieted down to a grumble that passed for an apology.

Sauntering in, Vesemir waited for the cub to come in. After a brief nose bump with Lambert, she swiped at the wolf in warning and Lambert leapt back with a startled whine. Really, Vesemir had to laugh at them. From over his shoulder, he heard the soft pad of paws and watched as the cub and his white wolf stared at each other.

What was intended to be a quick snack turned into a feast as they raided the fridge. Only Vesemir took his human form, the others too wary of each other to shift. It was kind of adorable to watch though, obviously the little lion was a young cub and Geralt nosed the best snacks towards her. Even Lambert kept his snatching to a minimal and reserved it for Geralt alone. The one time he eyed up the end of a sausage, the cub growled at him and, remembering the swipe, Lambert allowed the bests bit of the sausage to be gobbled up by her.

Tummy full, warm and in a seemingly safe place, the cub swayed as she began falling asleep while sitting up. She was herded to the sofa by careful wolves and left to sleep.

Come morning, Jaskier walked in on an unexpected scene in the hallway. Geralt was curled up by the front door as before. But he had a lion cub pressed against him.

“Well then,” Jaskier declared and looked at Lambert who had a new scratch on his cheek. “We have a guest.”

Ciri, it turned out, had escaped when shifter trophy hunters attacked her home. She had no one to turn to, couldn’t trust anyone. All she knew was that Jaskier was a famous and respected shifter who lived with other shifters so the world near him was probably safe.

There were no questions, the wolves were already protective of Ciri and, given that she had nowhere to go, she could stay with them at least until the authorities found survivors from her family. And if they didn’t....they’d all been there, when the world didn’t want them. Their family had room for a cub.

“You’re going to need to protect yourself,” Vesemir said. “And your best defense is to scare enemy off most of the time. So, lets hear you roar.”

Ciri shifted and looked up at Vesemir. Her nose scrunched up into a teeth baring growl. Jaw opening, a croaking yowl burst from her throat rather than a fierce roar. Lambert fell onto his backside laughing.

The chagrined and embarrassed look Ciri gave him had Eskel suppressing his on smile. “It’s not like he was any better with his first howl. More like a rasping yapping mess.”

“True,” Geralt chipped in, Jaskier curled up on his lap in fox form. “He was hopeless. Remember him in Vesemir’s arms?”

Pouting, Lambert crossed his arms and looked away. He had a better idea and shifted, throwing his head back and letting out a full howl. It was a bad idea because Eskel joined him, deep and long, nose pointed up. Jaskier ended up on the floor when Geralt shifted too and howled.

“They show off now,” Vesemir said to Ciri, “but you didn’t see them as pups. Eskel could whine with his mouth open before croaking up.” At the mention, Eskel tucked his nose under his tail as he curled up into a ball. “And Geralt, well, he had his head up so high, he toppled onto his back.”

Suitably embarrassed, Geralt whined and turned to Jaskier for comfort. However, he was ignored in favour of Jaskier holding his head high and chuffing out a few proud screams.

Sighing, Vesemir shook his head. “We have plenty of time to practice. Maybe when this lot don’t feel like showing off.”

Who was he kidding though? That was never a potential outcome. Ciri had a steep learning curve ahead of her but Vesemir suspected she would fit in just fine.

[saltytransidiot]

Proud and Loud

The sound of the crowd is almost deafening in Cintra's streets. The wide avenue they are currently in is full to the brim with people, all of them wearing bright colors and waving flags while shouting along to music.

Cintra's Pride Parade is the biggest on the Continent, with people flying from all over to come and join. It isn't often that Geralt will join in, but for once, he had felt like he owed it to his daughter.

Ciri had just come out to him, again, as much as her bringing home her girlfriend could be called coming out. After all, she didn't really have to worry about him not accepting her, or any problem with their family. They would be hard pressed to find anyone who isn't queer in some way in their family.

-- It's Pride time on the Continent, and Geralt is spending it with his whole family.

Woooo the Pride fic I’ve been yapping on & off about is finally there!! If y’all don’t know, I’ve posted aesthetics for it of Geralt, Jaskier, and Ciri (so far), and upcoming are Yennefer, Lambert, Eskel, and Vesemir! :D so a few more days of Pride posting :’) 

I hope y’all will enjoy this fic! It’s a celebration of Pride, especially for me :D 

Happy Pride guys! 

Go read the fic on AO3!