#father!geralt

[kiritella]

For those who haven't read The Witcher, I feel the need to tell you some things...

Ciri was something around 10, I think, when she met Geralt, and was a terrible brat.

One of the first times Geralt met Ciri, he gave her a piggy back ride because she hurt her leg.

He told her a bed time story because she asked him to.

Geralt is a sarcastic bastard, especially with Ciri.

Ciri led Geralt by the hand when he had to be blindfolded while walking through Brokilon forest by the Dryads.

Ciri would cling to Geralt's thigh when she was frightened.

Geralt would cuddle Ciri so that she could fall asleep, and she would reach out to him as she slept.

There were hugs, and I think all of them were initiated by Geralt himself because he could see that Ciri was frightened or he was just very happy to see her.

Stay tuned for more...

[whumpypepsigal]

The Witcher s03e03: “[Your mother] loved you the best she could. To save you, she had to let you go.”—“This can’t have been the only choice.”

[ecoamerica]

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[spielzeugkaiser]

[MASTERPOST]

Milek has high expectations how that talk should go, but also many many fears. And he does talk shit about Jaskier all the time, but I think their relationship wouldn't recover for a long time (maybe never) if Geralt said something wrong or nasty about Jaskier, because Milek is a loyal boy.

[feminist-knuckles]

my favorite trope

[aramblingjay]

#geralt handling ciri with care

I wanted him to recognize her trauma, because it’s very easy to forget - when you see a character like Ciri and you think, ‘She’s been through trauma,’ and it’s really terrible - but we also forget that Geralt’s been through trauma. He was younger than her and being filled with magical chemicals and herbs, and screaming until he almost died, and kids are dying around him… Then he went out into the world, and the world hated him. So he's also experienced trauma. From someone who’s gone through that, he’s going to have that sense of patience with her... She’s been through a lot; she’s going to lash out from time to time. Instead of him lashing out in return, he’s going to sit back and try to understand. —Henry Cavill x

[witcherislovewitcherislife]

like father like daughter 😭

[ladyannemarie5]

Funny how Geralt always stayed on the sidelines with Jaskier's conquests for fear of a broken heart and yet he got a front row seat to watch the bard fall in love with the prince.

Geralt would cut the bard off when he started talking about the virtues of whatever man or woman he spent the night with, but he had no choice but to listen to Jaskier when he told him how the prince learned his song, because the poet appealed to their "best friends" bond.

Geralt smiled inwardly when the bard left his conquest for the night alone to go order him a bath and wash his hair with special soaps and oils after the hunts. And then the witcher had to witness Jaskier leaving him to go order Radovid a bath because "his long blond hair has never been anything less than perfect and cannot be left uncared for, Geralt." 

Geralt always distracted the bard with a story of past hauntings with terrifying creatures every time Jaskier began to compose a love song for his conquest, but nothing could distract the poet when he began to talk about how beautiful and bright Radovid's eyes were and how he wanted to find the perfect words to describe them. 

Geralt faked annoyance every time Jaskier asked to sleep next to him at night insinuating that he was too cold for a little bard. Geralt feigned relief when Jaskier told him that he would no longer bother him with that because he now slept with Radovid and his arms and fur blanket were more than warm. 

Geralt kept as much emotional distance as possible from the bard who approached him in a tavern in Posada so he wouldn't have to deal with a broken heart from falling in love with a human. 

But absolutely no distance in the world prepares him when that night while they were camping alone, Jaskier lying next to him and looking up at the stars, turns to him and says softly "I'm not in love with you anymore, Geralt. You don't have to act cautious around me anymore."

And Geralt can't say anything. Because he simply can't. He must have misheard, maybe the kikimore from earlier hit him too hard or something because there's no way, no world where Jaskier was in love with him. There's no way he would have wasted his chance. 

Jaskier, oblivious to the witcher's stupor, continues "I know I made you uncomfortable with my affections for you, I tried hard not to throw myself at you if I'm honest, but Radovid... I've fallen so much in love with Radovid that I'm ready to let you go. I'm sorry it took me so long to give you and Yenna peace."

Geralt looks up at the stars in silence, not believing what he just heard. Jaskier is about to turn away when Geralt takes his hand. He says nothing, just a simple squeeze. Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief, the witcher doesn't hate him for that, he doesn't ask him to leave as he had feared. Geralt is also relieved that he is no longer burdened with the bard's feelings. 

Geralt allows himself to hold his hand one last time. He allows himself a small luxury, so that he can silently mourn the loss of his bard and curse his own stupidity. Tomorrow he will watch as the bard is reunited with the prince, tomorrow he will watch with a broken heart as they embrace and the prince spins Jaskier in his arms, before kissing him and swearing eternal love. Tomorrow Geralt's heart breaks completely. 

But just for today, just for that night, he allows himself to take Jaskier's hand, draw him into his arms and breathe freely the scent of the man he has been in love with for over two decades. Just for that one night, Geralt allows himself to be happy.

----

I really love to make me cry ^^

[ellieslittleburrow]

Geralt Headcanons

Painrings : Geralt of rivia x daughter/ Geralt x platonic! Reader

Warnings : none

A/N : hello peeps, i tried my best to make them broader and not just limit them to father daughter stuff, we can turn one of them into a little ficcie if desired. Alsoo Comments are much much appreciated. Enjoyyy 🥀

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You and Geralt had found each other on destiny's commands. It wasn't easy, suddenly being under somebody's wing, having to trust them and listen to them.

Whenever danger was felt, Geralt would place a hand on your shoulder, his own little protective move, prepared for whatever's about to come.

When you're out in a market or somewhere he deems to be dangerous, he makes sure to always be somewhere behind you. No matter how far you get away, he's always somewhere close watching over you.

After a few of your nightly freakouts, Geralt offered up a little spot beside him every night. He doesn't order you to come over. He doesn't ask if you want to come over. He just settles down on whatever bed he's sleeping on and puffs up a little pillow he keeps beside him. If it's a whole seperate room. Then the same line is growled :"I'll keep my door open in case i am needed."

A boy smiles at you and the witcher is there to smile back. Not in a possessive way. Not in a she is untouchable kind of way. Just a simple smile, to assert his threatening presence. A smile that says if she is hurt, you're fucked.

Mornings are your least favorite time of the day. Geralt is always at the foot of your bed, gently swinging your foot left and right, in an attempt to wake you up. It surely annoys you but it's not until he grabs your wrist and pulls it upwards that you start getting annoyed. And then comes the full pull, when he grabs you from under the armpits and drags you out. You groan in unpleasentness but let go anyways.

Late nights are for sure your favorites, though. Just a grumpy old guy running after you and pleading for you to go to sleep. You dodge his reaching arm, giggling at his frowning features. He growls your name and sighs, giving up. And you just stand awkwardly, triumph radiating out of you.

What you reeeally dislike, though, is those little fights you and Geralt have about your future and your training. Him not wanting you to get in harm's way. You doing everything possible to get in harm's way. He yells at you. You never ended up crying or anything like that. You just bottled it up and sat in your little corner, getting slowly eaten up by the deafening silence that reigns the space. But then one of you breaks it. And everything slowly goes back to normal.

All in all, life with the witcher is not easy. But how could you deny the warmth that coated your broken heart, the warmth that filled it with love. The warmth that filled it with the father, brother, protector that you never had.

-------

End of poem. I could never use such methodology for my own school work, goddammit. Anyway, i hope yall like this ❤️❤️❤️🥀🥀🥀

[jaskiercommabard]

Just thinking about Geralt of Rivia and all the things he thought he couldn't be

Just thinking about "Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde"

Just thinking about Geralt learning and using an accent that didn't belong to him for the rest of his life so people would trust him

Just thinking about Geralt wanting to be a hero

Just thinking about Geralt becoming the Butcher of Blaviken

Just thinking about Geralt becoming the White Wolf

Just thinking about Geralt being the same man through all of that

Just thinking about Geralt being fundamentally and irrevocably changed by all of that

Just thinking about Geralt finding out that his name is the one Visenna gave him

Just thinking about Geralt being knighted by Queen Meve thus legitimizing the name he gave himself

Just thinking about how Geralt feels choiceless and yet creates himself

Just thinking about how Geralt feels fundamentally alone and yet is created by those around him

Just thinking about Geralt being so completely formed by a world he thinks he stands outside of

Just thinking!! About Geralt!!

[thedemonofcat]

Hanahaki Disease.

When Jaskier was young, he was cursed. That’s would he had been told. Any form of unrequited love would cause him to cough up Flower Petal. Not only that, eventually, the curse would be over, and Jaskier would turn into trees and flowers.

So Jaskier had been told not to fall in love. Which was a lot harder said than done. As Jaskier found himself falling in Love with everyone. It was never too bad. Only a few flowers.

Then came Geralt. Jaskier fell in love, and he fell in love fast and hard with the Witcher. Sometimes, it only felt like falling with Geralt.

Of course, Geralt did seem to return his feelings, and so the petals kept coming up. But Jaskier hid them; he could die happy if it were with Geralt.

Geralt left him on the mountain, but the petals didn’t stop.

Sometime Later, Jaskier found himself again with Geralt, this time in Kear Morhen with the Ciri, Yennefer and the rest of Geralt’s family. Now, Jaskier knew he didn’t belong; if he did, the petals would have stopped. But at least Geralt was trying to be nicer to him.

One morning, Jaskier awoke to find bark on his legs, and he knew his end was coming

[laylaeelfaouly]

I thought by taking her off the board, the world would stop trying to use her. Instead, they're just trying to use others in her place. And they will continue to. Because that is what people in power do. But she's not a witcher. She's certainly not an Aretuzan witch sourcing magic out of... stones, or hemp, or plants, or whatever it is that Yennefer does. She's a princess. I think you should trust her. Her source.

[kiritella]

Series: Sehnsucht: Chapter One, Seven Year Debts

Pairings: Geralt x Teen!Reader, Yennefer x Teen!Reader

Warnings: Blood, death, injuries, monsters

Words: 2.8k

-------------------------------------

—Seven Years Ago—

The rain puttered around her, and her lungs burned with a violent ache. She ran, blindly and confused, and lacking all direction. Her small legs could not take her very fast, not nearly as much as she would have wanted, for it was already night. The moonlight filtered through the heavy canopy of leaves above her, but it was not nearly enough with the cloudy skies. It was dark. 

Her small feet, even calloused, hurt as she stumbled over thick roots and sharp stones, briars and thorns. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as her back, though, so she hardly paid them any mind. The blood soaking through her torn nightgown was still warm, fresh from the gaping cuts splitting her back open. The burn in her left shoulder was violent and continued even to her bones.

Everything hurts, she thought, and even as she did, she tripped and fell, landing face first into the moist ground. She let out a sharp cry.

“It will be alright…” the voice from earlier said in her thoughts, deep and gravely like stone. 

“No one is here,” she sobbed, clutching her dagger in her hands as a wolf’s howl pierced the air. She shivered in fright. Crawling, she curled up against a tree, her body sinking into it as she begged it to open up and swallow her whole. The bark dug into the long gashes along her spine, and poked into the burn on her shoulder.

Valeska had said to go east, that someone might be here and would take her in when she had strapped the dagger to her waist. Soft, dreadful whispers. The leather band was too large for her, and the blade seemed as though it was half her size. She had the decency to wipe her tears, but not enough to try and stop the barrage of rotten food being tossed at her. Still, she was grateful then…but it seemed for naught.

“No…they aren’t,” the voice said regretfully. “But you will be alright.”

“The wolves—” 

“They will not hurt you,” he assured. “You should rest, little keeper. I know it hurts…” he said, and his voice seemed mournful. “But in time, it will pass. I will guard you tonight, so rest…”

Despite his reassurances, the little girl was unable to sleep much that night. It wasn’t her first night alone, not the first time she had curled against the pain, back drenched in her own blood. Yet, with the mark burned into her back, the smell of rotten food caked in her hair from the people she had once longed for the approval of, the press of her father’s hand shoving her toward her demise…her mother’s silence…everything was different. On this painful and agonizing night, everything changed.

—Currently—

It was the sound of a groan that drew her to him. Her footsteps were light on the forest floor as she followed the sound over a hill, hardly making a sound louder than the rustling of leaves in the wind. Even the snow beneath her frozen feet would not give any announcement of her presence. Hesitant and careful, she approached the peak of a short, sharp drop above a cave. A ghoul’s cave, more accurately. When a light breeze stirred, she retched silently. Snatching the tattered, red scarf from her neck, she wrapped it around her face to guard her senses from the scent of rotting flesh mixed up by the air. She drew closer to the pained groans, carefully descending the rocky face of the mountain. She cursed herself for even trying to look. 

It was more likely a Ghoul than anything else.

Unfortunately, as she peeked around the edge of the high ground she knelt on, she realized it was both. The bodies of several ghouls either laid with their heads detached from their bodies, their throats slit, or their chests looking strangely caved in. A camp of dead men—villagers from the base of the mountain, she realized—sat decomposing and partly consumed about the region. An arm here, a leg there. That would account for the smell.

Another man also laid amongst the dead, only this one, to her surprise, moved. But as she peeked a bit closer, his features began to take shape, and with them, her breath was taken quickly from her lungs. Geralt.

Glancing about the region, she saw no one else, and with a hand on the hilt of the sword on her waist, she scrambled down the rockside and into the small valley in front of the cave. Her eyes scanned the dead bodies as she passed, ready for any of them to even twitch. They didn’t, and not even a mangled groan came from the cave. He must have taken care of all of them. She hurried toward Geralt, but when he perked up suddenly, his golden eyes pierced through her, she slowed. 

“Who are you?” he asked sharply, straining as he sat up further against the tree. Sweat beaded along his hairline, sinking into his white hair as he blinked quickly. His hand clenched the hilt of his sword, and as she noted this, she also found the red, gnarly bite on his wrist. Her heart sank. 

“You look a bit young to be a murderer,” he said, and she furrowed her brow. She held her hands up in surrender as she came closer, but now that she had, she could see it. The dead men laid about had not been bitten and torn. Their necks or chests had been cleanly cut, and they had bled out. Oh…

She shook her head quickly. 

“Not here to finish me off?” he asked with a pained grunt. “You fucking bastards hired me.”

She shook her head once more, and then pointed at his arm—the bite—and began to fumble with the satchel on her hip. Slowly, so he could see her movements, she pulled out a long rag and a vial. Once more, she crept closer. 

He scoffed, weakly waving his hand away. She shook her head, and stubbornly turned, walked over to one of the dead bodies, and lightly kicked it. She looked at him, pointed at the corpse, shook her head, then held up the medical supplies. Perhaps she would ask the dead body for forgiveness later, but from what she could gather, they had attacked Geralt once he had finished his job with the ghouls. For that, she didn’t have much love for the rotting sack of flesh, so forgiveness wasn’t something she was desperately looking for. 

Geralt furrowed his brow as she pushed back the hood of her cloak, revealing her appearance. His horse snorted off behind the tree, stamping her foot. She cocked her head to the side, and perhaps the beast would have been a little more frightening if it wasn’t so protective of its master. As for Geralt, it might have been years since she had last seen him, memories diluted with a child’s admiration, but she knew he was no threat to someone who did not pose a threat to him. 

Slowly, she unsheathed her sword and dagger and tossed them to the side. Again, she crept closer, as if approaching a scorpion and her hands held up. With a short nod and a mistrustful glare from him, she knelt at his side. At the very least, he did not press the edge of his sword to her throat. That was a good sign. Quickly now, she wrapped the bandage around his forearm, a little ways above the ghoul’s bite seeping venom into his bloodstream, and then tightened it as much as she could. She locked it in place with a sturdy stick, limiting the blood flow. She wouldn’t be able to leave it on for long at risk of permanent damage.

“A tourniquet won’t—”

She grabbed the vial she showed him earlier and bit off the cork, pouring the green contents over the bite. The scent of alcohol and mixed herbs overpowered the smell of blood for a moment. Geralt grit his teeth as the medicine seeped over the wound and burned, white foam bubbling within it as it reacted and drew out the venom. He groaned.

When he tried to speak, it came out slurred, and she looked up sharply to find his head lolling to the side. She slapped him.

His eyes shot open, a hard glare set on her as his brow furrowed. “Fuck—my vials.”

Fumbling about him, she found several, a few in his satchel and hanging on his waist. Several were broken, and of the ones that weren’t, she held them up, only for him to shake his head. She held up the broken ones, and when he plucked one from her hands, fumbling with it, he paled. He tossed it away with a frustrated grunt. 

“I need—” he started, saying the same phrase over again as his tongue, she assumed, was becoming heavy. “Vesemir.”

Well, at least she had a name to start with, but given that she didn’t have a single fucking clue who that was, she didn’t see how she could help. Frustrated, she threaded her fingers through her hair, stopping abruptly as they caught on a thick matt. 

She knew the basics of medicine, but a ghoul’s venom was nothing to joke about, and certainly beyond her league. What she had given him was typically used to draw out snake venom, slow the effects, not nearly capable of fighting something as potent as ghoul’s venom. On top of that, he was a Witcher. She didn’t know if normal medicine would work on his mutated body, or even what doses to give him.

Grinding her teeth together, she stood up to her feet and made her way toward the horse. The poor beast was frightened, her black mane damp with sweat, hooves stomping into the dusted snow as she shifted nervously. It took a good minute to be able to calm her down, but at last the girl was able to grab her reins and settle her. She found what she was looking for in one of the saddle bags, and took it back to Geralt, laying the parchment map across his legs. 

When his eyes didn’t open, she pressed her thumb into the gaping bite. He wrenched his arm from her grip, though barely, and cursed.

“Stop doing that!” he snapped.

Stay awake then, she thought, but said nothing. Instead, she gestured to the map. He hesitated, untrusting eyes on her before shifting back to the paper. He was wasting time. She grasped his wrist and shook it in front of his eyes, emphasizing the wound and then released it. His arm fell back into the snow as dead weight, and she knew he was losing feeling in it. If he wanted her to get this Vesemir, he needed to tell her where he was.

It was only after several more contemplative moments Geralt pointed to the map. His finger laid on the outlined Blue Mountains north of Ban Ard by the Lixela River where they were currently. Then, he traced west to the mountain’s base, then up the edge north until he reached the Gwenllech River. Following this river upstream into the mountains once more, he stopped, tapped twice, and grunted.

“You’ll cross here,” he said, “the river will be shallow. Be mindful of the white stones.”

She nodded, and he continued.

“Follow the mountain pass, there’s—damnit—” he cursed, straining as red lines on his forearm flared and a new expulsion of white foam poured from the bite. The medicine was working at least. She sighed in relief.

When he had taken a moment, he continued. “There will be a gap in the granite wall. A gorge, it opens to a ravine, then to a valley. Don’t follow the path, go into the woods. Follow the stream—” he grimaced and groaned, letting his head fall back against the tree. “This is pointless, you’ll never even find the gap.”

She slapped him again and the amount of shock on his face was comical. She smiled, but it appeared more gangly and grim than she intended. The path was difficult, but she had help, so she was certain she would get him there. Again, she pointed to the map.

“It’s Kaer Morhen,” he slurred and she nodded. “A castle. Doesn’t look much like one anymore.”

“Alright,” she said, and he narrowed his eyes. He shook his head with a light chuckle as it lulled to the side.

“I thought you were mute,” he said. Blinking as if she hadn’t thought of that, she smiled crookedly and rolled up the map, tucking it into the belt on her waistline. Picking up his sword, she fumbled in her satchel and pulled out a rag, cleaning off the remnants of blood before helping him sheath it back in its place. He seemed curious, but didn’t say anything about it.

As she gathered up her own weapons again and readied the horse, he spoke again.

“I’ll drift in and out of consciousness, and probably say some things,” he said and she hummed to let him know she was listening as she adjusted the stirrup lengths on the saddle. “A handful of days at best before I’m dead.”

That was impressive. How he intended to survive for five days was something she would try and ask later, maybe…perhaps. Most would be dead much quicker than that, after all. 

She hummed again and led the horse by the reins, taking her beside Geralt. He looked up with weary eyes and sweat beading in his hairline. His brows furrowed as he thought. 

Ah…this was going to be difficult. Geralt huffed as he attempted to get to his feet. He managed pretty far, much more than she had anticipated, but alas, he could get to his knees and lean against the tree on one foot, but from there he was stuck. Fidgeting with her fingers, she shuffled on her feet and crept closer. 

He grunted. “Unless you happen to be a competent teenage sorceress, I don’t think you can help me get on the horse.”

She chuckled, and it swiftly turned into a soft laugh. She knelt beside him and placed her hand into the snow, sinking beneath the ice and into the dirt. Whispering beneath her breath, she laid out an incantation into the earth. The trees swayed with the sound of her soft voice, the soil turning beneath them as if embraced by an old friend. Carefully, the ground Geralt knelt on lifted him up and thick roots stretched out to steady him. 

“Well…shit,” he said, seemingly amused. “Easy, Roach.”

She stood and eased the horse—apparently named Roach, to her amusement— holding the reins as she shifted to allow Geralt, now at the same level as the saddle, to slide on. The roots remained to steady him as the dirt eased back into its rightful place. 

“I don’t suppose you know how to make a portal?” he asked as she hopped into the saddle. It must have been a rather amusing sight, a small teenager in the main seat with Geralt behind her.

She shook her head. Stretching out her hand, a posy of vines grew and wound around Geralt and the saddle, binding his unsteady frame at least in a somewhat stable position. She needed him secure against her back if he was going to fall unconscious randomly throughout their journey. And she wasn’t wrong. 

He was unconscious within the next few minutes, bodying going lax so suddenly she had to pull the horse to a stop and scramble to gather her balance. With more vines wrapping around them, and pulling Geralt’s arms around her and binding them to the saddle’s horn, his weight was now firmly set against her back. And finally settled, she set out quickly.

“Don’t follow the path he showed you,” a long-since familiar voice said in her thoughts. “Go northeast and follow the Lixela up through the mountains. It will be quicker.”

“Are you sure, D’ao?” 

“Do not worry, if Kaer Morhen is where he says it is, I will get you there.”

She swallowed thickly as she adjusted course and Roach’s canter broke into a swift and steady gallop. She had to shake her head as memories began to sink into her thoughts. The Drowner, gangly limbs and pale eyes, sharp teeth by the river. The hiss of a sword and golden eyes, white hair, and a wolf captured in silver. A kind, gentle hand. The village, the fear, the pain—unbearable pain. She shivered. Chaos. 

She breathed in heavily as the trees whizzed by around her, shaking the scent of blood and rotten food from her senses. Determination took its place. She would get Geralt to Kaer Morhen—alive—and if the world hated her for once again helping a Witcher, she would laugh as they set fire to her pyre and burn the monster they created.

The ten year old child she once was owed him that.

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Tags are Open at Request!

[callsign-bunnie]

[spielzeugkaiser]

Lovechild AU idea: I would like to suggest adding Vespula and Radovid into the found family mix! Vespula has the aunt vibe of "I could never be mad at you sweetie, have a cookie, anyway, whAT THE FUCK JASKIER." (I know Yen probably has that role but the kid is allowed to have cool aunts) and Radovid probably bonded with him while he and Jaskier were dating, like out of all the people his dad dated, he's the stepparent he liked the most. Anyway, I'm just hashing out ideas bc I love those two and want to see our sweet baby boy interact with them!

[MASTERPOST] Oh gosh...

The thing is, I DON'T TRUST RADOVID AT ALL. not yet at least. So if he exists in this AU... they're not having a good time.

[mclsquared]

please officer— that's my emotional support traumatized and reluctant father figure character

[khun-sam]

"Let's go!" The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt