#guxart/vesemir/jaskier

[pherryt]

Matter of Convenience

Witchersexual!Jaskier, Incubus!Jaskier

Rated: E Pairings: Jaskier/Everyone, Eskel/Geralt, Vesemir/Guxart, Coen/Lambert, Lambert/Aiden, Cedric/Axel, and various permutations between Words Posted: 6914 (2 of 19 chapters so far) Posting Schedule: 1 Chapter a day

Summary: When a Witcher finds Jaskier trying to feed behind the tavern, he thought it was over, finally. His secret was out. But the Witcher surprises him and proposes something completely different, bringing him home to Kaer Morhen instead.

Turns out, some of the Witcher mutations leave them in a tight spot of their own. Vesemir proposes to help Jaskier learn about himself so he won't become a danger to others if he helps them through the winter season.

 It really works out better than planned.

[blooms-in-april]

Jaskier: So your brother Eskel takes the route through the Blue Mountains and your brother Lambert blows things up around Novigrad, but what does your dear father do?

Geralt: Vesemir? Nothing. He stays at the keep. Fixes walls.

Jaskier: Geralt, my dear, be serious. There's no way any relation of yours can stay out of mischief for long. You're telling me a Witcher stays cooped up in that castle, sweeping floors, cooking meals, and dusting like a sweet little housewife?

Geralt: *grunts angrily*

Jaskier, laughing: Geralt, I guarantee your dear father is growing weed and getting fucked whenever you children aren't home.

Geralt: *scarred silence* That's not true.

Vesemir, at that exact moment in Kaer Morhen: Fucking come on, Guxart. Put your back into it!

[0dde11eth]

Poor vesemir, he tries to give his pups life lessons beyond being a witcher, but this is the kaer MORONS we are talking about. The following occurs when they are all trying to make dinner one evening.

Papa vesemir: ok boys familiarize yourself with the spices, these can make walking the path a little nicer, as you can look forward to a delicious meal at the end of a rough day

So they go over to the spice rack to read the labels.

Eskel: basil, oregano, cilantro (yuck), coriander, thyme, paprika...

Geralt: hmm, ground pepper, sounds spicy. Hmm, not sure I like the sound of garlic, seems spicier...

Lambert: cinnamon, nutmeg. Cum? DRIED CUM!?!?!

Eskel: what?? Cum?? Is this a prank??

Geralt: did jaskier put you up to this??

Lambert: I'm not fucking eating dried cum!!!

Papa vesemir: Its CUMIN YOU IDIOTS. that's it! Everyone out of my kitchen and go run the walls, everyones getting plain boiled potatoes for the rest of the week!

Geralt: yay! Finally some good food!

Papa Vesemir: OUT!!!

Jaskier (in the background): *dumping a mouthful of the dried "cum" in his mouth and then gagging* that's NOT CUM!

Papa vesemir: *internally* I bet guxart doesn't have this problem with the cat witchers

*** across the continent at the cat caravan***

Aiden: *gagging* that's NOT CUM!

Guxart: *internally* I bet vesemir doesn't have this problem with the wolf witchers

[thebestworstidea]

What Sweetness You Can

For Valentine's Day, I thought I'd write a fluff piece about bees. St. Valentine is the saint of beekeepers too, you know. It got away from me. It's still fluff, and can mostly be described as 'Old Witchers having a pretty good time' 7,502 words of it.

>-------------<

There were bees in the walls of Kaer Morhen. 

Technically, they had their own room, in the wing opposite where the remaining Witchers kept their quarters. Their door was clearly marked, and generally they came and went from the windows. Occasionally one or more would find their way inside the keep, but the majority lived cozily in their room. Generally speaking they were shooed out peacefully.  If any ever found their way into the hypocaust that kept the ground floor of the keep warmer than it could be, well, as long as they didn’t try to set up a hive there. 

In the summer when the keep was even more empty, Vesemir found their droning hum somewhat soothing, and would even talk to them, in the traditional way, telling them of events that took place in the family. He would calmly chat as if they understood as he gently harvested thick honey combs, his care and centered calm being every bit as effective as the smokers that some bee keepers used. It was an old hive now, generations of swarms coming back to continue the line. Somehow, he liked to think that they told their children about the Witchers, the same way he told them. 

The honey was good for brewing, for preserving food, for making poultices, and medicines, for trading, and fueling energy for the ever hungry metabolisms of the Witchers. Perhaps it was the harshness of the world that made them starving for sweetness in their food. More than once he’d seen a bowl of porridge drowned in tawny gold so deep that none of the oats poked out. 

The wax was invaluable for armor, ointment and candles as well sealing and preserving. 

However, the biggest problem with using it as a trade good was that unsupported honeycombs did not travel particularly well. Which meant jars. The valleys nearby had plenty of browse for goats and horses, but not a lot of clay, even if he was capable of making his own. It wasn’t as if his foolish pups didn’t need jars and vials for their potions, but he had no skill in glass blowing. (In his youth, a Witcher with a wooden leg from the knee down had learned the skill, and for a time they’d kept the keep well supplied. Long past now though some of his work remains.) So that meant not only getting the jars down the mountain- it meant getting empty ones back up. 

He had an advantage in that he took the trail in early summer, rather than fall or spring, when things were more settled. It would never be easy, or entirely safe, but it was a simpler task. There was even a shortcut down a pass that became impassable early- sometimes it would even be too difficult to use midsummer. 

Every year had it’s own challenges, so it was best to stay flexible and alert. He wasn’t as old as all that, after all, no matter what the pups teased at. This year’s particular challenge was that after the winter, the town he usually traded goods in wasn’t having a market quite big enough to have all of the supplies he needed. He would have to travel further. The only traveling merchant that was there suggested he might as well go as far as the city.  They also offered to take the goods off his hand for a fraction of their worth if he didn’t want to travel himself. He dismissed that idea; the supplies he got in trade helped keep the keep standing and feeding it’s last members. So he would travel to Ard Carraigh.

Not something he did often or was particularly fond of. This close to the mountains, Witchers passed through fall and spring, so there weren’t many contracts to pick up. Beyond that, despite his armor and twin swords- (he’d hardly leave Kaer Morhen unprepared) people seemed a little confused at a Witcher with a wagon pulled by a pair of donkeys. (He liked donkeys. They were intelligent and much heartier than most horses.) It made them a bit friendlier, but less likely to trust he could handle things. Fortunately, there were plenty of people who’d met him before. Vesemir would sometimes feel the itch for the Path and the valleys below the mountains were far enough to scratch it.

It made for an uneventful trip, barring a few bandits who thought a wagon guarded only by an old man looked like a tempting target. 

As the last of them fled, he sighed at the faint instinct to chase them down. It wasn’t his job to rid the countryside of bandits. That was the only interesting thing that happened, the rest was the scent of green growing things and mile after mile of road disappearing beneath the donkey’s feet. 

Once, Ard Carraigh had been a walled city. By the time Vesemir left the path it had already spilled past the walls, spreading out into new residential areas, guild houses, and at the edge, always at the edge, the farms that kept the city fed. He found an inn that had always been kind to Witchers- outside the walls of the main city- and inspected the craftsmen’s quarters. 

A furrier waved him over as he passed. 

“Witcher, ho- over here.” 

Not sure if he should expect a contract or an insult, Vesemir did. The furrier carefully took another look at him and gave a nod. 

“You’re one of the Wolves, right? I do business with them most falls. It’s kind of out of time, but do you have anything interesting?”

“Interesting how?” 

“Unusual colors, or monster fur, that stuff sells great, once it’s treated.” he gave an amused expression. “Frankly, you people bring in nicer stuff than other trappers I’ve worked with.” 

A great bundle of furs were in the cart, padding out the jars of honey. With all of the hunting they did in the winter, there was more leather and fur than the handful of remaining wolves could use. 

“I have some, I can bring them by.” Vesemir was pleasantly surprised that it was this easy. 

“A pleasure.” the furrier offered his hand. “The other Witcher that I saw the other day only had some rabbit and deer hide.” 

Vesemir was curious to hear about that. It was a bit odd that another Witcher was in this area at this time, but as they were wanderers it wasn’t unheard of. He wondered if he knew them, and continued on. 

Over dinner, the innkeep told him that there would be a big market in a few days, really a summer faire and he’d probably get a good price for the honey if he sold it there. He’d already traded a decent crock for his room and board. He’d first met Erik when he was young and just helping his father in the stables, but the man had grown into himself and taken over running it. Erik had heard rumors about a Witcher in town days before Vesemir arrived, substantiating what the furrier had said. Trusting the young innkeep, Vesemir would wait those days. It wasn’t as if he had a real time table. What was left at Kaer Morhen could tend to itself for a while. 

That left him with time on his hands. In the morning he checked the nearest message board, feeling the buzzing anticipation of possible combat. Things seemed fairly peaceful but there probably would be something. He did not expect to encounter the other Witcher people had been talking about, and expected knowing him even less.

The Witcher was standing in front of the board, feet spread he read through the notices. He wore his swords on his hips, shorter and lighter than the ones Vesemir carried. He was favoring his right side. Not a lot, just enough that Vesemir noticed. His hair was tied back in a tail, more gray and white than black.  As Vesemir stepped up beside him, eyes like old honey, dark gold with red undertones, flicked over at him, and a small smile went over his face. 

“Now what are you doing this far north, Guxart?” Vesemir asked. “Really, I never expected to see you again, all of your letters have been no further north than Toussaint.” 

“I didn’t expect to see you either, Old Wolf. Not here.” 

Their shoulders bumped in greeting. 

“Where did you expect to see me?” Vesemir asked. 

“Closer to the mountains.”

“No market. The keep bees were over productive this spring. More than I can handle, and I’m out of crocks and jars. I’ve got an old barrel filled with raw combs, and it wants to escape.”

The other old Witcher sighed, perhaps a bit wistfully. 

“I miss the bees. Humms like chaos.”  

Vesemir grunted agreement. 

“Wagons would make for poor hives.” 

“Worse homes than I thought as well.” 

There was clearly something there, lurking like a monster under the surface of a lake, but for now, Vesemir let it hide.

“Cleared out all the good contracts?” he asked instead. 

He hadn’t as it happened. He’d been sticking to the smaller, easy ones, which were more nuisances than real problems. Drowners in a aqueduct. Some wild dogs causing too much trouble for a farm. Tracking down a missing fiance who had gotten cold feet. Nothing big.

Witchers didn’t typically corporate, but Vesemir and Guxart had known each other for a long time. It hadn’t started the smoothest, but they did bond over being the eldest in their school, and trying to keep the younger Witchers sharp and healthy. After knowing someone long enough, the friendship was a steady bond, that stretched across land and bitter history. 

The two old Witchers took care of a zegul together- which were nearly as prevalent as drowners, really. They just showed up whenever men built sewers. In the stinking privacy of the dim tunnels, and the quiet after the last blow landed Vesemir struck.

“How long have you been injured?” he asked. Guxart went still like a startled cat, and huffed. 

“Bad break over the winter. Didn’t set well or heal well. It’s getting better.”

“Still a little weak on the right.” 

“Well, glad you stood there then.” he grumbled cleaning his sword off. “Not healing like I used to.”

“Getting old?”

“I’m not the only one grey around the muzzle.” the Cat said sharply, but was drawn out of his annoyance by Vesemir moving into his personal space and pressing their foreheads together. They shared breath in the stinking sewer and it felt better for it. Vesemir rubbed his thumb softly back and forth under Guxart’s ear. 

“Let’s get out of here, though. Cities stink back enough on the topside, this is no field of flowers.” Guxart grumbled, but knocked their temples together as he pulled away. “I’ll tell you the rest.” 

Friendship was mixed with physical intimacy for them, reaching out for someone who understood.

Erik was only a  little surprised when Vesemir returned dirty and with another Witcher in tow. He just brought buckets of hot water to them, and offered to bring their clothes to the laundress. 

Soon enough they were settled in Vesemir’s room with a brace of stewed pigeons care of the dovecot above the stable. 

“Sometimes,” Guxart said, letting the smell of fresh bread fill his nostrils. It was too late in the day for it to be hot, but it still smelled delicious. “I think you have it much easier, with fewer cubs to keep track of. Or that I failed somehow. Or I’m just too old to keep up.” 

“You’re doing fine.” Vesemir tried to assure him. After a moment thought he produced a jar of honey, and let the Cat soak his bread in it.

“I’m not. Bad enough we’re known as hired killers; even Vipers would hesitate to kill another Witcher. There are too few of us.” Viciously he bit into the bread, licking after each bite to keep the honey from escaping. It occupied him entirely for a few long moments, and the spike of anger settled back down to a low simmer. “I-” he gave a harsh laugh, sucking on a sticky thumb “Am no longer welcome in Dyn Marv’s wagons.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Vesemir protested. “You-”

“I’m sure some of the kits will wonder where I’ve gone, but I’ve certainly been pushed out of the clowder.” He sighed deeply. “I’ve tried longer than perhaps I should have. Better Cats than I have gone off on their own. I know that Cats are banned from Kaer Morhen, but I’m hoping you’ll make an exception for an old moggy.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Vesemir snorted. "It was never all Cats. That’s just easier to say.” 

Guxart gave a huff of a laugh. 

“Don’t worry, I should be moving well enough in a few more months. Make myself useful.”

“Why wait?”  he cupped a hand around his friend's neck and stroked his fingers across skin that was still soft. This time, Guxart’s eyes drifted shut and there was the faintest sound of a purr. 

The pay from the zegul wasn’t much, but more than enough to pay the stall fee for the market festival. The furs had all gone to the furrier the day before it opened. Vesemir frankly didn’t care if the man sold them for more than he’d paid, since he’d paid a fair price. However the other goods were laid out below a canopy Guxart had rigged, putting them in shade. With their swords laid nearby in the wagon, they looked more like retired mercenaries than inhuman monster killers, and no one was more than a little intimidated. Not with the soft fragrant smell of honey on the air. 

Slowly the stock of crocks and jars, each carefully sealed with wax and covered with a soft leather lid, leather dampened and shaped by being tied tightly over the jar,  left the stall, replaced with coin and some useful trade goods. Also for offer there were a large range of whittled and carved objects, made by idle hands in the darkest months, as well as fine woolen thread from the same source, gathered from the soft undercoats shed by the hearty furry goats that were now mostly feral around the keep. 

The head of the weaver’s guild came by to ask after the ichor based dye that made the Witcher’s clothes dark. Guxart preferred woad or indigo, the all-black favored by some Witchers a little much for him but he had what looked like an old beer jug filled with the stuff, contributing to the stall. He took pay in coin, as well as two bolts of undyed cloth, one wool and one linen. While for the most part Vesemir needed coin to supply the keep, he was willing to take trade for items he needed. Ingots of wax for ingots of iron, the large honeycomb in it’s barrel, half submerged in honey for sacks of flour.  

By the end of the second day, there was hardly anything left. 

“There you go Vesek.” Guxart teased, half draped over his friend. He was feeling much more relaxed now.  “Aren’t you glad you came this far now?” 

“It seems to have worked out.” he agreed, and gave a friendly headbutt. Guxart chuckled. “Now of course, I have to find a glassblower and potter to get jars and vials.”

Guxart’s smile got broader. 

“I know a guy actually. I can get the glasswares. Standard array?” back when they’d see each other more, Vesemir had small variations on shape in his potions to make them easier to grab blind.

“How long have you been slinking around Ard Carraigh?” He asked in an amused rumble. It was good to be in the other man’s company, to let himself go, instead of being an authority for his pups. Guxart chuckled back. 

“Long enough.” He’d been camping out in the woods outside the city until he was invited into Vesemir’s room, so he was quite pleased. Simple straw tic or no, the mattress was very forgiving to his battered bones. 

“Well it wouldn’t hurt to divide the labor. I need to go to the potter’s.” He frowned at the mostly-empty cart. “Some of those were the crocks I use for preserving things.” 

“And you’ll need plenty of those for winter.” he coughed a bit. “What do you think would warm your boys up to me?”

Vesemir raised an eyebrow at that. 

“Oh that’s going to be a task.” 

“Alcohol it is!” 

Unsurprisingly the third day of the market fair didn’t just have them short on goods. The potter allowed that he had more crocks cooling in the kiln, due to a misunderstanding in timing, and he could do Vesemir a fairly good deal on them. Guxart smugly showed up with a sawdust filled crate that was packed as tight as an icehouse with potion sized vials. Enough to keep the Wolves in potions for years at least. He didn’t have quite as much luck with the jars. The amount of pots the potter had was impressive though. 

Throughout this all, Vesemir was vaguely bemused. Some people would not meet his eyes, or went to the trouble to avoid him- or ignore him completely in the case of one shop owner. But the majority of the people he interacted with treated him as an older gentleman who they didn’t know. It was different. They clearly weren’t mistaking him for anything else, since he’d had a runner interrupt his shopping for one of the more affluent people in the city, who had heard there was a Witcher about and was having some trouble with his wine cellar. (While there was a spirit in the cellar, it was mostly upset that the servant in charge was siphoning off from the large barrels inappropriately, to sell under the table causing souring and other problems. Vesemir’s best guess was that the spirit had come in with a barrel of wine, and changed from a nature spirit to more of a house hob.) A simple enough job to catch the thief, and dispel worries about the spirit who would do more good than harm if treated properly. Not much in way of pay, but people rarely wanted to pay when it was discovered someone they previously trusted was a thief, and technically, Vesemir hadn’t gotten rid of the spirit in the wine cellar either. 

When Vesemir came back to the inn, he saw Guxart on the roof, idle in the late-day sunlight, smoking a small clay pipe. At Vesemir’s approach, he propped himself up a bit, rearranging his seat on the slates.

“What are you doing up there?” Vesemir asked, more out of concern for Guxart’s still weak leg than any annoyance. 

“It’s a good view.” the Cat returned tartly. “... Innkeep doesn’t like heights. Needed someone to check the roof slates where they met the chimney. Rooftops are absolutely cat territory, so I made myself useful.” He stared down at Vesemir who looked up at him, unimpressed. 

“Can you get down?” 

“... there’s a ladder round the back. My ego has taken enough hits, come up and enjoy the sunset.” After a few moments longer disapproving stare, he did, however, and they watched the sunset on the roof.

“I could have done it without.” Guxart said out of nowhere. “But the ladder was already out.”

“I’m sure you could have.” Vesemir passed the pipe back. 

“It’s weird.” 

“What?”

“People have been; well not calm, but more relaxed about Witchers. Not in all the little villages, but in larger places.”

“Places we wouldn’t want to go anyway.”

“Leave it for the young’ens.” he agreed. “Think it’s at least as good as when I started on the Path, back before King Lackowit started his nonsense.”

“I’ve found, as I get older, that words are an incredible weapon. M’boy’s Bard-”

“Dandelion, right?”

“Geralt calls him Jaskier. Some yellow flower.”

“Daffodil.” Guxart suggested. “Daisy.”

“Celandine.” 

“Merigold.”

“Yarrow.” 

“Pansy.” Guxart suggested slyly. 

“Goldenrod.” Vesemir retorted. 

For some reason that made them both dissolve into chuckles, like they were trainees escaping from work, not two of the oldest surviving Witchers on the continent. 

“Well, none of my business.” Guxart gave one last chuckle. “So the bard.” 

“He seems to be doing a one man Witcher rehabilitation service.”

“Insane.”

“Geralt said he hugged a Viper, and that he could feel his hair getting whiter.” 

“And he lived? Huh. I doubt even my kits are that crazy.” 

“At any rate, words. Words are changing the world. Where the songs get popular, Witchers are less of a threat. If you think about it, we didn’t change our behavior, other people’s words are what turned the world to shit.”

“It is a bit isn’t it?” 

With the market done, and supplies acquired, it was time to head back to Kaer Morhen. The donkey heaved a great sigh at the now much heavier cart, but gamely pulled it along. Guxart’s horse- a short, sturdy mare who was getting a bit on in years- kept up fairly well. To Vesemir’s slight surprised, the black and white mare was just as trained to pull a cart as she was to be ridden. 

The trail up to the keep was more than passable this time of year, just after midsummer, but still tricky. The Cat proved himself to be a more than capable driver- better in fact than Vesemir, so he let him take over. 

Long before the walls of the keep came in sight, Vesemir was greeted. Bees rose from the greenery and flowers to circle around his head and crawl over the leather of his armor, as if examining it for nectar. Only for a few moments each then they returned to their tasks, the buzzing a very faint drone. It could be excused by pretending that it was due to gathering important ingredients and bundling them up, since he was foraging as they climbed the steep trail, but that would be a weak excuse. Finally Kaer Morhen appeared ahead of them. 

Guxart had only seen it once before, and that was before the attack. He hadn’t even gotten this close then. Frankly, for a castle that had been laid siege to, it was in fairly good shape. The years of insufficient care had done their own damage. It was a place meant for many, inhabited by the few. 

“Little drafty for a retirement cottage, Vesek.” he teased. 

“Good thing I’m not retired just yet.” They were in front of the gates, which were shut tightly, some of the wood looking slightly newer than the rest. Guxart wondered what kind of key would unlock them, when Vesemir took a deep breath, a few steps back and a running leap. 

Before he could say anything, he watched the Wolf climb hand over hand up a half-hidden chain that went to a counterweight, and disappear into what might have been a murder hole. It barely fit his shoulders. 

He whistled, impressed. 

A few moments later and the counterweight chain moved slowly, and the gate opened. He led the wagon through and into the courtyard. 

“That was unexpected.” 

“Well, if I came back to squatters, I’d have to scrub the blood off the floor and my knees aren’t what they used to be.” 

They settled in fairly quickly. Supplies were stowed, and Guxart took the chance to get a look around. There was a garden taking up a back courtyard, looking a bit overgrown but not abandoned. There was a stable and a small fenced paddock inside the walls, with a heavy gate of it’s own leading to a field outside. The stable looked like the best maintained outbuilding. One southern facing courtyard help a glasshouse- remarkably intact, so probably mage-created glass. Everything seemed just a bit worn and under maintained.  Under-maintained, but livable. He was quite impressed. He could see that at least one wing had lost half it’s roof, and there was an assortment of collapsed and half collapsed outbuildings whose purpose he couldn’t even guess at at this point. All signs reminding that this had once been more. Discovering that he had been staring into space for long enough that the sun had disappeared, he found his way back to Vesemir. 

Guxart found that maintaining a castle, even a moldering one, was entirely a different task than wrangling a caravan, even if it had involved herding cats. Not that he was necessarily averse to hard work, especially when it came accompanied by a fairly soft bed, good food and hot baths. Not to mention fine company. With two pairs of hands in fair weather it was plain Vesemir had plans for the rest of the summer. If Witchers lived to old age, they hardened like oak. Strong, tough and lasting, with plenty of experience in doing things the wrong way to help them do things smarter. 

Since it was a big change, Vesemir had taken the time to tell the bees about the keep’s new inhabitant shortly after they arrived. All signs pointed to them approving- or at least that’s what he told Guxart. Guxart was willing to buy it and nearly as calm as Vesemir when he helped with the fall harvest. Most of the young Wolves would panic a little when they stepped inside the bee’s room. Guxart moved carefully through it, and let the bees crawl over his skin, gently blowing them off the combs when needed.  Despite having been harvested once already in the late spring, the bees had handily refilled the space with the flowers from the valleys and slopes around the keep. They might swarm soon, and the old witchers discussed if a second room would be better, or traditional skeps, and how far away the second hive room would have to be for optimum health. If they built and provided some sort of scaffold would it prevent the rippling stalactites of honeycomb.

Their time was well filled, and Vesemir felt a foreign sort of relaxation having company and help. Occasionally, a message bird would arrive (Guxart had replaced the dovecot, chittering under his breath the entire time, and would sometimes laze about in the sun watching the birds) with a request for a Witcher. This close to the mountains, monsters would periodically emerge, and the people who lived below them were used dto the Witchers. Sturdy hillfolk and farmers, they took care of what they could, and regarded Witchers to more strange than a longbowman, or a skilled blacksmith. They had skills that others did not, specialized to a specific task. One wouldn’t ask a blacksmith to make cordage, or a tanner to jar fruit.  

When the messages arrived, they would ride out to the call. At first it was singly, one staying behind, and later both together. These contracts yielded more goods than coin, but at least they were paid. 

The larders filling nicely, autumn overtook Kaer Morhen, and as the rain drove the leaves from the trees, and the world chilled, Vesemir started anticipating the Wolves’ return to their den. 

There were perhaps  ten remaining wolves, and Guxart could tell that the swordmaster had his favorites, the ones he spoke of the most fondly and frequently. A sad number for a pack. But better than the Gryphon’s loss, or the slow disappearance of the Manticores. There was no way to tell how many Bears survived; and the Cranes that were left wouldn’t crew a good sized boat. Last he heard, the Vipers were down to only a handful; part of him regretted the loss of Witchers, even of another school, but he’d never really felt comfortable around one anyway. The Cats, perhaps were the luckiest, the Caravan housing twenty or so on a regular basis, with strays coming and going like feral cousins. They were however, the most likely to turn on each other if things went sour. There were occasional clowders within Dyn Marv’s wagons, family like groups who always had each other’s backs. 

And then there were fucking assholes. 

Wolves were supposed to be different; but that was something he’d have to see.

The world faded to browns and grays, broken with the green of various pines. The bees settled down in their room, humming to themselves as they slept in anticipation of winter. As the frost bloomed the remaining Wolves arrived at Kaer Morhen one by one, bringing what supplies they could from their year on the Path. Eskel, one of Vesemir’s favorites, arrived shortly after the frost hardened the trail, small crates of chickens carefully balanced over the croup of a fairly annoyed looking stallion. He seemed surprised at the presence of another old Witcher- and a Cat at that, but when his mentor didn’t comment on it beyond ‘he’s a good friend’ Eskel didn’t ask any further questions. He did keep an eye on Guxart however. The elder tolerated it for the most part, but he did disappear between to glaces from time to time. Just to keep the younger Witcher on his toes. 

This time of year, Vesemir spent mornings up on a lookout- there was a part of the trail that was visible, and so was anyone coming up it- if you had Witcher sharp eyes or a telescope, and Vesemir had both. The revealing patch was about a day’s travel from the keep itself, so if he spotted someone in the morning, they would be likely to be there by night fall. 

He hadn’t mentioned anything that morning, so Guxart was making himself useful cleaning the forge. It needed to be done, and old or not, he was more flexible enough to get half inside and remove caught clinkers, even finding bits of slag. It left him covered with a thick coat of ashes and soot, and desperate for a bath. 

The forge shared a courtyard with the main stables, so that horses could easily be brought in and shod. He was looking over the bellows when he heard hooves on the cobblestones outside. It really didn’t register until an unfamiliar voice spoke up. 

 “Oh look at this beautiful lady!” chirped the cheerful voice, out by the inner paddock. “Ah, she knows it, doesn’t she? How can a horse that stout look so dainty!?”

“I don’t know that horse.” the second voice was deeper, and rougher. 

“Really!” laughed the first. “Do you expect to recognise every horse your brothers ride?”

“Yes.” 

This prompted laughter, not unkind and boisterous. Guxart sniffed the air, but all he smelled were ashes. He fought the urge to swipe it off his face, since that would be of no help. Besides, with the bellows checked, that was the end of the cleaning. He would just leave a fire prepared in the forge, and finally wash himself clean; hopefully before the new arrivals got to washing the travels off their skin. 

Taking the last bucket of very fine ash, he stepped into the courtyard, not trying to hide, because surprising a Witcher was never a good idea, however amusing, and especially not one straight off the Path.

The first person he saw was definitely not a Witcher, which stopped him in place. He was wearing fairly bright woolens in what Guxart recognised as a fashionable cut, and carried no visible weapons. He was trying to entice Guxart’s mare over with a handful of dried apples, meanwhile fighting off some of the others who had detected treats.  He was the source of the bright, bubbling laughter. 

He was also perceptive because it only took a moment for him to turn and see Guxart. 

“Oh hello Witcher-I-do-not-yet-know.” He smiled appearing genuinely pleased to meet an unknown Witcher. 

“Her name is Plamka.” 

“Of course it is.” He sighed theatrically. “Is it a Witcher thing to give horses silly names? Eskel’s the best of you, and Scorpion is just because he was a real kicker when he was young.” 

“Who are you.” there was the second voice, and seeing the Witcher emerge from the over hang he was detacking his horse under made everything make sense.

The long white hair and sharpened features, combined with a bright young man? This was Geralt of Riva, if not the best known, the most infamous, which made the other man the yellow-flower bard who’d written ‘Toss a Coin’ and a dozen other songs glorifying the messy work of Witchering. He was also glaring at Guxart with a great deal of force. 

“Ah-” He tried to decide the best way to explain; when the others had come in, Vesemir had been there to rein in the pups. He hadn’t expected encountering one on his own. Geralt started growling faintly 

“Cat.” He said.

“Oh do stop, what are you going to do, chase him up a tree?”

That was a distinct possibility. 

Fortunately, there was a reprieve in the form of Eskel barreling out of the keep and into his brother, knocking the White Wolf to the ground in a friendly wrestling match while the bard just took a few steps back. Geralt's growling protests of this taking place in front of someone he didn’t know were more or less drowned out.  Finally they stopped, and Eskel introduced them. Geralt growled a bit when Guxart offered a hand, and instead turned, grabbing a set of large saddle bags, and headed inside. 

“Sorry” the bard offered as he picked up a second set. “He’s grouchy about surprises.” 

“You mean everything.” Eskel teased, giving the bard a much more gentle hug of greeting. Watching as they disappeared into the keep, Guxart exhaled. This was going to be an interesting winter. 

It turned out Vesemir hadn’t seen them approach because a sorceress friend of Geralt’s had portaled them to a clearing just below the final approach, and would be joining later with- well, Guxart didn’t know what, because it was apparently important and Geralt didn’t seem to want him to know. He’d either find out later, or not he supposed, but Vesemir wasn’t concerned and seemed to know what was going on, so he could pull back his curiosity a bit. 

Things were a little tense for a few days. Mead helped, flowing copiously enough that they had to brew up a new barrel of metheglin sooner than expected. The first snow of the year arrived, only sticking spottily in crags and shadows, but the gray skies promised more to come, at least as heavy as the fall rains and more enduring.  Another storm came in, settling in like a fog made of swirling flakes, making things at a distance dim and hard to see. That didn’t stop Vesemir’s lookout, watching for the last few stragglers.

He spotted them, late in the morning, before he turned to other duties. Three figures on foot, the silhouette of a Witcher noticeable, but not discernable as who. Three walkers and one horse, probably a pack horse, or perhaps only one of them had a steed and was walking to keep pace. 

Vesemir would never admit to fretting, even a little. He was after all the Head of the Wolf school, such as it was. Witchers were tough creatures, that didn’t need coddling. But while two of his favorites had made it home already, the youngest wolf had yet to make it.  His brothers were very pointedly not worrying about him.

“Little jerk’s too mean to die.”

“I owe him  ten crowns, he’s going to collect.”

“Eh, he’s made it back later than this.”

“Absolute madman. Skilled though.” 

Frankly, Guxart was looking forward to meeting him. Vesemir cautioned that he and the youngest didn’t always get on well, and he’d probably dislike Guxart on several points. 

The light, thickly falling snow continued all day. Eskel cleared the courtyard just after dusk with an impressively strong series of Igni, beautifully shaped by this will. The cobblestones steamed slightly in the light of the torches, but by the time the travelers made it to the gates, snow was starting to gather again. 

Everyone came to the gate like giant busybodies with nothing better to do, though not being part of the family, Guxart hung back in the shadows. 

“Hail and well met!” came a greeting from the man leading the horse. He had a dense collar of fur around the shoulders and hood of his cape. He didn’t drop the hood even in the semi shelter of the gate structure. 

“Coёn ! A pleasure to host you again.” Vesemir clasped his arm.

“Why thank you; I appreciate your hospitality.” 

Not a Wolf then. But clearly known as the other started greeting him. 

Vesemir stepped towards one of the other two. 

“Lambert, My boy-”

“No one say shit.” He held up a hand. “I’m getting this out of the way no, so you can all piss off and sleep on it.” 

“What, one than the other?” Guxart heard the bard say faintly, wrapped in a rather ridiculously huge muffler. “Sounds messy.” 

As if he didn’t hear, the youngest wolf continued. 

“This is my guest this year. He’s a good Witcher, and a better man than me, and if he’s not welcome, I’m out.” 

“That’s a little dramatic, Lam. I’m sure I could find somewhere else to go-” 

Things got a little messy there. The man beside Lambert dropped the hood on his thick wool jacket, revealing a pleasant face with golden tan, dark hair and bright green eyes. There was a scar disrupting his eyebrow, and another on his full lower lip, and a bigger, fresher scar disrupting the fall of his hair on his left temple. Also on display then was the medallion he wore, with a snarling cat’s head. Guxart was already moving, crazy enough to leap into a knot of slightly tense Witchers.

“Aiden!” Aiden’s head whipped around as his name was called, and they collided, rolling into a snowbank. 

“What the fuck?!” demanded Lambert, a knife coming out. Thoughtfully, Eskel grabbed his brother in a hug like a headlock. 

“I thought you were dead!”

“I thought you were dead, asshole!” 

“What are you doing here?!” 

“Stop asking questions I want you to answer?!” 

Guxart gave the younger Cat an affectionate headbutt. He paused. He sniffed around Aiden’s face thoroughly enough that he got pushed away. 

“I’m making a terrible impression on my Wolf’s family.” Aiden whined in an undertone.  Guxart chuckled and ran his fingers though Aiden’s hair as they got back to their feet. 

“Who the fuck is he?” Lambert asked. He was being squished in the middle of a hug from his brothers and was unsuccessfully trying to wiggle his way loose. 

“An old friend of mine.” Vesemir said. 

“A Cat?” Lambert demanded. 

“I’m friends with a great many people.” his mentor retorted. 

“Happens when you’re not an asshole.” chuckled Eskel, nosing at Lambert’s slicked down hair. On the other side, Geralt gave a little sneeze. 

“I guess your friend wasn’t as dead as you thought.” Geralt said mildly. “I’m glad.” 

“That’s the problem with pretending that you’re dead so your enemies leave off.” Aiden shrugged. “It’s really hard to get back in contact with people. Also it was closer than I’d like.” 

“Who’s telling people I’m dead?” Guxart demanded. 

“Not to be the only squishy human here.” Jaskier spoke up. “But as I doubt very much that Master Vesemir is going to deny Lambert his guest- Hi Aiden, by the way-” 

“Good to see you again!” 

“But perhaps this conversation would be better held inside?” he peered upward at the sky. “Because I think it’s starting to come down harder.” 

“Well, you seem to have good references.” Vesemir gestured further into the courtyard. “You are welcome then, as long as you mean no harm.” 

“Thank you.” Aiden seemed genuinely relieved, looking over at Lambert as he finally managed to extract himself from the pile of puppies. “We- I thought this might be a harder sell.” 

“We’re not adopting a bunch of strays are we?” one of the Wolves asked as they helped Coёn unload the supplies from his gelding so he could get her inside. “I mean, the last Cat I met looked like he had mange. Not you;” he assured their guests. “I mean on the Path.” 

“No that’s fair, I think I know who you’re talking about.” Aiden snorted. 

Vesemir watched them troop inside, Geralt going off with Coёn  to settle his horse in the stables.  He shook his head, bemused. Guxart knocked their shoulders together, and nudged his head against Vesemir’s chin.

“Full keep this year?” 

“Perhaps you’re good luck.” 

Guxart laughed, managing- just barely- to contain himself before it got manic.

“Honestly, if I’d known it was going to be this easy, I would have brought him back years ago.” Lambert grumbled into his mead. 

Geralt, half caught beneath him, snorted. 

The younger Witchers were in comfortable piles, spread out near the hearths in the main hall. The hypocaust caught waste heat from the springs beneath the keep, funneling it up to keep the floors of the first story at least faintly warm to the touch. It was a great mercy in trying to heat the castle as winter set in. Between that and the two well stocked hearths on either side of the room, this was the best place to spend leisure time in the winter. The Wolves would often lounge about, filling the desperate human need for contact with people who had no fear of them. It might have been funny to the humans that shunned them that these strong fierce mutants took such joys in simple things like combing hair. 

Jaskier had been over the moon to discover that they were all pretty much like that, though some of them were holding back. Geralt had every faith the bard would wear them down by the end of winter.

At the moment however, Jaskier was perched on the table, arms full of lute and mouth full of song, a fast paced jig of some sort.  Between the tables Aiden and Guxart had taken up the song, booted feet flashing as they danced- it hadn’t taken anyone long to realize that while it was a dance the swirling pattern was also a very dexterous kind of low impact sparring. There was a set pattern but much ducking out of the way of the other one. Aiden had taken several playful cuffs to the shoulders before he warmed up, but had bounced right back. It was entertaining to watch. 

“I don’t know. I think he might be in a better mood this year than usual.” Eskel commented, nodding his head over to where Vesemir was sitting and reading next to a very nice lamp one of the pups brought home. 

“Don’t say it.”

“Getting laid on the regular.” Eskel said with no shame and the pile groaned collectively. Lambert shoved Eskel’s face away with his tankard. 

“Nope. Nope. The old man does not fuck. No way. Cannot comprehend.” Climbing to his feet, he headed over to get a refill. On the way back he passed by the dance- which was a mistake as Aiden grabbed him, whirled him around- putting him between himself and the older Cat for a moment, then hissed his nose before springing up onto a table, using Lambert as a spring board.  

With his mead. As he commenced a chase, Guxart gave up the dance, and Jaskier switched to a silly ballad about chasing a lover, the chorus chasing after Aiden and Lambert’s game of keep away. 

“No boots on the tables!”  Vesemir called to them. There was a general clattering as they complied, and Guxart got comfortable next to Vesemir. He got a hand running through his hair for his trouble, and he’d complain about it as soon as it stopped. 

“Are you?” he mumbled.

“Hmnn?” 

“In a better mood this year?” 

“Hmn.”  It was a content sort of noise and there was a trace of a smile on his face as he continued his petting. His eyes drifted over the room, free of drafts for once. 

Jaskier was pulled into Lambert’s place in the pile, lute and all, and had changed to a slower, sleepy sort of piece, possibly making the lyrics up as he went, extolling the virtues of simple pleasures, like warm bread, soft beds, and sun on the water.  Simple joys for a complex world. 

Vesemir had to admit the bard was right about that. Simple pleasures were the easiest to gain, and even hold onto. Though the smell of contentment in the room and the soft sounds of relaxing Witchers was hard to achieve it was very much worthwhile. Tomorrow, when this storm had passed, they’d be back in the courtyard in whatever weather remained, practicing to keep themselves sharp, to keep the world safe. To return to an unappreciative world, to do what no one else could. But for now, the taste of mead in his mouth, warmth enough to keep even old joints moving, and an nearly subaudible rumbling purr of multiple content Witchers, like a hive of bees.

[artistsfuneral]

It goes like this:

Early in life Jaskier has learned to always keep a couple of party tricks up his sleeve and to only reveal them when absolutely necessary.

Geralt leaves him behind on top of a mountain, surrounded by dwarves. Jaskier, if he wants to, can be an extremely petty person. He wants to.

He waits for the right opportunity.

Eventually he comes across another witcher. Older than any he has met before, with shoulder-long graying hair and a presence around him that speaks of authority and leadership.

Jaskier instinctively knows it must be Vesemir. So when the witcher leaves his horse outside a tavern Jaskier does the only thing that's reasonable in a situation like this.

When the witcher returns a fuzzy, brown tabby cat lies ontop his horses saddle. Like all cats do, it hisses at his approach but unlike most cats it doesn't run when he continues towards it. It swats at him instead, tiny claws leaving scratches in his leather gloves.

Very few people know this, but he's always had a soft spot for cats. Kind of ironic given his school's crest and the fact that all cats hate witchers, but there's just something about the little furballs that warms his heart.

So he leads his horse out of town by the reigns, thinking the cat will surely jump off once they're too far from its home.

It doesn't. The cat is apparently very comfortable ontop of his saddle. It's been days. The tabby cat still hisses at him when he's too close. But somehow it always manages to tag along. Riding on his horse's saddle, it's bags, one time it even falls asleep between his horse's ears.

Jaskier thinks himself very clever. Sneaking a ride with Vesemir until the witcher eventually meets up with Geralt so Jaskier can reveal himself and yell at him for being such a big dick.

Jaskier realizes he's fucked up.

Jaskier realizes he's fucked up when they reach a caravan of witchers and his travel companion is greeted with a happy "Guxart!"

[eskel-loves-lilbleater]

Geralt/Triss or Eskel/Triss?

If I have to chose between those two and ONLY those two, then I definitely go with Eskel/Triss. I feel like Triss & Geralt's relationship, both from the books and the games, has SO many issues that it's rather toxic. I don't hate it, I just think they can do better.

That being said, my actual preferred pairings?

Yennefer/Triss:

Completely fan-based, I know, but I feel they meet on a more even level, have comparable life experience, understandings etc. I think they are better for each other and make each other better, than most of the alternatives.

Geralt/Jaskier:

I mean, it's really Geralt and ANYBODY else BUT Triss or Yen but I understand why him and Jaskier are such a popular pair. Again, they make each other better, for the most part.

I also like Geralt/Eskel and Geralt/Regis however, if I had to pick faves?

Eskel/Regis:

Bloody absolute rare-pair and I don't get it. Lots of people adore Geralt & Regis together (which I get) but I think Eskel would be an even better match. The love of books and philosophy, animals and simple pleasures. And we KNOW Eskel would not have the slightest issue with Regis' species affiliation. Big, brawny Eskel would LOVE someone who can take and give back like a Higher Vampire. Feral Eskel getting all protective and Regis finding it adorable because he REALLY doesn't need it. They would be so sweet together.

Lambert/?:

But what about the youngest, surliest wolf? I mean, any combo of Lambert/Aiden/Voltehre/Milena, I just eat that shit right up. Absolute GIVE ME MORE and I will be happy. (Big thank you to @inexplicifics for creating so much of this and inventing Milena. Big happy spot in my heart!!)

Or Lambert/Eskel lol

Other fave pairings:

Letho/Gaetan

Vesemir/Guxart

Ivar/Keldar

And why is there so very little love for Arnaghad? I need giant bear love!

<3

[blackberrywars]

Requests for Witcher Ficlets!

What: Me taking requests for 500-1000 word witcher ficlets because I’m home for the holidays and I need something to do!

When: 12/27-1/10

Rules:

Most game/show characters and ships  are welcome! As a fair warning, I don’t know a lot about book canon, but I will do my best to research and deliver on any requests from that angle

Modern/Alternate AUs are accepted and appreciated!

I will take up to 3 requests per person! Please flood my ask box, for it is barren as a desert and dry as my mouth at 3am.

NSFW requests are welcome! I will write a wide variety of kinks, but it is case-by-case, and there are some I won’t do. Still, don’t be shy, my anon is available, and I will answer any respectful questions via ask/PM

Limited Dead Dove. Acceptance will be case-by-case, but I will do canon-typical types of violence, whump, and taboos. Rape is off the table as far as an actual scene, but references are allowed

Recommendations: I am very excited to branch out of my comfort zone with this, so feel free to go buckwild, but if you want recommendations of stuff I’m more practiced at, I have a masterpost over on my page. The following is a list of stuff I’ve posted, drafted, or am otherwise really into.

Fem!Lambert x Fem!Aiden (it’s my brand and my specialty)

School of the Cat/Dyn Marv (group dynamics + partners)

School of the Wolf (both brotherly and romantic)

School of the Bear (particularly Arnaghad, Ivo, and Junod)

Nenneke (bamf and milf supreme)

Witchers & Whores (as allies)

Iorveth x Roche (I’ve seen a lot of content for them recently, and go absolutely wild over the fics/art where Roche is revealed as a half-elf)

Ves (she’s so hot and she loves knives and I wanna be her)

Previous Fills: I’ve done this thing exactly once before, and it was a blast, so if you want to check out what you can expect, these are the two prompts I received last time

Waltzing Wolves: a Super-soldier Spy AU for Gereskel + Jaskier, where Geralt drools over Eskel waltzing like a suave gentlemen, with ART by the amazing original requester, @whyzowl!

Kitten Shenanigans: Guxart learns a way to manage his unruly kittens while also developing their skills. Vesemir is only a little horrified. Done for my dear @halehathnofury.

I will accept requests from now until midnight on January 10th, 2023! Ficlets will be posted as soon as I get them done because I have zero self-control.

[katwriteswitcherthings]

for the fic writer questions... 4, 5, 27... and 10 !!

=^.^= <3 I'm just gonna pic a few of my fics at random!

4. What detail in grasp the nettle are you really proud of?

How Keldar is able to knock out a mage with a sign in one hit. This is part of a bigger story where it would get elaborated on more, but Griffins are known as the more magical of the Witcher schools, right?

So, they're probably all really strong at signs. Especially an elder Griffin.

I head-cannon that when mages go wrong (whether that be genuine or politically motivated), they contract Griffins as bounty hunters to track down and bring them in for sentencing/ jail. Keldar has had centuries of experience tracking and capturing mages.

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about nothing more to say? Answer it now!

Why/how were they looping?

A long time ago, I read a fic called Turtle Loops that was pure crack in the best ways. Apparently there is a whole universe of fics built on this premise? IDK but I thought it would be neat if there was something like this but for Witcher. I chose my favorite version of each character (Book!Geralt, Netflix!Jaskier, and Game!Yennefer) and ran with it.

I originally wanted this to run a little longer and actually have all three jumping into Book!Geralt's timeline at the proper time, but I ran out of time. Flash fic can be very unforgiving like that! :D I might come back to it someday if the bunny bites again.

27. How long did it take to write Vi Moxt Miirik? Describe the process.

I got the idea for this story sometime late October/Early November of last year. I started the document on Nov. 9th, 2021. I was searching through the Witcher wiki for some other story and fell down a rabbit hole, leading to some interesting articles on other wikis about the origins of specific monsters on the Continent.

I love non-human!Jaskier so much and thought, wow, Jaskier would make an excellent [redacted]. I also had just finished both The Last Wish and Sword of Destiny, and really wanted to incorporate a few of the other short stories into the Netflix!Canon.

I started the story, but I kept skipping around terribly. I wrote a lot for it, though, and I even had a general outline of when I wanted the stories to take place; but the connective tissue just never felt right to me. So I tossed it to the back burner for a while, adding a little bit here and there, but mostly left it alone. It's sitting at 28,224 words right now, and still nowhere near done.

Then, I see this year's What About The Bard?'s prompt list and... it clicked. It was originally in Geralt POV, so I switched it to Jaskier's and the ideas just worked so much better like that. Fun fact, the italic parts of the story are bits and pieces from the original Geralt POV version cut down or finished up. Most of the dialogue is the same across the different fics.

Who knows? I might get the inspiration to finally finish up the original version one day and post it up along side the WATB Jaskier version.

10. How do you decide what to write?

I get ideas from the most random of places. Flash fic has been great for letting loose random plots; the time limit means you have no time to dawdle. You just write and hope it makes sense when you're done.

I have a couple of documents I keep running lists on of ideas / pairings / concepts that I want to write. I have a fic in the works that's Young Vesemir/Guxart/Keldar OT3 set in the same universe as grasp the nettle.

Discord shenanigans are also very inspiring. I wrote a Sentinel/Guide AU because someone in a server was talking about how much they loved them and how much of a staple trope it was 'back in the day'. I have several rare-pairs that I want to write for, just so a friend isn't the only one making content for it.

[shamelesslymkp]

REC: inexplicifics - I Did My Best It Wasn't Much - Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

URL: https://ift.tt/8BHRpuE Aiden and Lambert make it home for the winter to discover Vesemir has brought Aiden an unexpected gift. (Words: 3,165) Part 2 of Composing Hallelujah !!!fandom, !!fic, |site:ao3, +fandom:wiedźmin.|.the.witcher.-.all.media.types, ::rating:teen.and.up.audiences, ::category:m/m, relationship:aiden/lambert.(the.witcher), relationship:aiden.&.jaskier.|.dandelion, relationship:aiden.&.guxart.(the.witcher), relationship:lambert.&.vesemir.(the.witcher), ~ao3:reunions, ~ao3:family.feels, ~ao3:winter.at.kaer.morhen.(the.witcher), ~ao3:non-human.jaskier.|.dandelion, ~ao3:hugs, ~author:inexplicifics

[proheromidoriyashouto]

headcanon that witchers all have Fangs. witchers lose and grow newer, stronger teeth several times as adolescents until they have rightfully monsterous teeth-- another weapon to be used against monsters, a set of jaws that can crush bones, teeth that are better suited to consuming raw meat on the Path.

geralt’s second round of mutations gave him Such Big Fangs he struggles to talk. his teeth meeting is a guillotine. he straight up bites entire chunks out of things, no touchy. geralt wears a glamour tied to his medallion out on the Path to disguise his mouth because without it making his mouth look typically human, he’s constantly fully baring his fangs to talk with humans and they Do Not Like That. but when he is comfortable he actually won’t bother enunciating more than necessary and has a THICK Lisp. his brothers and vesemir have learned to understand him, and while it takes jaskier a while once he’s in on it, he does get there too. (he also takes over negotiating for geralt’s compensation as much as he can. and they practice kissing. a lot. it’s gross and clumsy and very enthusiastic)

eskel has a slight underbite that is exaggerated by his lower canines sticking out of his mouth just enough to be a problem. unlike geralt, eskel doesn’t bother with a glamour and he’s learned to talk pretty clearly besides so he doesn’t see a point. much to his delightconsternation, this is very attractive to female monsters (succubi and vampires and sirens) and they’re constantly flirting with him. eskel is infamous in certain circles in novigrad, and every couple of winters he doesn’t make it to kaer morhen before the mountain pass closes for... reasons.

lambert has the most human-like teeth except for two teeth on the upper left side of his mouth--his only “proper fangs“. they grow close together, giving the impression of one big fang that digs into his lower lip. he’s developed a tick where he runs his tongue over them when he’s cheating at gwent or otherwise nervous. no one has told him and he has never won a game against his brothers since they realized this decades ago, much to his frustration. he’s self-concious about his lack of “grown witcher” teeth and gets testy whenever someone tries to talk to him about it. (vesemir believes the trauma of the sacking of kaer morhen stunted his full development as he was fresh out of the grasses at that time. this is supported by the fact that he’s the shortest and the smallest of the remaining wolves. thus lambert is stuck with “baby” witcher teeth for the most part). a few times early in their acquaintanceship, aiden would stick grapes on the longest tooth while lambert was asleep just to see if he’d notice, and he ate them without waking.

vesemir’s teeth are starting to fall out in his old age. witchers were never meant to grow old and so his teeth have become deceptively brittle. he knew he was getting old when the first tooth to fall out in centuries didn’t grow back right away, or well, when it did. his once inpressive teeth are sensitive to temperature and snaggly, gums softer with time, jaw bones worn down by heavy teeth they weren’t designed to support for so long. he wasn’t much of a smiler in his prime-- too caught up in tradition to be affectionate to his boys when they needed it most-- and now he doesn’t want them to worry about the state of his health by seeing inside his mouth-- turning away to laugh at their antics, aware they mistake it for disapproval, but hints of his old vanity keep him from correcting them.

[dyns33]

Vesemir : "I don't trust the Cat." 

Jaskier : "Oh come on, Aiden is nice !" 

Eskel : "He's kind of nice." 

Geralt : "... He's okay, I guess." 

Vesemir : "He remains a Cat." 

Lambert : "Fucking old man." 

Jaskier : "Vesemir, Lambert is happy with his lov... his very dear friend, so please, don't ruin that." 

Aiden : "... Wait. Vesemir. As in Guxart's Vesemir ? I never made the link ! He told us about you !" 

Eskel : "Who is Guxart ?" 

Aiden : "My mentor. With Vesemir, they were..." 

Vesemir : "Look at the time ! Geralt, Eskel, Jaskier, you have things to do ! Lambert, you can rest a bit today. Oh, and Aiden, my dear boy, you can stay with him, relax a bit, I'll prepare a warm meal for you." 

Lambert : "... What the fuck did you do with this Guxart ?!" 

Aiden : "They..." 

Vesemir : "Come with me Aiden, I have an old armor that we don't use, a very good one, I'm sure you will like it." 

Lambert : "Kitten, forget the armor, tell me." 

Aiden : "But free armor Lamby !" 

Lambert : "Kitten ! Tell me !" 

Vesemir : "Aiden, son, you won't have to do anything during the whole winter and you will always be welcome here." 

Aiden : "... Sorry Lamb, he got me at 'son'." 

Lambert : "Aiden, no, come back here !" 

Jaskier : "I'm sure Vesemir and this Guxart fucked." 

Eskel : "Yup." 

Geralt : "I don't want to imagine the old man doing it, thank you."

[pherryt]

Matter of Convenience

Witchersexual!Jaskier, Incubus!Jaskier Rated: E Pairings: Jaskier/Everyone, Eskel/Geralt, Vesemir/Guxart, Coen/Lambert, Lambert/Aiden, Cedric/Axel, and various permutations between of nearly everyone Finished Wordcount: 78342

Summary: When a Witcher finds Jaskier trying to feed behind the tavern, he thought it was over, finally. His secret was out. But the Witcher surprises him and proposes something completely different, bringing him home to Kaer Morhen instead. Turns out, some of the Witcher mutations leave them in a tight spot of their own. Vesemir proposes to help Jaskier learn about himself so he won’t become a danger to others if he helps them through the winter season. It really works out better than planned.

It's finished posting so I thought I'd put up a fresh, clean post. Plus! I made a Banner! :D

[blooms-in-april]

I genuinely struggle writing characters who aren't first love/monogamous.

Logically, I know that people can fall in love more than once and have multiple previous and former partners, which is healthy. But in my writing, it very much boils down to one-and-only, which makes it difficult to write characters like Geralt, Vesemir, and Jaskier who are known to have many partners.

[jaskiersvalley]

Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.

In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.

Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.

Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.

"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."

That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.

"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."

"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.

Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.

Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.

"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.

"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."

Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.

"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."

That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.

"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."

"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.

"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."

The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"

To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.

"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."

"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."

Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.

"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."

"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."

Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.

He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.

Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.

Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.

Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.

"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.

The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.

"Luca?"

By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.

"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.

"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."

He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.

"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."

"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.

Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.

"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."

"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.

Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.

"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."

"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.

It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.

"You think that-"

"Mhm."

That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.

Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.

"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."

The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.

Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.

"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.

After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."

All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.

Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.

"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"

"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"

Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."

"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Rec List #2

Okay, I'm doing another rec post this week because it makes me and others smile, so, here goes...

Hold Me Tight and Fear Me Not by LemmingDancer

Eskel sits in his lonely room at Kaer Morhen, mending armor and longing. It’s a nameless need as searing as thirst, as crippling as hunger, and Eskel doesn’t know how to fill it. Plucking a magic rose and getting himself haunted by a shape-shifting monster is really just the crap icing on his shit cake. But when the shade proves to be mostly friend-shaped, Eskel is forced to confront his own insecurities or risk losing a piece of himself forever. (Eskel/Geralt)

I have a soft spot for Eskel point of view when Eskel is very aware of his feelings, but has to work through dealing with them. For me, Eskel is a man that looks at his trauma, picks it up and goes "okay, let me put this over here with the other trauma and get on with what needs doing". This is a WIP, but you will not be disappointed.

Two wolves, a cat and a bard walk into a tavern by @beginte

"Aren't you going to introduce us?"

A smarmy look crosses Lambert's face.

"Aiden, this is Jaskier – the famous bard whose songs make life easier for us witchers on the Path, the only person ever to win the Oxenfurt Academy bardic competition twice in a row. And this is his lover, Geralt."

Jaskier and Geralt bump into Lambert and Aiden on the way to Kaer Morhen. Awkward meet-the-boyfriend ensues. (Jaskier/Geralt, Lambert/Aiden)

I don't usually read Witcher TV fics, but this popped up after a desperate scroll for Lambert/Aiden and I took a chance. I wasn't disappointed! It's fun, light-hearted and Jaskier's voice made me smile. Very sweet.

Resigned to Fate by @wolf-and-bard

In the aftermath of the betrayal of the Cat school, Vesemir has not only his own school to hold together, but also a traumatised lover to care for. In which: Vesemir is strong and Guxart is weak and they find it hard to meet in the middle. (Guxart/Vesemir)

I'm very privileged to share server space with Jo. We met recently and since then I've fallen in platonic love, to be honest. This is a fantastic story of Jo's that explores how Vesemir and Guxart are both broken in different ways. Beautiful.

More recommendations can be found here.

Please reblog to give these authors some exposure! Tumblr will hide this post from the tags due to external links. Happy reading, folks.

[kittynannygaming]

@witchersummercamp Thanks for this challenge!