I kill monsters for money

@createdmutant​ // plotted starter worried parents dream team

Yennefer bit down on her tongue, physically restraining herself from suggesting a portal. The sorceress was known for many things, but patience wasn’t one of them. Still, just portaling from one lead to another wasn’t going to get them answers any faster, since it could mean leaving important clues to Ciri’s path on the wayside.

“Part of me wants to turn over every island in this kingdom looking for her,” she muttered, looking out towards the churning waters on the coast. “It wouldn’t be all that productive. But at least it would keep me busy.” She glanced over at him.

It’d been so long since she’d seen him when she’d sent her letter for him to meet her, and now she wasn’t sure if she ought to make up for lost time, or just learn to move forward with whatever they were. Maybe he’d just be sick of her at the end of it all.

“We should go somewhere warm, when this is all done. Thaw this cold from our bones.” Planning ahead was good. It kept her mind busy, and assumed this would all come out okay.

Listening to Yen in silence, Geralt had to admit that he could relate far more than he’d like. He’d been travelling day in, day out, not stopping - never stopping - in search of Ciri, following every single clue he could find, no matter how small. And yet it seemed nearly hopeless; one breadcrumb just leading to another with no end in sight. 

It was maddening, the worry and the helplessness. Pausing to catch his breath only made matters worse, so he didn’t. “We will find her, Yen. Sooner, or later, we will find her.” Those words sounded rehearsed, like he had practised them countless times before. And in a way, he had. He repeated them to himself over and over again, to stop himself from losing hope, from giving up. 

Turning his head to look at her, Geralt couldn’t help a brief smile. She’d never allow me to give up. Not even to think of it. No. Yen might easily lose interest in things, but not when it came to Ciri. She was just as fierce and protective as any other mother. Perhaps even more so.

               becoming a dryad… calanthe looked down at her granddaughter. gods, was she that close to lose her? ririduclous, truly. how many more forces would try to pry her cub away from her embrace? witchers, sorceresses, dryads… no matter. she’d fight, and she’d protect the child, like the lioness she was, until her dying breath. the gaze she then gives ciri is scolding and stern, the first wave of relief that had washed over her long gone. 

              “ we’ll talk about this later, cirilla fiona elen riannon. we’ll talk about this, and about how disappointed i am. “ she said, making the child lower her eyes, and then nodded towards one of her handmaidens, a young girl with honey-golden hair, to take the princess away. 

              then, she turned towards the witcher again. emerald green eyes that everything around her seemed to accentuate - the jewelry she wore, the gown she was dressed in… she met his own, cat-like gaze, and sighed heavily. “ i’m glad to see you in good health as well. and so it happens i owe you again, white wolf. a monarch in debt is a dangerous thing, so let us settle it right away. and if you enact law of surprise again, i swear, i will hang you before you can curse your own stupidity. “ she said in a tone that was serious, even though her lips were curled in an amused smile. 

              somehow, fate entwined their paths again, even though she had been certain it wouldn’t happen. and once more, her mind couldn’t help but wonder, had they met sooner… no. she couldn’t allow herself such thoughts. she was not only a queen, but a married woman and he… he was a witcher. 

              “ what will it be this time, geralt? a necklace, a ring? cirilla’s wieght in gold? “

Watching the girl get scolded by Calanthe almost made Geralt feel pity for her. Of course, he himself had threatened to whip Ciri with his belt when she’d been acting like a huge brat, but he had a feeling that her grandmother was far more frightening. And disappointment was, from experience, always worse than a hiding. Though he was sure Calanthe wouldn’t hesitate to administer one of those either, if necessary. 

Looking after Ciri for a moment, he then turned his attention back to Calanthe, only to be met with her intense, emerald green eyes. And for a moment he was lost in thought. No, lost in memories. Faded, blurry memories. Memories of what he’d seen after drinking the water of Brokilon. Calanthe in her majestic armor, dented and punctured, and her, bloody. Nothing more than a nightmare induced by hallucinogenics, Geralt. Pull yourself together. 

Shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of those mental images, he then forced a smile and shrugged his shoulders. “I think I’ve had enough of the Law of Surprise for a lifetime. So don't fret, I have no intention of making any use of it.” And for a moment he considered what he could ask of her, but came up blank. 

She could sense his anger, delving into his mind with reckless disregard. He hated when she invaded his privacy, but in this low moment, when she questioned everything from his feelings for her to her ability to save Ciri—there had to be some form of security. Knowing what he thought, one way or another, kept her from feeling like some silly school-girl, driving herself mad with self-doubt.

But she was not met with anger for long, because Geralt had the inane ability to collect himself, when Yennefer knew how to hold a grudge for the rest of her days. As he claimed his feelings were true, violet eyes fell to the ground. Somehow, she felt guilty for the invasion. As though she should trust him.. Trust was not easily given.

Then the absence of his hand only proved to ignite something within her–something she couldn’t remember feeling for some time. Memories weren’t fully formed from when they first cared for one another.     “I must have blamed it on the djinn,”     she blurts out, taking a step toward him as he moves away. But then a silence lingers over them as she tries to do what he does so well–collecting thoughts. However, that doesn’t last long.      “The connection. My yearning for you, for the thought of you–even when I wasn’t sure who you were to me…I was able to blame it on magic as opposed to true feelings,”     and it’s the most she’s opened up to him since they met again. Vulnerability was painful. To have admitted to loving him—it was painful. For now, she had nothing to blame any longer….besides herself. 

     “You are no longer bound to me, nor I you,”     a gulp, eyes anywhere but at him. This felt like weakness. The lack of control, the pounding in her chest—these emotions had laid dormant within her bones for decades.     “There is nothing protecting you.”

And that thought was enough to leave her nauseous. Her world had held such little emotion. The need for power and control—to be remembered, it had consumed her. And now? She was so afraid to fail the ones she loved.

     “Give me your trust, Geralt. That is all. Do not make me tell you my plans now,”     and it was an honest request. 

Approaching one of the megascopes, Geralt distracted himself by removing the remnants of the destroyed crystal. Unnecessary, but it served the purpose of keeping his eyes and hands busy for a moment as he listened to Yennefer speak as openly as she had never before. 

In his mind, there had never been a doubt about their feelings - whatever they may have been - being sincere. His wish hadn’t been for them to fall in love with each other, after all. “My wish had been for our fates to be tied together. Nothing more, nothing less. A way to get the djinn to leave without killing you." Carelessly dropping the shards of the crystal on the floor, Geralt then finally turned back around to meet her eyes. “Everything you’ve felt, Yennefer. Everything you’ve thought.. Everything I’ve felt and thought... That was all us, not bloody magic. If it had been the wish that had evoked feelings for you, I wouldn’t have saved your life, to begin with. I would’ve just made a wish that benefitted me and let the djinn kill you, wouldn’t I?” 

He’d thought about it many times before. Why he’d made that wish, why he’d saved her life after she’d nearly cost him his own, and he’d always come to the same conclusion: because in some weird, inexplicable way, he’d cared for even then. And he’d never stopped caring ever since, no matter how many times they’d broken each other’s hearts. 

“I don’t need protection, Yen. I’ll take my leave without regrets when it’s my time to go.” Closing the gap between them, he rested his hand under her chin to make her look up at him, eyes searched for hers. “Wish, or not, we are still bound to each other. That’s the one thing that’ll never change.” 

@createdmutant​ // plotted starter for post-sodden angst

Even if she knew it would slow down her healing process, she couldn’t help but want to move along from one town to the next. It was half dodging Nilfgaard who wouldn’t look too kindly on what she unleashed at the battle, half of it was trying to outrun her own thoughts that would come creeping in if she couldn’t stay busy enough.

And those thoughts particularly enjoyed centering on the wish that tied her to the witcher. She had fully prepared for Sodden to be a failure, to not manage to crawl out to see the other side of it like she had, which left her fate being tied to his as an non-issue.

But she was still there for destiny to use her as its plaything, which meant it was only a matter of time before she stumbled upon Geralt again. Her stomach dropped when she recognized him, and she couldn’t tell if it was relief or revulsion. She hated herself all the more for knowing it was probably a mixture of both.

“I suppose I should be grateful I’ve managed to last this long without fate forcing you into my path again.”

There was no better place for news to spread rapidly than in a tavern with a bunch of drunk men, many of them merchants who tirelessly traveled the road. Over the years, Geralt had learned to drown those voices out, despite his capability to listen to every single voice in the room if he wanted to. But politics, and the consequences of it, were of little concern to him, as witchers were infamously neutral and took no sides. He himself was no exception. Besides, he had other things to worry about. 

Until one night, at least. He’d been sitting and drinking in a tavern as of yet unharmed by the war raging on all around them. All the witcher had meant to do was have a couple of drinks and then rent a room before he’d continue on the next day. But then he started to pick up murmurs about a certain fight at Sodden. One involving sorcerers. It was then that Geralt involuntarily started to listen in more closely, picking up on things that made fear crawl up the back of his neck.

Yennefer. 

Before he knew it, he found himself on Roach’s back, riding towards the now deserted sight of the battle. However, even after questioning some that had survived, there was no telling which of the sorcerers had survived and which hadn’t. So he started to follow every little breadcrumb of information he could find, leading him from town to town, all without success. 

Until today. Capable of recognizing the scent of lilac and gooseberry anywhere, Geralt followed his nose until he stood before her. The woman he’d relentlessly been seeing in his dreams for the past few years, incapable of getting her out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried. All he could produce at first was silence, his mind struggling to comprehend her words as he took her in to make sure he wasn’t just imagining her. 

“It wasn’t fate that brought me here, Yen.” His voice was quiet, unsteady almost if one listened closely enough. “I heard about the battle, and-” and I thought I’d lost you. Again. And for good, this time. But those thoughts remained unsaid as he slowly approached her, fighting the urge to pull her close and wrap his arms around her. “No one could tell me who had survived, and who hadn’t. They’re still trying to identify all the bodies.” 

@createdmutant liked for a starter . 

           𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐙𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐄𝐋 , 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐘  𝐎𝐅  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 —— she was quite on edge , fearing The Hunt’s return at any given second. oh what she’d give to relax for a moment or so.      “ oh , Geralt! “ Ciri chortled with relief , taking back that hand that was so ready to unsheathe the blade laid on her back.      “ I —— I’m rather jumpy these days , you’ll have to forgive the cautiousness. It’s good to see you. “

There was no denying that the air was riddled with tension and anxiety at any given point in time. Danger was near, and they all knew it. They had been able to fight the Hunt off once - at a great price - but they wouldn’t relent until they had Ciri in their clutches. So her being on edge didn’t come as much of a surprise. “Being cautious and alert is good. Smart even. Still, you might cut someone’s hand off, if you’re not careful.” Shrugging his shoulders, Geralt finally approached her, now that he no longer risked getting cut in half. “When’s the last time you got some sleep, Ciri? The last time you didn’t clutch your sword? You can’t keep doing like this if you have any hope of defeating the Hunt.” 

@createdmutant​: g e r a l t. 

               fear settled in the pit of her stomach when she heard that ciri had gone missing. ervyll was a slimy little man, she knew, but she never thought he would be so stupid as to harm her cub. verden was small and calanthe was its vassal, and yet… the worst scenaios, the worst possible thoughts plagued the queen’s mind, of her precious little darling murdered with cold blood, or hurt and thrown into a pond to drown. it was no mistery, after all, that ervyll often had his eyes on girls way too young to be in his sights. she was redying an army, preparing to march at nastrog, listening no voices telling her to cool her temper. 

              and so, her joy and relief was unmeasurable, when she heard that her granddaughter was brought home unharmed. running to the throne room, the shirt of her emerald green gown in her hands, she first and foremost focused on her cub, running into her embrace. she held her, listening to the girl’s frantic attempt to explain herself and save her skin from the spanking she expected, and probably deserved, but would not be given. it wasn’t until from between the sobs and the muffled sounds murmured by ciri into her waist, calanthe understood the sentence - i found him, that the lioness’ emerald green eyes finally rose towards the witcher. 

              “ geralt… “ she said his name softly, so many feelings overwhelming her all at once. surprise and relief to see him again, having been sure the meeting from two years priorwould be their last… and fear, that he would change his mind and take her child away. all she had left… “ you… brought her back? “

Happening upon Ciri in the forest of Brokilon hadn’t exactly been in Geralt’s plans. And one could be inclined to think it had something to do with Destiny, but he himself refused to acknowledge it having anything to do with it at all. No, it had been pure coincidence. A lucky coincidence in the child’s case, or else she would’ve either ended up dead, or as a dryad. 

At first, after leaving the forest, the witcher wasn’t too sure what to do with the Cirilla. A child travelling with a Witcher was impossible after all - it was far too dangerous, and not to mention inconvenient - but he couldn’t just leave her behind, either. So, in the end, he decided to head towards Cintra with her, hoping they’d come across someone he could entrust her with on the way. 

But, being left high and dry in that regard, Geralt found himself escorting Ciri all the way to Cintra’s main capital. Even all the way to its keep. He could’ve just left her with some of the guards, could’ve turned around and left at that point, but he figured he might as well take her all the way to the Queen - thus proving the feeling she’d had at their last meeting wrong.

Having stayed behind when Calanthe reunited with her granddaughter, the witcher just watched in silence, unable to hide the hint of a small smile that involuntarily had made its way onto his face. In his mind, there was no doubt they both loved each other dearly, reinforcing the decision he had made in regards to not taking Ciri away. 

“That I did.” With the attention now suddenly on him, Geralt unconsciously straightened his posture a little, and dropped his arms that had been crossed in front of his chest. “She’s lucky I stumbled upon her. She’d gotten herself lost in the forest of Brokilon.” Though he had to admit he wasn’t too sure about the lost part. It would’ve been him who’d have ended up lost had it not been for Ciri’s direction when they left. “She went through a lot of trouble to get out of the engagement set up for her. Turning into a dryad is a bit drastic, but I can’t say I blame her.” 

And she knew the circumstances for which the affair was born. For a while, it appeared as though she was over it. That was far from the truth. Kaer Morhen, the comments, the thoughts that plagued her–the mere guessing of what the two had between one another… What he chose to have with Triss…Taking hold of her hand was a nice touch, grounding her in the here and now rather than allowing her mind to wander–however, he had to make the next comment. —”it meant nothing, you know that.” It never ceased to amaze her what a complete idiot the great White Wolf could be at times…

     “Meant nothing?”     she repeats with ice along her words, harsh to the ear.     “Lack of memories or not, you made a conscious choice to woo her, is that not correct? You chose that path, Geralt.”     The next words were seemingly forged in anger and jealousy, but the greatest beast rising from the flames was the insecurity.     “Far more than either of us can claim for our beginning. Magic made our choice. Even the bonds that were broken in Skellige could mean nothing,”     and now she was lying, for Yennefer knew how she felt about the man. Relief had made it so easy to vow along that wrecked ship, but how could she be sure Geralt’s words held meaning? Was he not just accustomed to her presence? Had her love for Ciri planted her in his life?

     “I’ll tell you all more when I can be sure you all will not claim me to be a monster.”     That wasn’t foreboding at all.

      THIS WAS SOMETHING DIFFERENT - feeling the warmth of her lover’s body against hers as she woke up, feeling the gentle movement of his frame with each new breath that he took. A movement that was on the edge of lulling her back to sleep even with the sunrays streaming in through the parted flaps of the tent she had build with her magic the night before. 

Dark eyelashes casting shadows across her cheeks as the Witch slowly opened her eyes and gazed at the silhouette of the man sleeping at her side. His enormous body taking up most of the bed, but Yennefer did not mind. She had cuddled up against him through the night, now she would allow him to have his space. The brunette watched silently, just gazed at the Witcher, noting how calm, how PEACEFUL he looked in his sleep. There was no doubt he could still SLAUGHTER anyone who dared to get too close — but nonetheless the sight of him was endearing.

Yennefer bit on her lower lip, wild thoughts running through her mind. He stayed. He stayed until she woke up. It had never happened through all the times before - so what was different now? What prompted him to stay instead of sneaking out at the crack of dawn? The ponderings lasted for a little while until she could not take it anymore. The curiosity eating her alive.

“Somewhere on Roach’s back, riding away from me.” Yennefer replied simply, her voice just as soft. It was not meant to be a SNARKY comment, not meant to be hurtful in any way - it was just the truth. It had been like this every time before, it was what she had been PREPARED for. The heartache of the morning upon finding herself cold and alone in the empty bed. She watched as the Witcher woke and turned to look at her. Amber eyes meeting her own and the Witch could feel her heart melting into a puddle once more. “Good morning.” Yennefer whispered, leaning down to steal a soft, SWEET kiss from Geralt’s lips “—Hungry?”

a second glance is thrown his way, pausing for a moment, lips pursed together and nearly threatening to pout as he suggested turning her line of thinking elsewhere. for a brief moment, she was reminded of what it had been like as a child for her: she had thought that all of the training that she was participating in at kaer morhen had been for the greater cause of revenge, for all the fear in her life, for those that she had lost.  the more neutral stance of most witchers had been absolutely foreign to her.  at times, it still was.

❝ you haven’t changed a bit, you know. ❞  it was easy for her to say.  she’d grown up, no longer the child that he had found in the woods, but instead a grown woman who had lived wildly and recklessly, through worlds nearly unimaginable compared to this one, on the run from one thing or another.  someone had always been after her.  

❝ you’re exactly how i remember you.  when i left you on the island, i wasn’t sure… ❞  that he or yennefer would make it.  that they would ever get to see one another again.

Sometimes, he had to admit, Ciri's age and lack of experience still shined through despite her rigorous training. Undoubtedly the main characteristic that put her apart from true witchers. No one would ever dare doubt her humanity, or capability of feeling emotions. She was riddled with them; something he'd always adored about her, but which could, occasionally, be one hell of a pain in the ass. The heaviness of the conversation wasn't lost on him, and he took some time to think his words over before he responded. "Wasn't sure, what? That I'd just give up and die? Come on, Ciri. I still have things left to teach you. I can't disappear just yet." His tone was intentionally light in an attempt to take the edge of their conversation. There had been enough anger, and fear, and pain to last them for a lifetime. Most certainly enough for the time being.

@createdmutant​  –   ❤’d for a starter

KEEPING AN EYE ON the sun as it began the descent below the horizon, Jean’s hands ached as they wound into the soldier’s uniform to flip the corpse over. Wrong one again, damn this crumpled up drawing that she’d been given. Damn most of these corpses for looking the same in death ( or at least those that still had any type of facial features ), the greater majority had already become victim to some kind of necrophage.

Straightening with a huff of breath, the alchemist yanks the drawing from her belt again to critically glare at it. Somewhere in this mess of gore and mud, there was a young man that had on a crystal necklace that his family would like returned to let his soul rest. Thus far, Jean had combed over about a third of the battlefield with no luck and already hearing the snarling in the bushes as the sky darkens. That comforting weight at the her hip in the form of a very old and slightly chipped, but still wickedly sharp silver sword puts some ease in Jean’s mind.

A whisper ripples through the leaves. Danger close. Someone coming through the forest to the battlefield, someone strange. One of the finer details of druid magic was the subtle whispers and sensations that the plants offered you. A 24/7 alarm system. Drawing the sword and seeing the chips glint in the late sunlight Jean swallows the grimace taking a few steps back as whoever ( or whatever ) it was approached. 

Death and destruction, while horrible on its own already, had the habit of bringing other horrors along with it. Horrors a common man couldn't deal with; at least not without considerable risk. That's where people like him came into play: witchers. Raised and trained to take care of monsters as if they were some simple pest. So, when coming across a nearby town on his travels, he'd been asked for help to get rid of a particularly nasty bunch of ghouls (or, perhaps, alghouls by the sound of it) that had not only decided to nest on the battlefield, but seemed to attack the living just as much as the dead.  

After crafting a couple of bombs and stocking up on elixirs, Geralt made his way to the battlefield as soon as the sun started to fade. Roach was secured to a tree some ways away and he covered the rest of the way on foot, silver sword at the ready. The scene of the battle was large, but a nest could be easily spotted even between all of those corpses. If he worked quickly enough, he might be able to destroy a majority of them before the sun disappeared entirely, making the imminent fight far easier for him.

Much to the witcher's surprise, it wasn't ghouls he came across, though. Remaining at the edge of the battlefield, Geralt watched as the stranger seemed to be searching for something among those many fallen soldiers. Quite the grand challenge, given the number of bodies. His eyes rose to study the sun for a moment, and, deciding that time was about to run out, he moved to approach the stranger.