Archiveofourown: Radenierafire I just wanna write some witcherfic. Hit me up with your wants and needs. I can definitely try to provide! (Yes, my header is a sketch of Madeleine Hyland, Robert Downey Jr, and I all sharing a laugh like good pals.)
I've seen a lot of fics disappear from my bookmarks, some 10+ years old, because they were added to an unrevealed collection. It makes me wonder if people realize what your fic being added to a collection actually means and if the authors approved it automatically without realizing what would happen.
If someone adds your fic to their collection, they can hide it! They can mark the collection as unrevealed and your fic will be unreadable to anyone other than them! If you're writing works for a surprise event, like a Secret Santa, this is really nice.
But if you're just writing and someone adds your fic to a collection for their own personal use and marks it as unrevealed, that. . . really sucks.
I bookmarked this fic in 2017, almost 5 years ago. Knowing me, the fic itself was probably at least a couple years old at the time I bookmarked it.
This is a 5+ year old fic that is completely inaccessible now because it was added to a collection that, as far as I can tell, is literally just for the collection owner's own reference. There's almost 30 fics in the collection, all of them unrevealed.
Please don't blindly accept collection requests and if your works ARE in a collection, make sure that they aren't being hidden without your knowledge or consent.
1) Select the "Edit" button from the work's page and scroll down to the "Associations" section.
2) Select the red (Ă) beside the collection name you want to remove next to "Post to Collections / Challenges".
3) Select "Post" to apply the change. The work will be immediately removed from the collection.
I'm not sure if you get an alert if your fic is marked as unrevealed though, so keep an eye on the collections that your works are part of.
There's also an option in your preferences to accept collection invitations automatically. I would highly recommend making sure that that option is not selected.
After reading this I checked and found out one of my fics was was in a collection labeled unrevealed, but when I searched for it in an incognito window it still popped up. Is it supposed to be hidden from everyone?/How would we know if our fics have been hidden?
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I am currently working out a fix it fic for Eskel, because yeah, Iâm fucking angry.
However, I also scribbled this down. Itâs just a thought, so do with it what you will!
Itâs got very âblink and youâll miss themâ vibes for the relationships? But it does touch on both Geraskier and Yenskier, and was written under the implication that they are all in love. Theyâve just got some shit to deal with.Â
But itâs got both of them, so donât read unless you enjoy that!
On Ao3:Â https://archiveofourown.org/works/35794033
âCome with me,â Geralt had muttered, sitting on a set of steps outside of Kaer Morhen. He didnât seem able to look at Jaskier and for a moment it was all too familiar. Jaskier recalled sitting high above the world on a different mountain. Only then the invitation was extended by himself rather than Geralt. He had wanted to travel to the coast. He had asked Geralt to come with him.
A great pyre was being built for all of those that the witchers had just lost. Without the tree to hang their medallions and too few remaining to carry the corpses to the wolves, Vesemir was holding a different sort of funeral for their brothers. Jaskier didnât intend to stay out here when it was happening. He knew that he wasnât a part of this family. Not, at least, in a way that gave him the right to grieve at their sides. Still, before it all started, he wanted to see Geralt. Wanted to offer his support. So he found Geralt sitting here and joined him. Jaskier knew that there was nothing he could say.Â
He also knew that Geralt planned on taking Cirilla out of the keep as soon as the funeral was over. He didnât know this from Geralt, of course, and if he was honest, he didnât expect Geralt to let him know anyway. It wouldnât be the first time that Geralt had just left a place without letting Jaskier know or giving Jaskier the chance to follow.Â
He thought of those days. So long ago, when he was so much younger. Jaskier had decided for the both of them that he would be accompanying Geralt on his next adventures. He had no clue then what the next adventures those might be. Heâd soon find out that what he signed up for was a far gentler life than what heâd get, but he never regretted it. Even if he was ignorant.
His ignorance now, however, made him pause. He wasnât sure what this request entailed. Heâd heard the whispers. Geralt was taking Ciri on the run. He planned to keep her moving. Only stopping when necessary. Keeping their heads down and their ears to the ground. If they heard anything that suggested they could come out of hiding, they might, but until then, it was Geraltâs only priority to keep his daughter safe.Â
Jaskier hadnât even considered going with them.Â
Truthfully, heâd seen no reason to assume that heâd be invited. Of course, some things had been mended between them. (In fact, Jaskier had a hunch that things between himself and Geralt were smoother than whatever was going on between Yennefer and the latter.) So, he was at a loss for words. âCome with you,â he repeated, instead, borrowing Geraltâs.Â
Geralt nodded.Â
âTo where, exactly?â
The witcher paused, looking out over the mountains and considering their options. âEverywhere, I suppose.â
Jaskier huffed a small laugh. âWhat an invite.â
It took some time, but eventually, Geralt pressed on. âIt would please me,â he admitted quietly. âYou asked me . . . before.âÂ
Which was, admittedly, a low blow. Especially seeing as Jaskier clearly hadnât expected âyouâ to be Geraltâs answer to that question in any way, shape, or form. Jaskier chuckled and shook his head. He sat with his elbows on his knees, focused on his hands with an intensity no one ever truly gave such features. He pressed on the tender tissue of his finger. The burn was not crippling, by any means. Yet, it could have been. Had Yennefer not arrived, Jaskier could very well have had to change professions at a late age.Â
Jaskier had not told Geralt of his fun introduction to the man Geralt and Yennefer were affectionately referring to as âfirefuckerâ, and had no intention to. He couldnât deny what it meant, however. He knew that when asked, he would protect Geralt however he could. Even if he wasnât particularly equipped at protecting people.Â
Jaskier hummed quietly and nodded. âIâll go,â he said. âNot solely because it pleases you . . . but perhaps in part.â He left it up to Geralt to decide what exactly that meant, and stood, going to where his things had been discarded.Â
He was luteless, so packing was rather swift. He grabbed only what he would need, and packed clothes that were muted. For once in his life, Jaskier knew that it would be an advantage to blend in. Even if the hideous beige attire hurt his soul, he would sacrifice accessories for the best chance at keeping Cirilla safe. Sheâd been through far too much.Â
Before leaving he stopped by the room that Yennefer had been allowed to stay in. Jaskier truly didnât know what she was going to do when they left, but he knew that Geralt didnât not plan on asking her to join them. He hesitated in the doorway. âHeâs spoken with you about this, then, hasnât he?â He asked.Â
She glanced up from the bed. She sat there reading old texts, looking for something. Jaskier wouldnât understand and didnât try to ask about it. She nodded, âHe has. Knows Iâd protect the girl, asked me if I trusted you as well.â
Jaskier grinned ever so slightly, pushing himself off the frame and walking further into the room. He sat on the edge of the bed, âYou tell him all about how weâve become the best of friends in the last few weeks?â he asked with a small smile.
âDo you assume we are friends, bard?â
He barked a laugh and shook his head, letting his gaze drop to his hands once more. âNo, Yennefer. We are something more. Whatever that might be,â he breathed. âAnd something worse,â he grinned.
She regarded him carefully, in silence long enough to meet his eye when he eventually looked up curiously. She didnât seem angered by his remarks, though heâd expected some sort of argument. Instead, she nodded, âThat we are.â
Jaskier reached out and gently grasped her hand. In all his talents he didnât know that he could articulate the nature of their understanding, their relationship. It was something pleasant, he believed. Something he did not want to lose.Â
Yennefer continued, âI trust you. I think youâll fight for her just as you fight for him. As you have fought for those youâve helped escape towards Cintra. Youâre a great number of things, tacky, loud, abhorrent in taste, and very, very brave. I told him you were a good companion to have in this fight.â She patted their clasped hands and smiled, âTold him I had seen that bravery a good few times in these weeks.â
Jaskierâs eyes flitted up for a moment. Brow pinched in a manner so subtle it was nearly imperceptible, Jaskier inquired, âHow much did you tell him?â Yennefer had a great deal of information and she could likely share all of it with Geralt if she had wanted to.Â
The Sandpiper. The songs. The ale. The torture. All of it.Â
Yenneferâs grip in his tightened and she shook her head. âNo,â she assured quietly. âIt is yours to tell him when you please.â
Jaskier nodded.Â
âI imagine you should, at some point,â she admitted. âTell him the anger you hold? The love you still carry.â
Jaskier merely hummed, âHe knows,â he breathed. âI think.â Geralt was far more perceptive than most people gave him credit for even if he was not often knowledgeable as to what to do with the things he perceived. âI told him I forgave him, because we are friends. He means far more to me than a transgression he committed once when under duress.â
The witch seemed to have no words to reply.
âI encouraged him to find the same peace in himself for those he loves.â
Yennefer glanced back up at Jaskier and looked over him with a certain thoughtfulness that he once put past her capabilities. âYou donât think you can love him, forgive him, and be angry with him all at once?â She asked curiously.
âOh I know I can . . . but I only see the benefit in speaking of love and forgiveness after a bit. Harping on my anger serves no purpose,â He explained. He wasnât shy in admitting his anger, fear, or hatred. He just didnât see as much point in letting it fester. Not outwardly, at least.Â
âBut sharing how deep it runs can better serve in the process of healing your relationship.â
It was, again, far more consideration than Jaskier had once believed could come from Yennefer. He smiled tightly and nodded some. He understood what she meant to say, even if it wouldnât particularly persuade him to share more.Â
âThough, I had expected you to already have shared. What with how loose your mouth is,â She teased gently.Â
His smile grew pinched and he shook his head, âOh, heard that did you? Exactly how long were you standing there drinking before you decided I was in enough pain-â
She patted their hands again, quieting him as she pushed him gently from the bed. âGo,â she said quietly. âTake your pack and get out there with them. Maybe Cirilla can finally teach you how to properly hold a sword.â
He laughed quietly, standing and raising his hands as he backed out of the room. âMhmm, I suppose she is probably a good teacher, after all. Is she the one who finally taught you how to read?â He smirked, ducking as a pillow flew towards his head on his way out. âGoodbye my dear! Iâll see you sooner than Iâd like, Iâm sure of it!â
He retreated down the hallway with a smile that grew smaller with each step. By the time he met Geralt and Cirilla outside of the keep, he found himself somewhat resigned. He knew this next bit wasnât going to be easy.Â
âReady to go?â He asked.Â
Geralt grunted, Cirilla nodded, and so, they headed out.Â
XXX
They ran. As they planned to. Never settling in one place for longer than a day. Just as Geralt had promised. Geralt picked up only what contracts he absolutely needed to to keep them alive. Jaskier sang, but never his own music and never to large crowds. They traveled easily. Quietly. Even Jaskier was surprised at how well they went undetected.Â
Stopping for the night in a town in the middle of nowhere meant that they could enter the tavern for food and perhaps a bath. Geralt could, rarely, be convinced to stay in an inn when the town was small enough. Neither Jaskier nor Cirilla asked for it, however. Instead, they expressed gratitude for small comforts when they had them, and kept their mouths shut about the difficulties of the road. Geralt was trying to keep Cirilla alive, after all.Â
But eating a warm meal out of the weather was not too difficult a request. Not when they were this far away from everything else. So, they slipped in and ordered some soup. Sitting around a small table in the back, Jaskier dug in and encouraged Ciri to do so as well. Likely they would need to get out of town and into the woods a bit before they could set up camp.
âI hear youâre alive.â
Dread settled in Jaskierâs stomach almost instantly, his head swiveling up at the man at the front of the tavern. He was younger than Jaskier, but not by much. Newer, though. Obviously.
âHow disappointing.â
Obviously, in that, most older bards no longer needed to start their sets with covers of other artists' more famous songs. Jaskier couldnât bring himself to be unhappy, hearing his music spread. Yet, he wished in that moment that any other of his pieces could have been picked. No one had heard âWhoreson Prison Bluesâ yet, but fuck, Jaskier would have settled for listening to yet another untalented bastartd fuck up âFishmongerâs Daughterâ if it meant getting out of this moment.Â
He tried to keep his gaze subtle, watching Geralt and Cirilla eat their food. It was the first time in weeks theyâd risked eating inside of a tavern, and Jaskier was not inclined to take that away from the girl.Â
âI've also survived
No thanks to youâ
He tried to think of something to say. Surely he could tell some story and keep Geralt and Cirillaâs attention long enough to keep them from listening to the song this man was singing. Only, Geralt had asked them not to talk much when they were in public places. He didnât want them to be noticed. Someone could easily recognize the trio if they were only looking in the right direction. So he was at a loss. The only stories coming to mind were too personal, and he didnât want to piss Geralt off or risk Ciriâs safety.Â
âDid I not bring you some glee
Mister Oh, look at me?â
Jaskierâs face scrunched up slightly. Alright, so perhaps that wasnât his best line anyway. Geralt was never too much a show off, or at least not in the way it suggested. Jaskier could probably have found a far more nuanced way to convey that sentiment.Â
âYou wanted to be seen as the good that you had been.â Maybe?Â
âIâd show you to the public, as something far less . . . fuck . . . edâ? No. Too far away a near rhyme to make sense.Â
âDid you not benefit from the tales I told of you, or were those just the piles of shit Iâd dragged you down into.â Well. That wasnât the point he was trying to make, but it was certainly a clever bit of writing that heâd have to incorporate into something at some point-
âNow I'll burn all the memories of you
All those lonely miles, that you ride
Now you'll walk with no-one by your side
Did you ever even care with your swords and your stupid hairâŚâ
Geraltâs head lifted and Jaskier dropped his gaze to his soup. He could see the recognition in Geraltâs body language, though Cirilla seemed blissfully ignorant to the tune. Jaskier couldnât bring himself to look up at Geralt as Geralt looked around the room once, then twice. He wasnât obvious about it, but an eventual small glance up allowed Jaskier to see when Geraltâs gaze landed on the other bard. Geraltâs brow pinched just slightly, and his eyes flicked over to Jaskierâs.Â
Jaskier said nothing.Â
What could he say?
Jaskierâs head tilted just slightly to the side as he opened his mouth dumbly. He shook his head in his silent apology. The man singing, oblivious to it all, took a step up on his chair and strummed his ugly fucking lute all the louder. Jaskier wished beyond anything he would swallow a fly and shut his mouth for a bit.Â
âNow watch me laugh as I burn all memories of you
What for do you yearn?
It's thĐľ point of no return
After evĐľrything we did, we saw
You turned your back on me
What for do you yearn?â
Geralt didnât look away from Jaskier. He was listening. Clearly. He stared at his friend in the slightest confusion, his food abandoned.Â
By this point, Cirilla had noticed that both of the men had stopped eating. She, too, slowed to a stop and looked between them. If she wanted to ask what was going on, she seemed to think better of it. Instead, she stared at them.Â
âWatch that Butcher burn!â
Jaskier saw the moment that Geralt heard it.
âAt the end of my days when I'm through
He saw the moment that Geralt understood.Â
No word that I've written will ring quite as true as burn!â
He saw the moment that it truly hit Geralt.
âBurn!â
And then the man just would not shut the fuck up.
âBurn butcher
Burn
Burn butcher
Burn burn burn burn burn burn burn burn!â
It was as if each time the word was uttered Geralt got smaller. As if each time Geralt heard it, he understood more. It was as if Geralt was understanding, fully, for the first time, just how badly he had hurt his bard. For it was easier to understand the hurt he was currently experiencing, after all.
âWatch me burn all the memories of you . . . â
Jaskier swallowed hard as the tavern erupted into applause and Geralt stood, motioning for Cirilla to follow him as he left the table.Â
Fuck.
XXX
âI was angry . . .â
Cirilla laid across the campground, on a bed roll, and seemed to be fast asleep. The pair did not leave Jaskier behind, but things had been quiet and tense since Jaskier hurriedly straggled out of the tavern behind them. Jaskier didn't know what to do or say. Cirilla didnât seem to understand exactly what had happened, and she didnât seem inclined to ask. Geralt made no attempt to alleviate the tension.Â
âI gathered.â
Jaskierâs gaze slipped over to the young girl, feeling a strange mixture of regret and vindication. âI had good reason to be angry,â he admitted quietly.Â
Geralt nodded. A silent, I know.
Cirilla shifted in her sleep and Jaskier fell silent. He didnât wish to wake her. Especially not for this. He had sat down on a turned over log, a little ways away from where Geralt had perched on his knees. Geralt was cleaning his swords and reorganizing his potions, though Jaskier got the feeling he was only doing so to have something to do. Jaskier swallowed hard. âI shouldnât have called you that,â he admitted quietly. âNot when I knew what it meant.â
Geralt didnât respond to that.
âI wonât apologize for being angry, because I told you when we first reunited that I was, but that I would always forgive you because you are my friend. I meant that.â He frowned and stared at his hands, digging his thumb nail into the burned skin just to keep himself calm. âBut I havenât sung that song in a long while because I do know what Iâve done. I do know that I shouldnât have done it. I . . . I am sorry for being cruel in my anger, Geralt,â he admitted.Â
A soft sigh, and Geralt was setting aside his swords. He turned towards Jaskier, though he made no move to get closer to the bard. âYouâve nothing to apologize for,â he admitted. âAnd if you did, I forgive you.âÂ
âWell yes but I-â Jaskier began, falling silent for a moment. âYou do?â
Geralt nodded.Â
âOh . . . good. Thatâs good.â
Geralt looked over Jaskierâs expression, seeming to put his thoughts together carefully before he spoke them. His brow furrowed as he fought to explain. âWords have only the power we give them,â he admitted. âMuch time has passed since I was given that name, and you personally have changed much about how the world views me. I am grateful for that.â
He couldnât help but be surprised at the amount of words Geralt was using to articulate his point. Jaskier found himself surprised and trying not to show it. âI uh . . . well, Iâm sure I did some damage recently . . . so, less gratitude is probably deserved,â he breathed.Â
âMaybe,â Geralt agreed. âBut you were hurt. As was I. As was Yen. As was Ciri.â The witcher shrugged just slightly and glanced over at Cirilla with a look so strongly laced with love that Jaskier found it hard to observe. âWe have all grown,â Geralt stated.Â
Jaskier was quiet for a long few moments, nodding ever so slightly and then losing himself to thought. Cirilla had been incredibly good for Geralt. Fuck was Jaskier thankful for her as well. âI donât see you as a butcher,â he whispered. âI never have.â
Geraltâs gaze returned to Jaskier and he nodded some, âI know,â he promised.Â
âGood.â
The witcher shifted some where he sat, moving to where he could lean against a tree behind him. He leaned back and looked over at Jaskier for a long moment.Â
Silence rang out, singing some song of hope and healing. Comforting them in all the ways that words could never dare capture their sentiments. Silence and Geraltâs expression promised never to let something as petty as harsh words separate them again. Jaskier prayed that Geralt knew his face meant the same thing.Â
Finally, after some time, Geralt cleared his throat. âHonestly . . . I am more offended that you called my hair stupid,â he admitted with the smallest of grins.Â
Jaskier looked up and huffed a slightly startled, slightly relieved laugh. âIt is incredibly fucking stupid. I have never understood why you wonât let me plait it-â
âAs stupid as that thing you wear on your head? I saw the hat in your room at Kaer Morhen. How many birds had to die, Jaskier.â
Jaskierâs eyes widened in outrage as he gestured to Geraltâs chest. âYour armor? Has abs. And youâll lecture me on taste? Really?â
Geralt laughed quietly and picked his swords back up, returning to his task.
Stepping out of a 150k WIP for just a moment to say:
Thank you, fanfic writers.
You make my day better. You help me get through depression, and anxiety, and boredom, and sadness. You fuel my passion and give me delight.
You spend so much time researching an au that I always end up learning profession-specific terminology and slang, and itâs so awesome. You are all so fucking delightful.
Situation: Trapped on a boat going downriver. The severity of the situation is up to you as sis the pairing
(I saw the opportunity and I took it man.)
âYou dropped the oar.â Eskel said evenly, his face a careful mask of impassivity.
Lambert growled into the water, his temper besting him as he smacked his hand against the glassy surface. All that really did was serve to splash water into Lambertâs face and rock the boat. He turned and saw the even expression on Eskelâs face, which only made him fume more. âYes. There was a- I thought I saw- I got distracted-! Not all of us find it relaxing to just sit and do nothing while our minds wander!â He snapped, shortly.Â
âHmm.â Eskel hummed.Â
The other witcher all but bristled, âAlright, Geralt. Are you going to help, or just sit there?â He huffed.Â
Finally, a small smile tugged at the corner of Eskelâs lips. He could contain himself no longer. âYou dropped the oar.â He repeated, the faintest of laughs bubbling up in his chest. It started as a quiet huff, grew into a chuckle, and then some. Until he leaned over himself, laughing at Lambert. âYou dropped our oar because- because you saw something shiny?â He teased mercilessly.Â
Lambert looked thoroughly miserable as he crossed his arms over his chest. âYouâre a fucking shithead, you know that?âÂ
Eskel nodded, âOh, most definitely. I am.â He agreed. âBut at least Iâm not the shithead who dropped the only thing we were using to move this boat into the abyss because I couldnât stand being calm for twenty minutes.âÂ
âItâs been four hours-! We have been floating down this river since the sun hit the highest point and it is nearly setting now-!â Lambert exaggerated in exasperation. âThis is fucking ridiculous!â
As though he knew it would be the most infuriating response, Eskel calmed himself to an amused smile and nodded wisely. âWell, now I suppose we will just have to see how long it takes us to float close enough to the shore.â He said simply.
The thought of that much waiting made Lambert sputter indignantly. He stood, rocking the boat dangerously, and started stripping off the last of his clothes. Much to Eskelâs amusement, he pulled the articles off until he was in nothing more than his small clothes. There was not a single chance that Lambert was waiting that long, and he spat as much to Eskel. The bastardâs smug smile never left his face.
Instead, Eskel simply nodded. He reached out and caught Lambertâs hip, pulling the slightly slimmer witcher into his lap. He reached a gentle hand up and pulled Lambert forward by the jaw. âOf course not, little lamb. You can go ahead and swim to shore. I will take care of the boat.â He assured. He leaned up and pressed a soft, slightly teasing, kiss to Lambertâs lips.Â
Lambert growled in annoyance and pressed flush against Eskel in return, giving him a filthy, open-mouthed kiss as response. Then he stood again and dove off the boat. The cold of the water made Lambert shudder, but he kicked himself over to the other side of the river. As he pulled himself onto the shore he looked up and then sputtered. âWhat the fuck?â He asked, staring at Eskel who already had the boat out of the water.
Eskel took one look at him and burst into laughter again. They stood there, Lambertâs fury keeping him warm as Eskel laughed directly at him. Until Eskel caught his breath and smirked through his dying laughter. âAard. Used it to push the boat.â He said.
Lambert scowled.Â
âFigured it out as soon as you let go of the oar.â Eskel added and then doubled over with laughter again.
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"This doesn't mean we're friends" involving Yennefer and anybody.
They were travelling, Yennefer and young Princess Cirilla, towards Geraltâs home. The great Kaer Morhen laid where they were headed, and Yennefer couldnât begin to label how she felt about the trust Geralt had instilled in her. Both to take care of his child surprise, and to go to his home? He had admitted to needing to find his bard, and being torn. Cirilla deserved somewhere safe to hide and Geralt didnât want to drag her along in his quest to locate Jaskier.
So, Yennefer offered her assistance, and much to her surprise, Geralt accepted it. He made many promises to the young girl that he would return. That heâd meet her in the mountains and the four of them would travel to his home together. Cirilla had been sad and afraid to see him go, but she quickly attached herself to Yennefer.
They had started to travel, keeping to back roads and dark alleys so that no one would recognize either of them. When passing through Triss Merigoldâs city, Yennefer decided to stop. The princess was tired and scared and a night in a nice room with familiar and trustworthy company? Would likely do her wonders. Triss was quick to accept them into her home and set Ciri up in a nice room.Â
After dinner and a bit of time to relax, Yennefer asked Triss to help her secure her hair in an unmovable way. To keep it out of her eyes as they travelled and up so that it didnât get covered in grime and grit along the way. Triss agreed and had sat Yennefer down in Ciriâs room to get started.Â
Ciri watched the two women move around each other with familiarity, and she tilted her head. âMiss Merigold? How do you know Yen?â She asked curiously.Â
Triss smiled gently, fingers making quick work of the braid in her hands. âYen and I went to school together. We became friends at Aretuza.â She explained.
âWe were not friends.â Yennefer muttered.
As though Yennefer had not spoken at all, Triss continued. âWe went our separate ways, until fairly recently. When your Yennefer joined a fight to protect. A fight rather bravely she did. I am honored to say I was by her side . . . though perhaps I was more- behind her. She led us.â She said with admiration in her tone. She looked over to Ciri and winked as she held out her hand for another tie. Ciri provided, though her eyes drifted to Yennefer. Her expression was that of awe and respect. Clearly she saw a familiarity in a powerful woman, and it brought the princess comfort to know she was once again in the charge of one.
Yennefer, however, huffed slightly. âThat does not make us friends.â She said quite evenly.Â
âYou also came to me in your time of need. Trusting me to take care of you and your young princess.â Triss hummed. âAm I wrong to believe that Yennefer of Vengerberg rarely gives out her trust? Am I to assume that it means nothing?â She asked curiously.
Yennefer did little more than nod curtly. âExactly. I think itâs rather bold of you to assume that I trust you to begin with.â
âYou do realize that I am quite literally braiding your hair,â Triss said with a gentle smile. She hummed quietly as Ciri handed her another tie. The intricate work was nearly finished and Yenneferâs head was quite beautifully tied up, her hair knotted into gorgeous plaits and twisted around itself.Â
âAnd well- we are spending the night here.â Ciri said. It was rather unhelpfully contributed, Yennefer would note, but sheâd hardly complain. The girl was still young. âItâs sort of like a slumber party-!â She said a wry smile making its way across her face.
Yennefer wasnât sure sheâd ever seen Ciri smile. Still, she couldnât help but mutter âThis doesnât make us friends,â to Triss.Â
She saw Ciriâs face fall slightly, though the young woman did well to hide it. Triss however did not shy away and simply hummed. âNo. I suppose that after all of that, friendship is not what I would use to label our bond.â She agreed.
@greensaplinggrace asked:Â âGeralt x Yennefer "tell me you love me" with upset/hurt Yennefer doing the askingâ
(Iâm not gonna lie. Idk if I can add tags to a response to an ask? plus I wanted a cut in this so it wasnât super long? So forgive me for not answering your ask directly. Depending on the lengths of the stories I might do this again, or answer your ask directly next time. WHo knows. There are NO RULES!)
((There is probably etiquette tho, so if I do something dumb just lmk <3 ))
Yennefer stared at herself in the mirror, a panic she hasnât felt in ages rushing through her. She doesnât know how long this will last. She certainly doesnât know how she will fix it if it does not wear on itâs own. To top it all off, she doesnât even know who to punish for this incredibly vile joke.
That is what it was. A joke. A prank. All three of them had been subject to it, something slipped into their drinks. If Yennefer dwelled on it, she knew somewhere that it was because sheâd been with Geralt and Jaskier and that pair always got themselves into trouble. She knew that someone in this backwards town had taken issue with a witch, a witcher, and a bard sitting together and drinking ale in this ridiculous tavern. That that someone spiked their drinks with a potion.
It seemed the potionâs purpose was to return the victim to their most natural state. It affected Jaskier first, of course. The bardâs hair greyed through the inks he used to keep it dark brown. The wrinkles he so cleverly kept away with ointments, magic, or make up revealed themselves. With no defenses against the magic he quickly aged to his appropriate appearance. The man was nearly fifty now, and so far their quest to stop his aging had been unsuccessful. (If in the dark of night, held tightly in Yenneferâs arms, Geralt admitted that he feared losing Jaskier more than most? It went forgotten in daylight the next morning. Well . . . not forgotten. But definitely not addressed.)
Next Geralt shifted beside them and Yenneferâs eyes widened. His hair turned dark brown, nearly black. His eyes . . . a soft almost grey-ish blue. He looked at her with a funny little smile quietly asking, âWhatâs wrong?â Yennefer could see that his fangs had all but vanished. It was peculiar, and she nearly commented on it until she saw the tankards both men were holding.
She realized she was holding the same.
It was only then that she felt the tight coiling in her back.
Quickly, Yennefer dismissed herself and retreated up the stairs. Neither of her companions had ever seen her- disfigurement, but her lover was quite familiar with the expanse of her body. The one sheâd carefully constructed and demanded she was given. As she walked she felt herself convulse and she covered her mouth with her hand. It hurt. Still, she stumbled back to their room and locked the door behind her. In a step she stood in front of the mirror and gazed upon it with horror.
She was, once again, the beast sheâd been born as.
She heard the knocking on the door and stood tense as she stared at herself. Geralt stood on the other side of the door. He knocked gently, but the worry was evident in his voice. âYen? . . . Are you- okay?â He asked gruffly.
She could hear as he huffed at himself, knowing that he recognized how stupid a question that was. At any other time she would have ridiculed him for such obtuse nonsense, but now? She strode back to the door and held it shut as though it wasnât locked already. âGeralt, I am fine, but I need you to go now. Alright?â She requested.
âRight. Yeah. Thatâs not going to happen, open the door.â He said evenly.
Yennefer shook her head, âWeâve been given a potion. Go check on your bard.â She said through the thick wood of the door.
Geralt clearly had anticipated such a defense and huffed a laugh, âI already did. Before I came up here. It has done us no damage, and Iâm sure it will wear away . . . Come on now, let me in. Let me see you as you are-â
âNo.â She said sharply. On the other side of the door, Geralt didnât move. She knew he wouldnât either. Yennefer took a slow breath. âYou do not want to see me like this and I do not want you to see me like this. You should go. I will return when I am better.â
There was a long beat of silence and Geralt spoke softly. âYennefer . . . ? If it means so much to you, I will not require that you reveal yourself to me. I do not wish to pry . . . but- if you can bring yourself to, I would like to use this as an opportunity to prove to you that my sentiments for you go far deeper than your appearance . . .â
Damn the witcher and his ridiculous observations. Yennefer bit the inside of her cheek, âTell me you love me.â She demanded quietly, voice barbed with thorns and anger.
âI love you.â Geralt said without hesitation.
Yennefer dug her fingernails into her palms and swallowed hard. Slowly she stepped back and pulled the door open. Her eyes stayed resolutely on Geraltâs face, looking for those old familiar expressions of disgust and revulsion. There was a slow moment of realization and- guilt?
Geralt cleared his throat, âI- teased you when we first met. For the possibility of a clubbed foot.â He recalled quietly. Of course, Yennefer wouldnât have wanted to reveal herself if she thought he would judge something so trivial. He shook his head and stepped forward. He left enough space for Yennefer to retreat if she wanted to, but did not hesitate to show his desire to be close to her. âHowever could I have been so foolish to suggest something like that could hide your beauty.â
Yennefer couldnât help but scoff, annoyance on her face covering her skepticism. âYou mock me. Donât worry, I will fix this-â
Geralt frowned. âThere is nothing to fix.â He said evenly. âYou are beautiful now, you were beautiful then. And regardless of your appearance you are powerful and cunning and sharp. You donât need me to tell you that, but I am happy to remind you when you have forgotten.â He stated.
The mage stared at Geralt, some of the anger melting to reveal the insecurity. She knew that he was right. And at some point in her life she decidedly dismissed anyone who had ever looked down upon her when she looked like this. She knew that she was strong and beautiful regardless of what she looked like. She knew that there was beauty in her imperfections. All these were things her mind understood and beliefs sheâd instilled in Cirilla for as long as she could remember . . . and yet? When sheâd looked in that mirror, and seen herself as she was before? She struggled to see the beauty in the crooked nature of her spine. In the jutted discomfort of her jaw. Those facts her mind knew became background noise to the criticism her heart remembered. She looked at Geralt carefully and offered a soft, guarded, âTell me you love me?â It wasnât a demand this time. It was a request. A request that his voice be used to amplify those facts again. She didnât need his help to hear them, but- he was offering it. His comfort made it easier to listen.
Geralt spoke with no hesitation. âI love you, Yennefer. Every version of you there is, because always you are beautiful and strong and good.â
asldkfjalksd sorry for all of the asks! I just had some ideas XD. you don't have to answer them all if you don't want. I won't be upset or anything lol
Never apologize! And fret not, dear heart. I will almost definitely respond to all of them as soon as I can! I am actually off to bed tonight, but tomorrow brings another day and I am very excited to write pretty much all of the things you suggested :)
(They might be a little bit shorter than some of the other things Iâve written. But Iâll leave that as a maybe and let the brain juices decide when Iâm less exhausted!)
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How did you start shipping yenskier? (Itâs an awesome ship that now owns my soul, but like, I would never have stopped shipping it without the content that exists)
Honestly it arose out of my mindset that any love triangle situation can be immediately solved by ot3 lol especially when all the characters involved are really cool and interesting characters with complex issues
Literally the first thing I did post-Witcher watch in January was write an ot3 fuck or die ft. emotions where Geralt had to put himself between Yennefer and Jaskier to keep them from fucking to death.
I then wrote an ot3 equestrian polyamory fic with hostile rivals Jaskier and Yennefer competing for Geraltâs affections, and I realized immediately that I loved writing their banter and their Dynamic in general and then went oh no oh dear theyâve gone and fallen in love on me and itâs good for so many reasons and could be good in canon and oh no oh dear.
This was before Yennskier had a ship name and before there was ANY easy to find content on tumblr because of this. There were no yennskier only fics on ao3 and really not that many ot3 fics with them included either. There was an occasional âyennefer and jaskier should be besties in season twoâ post but that was literally it. I clung to every single wee scrap of content that existed.
The first yenskier only fic I read I think was Savior Verse by @dandelionslute? I encountered that thing and was like :O someone else???? gives a shit??? About these two idiots falling in love????? And I not long later wrote the oneshot that ended up becoming lilacs & dandelions.
And it just got worse from there frankly, it has been a very strange and wholesome and enriching part of my life in these dark times actually, and not to be EMOTING on witcher sideblog but the little yennskier crew is wonderful and this little rarepair ship has brought out endless amounts of creativity and humor and warm fuzzy emotions in me that I thought were long dead.
I leave a comment on every single fic I read. Sometimes when I read published books I go and leave a comment somewhere the author can find it. Granted, I literally majored in âleaving comments on ficsâ (English Education), but once you start doing it it just becomes second nature. Now youâre gonna go to the Ozymandias school of leaving comments:Â
Problem: I canât leave kudos again.
Beginner: This is a second/third/fourth Kudos
Advanced: This is my second/third/fortieth time reading this, I still love it so much. Here are a few new things I noticed. I like the way you personally do x, y, z compared to other authors Iâve read (in this ship/genre/fandom).
Problem: I donât know what to say :(
Beginner: Just list what you did to read this fic. âI stayed up late reading thisâ, âI read this on a crowded trainâ, âthis kept me company while sickâ.Â
Advanced: X,Y,Z parts made me get butterflies, and I had a physical reaction to this part of the story, I squealed outloud when characters did x,y,z. I blushed at this part. I laughed out loud here. Whatever.Â
Problem: Iâm embarrassed to leave a comment (what if I annoy the author?)
Beginner: Short answer: you wonât EVER annoy the author (unless youâre needlessly mean) But to start, be generic, you donât have to spill your soul in the comments section. âI liked thisâ âI enjoyed reading thisâ ânice ficâ.
Advanced: This really meant a lot to me that you wrote this. This is something I feel like Iâve always wanted to read. This fic hit me in all the right places. Etc.Â
Problem: I donât know how to express myself/my experienceÂ
Beginner: My beginners go to is to highlight a line, put that in your comment and say âi liked thisâ or to identify basic emotions you had while reading and comment those âthis made me happyâ âthis part made me sadâ âi almost criedâ âyou made me laughâÂ
Advanced: âHighlighted lineâ This line made me smile because it has to do with character development/itâs really romantic/itâs so unique/itâs moving. Sometimes I donât highlight a line at all, I just talk about the stuff Iâve noticed were unique to the fic. âI love the way you did this particular thing with this characterâ.Â
This? This is an amazing post. This is the Captain Awkward of commenting postsâit addresses all your fears directly and gives you actionable scripts for each one.
here is a super helpful website for this kinda thing!
the first result isnât always the one youâre looking for but when you press enter itâll give you a ton of words related to your query thatâll probably have what youâre wanting, or something better
@cat-clawz said: âWelcome!! If you'd like, you could do something where Jaskier isn't human and uses a glamour to hide his less human traits, but a group of highwaymen rob him and Geralt (and either take the glamour or Jaskier is forced to help out with some very nonhuman reflexes). :) Have fun!â
With this prompt we said âFuck you!â to everything I know about Jaskierâs backstory, lol. (I usually advocate for BAMF!Jask? But unforeseen circumstances have him relying a little more heavily on Geralt than usual.) I also chose to make some shit up including mythology/biology of mythical creatures, and characters Iâm sure do not exist XD. (It also got a little more emotional than I planned. But here we go!)Â
X
âNo- Hey- You bastard with selkimore guts for brains, leave that be-!â Jaskier spat at the man who was rubbing his oily greedy thumb over the pendant that always sat against Jaskierâs chest. âTake the lute- Hey, please- Take my lute, just leave that alone-â He begged.
Geraltâs eyes widened just slightly at the offer. Filivandrelâs lute hadnât left Jaskierâs side since the mountains, he almost couldnât believe that Jaskier was so ready to trade it for a necklace. Though, when he came to think of it, Jaskier always wore that necklace. Geralt had just never asked why . . .Â
They hadnât been out of the city for long and it wasnât even dark. Honestly, it was rather ballsy for this particular group of bandits to attack a witcher in broad daylight. Yet they jumped out of the trees and descended on Geralt and Jaskier with a singular intent. Their movements were languid and elegant, they moved almost like dancers. Still, Geralt and Jaskier each held their own fairly well. That is until Roach had been threatened and Jaskier grew distracted.
The bard turned his back on the woman heâd been fighting to throw a dagger at the man whoâd reached for Roachâs bags. In his moment of urgency, his opponent managed to grip his wrist as it fell from the throw and use the momentum to twist it behind his back. She dragged her own dagger over one of his thighs, cutting it deeply and continuing to move her hand up. The one fluid movement gave her the position to twist Jaskier to her desire and pull the knife close against his neck. âEnough!â She yelled. In any other moment, Jaskier would have swooned over the rasping alto of her voice, but right now he found himself pissed that such a vile woman possessed such a beautiful tone. The gods always gifted the worst of people. âPut down your weapon, mutant, or I will cut your friendâs throat.â
Geralt slowed to a stop across the clearing, his eyes shooting over to where Jaskier was standing. Jaskier shook his head, a silent âDonât even think about it.â But the woman twisted his arm more harshly and Jaskier winced, persuading Geralt to toss his sword to the side.
âGodsdamnit, Geralt.â Jaskier breathed.Â
The woman nodded to two other of her men and they both descended on Roachâs saddlebags. Before they could get there Geralt whistled sharply and Roach kicked the man beside her and took off into the forest. The bandits were fast, but Roach was faster. Geralt suffered a sharp blow to the cheek for it, but Roach escaped mostly untouched.Â
Much to Jaskierâs dismay that turned the banditsâ to Geralt, and they were certainly not happy. Jaskier knew that Geralt could have defended himself, would have too, if Jaskier were not standing there with a knife against his throat. He tried briefly to struggle free from the woman, but at the cool drip of his own blood down his neck he stilled. âMy pack-!â He said suddenly.Â
The bandits slowly pulled back from Geralt, showing their damage, but giving him a break from the beating. Jaskier swallowed hard and pointed with the hand he had twisted behind his back. âMy bag is behind that tree. Iâd set it down for a moment.â He admitted. âYouâll find a bag of gold there, please. Take it and go.âÂ
The woman looked over at the same two men from before, both of whom had been taking care of their companion. The one whoâd been struck by Roach. She nodded towards the tree and the two walked over to it. They found the bag and subsequently Jaskierâs lute, which heâd been hoping would go unnoticed. They pulled out the small bag of coin, it was all Jaskier had earned at the town theyâd been in. She scoffed, âCan you not count? The three men and two women with your friend, the man your horse mauled, and my two partners Jei and Kei. That makes nine of us. You think one bag of coin will satisfy us? You think us too dumb to know that your witcher sent the horse away on purpose?â
Jaskier squirmed, âI think you shouldnât ask questions you donât want to hear the answers to-â He started to bite back. He was cut off by the sound of his own whimper, the knife cutting deeper into his throat.Â
âA smart ass. How fun.â The woman snapped.Â
One of her two partners- Kei or Jei, Jaskier didnât know- walked over, muttering in a language Jaskier did not recognize. The woman laughed in Jaskierâs ear and he felt her nod. âYouâre right. He is wearing such pretty clothes.â She said.Â
Geraltâs eyes shot up, a look of warning in his eyes, âYou will not strip him.â The witcher snarled.Â
The woman merely laughed as the other partner reached out and plucked the chain that rested around Jaskierâs neck. If he wasnât already tense enough, Jaskier grew stone still as the necklace he always wore hidden behind his clothes was pulled out into the daylight. âNo- Hey- You bastard with selkimore guts for brains, leave that be-!â Jaskier spat at the man who was rubbing his oily greedy thumb over the pendant that always sat against Jaskierâs chest. âTake the lute- Hey, please- Take my lute, just leave that alone-â He begged.
Geraltâs eyes widened just slightly at the offer. Filivandrelâs lute hadnât left Jaskierâs side since the mountains, he almost couldnât believe that Jaskier was so ready to trade it for a necklace. Though, when he came to think of it, Jaskier always wore that necklace. Geralt had just never asked why . . .Â
The necklace was plucked from Jaskierâs neck and pocketed. Almost instantly, Jaskier doubled over. The movement took the woman by surprise and she dropped him to the ground. Jaskier curled up almost pitifully and wrapped his arms around himself. Geralt instantly stood and stepped forward. With the sudden movement, the woman made a sharp yell-like noise and took off. Her group followed her.
When faced with the decision to follow them or to go to Jaskier? Well, Geralt had no choice. He dropped to his knees and looked over Jaskier carefully. He could not believe what he was seeing.
Jaskierâs hair grew darker and his skin developed a sort of bluish tint. It became almost clear and Geralt didnât need sharp eyes to see the cold veins just below the surface. Sharp dark fingernails grew from the tips of Jaskierâs hands which were quite suddenly webbed. Spiked fins stabbed through Jaskierâs doublet, and protruded down his spine.Â
Perhaps the biggest surprise was the dark black and blue tail where legs were not moments ago.Â
Jaskier was shuddering and wincing against the sun, his eyes squeezed shut and expression contrite. One of his webbed hands was holding the side of his tail. The cut landed to his thigh now oozed an almost black blood, but looked dried and cracked. Actually, nearly every bit of him seemed to be cracking.Â
Geraltâs eyes darted around to the ransacked bag that the bandits had left behind when theyâd run. They took Jaskierâs necklace and his coin, but they were otherwise fairly unsuccessful at doing much more than causing chaos. Geralt pulled a flask of water from Jaskierâs bag and a blanket, dumping the water over the cloth and then carefully wrapping the cloth around the most of Jaskierâs tail that he could reach.
Jaskier had a tail.Â
Geralt stared at his bard, expression tight and confused. âHow-â He started before realizing that the necklace had to have been some kind of glamour. âWhen-â Surely Jaskier had to have revealed himself some times? When did he do so to keep it from Geralt? . . . Probably when Geralt was away on a hunt. They almost always made certain to have a room with a tub, Geralt had thought that Jaskier wanted to treat him after a stubborn contract, but clearly it served more than one purpose. âWhy-â That was a stupid question. Why would Jaskier tell Geralt? Geraltâs entire life was devoted to killing monsters. Jaskier would have had to have been insane or suicidal to share this with Geralt. He was neither. âWhat-â Another stupid question. Clearly a siren. Mermaids could not breathe above water and Jaskier was breathing right now . . . not to mention the singing. Melitelle, the singing. Geralt should have figured that out sooner.
Jaskier took a labored breath, but the damp blanket was clearly helping. He tried to push himself up. He braced himself against a tree and winced as he squished his back fins. He brought trembling hands back to the gash in his tail and made a small pained noise.Â
Geralt noticed the very careful way in which Jaskierâs face remained guarded, and his eyes avoided contact. âIf you arenât going to slit my throat would you mind calling Roach back? Iâve got another flask of water packed on her and- Iâm feeling rather parched.â Jaskier requested. Though his tone was decidedly light, it came across as airy and strained rather than itâs regular carefree disposition.Â
Geralt nodded silently and whistled again. In the distance he heard the horse turn around and start back their way. He carefully returned his attention to Jaskier and cleared his throat. âIâm not going to hurt you.â He assured him quietly. âIâm never going to hurt you, Jaskier.â
Jaskierâs eyes, somehow even bluer in his true form than when glamoured, met Geraltâs. He regarded him suspiciously. The pain, both physical and emotional, sat just beneath the surface of Jaskierâs gaze. âIâm a siren. Iâve seen you kill more than one of us.â He said skeptically.
Geralt looked solemn, but assented. âYou have. But youâve also seen me spare sirens. Just like every other creature Iâve dealt with. I only kill what will not stop hurting others . . . I donât believe that you can hurt others. It is not your nature.â He said quietly.Â
Geralt wanted to argue more, but when it came to words he was aware that no sentence he could structure would be clever enough to fight whatever arguments Jaskierâs mind was constructing. Action it would have to be.Â
Roach came into the clearing and Geralt got up, walking over to the horse and pulling both his own waterskin and Jaskierâs. He returned and knelt beside the bard- the siren? The- . . .Jaskier. He knelt beside Jaskier and extended one skin while slowly pouring splashes of the others into his palm. He knew his hands were calloused, but he was careful to gently massage the water into the fins on Jaskierâs sides and back, he gently pulled each of Jaskierâs arms forward and poured some of the water on Jaskierâs hands. He gently patted it against the gills that flayed the sides of Jaskierâs neck.Â
âCan you survive out of the water for long? Without that pendant?â Geralt asked.
Jaskierâs tail curled up in a slightly defensive manner. âAre you hoping the answer is no, and nature will do your job for you?â He retorted.
Geralt sighed softly, âNo. Iâm trying to figure out if it would be better to get you to the nearest body of water or to a mage who could make you another pendant . . . if you want, of course.â He explained.
Jaskier huffed with wise resignation he rarely showed, âI donât have the money for that, Geralt. Why do you think I was willing to trade anything not to lose that one? Theyâre expensive. I wouldnât even know where to find another.â
The witcher shook his head. âJaskier. Can you survive out of the water without magic?â
âI- Yes. So long as I donât dry out . . . the uh- the wet cloth was a stroke of genius. It is helping quite a bit.â He admitted quietly.Â
Geralt nodded. âGood. Then weâll find a mage.â
Jaskierâs eyes once again found Geraltâs, and Geralt once again saw that suspicion lurking. He wrapped his arms over his own chest, âWhoâs going to pay for it? Those fiends took all of my money. I couldnât earn that back in one stay, let alone the more I would need for a mageâs help.â He said curtly, clearly frustrated with Geralt.
Geralt shook his head. âI have savings. And I know a few mages who owe me.â He said evenly. âI can make it happen.â He said and carefully hooked his hand under the bend of Jaskierâs tail and behind his back. âYouâll have to hold onto Roach tightly-â
Jaskier sputtered indignantly, but gave in and held onto Geraltâs chest. âGeralt.â
âYou will also have to let me know when youâre getting too dry-â
âGeralt.â
âItâs the summer months, so the sun will bake you if we arenât careful-â
âGeralt!â Jaskier finally huffed, exasperated, even as Geralt was carefully setting him on top of Roach. âDoesnât this seem like exactly the opportunity you were waiting for? I canât keep up, now is the time to leave. I wouldnât be able to follow you-â He said, voice tight and low.Â
Geraltâs heart seemed to stop. âWhat-?â He breathed in confusion. âWhy the fuck would I leave you?â
Jaskier stared at him sort of incredulously and then dropped his gaze. Despite towering over Geralt from his position on the horse, Jaskier looked . . . smaller. Definitely smaller than usual. Geralt regarded him in confusion as Jaskier cleared his throat. âYouâve made your position quite clear. We are not friends. I am only still around because Iâm persistent, of all of the times youâve up and left in the middle of nights, it only makes sense that youâd- . . . Well. Seize this situation for what it is . . . a chance to leave.â Jaskier gripped tightly onto Roachâs reins, Geralt could see that the webbing on his hands was already drying and cracking again. âIâm no longer just a nuisance. Not even just- a creature you should kill. But past all of that, a hindrance preventing you from continuing on the path, I donât understand why youâd- . . . help me.â
Geralt stood still, his hands still holding Jaskier up on the horse. One on his hip, one where Jaskierâs knee would be. He couldnât quite believe the words the bard was saying. Did he truly believe all of that? Geralt had thought- it was all just- banter, wasnât it? âIt seems . . . I owe you an apology, my friend. I- thought we operated with an understanding. I thought that- well, that you knew . . . my sentiments for you.â He explained quietly.Â
Jaskier slowly looked up. âSentiments?â
Geralt nodded, âI do not think of you as any of those things . . . You are my closest friend. At times my only. I- . . .â Geralt cleared his throat awkwardly. âI care a lot about you.â He admitted.
And if in that moment, Jaskier was bursting with relief and affection? He settled it all down into a small smile so as not to overwhelm his witcher. He took a slow breath and gently covered Geraltâs hand on his knee with a cold webbed hand of his own. âOh . . . well. In that case. I suppose we should find one of those mages you spoke of . . .â
Knowing a fic author through AO3 is like attending someoneâs thesis presentation and politely clapping at the end, knowing a fic author through this hellsite is like going over to their house at 3AM to watch them eat mayonnaise out of a jar
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This one was based on a conversation I had with a mutual on my main account. (They asked not to be tagged, but I definitely wanted to write it!) Basically the prompt was: âI just really wanna see something Tissaia and Yennefer bc no one writes them? Iâd love to see like dishevelled Tissaia being taken care of by Yen? Maybe something after the finale?â
So, I came up with this!
It hurt to breathe. Even now, after everything, in this shithole tavern in some shithole town. It had been a few days since Tissaia had witnessed the most powerful display of magic sheâd seen in her very long life. A few days since the battle had been won by Yenneferâs sheer will. Since then, Tissaia had felt a lot of things, but the only feeling she could really narrow down enough to label was the fact that it hurt to breathe.Â
Sheâd come to that conclusion sitting here, slightly hunched over, drinking some of the most disgusting ale sheâd ever purchased. She realized that every drink she took had to make it over the lump in her throat, and every breath she took had to fight to fill her lungs. She was sitting at this bar, knowing that she really shouldnât be there. She shouldnât be there when she was struggling so greatly to breathe, and honestly, she probably shouldnât be here at all. This tavern sheâd found. It was rather disgusting. The whole place. It was beneath her.
She was one of the most powerful mages to ever walk this world, and theyâd served her drink in a disgusting tankard.Â
She was the foundation that kept Aretuza running, and the servers here could barely keep up with the few people that had made it out to drink and eat.
She was the sorceress that kept Stregobor in line, and as the tension in the air threatened a bar fight at any moment she sat there silently. Uncaring of whether or not these men cut each otherâs throats simply because they were angry with the world.
Tissaia had raised the next generation of the most powerful women in the world.
And she was sat in a run down tavern.
She was sat there, realizing that she was tired and in pain, after a battle in which she fought, but where she was all but useless.
It fucking hurt to breathe.Â
âLift your arms over your head.â Came a voice from behind her. The voice was soft and careful which was quite unusual considering itâs owner.Â
Tissaia arched her brow and glanced over her shoulder at Yennefer. âYou should be resting.â She criticized, looking back down to the tankard of shitty ale in front of her. If something happened and they needed Yennefer again, it would do no good for her to still be exhausted. The mage had only had a few days rest.Â
In that moment, Tissaia found herself praying to the gods she had long since stopped believing in. She prayed that nothing that happened for the next couple of days would require Yenneferâs assistance. She prayed that Yennefer could simply . . . recover. She prayed that the brunt of this war was dealt with, and that never again would Yennefer have to expel so much chaos. She prayed that it was all worth it in the end, and that theyâd have peace.
Although she was praying, she was far from hopeful.
Yennefer looked similarly skeptical. âRest? So that I can be asleep when the next fight starts? I hardly think that is sensible.â She said and took the seat that remained vacant to Tissaiaâs side. The tavern was still nearly empty, save for a few stragglers and the permanent fixtures that regular drunks made, but even the few brave enough to go out in this mess would not risk sitting next to such a powerful woman. Especially not when she was clearly quite pissed off.Â
A harsh laugh punched itself from Tissaiaâs throat and she shook her head, âYouâve never been one for practicality or logic, I donât see why youâd start now.â She said and then took a difficult breath.Â
Though Tissaia had never shied away from scoffing at Yennefer, or belittling her ignorance, it was rather unusual for her to be so blunt about it. Her dismissals were often subtle and sharp. Rarely was she so callous. Never had she simply laughed in Yenneferâs face. It was a worrying sign, and though Yennefer did not take it personally, she was certainly taken aback by the expressive nature of the laugh.Â
Yennefer watched Tissaia carefully and then rolled her eyes. For a moment they fell back into those roles theyâd assumed so long ago. Student and teacher. Child and adult. As Yennefer rebelled against the obtuse condescending tone, with a huff and a slight pout. Then, she shifted and placed a hand against Tissaiaâs back, fixing her posture. She gently nudged Tissaiaâs elbows with her free hand, while the other one stayed firmly on Tissaiaâs back. âLift your arms over your head.â She repeated sternly.Â
And it seemed as though their roles had reversed themselves, as Tissaia rolled her eyes a bit like the petulant child. It served as stark contrast to the stern look of determination on Yenneferâs face. âWhy, girl? So, I can look like a fool?â She wondered allowed. Surely, Yennefer realized it was ridiculous to ask Tissaia to stretch so obnoxiously in the middle of this tavern. With so many people around who could take a swing at her in such an exposing position.
âSo you can breathe.â Yennefer said simply.
Tissaiaâs eyes shot to the side, looking at Yennefer in surprise, unsure of how Yennefer knew that it was difficult to get air into her lung. Even more uncertain of why Yennefer cared. The older woman exhaled in slight defeat, slouching some. The unmoving hand on her back pushed back to sitting up straight. It was a silent promise of protection, and Tissaia acquiesced. She lifted her arms slowly and folded them over her head. It pushed her ribs open, allowing more space for her lungs. Truthfully, she immediately felt her breathing come easier, though sheâd hardly admit that. She wrapped her hands over her own elbows and kept the position even as she felt Yennefer stand and shift behind her.Â
âWhat are you doing?â Tissaia asked, moving to drop her arms.Â
Yennefer caught them and kept them where they were. âYou inhaled a lot of smoke. It will be hard to breathe for a while as your body defends itself from that grit. But you also put an immense strain on yourself. I imagine you are sore. I was going to help get rid of that ache, deep in your back.â She explained, running a hand down Tissaiaâs spine. The older woman certainly did not shudder or anything of the like at such a light and promising touch. Yenneferâs hand gently wrapped around Tissaiaâs waist and she regarded Tissaia carefully.Â
Despite the appeal of such relief, Tissaia did pull her arms free and lower them. She shifted and turned in her chair to face Yennefer, wrapping the arm at her waist even further around her. Tissaiaâs eyes were suspicious and tired as she looked over Yennefer in an attempt to place her motive. She didnât know what Yenneferâs intent was. The younger woman was never so soft. She was strong and harsh and made of sharp edges, even her love came in bursts of respect and expectation rather than gentle offers of affection.Â
Or at least, that was what Tissaia had always received, and she had some hope that despite their strife there was love at the basis of their relationship. Whatever kind of relationship they had.
Yennefer seemed almost- sympathetic to the obvious confusion and disbelief on Tissaiaâs face. She gently raised her hands, removing the one wrapped around Tissaia, âPerhaps not in such a public place. My apologies,â She said. She smiled just barely at the expression on Tissaiaâs face at the apologies. âCome with me? Back to my room at the inn . . . Let me help.â
Tissaia scoffed, âYou want to help me.â
It was a slight blow, and Yennefer wasnât thrilled with such distrust after everything theyâd gone through recently. âIt wouldnât be the first time you needed my help.â Yennefer reminded curtly, seeming a bit agitated at Tissaiaâs disposition.Â
âNo. I suppose not.â Tissaia admitted, her eyes dropping just slightly. âTruthfully, I do ache. And I would not mind . . . help.â She said slowly, taking another deep breath. It was an admission that Yennefer hadnât anticipated, and the slight smile tugged its place back onto her face.Â
âGood.â She hummed quietly.Â
Tissaia paid for her drinks and stood with Yennefer. She gestured for Yennefer to lead the way back to their tavern. Yennefer did as silently instructed, and they walked quietly. Only a few comments on the plans for the upcoming days were passed, mostly discussion of when the remaining sorcerers and sorceresses were leaving. They made it to their inn, and Tissaia followed Yennefer up to her room.
They returned to their quiet as they entered the room. Yennefer waved her hand, sending a few things away into the closet and then walking over to the small vanity. Tissaia shut the door behind them and locked it before glancing back over to Yennefer. She pulled a few scented oils from the top and gestured to the bed. âLay down on your stomach . . . It may help for your back to be exposed, however you find it easiest to manage.â She explained.
Tissaia paused and glanced over at Yenneferâs back briefly. She carefully unlaced the front of her dress and slipped her arms out from it. She let the top of her dress fall over her hips, and carefully she climbed into the bed. There, she laid out, pillowing her head on her arms which were folded beneath her. She took a deep breath and let her eyes close.
Yennefer turned and walked over to the bed, her eyes subconsciously drifting over the sorceress before her. Yennefer believed that there had always been a tension between them that neither of them knew how to, or was willing to admit to. It had always reared its head in a way that made Yennefer believe that it might be jealousy, or hatred even . . . though in her darker moments sheâd wondered if it had ever been love, or perhaps lust.
Though her own thoughts were rather heavy, Yenefer couldnât help but notice that she wasnât sure sheâd ever seen Tissaia so dishevelled. She wasnât sure earlier, when hearing the harsh and blatant emotion in Tissaiaâs tone. She knew it, now that she was watching the woman so easily give over the power in the room to someone else.
Tissaia felt the bed dip and to her surprise, Yennefer straddled the tops of her thighs. It was a strangely intimate position, and it felt irregular. However, it wasnât altogether unpleasant and there was a strange comfort to having Yennefer so close to her.Â
They sat in silence as Yennefer poured a bit of oil into her hand. She started to massage the fragrance into the soft skin beneath her hands. The silence is not inherently uncomfortable, but there is an urge to speak that Yennefer tries to quell. Despite herself, Yennefer could not remain quiet. âThereâs. . .â She started and cleared her throat. âThere is this ache- this deep hurt, that hides just beneath my skin. In my neck . . . my back.â She explained. She knew that Tissaia was listening, but the older woman made no movement to show that she was paying attention. Yennefer continued anyway. âThe pain from my- disfigurement never went away. Truthfully, after my transformation . . . it got worse.â She admitted.
Tissaiaâs vulnerability reared itself as outbursts, displays of emotions that she could usually keep to herself. The inability to hide the chaos that simmered so close to the surface of her skin. But the manner in which Yennefer showed that her heart was unfortified was by simply being honest. She so rarely liked anyone enough to share herself with them, and most definitely did not trust easily. Yet, as they sat here, she spoke of a trial she faced that sheâd never admitted to another person. Even in her time with Geralt, she did not tell him of her hunched back, unsettled jaw, or other ailments.
Thoughts of Geralt intruded on this soft moment like a manticore in a shop of precious antiques. Unwelcome and threatening. Yennefer carefully pushed them out and shut the door behind them.Â
She continued just as softly, âSome days it feels like there are hooks in my shoulders, pulling them back into a posture so unnatural and uncomfortable that I want to scream . . .â Carefully, Yenneferâs fingers traced along Tissaiaâs ribcage. She gently flattened her palms against Tissaiaâs shoulder blades. âI only mean to say that: When it comes to aches and pain, Iâve had to learn quite well how best to manage them. You know how to suppress your emotions, but . . . I suppose I am offering you help in feeling them.â She said.
Throughout the entire admission, Yennefer saw no movement or acknowledgement from the woman beneath her. The only thing that told her she was being listened to was the way the energy focused in the room. Like it was vacuumed from every crevice and being held in Tissaiaâs chest. Yennefer knew that that much focus had to be for a reason. She knew that some silent test was happening in Tissaiaâs mind, and hoped only that her honesty would help her pass it. Perhaps if whatever Tissaia was looking for was or wasnât there, Tissaia would be able to find the peace she needed to relax and allow herself this kindness.
What Tissaia was looking for was the lie. Sheâd never heard such open statements from her charge, and the bitter part of her was still expecting for some angle to reveal itself. She found herself waiting for Yennefer to reveal an ulterior motive . . . and yet? Throughout the entire admission, Tissaia saw no trace of Yenneferâs silver tongue, spinning charm and manipulation around her victims. This was by far a reflection of that young woman Tissaia found so long ago. So full of anger, yes, but fuller still of sorrow and heart. Begging for the opportunity to share it with someone.Â
Melitele, did Tissaia want to be that person.Â
She slowly reached back and caught one of Yenneferâs wrists. She gently pulled it, enough for Yennefer to understand and sit up some. It gave Tissaia the space to roll over and push herself to sitting as well. She backed up to lean against the headboard and Yennefer went to move out of the way. Instead, Tissaia caught Yenneferâs hip and pulled her closer. With Yennefer sat in her lap, Tissaia reached up and gently caressed Yenneferâs jaw. âYou were supposed to be my student.â She said quietly. âNothing more.â It came out as almost a laugh, but definitely a tired one. âAnd instead, you took what I taught you and used it to turn yourself into a mage so beautiful, powerful, and smart than I could ever have hoped to turn you into.â Tissaia said.Â
Yenneferâs heart beat slightly faster than usual and she wasnât certain where to put her hands. Despite herself, her eyes fell, swooping over Tissaiaâs bare chest. She gently lifted her hands to hold either side of Tissaiaâs neck, thumbs brushing back and forth on either side. âSaia-â
âYou have always been beautiful.â Tissaia said, voice barely above a whisper. âYou have always been powerful.â Her eyes dipped to Yenneferâs lips. âAnd you have always been smart.â She said. âIf those traits were not in you from the very beginning, you would not have prevailed on the battlefield as you have. And these last days, I have been unable to forgive myself for ever having thought- that I was capable of- . . .â She fought to find the right words. âFor ever trying to restrain you. For failing to tell you so long ago that you are art, Yennefer. The most stunning masterpiece ever made and you always have been.â She said. âPerhaps this is far more forward than I am used to being, and I hope that you do not scoff at me for being a soft old woman trying to make the most of what time we have left . . . but during that fight- when I thought I might die, when I thought you might die- I wanted nothing more than to tell you how good you were. And apologize for not having said it sooner.â She whispered.
Yennefer stared carefully into Tissaiaâs eyes, looking for something- any sign that this was ingenuine. That this was a rant spurred on by fear-instilled madness.Â
Tissaia stared right back to show that it wasnât.Â
Without a second thought, Yennefer pulled Tissaia into a soft kiss, holding onto her tightly.
recently iâve been contemplating a radical concept: writers should stop apologising for our fics.Â
we should stop saying sorry this fic is too long or too short, too smutty or not smutty enough, that itâs not beta read, that there might be typos in it. no more saying sorry that you sent me this really cool prompt which took me weeks to fill, or sorry for not updating, or sorry that someone else has probably written this idea already.
because i get where the urge to apologise comes from, i really do, but writers have literally nothing to be sorry for. youâre providing stories and entertainment, for free, for everyone, just because you love a thing and want to share it. how cool is that?
and as a reader, i donât give a shit if there are a few typos or grammar mistakes. i know what you were trying to say. if it took months for you to update, i assume youâve been busy, because you have other important things going on in your life.
and if you think i have ever, even once in my life, looked at a fic and said oh no, yet another fic where there was only one bed, how absolutely tedious, then you are out of your mind because i have read that one million times and it would bring me nothing but joy to read it one million more.
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