#thingywritesthingies

Watching Geralt work on a laptop is about as amusing as he thought it would be. The brave White Wolf, the great Warlord of the continent, looking truly pissed off and grouchy at the screen before him and typing with his two pointer fingers.

Cirilla takes to technology like a duck to water. Or... really a teenager to social media. Her and Jaskier are quick to create various social media accounts: twitter, instagram, tiktok, all of the major ones. The username for them all is simply @KaerMorhen with the title page most often being “The Witchers of Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier then makes a video for his main account promoting them and telling his fans that this will (hopefully) not get too in the way of his music making.

The first post on all of the Kaer Morhen accounts is a video with him and Ciri before the large hearth in the main hall.

“This darling, beautiful young woman next to me is Cirilla, or Ciri.” Jaskier introduced with a broad smile. “Daughter of Geralt, my darling husband.” She rolls her eyes but smiles and waves for the camera. “As you can imagine there will be quite the adjustment period,” Jaskier continues. “But so far everything is going well and hopefully Ciri can take over as our social media manager.”

“Seems a whole lot easier than being a princess,” she comments idly, which makes Jaskier laugh.

The video gains a whole lot of traction, with replies upon replies filled with questions. Their next video is a quick questionnaire, the two again side by side with the consort holding pages of questions.

He asks them quickly, “Why don’t you have cat-eyes like your dad?”

And Ciri answers just as quickly. “He’s my adoptive father.”

“Were you really a princess?”

“In a way, yes. But I was a witcher princess so I was a lot cooler.”

“Are you single?”

“I’m fourteen.”

“Can we get a tour of the witcher castle?”

“Once everything is settled and we’re sure the witchers won’t freak out, then yes.”

“Why is your dad a DILF?”

“... What’s a DILF?”

“And that’s all we have time for! Thank you all so much for your questions and curiosity! It really does help the witchers feel at ease.”

It’s another month until Jaskier has a video with Geralt in it. He’s lounging in their bed, Geralt beside him reading.

The witchers end up being as follows: Eskel, Artek, Coën, Treyse, Auckes, Merten, and Stefan. As many school heads as possible, and those thought best fit to represent the other schools. For as much of a witcher mission as this is, it is also a diplomatic one.

Yennefer is kind enough to portal them to the base of the mountain, where a large transport van is waiting for them, as well as a Russian escort.

Well good to know the Russians are at least tolerating us, Jaskier thinks to himself as he greets the soldiers. Eskel has been in a car before, so he’s at least familiar with the sudden acceleration and deceleration, the constant hum of the engine, and the general trapness of it all.

The others, however, are not used to it.

“Too fast,” Artek grumbles out, a vice grip on his traveling bag, the poor large bear is hunched in his seat and having to close his eyes at every turn.

“Makes traveling a whole lot easier, though.” Stefan stretches out, seemingly unperturbed by the vehicle. “An’ we won’t smell like horse shit.”

“What about the other monsters along the road?” Coën questions quietly. “Normally we’d be able to deal with whatever other monster we come across, now we seem to pass right by them.”

“For now that is for the best,” Jaskier speaks up, lounging against Eskel. “Monsters will no doubt figure out how to rip open the top of cars soon enough, but we want to prevent that as long as possible by encouraging quick trips where you don’t get out unless absolutely necessary.” Engineers and manufacturers were already hard at work to find ways to monster-proof their vehicles and other devices, though they are limited in how exactly to test that sort of thing.

They reach the airport with ease, the caravan pulling up right to the base of the jet, where the stairs were already lowered. There was very little public at this small airport, which meant damn near no reporters or cameras flashing at them, but Jaskier knew what would wait for them in the major international airport of Russia.

Normally a private jet would only have one flight attendant, if you could even call them that, they were more concerned with fetching you drinks and refills than safety. But Jaskier had requested a full staff of the best trained flight attendants available, he knew he’d need all the help he could get.

He and the flight staff do their very best to prepare the witchers as much as possible. Before the pilots even turn the engine on they explain how it will be rather loud and they might feel the vibration beneath them, but that is completely normal. They explain how as they climb in altitude so quickly they will feel the change in pressure, mostly in their ears, as if cotton was being stuffed in.

“Chewing on gum will help alleviate this side effect,” Jaskier explains and hands out a pack to everyone. Many have experience with gum, understanding (after a few disastrous incidents) that it was purely meant to be chewed not eaten like fucking candy.

The pilots roar the engine to life, and just about every witcher jumps at the sudden assault of noise, hands reaching for any nearby weapons. They taxi for a couple of minutes, allowing the witchers to get used to the feel, buckling seat belts and clutching armrests, and Merten damn near stuffing the entire pack of gum in his mouth.

Then they reach the runway and Jaskier is fully ready for the shitshow that follows. The plane speeds up, faster and faster, the g-force forcing their heads back against the rest. Auckes has his eyes squeezed shut, entire body taunt like a bowstring. Treyse looks a particularly nasty shade of green that Jaskier is surprised he hasn’t vomited yet, and Jaskier swears he can hear Coën praying behind him.

They climb and climb higher in the sky, causing poor Treyse to open the sick bag he was handed, confirming that he must have a nasty case of flight sickness. But eventually they level out, blessedly with little to no turbulence, and the flight attendants cheerily tell them all that the first hardest part was all done.

“As fucking horrible as this is,” Stefan finally speaks up, needing to shout from the noise. “And this is truly horrible. Why the fuck humans would willingly do this is beyond me... The view isn’t that bad.” Jaskier turns, seeing the crane leader gazing out the small window, others following suit. Even after flying hundreds of times, Jaskier is still amazed by the view from thousands of feet in the air, so he could only imagine the shivers running down the witcher's spines as they gaze out.

Stefan seems content with continuing to stare out the window for the entire flight, barely even touching his food and drink in favor of studying each and every spec of land beneath him. Aukes, seemingly not a fan of heights, closes his window and sits back to try and meditate the time away. Slowly the others relax in their seats, left to their own devices as they wait.

It finally allows Jaskier privacy with Eskel, curling up next to him, making sure to give him as much attention as possible. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, love.” He presses a kiss to his unscarred cheek. “But the majority of the world right now has seem to just accept queer relationships as a normalcy. I fear what would happen if we introduced all three of us as lovers...” He knew they wouldn’t be able to be public with the three of them, needing to leave Eskel as the seemingly purely right-hand to the warlord.

“I know, catmint.” Eskel reassures, lips against his soft hair. “Can’t say I like it, but I understand why it has to be done.” That was one of the more heartbreaking things to teach the Witchers, Jaskier decides, that for all this world has advanced, it has gotten only more and more bigoted in their morals and acceptance. 

Two hours later, they are flying over the great city of Moscow. The others are looking out their windows again, taking in the sheer size of the city, the architecture and colors-

“Not half bad,” Treyse comments just loud enough for Jaskier to hear, making him snort in laughter. The flight attendants tell them they will soon be landing and begin instructing them in what to do and how it will feel.

Poor Treyse has a hand clutching another sickbag, just in case, the others sitting ramrod straight with hands gripping the armrests hard enough to cause the plastic to bend and crack. 

Jaskier isn’t ashamed to admit that he’s a little proud of Treyse managing to make it all the way until the first jump of the wheels hitting the tarmac before vomiting into the sack. His mere human senses are sharp enough to pick up the pure relief that spreads throughout the cabin as the plane slows, the engine lowering to a purr. Of course they couldn’t be taxied to an actual terminal - no - Jaskier sighs in resignation as he sees the steps being lowered to a swarm of reporters and paparazzi and security and even a few dignitaries.

The crowd is a flurry with movement and noise. Reporters talking into their microphones, preparing for the conference, others scribbling on their notepad, and others from the public pointing their phones to the podium.

Jaskier rests a reassuring hand on Geralt’s knee, giving a light squeeze, then does the same for Eskel on his other side.

“It’ll be fine, my wolves.” Jaskier whispers. “I know this all seems rather terrifying but I promise everything will work out.”

“As long as you’re by our side, Catmint.” Eskel lifts his hand to press a kiss to his palm. “Wolf an’ I would gladly walk into Hell itself.” Jaskier leans over to kiss his darling wolf, then the other, allowing just a few more moments to bask in the comfort of the two.

One of the aids clears her throat, “We’re just about ready for you, sirs.” Jaskier nods and thanks the young woman, standing and giving one last squeeze to each rough hand before walking ahead, Geralt and Eskel a step behind.

Jaskier only hears the last part of Captain Richard’s report, how northern England is safe from the threat and is heartbroken by the innocent lives lost.

“However you do not have me nor my men to thank for bringing down the threat.” Captain Richard speaks into the many microphones, more cameras click. “It turns out... Well it turns out this world is a whole lot bigger than we originally thought. And so here is someone who can hopefully explain a whole lot better than I could.” He steps aside and gestures out with his arm, welcoming Jaskier.

Gasps and murmurs quickly ring out as Jaskier steps onto the stage with his witchers beside him, the flashing of cameras seemingly never ending, he can hear Geralt grunt in frustration from the assault of flashes.

“Settle down now,” Jaskier placates the crowd, he’s in his element, he’s always been good at public speaking. “I promise you this is not some prank or extremely odd and distasteful album announcement.” There’s a few laughs, the jitters settling. “What Captain Richard said is correct. We are not alone in this world. Far from it, in fact. All those monster stories that we’re all familiar with: werewolves, vampires, mermaids and sirens, even dragons. Long, long time ago they were a real thing.” Questions erupt, Jaskier lifts a hand to quiet them. “Humanity was being overrun with these terrible creatures, and so we invented our own creature to combat this.” At this he gestures to his wolves. “Witchers are humans who were mutated by mages, yes mages are a real thing, to fight these monsters. They have inhuman strength and speed, a resistance to poisons and venom that would be deadly to a puny human like myself. And they were the ones who killed this creature.”

Esra of the bears steps out with the head of the ulfhedinn, more gasps from the crowd. “This is an ulfhedinn, which is basically an even stronger and more pissed off werewolf.”

“You see, the original monsters came about from an event known as the conjecture. Where our sphere - our world - collided with another, causing them to basically crash land here. Now the second conjecture has happened, and so I have awoken these witchers from their slumber in order to protect humanity from the growing threats once again.”

More hands shoot up, people shouting Jaskier’s name, and so he points to one near the front row who stands up. “How is it that you know of these witchers yet none of us do not?”

“Ah,” Jaskier shifts, the first sign of his nerves. “Well you see, I am in fact from an era where the world was still overrun with monsters from the first conjecture. To make an incredibly long but honestly beautiful story short,” Eskel gives a huff of a laugh. “This witcher here,” Jaskier brings Geralt forward. “Is known as the White Wolf, the Warlord and leader of the witchers and their schools. Used to be: witchers were separated by schools, wolf, cat, viper, bear, crane, manticore, and griffin. However, due to events that again, far too much to get into now, Geralt brought the school together under one banner. He projected humanity both from monsters and greedy kings who thought they could do whatever they liked. And... and I am his consort, his husband.” Another onslaught of camera flashes and shouts and questions, Geralt squeezes his hand. “Please, please!” Jaskier has to shout to get above the noise and gives his wolf an apologetic squeeze. “Witchers are very sensitive to lights and sounds, please refrain from shouting and capturing hundreds of photos at once.” He waits until the crowd has settled again before continuing. “As I was saying. Yes this makes me incredibly old, for one year our sorceresses discovered that an unfortunate curse had been placed upon the witchers. By whom we do not know, but they doomed the witchers to an eternal sleep by the end of that year.”

“Our sorceresses worked day and night to try and break this curse, but alas it was too powerful, and time was running out. Monsters were few and far between these days, which was a good thing, but we all knew there would come a day they would return. Our sorceresses thus came up with the idea of having one of us stay behind so to speak. To wait until the second conjecture does happen, so they can hopefully awaken our witchers again. They created a spell, enough for only one person, who will become immortal and immune to the curse. I volunteered as this person, despite my darlings grouching.” He side-eyes Geralt, there’s quiet laughter. “It ended up being me who received this spell and thus, immortality. The other sorceress then figured out that if we put all those in the keep in a slumber on our own, we would essentially avoid the curse, and allow me to wake them when needed. So that is what happened.” Jaskier can still remember that final day: Yennefer checking all of her ward again and again to ensure the keep stayed hidden and untouched. Witchers and servants alike saying their goodbyes, trying not to make it sound like a forever, but the tears in their eyes saying otherwise.

Ciri, brave darling Ciri, holding it together until her dear papa hugs her goodbye, and she breaks down, sobbing into his chest. Milena and Lambert did not separate that entire day, hand in hand, arm in arm, giving reassurance to everyone and each other that everything will be okay.

And Geralt and Eskel before the fireplace and the medallion tree, basking in the presence of their lark one last time, telling him how much they love him, how proud they are. Jaskier remembers Geralt slipping off his medallion, handing it to him, before disappearing with Eskel out the door.

Jaskier will never forget the silver growing unnaturally cold in his hands, the fires dying out like they were all doused with water, and the eerie silence that befell the keep.

“So are you saying there will be more attacks like this around the world?” A reporter speaks up, breaking Jaskier from his thoughts. He nods.

“Unfortunately yes, but there are many witchers, and humans have advanced quite a ways since the era of swords and arrows. We plan to speak with the UN and beyond, to allow Witchers free access to the countries that need their assistance.”

“Will this be a mercenary deal with payment or a militarization?”

“What if the leaders refuse the entry of the witchers?”

“How can you be sure these witchers can deal with all of the threats around the world?”

More and more questions were shouted at them, questions Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. Then Geralt gives him a gentle kiss to his head and steps around him and in front of the podium, and silence quickly falls as they prepare to hear a witcher speak for the first time.

Geralt clears his throat once, twice, and speaks just loud enough for the microphones connected to the speakers to pick up. “While we cannot force the leaders of these countries to accept witchers in their lands, it would be foolish of them to refuse us.” Jaskier can tell others are struggling to adjust to his strange accent. “Like my... husband said, we only wish to protect humanity. We may face creatures we had never faced before, this is true, but I have no doubt me and my men will be able to bring down whatever threat we are faced with.”