Summary: In the Modern Continent, the witcher brothers have had their hands full keeping mostly-retired Vesemir from becoming radicalized by unreliable news media. Geralt and Eskel have found ways to draw their boundaries, but Lambert has taken it upon himself to debunk the untruths his old man comes across while providing him with more reliable sources of news.
Aiden, Lambert’s human partner, struggles to find a way to help Lambert handle the incendiary phone conversations between himself and Vesemir.
Lambert sighed—well, more like growled under his breath—next to Aiden on the couch and slammed down his phone.
They’d paused Netflix before it auto-played the next episode so they could take a bathroom break and grab dessert, but now it seemed things might stay paused for a while.
“Everything okay?” Aiden asked, taking a furtive glance at an incoming text notification on Lambert’s screen. Not enough information to go on, but he could take a guess. Family Stuff .
Lambert irritably jiggled his foot on the edge of the coffee table, and Aiden could practically see the thunderclouds gathering over his head. “I’m gonna have to call Vesemir.”
Things had been relatively quiet since they’d moved into the new place: a little unpacking here, some fresh paint there, new appliances to get used to—Lambert had gone on a deep dive of YouTube videos learning all the ins and outs of their dishwasher, finding out all the little tricks to make it run the most efficiently.
More than anything it was theirspace, a chance to grow together into something more solid than Lambert’s crumbling room at Kaer Morhen. Don’t get him wrong, it was a gorgeous old building, full of old world charm and a melancholy grandeur that Aiden admired and appreciated… but lumpy pillows, moth-eaten curtains, barely enough natural light, and having to light a fire every morning just to bear getting out of bed grew old after the first five winters (after the first two, really, but Aiden knew how much the Keep meant to Lambert, so he’d taken some time before suggesting the move. It was all that Lambert had ever known—well, all he’d ever really been able to call home.It had seemed selfish to pull him away from it for the sake of larger, better-insulated windows and electric baseboard heating.
That was until Aiden came to understand Lambert’s relationship with his father figure, Vesemir. It wasn’t bad, Aiden wouldn’t even go so far as to say it was frictious most of the time. Vesemir was old (fuck knows howold), he put a lot of emphasis on familial responsibility and togetherness, and though the Continent was far more accepting of nonhumans than it was back in his day, it by no means meant that the hatred wasn’t still lurking—forced into the shadows by peacekeepers and equality legislation that prevented institutions like the Eternal Fire and their followers from holding public demonstrations. They were no longer permitted to go door-to-door or proselytize in the town square… but that didn’t mean that the loyalists just disappeared when the laws were passed. And it didn’t mean that those groups that fought againstthem didn’t have their own polarizing rhetoric that, in Lambert’s opinion, made them no better than the Eternal Fire.
February 22, 2022! I was informed that this is also “Cat Day” in Japan, because of language puns! Write about a Cat today! Which Cat(s) Have you written about? Write a drabble! Write a chapter! Have some fun!
I have a Letho/Gaetan wip from um. Last summer. Was supposed to go for the rarepair bingo but life happened. Snippet below the cut. Also involved: Cutagens, meet ugly, being drugged, exhibitionism. Smutty. Set during TW3.
February 22, 2022! I was informed that this is also “Cat Day” in Japan, because of language puns! Write about a Cat today! Which Cat(s) Have you written about? Write a drabble! Write a chapter! Have some fun!
I don’t have the time or spoons to write sth new, but here’s this little ficlet I’ve written but haven’t shared with the internet before. Happy Cat Day!
Ficlet takes place in the indeterminate future, way after the Order of Witchers split. You can read about the First Witcher, aka the Griffin Grandmaster, Erland of Larvik [here], and the Cat Grandmaster, Gezras of Leyda [here] and [here].
“We should stay grouped together.”
Gezras trilled a laugh, sickeningly sweet. “Your school is dead, Grandmaster, and Cats hunt alone.”
Erland slanted his eyes down at him. “I ‘ave difficulty believing ya killed the mages of Stygga alone.”
“’Twas a massacre.” Gezras twirled a dagger in the air. “Not a hunt. Not like your squeaky clean… business.”
“Ya hide behind semantics, when the spirit is the same.” The Griffin’s braid slipped forward as he tilted his head and met Gezras’s eyes straight. There was fire burning in the depth of his iris. “I have respect, for what ya’ve accomplished that day.”
If the turn in conversation surprised Gezras, it didn’t show. “Respect,” he scoffed. Faster than the blink of an eye, his dagger clinked against Erland’s gorget. He slid it further up with a screech, the tip meeting the soft skin of the neck over the armour. “I haven’t asked for it.”
“Ya have it anyway.” The cool tone infuriated the Cat further. His pupils slit. “Y’all forget that griffins are bloody creatures, same as any ‘a ya, when ya strip away the veneer. I can understand the desire to slay those that have hurt what’s yers. Yer brothers.”
“You understand nothing.” Gezras raised onto his toes. His breath spilled against Erland’s cheek. “We were corpses piled on top of each other, strangers in all but shared suffering. Tell me this. Would you have the same respect knowing I’ve spilled blood of mage and innocent equally and enjoyed it?”
The dagger slipped only a hair, tasting blood, before Gezras was thrown back in the air by an exploding Signless Quen. He flipped mid-flight and landed softly on the balls of his feet. The Bloody Lion wore a face-splitting smile, which slipped at the arched look Erland aimed at him. The Griffin took in a breath as if to vaporize his irritation, thumbing away the blood.
“Don’t take me for a fool, Gezras. Ya may have my respect, but ya don’t have my trust. Keep yer weapons sheathed.”
End Notes - Fic includes a couple of my hc’s
- Gezras here is even slighter than Erland (who’s a “smol” himself).
- The title for Gezras: “The Bloody Lion of Stygga”.
- Signless magic for witchers. Erland has the best magical control of his kind and can funnel the magic with only intent (which fits with the canon information, that you don’t necessarily need Naruto handsigns to cast Witcher Signs).
Summary: "Well it’s coming onto 13 years together, babe I pray that it’s the luck… a lucky, lucky number And although I know I’ve brought you joy and happiness, babe I’ve also been a fec… a fecund resource for anger
‘Cause it’s all a part of the game Yeah, it’s all a part of the symphony And I pray that your face is the last I see On a peaceful afternoon“
- Peaceful Afternoon - Rufus Wainwright
Also this fic is set in a nebulous future that is about 13 years after my fic The Art Teacher (Never Have I Loved Any Other Man). Geralt and Jaskier are in their early 40s in this fic.
Geralt was greeted by the twang of a guitar being played when he came inside through the back door after tending to the garden. It was a common occurrence living with a musician. Jaskier’s newest album had been in the works for months now, which meant that he was working on songs whenever inspiration struck.
Walking further into the kitchen, Geralt placed the small bouquet of flowers he had picked on the table and shucked off his gardening gloves. He then rifled through the cabinets to find a suitable vase to put the flowers in.
Once the flowers were placed in the vase, he went about making tea. He grabbed two mugs, one for him and one for Jaskier. His husband was sure to have let his last mug of tea turn cold while composing.
