wind's howling

witcher 3 sideblog | main @isamagicdragon

[kuwdora]

Transplanted Heart (Uprooted Remix)

Eskel/succubus, Eskel/Geralt

remixing The Heart Entire by @brighteyedjill

I saw Jill's one-sided Eskel/Geralt fic in the @smubbles-etc remix pool and immediately got inspired. Wrote 5k in like three days. So it's no longer a drabble but definitely going the remix route with Leshy Eskel! Also going a very different direction than my other Leshkel series. Currently posted 2/6 chapters.

Major character death (off-screen), hurt/comfort, Wolf brothers bonding over monster nerdery. Love confessions, first time, plenty of angst, suicidal ideation, more hurt/comfort. Mild spoilers for the events of the witcher books.

“Some loves are planted too deep to uproot without also pulling out the heart entire.”

🌳💚🌳💚🌳💚

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, let alone see you like this,” Maja said, eyeing him with a combination of sympathy and fascination. Eskel was no longer the witcher she had lain with. He was a mutated leshen with abilities that surpassed even the Queen that had originally infected him.

Eskel had always visited Maja before he returned to Kaer Morhen. She’d been so good at helping him burn off the lust, it made it bearable for Eskel to be near Geralt for the winter. Had less worry about accidentally revealing his feelings for his Wolf. He knew Maja would help him now, regardless of what he’d become, but he figured he ought to give her enough context to understand what he needed—and why.

It’d gotten too complicated. He missed it when things were simpler.

Eskel felt large and hulking in her cozy home. He was self-conscious about his desiccated, half-broken branches and scorched bark. That didn’t seem to deter her. She approached him, reaching for the nearest branch, and Maja touched a small pink blossom that had managed to survive the storm of his grief.

“A lot’s happened.” It was the understatement of the century.

They sat near her fireplace and Eskel began recounting the story while she finished her dinner. He told her of the leshen queen he’d come across on the Path that infected him. The agony of the transformation and the confusion that ensued. Geralt had nearly cut down Vesemir to protect Eskel and had defended his right to live. The fear and pity of his brothers and Vesemir was almost worse than death, except Eskel had lost his purpose. He wasn’t a witcher anymore, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He’d been halfway down the mountain when Geralt caught up to him.

“He asked you to stay for the season,” Maja said.

“Yeah, he did.”

“How did it go?”

Eskel he draped some of his branches near the fire. Close enough to burn himself. “I’d already lost my body, my purpose. What else did I have to lose?”

Maja was silent for a long moment. “Did you lose your heart?”

He used one of his branches to grab Maja’s drink and he drained the last of the spirits.

Heartache unfurled in Eskel’s body, fresh and icy as spring thaw. It almost would have been better if he had stayed away, taken himself into exile and left his old life behind. He could have lived with that pain of being without Geralt. He had lived with that pain his whole life.

“Eskel.” Her voice was soft. She was misunderstanding his silence.

“Geralt knew me, he was there for me like no one else had been, and no one will be again. I told him… I told him everything.”

Maja’s look of surprise was refreshing, and Eskel cracked a sad smile. “Bet’chu didn’t see that one coming.”

“Not at all,” she said, and touched the small blossom again. “What happened?”

read chapter 2 on ao3

[amagicdragonwrites]

Eskel Whumptober Day 3: Hair’s Breadth from Death

Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye” | Impaled

A contract in Skellige goes awry.

TW: Impalement, graphic descriptions of personal injury, blood

It was supposed to be an easy contract. 

A ship had gone missing, and after a short investigation, Eskel finds that sirens were to blame. They’re dangerous creatures, yes, but the particulars of this contract had all been in Eskel's favor. Their nest was built right at the edge of the cliffside — should have been easy enough to stun them and let them fall to their deaths on the beach below, or to shoot them out of the air with a crossbow. Burn the nest and it's a day's work done well. 

But he hadn't counted on an ekhidna returning to find her nestmates dead and her eggs smashed. He’s bent over the nest, dousing the remnants with oil, when he hears the screech: high and mournful and hair-raising in its grief. Before he knows it, he’s hurtling into the sky, wrestling a furious ekhidna who drags him through the air with an iron grip around his throat. 

Eskel’s choking — the air is getting thinner and thinner and he can feel the bones in his neck creak with the pressure. It’s instinct to cast Igni, but this high his flames sputter, out of control — sparking red and blue and way too close to his face — 

It's enough. The ekhidna lets him go, shrieking with pain as her feathers catch fire. Eskel’s free to take in a huge, gasping breath, but then he’s falling, plunging straight to his death the same way he executed the rest of the sirens. 

He makes the sign in a split-second — Aard, to push himself over the ocean rather than over the solid beach. It’s a miscalculation. Eskel sends himself careening right over the wreckage of the ship. He barely manages to get a Quen up in time, but it’s sloppy work — it shatters the second he makes impact and —

Of all the places possible, of course he would land on the mast.  Impalement. It’s a shit way to go. The Quen managed to protect him from the fall, but it can’t protect him from simple physics: two objects cannot occupy the same space at once. Unfortunately for Eskel, there’s no way a human body would win over solid wood, even as mutated as he is. The broken point of the mast just barely missed his vitals, so it didn’t kill him straight out the gate — Eskel has the wonderful privilege of watching his life drain away drop by drop.

[amagicdragonwrites]

Eskel Whumptober 2022 Day 2: Nowhere to Run Cornered | Caged | Confrontation

Eskel has been taken captive by Orianna, a higher vampire with a known addiction to blood. She invites Dettlaff for a taste of the newest vintage in her collection.

Contains a noncon sexual situation. TW: captivity, enthrallment, mind control, blood drinking, graphic descriptions of vampire feeding, and dehumanization of Eskel as vampire chattel. Please mind your own well-being before reading.

“You’ll not stay for a drink?” 

Dettlaff stops at the threshold of Orianna’s bedroom in her Beauclair estate, and turns back to look at her latest thrall. “You know I dislike imbibing,” he says impassively, as he surveys the man slumped in the cage. “This one’s older than your usual. Why?” 

In truth, the man hardly looks appetizing at all. Orianna typically prefers a younger vintage — sweet and light, almost fruity, as she had once described it to him — but her current captive is definitely mature, the meat on him tough-looking and sinewy. And yet he’s emaciated, all but drained from Orianna’s overindulgence, the creature’s weak, pitiful heart beating sluggishly in his chest to circulate what little amount of blood Orianna has left to him. 

“This specimen is unique,” Orianna says, unlocking the cage and stepping inside to cradle the human’s face. Already heavily damaged from Orianna’s claws, Dettlaf notes with derision; she’s never been able to control herself or her transformations when inebriated. “His blood is… fizzy on the tongue, and that balance between sweet and bitter…” She sighs dramatically, her fangs lengthening in preparation to feed. The thrall tries to expose his neck for Orianna, but all he manages is a pathetic jerk, lacking the strength to even raise his own head. 

Orianna at least has the decency to support the human's neck for him; she cups his nape gently, and noses into the juncture between neck and shoulder where a mass of scars reveals the extent of her intemperance. "Eskel, darling," she murmurs into the man's ear. "We've a guest. Why don't you offer him some refreshments?" 

Eskel's eyes snap open and flick towards Dettlaff— and Dettlaff's next breath catches in his throat. They're a lovely, arresting shade of amber, but more than that, the pupils expand almost immediately into large, shiny discs the moment he and Dettlaf lock gazes, and the sweet scent of arousal begins to flood the room. 

"Please," Eskel croaks. "I want — please." He shifts feebly on the floor of his cage, presenting the other side of his neck and staring speakingly right at Dettlaff. "Please." 

"He begs so pretty, Dettlaff," Orianna purrs. "Won't you indulge, even just this once? He wants you so badly." 

Dettlaff never could resist being wanted, despite knowing that the desire was a result of Orianna's compulsion. He's beside Eskel in a flash, sinking his fangs into warm flesh and — oh. Orianna was right. Eskel's blood is effervescent, tingly on Dettlaff's lips, the rich, coppery taste of it even more intoxicating when Dettlaff's senses are overwhelmed with the heady smell of Eskel's precome and the soft huffs of his panting. 

Orianna smirks. "Always so sensitive," she croons, and then she's feeding as well. Eskel moans brokenly, twitching in Dettlaff's grip, and suddenly the sharp smell of semen joins the rest of it. 

Dettlaff pulls back, stunned. Eskel's face is slack now, and his trembling thighs are covered in his own spend. 

"Th-thank you, ma'am," he says, when Orianna finishes. "Thank you, sir." 

"Absolutely delectable," Orianna pronounces, wiping delicately at her mouth. "You've earned your rest." 

Eskel falls asleep as soon as he's given permission, and Orianna ushers Dettlaffout of the cell without even bothering to clean up the mess. She talks some more about the vintage, something about witchers and chaos and mutagens flavoring the blood, but all Dettlaff can think of is Eskel. 

If he's subjected to even a single day more of Orianna's gluttony, Eskel will die. 

Unacceptable. 

Dettlaffwalks out of Orianna's estate with a plan for Eskel's escape half-formed in the back of his mind. 

[amagicdragonwrites]

Eskel Whumptober 2022 Day 1: A Little Out of the Ordinary

Adverse Effects | Unconventional Restraints | "This wasn't supposed to happen"

After a second round of Trials, Eskel wakes up in a place he doesn't recognize, surrounded by a crowd of arguing mages.

An outtake from A Surfeit of Chaos, my mage!Eskel AU. This chapter depicts the immediate aftermath of Eskel's second round of mutations.

Eskel wakes up surrounded by a crowd of arguing mages.

It's the sound that hits him first: a deluge of screaming voices that rends his ears, all over a backdrop of a thousand sheets of paper crinkling together, and thundering drums that are out of sync. Then the rest of the sensation catches up with his brain — perfumes, too many of them, the scratchy sheets too rough on his skin, leather cuffs too tight at his wrists and his ankles and pain, in his parched throat, in his empty stomach, along his arms and legs where Master Hieronymus had stabbed him with needles, everywhere , and Eskel opens his eyes and he isn’t in Kaer Morhen —

“Calm yourself, boy,” a woman says commandingly, and the novelty of a woman's voice shocks him into obedience.

"— waste of a perfectly good specimen — is the boy awake?" one of the mages demands, breaking off from the argument and hurrying to Eskel's bedside.

"Quite," the woman says acidly. "He is also unwashed, unfed, and severely dehydrated. If this is how you treat your subjects, I've little hope for any success in your future experiments."

Experiments. More mutations. Eskel doesn’t hear anything after that, just more yelling as he cringes away from the approaching mages. It won’t do him any good, but he still finds himself begging no more mutagens and please, I don’t want this and wasn’t twice enough?

But everyone ignores him — a fatherless, motherless little boy’s pleas aren’t worth anything, and Eskel thinks hysterically that surviving the Grasses twice was already a miracle — there won’t be another one to save him now. The mages can’t touch him. If they touch him — if he lets them touch him — he will die.

A golden dome blooms around Eskel’s cot, impenetrable even to these mages. For a single, strained moment, absolute silence descends upon the room, save for the hum of Eskel’s magic in the air. It’s a Quen shield, stronger than what Eskel could cast before — proof that the last mutations had been enough . Maybe they won’t need a third round? Maybe Eskel is enough as he is now, maybe if Eskel keeps this up, shows them he can be good, the mages won’t give him another set of mutagens —

But the arguing erupts again, just as abruptly.

“— twice mutated, he said, what an incredible opportunity —”

“—rather not deal with the lot, we ought to send him back right where he came from —”

“—wasn’t supposed to happen, they were meant to make witchers, not this bastardized excuse of a Source! We ought to kill him before he becomes a bigger problem —”

“Sources only become a problem if they are insufficiently trained.” The woman’s voice again. The lone woman’s voice. “Gentlemen, if you have no confidence in Ban Ard’s curriculum, then perhaps you ought to let me handle this case myself.”

Ban Ard?! “W-wait,” Eskel croaks, trying to push himself up. “Is this — where am I?”

No one seems to hear him. The mages keep shouting, and every word out of their mouths stokes the fear building inside Eskel’s gut.

“Wha— what are you going to do to me?!”

The woman is the only person who pays his pleas any mind. “You don’t need to hear this,” she says curtly, and with a snap of her fingers, the world goes black.

[srapsodia]

mid-sparring break

[churchofpossum]

A lovely commission for a supporters campaign, Eskel as a ranger NPC.

[essskel]

Obsessed with Triss’ narration of her time in Kaer Morhen it literally boils down to: Ciri 🥰🥰😘😘 my little sister the light of my life my little baby girl it’s sleepover time!!!! Omg Geralt is so hot ugh 😩 I wish he would notice me 😔 Coën you’re such and gem and Vesemir heehee grumpy old man oh I missed him 😪 ESKEL!!! Eskel pumpkin you’re the only thing keeping me sane you’re so sweet and soft spoken we should be girl best friends ❤️🤪

Hello, Lambert. Dirt under my shoe. Vile serpent borne under the blackest of moons. Your very presence is demeaning. Your mind, vulgar, and underdeveloped. Every waking moment I waste away in this prison of your vicinity is passed counting the seconds until I can be rid of you, dog. Were it not for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered you.

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

Thinking about Eskel now. The oldest child trauma, the rolling with the punches, the resignation, the giving-in, the turning the other cheek because it's easier than fighting the inevitable. The foundation that crushes itself with the weight it upholds. The soft place to land. The self-made punching bag. The first black sheep and the only one to ever truly return (invisible and unheralded) to Vesemir's fold. The one who probably does the laundry and the dishes and wishes somebody, anybody, actually liked him for him and not for what he can do for them.

[bucocopie]

funcles. fun(ny) uncles

this probably happened at some point in kaer morhen idk she has them wrapped around her little finger

[liaonyxrayne]

Geralt and Eskel enjoy a quiet winter afternoon together. SFW Romance painting for my Patreon supporters!

[greenfinchg-illustration]

Neeeeext: L-1 Eskel/Geralt

Suggestion by renewlucifer_ (twitter)

[icpe]

If you're still taking doodle requests can you draw Priscilla hitting a lute over Jaskier's head? 🤣🤣

[gwentchampiongeralt]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

["So. What’s a witcher doing, poking around this tower?" he says, with every appearance of calm: he meets Geralt’s eyes confidently, breathing even and heartbeat steady and slow.

Too slow. Witcher-slow.

Geralt stares at the mage. "Who are you?”

The mage doesn’t answer, and after a beat, Geralt realizes that the man had been staring at him too. Geralt tenses, then the mage blurts out: “You’re Geralt of Rivia.”]

After waking up as the sole survivor of his cohort after the Trial of the Grasses, Geralt resigns himself to a lifetime of loneliness. But a chance encounter in the backwoods of Skellige gives him an unexpected gift.

Part of my Mage Eskel AU! Hope y'all enjoy <3

[cylin-aka-ankamo]

–> Twitter (@cylinankamo)

[cylin-aka-ankamo]

This just needs a reblog. It just does.

[round--robin]

It deserves a reblog

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Hard agree. Reblog for Eskel’s whole arse.

[major-trouble]

@amalli​ You got it my friend.

#45. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

Title: Ask me

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Here be sex, intercrural, monster of the week, blood mention, misuse of potions

It hardly mattered when it had started. It might have been a month ago, or a year, or a decade that the feelings had begun to grow. It might have been so long that neither of them really understood how the slow build of tension roped them together, but they both knew how it was going to end. 

There’d been a monster in the woods. It was a cliched thing - picking off wayward travelers, encroaching on the only road into the little town - but they’d both seen the contract at the same time. Rivalry was a friendly thing that made them grin and haggle over the torn piece of parchment bearing the details of the contract, and ultimately Geralt won out, clapping Eskel on the shoulder and nodding towards the inn. 

“Find us a room. I’ll talk to the alderman and get the details.”

Eskel snorted, but still took the reins from Geralt’s hands when he passed them over. “You think your stick-up-the-ass attitude is going to get you more coin?” His tone was challenging, but there was an unmistakable hint of mischief in his eyes.

Geralt shrugged as he turned to go. “Damn handsome stick.”

The other Witcher smothered a laugh as he watched Geralt walk away. He couldn’t help agreeing, though. He could never help looking, never help watching the way Geralt’s armour hugged his frame, both highlighting the lean physique and hiding the coiled power. Unlike Eskel, who had bulked up over the years with broader shoulders and thicker thighs, Geralt had kept his strength neatly contained. 

It wasn’t something he envied - not necessarily - but it drew his eye, and stayed in his memories even months after they’d parted.

Later, as he lay on his back, panting under the light of the moon, blood and ichor dripping from the sword still clutched in his hand, he thought about the way Geralt’s muscles rippled as he danced around their prey, hacking and slashing and rolling out of the way. It was graceful and beautiful and bloodthirsty all at once, and made Eskel want to bite at those hard shoulders, sink his teeth into the throbbing tendon at Geralt’s neck and taste the salt-sweet skin. 

The potions made his hunger harder to ignore.

Keep reading

[srapsodia]

Eskel with ‘good nice shapes’ 😂

I love that, him, AND you

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

an extremely shaped man

ksjfnskf thank u anon ❤

[johnnyanger]

eskel and letho for a user on twt, thank you again!

[id: Eskel and Letho from the witcher 3. They are looking eachother in the eyes and holding eachother close. /end id]