#fem!witcher

[migraine-sky]

Just wanted to show you more of our modern!fem!Geralt and Jaskier cosplay cause I think it turned out rather funny. What do you think, are we recognizable enough?

[dancingsnowflake]

Hey folks!

I haven’t posted anything in almost a year, so I have no idea if anyone will even see this one, but I found an old Fem!Geralt piece, fixed a few things on it and now here I am. Actually wanted to take a step back to the Silmarillion fandom, but this one was in an almost-finished state and I had to do something with it! So actually it looks more of a messed up version of their male self, but I just got sick of the almost-naked, big-breasted female!Aus I have seen on various places. Because, if nothing else, a witcher lady should be at least as muscular on her own way, as a male witcher, or at least the possibility is given. And hate me if you want, but I definitely had to make this terrible joke. I really hope you enjoy it! ✨

(The hair is weird but most of it is the remaining part of the year-old sketch, and the wolf on the medallion looks like a cat that licked a lemon)

[pressedinthepages]

Chapter 10: Dawn

Summary: Morning brings all of the promises of a new day, and helps move forward from painful pasts.

Series Masterlist

Words: 1040

Tags: @whitewolfandthefox @havenoffandoms @MishaFaye @criminaly-supernatural @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @magpie343 @queenxxxsupreme @belalugosisdead @hina-chans-stuff​ @persephonehemingway​ @theawkwardpedestrian

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: mild language, EXTREME YEARNING

    You awake to warmth enveloping you, holding tight around your body and gently coaxing you to wake. A teeny bit of chill bites at the tip of your nose and you nuzzle further into the soft heat that your head rests upon. Something lightly strokes along your arm where it wraps around the middle of what lies beneath you, and you find the rhythmic thrumming of a slow heartbeat lulling you back to sleep. 

    You are brought back to semi-consciousness by a whisper of your name against the top of your head. You groan, blinking your eyes and squinting against the dim light of a sunrise just beginning. 

    “I’d rather not get up…” you mumble, burying your head back against the chest that rumbles with quiet laughter. 

    You tilt your head up and slowly open your eyes once more. Eskel lays under you, your limbs tangled together as he sleepily blinks down at you with a smile. You apparently had decided at some point in the night to wrap yourself around him, your head on his chest, your arm around his waist, and your legs twisted together under the thick furs. He is so warm beneath you, and you can’t tell where his scent ends and yours begins between you. 

    “Thank you for staying,” you whisper, resting your chin back down on his chest as you peer up at him. You’re certainly not awake enough yet to face whatever discussions or plans lie beyond these four walls, so you’ll take advantage of this quiet peace while you can. 

    “Anytime.” Eskel’s voice is raspier than normal, thick with a slumber that threatens to pull you back under. You feel his hand at the small of your back, his fingers tracing patterns lazily against the thin fabric of your chemise. 

Your heart aches with the simple intimacy, you’ve never had someone touch you like this before. You’ve been on the continent for half a century, you’re no chaste priestess. But somehow, wrapped up in Eskel’s arms, the both of you soft with sleep, this feels so much more than anything you can even think to compare it to. 

Eskel’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “How are you feeling this morning?” he asks, “Last night was...a lot to take in.”

You sigh contentedly, shifting against him as you lay your head back down on his chest. You let your fingers rub little circles over the soft fabric of his shirt as you mull over your answer.

“I-” you start, “I think I’m okay…”

“...but?” You can hear the grin on Eskel’s lips at the word, a brightness shining through the dull of the morning. 

“But, like you said, it’s just a lot to take in, being back here…” your voice trails off, leaving a comfortable silence that is only broken by the slow beating of Eskel’s heart.

“You know,” you start back up, a wash of courage soaring through you, wanting to break out of the tightness of your chest. “I was-I was scared that, after all this time, everyone w-would hate me, turn me away…”

“Hmm, impossible.” Eskel’s tone is confident, but he still speaks quietly above your head.

You turn to look at him again, your brow crinkling with confusion. He peers at you through half-lidded eyes that shine with the brightness of the morning sun.

“It would be impossible,” he says, “for anyone to hate you.”

You scoff, a little smile pulling the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry, have you met any of the humans on this continent? Witchers tend to be one of the things they hate the most.”

“Well, they have pretty shit opinions in my experience,” Eskel says lightly, staring down deep into your eyes. You let yourself return the gaze, admiring the soft honesty that relaxes his brow. His eyes are pools of the richest gold, teeming with unspoken hopes and happiness that has been held down for so long.

You feel a twist deep in your gut, something pulling and tugging and pleading with your head, please, please just lean up and kiss him! But rational thought wins this match, shoving the little voice of yearning back into the mental cage where you shove unnecessary emotions. They tend to slip through the bars sometimes, usually in these lavender places at the edge of consciousness, and you let the rest of your mind wander for a bit before wrangling it back in. 

Witchers can’t feel. It makes one weak, soft. A soft Witcher is a dead Witcher.

Sometimes, though, you really wish you could just let it all go, let yourself feel the things that ache in your bones and through your blood. You think of the pure bliss that had graced your features in the vision that Jaskier had shown you, a sweet peace that softened the harsh edges carved by your past. 

Lost in your own thoughts, you feel your eyelids becoming heavy once more, Eskel’s fingers still rubbing light circles into the small of your back. You breathe deeply, filling yourself with the soothing scent of oranges and smoldering embers and day-old musk that hasn’t had a chance to be washed away.

    You feel your chin drop and your head jerks back up, blinking as you fight to stay awake. Eskel chuckles, a deep sound of a summer storm that comes in the night, nourishing life while the world sleeps. 

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” Eskel murmurs, his hands tightening you in his hold as if you’d suddenly disappear from his grasp. 

You lay back down, relaxing into the warmth of his embrace. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

…

Just as you feel sleep taking you over once more someone comes stomping into the hallway outside of your room, startling you awake.

“OI,” Lambert knocks loudly on the door, the old hinges rattling in their sockets, “I know we’d all love to sleep the day away, but Vesemir’s got shit for us to do, and I’m sure as fuck not doing it alone. Let’s GO.”

You groan and Eskel sighs beneath you with a roll of his eyes. You begrudgingly untangle yourself from his body and rise, stretching before turning around to Eskel and offering your hand with a smile.

[labyrinthof-fan-fiction]

Her Bard

Fem!Geralt(Geralyn) x Fem!Jaskier(Juliana)

Summary: Geralyn watching her bard perform in a tavern and the musings that go along with it. 

*implied smexy times*

*Trigger Warning: Attempted Assault*

Disclaimer: I do not own The Witcher

“Toss a Coin to Your Witcher,” rang through the pub on the honey voice of her Bard. Geralyn doubted she would ever forgive Juliana for writing that damn song. Every town they entered she sang that song, which brought in more money than Geralyn’s hunts, a bit insulting if you asked her, but not at all surprising. Geralyn slumped into a booth in the darkest corner she could find. She smelt of death after her hunt of the Striga. But like hell she was going to leave Juliana alone in this pub. She knew that the Bard had to earn, but she could smell the lust on the breath of all the men in the room. The minute she stepped off that stage all hell was going to break loose. Geralyn huffed as a maid set down an ale in front of her. She gave a slight nod and her eyes met Juliana’s, who gave her a wink as she continued to sing. 

The general population of the pub remained oblivious to the two women, all attention focused on either their drinks, or the singular woman singing with her lute. A stray eye would glance to the Witcher in the corner, covered in dirt and blood. She could go to their room and wash up, but who wanted to do that alone? Geralyn never imagined that she would spend her nights waiting for a Bard, of all things, to finish her sets before she could go to bed. She never imagined she would form an attachment to someone, let alone keep them in her life. Juliana had broken through her walls early on, but she would say that she had not done so until this year. She had a reputation to uphold. A relationship of any kind outside of Roach, the casual tavern maid, and a certain witch was a shock to her system. Friendship was what she allowed herself to believe she had with Juliana. Just a friendship, she reminded herself as she let her eyes roam the woman on stage. To say Juliana was attractive was an understatement. Her long hair fell in light waves around her shoulder, a stray lock dropping into her face, causing her to blow it out of her face. Her smile lit up her entire face, bringing out her hazel eyes.  She insisted on wearing a formfitting blue dress, because it “brought out her eyes.” Geralyn grumbled every time she put that dress on, “it doesn’t bring out your eyes, it brings out your tits.” And each time Juliana would respond with the smile of a devil, and Geralyn was familiar with those, “But my tits sell.” Not that she wanted to control Juliana, hell she knew she couldn’t. But there was always an unease when she put on that dress and Geralyn knew she would be on a hunt. She didn’t trust the men in the pubs they stayed in. She didn’t trust men in any part of the world with her Bard. If she had her choice she would put Juliana in a safe cottage in the woods, warded from any creatures, far from the dangers of the world, filled with dandelions. Geralyn let a smile grace her lips as Juliana began singing love songs, the men dropping coin at her feet. Dandelion, Geralyn’s name for Juliana when they were alone. It had happened after a fight they had when it was suggested that her Bard would be safer far away from her. “I am not a weak flower, Lyn!” Juliana snarled, her hair and eyes wild as she grasped the Witcher’s bicep. The Witcher turned on her Bard, “You’re right, you’re a fucking dandelion, stubborn, a pain in the ass, and always coming back.” Juliana’s eyes widened, her grip loosened on the Witcher. She took a step away from her. “Do you want me to go?” She asked bluntly. It was the Witcher’s turn to freeze. Did she want her to leave? For her safety, yes. To get her far from the demons and the monsters. Yes. To save her from the sentence of loving a Witcher, yes. To keep her alive. The Witcher felt her chest tightened as she imagined life without her Bard. Without her incessant singing about tossing coin to the Witcher. Without her warmth next to her each morning, without her pressed against her during a storm, without her there to wrap the Witcher into her embrace when the darkness swallowed her whole. Without her to piece her back together, each tiny piece by piece. “Hmmmm.” The Witcher answered noncommittally, but the bard knew exactly what that ‘hmmm’ meant. In that instant she drew the Witcher into her embrace. “Darling, I’m not going anywhere.” She whispered into the Witcher’s white hair. “Dandelion’s are stubborn, hardy, and they grow where you least expect.” The Witcher burrowed her face into the neck of her bard, breathing in the fresh floral scent. Juliana brushed her hand through the Witcher’s hair, working through the tangles from the day. When she was finished she was finished she began massaging her scalp. The Witcher let out a faint moan, which resulted in a chuckle from the Bard. “Come to bed with me,” the Bard murmured, pulling away from Geralyn and taking her hand to lead her into their bed for the night. That was the day that Geralyn knew without a doubt that she could not and would not live without her Bard. As unlikely as the scenario would be, she knew her existence and purpose was directly linked to the woman on stage. The woman who refused to leave her side, even when she was at her worst. The woman she loved. Geralyn was pulled from her musings by the applause that signaled the end of Juliana’s performance. She knew that did not mean they would be retiring to their room. The Bard had to make her rounds of the pub and take full advantage of the tavern owner’s hospitality, even if his  wife wanted to throw her into the swamp for the night. Juliana sashayed through the crowd to the bar. As she waited for her cup and plate a man drew close to her. Geralyn’s hand tightened on the mug in her hand, she could smell his intent from her seat and began to rise from her seat. He pressed his front against Juliana’s back, Geralyn heard Juliana give a warning. “And why would I do that?” The buffoon said, just before Geralyn reached him. Geralyn grabbed the back of his shirt collar and raised him off the ground by his collar. “Well, I doubt she would appreciate it.” Juliana said brushing herself off, looking at her lover, suspending the man with one arm, with the look of a killer in her eyes, dried blood and mud splattered her clothes and hair. “Darling, let him go, he’s not worth your time.” Geralyn glanced at Juliana, taking her eyes away from the man. The Witcher sighed and dropped the man to the ground. Juliana gave her a small smile, something glinted in Geralyn’s eyes as she closed the gap between the two women and pulled the Bard to her, pressing her lips to Juliana’s. She pulled away, “Mine.” She growled lowly as she moved in to press another kiss to the Bard’s neck, her hand traveling to the small of the Bard’s back. Sensing the men in the tavern turning their gaze to the two women pressed against the bar. “Our room, now.” She mumbled low. Juliana began to protest, “We’ll take your food with us.” The Witcher snapped, grabbing the plate and ale, pushing the Bard towards the stairs and guiding her to their shared room. Juliana smirked when the door closed behind the two, a warm bath was freshly drawn in the corner of the room. Geralyn cocked one eyebrow at her lover and set the plate and mug down. She moved to where Juliana stood and pulled her against her chest. Threading her fingers into her hair and pulling her in for a kiss, more passionate than the bar kiss. Juliana’s hands fell to the waistband of the Witcher’s pants and pulled the tucked shirt out, running her hands along the Witcher’s toned stomach, moving upward until Geralyn grabbed her hands to stop her. Juliana removed her hands from Geralyn, as Geralyn reached down to the ties of the corset. She began kissing along Juliana’s neck as she untied the corset, “My Bard.” Geralyn woke the next morning next morning with Juliana pressed against her side. She glanced down at the woman in her arms and smiled, no matter the monsters, the demons, the challenges she knew one thing would always be certain. That she would find her home in her Bard.

[migraine-sky]

My take on modern!fem!Geralt