"Geralt,“ she said, "did Stregobor ask you to kill me?” "Yes. He believed it was the lesser evil.“ "Can I believe you refused him, as you have me?” “You can.” "Why?“ "Because I don’t believe in a lesser evil.”
Independent Geralt of Rivia Written by Wulf Established 11/15/15 | Re-established 10/16/18
Hello, my friends. It has been too long. I’ve made a decision around this account, and such, I am rebooting Geralt entirely. I will be archiving this blog, and opening another, and will be promoing it tomorrow. Taking the rest of today to get everything set up nicely. I’m not doing anything with it today, as the tumblr 24 hour rule thing is shite. Tomorrow after work, it’ll be up and running! I feel like a fresh blog will invigorate Geralt for me again, rather than having 600+ followers that I rarely speak with, due to my own negligence.
I hope to see you over there, once I start promoing!
She knows that this has been her punishment. After all, she’s the one who abandoned her duty. She’s the one who relinquished Valhalla all of those centuries ago. Her sisters are right to punish her for it, but there’s only so much that she can take. He’s the reason she’s returned to them in the first place. Keeping them apart is cruel.
And she’s finally snapped. She’s finally lost it. It’s been weeks, and she has so much to say to him, and she can’t be without him any longer. She has to know that he’s alright. They’re supposed to be together. Nobody will stand in the way of that anymore.
Astrid bolts through the golden halls in defiance of the other Valkyries who want to send her off on some task again. At some point, she thinks she hears someone call out to just let her go. It only spurs her on further, weaving through warriors and pushing those who can’t be dodged out of her way. It’s not exactly good form, but she doesn’t care, and she won’t stop until she finds him.
When she finally does, when she sees him there among the others, she chokes out a sob and only realizes right then that there are tears in her eyes. Last she saw Geralt, she was plunging her sword into his chest after he’d been close to death anyway in some desperate attempt to drag his soul back here so the two of them would be able to have more time. It had been the hardest thing she’d ever done.
“I’m sorry.” She gasps out as she surges forward and throws her arms around him. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to- I had to. I wanted- I only wanted more time.” She tucks her face into the crook of his neck and cries there as she clings to him. “I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t live without you.”
@ofrxvia didn’t ask for this, but I need reunion feels.
Waking up was a shock. Golden eyes flew open as he felt his lungs fill with air, struggling for breath as he pushed himself to sit up. His hand rested against his chest, groping at his body searching for the wound that he knew had ended...Ended? A shudder drove itself down his spine, reimagining the time a pitchfork had stolen his life, and now his wife's blade had claimed it. Or so he thought? After that panic passed, and he found himself to be alone, he took the moment to look about, to gather his surroundings.
The room had many hospital beds, but only his had been occupied. He was dressed as he had when he died, a thin, bloodied shirt, and wrappings around the wounds he had beforehand. He couldn't feel the acidic nature of his potions burning through his veins. Pushing himself from the bed, he wandered out of the room, only to be face to face with a rather stern looking group of women. They made it clear where he was, and what happened. Valkyrie. Valhalla. And now he put it together. And he relaxed. His weapons would be given back when the daily training began. Until then, he was allowed to relax as he pleased.
He found faces that he knew, people he had fought with before. It was an amusing reunion, meeting old friends lost. And then the training began. They were to fight and fight and fight. At first, he didn’t understand, but no one gave him the chance. He was forced back, cornered with his blades while the other denizens pressed upon him. And he thought he was to die. Maybe he did, again, for the next thing he knew, he was feasting in a great hall, drinking and eating his fill. And thus his days passed.
The morning in question was passing blandly, preparing himself for the days training. He was standing, when the scent of her hit him. He thought he had caught bits of it now and then, but he thought it possible that was just the scent of Valkyrie. Taking a deep breath, he savored the scent, before turning just in time to see her dashing toward him. Surprise coated his features, but not for long, as her arms wrapped around him, and she clung to him so tightly. Her words were drowned in her sobs, feeling her shaking against him as she apologized for having run him through. And he chuckled!
“I put it together shortly after I woke up here. I’ve been waiting.” He whispered, pressing his lips against the top of her head, speaking through those dark tresses of hers. He held her against him, letting her grieve. For even if she had done it to buy them an eternity together, she had killed him. He wondered just how much pain that most of put her through. “We’re together again. And for a long, long time.” He tried to reassure her, though his arms seemed to tighten around her as if they would part again soon.
Her face stops halfway to his Adam’s apple, lips parted slightly, once she hears his threat. Not her clothes. Unlike Geralt, the sorceress takes great pride in her appearance and while she can give ‘life’ to any needle and mend any tear, she does not wish to. “Oh, Geralt…”, she says, sighing. There is still humor in her tone. She knows well he means it. Her left wrist flickers, movements fluid and fast, and equally as swift, the black dress with white lace and details evanesce. She still has her undergarments, which she does not care as much about. Suddenly, her hand moves once more, and Geralt’s pants also dematerialize. Why would he be the only one having fun, after all? “Better?”
Feeling her lips pause against his flesh, he grinned. Oh, how he wished he could see her face. He could easily undo the blindfold she had put on him, but he didn’t dare touch it. She must have something in mind for this. He couldn’t see or sense her clothes fading, but he certainly felt his own do so, leaving him only in his undergarments. A chuckle left his lips as she gave that one word of tease, asking him if it was better. “Mmhmm.” The noise of pleasure leaving his lips, digits stroking upon the bare flesh of her sides. He loved the touch of her, the heat of her against him, welcoming her against his body, letting her feel his growing arousal against her hips.
Her slender hands go around his shoulders, digits gently touching his scars. There is nothing she can do about that. His skin is a diary of battles won – which Yennefer is thankful for – and she adores every inch of it, despite the reminders of his adventures scaring her some. Still, she smiles at him, even if he cannot see it.·“Aren’t you ever the romantic?”, she quips, looking down at his own hands for a moment. She hums softly, not considering stopping him. She would never. She leans forward and places soft kisses underneath his chin.·“I like it”. The admission is not surprising, not to him. It might be to others, her stern persona as known as her power and position.
Feeling her touch around his shoulders was as close as he could get to the sensation of being at home. That is how her touch felt, and why he craved it so dearly. A purr of pleasure rumbled in his chest as she quipped about his comment, hearing her humming as his touch roamed her. As she started to kiss at his chin, and the underside of it, his head tilted back, as if to welcome her, and invite more of the same. “Yen...if you don’t get rid of your clothes, I’ll have to ruin them~” He teased, and as if to prove his point, his grasp tightened on her dress, pulling on it, as if seeking to rip it from her form.
It is one of those rare nights in which Yennefer is a playful, completely positive mood. Those are hard to come by, but within the four walls that surround them, being alone with Geralt, she can allow herself to be more joyous. His response has the sorceress chuckling, the hands that held him moving to tug on his shirt. “Oh, they will assist you”, she replies calmly. “Someone ought to carry your lifeless body out of this bedroom if you dare…” The threat, not too subtle, is still a jest, although the implications underneath it aren’t. He knows of her jealousy all too well. But she does not feel it now. “But they won’t come…” The ambiguous sentence is that: ambiguous. She adores it, the wordplay. It is much akin to their foreplay. “You are alone with me, witcher…”
The playful mood she was in was contagious, chuckling even as she made the threat of him leaving the room as a corpse. Oh, how he wished he could see her face at this moment, as she peeled him out of the shirt he wore. He assisted her as soon as she began to tug on his shirt, while she said they wouldn’t come. It was vague at best, but he didn’t care. Her following statement was far more enticing. “The perfect way to be with you.” He teased in kind, slowly turning about to face her. Even blindfolded, his Witcher Senses allowed for quite accurate pinpointing. He wouldn’t fight as well, but tracking someone was easy. And it wasn’t like she was trying to hide. His hands reached out, stroking along hte curves of her body, from her sides down to the tops of her thighs. Heis touch was reverent, as if savoring every second he could feel her.
“What won’t I do?”, she replies, letting the tip of her nose to brush against his skin. The sorceress knows his moods and there is no hiding his thoughts from her, even though she does not admit to often reading them. Her painted lips touch his cheek once he turns in a soft kiss. “I have half a mind to tie you here…”, she says, allowing her voice to turn into a purr. “Then leaving to another lover”. The second part of the statement is a jest, one she cannot help but say, if anything to poke at him. Contradicting her words, her arms tighten around his chest, black raven curls lazily falling from her shoulder to her chest.
Her response was about what he expected, and wanted. Oh, he was glad to hear she was broadly thinking about what they could do together. The feeling of her nose brushing against his skin was met with a hum of delight, and then felt her lips against his cheek ash is head turned. Her words about tying him down intregued him, but she nearly killed the mood with the following statement. If her arms hadn’t coiled around him so tightly at the same time, he might have let it ruin the mood. They had never openly discussed the other partners that interrupted their time together, and he wasn’t about to change that. “I would have to hope one of the serving maids would come and assist.” His thoughts loudly proclaimed how much he would rather her assistance, figuring she was in his head. He jested as much as she, if allowed.
Personals, do not reblog.
Open.
Her tight belt only accentuates her curves and, although it does not do much, her lean arms crossed over her chest do give it some more volume. The sorceress is fuming on the inside. It angers her how idiotic the witcher can be, often getting himself injured for some coin. For almost no coin, which only adds to the already livid sorceress. Were he to return to his senses – if one day he ever possessed them – and be with her constantly, money would be no issue, nor would his life be ever in danger.
But her heart settled on this stupid headbanded man: on his golden eyes who send shivers down her spine when she finds them trailing down her figure; on his milk-white hair, soft strands that usually end over her bare chest, tone on tone over her flawless skin; on his hidden qualities, which he shows no one but her and their child.
Geralt is positively maddening.
“If you took any longer to open your eyes, I would have buried you ten meters deep.”
“I’m sure you would have.” Geralt muttered through a haze. In actuality, he doubted that. She likely had cast a spell to detect his heartbeat and knew that his life remained despite his lack of wakefulness. But, this was her way of expressing her worry over him. He had heard the tirade of how money would be no issue if he were to simply stay with her, and he had expressed that he liked to maintain himself. But that wasn’t the true nature of it at all. The truth of it was, he liked to feel useful. Needed. And one of the very few ways he got it was by hunting. He shook his head lightly as if to rid himself of a painful ache, glancing at her and how she held herself. Even in her anger, she was beautiful. It was hard not to look at her in such a wanting way. Eyes roamed from her legs to her face, noting how that belt caused her dress to hug her curves all the better, how her arms lifted her chest as if to make it more impressive, something Geralt didn’t think was possible to begin with. If he wasn’t laying half dead, he might of made a suggestive comment. But, all that came from his lips was a muted few words. “Thank you.”
Places a long piece of fabric over Geralt's eyes from behind and ties it. "Got you". Kisses his neck and wraps arms around her tall beau.
Of course, she wasn’t able to sneak up on him. Even if she had cast a magical silence over herself, her entire body, she couldn’t rid herself of her scent. Even if she forwent the usual fragrance of Lilac and Gooseberries, he knew the smell of her skin as nature gave. But, the way she moved hinted to him that he should play along, and thus, he gave no reaction that he had heard her. When she tied that piece of fabric off around his eyes, he gave an amused chuckle, feeling her lips against his neck, her arms around him. “Now what will you do with me?” He teasingly asked, his head turning ever so slightly to regard her. Blindfolded or no.
@ofrxvia | from here.
She watches his approach with an ever so proud grin. “Oh, I look better without them”, she states, tone unchanged from before as she raises an eyebrow. He knows so. He knows how good she looks without any garment on. Her hands go to his arms and press on his muscles.
The sorceress’ mood is a devious one. Even though she too misses the witcher before her dearly, there is no stopping her from teasing him a bit. Make it up for lost time on their playful banter and bickering. She leans forward and almost presses her lips to his. Almost. “I have a contract for you”, she whispers, speaking each word the same way she whispers her naughty desires to him. Her violet eyes move from his lips to his golden ones as her dainty hands move to his chest.
That proud grin of hers was something he missed, despite how cocky it made her seem. Her words only provoked a subtle purr from him, something only she could hear from that distance. “You most certainly do.” His smile grew, feeling her hands resting on his arms. Golden eyes half-lidded as she leaned toward him, expecting a kiss, and he almost got one. Almost.
When she mentioned having a contract for him, his eyes opened fully, looking into those violet hues as if curious, but also disappointed. The way she whisepered that made him wonder if she was hinting at something, or if she really did have work for him. Sometimes with her, it was impossible to tell. As her touch roamed his chest, he couldn’t help but smile, his hands rubbing at her hips as if unable to keep them still upon her body. “Let’s hear it.” The words came as a soft spoken growl, too enraptured by her presence to even care if it was actual work.
Brushing off her red dress, she looked up for a moment before pinching his cheek. Playfully tugging, she laughed as she chided, "Stop staring, you act as if you've never seen a woman in a gown. Then again, you mostly see me with ax in hand -- come, let's drink together!"
The pinch to his cheek got his attention, grunting as she tugged upon his flesh. Her words brought his eyebrow to raise, a chuckle slipping his lips. “I might as well not have at this point.” She was gorgeous in that dress, it was hard not to stare. It suited her, just as it suited her to have her ax in hand, as she said. “Don’t have to sell me on that idea.”
Of course there is no stopping Geralt from noticing her as she walks in -- or anyone else, for that matter. Her thigh high boots click against the wooden floor as she approaches, raven curls softly bouncing, their color in stark contrast to her skin. She leans against a wooden pillar in the middle of the common dining area of the inn -- not an inn she would have chosen herself, but alas, this is Geralt -- and sets her eyes on him. "Long time no see, witcher", she says, grinning, arms crossed.
The first thing that found him, was the scent. Lilac and Gooseberries, heavy against his nose. For a moment, he considered he might be imagining things, he hadn’t seen Yen for a year, or better. His mind like to imagine her scent just to trick him. He hated it. However, the door to the inn soon opened, and it was hard to ignore who walked in. Golden eyes widened in surprise, gaze traversing her body as if he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. As she leaned against the pillar in the center of the room, he brought himself to stand, moving toward her as she smiled at him. “Too long.” He growled in response, but he couldn’t help the smile that curled his lips. He wanted his hands on her, to ensure she was real, reaching out and gently putting his hands upon her hips. “Those boots look good on you.”
blessedfate replied to your post: She saw that, don't think about it, wolfie
…squints at the puss peepers
Stares.
She saw that, don't think about it, wolfie
He has absolutely no idea what she’s on about.
Wulf has absolutely ZERO god-damned self control.
I’m in love.
