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Yennefer & Tissaia in Jedi!AU for @ehay.

I have just some sketches here but we would be on the moon if any of you folks are up for adding to this AU

Tissaia, Jedi Master, is a respected political diplomat and member of the High Council, backed up by a lifetime of success in settling disputes peacefully. Calm, collected, and never flustered, she is the epitome of what it means to be Jedi.

Yennefer, Jedi Knight, is brash, beautiful, and prone to emotional outbursts of power that unsettle even the most seasoned of the order. Tissaia sees something of herself in Yennefer’s rage and emotional connection to the Force, and works with her to develop control over herself. Her success with this is middling. 

Yennefer is, however, quite predictable about one thing: mess with Tissaia, and get the pointy end of a violet-bladed lightsaber in your gut. It’s happened more than once - an assassination attempt on Coruscant, a political negotiation that turned bloody on Dantooine, and once, rescuing Tissaia from a bounty hunter gang after a Hutt lord decided that the Jedi Master was causing too much trouble with his shipments. Tissaia, bleeding and bruised, is carried out of the hold of the bounty hunter’s ship and healed of wounds that shouldn’t be survivable. 

The Council members, as one might expect, are concerned with the fine line Yennefer is walking between the Light and the Dark. And the violet Kyber crystals powering her lightsabers are an unusual trait that certain Jedi, like Master Stregobor, have latched onto as proof of her instability in the Force and unsuitability for the order. 

Things are not helped when, after an outburst at a political function that even Tissaia cannot soothe, Yennefer disappears. The last report Tissaia has of her is of the woman running off with a white-haired bounty-hunter wearing Mandalorian armour to regions unknown on a ship.

And that is the last anyone hears of Yennefer, for exactly three years.

Tissaia wakes up in the middle of the night, and is greeted by the sight of not one, but two figures in her room.

‘Yennefer.’

‘Tissaia.’

‘This is Ciri,’ Yennefer says, nodding to the child beside her. ‘I followed the Force, as you asked, and it lead me to her.’

The pale girl frowns at the woman in the nightgown. ‘Is this your wife?’

‘Jedi are not allowed to marry.’

‘That is how you choose to answer her question, Yennefer?!’

Cue some more training for Ciri, more closeness and then oh no, Ciri exhibits powers that dwarf even Yennefer’s and the Council finds out and we’re suddenly into the Time of Contempt timeline. 

The result of a conclave is that the Jedi Temple is destroyed, the High Council either murdered or dispersed, and the Jedi are torn asunder. Yennefer escapes with Geralt and Ciri, the newly revealed Sith Lord Darth Vilgefortz hot on their heels.

And Tissaia? 

She disappears, slipping away to a backwater planet that is mostly water and cliffs, to a life of self-imposed exile. She has a pair of droids, a broken-down ship, and a lifetime of memories that torment her every time she closes her eyes. Dying friends and pupils, Vilgefortz and Yennefer fighting, the collapse of the Temple after Ciri has let out a burst of Force.

It is another sleepless night when she hears the sound of a ship’s engine, rapidly approaching her island. The sound of running footsteps up the slope after it lands, the creak of the hut’s door.

‘Tissaia?’

For the first time in years, Tissaia opens herself up to the Force again, confirming what she knows to be true - that she’s not alone. Yennefer kneels down beside her mattress, softly touching their foreheads together.

‘I love you.’

‘I know.’

Femslash February - day 1 - Xin'trea

After all of it, the screams and wails still echoing in her head as a reverberation of her own, Francesca curls shivering onto the cold ground and aches. She has stretched herself to almost nothing in her act of vengeance, her grief and rage pulling raw chaos from the very marrow of her bones, and now, she cannot manage much more than a whisper of magic without strain.

It is not quite full dark, the rest of their meager camp still awake around flickering cooking fires, though there is little to cook. They do not disturb her, letting her rest turned away from them. She can hear Filavandrel speaking in low tones to his ward, Dara, and the voices of others nearby.

So few of them now, only those in her closest inner circle who had refused to see her ride off to her doom alone. 

This hit me with angst very early in the month 😭 super well done and I love getting to see Frinfran! 💛

Have some fluffy FrinFran~

“She’s a cuddly one.”

Francesca looks up. Fringilla stands at the edge of the room, one hand on the doorway. Her face is bright and soft, like a spring sun, as she smiles at the little girl in Francesca’s arms.

She can’t help it- she smiles too. “That she is,” Francesca murmurs, turning her gaze back to her daughter, who’s started chewing gummily at her dress. She brushes Liserne’s cheek with her fingers and feels her heart ache when the babe blinks hazily up at her. “I’m going to miss it when she grows older.”

“You don’t think she’ll remain cuddly?” Francesca shifts, just enough for Fringilla to take the invitation and slip under the blankets with her.

“You think she will, then?” she asks, feeling Fringilla lean over her shoulder.

Fringilla hums. “It’s a possibility,” she says, adjusting Liserne’s blanket so that it covers her head again. “The well-loved ones often are.”

She does not ask if Fringilla knows this because she was well-loved or because she felt the lack. She thinks she knows the answer.

Instead, she shifts closer and gently lays her head on Fringilla’s shoulder. The mage stiffens at first, but quickly relaxes, even going as far as to rest her own head on top of Francesca’s.

“She likes you,” Francesca says when Liserne blinks up at Fringilla. “I think she knows you saved her life.”

“You could have done the same.” Fringilla plays with the ends of the baby blanket, fingers shifting over the knotted ends. “It was just warmth, Francesca.”

“Mm.” Francesca nudges her gently. “Maybe. But you were the one who did. I don’t know if I thanked you for that.”

Fringilla laughs then, low and raspy. “Oh, you did,” she says, and Francesca feels her crescent-moon smile against the crown of her head. “You were quite out of it- I’m pretty sure you offered to kill General Hake for me.”

Francesca tenses- as much as she’s sure Fringilla hates the general, she can’t be certain the mage won’t be forced to act if Francesca had made a threat against him. When Fringilla pats her hand, she allows herself to relax again. Still… “I’m guessing you won’t hold me to that, then?”

“Mm, not this time,” Fringilla jokes back, and Francesca feels the last of the fear leave her.

“Ah!”

She looks down to see Liserne trying to latch at her nipple, eyes welling up with tears when she fails.

“Oh baby,” she cooes, pulling down her dress and bringing her daughter’s head closer. “Oh my sweet little girl.”

“Time for dinner, hm?” Fringilla says, not bothering to hide her amusement.

Francesca laughs. “Mm, and she’s a demanding one.”

“Well, she’s a princess, isn’t she?” Fringilla smiles against her hair. “Do you need me to leave?”

“Do you need to leave?”

“Well… not quite yet.”

Francesca hums. “Stay then,” she says. “Maybe you can cuddle with her once she’s finished eating.”

“...Maybe I could.”

Francesca’s no prophet, but she ends up being right.

Also found on AO3

I’ve seen a lot of Hanahaki!Jaskier and Hanahaki!Geralt but imagine: 

Hanahaki Yennefer.

After the Djinn’s wish breaks and Yennefer is no longer in love with Geralt, she thinks she is not capable of falling in love. Then, after the Battle of Sodden Hill, Triss rescues her and heals her from the fire. Triss stays with her and they grow closer, spending long nights together talking about everything and nothing, drinking in front of the fire and sharing their joys and triumphs, faults and challenges. It felt like the rest of the world had gone away. 

Then Geralt arrives, Ciri in tow and Triss leaves to go back to the Brotherhood. Yennefer is training Ciri and this is everything she’s ever wanted but something is missing. She aches for something but cannot put her finger on what until one morning when she coughes up a bloddy Marigold.

She had opened her eyes to the deep end of the sea without ever knowing she had jumped in. Yennefer has never experienced love like this. Slow, steady, like the charcoals of a cooking fire. With Geralt, it was a hot burning passion that flared and screamed but this is quieter. It is a love that she wants to hold in the palm of her hand and feel it’s very heartbeat. 

Yennefer would never say anything. She’s terrified of what it means to be in love when the feelings are her own, when the object of her affections is a woman so sweet as Triss Merigold. She assumes Triss would never return her affections because the other mage is simply like that with everyone, Yennefer is nothing special. 

She grows sicker and weaker, Ciri and Geralt begin to notice but there’s no time. Nilfgaard is approaching and they have to move to Kaer Morhen. The go on the road, picking up a bard along the way and yet, Yennefer feels that ache inside of her and there’s no turning back, not now and she is confronted with her own mortality. 

At the end of day, despite Yennefer’s fears she wants to live so the next time they meet Triss Merigold on the road to Kaer Morhen Yennefer pulls her aside that night and kisses her, bracing for rejection and trying desparately to live. 

It is a surprise to only herself when Triss returns the favor, soft and gentle, just as Yennefer imagined and she feels the vines within her lungs unwind as the kiss grows hungry. 

She is in love and she is brave. 

we have to stop meeting like this

happiest of birthdays to my bog sister, @unremarkablegirl !! i hope you're having a great day!!

oh and thanks @dapandapod for the prompt. as promised, its not as fluff as you wanted.

___

ship: yenralt

genre: light hurt/comfort, slice of life ish

warnings: aftermath of injury but nothing graphic, mentions that someone could have died from said injury

editing: nah

words: 1344

___

“You absolute bastard of a man.”

Yennefer knotted off the bandage on Geralt’s shoulder, although despite the bite in her words her movements were gentle. She gave them one final once over, frowning at the blood already speckling the white linen as she secured his left arm to his body. Because knowing Geralt he would do something dumb like try to get up in the middle of the night to go check on his horse and manage to undo all her hard work.

She propped him up against the pillows - her very nice, very expensive pillows that now smelled vaguely of wyvern guts - and gathered up her herbs and potions, her movements much slower now that Geralt was no longer in danger of losing his arm.

She scrubbed the dried blood and guts off of her hands, trying not to think too much about the fact that there was far too much of it on her hands and not nearly enough inside of Geralt. His recklessness was honestly going to get him killed one day. For Melitele’s sake, what Witcher in their right mind would take on a wyvern contract when they were out of swallow?

Geralt, apparently.

this is so wonderful!!! angst and soft and so so lovely thank you! Her brushing out his hair and confessing her feelings while he’s asleep is just!! there’s so much love there and it’s so sweet and the way he’s just like I can stay for a while thank you <3 

Well both @all-hail-the-witcher and @unremarkablegirl are fantastic!! So I’m societally obligated to reblog 🥰

Witcher Femslash February - Swords

Renfri has been in a strange mood all morning. She’s been stalking around Yennefer’s workshop since breakfast, touching things she knows better than to touch, apparently unable to settle down.

“If you’re going to stomp around like a spoiled princess,” Yennefer says, without looking up from the ingredients she’s preparing for a spell, “I’d prefer you did it somewhere else.”

Yennefer regrets the words even before she’s done speaking. Alluding to Renfri’s royal upbringing is one of the easiest ways to draw her ire, and it works like a charm. “Fine,” she snarls, and leaves through the door that’s enchanted to let out into the forest, slamming it behind her so hard the vials on Yennefer’s workbench shake.

Nohorn pokes his head in from the other room and says, “Any casualties?”

Yennefer shoots Renfri’s second-in-command a poisonous glance. Now she’s going to have to run after Renfri and apologize, all because she can’t stop herself for going for the throat, even when she doesn’t really mean it.

She finds Renfri by the river, crouched down to check the fish traps Nimir and Vyr set up there.

“I thought you’d be glad to be rid of me,” Renfri says, without looking up from the swirling current.

Yennefer sighs. Renfri really is such a child sometimes—though Yennefer hardly has room to talk, given her own trouble controlling her temper. Still, someone has to be the bigger woman, and she supposes this time it’s going to be her. “You weren’t really stomping around all that loudly,” she says, and, well, it’s not her best apology, but it’s a start.

Renfri, however, chuckles, and gets to her feet. “Yes, I was.”

“So are you going to tell me what’s the matter?” Yennefer hates this. She much prefers it when the two of them work in almost uncanny harmony, and they don’t have to have unseemly conversations about their feelings. She suspects Renfri prefers it that way, too, but nevertheless here they are.

“Nothing.” She closes the distance between them. “It’s stupid.”

“I’d believe that from Nohorn, but not from you.”

Renfri rolls her eyes. “It’s just …” She blows out a breath. “It’s been a year, and I thought I should do something to mark it somehow, so …” She’s holding out a parcel, Yennefer realizes, long and narrow and wrapped haphazardly in rough cloth.

Only Renfri would think to commemorate their murder of Stregobor with a present. Yennefer bites her lips to keep from smiling, not wanting to insult Renfri any further but unable to quell the warmth that unfolds in her at this brave and bloody-minded girl.

“Oh, fuck you,” Renfri says. “I told you it was stupid. I’ll take it back.”

“You will not.” Yennefer takes the parcel from Renfri, dancing back from Renfri’s half-hearted attempt to grab it away from her. When she unwraps the cloth, she finds she’s holding a dagger, its scabbard delicately engraved, and a little amethyst set into the pommel. She draws the dagger to admire its blade, narrow and gleaming bright. The grip fits beautifully in Yennefer’s palm, and the balance is impeccable even to Yennefer’s unschooled senses. On closer inspection, Yennefer realizes the pattern on the scabbard is little sprays of blossoms and small round berries, and she feels tears spring to her eyes. “No one will ever take it from me,” she says, meeting Renfri’s gaze. “It’s mine now.”

Fandom: The Witcher Characters: Fringilla Vigo Rating: T Additional Tags: Character Study, Fringilla’s first night in Nilfgaard, Angst, Canon Character of Color, Mentions of Canon Child Abuse, Aretuza (The Witcher) Chapters: 1/1

@bamf-jaskier tagged as you requested ;)

Yennefer walks through the great hall, tracking stinking mud on the lush blue carpet. She hears the murmurs of the courtiers watching her go; she wonders if they can see the blood still caked in the grooves of her armor, won just outside the city gates while they cowered behind stone and wood. Her calf is pulsing and the battle lust swims under her skin still. She keeps her eyes fixed on the resplendent figure waiting at the far side.

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Femslash Feb 2021 - Hands

So like. This is very light on the “slash” part of femslash but you wanna tell me Noted Queer Cirilla doesn’t have a huge crush on some lady or other she knew as a teenager? It’s a highly wlw experience I sure as hell had one and only realized how gay I was being once I got to university. So here we go, baby gay Ciri having a big baby gay crush on Triss who is amused and fond about it. And also some digressions on how the Witchers in Kaer Morhen all dote on their kiddo.

From the prompt list posted by @bamf-jaskier, rated G, no major warnings. Will get posted on AO3 sometime that is not 1 am

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Witcher Femslash February - Disguise

The intruder doesn’t make it two steps before Renfri has a knife at his throat. He’s big, but Renfri’s handled bigger.

“Tell me what you’re doing here and maybe I’ll let you live.” She won’t, of course, but that fact doesn’t generally encourage people to tell the truth.

The man laughs, a low, dark rumble, and says, “You’re even better than I gave you credit for.”

“Better start talking,” she says, and lets him feel just how sharp the edge of her knife is. “That offer of mine’s about to expire.”

“Oh, for—it’s me,” says the man, speaking now, of all things, in Yennefer’s voice.

Renfri springs away and turns the person in front of her roughly so she can get a look at the intruder’s face. She keeps her knife at the ready, just in case. As she watches, the man’s burly frame melts away into Yennefer’s slight one. His ruddy, pock-marked complexion fades, replaced by Yennefer’s impossibly smooth brown skin. The red line from Renfri’s knife remains, however, as deadly as it is fine.

“Fuck,” Renfri mutters, her stomach twisting viciously. The adrenaline calm of a moment ago is gone, replaced with a frantic rushing in her ears.

“I’m impressed,” Yennefer says coolly, and brushes off her sleeves like it’ll dispel some lingering trace of the enchantment.

“I could’ve killed you,” Renfri chokes out. Not just could have. She was ready to—knew she would. 

Yennefer raises her perfect eyebrows. “I doubt it.” She searches around for a handkerchief, and applies it to her throat, just above the riboon that holds her obsidian star. The cut is so thin it’s barely bled.

Renfri swallows hard against the sour churning in her gut. “Let me—” She gestures toward the table where the crew tends to dress their wounds after a fight.

“I am a mage, you know,” Yennefer says scornfully.

“Just—let me, you stubborn bitch,” Renfri mutters, and Yennefer smiles like this is the highest compliment anyone has ever paid her. She does, in the end, allow Renfri to herd her into a chair and fuss over her.

Renfri tries not to let her hands shake as she removes Yennefer’s necklace and dabs at Yennefer’s throat with alcohol and a clean cloth. She follows it with a salve Yennefer mixed up to keep her men’s endless array of wounds from turning to rot. It’s such a small cut there’s not much risk of infection, but Renfri doesn’t want to risk it. She’d rather not be reminded of what she is, what she’s capable of, every time she looks at the woman she loves. 

“There,” she says, tying a thin strip of gauze around her throat. “And don’t fucking sneak up on me like that ever again.” She thumps Yennefer’s shoulder with the heel of her hand. “What is wrong with you?”

“I have to keep you on your toes somehow,” Yennefer says, smiling at her again with a secret bemused expression that makes Renfri’s throat close up for entirely different reasons. “Otherwise you’ll get bored and find someone else to slit throats for.”

“Nah,” Renfri says, and oh, her heart, her stupid fucking heart. “You’ve spoiled me for all other criminal masterminds. I only want to slit throats for you.”